asoif-fics

[asoif-fics]

All Of My enemies Started out Friends.(Series)

 

Chapter 1: Its Nice to Have a Friend ( The Princess and the Wolf)

The King was supposed to come to Winterfell no one knew why, no one knew the reasons. Some presumed it was because he wanted Lord Eddard Stark to succeed Lord Arryn as Hand. Some presumed it was to mourn his dead love, Lyanna Stark. The whispers grew as Winterfell, the Northern Kingdom capital  and the seat and ancestral home of the House Stark, prepared itself to welcome the Baratheon King and his family. 

A few days later, perhaps late spring , the snow fell in silken flurries as the gates of Winterfell creaked open. Wind howled across the Godswood and banners snapped in the breeze — the direwolf of House Stark dancing beside the crowned stag of Baratheon. The wind howled through the trees of the Godswood, carrying with it the scent of snow and pine. Winterfell stood silent, cloaked in frost, until the distant rumble of hooves shattered the quiet. Horns blared atop the battlements. A rider galloped through the gates, breath clouding in the air.

"The King approaches!"

Ned Stark stood at the gate, cloaked in black and gray, his expression unreadable but his heart uneasy. Beside him, Catelyn Stark smoothed her cloak against the cold and looked toward the road. Servants hurried to prepare, and beside them stood their children as well as the Lords of the North. Roose Bolton stood next to the young wolf, Robb Stark, the heir to the North.

 Guards snapped to attention. Maester Luwin stood with a scroll in hand, as if knowledge might buffer him from what was to come.

Then they saw it.

A great procession moved through the falling snow. First came the banners — the crowned stag of House Baratheon in rich gold, flanked by the golden lion of Lannister. Behind them, lords and knights rode in shining armour, horses snorting steam. And at the front, atop a massive destrier, rode King Robert Baratheon.

He was larger than life, cloaked in black and gold, his beard thick with threads of gray. His laughter echoed even before he spoke, booming over the snowy yard.

He dismounted with the grace of a man who had once been a warrior but had long since embraced wine and comfort. “ The North bends its knee to show respect to the King and his Crown,” Robert looked at Ned and the two exchanged a nod.

"Your Grace," Ned said.

"Seven hells, Ned. Must you be so cold even in greeting?"

Catelyn curtsied. "Your Grace. Winterfell is yours."

"I should hope so. I rode all this way — gods, I hate the cold."

Behind him, Queen Cersei dismounted her chariot with the poise of a statue carved from ice. Golden-haired, sharp-eyed, her gaze swept Winterfell with quiet disdain. Prince Joffrey followed, sneering even as he looked around in disgust. Alongside Prince  Tommen clung to the cloaks of their retainers. The last to leave the chariot was an older girl, maybe Robb’s age, clinging to her was Princess Myrcella.  Elena Martell stepped out.

She wore a beautiful black gown with gold accents and rings of gold, alongside a snake-like necklace with the glimmering sigil of House Martell in the centre. The doors opened, her cloak was as huge on her frame as the Winterfell snow. Her skin was kissed by the sun, yet peachy and fair, her eyes a cool, dark VIOLET almost black, gifted by her mother, a Lady of House Dayne . She moved with Princess Myrcella and stood behind the Queen, and when she stepped out, she nodded at the King-Slayer, Jamie Lannister, as she moved with  deliberate grace, her eyes scanning the yard — not out of fear, but calculation.

As the Court’s eyes were fixed on her, King Robert turned and extended a hand and clarified who the girl was . “Ned, this young lady is — Princess Elena of House Martell. She was Tommen’s ward since she was 13, now she’s Cersei’s.” 

Cersei stood beside him, offering a poised, restrained smile — one that didn’t quite reach her eyes but spoke volumes of possessive pride.

Elena did not bother with his words, as if this were something so casual to her . She stepped forward and bowed her head slightly.

"Your Grace. Lord Stark. Lady Stark."

Lord Stark smiled and nodded as 

“Princess, welcome to Winterfell."

Catelyn stepped forward as well, offering a warm, graceful smile.

"You honour our hall,  Princess Elena.” Elena gave her a warm smile as Arya and Sansa were enticed by the princess of Dorne.

Queen Cersei stepped forward, her lips tight. "A Dornish flower in the North. Let us hope she doesn’t melt in the snow."

Elena smiled thinly. "And may your wine never run dry, Your Grace."

Robert barked a laugh. "Gods, I like her."

The procession moved into the halls. Fires roared in the great hearth. Banners hung proud. The great families of the realm had come together beneath one roof, though the air already carried the scent of pride, ambition, and something darker.

----- 

Few moons later, a  formal betrothal had been arranged by King Robert Baratheon himself. A union meant to bind the South to the North,among another Sansa Stark was to marry Joffrey Baratheon, but that fell secondary to the news that to prevent Dorne from slipping into rebellion, should another Targaryen rise from the ashes of the dead house. In her heart, Elena knew it had never been about love. Politics made for strange bedfellows. 

It seemed like the tides shifted after the announcement. Robb Stark found himself wanting to know his bride-to-be even more. The  — tall, broad-shouldered, with the air of a young wolf not yet grown into his claws — something shifted.

As he saw her read under the Weirwood tree, looking unbothered by the snow-touched redness on her cheeks 

He decided to talk to her. "Princess Elena, I hope the cold isn't  too harsh on you ."

She dipped her head with regal grace. “My Lord. I have rather come to enjoy it.”

He sat next to her as she explained, the book she was reading—a history book— about the conquest in High Valyrian.  While this conversation  went on, Robb fell contented and maybe he felt a spark, perhaps. Or the first illusion of one.

Meanwhile,

Robert and Ned were sitting in Lord Stark’s study. Robert clarified why Elena would be a good match for Robb.

Elena was the third child of Doran Martell, but unlike her siblings by Lady Mellario of Norvos, she was born of another union—the unspoken love between Prince Doran and a Lady Dayne ( some say it was Ser Arthur Dayne, Younger Sister), regardless of  a woman of salt and stars whose blood had mingled with Dorne’s greatest houses. Though politically complicated, Elena  had been named as one of his successors after her older half-sister Arianne Martell, but before her half-brother Quentyn’s departure to Essos and Trystane’s youth. She was sent to Twyin to learn and, despite the objections of Oberyn after what happened to Elia Martell, her aunt, to Kingslanding. 

And now she had not come North simply as a guest. She came as a bride, as mayhaps the next Lady Stark.

Later that evening, a feast was held in the Great Hall. Lords and ladies crowded the benches, and the wine flowed too freely. The Lannisters sat smug at the high table, their golden lions gleaming, while Robert Baratheon laughed heartily beside Ned Stark.

Elena, seated beside Robb, much to Cersei’s dismay, but Elena  bore it all with practiced grace. But her attention wavered—there was another figure seated on the high table to Ned’s left: a quiet man with pale eyes, sharp as a knife unsheathed in silence. Roose Bolton.

He watched her too long, too directly.

“Is he always like that?” she murmured toward Robb.

Robb followed her gaze, his smile waning. “Lord Bolton. He is… an ally. Loyal. In his way.”

“In his way,” she echoed, not smiling.

But she turned back to Robb, and as the hall laughed and drank, they spoke quietly, getting closer and  sharing stories—of her training with the swords of Sunspear, of his hunting in the Wolfswood. Slowly, the distance between them dissolved.

Later that night, now the pair closer than anyone anticipated, two children in love so to say, were walking along the ramparts with Robb occasionally  glancing up at Elena,. Who pulled her cloak tighter against the cold. He offered his own without hesitation. “You’ll need it more than I would, you know,” she smiled, as he said that.

She looked at him then, and for a moment, her expression softened. “It does. But not even fire survives alone in snow, I know. What happens to women in the gates past Dorne,Robb? Promise me we would be different .”

He took her hand. It was not planned, not political, but it was natural. Fingers entwined. “I promise, El,” he replied, as they walked hand in hand and walked the nights of the castle together under moonlight. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over the next weeks, 

Winterfell thawed around them, if only by the light between their glances. Elena joined him in the training yards, where she sparred against Jon, Theon, and Robb, and Arya? Completely in awe, she once went to Robb and was like, “ She fights better than you,”  and surprised even Ned and Cat. 

“She fights like Oberyn,” Theon Greyjoy said, impressed, after she beat him for the second time in four hours. 

“She fights better,” Robb replied, eyes never leaving her, in love with this girl already.

She visited Maester Luwin’s solar, questioned him endlessly about ravens and Northern alliances. She listened intently at council meetings, unafraid to speak, her voice silken but sure.

Catelyn Stark watched with quiet calculation. She admired the girl’s cleverness, but the affection blooming between her and Robb was not what she had expected. This was not a union of necessity—it was something more dangerous. Emotion. Attachment.

That night, during one of their rendezvous  under the weirwood tree and the firelight in the godswood, Elena finally asked something she thought was bothering Robb, “You do not resent this union?” Robb looks at her then the leaf that fell and says, “I was wary at first,” Robb admitted, almost ashamed. “I thought we’d be strangers… But you are not what I imagined.”

She looks at him. “And what did you imagine?”

“Someone cold. Proud. Perhaps unwilling.”

She smiled. “I am all those things. But not with you.”

He touched her face then, gently. “Would you believe me if I said I… care for you already?”

She tilted her head. “I would. Because I feel the same.”

They kissed—tentative at first, then deeper, with the urgency of youth and politics swept away. That night, for the first time, they slept together; it felt right when Robb asked her if she was sure after all they wanted to,  not out of lust. Out of shared fear, hope, and something that tasted like love.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The winds had shifted when the king left with his family; Lord Stark had accepted the proposal as the new hand of the king and Sansa was to marry Joffrey.  Arya? She was supposed to ride to the capital too; the halls of Winterfell fell quiet.

But not all eyes in Winterfell were blind to the princess’s charms and her.

Roose Bolton, ever the shadow, had noticed the princess long before. Her defiance. Her poise. Her beauty, yes, but more than that—her mind.

He approached her one morning, near the library. 

“Princess.”

She turned, gaze level. “Lord Bolton, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He gave her a rare smirk. “I hope you know that, you have allies here even before you marry to this family. Do not trust mere loyalty and honesty, or naivety  so easily, princess.”

She studied him. “Well,Lord Bolton, I thank your advice but I was raised in the shadow of Lord Lannister himself; I know when a man has unkind motives.”

“It is not favour I seek,” he said, voice like cold steel. “I only wish to understand the storm before it breaks.”

Her breath caught—not from the words , but surprise. Before she can say anything. He  leaves her with an  unspoken question: *Would you break, or would you burn everything in your wake?*

---

Back in the hall, Robb held her hand beneath the table, Elena talking to the youngest Stark about something. 

Catelyn noticed; she saw the "Infatuation" her son built for the girl who would be the perfect daughter-in-law, and the one perfect as the next Lady of the North, and deep down she prayed that it doesn't end, and it works out, and Robb doesn’t  make the same mistakes his father did.

That night, Elena was restless. She stood on the tower balcony, looking north. She heard the door open and close behind her.

“Robb, I couldn't sleep either----” she said, not turning. But it wasn’t Robb.  “Princess.”

“ Lord Bolton?” she turned to find him near the door. 

“I find I prefer your company to court.”

She turned, meeting his gaze. “Do you always haunt corridors?”

“Only those that lead to power.”

She tilted her head. “Is that what you think I am?”

“I think you are underestimated.”

He stepped closer, but not too close. “I do not see a southern girl trying to play northern games. I see a warrior in silk. One who might change the course of war, if she so chooses.”

A long pause.

“I am to be Robb's wife, Lord Bolton,” she said softly. “I trust he would be different from the mistakes of his father, but it is the hour of the wolf. You should sleep .”

Roose inclined his head and vanished like a wraith.

---

---

Oh datum I can't believe I went missing lol.. well making a series will at least help I hope. This is a Robb Stark X OC X Roose Bolton.. I hope u guys like it.. ALSO PLEASE SENT REQUESTSSSS Love ya guyysss

[asoif-fics]

Threads of Prophecy.

A/N(1) - Hey guys firstly I am not used to writing for stannis so I gave it a try, sorry if it's not like him.. secondly REQUESTS ARE OPEN. Enjoy!!!!!!

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Context- After the death of Robert, Stannis proclaims himself as the next King.. Melisandre is a Red Priestess fuels his delusion as the "Prince who was promised" but Stannis Baratheon has one woman whose word approval and strength he needs the most His second wife, Aerea Targaryen.

word count - 2959

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As the chamber door closed, Stannis Baratheon sat in silence, the weight of the new role pressed against him like the cold stone walls of Dragonstone. His fingers tightened on the armrests of his chair. The gravity of the words from King’s Landing and Lord Stark swirled in his mind, a storm brewing within him. The course of the realm has changed and this was the beginning of a storm that could not be held back.

His claim was undeniable, but with it came a weight of responsibility and the pressing realisation that the realm would not bend easily to his will.

Yet, beneath the simmering urgency to take action, there was something more pressing, something that gnawed at him even now: his relationship with his second wife Aerea Targaryen.

----

(The fight)

The previous days had seen his and Aerea's relationship fracture in ways Stannis had never anticipated his new found obsession with the Lord of Light—had created a divide between him and Aerea, who could not and would not bend to the worship of a God that she neither trusted nor believed in, after all Targaryens considered themselves closer to Gods,if not one of them with or without Dragons.

The breaking point had come days ago, after a council meeting in which Melisandre had once again pushed her agenda on Stannis, claiming that the Lord of Light had chosen him as the “Prince Who Was Promised” and that his path to the throne was predestined by the flames,But Aerea had seen it differently, after all she had heard this false prophecies all her life..

As they Headed back to their chambers.. Aerea turned looked to Stannis breaking the silence between them. "I will not stand by and let you fall prey to these delusions, Stannis!" her words sharp as a blade. "Selyse and Melisandre may convince you that you are some chosen saviour, some Warrior reborn; but you and I both know you’re no divine King. You are a man with flesh and blood, who's right to rule, will be earned by strength, not by the whim of a God".

Stannis, who was taken aback by her outburst, had resounded in anger. "You do not understand, Aerea. This is bigger than us. I cannot ignore what has been revealed to me. The Lord of Light has shown me the way!"

"You’ve let them cloud your judgment," Aerea had snapped, locking the door to their chambers with a forceful click, her voice rising with frustration. "Your first wife and that woman, Melisandre—both of them have twisted your mind! You think they have your best interests at heart? Selyse only seeks to keep you shackled to this madness as she dives deeper into it , and Melisandre—she's using you to further her own agenda!"

Aerea’s eyes burned with the truth she was goes to Stannis and looks him to face. “And your wife… Selyse—she called Shireen a distraction. She said YOUR daughter, is nothing more than an inconvenience, I may not have bore you a child yet but that girl is like my daughter too... And still, she clings to that madness. The madness that keeps the dead babes as abominations, pulling your soul further into darkness.” Aerea took a step closer, her gaze fierce as she locked eyes with him. “And yet, you will still take her counsel as word? and not mine? You would trust these people who cannot see the truth right in front of them?”

Stannis stood silently, his jaw clenched as Aerea's words echoed in his mind. The truth, harsh and undeniable, pressed against him like a weight he could not bear to lift. But his pride, his stubborn will, fought back. The years of hard decisions, the battles won and lost, had shaped him into a man who needed to believe in something greater than himself. And though Aerea's words were like daggers, they also threatened everything he had worked for.

"You don’t understand," Stannis muttered, his voice low but firm, laced with the hardness of his pride. "You don’t understand the burden I bear. Selyse... Melisandre... they have their purpose. The Lord of Light has shown me the path I must take." He turned away from her, his back stiff, as if to block the truth from piercing any deeper.

Aerea’s eyes narrowed, her frustration boiling over. "The path you’re following, Stannis, is one that leads to madness. And you’re too blind by virtue of your own ego to see it, you will lose this war, and I won't stand by and watch you lose it. "

Stannis refused to meet her gaze. "You may think me a fool, but I am not one to abandon my course now. Not when everything is at stake."

His words were cold, and his posture rigid as he set his shoulders back, the walls around his heart growing thicker by the second. The battle for the throne had already begun, and for Stannis, it was no longer just a matter of what was right or true. It was a matter of maintaining control, of preserving the power he had fought so hard to gain.

The words that followed had struck Aerea's nerves, as Stannis’s face darkened, his pride bruised. “You speak of my wife and my closest counsel with disrespect, you speak of my failure, You know nothing of what the Lord offers me.”

Aerea’s eyes narrowed, as she replied her voice cold “That same wife you never thought of while your brother married you off to a Targaryen,” she said, her words biting.

“You may not have chosen me, Stannis, but I was there to secure your house's claim, to ensure your family had the loyalty of the last of House Targaryen, after Your family sent mine Fleeing. You were married to me because it was politically necessary, not because you truly saw me or understood what I could offer.”

Stannis had frozen, her words striking at the heart of him, but it was Aerea’s final line that caused something deep within him to shift.

Aerea had taken a step back, her voice laced with a powerful, almost regal bitterness. "Do you not realize where you stand, Stannis Baratheon? You are in my ancestral castle, the seat of House Targaryen. It is my blood that courses through these stones, not yours. the blood of my Direct ancestors And yet, you would choose the counsel of a woman who claims to speak for a God you cannot even see over the blood that runs in your own veins."

Her words had hung between them, a truth that was hard for Stannis to ignore. Dragonstone—this ancient, weather-worn fortress—was a place that had belonged to the Targaryens long before his arrival, and yet here he was, living within its walls, an indirect guest to its legacy, married to one of its daughters.

Aerea’s voice grew colder, cutting through the tension in the room. “Your grandmother, Rhaelle Targaryen, would be ashamed to see her own descendant bowing to false Gods,” she said, her words sharp as daggers.

Stannis stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “You speak of my grandmother as if you knew her.”

“I know what she stood for, she was a Targaryen.” Aerea retorted, her tone unwavering. “She was a woman of honor, not a puppet to prophecies and self-proclaimed false Gods and its puppets." And you—you're betraying everything she believed in, everything your bloodline represents.”

Aerea's voice had softened, as she steps closer to him but only slightly. “I gave you everything, Stannis. My loyalty, my mind, my strength. And I’ve stood by you through all of this—through the madness of your claim, through your obsession with the throne. But I will not watch you destroy yourself with these fantasies .”

Stannis's jaw tightened, the weight of her words pressing down on him, but his pride kept him silent. He refused to show any sign of weakness, though the truth of Aerea’s words gnawed at him.

But the fire that burned within him, the desire to be more than what he had been, would not be so easily extinguished. as his ego flared, He clenched his fists at his sides, his voice rising, thick with defiance.

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think I’m blind to the weight of Robert’s death and the throne that should have been mine?” Stannis’s voice was rough, laced with frustration and pride. “I know the truth, Aerea. I always have.”

Aerea's eyes narrowed, her disappointment turning to something sharper, more dangerous. "why do u let the false hope of light guide you? Why do you let Melisandre's whispers and your first wife’s lies define you? You’re not just a pawn in their game, Stannis."

He straightened, the walls of his pride rising higher. “I’m not some fool who will bow to every whim or every prophecy. The Lord of Light will guide me. I will be king.”

Aerea stepped forward, her voice lowering, but her words sharp as ever. “And what of the man who you used to be? The one who didn’t need a false god to see the truth? The one who believed in the strength of his name, his blood, and his allies?”

Stannis took a breath, his jaw clenched tightly, his pride refusing to bend. “That man is still here. And he will take what is rightfully his.”

"Aerea," he had said, his voice strained but resolute. "You are my wife, but you have no claim to this war. The throne is mine. And I will see it claimed, whether through wars, blood, or prophecy."

Aerea didn't say a word as she had stormed out of the chamber, leaving Stannis alone with the quiet, the darkness, and the weight of her accusations. And as he stood there, feeling the cold stone beneath his feet, he couldn’t help but wonder whether he was truly on the right path—or whether Aerea had been right all along.

-----------

The Next Morning, Stannis found his wife the study chambers of DragonStone, the weight of everything pressing down on him, he knew he had to make a choice. The war for the throne was upon them, but so was the war for his own soul and the woman he had grown to love, the woman who might bear him his first son. His relationship with Aerea, his second wife, was a battlefield, just as hard as any battle he was likely to fight.

His shoulders seemed to sag with the weight of the apology that he had kept bottled up for so long. The words came slower than he expected, but they were honest, raw.

“I’ve wronged you, Aerea. I should never have let myself be swayed by their voices. You’ve always been there for me—steadfast, loyal—and I failed to see that.” Stannis said as he walked closer to Aerea's table.

Aerea’s eyes softened, but her expression was guarded, as if she were still not sure whether she could fully believe his words. “You’ve made choices, Stannis, and those choices have hurt us both. You've let others pull your strings for too long, and I can’t forget that so easily.”

He took a step closer, as he sat next to her.. his voice softening. “I know. But I want to change that. I want to fight for us, for this marriage, for the realm—not for the Lord of Light, not for my first wife, but for the kingdom you and I will rule together. I don’t want to keep living under the shadow of what others tell me I should be.”

Aerea’s eyes flickered with something close to hope, as she looks at her wedding ring, then to him, there was a wariness in her expression, a lingering uncertainty. “You say that, but words are just words, Stannis. I need to see it. I need to see that you mean it. Your actions have to show me you're not the man I’ve spent the last months fighting against.”

Before Stannis could respond, the door to the study chamber creaked open, and Melisandre entered, her presence as commanding as ever. She surveyed the room, eyes flicking between Stannis and Aerea. The faint glow from her ruby necklace cast an eerie red hue across the stone walls.

“Is everything well, my lord?” Melisandre’s voice was soft, almost too soft, but there was an unmistakable edge to it, a subtle challenge beneath her words. She had clearly caught the tail end of the conversation.

Aerea’s gaze locked with Melisandre's, her lips curling into a thin smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Ao issi daor jorrāelatan kesīr melisandre, Bisa iksos rȳ issa se issa valzȳrys.”

Stannis looked between them, the tension suddenly thick in the room. He had no wish to invite conflict, he knew Aerea only spoke High Valyrian when she was angry , but he knew this moment would be when his choices would become clear.

“Melisandre,” Stannis said, his voice firm but not unkind, “I have matters to discuss with my wife. You will excuse us.”

The Red Priestess hesitated for a brief moment, her gaze lingering on him, as though reading something deeper in his words. Then, with a small, knowing smile, she turned and left the room without another word.

The silence that followed felt heavier than any battle Stannis had fought. “Aerea,” he said softly, stepping closer to her once more. “I know I’ve been blinded. By Selyse, by Melisandre, by the weight of what I thought was my duty. But I see now that I’ve failed you. I have allowed myself to be swayed by their voices, and I should have listened to yours.”

Stannis took a slow, measured step toward Aerea, his gaze intense, the weight of his confession still hanging in the air between them. The long months of doubt, the struggles, and the distance between them seemed to be closing with each step he took.

“I’ve been so lost in what others expected of me,” Stannis continued, his voice softer now, laced with vulnerability. “But you…” He reached out, his hand gently brushing a strand of Aerea’s hair back from her face, the touch tentative, almost as if testing the waters. “You’ve always been my anchor. And I’ve failed to see that.”

Aerea stood still, her eyes searching his face for any sign of sincerity. Her heart ached at the honesty in his words, but it was still guarded. The past had hurt her deeply, and despite the yearning in her chest, she wasn’t sure if Stannis’s actions could ever fully make up for the rift that had formed between them.

But as Stannis stepped closer, his presence undeniable, a shift occurred. The air between them grew heavier, more charged. Stannis’s lips parted as he slowly moved in, closing the remaining distance between them. His hand found the side of her face, his thumb brushing gently along her jawline, the touch intimate, as if he were trying to reach the part of her that had been locked away for too long.

"Aerea," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I’m sorry. Let me show you I can be the man you once believed in."

His lips hovered just inches from hers, the room silent but for the sound of their breath, he leans in. Just slightly, just enough to bridge the gap between them. The kiss that followed was slow, hesitant at first, as though they were both testing the waters once more. But as the kiss deepened, as the weight of everything they had fought for seemed to melt away, there was something more—a reconnection, a spark that had been buried beneath the layers of time, pride, and war.

When they finally pulled apart,Aerea’s hand rested lightly against his chest, her pulse quickening, but she didn’t speak immediately. Stannis was breathless, his forehead resting against hers. He searched her eyes, a flicker of hope rising in him.

"I can’t undo what’s been done," Stannis said, his voice low, filled with quiet sincerity. His hand, still on the side of her face, traced the line of her jaw gently. "I can’t take back the time I’ve lost, the mistakes I’ve made. But I want to try. For us."

"You’ve always wanted to be a king," she replied softly, her voice carrying the weight of all they had lost. "But being a king is not just about the throne, Stannis. It’s about the people you’re supposed to protect. The ones you love.

Aerea’s gaze softened, her thumb brushing lightly against his chest where his heart beat steadily beneath her touch. "Your actions have to speak louder than your words, Stannis," she continued her voice low and steady. "Show me that you can choose what's right and just. Show me that you will choose this—this truth over prophesies, you will choose this marriage, over everything else."

He nodded slowly, a quiet resolve settling in his chest. "I will. I will choose you. And I will prove it to you. Not with words, but with everything I have."

The sincerity in his voice, the rawness of his apology, settled into Aerea’s heart like a balm. She could feel the distance between them shrinking, but she wasn’t ready to open herself fully yet—not until she saw the man he claimed to be.

"You will have to fight , Stannis," Aerea said softly, almost as if it were a challenge, the weight of the past still present in her voice. "Not just for the realm. Not just for the throne. But for the people you will rule over."

"We will rebuild this, Aerea," he said softly, a quiet promise in his words. "And I’ll do it with you."

Aerea, still uncertain, but feeling a shift inside of her, nodded slowly. "Then let’s begin."

(A/N- heyaaa hope you enjoyed this also sorry for a late post.. I had a block.. I am looking more into stannis and other characters and I Hope to see you guys in the next one,SORRY if its too long.... )

[asoif-fics]

Dangerous Temptations

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Context- With the realm on brink of War, Robb Stark calls in his Best friend and The Lady of Ramsgate Lady (Y/n) Manderly to advise one of his council meets at Winterfell; However she finds herself drawn to an unusual ally.

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Lady (Y/N) Manderly, Lady of Ramsgate,the solider announces as you enter the great council chamber .  Though many men dismissed the counsel of women, Robb knew you were not just anyone, you were someone even Arya looked up to in terms of being a warrior and intelligent strategist, a trait not unnoticed by those assembled.

Finally as you approached the gathered lords, you gaze swept across the room, finding Robb’s reassuring nod. As you were acknowledged him and greeting Lady Stark with a faint smile you noticed someone staring at you.. before you could begin  Lord of the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton, spoke up looking directly into your soul with his grey eyes. 

 Roose Bolton had a reputation that preceded him—cold, ruthless, and deadly in his silence. He was a man who wore cruelty with pride, but you had somehow always fancied that older man. He inclined his head slightly in you direction, his eyes narrowing in a way that felt like both an acknowledgment and an unspoken tension…“Lady Manderly, I hope your travels were safe, after all its not common for a Lady  to ride in the middle of the night to answer her king” his words and the way he spoke to you sent a shiver down you spine.

You Responded as Confidently as your heart allowed you to “Thank you Lord Bolton, but now we have other matters to attend to, What is our standing?”

With That Robb  who looked with approval as lord bolton reveals the ally’s and Foe’s “The Northern men are 50,000 including the Karstarks, Bolton and Stark Banners, followed by our alliance with the Frey’s and the River Run gives us an additional 30.” You nod your head as he proceeds to show u the map. “Our enemies?” You asked coldly as Lord Bolton moves closer to you.. “The Lannisters army.. The Baratheon’s are divided among Renly and Stannis..” 

He says as he moves closer to you. 

“Renly is fickle”, you replied as you look towards Rob, who listened intently, his brow furrowing as the sheer scale of the enemies surrounding them became clearer. “This was no simple battle,Rob but a war on all fronts. if we can convince him that the North will support him and his claim as Robert’s heir, when it comes to the iron throne, he will side us.. But but our enemy right now are the Lannisters.” Catelyn Stark looks and nods towards Rob.. as they discuss the proposal.

Roose Bolton edged closer, his presence looming over you as he leaned down to close to you to examine the map spread across the council table. His fingers traced a careful line along the Riverlands, as he sees your hand above Bluespine. 

“Renly may be fickle, as you say, Lady Manderly. But he commands a large and unified force, which is more than can be said for most men seeking a throne.” He replies as his voice was low, barely above a murmur, but there was something undeniably sinister in it, as if every word held a subtle threat.

You met his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to show even a flicker of discomfort. “Every alliance comes with risk, Lord Bolton. If we are to even match the Lannisters, we must take calculated risks. If Renly can be swayed, and he is stupid enough if he wants that throne, then he is worth considering—provided he is kept in check by a firm ally.” 

Robb nodded, his expression thoughtful as he weighed your words. “I trust your judgment, Lady Manderly. If we can gain Renly’s support and use his numbers to distract the Lannisters, it could buy us the time we need to strengthen our forces here.” 

As you were about to reply Lady Stark,interrupted you “It is the wolf’s hour, everyone lets discuss about this tomorrow, Rob let Y/N rest as well”

----------

As the council room emptied, the soft echo of footsteps faded down the hall until it was just you and the older man who you had fancied. Roose Bolton both of you were left in a tense silence, alone by the glow of dying candlelight. You turned, meeting his penetrating gaze once again. Something in his eyes gleamed, as you stepped closer, to him  his presence magnetic in a way that unsettled you, even as it drew you in, and his lips drawing you in, you wanted him…

“Lady Manderly,” he murmured, his tone laced with a rare softness. “I don’t often see such… Authority in a council hall full of men. Certainly not from a lady.”

His words held a dark allure, and you knew his compliments rarely came without motive. Yet, beneath his gaze, you felt a thrill—a tension and some sense of pride that went beyond words . You straightened, determined to keep your composure. “It is a necessity, Lord Bolton, Especially when I have people depending on me.”

He inclined his head, Roose’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting as if he could sense the crack in your calm. “I’ve never known many ladies,who carry themselves with such… authority,” he said softly, moving closer still, his voice a dark whisper. “Tell me, Lady Manderly, does anyone share in that dedication of yours? Or does Ramsgate command all of your devotion?.”

You resisted the urge to shift under his intense gaze, forcing yourself to meet it steadily. “My dedication is to my family and my duty. There is little time for… other pursuits unfortunately or maybe it’s that no man wants to be stationed beneath his wife” you replied. But even as you spoke, you felt your heartbeat quicken at the way his eyes traced over you, lingering with what felt like genuine admiration.

A glint of something wicked sparkled in his eyes. “A pity,” he said, his voice barely more than a murmur. “Such a clever mind, with no one to share it with. It’s rare, you know, to find someone so… worthy of conversation.” He tilted his head, his gaze tracing the line of your face, lingering on your eyes as if trying to read the thoughts hidden behind them.

Against your better judgment, you felt yourself drawn to his closeness, the weight of his attention making it difficult to maintain your facade. You wanted him, His admiration—though unsettling—was strangely flattering. “I find the right conversation partner can reveal more than words alone,” you replied, your voice softer now, almost challenging.

There was something almost tender in his tone, a side to Roose Bolton you suspected few ever saw. Against all caution, you felt the urge to close the distance he’d left between you, to reach out and uncover the man beneath the cold, calculated facade.

But with a quiet smile, you nodded, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Perhaps… we shall.”

As you both started walking out of the hall to your chambers , you kept glancing back at Roose as he walked besides you, when you last saw that man he was talking to you father and even then you wanted to be his..as you walked in silence Curiosity got the better of you, and you broke the silence…

“I hear congratulations are in order,” you said with a soft smile, glancing at him. “Your new bride… Lady Walda, isn’t it? Walder Frey’s granddaughter ”

Roose’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of interest in his cold gaze. “Yes. Lady Walda.” His voice was matter-of-fact, revealing little, but you noticed a hint of amusement in his eyes as he continued. “A match sealed for… advantageous purposes, of course. I got silver for her weight, she’s made me rich…”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a small smile. “How romantic, Lord Bolton.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was low and surprisingly genuine. “An Alliance, needed- perhaps a means to an end.”

You studied him carefully as you walked. “And yet, you seem perfectly content with it,” 

Roose paused, looking down at you stopping and getting closer to you“You are a woman like no other,” he said slowly, as if each word held its own weight. “Perhaps a woman who knows swords instead of Sewing.”

You shrugged, feeling the warmth of his attention  and his lips ever close to yours even as you turned toward your chamber’s door. “ Swords have been my ally, since my birth Lord Bolton.…what does a man have a woman doesn’t? A cock?”

Reaching your chamber, you turned to face him fully. “Would you like to continue  our conversation ?” you offered, hoping he would agree as keeping your voice casual though your heart was pounding. You weren’t entirely sure why you’d asked, only that some part of you wanted him closer.

Roose inclined his head in agreement, his eyes never leaving yours. “I would be honored.”

Inside, you poured two goblets of wine, handing him one before settling into a chair across from him. He raised his goblet, his expression intrigued. “To the North,” he murmured, his voice filled with an unexpected warmth, “To You Lord Bolton.” You replied 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, letting the warmth of the wine and the flickering candlelight fill the room.

Roose took a sip of his wine, watching you over the rim of his goblet with a gaze that lingered—thoughtful, intense, his tone softening his eyes refused to leave you taking in your features and body. The distance between you felt smaller now, the warmth of the fire casting shadows that danced across his sharp features. You couldn’t deny the allure, the thrill of sitting across from him with the kind of attention he offered so sparingly.

“(Y/N),” he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You felt a shiver at his words, noticing how he set his goblet aside and leaned in, his gaze tracing over you with a strange reverence. “You think differently than most, Lady Manderly,” he continued, his voice softer. “Not like a lady raised to know only courtesies and pleasantries, but as one who has tasted the same bitter steel as her father’s men.” His eyes locked onto yours, and the weight of his words settled over you like a secret shared.

You took a slow breath, feeling the tension in the room rise, the energy between you too intense to ignore. “Perhaps.. I did not want to subject myself to the same fate my mother had.. births.. dead babes and being looked at like a possession,” you said, almost a whisper, but you knew he heard every word.

Roose’s gaze darkened with something both thrilling and terrifying as he shifted closer, his hand reaching up as if he might touch your cheek. He stopped, though, his fingers hovering just inches from your skin. “It is rare, to find someone who is different from the duties that are given to woman, birthing and giving heirs to houses, thats all” he said as you focused on him completely 

As he was going to lean back and take a sip, Something inside you snapped. Unable to hold back, you closed the gap between you, your heart racing as you reached out and pressed your lips to his, the taste of wine and the cold edge of his presence mixing with a heat that surged through you both. He responded with a surprising gentleness at first, his lips moving against yours with an unexpected softness that contrasted sharply with the dangerous aura he carried.

But then, his hand moved to the back of your neck, and he deepened the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair with a hunger that left no room for questions. You felt yourself melting into the moment, losing yourself in the thrill of it, his grip grounding you and making it impossible to pull away.

As the kiss broke, he lingered close, his lips just a breath away from yours, his gaze flicking over your face as if committing every detail to memory. “Perhaps I was wrong, Lady Manderly,” he whispered, his tone rougher now, more vulnerable than you’d ever imagined. “You are… unlike any woman I have ever met.”

The tension between you both crackled like fire as Roose's words lingered in the air. Before he could say another word, you closed the small distance between you, your lips crashing back into his with a fervor that surprised even you. His arms encircled you, pulling you close, and you felt the heat of his body pressed against yours, the cool exterior he wore finally melting under your touch

You reached blindly for the goblet in your hand, only for it to slip from your fingers, wine spilling across the floor in forgotten as you gave in to the moment. Roose didn’t seem to care, his focus completely on you as he deepened the kiss, as he got on top of you with his hands sliding up your back, holding you as though he had no intention of letting go. He broke from your lips to trail kisses along your jawline, then lower, his lips grazing the curve of your neck, and you shivered at the sensation, feeling his breath hot against your skin, as you melted in the pleasure.

Your heart was racing, your hands finding their way to the edges of his collar, tugging him even closer. His grip on you was so tight that you could feel his fingers digging into your skin, as his he continued to up your back and leaving a tingling warmth in their wake kissing you softly as he looked directly into your soul, you continued to lose yourself as,his hands and lips explored with every inch of you both hunger and restraint, as he guided you back onto the bed, you felt a sense of thrill  With a soft, breathless laugh, you pulled back, as your hands traveled to his shoulders, fingers tracing the fabric of his cloak before slipping beneath it to feel the warmth of his skin. His lips moved against yours, his pace slowing, as though savoring each moment. His hand caressed your cheek, his gaze fierce yet filled with an unspoken warmth as he looked down at you, his thumb tracing your jaw.

As you reached closer to your bed, his touch growing bolder, his mouth tracing a heated line from your neck to your shoulder, his hands gripping your waist with a strength that made your heart skip. Every brush of his lips, “You are a dangerous temptation, (y/n),” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, each word carrying the weight of a man who rarely allowed himself to indulge. But tonight was different; tonight, there were no roles, no strategies—just the two of you, lost in each other’s presence.

In response, you pulled him closer, your lips meeting his again, the world around you fading entirely. In the quiet moments that followed, he held you close, and the two of you remained entwined, neither wanting the night to end.

(A/n- that was kinda long but I flowed through it.. XD hope u guys like it and happy reading and do drop in requests or feedbacks XD

[asoif-fics]

Hiii I’m not necessarily requesting but I just love the game of thrones fandom specifically the older men and I love people who write for them! Super excited to see what you come up with. Love a good Roose, stannis, Jorah, Tywin or whatever story, there are plenty more I haven’t named, but I’m looking forward to see your fanfics !

Hello lovely!! Thank you!! I cant wait for you to read them first 3 fics will be dropping soon!!! Keep an eye out!!!✨✨🩵🩵

[asoif-fics]

Welcome;

hola... This is my go at fics again.. :)

I will Primarily write for ASIOF characters.. BUTTTT you can request any specific characters or book!/ Show!

Posts will go up 1-2 times a week

I am currently working on a OC! story set in GOT (showverse) and some head canons..

hope to see y'all soon XD