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misguidedasgardian · 1 year

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The Winter Sun (16)

16. The God's wood

MASTERLIST

Summary: A child born in Winter was a good omen

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, birth of a baby (nothing described), fluff, talk about death and miscarriages, talk about childbirth, and death in childbirth, breastfeeding, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.3 k

Notes: I don’t really like how I name the baby BUT that is canon! Cregan’s first child is name like that so… anyways IT'S HAPPENNING PEOPLE THIS IS NOT A DRILL I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL

Cregan was stunned… he couldn’t find you anywhere, he was also becoming scared, but the alarms didn’t go off so he doubted something bad had befell you. He looked for you in the battlements, and nothing, you were not in your rooms, not in the library, nor in the Kitchens, not the room that had turned into yours and Sara’s sewing room, and you were not with the Maester. He finally had the courage to scout the Godswood, but you weren’t that either.

So he started to ask around if people had seen you, and the path took him to the kitchens again.

“Yes, she and Sara are down the earth, in the hot springs”, said Thelma, as she whisked the batter for a pie Sara had requested of her. Cregan looked at the woman incredulously

“Couldn’t you just tell me that earlier?”, he asked, and she looked at him and chuckled

“Made you look!”, she teased, and he chuckled darkly, and left the kitchens

So you where in the Hotsprings below the castle

He was not surprised, but he tried to suppress his anger, those hot springs had a very high temperature, specially in your state, but he had to remind himself that one, Targaryens did prefer the heat, it had been proven by maesters that you had a higher tolerances for higher temperatures than normal people, and two, that you had good instincts you had learned to follow, so if you were in the Hot Springs, it meant you really felt the need to go, that you really believe it could do you good.

He had to dispose of his cape, his vest and his boots before he went down the stairs, because he was already sweating, the steam that came from down below was hitting him strongly.

The set of old stone stairs opened to a wide cave, that looked like a pavilion, a huge bath house for the natural hot springs that had been here since the beginning of time, and the reason Winterfell was built where it was

You were lying down in the edge of the hot pool, on your side, your big belly between your hugging arms, Sara was by your side, half of her body in the waters, you were both dressed in short light dresses, that were completely soaked. You were conversing happily, giggling like two little girls, Cregan stopped on his tracks and just watched the scene, amused.

How did he get so lucky?

Fate had brought his sister to Winterfell’s doors, and he loved her dearly, a dragon had brought you to Winterfell’s gates… you both, you three… were everything to him

“Cregan!”, greeted Sara, you turned around with a smile on your face

“My love”

“Hello you two, can I join you?”

“Well of course!”, you said, patting the palace right by your side, where he took a seat, placing his feet under the hot, almost boiling water.

But it was relaxing nonetheless once you get used to it.

You went into the waters and floated around happily Cregan soon joined you, taking you in his arms

“this is the only place that gives me comfort”, you whined, smiling, “I feel so heavy all the time, floating around soothes me”

“I understand that”, he kissed your wet temple, as you floated around happily

“I don’t understand why we don’t come to this place more often”, muttered Sara with a shy smile, “it is so relaxing”

“It is”, said Cregan

“Agreed”, you giggled, “if it was enough my dragon could be happy here”

“Speaking of dragons, how is Dragonstone?”, she asked you both

“It is one of the greatest things I have ever seen”, Cregan muttered, “The whole island rests on Dragon glass, and the castle itself seems to be carved right off the stone, dragons sculpted everywhere, a great fortress, it is breathtaking”

“Did you see the dragons?”, she asked, amazed

“Only flying from afar”, he said, “it is very dangerous to get close to them”, you added

“One day we will take you”, promised Cregan, and you nodded enthusiastically

Perhaps, when Rhaenyra is Queen, you could ask her to proclaim Sara legitimate, you haven't spoken about it with Cregan or Sara, but it is something you wanted so badly for her. Perhaps when it’s done…

“When winter is over, you could travel through the kingdoms on dragonback!”, you said happily

“You know Vhaelar actually likes me!”, Sara offered, “Well, she hasn't thrown fire at me, so I’m guessing it’s a good sign!”, she giggled

“That is indeed a good beginning”, you giggled

You spend the rest of the afternoon in the Hot Springs, until Cregan dragged you both out, saying it was too much, your baby moved around in your belly, restless. So Cregan took you to the kitchens, to feed you both.

The pie Thelma had cooked for you was ready, so you enjoyed it together in the great hall

“I have to go to the woods to hunt”, Cregan told you, “a group of stags had been spotted near the river, It would be good to have some extra meat if needed”, he explained

“I wish you luck husband”, you whispered with a shy smile

“It shouldn’t be more than a couple of days”, he said simply, grabbing your hand over the table

Cregan left the very next morning and came back in two days, as promised, tired and freezing, but with fresh meat to eat.

You celebrated with roast deer those coming days.

So you kept navigating through winter, Cregan was exchanging letters with his friend Ben, of how much he wanted to see him, you haven{t met him yet, but Cregan had told you many stories about him, how he was his closest friend, he had even send you a present for your unborn child, and you couldn’t wait to meet him.

You also couldn’t wait to meet your child, you were growing heavier by the day, so uncomfortable, your feet hurt at the end of each day, your belly button had begun to pop, and according to the servants and the midwife it was a sign that the birth was near. And you were happy for it.

Cregan had been occupied most day, making preparation, he covered every window in your rooms with a plank of wood and furs except for one, so you could still watch over Winter’s Town

You were over a moon shy of finally having him in your arms.

It was the middle of the morning and still, there was darkness everywhere. The presence of the Lord of Winterfell was required in Winter’s Town, a problem between lords, and cattle to take meat, so he had to go to settle the quarrel. It was easily resolved by throwing a few coins at the problem.

The snow and cold had taken hold of his body, but still, you were nearing the end of the pregnancy, so the freezing cold did not deter Cregan, who had grabbed an oil lamp and ventured himself deep in the Godswood, with the Heart tree being the only destiny in his mind.

With the ghostly face in front of him, he fell to his knees and placed his hands together in prayer. And with one last look towards that carved face, he closed his eyes in concentration.

“Gods”, he called, “Gods of the streams, the forests, the rocks, Gods of beasts, of men, of children, I beseech you”, he spoke with a trembling voice, begging, “You who whisper when the winds blows and when the birds sing, all of you who linger in the winter, who bring life in the midst of death…”, he opened his eyes again, looking at those eyes who were looking right back at him, “I beg of you, protect my wife”, he said gently, “protect her and my unborn child, let her live to see our baby grow big and strong, she is a good and kind woman, please protect her….”

Only silence was his answer, but he felt at peace when he heard the wind blows through the trees

After everything he had lived through and everyone he lost he found himself constantly feeling this horrible sensation, of that the same fate as his first two wives might befall you, his young wife and mother to their unborn child.

And he couldn’t bear it, not again, if he loses you, he might as well die right by your side, he was going to do everything in his power to prevent it

But there was this moment where he felt content, even if he followed the Old Gods and their traditions, he wasn’t quite devote, so he really hoped his prayers were answered, and for a second he believed they were, he heard the rustling of the leaves, a soft whisper in the air, and far, far away, the howling of Autumn deep in the Wolf’s wood

It was so peaceful

“CREGAN!”, and now the screech of his sister, “CREGAN!”, She called again and he turned, alarmed, he could not see her, so he stood up, grabbing the lamp and he started running towards the entrance of the God’s Wood

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?”, he asked, alarmed

“You fool! Where were you? I have been looking for you everywhere!”, she cried, grabbing into his arms, “it’s time! She is in labor! she had been for hours!”, she said with a wide smile

“I am going to be a father?”, he asked, his eyes shiny, and Sara nodded enthusiastically

“YES! NOW GO YOU IDIOT!”, he passed by her running, dropping the lamp that broke against the ground, but he couldn’t care less

He was going to be a father!

He thought fleetingly that he had never run so fast in his life, everything around him going by in a blur. He almost jumped the short steps towards the entrance of the castle and he shoved every person on his way screaming how sorry he was, he found the stairs and ran even faster, when he finally reached the last floor of the castle, where his rooms were, he heard your screams. They were like screams of someone fighting for their life, screams of war and battle… He stopped in his tracks, scared out of his mind, not wanting to go in.

What if something went badly?

What if you perished afterwards?

What if his babe…?, he didn’t even want to think about it.

And then, there was calm, silence, you had stopped your screams, and he decided, really, he didn’t decide anything, his feet took him to venture inside the room, he ran, opened the door widely, just as the cries of his first born child reached his ears.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath, not until he let out all the air in his lungs, and you found his eyes and you smiled, widely, you were sweaty, bloody, messy, and you never looked more beautiful

“It’s a boy!”, screamed the midwife, with a crying, bloodied bundle in her arms

“Cregan!”, you called, and he ran to your side

“I was not here!”, he lamented, kissing your face, your sweaty forehead, taking your hands in his, “my love I’m so sorry!”, he cried

“It was so fast!”, you chuckled tiredly, “it came very quickly, you do not need to be sorry”

“Two pushes and he was out my lord!”, cheered a maid that had helped you through the whole delivery

“Here he is!”, the midwife said, “cleaned and ready to meet his parents! a healthy baby boy”, your babe was crying softly, his little hands above the fabrics searching for something, or someone.

She placed it gently in your arms, and you looked down at his little reddened face, you accommodated him against your chest, and his cries stopped, he tried to open his eyes but he barely could, he was so small, and chubby, his hair dark just like his father’s

Cregan fell to his knees by your side, to look at him, you didn’t even realize you were crying happy tears, relieved tears

“Our baby!”, he cried as well, placing hand on it’s head, so small in comparison, “look at him”, he said, enamored, “he is so perfect”, he whispered

“He is kind of small isn’t he?”, you asked, “it’s a little red…”, you were not quite convinced, and you were weary and scared, if something was wrong you wouldn’t know how to tell

“It is normal my lady”, giggled the midwife, “I shall fetch the maester, to have a look at him”, you nodded. “You did not had any reapings, so you should have make a quick recovery, no blood was lost, either way, I will fetch the maester”

You look at your son and you couldn’t believe you had him in your arms, it felt surreal, you knew why they called them “bundles of joy”, you felt so happy, a warmth in your chest that took a hold on you whole, you felt joyous, you felt like you could explode with love for this little person that you held so comfortably against you, like he belonged there, like he was created to fit perfectly in your arms and against you chest. You whined in happiness, still happy tears rolled down your eyes

You looked up at Cregan and he was looking down at you with suck love and wonder in his gray eyes like you had never seen before

“Would you like to hold him?”, you asked Cregan, and he nodded. You passed on the baby to him, and he held it in his arms carefully. Once he was safe in his father’s arms, the maids and the midwife cleaned you, took the afterbirth with them, and left you with cleaned sheets, and then they left.

“We must tell the happy news to everyone!”, one said, and the left you in the comfort of your rooms

Your still nameless child had fallen asleep in Cregan’s arms, and you sighed, tired. Childbirth brought you a pain you had never felt before, a crippling pain, and then when you finally expelled it from your body you felt an incredible relief, a soothing sensation washing over you, but now, that adrenaline has passed, the pain has returned, and also, you felt so tired…

“How are you feeling my love?”, he asked softly

“I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of wild horses”, you said with a tired smile, “but I will be alright”

“If something happens to you I swear…” he sighed heavily against your temple, “I’ll die right with you”

“I’m fine”, you assured him, and he smiled, “we have to name our child”, you said with a tired smile.

He laid down by your side, your sleeping baby in his arms, you both looked at him

“How shall we name him?”, he asked then

“Should we name him like your father?”, you asked, “Rickon?”, he looked at you wide eyed

“Would you like that? Name him as my father?”

“I love that name”, you whispered. “It’s a northmen name”, you said happily, so he nodded

“Then it’s Rickon Stark”, he said

The maester showed up shortly after, with a shy smile. He entered the room after knocking

“The old gods had blessed you, my lord!”, he said, “they brought you a son!”

“They did”, he said gently

“Would you let me examine him?”, you begrudgingly agreed and let him take Rickon, he placed him gently at the foot of the bed and he undressed him, his little chubby arms and legs moved desperately

“It’s cold!”, you complained, but Cregan only chuckled

“10 toes”, the old man said, tickling his small feet, “10 fingers”, he said then, and he touched him in his belly, he grabbed his arms gently, and his legs, he examined him, then he placed his finger in front of his little face and move it around, he hummed, contented, “he has your eyes princess”, he said, then looking at you, “the eyes of old Valyria”, you sighed happily, “he is a healthy baby boy”, he placed him back into your arms, covered in a small fox fur

“You can tell the people of Winter’s town”, Cregan said, proud, “Winterfell has it’s heir, is a boy named Rickon, like my father before me”

“A strong winter child”, he said, “the people will be happy”, he gave you sips of milk of the poppy and then he left your small family again

“Are you proud?”, you asked, your eyes filled with hope and wonder

“Proud?”, he asked, raising his gaze from the babe in his arms to look at you

“I want you to be proud of me, and our little family”, you explained gently

“I’m not only proud, but I’m possibly the happiest men on the world right now”, he said, “look at our child, look at what you give to me”, he said gently, “I love you, and I couldn’t be prouder”

With that in mind you dozed off, thanks to the milk of the poppy, and relying on Cregan’s body for support

“We have a big bed wife, one day we will be all squeezed up with all the children we are going to have”, you heard faintly before falling asleep.

You woke up a couple of hours later, with the cries of RIckon, you jumped out of bed to find him crying in Cregan’s armas, who looked kind of desperate and once you were awake, he looked guilty for awakening you

“I think he might be hungry”, you whispered. The midwife had come close to you the last moon, to talk to you about this kind of thing, cares for your babe, you had insist you wanted to breastfeed him yourself, you reached at Cregan and with a wide smile, he placed Rickon back into your arms

“There you are little one”, you greeted gently, you released one of your breasts from your night shirt, and palace him near your nipple, he latched on immediately, and it tickle you when he started to suck, it felt so strange

Cregan held you in his arms as you fed Rickon, dropping comfort kisses on your shoulder, and he caressed your arms.

There was no need for words, you only shared this intimate moment, with your newborn in your arms, and your husband by your side.

Rickon fell asleep soon after, and you giggled, Cregan grabbed him and placed him in the crib that you had placed specially for this moment, a beautiful wooden crib, carves with beautiful Northerner designs, sent by one of Cregan’s closest friends, Ben Tallhart, Lord of Torrhen’s square.

He look through the window and gasped in surprise, he then looked back at you

“Look” he said softly, you reached for him and he helped you raise from the bed with difficulty, and then walk towards the window with a view of winter’s town, you gasped, amazed, all around town big torches had been lit up, pires all around, it looked like the town itself was aflame, but the reflection of the snow made it wonderful, “do you know what it is?”, he said, amazed, “the people of the town lit fires in your honor, their fire lady, in celebration of the birth of our son”, he said proudly

“Really?”, you asked, tears in your eyes

“Really”, he assured you, he hugged you kissing the top of your head, “thank you my love”

“For what?”, you giggled

“For everything”, he said, kissing the side of your face

. . .

What you did not know is that as your baby boy drew his first breath, King Viserys, in King’s landing, drew his last.

More notes!: I wanted to make the birth swift and quickly... because she will have more children and just didn't want to make it very dramatic...

ANYWAYS como se dice en espanol... ya va llegando gente al baile! hahaha

Taglist! ❤️

@severewobblerlightdragonn @missusnoraora @stargaryenx @poppyreaderer @chainsawsangel @court-jester-stuffster-stuff @batprincess1013 @eddiepickerker

@lyannesworldrld @arujee @kamisunshine @mss-nthng @partypoison00 @grimistangel @elleclairez @may-machin @prettykinkysoul @justagurlwithships @champomiel

@laura-naruto-fan1998 @zoleea-exultant @devotedlythoughtfulanchor @zoleea-exultant @llleon666 @dark-night-sky-99 @bitchigoteverythingissues @harrypotteranna23-blog@esposadomd @ajanauia @phantomtea19 @let-love-bleeds-red @kishie8 @dreamingofyourmoons @esposadomd @sandronebabyy @kemillyfreitas @trifoliumviridi @dreamingofyourmoons @darling-jace @biblichorr

#misguidedwinter #cregan #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #house targaryen #house stark #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

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Hi 😁

I was wondering can you write dacryphilia Aegon and aemond and oversensitive niece who críes every time that she gets called strong/bastard

Please i begging you 💖

Yes yes sorry for the wait!!! Tears YEP I love the teasing and lowkey obsession on all parts

Kink Bingo - Dacryphilia

Rating: Mature

Tags: Rhaenyra’s bastard!reader, double team of fucked up: Aegon n Aemond, teasing, Dacryphilia, TW: dub-con, she just wants to be remembered even if it’s two crazy blonde princes w issues

Aegon had a new hobby. His hobby was the only one that coincided with his brothers. They reveled in it, making it a competition to who can rile up Rhaenyra’s pretty little bastard the most.

Aegon’s reasoning was simple; he liked to see her tears, especially when his head was between her soft thighs. Angering his nephews and sister was a plus. Aemond’s reasons were unknown but the elder prince had it a feeling it was to piss Lucerys off. He never knew if what Aemond did was to get off or be cruel. It didn’t matter, both brothers lived to make the sweet Princess shed salty lickable tears.

Like a charm, there she was nestled under a tree in the desolate Godswood. Aegon frowned at the sight of lanky Aemond looming over her, arm braced on the bark. He was murmuring something low but by her face it wasn’t kindly.

Aegon puffed his chest up and sauntered over to the pair. His eyes curiously flicked down to survey her face— wet and blotchy. Aemond was quick to the point. The elder mused, “Are you harassing our niece Aemond? Not very kind of you.”

Aemond grinned and smoothly replied, “No brother, I was just telling her how beautiful those brown curls of hers are. Ser Harwin had the same head of hair, didn’t he?” Aegon knelt down to brush a beautiful tear from her pale cheek. She girl blubbered, “S-stop it! I’m p-p-pure of blood!”

Aegon tilted his head, lips split in a devious smile. He nodded slowly and cooed, “Obviously you have some Targaryen in you, you’ve got your dragon sweet thing. You should be proud of that.” Her spirits lightened a bit, doe eyes searching Aegon’s for reassurance.

“See, I am blood of the dragon and of the sea.”

Aemond snorted, eyes gleaming in excitement, “Dear niece, that’s a strong claim. Lord Laenor wasn’t interested in copulating with our Sister. Ser Harwin was steadfast and true for your mother.”

She sobbed again, brown eyes downcast. Aegon played good knight, wrapping an arm around her slim waist. For being Harwin Strong’s heritage they definitely got the leanness from Rhaenyra. Aegon nuzzled her cheek, humming, “If anything you should be proud you had such a strong warrior for a father. Maybe you’ll get legitimized. Or death.”

She burst into choppy sobs again, whining, “No more, it’s mean, please!” Her wide eyes begged for release, flickering between the two brothers caging her lithe body in. Aemond sank down this time, face deep in calculation. He idly thumbed a tear away before dryly laughing, “Why would we stop when our bastard princess cries so pretty, hm?”

They swaddled her frame, Aegon petting her hair, Aemond murmuring spiteful insults. She wouldn’t admit it but any attention was better than the day-to-day apathy from most. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she cried, “Kiss me, one of you, please I can’t take it!” Aegon’s cock throbbed insistently, rutting against her trembling thighs. He latched plump lips to her soft neck. Aemond took the brunette girl’s lips roughly, cooing, “Such a good strong brat hm?”

It would be a long day in the Godswood.

#hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader x aemond targaryen #strong!reader #teasinggg #aegon ii targaryen #answered asks #kink bingo

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jackoshadows · 1 year

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From the bits and pieces here and there in the books it looks like, growing up, Lyanna had a closer relationship with Brandon and Benjen rather than with Ned. Which makes sense considering Ned was fostered in the Vale and missing for large parts of Lyanna’s childhood.

There’s the vision Bran has of Lyanna and Benjen playing:

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way the girl was beating him. She slashed at the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. "You be quiet, stupid," the girl said, tossing her branch aside. "It's just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run and tell Father?" She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool, but before she got him out again, the two of them were gone. - Bran, ADwD

According to the A World of Ice and Fire App, Lyanna is good at tilting at rings.

The only daughter of Lord Rickard Stark, Lyanna proved to be a strong-willed girl who grew into a slender beauty. She was a skilled horsewoman, and practiced at tilting at rings.

It’s because of this skillset that Lyanna is assumed to be the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Considering that Rickard Stark forbid his daughter to even have a sword, where could she have learned these skills?

"Brandon was fostered at Barrowton with old Lord Dustin, the father of the one I'd later wed, but he spent most of his time riding the Rills. He loved to ride. His little sister took after him in that. A pair of centaurs, those two." - Prince of Winterfell, ADwD

It’s very probable that Lyanna visited and stayed with her brother at Barrowton and that’s where she learned and practiced at tilting at rings. And she most probably learned it against her father’s wishes. And Brandon Stark secretly taught his little sister the skills to compete in a tourney.

Fandom tends to compare Ned/Lyanna with Jon/Arya, however I think the more apt parallel would be Brandon/Lyanna and Jon/Arya. Brandon ended up dying after riding to KL for Lyanna and Jon ended up dying to save Arya. And neither brother managed to actually save their little sister.

It’s a pity that we don’t have Benjen’s POV and read Lyanna from someone who grew up with her. Ned’s POV is colored by his friendship with Robert and what little we get of Lyanna is always in the context of Robert’s Rebellion.

#Lyanna Stark #asoiaf #Brandon Stark #Benjen Stark #Ned Stark #Jon Snow #Arya Stark #Bran Stark

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istumpysk · 2 years

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ACOK: Arya IX (Chapter 47)

I feel obligated to explain the plot as we go, as it’s convoluted. This is huge, I’m sorry.

Arya would wait until she heard him [Pinkeye] snoring, then creep barefoot up the servant's stair, making no more noise than the mouse she'd been.

A girl is learning.

"She steals in on little mice feet, but a man hears," he said. How could he hear me? she wondered, and it seemed as if he heard that as well. "The scuff of leather on stone sings loud as warhorns to a man with open ears. Clever girls go barefoot." - Arya VIII, ACOK

+.+

Syrio had told her once that darkness could be her friend, and he was right.

I would categorize Syrio as a mostly positive influence in Arya’s life, but this I don’t like.

"The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong." - Bran III, ADWD

+.+

Their clothing was stained with mud and blood, and in the torchlight it was hard to make out all their badges and sigils, but some of those Arya glimpsed she recognized. Twin towers. Sunburst. Bloody man. Battle-axe. The battle-axe is for Cerwyn, and the white sun on black is Karstark. They're northmen. My father's men, and Robb's. She didn't like to think what that might mean.

(...)

"What's all this, Hoat?" Ser Amory demanded, frowning.

"Captiths. Rooth Bolton thought to croth the river, but my Brafe Companions cut his van to pieceth. Killed many, and thent Bolton running. Thith ith their lord commander, Glover, and the one behind ith Ther Aenyth Frey."

(...)

Everyone in the castle knew that he and Vargo Hoat hated each other.

We’ve got a stealth mission to capture a castle in back-to-back chapters. Both even feature a Bolton!

Vargo Hoat, enemy of Ser Amory Lorch, brings one hundred northern captives inside Harrenhal. We’ll soon learn there’s something off about these prisoners.

Brienne tore her own bread. "Lord Bolton," she asked, "it's said you mean to give Harrenhal to Vargo Hoat."

"That was his price," Lord Bolton said. "The Lannisters are not the only men who pay their debts. - Jaime V, ASOS

Here’s a question: at the time this deal is made, how did Roose have the authority to make Vargo Hoat the Lord of Harrenhal? Things that make you go hmmm.

+.+

A swirling wind gusted, drawing a high shivery scream from the cracks in the Wailing Tower. Leaves had begun to fall from the trees in the godswood, and she could hear them moving through the deserted courtyards and between the empty buildings, making a faint skittery sound as the wind drove them across the stones. Now that Harrenhal was near empty once again, sound did queer things here. Sometimes the stones seemed to drink up noise, shrouding the yards in a blanket of silence. Other times, the echoes had a life of their own, so every footfall became the tread of a ghostly army, and every distant voice a ghostly feast.

Quiet as a shadow, she flitted across the middle bailey, around the Tower of Dread, and through the empty mews, where people said the spirits of dead falcons stirred the air with ghostly wings.

What in the world is going on here?

+.+

The garrison numbered no more than a hundred men, so small a troop that they were lost in Harrenhal.

(...)

While Lord Tywin had been in residence, there was always a man-at-arms wanting to know your business. But now there were only a hundred men left to guard a thousand doors, and no one seemed to know who should be where, or care much.

"Ser Amory sent them down to the dungeon. The one under the Widow's Tower, that's just one big cell. You could smash the door open with your hammer—"

(...)

"If there's two, that's too many for you and me. You never learned nothing in that village, did you? You try this and Vargo Hoat will cut off your hands and feet, the way he does." Gendry took up the tongs again.

(...)

"Gendry, there's a hundred northmen. Maybe more, I couldn't count them all. That's as many as Ser Amory has. Well, not counting the Bloody Mummers. We just have to get them out and we can take over the castle and escape."

On the way back, she wondered why none of the captives had their hands or feet chopped off. Maybe Vargo Hoat was afraid to make Robb angry. Though he didn't seem the sort to be afraid of anyone.

The troop is small enough to get lost in Harrenhal.

Harrenhal is undermanned.

All the prisoners are placed in a single large cell. Convenient!

The Bloody Mummers and northmen outnumber Ser Amory and his men.

The guy that cuts off hands and feet did not cut off hands and feet.

+.+

"Why should I wager my feet for the chance to sweat in Winterfell in place of Harrenhal? You know old Ben Blackthumb? He came here as a boy. Smithed for Lady Whent and her father before her and his father before him, and even for Lord Lothston who held Harrenhal before the Whents. Now he smiths for Lord Tywin, and you know what he says? A sword's a sword, a helm's a helm, and if you reach in the fire you get burned, no matter who you're serving. Lucan's a fair enough master. I'll stay here."

An understandable viewpoint coming from someone with low social status. Of course if you asked Mikken he’d tell you there is a difference.

+.+

Whenever she had a free hour she stole away to work at the drills Syrio had taught her, moving barefoot over the fallen leaves, slashing at branches and whacking down leaves. Sometimes she even climbed the trees and danced among the upper branches, her toes gripping the limbs as she moved back and forth, teetering a little less every day as her balance returned to her. Night was the best time; no one ever bothered her at night.

(...)

When her arm grew weary, she sat with her legs over a high limb to catch her breath in the cool dark air, listening to the squeak of bats as they hunted.

Listening to the squeak of bats as they hunted. Okay.

I am telling you, there is something deeper going on with Arya and these trees.

+.+

Arya stared at the face carved into its trunk. It was a terrible face, its mouth twisted, its eyes flaring and full of hate. Is that what a god looked like? Could gods be hurt, the same as people? I should pray, she thought suddenly.

What a glowing review. What's more telling, this passage or a handful of Starks being terrified of weirwoods?

+.+

Arya went to her knees. She wasn't sure how she should begin. She clasped her hands together. Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.

Lol, she put water dancer before wolf.

+.+

Arya lowered the splintery point toward the ground. "How did you know I was here?"

"A man sees. A man hears. A man knows."

It’s amusing to me he’s saying this while standing in a godswood.

Jaqen appears in the godswood, wanting to know the third name. The two previous times Arya had gone to him. Jaqen knows he’ll soon leave the castle.

+.+

She thought for a moment. "The name . . . can I name anyone? And you'll kill him?"

(...)

"By all the gods of sea and air, and even him of fire, I swear it." He placed a hand in the mouth of the weirwood. "By the seven new gods and the old gods beyond count, I swear it."

The man who serves the Many-Faced God, a god of death with many different incarnations, just fed his hand to the tree.

+.+

Arya put her lips to his ear. "It's Jaqen H'ghar."

Even in the burning barn, with walls of flame towering all around and him in chains, he had not seemed so distraught as he did now. "A girl . . . she makes a jest."

"You swore. The gods heard you swear."

"The gods did hear." There was a knife in his hand suddenly, its blade thin as her little finger. Whether it was meant for her or him, Arya could not say. "A girl will weep. A girl will lose her only friend."

Jaqen H’ghar is already dead. He’s only another face. The only way to “kill” Jaqen H’ghar is to remove the face, and replace it with another. I think that thin blade is for Arya, but he doesn’t want to do it.

+.+

Jaqen's smile came and went. "A girl might . . . name another name then, if a friend did help?"

"A girl might," she said. "If a friend did help."

The knife vanished. "Come."

Fortunately for her, he has a better idea.

+.+

"A man hears the whisper of sand in a glass. A man will not sleep until a girl unsays a certain name. Now, evil child."

I'm not an evil child, she thought, I am a direwolf, and the ghost in Harrenhal.

You’re not evil, but you’re certainly making me uncomfortable.

+.+

They're drinking and eating before they sleep, she realized.

(...)

The noise they were making would be a good distraction.

The Brave Companions and Ser Amory’s men are drinking, and making a lot of noise. Perfect for a distraction!

Them Bloody Mummers killed some of Ser Amory's lot in their beds, and the rest at table after they were good and drunk. - Arya IX, ACOK

+.+

"A girl will obey," Arya said. "What should I do?"

"A hundred men are hungry, they must be fed, the lord commands hot broth. A girl must run to the kitchens and tell her pie boy."

"Broth," she repeated. "Where will you be?"

"A girl will help make broth, and wait in the kitchens until a man comes for her. Go. Run."

(...)

Then she heard the ugly sound of Rorge's voice. "Cook," he shouted. "We'll take your bloody broth." Arya let go of the spoon in dismay. I never told him to bring them. Rorge wore his iron helmet, with the nasal that half hid his missing nose. Jaqen and Biter followed him into the kitchen.

Jaqen is fully aware of what The Brave Companions are conspiring to do. He can protect himself, but he knows Rorge and Biter are dead men unless they switch sides.

You might remember, this same thing happened when they flipped from Yoren to Ser Amory.

+.+

Rorge heaved the scalding hot broth across the table, full in their faces. Jaqen H'ghar did the same. Biter threw his kettles too, swinging them underarm so they spun across the dungeon, raining soup. One caught the captain in the temple as he tried to rise. He went down like a sack of sand and lay still. The rest were screaming in agony, praying, or trying to crawl off.

(...)

Arya pressed back against the wall as Rorge began to cut throats. Biter preferred to grab the men behind the head and under the chin and crack their necks with a single twist of his huge pale hands. Only one of the guards managed to get a blade out. Jaqen danced away from his slash, drew his own sword, drove the man back into a corner with a flurry of blows, and killed him with a thrust to the heart. The Lorathi brought the blade to Arya still red with heart's blood and wiped it clean on the front of her shift. "A girl should be bloody too. This is her work."

Rorge and Biter kill Ser Amory’s guards who are holding the captives.

Jaqen kills only one man, then wipes the blood on Arya. Is that the new face?

+.+

Once freed, the captives stripped the dead guards of their weapons and darted up the steps with steel in hand. Their fellows crowded after them, bare-handed. They went swiftly, and with scarcely a word. None of them seemed quite so badly wounded as they had when Vargo Hoat had marched them through the gates of Harrenhal. "This of the soup, that was clever," the man Glover was saying. "I did not expect that. Was it Lord Hoat's idea?"

Was it Lord Hoat’s idea?

Nobody is talking, everybody already knows what’s happening.

None of them seemed quite so badly wounded as when they arrived.

+.+

"Well done," he said. "I am Robett Glover."

"My lord." Jaqen gave him a bow.

(...)

"Who are you men?" A crease appeared between Robett Glover's brows. "You were not with Hoat when he came to Lord Bolton's encampment. Are you of the Brave Companions?"

Rorge wiped the snot off his chin with the back of his hand. "We are now."

And just like that, they successfully defect and save themselves.

+.+

He waved a hand toward Arya. "And here—"

"I'm Weasel," she blurted, before he could tell who she really was. She did not want her name said here, where Rorge might hear, and Biter, and all these others she did not know.

Oof. If she was exposed here, Ramsay would not have needed to marry somebody pretending to be Arya.

+.+

She saw Glover dismiss her. "Very well," he said. "Let's make an end to this bloody business."

Bloody business, indeed!

I've commanded him to retake Harrenhal."

"That's like to be a bloody business." - Catelyn V, ACOK

+.+

When they climbed back up the winding stair, they found the door guards lying in pools of their own blood. Northmen were running across the ward. Arya heard shouts. The door of Barracks Hall burst open and a wounded man staggered out screaming. Three others ran after him and silenced him with spear and sword. There was fighting around the gatehouse as well. Rorge and Biter rushed off with Glover, but Jaqen H'ghar knelt beside Arya. "A girl does not understand?"

"Yes I do," she said, though she didn't, not truly.

That’s okay Arya, it took me a few reads as well.

+.+

"A god has his due. And now a man must die." A strange smile touched the lips of Jaqen H'ghar.

"Die?" she said, confused. What did he mean? "But I unsaid the name. You don't need to die now."

"I do. My time is done." Jaqen passed a hand down his face from forehead to chin, and where it went he changed. His cheeks grew fuller, his eyes closer; his nose hooked, a scar appeared on his right cheek where no scar had been before. And when he shook his head, his long straight hair, half red and half white, dissolved away to reveal a cap of tight black curls.

In the end, he does end up having to kill Jaqen H’ghar, but he has another face. An alchemist’s face.

+.+

"Then we must part," he said, "for I have duties too."

He needs something in the Citadel. What??

+.+

She whispered her names to her pillow, and when she was done she added, "Valar morghulis," in a small soft voice, wondering what it meant.

Never realized valar morghulis is introduced to the story right before a Daenerys chapter.

"Valar morghulis," said Missandei, in High Valyrian.

"All men must die," Dany agreed, "but not for a long while, we may pray." - Daenerys III, ASOS

+.+

Shagwell the Fool hacked the heads off two dead knights and pranced about the castle swinging them by the hair and making them talk. "What did you die of?" one head asked. "Hot weasel soup," replied the second.

(...)

Then Shagwell pounced on her, dragging her out across the yard. "My lord, my lord," he sang, tugging at her wrist, "here's the weasel who made the soup!"

Arya stumbled on a plot already in motion, and it was Jaqen H’ghar who told her to fetch the broth.

When Lady Stoneheart boils the weasel Freys, will Arya be implicated?

+.+

"Nymeria," she said. "Only she called me Nan for short."

"You will call me my lord when you speak to me, Nan," the lord said mildly.

Funny they went and made Tywin look more observant than he is, when in the story Roose instructs her to say my lord.

+.+

And that evening, a page named Nan poured wine for Roose Bolton and Vargo Hoat as they stood on the gallery, watching the Brave Companions parade Ser Amory Lorch naked through the middle ward. Ser Amory pleaded and sobbed and clung to the legs of his captors, until Rorge pulled him loose, and Shagwell kicked him down into the bear pit.

The bear is all in black, Arya thought. Like Yoren. She filled Roose Bolton's cup, and did not spill a drop.

Easy to smile, but we should probably be more focused on Arya’s satisfaction over watching a man be slaughtered by a bear.

Final thoughts:

“Arya devising a Northern political coup in Harrenhal”

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #acok #arya ix

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vivacissimx · 3 years

Text

lyanna stark, a drop of the wolf-blood, & the pragmatism underneath

the youngest we see lyanna (in my estimation), is this vision from bran

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. "You be quiet, stupid," the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. "It's just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?" She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool

- Bran III, ADWD

but four books earlier, we see this quote from ned:

Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it

- Arya II, AGOT

so we know that that ned was close enough to lyanna to know that she enjoyed swordplay, close enough to know her desires and to know that rickard would never accept this (for whatever reason).

...but not close enough to be the one she practiced sworldplay with in secret. the picture this paints is telling. lyanna was explicitly banned from something, and chose to pursue it in a secret and harmless way, with someone she trusted.

but ned isn't privy to that information. whether because he wasn't around, or because lyanna thought he would disapprove, or because he just thought it was childish - either way, we see that lyanna is picky about who she trusts, bred out of having to be sneaky in achieving her goals under her strict father's nose. she even identifies old nan as a snitch (et tu brute?). clever kid.

lyanna has other hobbies, too. she loves flowers. she loves riding horses.

"You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna. But my father was master of horse, remember."

- Arya III, ASOS

[Brandon] loved to ride. His little sister took after him in that. A pair of centaurs, those two.

- The Turncloak, ADWD

Horses … [Domeric] was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself.

- Reek III, ADWD

worth mentioning, imo, that even though lyanna was an excellent rider, she couldn't beat domeric. this is paralelled with arya, who is great on horseback, but not faster than harwin the son of winterfell's master of horse. this isn't a case of 'not like other girls' syndrome, of mary sues who are magically the best there ever was. conversely, adversity doesn't scare either of them off - lyanna was clearly competitive, with domeric and likely with brandon before him, and it all added up to her being remembered as a fantastic horserider despite effectively leaving the north at 14.

so lyanna is determined. she's willful, to hear ned say it.

then, of course, we have this

"Robert will never keep to one bed," Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm's End. "I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale." Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart.

Lyanna had only smiled. "Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature."

- Eddard IX, AGOT

this seems fairly clear cut, but let's break down this conversation:

lyanna (told the news by the authoritative father; being approached by ned, the sibling who is best friends with the guy in question; thirteen years old): he will never keep to one bed. he has a bastard already, on a common girl he cannot marry which speaks to his character

ned: it isn't robert's actions that matter, it's his feelings. *crickets on lyanna's feelings*

now lyanna is thirteen. but she already recognizes that this is a losing battle. why? because she can't change robert?

no. because she cannot change the minds of rickard, or of ned.

there is no doubt in my mind that both these men loved her. but do they listen to her? clearly not.

lyanna doesn't bother to fight this fight she cannot win. she just smiles, realizing that rickard/ned are not going to hear her out on this, and gets the last word with "love does not change a man's nature."

this isn't the divide between lyanna and robert - this is the moment of divide between lyanna and ned. they're siblings who love each other, and love is sweet, but none of that changes that ned is on rickard and robert's side. it's a rough moment for a teenage girl. she was right earlier, she must realize - benjen is the brother she can trust.

so lyanna is determined, but she is pragmatic.

the next time we see lyanna, she's kicking ass at harrenhal.

[...]they heard a roar. “That’s my father’s man you’re kicking!” howled the she-wolf…

The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen.

- Bran II, ASOS

here is where lyanna really shines.

she has a moral code all her own, we already know this from her assessment of robert's child that differed from how catelyn views bastards disconnected from the home.

she dislikes bullies, which is fairly common (jaime hated bullies growing up, for example) but for some reason at this very moment, she also has a tourney sword in hand - why? well, because lyanna stark takes her opportunities when she has them. barred from swordplay? that's fine, dad, but when you're not looking is another story.

she doesn't go rushing in, nor does she ignore the scene. she watches long enough to see if howland can fight them off (he can't), giving her time to identify him as a crannogman - possibly even as a highborn crannogman. and then what does she do? she weighs her options, decides that she can probably beat the bullies, and does so. then she takes care of howland reed, picking him up like she picked benjen out of the water in bran's vision.

[T]here was to be a feast in Harrenhal, to mark the opening of the tourney, and the she-wolf insisted that the lad attend. He was of high birth, with as much right to a place on the bench as any other man.

- Bran II, ASOS

she claims his rights as a highborn lord to attend. he doesn't have clothes, nor does howland insist that he can go, but lyanna makes a reasoned argument that howland has every right to attend and that surely benjen can find him some clothes!

so lyanna is determined, pragmatic, and a problem-solver.

[T]he Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a booming voice through his helm, saying “Teach your squires honour, and that shall be ransom enough.” Once the defeated knights chastised their squires sharply, their horses and armour were returned.

- Bran II, ASOS

here, lyanna displays a trait that sets her apart. howland memorizes the face of his bullies. he wants to "revenge" himself on them. but lyanna does not go directly for the bullies, she challenges the lords to whom the bullies squire, and commands them to chastise their squires.

lyanna understands the chivalric system she lives in, and that she will not be listened to (how? her own father and brother don't listen to her!), so she figures out another way to get justice that plays on the very ideas of might & honor that exclude the weak. she is confident in her abilities (being experienced riding at rings), gathers up all the material she needs, and takes a calculated risk.

she manipulates the system, plainly. she plays the players at their own game and wins.

and she does it for a guy she met a few days ago.

lyanna is determined, pragmatic, a problem-solver, and ascribes to a moral code that is all her own, one that rejects societal hypocrisy.

You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch.

- Arya II, AGOT

so how do we square this away? lyanna was wolf-blooded. she was wild. she was untameable.

or was she?

any girl/woman with half a personality gets described as "spirited" or "willful" or "stubborn" in asoiaf. it's a polite of saying "hard to control." we see several times that lyanna takes a measured approach to matters. she is brave, yes, but she is also thoughtful and chooses her battles with the information she has. when she is denied something for no reason beyond her gender and status, she finds a way to pursue her interests regardless.

but robert is something lyanna can't avoid. and that had to rankle her, the betrothal she is determined to avoid, but pragmatically cannot due to her family's insistence. the marriage that goes against her moral code (i'm sure lyanna noted that robert gladly volunteered to capture the KOTLT, regardless of what punishment might be given down by a deranged aerys).

[i'm going to skip over her relationship with rhaegar, because there isn't enough/any text to analyze that explicitly deals with their dynamic post-harrenhal. speculation isn't the point of this post. suffice to say she saw in him something she did not in her family or robert.]

then aerys burns her father and brother.

could rhaegar have stopped aerys once he made up his mind? we as readers know the answer is no. grrm says so much himself, that it was aerys who kicked off the war in this interview:

The Mad King was mad. He was paranoid and violent and he was abusing his power... [Robert's Rebellion] was triggered by[...]the execution of Ned’s father and brother, it was the thing that radicalized, as we would have said in the 60s, Ned and it put him in opposition to it. Robert was just rolling for a fight and it might affect that he’d lost his girlfriend.

the absolute power of kings is continuously critiqued in the series.

so how did lyanna react? of course she grieved deeply. even if she knew that she would likely not see her family again for several years at least, for them to die in such a terrible manner is horrifying.

but lyanna has been forged into pragmatism. she looked at the squires beating up howland and saw that the issue was not the bullies, but the corrupt, lazy lords they squired for.

why would she not be able to see that aerys's abuse of power was what had killed her own family? she's realistic and she's a moral actor and she understands the social system around her. whatever her opinion on feudal lordship before, abuse of power has now killed two people she loved. only extrapolation can say how she would react, but given that we see her in similar situations - it is safe to say that the she understands the removal of aerys from power is a necessity, and that a king who is ruled by his urges is unfit.

[lyanna doesn't have the highest opinion of robert, does she? would she think him fit to be a king? doubtful.]

however, she also wants her family to be safe - a family which is now going to include her unborn baby.

[Ned] could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black

- Eddard I, AGOT

the promise she solicited from ned is to care for baby jon, presumably.

more importantly, in this final conversation, lyanna is putting all her trust in ned.

this moment is a tragic one, but it is also a cathartic one. whatever has happened, and there is plenty of difficulty between ned and lya at this point, they are putting that to the side and affirming what matters most: their love and loyalty to one another, not in service to house stark, or to any king or cause, but to each other as lyanna and ned.

ned didn't listen before, but he promises her now. lyanna didn't confide in him before, but she does now. yes she's on her deathbed, but this is powerful anyway. it's a healing moment for them both, one lyanna held on for even though by all means she could have trusted the kingsguard to whisk baby jon away earlier and succumbed to the pain.

lyanna doesn't spend her last moments begging for forgiveness or explaining herself. she spends her last moments trying to solve the problem of jon's safety, of her son's life. even at the end, she is determined that he will live.

she dies fearless. she smiles, maybe the same way she smiled in winterfell when ned told her robert would be a good husband and she saw the love in ned's words but not the respect. a bittersweet smile, because jon will survive but she won't see it.

"She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean."

"I was with her when she died," Ned reminded the king. "She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father."

- Eddard I, AGOT

this is our actual introduction to lyanna, when robert and ned initially visit her in the crypts. given everything we know, it's so fitting - robert is displeased with her gravesite. he never got what he wanted (his manic pixie dream girl </3), and even in death he doesn't like her grave.

lyanna was never the person robert projected her to be. in her crypt, she's still defiant against him/what he symbolizes. her determination, her wishes, her home, they all shine through.

But there were others with faces he had never known in life, faces he had seen only in stone. The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna. Her brother Brandon stood beside her, and their father Lord Rickard just behind.

- Theon V, ACOK

in the end, lyanna's close to her family (even by their side in theon's dreams). she's close to brandon, rickard, ned, old nan, everyone she ever knew growing up, and most importantly: to jon. it's a romantic ending for a minor character, a character grrm clearly cherished when he wrote.

the point of this post is that i want to leave behind the idea of lyanna stark as this harbinger of tragedy. the woman who ruined every man who looked into her eyes (robert, ned, rhaegar) and is now turned to stone. lyanna stark isn't written as a cautionary tale, as a romanticized medusa - instead, her memory lives on in a son who doesn't know her but still loves her, in how the people she knew remember her for what she actually loved, and even in lyanna mormont (a fitting namesake). there's defiance and meaning in that.

i could never say it better, so have hélène cixous's banger to round out my thoughts on lyanna:

You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her. And she’s not deadly. She’s beautiful and she’s laughing.

#lyanna stark #asoiaf meta #valyrian scrolls #lyannaweek2021 #ned stark #long post #text #in this house we do not respect the idea that women are spoiled or wrong for choosing themselves <3

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dontbipanicjonsa · 3 years

Text

Dutiful Sansa Stark

Plus some extra stuff about perceptions and POV traps

Read under the cut-

Tyrion

"No," Sansa said at once. "You . . . you are kind to offer, but . . . there are no devotions, my lord. No priests or songs or candles. Only trees, and silent prayer. You would be bored."

"No doubt you're right." She knows me better than I thought. "Though the sound of rustling leaves might be a pleasant change from some septon droning on about the seven aspects of grace." Tyrion waved her off. "I won't intrude. Dress warmly, my lady, the wind is brisk out there."

He was tempted to ask what she prayed for, but Sansa was so dutiful she might actually tell him, and he didn't think he wanted to know.

xxx

He wondered what Sansa would do if he leaned over and kissed her right now. Flinch away, most likely. Or be brave and suffer through it, as was her duty. She is nothing if not dutiful, this wife of mine. If he told her that he wished to have her maidenhead tonight, she would suffer that dutifully as well, and weep no more than she had to.

Littlefinger

A true daughter would not refuse her sire a kiss, so Alayne went to him and kissed him, a quick dry peck upon the cheek, and just as quickly stepped away.

"How . . . dutiful." Littlefinger smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes.

xxx

She hugged him dutifully and kissed him on the cheek. "I am sorry to intrude, Father. No one told me you had company."

"You are never an intrusion, sweetling. I was just now telling these good knights what a dutiful daughter I had."

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

That's a lot of dutiful.

On the surface it seems like these two situations- one with Tyrion and one with LF- parallel each other; creepy, older men interested in Sansa think she's too 'dutiful' because she suffers through their attentions. However, when we dig deeper it becomes clear that the two situations actually contrast in subtle ways.

Tyrion

Tyrion calls her dutiful, but what duty is she fulfilling? She actually fails to fulfil her biggest duty to him i.e. having his babies (ew).

Or rather, she refuses to do her duty to him.

"On my honor as a Lannister," the Imp said, "I will not touch you until you want me to."

It took all the courage that was in her to look in those mismatched eyes and say, "And if I never want you to, my lord?"

His mouth jerked as if she had slapped him. "Never?"

Cue me falling ever deeper in love

This is a powerful scene. Tyrion is willing to give her an inch, but she goes and takes a mile. She could have just said "yes, I'll let you know when I want you" and then never let him know, but instead she said that. His plan was to postpone the consummation, but now she’s taken the opportunity to tell him that if she had her way, they would never consummate their marriage. He can still go through with it, but with this one statement (knowingly or unknowingly) she's put the onus of choice on him. He can still touch her, he can still consummate the marriage- but Sansa will never want him to. It’s still her ‘duty’ to suffer through it, but now any future sexual contact between them is undoubtedly in the non-con category.

That doesn't sound like Sansa is just reluctant to do her duty, it sounds like she's rejecting it.

In fact, Sansa is basically never shown to think about her 'duties' as his wife. Eating lunch with him may be her 'duty', but she isn't doing it for that reason. She's doing it because what other choice does she have?

Honestly I'm not sure where he even gets the idea that she's oh-so-dutiful, because as far as I can tell, she's really just doing the bare minimum she can get away with doing as his political-prisoner-child-bride.

Sansa does not, for a single second, give a flying fuck about her duty to Tyrion and I love her for it.

And yet, Tyrion's my-dutiful-wife false belief is what allows her to get away with planning her escape. Tyrion fails to be suspicious of her even when he absolutely should be re: that first quote.

So-

Tyrion likes to think Sansa is dutiful (for some reason).

Sansa is not dutiful.

Sansa doesn't seem to be aware that Tyrion thinks she is, but it works to her advantage nevertheless.

Littlefinger

Now in Littlefinger's case she really is playing the dutiful daughter.

This time, fulfilling her 'duty' as his daughter is in her best interest, because it acts as an excuse to avoid what he really wants from her. It's basically the reverse of the Tyrion Situation.

So-

Littlefinger thinks Sansa is dutiful because she is.

She's acting dutiful on purpose (to diffuse his sexual attraction (ew) towards her).

Clearly, it's working to her advantage.

Now, onto the extra stuff-

We have this-

Dontos chuckled. "My Jonquil's a clever girl, isn't she?"

"Joffrey and his mother say I'm stupid."

"Let them. You're safer that way, sweetling.

xxx

"The g-g-godswood, my lord," she said, not daring to lie. "Praying . . . praying for my father, and . . . for the king, praying that he'd not be hurt."

"Think I'm so drunk that I'd believe that?" He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burnt face. "You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you're taller too, almost . . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you?

xxx

"There's to be so much, my lord. I have a little tummy." She fiddled nervously with her hair and looked down the table to where Joffrey sat with his Tyrell queen.

Does she wish it were her in Margaery's place? Tyrion frowned. Even a child should have better sense.

Sansa goes under the radar so well in KL because people think she's too stupid to do anything. Again, we see Tyrion, an overall smart guy, fail to be suspicious of Sansa's very suspicious behavior nevermind that she IS a child you asshole because he thinks she's stupid.

So-

People think Sansa is stupid

She's not stupid. We also don't see Sansa actively encouraging that perception, which makes sense because-

she doesn't need to. They do that all by themselves and

she's too busy believing she really is stupid, poor kid

3. It works to her advantage anyway.

Which leads me to-

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

xxx

"Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa," said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf."

xxx

"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws."

So-

People thinking Sansa murdered Joffrey with her witchy wolf ways.

She didn't.

???

I am SO looking forward to see where this goes.

More extra stuff-

This entire post grew out of me obsessing over this post.

It got me thinking that out of the six core characters, Sansa is the most observed one. We see her in real time through the chapters of other POV characters the most. I counted. My count can be up or down by about one or two chapters, but I have Sansa pegged at around 15 chapters, followed by Tyrion at 11, then A*ya (around 9), then Jon (around 8), then Bran (4), and then D*ny (0). This is exacerbated by the fact that Sansa has some of the least number of POV chapters of the 'core six'. This means that-

We see Sansa more (or at more than others) from other POVs than her own. In other words, we get to be in Sansa's head less and in other characters' head thinking about her more (unlike most other main characters).

This plays a BIG ROLE in her POV trap, which is pretty much the opposite of D*ny's POV trap in terms of both what it is hiding and how

Perception and reality play a very obvious and direct part in Sansa's story, both her own perceptions and others' perceptions of her.

The Vale arc changes everything though. Now suddenly-

She's surrounded by an entirely new cast of people

She's the only POV character in the location

She has an entirely new identity with none of the same pre-conceived biases attached (though there sure are other pre-conceived biases that go with her identity)

This has happened with other characters as well (Tyrion in ADWD, Arya in every other book), but the impact it has on our perception of her is unique. It's basically reversing everything her POV trap was previously built on.

Now, she is her own worst critic. Now, the thoughts that other POV characters have of her (Tyrion, Cersei) are increasingly muddled. Is she a murderous sorcerer, or a stupid little girl? Was she dutiful, or a scheming traitor? The correct answer is-

she was none of those things. Everyone is just....trapped by their own PoV?

#sansa stark #meta #anti sanrion #anti littlefinger

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butterflies-dragons · 3 years

Note

Do you have any doubts that Sansa is the girl in grey? Is there strong grey imagery around Sansa?

I believe Sansa is the grey girl yes, but only GRRM has that answer.

About grey imagery around Sansa, I wrote about it here and there.

Grey is the main Stark color. Their sigil is a grey direwolf in a white field. Stark men wear grey cloaks, Winterfell is made of grey granite, Grey eyes is a Stark feature, etc.

There are some instances where Sansa actually wears or it is said that she will wear a grey cloak:

1.- Her first encounter with Dontos (false Florian) in the Red Keep's Godswood: "Sansa threw a plain grey cloak over her shoulders and picked up the knife she used to cut her meat. If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself. She hid the blade under her cloak."

It is very curious that Dontos was also wearing grey during that first secret encounter: "He wore a dark grey robe with the cowl pulled forward, but when a thin sliver of moonlight touched his cheek, she knew him at once by the blotchy skin and web of broken veins beneath. "Ser Dontos," she breathed, heartbroken. "Was it you?"

2.- Cersei gave her a white and silver maiden cloak for her wedding to Tyrion. Stark colors are grey and white tho... I think in this case the silver is there instead of the grey of House Stark. I'm not sure if this is a mistake or not. "Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain."

Curiously enough, Tyrion wore Targaryen colors to marry Sansa lol

3.- Littlefinger planned for Alayne to reveal her true identity as Sansa Stark wearing a maiden cloak with the Stark colors grey and white: "Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright.

From my answer about certain ship foreshadowing:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

In the shadow of the Wall, the direwolf brushed up against his fingers. For half a heartbeat the night came alive with a thousand smells, and Jon Snow heard the crackle of the crust breaking on a patch of old snow. Someone was behind him, he realized suddenly. Someone who smelled warm as a summer day. When he turned he saw Ygritte. She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander’s Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Ygritte,” he said. “Lord Snow.” The voice was Melisandre’s. Surprise made him recoil from her. “Lady Melisandre.” He took a step backwards. “I mistook you for someone else.” At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. “You will freeze your fingers off,” Jon warned. “If that is the will of R’hllor. Night’s powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god’s holy fire.” “You heart does not concern me. Just your hands.” “The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.” “I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?” “Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly …” “… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Earlier in this chapter, Jon was thinking about Arya and her situation (trapped with the Boltons), and he was frustrated for not being able to help her. Then he remembered Ygritte, he confused Melisandre for Ygritte.

So, reading all the context:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? = This is about Ygritte. He is still hurt and mourning for her.

What do you know of my sister? = This is about Arya and her situation.

This is an excellent example of how GRRM plays with our minds with his tricky words:

“At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”. He is introducing us to the Grey Girl and her true identity.

Jon thinks he is seeing Ygritte but he was actually seeing Melissandre.

Melisandre and Jon also believe this grey girl of the visions is Arya Stark, but the person trapped with the Boltons is Jeyne Poole. And later, Alys Karstark was not even wearing a “grey” cloak.

For me the grey girl is neither of them. The answer is hidden in this line: “At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”.

***

"At night all robes are grey" means all the confusion about the grey girl's true identity: Arya or Jeyne or Alys Karstark.

"Yet suddenly hers were red" means that the girl with the grey cloak will be a redhead, like Ygritte and Melisandre the two women Jon was confusing.

So, Sansa as the grey girl makes a lot of sense, she is a redhead and she is a Stark, and grey is the main Stark color.

And this is not the first time that Jon confused Ygritte with another female. Jon dreamed of a ghastly grey direwolf wandering around the Crypts of Winterfell, that seems to be Lady’s Shade:

The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. “Ygritte?” he whispered. “Forgive me. Please.” But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his her golden eyes shining sadly through the dark . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

Despite Jon assuming the direwolf was a "he," I strongly suspect it was Lady's Shade. Lady is buried at Winterfell, not Grey Wind. Lady was beheaded with Ice, so her fur would be spotted with blood. And Lady was said to have sad eyes.

So, Jon is always confusing Ygritte with another redheads...

From my Dunk & Jon meta:

Maybe I’m seeing too much here, but the reference to Alysanne Osgrey [Os-Grey] makes me think of Sansa Stark, because:

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne.

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it.

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister.

Silent Sisters always wear grey.

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger’s wives.

According to Melissandre, the Grey Girl of her visions is Jon Snow’s Sister.

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark.

Grey is also the color of House Stark, so Sansa is, in a way, a Grey Girl.

Jon is a man that will defeat death and come back to life, like the Stranger that walks between the two worlds.

The Stranger’s face is half animal, like Jon who is a warg, half man and half beast.

From my Jon/Sansa/Winterfell meta:

The stone is strong = The walls of Winterfell = Alayne Stone = Sansa Stark.

Sansa Stark has a lot of stone imagery around her.

Winterfell’s walls are made of grey granite. Grey is also a color of House Stark and I believe that Sansa will be the girl in grey on a dying horse from Melisandre’s vision.

As the Heir to Winterfell, Sansa was practically transformed into a stone castle, Winterfell, and the north itself, since the one that controlled her would obtain all her lands and power. Or, to use the euphemism from the Books, Sansa Stark was the “key to the north.”

Sansa reflects about this objectification in the Books and gives us one of the saddest lines in ASOIAF, especially coming from a girl who yearns to be loved and always dreamed of getting married: “No one will ever marry me for love,” (because everyone only wants her for her claim to Winterfell and the north).

Tyrion associates Sansa’s rejection of his advances as icy courtesy and compared that rejection with a castle wall that he never got to break:

“You hide behind courtesy as if it were a castle wall.” “Courtesy is a lady’s armor,” Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Sansa’s misery was deepening every day. Tyrion would gladly have broken through her courtesy to give her what solace he might, but it was no good.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

The castle wall that armored Sansa and Tyrion never got to break is a clear reference to Winterfell:

He remembered Winterfell as he had last seen it. Not as grotesquely huge as Harrenhal, nor as solid and impregnable to look at as Storm’s End, yet there had been a great strength in those stones, a sense that within those walls a man might feel safe.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion XI

And certainly, Sansa feels stronger and protected within the walls of Winterfell:

Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.” “As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Sansa feeling stronger within the walls of Winterfell, sounds pretty similar to “the stone is strong” line from Bran quote cited above.

Later, while descending from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon, Mya Stone tells Sansa that “a stone is a mountain’s daughter.”

Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain’s daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won’t fall.” She put her hand on a jagged spur of rock, and got to her feet. “Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

One of Winterfell’s possible meanings is “wintry mountain(s).” And Sansa Stark is “The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter”.

As the daughter of Petyr Baelish, Alayne Stone also becomes the Heir to Harrenhal, another great castle made of strong stone. Only dragon fire was able to melt Harrenhal’s stone walls:

Stone does not burn, Harren had boasted, but his castle was not made of stone alone. […] And even stone will crack and melt if a fire is hot enough. The riverlords outside the castle walls said later that the towers of Harrenhal glowed red against the night, like five great candles… and like candles, they began to twist and melt, as runnels of molten stone ran down their sides.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The Reign of the Dragons: The Conquest

Moreover we have the parallels that Sansa shares with Jenny of Oldstones. And Oldstones serves us as an example of the strength of the stone.

Just like Winterfell was the stronghold of the ancient Kings of Winter, Oldstones was the stronghold of the ancient River Kings (House Mudd of Oldstones), both dynasties descendants of the First Men. And if we read about Oldstones, thinking about Winterfell is an inevitability:

They reached Oldstones after eight more days of steady rain, and made their camp upon the hill overlooking the Blue Fork, within a ruined stronghold of the ancient river kings. Its foundations remained amongst the weeds to show where the walls and keeps had stood, but the local smallfolk had long ago made off with most of the stones to raise their barns and septs and holdfasts. Yet in the center of what once would have been the castle’s yard, a great carved sepulcher still rested, half hidden in waist-high brown grass amongst a stand of ash. The lid of the sepulcher had been carved into a likeness of the man whose bones lay beneath, but the rain and the wind had done their work. The king had worn a beard, they could see, but otherwise his face was smooth and featureless, with only vague suggestions of a mouth, a nose, eyes, and the crown about the temples. His hands folded over the shaft of a stone warhammer that lay upon his chest. Once the warhammer would have been carved with runes that told its name and history, but all that the centuries had worn away. The stone itself was cracked and crumbling at the corners, discolored here and there by spreading white splotches of lichen, while wild roses crept up over the king’s feet almost to his chest.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

Despite the pass of time the foundations of Oldstones remained and the stones were even used by the smallfolk to rise new buildings. The stone is really strong.

What also remained despite the centuries was the tomb of King Tristifer IV Mudd, also known as the Hammer of Justice, which immediately reminds me of the crypts of Winterfell and its stone kings sitting on their thrones with their swords across their laps.

And just like songs are still sung about a girl named Jenny from Oldstones who found true love with a Targaryen prince, I’m pretty sure that many songs will be sung about Sansa Stark from Winterfell and her own Targaryen prince.

Finally, is worth mentioning that Stark means “strong” in German. And there’s a theory about House Strong (extinguished) being linked to House Stark.

Stone = Strong = Stark

So by saying the stone is strong, we are also saying the stone is Stark.

Alayne Stone is Sansa Stark.

***

There you have it.

Thanks for your message ♡

#sansa stark #jonsa #anon asks

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years

Text

Cardigan | Jon Snow

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

Genre: Angst with fluff at the end

Warnings: —

Words: ~3k

Prompt: Based on Cardigan by Taylor Swift. I’m not sure if that translates, but it’s all I listened to when writing this so there’s that.

Note: Want to be tagged in my future works when I post?? Link is in my Bio! ♡ Also, I like -- love Jon a lot...?? And I want more content, so feel free to request more Jon content.

Winterfell was always unbearably cold, something you never got used to, despite living in the North your whole life. But despite the biting cold that left you feeling like you were seconds away from frostbite and minutes away from turning in a statue of ice, you loved it. You were enraptured by snowflakes that lazily glided down the sky, nearly iridescent when the faint rays of the sun would hit them. They’d land in your hands, melting within an instant, turning to small water droplets that would slip through your fingers. Your dark hair was a startling contrast to the white blanket surrounding you, your pale skin glowing in the light, making you look otherworldly.

As a child you’d run through it, as wild as the direwolves north of The Wall, running through fields covered in ice, no rhyme or reason. A ferocious yell leaving your mouth just because you felt like it, not restrained by the obsession of being civil and proper. But you were older now, no longer that wide eyed naive girl, instead of running freely, you kept it hidden deep inside you, only visible in a glint in your eyes.

You still often find yourself as far from Winter Town as you could, hiding away in the depths of the Godswood. However, instead of chasing imaginary battles against dragons, you chased shadows that were just as distant as your dreams. Their hair so dark it could be mistaken for black, but you’ve seen the sunlight hit it just right, exposing the soft and wild curls as a dark brown. Deep brown eyes bore into your soul, seeing right through every layer that surrounded you and hid your true feelings and ambitions. And his voice was deep, the Northern brogue only enhancing how hoarse it could sound, and sometimes when he spoke, you swore your whole body would tremble. He’d deny it over and over again, but standing in the Godswood, the crimson red leaves dancing around him and crowned by snowflakes, he looked beautiful.

Some days you danced around each other, mimicking the movements of the Lords and Ladies in lavish balls neither of you would ever be let into. You moved towards him and he took two steps back, making declarations about how unhappy you’d be with him, how he’d never give you what you needed. But by the end of the night, when the sun was completely gone, the woods around you plunged into darkness, he’d crack. He’d stop fighting, if only for a moment, and allow himself to drown in you. He’d pull you so close to him that two blended into one. Your lips would meet in soft and slow kisses, stars clouding your eyes. And when you burned from the cold, ice numbing your whole body, he’d pull you even closer, if that was possible, lighting you on fire with a single smile.

And it was nice, sneaking away from your parents and all the noise that surrounded you. Every stolen moment with Jon was built under a delusion that the outside world wasn’t real, an illusion that one day you could be more than an illicit affair. And each time you met, you told yourself that it was the last time, but you lied. Despite knowing everything the two of you built; every quiet moment under the stars, each second tucked away in the Godswood, and every secret glance would crumble until it was nothing but a ruin.

Even with that knowledge, the day you watched Jon leave for The Night’s Watch stung more than ice ever could, burnt you more than dragon fire would have. And as you stood hidden away, watching him with tears threatening to pour down your face, you swore your chest was hollow. He gave you one last look, filled with longing, sorrow, and all sorts of other emotions. You wanted to be furious at him, scream and yell until everyone knew that he was leaving you behind. But you couldn’t. You’d seen the sad look in his eyes, the scars covering his body from the mental and emotional lashing Lady Catelyn gave him with just a glance. How beat down he really was, truly believing he couldn’t be anything more than a bastard. And despite how many times you drew stars around his scars, no matter how permanent the ink was, nor how many you drew, they would bleed again the second you two departed.

So instead of making a scene, you just smiled sadly, wiping away any stray tears as you waved him farewell. To this day, your mother still doesn’t know why you cried so much that day.

Shortly after Jon left, Lord Stark was imprisoned in King’s Landing, accused of committing treason against Joffrey Baratheon. And before you could register what happened, Robb Stark became King of the North and marched off to war. Then Theon came back, declaring that Winterfell belonged to the Iron Islands, forcing Bran and Rickon out of Winterfell. And you wanted to go with if only to keep them safe for Jon, but they didn’t even know who you were. And each day, you regret your decision to stay when the news that Theon killed the Stark boys reached you. Your parents were horrified, your brothers and sisters mortified, and you soaked your pillow in tears that night, knowing the news would reach Castle Black and Jon would be devastated.

But then worst of all was when the Bolton’s came to Winterfell after murdering Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, and any remaining Stark soldiers at The Red Wedding. They swept into the hold as if it was always House Bolton’s, quickly getting rid of any signs the wolves ever lived there. Statues were torn down, flags burned, and anything with a wolf destroyed. Then came Little Finger with Sansa Stark, marrying her off to Ramsey Bolton, who proved to be worse than his father in every way possible. And every time you saw the fear and desolation in her once sparkling blue eyes, you died a little on the inside. You wanted to help, but what could you do. So you just watched, millions of words caught in your throat.

But then the dark storm that drenched you in heavy rains that nearly swept you away, bringing lightning that nearly stuck you and thunder that frightened away all your sanity suddenly cleared. Warm and bright daylight washed over you, as bright and powerful as a Dornish sun. The sun burned out any signs of rain every being there, the intense heat drying out the water left behind. Suddenly the leaves grew back, more vibrant than ever, and wildflowers in every shade possible blossomed overnight.

Jon came back.

He came back with an army to reclaim Winterfell and the North for House Stark. And he won. Miraculously beating back Ramsay Bolton’s army with the help of the Knights of the Vale brought by Sansa after she escapes from Winterfell. After the battle was won and the dead collected to be buried or burned, the Lords and Ladies of the North gathered with the Wildlings that fought for Jon in the Main Hall. You’re not sure what happened, you weren’t allowed in, too busy trying to return to your old normal before you lived every day in fear.

But what you do know is Jon walked in that hall as a bastard and walked out a King.

You should’ve been elated, beaming so brightly you could’ve been mistaken for the sun. But you were petrified, petrified that you’d spent all these years missing Jon, only for him to have moved on. Scared that all those nights you flipped between crying, reminiscing, and cursing his name would’ve been wasted.

So you hid like a coward. You buried yourself in anything you possibly could, taking on any task no matter how big or small. And it worked for a while, the pain in your chest every time you saw his wild hair and deep brown eyes in your mind wasn’t as raw when you were elbow deep in dishes. But late at night, when you had nothing but your thoughts, he was there. Every second you’d lie awake because whenever you’d close your eyes, he was there, haunting you like a phantom.

So here you are now, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots as you approached the clearing in the Godswood. You moved towards the place you avoided for years, looking for the one person you wanted more than anything but could never have. Except maybe now you could. And maybe you were just sleep deprived, delirious in the brain from the lack of sleep, but you wanted nothing more than to see the face that’s haunted you for years, at least one more time. Because even if he sent you away, you could have a new image to see in your dreams.

Standing in the center of the clearing-- your clearing, it brought a twinge of hope, a warm feeling washing over your body as your heart raced, possibilities and what-ifs running through your head. He isn’t the shadow he was all those years ago, both there and not at the same time, no, he’s too real for that now. Standing in the center of the snow filled clearing, surrounded by barren trees and crunchy leaves that are scattered on the ground, he looks too regal to be compared to a shadow. The heavy fur cloak, similar to the one Lord Stark had worn, and Robb after him, looked good on him, framing his broad shoulders and strong posture. And maybe you were biased, but he wore it the best out of all the previous Lords and Kings of Winterfell.

You're at the edge now, unable to move any closer in fear of breaking the spell he cast on you. But then he turned and your eyes met, his gaze like flint, catching you on fire in an instant. His skin was paler than ever, cheeks flushed and rosy from the cold. Long unruly curls have been cut shorter than it had been all those years ago, contained by a small bun near the nape of his neck. He was older, more scars marring his visible flesh, but it was him and he was real.

You stare at him and he looks back, neither of you doing anything else.

And you swear the world paused, time standing still has you tried to comprehend that he was really here, and not a figment of your imagination. He wasn’t a delusion you created to cope with the lowest points of your life.

He was real.

You were running. And so was he. Within a second, you met in the middle, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him, lifting your smaller form off the ground as he spun you in circles. The heavy cloak was warmer than you’d initially thought, the expensive furs immediately warming up your frozen skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on so tightly because you were afraid he'd slip through your fingers as he did all those years ago. The very tips of your fingers bury themselves into his hair, pulling it free from the leather cord that kept it back. And this moment was better than anything you could’ve envisioned, his smell: leather, sword polish, and something woody, more enthralling than you remembered.

He sets you back on the ground but doesn’t release you from his embrace and you didn’t pull away. A laugh bubbled out of your mouth, it was light and airy and happy, something you hadn’t been for years now. There was a glimmer in your eyes, the same one you’d seen reflected in Jon’s eyes so many times before. Your face hurt from the grin that was on your face the second you met in an embrace and he mirrored you, leaning his head down, resting his forehead against your own.

“You came back to me,” you whispered, moving your hands from his neck to hold his face in yours. As if to further convince yourself that he was here, with you at this moment. Thumbs trace his cheekbones, running over the scar that followed his right cheekbone.

“How could I not?” he replied, his raspy voice low and husky, much older than the boy of seventeen you said goodbye to.

“I hoped you would everyday, but I-- I couldn’t--” your voice trailed off, the words getting caught in your throat.

“But now I’m back.”

“And now you’re back,” you replied, looking up at him with a soft smile. The seconds tick by, silence swallowing you whole as you just bask in his presence, memorizing each new mark on his face.

“I missed you.” Your voice cut through the silence as your eyes grew wet, glistening tears that shined like ice in the sun falling down your face. Jon catches them as they fall, wiping them away with a single swipe of his thumb. And then the small distance that was left between the two of you closed as your lips met. And it was warm and soft and gentle and happy. Everything you missed from your life, returned in a single instant. And it’s like all the sleepless nights, the tear stained pillows, and the fear and horror you’d endured through the years that was muffled by the coming of daylight was completely washed away. The only thing on your mind was Jon and his lips on yours.

He pulled away, but only just enough that the tips of your lips would brush against each other’s and his breath fanned across your face. You kept your eyes closed, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“You were always there with me, gods I could never get you out of my head,” he whispered, brushing his lips lightly against yours. A shiver overcame your body, starting from the very top of your head until it hit down to your toes. A good tingly sensation that disappeared with him, but also returned with him.

“Glad to know it wasn’t just me, Snow.” You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss. It was like drinking a sweet berry wine the Southerners were so fond of or having a sweet tart that you stole from the kitchen. The sensation was addicting. The world could crumble around you; Cersei Lannister could march her whole army on Winterfell and Daenerys Targaryen could swoop down with her dragons and burn everything to the ground. But it wouldn’t matter, it would never matter to you. Not if you had Jon.

“Marry me,” the words left his mouth nonchalantly like he hadn’t just proposed marriage. Your eyes snapped open, looking at him, shock and excitement mingling in your wide eyes.

“What?” Your voice was shaky and unsure, hiding the pounding of your heart and the nerves in your body.

“Marry me, be my wife, and rule the North with me!” he exclaimed, much more confident in his words as they echoed around you, forever imprinted in the trees in the Godswood. And you couldn’t help but compare him to the old Jon you knew, the one who would never dare utter those words to you. Not that you didn’t want him to.

“You're crazy,” you breathed out, laughter and disbelief lacing each word. And he laughed, it was loud and warm and made your stomach twist in the best ways possible.

“Maybe, but I’m crazy for you. Why should I wait when I’ve loved you since I was a boy who didn’t even know what love was,” he said, weaving his arms around your waist and pulling you as close as physically possible. And the scene was similar to all the previous times you stood in this spot, too intertwined in each other to care about the world. Except this time tragedy didn’t hang over you like a storm, this time there was nothing but bright skies and sunlight.

“Okay,” you whispered against his lips. “I’ll marry you.” A beaming smile overtook your face, banishing any negative emotion that lingered on your face. At that moment, Jon wore if anyone ever asked, he’d say he has been to the South. And it wouldn’t be a lie, because the smile on your face and the vibrancy in your gleaming eyes was brighter than the sun could ever be, warming him to the very core. You leaned forward, sealing your promise with a kiss as you got lost in him, over and over again.

And when I felt like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite.

o0o0o0o

Tags:

@stuckupstucky

#jon snow imagine #jon snow one shot #jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones oneshot #a song of ice and feels

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hoaryoldbitch · 3 years

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and i’ll be your safety, you’ll be my lady (1/3)

Sansa's decision has filled Jon's heart with joy, but there is still space for relief in it when all the other people finally leave their room. Their scents still linger though, and he could swear they are clinging to the breeches he's wearing, so when Sansa isn't looking, he unlaces them and pushes them down his legs, tossing them into a corner.

Satin enters again with a tray that holds two bowls of soup. Sansa wants Jon to eat human food again. Most of it still tastes wrong to him, but he's trying, for her. Satin mumbles an apology when his eyes linger on Jon's nakedness, his cheeks flushing red.

Jon shrugs as he puts the tray down on the table, next to the jug that's holding the flowers Ghost picked for Sansa. He can't quite understand why the other man is so bothered by his lack of clothes. He watches him walk away, and he's already at the door when Jon remembers to thank him.

He turns around to face him and offers him a nod and a smile. "My lord."

Jon's lip twitches. Satin keeps calling him that, but he doesn't think it's right. He is not a lord. He picks up a bowl of soup and waits for Satin to close the door before he brings the bowl to his mouth.

The soup is warm and it fills him up, but he doesn't like the smell of it, and he likes the odd sensation of the small bits and pieces in the broth even less.

Sansa emerges from behind the screen that partitions off a corner of the room. She likes to pretend that Jon doesn't know she keeps a chamber pot there, but he's not sure why it's something she wants to hide from him. She's changed into the greyish night rail she's sewn for herself.

He puts his bowl back on the table and walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her so he can breathe in her scent.

"Where are your breeches?" she murmurs into his shoulder as her hands come to rest on the small of his back.

"Gone," he tells her. "Smelly breeches."

Her breath fans against the skin over his collarbone as she sighs, so before she can say anything, he releases her and takes her hand. He leads her to the table, sits down in one of the chairs and pulls her into his lap. He offers her the other bowl of soup, but she only smiles at it with drooping eyelids.

"Soup will cold," he tells her. He reaches for a spoon and scoops up broth and vegetables, bringing the spoon to her mouth. She accepts it reluctantly, and after a couple attempts he drops the spoon into the bowl and puts it back on the tray.

She's leaning into him, letting his body support hers, but her cheeks are flushed and there's a slightly feverish look in her eyes. She's tired, but he can tell there's something else.

"Sansa not like soup?" he asks her softly.

"It's good soup," she mumbles unconvincingly.

He wraps his arms around her waist. "Smelly soup."

She laughs--such a delightful sound--and turns to rest her forehead against his, looping her arms around his neck. He tilts his head up until their noses are almost touching and then he slants his mouth over hers, slowly, gently, hesitantly.

Her lips are so soft and warm against his when she leans in to answer his tentative kiss. His arms tighten around her body, pulling her close, and her hands slide over his shoulders, and then back up his neck and face until her thumbs are grazing his cheeks.

He parts his lips to let her deepen the kiss, and it almost feels as if he's drowning. This time, he's not afraid of falling, of being pulled under. It's not the darkness that's welcoming him, it's Sansa. They're both panting by the time he pulls away, and he nuzzles her cheek as he lets his fingers glide through her silky hair.

He lifts and turns her in his lap until she's straddling him. He keeps one hand on her waist and uses the other to brush some loose wisps back from her face.

"Please, touch?" he asks her.

Her eyes search his and she nods.

He lets his hands explore her body languidly, holding her gaze to watch her reactions. Her eyes are darkening, her heart is speeding up, her breath hitches with almost every shift. When his thumb traces the underside of her breast, she whimpers his name. He can smell her arousal, and his own is making him feel too hot and tight inside his own skin.

He slips a hand under her night rail and up the side of her thigh, the other supporting her where it's splayed on her back. Her fingers are tangled in his hair, and her mouth finds his again. She nips at his lips, provoking a hiss.

His hand travels to the top of her thigh and up, heading for what lies between her legs, and his lips brush over the hollow of her throat. He buries his face between her breasts, growling her name before he turns his head to mouth at one of them through the fabric of her night rail.

One of her hands tightens in his hair, and she pulls him back, her other hand clasping over his where it's still moving up on her thigh. "Stop," she gasps.

Her reaction snaps him out of the haze that had him in its power. He pulls back, bracing his hands on the arm rests of his chair. He has to push down the wolf's urge to howl in despair at her rejecting him again. He lets his forehead drop to her shoulder and inhales heavily, trying to steady himself.

"Why stop?" he wants to know when he is no longer panting. "Jon yours, Sansa mine, no?" It's true, it's true. She loves him, she wants to be his. "Sansa marry Jon," he reminds her, and himself.

She covers one of his hands with her own. "We are not married yet."

He lifts his head to look at her and reaches up with his free hand to cup her cheek. If that is the issue, it can be easily resolved. "Marry Jon now."

The corners of her lips curl up, but she shakes her head. "Now is not the right time, not for a wedding, and not for that other thing either."

Time has become mostly irrelevant for him. Other than the rhythm of night and day, sleeping and waking, and the passing of it, that puts distance between him and the horrible things that were done to him, it means little to him, but he wants to try to understand.

He thinks of her sad face, her need for comfort, the tension in her body. His tongue lies thick and useless inside his mouth as he tries to find the words to figure what she is concerned about.

"Too much?" he asks her.

She nods, pressing her cheek into his palm. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I suppose I am a bit overwhelmed by everything."

"Too much. I see," he answers her with a grave nod. He remembers her nightmares, the stench of her fear.

She opens her eyes. "Do you?"

He thinks he understands more than she realizes, but he doesn't know how to tell her that, and he's not sure what she's expecting him to say either, so he stands, lifting her in his arms, and puts her down on the table. He catches a loose strand of her hair and winds it around his finger, studying it as he thinks. He understands most of what was discussed earlier today, even though some of the things he's heard don't mean much to him. Perhaps they will, one day, but right now, he only really cares about her. She's overwhelmed, but he doesn't know how to talk to her about the things that trouble her.

Some of those things should bother him as well, but the wolf is keeping him safe. To the wolf the world is simple. Sansa is his pack, he wants to protect her and make her happy. He wants to make her his. Now is not the right time.

"When Sansa want wedding?" he asks her.

"When? I'm not sure, but I'd like to have our wedding in Winterfell's Godswood."

Come and see. The words enter his mind out of nowhere, and a shiver runs down Jon's spine. He knows Winterfell used to be their home, and though his memories of the things that happened there recently are blurry, he's aware they can't return there right now.

He lifts her head with a finger under her chin. "Sansa really want marry Jon?"

She takes his hand and brings it to her mouth to kiss his knuckles. "I do, but..."

"Complicated?" he finishes for her. That excuse is starting to exasperate him. He pulls his hand from hers.

Her face falls and he almost regrets his reaction. "Well, yes, sort of," she mumbles, looking down at her lap, where she's wringing her hands together. "I have to explain things to people. They still think you are my brother. And there is Winterfell, and Robb's will."

So these matters have an influence on his life, whether he cares about them or not. "Sansa Queen. Complicated."

"Unfortunately, yes."

He tries to imagine what might be troubling her about becoming queen. When he closes his eyes, he remembers her as the girl she used to be, eager to please, greedy for any kind of praise. "Sansa will be good queen. Kind, clever, strong."

Her eyelashes flutter against her reddening cheeks. She looks so lovely it makes him ache for her. She reaches for his hand again, squeezing it.

"And you'll be my king," she whispers.

He frowns down at their hands. "No, Sansa," he muses. "Wolf. Man. King." He shakes his head. "Too much."

"You're overwhelmed, too," she gathers, hopping off the table to embrace him. "But things will get better."

He lets his cheek rest on the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair as he clings to her body. But what if they don't? What if he cannot be everything she needs him to be?

"No," he repeats more firmly, "too much. Sansa Queen."

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #jonsa ff #my writing #series: tale as old as time

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nooneeverlookedforagirl · 3 years

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Let me give you the Game of Thrones we all wanted. Not just me and you, but D&D too. They wanted the unexpected and the thrill, we wanted the characters. These are not mutually exclusive.

Arya Stark kills the Night King, but not alone.

Jon makes it to his last little brother just in time to see a battered and bloody Theon cut down defending him. The Night King is injured, but not defeated. He has no interest in meeting Jon head on, so he sends the wights to do so while he advances on Bran.

Rhaegal, wounded but loyal, appears to burn the wights who would have stopped him. Jon has no time to be in awe of the dragonfire which saves his life, only time to charge straight at the Night King and fight. This is why he left his black brothers to die, after all, for Ned Stark's last son. He could not save Robb, could not fight beside him, but he will give his life for Bran if need be.

Yet the Night King cares nothing for honor. Wights gone, he summons his generals. Two White Walkers rush to his defense, preparing to kill Jon, but they do not make it across the courtyard before it is filled with wolves. The largest of them, a she-wolf as large as a pony, leads her pack in the charge. Nymeria cannot kill the White Walker, but she and her pack rip them limb from limb, the screams like nothing Jon has ever heard.

Cruel and careful, the Night King uses his distraction to knock him off his feet. As the killing blow comes down, Jon sees something behind the Night King. Silent as any shadowcat, Arya has snuck into the godswood, into the battle. She drags her blade across the White Walkers throat, and he turns into a rush of blood and a shattering of ice shards.

All of his wights fall with him, but there are other White Walkers yet remaining. Somewhere beyond the walls of Winterfell, Rhaegal and Drogon obey their mother, and turn their wights into nothing more than ash. Relieved of the great burden of the living dead, the men rally to kill the remaining White Walkers. Grey Worm kills one and Sandor another, while Brienne claims two. Under the watchful eyes of the ravens, none escape.

The Starks do not notice this. Jon hugs Arya tight, there in their father's godswood covered with the fallen dead, and cries for the first time since he woke from darkness. Arya, who might have been No One except that she could not forget Jon Snow's smile, pulls him back to Bran and holds him tight.

This is how the dawn is won.

Afterward, the Starks rally their men to march North. Cersei awaits them, enthroned in Kings Landing, and she has hurt them too much to forget. Sansa, afraid and angry, whispers in Tyrion's ear before he goes. She has known no benevolent monarchs and no merciful women once they have their power. Lysa, Margaery, Cersei, all of them turned against her. So she gives up the secret she has sworn to keep, for the offer of a crown on her brother's head. Arya and Jon head south with the army, but Sansa has sworn never to leave the North again.

As they march south, Daenerys frees Riverrun, naming Edmure and his new daughter her rightful rulers, and meet with the remaining 30,000 men from the Vale. Anya Waynewood remembers Queen Visenya's visit to the Eyrie; she does not need a reminder of why the Vale kings knelt to the Targaryens. When they reach Kings Landing, the Reach awaits them, some 10,000 men rallied from the shadow of Highgarden and Horn Hill.

Plans are formed and ravens sent, but when the armies are gathered the queen remains on Dragonstone. In her place are Jon and Rhaegal, landing before the city and calling the forces to attention. Sansa was not wrong. Tyrion and Varys would sooner a man sit the throne than a woman, birth and expulsion aside, and so would most of the realm. Their greatest challenge had been convincing Jon, reborn without purpose, conqueror of the White Walkers, King in the North, Jon, that he deserved his father's throne.

Tyrion presents an impassioned plea, including a warning of the threat the coldness between his sisters and the queen carried. Sam, crippled yet alive, gives him papers supporting his claim and his late father's writings, which name his son Aegon as the Prince Who Was Promised. Varys, the Mad King's most trusted advisor, is quick to support these claims. After all, why would a Stark bastard be brought back for nothing? He had won the Dawn. He had defeated the Army of the Dead. Now his throne awaited.

Aegon. What better name for a king?

So it is that Jon names himself Aegon VI Targaryen, recognizing Lyanna Stark as his mother, and takes Kings Landing in a bloody battle. When it is done, there is a new Sack of Kings Landing, the city half afire and the Red Keep in ruins, but there is a new king.

Ned Stark had tried to save Cersei's children, but she has no more of them. Jon condemns her for usurping the throne, destroying the sept, and the murder of his father. Rather than executing her, he sends her to the dungeons she had fostered to die as Unella and Tyene and Falyse Stokeworth had.`

Then he turns his gaze to the rest of the realm, demanding obedience. Both Targaryen and Stark had suffered too long under lesser houses. Under Tyrion's guidance, he uses Ellaria as leverage against Dorne and names Bronn the Lord of Highgarden. When the Reach rumbles with the Florent's threat of rebellion he burns Brightwater Keep to ash with her lord inside, and gives the land to Melessa Tarly for her son's service.

A king needs a queen, and Daenerys had been rejected by his advisors. Alys Waynwood and Jynna Mallister are called to the capitol to see the king, although Jon refuses to entertain any of Tyrion's cousins. Both of them are rejected, and Jon insists a Northern girl be summoned, one who worships the Old Gods. The Faith doesn't like that, but aren't in a position to protest yet.

Cersei's screams can be heard from the dungeons, and Tyrion can't bring himself to go down and see her. The sister that he had fought so hard to help would blame him for this fate, he knows. He bars Jaime from the capitol, shipping him back to Winterfell and his lady knight with a hundred men as guards.

House Yronwood, now wed to Oberyn's last daughter, have no interest in rejoining the realm. Jon threatens to kill Ellaria and send them her head, but what does Yronwood care about a bastard who had murdered Doran Martell, when compared to a man usurping the name and throne belonging to Elia's son? She is not Sarella's mother, and Jon will not wed their princess.

When Yara Greyjoy declares her independence behind their own, Jon prepares Rhaegal for a war. They fought against Robb and weakened him, what does Jon care for their houses or Daenerys' promises? The Iron Islands will belong to the Iron Throne or they will be dust and ash.

Daenerys isn't dead.

Varys poisoned her, but she is a Targaryen and they have always resisted poison and illness better than most. For many days she is too weak to get out of bed. When at last she can stand, Grey Worm admits to her that Rhaegal is gone and Jon Snow rules in Kings Landing. He sits on her throne, but she cannot fight against her son.

For some time she is forced to stay on Dragonstone to recover. It is during this time that a ship full of Dothraki arrives. It is largely young men eager to join her men, but two women are on the ship as well. Ornela, the khaleesi who had helped her in Vaes Dothraki, and Jhiqui, Irri's sister. Her bloodriders, Aggo and Kovarro, who had joined her after Drogo's dead, had called for them.

Together they support her while she recovers from near death. They bring her food and wash her hair, they find food testers and sleep next to her at night. Once she had led her people across the Red Waste and fought for their freedom, but now they are her strength. One night, Dany sits with Grey Worm and tells him he is free to go if he wishes to. Her stoic war commander had refused, promising to see her home first.

But where was her home?

The darkness that has encompassed her life is finally broken by the arrival of a Volantene galley arriving in her harbor. Jon is not brave enough to war against her, knowing that Rhaegal would lose a fight against his brother, but Volantis was not afraid. They had sided with Yunkai against her, sending ships and men to their aid.

It is not the soldiers of the Old Blood that have come to Dragonstone. It is an old woman. Her spine is bent and her white hair so thin Dany can see her scalp. Her face is covered in scars, but her eyes are bright and black. She has come not for Daenerys Targaryen, but for the Breaker of Chains, the woman those in the Bay of Dragons still call Mhysa.

She calls herself Vogarro's whore, but the slaves in Volantis call her the Widow of the Waterfront. Nothing she has can help Dany. Instead, she brings a plea from the slaves of Volantis. She says that they are waiting. She begs her to come soon. Slaver's Bay may be no more, but the Free Cities still thrive. Children are bought and sold every day.

And so Daenerys rises from Dragonstone and leaves the Iron Throne behind. If she is not to be a queen, then let her be a conqueror, a rescuer. Grey Worm and his men rally to her side.

Her fleet is reduced, but so are her men. She takes them all, refusing to leave any of her people where the Westerosi might find them, and she summons Drogon from his nest in the hills. With him comes Rhaegal, her son responding to her call despite his rider. When they sail east, two dragons go with her.

Volantis, as Slaver's Bay before her, falls to fire and blood. Daenerys frees the city and gives rule over to her people, the freedmen who fought for their own freedom when the dragons came to their aid.

Months later, a ship with the last Lannister sails into Volantis' bay.

Daenerys is not there. She has gone north, to Pentos, to an old friend and to strangers. The Unsullied who remain in the city are no friends to the Sunset Kingdoms, and least of all Tyrion Lannister.

#oh I wish Jon Snow was the one from the books #you will rule well #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #game of thrones #everyone goes #book jon snow is a madman #you think he's putting up with this?#he's threatening babies over here #he's killed because he breaks his oath #let me give you book jon snow #Varys you're lucky if he doesn't kill you first

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turtle-paced · 4 years

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Appreciation post: Sansa Stark

Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so.

We first see Sansa through Arya’s PoV. Arya is jealous of her sister, who has no difficulties performing the femininity that Arya finds constraining and unfulfilling (not helped by Septa Mordane loudly praising Sansa and disparaging Arya). Sansa through Arya’s PoV is…not the most immediately appealing of characters.

Sansa through Sansa’s PoV is also not the most appealing of characters, at least initially. There are definitely debates about how well GRRM handed his first truly unreliable narrator. In any case, an analysis of Sansa that does not account for how she grows up over the course of the novels is incomplete to the point of uselessness. She doesn’t start out so immediately sympathetic, hell, she doesn’t start out immediately and consistently kind, but as her situation becomes worse, Sansa herself becomes better.

In AGoT, Sansa is under the impression that she’s living in a fairytale. She is the beautiful princess, she’s going to marry the handsome prince, she’ll have the approval of the beauttiful and kind queen, and her life is going to be lemon cakes and happiness forever. She does not take kindly to information that conflicts with this rosy picture. Her sister is one consistent such source of conflicting information, something that results in Sansa lashing out, sometimes quite cruelly, and ultimately to Sansa going to Cersei with information that allows Cersei to detain Sansa herself as a hostage in King’s Landing.

What saves her as a character, and what should lead readers to think about her role in the story, are the glimpses of courage, empathy and genuine kindness she displays. The most noticeable of which is shown when she’s alone at night with a strange, angry, violent man.

The rasping voice trailed off. He squatted silently before her, a hulking black shape shrouded in the night, hidden from her eyes. Sansa could hear his ragged breathing. She was sad for him, she realized. Somehow, the fear had gone away.

The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. "He was no true knight," she whispered to him.

- Sansa II, AGoT

Who Sansa is in the dark indeed.

What Sansa shows throughout her arc are the vulnerabilities in conforming to her unjust social system. Her status as a “good girl” who needed little supervision or discipline from her father and authority figures arguably resulted in her never having certain realities of her situation explained to her. She was allowed out unsupervised at the Ruby Ford with Joffrey, where he promptly got her drunk, and unsupervised at a major feast at the Hand’s Tourney, where her chaperone got drunk. The final lines in her AGoT PoV are killer.

"Here, girl." Sandor Clegane knelt before her, between her and Joffrey. With a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he dabbed at the blood welling from her broken lip.

The moment was gone. Sansa lowered her eyes. "Thank you," she said when he was done. She was a good girl, and always remembered her courtesies.

- Sansa VI, AGoT

Courtesy may be a lady’s armour, but here it has left her vulnerable to things that real armour might have protected her against. Or real knowledge. Now all she can do is thank someone nicely for helping her clean up after she’s been whacked across the face.

The extent to which Sansa’s social system and training has left her vulnerable is a major feature of her ACoK arc - and so are the limited extents to which she can learn to manipulate that system. Though we see the failure of her attempts to protect herself from regular beating, we also see her play on “bad dreams” and her apparent fragility to lie to Tyrion and hide her escape plans, and play on her piety to excuse her frequent visits to the godswood for the same. Hell, her very first ACoK chapter features her rescue of Ser Dontos Hollard, with an assist from Sandor Clegane.

The king stood. "A cask from the cellars! I'll see him drowned in it."

Sansa heard herself gasp. "No, you can't."

Joffrey turned his head. "What did you say?"

- Sansa I, ACoK

If this is not a change from Sansa I, AGoT, I don’t know what is. The reversal helps to emphasise that Sansa is not inherently bad. She was sheltered and spoiled and naive, but equally she is capable of growing past all those things. Her quality shows in adversity - something that is also very important thematically in ACoK, as she interacts further with Sandor Clegane.

Sandor’s thesis is basically that nobody can remain good and honourable and kind when the world is so unbearably shitty. Sansa proves him wrong. What Sandor sees at the end is her willingness to offer him comfort via song when he’s broken into her room, drunk, and scared her spitless. What the reader has also seen is that Sansa spent the evening comforting scared people in the Red Keep while a battle is going on outside (when the queen couldn’t manage it) and finding help for Lancel Lannister, one of her captors, because he was hurt and neded it.

ASoS plunges her into murkier water still, as Sansa develops her ability to see the undercurrents of her situation in the Red Keep, and is more obviously drawn into the plots of people around her. First it’s the Tyrells, who have questions about Joffrey that don’t quite add up for Sansa. Then she herself is married to Tyrion against her will as part of a Lannister-Tyrell power struggle.

Sansa’s wedding to Tyrion is another powerful example of the double-edged sword of conformity. There is nothing she can do to evade the marriage itself. She tries to run and is promptly hauled back. She cannot talk her way out of it. But her refusal to kneel at the altar, this targeted deviation from the script expected from her, is a devastating insult to Tyrion personally (only possible because of his disability, it’s worth remembering) and a potent symbol of her unwillingness and her pride.

I won't. Why should I spare his feelings, when no one cares about mine?

- Sansa III, ASoS

The first half of Sansa’s arc comes to a climax at Joffrey’s wedding. Sansa’s role in the plot thus far has been a passive one - it sounds simple, just requiring her to wait and to wear a certain hairnet to Joffrey’s wedding. What it actually required her to do was maintain her symapthies and her nerve through months of imprisonment and both physical and emotional abuse, through the news of the deaths of four family members and the total vanishing of a fifth, and through the loss of hope that she’d have a home to go to when she did escape. She does this, and wearing a Stark dress to a Lannister wedding (another targeted fuck you to her captors), she escapes.

Things become more morally perilous for her afterwards, even as physically, they generally become safer. Nevertheless, Sansa’s emotional release from the Red Keep results in one of my favourite scenes in the entire series, where she can at last express some of her grief and longing for her home.

The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armoury, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell.

- Sansa VII, ASoS

The matter of her new caretaker is the ongoing source of external tension in Sansa’s arc, which also serves to fuel the internal tension. Littlefinger has been shown to have an interest in Sansa before that point (even requesting her hand in marriage). Now he shows that he is the one who engineered her escape from the Red Keep. More than that, Sansa’s role in the plan was to smuggle the murder weapon to the scene of the crime, with regicide providing the minor distraction needed for her to leave. Littlefinger then takes Sansa under his wing and reveals he lied about taking her to Winterfell, instead taking her first to his home and then to the Eyrie. In the process he reveals Sansa’s unwitting complicity in Joffrey’s murder.

There’s more and worse than even that. Sansa witnesses Littlefinger murder Lysa Arryn, who seconds before revealed Littlefinger’s role in Jon Arryn’s death and by extension the entire War of Five Kings. Littlefinger then enlists Sansa’s help in the cover-up of that death too. AFFC gives us the information we need to see that Littlefinger is also arranging the murder of Lysa’s son Robin Arryn, current Lord of the Eyrie, by urging the overprescription of medicine with a lethal accumulating effect. Sansa does not appear to be aware of the last one. Yet.

Littlefinger is also offering Sansa lessons in politics, which she’s taking to very well indeed. This provides her with a skill-up consistent with and complementary to those of her younger sister and younger brother over the course of AFFC. What Littlefinger has to teach Sansa can help her gain agency in the mundane power systems of the world.

Sansa’s method of coping with trauma is an established one: she tries not to think about it. Yet her story has given her the information she needs to work out the human evil most responsible for her father’s death and the war that resulted in the deaths of her mother and eldest brother. She may also learn who it was took her best friend from the Red Keep and sold into sexual slavery. Whether she likes it or not, she’s also in the middle of a plot that has claimed the lives of two Arryns thus far and seems likely to claim a third. There is a limit to how often and how much Sansa can remain blind, especially as Littlefinger urges her ever more active involvement in his plans.

Sooner or later, in order to keep her soul and her identity, Sansa will have to stand up to Littlefinger.

Sansa is one of my favourite characters in the series. She’s overtly feminine and she does not find much satisfaction in violence, but she’s still portrayed as clever, courageous and strong. If you see characters like her, they’re often in the background, not needing the benefit of an arc to learn and grow. Not treated as if their skills and strengths are worth a major place in the story. And Sansa, who appears to be set up to bring down one of the major forces in the fall of House Stark as well as helping to relieve a looming food crisis, definitely has a major place in the story.

#ASoIaF #valyrianscrolls #sansa stark #a game of thrones #a clash of kings #a storm of swords #a feast for crows

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queenaryastark · 4 years

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George R. R. Martin really isn’t very subtle about paralleling Arya and Lyanna, is?

"Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave." Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born. "Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her." -- AGOT

"You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna. But my father was master of horse, remember." -- ASOS

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. "You be quiet, stupid," the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. "It's just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?" She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool, but before she got him out again, the two of them were gone.

After that the glimpses came faster and faster, till Bran was feeling lost and dizzy. He saw no more of his father, nor the girl who looked like Arya, but a woman heavy with child emerged naked and dripping from the black pool, knelt before the tree, and begged the old gods for a son who would avenge her. -- ADWD

There’s even a similarity in how they defend those who can’t defend themselves when Arya tries to protect Mycah and Lyanna protects Howland Reed, even going so far as to get justice for him.

"And you're only a butcher's boy, and no knight. " Joffrey lifted Lion's Tooth and laid its point on Mycah's cheek below the eye, as the butcher's boy stood trembling. "That was my lady's sister you were hitting, do you know that?" A bright bud of blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah's flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy's cheek. "Stop it!" Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick.

Sansa was afraid. "Arya, you stay out of this."

"I won't hurt him … much," Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher's boy.

Arya went for him.

Sansa slid off her mare, but she was too slow. Arya swung with both hands. There was a loud crack as the wood split against the back of the prince's head, and then everything happened at once before Sansa's horrified eyes. -- AGOT

"Sometimes the knights are the monsters, Bran. The little crannogman was walking across the field, enjoying the warm spring day and harming none, when he was set upon by three squires. They were none older than fifteen, yet even so they were bigger than him, all three. This was their world, as they saw it, and he had no right to be there. They snatched away his spear and knocked him to the ground, cursing him for a frogeater."

"Were they Walders?" It sounded like something Little Walder Frey might have done.

"None offered a name, but he marked their faces well so he could revenge himself upon them later. They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then they heard a roar. 'That's my father's man you're kicking,' howled the she-wolf."

"A wolf on four legs, or two?"

"Two," said Meera. "The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen. -- ASOS

Never forget, if Lyanna had been present during the Trident incident in AGOT, it’s Arya and Mycah she would have stood by and Joffrey she would have physically beaten into the ground.

#arya stark #lyanna stark #asoiaf #text post

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dvsvsgrr · 3 years

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and a higher torque version will be available

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

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Imagine being the childhood friend of Robb, Jon and Theon

Because these are my sons and i love them but theyre fuckin dorks. everything will be fine probably

Fluff and some angst under the cut!

> You were the daughter of Ned's finest knight, and you both lived in Winterfell with your mother. While she raised you to dress and speak well, you often found yourself out of place with Lady Sansa and her friends. Thus, you ended up befriending Jon first, as he seemed just as out of place as you.

> He was shy at first, but you two quickly built a friendship by exploring the nooks and crannies of Winterfell. Theon caught you two one day, and being older decided to tease Jon, but you stood up to him. He began following you and Jon's adventures because he was "bored", but began to genuinely stick around because you were kind to him.

>Robb and Jon got along well as boys, so it didn't take long for him to tag along. The four of you would play in the godswood, Robb and Jon usually playing with stick swords while you snuck behind one of them for a "surprise attack!", while Theon pretended to be above "kiddy games" and ended up getting chased and tackled by the three of you.

>You were taught many practical skills by your parents, but you were best at mending clothes and first aid. You began to bring needle and thread when you hung out with the boys, because they inevitably would rip something, or one of them would fall over and cut himself.

>Robb knew he was supposed to visit Maester Luwin if he was hurt, but he always saw you first. He liked it when you mended his clothes, and he blushed silly when you asked to embroider a little direwolf over one of the holes in his sleeve. You wanted the practice, and he couldn't say no. Catlyn noticed it much later and asked him about it, which made Robb blush to his ears. He made an excuse and left, leaving a confused Catlyn and a very amused Ned.

>Jon often squirmed and complained when you tried to tend to his cuts. He didn't often get them, but when he did, they were pretty bad and you'd drag him to the Maester. He liked it when you fixed his clothes, and one of his favorite things was a scarf you knitted. You told him you were learning and he encouraged you, even if the end result was … something. You wanted to throw it out, but Jon kept and wore the misshapen scarf to make you feel better.

>Initially, Theon wasn't as nice as Robb or Jon. Sometimes he'd be a jerk and scare you with stories of Ironborn crossing the seas to burn down keeps and steal rude knight's daughters. He didn't really soften up to you until one day, when a bunch of stableboys were pushing you and yanking your hair. Theon told them to fuck off, and they did the same, calling him 'the Greyjoy' as an insult. You immediately shouted, "That's right, he's an Ironborn! And he'll get a big ship, drag you out of bed and throw your stupid arses overboard!" Then you hit one square in the face with a rock and made him run crying. Theon doubled over laughing and you kept yelling, assuming he was making fun of you. After that he finally treated you less like an annoying tag along girl and more of a friend.

>As you grew older, your father tried to discourage your relationships, fearing it wasn't appropriate and that it would upset the Lord and Lady Starks. It was frustrating and pissed you off, as you were just friends with the three boys. Yup. Just friends. No teenage hormonal feelings here.

>Robb often used courtesies around you, treating you like a lady, and you'd just smile and remind him that you hardly counted. But Robb thought your kindness, beauty and resourcefulness made you the picture of a lady - well, in his mind - especially when you were dressed up for a feast. He often found himself avoiding the other young ladies at feasts and seeking you out to joke and talk. When you two finally danced, a suggestion you made as a joke, he realized just how far gone his crush was.

>You knew how Jon felt about his bastardy, so you did your best to keep his mind off it. Still, there were some days when he'd be sullen and hide off on his own. You knew those were days that Lady Stark said something hurtful, so you'd grab him some pastries or - if you were feeling daring - fruit from the South. Jon was convinced you were part shadowcat, the way you'd sneak through the kitchens, then sneak up on him and shout in surprise. You two would climb up trees in the godswood and enjoy your stolen treats, sometimes talking, sometimes not (often him stealing glances at how pretty you looked against the sunset).

>At some point, Theon decided it was better to hang out with you alone. So instead of asking like a normal person, he made his own game of "stealing" you from Robb or Jon. He'd show up, claiming your mother needed you or he had to show you something, then you two would just walk around Winterfell or the town. He succeeded in this six times before you told him to just ask you to go somewhere. Although, you appreciated the moments when your mother was forcing you to attend the septa's lessons and Theon would show up with a sudden "Oh Y/N, your father needs to ask you something important". Five minutes later you two would be joking at the practice range or in the castle town.

>Robb knew he'd have to marry a highborn lady, likely from a powerful house. He was told this his whole life, but now he was seeing the reality of it. You were a knight's daughter. You would never even be considered for a bride, and this stung him more than he wanted to admit. He liked acting like the Stark heir around you because he wanted to impress you, but then it would remind him of the large gap between your statuses.

>Similarly, Jon often followed you like a puppy. His crush was obvious to anyone, and he knew it, but he thought you deserved better. Even if you treated him the same as Robb, Jon felt like an amazing girl like you shouldn't be involved with a bastard. Some days he felt like he didn't even deserve your friendship, though he cherished it.

>Being a perfectly mature teenage boy, Theon liked doing dumb shit to make you notice him. He'd gently tug on your hair or your dress, try to spook you while you were sewing or distract you while you were studying. He thought your anger was pretty cute, and tried not to get butterflies on the days you just smiled and rolled your eyes. When he started frequenting whores, he began to gravitate to ones with your hair color.

>When Jon told you he was going to the wall, you understood and respected his decision, but it still hurt. On the day he was leaving, you presented him with a new scarf - one you worked tirelessly on, made of the warmest wool you dyed black yourself. He gave you a hug so tight you thought you'd never catch your breath, and then he left. On the way to the wall, even though it was cold, he delayed putting the scarf on because he didn't want it to lose your smell.

>Since he was the lord of Winterfell, suddenly Robb couldn't talk with knight's daughters whenever he wanted. But when news came of Ned Stark's imprisonment, and Robb called the banners, you immediately thought of him. Decorum be damned, you found him in the Godswood and you tried to keep your voice steady as you said, "Look after my father when you go, and look after yourself. I won't be there to help if you fall on your face." You were trying to be funny, but it broke Robb's heart to hear you like that. He wrapped you up in a warm hug and buried his face in your hair, and you two stayed like that for some time. When you finally nudged him to part, he said, "I promise I'll come back safe to you, Y/N."

>By this point, you felt like your happy childhood memories were distant and almost foreign. The coming war had everyone's nerves on end. Theon played at indifference, but you knew he had to be just as worried as Robb. You finally found him as he was readying to ride South. "Make sure you look after yourself, and Robb, too. Drink plenty of water and don't do anything foolish --" Suddenly, he cut you off with a kiss. You would've smacked him away, but he quickly pulled away and said, "You worry too much, sweet Y/N. This will be over before you know it."

>All these promises and assurances, and you still felt tense. You had a premonition as you watched the war hosts leave. You watched until the direwolf banner was just a speck, and the last banner moved farther and farther away.

#jon snow #robb stark #theon greyjoy #got imagines #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #reader-insert

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littlerockerao3 · 4 years

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Rock-a-roo! Plot bunny! Throbb where they’re married with a kid who’s technically heir to both the north and the islands, conflict ensues!

You’re seriously gonna end up making me change my username into that (that is, if you’re the same anon) lol. Anyway, i love this, thank you, I had to write something out of it, hope you like it! (I have no idea how to write conflict though, so this is basically following half of the plot bunny but let’s just... yeah i don’t know)

Disclaimer: I don’t think somebody in Westeros could ever come up with the idea of a surrogate mum, so let’s just leave how Robb and Theon had their kids up to whatever theory you prefer, since this just implies they have kids, not how they got them.

“House Mormont?” Robb stared at his daughter as she chewed on her applecake, her brown eyes looking uncertain and somehow guilty.

Robb snorted - he was about to reproach her, when his husband rolled his eyes, as he dragged their youngest baby into his lap, and spoke up: “Oh come on, even I know the answer to that!”

Aris scoffed, and rolled her eyes as well: she looked so much like her father it almost hurt.

“My lesson with the Maester is in a few hours, I don’t need you to quiz me,” she said.

“And I know what’s their sigil, it’s... a bear?” well, that definitely sounded more like a question than an answer, but at least she got it right. Although...

“Your aunt and uncle are lady and lord of Bear Island, how could you not know that?” Robb poured himself a glass of wine: it was early in the morning but sometimes his kids exhausted him, especially his twelve year old daughter, since she resembled way too much of her other father’s antics.

“I do know that!” Aris exclaimed, violently sticking another piece of applecake with her fork.

“But it’s not like it would have been a big deal if I didn’t, I mean, I’m not the heir of The North,” she mumbled.

“The North and the Iron Island darling, do not forget that,” Theon added, pointing a finger at her. Aris literally stabbed her applecake with the fork, staring at her father as if to say ‘not you too’, which was understandable: Theon never really cared less about his kids (nor himself) learning house sigils and mottos. Though this time, his native lands were involved, and he had to point that out, he had to remind his kids (and himself, most of all) how he managed to get to rule the Islands, no matter what his father had always thought of him.

Rowan, their youngest, a little redhead who barely turned one, laughed at his sister’s face and clapped his hands. Aris just grunted, and turned around the moment she heard the echoes of footsteps coming into the hall, her black braids flying around like a whip.

“There he is, our heir! Dad, why don’t you ask him what’s House Tyrell’s motto?” she exclaimed, welcoming her older brother with a wide sarcastic smile on her face.

Robb could swear he could read his fifteen year old son’s thoughts, only by the expression on his face: he would have gladly thrown a sausage at his sister’s head but he was quite aware that if he dared doing so, his dads would have grounded his ass until the day he would have had to sit on the throne.

“It’s ‘Growing Strong’, sweet sister” he said simply, sitting down next to her.

“And who knows, maybe I’ll die young and you’ll have to take my place,”

Robb risked choking on his wine at that. He started coughing and his face turned as red as his hair. Still trying to go back to breathing in a normal way, he stared at his husband, silently asking him for help.

Theon just rolled his eyes, and stared at his firstborn in exasperation: “You’re not going to die young, Arrow, do not say that: your father might have a heart attack and you’ll have to sit on your beloved throne sooner than you’d wish” he replied.

Arrow just shrugged, a few lock of his black curls falling on his forehead, right above his blue eyes: “Well, you never know, someone might want to try and kill the heir to the North and the Iron Islands and...”

“They’ll have to go through me, first,” Robb claimed, his voice still a little raspy, as he poured himself a glass of water, leaving the wine aside, no matter how much he would have wanted to drink another glass (or a whole bottle): the thought of someone trying to hurt his kids got him mad, most of the times. He would have gone through the Seven Hells and back as long as he could keep his children safe and pretty much everyone in his kingdom knew that: that was why they better think twice before trying to kill his son.

“And me,” Aris said, folding her arms. Theon stared at her in adoration, as he did most of the times. Rowan clapped his tiny chubby hands once again. Arrow just rubbed his index fingers over his temples: “First thing I’m doing as a King will be abdicating and making Aris my heir”

Theon chuckled: “It’s not that easy, sweet thing: otherwise we would have been under Queen Sansa’s reign by now”

“Well, she’s still your Hand” Aris pointed out.

Arrow smirked: “Plus, we all know dad accepted to be King so that he could come up with a law that allowed you both to get married.”

Theon raised his index finger, but it took him a moment before he started talking: “Fair point. But we could have just asked Sansa and she would have made that law for us,”

Robb smiled lightly: his decision to allow any kind of wedding had been delightefully appreciated by most of their people: Robb had no idea there were so many other people like he and Theon, people who had fallen in love with the ‘wrong’ person. That rule had made their kingdom happier, stronger, surrounded by peace and harmony. Robb was sure his son would have made sure it stayed that way. Being a King, especially at a young age, wasn’t easy, and the gods only knew how much Robb was aware of that. But with Arrow it would have been different: Robb would have taught him all he had learnt during all those years, he wanted to make sure his kid never found himself ruling a kigndom all of sudden, with no idea what to do, as it had happened to him.

He went back focusing his attention on his son’s words: “Please, we all know you wanted to brag about you and dad being the first King & King in history,” he said.

“But guess what, I couldn’t care less about being King, just let Aris be the heir already”

Aris stomped her foot behind the table: “I do not want to be Queen, I want to be captain of the guard like aunt Arya or master of ships like aunt Asha!” she cried out.

Arrow rolled his blue eyes, the same shade as Robb’s, and filled his plate with sausages: “Yeah of course. It’s easy for you. You’re not the firstborn, and you’re still too young to understand what it’s like. Wait until the Maester starts bothering the hell out of you about marriage,”

That word made the young girl blush violently. The shade of red on her cheeks was so bright her tanned skin looked pale, compared to it. She dropped her fork, it landed on the plate, above the applecake, and tiny little pieces of apple spread all around. Aris stood up from her chair, not even bothering to ask to be excused (these are all Theon’s genes, mother would have skinned me if I dared acting like that, Robb thought).

“I think I’ll go... to the godswood. Yeah, I think I’ll go praying” she said.

Arrow’s lips turned into a smirk that could have easily competed with Theon’s: “Yeah sure, or are you gonna go meet the stableman’s son? You two seem to be good friends”

Robb thought his kid got to be kidding, but when Aris’ blush deepened, he frowned so hard he almost hurt himself: “Wait what?” he snapped, staring at his kids in shock.

“As I said” Aris mumbled, avoiding looking into her parents’ eyes. “The godswood. I’m going. Bye, see you later,”

Theon’s laughter echoed all over the room. Robb would have gladly smacked his head on the table, but he still had to calm down from the shock knowing his little girl could already have a love interest caused him.

“Grandma’s probably praying by the godswood right now, I wouldn’t go there, if you don’t want her to ask you about houses’ mottos too,” Theon told their daugther, loud enough for her to hear him even from the other side of the room. Aris didn’t turn to answer, but she gestured nervously: “Yeah, I’ll just go training then”

Robb saw Theon’s face lighting up and one second later, little Rowan was sitting on his lap.

“Wait for me, I can help you, you still don’t know how to hold the bow the right way!” Theon got up with such urge he almost flipped his chair and stumbled three times in a row.

Aris gasped dramatically: “How dare you!” she yelled.

Robb and Arrow exchanged an exasperated look, as they both shook their heads. They were alone now. Well, Rowan was there too, his curly little red head turning around, his eyes staring curiously at everything and his tiny little body staying still only thanks to Robb’s firm hand wrapped around his chubby hips. But he was still far too young to understand what they were saying.

Robb extended a hand over the table for his oldest kid to hold. Once he did, he squeezed it lovingly: “You’re gonna be a good king,” he told him.

Arrow smirked sadly: “Do I really have to be the King, though?”

Robb sighed, and squeezed his hand a little harder: “You won’t have to worry about sitting on the throne for a long time, sweet child of mine. Just take it easy, okay? When the moment comes, it’s going to be up to you to decide what to do. But until then, I’ll teach you all I’ve learnt.”

Arrow’s muscles relaxed a bit, his smile softened, his blue eyes sparkling with happiness.

Robb smiled as well. He stood up, carrying little Rowan on his hips, and walked to the other side of the table, so that he could reach out and squeeze his son’s shoulder: “Make sure you finish your breakfast soon: uncle Jon is coming in a few, and he wants to train you with the sword.”

Arrow snorted, and covered his face between his hands: “Damn, he’s gonna kick my ass”

Robb laughed heartedly, and ruffled his oldest son’s hair. Yes, Jon would have definitely kicked his ass. And he would have attended the whole show, Rowan still in his arms, Satin standing next to him, as he filled him in on how his and Jon’s lives were going, while Theon and Aris would have practiced with bow and arrows nearby, the young girl screaming happily at every time she hit the target, and Robbb’s huband’s laughter spreading all around their kingdom.

#throbb #theon x robb #the tiniest hint of lyckon and jonsatin #both robb and theon are king in the north and the islands #mr & mr greyjoy-stark are happy married and with three kids #i was sooooo looking forward writing about my headcanon throbb kids!#ask #anon #plot bunnies #though this time i actually wrote something!#hope you enjoy #i accidentally wrote ‘maester luwin’ lol sorry maester but you’d have to be immortal to be alive when throbb’s kid is fifteen #edit: i fixed that #this won’t show in the throbb tag uuuuuuuuugh #parents throbb

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