#lyanna x reader

[novaursa]

Maybe a story with reader being the bastard son of the mad king aerys? Idk what fem characters you write for got, any of them would work :)) (maybe lyanna or elia) like aerys betroths them out of spite or as punishment(?)

Love ur work btw <3

The Bastard Prince

- Summary: Your father bethrodes you to Lyanna Stark out of spite, and sends you North.

- Pairing: male!reader/Lyanna Stark

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The towering doors of the throne room loom before you, their weighty presence nearly suffocating under the shadow of the Iron Throne. Two kingsguard flank you, their white cloaks brushing against the stone floor as they lead you forward. It’s rare for the king to summon you so formally, and your gut churns with unease as you step inside.

The hall is filled with lords and courtiers, their eyes turning to you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. They know who you are—Aerys’s bastard son, Y/N Waters, a living reminder of the king’s indiscretions. You can feel the judgment in their stares, each gaze piercing through the thin armor of indifference you wear.

King Aerys sits high on the Iron Throne, his fingers drumming against the jagged steel as you approach. His eyes, sharp and blazing with a manic energy, settle on you. There’s a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and you sense something dreadful lurking behind it.

“Ah, here he is,” Aerys declares, his voice booming through the chamber. “My own flesh and blood, though born on the wrong side of the sheets.” Laughter echoes from the gathered lords and ladies, a sycophantic chorus that grates against your ears.

You bow stiffly, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “Your Grace.”

The king rises, a rustle of fabric and metal, his gaze now shifting toward the northern delegation standing at the base of the throne. Lord Rickard Stark stands at the forefront, his face a stoic mask, but his eyes watchful. Beside him, his son Brandon, tall and proud, and then there’s her.

Lyanna Stark.

The girl is a storm wrapped in furs, her eyes dark and defiant as they meet yours. Her hair, a wild cascade of brown, frames a face flushed with either anger or unease—you can’t tell. She’s beautiful, even more so than the songs suggest, but there’s a fire in her that promises no easy submission.

Aerys gestures toward you with a grand sweep of his hand, his grin widening as he looks back at the Starks. “Lord Rickard, it is with great pleasure that I present to you my son. A gift, you might say, to seal our new alliance.”

You glance at Lord Stark, his jaw tight but giving nothing away. He inclines his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment or resignation—you’re not sure which. Brandon’s fists are clenched at his sides, his face thunderous, but he remains silent.

“And as promised,” Aerys continues, his voice dripping with mock benevolence, “your daughter, the lovely Lyanna, will be wed to Y/N. A union that will bind the North and the Crown in unbreakable bonds.”

The words crash over you like a wave, leaving you momentarily stunned. He’s promised her to you? An alliance, yes, but you can see it in the king’s eyes—this is a convenient way to rid himself of you, to send you far from King’s Landing. The North is the furthest he can exile you while still keeping you under his thumb.

Lyanna’s face is a mask of outrage, her lips parting as if to speak, but her father’s hand on her arm stops her. There’s a beat of silence, heavy and tense, and then Lord Stark nods once more, his voice steady but strained. “The honor is ours, Your Grace.”

You force yourself to breathe, your heart hammering in your chest. This is what you are to him, a piece to be moved, a pawn in his dangerous games. And now, it seems, Lyanna Stark is caught in that same trap.

“Of course, I couldn’t deprive the North of such a strong, loyal companion,” Aerys says, his gaze flicking back to you. “I’ve heard tales of your valor, Y/N. You’ll do well up there, won’t you?”

There’s a twisted delight in his words, a promise of torment to come. You know better than to challenge him here, in front of all these eyes, so you simply bow your head. “I will serve as best I can, Your Grace.”

Aerys laughs, a high, grating sound that echoes through the hall. “See that you do. Now, join your new family. You’ll have plenty of time to become acquainted before you depart.”

He waves his hand dismissively, and you’re left standing there, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. With measured steps, you move toward the Starks. Brandon’s eyes blaze with fury, and Lord Rickard’s face is as impenetrable as ever. But it’s Lyanna who holds your attention, her stare unwavering, challenging.

“Lady Lyanna,” you murmur, bowing slightly. It’s all you can manage, unsure of what else to say in the face of such hostility.

She doesn’t lower her gaze, doesn’t flinch. “Ser,” she replies, her voice steady but cold. “I suppose I should congratulate you.”

The bitterness in her tone is unmistakable, and it cuts deeper than you expect. “I didn’t ask for this,” you say quietly, though the words feel inadequate, hollow.

Her eyes flash with something unreadable, and she lifts her chin. “Neither did I.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Lord Stark speaks, his voice low and firm. “We will discuss this in private. There’s no need to make a spectacle here.”

He guides Lyanna away, Brandon following with a dark look cast your way. You watch them go, feeling the weight of the king’s laughter still ringing in your ears.

As the doors close behind them, you’re left standing in the center of the hall, alone and exposed. Aerys’s gaze is still on you, his smile lingering like a poison in the air. He’s won today, sending you far from his court, from the city that’s never felt like home.

The cold wind bites at your skin as you ride north, the chill creeping through the thick layers of your cloak and settling deep in your bones. The southern sun seems like a distant memory now, replaced by the overcast skies and vast, snow-covered landscape of the North. The journey is a long one, and the company keeps mostly to themselves. The Starks are quiet, speaking in low voices among themselves, the anomasity between them and you palpable.

You steal a glance to your side where Lyanna rides, her expression as fierce and guarded as the first time you met her in the throne room. She’s wrapped in heavy furs, her hair whipping behind her in the icy breeze, and though she doesn’t look at you, you can feel her presence like a beacon in the cold, vast emptiness.

For days, your conversations are limited to polite greetings and the occasional exchange of necessities—a stark contrast to the easy camaraderie you’ve known among your companions in King’s Landing. But the North is not the South, and these people are not your friends.

One evening, camp is set near the banks of a frozen river. The northern men build fires and huddle close for warmth, the cold seeping in as night falls. You sit alone, apart from the Starks, staring into the flames, the crackling wood a welcome distraction from the silence that has settled over the camp.

A rustling sound draws your attention, and you look up to see Lyanna approaching. She hesitates for a moment, then lowers herself onto a log across from you, her eyes steady and searching. There’s something different about her tonight—less guarded, though still wary.

“You look like you could use something stronger than water,” she says, her voice soft but carrying the hint of an edge.

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at the flask in her hand. “I’d welcome it, my lady.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and she tosses the flask to you. The burn of the Northern spirit as it goes down is harsh but welcome, and you hand it back with a nod of gratitude.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, watching you carefully. “One might think you’re not looking forward to your new home.”

“I’m not sure what to look forward to,” you admit, meeting her gaze. “Winterfell is a world away from everything I’ve known.”

She studies you for a moment, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “Why did you agree to this? The marriage, I mean.”

You look at her, surprised by the question. “Did I have a choice?”

She huffs, a sound halfway between amusement and frustration. “There’s always a choice. Even if it’s a poor one.”

You think about her words, the weight they carry. “And what choice did I have? Refuse and be cast aside by my father, or agree and be sent away to a place where I’ll never belong. Neither seems particularly appealing.”

Her eyes soften slightly, her gaze turning inward. “I know what it’s like, to feel like you don’t belong.” She pauses, her fingers tightening around the flask. “I’m not like my brothers. I don’t want to be just some man’s wife, to sit and sew and bear children while the world passes me by.”

The honesty in her voice surprises you, and you find yourself leaning forward, wanting to understand her better. “What do you want, then?”

“I want freedom,” she says fiercely, her eyes meeting yours with a burning intensity. “I want to ride and fight and live my life as I choose, not as some king or lord decides for me.”

You feel a pang of guilt then, knowing you’re a part of the cage she’s railing against. “I’m sorry, Lyanna,” you say quietly. “I never wanted to be the one to take that away from you.”

She’s silent for a long moment, then lets out a breath. “I know it’s not your fault, not entirely. You’re as much a tool in this as I am.” She takes a sip from the flask, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry. Or that I’ll make this easy for you.”

You can’t help but smile at that, a genuine one that catches you by surprise. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

She studies you, and for the first time, you feel like she’s truly seeing you, not just the bastard son of a mad king forced into her life. “You’re different than I expected,” she says finally.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Maybe.” She tilts her head, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “You don’t seem as... desperate to prove yourself as the other knights and lords I’ve met.”

You shrug, the weight of her words settling over you. “What’s there to prove? I am who I am. No amount of posturing or pretending will change that.”

She nods, as if she understands that better than most. “It’s rare to find someone who thinks like that, especially in court.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence then, the fire crackling between you. The cold seems less biting now, the company warmer than you could have hoped. You talk late into the night, sharing stories—hers of the North, the wild, untamed lands and the fierce people who call it home, and yours of King’s Landing, the treacherous courts and the fleeting moments of beauty hidden within its walls.

You learn that she loves to ride, that she dreams of seeing the world beyond Winterfell’s walls. She tells you about her brothers—Brandon’s wild temper, Ned’s quiet strength, Benjen’s mischievous spirit. And you tell her about your life as a bastard in the Red Keep, the half-smiles and whispered slights, the shadow you’ve always lived under as the king’s unwanted son.

When the fire finally burns low, and the first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, you feel something shift between you. An understanding, perhaps, or at least the beginning of one. You’re still strangers, bound together by forces beyond your control, but you’re no longer enemies. Not entirely.

As you rise to return to your tent, she stands too, holding your gaze for a long moment. “Goodnight, Y/N,” she says softly, her voice carrying the promise of something more.

“Goodnight, Lyanna.”

The next day, and the days that follow, she rides beside you more often. You talk, sometimes for hours, other times sharing only a few words. The others notice, Brandon especially, his eyes narrowing whenever he sees you together. But Lyanna seems unconcerned, her defiance burning as bright as ever.

You know you’re still an outsider, a southerner in a land that will never truly accept you. But for now, that doesn’t seem to matter as much. You have this, whatever it is, with her. And for the first time since the king’s decree, you feel a flicker of hope.

Maybe this marriage doesn’t have to be a cage for either of you. Maybe, just maybe, it can be something more.

[silver-inked-quill]

Lost in the North

Ch. 1 Lions in the snow

Summary: Robb's twin sister has widowed a few months after her marriage to a young lord in the North. Since there was no heir she returned to her birth-home.

Pairing: Jamie Lannister x reader, Theon Greyjoy x reader (it is yet to be decided)

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: General Game of Thrones warnings🙄

“Y/N!” my mother exclaimed- her voice toned with pure panic as she was preparing the castle for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon, friend of my father’s but still the King of the seven realms along with the house Lannister.

“Yes mother?” I responded loud enough as I moved to the main dining room.

“Please do see that Arya is properly dressed- and aid Sansa with her own dress.” She spoke and I looked at her. “Oh and please tell the boys to shave- be presentable as well.” Her gaze rather apologetic, she never really enjoyed burdening me with the matters of our household ever since my return from White Harbor- Barely married to young Lord Manderley who passed before we have been together for a moon. No heir- No nothing just the first born daughter of House Stark in a foreign land with no heir. My father claimed me back and cancelled our wedding. I loved my husband but the 7 gods had different plans for my future and his.

I paced down the balcony, my eyes searching for my brothers, they were by the targets. My twin Rob, always followed by Jon Snow-my father’s bastard- and by Theon Greyjoy, my father’s ward. Bran huffed, another missed arrow, I noticed a galore of them stuck everywhere but the target. Jon kneeled and tried to tutor him and I smiled. Arya rose out of nowhere grabbed the bow and pulled the string releasing an arrow straight at the target’s center. I saw Arya chime and the boys make gentle fun of Bran as my father came and stood by me.

“Fine little beast your daughter has become.” I commented as he stood by me leaned in the railing, I could see the pride flair up his eyes as he looked down at his boys- no at his children. “Reminds of another fine beast that used to run around my feet with her braids and play with bows and arrows instead of dolls.” He commented and I chuckled looking at him “At least one of your daughters turned out to be a proper lady.” I said still smiling as I stared back at the targets. “You turned out to be a proper lady… and you can stab an arrow within an arrow too.” My father spoke, his voice gentle like he snow falling upon our roof. “How do you know I can do that?” I laughed and asked, I felt eight again and he would tell me stories and convince me and my twin that they were true.

“I can see it in your eyes- they shine when you see something you enjoy and you exceed at.” He said, his voice poetic- too poetic. “Oddly specific thing the glint of my eyes told you…” I laughed at him, it was a rare thing for me the years passed. “We were exchanging ravens with Lord Manderley, concerned how your stay at the White Harbor was- he mentioned that you were quiet the archer… Why don’t you show your siblings off?” My father asked me, his smile apparent- one only his family could see.

“You want me to boast? Father are you feeling alright?” I asked him laughing. “Yes- However, love, it doesn’t hurt to boast on boasters.” He commented and pointed at my siblings and then kissed my forehead as climbed down with a swift motion snatching the bow from Arya.

“Didn’t know you could handle a bow sister?”  Robb looked stunned as he saw me take an arrow from Bran’s quiver.

“You do not know many things Robb.” I turned at him gently pressing him and Jon to take a step back. They stared at each other for a moment.

“In the Iron Islands, it is common for women to fight.” Theon commented and opened the way. “I was surprised to see in the North there aren’t such habit.” He said.

“We honor tradition here” I said and pulled the string. “But women here are allowed to have hobbies…” I smiled and as I breathed out I let the arrow go, It flew to the one Arya shot at the target making it tear in half.

“Did you see that?! she is better than all of you three combined!” Bran exclaimed and hugged my waist looking up at me. “Me too- You will teach me first!” Arya exclaimed crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“No- it is me, I should learn first” Bran huffed pointing at Arya.

“That was impressive Y/N.” Jon spoke and smiled at me.

“It was- alright” Theon spoke and looked at me and then at Robb.

“What happened, feeling overshadowed?” Robb spoke and placed an arm around my shoulders. His voice mocking but no real meaning behind his words.

“Oh- you should feel overshadowed too Robb.” I chuckled and patted his cheek. “However brilliant my archery is- I am here as a bearer of bad news… The lot of you has to shave before the arrival of the King… and even more unfortunately for me- I have to dress you up Arya…” I smiled and looked at her eyes, she really despised them dresses and gowns.

“No… Not happening.” She exclaimed and she attempted to flee but with a spinning motion Robb caught her like. “We do not like it either” Jon smiled and ruffled her hair and I gently took her hand leading her to her room.

~

Not many hours passed. Bran’s voice exclaimed that the King was arriving. I chuckled as Mother was outraged that Bran was climbing again at the wall… Sansa and Robb were already close to my father as my mother guided Bran and I bore Rickon’s hand as he soon left me to go next to my mother. Arya appeared wearing a helmet. I heard Jon’s chuckle from behind… He always stood behind us with Theon.

The kind arrived, the stag and the lion banners stood next to the ones of the direwolf. We bowed as King Robert Baratheon who stood before us. He signed us to rise and we did. “You grew fatter.” Robert commented staring at my father’s grim face. The grim in his gaze was unbearable but his lips tugged nodding “You too your Grace.” He said and after an exclamation of joy he hugged ny father and then my mother.

“you are a handsome future lord.” Robert said and shook my twins hand. “And what is your name?” “Arya, your grace.” His gaze shifted to Sansa “You are a pretty one” he giggled before he ceased his movements standing before me. I swallowed staring at his blanked gaze. I knew what I reminded him of and it made me feel bizarre. My father’s face hardened and the Queen looked at me in despise “You look just-.” He was to say but then Bran got his glare. “And you- you will be a knight! Show me those muscles!” Bran flexed and I smiled my glare lowered to the floor.

~

They all gathered at the main ballroom to have the feast and once the formalities came to an end. I fled the room and went to the cellars first taking a skin of ale, as I stumbled upon the imp. “Lady Stark- or is it Mandreley.” He asked me and I raised my eyebrows. “What are you doing down here lord Lannister?” I asked him and looked down at him. “Same as you I assume- seeking comfort in the warmth of alcohol… However it isn’t suitable for a lady to drink alone now is it- It could be scandalous.” Tyrion Lannister commented. “But then again you are a widow- one in grief can do as they wish.” He added and I simply walked alone up on the wall, there was this small spot- it allowed me to have the greatest view- one painters could never draw and bards could never sing about. I simply sat there and drank from the skin- it tasted horribly but my mind was at peace.

“I love coming up here as well- All the times I would think of my father and the Iron islands I would come here.” Theon came from behind me and leaned in the stone railings I was seated upon.

“My father treated you better than yours.” I told him and drunk down the ale. “But you are rather ungrateful and bitter.” I spoke

“I am bitter because Ned is not my father…” Theon spoke “I do feel affection for this family- I was only ten when I was brought here. You Rob and Jon- you treated me no different than you treated each other- I always loved you a bit more than the other two you know- you showed more compassion which is normal- you are a girl—a woman now. It pained me to see you in tears Y/N… It always has.” Theon spoke and I looked at him with a small smile.

“Are you confessing you have feelings towards me Theon?” I asked with a small laughter hiding behind my voice as I turned to look at him and he didn’t respond he simply grasped the ale and drunk it down.

“I always hoped to be for you- I know I am a lord without a kingdom. I admire you Y/N- your compassion your skill” He smiled and kissed my knuckles gently as he looked at me and left with no other word.

“Ah… scandals of the North I always enjoyed seeing the word and the lady of the late Lord Manderley with the hostage ward of the Iron Islands. I thought North was about honor.” I heard a voice yet unknown to me.

“Sir Jamie Lannister is it…” I turned around “And what would a kings guard wished wandering on our wall.” I made the question towards him.

“Lady Y/N Stark second of her name… And yet you steal kings words just like the first of your name did” The knight responded.  “They say you take after your aunt Y/N, in looks and spirits” He added, his voice smooth and mocking.

“I am alike her in both you have heard correct.” I said and looked at him. “Therefore I bet my twin brother wouldn’t enjoy hearing your manner sir… Just like you do not enjoy insult when it comes to the Queen’s name…” I smiled and looked at him. “It’s a twin thing isn’t it… But then again, some twins are closer than others.”

Jamie Lannister’s face didn’t shift as if it was okay for me to say those things. “Watch your sharp tongue Lady Stark.” He smiled.

“Or- Will you threaten me Jamie Lannister- inside my home, for noticing how much you love your sister.” I smiled and leaned in, I could smell his perfume and sweat.

“You are a bittersweet thing Y/N Stark. I have never fucked another’s twin…” He spoke and I didn’t flinch, I maintained the eye-contact. “Interesting, I bet the Queen would be most delighted to hear of your new discovering appetite.” I said and he stared at me for some good moments. He was handsome- too handsome and my heart was racing as if I was running for my life. Perhaps I was. “Is that a threat, lady?” he asked and I smiled “It is a reaction followed by an action.” I smiled and then stood up making my leave.

Hey there gentle reader , First i would like to thank you for reaching this point and reading my fanfiction. I wish to know your opinion on it as a whole and on a more flaming matter- Jamie Lannister or Theon Greyjoy? I mean i think she has connection with both and quiet some chemistry too but please i need you to enlighten me... Yours, silvermist

[vampirepirates]

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THE LONG WINTER ( ... ) SANDOR CLEGANE .

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⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀𝔖andor Clegane saw clearer then than he ever had - Lyarra Stark, the lone wolf, would never last a day in the Lion's den. To hell with it, he couldn't help but think. He cared not about winter - nor the pack surviving. He cared not for the Starks to begin with. What he did care about, was making sure the all-encompasing light of Lyarra's eyes never went out. Not while he still lived. ⠀⠀⠀

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ORIGINAL CHARACTER - Lyarra Stark. Twin to Lyanna, sister of Eddard, Benjen, and Brandon.

Lyarra Stark of Winterfell would give her life for her family, while Sandor Clegane would do everything in his power to keep her from doing so. ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀

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— ⠀⠀INTRODUCING ⠀THE CAST OF ⠀⠀'THE LONG WINTER'

( any other characters not listed simply are casted with their usual faceclaim, or whatever comes to mind! these are just the /main/ characters . )

LYARRA ⠀STARK ⠀— ⠀THE ⠀LONE ⠀WOLF .

Played by Katie Mcgrath ( ... )

" You cannot ask me to stay — not when my wolf lays trapped in the jaws of a Lion .. "

SANDOR ⠀CLEGANE ⠀— ⠀THE HOUND ⠀.

Played by Rory McCann ( ... )

" Praying to your Gods, Little Wolf? Good, you're going to need them .. "

REYNE⠀ 'STARK' ⠀— ⠀THE ⠀LOST ⠀GIRL ⠀.

Played by Alicia Agneson⠀ ( ... )

" I will never allow my fear to overcome my love. Not while I still live .. "

GOGNI ⠀⠀— ⠀⠀THE ⠀⠀FREE ⠀⠀MAN   .

Played by Travis Fimmel  ( ... )

" I never knew a wolf to accept her cage as willingly as you have .. "

PETYR ⠀BAELISH ⠀— ⠀⠀LITTLEFINGER .

Played by Aidan Gillen ( ... )

" Trust no one — and yet make sure that everyone can trust you. Loyalty kills more men than fealty .. "

LYANNA ⠀STARK ⠀— ⠀⠀THE ⠀LOVED   .

Played by Kaya Scodelario ( ... )

" Compassion came easy to her, Lyarra could recall. She had never met someone with more love in her heart, than her sister .. "

JON ⠀SNOW ⠀⠀— ⠀⠀THE ⠀BASTARD  .

Played by Kit Harrington ( ... )

" I have only known one mother, my entire life. And now I am meant to watch in silence, as she leaves .. "

TYRION ⠀LANNISTER ⠀— ⠀THE ⠀IMP   .

Played by Peter Dinklage ( ... )

" In my experience, it is a far easier feat to make a friend than an ally! So, let's drink, shall we? "

—               Hello! My name is Zevran! I'll try to keep this short for the sake of my sanity. This is my first official fanfic, so bear with me as I work through this. This fic randomly came to my mind a few weeks ago, and I have not been able to escape it. Some things to note before I start this; Lyarra is not perfect. There will be times where she makes brass decisions, says rude things, and very clearly sides with the wrong people. One example of this, is the nature of her friendship with Petyr Baelish. Petyr is not a good person, and I will never deny this! But he is someone that Lyarra cares for greatly, so I will portray their relationship the best I can. Also, I have never read the books. I just started the first one, but considering I am now writing this -- that will definitely be a slow process. My timeline may be messy, especially considering I am creating my own events and timelines. So if I mess anything up, feel free to let me know -- but know I may not change everything.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy the fic -- and feel free to leave any kind of comment!

             Lover, Hunter, Friend, and Enemy — You

             Will always be every one of these.    Lover,

             Hunter, Friend, and Enemy .. You        will

             Always         be          every       one   of these .

             — Fleurie,                               Love and War .

[blxkstar]

When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

I made a playlist for House Stark, please check it out!

The North Remembers

We Know No King But The King In The North Whose Name Is Stark...

[jedipoodoo]

"Omega!" Lyanna hissed, "It's not polite to peek!"

"I'm not peeking, I'm looking!" Omega insisted, watching you and your Batcher as you walked along the beach.

Omega sat on top of a rock, propping her chin in her hand, "Do you think they might get married?"

Lyanna hummed thoughtfully, "Well, have they kissed yet?"

Omega squinted at you and your Batcher in the distance, "Not yet."

"Well," Lyanna said with authority, "If they kiss, then they have to get married."

[boldstarks]

The Unwanted Wife Blurb #2: The Bedchamber

word count: 765 words pairing: young!Robert Baratheon x wife!reader warnings: past emotional neglect of a spouse, slight OOC Robert, Robert kinda being a perv about his wife's post-pregnancy body

Today was the first night that you would share a bedchamber with Robert. You didn't know why you felt so nervous about it. You had shared a bed frequently after your marriage, but he had always gone back to his own chambers after the fact.

The first time that it happened on your wedding night, you were shocked. You couldn't help but cry yourself to sleep. The next day, one of your new ladies-in-waiting explained that southern nobles didn't share bedchambers as often as northern nobles. This made you want to weep once again.

Sure, your notions of love and happy endings had been shattered by Alyn's death, but you tried to be optimistic going into your marriage with Robert. Both of you had loved and lost; maybe you could find some common ground. Only for Robert to leave as soon as he completed his marital duty.

After Alaric's birth, you hoped to turn a new leaf in your relationship. Not only for his sake, but for your sake. You could not live with a careless husband in a castle where you knew no one and had no true allies.

You sat at your vanity, preparing yourself for bed. Unlike most ladies, you did not need a whole retinue of ladies' maids in order to dress and undress. Alaric is already settled into his cradle and is already asleep.

You finish taking apart the elaborate southern hairstyle that one of your maids painstakingly crafted for the day. Once your hair is in waves down your back, you make your way over to your son's cradle by your bedside. You sit by Alaric, who dozed off to sleep while you were getting ready.

"I hope you can see the Rills and the rest of the North one day, my son," you whisper to your sleeping baby.

"If you wish for our son to meet your family, it could be arranged," Robert said. His silent appearance makes you jump.

You turn to him, and he stands at the foot of your bed. He is wearing a doublet free of creases and stains.

"You haven't been drinking," you said, puzzled.

"No, Jon said women don't appreciate sleeping beside a lump of drunken flesh," Robert says, almost shyly.

The same shyness seems to have infected you. "Alaric has already fallen asleep."

"Umm, well, I guess we can go to sleep now then," Robert said, not moving from his spot.

"Maester Pycelle said we cannot lay together for another two weeks," you tell him, and you stand from the bed.

"I know, I ask about you and the boy's health twice a week," Robert admitted, inching closer to your bed.

"Oh," you say awkwardly.

You slip off your robe and pad over to the vanity. Robert can't help but watch. You leave the robe on the vanity chair and blow out the candles sitting on the vanity. The room feels intimate in the low light of the remaining candles. You return to bed, crawl under the covers, and begin making yourself comfortable.

Robert strips down to his small clothes and climbs in next to you. Both of you stare at the ceiling in silence; neither has any idea what to say to each other.

"I would like Alaric to see the Rills and the rest of the North when he is older," you tell Robert, hoping to cut through the tension.

"I'm sure Ned would put us up while we visit," Robert says. It's meant to be a joke.

You're silent for a moment before letting out a soft huff of laughter. Robert feels a flicker of shame when he realizes that this is the first time he has heard you laugh.

You let out a small yawn. "Good night, husband."

He feels you brush against him when you shift to lie on your side, your back facing him. In the soft glow of the remaining candlelight, Robert can't help but admire the curve of your hip underneath the blanket. He had already taken note of how your breasts had swelled before you gave birth. He wanted so desperately to discover and memorize any part of your body that had changed when you gave him a child. Unfortunately for the king, he had no choice but to wait another half a moon before bedding you again.

Little did Robert know that you were nursing your own feelings of lust and disappointment. There was nothing you could do, though, except burrow deep in the covers and try to ignore the curdling lust in the pit of your belly.

taglist: @kentstoji

[lunarmoonanons]

Lyanna

[vhagarslasttargyrider]

JAEHAERA’S CASTING/MASTERLIST

꧁𐬺❧༺❤︎︎༻☙𐬺꧂

A WOMB FOR WAR

Game of Thrones AU

Sandor Clegane x OC!Stark!Reader

Ilyrra Stark was the twin sister to Sansa Stark. Queen Cersei proposes that the KingsGuard is too weak, and if Catelyn wants to keep her daughter’s reign safe, they need to produce strong suitors for the KingsGuard. What better solution than to wed Ilyrra to the infamous Hound?

Casting:

Starks pt 1

Stark pt 2

Starks pt 3

Cleganes pt 1

Cleganes pt 2

Cleganes pt 3

Animals

Masterlist

Coming soon…

POETIC OUTLAWS

Coming soon…

[countrymusiclover]

9 - Secretly Vaella Lannister

Part 10

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

Lyanna Stark, a person I had never met until the day she wed my brother in secret. 

Jaime and Rhaegar were speaking with sept that my brother had gotten his marriage to his other wife anelled from.  Leaving me and Lyanna together to get changed into our gowns and not be in our sea travel clothes. “I suppose we shall be sisters after this you and I.” Lyanna first spoke to me tying her riding boots instead of wearing heels. 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.  I must warn you though my brother does snore in his sleep.” 

She chuckled with a smile. “That I can handle.  He already knows I don’t shy away from a challenge.” 

“Apparently neither do I.  For Jaime could have kept his vow entirely and told me I was just dreaming like a foolish princess and that I should be focusing my sights on finding a man fit for my title.” I shake my head playfully smiling back at her.  

She came around the corner twirling in her light blue and white wedding gown with some of her hair styled into a flower crown. “What do you think, Vaella?” 

“You look beautiful.  My brother shall surely think so too.” I hung my mouth open seeing somewhat of the appeal he had towards the Northern Stark daughter. 

Lyanna grinned at me. “Ser Jaime and you shall have beautiful children if that’s ever something you talk about.” 

“Maybe someday we shall have children. But for now let’s both go get married.” Offering her my hand we walked outside together through the grassy area of trees in Dorne.  I was wearing a simple red dress and my black horse riding boots.  Leaving my silver hair not styled and allowing it to just flow naturally. 

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." The sept wrapped a white ribbon around their intertwined hands. "In the sight of the seven. I hereby seal these two souls. Binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words."

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crown, Stranger. I am hers ( his )  and she ( he ) is mine from this day until the end of my days." My brother and his secret lover said back to the other before they faced one another and sealed their love with a tender kiss. 

Rhaegar came over to me looping his arm through mine walking me back to the end of the small tree line that we had claimed as ye aisle. “Father may not be here to walk you down the aisle.  So I’ll gladly fill in his place.” 

“Thank you, brother.  I hope you approve of him.  I’d hate to see you two have to duel.” I squeezed his hand in my own, sending him a genuine smile. 

Rhaegar smiled with a shake of his head. “Gods you know how I hate fighting.” 

“I’m fully aware. You’d rather be born a minstrel and move your way through the streets singing to the King's people rather than be the King yourself.” 

He nudges me in the arm with us getting closer to the Septon and Jaime. “And you’d rather be a - I’m not entirely sure what you want.  But you’re surely not one to enjoy being in the spotlight as a princess.” 

“So um - what do you think of him?” I asked him a second time, wishing to know his feelings before we became husband and wife. 

Rhaegar clicked his tongue eyeing the boy with bright blonde hair. “From what I can he makes you happy. Like Lyanna makes me and so that’s all that really matters….Take good care of my little sister Jaime.” He slipped my hand in Jaime’s left. 

“I will, my prince.” Jaime went to bow but Rhaegar still held out his hand. 

“Just Rhaegar. You’re my brother in law now.” 

“I will take care of her, Rhaegar.” Jaime put his right hand shaking it firmly before my brother stepped out of the way when the Sept walked forward to stand in front of us. 

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." The sept spoke softly, wrapped the same ribbon around mine and Jaime’s hand.  "In the sight of the seven. I hereby seal these two souls. Binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words."

Glancing over my shoulder at my brother who had his arm secured around his new wife’s waist sent me a grin along with a head nod before I heard Jaime ask. “Are you ready, Vaella?” 

“Yes.” I uttered out pouring my eyes into his green orbs looking down on me. 

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crown, Stranger. I am hers ( his )  and she ( he ) is mine from this day until the end of my days." Jaime and I never took our eyes off of the other. 

The sept took a few steps back once untying the ribbon from our hands allowing me to fling my arms around Jaime’s neck crashing my lips up onto mine deeply.  “I’m officially yours and now always, my golden knight.” I muttered in between deep kisses until he broke it. 

“Lady Vaella Lannister does sound rather good to me. But you’ll always be a princess to me.” Jaime grinned holding me in his and against his chest as much as he physically could without hurting me too badly. 

Rolling my eyes I wonder when the day would come that he would stop using that nickname. “Please enough of that.  That’s my one request as your wife.” 

“Well I’m sorry but I cannot fill that request.  Because I love the look on your face when I do it.” He smirked proudly down at me, looking over to Rhaegar and Lyanna smiling back at us.  For that one and only day we were all happy and together.  Not aware that would be the last time we saw them and it was the last time they’d see us. 

I heard the lock of my chamber door rustling around with someone trying to open it causing me to wake in the middle of the night.  Slowly reaching underneath my bedside I drew a sword out from under it climbing out of my bed. Moving towards the door I raised the sword over my shoulder with both hands clutching the handle of the sword seeing the chamber door creak open very slowly. "Show yourself you twat. I'm ready and armed!" I raised my voice outward holding back tears knowing it was better to show no fear.

Yet my entire conscious state was completely rattled when I heard someone call my name that was impossible for me to not recognize in a heartbeat. "Vae...Vaella ....Jaime...please don't....it's me...it's Jaime." 

"J...Jaime. Is it...is it really you?" I croaked through heavy tears struggling to keep my grip on the blade handle on the off chance it wasn't and the gods were just playing tricks on my mind. Yet sure enough the door creaked open all the way revealing a sight that nearly broke me in two and shattered my heart. 

My gaze focused on his figure when he slowly stepped out of the darkness of the door and into the light being provided by burning candles. He didn't meet my gaze while I scanned over my husband's face.  “Yes, my princess.” 

I wanted to slap him across the face for using the nickname but all I cared about was that Jaime, my Jaime, was finally home to me. 

[novaursa]

Lyanna Stark Masterlist

main list

- The Bastard Prince - Your father bethrodes you to Lyanna Stark out of spite, and sends you North. - mild 13+

[rookamell]

Absolutely unhinged comment that got left on my fic lol

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE .

Masterlist:

cast + author's note

parts:

1 2

CHAPTER ONE , A NEW FRIEND.

Hooked on a dream that is reeling me in. Oh, is this how we begin? Flowers on fire in black and white film.

— Count Me In, Early Winters

Lyarra Stark had always been a wolf, for all intensive purposes. Frost coated her blood, winter exuded her very being. From the day she came into the realms of men, she was cold to the touch. As her mother went to caress her cheek for the first time, she couldn't help the instinctual flinch. Her babe all but frozen, with pink cheeks — and warm breath. When they took her to the Maester, they discovered there had been nothing wrong with her — not at all. She was born of Winter, and Winter she would remain.

When her hair began to grow in, it was thick — black curls, that cascaded down her. She stood out from the snowy wasteland of the North. As did her personality. While her eldest brother Brandon had always been described as a hot-head, she was cold. Not unkind, but her words were sharp. She did not speak often, and never to those outside of her family.

Her sister, Lyanna, carried the very thought of love with her everywhere she went. It was impossible to hate her, unthinkable to not adore. The two were halves of one whole. In that same breath, they were also almost identical. Lyarra's features were just a bit sharper than Lyanna's. To the naked eye, one could hardly tell the difference. While it was expected of ladies to think naught of anything but life — but love, childbearing, and marriage — the twins would spend their nights sparring. No one else would ever come close to raising a blade to them, wooden or not -- so they knew it was their own task to see through. The two, previously alike in everything but name — had only one staggering difference. Lyanna would spend her nights blissfully thinking of her life ahead, of flowers and life. While Lyarra knew all too well of what was to come.

She wasn't blind to the life that was expected of women. What was expected of her. It was at the age of eight that she began sneaking out of the walls of Winterfell — at the very peak of night. When one could see nothing but wisps of snow coating the ground — and stone surrounding them. She'd been beyond the walls a few times, but not often. Her own curiosity took hold of her, pushing her further and further — until she came upon a forest. It was nothing frightening, by any means. Lyarra could see the end of the tree-line, if she stood up. The trees almost seemed to form a circle, with one solitary stump in the middle. Again, Lyarra's feet seemed to carry her before her mind could argue — and in a few short steps, she was perched on the stump, watching the snow fall above her.

Every night that she could, for the years to come — she would spend her hours gazing up at the trees on that very stump. Sometimes she would bring a book, sometimes her sword. But she would never share it with anyone else. If she had to live someone else's life — a ladies life — she would need something to her own. Even if it stung to keep something so precious from her sister.

At age ten, she traveled with her brothers to Riverrun — and as it was her first time making such a journey, she spent most of it clutching her sister's hand. The two did not hold one another close very often. Lyanna would scold Lyarra for how cold she was, and rip whatever Lyarra was holding onto out of her grasp. It wasn't meant to be cruel, and she knew very well how her touch felt to others — but she could never help the scowl that followed. This time, though, Lyarra would not let her out of her grasp. For all of her curiosity, she couldn't help but long to be back within the walls of Winterfell.

The more that she cowered to her sister's side, the more attention from her brothers she drew to herself. This was not the first time that Brandon had made this journey — as they were going to visit his intended, after all — nor Eddard, for that matter. Though it was Benjen's first time traveling this far, he walked ahead of the two girls. As Lyarra noticed this, she couldn't help but pout in the slightest. She longed for her brother to be by her side, making her laugh — taking her mind off of the journey. Eddard, as if he knew what she was thinking, glanced towards Benjen's retreating figure. His jaw fell open, as if to call for his brother, but he shut it just as quickly — thinking better of himself.

"'S alright, Lyarra. We'll be back home soon, I swear it." Eddard grasped onto her shoulder. The boy was only a few years her elder, but she couldn't help the awe she felt in his presence. If she thought her sister carried the thought of love with her everywhere she went, her brother carried honor. It was almost breathtaking, in certain lights. The peace and loyalty that he exuded, that came out in his very presence. She couldn't do much but nod, but even that was enough to bring a calming smile to Ned's lips. He squeezed her shoulder, bending down to meet her eyes evenly, and she couldn't help but meet his smile with one of her own.

For the first few days of their visit to Riverrun, Lyarra did not care to leave her quarters. When she did, she stayed at the side of her sister — avoiding any sort of conversation with those around her. Brandon did his best to introduce her to those around them, but she only spared them a timid smile — before moving to stand behind him. On the third day, however, Lyarra snuck out of her room at the very peak of the night — as she normally would have, had she been home. This time, however, she knew she could not exit the walls. She knew not how to come back in, nor if they would hear her yelling. Instead, she took to wandering the halls. She was unaware of how much time had gone by, stuck in a palace of her own thoughts. After a while, she came across a small stone window. If she tried hard enough, she could stick half of her body out of it — shimmy her way down. But this wasn't a prison, not really. How she longed to return home, though. Her curious stupor was broken then, by a small - almost weasley voice,

"It's a long fall, you know. I've thought of it before. At best, your ankle would snap as you landed. At worst? Your head would cave from the pressure." Lyarra almost jumped out of her own skin, as she twisted her head to find where the voice was coming from. In front of her stood a small, common-looking boy. With clothes far finer than one would assume he would have. His eyes were soft, while the rest of him was sharp. He was, in all, truly a small child. One look at him, and Lyarra knew the boy wasn't royalty. So, he wasn't Edmure Tully then. Unfortunate, that Lyarra hadn't listened much when her brother had described the inhabitants of the castle.

As if he knew what she was thinking, a coy smirk pulled across the boy's lips — with a smile forming just as small as the rest of him. "My name's Petyr. Petyr Baelish." The last part came out as a bit of a ramble, as if it were an afterthought. He couldn't be royalty, or any kind of highborn. The ward, then. Now Lyarra could vaguely recall her brother's words. Eddard had not spoken fondly of the boy — describing him as a leech, for lack of a better term. However, in this light, Lyarra could not see what was so monstrous about him. He appeared to be just a boy.

"Lyarra is mine. I apologize my .. friend, I know I am not meant to be out of my quarters. I only meant to take a short walk. I will return at once." Her words came out meek, and she sounded much smaller than she would've liked. Petyr, who seemed to brighten at the word 'friend' took a step forward, as she meant to make her retreat.

"Please, don't leave on my account. Spend your night roaming the halls, if that is what you wish. That's what I did, on my first night here." Petyr's coy smile melted into something more genuine, and Lyarra could just barely see a glisten of light in his eyes. He didn't want her to go. The further she stepped away, the closer he stepped to her. If it were anyone else, Lyarra would feel threatened. But somehow, she knew that this boy wouldn't hurt her. "If it would comfort you to not spend your night alone, I could walk with you. I was on my way to my own quarters, when I saw you."

Lyarra couldn't help the hesitation that swept over her. She didn't have any friends, beyond her siblings. She had never been outspoken in that aspect, never in the way that she should have been. Yet, here was a boy practically throwing himself at her feet — just for the chance of a friend. She took a breath, before reaching her arm out — giving him the chance to link with her.

"Come then, Petyr. I'd like to see what other secrets this 'castle' has in store for me." She glanced at him expectantly, then, and couldn't help but meet his smile with one of her own as he grasped onto her. Unlike everyone else, he did not shy away from how cold she was. His eyes only widened for a second, before he clutched onto her arm that much stronger. The two spent the night roaming the halls, and for once Lyarra listened as someone explained the meaningless history of these walls to her. She matched his stories with some of her own, describing to him what Winterfell was like — what her first snowfall felt like.

The two only stopped, when they had returned to the window again. The sun was just barely rising, somehow they'd managed to talk through the entire night. As Petyr went to make his leave, Lyarra clutched onto his sleeve before she could stop herself.  At his inquisitive, but not unkind look — she took a breath, before she spoke.

"Back home, I would do this every night. I would sneak out of my chambers, beyond the walls. Past the guards, into the woods. And every night, I would go to this forest. A small thing, really. But in the very center of the forest stood a stump. Yet it isn't frayed, like someone cut it themselves. It's as if it just grew that way. Small, never growing any larger. Content. And when I would sit there, for once it felt as if I knew my place. As if I was meant to be there." Lyarra finished her ramble as quickly as it began, as she delicately placed her free hand onto the stone at the bottom of the window. She had never told anyone that before, and here she was — prattling her secrets off to the first stranger she'd met. Petyr took a beat before answering, and Lyarra couldn't help but realize how ridiculous she sounded. She'd only just gone to correct herself, when he spoke up.

"Should I ever make that journey, I'd like to see that. If you'd have me." His words were soft, and as her head snapped to him for the second time that night — she saw in his eyes then what she had never seen before. Understanding, wholly and completely. He knew how it felt to not have a place in the world, to not know where you belong. The value of having somewhere entirely to yourself. She couldn't help the small grin that graced her lips.

"Well, of course, Petyr. You're my friend, aren't you?" For the second time that night, Lyarra watched as the boy all but glowed at the word. He needed a friend just as badly as she did. Maybe even more. The two held onto one another for a beat longer than necessary, before saying their goodbyes. As Petyr began to walk in the other direction, Lyarra called out for him. "Petyr, if you wouldn't mind? Keep what I told you between us. I haven't told anyone else.." He said nothing, but the previous coy smile that she'd been introduced with covered his lips once more. With a slight nod, the two went their separate ways.

The rest of Lyarra's stay passed in all but a blur. She spent her day with Lyanna — or one of her brothers, if they weren't busy with the Tully girls. She hadn't gotten much of a chance to speak to her brother's intended, herself. Catelyn Tully intimidated Lyarra, for some reason that she couldn't place. While Petyr's features were sharp, Catelyn's words carried that weight instead. She exuded a sense of responsibility everywhere she went. Lysa, on the other hand, didn't carry herself the way that her sister did. Though, admittedly, Lyarra had only gotten glimpses at her — and each time, the girl was already glaring at her. A petulant child, then. Lyarra spent her nights roaming the halls with Petyr. Some nights they would go to one of their respective quarters, both sitting on the floor — in a way unbecoming of their station — as they talked about their lives. About things they'd never seen, and the things that they wanted to see. Some nights, Lyarra would have supper with her family as well as the Tullys — and throughout the night she would make faces at Petyr, forced to contain her laughter at his reaction. She caught Edmure giving her a strange look more than once, and each time she would simply look back at him blankly.

Eddard caught on all too quickly, though her other siblings remained oblivious to this newfound friendship. He'd made his disapproval quite clear. 'Littlefinger' -- as he'd so delicately named him — 'was not to be trusted', he'd argue. Every day, the two siblings would get into the same quarrel. She loved her brother, and trusted him beyond words. But she wouldn't allow his bias to go against her care for her new friend. Too quickly, she became all too aware of Petyr's feelings for Catelyn. When she was braced with the news, she couldn't help the slight sting in her chest. Of course, she would never be allowed to marry someone as lowborn as Petyr (though, in her eyes, a ward was far from below her) but he was the first boy who had taken an interest in her for her. Her own bitter feelings subsided eventually, though, as she saw her friend longingly staring at the Tully girl.

On the final day of their stay, Lyarra spent her night at the very window where she was introduced to Petyr. As she waited for him, staring up at the sky, she couldn't help but think about how different things were. She dreaded going home, after all this time. Losing her one friend, being forced to return to a life that didn't feel like her own. Reminiscent of their first meeting, Petyr broke her out of this thought by lightly grasping her shoulder. This time, she knew exactly who it was without looking. She'd become familiar with the boy's almost-too-soft hands. His spindly fingers.

"There's something I want you to see. Something I think you'll like." Was all he said as a greeting, gently moving to spin her towards him. Her brow furrowed almost instantly, and without a word she nodded — moving to follow him silently. The two didn't say much to one another, Lyarra still stuck in her somber thoughts. Petyr, as if noticing this, clasped onto her arm as he had on the first night. Before she knew it, the two were outside — walking along the battlements. This was the furthest outside she had been since her stay began, even when she walked through the castle with her family. Lyarra's eyes cascaded over the water below, as she marveled at the land in the distance. As she turned to look back to Petyr, she noticed he was already looking at her.

"Figured you would like to get out of the castle, at least once." Was all he supplied, with a small — almost imperceptible shrug. Lyarra couldn't help the smile that overtook her, as she all but threw herself into the thin arms of the boy next to her. He grunted in surprise, as her arms entirely wrapped around the small boy.

"Thank you, Petyr. Oh, thank you, my friend." Her voice was muffled, as she shoved her face into his coat. After a beat, he moved his arms to wrap around her in return. She held him for only a moment longer, before pulling back with a wide grin. Lyarra turned back to the open land, moving to clutch onto his hand then. "There's so much out there.. haven't you ever wondered where it all ends?" At that, Petyr let out a noncommittal grunt. He stepped forward, placing his own hands on the stone wall.

"'Course, I have. These walls, they're all I've ever known. All I'll ever know, if I'm being honest." He sounded almost sorrowful. As if he were a frail bird locked away in a cage, desperate to fly as far as he could away. "The Tullys, they took me in when they didn't have to. My family was nothing, I've yet to forget that. Yet to be allowed to, I should say." Lyarra understood what he meant all too well. She had always been grateful that she was given this life. That her family didn't need to fight for food, that she had a warm hearth. But at night, she dreamt of living another life. A free one, where she was allowed to do as she wished. She was young, still a child of course — but she was soon to be a woman, whether she wished for it or not. Lyarra squinted them, trying to look as far as she could into the distance.

"If you could, where would you go?" Lyarra had never felt as young as she did in that moment. For just a second, the two were only hopeful children — dreaming of a life so far out of their grasp. For just a moment, they were allowed to wish for something else. A beat of silenced stretched over the battlements as the boy thought.

"South. King's landing. Maybe I'd work for the king. Work my way up, until I was his most trusted advisor. Men often overlook what they cannot see." He seemed to spin a web of gold, within his words. He sounded so certain of himself, and it was such a contrast to the timid boy that Lyarra had come to know. Her stomach churned, almost uneasy — but she couldn't feel the burst of pride within her chest as the boy dreamt of a life so far away.

"You'd make a good king, I think. You're smart enough to navigate that sort of thing." Her words showed her own youthful innocence, as she leaned against the stone wall to smile at Petyr. At that, his eyes seemed to narrow with intensity — as if her words alone just gave him a purpose he'd never truly imagined.

"Intelligence means nothing in the eyes of a King. King's Landing itself is chaos — a pit that I'm not quite confident I'd be able to find my way out of." Petyr took this moment to lean against the wall himself, glancing over at the Stark girl as he spoke. Lyarra blinked, her expression more serious than he'd ever seen.

"Chaos isn't a pit, Petyr. It's a ladder. If you're a step ahead of someone else, you're just a step behind another." In just a moment, Lyarra sounded as if she had entirely grown up. Her voice was mature, the word's coming out of it carried that she kept close to herself. Petyr looked at her then, properly, and moved forward before he could stop himself. For the second time that night the two were linked — his arms wrapped around her waist. In an instant, she did the same -- wrapping her own arms around his neck. The two found understanding within one another that they had never found within someone else. Beneath the light of the stars, they held one another close for much longer than they had to — and only began their journey back inside once they saw the sun peak over the hills.

The following morning, Lyarra was back on the road before she was even fully awake. Her goodbyes with Petyr were quick, away from the all-seeing eyes of her siblings. She held him close as she had the night before, and he grasped onto her hand. They made a quick promise to see one another again, and he was gone before she could say anything else. On their way out, Lyarra stuck close to Brandon. She fit into the side of his cloak as he towered over her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. The Tullys bid them farewell, Catelyn smiling softly at her intended -- While Lysa, on the other hand, was glaring daggers into Lyarra. She almost glanced behind her to see if the girl was staring at something else, before she'd realized it was surely meant for her. She moved closer to Brandon, and ignored his inquisitive gaze as they began their journey.

Lyarra tried to ignore the sorrow that threatened to overcome her at the thought of leaving her first true friend behind — but she did her best to steel herself, marching proudly at her brother's side. On the way there, she had hung back with her sister the whole trip — insistent on avoiding everything she could. This time, she wanted to be in the front. She wanted to know what was to come, what the future had in store for her. Come what may, Lyarra would be ready for it. Even if she was forced to live a life she had no care for — she knew that she had the support of a small boy from Riverrun. A boy who was certain to work his way to the top, at the cost of anyone around him. She couldn't help the burst of pride she felt at that, and her steps almost doubled in speed.

"Lyarra, don't run ahead! Wait for us!" Eddard called after her, but she was already well over the hill. She was eager to get home. More eager than she'd been in weeks. She no longer dreaded what was in store, rather she'd never been more ready.

Okay, So. There's that! The first official chapter of this story .. What did you guys think?? I'll warn everyone now, there won't be a Sandor appearance for a minute. I have too much storyline to build. This book is about Lyarra, not just their relationship. I am very excited to build that as I go along.

As you can see, Petyr plays a large role in this fanfic. I wouldn't classify this as a 'Petyr x reader', because the feelings that the two have for one another are confusing even to one another. They are each other's first true friend, and there will always be love between them for that. They have a very complicated relationship.

The next chapter will likely involve two of the main characters that I have yet to introduce, and further propell Lyarra down the road that she is meant to take. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Young Petyr is so interesting to write. And yes, I gave myself creative leeway, and made it so Lyarra is the one to give Petyr the "Chaos is a ladder" idea. Sue me. They're really smart ten year olds, alright. There are dragons in this series, not everything has to make sense.

As always, feel free to leave any thoughts that you have in the comments! My tiktok is @vhenanfilms if you would like the see the edits I am making based on the series! Thank you all,

Zevran.

[ophelieverse]

if you are still taking requests I have one:Jace returning to Winterfell to reader,who is Cregan younger sister,to make the “song of ice and fire” become true after his mother told him😌please and thank you❤️

✩ ‧₊˚ and his will be the song of ice and fire

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

-Summary:during his first stay at Winterfell,Jace and Y/n got much closer than they should.Now,after knowing the prophecy about the song of ice and fire from his mother,Jace is determined to make it true with the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.

-Warnings:spoilers of the last episode,reader is a Stark,Jace cheats of Baela(him and reader pull a Rhaegar and Lyanna)smutty time,asoiaf classic warnings.

•-thank you so much for requesting and let me know what you guys think,sending you lots of love

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On that night in early Winter,as a milky moon shines white above the hills,the snow falls soft to whitewash the gentle slopes and the houses in the valley of Winterfell.The air smells of the last breath of smoke blown out of a fireplace,ice,earth and wood.

It's late,and many lights are already off,but the fire of torches along the streets still shine.The tavern lanterns are also still lit,as are some fireplaces or oil lamps in homes.The world is immersed in the peaceful quiet of that cold night,which already brings with it the algid squeeze of winter now closer and closer.

In the secluded area of the cold godswood,in the gardens of the castle of Winterfell,silence envelopes the floral landscape like a lover embrace and Jacaerys worries that the unrequited sound of his beating heart could be heard throughout the whole realm.

The blood-red leaves in the branches of the weirdwood tree danced calmly in the breezy wind,the snow had stopped falling from the black sky leaving only the white stars to shine.The torches lights were too close and too bright,Jace eyes were hurting and his cold hands were trying to warm up in the ones of his future bride.

The young prince is really trying to focus on the soft words,the promises of eternal love and loyalty,of the Septon that works for House Stark.But they sounded so foreign to him,almost as if they were another language.It’s impossible for him to focus on anything else outside the fact that he’s really getting married.

During his life,Jacaerys has never knew well how weddings ceremonies actually worked,but he was pretty sure that this one,his,wasn’t what people would call a normal one.He has a vague memory of his mother second wedding,just the day after the worst night of his life,but he still could remember a loving couple becoming one in the heart and soul.Promising each other,in the house culture,love and devotion,eternal loyalty.

He also remembered the wedding of his uncle and aunt,Aegon and Helaena,in the big and bright Temple in King’s Landing.How two children spouted oaths that they didn’t believed in,framed by perfect swaths of red,green and yellow.Smiling faces of their families,proud to be reunited for such a joyful moment.Then the celebration after in the castle,the people dancing and laughing,the melodious music and singing,the delights of the night.

Meanwhile this wedding,his,was quiet and rushed.Reserved and in the dark shade of the forest.There are no wonderful colors for decorations,no smiling families members or friends,aside from Cregan who was chosen as a witness to the union,and Jacaerys is in the middle of an icy tundra of suffocating silence.

Y/n is standing in front of him,adorned in pure pearly white just like the snow at her feet.She wasn’t just beautiful,she was otherworldly and vaguely threatening.Bright eyes,rosy cheeks and red lips,hair falling in the wind,the smile of and enchanting enchantress and the nature of a young she wolf.Blue winter roses crowned on her head,she looked like a religious icon,someone people sacrificed themselves for.

Jacaerys had spent weeks with her during his stay in the North and he couldn’t forget her for days.He had engraved her name in the palm of his hands,the way she would laugh with him,the way she carried herself and looked at him,forever in his heart.It was impossible to not grow to love her,the beautiful lady was made of magic and stardust.

The logics and sermons,the words and phrases of the Septon weren’t the one to convince him to swear his allegiance and love,the way she held his hands and softly smiled at him driven deeper into his soul.Y/n had wrapped herself into his ribs,crawling right inside his heart,to keep him warm.

He was born for her and she was born for him.The ice and the fire,it was written in the destiny.

His mother words still echoed in his mind as he looked at Y/n.The song of ice and fire would be the product of their love,a son or a daughter that would have ruled and kept the realm together and safe.Someone who would inherit the blood of the old Valyria,the blood of the dragons and gods,fire and warmth from their father.And the blood of the first men,the old gods,the ice of the true north from their mother.

Y/n was his truth,Jacaerys was the dream,she was the ice and he was the fire.

She made him sick with desire,she always did since the moment he was first introduced to her.With the desire to have her,to possess her,to have her around him forever.And now he had the perfect opportunity,the perfect excuse for his betrayal to Baela and his mother who had betrothed them months ago.

Now he could still believe that he was a good person with a purpose,not only because of his own selfish dream to be with Y/n and to marry her just because her figure hunted his memory and his carnal needs.Because he was growing to love her and wanted to grow old with her.It was for the realm,he was repeating to himself over and over to shut down the guilt,and it would be what he would tell his mother and cousin when he and his new wife would go to Dragonstone after their wedding.For the realm,for the world and the Targaryen dynasty.

Jacaerys is dressed in pure black,trembling in his furry cloak,he’s trying to calm down his breathing that relies heavily through his nose in forms of little white clouds.Idly he wonders if this was a funeral ceremony instead of a wedding,but this was the best they could manage in such short time.

The young prince had came to Winterfell,flying on dragon back,with the last lights of the sun and everything was orchestrated in secrecy as fast as they could.The child that would be born from him and Y/n needed to be fully legitimate,he didn’t wanted to risk a bastard just like he was,not when the child wouldn’t have become the protector of the realm,the one from Aegon the Conqueror dream.

Y/n was promised to Lord Jason Lannister eldest son and Jacaerys was promised to his cousin Baela.Everything of this was the highest of treason but the war was already there and they couldn’t go back now.His mind couldn’t help but circling around and back to the empty and oddly depressing atmosphere around them.

Before them a old and solemn man was going through some chants about the gods witnessing the union and behind them a grand total of just two whole guest.Cregan stood there,wrapped around his cloak,still and silent like a statue,Vermax was a few feet away looking at the scene like he could understand what was going on.

«In the sight of the Seven,I hereby see you these two souls,binding them as one for eternity.Look upon one another and say the words.»the Septon words were spoken with decision under the torches fire.

Jacaerys swallows thickly and feels like he’s been choked by the cloak that now is heavier on his shoulders.A beads of sweats drips down on his forehead and make his hair stuck on his neck even in the cold air.He wants nothing more than loose his collar and breathe deeply.All that clothing is far too stiff and uncomfortable and he feels like a stranger in his own body.He has to tell himself,as he close his eyes,that this would be over sooner that he’ll realize.

His mouth feels dry as he wet his lips before speaking his vows«Father.Smith.Warrior.Mother.Maiden. Crone.Stranger.I am hers,and she is mine,from this day,till the end of my days.»his voice was firm as he held her hand tightly.

Y/n smiled at him,she tried to be brave just like he was.Her hands were shaking in his,her nerves had eaten her alive the whole night,from the moment she had put on her mother old dress,to this very moment.Now she couldn’t go back.

She really started to love Jacaerys,how could she not?He was so gentle with his words,so kind with the way he touched and looked at her,perfect in everything that he did.And the fact that him,such a beautiful and loving man,had chosen her as his wife and future mother of his children,was dream coming true.As a child,she often dreamed of becoming a princess and to marry a prince,just like the ones in her fairytales.

But now she would’ve had to be the future Queen in a kingdom divided in two,with a war that was screaming outside their door.Jacaerys seemed to read her mind,squeezing her hands lovingly and nodding his head to reassure her,in a way to tell her that she wasn’t alone and that they would be together in the bad and the good.

«Father.Smith.Warrior.Mother.Maiden.Crone.Stranger.I am his and he is mine,from this day,till the end of my days.»Y/n pronounced every single word softly without taking her eyes off her husband.

Maybe this was really a funeral because,as she spoke,Y/n realized that there was no turning back now,they would not be just a prince and lady anymore.When did everything became so complicated?She started to get melancholic as she started to register how much her life had changed in few seconds,that the best part of her new life was also the hardest.

Just a few weeks ago she was running around the godswood with Jacaerys as she was teaching him about the old gods and the legends in the north and now all of her dreams and ambitions were threatened by her husband family.A family that she was part of now.

They were supposed to change the world by bringing their child into it,but the world was about to change them and it certainly wasn’t a change for the better.The greens usurping the throne,prince Aemond killing prince Lucerys proves that.

Y/n head was hurting as she thought about that.And she couldn’t forget about the part where both her and Jacaerys were promised to other people.They would be viewed as traitors among his family,his uncle Daemon wouldn’t take the news kindly and he certainly wouldn’t congratulate them.Y/n father also didn’t knew about any of this and she still feared his reaction.

Regardless all of that,of having the world against them.Both Jacaerys and Y/n didn’t cared about all the venomous things people will say about them or the things that they would have to go through,because if they were given a second chance they would do it all over again.They were loving each other too much to let the other go.

«With this kiss I pledge my love.»Jacaerys said to her,moving his hand to caress carefully her freezing cheek.

His lips felt soft and surprisingly warm against her cold ones.And just like that they were officially married in the sight of the Seven and law.

There is no time for celebrations,no music and tables filled with joy,decorations and all sort of foods.Instead they found themselves in Y/n chambers,the one she grew up in,the one that saw her going from a little girl that played with her dolls to a married woman.

The sheets were changed clean,some fresh flowers were put to adorn the headboard and right on the small table at the center of the table there was wine and some fruits.Cregan had to be the one organizing the whole thing as a small gift.

Y/n takes off her cloak and picks up a small red berry.Jacaerys does the same,moving around the room quietly,he raised his eyes and caught her attention with a sweet smile,so tender and yet so seductive,his lips shiny and wet with a clear juice that slowly dripped down his chin.

«Let me help my wife.»his voice sounded more confident now that it was just the two of them and no one else.

The word,wife,made Y/n feel hot against her chest and down her legs.Standing behind her,Jacaerys wrapped her in his arms.She shuddered when she felt his lips on her neck and along her shoulder:she closed her eyes and abandoned herself against his chest,sighing.

«Jace,husband.»whispered the beautiful lady,her eyes closed and her head slightly tilted back.

«From our love will come the child that this world needs.»Jacaerys had said between the kisses«And I will take care of both of you.»he continued.

«You promise?»Y/n voice was just breathless whisper.

«Nothing will happen to you,»his hand crawled down her stomach leaving shivers on her clothed skin,only to stop at her lower belly.

«But…your family…your mother and uncle-»she tried,biting her lip when he started to suck gently behind her ear.

«Our family will understand.»he corrected her«My mother knows the truth and she will grow to love you just like I do,especially after we will make her a grandmother.»he reassured her sweetly.

A shiver flashed down her back and inflamed her loins.The young prince lowered her shoulder strap to discover her breasts and squeezed it slowly between his fingers,flaring in turn as he felt the nipple turged against his palm.

Y/n staggered,her heart throbbing,her breath shortness and her legs were already trembling but Jacaerys was quick to support her:he lifted her in his arms and took her to the thalamus,on which he gently laid her,a splendid candid flower that seemed to fill that place of shadow with light and of which it was impossible for him to do without.

«My beautiful princess,my beautiful wife.»he murmured against her lips kneeling above her,her eyes shiny,her face turned on despite the pallor.

Y/n took his head in her hands,dipped her fingers between his long curly black hair like a crow's wing;she felt his whole body quiver himing,his heart beating fiercely,and like every time he made her understand that he wanted her,a glance was enough for her to make sure of his devotion:she beat her eyelashes darkening the beautiful irises for a moment,licking her lips;she barely curved them,aware that that gesture drove him crazy,she slowly pulled a flap of the dress to herself by uncovering one leg and flexed it,letting the toe of her foot slide down his thigh,continuing to look at him intensely.

Below the fabric of his pants,Jacaerys felt the delicacy and sensuality of her touch.The tremor of excitement that attacked him was violent, lightning-fast:he stared at her for a moment and couldn't resist any longer.He impatiently freed her from the gown leaving her naked and just as quickly he undressed himself,the look that ran longingly on every corner of her body,unable to give up admiring her as the first time and like every time.

«I’m yours.»Jacaerys promised her,whispering against her lips«Nothing will ever take me away from you.»he kissed her sweetly.

She whimpered and her heart started to beat faster«I’m yours.»she repeated.

He sank with his nose and mouth between the curves of her chest,grabbed her soft hips,stroked her thighs and bottom.Y/n flared all up as she felt his lips pop greedily on her breasts,squeezing volupously around one of his nipples as he brushed it with his tongue and teased the other with his thumb.Pervaded with chills,she widened her legs and clawed her fingers on the sheets;she lifted her pelvis sighing,longing for it anxiously.

The pleasure exploded when he began to draw with the arabesque index finger in the center of her body:she moaned,her breasts shaken by palpitations,her nipples turgid and sore from the pleasure of kisses and caresses,the groin and lower abdomen on fire.

Jacaerys stretched out on her,wrapped her every horizon in darkness:all her muscles were pulsing, the heartbeat that became gradually more frenetic from the burning need to love her,to get drunk on her.He looked at her again he could never have satiated himself to admire her beautiful face - and as soon as she returned his gaze,sweet and sensual every time more,the voluptuousness clouded his mind.

He sank between her thighs,tearing a lament from her that he suffocated with his lips;he clinged her tightly in his arms and kissed her with trepidation,proud and passionate as he pushed himself into her.Y/n clung to his shoulders pressing against his chest with her breasts and belly,her thighs squeezed to his hips:she felt like screaming again, but her tongue danced unbridled in her mouth,the movement of the hips energetic against her,providing her with each push a pang of intense,deep,absolute enjoyment.

The prince hands ran over her body with ardor,she felt his fingers demanding and sweet at the same time on the flesh,in the throes of estasy,she could do nothing but indulge in passion,following the fast pace with which he was moving inside,shadow inside the light,light wrapped in shadow.

«Jace,oh my gods!»Y/n had breathed closing her eyes and pulling the hair at the nape of his neck.

Going crazy with pleasure to hear his bride enjoy,Jacaerys pushed with greater vigor,eager to increase her enjoyment to a great demour,excited by her moans and delighted by the fervor with which she clenched herself by scratching his back with her nails.

«Y/n,oh my sweet little wife.»he groaned against her her,sweat covering his forehead.

He loved her,impetuously and madly,letting himself be stunned by her sighs,her heartbeats,her scent,similar to a flower that spreads his fragrance moved by the north wind caress.

Y/n quivered below him,the breast prey to his incessant caresses,the mouth half of his insatiable kisses;she felt his love to pierce her with tenacity,the pleasure to become more and more powerful and intoxicating and when she reached her peak she screamed,overwhelmed by the intensity of that embrace:this time Jacaerys did not hold back her scream and in turn could not hold back a moan as he made sure to release inside of her.

Appealing to the last forces Jacaerys had left,he bent down to kiss her and finally overturned at her side,panting.Exhausted,Y/n abandoned herself against the bed,her long hair spread in waves on her pillows.

Jace hurried to cover her with the sheet so that she wouldn't get cold and smiled at her,as soon as he felt her fingers touch his cheek.For a moment he stood to contemplate her eyes,her lips,her smile...she was even more beautiful,after love.

«Y/n,»he whispered as he came back to hold her tenderly to himself«I love you.»

She sought shelter in his arms,fulfilled and satiated with strong emotions but still eager for him.She placed her head on his chest and let his caress her hair«I love you too Jace.»she answered.

He smiled,placing a hand on her warm and sweaty skin of her lower belly where he hope a new life would start to grow soon«I promise you,our child will change the world.»he whispered.

They fell asleep together,ice and fire united.And the next day they would still be like this,in each other's arms,bound by passion,seduced by love.Creating a new life together that would have changed everything.

[boldstarks]

The Unwanted Wife Plot Bunny

In 284 AC, the newly minted King Robert Baratheon married Y/N Ryswell, cousin to the deceased Lyanna Stark. You found yourself with a husband who yearned for another woman, your own cousin. At age nine and ten your head was no longer filled with naive notions of chivalric love and dreamed of a handsome knight sweeping you off your feet.

It wasn't as if you loved your new husband, but you knew he only saw her when he looked at you. He even called you by her name when he was drunk. Nevertheless, you found yourself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and completely alone in Kingslanding.

[aemondsbabe]

Oathkeeper

summary: aemond comes to winterfell to vie for favor and while cregan has his mind set on backing rhaenyra, you remain unswayed. will your indecision be his saving grace?

pairing: aemond targaryen x stark!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, brat taming, aemond is a little shit, choking, mild degradation, oral sex (f receiving), very lyanna mormont coded reader, aemond whimpers, he's down bad tbh he loves it, angst, allusions to violence but no actual violence, please no one kill me for the end lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.1k

a/n: happy 3k laura!! i'm so happy to be a part of this collab with you and so many of my other fantastically talented writer friends! check out the full milestone celebration here and the masterlist will be here!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

divider creds to @targaryen-dynasty

🦋my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Icy air whips around you as you stand atop one of the many high stone battlements of Winterfell, eyes scanning the horizon; the grey earth and sky seem to meld together as one as the sun sets lower and lower. 

“It is our duty to hear them out, sister,” Cregan rumbles beside you, brow furrowed. Ice glimmers in your periphery when you glance over at him, the great sword strapped over your brother’s shoulder contrasts sharply against the deep black of the furs draped over his body, “If they come to us for aid, we must negotiate.”

The air around your lips turns to mist as you scoff, jaw clenched. Today, of all days, you could do without your brother’s condescending tone. 

“Negotiate,” you echo, pulling the thick white fur of your cloak more snugly over your shoulders as the wind seems to pick up, “They come with hardly any notice, with two dragons, and you still believe this is a negotiation?”

“Sister –”

“To call it anything but extortion is a fool’s game, Cregan,” you keep your eyes straight ahead, focused only on the horizon, when he turns to glare at you, nostrils flared. 

“Need I remind you that we are sworn to House Targaryen? That we have been for –”

“Which House Targaryen?” You swiftly counter, cutting your gaze to his with a biting scowl of your own. The wind gusts again yet you pay it no mind, hardly noticing when a shadow passes overhead. 

An all encompassing roar seems to vibrate the very air around you and you whip your head up just in time to see a behemoth of a beast duck down below the clouds, followed swiftly by a smaller, though no less monstrous, one that lets out a resounding cry of its own. 

“Gods be good,” you sigh, already feeling weary of this whole endeavor; you roll your eyes when you look to Cregan, only to find him positively beaming, entranced. You, however, would not be so easily wooed – of that, you were determined. 

Glowering, you turn your face to the sky once more and watch as the creatures circle one another, huffing when it dawns on you that their movements strikingly resemble two riders racing on horseback, goading and taunting one another. 

Shaking your head, your chest heaves with a tired groan, Seven Hells.

“I shall see you in the Great Hall when you have finished fawning,” you sigh once more before turning, leaving your brother to stand like some open-mouthed whore, gawping at the sky.

“My Prince and… my Prince,” Cregan’s voice echoes throughout the great stone hall, accompanied by the steady crackle of the enormous fireplace at its back wall, “We bid you welcome to the North, I trust your journey’s were pleasant ones.” 

The tension in the air is nearly palpable as you stand beside your brother, carefully watching the two dragonriders.The one on the left, Prince Jacaerys, stares straight ahead at Cregan, as if he doesn’t trust himself to look anywhere else. His dark brows are set in a slight scowl and his gloved hand hasn’t once risen from the pommel of his sword since he dismounted his dragon, who you’ve been informed bears the name Vermax.

Your gaze, however, seems continually pulled to the right, determined to see through the cool mask of indifference Prince Aemond wears. Unlike Jacaerys, his singular lilac eye had been busy flicking all about the space, though he stood stock still with a haughty manner about him, hands clasped behind his back. 

“‘Twas a fine journey, yes,” Aemond hums, looking first at Cregan and then to you; his gaze is piercing and you can’t help but wonder if the rumors among the smallfolk are true – that he’d replaced his lost eye with some sort of gemstone, “Vhagar and I were fortunate to not encounter… anything of note.”

Your eyes move quickly to Jacaerys, breaking from Aemond’s stare once you catch the pointed tone of his words, slicing through the air like daggers. His jaw clenches, though only for a second, as you silently pray that this does not end in the two men coming to blows, or worse. 

“My journey was quite pleasant, my Lord Stark, thank you,” a small part of you is impressed that he seems determined not to let his emotions run amuck. He steps forward and pulls a rolled piece of parchment from the inner pocket of the thick, fur-lined cloak he wears, “I come with a message from my mother, the Queen.”

Beside him, Aemond quickly steps forward as well, producing a similar scroll, close enough to you that you’re able to just make out an image of House Targaryen’s three-headed dragon embossed on the golden wax seal. “And I come bearing a message from King Aegon, Second of His Name,” he pauses, looking between you and Cregan, glancing almost imperceptibly toward Prince Jacaerys, “Who currently sits the Iron Throne.”

“Usurper,” Jacaerys mutters under his breath, nose twitching in annoyance.

“Say that again,” Aemond’s voice is low as he whips around to face Jacaerys, all but shoving the scroll he brought into your hands. 

“That is my mother’s throne,” the brunette replies, simmering with a barely contained rage as he hands over Rhaenyra’s terms to Cregan in a similar manner, “Your drunken fool of a brother has no right to it.”

Your heart thrums in your chest as they stare one another down, the hostility between them seems to suck all the air from the room and bathe it in a silence you’ve only ever felt in the crypts. 

“And who would bend the knee for a whore with bastard heirs, nephew?” Aemond’s footfalls echo about the hall as he stalks around the other prince, circling him with a goading smirk, “She could not honor the oaths made to her husband, I shudder to think what would become of her promises to the realm.”

Your eyes widen and a gasp is wrenched from your throat when Jacaerys whirls around with a snarl and the sound of metal-on-metal grates through the air as both men unsheath decorated daggers from their belts; they stumble a few steps back, chests heaving as they each wait for the other to make the first move. 

“Do it,” Aemond taunts, lips twisted into a wicked smile while he and Jacaerys circle one another. Raising a hand, he pulls the black leather eyepatch from his face and tosses it to the floor, clearly relishing the way the other prince falters at the sight of his uncovered face. The deep blue sapphire he reveals gleams in the light from the fire, the sight of it makes your breath hitch, “Finish what your bastard brother started, go on.”

“Cease this!” Cregan shouts, voice firm, though he may as well not have spoken at all for all the good it does – each man only sparing him a glance. 

“I did not come to fight you,” the brunette huffs, scowling at his uncle while keeping a firm grip on the hilt of his dagger.

“No?” Aemond questions sardonically, “You’ve no wish to prove your might, hm? To show the realm how strong you are?”

The remark sounds like any other taunt to you, yet something about it seems to make the fire simmering within Jacaerys blaze closer to the surface – too close. You can see it coming before it happens from the way he tenses, from the miniscule twitch of his hand.

Acting quickly, you lunge for the great longsword strapped to your brother’s back and unsheath it without a second thought. Cregan reacts just as swiftly and clambers for you when you turn on your heel and rush over to where the two men glower at one another. From the corner of your eye, you see Jacaerys lunge forward but you cut off his movement as you swing Ice over your head. 

Metal crashes against metal, filling the hall with a shrill clang, before the great sword slams against the stone floor with a cacophonous din. Everything comes to a sudden halt as the loud noise sends a shock through the hall. 

“Enough!” The word leaves your lips as a snarl while you stare between the two men, nose twitching in annoyance, “How dare you sully our home with such feckless, asinine bickering!” 

Each of the princes sheaths his dagger in silence, though you hold the sword between them still, the tip of it digging into the stone as you keep hold of the pommel. “I’ve no doubt that were those creatures outside to engage like this that they could easily rip Winterfell to pieces, stone by stone, and yet they remain peaceful! Tell me, do you have baser morals than that of a beast?” Your voice is low as you speak, every ounce of patience you had for this idiotic farce wrung from you, “Is this the kind of man House Targaryen sets upon the realm?” 

“Apologies, my lady… my lord,” Jacaerys murmurs, glancing between you and Cregan before quickly staring down at the floor, his jaw set. 

You give him a curt nod before training your eyes on the silver-haired prince and narrowing them expectantly; he holds your gaze for only a second before looking off into the fire with a sigh, “Apologies.” 

Cregan reaches for the sword again and this time you relinquish it without a fight, turning your attention back to the two scrolls abandoned on the longtable – one carrying a gold seal, the other a black one, both bearing the three-headed dragon emblem.

Your brother sighs behind you and you can practically feel him throwing an icy glance at the two men before he joins you at the table, leaning back against the edge of it and crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

“We will hear your terms,” he starts, ignoring the way your head whips around to face him, “As is our sworn duty, but there will be no violence in these halls.”

“No.”

“Sister –”

“Not tonight,” you shake your head firmly, glancing over your shoulder at the princes before leaning closer to Cregan, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry in through the hall, “‘Tis late and they are on edge as is. Any negotiations will not go peacefully tonight.”

He turns his head toward you with a soft sigh; you tilt your head just slightly when your eyes meet, communicating silently, with only a look, as you have since the two of you were small. 

“Please,” you think, your gaze flicking between his blue eyes, lips set in a firm line, “Listen to me, just this once.”

Finally, after a long moment, he simply nods and looks back at the two men still standing in the hall, looking pointedly away from each other now. 

“We will hear your terms in the morning,” you announce, turning to face them, your expression set and neutral, “The hour is late and I imagine the two of you are tired from your travels, the –”

“Lady Stark,” Aemond starts, stepping forward, jaw clenched with barely contained annoyance, “W–”

“We will hear your terms in the morning and that is final, my prince,” you repeat, enunciating each word firmly, leaving no room for whatever argument he was intending to make. You glance between the two men again, watching as he gives a polite, stiff nod. 

Sighing tiredly, you give Cregan one last withering look before turning on your heel. “The servants will show you to your quarters,” you call over your shoulder, grabbing the gold sealed scroll from the longtable on your way to the doors without sparing the men another look. 

By the grace of the Gods, you manage to have a few peaceful hours to yourself. The castle remains quiet, save for the usual bustling of various servants and guards. The crackling of the small hearth in your chambers is the only sound that accompanies you while you read over the terms Prince Aemond brought with him, which were fairly generous, all things considered. 

Only one point gave you pause, perhaps King Aegon’s greatest gift – the offer of his brother’s hand. You wrinkle your nose in disgust when you read over that bit, although you had expected it. It’s no secret that you, Winterfell’s greatest prize as you’d been told time and time again since you were old enough to even somewhat comprehend the idea of marriage, are unclaimed. Of course the Greens would exploit that, the Blacks probably did as well.

Of course any other weaker Lady would take the offer. 

Unconsciously, you clench your jaw as you gaze into the fire, watching the flames dance while you think over the terms set before you, etched cleanly on the parchment. You get up from your place at the desk to go see if Cregan has finished reading over Rhaenyra’s terms, quite curious to see what it is she’s offering up. 

“Gods!” You exclaim when a sudden knock at your chamber door cuts through the peaceful silence of the night, startles you enough that you grab at the edge of your desk to keep the bottle of ink there from spilling. Corking it, you let out an annoyed little grumble as you stand.

“Enter!” You call out, smoothing out the silken, fur lined fabric of your evening robes, the soft blue color sparkling like seafoam in the light from the fire. Your brows pinch together in equal parts annoyance and intrigue as a certain white-haired prince saunters through the door, his lips set together in a firm line, as if deep in thought. 

“Prince Aemond,” you huff, bristling when he closes the door behind him, “The hour is quite late, surely whatever you’ve come for can wait until the morning.”

He pauses at that, not moving from his place in the entryway. Confusion wells up within you when he doesn’t meet your gaze, his lilac eye blinking as his lips open just slightly – something clearly weighs quite heavily on his mind. 

“I apologize for the late hour, my Lady,” he murmurs, finally looking up as he takes a few steps into your chambers, arms clasped behind his back, “But I do not think the matter can wait until morning, no. I don’t believe that would be wise.”

“Speak, then,” you nod with a sigh, resting against the arm of a small sofa by the fire. You try your best to hide your annoyance, feeling certain that whatever the Prince had come to you with is not nearly as serious as he seems to believe.

Aemond remains quiet for a few seconds more and you can practically see the wheels turning in his brain, something brewing just below the surface. “I… Did you intend to make a fool of me, Lady Stark?”

“What?”

“I’m aware that my coming, and that of my nephew, were… sudden,” he continues, leaving you utterly perplexed, which only makes you clench your jaw, already exasperated at this entire exchange, “But, had you and Lord Cregan made it clear that you had already come to an agreement, I could’ve left — been on my way to the Stormlands and saved us all the trouble.” 

“Seven Hells, why must he speak in riddles,” you think, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching your brow tiredly. 

“Prince Aemond, perhaps I could be of some help if you spoke your concerns more plainly,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and peering at him once more, “However, I can assure you that Cregan and I have decided nothing. He and I have planned to take the evening to read over yours and Prince Jacaerys’s terms, which we will discuss in the morning.” 

“Mm, then am I to believe that your lord brother plots without your knowledge, my Lady? I find that hard to believe.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aemond paces, smirking as he traipses back and forth before you, acting like he can see clearly through some false plot you’ve set… if only you’d set one at all. 

“I overheard them, Cregan and Jace, in the library — I cannot seem to find sleep and thus was wandering the halls,” he murmurs, quickly explaining his actions before you have time to ask, “Surely you’re aware that your brother intends to support my traitorous sister.” 

His words should come as a shock, that Cregan would do something like this behind your back, and yet you can’t find it within yourself to be truly surprised. Ever since he’d become Warden of the North, he’d become… hardened, even to you. Before, he would’ve never dared do this, would’ve considered your thoughts as carefully as his own, but not anymore. 

“My brother may be decided,” you start, voice clipped, “But I have yet to come to a decision.” 

The prince hums yet again, something he seems to do often much to your great displeasure. He studies you for a moment, lilac eye never wavering from yours, before looking away with a tsk. “And yet, from what I overheard, he seems quite convinced that you have.” 

You scoff at that and push yourself off the arm of the sofa, placing your hands on your hips as you blink at him for a moment while the corners of your lips twitch with the threat of a smirk, “I must confess, my Prince, but I do not know how to proceed. We seem to be at an impasse – I assure you of one thing and yet you cling to your belief in another.”

“So it would seem.”

His calm reply does nothing to lessen your irritation and your chest heaves with a sigh, jaw clenching. “Well, then,” you huff, no longer patient enough to keep the frustration out of your tone, “What would you have me do, hm?”

“Perhaps,” your eyes narrow at the indifference with which he speaks – an act, you’re sure of it, “It would bring me some comfort if we could come to some… agreement of our own. As your brother and my nephew seem so eager to do.”

“As I’ve said, I do not wish to discuss the matter further. ‘Tis late, my Prince, and I see no point in staying up half the night to do something that can be accomplished just as well tomorrow.”

“Mm,” he hums, pacing around you and further into your chambers, to your great annoyance. You turn, watching him as he saunters through the space, acting as if it’s his own, only to come to a stop beside your desk. 

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips just as he feigns surprise at seeing the scroll he’d brought with him unfurled over the wooden surface, “But, you have read the king’s terms, no? Surely discussing them would not take long.”

“Discussing them, no,” you acquiesce, gritting your teeth, “My thoughts of accepting them, on the other hand…”

You can tell he’s only half-listening as you speak, focused on reading over the notes you’d scrawled in the margins of the document – questions of various assurances and the like… aside from one particular line which you’d hastily crossed through. A shiver goes down your spine when his eye trails up from the parchment to once again meet yours, darkened with some new sense of resolve.

“You are aware that the crown has the ability to strip you and Lord Cregan of your titles, yes? Especially if I were to inform my council of your plot against me…”

Your heart quickens at his warning, thumping meanly in your chest while you try to process his words. “All this over a simple marriage offer?” You think as your brows pinch together in a scowl; you do not take kindly to such threats.

“Over my brother’s right to the throne…,” Aemond murmurs and it’s only then you realize you must’ve spoken aloud, not hearing your own words due to the turmoil in your head, the rush of blood in your ears, “Over my family’s safety, yes. I would be willing to dole out harsher reminders as well, if need be.” 

“You must understand, this is not a slight against you, nor your council,” fire rages within you as the winds outside pick up, howling throughout the castle, “I have no want to be bound to anyone –”

“Think of the station you’d have,” he cuts you off, determination seeming to well up within him the same way it does you; each of you is ready for a fight, “The power you could wield in King’s Landing, everything you could do to benefit –”

“You could not drag me from the North kicking and screaming, I have no desire to go –”

“My Lady, you are intelligent, ‘tis plain to see,” he murmurs lowly, indignation finally managing to bleed through his placid exterior while he paces about, circling you just as he did Prince Jacaerys, “Surely you realize that your talents will be wasted here, squandered to the cold, frozen waste –”

“Do you think insulting my home is the way to win me over, my Prince?”

“Mm,” his dismissive hum alights a spark within you and your hands curl to fists at your side, “No, though I suspect flattery would do no good either.”

His words are sharp, spoken with the sole purpose of cutting into you, yet all they draw is an angry huff. You can see his eye narrow in your periphery, can feel him studying you, no doubt trying to find a way to make you crack. 

A part of you hopes he’ll succeed. 

“So, you see, I’ve no other choice than to resort to threats,” he hums, long silken hair swaying over his shoulders as he finally comes to a stop before you, close enough that you’re forced to raise your chin to maintain eye contact. 

“Should you be fool enough to try, you will not succeed in taking the North, my Prince,” you say softly, a quiet calm blanketing your fury just as snow blankets the fields outside, “Even Aegon the Conqueror could not, surely you know that.” 

Something dangerous flashes in his eye at that and your eyes narrow with the knowledge that you’ve crossed some invisible boundary, gone a step too far. 

He stays quiet for a moment, just long enough for the eye of the storm within you to pass, for the maelstrom to be ignited once more. 

“Surely you’ve heard tale of the wrath the Conqueror brought upon Harrenhal, Lady Stark,” his voice is low when he finally speaks, though there is no softness to it; only a harshness, a finality, that would surely make anyone else grovel for forgiveness at his feet, “Reduced to a pile of ash and molten stone… even now, more than a century later, it stands as a ruin – a cursed place…”

Your jaw clenches tightly at his words, eyes narrowing as you stare into his own as if challenging him to say it, to finish his threat.

“It would be quite a shame if that same doom was brought to Winterf–”

Aemond lets out a grunt when his back thuds against the stone wall behind him, gasping and caught off guard by your sudden advance. 

“Have you no shame?” Your words are biting as you snap at him; fury pours off of you in waves, your entire being concentrated down into rows of gnashing teeth, “You come into my home, unbidden. You threaten to spill blood in my hall, you feel entitled to my time and my space and my thoughts and my hand, all unbidden.”

For the first time all evening, the prince seems to have no response, not even a condescending hum. He stands frozen on the spot, held against the wall by your forearm pinned across his chest. The air feels like it evaporates from the room, leaving the two of you in some sort of bubble where the only sound is Aemond’s harsh pants. You see his angular nose twitch and his lips press firmly together as a sneer forms on his pale face. 

There’s a cruel, almost savage, gleam in his eye that should scare you, that maybe actually would, were it not for the soft pink flush spilling across his cheeks and an undercurrent of something resembling shame in his gaze – the expression of a child being scolded by a parent, caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

The strangeness of it brings you to heel for a second, only for the anger within you to flare up once more when he starts to open his mouth, starts to push himself off of the cool stone at his back. 

“Don’t,” you huff, narrowing your eyes and pressing back against his chest. A bitter laugh bubbles up from your throat as you stare at him, surprised once more when he quickly gives in and lets you push him back, “I bet you’re quite used to getting your way, hm? You’re a prince of the realm, of course you are.”

With each passing second, your ire for him seems to be slowly replaced by a growing curiosity — Why isn’t he fighting back? What kind of game is he playing at? 

“Entitled prince,” your heart quickens when his breaths start coming more harshly and his chest heaves against beneath your arm, “You hold no power here.” 

Aemond’s nostrils flare and his lilac eye narrows, just as fiery and intimidating as before. Your lips part when his hands come to rest on your waist, far too delicately for the situation. 

“Might I remind you,” he mutters, a rumble to his voice that hadn’t been there before, “That the crown—“

“The crown, the crown, the crown,” you lean in, nearly on your tiptoes, just a hair’s breadth away from touching your nose to his. Without considering the movement, your free hand wraps itself around his pale neck, not squeezing but merely resting there, pressing against his Adam’s apple — a reminder for him to remain silent, “Why is it that you lean so heavily on something you do not even have, my Prince?” 

You can feel him swallow against the palm of your hand, once again not fighting back. Though, it’s only when you meet his half-lidded eye and see that heady, shameful spark hiding there does the truth finally hit you. 

“Gods, he likes this,” your eyes widen ever so slightly at the realization, such a mighty, fearsome prince and yet he’s all but melting under your touch. The feeling is rather intoxicating and you feel a rush of power flow through you, making the hair at the nape of your neck stand on end. 

“I don’t see a crown on your pretty head,” you continue leaning into the feeling, intending on leveraging his submission to whatever extent you can, “Doesn’t that bother you, Aemond? Hm? Being reduced to the second son when you could’ve been so much more…”

“V-Vhagar could—“

“Vhagar could do nothing,” your fist tightens around the column of his throat as you press yourself more tightly against him, the thin fabric of your evening robe the only thing separating you from the warm black leather of his tunic, “Not if I take my brother’s sword and go slit her great belly myself.” 

He balks at that, brows furrowing as he stares at you — half in fury, half in wonder. He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off again, not interested in hearing another half-baked threat. 

“Does it bother you that I don’t find you the least bit intimidating?” You question, narrowing your eyes at him. 

A grin blooms on your lips when he just barely shakes his head, the movement so subtle and so quick that you hardly catch it — though it sends lightning down your spine all the same.

“No? It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Again, he shakes his head, more firmly this time; his throat bobs beneath your grip, “Do you like it? That you can’t scare me?” 

He nods — not good enough. 

“Say it,” you command, tightening your grip on his neck once more. 

“I… I like it…,” he answers after a long moment, his voice hardly a whisper.

“Good boy.” 

He whimpers, the small sound vibrates against your hand. A shock goes through you and before you can fully register what you’re doing, you release his chest and neck and haul him toward your bed — that barely there whine enough to ignite a fire in your belly. 

You can see the confusion written plainly on his face when you sit on the edge of your mattress and gaze up at him expectantly, you try not to focus on the little flip your heart does at the fact that he’d followed you so willingly, like a little puppy. 

“Kneel,” you command, nearly giddy when he actually does, actually sinks to his knees before you. You lean forward and quickly tug off his eyepatch, eager to see the sapphire once more, and again, you’re shocked when he doesn’t put up a fight. 

Tossing the small scrap of leather to the side, you stop for a moment and admire the glimmering gemstone, even admiring the long, thin scar that adorns his otherwise flawless face. 

“You’ve been a thorn in my side all evening,” your fingers card through his hair while you speak, your voice low, hardly louder than the crackle of the logs in the fire, “Starting fights, coming to my chambers in the middle of the night for matters I said I would not be discussing, talking back… and I can think of much better uses for this mouth.”

Aemond’s breath hitches when you cup his jaw and skim a thumb over his bottom lip, grinning when he just barely follows your touch. With your free hand, you tug your robe open at the slit going up your leg, just enough to show him you’re bare beneath it.

“If… if I do this, you’ll back Aegon?” He rasps, staring up at you from his place on the floor as his hands come to rest gingerly on your thighs, “You’ll agree to his terms?”

“Of course…”

“… All of his terms?”

“All of them,” you echo breathily, sighing softly when he leans in and kisses the top of one knee, a smug grin on his lips despite the situation. 

If only he didn’t make this so easy. 

“Enough talking,” you grab at his pale hair and shamelessly pull him to where you need him, smirking at the little gasp that leaves his lips once he’s face to face with your center, “Show me what it is I’ve agreed to.”

For all his faults, Aemond doesn’t make you wait and quickly dives in — licking a solid line up the middle of your folds, groaning as he goes. His hands tighten around your thighs and he eagerly spreads them wider, shifting on the floor until he’s pressed closer to you. 

“Oh, f-fuck!” You gasp, leaning back on an elbow, though you keep a grip on his hair and use it to drag him directly to your aching pearl, arching your back when he hungrily suckles at it. His eagerness makes the fire in your belly burn bright right away and you swallow thickly, battling against the dryness at the back of your throat. 

Aemond growls against you and dutifully licks over your bud, flicks his tongue against it again and again until your head spins. Your thighs tighten around his head but he’s quick to press against them once more and hold you open, fingers digging into your supple flesh. 

“Good boy,” you pant, relishing the way his eye rolls back. Biting at your bottom lip, you yank his hair once more — guiding him to your entrance. He catches on quickly and another almighty gasp is wrenched from your throat when he pushes his tongue inside you, making you shiver. 

“Seven Hells!” Your hips buck against his face of their own accord when his angular nose brushes against your pearl, sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine. Your walls clench down around his tongue, pulling twin whines from the both of you. 

Knowing you won’t be able to hang on for much longer, you press his face against your core and rock your hips more earnestly against his face; your eyes nearly go cross when he groans deeply against you, squeezing at your thighs hard enough to surely leave behind bruises. 

“T-That’s it, that’s it,” you chant, chest heaving. It feels as if lava flows through your veins each time he presses his tongue against you, the fire inside you burning brighter by the moment. 

Suddenly, he moves on his own accord and nips softly at your pearl before suckling at it once more. The sudden turn of events causes you to snap and finally slip over the edge, making fireworks explode behind your eyelids. 

“A-Aemond, Gods!” You cry, harshly tugging at his hair, nearly ripping it from its roots as pleasure beats against you in waves. You’re so lost within yourself that you hardly hear him growl against you, low and heady. 

You shove him away after a moment when his touches begin to border on overstimulation and lie panting on the bed, dropping to your back against the warm blankets and staring, half-lidded, at the ceiling. 

You can hear the shuffle of his clothes as he pushes himself up off the floor but you don’t bother sitting up, limp still from your peak. It’s not until he speaks that you finally look up. 

“I take it I’ve fully persuaded you, then?” He hums, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Leaning up on your elbows once more, you look him over — taking in the flush on his cheeks, the way his chest thrums under the dark leather of his tunic, the evidence of his arousal pressing tightly against the ties of his trousers. 

Gods, what a desperate thing — wanting so badly for validation.

“Well, I’ll still need to read over Rhaenyra’s terms…”

“But —“

“But nothing,” you snap, sitting up once more on the edge of the bed, “I must at least operate under the pretense of being fair, no? Cregan will know if I don’t come to collect the papers your nephew brought.” 

Aemond nods stiffly, lips set in a thin line as he looks you over. Your heart speeds up just slightly when his lilac eye pauses at your chest, darkening at the way your robe has loosened, showcasing your cleavage. 

“True,” he acquiesces, brushing a lock of hair from your shoulder, “It would be smartest for us to be careful now…” 

He leans down, intending to kiss your cheek, perhaps even your lips or neck, but you put a hand up to stop him — shaking your head with a small smirk and a raised brow. 

“That’ll be all.” 

His brows furrow at your words, eye searching your face, “I thought —“

“I need to rest,” you cut him off, nodding to the door, “Goodnight, my Prince. I hope sleep finally finds you.” 

“I…” he starts, staring at you for a second, absolutely crestfallen, before simply nodding. “Lady Stark,” he mumbles, finally turning and seeing himself out, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Poor thing,” you think with a sigh as soon as your door shuts behind him, “He has no business here.” 

You’re hit with a wave of deja vu as you take your place next to Cregan, each of you standing before the long table at the head of the Great Hall. Once again, the place is as silent as a crypt, the only sound being the steady crackle of the fireplace. 

You stare straight ahead, focusing intently on the opposite wall while your brother addresses the two princes — exchanging morning pleasantries and worried smiles. Throughout his small speech, you can practically feel Aemond’s gaze on you, like he’s determined to sear a hole straight through you. 

“I have read your terms carefully, both of them,” Cregan states, each of the scrolls laid out on the table behind you, “And I propose that House Stark honor will keep faith with its alliance to Lady Rhaenys, in memory of the oath we once swore to King Viserys.” 

“Very well,” Prince Jacaerys nods, giving your brother a small, polite smile and grateful nod. 

“And what say you, my Lady?” Aemond cuts in, determined to force your hand, for you to make good on your assurances from last night. 

The desperation in his eye almost makes you feel bad.

With a sigh, you finally look up at him for the first time all morning, immediately noting the dark circles beneath his eye. Breaking from his intense, nearly pleading gaze, you look toward Prince Jacaerys with a small smile.

“I’m afraid I must agree with my dear brother,” your voice is cold, emotionless as it rings throughout the stony room, “House Stark will not be breaking its oath today.” 

Aemond lets out a sharp, stuttering breath, as if he’d been punched in the gut and his shoulders sag in defeat. 

And you almost feel bad, only for a moment. 

Almost.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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[atlabeth]

howling at wolves

pairing: jaime lannister x fem reader

summary: jaime saves you from a wayward knight. a strange friendship forms in the ashes.

a/n: ive lost the plot chat why am i writing jaime lannister fic

wc: 2.7k

warning(s): sexual harassment/assault

“I truly have no idea how you do it,” Sansa says. 

You smile as you finish her final braid. “Many years spent braiding the hair of my peers, my lady. You are a much easier subject than any of them.” 

She smiles. You love when she smiles—makes her look her age, rather than the ‘beyond her years’ that is so often expected of her. “Well, you’re much better than my mother, at least. She’d have tugged half my hair out trying to do anything like you.” 

“I imagine your mother is trying to gather up the rest of your siblings,” you say wryly. “She wants you all on best behavior for the king.” 

“Probably trying to get the boys to stop chasing each other around and straighten themselves out,” Sansa says with a sigh. “Arya, too. She’s always up to something.” 

You chuckle as you put the clasp together on her necklace, then ensure it lays properly before you step away. “I believe that is the final touch. What do you think?” 

“You’re excellent as always,” she says, her smile growing. She reaches up to touch the pendant as she looks at herself in the mirror. “Have you met the king before?” 

“I have, both before and after he took the throne,” you say. “And in my youth, I met King Aerys.”

Sansa turns, her eyes widening in surprise. “You met the Mad King?” 

You nod. “You’re aware of how I came to serve your family, correct?” 

“My grandfather housed you in return for your service,” she recalls. “Weren’t you my age?” 

“Twelve,” you correct. “I met the king at a tourney in Harrenhal, when I was Lady Lyanna’s handmaiden.” Your heart twists at your own mention of her, and you sigh. “Gods rest her soul.” 

Her lips press into a terse line, but she cannot hide the sadness in her eyes. You think all Starks carry an innate weariness in them, whether they know it or not—genetic strain from such untimely deaths. 

“Were you in King’s Landing when my grandfather and uncle were…?” Sansa trails off, but her unsaid words weigh heavily in the air.

“Let us stop talking of such a morose subject, hm?” For her sake, you attempt to switch the topic. “You ought to meet up with the rest of your siblings. Ensure your mother doesn’t go too insane.”

Sansa chuckles at that, and she allows you to put on her extra layer of coats and furs. “I hope all goes well. I know they’re only visiting because of Jon Arryn’s death, but I’ve heard the king’s eldest son is quite handsome.”

“I suppose we shall see,” you say. “Now, run along, my dear. Before your mother starts yelling for you.”

She smiles and nods gratefully, pulling her coat tighter around her as she walks out. You watch her go with a sigh—if King Robert’s son is anything like him, you don’t want Sansa anywhere near him. But it is hardly your decision to make. 

You clean up Sansa’s room and put on your own coat—you have Northern blood in your veins, but your hardiness only goes so far—then take your own leave.

The procession comes through smooth enough.

King Robert Baratheon is older and rounder than you remember, more crude than you think a king should be. He compliments Sansa, and you would be proud if you were not foremost disgusted. 

Queen Cersei Lannister has sharp, inquisitive eyes, and they scan over everything as she gets out of the carriage. You shift under her gaze for the moment it passes over you, however small. 

The queen’s brother, Jaime Lannister, well armored in plated gold, rides in with the last of the knights. He pulls his helmet off and shakes out his blonde hair. 

When he was knighted as the youngest kingsguard, you had just begun to serve the Starks. What a difference being born into a noble house made.

You think the last time you were in their collective presence was that tourney in Harrenhal, when the Targaryen prince disgraced his bride by crowning Lyanna Stark.

Your jaw tenses. When you think of it, that tourney may have been the last moment of normalcy in your life. Nothing was the same after Rickard and Brandon were executed. 

Even less so after you watched your lady die in her brother’s arms.

Everything else passes in a blur. Soon enough you’re back in the castle.

You hardly pay attention as you walk through the halls. With the arrival of King Robert, his family, the kingsguard and so many others, the entirety of the serving staff is working overtime to make things run smoothly. Your primary focus is Sansa, yes, but when she is with her family, you are just another maid. 

As you’ve been working with the Starks for the past decade and a half, you have a decent idea by now of how things should go.

“What are you in such a hurry for?”

Which means you also know by now that this nuisance of a knight seems to have no plans of leaving you alone. He’s been intruding on your peace for the past month, only when you’re alone—likely knows that if Sansa caught word of it, she would get her father involved—and you thought he would have taken the hint by now. 

You make no move to acknowledge the voice, only the clench of your jaw indicating you’ve heard him as you continue on your way. 

“Even a broad like you’s got to know it’s rude to ignore someone,” he calls out. “Whatever you’re doing can’t be that important.”

You stay silent still. Typically, he shouts a few crude things at you, insinuates what he’d like to do, then leaves you alone. Today, though—

A hand encircles your wrist and you whip around on instinct, fire already blazing in your eyes as he leers at you. 

“Are you deaf?” he asks. “Or just insolent?” 

“Let go of me,” you spit. 

“Insolent,” he decides. You try to tug your arm away, but his grip only tightens. “And not very good with questions.” 

An involuntary gasp shudders out of you as he pushes you against the wall, his forearm pressed against your chest to keep you caged in, and you glare daggers at the man.

“I thought the Starks employed better men than this,” you growl. “What do you want?”

“There are those lovely eyes,” he mocks, ignoring your jab. “What about a smile? I bet it’s just as good.”

You try to pull away again, but he catches your wrists and pins them against the wall. The pressure off your chest is a relief quickly dashed by the look in his eyes. Your resistance is a joke to him, just simply part of the chase. 

“I’m sure I can get one out of you soon,” the knight amends. 

He kisses you. It’s nothing romantic, just a purely possessive clash of teeth as he tries to claim something he has no right to take. You fight against him all the while but it does you no good—it’s like the past month hasn’t been enough for him, like he has to make up for all the ways you’ve disrespected him. 

“Now just what is going on here?”

He pulls away from you at the sound of the voice and you’ve never wanted to melt into yourself more. Your face burns—you’re angry at this wretch of a knight and you’re embarrassed that someone else witnessed your shame. 

“Nothing you need to be concerned with,” the knight says. “This is Stark business—no concern for you Lannisters.” 

Lannister? 

You look over at your—gods hope it—savior, and your eyes widen despite yourself. 

Jaime Lannister, brother of the queen and member of the kingsguard and the Kingslayer himself, stands with his hand just above his sheathed sword and the slight smile that seems to be a permanent facet of his appearance. 

“Really?” His eyebrows rise. “Because to me, it looks like you’re in the midst of assaulting this poor woman.”

“What do you care?” the knight snarls. “She’s just a maid—you can find a dozen anywhere you look.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to defile this one against her will,” Jaime says. 

“Who says it’s against her will?” He glances back at you, his wandering eyes making your skin crawl. “Look at her. She’s practically begging for it.”

“I would bash your skull in if I could,” you spit. 

He laughs as he turns to Jaime. “See? She’s feisty—she enjoys having someone to tussle with.” 

“I’ve never bashed a skull in before,” Jaime says thoughtfully, “but I’d imagine it would be quite grisly.” He smiles disarmingly at the knight. “Would you like to be my first, Ser…?”

The man’s grin twists into a scowl. “You’re really protecting this whore?”

“If it’s a whore you want, go peruse a brothel.” Jaime’s smile remains, though it’s lost its mirth. “You can find a dozen anywhere you look.”

Jaime and the knight stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, before he eventually steps away from you with a sharp laugh. You can’t disguise the relief that floods through your body at the distance. 

He shakes his head as he begins to walk off. “You choose the funniest fights, Kingslayer.”

You watch him go, still pressed up against the wall until he’s fully out of sight. You let out a shaky breath as you lean your head back.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I thought he would get to…”

“No need to linger on what could’ve happened,” Jaime says. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. “You stopped him before the worst. I’ll have some bruises, but better that than anything more permanent.”

“Were we in King’s Landing, he could’ve gotten a more appropriate punishment,” he says. “But I don’t think your Lord Stark would appreciate me mutilating his men before we’ve even made it through the night.” Jaime smiles. “A knight without hands would be nothing but sword fodder.”

“I pity the poor girl who gets stuck with him if he ends up at a brothel,” you murmur.

“She knows what she’s in for,” he says. 

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Jaime stays silent at that, and you look over at him. 

“What are you even doing here?” you can’t help but ask. “Surely you have more important duties than strolling through our halls.” 

“I just had to find my brother in a brothel,” he says. “I thought some peace and quiet would do me good before whatever mess awaits me when my family is together.” 

“Why did you save me?” Another question you can’t keep inside. “You’re a Kingsguard—a Lannister at that. I serve the Starks, and I am no king.”

“I like to believe I am a decent man beneath it all,” he says. “I would not be much of one had I let that brute have his way with you, Stark or not.”

A chill runs down your spine at his words. Having it spoken aloud by another makes it all disgustingly real. You still feel the heat of his hands on your body, and your lips all but fester from his forced kisses. 

“I am surprised you care,” you murmur. “Most men would have turned a blind eye.” 

“Most men care little for things that do not concern them.” 

“And this concerns you?” 

He shrugs. “Would you rather I let him continue?” 

“No,” you say immediately. “I… I owe you my thanks, my lord. Immensely.” 

He huffs a laugh at that. “My lord. I cannot recall the last time someone called me that.” 

In your silence, he chuckles. “Ser Jaime is more than enough. I’m certainly not your lord.” 

You bow your head. “Then I thank you, Ser Jaime.” 

“And I wholly accept.” He pauses, then focuses back on you. “I never got your name.”

“I never gave it,” you say. 

Jaime gives you a cockeyed grin. “I would like to have it, then. If you’d allow.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t every day you save a fair maiden,” he says. “I’d like to know who gave me the pleasure.”

“You are a knight,” you say. “Is it not your duty to save damsels in distress?”

“Among other things.” Jaime inclines his head. “Though it tends to be more kings in distress, and believe me, my lady—those I have served could not be considered fair nor a damsel.”

“I imagine not,” you say placidly. “You are the Kingslayer, after all.”

He winces. “And our conversation was going so well.���

You arch a brow. “It is the truth, is it not?”

“Just because it is the truth does not mean it must be brought up in every conversation I have,” he says. 

“...You are right,” you admit. “You saved me from a fate none too kind. I should not bring up the past in return.” 

Jaime blinks. For a moment, he seems to have nothing to say.

You cannot help the slightly wry smile that curves on your lips. “Surprised, Ser Jaime?” 

He recovers quickly, that own sly smile back as if it never disappeared. “Never. It’s just that those at court typically do not lay off so easily.” 

“I am not technically a part of court,” you say. “Perhaps that is it.” 

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “You should consider yourself lucky you’ve managed to keep any courtly claws out of your skin. I’d wager it would make you far less pleasant.” 

“How, pray tell, do you know I am pleasant?” you ask. “You just arrived in Winterfell.”

“You didn’t kill that man for what he did to you,” he says.

“Had I the ability, I would have,” you say. “Chop off those wandering hands, gouge out his lecherous eyes—”

“Perhaps you are not pleasant,” he interrupts, and your lips twitch despite yourself. “But you are interesting, and that is much better.”

“I’m a servant of House Stark,” you say. “There is nothing beyond that.” 

Jaime shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve actually noticed you, for one.” 

“Then I’m a rather shoddy servant. We’re not meant to be noticed.” 

“It was rather hard to miss you.” 

A chill runs across your skin as you glance down the hallway—you can still feel it all. 

“Men do not like to lose out on their conquests,” you say quietly. “He may be back with a vengeance.”

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep an eye out while we’re here,” Jaime says. 

You turn back to him with a frown. “Why?”

“To stop his quest of vengeance,” he says. “It would be rather useless of me to save you once and then abandon you to the wolves.”

“I’ve always found comfort in wolves,” you say. “The Starks saved me long ago.”

“And today, a lion saved you,” Jaime says. 

“And I thanked you for it.” You cross your arms. “Need I repeat myself again?”

He shrugs. “It certainly doesn’t hurt.”

You huff at that, only just managing to bite back the slightest of smiles. “I see your ego is as big as your blade.”

“As is the Lannister way.” Jaime glances past you out the window, and he offers a charming smile. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, my lady. Duty calls.”

“As does mine.” You blow out a loose breath and shake your head. “This whole debacle has thrown my entire day out of order. The other maids must be wondering where I am, and Vayon will have my head if I am any more late.”

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out during our stay,” he says. “Prevent any other unseemly escapades.”

“I’m not sure I want more of your attention,” you say. “You Lannisters bring nothing but trouble.” 

“I just saved you a bit of trouble,” he corrects. “But if you’d like some to make up for it, I am more than happy to supply.”  

“What happened to ‘duty calls’?” you ask wryly. 

“What happened to your steward having your head?” Jaime responds in turn. 

Again, your lips twitch despite yourself. “Goodbye, Ser Jaime.”

As he watches you go, a softer smile of his own forms.

It’s only when you disappear around the corner that he realizes he never got your name.