#And the rest of the Tully children

[spatialwave]

i am LOVING your angus tully content 💕 would you please write an angus tully x reader where the reader meets angus in boston while they’re ice skating and then they get to know each other as they explore the city, sort of ‘before sunrise’ style and hunham gives them the space to do so? if you don’t like this idea though that’s totally okay!! have a lovely day regardless :)

𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫

pairing: angus tully x fem!reader word count: 4k notes: reader is very nervous & dorky! thank u for sending 🤎

the chilly december air stung your cheeks, leaving them reddened and sore, but that didn’t stop you from braving the weather and heading to the public skating rink. your friends had cancelled on you last minute, one of them falling sick with a nasty cold and the other deciding that her boyfriend was more important than a night with you during the festivities that boston had to offer. you couldn't be angry at her, though, you were a hopeless romantic at heart and would do the same if you had a boyfriend. you were happy that your best friend found someone so perfect for her, you dreamed of finding him too—the perfect boy.

though, you usually just giggled in your bed at night when you imagined yourself spending the rest of your life with david cassidy. that was much easier than finding real love.

so, alone you were as you willed your way ahead through the boston streets where your father had dropped you off. you promised yourself you'd start getting out of your nervous shell and what better way to test it than being alone at a skating rink? especially when you were notoriously clumsy and horrendous at skating.

if you could do this, you could do anything.

as you approached the skating rink you felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety flooding you. there were a lot of people, too many people, a lot of friends giggling with each other, children learning how to skate with their parents and partners holding hands as they stared into each other's eyes lovingly. you sorely missed your friends, but you shoved that thought as deeply into your consciousness as you could because you promised yourself you wouldn't wallow in your loneliness.

and you were here, weren’t you? successfully making do without them. all you needed to do was get the skates on and make your way onto the ice—that’s all. getting here was half the battle.

comfort warmed you as you fit yourself into the hand-me-down skates your older sister had given you. you tried so hard not to think about the negatives because even if you slipped and fell, it’s not like anyone here knew you. there was not a single person on the rink that looked even the slightest bit familiar and you thanked god you lived in a busy city.

of course, you were unsuccessful in ridding those thoughts because all you could think about was that there was a likely chance you could embarrass yourself in front of a cute boy. you were too boy-crazy for your own good, your mother blamed david cassidy for it.

as you let out a shaky exhale, you darted your eyes around the exterior of the rink as you shrugged off your bag and held your winter boots in your hand. you had ran into your first problem of the evening; there was no one to watch your belongings.

that’s when you noticed an older man just to the left of you, smoking out of a pipe and watching the rink, smiling to himself. he seemed friendly enough, reminding you a lot of your grandpa. there was no better person to watch your things!

“excuse me sir,” you said to him, smiling as you approached him cautiously, “is it alright if i leave my things here next to you? i’m not skating for long… i just don’t want to take them onto the rink with me.”

the man hadn’t realized you were talking to him at first as he pulled the pipe out of his mouth and looked between you and someone on the skating rink. he smacked his lips together a few times in thought, “okay. sure, i don’t mind.” he mumbled, though you could tell that he minded.

he was grumpier than you pegged him to be.

“thank you so much! i won’t be long!” you smiled, happy that you had some form of success, but again you had to ward off the image in your head of him running off with your things. at least he’d only have stolen a woman’s snow boots and three dollars from your wallet.

as you waddled away, you hadn’t noticed that a boy on the rink had skated up to the older man, you were much too focused on not toppling over. your ankles were already wobbling back and forth as you navigated through the snow, unaware of the set of eyes that lingered on you with each step you took.

“you got this,” you breathed to yourself as you made it to the entrance, taking a long and deep breath that caught in your throat. you froze in your spot, feeling frigid as you watched the tens of people skating along the rink so seemingly expert in their ways.

a woman cleared her throat behind you and you jolted up, looking over your shoulder and seeing a mother and her two children waiting to step into the rink, “sorry!” you squealed as you hurried onto the ice and clung to the railing for dear life.

the sounds of the young kids snickering made your cheeks burn red, so you kept your eyes downward and stared at your mitten-covered hands as they gripped onto the rail. then you focused on your feet, slowly moving them back and forth on the ice as you got used to the feeling of the skates gliding across the frozen surface.

with a triumphant huff, you straightened up and slowly started to skate with your hand keeping balance on the edge, much like a learning child. at least they usually had a helper.

you had focused on this for a bit, getting into the swing of things. you looked around with a content smile, slowly moving and breathing in the crisp air as you focused on the sounds of laughter. the christmas spirit was high and you were happier than ever to be experiencing this alone, you couldn’t wait to go home and gush to your sister about your first solo adventure as a young woman.

satisfaction wasn’t fully met, however. you needed to challenge yourself further before calling it a night.

carefully, you let your hand off of the rail and moved carefully away from the edge. your eyes darted around your immediate surroundings, making sure you had enough of a clearing to start skating without bumping into anyone. a big smile grew on your face, you were by no means quick, but at least you were moving!

you focused your eyes back down on your feet, watching closely as you moved one in front of the other with intention. you were getting the hang of it, muscle memory coming back from when you skated as a kid. with your attention far from the outside world, you didn’t notice a duo of young girls coming right for you—too busy laughing amongst each other to notice you drifting in front of them.

one of the girls bumped hard into your shoulder and yelped out a sincere ‘sorry’ as you lost your balance on your feet. you almost kept yourself upright, but you quickly fell back.

you expected to crash down onto the ice with a hard thump, but two arms caught you, hooking underneath your armpits and hoisting you back upright onto your skates. you didn’t have the means to turn around all that quickly, but the person who saved you seemed to realize that, so he skated in front of you and turned to look at you. he made it seem so easy to skate backward.

“you okay?” he asked, but you hardly heard the words because you were so fascinated with how beautiful he was. he had the biggest brown eyes you’d ever seen and a head full of wild curls that he obviously tried to tame. he was also taller than you, making you feel so small under his gaze, but not threatening in the slightest. all you could do was smile at him like a dork.

your knight in shining armour.

a few moments pass and the realization hit that you had been completely silent, “thank you!” you blurted out, your eyes widening in horror because of how you were staring at him like a goddamned fool, "i'm not very good at this."

"you were doing fine until you got bulldozed over," the boy smiled, unabashedly looking you up and down. he cleared his throat and held out two of his gloved hands, "hang on."

you obeyed with no hesitation, your arms extending so you could take his gloved hands in your own. you felt your mouth go dry and you had to force your hands to stop shaking. you were always so much more anxious around boys.

"oh, god," you groaned in anticipation as he started skating backward, pulling you along and forcing you to focus on keeping balance, "you really don't have to spend your time here teaching me how to skate." you looked up at him, feeling like a burden.

"i know," he replied, grinning at you as he kept pulling you along the ice, his gaze only breaking to make sure he wasn't about to skate back into anyone. those brown eyes fell back on you, watching you with a soft gaze as you kept moving with one foot gliding in front of the other, "i'm angus."

"hi, angus," you smiled, chewing on the inside of your lip after you returned the introduction. you could feel your cheeks blushing. you looked down and at your feet again, but your lack of focus got the best of you, "ah, shit!"

just as you lost your footing and balance, nearly flying forward, angus wrapped an arm around you and laughed aloud, pulling you against him so you couldn't tip over. you could've stayed like that forever, nuzzled against this boy's chest and forgetting about the outside world.

"you're clumsy," he teased, flickering his gaze down at you as he led you both to the railing for a rest.

"you only just noticed?" you retorted playfully as you leaned against the support, letting yourself exhale in relief once you could rest the entirety of your weight against it. shyly, you looked back over to angus after a few beats of silence, "you're not here with anyone else?"

angus scrunched his nose in response, shrugging, "it's a long story."

"i like stories," you mused, not ready to let this end. whatever this was.

a breathy laugh came from him as he glanced away to look at something, you hadn't been able to follow his gaze before he was looking at you again. there was something about him that kept your attention, likely the fact that he genuinely seemed to enjoy your presence. it made you giddy and your stomach swirled with butterflies.

"well, i came here with my history teacher," he said, almost sheepishly. you looked at him with slightly furrowed brows, uncertain where this would be going, "i go to a boarding school out of town, north of here. i, uh, didn't get to spend christmas with my family and so i've been stuck at school with him as my chaperone. guess i'm good at convincing people to take me places," he chuckled, his gaze looking anywhere but at you.

"i don't think i would've guessed that story in a million years," you giggled, a smile reaching your eyes as you looked over angus' face, "sorry about your family, though. must be hard around the holidays."

"it's fine," he quipped quickly, you figured it best to not bring up his family anymore.

you fell silent for a bit, thinning your lips as you looked around and focused on your surroundings to pass the time and try to ignore the awkward silence. you watched a group of kids skating together, playfully shoving each other and laughing when one of them wiped out.

"did you want to skate again?" angus' voice broke the silence and you met his eyes. with a small nod, he smiled and gave you his hands again.

the two of you had spent another twenty minutes on the skating rink, laughing together as he taught you how to keep yourself upright. you were happy to report that you'd only fallen on your ass twice, and even when he laughed at you, you felt your heart soaring.

there must've been some good karma you stored up over the year because you weren't sure why you were blessed to run into angus on a night like this. he was cute, funny and just as awkward as you were.

once you two were tired and ready to hang the skates up, you ventured out of the rink and stood at the exit. you had to catch your breath after laughing over some joke angus had made about his time at barton, something stupid that wouldn't have made you laugh in another other situation. angus was just... nice. funny, but in an endearingly dorky way.

as you bent down to untie your skates, you straightened up with a panicked look on your face. "my stuff!" you said, looking up at angus and then around the exterior of the rink, trying to spot the man you'd left your things with. that's where the bad karma came in, leaving you with nothing.

"are you looking for these?" a third voice spoke, your eyes landing on the pipe-smoking man that angus seemed to recognize. you put the pieces together.

"yes! thank you so much!" you smiled as you took the boots from him and your bag, quickly changing into the shoes that allowed you to stand steady. you sighed softly with a smile and looked between the two men, "i, uh, thank you again, sir, for keeping an eye on my things. and thanks, angus, i'm sure by next winter i'll be an olympic figure skater," you smiled, not quite ready to leave without spending more time with the boy, but you weren't sure you'd have the choice.

as luck would have it, though, his teacher, mr. hunham, seemed to have a soft spot for the boy.

"mr. tully, i'm calling it an evening and will be heading to the hotel room, i'm rather tired this evening," the older man explained. you could see the pleading look on angus's face, "i expect to see you there within a few hours or lest you deal with multiple detentions when we're back at barton," he continued with a satisfied look on his face when angus smile, "keep an eye on him for me." he turned to you, letting out a huffy sigh as he looked between the two of you once more before turning on his heels and leaving.

angus was speechless.

"he seems like a nice man," you said in awe as you watched him, growing nervous for other reasons now.

"trust me. he's usually not," angus replied, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat as he looked down at you, "you look cold. i think i saw i coffee shop near here. they probably have hot chocolate or something."

"okay," you smiled, forcing yourself not to let your boy-crazy giddiness get the best of you again.

as you two ventured away from the skating rink, you found yourself feeling more comfortable with each passing second and talking about yourself like an open book. you spoke about everything and nothing, his favourite band was pink floyd and he was currently halfway through reading the novel dune. you shared your own love for the partridge family show, though, you kept your lips tight about your obsession with david cassidy.

you made a mental note to rip the poster of david off your wall if something were to ever come out of this night with you and angus, like hell he'd ever be in your room.

"what do you like so much about boston?" you asked angus as you two walked through one of the downtown streets in boston, your mittens shoved in your pocket as your hands cupped around the hot chocolate you sipped on. the heat emanated from the paper cup and warmed your hands. you two had been walking and talking for a while now and your drink was half-empty.

"you like long-winded answers, don't you?" angus said playfully, bumping himself against your side as you walked together. it caused a laugh to bubble up from you, your cheeks turning red at the closeness.

"what's so long about this answer?" you wondered aloud, glancing up at him.

"my dad is here," he said after taking a moment to think over his words, "he's uh, in the sanitorium," he murmured, not quite meeting your gaze, "not doing well mentally."

"you don't have to say anymore," you urged him, regretful that you asked the question in the first place.

"it's fine, i like you. you're not... judging me." angus admitted, flickering his eyes to you and smiling.

oh, god. that smile made your stomach do flips.

"why would i judge you?" you asked rhetorically, "you've been nothing but kind to me tonight. you didn't even know me and you caught me before i fell on my ass, i mean, that's the most any guy has ever done for me... and you bought me hot chocolate!" you were animated in your words as you spoke, not noticing how you lit up angus' facial expressions.

"like i said, it's because i like you." his lips twitched into a smile before he lifted his cup and downed the rest of his drink. you followed in suit, though, mostly to cover the way you had a smile stuck on your face like a lovesick puppy.

you two found an outdoor garbage bin and tossed your empty cups in, standing on a corner of the street that was near the courtyard with the skating rink. it was quiet there now, only then noticing how late it had gotten.

"so, what's your story?" angus interrupted your thoughts as he kept walking, you needing to take a few quick steps to meet his pace as he led you to a bench to sit down on. the perfect spot to watch the christmas lights flicker around the rink and people watch the last remaining people who were skating.

"it's hardly a story," you laughed, fidgeting with your fingers as you looked up to the night sky, the stars hidden because of the city lights, "i'm just crawling my way to graduation so i can get out of my parent's house and go to college," you look over at him, "are you graduating, too?"

he shook his head, "i was expelled a few times," he admitted with an amused look on his face, "should be graduating, but stuck as a junior because of my atrocious behaviour," he teased with a click of his tongue.

"expelled?" you laughed, "wow, i didn't expect such a gentleman like you to be so fond of troublemaking."

that got a laugh out of him, the smile reaching his eyes as he turned ever-so-slightly to better look at you while you two sat together, "yep, i'm the absolute worst. though, i plead my case as i've been wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet once when it was obviously not true."

"uh-huh," you smirked, "are you certain about the wrongly accused part?" you snorted a laugh.

the night was perfect. the two of you sharing so many laughs that your cheeks were hurting and you were beginning to feel like you knew angus for years and this was simply a reunion of friends. you knew at some point it would end, but you didn't want to think about it. not yet, it was too painful of a thought.

your laughter settled and you couldn't break your gaze from angus, the silence looming, but not overwhelming. as you admired him, you caught the way his brown eyes flickered down to your lips and you inhaled sharply, the breath catching.

"i, uh—can i kiss you?" his words were gentle, but they rang through your ears loudly, causing chaos and mayhem that left you feeling like a nervous wreck, "unless i'm reading this wrong."

you parted your lips to speak but nothing came out. all you could do was look down at his lips and nod, hoping that your movements spoke volumes. thankfully, they did.

angus leaned forward, hesitating for a second, but if you could will your way forward to adventuring boston alone, then you could sure as hell will your way forward to meet him halfway. you leaned forward bravely and closed your eyes just as your lips met his, a tingling sensation rolling waves over your skin.

it was a simple kiss, one that made your lips numb when you pulled away and looked up into his eyes. but it wasn’t enough for angus because you were soon pulled into another as his hand lifted and cupped your jaw, keeping you against him as your lips moved together at a gentle, easy pace. he parted your lips with his own, which gave him the space to slip his tongue into your mouth and cause a soft sound to escape your lips. you were fully entranced by him, completely malleable under his touch as you tasted his tongue on your own—sweet like chocolate.

this went on for a few minutes, maybe longer. you two indulging in the kiss you both were anticipating the moment you set eyes on each other.

“this sucks,” you murmured when the kiss finally broke, you two parting to breathe.

“why?” angus furrowed his brows slightly, his hand still on your jaw.

“because i really like you,” you said, pursing your lips into a pout, “and at some point i’m going to have to say goodbye.”

angus shared the sentiment, frowning slightly, “i’ll come to boston again, okay?” he said, just as passionate about you as you were to him, “and if you give me your number i promise to call you.”

you nodded, sighing and watching the way your warm breath fogged up in the cold air. the city was so silent and you’d never been able to experience it quite like this, let alone with a boy you kissed. knowing that it was getting late, though, left you nervous. you had told your parents you wouldn’t be out long and would go to your sister's apartment downtown for a ride back home—leave it up to a boy like angus tully to make it fun to break the rules.

“when do you go back to barton?” you asked him quietly like you didn’t want to hear the answer.

“the day after tomorrow,” angus murmured, his thumb stroking along the skin over your cheek, “i’m gonna’ try visit my dad tomorrow,” he said, “that’s the whole reason i convinced mr. hunham to bring me here, he doesn’t even know.”

you widened your eyes in surprise, “do you think he’ll let you go?”

“probably not, but i’ll find a way.” he said, but not quite fully convinced.

“it’ll work out, angus,” you said, a shiver running up his spine as you said his name, “just like you and me. i’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

he was glad that you managed to see the bright side in all of this, as the night was coming to an end he was beginning to let his negative thoughts pull through. already he could tell that you were going to be a big part of his life, even if it ended up being fleeting and short.

“come on,” angus breathed out, removing his hand from your cheek and standing up. he offered his hand for you to take.

“where are we going?” you asked him, blinking a few times as you took his hand, no mittens or gloves in the way as his fingers interlaced with yours.

“nowhere in particular,” he said, keeping you close as you walked through the quiet boston streets in the early morning hours and spending the last bit of freedom together that you two could muster.

when all was said and done, you found yourself exhausted as you curled up in your bed with the first bit of sunrise spilling through your curtains. it was a bittersweet end to your night with angus, leaving you uncertain about what the future would hold. all you knew was that you’d be waiting for that phone call he promised you.

and taking down your poster of david cassidy.

[ichorai]

water dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

the sequel to little dragon!

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; aemond loved his wife and his children more than anything. to lose one of them... that would bring nothing but war to the seven kingdoms.

words ; 10.3k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), heavy angst, established relationship (married), parents au

warnings / includes ; major character death (please proceed with caution), blood & cheese, descriptions of violence/blood, unprotexted sex scenes, sex in the rain, jealous!aemond, foul language, you and aemond have three children (syraena, kyrion, myra), cameos of the rest of the hotd characters, syraena experiencing gender dysphoria :( aemond being a good father/husband (most of the time), kyrion is a dragon dreamer, aegon being gross and touching you inappropriately, so sorry if the valyrian isn't completely correct </3 the timeline for this fic is a bit shifted so that king viserys dies a couple years later than he does in the show (so the children have more time to grow) lots & lots of foreshadowing !! there will be a part three.

main masterlist.

A dull, heavy thud resounded across the training yard when Criston swung his morningstar at Aemond yet again, its thick spikes missing his cheek by a hair’s breadth as he gracefully spun away, the ball landing onto the ground. Before his mentor could strike him again, Aemond darted around him in the blink of an eye, slanting the longsword’s blade against Criston’s throat. 

“If we were enemies on a battlefield, you would be dead,” the Prince murmured.

The Dornish knight raised his hands in surrender. “Then I am grateful we are neither enemies nor at battle.”

With a hum, Aemond let the sword retreat back to his side, turning to place it back on the weapons rack. Only, he found his gaze falling on a small girl amongst the onlookers, her e/c eyes wide, curious, and eagerly dark.

“Syraena? What are you doing here?” he asked his eldest daughter, striding up to her and staring her down with the most stern expression he could muster. It was an hour past noon, and that meant she was supposed to be at her embroidery lessons with the Septa. Or perhaps it was dancing lessons? Aemond couldn’t quite recall. Either way, she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Upon further inspection, he noted that her wispy hair was far shorter and more scraggly than usual, small bits of silver strands littered over her scrawny shoulders.

“What did you—did you cut your hair?” Aemond accused, his single eye narrowing as he knelt down in front of her. “Gods, your mother is going to have my head.”

“Do you like it, Kepa?” Syraena replied, wildly ruffling the short silver tendrils with a wide smile. “I found a sharp shard of glass by that broken window beside the mess hall… and I cut my hair with it!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Aemond blew out a long, exasperated sigh. Though this wasn’t the first time Syraena had startled her parents, prone to impulsive recklessness, it didn’t make her proclivities any less hard on Aemond’s heart. “Darling, that is wildly careless. Don’t ever do that again, you understand me? Come on—you shouldn’t be here, your mother must be worried to death searching for you.”

Swiftly, he wound his arms around the six year-old, lifting her up so she would sit over his waist. Of course, Syraena being Syraena, pulled a sour face and began reaching out for Criston, who was observing on with an amused expression.

“But I want to watch you spar!” she complained, twisting in his grasp and kicking at his stomach. Aemond had to bite down on his tongue to swallow his groan of pain, but he held onto her tight nonetheless. “Kepa, let me down! Let me go!”

“You should be in your lessons,” Aemond chastised, striding up the winding stairs back into the Keep. 

Pouting, Syraena let herself flop limply against Aemond’s shoulder. “I hate lessons. I hate the Septa. I hate being a girl.”

Raising a brow, Aemond glanced down at her before softly patting the back of her head. Though he hadn’t a clue what it was like to be a woman in Westeros, he could understand her feeling of not belonging amongst others who seemed to belong so easily. Syraena never got along with other girls her age, who were often afraid of her callousness and her tempestuous nature. In that respect, Aemond supposed his daughter was just like him.

“I’m sorry, my sea dragon. Perhaps I’ll let the Septa know that you no longer wish to dance.” 

“And embroider!”

“Hm. That, as well.”

Syraena grinned widely—her curved lips reminiscent of yours.

“Kepa?”

“Mmh?”

“Don’t tell mother I cut my hair,” she whispered, eyes shining with worry.

It was hard for Aemond to suppress his smile. “I’m sure she’ll notice regardless of whether I tell her or not, darling,” he gently told her.

Her expression dropped. “I didn’t mean to cut it this short. I just don’t like my long hair.”

“You’re very beautiful either way, Syraena,” he easily replied, before stopping in front of his chambers, where he knew you were watching over their baby daughter. “Alright. You go on inside—I’ll go speak to your Septa.”

He set his daughter down on her feet. She loitered by the door, dragging her feet glumly.

With a bark of a laugh, Aemond nudged her forward. “Go on. Your mother won’t be angry. Not that much, at least.”

Aemond’s only son, Kyrion, was a quiet boy. Only five years of age, born less than eleven moons after Syraena, he was already of greater intelligence than most far older than him, growing a knack for reading and drawing. The maesters would often express that his mind was developing much quicker than what was deemed normal. 

Not only that, but he was quite handsome, as well, with strikingly sharp features akin to his father, and a head of snow-white curls. His eyes were a pale shade of purple, always distant and clouded over with thought. From as soon as he began to talk, Kyrion often spoke in strange, twisted riddles, mystifying both you and Aemond to no end.

King Viserys, as sickly as he was, had claimed him to be a dragon dreamer. Alicent had hushed him then, thinking he was on another one of his senseless rambles, and gently asked the two of you to step out so he could get some rest.

Now, as Aemond sat with his son in the library, he pondered the possibility of it all. Perhaps Kyrion had a divine gift—the ability to see glimpses of the future. He would have to speak with you about it, see what you thought first.

Even if it were true, Aemond didn’t want to put any kind of unnecessary pressure on his son. Kyrion was only five, after all, no matter how startlingly intelligent he was.

“And what does this say?” He tested the boy, tapping his finger against the dusty Valyrian book.

Immediately, Kyrion replied in his soft, far-away voice, “Zaldrīzoti mērī ipradagon parklon. Dragons only eat meat.”

“Hm. Good.”

“It should be more specific,” said Kyrion, hands fidgeting beneath the table. “Dragons only eat cooked meat.”

A ghost of a proud smile hovered over Aemond’s lips. “That is correct—this book is old, from a time before maesters were able to record accurate, detailed information about dragons.”

Kyrion didn’t reply, flipping the worn, yellowed page.

“What does this mean?” he eventually asked, pointing at an unfamiliar word.

Aemond glanced over at the book, before blanching, and cleared his throat hastily. The paragraph was depicting a few different maesters’ debates on the mating practices of dragons—a topic of which Aemond was not too keen on broaching with his five year-old son. 

“Mmh… nothing of importance. Keep on reading, my water dragon. You’re doing very well.”

Blinking up at him with his large, pale violet eyes. He seemed to sense his father’s discomfort, so he let the matter drop, returning his attention to the book. Aemond blew out a relieved breath—he’d surely have to tell you about this later tonight.

Myra Targaryen, the youngest of Aemond’s children at three years of age, was a sweet little girl with a soft heart, always wearing a gentle smile. She loved all things in nature, and had a near unbearingly kind soul. She loved singing and dancing, a stark contrast to Syraena, who turned her nose away at such activities. At times Aemond wondered how Myra could possibly be his kin, for she was far too pure and he was… certainly not.

Unlike her sharp-faced siblings, Myra’s features were much softer and healthily plump. Her hair was a shade darker than them as well, the curls a silver-gold hue of blonde. Though Aemond was hoping for another daughter that bore your beautiful eye color, Myra was born with his dark purple irises, nearly blue in certain lighting.

As you had left to soak in a bath, Aemond had taken it upon himself to put his river dragon to sleep, tucking her beneath a fleece blanket and brushing her flaxen away from her drooping eyelids, heavy with exhaust from the day.

“Ēdrū sȳrī, Myra,” he whispered, brushing a kiss upon her forehead. Sleep well.

“Night-night, Kepa,” she responded, grinning sleepily, dimples indenting her chubby cheeks. “Today I saw a butterfly in the gardens!”

“Mmh, was it a large butterfly?”

“No. It was very small—smaller than my hand! I named it Hūra, because it was white, like the moon.”

Finding her grin contagious, Aemond felt a smile flicker over his usually stoic demeanor. “A lovely name. Your Aunt Helaena loves butterflies, as well. Perhaps you can tell her all about Hūra tomorrow.”

Myra enthusiastically nodded, before sitting up against her feather-pillows, reaching up to her father to press a sweet kiss against his scar, just below his eyepatch.

By the Gods, he could nearly feel tears prick the corner of his vision, but he managed to subdue them for a minute, not wanting to weep in front of his young daughter, lest she grew worried for him.

“I like Kepa’s scar,” she mumbled as she settled back down to go to sleep. “How did you get it?”

Aemond was silent for a long while, unsure of what to tell her. “An accident,” he simply replied. 

“Does it hurt?”

It did, at times. Not as often as it used to, but there were instances he could still feel phantom pains throbbing behind the leather patch. “Not anymore,” he lied, voice quiet.

If Myra had any other questions, she didn’t get the chance to ask them, already drifting off into slumber.

Aemond hummed, before rising onto his feet, making his way out of her chambers. To his surprise, you were hovering by the doorway, arms crossed and affection written plainly over your expression.

“I just put Kyrion to bed,” you whispered, leaning into his touch when he cradled your face with his palms with a quiet greeting. “He was speaking in riddles again—something about a deal with a stag?”

The two of you began making your way down the hall, to your shared chambers. “Stag?” he asked. “Baratheons?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head, sighing. “I worry for him.”

Aemond slipped into the room after you, shutting the door behind him. He gathered you in his arms, capturing your lips with his in a chaste kiss. When he pulled away, he studied your concerned features—just as beautiful as the day he’d met you.

“We’ll be fine, dōna embar,” he reassured you, leading you to bed with a protective hand resting over your lower back. You loosely smiled at the nickname—sweet sea. “The dragon-trouts are strong. No house, stag or otherwise, could ever lay a hand on them.”

Instead of responding, you kissed him again, your nose bumping against his in your haste. The both of you laid down on the tall mattress, the promise of sleep whispering sand into your ears.

Before you could fall into a dreamless rest, however, Aemond quietly murmured, “I’m assuming Syraena didn’t tell you she cut her hair with a shard of glass she found by a broken window. Kyrion also asked about mating practices whilst we were in the library. And Myra wanted to know how I got my scar.”

Startled at the sudden barrage of information, you abruptly sat up, eyes wide, sleep suddenly the very last thing on your mind. “What?”

The next morning was dreary. 

It was a rare thing for rain to grace the capital, as it was usually arid and warm. But the skies were grey and thunderous, miniscule pinpricks of water beginning to fall from the dark clouds. You stood on your chamber’s balcony, enjoying the cooler temperatures and the light drizzles dampening your skin, your hair, your sleeping shift. It’d been several moons since it last rained—compared to your original home, the Riverlands, King’s Landing simply paled in comparison. How you missed the feeling.

Aemond, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to the change in weather. He stepped out to join you, one of his spindly hands reaching out to grasp the damp fabric around your waist, the other moving upward to tilt your chin so you’d look at him.

“How beautiful you are, ābrazȳrys,” he whispered, trailing kisses down from the corner of your lips to your jaw. The Valyrian word for wife was uttered with an extra husky tone. “The hour is quite early—the children are still fast asleep.” There was a rough, needy scratch to his voice, indiscreetly conveying his lustful intentions.

With a wanton grin, you replied breathily, “Fuck me in the rain, Aemond. Fuck me until I can’t wa—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Aemond was already shoving you up against the stone railing, his hot mouth slanted desperately over yours. You kissed him back with just as much vigor, curling one of your legs around his waist. Already, you could feel his length hardening, pressing against your lower stomach.

You moaned lewdly into his mouth when the hand that had been under your chin snaked further downwards to grasp at your breasts through the drenched shift, his nimble fingers pinching at your sensitive peaks. His other hand relinquished his grasp on your waist, slipping beneath the fabric between your thighs and running a finger through your folds. The action made you cry out, grasping his forearms for dear life.

“You’re already drenched for me,” Aemond susurrated, pulling away from your lips, which you had chased after with a sigh, littering kisses against your bobbing throat. “Ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love.

“Please, Aemond,” you croaked, needing more. “Please, I need you inside me.”

With a hum, Aemond swiftly shoved your damp shift up to bunch around your waist, leaving your lower half completely bare for him. 

“Who am I to deny you, embar?” he whispered, biting the outside of your ear, before slowly sliding his leaking, throbbing length into your cunt. “Fuck! Mmh—you take me so well, sweet wife.”

Slowly, he began rocking into you, prideful at the way you rolled your eyes into the back of your head. Your shift, clinging against you like a second skin thanks to the rain, made the motions of your heaving, bouncing breasts all the more enticing. He ducked his head to freckle kisses over your chest as he thrust into you, murmuring praises into the wet fabric.

A clap of thunder drowned out the obscene noises the both of you were making. 

Wildly, Aemond tore himself out of you, extinguishing the fiery complaints on the tip of your tongue by turning you over and pushing your stomach into the railing, so you could face the city. You were far too high up for anyone to clearly see, but the thrill of it was there, nonetheless.

Your husband slid back into you with a deep groan and a string of curses, sloppily pounding you from behind as he neared his peak. He wound an arm around you to languidly stroke at your pulsing clit, which had you bucking back into him with a surprised choke of his name.

It wasn’t long until you collapsed against him, your cunt clenching around his cock like a vice, white stars bursting out in front of your vision. Not too soon after, Aemond spilled himself within you, his hot cum dripping out of your core and down your thighs, panting against your shoulder. 

“Mmh,” you moaned once he slowly pulled out, so as to not overwhelm you with overstimulation. “I do hope it rains in King’s Landing more often.”

“If it leads to more of this, then so do I,” Aemond replied, turning you around with gentle touches to kiss you soundly. “For now, how does a hot bath sound?”

Myra’s shrieks of laughter echoed across the large chambers as she clumsily ran away from Syraena, who was enacting a large, hungry dragon searching for her prey. 

“Kepa, help me!” she screamed, scrambling to hide behind her father’s legs. Amused, Aemond picked up his youngest girl, setting her on his hip. His eldest clung to his shin, forcing Aemond to drag the both of them across the room as they squealed in delight. 

“Faster!” Syraena ordered. Aemond made a mental note to tell Criston he was most likely going to be late for training today, knowing his girls probably wouldn’t let go of him for the next few hours.

On the other side of the chambers, you sat by your son next to the fireplace, sipping on a chalice of spiced apple cider. Kyrion was sprawled out on the expensive chaise, the corner of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated on drawing on a piece of parchment with a coal-tipped pencil.

“Mother, look,” he said, pulling your attention away from your husband and the excited girls. The paper was pushed onto your lap, covered with black smudges and hastily drawn lines. “This is what I see in my dreams.”

You blinked, studying the drawings closer. “What is it, honey? Are those trees?”

His white hair flew every which way as he vehemently shook his head. His small hand pointed at the six figures, hovering a few inches above the uneven ground. “Those are people. They didn’t bend the knee.”

Horror’s dark fingers wrapped around your heart, and you reared back to stare at your son. “Kyrion, what is this? You… have you seen this?” 

His pale violet eyes met your terrified ones. “In my dreams,” he repeated, voice soft and tame, as if he hadn’t just drawn a picture of six lords hanging from the gallows. “You don’t have dreams like those?”

Still in shock, you shook your head, mute.

Kyrion studied you for a moment longer, before grabbing another sheet of paper to start drawing again. “You’re lucky, mother. Sometimes I feel it.”

“Why is that, Kyrion? What else do you feel?”

The little boy shrugged. “The milk curdles, the blood spills.” He fell quiet after that, clearly done with the conversation.

Struggling for words, you blew out a long breath, before looking back at the parchment. You leaned forward to press a kiss to his head, patting down his short white curls, before standing up and making your way to Aemond, his drawing in hand. Myra had somehow ended up on his shoulders, yelling for help as Syraena jumped around, trying to catch her little sister’s flailing feet.

“Mama,” the young river dragon cried, reaching out to you with tearful purple-blue eyes. “Syraena bit me!”

True to her word, there were shallow teeth marks imprinted in her chubby shin. Syraena grinned at her handiwork, looking none too apologetic. 

“Aemond!” you sharply reprimanded, which made your husband flinch at the sudden attention, puzzled as to why the blame was placed on him instead of Syraena. “Gods, did you just stand by and watch as your daughters mauled each other?”

“I was outnumbered, darling. They are vicious little things, our girls,” Aemond lightly replied, letting go of the golden-haired girl so she could cling onto you, sobbing into your neck. At your stern expression, Aemond added on, “Syraena, say sorry to your sister.”

With a quick tongue, she quickly said with years of rehearsed practice, “Sorry, Myra. Can I come watch you train now, Kepa?” 

Before he could reply, you stepped in. “Ah-ah, Syraena. You need to go to the Septa and apologize for running away from your lessons yesterday. You may be excused from embroidery and dancing, but that doesn’t give you the right to be rude.”

Glum, Syraena glanced at her father, who only beckoned her along. “Listen to your mother.”

With a heavy exhale, the silver-haired girl stomped out of the room to do as she was bid. 

You traced your hand along the bite mark on Myra’s leg. “It’s not too bad, sweetheart. Go on—go ask your brother if you can draw with him.”

Sniffling, Myra slid down from your arms and waddled off to sit by Kyrion, who wordlessly scooched over to make space for his little sister.

“What’s wrong?” Aemond asked, noting the worry in your expression. The once light-hearted atmosphere seemed to dissolve away in an instant.

Pursing your lips, you handed over the drawing. 

“Kyrion said he saw this in his dreams. People hanging… he said they didn’t bend the knee,” you whispered. 

Aemond studied the coal-streaked parchment, eye narrowed. “Perhaps that’s all it was… just a dream.”

“Or it could be a vision. Your father said it himself—our son is a dragon dreamer,” you responded, gripping his forearm. “Aemond, I’m worried that war is upon us. Sooner than we think it is.”

There was little Aemond could truthfully say to comfort you, and so he simply drew you close, breathing in your homely scent—pleasantly noting that he could still smell the rain on you. 

“It’ll be alright,” he murmured sincerely. “I won’t let anything happen to you, or our family. I’ll keep you safe.”

Blinking away the tears stinging the corner of your eyes, you pressed your nose against his throat. “I’m not sure you’d be able to, husband. Not in a war for the iron throne. Nobody is safe from that.”

Your law-sister, Helaena, had always harbored a gentle, sweet soul—a direct opposite to her brother and husband, Aegon. The very thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage, made to squeeze out heirs for a monster of a man was already nightmarish enough… you couldn’t fathom what it was like for Helaena to endure such a life. Nonetheless, she was often as happy as one could be, dreamily smiling and murmuring unintelligible words to herself. 

That evening you found yourself having tea with her, listening to her speak about the strange weather and the bugs she had found washed up in the gardens due to the rain. 

“Many worms, yes,” she mumbled, fiddling with a wooden carving of a cockroach. “Worms and drowned ants. Ants and drowned worms. Beetles, as well, yes.”

You smiled, glancing at her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, playing with yours—though Kyrion wasn’t really playing with his cousins, more just standing in the shadows and silently watching his sisters play with them. He truly was a copy of his father, after all.

“The poor creatures,” you surmised. “Rid of their homes and families just because of a bit of rain.” A bit of guilt twinged within your chest—just earlier today, you had told Aemond you wished for it to rain more.

“Oh, it’s not all that bad,” Helaena hummed, looking up at you with a mild grin. “Death gives way to more life. There will soon be new worms, new ants, new beetles. It’s simply the way of nature.”

You nodded, setting down your teacup. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just a shame that it has to happen in the first place.”

To your surprise and none of Aemond’s, all the childrens’ dragon eggs hatched within their cradles. They were growing larger and larger every day, being looked after by the dragon keepers before the children could ride them.

Today, Aemond took them down to the Dragon Pit, where his children were going to bond with their respective beasts. You were invited to come, as you always were when Aemond went off on his excursions with the kids, but you had wrinkled your nose and turned back to your book. 

“I have no taste for stinking of dragon today, thank you,” you curtly replied, grinning down at your book. “Don’t you think Myra is a bit too young to bond with her dragon? She’s only three.”

“It doesn’t hurt to get acquainted,” he swiftly replied, before bending at the waist to slant a sweet kiss to your hairline, before taking his leave to head out of his chambers and wrangle his kids down to the Pit.

They were excited to go, Syraena most especially, practically sprinting down the corridors. He called out after her to slow down, but she paid him no mind. 

The Dragon Pit smelled of smoke and charred meat and something distinctly dragon.

Keepers brought out the three dragonlings, playfully nipping at each other’s wings and yipping as if they were young pups. 

The largest of the trio was named Aerion—Syraena’s dragon. He was a slender beauty, with shining black scales and sharp, crimson wing membranes. With the Keeper’s nod, Syraena confidently marched forward, stroking her dragon’s head, a toothy grin plastered across her lips. Aerion seemed to purr beneath her touch, plumes of grey smoke falling from his nostrils.

Next to come forward was Kyrion’s dragon, his rippling scales a dark shade of green and sharp eyes a molten amber. “Tyvaros,” Aemond heard his son mumble his dragon’s name. “Tyvaros.” A bit more timid, Kyrion hesitantly stepped forward and, with the Keeper’s approval, he reached out for the small green dragon. He was the calmest of the three, leaning forward to gently nudge his head against Kyrion’s shoulder.

The smallest of the hatchlings was Goldentooth, a pale, cream-hued dragon with aureate spikes running down her back and along her tail. She was Myra’s to claim, having been the very last to hatch. 

“Go on, Qelbar.” He gently nudged his flaxen-haired daughter forward. River, he affectionately called her. “Don’t you want to bond with her?”

Myra nodded, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“I can’t see a reason why she wouldn’t like you,” he calmly responded, patting her back. “Your brother and sister are getting along with their dragons just fine. It took me a long time to bond with a dragon, as well. You’ll get there, eventually.”

His words seemed to instill some courage into her, and so she shuffled along to the last Keeper, murmuring hello to her dragon. It wasn’t long until the fear subsided, and the small dragon was already climbing all over her arms and shoulders.

After an hour of bonding, the Keepers were hoarding the dragons further down into the Pit for feeding, and in turn, Aemond took the children back up into the Keep. They all stank of dragon, something you definitely weren’t going to be happy with, but had wide smiles on their faces nonetheless.

There was a hearing carried out on the subject of the heir to Driftmark (which was settled in an unsettlingly gorey manner, courtesy of Daemon Targaryen), which meant Princess Rhaenyra and her sons were back in King’s Landing for quite a while, to Aemond’s displeasure. You, on the other hand, bore no ill-will to the Princess, and were rather excited for the royal dinner to be held the next day. 

The night after Vaemond’s beheading, Kyrion had tugged on your skirts and asked if you could accompany him to the library so he could return his book.

“Alright,” you told him with a small smile. “But we must be quick about it—the hour grows late, and I can see how sleepy you are.”

The purple-eyed boy nodded, taking your hand as the two of you made your way down the dark corridors, to the library. When the both of you turned the corner, you nearly ran straight into Lucerys, jumping back in surprise.

“Oh, Gods! My apologies, my Princes,” you exclaimed, flustered at the sudden appearance of Rhaenyra’s sons. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Lucerys tilted his head. “No need to apologize, Lady Tully.”

“Targaryen. Tully is my maiden name—I’m married to Prince Aemond now,” you gently corrected. 

“Evidently so,” said Jace, glancing at your son with a polite smile. “This must be my little cousin. Kyrion, isn’t it?”

The white-haired boy stared up at him with his pale eyes. “Ice and fire. Arrows and seas. Pacts and death. I saw you in my dreams.”

“Kyrion,” you hastily reprimanded, mortified that your son was speaking of death in front of Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest son, gathering the small boy up in your arms. “Sorry, he must be tired. It’s his bedtime—” 

“He doesn’t look much like you, does he?” Lucerys observed, finding it eerily strange to be staring at a little boy that was a near carbon copy of the bane of his childhood. 

Brows furrowing, you hesitantly replied, knowing the stale animosity between him and your husband, “I… I suppose not, my Prince. He takes after his father. My daughters, too.”

“Ah, then we must arrange to meet them. I’m sure your children would enjoy playing with my little brothers, Aegon and Viserys. They must be around the same age,” said Jace in an amicable manner. 

Before you had a chance to respond, a familiar voice spat, “And why, pray tell, do you think I would ever allow my children near you and your filthy kin?” 

Aemond appeared from out of the shadows, features set in one of cold fury. Both Jacaerys and Lucerys took a step back, shoulders stiffening. They had seen him training earlier today—it didn’t go past their notice that he had become incredibly skilled in combat over the years. In no way would either of them be a match for him. 

Wary not to allow a fight to break out, you reached out to place a calming hand on his arm. “Aemond—” you gritted out.

“Leave us,” he growled.

Teeth gnashing together, you shook your head and whispered, “Aemond, I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us.”

“Take our son and go,” he said, more gently this time. To you, Jace and Luke were just boys—sweet boys with kind hearts. To Aemond, however, they were the monsters who took out his eye. They were a threat to him and his family’s safety.

Exchanging a worried glance between him and Jacaerys, who nodded at you to take your leave, you blew out a frustrated breath, before hastening away with Kyrion in your arms. It seemed the two of you would have to take a trip to the library another day.

Lowering his voice, Aemond calmly told the two brothers, “Speak to my wife or my children again, and I’ll have the both of you fed to my dragon.”

Luke swallowed nervously, but Jace stood his ground. 

“Is that all, Uncle?” he challenged, eyebrows cocked. 

Aemond fixed a sharp glare on them, nose upturned. With an irritated grunt, he turned and strode off after you, leaving the two bastard boys stunned and mildly confused in his wake.

Once he had made sure his girls were safely tucked in their beds, Aemond paid his son a visit, sitting by his side.

“I apologize for interrupting your trip to the library, water dragon,” he murmured, patting down the boy’s messy white curls. 

Kyrion chewed on his bottom lip in thought. “Why don’t you like them, Kepa?”

Aemond’s single eye searched his son’s gaze, completely sincere in his curiosity. “A story for another time, when you’re older,” he replied. “Your mother said you’ve been drawing what you see in your dreams. Can you tell me about them?”

“Which ones?” he asked.

The one-eyed man felt sick at the thought of his little boy having to watch a thousand lives pass by in his visions, most having to inevitably end in death. It was a curse to be a dragon dreamer, he thought with a grimace. A burden.

“Whichever you want to tell me about, tresy.” Son.

Kyrion’s pale eyes seemed to mist over, and he fixed his gaze on a random candle across the room. “I see you wearing a crown. You sit on the Iron Throne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

It seemed his son had mistaken Aemond’s befuddled expression for anger, as he shrank away from his father with a frown. “I’m sorry, Kepa. Don’t be angry with me.”

Aemond softened. “I’m not angry, Kyrion. I was just… shocked.”

Not all of Kyrion’s visions came true, did they? Aemond tried his best to wrack his mind for the dozens of times his mystic ramblings lead to nowhere. 

“I also see mother sailing away on a ship with Syraena and Myra. She looks sad,” he quietly spoke. “I don’t like that dream very much. Can I go to sleep now, Kepa?”

Blowing out a small breath, Aemond mustered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his worried eye. “Yes, of course. Sleep well, little dragon.”

Hastily, he stood back up on his feet, blowing out the candles around Kyrion’s chamber, before striding out the door. His head was spinning with a million thoughts at once, his son’s wispy voice echoing within his mind.

A crown on his head. His wife and his girls on a ship. Seven hells… what was to become of his family?

Myra was humming a sweet song of summer, chubby cheeks rosy with the warm breeze that blew through the Godswood. She was seated in front of you over a yellow blanket situated on the ground. In your hands, you were weaving the little girl’s golden hair into an intricate braid, small wildflowers slotted in between the crevices. 

A little ways away from the both of you, Syraena was running circles around the Weirwood tree, fighting off invisible enemies with a long, wooden stick she claimed to be her sword. 

“There you go, darling,” you said, patting Myra’s shoulders once you were done. “Syraena, come here! I want to fix your hair!”

Your eldest girl huffed and puffed as she stomped over, her short silver strands sticking up every which way. “What’s there to fix?” she grumbled, plopping down in front of you.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t foolishly sliced it all off with a shard of glass, it wouldn’t resemble an uneven rat’s nest sitting upon your head,” you reprimanded. 

Giggling, Myra clapped her hands. “Rat’s nest!” she parroted.

Syraena scowled. “It’s not fair. You let Kyrion have short hair. I want to be a boy, like him.”

“If you wanted short hair, you could’ve just asked. Lailena would have gladly cut it for you,” you said, brandishing a wooden comb to gently run it through Syraena’s thin silvery strands. “Do you want to know what your father said when I was first pregnant with you?”

Syraena shifted with a grimace as you yanked at a knot in her hair. “What?”

“He said he didn’t care whether you were a boy or a girl. That you were his blood, regardless. His tempestuous sea dragon,” you said with a small smile, mimicking a sour face at her nickname. “And Kyrion came next, our tranquil water dragon. Then lastly, Myra, our sweet river dragon.”

When you were done, you had Syraena turn around so you could inspect her hairline, brushing back any stray bits of hair that escaped your comb. “All finished. Beautiful, handsome… I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, sweetling.”

She chewed at the inside of her cheek, nodding. “Can I go play knights with Jaehaerys now?” 

“Go on,” you lightly nudged her away, an exasperated smile tugging at your lips, knowing full and well her hair was going to be all mussed in no less than half an hour of playing. 

Before Syraena could get up and scramble away, however, a figure approached the three of you. She was clad in a black cloak, detailed with fine red thread in embroideries of flames and dragons. Golden jewelry decorated her pale skin, her long hair like sheets of pure snow.

The Princess Rhaenyra.

“Princess,” you breathily greeted, mind flashing back to last night, when you had bumped into her sons. 

You were about to get up to bow, but Rhaenyra quickly said, “No need, Lady Y/N. My apologies, I wasn’t aware the Godswood was occupied. If you’d like to be alone—”

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright, Princess. It’s a space to be shared, after all,” you said with a courteous smile.

Rhaenyra studied you carefully, her purple eyes taking in your form. It was a strange thing, she thought. You were married to her half-brother, and mothered her childhood friend’s grandchildren. A childhood friend that was her friend no longer.

With you, however, perhaps the story could be different. 

A genuine smile graced the Princess’ lips. “These are your girls?” she asked.

The taller and older of the two most certainly took after her father, with her sharp features and silver hair, though she bore your eyes and your smile. The younger was plump with a softer face, and had more blonde than white hair, her large eyes a deep shade of violet.

“Yes, this is Syraena, my oldest. And this is Myra,” you told her. “My son Kyrion is in the library at the moment, with his father.”

“His father,” Rhaenyra echoed quietly, voice distant. The memory of little Aemond in front of her, eye slashed out, and Luke cowering behind her with a bleeding, broken nose flashed into her mind. Clearing her throat, she reeled herself back into the present by saying, “Your children are very beautiful. Have you considered any potential suitors for them yet?”

Your eyes widened simultaneously as Syraena’s head whipped up to stare at you.

“No,” you replied, a tad too quickly. “I don’t think I’d want to subject them to that until they come of age. Or until they want to.”

The Princess tilted her head to the side with a mild laugh. “If your daughters were anything like me when I was a teenager, then you’d find the latter quite a challenge.”

“Yes, Queen Alicent has told me of your youth… how you rejected nearly all the contenders for your hand,” you replied. “I can’t say I could relate. Aemond was my first and only suitor.”

She hummed in thought. “I only asked because I just had my sons betrothed to their cousins.”

Right. Jacaerys and Lucerys were to wed Baela and Rhaena. 

So that was why she asked. She wanted to know if Alicent was scheming, just as she had been. Betrothals and weddings were equivalent to political currency in times of war.

“I don’t plan on wedding my children off any time soon,” you reassured her. From the corner of your eye, you could see Syraena’s shoulders loosen up. The prospect of marriage was not one she was particularly interested in.

“I see,” Rhaenyra said, though her face was much more relaxed now than before. “I shall go wash myself before supper tonight. I look forward to seeing you there.”

With that, she turned to take her leave. Myra looked up at you with a toothy grin. “Can I come with you to supper?”

“It’ll be past your bedtime,” you said, rising to your feet and picking her up to place on your hip. “But I promise we can spend the entire day together before that. Come on, Syraena, I’ll drop you off at Jaehaerys’ room.”

That evening’s royal supper was a disaster.

It started off well enough, with several toasts from the adults, and an additional one from Jacaerys dedicated to his uncles and his cousins’ good fortune. The King gave one long, hunkering speech on unity and the togetherness of the dragon’s house, wheezing through his words all the way. 

Only then did the feast begin, consisting of a large assortment of roasted meats and soups and plates of steaming bread. There were also cold platters of appetizers passed around, full of cheeses, figs, and grapes. Viserys had barely eaten a bite before he had to be escorted back to his chambers, past his point of exhaustion.

Aegon had spent most of the dinner tormenting Jace and Baela on their future marriage. When he grew bored of his nephew’s stoic demeanor, he turned to you, his good-sister. It was evident the Prince was quite drunk as he blathered on and on about the most trivial topics as you gingerly drank your hearty soup, though you didn’t have much of a stomach for it anymore. 

The last of the toasts came from Helaena as she congratulated Baela and Rhaena on their betrothals, subtly dunking on her husband before she drank with a dreamy grin. 

Not too long after, music started playing, a symphony of strings and bells, and Jace had offered his hand to Helaena, much to Aegon’s dismay. 

In an effort to retaliate, Aegon leaned close to your ear, placing a hand on your thigh beneath the table. You had jerked away from his touch, glancing at Aemond, who sat on your other side. 

“Care for a dance with me, good-sister?” He smelled of wine and a general foul dampness.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “That’s quite alright, my Prince. I don’t think you’re in a state to dance with me.”

“Nonsense, Lady Y/N, I am as sound as the day I was born!” he drunkenly hiccuped, words slurring together. His hand found its way back to your thigh, fingers gripping tighter this time. You tried to yank your leg away, nearly standing up with the effort.

Sensing your discomfort, Aemond growled out, “Leave my wife alone, brother.”

The song drew to a close, and Helaena returned to her seat, beaming brightly. 

“Or what?” Aegon cackled, clearly enjoying seeing his brother get riled up. Thankfully, his hand slipped away from your leg to grip another chalice of wine. “What will you possibly—”

Before he could finish, Jacaerys stood between you and Aegon, offering his hand.

“If I could have this dance, Lady Targaryen?” he asked, emphasizing the family name in memory of your correction last night. His expression bore one of concern, obviously coming here to offer you an escape from Aegon.

Sparing a glance to your husband, who had taken to silently bristling, you nodded once.

“Of course, my Prince,” you said, taking his hand. Much to your satisfaction, Aegon had looked like he was struck across the face. 

Off the two of you danced—spinning and twirling and laughing the entire time. Aemond was never too fond of dancing during the celebrations, always cautious of the stares, much preferring to dance with you in the privacy of your own chambers. Watching you openly have such fun with Jacaerys, however, made jealousy coil tight within his abdomen. You were smiling so widely—a smile that he had the joy of seeing every morning. To see it elicited because of his bastard nephew kindled an envious, green flame inside him.

Then came the pig. 

And Lucerys’ none-too-discreet giggling.

Something in Aemond snapped.

The music halted as he slammed his fists onto the table, and his wife hastily stopped dancing with Jacaerys to see what the commotion was. 

Of course, Aemond simply couldn’t help himself. In front of the entire family, he called his nephews Strong boys.

Pandemonium broke out. Jacaerys had let go of you to storm forward and land a punch on your husband, which seemed not to affect him in the least, shoving the brown-haired boy to the ground. 

Aegon, eager to join the chaos, had grabbed Lucerys by the scruff of his shirt, shoving him into a searing platter of fish. “A gift for the new Lord of Driftmark!” he announced with a wild, manic grin.

In the end, Daemon had been the one to put a stop to the scuffle, staring down Aemond with raised brows. With a frustrated hum beneath his breath, your husband stormed out of the mess hall, making his way upstairs to your shared chambers.

You scrambled out after him, lifting your skirts to give you space to run. It was improper to leave without bidding the rest of the family goodbye, but then again… nothing about the dinner had been proper at all.

Once you had rushed into the room, Aemond roughly slammed the door shut, pushing you up against it. His fingers were already undoing the laces on your back, his lips sealing shut over yours.

“Aemond,” you murmured against him, lightly pushing at his chest. “Stop, for just a minute.”

Your husband pulled back at your request, single violet eye ablaze.

“What… Gods, why would you do such a thing? Why would you go out of your way to torment them?”

“You know very well why,” he quietly gruffed, reaching behind to pull off his eyepatch, tossing it onto a small table by the door, the sapphire in place of his lost eye gleaming dully beneath the moonlight. Your lips parted to ask him something else, but he cut you off by gripping your chin, whispering in a possessive fashion, “Hush, ñuha dōna embar. Seven hells, you’re more beautiful than ever. And you’re all mine.” My sweet sea.

“Don’t hush me!” you hissed, brows knitting together. “Aemond, Jacaerys will one day be the crown prince when Rhaenyra ascends the throne. It is not wise to provoke them in such a manner.”

Blowing out a heavy sigh, Aemond stroked your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “They’re bastards, my love. The throne is not theirs to take. And my sister… the realm will not accept her as their ruler. You know this, jorrāelagon.”

“They swore an oath! Our families swore oaths to her. I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on becoming an oathbreaker,” you reminded, softening beneath his touch. “Aemond, I don’t want to fight with you. I just don’t want you to do that again. If not for me, then for our children. Don’t go picking fights where it’s not needed.”

Aemond shut his weary eye. If Myra had seen him tonight, she would surely be afraid of him.

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry. I got caught up in my anger.”

You leaned forward to kiss him, soft and gentle, and Aemond wasted no time in reciprocating, pressing you back against the door. Off came your dress and down came your styled hair with Aemond’s skilled fingers. In no time, Aemond had your legs wound around his waist, his coat unbuttoned and shirked off somewhere behind him. Your drenched core was pressed right against his throbbing length, rock hard and leaking with pearly beads of precum.

“I love you, more than anything, more than life itself,” he murmured against your throat, gently nipping at the skin there. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Aemond,” you moaned wantonly when one of his hands snaked down to thumb at your clit. “Please, I’m yours, please fuck me.”

With a satisfied hum, Aemond planted a deep kiss onto your parted lips, a groan rumbling from his chest when you bit into his bottom lip, eyes hooded. He lined his cock up, before sinking into you with one smooth motion, his forehead falling into the crook of your neck.

You held onto him for dear life when he began to rock into you, scratching faint crimson lines down his toned back. The pain seemed to only spur him on, and he shifted his angle to pound into you deeper, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the pleasure.

“Fuck!” he bit out. “So good, ābrazȳrys. Feels so good around me.” 

He moaned when you clenched around him, his breath hitching when you slid your hands up into his hair and yanked with no abandon. In no time, he could feel you coming undone around him with a litany of colorful curses, shaking almost violently in his hold. In turn, Aemond came inside you with a shout of your name, rocking into you once, twice, thrice more.

Slow, he pulled out of you, watching the cum drip out of your spent cunt with great satisfaction. He kissed you sweetly, nose nudging against your cheek.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he softly said, carrying you across the room to set you down on the bed. “Go to sleep, love.”

“Mm, I love you,” you murmured. A ghost of a warm smile etched into the corner of his lips. He repeated the sentiment to you, but you had already drifted off to sleep before you could hear it.

King Viserys was dead. Rhaenyra and her children were gone, having flown back to Dragonstone earlier in the day.

And already, Aegon was to be crowned King.

You were none too happy about the turn of events, but you were to turn the cheek and play the part of the faithful wife, for the sake of your family and their safety. The lords who had refused to bend the knee to Aegon were either thrown in the dungeons or hanged, labeled as treasonous traitors to the realm. It was just like Kyrion had drawn, as he claimed to have seen in his dreams.

“A beast beneath the boards,” Helaena had constantly murmured, which frightened you to no end. 

It was only worsened when Kyrion would reply with, “Bursting red, red in the sky, the sun in her mouth.”

Syraena was rupturing at the seams with a constant stream of questions—questions you had no such answers to. And your youngest daughter was crying the entire day, sensing the tense, fragile atmosphere. Your husband had gone to find Aegon in the slums of King’s Landing, who had unsurprisingly disappeared in thin air. 

Not before long, he was dragged back into the Keep, and the coronation commenced above the Dragon Pit. The beast beneath the boards broke out only minutes after the crown was placed on his head. Hundreds of commoners and smallfolk were killed in the commotion. Princess Rhaenys rode her scarlet dragon, the Queen That Never Was mounted on the Red Queen of Dragons.

Aemond had shoved you back, protectively standing in front of you, though there was very little he could do. The both of you were immensely grateful the children were left in the castle with Lailena, safe from the chaos and the havoc. If you were to die today, you’d be dying in Aemond’s arms, knowing your children were safe for the time being—what better way was there to die?

But neither of you died that day, for Meleys had only screeched out a shrill warning, before clambering out of the Pit, and absconding to the clouds. Red in the sky.

Aemond had ushered you to the Keep, before hugging you tight in the secluded privacy of your chambers, genuinely terrified that he could’ve lost you. 

The next day, he was already leaving again. He was to go to Storm’s End to broker a deal with Borros Baratheon: a marriage proposal between his brother Daeron and one of the Lord’s daughters. It seemed that betrothals truly were the realm’s political currency now.

“I want to come with you, Kepa,” Syraena said, staring up at her father with narrowed e/c eyes. “Let me come with you!”

Expression softening, Aemond ruffled her already-mussed hair. “It’ll be a quick trip. You can come to the next one, Syraena.”

The next goodbye was for his son, who hugged his father loosely. “An eye for a pearl,” he mumbled, too quiet for Aemond to hear. 

Clutched to his leg, sobbing hysterically, was Myra, her cheeks damp and her dark, plum-hued eyes red-rimmed. “Oh, river, don’t cry for me. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”

Finally, he turned to you, his hand on the back of your head as he kissed you, chaste yet passionate, and rested his forehead on yours. “Stay safe in here, my dear sea.”

“Storm’s End is wet and cold and… obviously stormy. Keep yourself warm. Don’t get struck by lightning, is all I ask, husband.”

“As you wish, love,” he whispered, before ducking his head to kiss your cheek. With a laugh, he pried his sweet girl away from his leg, lifting her up to chastely peck her forehead, and then handed her bawling form over to you. She was always this way when Aemond had to leave for longer than a day.

The four of you watched Aemond head out of the Keep. Unease roiled within your stomach with his absence. 

“Three days for the pearl to wash ashore,” said Kyrion. There was a pallid tone to his skin, and he glanced at you with his large, pale eyes. “Mother, I’m scared.”

“Come,” you quickly said, ushering the children to their chambers. “Let’s go play with Auntie Helaena and Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, yes?”

It was late the next night when Aemond returned. The moon glowed in a sliver of its regular size, the crescent unnaturally bright in the dark sky, void of any stars. You were standing out on the balcony, sleeping shift rustling with the warm wind when the doors behind you creaked open.

Rainwater dripped from his cloak as he stepped in. 

Drip, drip, drip.

His single eye was wide and haunted, expression so far that it seemed like Aemond wasn’t even in the same room as you. 

“Aemond?” you called out, stepping back into the chambers and crossing the room in quick strides to greet him. “Gods, you're sopping wet. Are you alright?”

It was as if he didn’t hear you, staring at the ground with parted lips. There was an unfamiliar, raw sort of terror blanketed over his features, you could see it clear as ever. Your brows indented together, and you reached out to softly graze your fingers along his damp face. 

At the gentle touch, Aemond snapped his gaze to you. His hands were shaking.

Finding yourself at a loss for words, you roped him into an embrace, clutching his drenched form tightly against yours, uncaring that you were getting soaked in the process. This seemed to break him out of his reverie, as he began to tremble violently, and his chest thundered with silent sobs. His nose went directly to your neck and you hushed him with your free hand stroking the back of his head.

“Aemond, my love, what happened?” you asked again.

This time, he tried his best to answer you. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean what, darling?”

“Vhagar didn’t listen to me. I tried to stop her,” he croaked, pulling his ashen face away from the junction of your neck, searching your comforting face frantically. “I… I killed him. I killed Lucerys.”

Your lips parted in shock. There was little you could find to say—for what could you tell your husband, now a kinslayer? No amount of comforting words could fix a situation such as this.

When Rhaenyra would inevitably find out about her son, war would rain down upon you and your family.

With a thick throat, you tightly hugged Aemond again, tears gracing the corners of your own eyes.

The days passed in a blur. Aemond was quieter than ever before, regret painted over his sharp features each and every time you glanced at him. Once he told his mother, she had nearly gone down the same manic spiral, but steeled herself to deal with the Green council. 

When Aegon heard of his nephew’s death, he threw a large, grand feast, inviting all the Lords and Ladies at court.

Neither you nor Aemond attended.

The fourth night after Aemond had returned from Storm’s End, you were in Kyrion’s chambers, brushing away his ivory curls with tender hands as he settled beneath his fleece blanket to go to sleep. Aemond was putting the girls to bed by reading them a story, as the both of them were more restless than usual as of late. 

“Kyr, baby, I have a question for you,” you said, voice soft and hesitant. Should you really be asking your son this? When Kyrion tilted his head in a silent motion for you to continue, you cleared your throat. “In your dreams… Did you see what happened to your cousin, Lucerys?”

Your son nodded once, biting at the inside of his cheek, a habit that he seemed to share with you.

Before you could ask him what he saw, there was a sudden, dull thud heard outside, followed by the familiar screech of steel. Fear wound its cold, dark hands around your pulsating heart.

The door flung open so quickly that the hinges whined in protest. Your eyes fell upon the two guards in front of Kyrion’s chambers, sprawled over the cobblestone floor, dark ichor leaking out of slit throats. Two looming figures stood in the doorway. One large and burly, the other short and thin as a twig. 

You had no time to react, for a second later, the small one had darted forward, seizing you with surprising strength, brandishing coarse rope from thin air and binding your limbs together with tight knots, doing so with just one hand as his other was tightly sealing your mouth so you wouldn’t be able to scream for your husband, for more guards, for anyone. The other large man slammed the doors shut and barred them with one of his many swords he was carrying. The one holding you roughly gagged you with a cloth as soon as he pried his hand off, tying the ends around the back of your head. You gagged when your tongue registered the taste of coppery, day-old blood and sweat. 

Despite the hindrance, you screamed your throat raw through the cloth anyway, kicking furiously and struggling in desperation against the small man, who was adamant on keeping you rooted to one spot. Your yells came out muffled and guttural, but not nearly loud enough to alert anybody outside, seeing as the closest people to the chambers were now dead.

Your son whimpered out for you, but he remained quiet after that, his pale mauve eyes wide as he fixed his gaze upon the large, brutish man who slowly approached him.

“Don’t be scared, little fish,” the mousy man sneered gripping your cheeks so you’d be forced to watch your little boy cower further beneath his covers. “We’re simply debt collectors, you see. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We just want ‘im. Won’t hurt one hair on your pretty lil’ head, ey?”

“NO!” you sobbed, struggling thrice-fold against him, to no avail. “Take me! Please, not my son!” you screamed, though it sounded like nothing but incoherent wailing through the dirty cloth.

You could do nothing but watch in horror as the large man tightened his grip on his longsword. The other hand reached out for your son, dragging him out of bed by the scruff of his sleep shirt so he dangled nearly a meter away from the ground.

“Don’t look, mother. I don’t want you to see it,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear through the thundering of your pulse in your ears, making your knees buckle. “I saw it in my dreams.” 

With one strike, the man lopped Kyrion’s head clean off.

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment. You screamed through the cloth, sobbing as you painfully crumpled to the ground, the gangly man finally releasing you. The blood… your son’s blood… his bed was covered with it. The walls behind him, the floor, the books on his desk…

Red, everywhere…

The two monsters had taken Kyrion’s head, the large man’s crimson-flecked fist gripping your son’s pearly-white curls, both fleeing the chambers in a blink of an eye. 

You sobbed against the ground, inching your way to your son with your bonds digging into you. You didn’t care. It was nothing compared to the pain within your chest.

“Kyrion,” you wailed through the cloth, using your shoulder to roughly shove it down your lips, letting it fall around your neck, tearing the corner of your mouth in the process. 

The entire Red Keep seemed to awaken with your grief-stricken scream. You kneeled your head against your little boy’s decapitated body, sobs wracking through your entire form.

That was what Aemond had rushed into, hearing the echoes of your cries from far away. He’d locked the girls’ rooms before coming, fearing the worst.

Upon seeing you on the ground, hovering over his murdered son, Aemond collapsed to his knees beside you, gathering his broken, shaking wife in his arms as he tugged you away. With trembling fingers, he undid the ropes around you, allowing you to throw your arms around him freely.

“Look away, jorrāelagon,” he said, voice uneven as he began to cry with you. “Look away.”

His words made you sob even harder… your son had told you to do just the same.

When Criston Cole came rushing in with Alicent Hightower, Aemond had immediately got to his feet, murderous revenge painted across his features. He helped you up, still crying hysterically.

“Mother, escort Y/N to our daughters’ chambers. Get a dozen guards to man the door. I’ll find our son’s murderer, and I’ll kill him myself.” He began striding away, Criston hot on his heels. 

You called out for him, voice hoarse with overuse.

Pausing in his steps, Aemond turned his head ever so slightly, but didn’t meet your gaze. He blamed himself, of course he did. He was ashamed, because it was his fault his son was dead. It was his fault he couldn’t protect him—that he couldn’t protect you.

It seemed that Aemond was far too blinded by his rage to learn from his mistakes.

“I need you here, please! Please, Aemond, please don’t go,” you sobbed, leaning your weight against Alicent, who had taken to cradling you against her chest.

A muscle in your husband’s jaw jumped. A tear slipped down from his only eye, and he continued to walk away, determined to bring justice to his son. It felt as if a searing hot knife had pierced through his chest and twisted when he heard your despaired cries ricocheting off the stone halls of the Keep.

Revenge, was all he could think of, cold anger dancing along the dark shadows of his face. If it is a war they want, it is a war they shall have.

a/n ; hey !! thank you for reading this fic until the end <3 means so much to me! i made some picrews of what i visualize the kids to look like so here you go !! they're all aged up, ofc.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Anhedonia

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (third person perspective) Warnings: Canon typical sexism. Mentions of past trauma. Angst. Heavy Petting. Oral (m receiving). Smut. Word count: ~6.1k

Summary: A young noblewoman's family have travelled to King's Landing for an upcoming tourney and are guests of House Targaryen. She is excited to explore the capital and all it has to offer, however, she finds herself dismayed when a certain Prince does not share her adventurous spirit. She makes it her mission to ensure he learns to appreciate the pleasures he considers to be "depravities". Based on this request.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

A month in King’s Landing, she can hardly wait. The journey from the Vale to the capital has taken ten days, each of them feeling like they stretch on for an eternity. She hops down from the carriage once it pulls to a stop in the grounds of the Red Keep, helped by the footman, and does her best to remain poised and ladylike despite the overwhelming urge to exaggeratedly stretch her limbs after having been seated for so long. Her and her family are to be guests of House Targaryen, invited to attend a tourney being held in honour of King Viserys’ upcoming name day, a gesture of goodwill for having hosted the royal hunting party the last time they visited the Vale.

While life in the Vale is lush, green and peaceful, it is also quiet, too quiet, and she finds it dull. The only excitement she has are her visits to Riverrun to spend time with her betrothed; she is six months into a courtship with Lord Tommen Tully, but even the Riverlands do not offer the excitement that King’s Landing boasts. She longs to explore the maze-like streets of the city and immerse herself in a culture where sheep do not outnumber people.

They receive a warm welcome from Queen Alicent and the Hand of the King, Otto, who informs them that, regrettably, the King’s health prevents him from being able to greet them personally, but he sends his regards. The children that Alicent shares with Viserys all stand in a row as part of the greeting party. Prince Aegon leers at her, his eyes roaming the length of her body, making her feel self conscious and embarrassed. Princess Helaena puts her at ease, however; there is a natural slouch to her posture which lends an air of informality to her, and makes her seem more approachable than the rest of her family. She smiles easily, which is in direct juxtaposition with the stony demeanour of her younger brother, Prince Aemond. He stands straight as an arrow, arms clasped firmly behind his back and offers little more than a curt nod and a quick glance her and her family’s way, his gaze remaining fixed on the middle distance the rest of the time. She wonders if he is like that all of the time, or if he has taken a particular dislike to her presence.

Once they are settled, she is elated when she is sent to spend time with Helaena, her imagination running wild with the possibility of all the interesting things they might get up to. She is disappointed, however, when she finds that Helaena is happy to simply sit and embroider. The Princess talks dreamily about insects, as she stitches away with her needle and thread, but from the faraway look in her eye, she gets the distinct impression that it wouldn’t matter to her if she was there or not.

She slips out of the Princess’ quarters in search of something else to do, and doesn’t have to go far to find it.

“Did you tire of my sister already?” Aegon leans against an alcove, a smug smirk on his face.

She feels her cheeks heat up, she hasn’t even been here a day and yet already she has caused offense. Remembering how he’d looked at her earlier, she worries what he might do to her, her heart thudding loudly as her eyes dart around the corridor, looking to see if there’s anyone to save her. “N-no, my Prince, I simply-”

“-it’s fine,” He holds up a hand to halt her embarrassed apologies. “Helaena isn’t what I’d describe as exciting. You’ve come all this way, it seems a shame for you to sit cooped up in the Keep, when there’s an entire city to explore.”

His apparent lack of anger towards her, and offer of companionship eases her mind. and she grins at the possibility of finally getting to see more of King’s Landing. “What did you have in mind?”

“Follow me.”

Aegon leads her to what she assumes are his chambers, donning a hooded cloak, before throwing one to her. She slips it on, her eyes going wide as she watches him move a chest of drawers out of the way and push through an opening in the stone wall. They exit the Keep and head down the hill to what Aegon tells her is “Flea Bottom”.

She is overwhelmed by the sights of street performers dancing, breathing fire and offering palm readings, the sounds of traders shouting out to sell their wares, the smell of urine that seems to linger in every corner they pass, and the sheer number of people. They jostle in crowds up and down the narrow, winding cobbled streets and she grips tightly to Aegon’s hand, terrified she’ll get lost if she lets go even for a moment.

They drink brown ale that tastes like old copper coins and eat roasted meats that have been burned to the point that she is no longer able to discern their animal of origin. She decides it’s best that she doesn’t know. For every cup of ale she drinks, Aegon has three and it’s not until they reach the door of a building where the cheers of a crowd can be heard from inside, that she realises how far into his cups he is as he sways beside her.

“Perhaps we ought to go back.” She suggests uneasily, feeling apprehension begin to gnaw at her insides.

“Rubbish...” He slurs. “...come on, you’ll enjoy this.”

He grabs for her hand, tugging her through the jeering crowd and she recoils when the sight of two children hitting each other in a pit below comes into view. Her stomach turns at the sight, not wanting to look long enough to comprehend what she is seeing, the thought is simply too awful. She wrenches away, pushing herself back outside.

She leans against a wall, catching her breath and it is not until her heart rate has slowed that she notices that Aegon has not followed her. She had assumed he’d be just as disgusted as she was, and a shiver runs through her as she realises that he had intended for them to watch that, it was no mere accident, he enjoyed it.

The faces of the people on the street seem more sinister now she is alone and it dawns on her how perilous her situation is; she is a lone noblewoman in a foreign city, absolutely anything could happen to her here, and there’d be no one to save her. She breaks into a run, sprinting through the narrow streets, not knowing if she’s following the same route that she took with Aegon on the way there, but just knowing that if she keeps the castle on the hill in sight then she will make it back in one piece.

Winded by the time she eventually returns, she shuts herself away in her bedchamber and vows never to spend time alone with Prince Aegon for the rest of her stay in King’s Landing. His idea of a good time could not be farther removed from her own. 

She has a troubled night’s sleep, plagued by the visions of what she’d seen in the fighting pit. She feels fuzzy headed by the time she eventually rouses from her bed, and a sadness settles over her. The month was going to be an incredibly lonely one without anyone to keep her company; her parents would be entertained by the Queen and her father, they would not want her around. Tommen could not even come to visit; an invitation had not been extended to the Tullys, it would be impolite and presumptuous for him to simply turn up.

Walking towards the window, she looks out across the city. The faint orange glow of the sun has barely begun to rise above the rooftops in the distance, it is still the hour of the rooster. A sound of steel clashing against steel draws her attention to the courtyard below.

She watches a tall, silver-haired man cross swords with a dark haired knight. Though they both fight valiantly, it is clear that the knight’s opponent is getting the best of him. It’s only when the fairer of the two turns that she notices the eyepatch. Aemond.

Though she has yet to actually speak to him, she knows all about him, all of Westeros does, she presumes; the terrible accident that cost him his eye and that he rides the largest dragon in all of Westeros, both subjects of keen interest in every noble household.

She wonders if he is as vulgar as his older brother, or perhaps possesses a gentleness that’s more akin to his sister; it was impossible to tell from his stoicism when she’d arrived yesterday. Smiling as she watches him point the tip of his blade towards the knight’s throat, she decides she will seek him out and find out for herself. Perhaps he will be a worthy companion for the duration of her stay.

Once she is washed, dressed and has broken her fast, she goes in search of the One-Eyed Prince. He has long since departed the training yard, so she wanders the halls of the Red Keep, hoping she might run into him.

It’s not until she reaches the library that she finally encounters him. He is seated at the head of a long, mahogany table with a book in his hands. He has changed out of the doublet he wore when sparring and is now dressed in a black leather tunic, his long silver-white hair falling elegantly around his shoulders.

He does not look up as she enters the library and she finds herself unsure of how to handle the situation; she hadn’t anticipated that he’d ignore her.

She draws in a breath and clears her throat, and when he still doesn’t acknowledge her she then speaks.

“Prince Aemond, it is a pleasure to meet you properly. I saw that you were part of the welcoming party for my family and I yesterday, but I wanted to formally introduce myself.”

He looks up then and she feels she may wither from the intensity with which he glares at her.

“Hm,” is all he musters, before returning his attention back to his reading.

The logical part of her knows she ought to take offense to his dismissiveness of her, however, her curiosity is far greater and she wants to know precisely why he’s so reluctant to speak to her. She walks towards him, stopping a few paces in front of where he sits, regarding him carefully.

It’s obvious that he does not enjoy the intrusion, visibly bristling and shifting haughtily in his seat. She makes no moves, determined to stand her ground until he talks to her.

Aemond sighs, closing his book and fixing her with a pointed stare. “What is it that you want exactly?”

She gives a gentle shrug of her shoulders, fingertips grazing over the smooth wood of the tabletop as she approaches him. “I thought we might be friends.”

“I don’t have friends.” He replies stiffly, reopening the tome in front of him and continuing to read.

“You must get lonely.” She watches the way his eye scans the page and smiles to herself. He isn’t really reading.

“No.” He doesn’t look up, keeping his focus firmly on the text.

“What are you reading?” She pulls out the chair next to where he sits at the head of the table and sits down.

“It wouldn’t interest you.” He says dismissively.

“Try me.” She stretches out her arms, gently drumming her fingers on the table.

He looks up then, annoyance pinching his angular features. “What do you mean?”

“Read it to me.” She fights the urge to laugh at the expression of horror that flashes across his face.

“Read to you?! Are you an infant?”

“I’m not going to leave you alone until you do, and it means you get to carry on with your book, so you might as well.”

He sighs, rolling his eye. “Fine, but I’m not starting from the beginning.”

She settles back in her chair as he reads aloud, paying rapt attention to the way his brows raise for particular sentences, the way his lips shape around each word. His voice is soothing when he’s not being petulant. A warmth blossoms in her chest at how animated he becomes. It is a history book he reads to her from, but he is almost passionate in his delivery of every word. It seems she has found common ground with Aemond, and perhaps the beginning of breaking down the walls which he appears to have built up around him.

She watches Aemond train from her chamber window every morning, and visits the library every afternoon over the next few days. Each time Aemond reads to her; books about history, philosophy and dragon lore. She finds each topic fascinating, but it perhaps has more to do with how ardently he speaks of them than her own interest or understanding. Whether he enjoys or simply endures her presence is a mystery to her, but he doesn’t turn her away and reads aloud without complaint, so she continues to come back. Each day their chairs draw closer together, until they sit shoulder to shoulder, her leaning in to follow the words along with him. He is stiff at first, seemingly unsure of her physical presence, but gradually softens, leaning into her as much as she does to him.

The day of the tourney arrives and as she is seated in the stands she looks around, noticing that Aemond is absent, despite the fact the rest of his family are all in attendance; even Viserys has made it out to spectate, though he appears to be frail and in ill health. A golden mask covers half of his face, and a maester hovers by his side, while Alicent looks on worriedly. She wonders if he’s even aware of what he’s supposed to be watching. Assuming that on account of all Aemond’s training, he will be taking part, she is surprised that as the jousting gets underway she cannot spot him.

She feels restless and bored without her new found friend, if she can even call him that, and during a commotion when a knight is unseated from his horse, she uses the distraction to sneak away back to Keep. It’s the time of day when Aemond would usually read to her, so she knows exactly where to find him.

He looks up from his book as she enters the library, the faintest of smirks pulling at the corners of his lips.

“You’re late,” He drawls. “I started without you.”

“I was at the tourney,” She replies, taking her usual seat beside him. “I thought you would be too.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” He says matter of factly.

Her eyebrows raise in shock, she’s never heard him speak so colloquially before, but she finds she rather likes it. “No ladies whose favour you’re after then?”

“No need. I’m to be betrothed to one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.”

“Lucky you! Which one?”

Aemond shrugs slightly. “I’ll choose when I fly to Storm’s End.”

“And leave three poor ladies heartbroken afterwards.” She teases with a smile.

“I hardly think so.” He mutters, stiffening with discomfort and frowning slightly.

Assuming he is being needlessly modest, she places a hand on his arm. “You must have no end of admirers.”

Aemond snatches his arm away, fixing her with an angry stare. “I do not appreciate your mockery.”

“I-I wasn’t…” She stammers, stunned by the abruptness of his reaction.

“Well, then I do not need your pity.” He utters darkly, rising from his seat and striding from the library.

She stares after him, a tightness in her chest preventing her from calling out to him. She has no idea what she has said or done to make him behave in such a way, but the urge to burst into tears is overwhelming, so she makes a hasty return to her chambers so that is able to do just that in private.

She weeps bitterly as she curls up on her bedspread, a combination of remorse for having offended her only companion in this city, and shock that such a harmless remark could have done so in the first place. As her cries subside, they give way to confusion. What had she said that had upset him so much? She had only meant to pay him a compliment. Words of flattery should not inspire such outrage. Her perplexed state gradually evolves into anger. She decides it is him in the wrong, and if he wishes to be annoyed with her then he can be.

For two days she does not speak to Aemond, fighting the urge to go to the window in the morning to watch him train, refusing the familiar path to the library that her feet long to take in the afternoons. She misses him, and the Red Keep becomes a lonely place to be without the only friend she has made within its walls. She wonders if perhaps he misses her too, but is resolute in her determination not to seek him out.

It is on the third day that she hears a soft rapping at the door to her quarters. She only ever receives visits from the Keep’s serving staff, so she calls out for them to enter. Her heart feels as though it has leapt into her throat when she sees Aemond slip through the door, softly closing it behind him.

He holds a book in his hand, and the pair of them stare at each other in silence for a few moments. She knows she should rise when in the presence of royalty, but it’s taking all of her effort just to remind herself to breathe, formalities are the furthest thing from her mind as her yearning for his company and her anger at how he’d spoken to her are at direct odds with each other.

It appears he is unbothered by her lack of formality, however, as he grips the book tightly in both hands, swallowing thickly. His right eye is almost pleading as he looks at her. “It’s been a few days…I thought I might read to you, if you’d like me to?” Though he does not say the words aloud, they are clear; I’m sorry.

She softens, unable to help the smile that spreads across her face. She’d expected him to be far too proud to have ever come to her, and yet here he was. “I’d like that,” She says; I forgive you.

Aemond seats himself next to her on the settee and begins to read. It is a volume about the Age of Heroes, and though interesting, she is barely able to register the words, just thankful to have the ease of his presence once more.

He squirms as he reads, something she is unused to seeing. Aemond is still by nature, his posture stiff and unyielding, yet he arches his back and rolls his shoulders until eventually, with a sigh, he stops reading and closes the book.

“This seat is unbearable, how can you stand it?” He grumbles.

“We could go to the library, if you’d prefer?” She offers.

“I’ve a better idea,” He says. “But you’ll need to be dressed in something warmer, much warmer. Get changed and I’ll meet you back here in a moment.”

She watches him leave, wondering what he could possibly have in mind, and why she’d need to dress warmly. It is early summer, and the sun shines brightly, regardless of this she dons her thickest clothing before Aemond returns. She notices that he too has changed, he’s wearing a long, thick jacket and leather riding gloves. Puzzled by his choice of attire, she does not have time to ask questions as he gestures for her to follow him.

He guides her out of and away from the Red Keep, the briskness of his pace causing her to break into a light sweat on account of how wrapped up she is. Her discomfort is short lived, however, replaced by a mixture of fright and awe as the sight of the largest and most monstrous beast she has ever laid eyes upon draws closer into view the further their footsteps draw them away from the center of the city.

“Are…are we going towards that?” She asks fearfully.

Aemond chuckles drily. “That is Vhagar,” He tells her proudly. “Is she not the most magnificent dragon you’ve ever seen?”

“She is the only dragon I’ve ever seen.” She replies, voice shaking slightly.

“I thought you might enjoy an opportunity to escape the Keep, and experience something more exciting than a tourney.”

“We’re going to ride her?!”

“It’s perfectly safe, I do it often. But if you’re afraid, we don’t have to.”

She chews her lip in uncertainty. The thought of flying on dragonback terrifies her, but at the same time she’d arrived in King’s Landing in search of adventure and this certainly was one. She decides to place her trust in Aemond. “I want to.”

Trembling as Aemond helps her up into the saddle before climbing on after her, she tries her best to be brave in spite of the way her stomach lurches as Vhagar takes flight. She holds onto the handles of the saddle for dear life, thankful for her thicker than usual garments as a rush of cold air gusts over them as they gain more height.

The queasiness she feels at the weightlessness subsides a little, as she feels Aemonds arms encircle her waist in order to take hold of the reins of Vhagar’s saddle. For a moment she is sure she imagines it, until she hears it again; Aemond is actually laughing. It’s the first time she’s ever heard him express such unbridled joy since she met him, and she turns slightly, taking in the view of the upward curve of his mouth, the crinkle of his seeking eye, how utterly carefree he looks. It suits him. She would endure a thousand death defying flights on Vhagar if it meant she got to see more of him like this, it is so far removed from how solemn he usually seems.

They land on a grassy cliff top, overlooking the sea, and he informs her that he has brought her to Parchments, as he helps her down, an area that overlooks Tarth and the Narrow Sea towards the Flatlands of Pentos and Myr.

“It is too loud sometimes, even in the most silent parts of the Red Keep. It’s quiet here.” Aemond tells her, shrugging off his coat and laying it upon the ground before sitting upon it. He gestures to the empty space beside him and she joins him.

“You like the quiet.” She muses, looking out sea, watching the gentle undulation of the waves as the breeze softly moves through her hair.

“It is preferable to being laughed at.”

She startles, assuming he is referring to their conversation in the library a few days’ prior. “I wasn’t–”

“I did not mean you,” He tells her, glancing quickly over at her, then returning his gaze to the horizon. “They have always laughed at me. I grow tired of it.”

She is unsure of who he means by they, but is eager to comfort him. “I think you are magnificent, Aemond, I’d never laugh at you. My compliment was genuine.”

“I know that now,” He admits. “No one has ever sought my company willingly before, or expressed that I am…desirable. It was hard for me to imagine you weren’t joking.”

Her heart aches for him. “Have you never even kissed a woman before?”

Aemond shakes his head. “Aegon took me to a pleasure house on the Street of Silk for my thirteenth name day. He said ‘time to get it wet’. I don’t really remember much of that day, just that it smelled unclean, and that when I encountered the woman I was to lay with…” He pauses, drawing in a breath. “...the sight of her spread out like that was too much. I couldn’t do it, so I turned and ran. Aegon laughed. He has always laughed. I haven’t bothered with that sort of thing since.”

She frowns, thinking back on her own experience in Flea Bottom with Aegon. “Aegon is a shit,” She tells him, earning the slightest of smiles from him. “But I am sorry that that happened to you, you deserve better. It is not supposed to be that way.”

“How should it be then?”

“You should feel safe and comfortable, it should be with someone who cares for you, who wants to take the time to learn what makes you feel pleasure.” She says wistfully, heat creeping across her cheeks.

“It sounds as though you speak from experience.” He says with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

She hesitates a moment, shame giving her pause, but she has trusted Aemond once already today and he has not failed her, so she decides to confide in him. “Yes, I am betrothed to Tommen Tully. We have…explored the various aspects of intimacy together during our courtship. If you are going to enter into an arranged marriage then it makes sense to know what you are doing, and are able to keep your partner happy.”

“Hmm, Lord Tully,” Aemond says quietly. “Lucky man!”

She giggles at the way he mimics her compliment from a few days’ prior, and they both turn their attention back to the expanse of the Narrow Sea.

It is dusk when Vhagar lands back on the outskirts of King’s Landing. Streaks of lavender, orange, pink and yellow all disappear into the horizon, slowly swallowed by the darkness of light as she climbs from the saddle with Aemond’s help.

She is taken aback when he sweeps her into his arms as she makes her dismount, pulling her close to him. He presses his lips to hers and it is filled with the clumsy inexperience that comes with the action of a first kiss, but the plushness of his mouth against hers is not unpleasant and she returns the gesture softly and slowly.

He pulls back, his eye looking deep into hers. “I feel safe and comfortable with you,” He murmurs. “And I would like for you to teach me…how to be intimate. If that is agreeable to you?”

Her stomach flutters as she stares back at him breathlessly. “Yes,” She whispers, before leaning back in again.

Aemond is a fast learner and over the coming days he becomes more confident with his kisses. He leans in to kiss her each day as he reads to her, begins walking her back to her quarters at the end of every evening so that he may kiss her goodnight, his tongue licking deftly against her own. His lips possess hers with such assertiveness that it steals her breath away, the softness of them molding to hers in a way that has her chasing forward for more with a whine when he pulls away.

She knows that she ought to feel guilty, she is betrothed to Tommen after all, but she reasons that they are not married yet, and it is unlikely that he has shied away from having fun of his own when they are apart. She is merely ensuring Aemond feels confident when the time comes for him to depart for Storm’s End in pursuit of his own betrothal. With this in mind, she does not push for more beyond what he is willing to give, waiting for him to give the signal that he is ready.

It is early evening as he walks her back from the library, his mouth moves unhurriedly against her own as he presses her back against the door to her bedchamber.

He lingers once they break apart, not bidding her goodnight as he usually would. “I thought I might…come inside, if that is fine with you?”

She nods, her breath quickening as he follows in behind her. Aemond sits himself on the edge of the bed, suddenly looking uncertain of himself.

“How do I–”

“It’s alright,” She smiles, sitting beside him. “I don’t mind taking the lead. Just tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

He nods, laying against the pillows as she gently pushes him back. Draping herself over him, she resumes their earlier kisses, deep and passionate, both savouring the taste of each other. She breaks away to trail her lips along the sharpness of his jaw as her fingers work to unbuckle his tunic. She delights in the soft sighs that he emits, unbuttoning his undershirt and admiring the hard planes of his lean torso.

“Do you ever touch yourself?” She whispers, feeling how his pulse races as she strokes her fingers over his neck.

“Sometimes…” He breathes, eyes fluttering closed as her fingertips trail across his chest.

“What do you think about?”

“Lately…” He inhales a shaky breath as her hand moves lower, toying with the laces of his breeches. “...I think of you.”

She feels the warmth of arousal pooling between her legs as she palms the hardness of him through his underclothes. Though she does not have much to compare Aemond to, he is much larger than Tommen. She cannot resist dipping her hand beneath the fabric to touch him. “And what am I doing in your thoughts?”

He hisses through his teeth as she wraps her hand around him, and she lets out a hum of satisfaction at how weighty and warm he feels against her palm as she strokes him.

“You are…fuck…you are beneath me, and I-I am inside you.”

“Is that something you’re ready for?” She questions, slowly lowering herself on the bed, mouth watering at the sight of him; long and thick, flushed pink with arousal at the tip.

“I want to be.”

“Why don’t we start with this instead…”

She licks delicately at the head of him, grinning to herself at his quiet gasp, then allowing him to pass between her lips, suckling delicately. He is slightly salty against her tongue, though not unpleasant. Releasing him, she glances up.

“G-gods…don’t stop…” Aemond all but whines, his eye screwed shut as he bucks his hips slightly.

She smirks, taking him once more into her mouth, deeper this time, bobbing her head back and forth and using her hand to stroke the length of what won’t fit. He tenses and trembles beneath her attention, his knuckles turning white with the intensity with which he grips the sheets. She readies herself as the telltale pulsation of his length indicates he is nearing his peak, swallowing as he releases down her throat with a low groan.

Wiping her mouth, she crawls to lay beside him, smiling softly as she takes in his lazy, blissed out expression; right eye hooded with pleasure and lips slightly parted.

“Can I stay with you?” He whispers.

“As long as you’d like.”

From that point on, when Aemond walks her back to her rooms he does not depart to his own. They spend every evening exploring each other, hands, lips and tongues roaming over every bared inch, before falling asleep in each other’s arms. She does not recoil when he lifts his eyepatch for the first time in front of her, instead she takes his face in her hands, turning it slightly, admiring the way his sapphire glimmers in the firelight, before softly stroking her thumb over the scar on his cheek.

He takes her that night. It is brief, as she knew it would be, a few awkward thrusts inside of her and he spills himself, embarrassed apologies uttered into the crook of her neck. She strokes his hair and tells him not to worry, they will try again once he is recovered, and they do.

She sits astride him, hips rocking back and forth, head tilted back in pleasure as the length of him stretches and fills her over and over, working at a spot inside of her that causes her to clench around him. Taking his hand, she guides it to her pearl.

“Stroke here,” She instructs, moaning wantonly as he begins to rub in tight circles.

She collapses against his chest, white hot waves of pleasure coursing through her as she falls apart, and he follows soon after.

Aemond is dutiful, fetching her moon tea without needing to be asked, and the pair fall into a happy routine of reading and dragon riding by day and lovemaking by night.

She lays against his chest, listening to the soft thud of his heartbeat as his fingers stroke through her hair.

“Thank you,” He tells her earnestly. “For all you have done for me.”

“I have done nothing but remind you of what is already there,” She replies. “You are intelligent, you fight fiercely, you are a skilled dragonrider, anyone can see that.”

“How do I fare as a lover?” He asks.

She does not need to look at him to hear the smirk in his tone and she giggles lightly. “Extremely well. Your Baratheon girl will certainly be lucky to have you.”

She hates the pang of jealousy she feels acrid and hot within her chest as she says those words, but what she detests even more is the look of sadness that flashes across Aemond’s face, his eye glancing away as the upward curve of his mouth falters. So they speak no more of it, clinging desperately to each other and the time that they have left.

On her final night in King’s Landing, Aemond fucks her into the mattress as though he means to push her through it, his grip on her hips so tight it is sure to leave bruises in its wake. She does not care though, clinging to him just as tightly, her nails digging crescent moons into his shoulder blades as she tries her best to memorise the way that he moves inside of her.

Come the morning, he sits up in the bed, his expression sullen as he watches her hurriedly throw her belongings into a chest - a task she ought to have completed the previous evening, but Aemond had kept her otherwise occupied.

“The stewards will be here for my things soon,” She says, stuffing a dress down the side of the rest of her haphazardly packed possessions. “You should leave before anyone sees you. You’ll be expected to be a part of the official send off for my family anyway.”

Slowly, Aemond rises from the mattress, walking over to her. “Don’t go,” He pleads quietly, taking her hands in his.

She could cry from the gesture; a month ago he’d have rather flung himself from the walls of the Red Keep than initiate any form of physical contact with her, let alone a gesture so intimate.

“You can’t ask that of me, Aemond,” She tells him gently, softly pressing her fingers into his palms. “It isn’t fair.”

He swallows thickly and the sincerity she sees in his eye is more than she can stand. “But I love you.”

She feels wetness rim her eyes, sharp and stinging. “And I love you. But so what? It’s not enough. We are duty bound, you and I.”

He bows his head sadly for a moment, but eventually nods. “I hope Lord Tully appreciates what a fine woman he has.”

Smiling warmly, in spite of her unshed tears, she nods. “And I hope the Baratheon girls give you a warm welcome. Be sure to kiss them all, don’t settle for what’s offered up first.”

He huffs a silent laugh, that releases itself as a heavy exhale through his nose.

“I mean it,” She urges. “This world is too small for you, never let anyone make you feel less than what you are.”

“Thank you,” He murmurs. “For everything.”

She lets go of his hands, crushing herself against his chest as she wraps her arms around him, as he envelopes her.

“Don’t forget me.”

“As if I could.”

She stares out of the carriage window as it rolls away from the Red Keep, away from King’s Landing, away from Aemond. Though she is returning to the Vale, she knows a part of her will forever remain in the capital, a part that she has imprinted upon Aemond. It is bittersweet to leave him behind. She is comforted knowing that she has pieced together the broken man she encountered when she first arrived. The world is too small a place for the likes of the Targaryen Prince, but she has given him the confidence to realise that he holds it in the palm of his hand.

[babybells123]

Umm I just realised something. Maybe I’m late to the party and reaching a bit but when Sansa dreams of having children that look like her lost siblings she says she also dreams of a girl who looks like Arya. But the only way Sansa could have a child that looks like her long faced dark haired gray eyed sister is by marrying a certain similar looking long faced dark haired gray eyed brother-cousin…

Hey there anon!

This isn't a reach at all, that is certainly the conclusion I came to upon reading that excerpt.

Not only do Sansa and Jon effectively have similar fantasies regarding domesticity (in the same book), they also specifically dream about having children named after their dead siblings, though I'll point something out about the 'looked like' and 'named after' distinction, and what really sold me on Sansa's fantasy being the missing half of Jon's.

"If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon... In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya." (ASOS Sansa II).

We know that Bran and Rickon take entirely after their Tully mother (auburn-haired and blue eyed), so Sansa yearning for children looking like in effect, herself (and her mother) makes sense on a personal level. I also think it speaks to Sansa honouring her Tully appearance, and wanting her features to be passed down as a reclamation of identity. When we consider her Alayne Stone arc, and having to disguise her very distinct hair, it's certainly relevant that Sansa desires for her future self to be untainted and genuine, if that makes sense? But I digress, onto the second aspect of this dream.

Grammatically, there is a punctuation mark to separate that particular thought from the rest. It is its own, distinct musing and George wants to emphasise the thought away from the rest. And it is so very profound not just in a Jonsa way, but in regards to Sansa's relationship with Arya. Wanting a daughter who looks like the sister she has quarrelled with, and who is plainer-looking (and has been picked on for her appearance) is so..sweet? I love it so much?? I am a pro-stark sisters truther!

Okay now for that connection to Jon...

As we know, Stark features are distinct: Somber, long-faced, brown haired and grey eyed. They are never described as particularly attractive due to this appearance (well Brandon Stark was very good looking though Ned was described as plainer faced) though I'd argue that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It's why some perspectives consider Lyanna beautiful whilst other perspectives think she was nothing special and too "wild." But yeah, Stark features are certainly distinct, there are other Houses with similar appearances but the Stark look is just ?very uniquely STARK "Winter is Coming" esque.

Sansa wanting a girl who has the Stark look is then very significant, especially when we consider the entire context: Although she is supposedly fantasising about a future with a Tyrell who has southern looks, Sansa almost entirely makes her fantasy about a mystery man where they have children who just so happen to be a blend of Stark and Tully appearances...coincidence? absolutely not!

George could have had Sansa say she wanted to name her daughter Arya, though he specifically said "looked like Arya," and isn't that beautiful!

Luckily our boy Jon just so happens to be long faced, grey eyed, and brown haired whew!

It also conveys Sansa's progressive desire to return North and I also believe it foreshadows Sansa having a Northern husband! Breaking away from the idealised beauty of the South i.e 'the golden prince' is certainly significant for Sansa. And we know that she fell in love with Waymar Royce, who resembles Jon strikingly. Huh, that's two people who appear to resemble Jon that Sansa has associated with love and children. Interesting George...Interesting....

But to summarise, yes - that is the connection I have also made, and considering that Jon's fantasy is the perfect half that includes Robb as well (the missing child from Sansa's fantasy, apart from Jon)

"I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb." (ASOS Jon XII).

occurring in the same book where that desire for a family that Jon has precedes Sansa's chapter where she builds WF in the snow and the fact that they both equate romance/love with children.... oh my poor heart cannot handle the pure softness of them. Every time I start talking about one piece of evidence, I end up going on a tangent connecting it to other things, but that is the intricate and poetic beauty of Jonsa, what can I say. Sometimes I’m afraid of opening my inbox because I immediately think it’ll be hate, so I was pleasantly surprised because I LOVE discussing this topic; one of my favourite aspects of Jon and Sansa is how compatible their dreams are.

Thanks for the ask <3

[marthastewieeee]

modern alicent hightower au.

head canons.

born september 1st, 1993 (virgo)

high femme lesbian

daughter of otto hightower, head adviser of balerion co.

from oxfordshire but moved to london at age twelve to attend an all catholic girls boarding school.

that is where she first met rhaenyra targaryen, heir to balerion co.

favourite subject: english literature and history

(she get's REALLY attached to her female English teacher)

(and still had no idea she was a lesbian...)

prefect in sixth form while rhaenyra eventually becomes head girl

absolutely adores vintage stores and drags rhaenyra to notting hill every leave weekend they possibly can

(rhae always complains but she secretly adores it)

alicent becomes vegan for a few years

(rhae does NOT like that)

otto does not want alicent to go to university truly but (through rhaenyra) viserys convinces him to allow her to apply.

alicent is allowed to apply to edinburgh and UCL.

(upon hearing that, rhae applied only to edinburgh and UCL).

both decided on edinburgh in the end.

alicent studies english literature with a minor in business.

(no one can really remember what rhae studies, it's an ongoing joke between them)

viserys pays the rent on their flat in the city centre and the two truly become roommates.

(now THAT is a real joke between the rest of their friends)

after a messy, weird, love triangle where they realised they were way more interested in each other than the exchange student (Criston Cole), they finally figured out what all their friends had been joking about.

after graduation, rhaenyra takes over balerion co. while convincing (demanding) otto to allow alicent to get her PHD in classic literature at UCL.

the two move in together in a penthouse in Knightsbridge.

Otto discovers their relationship too late and vehemently disapproves, refusing to pay for the rest of Alicent's education.

rhae murders him (no she doesn't)

rhae threatens to fire him unless he pays for her PHD course.

she fires him two years later, the night alicent receives her PHD.

alicent ends up writing bestselling fantasy novels (think shadow and bone/six of crows) while also being on call as an advisor for balerion co.

rhae proposes the day the book series becomes a New York Times bestseller (the aim alicent was always reaching for).

(Ali said yes).

they are married when they are thirty.

the wedding takes place in lake como.

laena velaryon is rhaenyra's maid of honour and emmeline tully (Alicent's cousin) is Alicent's maid of honour.

Otto refuses to attend.

Gwayne walks alicent down the aisle.

(to the instrumental of this love by Taylor Swift)

alicent goes on to win the Pulitzer Prize for her book on how catholic guilt manifests in the 21st century.

continues to write while rhae and alicent raise their children.

three carried by alicent (aegon, helaena, aemond).

three carried by rhaenyra (jacaerys, lucerys, joffrey).

alicent never allows them to meet otto.

but they have a grandparental figures in corlys and rhaenys velaryon (rhaenyra's uncle and aunt).

and they all live happily ever after <3

wardrobe.

wedding.

[dragonworshippersblog]

Can someone explain me why team green supporter have this strong belief that Rhaenyra will kill her half-siblings once she takes the throne? Analyzing the show rhaenyra never did something that might suggest that he would have killed Alicent's children, the only moment where she speak against one of them is when she had been accused of something that could have led to her death and that of her children; but for the rest of the season if somebody of the green did something questionable against her she just say nothing and endure. I saw a post weeks ago (so I don't remember the author since I didn't save it) claiming that this fear came from the killing of vaemond, but it sounds nonsense; vaemond litterally call the heir to the throne a whore and her sons, in line to inherit the throne, bastard. What she was supposed to do? What you all expected her to do? To have him get away with a cut tongue after she had been humiliated of front of all court ?

"But she publicly disobey the king's order, he said a tongue was the punishment so she made it clear that she would override the king's orders, she feels empowered to do everything "

Is not just what alicent did at ep. 7? Didn't she override king's order and tried to mutilate a five years old boy where the king publicly said that the matter was over? And yet I didn't see rhaenyra plan to kill all of the green because they could be a threat to her, she understands it to be an isolated case.

"rhaenyra is not the problem, daemon is. He would surely kill the pretenders to the throne even if Rhaenyra forbade him to do so."

Despite the fact that daemon, even if represented as impulse in the show, was never seen to be violent against his own blood (only the scene with rhaenyra but that was after the usurpation). He loves rhaenyra and viserys too, there's no reason to think he would have hurt Viserys' children in any way, despite his dislike of Alicent. In fact in the book he act against them after an usurpation, the death of her daughter and her stepson. I think he waited a long time to act, didn't he? If he had been so determined to eliminate Alicent's children, why didn't he act sooner to prevent possible usurpation? He was able to send killers into the castle in the middle of the war, why didn't he find a way to get rid of them sooner? To have them killed and make sure that suspicion did not fall on him? like poison or something similar? Because he didn't want to hurt viserys' kids, he didn't like them but neither want them killed.

After this huge introduction, rhaenyra would be the regnant queen so daemon would be a consort, nothing more. Yet why are the green convinced that daemon would not listen to rhaenyra’s orders? The answer can be safely found in their actions. The green disobey to the king's order for like more than eight years, attacking Rhaenyra, plan to deprive Rhaenyra's son of his inheritance, plotting a usurpation and all the other stuff. They are convinced that this is normality (disobey the king's order and get away with it, in fact after alicent cut rhaenyra's arm she said to her father that viserys may punish her and his response was not to worry bc he wouldn't do anything).

"the realm wouldn't accept her / her bastard. People would have looking for aegon to be king"

Rhaenyra was supported by 53 houses, and four big house (stark, tully, arryn, greyjoy) against 28 house and two big house (lannister and baratheon) of aegon; if the realm had not accepted her nor her sons, how do you explain the fact that she has nearly twice of the supporters as aegon? Also, Rhaenyra's eldest sons were beloved and demonstrate themselves to be valid claimants to the throne. Cregan and jace arrange the marriage between cregan' son and jace's future daughter, lord manderly want joffrey to be betrothed with his youngest daughter. Lord borros, one of the most misogynist men quoted in fire and blood (had four daughters and yet spent all his life wishing to have a son to succeed him, and claim that a son is more important than a daughter) ask lucerys which daughters of him he will marry in exchange for his support. It doesn't seem like people avoided them, quite the opposite. Not to mention, jace is the only person in fire and blood who is defined as a "worthy heir to the throne" also by green supporter themselves. And in the book their kinship is only speculated, by none other than Alicent and his children and no one believe this gossip after their eggs have hatched. Also when aegon became king, he didn't declare them as illegitimate, the author himself recognized them as laenor' son.

If aegon wouldn't directly challenge rhaenyra's throne, the house that support him wouldn't start a rebellion; they would literally not have had the material to win, also because the dragons would have flanked the far superior armies. This is just an excuse used in the attempt to justify that the scheming of team green divided the realm, not the ascension of a woman.

In conclusion if the green stayed on their place they would not have played as important a role as before, otto for example, but they would all still be alive.

"As you make your bed, so you must lie in it", and the green are the only one to blame for their downfall.

[fandom-puff]

I'm constantly switching between thoughts about those three men whenever I'm thinking of Westeros. I just can't decide between being cuddled and protected by Sandor, him just treating you like a fragile little kitten he needs to take care of, or being Lady Lannister and having one of the most powerful and stoic men wrapped around my finger, being his Lady wife and royally pissing off Cersei. On the other hand though, riding Ned in front of a fire sounds great too. 👉👈

Omg 😵‍💫😵‍💫 I went a liiiiitle bit overboard. There’s some reference to smut but nothing too explicit.

Living a peaceful life in the country with Sandor, far far away from the political cess pit of the capital. Raising chicken, maybe a cow or goat, travelling for miles on Stranger to trade goods with other farmers. Perhaps raising a few children of your own, or a dog or two… or both. Peaceful and rustic, without having to worry about saying the wrong thing or making a misstep in court. Not being a Ser and a Lady… just being Sandor and YN

Entering an arranged marriage to a man old enough to be your father, or even grandfather. Stepping into Casterly Rock or the tower of the hand as a meek as a kitten, afraid of the power your new husband (and his adult children) wield. Your marriage beginning with dutiful formality; a hand tucked into the crook of his elbow during walks; murmurs of ‘Lord Husband’ and ‘Lady Wife’; occasional late night visits to your chambers, for the purpose of procreation. But a frightened little kitten has no place at court, or the Rock. So Tywin has handmaidens and squires present you with bolts of rich red velvet, regal gold brocade, delicate lace imported from the Free Cities. He sends tailors to fit you with gowns more befitting of a noble lady rather than a maiden, Smithies to fashion intricate metalwork like belts and pendants, jewellers to craft stunning pieces with the rubies and gold that represent House Lannister. He has you meet with the Castellan of the Rock, the Maester, the cooks, the blacksmiths- all to teach you how to run Casterly Rock in his absence. He hosts meetings with the vassal houses of the West to ensure they respect you. To disrespect the lady of Casterly Rock is to insult Lord Lannister himself. What starts as a formal, cordial arranged marriage soon turns into Tywin fashioning you into Lady Lannister- not a trophy wife to sit pretty and sew, but a political force to work in tandem with him, slowly earning the respect of the Old Lion of Lannister.

Marrying Eddard Stark (because his honour would not allow him to take a mistress) after the death of Catelyn Tully. Initially your role is to run winterfell while Ned runs the North, and to see to it that the five stark children have a maternal figure to aid them through their grief. He won’t even share your bed for the first few months of marriage, and even then, the consummation was brief, done out of necessity to the gods to legitimise the marriage. But as the frigid winter sets in and the farmers leave their fields for the warmth of their homes, you and Ned spend more and more time in one another’s company. In silence, but nonetheless together. As the months pass, Ned’s grief begins to fade as he watches you with his children. Robb turns to you for advice and reassurance, the burden of being the heir hanging over him; Sansa begins to follow your every move, learning the ways of being a noble lady as she matures; Arya likes you, because you let her run around with her brothers, and had promised to teach her about the dragons of Old Valeria; Bran is keen to show you how high he can climb, and he enjoys the stories you and Old Nan make up; young Rickon enjoys your company, nuzzling to your breast when he is tired. Even Jon Snow seems at ease around you, and the bastard of Winterfell is allowed to sit at the high table with the rest of the Starks. Seeing you with his children awakens something in Ned. He realises your commitment to House Stark, despite being closer to Robb’s age than his. He begins to invite you to his chambers at night, to share hot ale and talk in front of the fire, or to read in comfortable silence. Months of waiting and restraint comes to a head when a gentle, dutiful kiss Goodnight just outside his door descends into one of passion and longing, and passing squires and servants watch in knowing amusement as Ned gathers you in his arms, his cloak enveloping you and guides you back into his rooms, kicking the door shut. You make love that night, on the thick fur skins on the floor in front of the fire, and afterwards you lay, entwined with one another as the warm orange of the flames bathes your naked skin in its glow. As the dull ache of his passion begins to bloom in your muscles, he helps you up and guides you to bed. Within minutes he has you again, and as you nuzzle into his side, fast asleep, he sighs softly, rubbing your hip, his fingers tracing over your belly. Perhaps his seed will take root in your womb. He has five children already, but he would like some with you. You deserve children of your own, and with winter coming, survival of the young is not always guaranteed.

[hell-heron]

So. Nedbert Timeline. Especially good shippy moments/fanfic hooks highlighted

(sources: A search of ice and fire, A wiki of ice and fire, this fanmade timeline for some travel times)

262 - Robert born, around the middle/later part of the year probably. Brandon born, a little earlier the same year

263 - Ned is born

264 - Stannis is born, earlier in the year. Rickard visits KL but I wanna say doesn't bring the babes? But possibly that's when the fostering is decided if he had occasion to meet Steffon also

266 - Lyanna is born, late in the year, I really want her to be 15 at Harrenhal lmaooo

268 - Benjen is born (canonically have a similar age difference to Arya and Bran which I believe is 18 months) . Robert and Stannis visit court with their father, which would have made perrrrrfect sense as a stop on the way to the Eyrie where Robert was left with Jon at KL and Stannis went home with dad, but nooo. Couldn't have it.

271/272 - Ned and probably also Robert begin their fostering at the Eyrie. Meh. It's late fall or, if 272, the beginning of a "terrible cruel" winter, btw, great time to do this journey to the mountains. Great job making safe choices for these children, Rickard, Steffon and GRRM. Anyhow GRRM stated both boys were able to visit home during this time and divided their time between home and the Eyrie freely after turning 16. During this time, they also engaged in an orange fight in the great hall of the Eyrie

277 - Renly is born

278 - Cassana and Steffon leave early in the year to find a bride for Rhaegar. Robert turns 16 and goes home. Probably about the end of the year, Cassana and Steffon die in a shipwreck in the waters of Storm's End on their return.

279 - Rhaegar and Elia betrothed. Robert abandons lordship and young brothers to go straight back to the Eyrie and conceives Mya (he must be 16/early 17 as according to Ned he was younger than Mya is in AGOT, love these riddles). Note that I can't imagine Robert right now gleefully embarking on a ship, at least not from Storm's End, and KL-Vale is like two months' journey by land according to Tyrion's movements. He really peaced out of there fast. Possibly Ned is absent/has also gone briefly home for his majority? The winter also begins here around mid-year

280 - Wedding of Rhaegar and Elia which may or may not be attended by the Vale gang. Mya is born. By this time both boys are back in the Eyrie as Ned held Mya as a babe. Princess Rhaenys is born in the last quarter of the year also.

(some point between 280-281) : Ned visits Winterfell where Robert and Lyanna's betrothal is announced and they have the conversation about Mya and Robert's faithfulness

281 - Tourney of Harrenhal. Ned states he "came down from the Eyrie" to go there. This is in the third quarter of the year according to vibes I get. False spring lasts less than two months, in the last quarter of the year it's winter again. In the last month of the year, Aegon Is born.

282 - In the first month of the year, Rhaegar vanishes with Lyanna. Around the same time, Littlefinger and Brandon duel with all the drama that is involved. The Cat/Brandon wedding is probably scheduled around the second/third month but we know that doesn't happen. All this time however Ned appears to be in the Vale pointedly not attending 👀👀. Brandon and Rickard die. Various drama in the Vale with Ned and Robert going home to raise their hosts. Do Mya's vague memories of Robert work with her being two years old when she last saw him?? Anyhow. Ned and Robert spend the rest of the year apart to raise their banners and for the latter fight at Summerhall and Ashford

283 - Largely using the wiki at this point bc twoiaf says The Trident was in 282 and just no. Spring probably begins at some point this year. At some point between late 282 and early 283 Robert is wounded, hides at the Peach and conceives Bella. Ned and Hoster Tully arrive to save his ass. Battle of the Bells. Ned and Jon's wedding to Lysa and Cat, all within the first couple months of the year I believe based on Robb's nameday. Battle of the Trident - Robert is once again wounded (by Rhaegar??) so Ned goes to assault KL alone. At this point it's decided Robert will be king. The sack has to be within about a year of the start of the war, so first half of the year? Robert reaches the city, pardons are made, Ned is horrified by Robert's reaction to Aegon and Rhaenys's deaths. Ned leaves to interrupt the siege of Storm's End and do the Tower of Joy stuff.

284 - By this point it's summer. Stannis's assault of Dragonstone. Robert marries Cersei. DOES NED ATTEND THAT WEDDING? Canon says Lyanna's death reconciles them after their fight about the the Targaryen babies, so they saw each other after the Tower of Joy. Would Ned really bring Jon to KL, even if hidden? Did he send him home with Howland and went to Winterfell himself only later? Cat does say by the time she reached Winterfell "Jon and his wet nurse had already taken up residence" though also that "Ned brought Jon home with him". All this, btw, taking in account all the travel times, implies a Robb possibly 1 year old being able to walk and talk by the time he first saw his father, with relative disruption of bonding and possible struggle for Cat to get him to accept this strange man initially, all while she's in agony over Jon... take notes, NedCat week participants!

(it's not known whether Robert and Ned had any occasions to meet again in this 5 year span. A winter comes and goes sometime in this period)

289 - Greyjoy rebellion. Seems to have been spring/later summer. Ned and Robert are together for the siege and assult of Pyke. Unknown whether Ned also attends the tourney of Lannisport or any further celebrations. As we know Robert chooses to celebrate the happy reunion by immediately renewing Ned's child murder trauma from their last argument by giving him his own child hostage <3 unknown whether that was Robert's idea or Ned's ofc but I prefer the first personally.

292/293 - Seems to have involved a visit of Cat and Ned to the south as Cat recalls meeting 5 years ago Lysa and infant Sweetrobin and Ned recalls seeing Tommen during his breastfeeding years, however he claims to not have seen Robert after the Greyjoy rebellion. Interesting choice, could def use some fic and fanwanking. At this point Robb's 9, Sansa 6, Arya 3/4, Bran 2 - Joffrey 6, Myrcella 2, Tommen 1 - Theon 13 - Sweetrobin around 1 too but a few months younger than Tommen, to give an idea.

298 - Robert's visit, we know what happens

[bellarkeselection]

Kingslayer Prisoner pt 3

Part 1

Part 2

Jaime and Y/n finish their conversation in his tent and they get closer than they thought they would

If things weren't already complicated enough with me being a Tully who just lost her family and Jaime being the Lannister that caused it. No now I was standing in front of the man trying to stop my hands from shaking before I made an attempt to close the wound. To top it all off the golden lion was shirtless in front of me and I could feel my face was hot meaning I was a blushing mess before his green eyes. “Jaime…I…I don’t know what to say. I’ve never even kissed anyone until the other night. I don’t know what I feel for you…argh seven hells!”

“But you do feel something for me though. I’m not wrong about that am I Y/n?” He lifted his head slightly upward meeting my blue gaze. He reached for with his real hand wrapping his fingers around the needle causing me to drop the blade onto the floor.

Jaime gently tugged me forward where I stumbled over my own boots straight onto his lap. “Jaime - Woah. Maybe I do but I don’t really know what to do with something like that.” I shook my head at him with my hands resting on his shoulders so I didn’t fall of his lap, not like he would let me hit the hard dirt ground.

The golden lion slowly raises his real hand up to cradle my cheek in his palm. He leans forward closing the gap slowly but what caught me off guard was the fact that he was kissing me. “Typically this happens, Tully girl.” I gasped taken back by his forewordness. But something inside me decided to not fight against the feeling immediately yet I rather wrapped my arms around his neck kissing him back as best as I could since I wasn't sure if I was doing it right.

"Am I doing this the wrong way. I mean you're with your sister. And I was just disowned by my uncle and all...mmm." I moaned into another kiss when Jaime crashed his lips back onto mine and I couldn't fight back om how good it felt to kiss him.

Everyone in the seven kingdoms knew who this man was now. Everyone knew that he broke his vow and killed the Mad King. That he slept with his sister. To create three bastard children that everyone thought were Robert Bartheon's. "I'm not thinking about my sister. I haven’t been able to think about my sister since I got to meet you. You've consumed my every thought, Y/n Tully."

“What are we supposed to do with this then. You’re a Kingsguard and I am the abandoned niece of Brynden Tully. We can’t just go running off together like in the takes of royalty can we?” I drew back searching hus eyes for any hesitation knowing that he was probably playing with me since most didn’t trust any Lannister.

Quickly I attempted to move off of his lap yet he only tightened his arms around my waist keeping me closer to him. “We could run away, Y/n. My lord father is gone and that means that I could be in charge of his house.”

“But what about your vow to the Kingsguard for life. To take no wife, hold no lands and father no children. You’d break a vow to be with me a girl you know nothing about.” Pushing my hands against his chest I tried to put distance between us somehow.

Jaime blurted out where I stiffened my back while he spoke. "I've already broken so many vows. I don’t care what people say of me anymore. Not if it gives me the chance to spend my life with you. So what do you say, will you become Lady Lannister. Will you be with me?"

Staring at the lion holding me close to him my heart was beating against my chest. I was always confident compared to most young girls who would see his handsome face. “Yes…yes Jaime. If you wish to run from your sister. I will run with you.” I mumbled out blushing longingly at him moving my hands to rest on his shoulders to steady myself.

“Can I kiss you now cause I’m not good with words for long.” He asked me moving his real hand back up to cradle my face in his palm.

“You may.” I nodded simply with a childish smile.

Without much of a warning Jaime Lannister crashed his lips onto mine deeply and I fling my arms around his neck kissing him back. Our bodies were pressed together as much as we possibly could. He had his golden hand on my lower back with his other running through my auburn hair until we needed air. “I would have never become a Kingsguard if I knew I would get to marry you, Y/n.” He declares through a raspy voice focusing his bright green eyes on me.

Once I had caught my breath I moved my hands underneath my tunic shirt removing it and my trousers before I pressed my lions back onto his. The Lion immediately kissed back where he picked me up never breaking the kiss. He walked towards the bed and dropped me down to the bed. My back hit the soft silk sheets before I rose up from the bed staring at him softly. “I don’t know what to do. My sisters each had different opinions of how this is supposed to feel…”

“And how did they describe it, hmm?” He brought my fingers to his lips, kissing them softly for a moment before releasing them.

“Cat said that it will hurt at first but then after that you will learn to enjoy it. And Lysa says that it's like someone is trying to break you. I’m not really sure which one of them I should believe.” I wrapped my arms around myself watching him when he climbed off the bed standing before me.

Jaime shifted his gaze downward over my entire body. Moving my fingers down I searched for something to grab onto so I was used to being able to calm myself down by archery practice or with a sword. But right now I didn’t have much of a choice. “If you want to know what this will be like I’ll tell you this. It’s uncomfortable and they’re will be pain like you’ve taken a hit from a sword. But I’ll do my best to make it enjoyable for you.”

“I trust you, Jaime. I owe you my life and my heart after all.” I grinned up at the golden lion wrapping my hands around his neck drawing him in for another kiss before our bodies became one. Both of us moaning and kissing like crazy until we reached our end point. Jaime laid down beside me when we got underneath the covers holding each other. “I guess it wasn’t so bad I became your prisoner.”

He kissed the crown of my head squeezing me against his warm chest smiling down at me seeing my eyes slowly close and we both drifted off to sleep for the night. “I’d take you prisoner again if it means I get to call you mine.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️ Tag list - @makeshift-prime @rosie-posie08 @lover-of-books-and-tea

[spatialwave]

love to think about my favourite characters and ships and their future successes. currently imagining our beloved reader with angus tully, having met during their years at harvard.

during school, angus had been focused on history courses and graduating with the means of learning about ancient civilizations and teaching the younger generation about it—inspired by someone in his youth that you heard a lot about. you found yourself enthralled by english literature, hoping one day to write a series of fantasy novels.

you supported angus by agreeing to explore the world together, side by side.

by the age of twenty-five the two of you had backpacked across europe twice. your passion was the perfect match for this lifestyle, since writing seemed to come so naturally when you were travelling and far from your comfort zone.

by twenty-seven you’d written a novel that had sold more copies than you could’ve imagined, while angus found himself back at harvard teaching courses he’d graduated from less than a decade prior.

by thirty, you two had settled down in a quaint home big enough to start a family. it was scary for angus, who had promised himself when he was younger that he would never have kids because he didn’t want them to end up like him or his father. you reminded him, that regardless of his DNA, you would be there to help guide him and your children toward the goodness of the world.

you were angus’ rock, as he was your creative muse.

the two of you spent the rest of your days together, finding happiness in each other and the successes of your future family that carried on your spirit with each generation.

[agentrouka-blog]

I was rereading AGOT and I forgot how… soft Sansa is?? Especially from Arya’s POV??? Like just look at her,,,,

Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. “Sansa’s work is as pretty as she is,” Septa Mordane told their lady mother once.” She has such fine, delicate hands.”

…

Sansa was chatting away happily as she worked. Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik’s little girl, was sitting by her feet, listening to every word she said, and Jayne Poole was leaning over to whisper something in her ear.

“What are you talking about?” Arya asked suddenly.

Jeyne gave her a startled look, then giggled. Sansa looked abashed. Beth blushed. No one answered. 

“Tell me,” Arya said.

Jeyne glanced over to make certain that Septa Mordane was not listening. Myrcella said something then, and the septa laughed along with the rest of the ladies. 

“We were talking about the Prince,” Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss.

That’s why she was abashed? Because she was caught talking about Joffrey? 🥺

…

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment. “Beth, you shouldn’t make up stories,” Sansa corrected the younger girl, gently stroking her hair to take the harshness out of her words. She looked at Arya. “What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you think?”

“Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said.

Sansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.”

This appears to be said with genuine sympathy; note her sighing, and think about Jon’s station in-world compared to Joffrey’s.

“He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room.

Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. It was frowning now. “What are you talking about, children?”

“Our half brother,” Sansa corrected, soft and precise. She smiled for the septa. “Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today,” she said.

Sansa lying in a way that compliments Myrcella (“Princess Myrcella smiled uncertainly at the compliment”) and benefits Arya by making her look good???

😍😍😍

…

Everyone was looking at her. It was too much. Sansa was too well bred to smile at her sister’s disgrace, but Jeyne was smirking on her behalf. Even princess Myrcella looked sorry for her.

…

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

AHH I LOVE HER SM

Anyway I just wanted to rant about how 🌷🌹🎀🧸😍🥹🥰 she is!!!

I appreciate your rant, thank you!!

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hey if you don't mind could you please do a robb stark x reader? Idk how but maybe they survive the Red Wedding and she feels anxious about everything and leading robb to express his trauma and then it's just them comforting each other

- thank you <3

Whatever May Come

Request: Hey if you don't mind could you please do a robb stark x reader? Idk how but maybe they survive the Red Wedding and she feels anxious about everything and leading robb to express his trauma and then it's just them comforting each other

Hi! I’m so sorry it took so long to get to this, thank you for being patient. Thank you for the request, this is my first time writing for Robb. To make sense of the story a little bit, the reader is a Tyrell. Her sister is Margaery and her grandmother is Olenna. Also, I’m referencing the Vale in this fic, please pretend that it’s close to Riverrun.

Also, I wrote out Talisa for this request, obviously. She’s replaced by the reader, but the reader isn’t pregnant. She and Robb get hurt, but escape. The rest of the events still unfold as seen in the show, but Robb survives and escapes before the end. Also, I know Arya was there when everything happened, but I’m not writing her in either so I can just focus on the request.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

(Warnings: swearing, death, blood and gore, weapons, guilt and trauma, slight mentions and allusions to sex, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You had grown up in Highgarden, with your sister Margaery. On Robb’s sixteenth nameday, he was informed of your Father’s and his father’s plans to eventually wed you both. You had met a few times before, when your Father would bring you along to the feasts at Winterfell. 

The North did not have many allies. They were an independent nation, content to govern themselves. But just as the Tully’s swore fealty to the Starks, resulting in Catelyn’s betrothal to Ned, the Tyrells did the same. 

As the second born daughter, and third child overall to the Tyrell family, your position was not as highly valued as your siblings. Loras was a knight, revered around the realm for his charm and skill in combat. Margaery was cunning and beautiful, sure to make for a lucky match with any deserving Lord of the realm. They were both destined for greatness.

You, however, didn’t have a fate as secure. Sure, your dowry was sizable, and your family valued. But you had no real promise for climbing the ladder. You’d eventually be the wife of a respectable Lord, and Mother to his children. It wasn’t a fate you wanted, but you endured it all the same. 

Robb would be Lord of Winterfell one day, and Warden of the North. Your Father had a soft spot for you, and wanted you to be happy, and marry well. Luckily, Ned had a respect for your House, and approved of you enough to court you with his son. He requested that you come to stay with his family, so he could see whether or not you were the right fit for marrying into his family.

You were sent from your home to Winterfell, arriving on Robb’s name day. 

You were scared, dreading the life ahead of you that you had been sold into. You hadn’t seen Robb in years, unable to make it to an annual feast since the two of you were mere children. 

But Robb was the perfect gentleman, instantly easing your fears the moment he greeted you at the gate with his father, a kind smile on his face. 

You instantly clicked, becoming best friends. Neither of your families ever confirmed it, but you both knew that one day, you’d be promised to each other forever. It was like a dream come true. You couldn’t have asked for better.

It turned into a nightmare the day Winterfell received word that Ned had been arrested on charges of treason, and would be sentenced to death. In just a few days, Lords from all over the realm sworn to House Stark flocked to support their new King, effectively bringing everyone into an all out war. 

Robb refused to let you come with him, wanting you and his mother safe and out of harm’s way. You and Catelyn had other plans, eventually leaving Winterfell and joining Robb in the fight. 

In the midst of a war, as the proclaimed King in the North, Robb was responsible for the planning and executing of battle strategies. He knew his enemies were strong, relentless, and viewed as invincible by the common people. 

If he could take Casterly Rock, it would prove to the people that Tywin Lannister was not as strong as he seemed, and that the North had a good chance of winning the war. In order to take Casterly Rock, Robb would have to march his army through the Twins, a piece of land owned by Walder Frey. 

In the chaos of battle after battle and the constant moving of camps, you and Robb had nearly forgotten your family’s plans of marrying you to each other. 

That is until Lord Frey asked Robb to marry one of his daughters, in exchange for passage through his land and the use of his men. 

You told Robb to agree to it. If it came down to choosing you, or choosing his men, you wanted him to choose his men. If it meant that he would win the war with the least amount of casualties on your side, it was the only option he had, at least in your mind. You loved Robb, that was clear to anyone who took more than a second to watch the pair of you together. But you’d settle for being a mistress, or go so far as to give him up entirely, if it meant keeping him alive. He had to win. 

Even if he had to do it without you.

As infuriating as it could be at times, Robb was an honorable man. He would not marry a woman if his heart belonged to another, and he refused to give you up. 

You had told him it was a stupid idea. But no amount of trying to convince him would change his mind once it was set. He was one of the most stubborn men you had ever met, and you knew it wasn’t worth wasting more breath arguing over. You were married in a small ceremony, after Robb decided he couldn’t wait any longer to be with you. 

Every day, he woke up and risked his life for a cause much bigger than himself. He told you that he couldn’t go on, knowing that he wasn’t savoring everything he held dear to him. He wouldn’t take you for granted for another day, not when each day could be his last.

Even his mother agreed, finally approving the match and allowing you to marry.

Afterwards, there was still the matter of Walder Frey, and Robb’s promise to him.

As a compromise, Lord Frey agreed to marry Robb’s uncle, Edmure, to one of his daughters, in exchange for passage through his land. Robb kept his promise, and convinced his uncle to marry one of the daughters.

You attended a celebration, in honor of Edmure and his betrothed. 

Lord Frey allowed you into his home, extending his hospitality to you and the Northmen. Robb gave his apologies to Lord Frey, his daughters, and his granddaughters. You gave your apologies for your part in it as well. It was dismissed as water under the bridge, and the festivities continued. 

That night, while the men made camp outside, a small group of you attended the wedding. 

You stood beside Robb during the ceremony, watching as Lord Frey led his daughter down the aisle, where Edmure anxiously waited at the end. When the bride reached the end of the aisle, her father removed her veil, revealing his daughter to the room.

You let out a quiet gasp, and Robb turned to you, whispering in your ear. 

“What is it?”

“She’s beautiful,” you said, keeping your eyes on her. “You may have missed an opportunity here, I regret to admit.”

Robb fought a smile, returning his gaze to the betrothed. “Don’t be daft. You’re the most beautiful woman in this room, and you know it.”

You felt the heat creep up to your cheeks, ever so slightly shaking your head.

“Hush. Pay attention.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice. “Yes, My Queen. As you command.”

—

After the ceremony, the festivities were moved into the banquet hall. Men lined the banisters overhead, playing tunes for the guests. People laughed, danced, and chattered while the servants came around with ale. A group in the middle had taken to dancing, or for a more accurate phrase, stumbling around drunk. 

Robb laughed as he watched them, making you smile. The war had kept his smile from him for so long, it had been ages since you'd seen it or heard him laugh.

Somewhere throughout the night, Lord Edmure and his new bride had been whisked away for the bedding ceremony, a sight that you rolled your eyes at.

“It’s tradition,” Robb said, grabbing your hand in his.

“A barbaric tradition. As if it isn’t already a humiliating enough experience for a girl to be with a man for the first time. Now she’ll have half of the party in there, drunk and watching.”

Robb smiled softly at you as you spoke, squeezing your hand. “I couldn’t say no, darling. Lord Frey is already quite cross with me, we have to give him his little joys. My Uncle and Lady Frey were smiling, it isn’t as if I’ve forced them to do anything they don’t want to do.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you said, smiling back. “It doesn’t make it any less of a stupid tradition. I pity her.”

“Oh, what would you know? You didn’t have to do it,” he teased, grinning.

“And you were all the luckier for it. I wouldn’t have been as nice as I was, which if I recall correctly, you seemed to very much enjoy. You’d have left our chambers taking a few drunk Lords to the Maester and returned to a locked door. I do hope he knows how to properly heal broken noses.”

Robb let out a chuckle at your words, warming your heart at the sound of it. “Lucky I forbade it then, aren’t I? Saved a few people from a bloody evening.”

“And yourself from a rather unfortunate one, as well. I’d count us both lucky, Your Grace,” you teased back, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

The night continued on, the festivities still lively. Across the hall, Lady Catelyn was sitting with her uncle and Lord Bolton. A servant came over to fill their cups, when Lord Bolton abstained. 

You raised a brow, listening in on his words as best you could.

“I never drink, My Lady. It dulls the senses.”

“That’s the point,” the Blackfish said, standing to find a bathroom. 

You watched the path he took to walk out, stilling in your chair when you noticed that the hall doors had been shut just as he left. It was a wedding and a feast, people should have been able to come and go as they pleased. Why would the doors be shut? Lady Catelyn seemed to notice as well, standing up as a few stray men in armor entered the room.

The men on the balcony played a solemn tune, one you recognized to be The Rains of Castamere. 

You were not an idiot. You had heard that song before, you knew its origins. Your Grandmother, the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell, raised you and your sister well. She taught you to pay attention to every detail, and to never walk into a room without knowing every crevice of it. You had learned from the best. And you knew something was wrong. 

Lady Catelyn knew it, too.

You turned to your husband, grabbing his arm. “Robb–”

“Your Grace,” Lord Frey interrupted, standing up and silencing the room.

Robb stood up, walking to stand in front of Lord Frey’s table at the front of the room. You slowly and quietly backed your chair away from the table while everyone took their seats, giving yourself room to stand quickly. You tried to ignore the pit in your stomach, but it wouldn’t let you ignore it. Trusting your instincts, you slowly reached for your boot, where you kept a dagger inconspicuously strapped to it. 

That was another thing your Grandmother taught you. To always be prepared, to be one step ahead, and to always be the one to surprise.

“I feel I’ve been remiss, in my duties,” Lord Frey said, eyes on Robb. “I’ve given you meat and wine and music…but I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve. My King has married and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift.”

“Robb!” Catelyn suddenly called out, slapping Lord Bolton across the face, who bolted across the room the second he could get free. 

Robb turned just in time to see one of Walder Frey’s soldiers, coming at you with a dagger. Just as you felt a hand grab your shoulder and a sharp blade graze your throat, you dislodged the dagger from your boot, spinning around and plunging it into your attacker’s throat.

Robb moved to rush to you, but one of the men on the balcony shot an arrow at him, sticking him in the shoulder. He let out a groan, stumbling back. Across the room, his mother had been shot as well.

“No!” You screamed, diving to the floor as arrows began to fly, massacring the Northmen inside. 

Robb had been struck with another arrow, sending him tumbling to the ground. You grasped for him, hooking your arms under his and straining to pull him as close to you as you could. Shielded partially by the table, you held your blade’s hilt between your teeth, checking Robb’s wounds. He was bleeding, but luckily was still conscious, just in shock. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, dazed.

“Quiet,” you whispered, hushed. “I’m getting us out of here.”

Screams echoed throughout the hall, and you shielded Robb as men scrambled to get free. Chaos erupted around you, all while Walder Frey sat at his table, his goblet raised. 

You scanned around the room, looking for your best way out. You pulled Robb up, snapping the ends of the arrows off. If you pulled them out, he could bleed out. It was easier this way, and he’d make it long enough to be treated. He groaned in pain, tears brimming in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, cradling his face. “You have to help me. You have to stand up. We just have to get to that corridor, it’s unmanned. Walder’s son was guarding it earlier, he isn’t there anymore. Robb, please. I can’t do this without you.”

“Mother,” he whispered, leaning up. “Where is she?”

You looked around, spotting her under a table. She had pulled an arrow from her back, and was reaching for the blade of a dead man on the floor. Suddenly, she was grasped by her hair and pulled out from under the table.

“No–”

You covered Robb’s mouth with your hand, willing him to be quiet. “If they see us, we’ll both die. I can’t let you die, I won’t.”

He struggled in your grip, and you bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. You shifted him off your lap, gripping your blade tight. “I’ll help her, alright? Please stay here. Please.”

Before he could protest, you began crawling out from under the table. You eased your way as out of sight as you could, following where Catelyn had been dragged. She was doing her best to fight off her captor, and was successful, if only for a moment. 

Soldier’s came to the man’s aid, holding her still as they brought her in front of Lord Frey’s table. 

“What shall we do with her, sire?”

Lord Frey pondered it a moment, smirking. Lady Catelyn fought with her life, scratching and kicking her captors, drawing blood. They groaned and faltered as she screamed, clawing to get free. 

Finally, Lord Frey pointed to her, before calling over more of his men. “Kill the bitch.”

You watched in horror as her hair was grabbed by a man from behind, her head tilted back. In the end, it took five men to hold her still, hardly able to contain her. A blade was passed to the closest man, and her throat was slit. She crumpled to the floor in a pool of her own blood, her eyes still open and staring right through you. 

You scrambled to get back to Robb, who had pushed himself up to his knees. Tears were freely falling down his face, and he let out a sound of anguish as you slid to his side, pulling him into you. 

“Don’t look,” you said, holding him tight. “Don’t look. Listen to me, Robb. We have to get out of here. We have to keep fighting, alright? Are you hearing me?”

He nodded into your shoulder, pulling his head up. Your heart ached as you saw the look on his face, nothing but pure agony. He willed himself to be strong, to be strong for you. He shelved his emotions, his face growing cold as he looked around. Roose Bolton had reentered the room, presumably looking for the two of you. Robb turned his attention back to you, grabbing your hand.

“I’m hearing you. Where do we go?”

You pointed to the corridor in the corner of the room, still left unmanned. “We have to go that way. It will lead deeper into the castle, but away from the camps outside. He will have sent most of his men outside to kill our armies.”

Robb seethed, his eyes filled with rage and sorrow. You shook your head, squeezing his hand. 

“Robb, listen to me. We will avenge them. All of them. And we will get revenge for your Mother. The North will always remember, and they will never forgive. We’ll gather our armies. We’ll fight, and we’ll win. We have been betrayed, but we have not lost. We will win, I promise you that…but only if we get out of here. It will mean nothing, and they will have died for nothing, if we don’t get out of here.”

Robb hurriedly nodded, placing your dagger back in your boot. He reached for a dead man’s sword, passing it to you. He unsheathed his own sword, crawling out from beneath the table. He reached for your hand, quickly pulling you up. 

“You know how to use it, and you must. Hold on to my coat. Stay behind me, and whatever you do, don’t let go.”

You nodded, holding onto him. You gripped the sword tight in your free hand, the other clutched tightly to Robb’s coat. You wildly looked around, waiting for an opening. The second one cleared, you yelled for him to go, quickly following after him.

Robb cut down every man in your path that night.

Every soldier that got within a few feet of you both, he cut down without hesitation. You clung to him, stabbing and slicing whatever came near you. Together, you made it out of the hall and into the corridor, where you took the lead. 

You led the pair of you out the back of the castle, while the front was in battle. Together, you fled into the night, trying your hardest not to listen to the sound of your men’s screams. 

—

That night, you fled on foot. Robb was injured, and couldn’t travel fast. Luckily, a few bands of men had escaped the Frey’s attack, and found you on the road with a few horses. You rode through the night all the way to the Vale, where you arrived in the early morning. 

Robb’s Aunt, the Lady Arryn, allowed you and your men into her home, as you seeked asylum. 

You trusted her well enough. After all, she was Catelyn’s sister. While you were not particularly close with either woman, a familiar name brought you comfort. Stark, Arryn, Tully, it was all name to a house you and Robb would be welcome home in. 

Robb was seen by the Maester, who bandaged him up as best he could. He told you to keep Robb off his feet as best you could for the next few days. It was best to lie low anyways. Although the Eyrie was loyal to the North, and would protect the man named King in the North, there was still the possibility of spies and betrayal. 

Just as you got Robb into bed in your chambers, a raven arrived from Riverrun. You promised him you’d be back shortly, and went into the throne room to hear Lady Arryn deliver the message.

The Blackfish, Catelyn’s uncle, had escaped the Twins and returned to his home to prepare his army for a potential battle with the Lannister army. He would hold his fort, and await for further instruction. Edmure Tully had been captured. Roose Bolton had betrayed the North. Tywin Lannister offered to name him Warden of the North, only if he was successful in assassinating you and Robb. Your deaths and the death of your army would end the war, allowing the Lannister’s to pull their army back to King’s Landing. 

Although the attempts on your life were unsuccessful, others weren’t. Nearly three quarters of the combined army who had followed you to the Twins were slaughtered there. The rest narrowly escaped with their lives, and assumedly were fleeing back home. It was confirmed that Lady Catelyn, Robb’s mother, had been murdered. Greywind, Robb’s direwolf, had been slain as well.

When you returned to your chambers, the hour still early, Robb had sat up in bed, groaning in pain. You sat down next to him, gently laying your hand on his arm, With tears in your eyes, you informed him of the betrayal, and the confirmed deaths on your side. 

“The Blackfish sent word. Roose Bolton and Walder Frey betrayed us, paid off by the Lannisters. Over half the Northern army is dead, the rest captured or seen fleeing. Greywind was put down…and your mother.”

His face crumbled, and he broke down into tears. He slumped into your lap, desperately clutching at the fabric of your dress. He gripped you tight, sobs muffled into your stomach. You fought your own tears, wrapping Robb tight in your arms.

He cried himself to sleep, nearly making himself sick.

—

The next morning, Robb didn’t speak of the night before. 

In the following days, he didn’t utter a word about it to you, only speaking of it to the Lord’s who still supported the North. Ravens came back and forth to the Eyrie, and only a seldom number of houses knew you and Robb had seeked shelter in the Vale.

Robb spent much of his time distracting himself, in the training yard with his young cousin Robyn, or out on horseback. Lords came and went, speaking of battle plans.

You didn’t know much about them. You weren’t there to hear them, and Robb wouldn’t tell you when you asked. 

Unlike Robb, you could hardly leave your chambers.

You were not a weak person. You weren’t raised to be easily frightened or overwhelmed. You had been taught better than that, your Grandmother made sure of it. But when you awoke the morning after you arrived at the Vale, and your husband was able to get up and leave your chambers, you were simply frozen in bed. Petrified and paranoid, afraid that anyone who made it past the guards had come to collect for the price on your head.

It tormented you for days. Slowly, you were able to leave your chambers, but you couldn’t go far. Robb kept to himself, finding it hard to even look at you. He did his duties, and returned to your chambers every night, but he wasn’t really there. 

One evening, Lady Arryn called everyone to dinner, in memory of her sister. The thought of leaving your chambers made you sick, but you didn’t have it in your heart to say no to either Robb or Lady Arryn. You were obliged to attend, and you and Robb got ready in silence. You still wore black, as a sign of mourning. 

Across the room, Robb finally called for you. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to you in days. But he finally did, standing in front of the mirror. 

“Y/N?” He asked, turning to you. “Could you help me?”

You stood up from sitting on the edge of the bed, moving to stand beside him. “What is it?”

He slowly handed you an embroidered black ribbon, the edges frayed. You furrowed a brow, looking up at him. His face was solemn. 

“It was my mothers,” he said, and your face softened. “I want to wear it tonight, but I don’t know where to put it. My Aunt said she used to tie it in her hair.”

His voice caught at the end of his sentence, and you rested your hand on his shoulder, easing him. 

“As pretty as you would look with a ribbon in your hair,” you grinned, making Robb crack a small smile. “I expect we can think of something more practical. How about we cuff your sleeves? We can tie it around your wrist. Hmm?”

He nodded, letting out a shaky breath. He held out his hand for you to take, and you gently rolled his sleeve before securing the ribbon around his wrist. You pulled a ribbon from your own hair, tying it around his other wrist.

“There. Are we ready?”

He nodded, holding his arm out for you to take. “We are. Thank you, love.”

He guided the pair of you to dinner, a pit settled in both your stomachs. A cloud of sadness hung over both your heads, casting its shadow over the rest of your evening. During the meal, Lady Arryn told stories of her childhood with her sister, with tears in her eyes. You laughed together, remembering Catelyn. Robb told a few stories of his own. 

“You’ll remember this, darling, you had already come to stay with us,” he said, turning to look at you. “It was the day we found the direwolves. One for each of us. Mother griped and griped at Father when we returned with them, a pup under each arm. It took us days to get her to accept them. She called them beasts, always tripping with them underfoot while they followed us around. I think the first time she accepted them was when Y/N and I were out in the courtyard. Mother was on the balcony, watching us play with Rickon.”

Robb smiled as he spoke, reaching for your hand. “Rickon was running after Y/N, and he accidentally stepped on the back of her dress. The end of it ripped, and they both fell. Nobody was hurt, they were laughing by the time they hit the ground. But Greywind bounded over, sniffing around. Making sure they were alright.”

Robb paused, looking at his lap, taking a minute to pull himself together. 

You squeezed his hand, running your thumb over the back of his knuckles. “I’ll finish the story, love.”

“No, no,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m alright. I can do it. Anyway, I rushed over, making sure they were alright. Y/N was being dramatic, making a big fuss over her dress being ripped. She was trying to make Rickon laugh, he looked a little bewildered and guilty. The whole time, Greywind was standing over us all while we were sitting in the dirt. A guard came over, and he bent down to help Rickon and Y/N up. But Greywind, still only a small little thing, darted in front of them. All teeth and snarls, blocking the guard from getting to them. I doubt at that age he could have done much damage, but he sure was ready to try his best.”

Everyone chuckled, taking sips of their drinks around the table. You smiled at the memory, squeezing Robb’s hand again. He continued.

“I had to call Greywind off. Just like that, he was back at our sides, all content. As if he wasn’t ready to chew off that guard’s hand. He was so protective of us all, from the beginning. And he minded well. We got everyone up and headed to get cleaned up, and Mother whistled from the balcony. We all looked up, and she was grinning. ‘Bring me my son,’ she said. ‘And get that dog a bone.’ And she went inside. That was it.”

A tear streamed down Robb’s face, and he quickly wiped it away. “I’m really going to miss them.”

Lady Arryn nodded, wiping her own tears. “Me too, my boy. Me too.”

—

That evening after dinner, you guided Robb quietly back to your chambers. He didn’t say a word on the way back, only stopping to open the door for you. You both undressed, getting ready for bed. You had your back to him, only turning around once you had finished. When you finally turned around, your heart broke at the sight of him.

Robb stood in front of the mirror with his shirt off, pulling at the scars the two arrows left on his torso.

It was the first time Robb had left his shirt off long enough for you to see them in a while. The day he stopped needing you to help him dress, he kept them covered and out of your sight. But here he was, right before you. Vulnerable, and sad. 

You slowly walked over to him, laying your hand on his shoulder blade. His eyes met yours in the mirror, and his face crumbled once again. You wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, resting your cheek in the middle of his back. He clutched at your arms, his head hung low. 

He turned around in your arms, bringing you into his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, pulling back to see his face. “Why are you apologizing? There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“There is!” He said, angrily wiping at his tears. “I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect any of them!”

“It is not your fault,” you reassured, gripping his arms.

“It is! You’re cowering around the castle, barely able to leave our chambers. I can barely look at you without being eaten alive with guilt. I should have seen it coming. But I was selfish, and I let my men pay the price for it. And Greywind…my Mother…”

You threw your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you. He held you tightly, hiding his face in your neck. You could feel his tears land on your skin, and you felt a twinge in your heart.

“My sweet boy,” you said, moving to cradle his face in your palms. “You will not blame yourself. I won’t hear any more of it! It isn’t your fault, no more than it is mine. There was no way to see this coming. We did what we had to do, Robb. We couldn’t save them. But we could avenge them. And the only way to do that was ensuring we made it out alive. I’m so sorry we couldn’t do more.”

You gently ran your fingers along the scars on his torso, feeling him tense under your touch. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. 

“I won’t lie to you, Robb. I was scared. I’m still scared. But hear me, and hear me well. It is not, and it will never be your fault. There is nothing you could have done. Nothing. But we will avenge them all, I promise you that. They didn’t die for nothing.”

Robb covered his eyes with the heels of his hands, nearly gasping for breath as he cried. He clutched at his chest, his voice raw. “It hurts. Make it stop, please.”

He looked small like this. Just a boy, thrust into the nasty grip of war. It was tearing him apart. You gently walked him back until you reached the foot of the bed, easing him down onto it. He sat, and you stood between his legs, cradling his face.

“I know, my love. I know.”

—

After a while, the air had calmed. You were now in bed, laying facing each other. Robb was running a finger up and down your arm, keeping his eyes low.

His voice was quiet. “I miss them. I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing them.”

You nodded, settling into his chest. “That’s alright. I think you’ll always miss them. But it will get easier…it has to. They’ll always be with you.”

Your voice shook as you spoke. He protectively wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him. He pressed a kiss into your hair, holding you tight. It was quiet another moment, before he spoke again, whispering to you.

“You’re safe with me. You know that, right?”

You nodded, but he didn’t feel assured. You didn’t, either.

“I mean it. You never have to worry about your safety with me. I’ll protect you with my life if I have to. And I plan on living a long and happy life, with you by my side. You’re stuck with me, alright? My girl. My Queen.”

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling tears well up in your eyes. You closed your eyes to keep them from falling, pressing yourself further into Robb’s side.

“I believe you, my love. My King. We’ll be alright. I believe that, too.”

—

A/N - Hi! This one got a little long, sorry. I hope it was what you were looking for, and I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think!”

[istumpysk]

OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST

THEORY:

Olyver Frey is Rosby's ward

TIER:

50/50: These theories are complete toss-ups.

[Tier list overview]

EVIDENCE:

What is the theory?

Lord Gyles Rosby had no immediate heir when he died in A Feast for Crows.

Gyles Rosby's ward is a young man residing at Castle Rosby, located in the crownlands.

Presumably, Gyles wanted his lands and castle to go to this ward.

Cersei Lannister prefers to seize the lands and give them to an ally as a reward. She doesn't seem worried that the ward will cause any issues.

The inheritance is still in question by the end of A Dance with Dragons. Kevan Lannister, Hand of the King, dies before any resolution.

"Is there aught else?" The Grand Maester consulted his papers. "We should address the Rosby inheritance. Six claims have been put forth—" "We can settle Rosby at some later date. What else?" - Epilogue, ADWD

The author has deliberately not revealed the ward's name; many in the fandom believe it's Olyvar Frey.

Who is Olyvar Frey?

Born in 281 AC, Olyvar Frey is a member of House Frey.

He is the eighteenth son of Lord Walder Frey, and the fourth born to his sixth wife, Bethany Rosby.

Robb Stark took Olyvar as a squire, a role in which he excelled.

"You have done House Frey a grievous insult, Robb." "I never meant to. Ser Stevron died for me, and Olyvar was as loyal a squire as any king could want. [...]" - Catelyn II, ASOS

x

"I'd hoped to ask Olyvar to squire for me when we march north," said Robb, "but I do not see him here. Would he be at the other feast?" - Catelyn VII, ASOS

Olyvar Frey was notably loyal to Robb Stark; he expressed a desire to stay with Robb even after he married Jeyne Westerling, and was not present at the Red Wedding. He is considered a Good Frey™.

"You have done House Frey a grievous insult, Robb." "I never meant to. Ser Stevron died for me, and Olyvar was as loyal a squire as any king could want. He asked to stay with me, but Ser Ryman took him with the rest. All their strength. The Greatjon urged me to attack them . . ." - Catelyn II, ASOS

x

Lady Westerling had remained at Riverrun with her children; Jeyne, her little sister Eleyna, and young Rollam, Robb's squire, who complained bitterly about being left. Yet that was wise as well. Olyvar Frey had squired for Robb previously, and would doubtless be present for his sister's wedding; to parade his replacement before him would be as unwise as it was unkind. - Catelyn V, ASOS

x

"I'd hoped to ask Olyvar to squire for me when we march north," said Robb, "but I do not see him here. Would he be at the other feast?" "Olyvar?" Ser Ryman shook his head. "No. Not Olyvar. Gone . . . gone from the castles. Duty." - Catelyn VII, ASOS

x

Olyvar Frey had been devoted to her son as well. Hadn't Robb said that Olyvar wanted to remain with him even after he'd married Jeyne? - Catelyn VII, ASOS

What is a Good Frey™?

A Good Frey™ is a member of House Frey who isn't entirely reprehensible. Believe it or not, there are members of House Frey who are actually good, although the author makes it challenging to distinguish who they are.

Other members of Good Frey™ include:

Roslin Frey, the wife of Edmure Tully and the sister of Olyvar Frey.

"And Lady Roslin was distracting you." "She . . . they made her do it, Lord Walder and the rest. Roslin never wanted . . . she wept, but I thought it was . . ." - Jaime VI, AFFC

Perwyn Frey, personal escort to Catelyn Stark, member of Robb Stark's personal guard, and older brother of Olyvar and Roslin Frey.

"Well met, sers. Is Ser Perwyn about? He helped escort me to Storm's End and back, when Robb sent me to speak with Lord Renly. I was looking forward to seeing him again." "Perwyn is away," Lame Lothar said. "I shall give him your regards. I know he will regret having missed you." "Surely he will return in time for Lady Roslin's wedding?" "He had hoped to," said Lame Lothar, "but with this rain . . . you saw how the rivers ran, my lady." - Catelyn VI, ASOS

x

"You were speaking of the Freys you wanted dead. Ryman, Edwyn, Emmon . . ." "And Walder Rivers," Daven said, "that whoreson. Hates that he's a bastard, and hates everyone who's not. Ser Perwyn seems a decent fellow, though, might as well spare him. The women too. [...]" - Jaime V, AFFC

Willamen Frey, a maester of the Citadel and the brother of Olyvar, Roslin, and Perwyn Frey. He seems to be minding his own business.

I'm sure there are other Good Freys™ hiding about, but for whatever reason, George seems rather fond of this specific Frey family. Good job, Bethany Rosby.

Why do we suspect Rosby's ward might be Olyvar Frey?

Olyvar is related to Gyles Rosby through his mother, Bethany Rosby.

Some of Olyvar's relatives, like Merrett Frey and Geremy Frey's children, have been fostered with maternal families.

Olyvar's older brothers are either dead, knighted, or serving as maesters, making him the logical choice.

The maester at Rosby, Melwys Rivers, is a bastard son of Lord Walder Frey.

Olyvar was sent away on "duty" before the Red Wedding, which could be both an excuse and a legitimate reason for his absence.

Do we know anything else about the Rosby ward?

Rosby's ward refused to offer hospitality to House Stokeworth.

"Uncomfortable," complained Falyse. "It rained most of the day. We thought to spend the night at Rosby, but that young ward of Lord Gyles refused us hospitality." - Cersei V, AFFC

Why it might be Olyvar: As a Robb Stark loyalist, Olyvar Frey may be unwelcoming to friends of House Lannister.

Why it might not be Olyvar: One doesn't need to be a Stark loyalist to avoid hosting Falyse Stokeworth in their castle.

He's an "ill-born wretch."

She sniffed. "Mark my word, when Gyles dies that ill-born wretch will make off with his gold. He may even try and claim the lands and lordship, though by rights Rosby should come to us when Gyles passes. My lady mother was aunt to his second wife, third cousin to Gyles himself." - Cersei V, AFFC

Why it might be Olyvar: Despite Olyvar being a legitimate child of Walder Frey, and House Frey's power and prominence, the house has a low reputation in Westeros.

Why it might not be Olyvar: "Ill-born" could mean lowborn or illegitimate.

He's not of Gyles Rosby's blood.

"No children of his body, but there is a ward . . ." ". . . not of his blood." - Cersei IX, AFFC

Why it might be Olyvar: Olyvar is not a direct descendant of Gyles Rosby.

Why it might not be Olyvar: Olyvar has Rosby blood through his mother.

Is there anything else to consider?

Not Olyvar: Olyvar would not be the first in line to inherit Rosby; legally, his older brother Perwyn should come before him.

Yes Olyvar: The author may eliminate around 30 Freys from the line of succession, possibly saving Perwyn, Good Frey™, for a larger castle that sits on the Green Fork.

If it's not Olyvar Frey, who the hell is it?

STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:

You guys have the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever by making this a tie vote.

VOTE:

I welcome discussions. Feel free to reblog, respond, or challenge my perspective—I won't be offended by any of it.

Please note, if "no" is the eventual winner, or if it's competitive, a second poll will be conducted to determine the proper location.

NEXT THEORY:

Ned Stark + Ashara Dayne = Jon Snow (N + A = J)

[Main menu]

[star-girl69]

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: this is interesting for sure. it was so hard to rationalize her husband’s behavior so i just want everyone to know that this man is CRAZY and has no conscience so that is why he does all that he does just bc he’s a horrible person anyways also this sucks but and i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: swearing, overprotectiveness, possessiveness, violence, death, incest, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Ten- Freedom

—-

It’s three days after the attack when you leave Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s apartments.

You say good morning to the children, and they all smile back, innocent and unaware.

You look in the mirror by the door. Pick an eyelash from your cheek. Wish to be free like them.

Daemon grabs you by the arm. Asks where you’re going. When you tell him, with a hiss, he says nothing but gestures for you to go, palm on Dark Sister as he follows you through the winding steps of the castle.

The halls are empty, and the sun has barely risen. You feel like ash, like one gust of wind will blow you over.

When you come to your old chambers, where your husband should reside, it is empty. You gather a few of your favorite dresses, jewelry and books, place it into a trunk that Daemon calls a servant to take.

He follows you back to their apartments, because you have no where else to go.

You settle back into their rooms, the blood on the floor of yours still stained.

You organize and reorganize your trunk, and Daemon watches. Rhaenyra comes, tired after an early morning of council meetings. She walks forward as if to greet you with a kiss, then hesitates and sits on the bed.

They watch you, the room silent. You can hear the children playing in the next room. You wish you could be innocent and unaware like them. Playing house and tag and other stupid games.

Joffrey comes, only two, toddling into the room on his small little legs with a nanny behind him. He walks over to you, curious about your trunk of belongings. And your ire is with his parents, not him, so you pull him into your lap. He seems content to just sit there, watching as you fold and refold your dresses, unpack and repack them, trying to make one thing in your life perfect.

A servant knocks, bringing a dress. She addresses you, but Rhaenyra tells her to leave it on the bed. Joffrey is asleep, sitting up in your lap, and the nanny is called back into the room to collect him.

Rhaenyra murmurs that they’ll let you change, and that they’re sorry, again. You don’t answer. You stand, turn towards the bed.

A black dress rests on the red sheets.

—-

The funeral of your husband is a sordid affair, no one really liking him, only a younger brother of his coming forward to shed any real tears. You feign sadness to avoid giving a speech, hiding behind a handkerchief and a black veil. You have only met his brother a few times before, and he is a nice enough man. Not smart enough to realize what his brother was doing you, but you like to think he would have helped you if he had known.

Besides, he was a general, biding his time in a keep with his men, waiting for House Tully to call upon their bannermen. He never spent much time at House Chamber’s ancestral seat.

You are not surprised when he walks over to you now.

“My Lady, my condolences. My brother was a good man, you a good woman. My heart aches for you.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon stand not to far, champagne flutes in their hands, whispering under the cover of Rhaenyra’s black paper fan. Close enough to hear you and him, but you are too tired to care.

“Thank you, Ser Bryan. My lord husband would be most happy to know you thought so fondly of him.” He smiles, awkwardly.

“Y/N, I, is it okay if I call you that?” You nod, confused at his nervous posture and wavering voice. “My advisors, who I have been leaning on in this transition, have suggested something to me. A proposal.”

“Yes. You’re unmarried, right?”

He nods. “They have suggested- a pairing that I would be happy with.” You smile, genuinely. He deserves it. “They propose I marry, well, you.”

You faintly hear the sound of scuffling, Rhaenyra most likely having to hold Daemon back.

“I…” He runs a hand through his hair, takes a step back. “Y/N… I would be perfectly happy with this arrangement. But I won’t marry you, or even speak of this again, if you say so. It is your choice. Think about it.” He presses a brotherly kiss to your cheek, and you are frozen in place.

—-

The Morning After the Attack, 2 Days Ago

“You cannot kill him!”

Daemon rounds on you with a fierce look in his eyes, some possessive need prompting him to avenge you.

“You do not command me, little girl.” His voice holds no venom, only facts. You are young, a year younger than Rhaenyra, and you have always tried to keep a lighthearted outlook on life. But the cards you were dealt caused that outlook to become severe. But your morals did not falter.

“Don’t patronize me.”

Rhaenyra places a hand on your shoulder a kiss to your cheek, standing up from where she sat on the chaise.

“We are all in fragile states-”

“I am in no such thing-” Daemon starts, but Rhaenyra continues with a scathing glare.

“And we all need to think- think- before we do anything. I talked to the guards, to my father and Harrold Westerling. They have agreed to keep this from the public for now. We do not know who made an attempt on your life, Y/N. Not in the eyes of the law.”

“Of course we know!”

You take a heavy seat on the chaise, soothing yourself in Rhaenyra’s leftover warmth.

“We know who tried to kill her. We know. Let me punish him for it, for God’s sakes!”

“Daemon. You are not helping.”

You look up at them, fingers making red moons in your palms.

“Are you so bloodthirsty that you can’t just let him die naturally?” You truly did not understand it. Your husband was to die soon. Everyone knew it. You had heard gossip from the servants- he grew sicker and sicker by the day. His heart was failing, and you could not understand why Daemon and Rhaenyra couldn’t just let him die.

“Why are you defending him?” Daemon asked, incredulous. Rhaenyra gasped and hit him on the arm, muttering an apology to you.

“I’m not.” You hissed, and you tried your best to stand strong, but tears pooled in your eyes.

His face softened. His eyes lost that murderous glint, his jaw unclenched. “I’m sorry, Y/N, my love-”

“Is it so wrong to not want blood on my hands?”

“No, it’s not. But there would be no blood on your hands. Nor Rhaenyra’s. Only mine.” He sighed, stepped forward and his knees cracked as he fell to the floor before you. He grabbed your hands, detangling them and resting them on your knees. “Let me make him pay for all that he’s done to you.”

Rhaenyra sat next to you, winding an arm around your head and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Daemon is no better than a dragon. He’s a bloodthirsty beast of a man. Your husband will die anyway. Let Daemon feel he avenged you.” She turned your head towards her, giving you a smile that made your heart stop even like this.

Daemon pressed a hand to your chest, the bandaged part in the center of your chest that covered the wound from the assassin.

“Think about it,” he urged, and you nodded.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.” Daemon smiled, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to your lips. You could not help the smile on your own face.

And you could not help it falling.

The door opened, and Rhaenyra stood to speak in buses tones with the servant.

Daemon took Rhaenyra’s places, kissing your hand and the marks on your palm, muttering sweet apologies and words in Valyrian you did not understand.

“Listen to me.” You looked up when Rhaenyra approached, placing a hand on yours and Daemon’s faces. “Don’t let your temper get to you.” Her eyes fixed on Daemon, then turned back to you. “Don’t forget that we will protect you.”

“Rhaenyra-” Daemon started, but was interrupted by a servant clearing his throat.

“Lord Kyle of House Chambers, Your Graces.”

Oh, and when he walked in, hobbling with the help of a servant and a cane, it was a hard sight to see. His skin was pale and his face was hallowed, and his expression was one that looked as if he had seen The Stranger himself.

Daemon growled.

And to be quite honest, you felt laughter rise in your chest even in this horrible moment. It was ridiculous truly, and he was a wild beast just as Rhaenyra said.

But when your husbands eye settled on you, any semblance of joy appeared from your body.

His eyes trailed the three of you with a scrutinizing, judging gaze.

“Still whoring yourself out, huh?” When Daemon stood, Rhaenyra had to physically place herself in front of him to even try and stop him. Anger rolled off him, but he would not hurt his wife. Your husband coughed loudly into a handkerchief “Just a jest, My Prince.”

“I will kill him, I will take his head, I will rip him to shreds-”

Rhaenyra finally managed to push him back onto the couch, and he wrapped a tight arm around your shoulders.

“He’s a fucking cunt,” Daemon whispered, just for you. “He’s a fucking liar, too.”

“Calm, My Prince?” Your husband was a dying man, and had nothing to lose. He took a heavy seat on the opposing arm chairs, body sagging at the relief of his own weight.

“What do you want, Lord Chambers?” Rhaenyra, ever the perfect princess, seemed the most adept at handing this. You folding your hands in front of you, keeping your eyes to the floor.

Perhaps if you did not look, did not talk, he would simply forget about you.

He let out a dry laugh that turned into a cough.

“I could ask for a lot. I could ask for my wife back, but, well, she’s a whore. Why would I want that? I could ask for compensation for all you have done to my wife. But I’m already a dead man.Tell me, I truly want to know- was she a good fuck? I could try and…” He trailed off.

His speech had been punctuated with laughs and coughs all the way throughout, and Daemon and Rhaenyra had only grown more tense with each word of his. You wanted to get angry, but you had been so used to this for years it was so easy to just sink into the cushions and try and pretend it was different.

“I’ll have your tongue for that.” Rhaenyra whispers, and you hear your husband stand.

“Really?” He hums, making for the door.

“Yes! Yes I will, you selfish, vain, disgusting excuse for a man!” You look up as she stands.

“Rhaenyra-” But she evades your grip, screaming more profanities and insults at your husband.

You watch as your husband wobbles, putting more support on his cane. He groans in pain, but Rhaenyra is too wrapped up in her rage to notice.

Gods, you think, she is killing him with her words.

He stumbles, catching her attention, and she trails off. She mutters something under her breath, but you don’t quite catch it.

“Fucking whore. Both of you women are fucking whores. Don’t you know women are supposed to be seen and not heard? Cunts,” he hisses, and somehow, instinctively, you know those words will be his last.

Daemon is unable to contain his rage, and he stands up.

His muscles ripple under his tight cotton shirt, and he looks like a God as he looms over Kyle Chambers.

He does nothing but clench his jaw and slap him across the face.

When your husband falls, it is a heavy thing.

You think you scream, and you think Rhaenyra gasps. Daemon falters and you run forward, because if Daemon and Rhaenyra have just thrown their lives away for you you’re not sure if you can forgive them.

He is on his side when you reach him, falling to your knees. His cane thrown to the ground next to him.

When you lean over his head, your ear near his mouth, you hear nothing.

And in a way, you are finally free. Your husband no longer ties you down. No longer can torture you. You had dreamed about this for years, imagined the sweet scent of freedom so much it was ingrained into your brain.

You just wish somebody had told you that freedom is quite a lonely thing.

—-

Present Day

Your good-brother leaves you with a sheepish smile, and you are still in shock.

You are boiling over with emotions; anger, sadness, disappointment, confusion. You do not know what to do.

Daemon and Rhaenyra come over quick, Daemon grabbing your biceps in a tight grip.

“You won’t marry him,” he hisses. “You’ll come back to Dragonstone with us.”

“How can I do that, Daemon? How can I do that when you murdered someone right in front of me.”

“It was an accident, Y/N. It was a slap, you saw.”

“No! No, if you hadn’t been so bloodthirsty, so wrapped up in your rage- Rhaenyra, you would have noticed how you screaming at him weakened him.” She stands beside you and Daemon, and looks away ashamedly.

“Y/N- I’m so sorry-”

“And Daemon, you shouldn’t have fucking slapped him. You were selfish. What if they hadn’t believed us? What if they hadn’t believed his heart had stopped, and the red on his cheek was from hitting the floor? You endangered everything you claim to love.” Your tears fall, and it is the first they have fallen since his death.

Rhaenyra takes a breath and places a hand on your face. “Come back to Dragonstone with us. The children love you, the fresh air will be good, we will talk we will make it better, Y/N, please-”

“Why would I do that? You clearly do not care about me.”

Her eyes darken and she hisses, hand gripping your chin.

“You will come with us because you are ours, and we were always meant to burn together. You will come with us because I am not content to spend the rest of my time on this hellscape without you. You are the only thing that makes life worth living, Y/N, do you not realize? You will come because we care about you. Because we love you.”

Her grip softens toward the end, and for a second, it is a sweet moment in the arms of your lovers. And as much as they talk about you being the reason life is worth living, it is the same for you. They are your saviors. Rhaenyra kept you alive all those years in the Riverlands, Daemon saved you from the assassin. And the only reason they hurt and killed your husband was for you.

This moment is like before. And you do not want it to become the last.

“I do not forgive you.”

Daemon trails your jawline with your nose and you would be lying if you said your knees did not tremble. You are suddenly thankful you are in a hidden corner of the garden.

“That will come,” he whispers, biting through the thin lace veil to softly graze your skin.

“You’ll come with us?” Rhaenyra asks, and her eyes are so full of hope.

“Yes.”

What does freedom feel like, you wonder? You thought freedom was the death of your husband. But freedom might be something else. Something entirely different.

What is freedom?

Is it the feel of no chains on your wrists, or the opportunity to make your own choices? Is it the absence of fear?

Is it truly as lonely as you felt all those days ago?

What is freedom?

—-

taglist:

@wondergal2001 @akiraquote @a-lil-bit-nuts @anginoguera @thatkinkylesgirl1 @stitchattacks @honeypillowsblog @kaloafd @blackhoodlea @softtina @wallace02sblog @tetgod @hotd-fanfic

[fdrlibrary]

First Lady of Struggle - Mary McLeod Bethune

“The responsibility rests on us. We can get better results thinking and planning together. We must think about each other’s problems. Let us band together and work together as one big brotherhood and give momentum to the great ball that is starting to roll for Negroes.”

—Mary McLeod Bethune, Remarks at 1st Meeting of the Federal Council on Negro Affairs (Black Cabinet), August 7, 1936

Mary McLeod Bethune in her office at Bethune-Cookman College, 1943: https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2017843210/

Much of the success of the Black Cabinet was due to the influence of its leader, Mary McLeod Bethune. In 1936, FDR appointed Bethune as Director of the Division of Negro Affairs in the National Youth Administration (NYA). She served there from 1936 until the agency’s demise in 1943. The highest ranking African American in the federal government, Bethune was also the first Black woman to administer a federal program. A forceful and inspiring leader, she helped make the NYA the New Deal’s most racially progressive agency.

Bethune occupied a uniquely powerful position among Black officials in Washington. Before joining the New Deal, she had forged a distinguished career as an educator, women’s club movement leader, and civil rights advocate. Bethune was the founder and president of Bethune-Cookman College and the National Council of Negro Women (NCNW). In 1940, she would become a vice president of the NAACP. Her speeches and regular contributions to Black newspapers further raised her public profile, helping her earn the title “The First Lady of the Struggle.”

During this time, Bethune became a close friend and confidante of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. She used her connection to ER to bring racial discrimination issues directly to President Roosevelt’s attention and FDR held her in high regard. At Bethune’s invitation, ER spoke at the National Conference on the Problems of the Negro and Negro Youth that Bethune and other Black Cabinet members organized in 1937. In 1938, the two friends co-hosted a major White House conference on the problems of Black women and children.

Members of the Black Cabinet acknowledged the power of Bethune’s dynamic personality and White House ties and usually deferred to her leadership. Her offices at the NCNW served as a hub for Black Cabinet meetings and she provided critical support to other Black racial advisers.

“I am writing to urge your support of H.R. 10340.”

-- Mary McLeod Bethune to Franklin Roosevelt, June 3, 1938

In June 1938, Bethune solicited FDR’s support for a bill to increase federal funding for African American education in the South. A handwritten note from FDR’s personal secretary Grace Tully on the upper right instructed the President’s assistant Marvin “Mac” McIntyre “to prepare reply after taking up with the Congressman who is responsible for it.”

AR 2023.1.71/Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library and Museum

Learn more about Bethune in our current special exhibition BLACK AMERICANS, CIVIL RIGHTS, AND THE ROOSEVELTS, 1932-1962: https://www.fdrlibrary.org/civil-rights-special-exhibit

[ichooseviolence]

I keep seeing takes about Sansa no longer being a Stark and the go-to explanations are “she lost Lady”, “she looks more Tully”, and “she betrayed her family by choosing the Lannisters.” Both of which have nothing to do with her Stark identity.

When the Stark children received their direwolves they didn’t become “more Stark”, because they were already full Starks in the first place. (How many times can I use the word Stark in a sentence?) Using the direwolves as an example contradicts the same “Stark traits” argument that people try to use against her. The direwolves are tied to their own child (I won’t use the word owner because that’s not the kind of relationship they have with them.) Each direwolf shares traits to its Stark child because of their bond. Arya and Nymeria have a touch of wildness, with strong leadership qualities. Robb and Greywind are both fierce, Rickon and Shaggydog are the wildest of all, and Sansa and Lady are gracious and soft, etc. So when Lady died, you could say that a part of Sansa died too, however Lady still lives on in Sansa. She senses her presence sometimes, even though she’s not there. Lady’s death didn’t disrupt Sansa’s Starkness, it didn’t “lessen” her Stark blood. (And we don’t use such arguments for other houses. Jaime isn’t becoming less of a Lannister just because he’s less of an asshole than he used to be. And he isn’t driven by lust for power.)

“Sansa looks more Tully.” And? So do Robb, Bran, and Rickon. She may look like Catelyn, but in all honesty she’s more like Ned. Whilst Ned would don the face of Lord Stark, Sansa dons her armor of courtesy. Both are described as having the icy courtesy of the North. They are both quiet and observant (very observant), they take pity on their enemies, and guess what? They both go to Cersei about their plans. Ned does this to show mercy towards her, and Sansa goes out of desperation so she can stay in KL. In Sansa’s mind it had nothing to do with choosing the Lannisters over the Starks. She wanted more of the court life. Balls, feasts, tournaments. And she wanted to marry Joffrey, who she still didn’t see for who/what he truly was. But I think the strongest part about this is that Sansa begins to display Ned’s own traits after Lady dies, after her going to Cersei, after Ned’s execution. Sansa actually begins to embrace her Stark nature. While fans accuse her of abandoning it, she actually draws closer to it.

Her entire arc after her father’s execution is steered by her Stark identity. She’s beaten in court because she’s a Stark, she’s beaten in court because her Stark brother was victorious in battle, she’s held as a hostage because she’s a Stark, she’s betrothed to Willas Tyrell because she’s a Stark, she’s married to Tyrion because she’s a Stark, she’s in the hands of Littlefinger because she’s a Stark (and because of her physical resemblance to Catelyn.) And despite all of that, she holds onto her Stark identity, reminding herself that she is a Stark of Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn. She’s aware that she’s being thrown around like some beaten down trophy because of her claim. Sansa’s Starkness pushes her to keep going, just like the rest of her siblings. She turns to it for comfort and strength.

She felt like such a fool. She was a Stark of Winterfell, a noble lady, and someday she would be a queen. -GoT Sansa I

“You must be one of her daughters,” he said to her. He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his mouth did. “You have the Tully look.” “I’m Sansa Stark,” she said, ill at ease. -GoT Sansa II

I am a Stark of Winterfell, she longed to tell him. -ASoS Sansa VII

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell. -AFFC Sansa I

ALAYNE STONE, Lord Petyr’s natural daughter, a maid of three and ten, actually Sansa Stark -AFFC/ADWD Appendix, a list of House Arryn