#And he felt like Edmure was the one that he had not let down

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Trout in disguise

Summary: Ned had never really realised how much his wife and second daughter were like each other until Ser Brynden pointed it out

Catelyn being like Arya when she was little is important to me so here’s fic about it!

Ned knew no one would let his children drown in the river, still he didn’t really want to let them out of sight. It was not that he didn’t trust Ser Brynden, that man would be of far more help if they were to fall into the water than Ned was, but it felt better to come with them.

The night before Catelyn had told them of how she would take Edmure and Lysa down to the river to look for frogs when they were children. Arya had immediately declared that she also wanted to look for frogs and Bran had been equally as excited. Catelyn had smiled, but she had also told them she had ruined many dresses that way and that that there were other fun things to do that wouldn’t get them so dirty.

Brynden Blackfish had nodded as Catelyn said it, but that morning he had come to take Arya and Bran down to the river all the same. They were to always listen to their mother, he had said, but maybe that time they could make an exception.

So Ned sat in the grass by the river bank and watched as Arya and Bran searched for frogs in the undergrowth by some trees that grew just by the edge of the water. It was too warm for his taste, the sun stood high upon the sky and the dampness didn’t work to make it any more bearable. Though at least there was some wind, the first days during their visit to Riverrun the air had been completely still. He had feared he would meet his end then, while his lady merely laughed about it. He wished there had been some shadow to rest from the unforgiving sun in, but Ser Brynden didn’t seem to mind it in the least.

Arya had flowers in her hair. She had allowed her mother and older sister to put them there only after they promised she would get a cake afterwards. She had got no cake as she had talked so much she managed to forget about it while they did it.

“Your daughter’s much like Cat” Ser Brynden said.

He sat next to Ned, also watching Arya and Bran.

“Sansa has wanted to be like her since she understood what it meant to be a lady.”

When she was young had been just a few steps behind her mother whenever she could, trying to do what she did. Catelyn’s opinions were her opinions, Catelyn’s manners were her manners, Catelyn’s tasks were her tasks. That she looked so like her mother didn’t make it harder for her.

Ser Brynden laughed at that. A low, gruff laugh. Then he pointed at Arya, who was taking off her shoes to be able to walk into the shallow water.

“I meant that one.”

“Arya?”

Was she not as far from Catelyn as one could come? She had the Stark look and people would always tell Ned she was so much like Lyanna. He knew some of the older residents of Winterfell would sometimes mistake her for Lyanna. His sister hadn’t been anything like Catelyn, they were very different.

“Yes, Arya.”

“With all due respect, Ser Brynden, they have very little in common” Ned told him. “Sometimes it seems like they agree on nothing. Though they have the same temper, that I can give you.”

Catelyn loved their daughter dearly, but her complaints about Arya’s behaviour were frequent. It seemed like she had something to sigh about most every night. Though when they were angry their anger was the same and Arya laughed just like Catelyn did sometimes. Both of them were quick to do each.

“You have only known her as a woman grown” Ser Brynden said. “Before her mother died she was a lot like that girl. Stubborn and wild in a way that her sister was not, though still kind and caring.”

He sighed as he had finished speaking and there was something sorrowful in his weathered face then.

Arya must have found something interesting because she took her brother’s hand and pulled him into the shallow water with her despite that he still had his shoes on. Perhaps Ned should have scolded her for it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. They were children, they had to be allowed to play.

“Truly?” Ned asked.

Ser Brynden nodded.

“She was far from as gentle as your oldest girl seems to be.”

Maybe that was true. Sansa was always gentle except for when she was butting heads with Arya and rarely raised her voice except for when she believed something was terribly unfair. Catelyn was quicker to speak and almost always shared her beliefs in different matters, sometimes when no one had asked her for it.

“From the way she speaks of Arya’s behaviour one wouldn’t know” Ned said.

“Not at all. I thought about it when she fussed about clothes yesterday. When she had to she took care to be presentable but when not she always had mud on her skirts.”

Catelyn rarely fussed so about her own clothes. It happened, from time to time, but when she was caught in the rain or in heavy snow it was seldom her clothes she worried about.

“She would deny it if you asked her, but I see her in your Arya” Ser Brynden continued.

It was hard to see that Catelyn had ever been like Arya, but Ser Brynden had been right in that Ned had only known her as a woman grown. He had little idea of how she had been before that, she so rarely spoke of herself when she spoke of her youth in Riverrun.

Though it was even harder to see how Arya would ever grow to be like Catelyn, it was as if she fought against it at every chance she got. Maybe it was just the wildness of childhood that made Arya that way, maybe it would fade with time. It hadn’t for Lyanna. Ned struggled with seeing it, still he wanted Ser Brynden to be right. It was better if Arya was more like Catelyn than like Lyanna.

“I believe Arya would also deny it” Ned said.

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud yell and a splash followed by another splash. Bran must have somehow angered Arya because she had pushed him so that he sat flat on his bottom in the water, then Bran had grabbed at her skirt and pulled her down with him. There was a pause, then they looked at each other and laughed.

Ned couldn’t keep himself from smiling at the sight of his daughter and his son, sitting in the water and laughing so that they could barely breathe. The sound was as wonderful as the sight, if not even more so.

Then Arya did laugh like Catelyn. The way Catelyn laughed when something was so funny she couldn’t keep herself dignified.

“I thought I could trust you with them, Uncle.”

Catelyn came to stand next to them, her arms crossed over her chest. She also looked at Arya and Bran where they sat in the water, but she wasn’t smiling. On the contrary she looked rather concerned.

“Has your father not told you I’m not to trust?” Ser Brynden said.

“Let them play, my lady” Ned said softly.

She looked at him a moment before sighing, shaking her head as she did so.

“It’s not the playing I mind, it’s their clothes. And Arya–”

“She’ll learn in due time.”

Just as you did.

Catelyn furrowed her brow and sighed another time. Once again she looked down at Arya and Bran, who had began splashing water at one another. Then she sat next to him in the grass, arranging her skirts around her.

She was dressed for the warmer weather, not as bundled up as she was home in Winterfell. Each time Ned looked at her it became very obvious that Riverrun was where she had come from, she truly looked like she belonged there. She even dressed in Tully colours.

“Bran looks so much like Edmure did when he was little” she noted, waving to Bran.

He had looked up at them, noticed his mother and waved.

Ser Brynden chuckled.

“There’s trout blood in all your children, Cat.”

“Of course there is, they’re my– Arya, don’t do that!”

Ned wondered if she would ever see what her uncle had just shown him.

[melrosing]

MBO Robert's Rebellion: Episode 7

for those keeping track, another minor amend to timelines - pushed this ep's events one year later than canon to give Duskendale room to breathe, and conflated Jaime's trip to Riverrun (which has no canonical date but was probably a couple years later than this) with the Lannisport tourney (canonically one year earlier than I have it here). the chronology around each event didn't seem to matter too much and also I really wanted to introduce the Tully sisters at this point, so Jaime's Riverrun visit seemed like the most natural way to tie them in with someone we've introduced already.

also, switched the victor of the Lannisport tourney from Arthur to Rhaegar as I had it the other way round in ep3!

mostly this is a big ole check in with the Robert's Rebellion generation and what kind of kids they are. Cers and Mags didn't seem all that relevant in the grand scheme of things but it felt weird to leave it out given that all goes down during the Lannisport tourney so whatever

Prev: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6

Next: Episode 8

title for this one: Cersei's First Homicide

One year timeskip ⏱We’re in the Riverlands, where a young Petyr Baelish (9) is punting Cat and Lysa down a calm, narrow river. Cat (13) and Lysa (11) lie back together at the prow, whispering loudly to one another in their secret language - this seems to be annoying Petyr, who doesn’t understand a word. He asks them not to speak it, which makes the sisters laugh - together, they rock the boat until Petyr loses balance and falls over aboard

Edmure (aged.... let’s go with 6) appears on the riverbank: Father wants them back at the castle. Petyr asks for a hand out of the river, which Lysa says he’ll only have if he says that he loves her. Petyr looks slightly aghast, and Cat, taking pity, offers him her own hand. Lysa’s turn to look put out

The trio make their way back to the castle; in the courtyard, Hoster Tully greets Jaime Lannister (11), who is acting as a messenger between Lord Crakehall and Riverrun. Hoster introduces his daughters (proudly mentioning Cat's recent betrothal to Brandon Stark), his son Edmure, and, irritably, Petyr - who looks like a drowned rat. Jaime says he does not know House Baelish, Petyr says he imagines there’s much and more the young lord of Lannister does not know - earning an abrupt dismissal by Lord Hoster to go clean himself up

Opening 👏 creds 👏

Meanwhile: Casterly Rock, where Tywin Lannister is hosting a tourney in celebration of Prince Viserys’ first name day. Rhaegar Targ (18) is in concert, playing a sad song on his lil harp. A young Cersei (11) weeps in the audience; her friend Melara teasingly nudges her - Cersei elbows back a little sharper, embarrassed. She casts a hopeful glance to Tywin Lannister, who sits nearby: Tywin returns her looks and nods

Tywin turns to King Aerys, sat beside him, and tries to say something; however Aerys is deep in conversation with one Steffon Baratheon, making a point to ignore his Hand. Meanwhile in the background: cameo from Tyrion Lannister (4), looking bored as hell

The tourney itself: standard scenes of men playing w sticks, concluding in a final face-off between Rhaegar and Arthur. Reminiscent of their first match in ep3, they charge, and Rhaegar wins this time - he’s at the top of his game. Arthur looks entirely unperturbed by his loss, and celebrates Rhaegar with the crowd. Aerys in the background, clutching Viserys like some kind of comfort blanket

Evening, in the Vale with Ned (14) and Robert (16). The two friends are walking down the streets of a nearby town. Entering what’s not quite a brothel, more like a seedy pub, Robert tells Ned he should have his first woman tonight. Ned declines despite Robert’s teasing, but Robert, undeterred, finds a girl for himself. Ned sits awkwardly with a pint of ale whilst Robert sits with a girl in his lap, and asks Ned if Lyanna’s anything like this one?? Ned makes no comment

Cersei and Melara, feeling v giggly and excitable, are sneaking out for their own excursion into the night, to meet Maggy thee Frog. They make their way through Lannisport and vanish into a dark wood on the perimeter

Aerys, in the gallery at the Rock. Aerys is looking upon a portrait of Joanna, and looks irritated to have been interrupted when Tywin approaches. Aerys notes that Cersei looks a great deal like Joanna; Tywin agrees this is true. Carefully, he suggests that they might announce a betrothal between Rhaegar and Cersei - we get the impression that Tywin has raised this many times, and now seeks a final answer. Aerys gives him one, and says that he has no intention of marrying his son to his servant’s daughter. On Tywin, who’s really this close to starting a job search on linkedin

Meanwhile: Cers & Melara. They find Maggy’s tent, and that whole thing happens with Cers getting her horrible little prophecy idk we know how it goes. Subsequently, Cersei trying to hold it together as they leave, and Melara attempting to laugh it all off. They enter a clearing with a well in the midst (!!!!), and Melara tries to console Cersei - a prophecy can’t come true if no-one speaks of it!! Cersei looks up - cogs turning behind her eyes. And anyway, says Melara, she knows she’s going to marry Jaime, so Maggy really is just a stupid old - oh shit Cersei has pushed her down a fucking well!!! I would say Cersei’s crime wiki starts here but well. there was that shit with Tyrion already

Melara screaming at the bottom of the well. Cersei looks as though she can’t quite believe what she’s just done. For a long moment she stands leaning over the edge, looking silently down at the desperate Melara, who begs her for help. Cersei lowers to the ground, leaning against the side of the well - she needs to sit with this for a bit

Ned, leading a drunken Robert back to the Eyrie. He looks annoyed with his friend, like he’s done this before, but this time it’s worse. Then Robert says something to make Ned laugh, and Ned struggles not to smile

Back with Cersei. It’s dawn - she’s somehow fallen asleep at the side of the well. She looks back over the edge: Melara is wide awake, still trying to call, but her voice is shaky and hoarse. Cersei looks down at her for a long moment, and then departs; we hear Melara croaking in dismay

Cersei sneaks back inside Casterly Rock, using some weird connection of tunnels idk. She enters her bedchamber, dresses down and climbs into bed

At Riverrun: Jaime walking with Catelyn and Lysa in the castle gardens, blathering on about swords and squiring. Lysa attempts an interesting comment on the subject, but it doesn’t seem to register with Jaime; Catelyn gives her sister an apologetic smile, and rolls her eyes sympathetically

Back with Cersei once more, on her way to breakfast with Genna; Genna notes that her niece looks tired lol. And then, unfortunately, she must break some bad news: King Aerys has turned down Tywin’s proposition, and will not marry her to Rhaegar after all. Cersei breaks down on the spot, but Genna wills her to stop her tears, and look strong when they present themselves, show the Prince what he’s missing. Cers puts on a brave face as she enters the hall, but catching sight of Tyrion sat with their uncles, some of the façade falls away

Riverrun once more, at table: Jaime is pestering Brynden Tully for stories, Lysa is looking dejected at his side. Hoster suggests that Brynden might have duties away from the table, which Brynden happy latches onto and makes a departure. A disappointed Jaime decides to attempt conversation with Catelyn instead; Lysa looks close to tears, and asks Hoster if they might invite Petyr to table. Hoster like. no lol

A feast at the Rock. Aerys holds up Prince Viserys for everyone to applaud him: Viserys like :-|

Aerys makes an announcement!! Rhaegar is long overdue a betrothal! Tywin and Cersei actually look hopeful for a minute before Aerys goes on to say that he’ll be sending his old friend Steffon Baratheon (little wave from Steffon) across the Narrow Sea to find the most eligible woman for their future queen. nice. What could possibly go wrong

[myocsfanfictions]

The Wolf, the Stag and the Snake (Book 2)

ASOIAF Fanfiction

After the new King of the Seven Kingdoms had killed Lord Stark many things had happened. Life is no longer how it used to be, with the War of the Five Kings beginning, follow Antea Stark, Cassandra Baratheon and Cyel Sand trying to survive in a world that is becoming everyday more dark and dangerous.

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

Chapter 2

ANTEA

Her nights had become rather restless. After learning about her Lord father’s execution, Antea Stark had trouble falling asleep. The anger she felt was so great that it made her tremble. The sorrow that she felt was so painful that every time she had the chance to be alone, she’d cry and scream. She had noticed many lords looked at her as if she was crazy.

She is a woman. She is too soft. They liked to say.

But they had no idea what it felt like to be her. Antea had no way to release that fire of anger that had been lit up inside her. She hated the Lannisters, yet she could only hate them. She had no way of getting close to those men. She could not take a sword and twist it in the belly of Joffrey Baratheon. She couldn’t. But she could hate them. I hate that cowardly boy who had no shame in killing her Father with false accusations. She could only hate them. And that was how she spent the nights when she could not sleep. She prayed to all the gods she knew so that something terrible would happen to every living Lannister and that they could lose everything they hold dear and die in despair.

“I feel your anger, sister. But you need to gain back your senses,” Robb had said one night, visiting the chamber that had been given to her. Their journey had brought them all to Riverrun, the castle where her mother had lived her youth, where both Robb and Antea had come into the world fifteen years before.

Antea had turned to him with crossed arms. Shadow was now always with her, sitting at her feet to not let anyone get close. “I’ve got my senses, brother,” she spoke, “I’ve never had my mind more clear.”

“Antea, people talk,” Antea scoffed.

“Let them!” She exclaimed, “My Father had been killed. I’m never going to see him again,” Robb took a breath, looking down, “They have destroyed us, Robb,” she said sadly, “They’ve destroyed us since they walked through the gates of Winterfell.”

Her twin brother, now the King of the North, walked to her, taking her hands. “I swear to you, Antea. I’ll bring justice. I’ll avenge Father.”

Antea felt the tears in her eyes as she observed her brother. Her hands moved, taking his face between her hands so that their forehead could touch each other, “We’ve lost father, Sansa is in the Lannister’s hands, only the gods know what was of Arya, and we almost lost Bran, and you are fighting a war. We are scattered,” she let out a sob, “I’m so angry.”

“My sweet sister,” Robb said, taking her hands to have her look at him, “We’ll be back at Winterfell soon enough, but I need you to keep yourself grounded. I'm king now, the lords holds expectations.”

Antea got free from her brother's hold, “Expectation...”

“My King,” the voice of the guard outside her tent made the two turn towards the entrance, “Theon Greyjoy, my King.”

Antea took a breath, brushing away her tears.

Her brother spoke, “Let him through.”

Shadow nudged Antea’s leg, making the girl look down so that their eyes could meet. Shadow understood her. Like always.

The sound of Theon’s steps made her look at the boy. He was wearing his jerkin. The golden kraken was embroidered on his chest. His eyes traveled between Robb and Antea, indulging on her face longer. Action that made her look away. She didn’t want him to see her cry.

“Lord Edmure is looking for you,” Theon said to Robb. Antea heard her brother take a deep breath before turning to his sister.

“Try to stay calm,” he said, holding her hand, “Sleep. Rest. I’ll see you in the morrow. Agreed?” He asked with a firm tone when she didn’t look at him. “Antea.”

Antea bit her lips, “Yes, my king.” Robb had not appreciated her answer, but he had no time to stay and fight with her. He took a frustrated breath before leaving the tent.

“Am I sensing a tense feeling in here?” Theon said, still not leaving. That was not new to Antea. Lately, he had been observing her closely. She had seen him looking at her at every opportunity that he had. But not only. Since the death of her father, Theon had been by her side more often than not.

“You don’t have to tell me how to behave,” she told him with a nervous tone, pacing back and forth, “The King had already spoken his mind.”

“I’m not here to tell you how to behave,” Theon said with a frown, surprising her when his lips turned up into a smirk, “My lady wouldn't listen anyway."

When they got the chance to be alone, Theon did not use her new title. Being called princess was still a foreign sound to her ears. A sound full of sorrow. If her father were still alive, she'd still be a lady and her brother heir to Winterfell, not the King in the North.

“Yet, it pains me to see you like this,” that made her scoff in frustration.

“Is it a sight so unbearable? To watch a daughter who lost her father?” She asked, clenching her fingers into a fist as she turned her back to the young man, “I’ve lost so much more than just my lord. Yet you all can’t stand it. Why do my feelings bother you so much? Why is feeling considered a weakness by men?”

She knew they all said that. Antea had listened with her own ears. The lord of the North observed her as if she was a twig on the verge of breaking. They liked to underestimate her because she was a woman. But that had nothing to do with women or weakness.

Antea had always been known to be different from her siblings in matters of feelings and expressing them. She had a hard time controlling her emotions, but she managed most of the time. Yet, this was a new kind of feeling. Much greater than she had ever felt. And she felt as if it was impossible to keep it in.

“You’ve mistaken my words,” Theon spoke, “I consider you anything but weak,” Antea dared not to say anything, letting him continue, “I’ve watched you for ten years, and I figured you’ve got a temper, and your stubbornness can be unbearable,” he let out a little nostalgic laugh, as she could hear him moving closer, “But I also know that you are protective and generous and your smile is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever lay my eyes upon," when he gently touched her arm, Antea could not help but let him move her so that their eyes could meet. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, feeling him so close. "It pains me to see you filled with so much sorrow, knowing there's little I can do."

A tear rolled down her, wetting her cheek. Her breath got stuck in her throat when she felt his hand coming to touch her face. Drying her tear with his thumb.

"Theon..." she whispered as her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips. He was so close to her.

"Theon loves you, Antea," she remembered her sweet sister Sansa's voice. Those words made her blush as she looked over to Septa Mordane to be sure she hadn't heard. "Cyel, tell her it's the truth," Sansa said, almost begging the girl to keep with her needlework. But Antea didn't miss her smile.

"Love is a big word, sweet sister," Antea had whispered. But Sansa had looked at her as if she was really silly.

"He always looks at you," she had explained, "And he smiles."

Antea rolled her eyes, "He always smiles," she had answered. But Sansa had shook her head elegantly, like always.

"It's a different kind of smile."

Antea was close to thirteen when Sansa shared her thoughts. And Antea had blushed deeply. Theon was older than her and handsome and charming. She remembered that she hadn't been able to talk to him for the entire day after what Sansa had told her. Suddenly, feeling shy in his presence.

Maybe it's true, she had wandered. Maybe he truly has feelings for me.

She had kept thinking when they had danced together, not so long after.

But that good feeling soon had been replaced by realization when she had heard Theon speak with her twin brother about a girl he had bedded.

Antea had never realized that Theon could indulge in such behavior, but then she heard servant talk, and she had seen girls blush at his passage. That had cut deeper than she thought.

So, she kept on with her life, thinking of Theon as a dear friend. Not sharing her thoughts with anyone, not even Cyel. Theon liked women, but he did not have any interest in her.

But now, what was happening was something that she had not expected to happen. She felt confused, surely due to all those sleepless nights, but at the same time, his touch was so comforting. The same way it had comforted her when she had known about her father's death.

"My lady," he whispered, moving closer. His hand remained against her cheek. Antea moved her fingers to rest on his wrist. But not to move him away, if anything, to keep him close to her. Her eyes were full of tears.

"I'm so tired, Theon," Antea admitted after a moment of silence, "I feel nothing but pain."

His hold on her tightened, "I'd do anything to ease your heart, my lady." Antea let out a little sob.

"Why?" She asked before he could make sure she'd look into his eyes.

"Don't you know?" He asked, making her blush as he leaned forward, slowly pushing his lips against hers.

That was a strange feeling, the one Antea felt when their lips touched. She had never been kissed before, but with ease, she found herself kissing Theon's back. She had been hesitant at the beginning, not knowing exactly what to do. But the more she followed his movement, the more she found herself comfortable feeling his touch. Her hands traveled from his arms to his chest, gripping the cloth of his vest, as she was afraid he would walk away. But he didn't. Theon kept kissing her, holding her close when his hands found her hips. His touch and his lips brought her so much warmth, a feeling that she had almost forgotten those days. Feeling all those judging faces of the other lords. Of her king. But there in Theon's arms, she felt much more safe. Understood.

Soon, her fingers found his hair, pulling him closer. Allowing him to explore her mouth as it pleased him. And she savored every moment, feeling at ease in his arms.

"Antea," he whispered against her lips, "You're crying, my lady," but she took his face in her hands, stopping him from moving away. "Please, Theon." She whispered. He kissed her tears before his lips found hers again.

Antea closed her eyes, getting lost in that pleasurable feeling that was taking over her. She liked how his hand touched her hip, bringing her closer to his chest. She did the same, feeling the need to have him close.

"Princess Antea," the guard outside her chamber spoke, interrupting them. "The lady Catelyn is here for you."

Dread took over Antea as she took a step back from Theon, who looked at the door.

"Yes," Antea had been quick to answer, still short of breath.

"Meet me in the morrow," Theon was quick to whisper.

"What?" She whispered, eyeing the door.

"Meet me in the morrow," he repeated, "In the gardens." Antea found herself nodding her head. Her gesture made him smile.

Theon was quick to turn when the door opened to let Antea's mother enter her chamber. And only by the look on her face, she could see that the Lady Stark was not pleased by what she was looking at.

"My lady," Theon was quick to bow to her mother. Who looked at him rather coldly. "I'll take my leave, now," then he turned to Antea, bowing to her, "My princess," she didn't answer, but she had to do everything that she could not to let her cheek get red when she saw the smirk on his face when he looked at her.

Antea observed him walk away, still feeling his lips against her own. But her memory of the kiss the two had just shared had to be put aside. She had to face her mother.

"Why was Theon here?" The woman asked, with a tone that got Antea a shiver on her back.

"Robb was here as well," Antea was quick to answer, "But then he had to meet with Uncle Edmure." But her answer didn't ease her mother's gaze.

"But why was Theon here?" She asked.

Antea took a breath, sitting on her bed, immediately followed by Shadow, who sat at her feet.

"I was crying, Mother," she answered, "Theon was... comforting me."

Her mother studied her expression. And Antea prayed to all the gods that she wasn't showing any sign of flushing on her face.

"It is not appropriate for him to be in your chambers alone," her mother said.

Antea caressed Shadow's head, "Nothing happened," she lied, "How's grandfather?" She asked, trying to move away from the subject of Theon.

"Not well at all, I'm afraid," her mother's eyes were different from what had happened to Antea's father. She was hiding it well, but Antea fell her close. Sharing the same sadness. And the condition of Lord Hoster Tully was perceived even heavier now.

"As I've noticed your sorrow," her mother spoke, coming to sit next to her daughter, "I know you are suffering," Antea didn't answer, "But it's time for you to get back your strength. Your brother needs you," her mother said touching her hair.

"You know I would do anything for our family," Antea answered with honesty, "But I've felt so angry since my father..."

"I know, child," her mother said, "But since this war is far from over, we need to make the lords see that our house still stands."

"I do not want people to see me as weak, Mother," she said.

"They won't," her mother answered.

Theon doesn't, Antea thought. Feeling again the pressure of the boy's lips on hers. And that made her heart race.

"I've sent a raven to Winterfell," his mother said, getting Antea's attention back. She often wondered about her little brothers and how Rickon was growing up. How Bran was feeling. "Bran is to be wed. Not now, of course, but soon the ravens with words of his engagement will fly in the Seven Kingdoms."

"With Cyel?" Antea asked with wide eyes.

Her mother nodded her head, "It's time for all of us to do our part."

The night had passed with Antea tossing and turning. The expectation on herself, the words of her mother, Theon’s lips. Everything was spinning in her head. There was so much that she felt. The sorrow for her family, the anger towards those judging lords, the weight of reality, knowing that she indeed had to do what was expected of her, and guilt. Guilt because if she thought about Theon’s touch, she had finally felt a moment of peace. But was it fair to her father’s memory?

In the morrow, Antea had joined her brother to break their fast. It had been a quiet meal, and both still felt very sensitive about their argument from the night before. But Antea had another reason to feel queer with her brother. She had never held secrets with him, yet she did not want him to know what had happened between her and Theon.

“They are forging my crown,” Robb said as he ate. “They want to make it look like the crown of the Kings in the North.”

Antea took a sip of milk, “Does it make you eager?” Robb scoffed.

“You’re angry at me for some reason?” Antea lowered her eyes. It was strange. She knew he was her brother, she was looking at her beloved twin. And yet, his new title was heavy on everyone. She had been one of those agreeing with him. But she had not thought about the consequences. Her brother was now more exposed to risk than ever.

“I do not wish to lose you, Robb,” she admitted without rage in her voice, “Loosing father had been a pain so great that I fear I’d lose myself if something like that would happen again,” she felt Shadow resting her snout on her legs, and Antea was quick to caress her head.

Every time Antea felt something very strongly, it was like her direwolf would feel it as well and share it with her. She had been so attached to her pup that sometimes she dreamt of being her, running and hunting with Grey Wind.

In moments of sorrow, Shadow felt the only one who could understand her truly.

“I promise, it’s not going to happen,” Robb said, taking back her attention. “I’m in talks with the lords to look for another solution. One that will not require battlefields and fights.”

Antea’s eyes widened, “Truly?”

Her brother smiled. It was so strange to see his face covered with a beard. He seemed so much older. “I still need time, but I’ll try this solution.”

The girl nodded, feeling relieved that her brother didn’t have to fight anymore. Or Theon.

She remembered how she had feared during the battle to take back Riverrun from the Lannisters, how she had waited for her brother to return and how she felt relieved when she saw him ride back with words of victory, how she had looked at Theon, feeling tears when she saw his usual smirk on his face. All of that was coming to an end. And of that, she was glad. But there was a thought that lingered in the back of her mind.

“What of the Kingslayer, though?” She asked. They couldn’t let him go, even with peace.

“I do not intend to free him,” Robb answered. Antea had no permission to talk to the prisoner. Her brother had forbidden her to. Robb knew how much she hated him for what he had done to Bran. But he knew well how much she hated the Lannisters and how Shadiw was quick to attack every time Antea got angry. Her pup could be very quiet and calm, as she could attack a man without a second thought. That happened when Antea had enough of those lords observing her. She still remembered Lord Bolton’s face as the soldier held his arm.

After she had broken her fast, her brother, the King, was required by the lords. And Antea could not go. But she had somewhere to be.

She walked through the corridors of Riverrun. She had been born in that castle, but she had no memory of it. She had been nothing but a child attached to breast when it had been possible for her to go home. Winterfell.

Riverrun was different from her castle. And its defenses were impressive, by what she came to know. They could easily open the gates to transform the castle into an island surrounded by water on all sides. She knew it would have been a sight. But a sight she did not wish to see.

Antea made her way to the gardens. Her hands were sweating, and her heart was racing at the thought of seeing Theon after what happened. She had no idea what to expect.

When she stepped outside, she saw Theon standing on a side, bowing his head when Lord Rickard Karstark passed. Antea did not know what to do.

What should I say? The girl asked herself. But when Richard Karstark noticed her presence, he bowed, “Good morrow, Princess Antea,” she felt her cheeks burn when she saw Theon turning in her direction.

“Good morrow, my lord,” Antea answered politely.

“Your beauty is a welcoming sight, my princess,” the man said. There was a hint of sorrow in his voice. Antea knew why and could understand. He was still mourning his sons, lost during the Battle of the Whispering Woods. His sons had saved Robb’s life. An act she would never forget.

“The King will be pleased by your presence, my lord,” she said with courtesy. The man bowed one last time before entering the castle. When the heavy door closed at her back, Antea started to feel nervous again as her eyes met Theon’s.

“I’m glad you’re here, my lady,” he said, stepping closer. Antea felt the shyness grow inside of her. Remembering the kiss they’ve shared, “For a moment, I thought you would not be coming.”

The smile never left his face as he spoke to her. “I wanted to meet you,” she said, lowering her gaze for a moment, “I think we need to talk about what happened.”

Theon took a breath before nodding his head. Then he offered his arm to her to take. “Shall we take a walk?”

It would have been more fitting. She didn’t want her mother to know what had happened. So Antea accepted his arm, letting him guide her through the gardens. Shadow had already disappeared. But she was there. Antea could feel her eyes on her.

“What did you want to talk about?” Asked Theon, making her glare at him.

“You know,” she answered, trying to speak with a hushed voice. That seemed to amuse him.

“You are too shy to call it by its name?” He said, righting his grip on her arm when he felt her try to pull back.

“I will not be mocked, Theon,” she argued as the boy tilted his head to the side.

“That’s not my intent, my lady,” he said, the smile never leaving his face, as he leaned forward, “It’s just, you’re so lovely, I might want to kiss you again.”

“Theon…” she whispered, giving a quick look at their surroundings to be sure no one was around.

“You don’t want me to?” He asked, not moving away.

I want you to, she thought. Her eyes moved to his lips so close to hers. She would have liked to feel them pressed on hers again.

“Why did you kiss me?” She asked instead. Theon lowered his gaze for a moment.

“Because I’ve wanted to for quite some time,” he answered. For quite some time? What did he mean? For how long? But before she could ask anything else, he kept walking once again. “But I wanted for you to try something this day.” Theon leads her through the gardens, further from the castle. Until she saw a bow resting on the ground next to a target to practice. Something like twenty arrows were stuck on the ground.

“Archery?” She asked, turning to the young man next to her, who showed his smile.

“I wanted to take your mind away from sad thoughts,” he answered, “I meant it when I said my heart ache not to see your smile again.”

Antea looked at him, moved by everything he was doing for her. But a single question came to her mind, “Why?”

Theon smiled, taking her face gently between his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, “Don’t you know?” He asked her before leaning forward and pressing his lips on hers once again. And Antea found herself closing her eyes, savoring that kiss that filled her with all those same sweet feelings of the night before.

*************

If you enjoyed it please leave a "♥️" and feel free to reblog!

If you want ho be added to the tag list, just write a comment.

[jonquildove]

starkmatriarch:

Catelyn smiled warmly as her daughter came towards her, the rolls of her deeply colour dress trailing along the ground. What little sun poured through the dense wood sparkled on Sansa’s hair, making the auburn locks glisten in shades of strawberry gold. She was young yet, and was already more beautiful than Catelyn had been at her age, and would be more beautiful still as she grew older. It had been a long summer, Cat grateful for that, Sansa living through only summer, as did her other children. Sun glowed in the woods, shining through the leaves of colour. She did not want autumn to come for then came the merciless winter, as she looks at a leaf, with three spikes in hair ; it orange with a hint of green, when colour was blushing into its cheeks. “I would welcome the company,” She replied, holding out a hand for Sansa to take, “I find myself in these places when the world of men gets too loud,” She explained with a small smile. One could only take the sound of steel against steel, of cheering, of drinking for so long, even when all were done in joy and good grace. Men were loud, overbearingly so sometimes. Except Ned; he had been quiet and stoic from the day they first met. She wished Edmure was here, the Blackfish, she felt happy when he was in Riverrun with her, climbing trees. She could feel the waterfall rushing in the forest, the water sprinkling through the trees, as she climbed.

Sansa took her mother’s hand, clasping it into her own. She sees Cat wearing a blue teal dress, thin material with grey patterned hems at the sleeves. The woods were so serene, with the birds twittering and chirping around them through the trees. Sansa felt like she was nearly back home, and she breathed in the dusky, earthy air that reminded her so much of home. Even these woods, like the godswood, had a certain otherworldly power, she could feel it humming in the air. “Yes,” She nodded, smiling at Catelyn’s words, “I feel exactly the same, mother.” One of Sansa’s favourite pastimes was to walk into the godswood at Winterfell, when she wasn’t talking to Jeyne or sewing clothes with Septa Mordane. She liked praying to the gods, praying her hands on a rock, as she looked at the heart tree. The woods were wild in its beauty. She brushed a strand of her red hair from her face, which had been momentarily let astray by a small wind, and said, “Shall we go, then?”

She leaned down to pick up a small wildflower by the stem, and started spinning it around in her hands.

[bellarkeselection]

Kingslayer Prisoner

Y/n Tully is held Jaime's prisoner when he wants Riverrun but he underestimates her skills with a sword. He just might've regretted becoming a member of the Kingsgaurd

Guards forced me into a chair inside the Lannister's tent. My red hair tousled about covered in dirt after hiding outside the Lannister's camp. The tent flap opened for me to see Jaime Lannister or Kingslayer as my Uncle calls him throughout Riverrun. His guards leave us alone as he stepped up towards me. "So Tully girl thinks she can spy in on my camp?" Baring my teeth I stare up into the Lannister green eyes. "Not only that, Kingslayer. I want the release of Lord Edmure. Take me instead!" He leans down inches from my face so I felt his hot breath mixing with mine. "Why would I make a deal with you, Tully girl?" Tilting my head up I slip my right hand out of the ropes, reaching for my dagger hidden under my tunic shirt.

"Because Edmure can't give your house heirs. I on the other hand have never slept with any man and am not wed to anyone." The Kingslayer tilts his head curiosity written all over. "How'd you manage that I wonder?" Clutching my hand around the blade tighter I lean forward so I could whisper in his ear. "Make the trade and you might find I'm sharper than you think." Jaime pouts his lips in confusion before I press the dagger against his throat smirking. For one spilt second I saw a hint of shock in those green eyes, one that I'm certain is a first for the Lion. "If you wanted to be alone in my tent with me all you had to ask." Rolling my eyes I press the blade deeper, suprised he hadn't called for his guards yet.

My Tully eyes pour into his still never losing my grip on the dagger. "If you call for any guards I'll plundge this blade into your chest, Kingslayer. And it's laced with a deadly posion!!" He cuts in still bent down a knee to be my level. "Jaime, my name's Jaime. Can I know yours if you plan to hold me hostage?" Knitting my eyebrows together I let my name slip past my lips. "Y/n, what of it!" He suddenly gets to his feet crashing his lips down onto mine. The dagger fell from my hand as I gasped in shock. My heart racing a mile a minute and I curse myself to the old and the new God's when I slowly kissed him back. I'm labeling myself a traitor by doing this, by kissing him back until he broke it.

"You're unlike any woman I've seen in my lifetime. Even though I've only ever kissed my sister-" I cut Jaime off shacking my head. "Where are you going with this. If you're going to kill me or use me as a warning to my uncle then get it over with Jaime?" He pulls out a dagger from his belt cutting my restraints letting me rub my sore wrists. "I'm not doing either of those things. Lord Edmure has already agreed to surrender the castle to save his baby son." Getting up from the chair I throw my arms up baffled at his words. "Then why the hell did you kiss me. Why play with my heart. You do realize I can't return to the castle, my home now right. All because I kissed the family against us!" Jaime stepped out of his tent into the night with a single sentence. "Because you made me regret becoming a member of the Kingsgaurd."

The next morning I'm yanked from the bed two Tully guards who posted as Lannister guards dropped me at my uncles feet on the drawbridge. "Uncle, the Kingslayer has Edmure in his hands-" He spits in my face clutching my jaw in between his fingers. "Shut the hell up girl. I sent you to gather information not share the enemies bed!" I cut in not knowing how a rumor like that would surfes. "Uncle I didn't sleep with him. I don't know where you got that-" He slaps me across the face making me release a sharp cry. "Edmure told me last night before he wanted to surrender Riverrun. But I'll have your head for becoming a traitor before I hand this castle over to the fucking Kingslayer!" He pulls out his sword and I clutch my eyes closed until another sword clashes with his. Squinting one eye open I see Jaime standing in front of me, sword in his left hand since he'd lost his right. "Jaime..." I gasped but he just holds an intense glare with my uncle who nearly beheaded me, a member of his own family.

I have no idea where I was going with this but here it is. If someone wants another part just tell me and I'll write it

Comment and reblog 🤗

[cellsshapedlikestars]

So Jon and Sansa both see a crime being commited and become prime witnesses to arrest this big crime mastermind (Petyr? Or maybe Tywin?) and they have to go to witness protection... Only witness protection makes them pretend to be a married couple when they actually don't know each other. Does that sparkle something in that brilliant brain of yours as a prompt?

Look I'm in a Mood™ today and wrote this in a weird fugue state so don't @ meeeeee. I also like barely edited this so who knows if it makes sense, and grammar? I barely know her.

Also, I don’t really know how to do trigger warning tags, so this is my warning that there are vague mentions of blood/gore/violence.

.

.

Sometimes when she wakes up, she forgets.

But then she looks around the room that isn't her room and she has to tell herself that it is. This is her room. This is her home. That is her husband downstairs making breakfast.

(And sometimes she wakes up unable to breathe, the dreams are so real; the blood and brains and pieces of skull spraying the wall in front of her, the sounds of men pleading for their lives. The strong arm wrapped around her, one hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, the only thing that kept her still and quiet and hidden under the desk, the only reason she's alive. He's downstairs making breakfast.)

….

If there was ever a place to get lost, she thinks, it's here.

She stares out the window of her house, the same as every other house on the street. Row after row of identical houses. Neighborhoods of them, the suburbs stretching on forever. They've been here for two months and she doesn't even know her neighbor's names. The one across the street is Edmond, she thinks. Maybe. Edmure? No, if it were Edmure, she would remember, because of-

(But Alayne Stone doesn't have an Uncle Edmure.)

“I'm headed out.”

She turns to look at her husband.

“Have a good day,” she calls, just like she does every day. She watches him walk out to their nondescript grey sedan, just like he does every day. He backs it out of the driveway, then drives west, towards the main road.

…

They don't talk about before.

He is Aemon Stone. They met in college, in a geography course that they both almost failed, and they fell in love. They just got married and moved here - not that any of their neighbors have asked, so she's only had to tell that story to her new coworkers at the craft store.

They're trying to start a family.

(Jon, she thinks his name is, she remembers the agents calling him that, before they were handed folders with their new lives inside. But Jon is not her husband. Aemon is.)

…

Sometimes she likes to think she's a hero, giving up her whole world just to take down the bad guy. She's a hero, a martyr, the protagonist of her own daydreams. Her actions will save the lives of countless others.

(The reality is that she had no choice. They gave her one, technically, she doesn't have to testify against Petyr Baelish, but they all knew there was no choice. If she stayed, he would've found her. He would have killed her and anyone she could have possibly told about what she saw. She knows Aemon had no choice, either, and sometimes she wonders what he gave up. But they don't talk about before.)

…

She tries not to let her mind wander too much, but it's hard not to. Her life is routine. Mundane. She makes friends with her coworkers but she can't – she won't– let them get too close.

The problem with all her free, mundane time is that it gives her space to think – gives her time to regret.

She remembers that weekend, remembers thinking what harm could it do? Remembers thinking the bachelorette party sounded so fun. Remembers taking cash out to play the slot machines, ordering drink after drink until she felt numb.

It all goes a bit fuzzy after that. No matter how hard she tries, she can never remember how she got into the back halls of the casino, to the places where guests aren't allowed. She remembers a strange man kissing her, large, with scarring across his face, who told her that a pretty bird like her shouldn't be back here and demanded a kiss as payment. She remembers running, running, running.

If only she hadn't run.

If she hadn't run, she wouldn't have found herself in that room. She wouldn't have heard the door opening, turned around to see him, watched his face twist in horror when he saw her. He wouldn't have had to tell her get down, hide.

She remembers not being able to move, frozen to the spot at the sight of the gun at his hip. She remembers the way he'd pulled her down under the desk, one arm around her waist to keep her still, one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, just in time, just before the door opened again.

(And she remembers the men who came in right after, the gruff where the fuck did Rivers get to?)

…

She's seen the tattoo.

(She doesn't think she was supposed to. Aemon Stone shouldn't have a tattoo.)

They try not to get in each other's way – he works days, she works closings. She sleeps in the master bed, he sleeps in a guest room down the hall. He wakes up early and makes breakfast and leaves her a plate. She eats while he goes for a run. But every once in a while...

That day he'd been coming back from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. She's never upstairs when he takes a shower, but she had gotten the urge to read, for the first time in months, and had gone up to grab one of the books that came with the house when she ran into him in the hall.

And there, on his chest, right above his heart, the mockingbird tattoo.

(Aemon Stone is her husband. He is not one of them.)

(But Jon Snow was.)

…

She probably should be scared, but she can never find it in her to be. Their handlers wouldn't have put them in the same house if they thought he'd hurt her.

(He's the reason she's alive. His arm around her waist, his hand over her mouth. Get down. Hide.)

…

Sometimes she wants to ask – why?

Why did he hide her?

Why is he here?

He was one of them, there's a tattoo on his chest that proves it.

Why did he save her? Give up everything for her to live?

…

She slips, once.

She's at work, in the break room, heating up a mug of soup in their tiny, low watt microwave. The break room TV is on, the news is playing, and then he's there.

Petyr Baelish, donating a giant check to an orphanage. Everyone's clapping and cheering him on and all she can hear are the screams of two men, pleading for their lives. Begging Petyr Baelish to stop. (They had wives and children and their screams echo in her head and-)

“Alayne?” her coworker, Myranda, shakes her arm. “I think your food's done?”

She's shaking so hard that the soup sloshes over the side of her mug and she apologizes as she cleans it up and Myranda asks if she's sick or something. She has to go home early because she vomits into the break room trash can.

At home, Aemon is watching football on TV and he's surprised when she comes home early. All he says is, “everything ok?” and she knows what he's asking.

“Everything's ok,” she tells him and he nods and she goes upstairs.

They don't talk about the past, but they don't talk about the present, either.

(And they definitely don't talk about the future.)

…

There's one time she doesn't wake up confused or breathless.

She wakes up screaming.

In her dream, he finds her. In her dream, Petyr Baelish walks around the desk and bends down and reaches under and pulls her out. In her dream, he tortures her like he did those men. In her dream, he puts a gun to her head, just like he did-

She wakes up screaming.

The door to her room slams open and she takes a gasping breath and looks up at her husband, standing in the doorway with a baseball bat in his hand. His hair is wild and his eyes are wide as they search her room and she tries to tell him it's all in her head but she can't make her voice work. When she tries, the words just come out as a small sob and she watches his tensed shoulders relax and he sets down the baseball bat.

She curls into herself and cries into her bent knees – for her dreams and her fears and the knowledge that this might never end. It's a choking, clawing abyss in her chest that's been growing as the days and weeks and months slide by – that she will never see her family again. She'll never eat mom's cooking or hear her dad yell at the TV when his team loses or see Robb's infectious smile or argue with Arya or talk about philosophy with Bran or watch one of Rickon's basketball games. She'll never get to play with Lady again.

She has kept them locked away inside her, tried to forget about them because Alayne Stone doesn't have a family.

The bed dips and she lets out another gasping sob as she feels an arm settle around her shoulders. “Alayne,” he says, and then again. Again and again, until - “Sansa.”

“I'm not Sansa,” she whispers when she finally looks up.

“Sometimes you need to be,” he says, his voice is steady and he brings one hand up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “It's hard, not everyone can just change who they are. Especially not like this.”

“You say that like you're some expert,” she sniffs, wiping at her cheeks now that her tears have slowed. She feels like a mess – her eyes feel hot and puffy, her nose feels raw, her throat is sore, but she also feels more human than she has in months.

He hesitates, seems to think hard about something before - “Aemon Stone isn't the first person I've had to become.” She jerks back a bit, but she doesn't pull away.

(He saved her life.)

“Who else?”

“Before this, I was Aegon Rivers.”

“I thought your name was Jon Snow? That's what they called you.”

“Jon Snow,” he says, voice low and soothing and she feels herself relax, settles into the warmth of his arms a bit more, “is a federal agent who went undercover with the Mockingbirds two years ago.”

She looks at him, then – really looks at him. At his grey eyes and his long face and his black hair wild from sleep, at the scar that runs through his eyebrow and the dark stubble that he meticulously shaves off every morning.

“Jon Snow fits you better,” she tells him.

“And Sansa Stark fits you.”

“I'm not Sansa Stark anymore,” she reminds him again, feeling her voice waver, though she thought she was past it. “This was just a bad dream, I promise I'll do better.”

“Like I said, sometimes it's hard,” he tells her. “And sometimes it's easy to forget who you are.”

“Is it for you?” she asks. He doesn't answer, but she thinks he doesn't need to, she can see it in him and she wonders how much of Jon Snow he remembers. Two years is a long time to be someone else. “I don't...” her voice breaks and she has to drop into a whisper. “I don't want to forget them. I know I have to-”

“What if,” he cuts in when her words fail her completely, “what if we're Jon Snow and Sansa Stark here?”

“They told us we-”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don't mean... not in the house. Not during the day. But how about, once a week, at night, when it's just us, when the rest of the world is sleeping – I'll come in here and just for an hour, we can remember.”

The words make her ache and she nods and looks over at her clock. One hour – one hour to remember who she is and where she comes from. One hour to talk about anything and everything – about the past and the present and the future. It's not a lot and it's a risk and against the rules, but-

“Yes. Please.”

He nods and looks a bit grim and she wonders, once again – why? She doesn't think he wants to talk about Jon Snow. He's doing it for her – he's saving her life again and she still doesn't know why. Maybe she'll find out, some day.

“Ok,” he breathes, like he's jumping off the deep end, “Sansa Stark – what's your favorite color?”

[i-drink-and-i-write-fics]

The Wolf & The Hound

Chapter 4: Blessed Name Day

Summary: Ever since your conversation with Sansa, Sandor has disappeared. Was she right?

Notes: First update on the new blog!

The next two weeks were so crazy preparing for Sansa’s coronation that you barely noticed that Sandor wasn’t around as much as before. It crossed your mind as you lied down in bed at the end of the night, but you were so exhausted from the day that you fell asleep before your mind could begin to panic. 

But it was felt, on a subconscious level. Your protective shadow was not there and it left you cold. Maybe Sansa was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t you that he wanted to court, but he told Sansa that to hide his true motives. 

The morning of the ceremony, you were up long before dawn and dressed so you could race to Sansa’s room to help her. As Brienne was the only woman of the Queen’s Guard she met you at the door and entered a step behind.

“Good morning, my lady. Are you ready to begin your day?” You curtsied shortly after you entered the room, Sansa standing next to the window to look out over the courtyard. 

“Good morning, ___. Yes, please. We have a long day ahead of us. Ser Brienne? While ____ tends to me, can you please have the kitchen bring up breakfast for all of us?”

“Yes, my lady,” Brienne bowed and left the room.

While Brienne was gone, you went to work filling Sansa’s bath with hot water, bathing and dressing her, and finally brushing her hair as Brienne returned with a member of the kitchen staff carrying a huge tray of food. Sansa wanted to wear her hair unbound as she wanted all the attention on her new crown and gown. So you gently curled the ends.

You then helped her dress in her dark grey dress that had many representations of the North. From the red leaves of the Weirwood Trees to a sleeve made of crow feathers to the metallic bodice that was a mirror of Weirwood branches. One sleeved looked like fish scales to represent her mother while the collar looked like a dire wolf for her father. She was beautiful.

If she was nervous, Sansa never let on. Holding her head high as you busied yourself getting her ready for the ceremony. You then stepped back so Brienne could escort her to the Great Hall. Normally, you would follow Sansa everywhere, but you wanted to quickly get her room ready so it was more fit for a queen.

You raced to change the sheets on the bed, clean her bathroom, douse the fire and clean out the ashes before creating a fresh fire. The floors were swept and cleaned and windows opened to air out the room. The last thing you did was dash down to the kitchen to make a small bundle of cinnamon and rosemary and ran back to place it in the fireplace to burn, so her room would smell welcoming when she returned.

Then you went to your room to bathe and change into clean clothes before you raced to the Great Hall. The room was packed with representatives of the remaining Northern Houses, her brother, Bran Stark, as well as Sansa’s uncle, Edmure Tulley from Riverrun, and Robin Arryn of the Eyrie. You tucked yourself into a back corner where you could easily see the dais. The normal high table had been removed and replaced with a new Throne of the North, with dire wolves on each end on the back. 

Sansa entered the room and was trailed behind by her new Queen’s Guard. You hadn’t had a chance to admire the new armor this morning. The current five members wore black armor with a grey dire wolf head on the chest plate and grey capes trailing behind them. Sandor looked amazing in the new armor. He had even trimmed his beard to appear less scruffy for his new queen. And like the other guards, he kept his eyes ahead as he escorted Sansa to her new throne.

Once there, the maester placed the new crown upon her head as he announced the new Queen of the North. It was a simple band, molded to look like the Stark pattern with two dire wolves meeting at the front. 

The moment the crown touched her head, the North chanted: “The Queen of the North!”

You could not be more proud of the young woman you had helped raise. She looked every bit the queen that she had planned to be when she was a little girl and promised to that monster, Joffrey.

That night, all of Winterfell filled with loud voices, music, and the distant howling of wolves as everyone celebrated their new queen. You took a moment here and there to drink a glass of ale or wine, but mostly you tried to busy yourself so you wouldn’t focus on the fact that Sandor and Sansa were talking once again.

Yes, Sansa told you that Sandor really wanted you. But seeing them together made it so hard to believe those words. Especially when Sandor had yet to confirm them.

So that night you went to bed early to save your heart.

The next morning you were up early again and off to Sansa’s room, where you got a surprise from Arya in the hall.

“And where are you going?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “To Queen’s Sansa’s room? I have to get her grace ready for the day.”

“Absolutely not! We know you’ve been lying to the staff about when your name day is, but you forgot we grew up with you. You have today off while the feast is prepared. Now head back to your room, a bath is being drawn and food is being brought up.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “But Ser, I’m just a handmaid.”

Arya wouldn’t hear it. “You kept by my sister’s side, especially in King’s Landing when I couldn’t. You are family. Now go.”

Confused, but slowly growing happy at the sisters’ insistence of taking care of you, you went back to your room to enjoy a quiet morning. A brand new dress was awaiting you on the bed, no doubt a gift from Sansa and you couldn’t wait to change into it. You took your time, enjoying the warm bath, the good food, and then sitting in front of the fireplace in your room in a towel as you gently dried your hair, using your fingers to break up any tangles. 

After you finally put on the new dress, you left your room to walk the grounds. Fresh snow had fallen during the night and your footsteps were muted as you made your way to the Gods’ Wood. For once, Bran was not parked in front of the giant weirwood tree and so you took a seat at the stone by the trunk. 

You were quietly praying to the Old Gods when a deep voice interrupted your thoughts. 

“Forgive me, Little Wolf. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Your heart leaped in your chest at his voice. A voice you had not heard in weeks. Raising your head, a small smile graced your face as you answered. “No. I was merely speaking with the Old Gods. Thanking them for another year and for watching over me so I was able to return home safely.”

Sandor frowned at your words and you wondered what his relationship with religion was. He was from the South, but he never seemed the type to visit the Great Sept while in King’s Landing. 

“You believe in all that?” He slowly approached you.

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hands as he stopped at your feet. “I did when I was a child, but much of that changed when I traveled South. But I know I cannot turn my back on them completely.”

“And why is that?” Sandor questioned.

“I believe they kept me alive. No one taught me to fight like Arya, no one taught me how to scheme my way to safety like Queen Sansa, and no one was by my side to fight for me. And yet, I not only survived King’s Landing but getting home as well.”

Sandor crouched until he was in your line of sight. Snow was drifting down from the deep red weirwood leaves, dotting hit hair and beard giving him a soft look to his tough face. 

“I believe you are not giving yourself enough credit, Little Wolf. I saw with my own eyes how you can take down a man when cornered.”

Your face grew warm at his praise. “Thank you. But I hope to never have to do that again.”

He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “You won’t. Not while I’m here.”

“You promise?”

A small smile graced his lips. “I promise, Little Wolf. I will never leave your side until you command it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “That’s unrealistic. You’re Sansa’s guard.”

“Aye, I am. But you are her handmaid and where she is, you are. I will protect both of you.”

“Thank you, Sandor. That means a great deal to me.”

“Does it?” Doubt crept into his eyes. “Most might be scared off by the idea of my following them around.”

“Aye. There was a time you frightened me as well. But that was before I truly got to know you.” You held a hand up to stop him from interrupting. “Now, that is not to say I don’t know your past. I am well aware of you who were. But any fool can clearly see you are no longer the man who left King’s Landing during the battle against Stannis.”

“I’ve tried. After my fight with Brienne, I was saved by a Septon. He taught me a few things. And before you comment - I can see your curiosity - he was once like me. So he would be the only religious fucker I’d listen to.”

You gave a small laugh. “Yes, that makes sense.”

His face grew serious. “There is something I’ve wanted to speak with you about. Something that has been on my mind for a while. But with the coronation, I haven’t had the time.”

“Well, you’re here now and I have the whole day to myself.”

“Aye, I know. Sansa told me where I could find you.” He ran a hand over his beard, trying to find his next words. “Little Wolf, I know who I am. I’ve done horrible things, things no one should be proud of. I’m no knight and I’m not a rich man. But I’m trying to change so I don’t- so I won’t be someone so frightening. You are a beautiful, quick-witted woman who can survive, even if she may not believe so. Any man would be lucky to court you.”

You took a shaky breath as he forced himself to meet your eyes.

“Would you...allow me to court you?”

The God’s Wood became still at his words and you tried to comprehend what he had asked you. Did Sandor really ask to court you?

“You...want to court me?”

Sandor tried to hide his face falling, mistaking your words for a no. “I know that may not seem something I would do, but I wanted to do right by you and our queen.”

You reached over and took his hand. “Sandor, I would love to court you.”

While his face did not betray any emotions - as was standard for this stoic man - but he reached up with his other hand and cupped your cheek. You placed your free hand over his as you felt yourself smile. Sansa was right! He really did want to court you.

He shifted on his feet and leaned in, the question in his eyes. And the answer was on your lips as you leaned in the remainder of the way to close the gap. It was the first sign of affection Sandor had ever given and he felt no place was more appropriate for a Northern girl than under a weirwood tree. So you would know how serious he was about you.

His large hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head to hold you closer to him and you moved both of your hands around his neck. Sandor pulled away after a few moments and you could feel how warm your face was, despite winter flowing all around. 

“We should get you back inside, Little Wolf. The Queen will have the feast ready soon.”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t keep Her Grace waiting.”

He climbed to his feet and held out a hand to help you up. Then after tucking your hand into the crook of his arm, he lead you out of the God’s Wood and back to Winterfell. You could tell he felt a bit awkward at the formality of courting so you squeezed his arm.

“Sandor, I know you are worried about doing things right for me - for us - with our courting. But perhaps instead of doing what others would expect, we do what truly would work for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you are trying to change yourself, but we both know you are not a romantic man. There will be no vase of Winter Roses awaiting me in my chamber. So instead, let us move forward as us. You will show your affection your own way. And I will do the same.”

You looked up at him and could see the smirk forming. “Aye, that sounds like that path may suit us better.”

Inside the Great Hall, many of the lords and ladies who had traveled for Sansa’s coronation were there and the feast was already set up. All that was missing was you.

Sansa looked up from talking to Arya, a smile growing on her face. “There you are! We were afraid we would have to begin without you two.”

Arya snorted. “Looks like the old shit got some words to share.”

Sandor growled. “No one asked you.”

Sansa smirked. “Are we celebrating two things today?”

Your face grew warm. “Yes, Your Grace. Sandor has asked to court me.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “About damn time. You haven’t kept your eyes off her since we found her in the woods.”

“Shut your mouth, you little shit.”

“Whatever. Let’s get the drinks going.”

“Good idea, Arya.” Sansa turned back to you. “If you wish to announce your courtship tonight, just say the word. Otherwise, the kitchen has made your favorite tonight. Blessed Name Day, ____.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Sansa stepped forward to give you a quick hug before she continued around the room to speak with the other lords. Sandor took this cue to lead you to a table where he poured you a glass of wine. Plates of food were brought over and Sandor took a seat across from you.

“So what will you do?”

A smile graced your face as you picked up your fork. “Tonight, I will just enjoy the food and wine. And perhaps, a few moments alone with you. Tomorrow, we can worry about expressing our news.”

“Moments alone?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“If you feel up for it later.”

“Anything for you, Little Wolf.”

Tagging Crew:

Everything

@marvelfansworld​

@that-chick212​

GoT

@harper-emory-writes​

The Wolf & The Hound

@imagine-the-fanfics​

@imagine-the-fanfics-main​

[alicenttully]

First Kiss

I.

The Third Month of The Year 298

“You look lovely, Rhaenys.” Aegon smiles at her as Rhaenys enters the Hall of Lamps, accompanied by her three bridesmaids and their escort of guards.

“Only lovely?” Rhaenys wrinkles her nose. “You disappoint me terribly, Aegon. You should not describe a bride as anything less than exquisite. At least, that is what my bridesmaids tell me.”

Arianne winks at her while Sansa and Daenerys giggle. In the Faith, it is often the custom for a bride such as Rhaenys to choose three bridesmaids to honour three of the seven gods- the Maiden who bring bless the marriage with lasting love, the Mother with children, and the Crone with wisdom to survive the years together. Rhaenys had agonized over who to pick among her ladies, not wanting to cause hurt, but thankfully her mother had guided her into selecting Arianne, Daenerys, and Sansa. No one can fault her for choosing family, or soon to be family in Sansa’s case, Elia reasoned.

“Your sister is playing with you, Your Grace.” Arianne drawled. He does. Aegon laughs and offers Rhaenys his arms, before lowering his voice. “You look beautiful as always, Nee-Nee. I suppose I’m just used to it.” Rhaenys smiles sadly at this resurrection of his babyhood nickname for her.

Rhaenys does feel beautiful, however. Of course, although she is not vain enough to deem herself the Maiden’s rival, she also does not find any value in lying to herself when she sees her reflection.

But this is different. The dressmakers have done well, truly. Rhaenys’ gown is a glory, a creation of red silk with long flowing sleeves that felt inviting as sin when she was helped into it earlier. Her bodice glimmers with golden thread. Resting on her black curls is a golden diadem with red rubies and an inscription in Rhoynese at the bottom.

On her wedding cloak, is a dragon whose open mouth reveals no crackling flames but instead a large golden sun that overwhelms the creature in size. The other dress that Rhaenys will change into for today is also just as beautiful, with Sansa gasping in delight upon seeing it. Although it is not demanded, it is not unusual for a bride to wear a gown favouring her new husband’s colours at their reception as if their vows were not enough to demonstrate that she was now his. But Rhaenys has no wish to offend her river lord or make him feel uncertain, so her gown is silver satin and sleeves consisting of myrish lace. Adorning the outfit is a belt made of deep red velvet with blue sapphires.

Aegon signals that they are ready, and from inside the sept proper music begins to play. Arianne lifts up Rhaenys’ cloak from the ground, while Sansa and Daenerys pick up the hems of the gown; the former looking painfully excited while Dany almost looks as nervous as Rhaenys feels.

Arianne nods at her and proudly smiles at Rhaenys in the way that Aegon did, and Rhaenys wills herself to breathe.

As a princess born, her entire life was the realm’s, shaped and nurtured with it in mind. It was the offering demanded for her birth and rank being predetermined by the Seven. It was a truth familiar to Rhaenys as a favoured story might be for a child who delights still in its thousand telling.

However, unlike that small child, Rhaenys could never be allowed to want other stories. Rhaenys is not friendless in this either, she remembers.

Her life belonged to the seven kingdoms, and so it appeared, did her first kiss.

Their kiss does not make Rhaenys forget to stand, or forget the crowd that had gathered in the royal sept to witness Lord Edmure Tully take her for his lady wife.

The number of guests is not as many as the wedding of Aegon to Lady- Queen Cassandra Baratheon, but Rhaenys’ wedding is still the first of a blood princess since that of her paternal grandmother forty years ago. Their noses bump, and his beard tickles Rhaenys chin. Nobody dares laugh to break the spell of the solemnity of the occasion, but Edmure reddens all the same.

When they turn to face the cheering crowd, Rhaenys cannot squeeze his hand- there will be a hundred times during the wedding there will be time for contact, but she gives him a bright smile, to put him at ease. “My lord, I must confess. You’ve rather exceeded the expectations of a maiden’s first kiss.”

Edmure’s eyes widen, then his generous mouth curves into a boyish grin. There is a kindness in it, and Rhaenys’ heart twists suddenly. Did her father smile at her mother on their wedding day? Despite the betrayals that he rained down on her, did he at least do that?

There is no way of knowing. Rhaenys cannot ask her father this, or a thousand other questions since she was old enough to understand how the crown prince almost brought them all to ruin. She does not want to dig up the past for her mother, who now basked in the warm present; with her adoring husband. Elia Martell paid Rhaegar Targaryen little attention in death, just as he paid her little respect and dignity in life.

II.

The Third Month of The Year

Two weeks pass before they enjoy their first misunderstanding.

“Have I done something to upset you?” Edmure asks her, in Rhaenys’ bedchamber.  They have been given adjoining rooms here in the castle.  They will not leave the Red Keep until the end of the month.  Rhaenys is glad of it.  She is not afraid to leave, but she is not necessarily anxious to either.

Rhaenys shakes her head, her sketchbook lying forgotten in her lap.  “Of course not, my lord.”

Edmure frowns.  “In public, whenever I try to kiss you, or take your hand- it’s almost as if I am some stranger and not your husband.  You look uncomfortable.”

Rhaenys feels a flush of shame. She’d not meant to sail down this river.  However, she smiles at him.  “Give me your trust in this, Edmure.”  Edmure’s eyes widen.  Until now Rhaenys has called him Lord Edmure or my lord, while he has alternated between Princess Rhaenys or my lady, or my princess, for Rhaenys will be a princess long after she is Lady of Riverrun.  “If you were a stranger kissing the king’s sister, you would know it.”

“That still does not answer my question.”  It is almost an accusation.

That still does not answer my question.”

Rhaenys sighs.  She must be truthful with him. “It is not because of you, I promise.  It is because of me, and well- Lord Tywin.”

“Lord Tywin?” Edmure echoes her, like the sound of the ocean in one of the seashells that could be found along the beach of Dragonstone.  Then he looks a little ill.  “You mean to tell me that you love Tywin Lannister?” Edmure splutters.

Rhaenys cannot help but laugh; the notion is so ridiculous.   Love is wasted on a man like that.

“No, my lord.”  Rhaenys says gently. “It is because I cannot forget who I am, and who Tywin is.  Or Mace Tyrell. You know the line of succession to the Crown, I trust.  I am my brother’s heir, after any children he might have.  My sons will inherit first over any sons that Viserys might give his Cersei.  May the Seven permit that we have a future where Aegon lives long and has many children.  I want that for him.  But you and I are not foolish to think that Tywin is equally satisfied.

So, I have always been- careful. Careful with my behaviour, with how I am perceived.  I told you that you were my first kiss. I- I had no wish to give Tywin palace gossip that he could use to his advantage.”

Edmure crinkles his forehead.  “Surely nobody would think badly of a child for having kissing games.  Cat and Lysa-,”

Rhaenys now tosses her sketchbook aside. “Forgive me my lord, but your sisters’ experience cannot be compared to mine.  Their mother is not Dornish.”

Edmure looks lost.  “What has that got to do with this?”

“Everything.”  Rhaenys hisses, standing up now.

“People will take innocent kisses and think it proof of a Dornish woman’s wanton ways, as if there isn’t plenty in the Reach or Westerlands who were no maidens when they were married! Or men who have a dozen mistresses!  I know the rumours of Ashara Dayne, my mother’s lost friend.  Everyone assumes that Ashara slept with Brandon Stark, but she never did! She was younger than me when she died, and yet people simply assume that she gave him anything more than a smile.  And Dany-,” Rhaenys wipes away her tears.  “We were only children at the time. I don’t think Dany was any older than five.       We were calling each other stupid things as children do, and my mother had entered the room when Dany called me a Dornish slut.  To this day, I still don’t know where the hell she got that from.   And the look on my mother’s face-,” Rhaenys stares at the floor.  “My darling grandfather called her that, a few times.”

“So, because of this, I have always been careful. My mother has taught me so.  Since I was a maiden flowered, being alone is not something I am used to.  There has always been either my family or my ladies or my guards.  I will not let myself be vulnerable to any rumours that would paint me unsuitable to be a queen; rumours that the lion and rose will try to use for their own ends.”   Rhaenys is surprised by the vehemence in her voice.

She takes a deep breath, before continuing. “Secondly, it is just my nature. I appreciate that you are my husband, but I have never been comfortable with physical affection in public, specifically hugs and kisses.  I endure it for proprietary’s sake.  If truth be told, I am not entirely fond of being embraced.”

Edmure’s forehead creases.  “Even your own kin?”

“No, that’s different.”  Rhaenys corrects him.  “My family is close to me.  My ladies are close to me, so I obviously did not mind when we slept in the same bed, our legs tangled together like branches or held their hands as we danced or played games.   And you and I will become close too, I hope.”  She adds, shyly.

Edmure nods.  “Thank you Rhaenys, for telling me this. I will keep that in mind.”  Rhaenys’ smiles at the use of her name.

He grins.  “Speaking of kisses has made me want to kiss you still, however.   So – may I kiss you?” He asks tentatively. His voice makes Rhaenys remember their wedding night, and how he asked her the same thing in the dark.  Their first coupling was well- it was nice, she supposes.  She does not have anything to score it by.  Still afterwards, she had slipped a hand between her legs, for there was nothing in scripture that forbade such things.  

But a kiss is different.  She nods, and Edmure gingerly brushes a curl from her face. “I hope we have a girl with hair like yours.”

His kiss is long and sweet; as sweet as the smell of rain after a month’s drought.

III.

The Sixth Month of The Year 298

“Rhaenys?”

Edmure’s worried face is illuminated in the candlelight, as he sits down on the bed beside her.  Rhaenys is clutching her knees, her eyes downcast.

They have not yet reached Riverrun, thanks to the river lords who insisted on guesting them for a few days.   Stars have risen in the sky for the third time here at Stone Hedge.   No doubt the Brackens insisted on the third night to beat the Blackwood’s two.  “By the time you do reach Riverrun, you’ll need a new wardrobe.”  Desmera Redwyne had predicted, giggling.

There had been no giggling when Desmera had gone to fetch Edmure after Rhaenys had bolted up in bed, tears streaming down her face.

“Desmera need not have woken you.”  Rhaenys mumbled.

“I’m not sorry she did.”  Edmure counters.   “My lady, you are trembling.”

Rhaenys fiddled with the end of her braid.  “It was a bad dream, that’s all.”

For a heartbeat, silence rested between them.  Then, Edmure spoke.  “When I was a boy, my sister Catelyn once told me that you always feel better after talking about a bad dream.”

Well, what has she got to lose then?  He will not leave her.  “It’s a dream I’ve had before.”  She confesses softly.  “I’ve had it on and off since I was twelve or thirteen.  In it, I’m trying to get away.  But I can never far enough.  They-They never change how they kill me.  With a knife.”

Edmure sucks in his breath.  “Rhaenys-,”

Rhaenys bites her lip.   “And the strange thing is, I’m never the age that I am.  In it, I wasn’t eight-and-ten.  Instead, I’m a little girl.  I might be four, I think.”   Tears well in her eyes.  “Tell me, what chance does a girl of four have against a man who wants to kill her?”

“Very little, I would judge.” Edmure softly replies.  “I’m sorry.  Maybe I shouldn’t have pressed you to tell me.”

“No.” Rhaenys corrects him.  “Don’t be sorry.  I-I do feel a little better now, as you predicted.”  It is not a lie.   She has never spoken about the dream to anyone else, before.  

It feels freeing.

She turns and wraps her arms around Edmure, kissing him.  This kiss feels different somehow.  It is not as though she hasn’t been vulnerable with Lord Edmure before.  She gave her maidenhood to him.  She will feel a little vulnerable in Riverrun she thinks, until she can gain the respect of Edmure’s household.

But this kiss – it is a comfort.  Of course, Rhaenys has been comforted before.  But the solace of a mother or brother is different from that of a husband.  This- the feeling of his lips against hers- is like being told a secret.  But it’s not a secret designed to hurt.  It’s not one where the longer it is kept hidden from the open, the worse the fallout is.  

Instead, it is like being given something small, fragile.  That is a precious thing, Rhaenys concludes.  It is a precious thing to be given such trust.

IV.

The Eighth Month of the Year 298

“I’ve had a thought,”  Edmure says, as Rhaenys massages his aching shoulders; courtesy of his sparring session.

Rhaenys had enjoyed watching that, very much.

“Oh?”  Rhaenys smirks.  Removing her hands from his shoulders, she cocks her head at him.  “Is that unusual for you, my lord?”

To her husband’s credit, he only grins at her.  Other men like Stannis Baratheon or Tywin Lannister were not so kind to such silly little japes.  

“I was thinking that perhaps we could write to some of our vassals’ families and ask for some girls.  For you, I mean.  I know you’ve brought some from Kingslanding.  But the Riverlands can’t be their home forever, while you- I think it would be good for you.  Not that I don’t think you’re not doing well in your duties so far.”  He adds quickly.

Rhaenys smiles warmly.  “That is a wonderful idea.  We should ask Maester Vyman for his counsel on who to choose.  Three seems a good number, I feel. In time, perhaps we can ask for some wards.  Companions for any younger sons or daughters we may have."

Edmure answers her with a kiss to the neck.   Rhaenys gasps. He has never kissed her there before.   Always on the lips or cheek.

She loves it.

“I hope we have a girl with hair like yours, my lady.”

Somehow, she knows that it will not be a wasteful thing to hope in this marriage.

[a-libra-writes]

Congrats with 600🎉🎉🎉🎊💗

Would you mind doing edmure with an angry kiss. Wanna see smol bean angry.

Hope you're having a good day💗

i want u to kno this has been sitting in my inbox for however long and everytime i see “smol bean angry” i giggle a bit

She closed her eyes, feeling the rush of fatigue hit her at once. If she bothered to glance at a looking glass, she’d see the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her complexion, but Y/N hadn’t paid much attention. Even now, as she tried to get just a moment of rest, her mind was racing. 

Then, there were footsteps in the hall, rushing toward her. Y/N’s heart lept from her chest as she pulled herself from her chair. In the distance, she heard men echoing. It was hard to tell if it was from her haggard mind, or the yard below her.

“My lady,” A man burst into the room, one of her knights, out of breath. “Come to the battlements at once!”

She pulled at her skirts with little grace and followed him. As her heart raced and her blood pulsed, sleep was pushed aside, and only the worst thoughts remained. She didn’t like the tense look on the man’s face. “What’s your report?”

“Men in the distance, my lady. Soldiers on horses.” The guard said. Just like her, and the rest of Riverrun, he had been watching. Waiting. It was not a matter of if this would happen, but when. “They carry no standard, and they move at a steady pace.”

“Only a cowardly man attacks so close to dusk, though it’s a bold bandit that approaches Riverrun in plain sight.” She said calmly, but her suspicions were still running rampant. 

The top of the battlements were sparse. There were catapults, but no one to man them except for a small retinue of a dozen or so. Most were ready to fall asleep on their feet, but they stood to nod and salute their Lady of Riverrun. 

Y/N held that title, and the authority. She had to. With Edmure gone, the servants and smallfolk and lords alike needed someone to hold steady. It’s been so long since the war started; they’re beginning to lose hope. I have to stay firm, even if … 

Y/N hastily pushed herself to the present. She held out her hand and a guard gave her a Myrish eye. She looked at him for a moment, realizing he was a boy. A tall and strong one, but a boy nonetheless. He must have been one of the smallfolk her castellan hastily “recruited”. She didn’t even know his name. Y/N sighed and looked through the eye.

From up here, she could look below and see the small folks' scattered campfires and makeshift tents. Edmure had taken the best of the Tully household guard and sword men, even if he wanted to leave a dozen behind for her, she said she would make do. 

“Take them with you, up the mountains, to the Vale. I wrote to your family, they’re waiting for you. Don’t stay here, love.”

Edmure had pleaded with her. He wrote to her family again and again before they finally agreed to “harbor” her, as though she were a fugitive and not a Lady Paramount. She looked at her so-called escort now … Only four were left, and the rest were volunteers picked up from here and there.

Y/N wondered if Edmure knew she hadn’t left. She wondered if he worried, if it hindered him in battle to know his wife was in a place that could be overrun by lions any day. Yes, there was the moat she could raise, but doing so would make it near impossible for him to return. If he returned.

Gods, can’t you think straight, Y/N? Focus. She chastised herself. Looking through the Myrish eye, she tried to focus on the horizon. It was easy to spot them. They were mostly on horse, and moving at a steady pace, as reported. She considered them Lannister scouts, but they had to have known the minimum amount of men that were left in Riverrun. It was all women and children, elderly and injured. What healthy men were in that group left to fight alongside their lords, and most of the older boys went with them.

“Do we have archers?” She asked the closest guard.

“Darren and Wyll are a fair shot, milady. Myself and Sean, well…” The boy next to her trailed off. The pitiful guard looked amongst themselves. They didn’t even have the bows or crossbows on their persons, just swords and no helmets.

“Prepare yourselves, and not just with the arrows,” Y/N said impatiently. “Tell the rest to bring the smallfolk into the Great Hall.”

“Milady, you should go below and -”

She held the glass up again. “I’m going to parley with these guests. Ready my horse.”

None of the men argued with her. The more she stared into the horizon, the more it wobbled. Then she realized she was losing her balance, and she sat down by the stone battlements, heaving a deep sigh. The guards respectfully looked away, or readied themselves, as instructed.

The river had lost its sparkle as dusk set in. The strange men would be hidden in the darkness and beyond their seeing. They could be harmless Lannister scouts looking to stir trouble, or bandits trying to intimidate survivors in the burned out villages... Or they could be a prelude to something worse.

The remaining smallfolk crowded themselves into the great hall and extra chambers in Riverrun. Lady Y/N had already moved the children and elderly inside months ago, and now they were further in, behind protected walls. It didn’t serve to calm anyone’s nerves. She wondered how much they’d thank her if they all became trapped here by soldiers or the moat she may have to inevitably raise. By raising the sluice gates, Riverrun could surround itself with water on all sides, willingly flooding it’s yard and creating an island. The problem is it would take months for the water to drain out... Maybe a year. In that time, no person and no supplies could go in or out. 

Y/N thought of it now as she watched torches come closer in the distance. Her heart sank into her stomach. They were coming here at a steady pace, no desperation, a clear destination.

The maester looked just as grave. He said, “My lady, I believe they are messengers.”

“Indeed.” Y/N replied. It was too small for a proper attack, too obvious for scouts, too organized for bandits. There was still no standard. Her horse restlessly picked at the ground, and she touched his neck to settle him, trying to settle herself as well. 

“We must anticipate what news they will bring. They’re surely Lannister men.”

“I’ve yet to see a lion on their horses or armor.”

“You musn’t wait for them, my lady.” The maester said, his agitation increasing. He looked up at her expectantly, and she ignored him.

They waited. The torches came closer, and Y/N still felt herself wanting to fall asleep in the saddle in spite of the way her heart hit against her chest. It was a dizzying contradiction. The tension of the archers above her was palpable, and she didn’t signal them to lower their arms. 

She heard the hoofbeats of the horses, and the steel of their armor. She tilted her head, trying to focus in the small light. She didn’t see red cloaks or gold lions. They stopped before the bridge.

“You’ll identify yourselves before Lady Y/N Tully, Lady Paramount of the Riverlands.” She said, her loud voice betraying the fatigue, the worry, the fear. The maester slinked behind her, and the one mounted guard beside her drew his sword. 

She could swear one of them said something, but it was hard to tell. One of the men in the front swung off the horse. He was in a motley of battered armor, and it clanged loudly as his feet hit the ground. Y/N’s guard quickly rode in front of her to shield her, and she commanded, “Hold!” 

The man was uneasy on his feet. His held his right arm awkwardly, as though it were injured. Through a cracked voice, he asked, “Why are you here...?”

Y/N started to speak with indignation, then held her hand to her mouth. The dismounted man threw off his helmet with a swift motion. She felt like she was tilting off her saddle. Even in that dim light, she could see the messy red curls. Then she saw his smile.

She thought she was falling to the ground, but both her feet touched it. The night air hit her face and the smell of the river passed her by as she raced across the bridge. 

Then she was wrapped up, the gauntlets and armor pressing uncomfortably against her, but Y/N didn’t notice. She was lifted and spun around and again felt like everything was tilting too much. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his, taking in the warmth. There was the blood, the grime of the armor, but she didn’t care. Tears touched her cheek, and she couldn’t tell whose they were. She couldn’t tell who was crying out, or laughing. 

His strong hands went from holding her waist to holding her face. Y/N was startled by how rough his palms were, but her attention was instantly pulled to those blue eyes. 

“I told you,” Edmure started. His voice was rough, like it hadn’t been used in some time… or was used too much. He swallowed hard before continuing, “I told you… to leave. To go to the Vale. Why didn’t you? Gods damn it, Y/N.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and let the tears run down her cheeks. She rested her head against him, pressing her face to the cold armor, and she felt the tight embrace again. The next time she raised her head, she felt lips pressing hard against her own. She braced herself against the warmth and strength of it, rising on her toes to meet him. 

Even when her lungs burned, she didn’t want to part. Edmure was the one who broke away first, instantly burying his face against her warm neck and hair.

“Why?”  He asked again. He was shaking, both his voice and his body, with the same flurry of emotion that was running through her. Even through that armor, she could feel both their hearts hammering together.

She could have mentioned the smallfolk who relied on them, who ran to Riverrun when the lesser lords abandoned them to their fate. She could have talked about the strength a Lady must project when the Lord is away, how it was his family’s keep for centuries, how she could never allow it to fall to the lions…

“I couldn’t leave you behind,” Y/N said, and she rested against him, feeling the warm tears on her neck. “I had to wait. I had to.”

[istaricelebelasse]

"X pushes Y behind them to protect them" with Sansa?

Thank you for the prompt! 💖

Edmure knew what people thought of him. They thought him weak, a fool. A man with a grin bigger than his brain.

He was content, for the most part, to let people believe as they would. It was better to be underestimated than over, that was what his father had said the one time Edmure had complained to him.

Edmure would take his advice, he would let himself be underestimated. He would let everyone think he was a bumbling fool, even if it grated upon him sometimes.

His sister's sworn shield had saved him, rope burns around her neck and a terrified boy at her side. She told the most fantastical tale, that his sister had been undead, that she had been seeking revenge against the Freys and Lannisters. That she had been sent to save him after the fall of Riverrun.

She sought his niece, searching for any signs of Sansa. Signs that had led her first to Cat, and then to rescue him under Cat’s orders.

Edmure should have known that Cat would still be looking out for him, even after her death.

He had nowhere to go once he was released though. His home was under Lannister control, none of his friends could hide him without bringing Lannister wrath down upon their own families. He was alone. His family and friends and home all gone.

All except for Lysa.

His big sister, who would sneak him dessert if Father forbade him from having dessert at dinner, who would gladly play his favourite games with him. Lysa would shelter him, he was sure.

The trek to the Vale was long, for all that he had a horse and supplies taken from his captors. It was not a path he knew though, not one which he had often travelled.

Autumn danced upon the air when he arrived at the foothills of the Vale. The cold winds made him tuck his cloak further around him, and he was glad when he was directed to the Gates of the Moon instead of the Eyrie when he asked about the Arryn Court. It would be marginally warmer at the base of a mountain instead of its peak.

The distance between the foothills and the Gates seemed to pass in a blur, so close was he to his destination, to his sister that he could hardly contain his excitement.

It took showing his signet ring to be allowed into the Gates of the Moon, and all his persuasive power to be shown to his family. He couldn’t help but notice though, the looks which the servants exchanged when he asked after Lysa.

They led him to a grand, airy chamber in which a circle of lords sat upon fine chairs stared down at a girl who could only have been his niece. She might have had dark hair, but she had Cat’s eyes, Cat’s nose, and Cat’s bearing.

It seemed almost like she was on trial, but that couldn’t have been right. Not Cat’s little girl.

“My lords,” Littlefinger said in a slimy voice, “My daughter has had a little too much to drink, I think. Or perhaps the change in air has affected her, you know how the thicker air can make some believe fantasies.”

“You lie, my lord.” Sansa said, her voice clear and achingly like her mother’s. “I am Sansa, of House Stark. And I will speak for myself.”

“Stupid girl!” Baelish hissed, his hand so tight around Sansa’s arm that Edmure could see her grimace in pain. “Do you want to lose everything? Remember who it is that saved you.”

“Lord Baelish.” Edmure called, command infusing his voice the way his father had shown him, “Unhand my niece at once.”

Baelish’s jaw dropped, his moment of confusion just enough for little Sansa to wrench herself free of his grip. She staggered a little with the force of her pull, and stumbled over to Edmure, hope painted on her face.

He shoved his niece behind him, and raised his chin in defiance.

“You will not touch her.”

He was thin, weak, his sunburn still dancing above his cheeks from so long stood upon the gallows. But he could still shield her from Littlefinger, he could still stand between his sweet, scared niece and the man who was trying to hurt her.

He felt Sansa take hold of his tunic, her hands fisted into the fabric the way he used to cling to Cat. It felt strange being the adult, the one looked to for protection, but he liked it.

“You will not touch my niece. You will not touch a single hair on her head or I will have you hanged for treason, Lord Baelish.” Edmure sneered, drawing upon every ounce of pride that he could.

“Treason?” Baelish affected a light, too innocent voice, “Whyever would touching her be treason?”

“To lay an unasked for hand upon your liege is petty treason, Lord Baelish. And she is your liege.”

He could see that his arrogance was starting to irritate Baelish, the way it had when they were youths. He could see it in the flush of red peeking out from the violet silk of Baelish’s collar, in the was his dark eyes flashed for just a moment.

“Sansa Stark is not my liege, no more than you are.” Littlefinger spat, “You are traitors, family to a deceased, traitor king.”

Sansa, brave, beautiful Sansa, slowly stepped out from behind him. She linked her fingers through his, her too small, slender fingers cold against his own.

“You are the Lord of Harrenhal.” She said, delicately, with the poise of a queen, “That makes you a lord of the Riverlands. A lord of the Trident. The kingdom to which my Uncle is the Lord Protector, the kingdom to which I am heir to the throne. You are under my rule, Lord Baelish, and that makes me your liege.”

Edmure could see his sister within his niece at that moment, he could see his nephew, and his good-brother. He could see all the people who had taught his niece to be strong, but more than that, he could see the power that she held inside her.

Baelish blanched, seeing the steel inside her for perhaps the first time. He tilted his chin and Edmure just knew that he was about to start blustering.

“My niece is right, Baelish. As Lord of Harrenhal that puts you under my jurisdiction, and further than that, it places you under my monarch’s rule.” Edmure said, gently squeezing Sansa’s fingers in praise for her courage.

“The Iron Throne stripped you of your lands.” Baelish spat, “They stripped you of Riverrun and the titles that your family once held. You are nothing more than a landless knight, one who once held delusions of power. As for a Stark as a monarch? That rebellion was crushed.Destroyed when they shot the Young Wolf full of holes, when they stabbed him in the heart, and then for good measure hacked off his head, all while you were busy in bed.”

Edmure let the words wash over him. He was used to insults, to laughter, to being the butt of jokes. He would not let Baelish anger him.

He called upon Cat, her way of commanding attention even from those who would ignore her. “Lords of the Vale,” He called, before turning and nodding to Lysa’s son, “Nephew. I am Edmure Tully, Rightful Lord of Riverrun. My family was betrayed by our own bannermen, my castle only falling when the Lannisters threatened to launch my infant son over the walls. I am not here to ask for your men, although I will not turn them away if they are offered, I am here to ask for your aid. For shelter. For myself and my niece, Sansa Stark who is Heir to the thrones of the North and the Trident, as we heal from our captivity and plan our next moves to regain our stolen homes and avenge our fallen families.”

The lords looked at him, at Sansa, the weight of their gazes heavy and assessing. They looked at a spluttering, furious Baelish.

And then one of the Lords, a Royce if the bronze of his clothing was any indication, stood. “Be welcome, Lord Tully. Be welcome, Lady Stark. I have no bread nor salt to offer you at this moment, but let it be known before these witnesses that I offer you Guest Right within my halls.”

Edmure felt Sansa sag, just the little beside him, even as he himself stiffened. The last time he had been offered Guest Right still haunted his memories.

He accepted it though, with all the grace that he could. Not everyone was the Freys, and the Vale especially prided itself upon honouring its word. “I thank you, Lord Royce.” He said, bowing slightly in thanks. And then he asked about something that had been worrying him since he first entered the room and noted his sister’s absence. “Now please, pray tell, what has happened to my sister?”

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Raindrops, snowflakes, sunshine, part 7

Summary: Catelyn meets a northern boy in her algebra class during one of London’s many rainy days. Initially she doesn’t expect much, but this boy brings her a surprising amount of sunlight.

@leialannister and I discussed Scandinavian Starks and I realized I really wanted to write a fic so that’s what I did. Swedes depicted in media makes this Swede happy, and NedCat also makes me happy so why not combine it and publish him for everyone to see?

Coming back to Galway had been great. And during her time there she had realised just how much she missed her family and Ireland. London was good, she liked living in London, but she truly was an Irishman at heart. And seeing Lysa and Edmure again had been lovely, things just weren’t the same without their annoying banter at dinner. The only thing she had missed was her mother. She had been dead for six years and still it always felt like something was missing when they gathered around the dinner table for Christmas. And Mom had been the only one able to stop Uncle Brynden and Dad from going at each other over nothing.

But overall the trip had been good. Refreshing, a breather. There was only one thing that bothered her more than she could say. And that was that on the plane back to London she had sat next to a man who very clearly should have stayed home, as he was sick. All the way to London he had been coughing, and he had looked like he had a fever. And she had felt nothing but intense hatred from that when the man sat down next to her to when she got out of the plane. It all had resulted in that Catelyn had caught whatever it was he had had.

So instead of going out for New Year’s Eve with Ashara and Cersei, she would be staying home.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Ashara asked for the hundredth time.

“I’m not dying” Catelyn chuckled, causing her to cough. “Just sick.”

Of course it sucked to miss going out for New Year’s Eve, but it wouldn’t kill her. And she didn’t want Ashara and Cersei’s night to be ruined just because she had got a seat next to some idiot. She was fine with staying home and watching Netflix on her own, that was okay too. Not her first choice, and she was a little bitter, but it could have been worse. She wasn’t dying.

“Call if something comes up” Cersei said. “I can’t promise that I’ll answer, but you can always try.”

“How nice of you, thanks.”

“I’m a considerate friend.”

“Absolutely.”

“Well you can text me or something” Ashara said. “I’ll respond when I see it.”

It stung a little more when her friends got ready to actually leave, all dressed up and pretty. While she was promptly seated on the couch under a blanket. She definitely wasn’t dying, but she looked like she was dying.

And when she heard the door close behind them she let out a sigh. For a long while she stared at the wall, tried to convince herself of that it was fine. She didn’t want to go to a New Year’s party. Not really. Except for that she did. She really wanted to go.

On top of all that she couldn’t even pity herself in peace. She had just began picking out a show to spend the night with when it knocked on the door. Who could that be? Probably Mordane, she was the only one who ever came knocking. But Catelyn really didn’t have the energy to deal with her at the moment, Ashara and Cersei could take that the next day. They weren’t sick and miserable.

So she stayed right where she was, made sure to be very quiet. How was Mordane supposed to get hold of her if she wasn’t at home? For all that hag knew Catelyn was out, just as Cersei and Ashara was.

A minute later her phone buzzed and she reached for it to find a text from Ned.

You gonna open the door?

She looked at the words on her screen. What? How did he know?

Catelyn debated just deleting herself when she realised how he knew. She didn’t know how, but she knew that she wanted to do it. Maybe she was running a fever, she could blame her stupidity on that.

She quickly typed out a reply and sent it before dragging herself up.

Give me a minute

While on the way to open the door she passed the bathroom. The door was open, and through the corner of her eye she happened to catch sight of herself in the mirror above the sink. And that wasn’t a person, that was some sort of cave troll.

She had to draw the line somewhere, and that was it. She couldn’t let Ned see her like that. Her hair was a disaster. It was no wonder considering she hadn’t touched a hairbrush in two days, but still it was the worst thing she had ever said. She found a hair tie and threw her hair up into a bun. It didn’t look very good, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And it was a little better than doing nothing at all with her hair. She still looked like shit, though.

Why had Ned decided to come that day? Why? Why why why why?

Then she opened the door, and found that it actually was Ned outside. What was he doing there? She had never told him her address? How had he found her? She had thought he was nice, but was she going to die after all? Damn. On New Year’s Eve, and all.

“I thought you’d never open” he said when he saw her.

“I thought it was my neighbour, but what are you doing here?” she said, not even trying to hide her surprise.

“Ashara mentioned you were sick and would stay home alone for New Year’s Eve, so I took pity on you and thought I would bring you some soup as I would be passing by this block anyway.”

Of course it was Ashara who had pushed Ned towards her. She would have to have a serious conversation about that with her, what was she doing? Well, Catelyn knew exactly what she was doing, she was trying to get them together but that wouldn’t happen. Poor Ned was just being a good friend, a pawn used in Ashara’s schemes. He deserved better. And she didn’t want to be seen by anyone but her roommates in the state she was in.

“You’re too nice for your own good, do you know that?” she said.

Ned reached into the bag he had been carrying. It was a handbag. It looked like a woman’s handbag. There was nothing wrong with a man having it, it just didn’t look natural on him. It didn’t look like he was comfortable holding it. Who did that bag belong to?

She knew that the blonde Swedish girlfriend they had talked about just after she had met Ned didn’t exist, he was single. And still her thoughts went in that direction.

The way she could feel her whole being sour at the mere thought of a girlfriend of his was humiliating. What about him was it that just brought out those things in her? How dared he?

“It’s just leftover soup” he said as he pulled out a container with soup.

Immediately her irritation was nothing but a memory, and instead she felt very touched. No one had ever brought her soup. And eating things other than ice cream and soup was really hard as her throat was awfully sore, so that was really nice. Her diet the previous days had consisted almost entirely of chicken soup that Ashara had been kind enough to make her and cough drops.

Like a street child in 19th century London she held out her hands and gratefully accepted the gift of a meal.

“You are a godsend, Eddard Stark” she said as she took it. “What kind is it?”

“Potato and leek. It’s my favourite.”

“Oh my god, I think I’m in love you.”

Immediately she froze. Slowly she turned her eyes up towards him to see him staring back at her. He was perfectly still, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide.

Why had she said that? What kind of idiot was she? And it wasn’t like it was the first time that she had said such a stupid thing. Over and over she said outright stupid things to him. There was just something about him that made her unable to think straight. She looked at him and every thought she had ever had disappeared. Why couldn’t she just be normal?

“Obviously I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just that… you know? I’m grateful for the soup, and I also like potato and leek soup and that came out all wrong. I… thank you for the soup. I really appreciate the soup.”

Catelyn had to draw a deep breath, that had come out a lot faster than she had intended. The deep breath caused a coughing fit, which didn’t exactly make the situation better. She had to turn away from him.

He waited until she had managed to stop coughing before smiling.

“I’m sorry, but you said ‘soup’ four times in the matter of half a second, that has to be some kind of record.”

She had to smile, as well. He was so handsome when he smiled. He could look so dire, and then suddenly his face lit up and was as bright as the sun. She liked his smile.

“I can talk really fast, but apparently it comes at a price right now.”

The price being coughing her lungs up.

“I look forward to hearing you talk really fast when you get better.”

“I can imagine you like me a lot better when I’m not sick and miserable and pathetic.”

She did like herself a lot better when she wasn’t sick and miserable and pathetic. She was more bearable. And she could go out if she liked. And she didn’t have to open the door looking like seven hard years. There were many benefits to not being sick.

“You’re just fine like this, but I still want you to…” he trailed off and tipped his head backwards.

Catelyn watched Ned close his eyes, his mouth forming silent words.

“Ned?” she asked, feeling a frown forming on her face.

Was he sick, too? What was going on there? He really looked like he was having some sort of moment. That or he had just seen God. In the stairwell of her crappy house. She wanted to see God in that crappy stairwell that needed to be painted. Maybe God would come if they repainted.

“Give a moment, I forgot the word. Snälla nån, Ned, du kan det här språket. Vad är det för jävla ord?”

“Can you describe the word?” she asked.

“When you’re not sick, you are…”

He waved his hand in circles, as if telling her to go on.

“Healthy?” she tried.

“Yeah, that’s probably it. Sorry, sometimes I forget English words. I like to think I’m fluent, but there are a lot of words.”

She had never heard him forget a word before. Sometimes she even forget that wasn’t his first language, even though he had a quite obvious accent and regularly just said things in Swedish. It was a cute accent, though. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

“Don’t apologise, it’s cool to know more than one language. And very hard to remember all the words.”

“I try my best.”

“You’re doing great” she promised.

The both stopped as a voice came echoing up the stairwell. A woman’s voice. It was probably her bag he had been carrying the soup in.

“Ned, are you done with your girlfriend soon? We’re not going up all those stairs!”

Immediately Catelyn could feel herself blush. She hoped he couldn’t tell. It was a habit that got old very quickly, she was so tired of it. As soon as she felt something she went as red as her hair. There was nothing charming about it, she could just never feel things without everyone immediately knowing.

“I’m so sorry, that’s my friend” Ned said. “I better get going, but it was nice talking to you.”

“I really appreciate you coming by. And again, thanks for the soup.”

“No worries, soup girl” Ned said as he began walking by the stairs. “Eat my magic soup, and get better soon.”

“Hey!” Catelyn called after him.

“Gott nytt år!” Ned called back.

“And what does that mean?”

“Happy New Year!”

She sighed as she closed the door. And once she had done so she could feel a huge smile on her face.

Ned had just casually stopped by and brought her soup. He cared about her. And for some reason that made her happier than she could say.

Ashara had said she could text if something came up. Something had come up. And she didn’t have to respond immediately, it was no emergency. And so she texted Ashara if the picture of the soup.

I was gonna be mad at you for sending Ned but he brought me soup

And it was good soup. Really good soup. Ned was a good chef. He was also a sweet person. She liked both those things about him.

[megsironthrone]

Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 12

*Familiar Characters are NOT mine! The original story of "Sleeping Beauty" was written by The Brothers Grimm.*

Warnings: Sleeping Beauty AU, kissing w/o explicit consent(consent is sexy people!), magic, angst. POV switches

Pairings: prince!Edmure Tully x princess!reader

When you were but an infant, an evil mage placed a curse on you. You were cursed to die at the age of sixteen by pricking your finger on a spinning wheel. It sent your father and mother into a panic. While destroying every spinning wheel in the kingdom, the king turned to three other magical creatures in hopes they could remove the curse. They couldn't. But they were able to change it. Unfortunately, that still meant you were in danger. So even though it killed them to do it, your parents sent you away into hiding. You were not to return until after your sixteenth birthday.

*sixteen years later*

Edmure rode away from the castle, desperate to get away. After traveling for days to get there, Edmure had been immediately stifled by the planning of his wedding. To a princess he'd met once! When she was a baby and he wasn't much older! Edmure hadn't understood when he was young why the princess had suddenly disappeared and now that he was older, it didn't matter. He didn't want to marry you. Sometimes he hated being the only prince in the family.

Edmure urged his horse to stop when he reached the woods. He didn't know what he would do out here, but he needed the breathing space. He dismounted and lead his horse over to the nearby stream. After splashing water on his face, Edmure heard a sound. It was soft at first but gradually grew louder. Singing. Someone was singing.

Although he wasn't curious by nature, Edmure found it odd for someone to randomly be singing in the woods. After giving his horse a pat on the neck, Edmure followed the sound of the voice. It didn't take him long to locate the source. A woman. She was walking so gracefully, it was almost like a dance. A soft song escaped from her lips and called to him like a siren.

Edmure shook his head at himself. He'd always been something of a romantic as a younger man. It seemed that hadn't stopped as he grew older. He watched for a moment longer before deciding he was being creepy and decided to leave the young woman to her devices. Unfortunately, as Edmure moved to return to his horse, he stepped on a fallen twig and snapped it, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet woods.

"Who's there?!" Edmure cursed under his breath before revealing himself. "My apologies for startling you, Miss. I heard you singing." The woman let her shoulders lower. "I didn't realize I was singing so loudly. I should go and leave you to your plans." She turned to leave, but Edmure called out for her to stop. He wasn't sure why exactly. Maybe he just wanted to talk to someone outside the palace life.

YOUR POV

You faced the strange man and bit your lip. You knew you should return to your cottage with your aunts, but you NEVER got to talk to anyone outside of the three of them. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you nodded and set your basket down. You followed after and patted the grassy space next to you.

Your stranger sat with only minor hesitation. From there, the two of you spoke at length. You learned your stranger was a prince. It seemed you learned so much about him in such a small amount of time. As the sun began to set, you found yourself not wanting to part from his company. Still you knew you needed to return home before it got too dark. The woods was a treacherous place in the dark.

With a sigh, you got up and brushed off your skirts. Your prince rose as well with a frown on his face. "I'm afraid I must go." You moved to leave, but he gently took your hand. "Will I see you again?" You smiled and nodded lightly. "Tomorrow is my birthday. Perhaps you could come then? I live in the little cottage in the glen." He agreed happily. You bid him farewell and quickly returned home.

The smile never left your face as you enjoyed the evening with your aunts. It even stayed as you began making your way to your bed. And when the questioned you, you didn't want to say anything. You knew they'd be upset and you'd always been a terrible liar. They kept on until you finally admitted that you met someone. "He's coming here tomorrow to meet you all." Your aunts exchanged worried glances. "I-I think you'd better sit down. There's something you need to know."

EDMURE'S POV: The next day

There was a spring in Edmure's step as he headed out. He couldn't wait to see his mysterious woman again. As he was about to ride off, Edmure's uncle stepped out. "And just where do you think you're going? The princess is returning home this evening!" Edmure grimaced. He had honestly forgotten about the princess.

"Sorry, Uncle. I shall return later, but I have an engagement elsewhere." His uncle's eyes narrowed. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your disappearing act yesterday?" Edmure tried to keep his expression neutral. "Because you are getting married," his uncle continued, "You have no time for mucking about now." Edmure clenched his fist by his side.

"Uncle, for once in my life I have something to look forward to. I met a lovely young lady. One I could see myself being wed to and happy with. I don't know the princess and I may refuse to wed her once we finally do meet. I want this one thing." Edmure's uncle scoffed. "Then take the girl on as a mistress, but you will marry the princess." Edmure watched his uncle walk away without giving him the chance to retort.

Anger coursed through Edmure's veins at his uncle audacity. His new friend was too good to be a mistress. He wouldn't do her the dishonor of even suggesting such a thing. He hoped the walk to the cottage would help him calm down enough to enjoy her birthday with her. With that hope in mind, Edmure headed out to the woods once again.

When he reached the cottage, something seemed off. The inside was dark, not even a candle in the window or smoke billowing from the chimney. Edmure drew his sword as he entered the cottage. Not that it did any good. A trap had been set. He couldn't believe it. Had she done this?

"Well, well. This is a surprise. I set my trap for a peasant and instead, I catch a prince. We have much to discuss, Prince Edmure." Edmure recognized the mage from the stories he'd heard. This was the mage that had cursed the princess. Edmure didn't have a chance to ask before he was pulled from the cottage toward the dark, towering castle that loomed in the distance. The mage didn't speak again until Edmure was chained to the walls of a cell in the dungeon of the crumbling palace.

The mage stood across from him with a smug grin. "Why am I here? What does the girl from the cottage have to do with this?" Edmure growled out. The mage looked surprised for a moment before laughing. "You haven't figured it out? She is the princess! And my curse will come to fruition tonight!" Edmure shook his head.

"No it won't! Even if she is the princess, true love's kiss will wake her!" Another dark chuckle escaped the mage's lips. "Except her true love is right here. And here is where you will remain until you are too old to make the journey back to the castle. Oh, you'll try, of course, but you will be weak. Still, you oh valiant prince will not give up. I have seen it. After all, in the case of true love, 100 years is but a day. So, you will leave here and you will make the journey. And you. Will. Fail. The princess will sleep for an eternity!" The mage's cackle echoed through the dungeons as they left Edmure alone.

Edmure's thoughts bounced all over the place. If what the mage said was true, there was no hope. But he couldn't believe that. There had to be a way to save you. Edmure sat, ignoring the clanking of the chains, as he thought of ways he could get out. He had no idea what time it was or how long until sunset. Even if he did manage to escape, who's to say it wouldn't be too late? As every hour passed, Edmure's hope began to dwindle.

Just as Edmure's positivity was running out, a small flash of light caught his attention. As he looked up, two more flashes had him blinking rapidly. When he could see clearly again, Edmure nearly jumped out of his skin. Three obviously magic-wielders stood before him.

"Prince Edmure. We've come to rescue you. The princess is already sleeping. You're the only one who can help her." Edmure stared for a moment. "But, what if I'm not her true love? What if I am?! I don't want to force this on her…on Princess Y/N…I can't believe that the girl is actually the princess."

"We really don't have time for this, my prince. We have to move before the mage discovers we're here. If we can get out without being noticed, you would not have to take on the mage without reinforcements." Edmure stood as one of his saviors used magic to rid him of the chains keeping him in the cell. They all used their magic to summon a sword and shield. Edmure felt powerful(though he was grateful they hadn't summoned a bow. He wasn't really good with those) and he felt like he really could save his mystery girl. That he could save you.

Unfortunately, Edmure's exit wasn't exactly quiet and he ended up having to handle all the mage's little minions and then the mage themselves. It took everything in him and he was certain he nearly died several times. But eventually, Edmure was victorious. He was coated in sweat and dirt, but that was the last thing on his mind. He had to get to you.

The magic-wielders, who Edmure learned were the people that raised you, told Edmure where they'd placed you. Edmure stopped short when he saw you laid out on the bed. You looked so different than you had in the woods. Still, beautiful, but different. Edmure knew what he had to do next, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. He didn't exactly have your consent in this.

With a sigh, Edmure at least decided to clean his face first. He moved to the basin and washed quickly. Once he was cleaned up, he came back over to you. "I am so sorry for this. I hope you will be able to forgive me," he whispered. Leaning forward, Edmure pressed his lips to yours in a soft and quick kiss. Your eyes fluttered open and you gave him a smile.

"I forgive you," you said softly, "But if you ever kiss me without permission again, I will hurt you." Edmure let out a relieved chuckle. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Princess." You sat up and threw your arms around him. "Thank you for saving me."

[mkstrigidae]

This might be a lot since there’s so many characters in APWH, but could you share something secret about each character that no one else knows or maybe just a fun fact?

I am so sorry I’m answering this so late- I try not to be a human disaster, but inevitably end up being one most days.

Oooooooh this one is very interesting- they might not all be secrets, because for some characters, that would be giving away major plot points, but fun facts I can do! Let’s see what I’ve got (below the cut):

Robb: Has definitely licked a bone on a dare before, is actually a decent artist (much like Sansa) and does a fair amount of sketching in the field, and has an engagement ring for Tal in his work locker that no one knows about yet :) Inherited Catelyn’s ability for leadership, and is really good at dealing with Logistics, management, and the bureaucracy involved in his job. Hangs out with the experimental archeology students a lot (he’s like the accidental older brother for half the department) and would definitely wear handmade linen armor from someone’s project and let an undergrad shoot arrows at him to test it. (For those of you unaware, linen armor is next to impossible to cut without an extremely specific and sharp type of electric saw). Is good friends with Sarella, who’s going through grad school in Oldtown as well. Has been reluctantly dragged into the feud between the archaeology/anthropology and paleontology departments.

Aegon: is a fairly talented piano player, has always liked to cook, but got really good at it when he was dating an adjunct professor in grad school (none of his family knows about the relationship, but Theon does). Has been taking night classes recently to try and learn the Old Tongue bc he and Lyanna are particularly close. Dates casually, and volunteers at a community center for at-risk kids in Kings Landing on weekends. Is the only Targ sibling emotionally aware enough to spend time with Viserys, and is his grandmother Rhaella’s favorite.  

Rhae: Actually really likes listening to heavy metal, especially when she’s working, and is really into the Westerosi equivalent of late night comedy. Will get really invested in hobbies for like, a few months and then move on to something completely different. Is her grandfather Aerys’ favorite, and has him wrapped around her finger. Makes a game of antagonizing Viserys at Targ family functions, and has been inseparable from Margaery since they met in college. Thought her cousin Obara was the coolest person in the world when she was a kid. Most likely of all the characters to do a triathlon without breaking a nail.

Bran: Might be one sociology class away from identifying as an anarchist. Kind of wants to be a professor and will probably write novels someday. Is really into flea markets and will go antiquing with Ned and Elia and sometimes Cat. Loves kayaking and decorates his wheelchair elaborately for holidays. He’s won several costume contests at school for it. Very snarky. If Sansa had been raised by the starks, they would have had a standing Saturday lunch date to snark and gossip about the rest of the fam.

Jon: wanted to be a forest ranger for the longest time and then a writer, but felt like he had to choose a more reputable career, and is kind of jealous that Robb decided to say ‘fuck it’ and become an archaeologist. Really wants to travel, although he picked law after His Valyrian is passable (the targ sibs spoke it anytime they were with Rhaegar and fam), but he speaks Rhoynish fluently and is close to his cousins on the Martell side of the family. Really likes hiking and will often go with Cat, who is also fairly outdoorsy. Likes epic high fantasy novels and would really love LOTR.

Mya: is weirdly into dream interpretation, is bisexual, and has fallen into one of the canals in Braavos before on a school field trip. She was born in the Vale, and her mom moved to Braavos when she was five. Would definitely eat a bug on a dare. More tomboy than anything, but really enjoys getting dressed up and being feminine. Likes painting her nails fun colors. Who gives a shit about gender expectations? Not Mya.

Sansa: the first person she kisses in APWH isn’t going to be Jon…;) If she’d been raised by the Starks, she might have gone to school for journalism or become a novelist. Hates math, but is a passable accountant because of what Baelish taught her to help him with the books for his restaurants. Doesn’t like to ever wear her hair down, and has a collection of decorative bobby pins for updos that she’s acquired from flea markets in Braavos. Really loves to swim. Pushed the boy who knocked Mya into the canal in after her, but none of the teachers believe him when he accuses her, because it’s sweet, kind, well-behaved Sansa.

Robin: Secretly likes to listen to musicals and is a fairly good singer. In a group chat with Doree and Loree who are drastically improving his social skills and the three of them are parent-trap level plotting. Really dislikes doctors and hospitals. Used to ask Sansa to draw birds for him a lot when he was younger and still has most of them.

Rickon: is actually better with computers and smarter than anyone realizes, because he’s such a jock on the surface. Very used to going with the flow and adapting to change. His favorite classes are chemistry and bio, but he doesn’t really like writing. Is really popular and well-liked among his classmates, but can have a temper when he thinks an injustice is occurring. Is generally just good with animals.

Catelyn: Grew up going hunting with her uncle and always had a stronger stomach for it than Lysa and Edmure did. Is half-estranged from her father because of a disagreement they had regarding Catelyn’s inability to move on after the kidnapping, and a tense relationship with her brother after he married Roslyn Frey (The Freys were vocal supporters of Roose Bolton’s politics and had a hand in publicizing the rumors about the Starks being responsible for Sansa’s disappearance- Walder Frey owns several prominent southern newspapers), but they’re working on mending fences. Takes fairly long walks outside regularly, and would be a bruce springsteen fan. The most intimidating of the entire family.

Arya: Went through a true crime phase. Really enjoys learning languages, her favorite classes this past semester were her Ancient Ghiscari course and her global politics seminar, because they got to debate current issues every week. Like Sansa, she really likes people-watching. Will probably end up at the Olympics for fencing at some point, but was also a sprinter in high school on the track team.

Ned: Probably dropped acid at least once in college. Really enjoys skiing. Learned how to play the guitar as a part of his midlife crisis. Met Cat after she went on two dates with his brother Brandon and they decided they were better as friends. Brandon brought her to a party, and Ned ended up giving her a ride home after his brother found another girl to chat up. They quickly found out that they had a lot in common, and she got along famously with his mother, who Ned was extremely close to. Has a serious sweet tooth

Elia: Likes to paint, but doesn’t think she’s very good at it. Grew up speaking Rhoynish with her family, and taught it to the kids. Has forgotten more about art than most people will ever know, and is extremely efficient when set loose in a flea market. Really likes theater and ballet, and took ballet classes through college.

Lyanna: is working on a book about money in Westerosi politics that’s tied into her current investigation of the Boltons, but only Elia knows about it. Grew up far north, and her first language was the Old tongue rather than Andali, but didn’t want her kids picking it up, because the accent is stigmatized. Keeps notes for her articles in the Old Tongue to keep her nosy kids from reading them.

Theon: Is doing a psychiatry residency in King’s Landing currently. Does a fair amount of biking, and 100% does a polar bear swim in the ocean every winter (Aegon always shows up to cheer him on and they go out for drinks afterwards- his girlfriend, Jeyne, thinks this is insane). Refuses to eat blue foods and was actually a decent French horn player in high school.

Thank you- this was a fun one!! :)

[shining-m00nlight]

14

14. Dude - why the hell are you in my bed?

So if you know me you will not be surprised that I needed 3 days for the first prompt but here it is. I don't quite know what happened here. I feel like I failed my own assignment because this does not have a lot of Nedlyn (but lot of Edmure) in it but I tried my best.

“Dude - why the hell are you in my bed?” Ned asked, staring at Edmure lying in his bed. A place where he definitely didn't belong. Normally if Ned gets home and he finds a redhead sprawled across his side of the bed, he really enjoys the view. But this was definitely not the right redhead. The young Stark liked his brother in law, at least most of the time but man could he be annoying! Like he was being right now!

Edmure signed dramatically: "I'm looking for Cat. I need to talk to her. Looking at your disappointed face you were probably looking for her as well. Any idea where I can find her? It's really important!"

"While this might explain why you are in my house but why are you in my bed?" Ned asked again.

"Well I got tired and Robb and Benjen were watching some really annoying cartoon so I just wanted to lay down in here for a second." Edmure answered.

"So whatever you want from Cat is important enough to wait around half a day in our home but not important enough to call or try to find her? Why didn't you just go back home? What do you need from Cat?" Ned got more irritated and confused by the minute something didn't seem quite right.

Edmure suddenly got very defensive: "I don't need to tell you what I want for my sister! She was my sister long before she was your wife!" He said, sounding like a little child. It made Ned remember how much younger Edmure was then his sister. Cat was a married woman and mother of two while Edmure was still in Highschool.

"Edmure is everything ok?" Ned tried to sound gentle. He knew he wasn't the best person for this kind of conversation especially with people constantly telling him that his face always looked like he was scolding someone but he also couldn't just ignore that Edmure was in distress.

"I don't want to talk about it with you." he pouted more towards the ceiling than towards Ned.

"I just want Cat." Now the boy sounded like Robb when he was in distress and called for his mother. Ned could have sworn he saw some tears in the young Tully's eyes.

"Well Cat is at a baby-spa-day with Sansa but maybe I can help?" Ned tried again.

Edmure sat up to stare into his brother-in-laws eyes:  "No you can't. You can't help me. You can't understand me. Because you're "Eddard Stark" who would never do anything against the rules or something to anger his father. You don't understand because you're perfect and at least you know what it feels like to have a mother!" Edmure was now shouting and tears were running down his face.

As much as he wished it could, this could definitely not wait until Cat was home so Ned crossed the room and took Edmure in his arms. It wasn't so different from comforting Cat when she was upset but there was something awkward about it. Ned tried to think about how he would comfort Benjen. He slowly stroked over Edmure's head and desperately wished Cat would appear.

"It's ok, everything will be fine", he wasn't sure if he was telling this to Edmure or to himself.

"No it's not! My father hates me." The boy in distress cried. Ned really wished he was better at finding words of comfort.

"No Ed, daddy would never hate you sweetling", his wifes soft voice swept through the room. Without even missing a beat Edmure was out of Ned arms and in Cats. A complicated task considering that Sansa was occupying this spot.

As much as Ned wanted to greet his wife properly, he knew it wasn't the appropriate time. He walked towards his wife, planted a little kiss on her forehead and took Sansa out of her arms.

He thought it was best to leave the two siblings alone so they could talk to each other. When he walked into the living room he found his baby boy who was currently occupied with pulling on Benjens hair, trying to eat it. He put Sansa down in her cirp to then go and join his brother and son.

"Robb, don't eat your uncle's hair", he scolded his son lightly while sitting down.

"Don't worry about it Ned. It's not great hair.'', his brother laughed it off.

"Oh, I'm not worried about your hair. I'm worried he is going to do it with Cat's hair or … you know... get hair stuck in his throat and choke on it." Ned looked at his brother with a stern face. Maybe the people telling him he constantly sealed people had a point.

Robb climbed over Ben and then threw himself dramatically over his fathers legs.

"I missed you daddy. You and mommy were gone forever!"

"Oh, that long? Really?" Ned grabbed Robb and held him up . over his head.   Robb giggled while Ned moved him through the air as if he could fly and only stopped when his father hugged him close again.

"I'm sorry we were gone so long. I had to work and your mama was away with Sansa."

"Dumb baby!" Robb mumbled mostly to himself but his father still heard him. His oldest wasn't quite used to the fact that his mother had to split her attention now, yet.

"Robb, don't talk about your sister like that. She is just a baby and needs a lot of time with her mommy. Just like you do. Didn't you have a nice day with your uncle Ben today?", Ned asked, looking down at Robb.

The big smile returned to Robbs face looking at his uncle like he was the best thing in the world: "I did! Beny is funny", he laughed.

Benjen grinned: "You hear that brother, I'm fun!"

"Of course you are Beny." Ned said, slightly mocking. His brother would only let his little nephew use the name Beny, a name he otherwise hated.

Benjen stood up from the couch: "Well I think this is my time to leave, dads probably already wondering where I am."

"Thanks for taking care of Robb today"

Benjen leaned down to kiss Robb on his forehead: "No problem. I love hanging out with my little nephew" then he grabbed his jacket and left.

Robb cuddled closer into his Papa and rubbed his eyes "Where mommy?"

"She's upstairs with you uncle Ed" Ned answered.

"I go there too" Robb tried to squirm out of his fathers arms to go and run upstairs.

"No, stay here" Robb immediately stopped trying to escape his father's grip.

"Why?" the little boy asked and looked at Ned with his mothers blue eyes.

Ned thought about what best to tell his son: "Your uncle is a bit sad and be needs his big sister to make him feel less sad just like you when you are upset about something"

"Why doesn't Ed go to his mommy?" Robb asked with the oblivious only a small child could have.

"Robb, you know that you don't have a grandma but you have two grandpas right? That's because your grandmas are both in heaven, my mother is in heaven and your mothers and your uncle's mother is also in heaven. And all of us miss our mother a lot. And Edmure was still very young, even younger than you are now when his mother left for heaven. He misses her so much because it is sometimes really hard for him to remember her. But he is also lucky because he has your mother as a big sister and she is still here for him" Ned tried to explain the complicated topic of death and grieve as best as he could.

Robb looked scared now and his lip began to quiver: "Mommy wanna leave me one day?"

"Oh Robb, no never. Your mother would never leave you if she had a choice but I'm afraid that you can't choose if you go to heaven or not. Your mother will always try her best to stay with us as long as she can. Your Grandma didn't want to leave your mother and her siblings either but the Gods decided differently." Ned stroked over his baby's back and kissed his head to distract him from the thought of his mother leaving him one day.

"Ed is sad because his mommy is not here?" Robb whispered in a small voice.

"Yes, I'm afraid so", said Ned.

Robb rubbed his eyes and yawned: "I'm happy I have mommy"

"I'm very happy about that too. We are very lucky to have her" Ned said and smiled down at his precious boy. Robbs eyes were now completely closed.

"We're also very lucky to have you, my love", for the second time today Cat suddenly stood in the room. She sat down next to her two men and took Robb from Ned's arms.

Even half asleep the little boy automatically gravitated towards his mother. She held him close and buried her nose in his curly red hair. Being away from her son for a whole day wasn't easy for Cat either. Ever since he was born Cat had stayed home with him. When Sansa was born she had to get used to the idea that she couldn't be there for Robb every second of his life and even though she had no reason to, Ned knew she sometimes felt guilty about it.

"How is Edmure doing? Do you know what exactly happened?", the young Stark asked.

"He is ok for now, I think. He fell asleep after some time, probably from exhaustion. My father and he had a nasty fight and Edmure just needed to get out of the house. I also think he feels lonely. With Lysa so far away now and me needing so much time for the children he doesn't really have someone that's on his side anymore or at least he doesn't feel like he has. And with only him and Uncle Brynden in the house, dad puts a lot of pressure on Ed. I think he sometimes gets caught in the crossfire when dad and uncle Brynden fight as well. Maybe I should have tried to be more present, to be more there for Edmure." Cat shared with her husband.

"You are there for Edmure, love. Just look at today. I know it's hard for you that you can't give a hundred percent to everyone and that you can't split yourself apart."

Cat looked at him miserable: "I just want my family to be happy"

Ned put his arms around his wife and pulled her and his son close to him: "And they are! Don't believe that they are unhappy just because family is hard sometimes. Cat you give everyone in this family so much love and you take care of all of us. Yes Edmure had a bad day today but there is not one person in the world that doesn't have a bad day sometimes. You can't take away every sad thing from the people you love even if you want to."

There was a longer silence after he finished his part.

"I love you" Cat whispered into her sweet husband's ear, her voice sounded a bit heavy.

Ned looked at his wife and realized that the boys weren't the only ones that were tired: "I love you too. I think it's time to go to bed the way everyone is falling asleep here."

"Yeah about that. We might have a seventeen year old hogging our bed and he sleeps like a rock. So we might have to make due on the couch."

"Ah aren't little brothers a joy", Ned had to smile a little bit.

"That they are. I'm gonna take this one to his bed" Cat stood up and shifted Robb onto her hip so she could hold him up easier.

"You want some help with that?", Ned asked.

"No it's fine. You can try to make this couch ready for the night, if that is somehow possible", Cat walked out of the room to bring Robb to his room.

Ned stood up as well, pulled out the couch so you could fit, with some effort, two people on there. He also found some of the blankets they had lying around and checked shortly on Sansa who was still deep asleep in her crib. He carefully stroked Sansa's little wiskes of hair, she already looked so much like her mother and Ned was in constant awe when he looked at her. Until he had married and they had their babies Ned had never known how much he could love someone. Of course he had always loved his parents and his siblings but when he held Cat in his arms while she was nursing Robb for the first time he knew that this love was greater than anything he felt before.

Ned heard soft steps come closer and two slender arms appeared and slung themselves around his torso. He could feel his wife's cheek pressing against his shoulder blades and felt the way her mouth was moving when she asked:

"What are you thinking about?"

"How beautiful our daughter is and how she is so blessed to have inherited that beauty from her mother" Ned turned around to kiss his wife.  With all the drama going on tonight he still hadn't had time to greet his wife properly yet.

"The boys aren't the only ones who missed you today.", he whispered against her mouth.

"I missed you too. Let's go to...well the couch" Cat laughed a little bit.

They moved to the couch. There was not really that much space so Cat ended up half on top of Ned. Almost on reflex, Ned began running his hands through Cat's long hair.

"Aren't I too heavy for you?", his wife asked.

"No you are not. You barely way anything and I love having you so close to me. I just can't believe that I got kicked out of my bed by Edmure."

Ned almost didn't understand what his wife was saying because she yearned when she said:

"Don't worry it's only for tonight and if he stays a bit longer we'll ban him to the couch."

Having one of their siblings occupy their couch was something that happened quite regularly when they couldn't or didn't want to go home for one reason or another. One of them stealing their bed had never happened before but this was a special situation and getting to fall asleep with the most beautiful woman on top of you made the back pain he would have the next morning worth it.

"Sleep well, love." Ned whispered in his wife's ear but she was already asleep.

[agentrouka-blog]

The Waters in the godswood, death and life.

I’ve been looking at some the relationship between Catelyn and the Winterfell godswood and I realized there’s a fascinating connection between the bodies of water and Sansa and Arya.

She put her hand on his cheek, and held it there while he felt how warm she was. "That is how life should feel," she told him. "Only death is cold."  (ASOS, Jon XI)

Cold and hot water. Two girls half-fish.

AGOT, Catelyn I opens with a description of the godswood, a contrast between the life-affirming one at home, and the gloomy one in Winterfell. 

Opening line:

Catelyn had never liked this godswood.

She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and decay. No redwoods grew here. This was a wood of stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Here thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshapen roots wrestled beneath the soil. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names.

Among the images invoking night (dark, shadows), unease (gloomy crowded, twisted, misshapen) and death (decay, silence) we have some Arya references: stubborn, needles, no names. 

It goes on:

For her sake, Ned had built a small sept where she might sing to the seven faces of god, but the blood of the First Men still flowed in the veins of the Starks, and his own gods were the old ones, the nameless, faceless gods of the greenwood they shared with the vanished children of the forest.

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it. The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful.

The black, cold pool with its death imagery and the terms “faceless” and “vanished children”, the “long face” recall two things:

1) Arya, a vanished child, and the dark pool in the House of Black and White:

In the center of the temple she found the water she had heard; a pool ten feet across, black as ink and lit by dim red candles. (AFFC, Arya I)

and 

The dead were never hard to find. They came to the House of Black and White, prayed for an hour or a day or a year, drank sweet dark water from the pool, and stretched out on a stone bed behind one god or another. (AFFC, Arya II)

and 

Poisons. She understood then. Every evening after prayer the waif emptied a stone flagon into the waters of the black pool. (AFFC, Arya II)

2) Jon and Ygritte in the cave of Gendel’s children.

Ygritte stumbled into the pool and screeched at the cold of the water. When Jon laughed, she pulled him in too. They wrestled and splashed in the dark, and then she was in his arms again, and it turned out they were not finished after all.

“Jon Snow,” she told him, when he’d spent his seed inside her, “don’t move now, sweet. I like the feel of you in there, I do. Let’s not go back t’ Styr and Jarl. Let’s go down inside, and join up with Gendel’s children. I don’t ever want t’ leave this cave, Jon Snow. Not ever.” (ASOS, Jon IV)

The cave of flesh-eating lost children. With the dark, cold water. What a prospect. The cave and its memory are always connected to death.

So, we have this association of the Winterfell godswood with darkness, death, cold black water - and Arya. 

**

AGOT, Catelyn II, meanwhile, concerns itself with the hotsprings. 

Opening line:

Of all the rooms in Winterfell’s Great Keep, Catelyn’s bedchambers were the hottest. She seldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man’s body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing, in summer; in winter, it was the difference between life and death.

Catelyn’s bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch. The warmth reminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure, but Ned could never abide the heat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would tell her, and she would laugh and tell him in that case they had certainly built their castle in the wrong place.

Again the comparison to Riverrun, this time positive. The hot springs are a contradiction, “un-Stark-like” although they are life-giving and healing. Nonetheless, they are part of the godswood.

Across the godswood, beneath the windows of the Guest House, an underground hot spring fed three small ponds. Steam rose from the water day and night, and the wall that loomed above was thick with moss. Hodor hated cold water, and would fight like a treed wildcat when threatened with soap, but he would happily immerse himself in the hottest pool and sit for hours, giving a loud burp to echo the spring whenever a bubble rose from the murky green depths to break upon the surface. (AGOT, Bran VI)

Hot bath water (unlike scalding hot water) is associated with healing and comfort. 

A pair of yellow eyes looked into his own, shining like the sun. The window was open and it was cold in the room, but the warmth that came off the wolf enfolded him like a hot bath. (AGOT, Bran III)

It connects Sansa to Winterfell, especially:

The hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had not washed since the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water became. Her maids sluiced the blood off her face, scrubbed the dirt from her back, washed her hair and brushed it out until it sprang back in thick auburn curls. (AGOT, Sansa VI)

Or accompanies her castle building. 

She heard the door open as her maids brought the hot water for her bath. They were both new to her service; Tyrion said the women who'd tended to her previously had all been Cersei's spies, just as Sansa had always suspected. "Come see," she told them. "There's a castle in the sky." (ASOS, Sansa IV) 

Or downright echoes Cat:

"I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold."

"No. It was always warm, even when it snowed. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer." 

(ASOS, Sansa VII)

And Jon prefers the hot water, too:

The day before last, Jon had made the mistake of wishing he had hot water for a bath. "Cold is better," she had said at once, "if you've got someone to warm you up after. The river's only part ice yet, go on." 

Jon laughed. "You'd freeze me to death." (ASOS, Jon II)

And is equally reminded of Winterfell and the godswood:

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins. (ASOS, Jon XII)

The hot water conjures images of rebuilding, of castles and gardens, rather than death.

**

So we have the cold waters and the hot waters both in the same godswood. Tully and Stark, life and death. 

Of course, it is Catelyn herself, who has now turned away from life-giving to death. 

Lady Stoneheart lowered her hood and unwound the grey wool scarf from her face. Her hair was dry and brittle, white as bone. Her brow was mottled green and grey, spotted with the brown blooms of decay. The flesh of her face clung in ragged strips from her eyes down to her jaw. Some of the rips were crusted with dried blood, but others gaped open to reveal the skull beneath. (AFFC, Brienne VIII)

Which unsubtly mirrors this - but with an interesting twist:

The priest lowered his cowl. Beneath he had no face; only a yellowed skull with a few scraps of skin still clinging to the cheeks, and a white worm wriggling from one empty eye socket. "Kiss me, child," he croaked, in a voice as dry and husky as a death rattle.

Does he think to scare me? Arya kissed him where his nose should be and plucked the grave worm from his eye to eat it, but it melted like a shadow in her hand.

The yellow skull was melting too, and the kindliest old man that she had ever seen was smiling down at her. (AFFC, Arya I)

Which has me hoping...

"Stupid little bitch." Fires glinted off the snout of his helm, and made the steel teeth shine. "You go in there, you won't come out. Maybe Frey will let you kiss your mother's corpse."

"Maybe we can save her . . ." (ASOS, Arya XI)

… will have a pay-off, when “Mercy” returns to “Mother Merciless”. 

Baby Persephone returns to Mother, and the images of decay and death from the godswood may stop clinging to Arya, and she might return to something a little more associated with happiness: 

The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers. (AGOT, Catelyn I)

Like...

She had Ned's long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

And 

One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. 

 (AGOT, Sansa I)

Arya in a godswood that celebrates life, rather than death. 

**

Meanwhile the Sansa building Winterfell from snow “in the wrong place” will pay off in having her return to the original hot springs and rebuild there from the ruins, like Jon imagined. Like the original Starks.

Persephone joining Hades, Winterfell rising around her again, like the original did around the godswood. Only this time with a laughing tree.

Brandon Stark built Winterfell around the time of the first Long Night, and its return suggests that whatever happened then was not a cure but a temporary solution. The memory is only preserved in song and legend, the Wall is a divisive penal colony, the dead are marching once more. 

The Starks will have to face the conflict that marked the birth of their House. They will need to do it over, and do it right this time.

Winterfell is in ruins, and perhaps it needed to be, in order to be reborn for a time where “Winter is coming” is no longer a necessary warning.

This:

The green and yellow panes of the glass gardens were all in shards, the trees and fruits and flowers torn up or left exposed to die. Of the stables, made of wood and thatch, nothing remained but ashes, embers, and dead horses. Bran thought of his Dancer, and wanted to weep. There was a shallow steaming lake beneath the Library Tower, and hot water gushing from a crack in its side. (ACOK, Bran VII)

and this...

Of Winterfell burned and tumbled, its people scattered and slain. The glass gardens were smashed, and hot water gushed from the cracked walls to steam beneath the sun. (ASOS, Bran I)

and this...

The thatch and timber had been consumed by fire, in whole or in part, and under the shattered panes of the Glass Garden the fruits and vegetables that would have fed the castle during the winter were dead and black and frozen. (ADWD, The Prince of Winterfell)

Will turn to this:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.  (ASOS, Jon V)

And they will remember this:

In fact, three acres alone are given over to an ancient godswood, where legend tells us Brandon the Builder once prayed to his gods. Whether this is true or not, the antiquity of the grove cannot be contested. And the godswood no doubt benefits from the hot springs that are contained within it, protecting the trees from the worst of the winter's chill.

Indeed, the presence of the hot springs—which pepper the land around Winterfell—may be the chief reason why the First Men initially settled there. One can easily imagine the value that a ready source of water—and hot water, at that—would have had in the depths of a Northern winter. In recent centuries, the Starks have raised structures that have made direct use of these springs for the purpose of heating their dwellings.

(A World of Ice and Fire - The North: Winterfell)

You know nothing, Ned Stark. Cat was right. The hot water is the point of Winterfell. Blood of Winterfell. Key to the North.

Or, you knew one thing:

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa … Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you … and I need both of you, gods help me."  (AGOT, Arya II)

Persephone bringing life and spring, both of them. 

[ddagent]

Could we get Chef Brienne?

You sure can, Anon! I’ve done a little bit of a twist; I hope you enjoy it. 

In the grand kitchens of Riverrun, Brienne and her staff began to clear down after completing a very successful reception. The hors d'oeuvres had gone down a treat: grilled prawns with a lemon butter sauce; miniature beef and ale pies with the Tully sigil baked into the water crust pastry. The dinner menu, decided upon after lengthy discussions with Edmure Tully and his new wife, had been well-received, too. Scallops with black pudding and a pea puree; seared sea bass with fondant potatoes. 

As for dessert, well, that was Lannister’s job.

As the doors swung open to admit the waitstaff, strains of music from the live band travelled into the kitchen. Brienne looked up on occasion, catching glances of couples dancing; young children stuffing their faces full of wedding cake. During her early days of catering, Brienne had made a multitude of different desserts. Lemon tarts with crisp meringue; chocolate fondants with orange curd. But whenever she catered a wedding where Lannister made the cake, her desserts would remain untouched. Tonight’s apple mousse with oat crumble would go home with the staff as the guests opted for Lannister’s light confections. 

“Chef Tarth.” 

Ah. The man himself. Brienne’s gaze returned to the surface she was cleaning rather than the elegantly dressed baker in front of her. While she wore chef whites – often burnt and covered in sauce by the time the bride and groom cut the cake – Jaime Lannister was in a three-piece suit with a corsage pinned to his lapel and cufflinks worth more than the happy couple had paid for catering. 

“You know, you’re not supposed to outshine the groom on his big day,” Brienne said, getting in the first shot.

Lannister snorted. “No hope of you upstaging the bride in your chef whites, Tarth.” He paused, her words taking on new meaning. “Wait, are you saying I look handsome?”

“I’m saying you look ridiculous.” Brienne discarded her cloth and wiped her brow with her forearm. “What do you want?”

He grinned; his leonine features baring perfect teeth. “To congratulate you. Tonight’s menu was exquisite; Tully and his wife have already passed on your card to three of their guests.”

Any joy Brienne felt in the guests not only liking her food but wanting to hire her faded at the wattage of Jaime Lannister’s smile. She rolled her eyes. “And how many asked for your card?”

“Five, but it’s not a competition.”

“Of course it’s not.”

She moved to the other side of the island to check on Podrick and Hot Pie’s progress. Lannister, unfortunately, followed her. “Why don’t you join me next door? Have a slice of cake?”

“I’m working, Lannister. Not all of us can finish our work before the wedding.”

“No, but it looks like your work after the wedding is nearly complete. I’m not asking to dance, Chef Tarth. Just for you to take five minutes and have a slice of cake.”

Brienne looked around the kitchen. This part of her job was complete, although her waitstaff would be on hand to dole out desserts for those small few who wanted more of a sugar fix, and Gendry would be tending bar for a couple of hours yet. And she had been on her feet since early that morning; prepping for dinner service and ensuring that everything had been delivered correctly. Just sitting down was more of an enticing prospect than Jaime Lannister’s company. 

“Okay. Five minutes.”

Lannister beamed. Brienne removed her chef’s jacket and followed him out into the reception hall. The bride and groom had shared their first dance, cut Lannister’s wedding cake, and now their families were cutting up the dance floor. She waved at Arya, the groom’s teenage niece who had hidden herself away in Brienne’s kitchen during her last wedding over the dress Arya’s new sister-in-law had made her wear. More than a few of the female guests watched Lannister stride across the reception hall, staring at his arse in the tailored suit he wore.  

Flushed from the heat of the kitchen, Brienne met his stride so she could sit down quicker. They took a seat at an empty table at the back; Jaime handing her a flute of champagne and a small slice of wedding cake. “Here. Tell me what you think.”

Brienne cut through the cake with her fork and took a small bite. She shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Okay? Okay?” He sighed. “This is a three-tier white chocolate raspberry cake. White chocolate sponge, raspberry buttercream that is lighter than air and—”

“—raspberry curd, I know.” Brienne smiled. “It’s good, Lannister. All your cakes are good. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Sometimes you just need to hear it from someone whose palette is as good as yours.” He sipped his champagne before leaning back in his seat. “Are you doing the Varner wedding?”

Brienne shook her head. “No, they’re going with Hunt Catering.”

Jaime snorted. “Their fucking loss. Fine; I’ll tell them I’m unavailable. Swann?”

“Yes.” Brienne took another bite of cake; a curious thought entering her mind. “You know, you can take weddings with other caterers.”

“I could. But why pair myself with mediocrity? You are many things, Chef Tarth, but mediocre isn’t one of them.”

She couldn’t help herself. She beamed. “You know, Lannister, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever given me a compliment.”

His champagne flute tapped against hers. “Don’t let it go to your head, Tarth.”

Oh, there was no doubt of that. Jaime Lannister might be a talented baker with a gorgeous face and an arse you wanted to watch walk away from you, but he was still the most arrogant man in the wedding game. Still, if it was a choice between him and the others – men like Hyle Hunt and Ben Bushy – she’d work with Jaime Lannister every time.