#Robb Keene

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

22 - Home of Bloodsoaked Stone

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon Reader (Past)

Length: 20.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mentions of child death, descriptions of violence, unhealthy alcohol consumption, reference to self harm, smut, oral (m receiving)

Notes: Takes place right after end of last chapter, and part five begins. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Only three times in your life did the halls of Winterfell feel strange and unfamiliar to you. The first all those years ago when you were young and entirely new to the North, and the second was being dragged through them hands tied and living through a hell that felt impossible to stop. The walls seemed darker and more confined, and everything that was once something you came to know looked like a shadow of itself in the hands of the Boltons. The only freedom you had been granted was a few short places you were trusted to be without such heavy guard and most of those were places with little to nothing to occupy your mind from wishing to escape. Now was a different kind of strange entirely.

You knew him well, following a path straight to his own room without any doubt. A stretch of halls that had not been used, that you hadn’t even been allowed in. All of the doors were closed, but you swallowed harshly with biting tears stinging behind your eyes as you purposefully kept your gaze away from even if the flashing memory dared run by you. You could hear shuffling once you reached your actual destination, with hands tensing against the door handle and a shaking breathe that hurt your lungs. You tested it if were unlocked gently, and slipped inside silently. 

Just like everything else, it was somehow exactly what you remembered but nothing like it still. The main part of the room, well you hadn’t actually been in here since you two had almost...strange how such an unsure feeling over four, almost five years ago was still as prevalent. 

He hadn’t gotten far in the process currently. Longclaw sat across his desk, still covered in blood as you walked up to it. Hand tracing over the hilt before a beat passed, and you found yourself gently placing your own beside it, and the dagger just to the side of both.

Blood dried now on all three of them. 

Barley turning to look, you could hear the gentle sounds of sloshing water from the side room. Pulling your gloves off, you gently put them down on the desk before walking further in. The bed looked exactly as you recalled, and yet who were even those two that last had almost had the other on it? Were you anything like that girl still? 

Fingers barley traced over the fur spread out over it, and you felt the sting grow harder. The only thing in the way at that time, was your own separate insecurities of who you were to the other. Of what your future’s would hold after it and now that there was nothing in the way of it? 

It was painted with the loss that the only people who made it back here, the only ones within these castle walls that had a life inside them once, were the three people who never quite belonged. 

Ever so slowly, you stepped towards the other room, hand bracing on the corner wall as you turned ever so slightly to lean against it, the hand sliding down to rest closer to your shoulder. He had gotten as far as scrubbing the blood off his face. The rest of him, still soaked from both the battle and the pile of horror that almost crushed around him. 

You knew he had heard you, always had keen ears about people poking around the corner in the dark but there was a far more fresh offence weighing on his heart. One you knew the agony off as recently as he did. His hands were braced on the wooden surface the small basin of water sat, a bloody cloth tossed behind it with more laying around ready to be claimed as you stepped towards him. 

Head hanging low and shoulders tensed, you knew there was nothing you could do for him until taking off the layers weighing him down. Gently, you traced your hand lightly over his shoulder, and quickly, an uncovered hand flew up to grab hold of it, keeping it there as you stepped right up behind him. Running the other along his other shoulder, and tracing gently up his neck almost soothingly. 

You had no words to say to anyone about her, and it was too soon for him to have any about Rickon. So you gently ran down back from his neck to other his arm and pulled him gently back to face you. 

Ever so lightly, Jon tried murmuring your name to get you to look up at him, but you shook your head with a stern set of eyes trained on undoing the leathers covering him. Gently relieving a shoulder as you started to undo the weight keeping it fastened before reaching to the other side. The feeling of one of his hands caught your attention, having raised up gently to run along your waist with a narrowed expression of his own but he let you work. 

Finally, the heaviest layer of armour came off, as you put it to the side. Not once wavering as you grabbed his loose hanging hand and gently pushed the material of his shirt up enough to undo the bracers over his wrist and then gently pulling the hand off of you to do the other. 

It was hard for Jon to find the right words, but there was something that made him feel heavy enough to break through the floors as you so quietly took it all off of him. Not looking to the blood as something to avoid, and your eyes were focused on only the parts first you knew bothered him the most, the weight off his shoulders and arms that had no doubt been tense enough for hours that he could’ve broken something and not noticed. 

Strange that for a second, you had managed to make his breathe hitch just the slightest as you finally moved to gently grab at the bottom of his shirt, and pulled it up without a single hesitation. The last time you had done so in his own room, you had the most hesitant and unsure look in your eyes as he had draped his hands over yours pulling the material up and off with you. At the time, your nerves were endearingly cute to him. 

Jon had found the courage in him to pull every single thing off of you, leaving you standing before him at the edge of his bed bare and yet it was you being the one to take only his own shirt off that left you shaking in your breathing. At that time, he had gently pulled you up by your chin to kiss you before pulling back to run his eyes over all of you with an awe behind the greys. 

Now though, the nerves were in him and you with the steady calm. Eyes looking all over his chest to find anywhere he was hurt, and yet you kept finding the wounds that would never heal. Trying to look between for ones that were new, and eyes narrowing with a tiny hiss at the bruises covering him already turning purple. Gently you traced just beyond the tender skin before kneeling down. His boots were next, and Jon couldn’t stop the thought. 

You were used to doing all of this because of Robb, but even without being there to witness it he knew the quiet in this room was deafening compared to what his brother would’ve been like with you. He couldn’t help but wondering if you missed it, missed how easily Robb could say anything and everything to you when the silence from Jon now was heavy in his heart. 

Taking no notice yourself of how tense he was as you pulled the rest of everything off. How the last time you were far to nervous to even let your hands gently trail anywhere near his pants and yet now you pulled them off him without a single thought of what it looked like from his place. Only Jon’s desires, were far different then that of Robb’s with you. 

One of his hands gently reached down to run across your jaw, tilting you up to look at him and yet there was a wide eyed look on him like he was ready to break. Coaxing you to stand up, the second you tired to turn him to the water he gripped your hip a little tighter. 

Your eyes narrowed, and still neither spoke. He never needed to with you, if you didn’t know what he was doing, you would trust him blindly. Jon handled you more gently then you did him if that were possible. Slowly pulling every layer off in case any too fast tug could hurt, pulling your own boots and pants down with a touch so gentle you wondered if he was worried you’d break. 

A moment passed, you both uncovered as the other, your hands running gently along his chest and landing no doubt to the marks that haunted you as Jon’s reached up to cup your cheeks. Leaning down to press his forehead to yours, only then did either feel brave enough to break the silence for the first time. Your voice was small, almost less then a whisper but a tenderness radiated from it, a care that rolled off your tongue with not a shred of doubt to be had. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

He could only find the strength to nod, and you had to be the one to turn him towards the water in the first place. Grabbing a few things both he had set out, and for yourself, to bring over to drape along one of the edges as he got used to the water, still steaming as his eyes shut in an instant at the sensation over the harsh areas across his body. 

Hands gripping what he could of the edge of the tub, he felt his heart slow a bit more, only to be rushed back up in a second at sensing you behind him. Reaching over the tub to gently untie and let his hair loose, running your fingers through his curls with almost a massage that had him humming in the back of his throat, leaning back into you until your nails so lightly scratched along his scalp. Swallowing harshly, his knuckles turning white from his grip at the feeling. “Get in with me.” 

You didn’t respond, pulling away from him only long enough to grab one of the small vials with you, running it along your hands before returning to him. The tenseness in his shoulders almost dimming down some as you ran your hands thoroughly though his curls, letting the oils soak into his hair as you continued to massage your hands through the strands. His breathing pitched up from the rise and fall of his chest but he said nothing at first, only leaning back into your touch. Jon tried calling your name, a deep rasp that sounded on the edge of strained, but you leaned in close as you could from where you knelt behind him. 

Gently collecting some of the water beside him in a very small metal basin, your hand wrapped around the handle as the other gently turned his head just at the right angle to keep the pouring water from falling in front of his face. It went like that for a few minutes, Jon struggling with the need to have you in front of him against your unquestioning focus as you washed out any grime, blood, sweat from his curls. Only it drove him a little more insane each time, wanting to lose it at how lovingly you worked to handle him with care.

Part of him wanted to be jealous at how long he had never had it, but another more sorrowful part of Jon whose heart already was weighed in agony, was thankful Robb had this for as long as you both were together. He was jealous, and he wanted to be for many other aspects of it but deeper within Jon he was thankful that at least he knew for the time he was alive, Robb had you. 

Jon had you now, or he hoped he did. But he was happy that for how unfairly short of a time Robb had with you, that he knew you treated him with the same kind of love and care. His brother deserved that. 

A good few minutes had passed, you ensuring every single spot of his hair was washed and rinsed out before the metal basin down. But before you could move, Jon reached back, a hand covering the one about to leave his hair, your name so lightly on his lips. “Get in with me.” Almost trying to protest, Jon finally turned around enough to look at you, his hand moving to trace what he could reach of your cheek. No strength in his voice, or teasing or even anything beyond a rasp weak with a need. “I’ll make that an order if I have too.” 

That got you to smile. Some things it seemed, were exactly the same between the two wolves. 

Some things though, were rather different. If there was no tease in his voice, there was even less in his eyes. Slowly sitting up straighter as you hesitated, almost as if he could sense you didn’t want to break the moment of quiet calm between you. He had seen all of you like this before, three times to be exact and Robb had even moreso, but somehow now you felt self conscious. As if you only realized now that maybe you could disappoint him. 

But Jon’s eyes never strayed to anything with that kind of need or greed, flickering between scars new and old. Trying to determine as you were on him what needed to be dealt with right now, before he leaned up. Pulling you closer with a hand on your waist to keep you from slipping while having you perched on his lap. The other traced across your jaw while you settled hesitantly on his shoulders as you steadied yourself. This was the kind of close intimacy that you both never freely had before. Never enough time or privacy for it, you had with Robb but no matter how similar they could be, both men had such a different way about them with you. 

Maybe it was the degree of what you had both been through since separating from the other in means of violence, but there was almost a worry like he would break you in how gentle his hands were. The water had made you hiss, bordering on too hot to handle as you got in despite how little Jon seemed to even notice it, but you got to work regardless. He was far worse off then you were, and the hot water quickly soaked up with blood as you quietly cleaned it off him. 

Looking as if he wanted to say something the entire time, but no words found their way to the surface as he looked at you. Eyes once more so focused on only him, unintentionally ignoring that he had wanted you in with him so he could take care of you. But you always did that, starting something that could lose you to the world around you until it was done or something pulled you directly out of it. You were careful around his bruises, running the cloth in your hand gently over them so he almost couldn’t feel it, and working around the new marks across him to not make them sting any more then they had too. 

Jon the entire time, one hand was draped across the edge of the tub as the other, when not in the way, would rest only his fingertips across your waist. It sat right between you, what was going unsaid but both of you knew that it would shatter the peace as soon as one brought it up. You knew too well how little you wanted anyone to speak to you about her, and no one did. But it was painted right across his eyes how much he was going back to it. How close he had gotten, and how horrific it felt to come that short. 

Nothing on him was bad enough it needed any kind of stitching, but you made notes in your mind of what to pay attention too in the future. Only the gentle jostling of water could be heard in that room, only the muffles of outside filled the rest of the air. Most of them would be burned, and no doubt would catch the attention of any finally coming close to Winterfell by that point but both of you would scarcely be there for the most of it. The thing that was being unspoken was for tonight, and there were hardly any of you that would be there for it. Only after would you both rejoin the North in what they surely would let get out of hand in celebration of a long needed victory of freedom. 

Only when you could finally see Jon clear and fresh, the waters around you murkier as they mixed with what was washed from him did you look to meet his eyes. Gently running along his collarbones up to his neck, did you cup the sides of his jaw, thumbs running across his facial hair as his hands more firmly sat at your waist. Jon found it in him to break first, his voice hardly a strained whisper as a mist begun to breeze over his eyes the longer he felt the intimacy of your touch. 

“He was barley half my height the last time I saw him.” One of your hands slid back gently, running through his still wet curls gently as his face twisted into something more angry. “He was so upset too, everyone was going away and he was too young to understand it..” You could feel his grip unknowingly grow tighter on you as his muscles tensed. 

Moving to run your nails gently across his scalp, Jon relaxed only a small bit. You knew that anger, the same kind of one that almost had you run a knife right through the red woman on the spot, building inside of him. Grey eyes slipping tones darker, not really looking at you but through you as the memory was going through once more in his mind, no doubt. He wasn’t going to like it, but you could only come up with one thing, “I’m so sorry..”

His eyes snapped back, up to meet yours now with that rage a little closer to the front just as you predicted. So badly wanting to break, but he didn’t. Grip once more grew tighter but you just let it happen. “Why are you sorry, you weren’t the one who-” 

Dropping down to his shoulders, you let the guilt paint your features. “This only happened because of me,” your name slipped from his mouth in a quiet warning that you ignored. “If I hadn’t run the way I did he wouldn’t have had any reason to be so angry.” Jon warned you with a low run of your name once more, and yet you weren’t even looking at him. “Maybe we should have considered-” 

Both hands left your waist, reaching up and cupping both sides of your face firmly as he narrowed his eyes at you. Voice rough and deep as his grey eyes seethed in front of you. “Listen to me. Even if you gave yourself up, do you really believe he’d have given Rickon to us? And if he did, I’d have done it all the same to get you back.” You bit your tongue, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you looked slightly away from him to the water. “There is nothing you could have done differently, I don’t think he was ever going to let him...” The crack in his voice as he trailed off almost was enough to bring forth tears of your own. Looking back at you there was only heartache left, not anger. “..I was so close..I almost had him. If I was a little faster I could have, I almost could feel his hand..” 

You didn’t let him say another word. Leaning up and closer to him, you pulled him gently into you. Jon’s arms moving to wrap around your waist and to your back as you let one of yours wrap around the back of his neck and the other running through his hair as he fell into you. If you pulled him back, you would’ve seen tears as they fell silently, but you let Jon hide in your neck instead. His muscles were as tense as they could be and his chest shook with every breath, but you didn’t rush him a bit. And you didn’t say anything. 

No one could make Shireen feel better in your heart, and so you just did the one thing Jon needed in that moment. Keep him close, keep your own touch soft and let him fall apart partially hidden in you at how close to his little brother he got. “You came for him. It doesn’t change what happened, but Rickon knew that you came for him, that you loved him.” 

If Jon heard you, he kept it to himself. And that was alright. You didn’t need him to say anything, he needed to let it all out, and you kept him right there for as long as it took. The heat of the water simmering to something a little more comfortable for you as he relaxed more in your touch. Finding the strength to eventually pull back. Rising his head up to look at you, eyes clearly having shed what tears he could as you leaned your forehead against his. Jon moving his hands to run along your waist up and down. 

One hand left as he grabbed something, before pulling back enough to look at you. Something covering up in his expression, and a rough voice forcing itself to sound collected. “Your turn.” Head jolting back a bit in question but Jon only turned you in his arms in an instant. Sloshing against the water as he sat you between his legs in front of him. Instantly his hands reached up to your hair, ever so gently you felt him pull and unravel how you had put it up not letting any pull at the strands jostle you. 

So easily and comfortably Jon handled your hair. He always did, knew exactly how hard he could pull through the strands before it hurt and never once crossed that line. Feeling it spread across your back and shoulders before you sighed, a slight more comfortable then before as it now sat loose. Hands gently running through your hair with a careful ease, as if he had done so a thousand times before. 

Taking longer then it typically would, you knew he was drawing out the process. Almost relaxing in the closeness. Slowly, he tilted your head back, your eyes closing on instinct as he ran water gently down your hair. Matching your treatment, he ran his hands through the strands he had just rinsed out before moving to the next small section. 

Another gentle rinse, and Jon’s voice was a bit quiet, a bit more hesitant. “I almost left to join you and Robb.” Brows furrowing even as they were shut, he let a shakier sigh out. “They told me about my father, and that you and Robb had gone to war with the Lannisters. I tried to leave in the middle of the night, told them my place is with my brother.” 

Your own voice was a bit more breathless, “What happened?” No judgment or accusation in your tone, but he still felt the shame. That uneasy feeling when Jeor Mormont asked him the next morning how his moonlight ride was. His hands paused, prompting you to turn more this time to look at him, “Jon?” 

His mind was far away, but as you called his name a second time he shook his head before gesturing for you to turn forward. “Some of my brothers brought me back. Reminded me that my place was there now.” Quiet for another moment, you could hear the faintest of smiles in his far away tone this time. “They would have liked you.” 

That got a tiny chuckle, “Not a sentence many have ever said about me.” Jon at least, laughed a small bit as well. “Can I ask?” 

Not needing to finish your sentence, Jon knew exactly what you were aiming at. Nodding, even though you couldn’t see, his hands now just running through your strands like a safety net for his resolve. “Two of them..Grenn and Pyp..Pyp was quick, like you. Always had something clever to say. And Grenn- actually I think he would’ve liked you a bit too much.” 

Your face twisted in some doubt but also amusement. “What does that mean?” 

His response only made you roll your eyes. “The way he talked about the girls he had been with, always reminded me of you. Would’ve been eager to impress you. Most men are.” 

You huffed a laugh, “I think that is coming from a position of strong bias, Snow. I’ve only known two men who have been interested in me, and one of them is you.” Jon himself laughed a bit, hands now freely separating chunks of your hair as you suspected he was turning some of them into braids. He loved to do that, if he was running his hands through your hair for a while, he ended up styling it for you, always choosing the ones he personally thought you looked prettiest with. 

“That’s because you aren’t the one who has to watch the way men all look at you when you aren’t paying attention. Or hear the way they talk about you.” Your brows narrowed, genuinely with not a clue what he meant. If you thought back hard enough, Robb had said similar things but you had merely chalked it up to his attempts to rile you up, which always worked. But he wasn’t serious.

“Then there was Sam.” You had begun to lean more into his hands unknowingly. The water now a bearable kind of hot, and his soothing touch you could have fallen asleep. “You would have liked him. He was smart, loyal..he was the one who came after me really. Grenn and Pyp did do, but I don’t know if anyone would have thought to bring me back if Sam hadn’t care enough to try. He was the closest thing I had to a real brother when he got there.” 

There was a fondness in Jon’s tone, one that made your heart lighten just a tad. You could see even from here, the far away but bright look painting over his eyes. You were hesitant about asking, but you wanted to be sure. “Is he..”

“No.” He didn’t mention it, but he was touched at how instantly your shoulders and upper back relaxed at that. “No, I sent him with our maester to the citadel. Maester Aemon was old and Sam was his steward. Loved to read too, I thought it would be something he would do well with. He was the only one who knew about you before Tormund.” 

Tormund had mentioned that Jon brought you up in small pockets when you had died, but didn’t start to speak of you until Hardhome. By then it was a little easier to start saying your name again, and neither he nor Edd would judge him over you. “What did you tell him? Sam, I mean.” 

The pause in Jon’s movements was strange, only for a second did it all stop and then once more right back at carefully doing multiple strands of long, very thin braids. “Likely more then I should have.” Your brows narrowed in confusion, and he didn’t really clear it up. “We were talking about if either of us had ever been with a girl, and I may have said a little too much about a couple parts of you.”

Not to your knowledge, but Jon felt a bit of a relieved shame at how you didn’t really seem to understand what he was getting at. 

Feeling him starting to move sections of your hair around more, it seemed he was satisfied with the level of work he had put in, now letting the small bits braided get wrapped around, leaving a good part of your hair loose down your back. Jon’s voice was quiet as he murmured your name, “I know you said you’d prefer not to talk about her, but there was something on my mind. Did you ever tell Shireen about us?” 

Instead of the ache you expected, it was rather a lightness in your heart that begun to fill you. Memory of a drawing that was sitting on the wall of your room once in King’s Landing, likely gone now. “I think she was simply smart enough to figure it out on her own. I talked about you enough, and once she was old enough to understand what liking boys meant..” You shrugged a little bit with a smile. 

“She asked me about you.” Voice still low, but tinted with his own distant affection from the sounds of his tone. “I told her you were a friend, and she all but called me a liar.” You huffed a breathy laugh out for a few seconds, not knowing it caught a brightness in Jon’s eyes looking up towards you again. “Then she told me she was confused at first, when she realized you had married Robb, and not me.” 

The letter she sent, she was so upset she didn’t know you were to be married until the wedding had already long happened. She knew less about Robb then she did Jon, so she had so many questions and you supposed that made sense. Only, a ting in your mind brought a memory up yourself. Turning only so slightly to the side that he could sense you wanted defend something, but he pushed forward anyways.

“She’d sit on the steps whenever I was in the training yard. Would watch me with the new recruits. I think she liked watching something that reminded her of you.” At the time, it was as endearing to Jon as it was a painful reminder. The only good thing she had left that reminded her of you, was a complete stranger. He understood. Stannis Baratheon himself was a walking reminder of why his father was gone and it felt empty in his heart every time. 

The way his father looked at him that day, the final day. He never forgot that or what it made him feel.

“The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother. I promise.”

People would speculate, throw suggestions around, guess names but not a single one came close to recreating that feeling in his father’s eyes. Whatever that pain was, well over twenty years had not let it disappear. He carried it alone, and as much as he hated being in the dark, Jon was beginning to realize that his father wasn’t keeping it from every person in his life out of his own guilt. But now Jon himself had lost so much family, so many he loved and you had as well. 

Sighing deep, you tried to grab a cloth draped gently over the side of the tub before one of Jon’s hands left your hair to snatch it, pulling it behind you out of your grasp. “Jon-” Cutting yourself off with another sigh. “This isn’t about me. You’re the one in pain-” 

The look in your eye couldn’t be kept until it turned to that. Whoever Jon’s mother was, whatever had happened with her, it wasn’t fair his father felt the need to shoulder that burden alone. And he knew you wouldn’t let Jon become the same, so he had to open you up to speak about that pain himself.

 

Before you let it fester too deep. 

Hands finally leaving your hair, satisfied with his work he shifted behind you before the sensation of something soft ran over your shoulder. Gently washing away what was covering you before moving forward to reach over you. One hand gently draping your back against his chest more as he leaned over your shoulder to run the soapy cloth over your neck and downward. His voice a low muttering as it sat close to your ear. “We’re both in pain, but you never want to deal with yours. And I know if I don’t talk about her, you never will.” 

It was quiet for a few moment’s as he cleaned you himself, never jostling you too much as he reached around you or shifted you at a certain angle. It was an odd time for the thought to come up, but once it did an unsettled part of you found no way to let it go. “Renly used to always call her ugly. It made me so mad. I knew it was because of her greyscale. The only reason I even had a sister, was because my father brought every healer from across the Seven Kingdoms he could find to save her, and all anyone could say afterwards was how her scar was hideous.” 

Strands of his hair danced across your shoulder as he pulled your knee up more to your chest before moving to the other. His touch even more slow and light as you were to him. “You described her to me enough that until a few of the men had pointed it out, I hadn’t even noticed it. She looked like you did at that age, but I barley noticed the scar.” Pausing for a moment before he hummed, almost fondly. “Rickon looked just like Robb did at  that age.”

You almost smiled, maybe could have let out a breath of a laugh if you found the strength too. “Do you think they were friends? In that other life of ours?” The thought, did in fact make Jon smile. 

The water finally starting to simmer down to something not as comfortingly warm and the clearness now soaked in darks and red. Jon sat everything aside, just pulling you to lean back entirely against his chest, one of his hands covering your scar without thinking, the other capturing yours as it sat close to your heart. “Maybe they’re friends already, wherever they are now. Giving Robb and my father more grey hair by the day.” 

It was far away, but the lightness in your eyes was close to something alright. Something akin to what a smile in another life could be. There was much to do this night alone, but right here and now you both sat with the other in the only peace found in many years, this time tinted by by the blood outside these halls. 

Neither you or Jon had expected to see what already stood there, the spot just by where Rickon was to be laid to rest. You knew his bones were there, but not that it was made. By the time your faint footsteps could be heard in the crypt, his own eyes were too transfixed on the sight to find yours.

Coming up close, you very slowly turned to match his direction. Whoever was put in charge of making it, did a good job. Easy to see the stern ferocity in Ned Stark’s eyes even as they stood still in the colours of stone. 

Many in the south considered the crypts of Northern Lords to be dim and creepy. A place that none dared to go, as if locking their loved ones away like this was cruel. Your uncle thought so. Thought that Lyanna Stark shouldn’t be buried in such a grim hole in the ground. But as you looked at the statue standing over where Ned was buried, you knew that it wasn’t fair to think that. This was their home, where their families were also buried. A place they could rest undisturbed from the world away from anything that killed them. 

Peeking over to Jon, it was clear that he didn’t expect it either. Grey eyes were wide and bright as they painted over with something so recognizable in them, something almost childlike. His face was soft and nothing like the harsh, brooding, seriousness that was much of what everyone knew on him. It wasn’t a King standing here, just a boy who had never quite gotten over losing his father.

Ever so gently, your hand reached out, fingers stretching just enough to lightly dance over Jon’s as you both stood together. Him grasping yours tightly without a single second to hesitate. A very gentle prompt as you turned to face him, other free hand dragging up to run along the other side of his jaw, tilting him just slightly to you. Voice murmuring as his eyes closed at the sensation. “Did you want to do this part alone?” 

Shaking his head, he gripped your hand almost too tight for the briefest of moments, until he exhaled deeply. “No. We’re family now, we do it together.” 

Oh there was truly something carving deep and complicated within the caverns of your heart. What did that even mean? Were you really part of this family? Catelyn had five children, she was a Stark as much as a Tully to the end as she raised her Northern children. But you didn’t get anywhere near that far. You lost all of it, and now lost the Baratheon’s once called to your name. 

Jon was this families blood, but you didn’t think you had the right to be. Not now. Not anymore. Not after failing all of them every step of the way. 

Knelt on the ground, his hand running so lightly over Rickon’s. Gently tracing his thumb over the skin as you were poised waiting. Your palms braced on the ground, watching his face as you realize how right Jon had been. Rickon looked so much like when you first met Robb. How much did he look like what your son at that age would have looked like? Was there ever a fantasy or dream remaining that maybe you’d find out or was that child forever left where they were? 

But at least they were all together, they could take care of each other where they were now. 

One final kiss was pressed to his little brother’s forehead. Pulling back the tears were there, but he inhaled and stood regardless of them. It was impossible to know who was left out there, especially now, but at least two Starks were brought home. Reunited in their home. That was the only comfort that would be found in Jon now. At least his father and Rickon were buried together. 

He had never asked you about Robb, and in honest he wasn’t ready still. You refused to speak of what happened after, and every time you came close a truly sickening horror came over you and you were adamant about not speaking a word of it. He hated knowing that it was such a weight of terror inside you still that you found no conclusion but to shoulder it alone. 

The world needed to be rejoined, but not quite was the quiet of the crypt willing to let you both leave it. Once more, you were now in front of the statue of his father, a silence between you both. Jon took a moment, knelt on the ground before it, gloved hand slightly digging into the ground as if reaching out to him in beyond his prayers. 

Your eyes found the statue’s, trying to tell Ned Stark wherever he was, you were sorry to become such a disappointment. That once a life full of many grandchildren, many with names to honour, ones Ned himself loved? You very likely wouldn’t be the one anymore to give him that memory of children. 

She said it wasn’t your fault, but it didn’t stop feeling like it. Not in this place, not where he lay, his family lay, and where Robb deserved to lay. Your mother, you thought, was wrong. Maybe your part of the family had one chance to give birth to a boy and you let it die along with you. 

Maybe that boy was your only chance and it was gone. And you wanted Ned Stark to know you were sorry. You failed his son, his children, his wife, his home. You failed his grandson and maybe you weren’t supposed to be the one to carry that line. Maybe you weren’t meant for anything to the Starks but to facilitate their deaths. 

Looking up at the stone, you couldn’t stop the thought of it being for the best, not letting Jon be with you that way again. That maybe you were wasting his time. You failed to give the last King in the North a living heir, what right did you have to fail the second all over again. Why would Jon even want to try with you? He was King, he could find a wife, any wife. A prettier, kinder wife who would do him better by then you. 

This new life would’ve been far easier for himself if Jon would just do the right thing, you thought, and kick you out of his home. Abandon you to the cold forever and find love that would grace him with life.

Theon knew you had said he was said to be trusted now but there was no mistaking the harm he had caused these very people around him. Some he knew on the paths of war, some he knew from years growing up in this place and others only heard whispers of him as a traitor. It was hard to try and defend anything he did, because he couldn’t and he wouldn’t. 

Theon knew too well that there was nothing to make right what he did. That morning he could still recall and it made him sick to his stomach at the memory. The look on Bran’s face when he asked him if he hated them the entire time, he should’ve stopped then and there. Should have made it right. 

Bran in the face of betrayal that he was powerless to stop, pulled himself upright in bed and with no hesitation told him that he wouldn’t surrender. Everything a Stark was made of. Unquestioning in his resolve, and protective of his home and family, telling Theon he wouldn’t give up and yet Theon forced him. 

Bran would have been only eleven then, he looked it. Young and soft faced with wide eyes that didn’t understand why someone he knew his entire life would do such a thing and yet stood up to him even after being awake for only minutes. Then it was the uncomfortable truth as Ser Rodrick looked at him with all of the certainty of someone who watched him become a man. 

“Gods help you, Theon Greyjoy. Now you are truly lost.” 

He didn’t do it because he wanted to or he had to. He did it because he thought, like a fool, this was how to prove his worth. Not even the mercy of a quick death, it was brutal and horrid. The crunch under his boot as he slammed the remainder down onto the ground as Bran and Rickon had begged and cried for him to stop. If he walked to that spot, he could see them all now. He could see them sitting there in horror as the people around him found nothing but a stranger in his eyes.

And standing with him were a people that would never respect him. Who went along with the idea to murder two innocent boys and burn them beyond recognition. Pretend they were the Starks and feel like a tough man, when he hadn’t even the heart to do the killing and burning on his own. Even now, he still didn’t have the courage. Not to go down to the crypts, not to bury the boy he actively betrayed when all he could see was his actions. 

He would go down there eventually. But not now. He couldn’t just go down there, not when he wasn’t ready to face Rickon. He couldn’t see Ned Stark until he could face his youngest son too. 

Crowds had begun to gather in the main castle and courtyard. Nothing had felt anything worth a celebration in the North for a long time, but they found it in their new King. Too many people. Too many who knew what he had done, and who didn’t understand why he was allowed to stand there with his life. He knew it was coming, but he would not stick around to experience it more then he had too. 

As he walked through the corridors, he knew only one person who could not handle that crowd only for reasons opposite his. It also, was the only person anymore that Theon felt as if gave him a reason to stick around. He had known you for over a decade, but it wasn’t until those days in both the dungeons of the Dreadfort and trapped in the hell of the Boltons did he truly understand you. 

It was hard to describe, but something about that endless barrage of terror had bonded you both in a way no one else understood. Watched torture of the other in ways that no living creature deserved to endure and the anguish in your minds found any identity in the quiet moments graced to you. It also meant, that he knew without any doubt, that if you were not to be found in the crowds of North men, there was only one place you’d end up that first night. 

Walking in made him feel sick, but he went through the door regardless. He had to, leaving you alone would be a mistake. He wasn’t there for the end, but he saw enough to know being back here with every opportunity to relive those easy times was not to be skipped. So he walked in. Possibly he should have looked for you sooner. The image he walked in on was an odd one, especially for someone as stoic as you. 

Robb’s room was exactly as it had been left the day you all set out for war. The Bolton’s had no use for most of these rooms, and took others for themselves at least. Window closed to the world, and perched right up against the adjacent wall across the door, was you. Knees pulled up to your chest as your arms draped over them, both hands fiddling with a dagger painted with dry blood. The same one that came with Shaggydog’s head. Beside you however, was enough wine that he was surprised you could even speak.

Your eyes were red, and stains of once fallen tears were shamelessly dried on your cheeks. Glancing up as he slowly closed the door behind him, you sounded much more dry and coherent then he expected for the amount he suspected you had already drunk. “If you’re here to lecture me, I assure you I’ve already lectured myself over it.” 

Watching with narrowed eyes as you took a steady hand and downed the rest of what was in the glass before slamming it down. Your jaw tensed as you let your head fall back onto the stone wall. Theon took slow steps approaching. “Wasn’t going to. How much have you had?”

Your brows narrowed briefly as you thought it over, only to shrug before returning to fiddling with both ends of the blade. Carefully sitting down beside you, leaving the wine between. A single raise of your eyebrows in jest, “I don’t recall inviting you to join, Greyjoy.” 

“No,” Grabbing the pitcher for himself he poured enough in the glass before taking it himself. He threw back the drink in one go. The sour taste shaking his spine out before putting it back between you both. Filling it halfway for whichever of you choose to take the next. “Why are you even holding onto that?” 

He didn’t expect the cold, distant answer with a roughness strained through your response. “Because it was Roose Bolton’s. Because it’s the one he shoved into Robb’s heart.” That sick feeling returned, the same one that left him floating in mid air as he learned the news for the first time in Ramsay’s mockery. 

You picked up the mantle, downing the glass in one breathe before filling it up again. Clearly debating if you wanted to just take another, but chose against it. Slamming your head back against the stone wall watching the blade. Voice so far away, like sliced through the cords and left something tearing and wavering in it’s place. 

“He made Robb watch his unborn son be murdered, murder me before shoving it into his heart. And then he kept it to himself like a prize. A prize for destroying everything that meant the world to Robb. He never walked around without this thing, it was a reminder to everyone what he had done. Ramsay only sent it because he wanted me to know that there was nothing in his way anymore.” 

He should’ve moved quicker, because you drank down the contents of the glass once more without thought. Face barley even flinching each time, letting it fill again. Theon pulled it slightly closer to him when you stopped looking as he quietly called your name. “Does Jon know your drinking yourself to death, hiding away up in Robb’s room?” 

Were he not feeling that same sickening need to hide, he may have smiled at the ease which brightness filled your eyes. A small smile asking to peek through on the corners of your mouth lasting only as long as you spoke of him. “Probably not. Slipped away right as Tormund was trying to get him to drink whatever that fucking nonsense of his he was offering. Said something about how vomiting is celebrating, meaning I have plenty of time to drink alone until the need to smash something into the wall and pass out arises.” 

Narrowing his eyes, he contemplated whether or not at this point you being missing from the crowd would be upsetting or just angering to an equally as drunk Jon Snow. He was willing to wager on the second if he was to be careful. “So you’d rather him not know where you are, while you’re up here looking at the worst possible memory you could come up with, pissed out of your mind.” Theon nor you noticed your grip on the sharp end was slowly growing tighter. 

Drinking himself, Theon paused, had one more and continued the process as was before. Pulling his own knees up in similar fashion, resting as you did. “You’re not a failure because the Bolton’s betrayed you. That’s not your fault. It’s theirs.” 

“I am to him.” Theon’s eyes narrowed as he watched you, “I know he looks at me like I’m useless, my one purpose and I failed at it. Maybe I always will, maybe that was my one chance at it. And he hates me for it.” 

It was an odd feeling, you clearly thought you were being obvious. But Theon realized he had no idea who you were talking about. Then again, were he in your place he may not know who he’d be talking about either anymore. “I think at this point the only person who hates you, is you. Whereas damn near everyone here but you hates me.” 

You huffed a laugh, only to narrow your brows as Theon took the liberty of snatching the glass from your reaching hand. “You’re the only reason I’m alive, be weird if I hated you after all that.” 

Theon begun to match your level, were to to stand up at this point he might not be as sober as he seemed to be on the floor. Shrugging, pouring the next and handing it to you personally. Keeping the jug beside him away from your reach this time as you downed in one go. Gods could you stags ever drink, he thought to himself. 

“It’s weird that you don’t. Knowing that everyone hates me, Robb died hating me, but here you are, the only other person then him who should hate me the most, is the only one who doesn’t.” The smirk wasn’t genuine, but the oddness of your dynamic still was a faintest of amusing in a way. “How the fuck did we end up here, Baratheon?” 

You shrugged. Drunk enough to not have noticed the blood starting to run down your arm that was furthest away from Theon’s sight. “I’m bad at dying, not a clue what your excuse is.” For a while it was quiet, the muffles of Northerns below not reaching as much as they could from the closed door and window. You sounded much more sober when you spoke once more, much more in the moment as your eyes glazed over. “I didn’t know it was possible to miss someone this much.” 

Watching your eyes watering, they looked up to the room, around and landing on the untouched bed almost making that pain behind worse looking. Theon suspected were you alone again, you’d haul yourself up and curl up on that very bed but he knew it would only make it worse. He had no idea what to say, there wasn’t anything to say. 

The North lost their King, Jon lost his brother, Theon lost his best friend but this was something all too different for you. Yours was a pain that he had not an inkling on how to help. 

Almost a whisper you spoke once more, “Everyday for over three years, we never spent more then a few hours apart. Always at war, always going somewhere but most of the time we were right beside the other. But now, even after a year being away from him? It feels as fucking horrible as it did that first day.” One hand finally let go of the sharp end, letting it hand down towards the ground for a moment before startling Theon as you chucked it as hard as you could manage. 

The handle slamming into the wall as it fell to the ground with a clunk before he realized you had buried your head in your arms. The tears that time were fresh, and it was almost enough to pull them from Theon as well. Not a single word existing in any language which could make this kind of pain better, all he could do was move a tad closer. Reach an arm around your shoulders and pull you to at least lean a little more into his side. 

He missed Robb and so did everyone else here, but there was something about the way he was ripped from you, the way his unborn son was ripped from you? That was a pain that he could only be someone to cry against, nothing could heal that for you. Not even time. Theon suspected you would get better at handling it one day, but it would likely always hurt this much. 

But he let you lean somewhat into him and cry until you slowed your breathing. Quite the first night back in a reclaimed Winterfell under a new King in the North, it was. The Queen passing out drunk against the traitor, on the floor of the dead King’s bedroom. 

It was funny leading the crow up to his room, never having seen the man anything less then hearty on his feet and as collected as he could. Too much in his system however, was only not knocking into shit as long as Tormund kept him steady at his side but nothing could be done about the smart ass temper Jon Snow had been spouting. No doubt Tormund had tipped his hand a little too much, pushing the man past a reasonable limit but by the time it was noticed how long you’d been gone, Tormund had pushed Jon’s limit essentially into the floor and down a hole. 

If he recalled half of the things he’d been saying by morning, it would be nothing short of a miracle. And the longer the night went on, the more short tempered he would get. Years ago he’d have considered knocking the crow into the ground for getting in his face like that, but now he was the only one who could get away with it. Certainly the only one who could threaten Tormund and live, then again it also was done just on the cusp of almost too drunk to stand on two feet alone. 

It shouldn’t have been so funny to hear Jon turn to Tormund with a hiss in his voice and getting in his face. The large man having commented that you’d been gone so long you probably passed out somewhere in need of rescuing, looking to the swaying King with a light, “How about you go sweep her off your feet in the morning when you can see straight. I’ll go find her if you’re that worried.” 

Only for him to get a mighty glare, and through a drunkenly very thick accent he managed to spit out at Tormund, “I shouldn’t be letting you within fifty feet of my wife, the way you look at her.” 

Apparently, telling a very drunk Jon Snow with a grin that you were in fact, not his wife, was enough to awaken a territorial, possessive wolf hiding under the surface. “Last time I checked you Southerners aren’t considered married just because you gave your girl a good fuck once. Who knows, maybe I give her a go and I’ll have as good a chance as you.” 

Leaning up into his face, Jon was ready to knock him on his ass. “You wouldn’t even be able to get a sound out of her, I know her better then you ever could.” Truly was testing Tormund’s already slightly drunk resolve not to laugh but there was less the any chance the man was going to remember having this conversation. “She was mine first, she’ll always be mine.” 

Never had he heard him talk about you like that, truly a wolf he was. Ready to bite and snarl at anyone coming close to his mate now that he was so many drinks deep it was a shock he was conscious. “Then why’d she run off all night?” 

In some time between leaving the crowd full of equally as amusingly drunk Northerners and Free Folk outside, and Tormund wrangling the King in the North to his room they agreed to have him go searching the main room halls to look for you while Jon entertained the idea of sobering up. Declining Tormund’s offer to toss him into a barrel of water and get the job done quick. 

Morning sun shining brightly into the bedroom, and the around spoke that it was far too early for any to be awake. And yet, there was an intentionally slow drifting feeling of you slinking away only to be pulled back by into a warm chest before reaching the edge of the bed. Your world jolted moving so quickly, but the arms held you with more strength to him then you had to dodge or escape. Jon’s voice was deep, thick with sleep and only in mumbles you could understand as he was right against you. “Think you’ve been hiding from me enough for one day.” 

Settling back down more relaxed into the bed with a sigh, you knew he could feel how you hadn’t let go of the tensity in your muscles. A shrinking in your lungs that tightened everything else until you felt a familiar overwhelming that sent you feeling last night. Was it you didn’t know what to say, or you simply couldn’t say it without your voice cracking in tears? 

Either answer, Jon shifted closer to you, nudging against the back of your head gently with his, as one hand rose from it’s spot around you. Pulling your hair gently to the side and out of his way so he could find a spot and slink down enough to a comfortable place to gently press his lips to the back of your neck, that same hand drifting down to run firmly along your hip. “I’m not mad.” 

It felt so often like he had to assure you of that. Saying he wasn’t mad at you for things you almost preferred if he would be. Wanting him to scold you, lecture you, yell, start a fight but he never did. Jon was in your head far too much to bother with that. You were barley above a whisper when you found any air to speak out, “I wish you were.” The hand on your hip tightened an you knew his brows narrowed despite likely still keeping his eyes shut. “Could handle it better if you were.” 

Jon sighed deeply, likely his only solace was that you hadn’t tried to leave his grip again. “I’m not going to get mad at you for slipping off to Robb’s room,” Your little amount of air in your breath hitched, and there was no way he didn’t feel it. “What worries me is what you would’ve done if Theon hadn’t found you.” 

Your hands clutched the thin sheet below you, tight enough that you could’ve threatened to tear them if it got any worse. By the time he found you, you were already bordering on a point too far to properly remember. Part of your hand was wrapped gently with a hint of old red having soaked through hours ago, and there was no memory at all of how that even happened. “I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. That’s the problem, you’re always sorry for things no one blames you for.” Finally having enough, Jon loosened his grip only to turn you on your back to face him. Your injured hand reaching out instinctively to steady yourself against Jon’s arm having moved to sit on the other side of your person. Pushed up enough to hover just over your top half, his eyes still heavy with sleep as yours were as well as his voice still rough but there was no denying a level of frustration in them. “I know you’re in pain, and I can’t even imagine what that feels like. But I know it’s not good for you to deal with it all on your own like this.” 

You tried looking away, but there was little else to grab your attention. His warmth all around you it felt, his curls loose as they traced along your skin and his breathe closer to your face as he leaned more to keep your eyes, it was impossible to not get drawn back to him. Your own much more close to a stinging red then when you had awoken. 

Laying more relaxed a bit, you let your injured hand stay gently resting up against the arm still caging you in, the other twitching as it rested flat against your torso unsure of what it wanted to do. The washing over of a tender care in his eyes shined bright against the grey. Even hidden slightly from the morning sun of his own room, they still were as loud as ever. He held a lot back in his words most days, but it was all spoken in his eyes if you knew how to read them. 

“You loved him, you were staring a family with him.” You swallowed heavily as he spoke with an assuring conviction that held no judgment despite that which you feared. “You’ll always love Robb, but I’ve always loved you and that isn’t going to change just because your in pain.” 

The hand on his arm absent mindedly begun to run along the bare skin, looking somewhat at him but also far inside a memory of your own. “When your father told me he knew, I was worried that he’d assume I was always going to just be thinking of you when I was with Robb..” Meeting his eyes properly, you shrugged a shoulder as best you could from your splayed out position, “Now I suppose I’m worried you’ll assume I’m only thinking of Robb when I’m with you..”

If he had been thinking of it for a while, or he was just that good at knowing what you needed to hear, either way it made a block in your throat that choked itself up, and you knew he could see it in your eyes. “You have a big heart, there’s plenty of room enough for both of us.” Shifting ever so slightly, Jon gently ran a hand over where he could reach of your hair at the top of your head before pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

Normally, he’d pull back easily, giving you a degree of space. Only, this time, he hovered there. Looking down at you, hidden away from the world so close to the other by his arms and hair laying loose as his curls draped around you both. Thinking to himself maybe if you both stayed exactly like this, he wouldn’t cross that line. One that always had something else looming over keeping him from wanting to push you too fast.

Both having spent six years building together slowly in these very halls once, taking a long time from that first kiss to when he hovered over you in this exact manner once before. Only this time, you were far more clothed then last, and yet it ran his blood hot all the same. It wasn’t the right time then, as far as you both had discovered the other together, you weren’t ready to take that final leap and Jon himself knew that he’d be taking something from you that you may have to give to another one day. 

You never liked being referred to as someone in the royal family, but it was undeniable. Your uncle was the King, and your father had taken you to live in King’s Landing with the rest of them all in that same luxury. You never felt right amongst it, but Jon knew that no matter what you said, you were one of them and a beautiful Baratheon girl like you wasn’t ever going to be allowed to marry a bastard.

He could pretend he was yours, but as he hovered over you just like this all those years ago, he knew that he was pushing it. Whoever you married might not take too kindly to a highborn girl like you already having lost her innocence. Then a far worse anxiety for Jon in those days, came in form of the sickening truth that he would be ruining your entire life if he got you pregnant. 

The shame given to you for it, for who it was with, and the kind of shame that would be looked at to your child? He couldn’t bear that idea, not then. Now though? It felt difficult to remember that. What was there telling him he couldn’t have those things, who was saying you couldn’t be together, couldn’t find a family with each other? 

But it was in fact, that small hesitant look in your eyes that had Jon stay in place. So badly wanting to close the gap and finally kiss you again, but the fear of pushing you too fast was strong. What he was trying to figure out, was why that hesitancy inside you was screaming of things much different then he saw looking at you.

You weren’t sure why the thought came to you, or why you felt this sudden need to do it except that in this moment it felt like if you didn’t you would ruin everything again. Was it the familiar intimacy you once shared with Robb, or was it the turmoiling taunts in your mind that spoke of your only use. If you weren’t good for one thing, you might be useful for another. 

Finally moving the hand resting on your torso, you pushed against the scars littered about his chest leaning up along with the force until he was forced to move off you where previously he lay. You twisted slightly, moreso taking the position he previously had and prompting him to relax back in the sheets only you only stayed gently at his side instead of boldly hovering over him. You could ask him, but maybe it was easier to just offer it. Asking ran the risk of Jon sensing the nervousness and insecurity in your tone. “Let me do something for you.” 

Your fingers drifted up his chest a bit more, a light and tender touch that wasn’t greedy or even purposely sensual, just an innocent exploration as you looked over him, not quite meeting his eyes for any kind of long stretches at a time. His own hand reached over, running across your jaw with a rough tone, “I don’t need you to do anything..” There was a concern there, but you had to shove past it. 

Something in you was fighting between a want and an obligation, but you didn’t care to linger in your thoughts too long to find out which was the stronger inclination. Instead, quietly you leaned forward to press a kiss to his jaw. Jon’s hand slipped down to your upper arm with a firm hold at the feeling, breathing picking up as you let your lips gently run along his jaw contrasting to the roughness of his facial hair against your own soft touch. 

Ever so lightly, you trailed down. Only light and gentle touches of your lips to his neck but were enough to have the hand laying about closest to you, slip around and find your waist. Every kiss you left was almost too innocent, nothing greedy and dominating like the ones Robb would give, and not the painful and cruelly subjugating the ones Ramsay would draw blood from on his worst moods. Instead it was like the more innocent days as teenagers between you and Jon. Unsure and light, trying to find your stride with him. Lightly trailing down his collarbones, his chest clearly was rising and falling heavier, breathing picking up as he begun losing his easy touch on you. 

Gently moving down, you begun to find the scars along him. The one by his heart catching your eye, and as one hand ran down the side of his waist almost keeping you or him steady, you breathed heavily before his own eyes slipped shut. 

Your lips pressing nothing but a light feather kiss to the scar, before making a path to the next, and the next. Not letting a single mark of skin between the scars untouched by your lips until you reached the lowest one closer to his hips. Jon breathing picking up heavily, one hand gripping the sheets below and the other debating reaching out to run through your hair or pulling you up from down there entirely. 

That debate boiling over as your heart raced, coming to his hips. Unlacing him, you peeked up to him to see his jaw clenched as he was spending a great deal of effort remaining as calm as he was with his eyes sealed closed. Slowly, you sat up just a bit, taking both sides of his pants and gently pulling them down, watching the tensity in his person as you did so. 

Ever so carefully with a slow pace you took the material off him entirely before trying to your nerves racing to quell. Trying to tell yourself, you’ve done this before, you aren’t in danger here and it’s just like any time with Robb. But your time with Jon in that cold, dark night had nothing like this act, that yanking pull between anxious and desire filled you and it was difficult to tell if it was fear or need such a mixture was creating. 

But he let you go at your own pace, never once trying to force you to get to it. Your hand gently wrapped around his cock, already hard as if he had worked up to this state the second your lips touched his jaw. Now it was thick so close to your face, tip turning slightly red in need and twitched in your soft touch. You had seen it that night and yet now your nerves felt as if it was the first time. Your hands already on the side of smaller, it only made your delicate touch around him that much more electrifying for him to feel.

Ever so gently you stroked him and a low sound deep in his chest tried to contain itself, your name strained on his lips as if in warning, but as you found a slow pace to run up and down his cock at, you leaned down to press a kiss to his hip downward. Gentle kisses as you made a path closer and closer, only to be paused in your movements as Jon sent one hand down quickly to cover yours over top him. His hand dwarfing yours around his already thick cock, sitting up ever so lightly to look down at you. Your eyes were dark and wide as he started to guide a bit more. 

Holding you against him tighter, moving a bit faster at a different pace until you found the confidence to stroke him by yourself, lips now back towards him. Only whatever he thought he was prepared for, the feeling of you pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock had him tense, with a hiss.

Much like his size, the bit of cum already leaking from his tip was thick as you licked over top of him, hand now not quite moving but holding him steady. Tiny licks to his tip that had your eyes slipped closed as you took him more into your mouth. Jon’s own head thrown back into the pillows and his hand tight in the sheets. 

The stretch of his cock in your mouth was different, it was wide and already your jaw asked you of mercy but your racing heart told you, you wanted this. Slowly, you ran your tongue over his cock, your mouth sliding down further and further slowly. Pulling back as the saliva soaked around him and mixed with his own pre cum. Making it easy for him to slide deeper. 

Finally, his free hand found your hair with a deep, restrained grunt and his hips almost moving up more into your mouth on his own accord. Slowly, you found yourself halfway down his cock, and you had not once pulled off or increased your speed. Just slowly bobbing up and down as your tongue and mouth soaked around him. Sucking his cock in the same manner of care that Jon raked his hand through your hair with tenderness.

There was none of the filthy words which would so easily spill from Robb’s lips, none of his tight grip on you and controlling pace as he fucked your mouth like it was a treat made just for you. You adored the way Robb treated you, but this was different in just as a loving way. It was quiet in the room except for the sounds of Jon holding back any deep grunts and groans, only the occasional mutter of your name or some variation of swearing that stuttered his breathe mid speaking. That, and the quiet but wet sounds of your mouth soaking up and down his cock to drive him utterly crazy.

Your mouth felt so full already, thick inside you and stretched wide, but you were only halfway down his length and you wanted to be good for him. Wanted to prove you could handle it, your heart skipped a panicking beat as you did so, but you took the rest of Jon’s length into your mouth in one go. 

A louder moan so freely leaving his mouth, hips almost bucking up deeper into your throat as you were pressed up against the coarse black hair around his cock. Your throat begging for reprieve, but you only pulled back to his tip before sucking his cock as deep again. Your hands braced against his hips and Jon barley finding the strength to speak. The sounds turned to almost gagging each time you took him so deeply, and Jon’s hand would almost massage through your hair like it was the only thing he could do for you in comfort. You didn’t come off of him the entire time, even through your lungs ached for air and your heart was pounding in a nervousness.

Just as Jon had fucked you slow and savoured every inch of you around his cock, so did you run your mouth along his thick length. Saliva mixing more with his seed by the second and making a mess around the base of his cock as it spilled from the sides of your mouth. 

Grey eyes so dark they were blown up to a black, Jon slightly moved up a bit to look at you, your body looking so contrasting, fully dressed against his bare frame with you draped over his bottom half, mouth sucking up and down his cock as with a genuine innocence as if you simply loved doing it. Your hands braced on his hips as you never once left his length. Pace increasing against him, his breathing picked up substantially, eyes fluttering closed as his head fell back and let more of a deep groan leave him freely. 

More and more he throbbed inside of you, and it was only then did you feel him gently try to guide you off of him. His voice so ragged and deep that it could barley be understood. “Fuck..darling, come here,”

But you only took him deeper again, that sound of soaked gagging against him as he overwhelmed your small mouth with his size had him shake, feeling a small noise of need from you around him. Trying to keep him in your mouth against his insistence to pull you off, but he was weak to how you felt around him. Jon didn’t want you thinking he expected this, that he expected you to take all of him or run along his cock the closer he felt the need to cum. But you did, and you refused his gentle touch and buried your nose into the hair around his base once more. 

His accent slurred from his tongue, “Gods your beautiful, you’re so beautiful on my cock. But- fuck, you don’t have too..you don’t need-” If anything you increased your pace, shallow bobs so deep on his cock that he knew if he didn’t pull you off him now, he wouldn’t be able to hold back in time before he spilled inside your mouth. Him moving to sit up properly against the headboard to watch, you just shifted against him to follow, always sinking deeper with a whine in your own throat that sent him spiralling. To Jon, this was somehow, even filthier then taking you deep against the walls of the ice cells. 

This was the thing with you he didn’t want. To have you feel like you needed to do these things for him as if that’s what made him happy. But, it was hard to maintain control with your mouth taking him so deep like this, how hard he struggled not to thrust into you enough it pushed you past your limits but your soaking, hot mouth was a true heaven around him. The closest he’s had to that inhumanly obsessed, addicted feeling when he slid inside your cunt for the first time, but here he had so much less control. He wasn’t sure he liked that.

Trying to call your attention with your name, you whined when he tried pulling you off him one last time as you denied. His head falling back against the headboard when he realized it. “You want me to- oh fuck..darling, you want this?” You moaned against him and Jon simply lost the last strand of self control. 

You sucked him deep into your mouth, hands braced against his hips as he throbbed in your mouth before the hand on the back of your head started to hold you against him now, pressing you right up against the dark hair around his base. He before tried to pull you off, but now as his orgasm finally wracked through his body, his instinct told him to feed as much of his cock into your mouth as you could take. And in the darker part of his mind, the amount of his cock he needed you to take, was all of it. 

If Jon’s cum was a lot to take inside you before, having it spill so deeply down your throat was obscene. The gagging sounds of you desperate to swallow so much, had him gritting his teeth. Eyes nearly black as he watched you, unable to tell himself to ease up. His hand cupping the back of your head, keeping his cock sunk as deep as he could into your mouth. Something in the back of his mind he knew was incredibly possessive, wanted to watch as he overwhelmed and filled your mouth. Another part of him though, the animal in his heart, was frustrated with how desperate and badly he wished it was your cunt he was filling. 

What he spilled deep in your throat was as thick as you remembered it feeling. So thick that it was difficult to swallow all of his seed the more he spilled into you, but it was also so warm. Warm near almost hot as he came and came more inside your mouth as if it would never end. His seed spilling down your throat and filling your stomach like he was all you needed anymore. 

Your heart was racing by the time you felt the last of his seed swallow down. Slowly letting him pull you off this time, cock soaked with your saliva and tinted a bit white from how much he came. You almost heaved in desperate, painful need of air as soon as his cock slipped from your mouth.

The last remains of him dripping from your swollen lips, wide as you gasped for air but never moved away from him. Before he could do anything, you leaned back down, kissing a path back to his hips, and up over the same scars you kissed a path down too. 

One last to his jaw before you nuzzled into the scratchiness you found there as his arms held you tight against him. Collecting himself, Jon sighed deeply almost in a frustrated tone. Stilling in his arms you spared a nervous glance up, eyes wide and now suddenly full of a panic he hated seeing directed towards him. Your voice was small and unsure, “I-was..” He tried to come up with the right words before you spiralled but it happened anyways and how unconfident in yourself you were kept breaking his heart. “..I’m sorry if it..wasn’t..good..” 

Oh the gods desperately needed to grant Jon mercy. After everything yesterday, the fight you both found so perfectly at the other’s back to reclaim your home together. And yet, he still found it in him to be this unbelievably angry that the Bolton rotting in his dungeon had managed to make you think this little of your worth. Jon knew this was new. There was no way Robb would’ve let you think about yourself this way. 

Shifting to sit you up along with him, Jon all but pulled you onto his lap. Your hands braced on his shoulders as he nudged your nose with his, one hand on your waist and the other running along the back of your neck. “You’re perfect, do you understand me?” The one on your waist raised to cup your cheek as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You, are perfect.” A light laugh breathed out of him, almost in a bit of a flustering shock for you he ran his thumb over your cheek. “Almost four years apart and you still find things to be my first for.” 

Jon laughed more more freely at the almost embarrassment in you at how easily he said it, but you felt more at ease knowing he wasn’t entirely disappointed in you. That was never really a fear with Robb, and you hated that you kept having to push passed it with Jon. You were never once this kind of nervous with him before and it was difficult handling that feeling now, but the gentleness he held and the charming grin on his face as he held you close gave you some peace.  Your hands drifting up to run through his hair, “Glad the King in the North still has at least one use for whatever I am now.” 

Pulling back to look you more in the eye, the grey a mix of smothered with lust and a seriousness tinted in an overwhelming affection shined in them. “Don’t get used to it, taking me like that.” Your brows narrowed in confusion, as Jon ran a hand through your hair almost combing the long strands, purposely switching tactics. “And calling me a King doesn’t make you any less a Queen.” 

Trying to pull back, you shook your head in protest. “Jon-”

But he held you firmly, not interrupting without having to even increase his tone with your name. “I’m not ordering you to marry me, I would never do that. Especially not now, but to them out there?” His head nodding towards the window, “You’re still their Queen as much as they decided I’m their King. This isn’t the Seven Kingdoms anymore, and I don’t need you to marry me to stand beside me as if we’re signing a contract. This is our home. Not mine, ours. I’m their King, and you’re my Queen that’s all there needs to be to it.” 

It wouldn’t truly feel like home, not until one final thing was done. But that was to wait. Let the North gather here to reveal in their reclaimed land, their new King, and unite for the one cause now that truly mattered. Once they were here, there was only one last thing in the way of ensuring this fight here and now was over. 

Jon didn’t give Ramsay the satisfaction of letting his rage take over and beat him to death out in the courtyards of Winterfell. But he was King now, and he couldn’t help the North heal, help you heal, couldn’t lead his people Northern and Free Folk in the fight of coming winter until he dealt with the one rotting in the dungeons. 

He chose not to beat him to death out there, but Jon without a doubt also knew he was going to drag Ramsay Bolton out in front of his people, to be properly executed by his new King. When the sun begins to go down tonight, Jon will do one last thing to end this nightmare. He just hoped wherever Robb was, he knew that his brother was doing what he could for him. He couldn’t get justice for him or for his son, but he could get justice for the North, and justice for you. 

Jon could only hope for Robb, that would be enough to give him peace. 

It was a strange feeling, the three of you standing in the main hall like this. For a long time, it felt as if this wasn’t quite a home, or at least a welcome one for all of you. Your time here was always limited, months at a time and very occasionally longer stays that always knew you would walk out and not know when the next time would be. 

The main hall was empty, tables pushed to the sides leaving a larger space right down the middle leading up to the small set of steps raising up to the platform. A table just as long sat horizontal along that path, empty as could be when you knew it once wasn’t many times over. Those still working dutifully in the castle of Winterfell were well on their way to clearing out what remained of the Bolton’s, and yet what was left was not the home you all were together in. Full of life and family. The Boltons had taken those away. 

Instead, the room was empty and unlit. Only the glow from the windows and outdoors shined into the room, casting it within a glow of blue and tints of green. Theon trailed along the bottom of the hall, eyes scouring for something, anything. A hint of the life and man he once was, only to find so much like you were, gone and empty. Hollowed out like a shell. 

You slowly paced up along the steps, your eyes trained on the other figure with you. Jon was behind all of the seats, hand gently tracing the tops of the surface until he reached the middle. A far off look as he stared at nothing in particular before he slowly grasped the edge of the chair. Leaning back slightly bent at the knee before his eyes found the room as you all did. Your own fingertips danced along the table’s surface, something too close to the surface on your own to speak. Truthfully, none of you knew how to speak. 

A home was reclaimed, it’s people fought for and liberated from the rule of those whom murdered their King. And before them stood a new King who fought and bled and died for them. But once that home was to be walked through by you, it felt empty. Like it was waiting for you to make a new one and yet that was the pain. 

Making a new home in the place that was once full of life and love. You and Theon both glanced at the other, before finally turning to meet Jons stance as he looked with bright eyes painted the colours of grief. 

Stepping a few paces forward, you kept a good number of feet from him. It wasn’t just his families home he was back in, nor his brother’s kingdom he was to rule, but it was also his father’s seat he now stood at to be for himself. And you knew Jon wasn’t even sure he deserved it still. Considering the last major time he was here, he was shut outside in the cold. 

He wasn’t given a place at this table that night, nor any. He was outside before vowing to the end of the world but here he stood. “I loved them, all of them. I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did...and now there's only me...” 

His voice was rough, tones low and rasping which you could sense even from behind his gloves, were his knuckles tensing harshly against the wood. Your voice was quiet, not wanting to break the sensitive air floating between you. Leaning a bit more against the wood with your palms, and voice as steady as a whisper could provide, “For what little it's worth, you still have us..” 

Truthfully, you knew Theon had looked to you surprised at how easily you still looped him into the circle. Neither he nor Jon knew where they stood with the other, but it still spoke it’s peace that he is here now. Maybe he wouldn’t were it not for you, but he was here to serve under Jon’s rule all the same. That’s what mattered. 

Sighing out, Jon’s eyes slipped shut for only a few seconds before looking down to the table with a pointed stare. “No, you’re right. We’re here, we’re still family, all of us.” Jon met Theon’s eyes this time, the later taking a good moment to blink before his face tried to twist into something of denial and protest before Jon shook his head. “I won’t make excuses for what you did, but you’ve more than made up for it.” His head turned just slightly to the right indicating to you before continuing. “You’re a Greyjoy, and you’re a Stark. We’re family, and we cannot fight a war amongst ourselves. Not anymore.” 

The two stared at the other for a moment, a heavy feeling in their hearts was clear before the moment finally broke, Theon nodding. Clearing his throat, he turned to you tilting his head to the side as if to mock that he could still hear from where he stood, “Been King one day and he’s starting to sound like one.” 

Not quite a laugh, but all three of you shared a bit of a breathy huff. Jon leaning more against where he braced his hands on the chair, like he hadn’t the bravery to even try and sit. Shrugging a shoulder, you trying to keep the mood on the lighter side, not sure if you yourself could handle much more of this lonely weight up much longer. “He and Robb both. At least neither of us ever wore a crown, would be a bit odd having to take that off a second time.” 

Jon’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked at you, but you paid no notice to it as Theon’s voice was tight and controlled to keep the jesting tone in place. “Everyone out there, and in here for that matter still call you a Queen last time I checked.”

Voice hardly even that of a whisper, but the room was quiet enough to hear it just fine. “For now.” 

Some part of you would have jumped into business, trying to change topics to move away from the heaviest in the lot, but you found little resolve to do so. Missing the glances the two men had been sharing before Theon too the plunge for you. “So now what? We’re here, after tonight this will all be over, what then?” 

Standing braced against the chair still, but Jon shifted his posture a little straighter. “We make sure everyone in the North understands what’s coming, and then we make a plan to protect it.” Glancing to you, who was almost unconsciously stepping around to the other side of the table closer to Theon as he responded.

“How do we protect ourselves? Can we even fight back against these things?” Three scenarios came clear to Jon’s mind. One of his own, the distinct memory of just how many of the dead stood back up with eyes glowing a fierce crystal blue that shook him to the core. The second was his first encounter, the only defence he had was to throw a burning lantern at the undead. Part of him still surprised that it didn’t leave any scar on his hand with how painfully it burned, having to be wrapped up after for days. 

Your eyes watched him carefully as he stood up there, with the look and sounding command of a King more then you suspected he thought of himself. “We know of three at the least. Fire kills them, it’s why the free folk burn their dead. They can’t come back if there’s nothing left to come back.” Your eyes flickered to where his heart sat under the fabric and leathers, whereas his snapped down and right back up looking to the scar on your stomach.

Theon’s eyes narrowed, a suspicion on his tongue as he spoke. “Did whatever bring you two you back-” 

“No, whatever happened to us..didn’t bring them back..” Jon pushed off, crossing his arms over his chest as his mind traced back through all the haunting that plagued his life now. “Whatever the Others are doing, it works differently. Almost as if the dead aren’t really alive again or they’re under control together. I also know Valyrian Steel kills them. I cut through one and he shattered like he was made of ice.” 

Raising his eyebrows with a jest that was draped in not too much faith quite yet. “Oh is that all? Good, we just need to arm every man, woman, and child with a blood magic sword and we’ll be set.” Your own eyes glared to the side with an unimpressed manner across it but he technically was not wrong. 

“There is one more option.” This time his eyes found you directly, as you continued to stand silently while he explained. “We were beyond the wall at the Fist of the First Men, Sam found a stash of daggers made of Dragonglass. And when he shoved it into the back of one of the Others, they shattered the exact same way.” 

A lightness in your eyes painted over, a higher pitch in tone as you look at him with more of a sliver of hope. “Dragonglass kills them?” Jon nodded, and you both knew exactly where his thought process was taking him. 

Theon had to ask where would they even get that, and Jon nodded towards you. Your voice far off as it tried to once more recall mapping the underground mines that had spent centuries untouched aside from the small brave souls who dared dig their way to see it all. “There are mines under Dragonstone filled with Dragonglass.” Turning to Theon to explain, “The whole island is essentially formed out of a volcanic mountain. Maesters say it means that there used to be extreme amounts of heat under them, and when that kind of heat cooled off, it makes what we call Dragonglass. And Dragonstone has a shit ton of it.” 

“You’re sure?” 

Nodding, you could still see the early days sneaking out of the castle and following certain paths which had been dug out long before you. Finding your way some days into the deepest of caves. “It won’t be easy. The only tunnels that exist were made to fit one person, and I could barley make it through some of them when I was just a girl, but it’s all there. We find a way to get to it, we should have more then enough.”

“So we need to find ships for enough of us to Dragonstone- don’t start.” Turning to you with an instant sharpness, your head jilted back a bit from Theon, raising your eyebrows at the not as serious look in his eyes. Both of you knowing that was far enough away to jest over, and you found your own smirk in return.

You held your hands up for a moment a strange moment of pure teasing between you both, “I wasn’t going to say a word.” 

With no way for you to know about it, there was another pang in Jon’s heart. Just more of your life he would never know anymore. A history which turned you into the woman you had become that Jon wouldn’t know a thing about, but Theon knew. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. And his tone was a bit rougher then he intended as a result. “We’ll discuss it when most of the lords gather. Find a way there and send enough men who can mine it out and bring it here.”

It felt simple enough but too much as similar to the days leading up to Whispering Wood. It wasn’t nerve wracking or terrifying because so much was far off. The storms being brought in with Winter hadn’t quite hit and for now it seemed like something too far in the future to begin feeling that impending doom over. But this time you knew it would be worse. 

Whatever you thought that first battle would be like, you knew was nothing compared to what would come down on you should the Wall find a way to crumble under their resolve to push passed it. 

You wished he had just let you walk away, but you knew better. And as soon as he called your name the second you and Theon had eventually begun making your leave your eyes close briefly with a shaking exhale leaving you. “You want to tell me exactly what you meant back there?” 

Turning finally to face him, he had moved around to lean against the front edge of the main table with his arms crossed over his chest. His brow narrowed as the grey in his eyes grew on the tint of darker as you stepped slowly more towards him. Your heart beginning to beat a little faster in a more then unpleasant manner. “About what?” Playing coy was childish and you both knew it. 

His voice was low, rasping and there was a frustration behind it which was your fault. “Why does it feel like anytime I get somewhere with you, you turn around and take ten steps back.” You stopped a few feet from him, still standing below the set of stairs leading upwards with a shrug. “And don’t tell me you were only joking, because we both know I don’t think it’s funny.” 

Keeping your eyes on his was next to impossible with the way he was looking at you. The way he radiated both anger and yet a softness that you knew would pull you right into him were you willing enough to close the remaining gap. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be funny.” He stared at you, and you stared at the wall. Not wanting to get into the turmoil of your head at this moment, you had enough of that for a lifetime it felt like. 

Jon though, didn’t seem to agree with the idea. “Why are you still fighting me on this?”

If he had been expecting an argument, it was far from one. Your voice was small, just as you felt, looking at him with much more of an open sincerity. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s easy with you, other times I feel as if something inside of me is screaming to leave you alone and I have no idea what one is really me and which one the other is...”

Your name slipped easily from Jon’s lips, a softer tone encasing the sounds. “You and I have been through something no one else has.” He in no way missed your eyes flickering down to where you knew the scars were on him that time. Pushing up and off the table, Jon made his way to you. One hand finding your waist, as the other lightly held at your cheek to turn you up to look at him. “I know you don’t like to talk about them, but those dreams meant something. I didn’t just see you in them, I saw you everywhere. Right in front of me and every time I saw you it felt like something was trying to warn me. And I didn’t realize what until it was too late for both of us.” 

One hand slowly raising, you let it rest on the wrist close to your waist as the other traced a path you couldn’t forget even if you tried along the coverings on his chest. Voice cracked as if sand coated all down your throat. “Jon, I don’t even know if I’m good for you anymore. Sometimes I think the woman you fell in love with never really came back, and I’m just...what was left.” 

As the hand on your waist moved to cup your other cheek, you let yours take his place and matched where he held you but along his waist instead. His eyes were so bright, and filled with colour and words as if it were made from paint that had yet to dry, all speaking so much that it was deafening in the silence of the hall. One thumb gently ran across the soft skin he could reach, as the narrowed conflict in his face had him staring at you in a personal contemplation. 

Whatever the debate was, one end seemed to find themselves victorious but it was the path you least expected him to take. It was drastically different this time around. None of the intensity, the force, the roughness or the burning need. Just a light scattering of embers that soothed themselves together when you could feel his breathe dancing along your skin. Then those embers flared up and ran through your veins swimming to fill your heart as Jon leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. 

Almost instantly, a tiny sigh fell from you, your hands drifting up his chest to gently wind around the back of his neck. His lips were softer then you remembered, a coaxing feeling as he never kissed you with demand. Just a firm ask for you to follow along with him, let him gently take his time to memorize how your lips felt against his. And only a dizzy feeling that worsened as he kept your face pulled right up to his and not letting it drift away.

It wasn’t quite hunger, even if it looked as such but more just need. For all of his talk about kissing you again dripping with lust, it was this which you both needed. A reminder that you both had been through something inhuman, something none else had ever thought possible and that in these new lives, maybe it wasn’t fair to push away the only person who would understand. 

You finally leaned into him more, letting your front press closer to his and his kiss only deepened slightly, his lips getting a tad bit more greedy as you did so. Your nails raking delicately along his neck that had him hold your cheeks a bit tighter. As if he couldn’t handle you pulling away just yet. 

Losing himself a bit, he teased your lips enough with small nibbling bites to your bottom lip and just as the sting of a harsher one had you gasp in surprise did he control himself. Nudging his nose against yours before pressing another innocent kiss to your lips. One hand leaving your cheek to slide down the length of your arm and slipping back to your waist. 

The hand on your cheek moving back to run along the back of your hair as he pressed his forehead to yours. His voice was such a low rasp it sent shivers through your spine. “We’re family now, which means I have to take care of you. Even if it means fighting against all the noise in your annoyingly beautiful head.” 

A real smile found it’s way onto his face as you let out a breathy laugh. A smile you hated for how mesmorizingly charming it was. Something was to be said however, at that ever so slowly, you both were finding ways to bring his name up and not have it tear so horrifically at the loss in both of your minds. “You told me I’d find it easy to fall in love with Robb. The night before I married him.” 

“I did.” His voice practically a hum as he raked through the strands of your hair that were allowed to sit loose along your back. 

“I felt guilty for a long time over it. That you were right, that I fell in love with him so easily. That maybe you knowing that meant you doubted how much you meant to me. It got easier, but then I started to feel guilty anytime you were brought up for the opposite. I didn’t want Robb if he found out to ever think that because you came first that put him any lower, so I almost never talked about you. Constantly worried that at any time, I’d be left behind and forgotten about.” 

Jon clearly wanted to say something, but had the sense to let you get it out on your own. Staying quiet as he watched you with a narrowed gaze trying to fix something he couldn’t easily see. 

“Even though you know all the truth, sometimes I think I haven’t let go of that feeling. That I’ll do or say one wrong thing and I’ll get left behind all over again.” Your jaw clenched as your lungs tightened, the words pushing out past a struggle to keep them contained. “You deserve someone at your side whose better then that. Someone who can at the least still stand on her own two feet.” 

His sigh was deep, but he pulled you closer as he did so. Keeping your face pressed more to his neck as your hands lay flat across his chest. His lips pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against your hair as his arms wrapped more around you. Quiet in tones just for you, even when alone in here. “I’m still stronger then you, I’ll keep you with me even if I have to throw you over my shoulder anywhere I go.” 

A single breathe laughed into his skin as he smiled against you. “That’s aggressive of you.” 

“I’m starting to think you enjoy that in a man.” That got you to genuinely laugh. Both brothers had differences, but they certainly held their own in similar ways regarding you. Indeed a pair of wolves you were attached to. 

He knew there was still something you weren’t saying, and he had spent the better part of the morning trying to figure that out. He had an idea, not a firm one, but if he were to wager a guess your newest doubts were a bit more of a sensitive subject. One he had no experiencing in handling. It was going to come up eventually though, this new title? It was only a matter of time before someone brings it up, and you won’t be able to hide it forever. 

He wanted you to talk to him about it, listen to him quell those nerves but he didn’t want to force you to. He wanted you to come to him about it on your own, when you were ready. If his suspicions were correct however, it would benefit you more if you found yourself ready sooner rather then later. 

Jon was smart after all, and there was little he did not see. 

Were your lungs not about to explode out of your rib cage, you may have found it amusing in the eagerness which Tormund had volunteered to bring him up. He and another, Dalba, were clearly more then strong enough to do it on their own. Not that you expected him to put up a fight, clearly, that was not his forte. 

“Could have given you plenty of ideas what to do with him, if you weren’t so fucking nice, Snow.” There was nothing negative in his tone, and the way all three men seemed to find amusement in each other was relieving. 

A bit heavier in Jon’s own tone, “If I were nice I would’ve killed him right in that courtyard to get it over with. Instead I let him rot in a dungeon.” His eyes found your person, but faced away from the four others in the room, you missed it. “Let him wait just long enough to think maybe I’ll spare his life.” 

Dalba was older, but not without the same biting spirit many of the free folk seemed to have. “Should have kept those bloody hounds of his around a bit longer, feed him to those rabid fuckers.” 

You wished such vengeful deeds would bring you relief. But they wouldn’t. The crueller the end, the more you would look back on it with hate for allowing it. Ramsay’s cruelty made you wish you could end it all, but giving into the same violent blood thirst against him wouldn’t make that feeling any better. Wouldn’t give back what he took from you. Took from Theon. 

Besides, you had seen what Ramsay used those hounds for. And the screaming that came from it was something which haunted you. You couldn’t have them around. They weren’t safe, especially not when some of the free folk keeping within Winterfell’s walls had children. 

Like you, Theon had been quiet since walking in the room. The look shared as he came to get you was full of an understanding nerve. Seeing him again no matter what couldn’t take away the horror of what he had done to him, but he could handle his words better then you could. Neither of you directly talked about it since that day he first told you, but he had in that time, needed to get used to it and fast. It would be there everyday to remind of that torture and coming to terms with it was getting better day by day. 

If such a horror did one thing to him however, it was show him that what made him a man he wanted to be proud of himself for being wasn’t one that looked and used women the way men of iron and salt were taught. That’s what led him to this. For now and the foreseeable future, Theon was finding himself perfectly content with having the only woman in his life that means anything be you. 

In a weird way, your time with the Boltons bonded you like a fucked up family. He barley remembered Yara from when he was a boy, but he also knew that the Yara he met as a man didn’t respect him. You, for all his faults, always respected him. Always had faith in him when he clearly wasn’t capable of fulfilling that. 

Ramsay had taken something horrible from Theon in mind and physical, but in a way it also led to him finding a sister he truly believed in to stand beside in you. He knew his father and Victarion, or worse, Euron, would mock him for it, but what did they know of such horror. What did they know what having the most important aspect of your own manhood cut from you? 

He was learning to deal with that being gone forever, but it was you he still worried about.

You however, he knew didn’t quite have the same struggle. Most of what he had done was gone, most marks clearing up by that point. But it was never the physical pain you couldn’t handle from Ramsay. 

In the later quiet of the room, your hands were braced against the small table you were in front of, leaned over trying to soothe out your breathing as best as you could. It was a slow process but it didn’t seem to be getting much better then slowing your heart down enough you wouldn’t pass out. Jon had circled around the other side, your name slipping gently from his lips. “Are you ready?” 

Another deep breathe, and it still didn’t help any. “No. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.” 

Leaning forward on his own, Jon reached to pull your cheek up to meet his eyes. Despite what you were walking out to, the grey in them was as bright and gentle looking at you as ever. Your own hand found an easy courage to reach up, gently pushing the material of his sleeve enough to feel his pulse. Heart still beating under the scar atop it, strong as ever. 

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to watch.” 

Shaking your head, your voice was weak, but there enough you could sound as collected as could be for now. “It’s important. And if I’m going to be here with you, then we do it together. Your choices are mine to follow now.” 

You wondered if he was trying to ease your heart a bit. Giving a softer smile as he ran his thumb over your cheek. “Queens not allowed to have free will of their own?” He smiled more as you very slightly shook your head with a sigh. 

Grabbing his hand and pulling it from you, holding it close to your heart in your smaller one. “You’re our King, but I’m only your Queen. They only follow me, because I follow you. What you do or say, I stand behind it. No matter what.” For a brief second, you recognized the darker wave of something in his eyes before he shook it off. Smirking sightly you asked, “What?”

Voice a little rougher then before, you knew he was trying to distract you from falling back into an anxious state. “Seems possessive, making it sound like you belong to me or like I own you.” 

You only shrugged a shoulder failing to hide the nerves through a half smirking jest. “Doesn’t sound so bad coming from you, Snow.”

It seemed fitting, having the free folk Ramsay was so sure he was set to slaughter drag him up to the main courtyard of Winterfell. Their own people, mixed with far more Northerners then when he was last seen in this place but you knew none any longer felt sympathy for him. Not after the thing’s he and his family had done. The things and people they’ve hurt and ruined. 

Faint remarks had tried to slip out of his mouth, but from where you were they couldn’t be heard and you weren’t sure you wanted to. Dropped down to his knees and slammed over the wood in the middle of the courtyard, there was no turning back. You had to see it through with him. No matter how sick you felt with each step. 

Surviving what he had done to you didn’t make you feel brave. Didn’t make you feel strong or better off for it. It didn’t bring Robb back or find an ounce of justice for what was done to him, his son, Catelyn and all the others. It didn’t make any of this better, but it was what was right. So you had to be here as it happened. 

The crowds parting ways as you and Jon approached, stern faces you recognized and almost proud faces Jon recognized. A controlled anger behind his own eyes and a held back ill in yours they could all see plain as day in the evening sky. The only one there who would find any reason to notice it, but Theon surely had seen it. 

The fur around Jon was rich in browns and blacks, much like the ones worn by Robb and Ned before him. And the one around you, was a brighter white, standing out against the black of the cloak but matching the snow surrounding the North. Jon had been the one to gently drape it over you, not hesitating at both making sure you were warm but also to keep you in something that was once his. At the very least, for the time being, it was nice to be able to stand by a King’s side and the two of you not having to be dressed in armours for any fight at any moment. 

Ramsay looked up to you with no words, but a tinge of fear still on his face. Nothing left to hide, no one around to allow him to ridicule and mock, he was not a man afraid of much but he was afraid of the only things which could best him. And right now, that was the sight of Jon approaching him, you carefully standing to his side. You could only hope the expression you held wasn’t holding the raging nerves swimming in your very being as you looked at him. 

It was though, and it might be the last thing he would enjoy. That to even his final moments, you still held that same stiff fear that you always did in the beginnings of his torment. Muscles in your neck holding a great shake trying to force your head up high, but there was only a screaming inside you that begged for it to all be over, to simply stop. But would it stop here? The torment didn’t stop when you escaped the first time after all. 

Roose Bolton being dead, didn’t make Robb being dead feel any less like agony. 

Pale blue eyes looked with a wide eyed dread as Jon stood before him, pulling Longclaw off his person as the great sword shined at the sharpest of edges. The white wolf pommel suited Jon greatly, the red of it’s eyes shining in what was left of the setting sunlight. He stood before him, with his own fellow Northerners all around watching with no protest or any inking in a wish to stop it. 

Keeping the blade pointed to the ground, both of his gloved hands draping over it the hilt. His voice was low, rasping out with all the weighted humanity a true leader did to even the worst of his opponent’s. “If you have any last words, my lord. Now’s the time.” 

You have a duty to look into a man’s eyes and hear his final words, and if you cannot do that then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. Jon looked into his, but Ramsay found one final shred of cruelty left inside of his blackened heart and looking past him, his own eyes found you. 

Wanting one last bite at you. Angry that he lost, and with a childish spite at seeing the thing he saw as his at Jon’s side so willingly. “You’ve done quite a number on the bastard. Must be fucking him real good to make him this angry. What’s next, my bride? You show your thanks to the rest of the brave men of the North by spreading your legs for them all? You certainly have a good enough cunt for it.” 

If you were another person, maybe it wouldn’t have bothered you. But it did, and your subtle nerves shaking only on the inside were visible now. Gloved hands clenching into fists as you swallowed harshly, not breaking his vile gaze. You felt the filth cover your skin all over again, and it always took far too long to scrub it off. 

Jon brought Longclaw down. As a girl the first time you ever saw something like this, Jon had been next to you and you had reached out instinctively to hold his hand in fear. Only to let go right after mumbling an embarrassed apology worried he would think you a childish little girl. But this time, he was the one to bring it down and you had to stand on your own.

Rickon was still dead, you and Theon were still marred in the memories of torture and there were good men who had been lost just to reclaim this place. Ramsay being dead fixed none of those things. An if the wide, glazed over look in Theon’s own gaze towards you said anything, he felt the same.

It didn’t take back the done damage, you could still feel his voice and filth all across your skin.

[sleepynegress]

On Greta Danesti...

I'm just taking this time to correct a certain anti-Black, (and anti-Romani) sadly typical fandom troll's misogynoir fuckery in the tag and establishing who Greta Danesti is in canon Castlevania animation lore. This is Greta Danesti's official character sheet:

She's the village headwoman of Danesti a few miles away from Alucard's castle. This is what her voice actress, Marsha Thompson looks like:

It's pretty obvious her character design took cues from the actress, who is Afro-British. In show canon, however, her family escaped from the Roman city of Carthage, which today, is located in the African country Tunisia. Alucard correctly speculated where her people are from while conversing with her, here (s4 e5):

Greta then confirms that her people did escape the Romans, but she now fully embraces her "family" in her village who are "from all over" and the responsibility of taking care of them.

This same troll used the g-slur to insist that she is Romani.

She is not. This troll used an early character design here, to make her case.:

And though it does have similarities to Romani clothing... It also looks like it takes cues from Tunisian clothing and likely local and non-local European clothing of the era with "fantasy" elements sprinkled in, as well, which would match the fact of her village's people coming from all over:

There definitely should be more Romani rep in media as it is so often whitewashed, but Greta is not Romani.

FYI, these women actors actually *are* of Romani descent: Fairuza Balk of The Craft, Oona Chaplin who played Robb Stark's wife in GOT (she's also Charlie Chaplin's granddaughter[!]), and Noomi Rapace from the Swedish movie, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo says her father may have been of Romani descent, as well.

And because I can predict it, as people like to find ways of discounting blackness in every way...

Yes, there are plenty of non-Black indigenous POC in North Africa, including within Tunisia. Another fun fact... Africa has more indigenous human genetic variation among its peoples than every other people on the planet has with everyone else on the planet[!]. All this to say non-white POC AND Black people are indigenous to Tunisia.

I feel I have to say that because there is a lot of anti-Black anthropological fetishization of North Africa. Egypt is a major example of that (see: Rami Malek, an indigenous Coptic Egyptian who self-identifies as African man of color and has likely had to clarify that *often* because people keep wanting to mislabel him as an Arab, but I digress...) And sadly, there is a decidedly anti-black movement to totally disconnect certain North African countries' identities from a continental African one, and to largely see it as mainly a part of the MENA world (it is both kiddies, BOTH). Here is an informative article (linked in the image) about that struggle:

So, this got heavy...but between the post insisting that Greta is NOT Black and the one saying she's not bisexual because that same troll is purposefully and maliciously being obtuse about how words go together... I figured clearing some things up and educating folks might be helpful. BTW, the fact of those issues in the article makes her blackness all the more resonant as rep in pop culture. And hey, poly folks have disagreements, just like the het folks do... -Still bi. I'm gonna end here with two images from the linked article of anti-racist Tunisian protesters (MENA and Black):

P.S. I also side-eye those keen to make her muscular... I mean yeah she wields a big-ass hammer and shortsword/dagger, but the tendency to masculinize black woman characters deserves a hardy eye-squint. Especially, given that the show has *no problem* making muscular women look like that and they DIDN'T for Miss Greta.

See: Zamfir and the Berserk-style sword-carrying Vampire warrior, Striga. Both of whom had that flex going on.

[mlmxreader]

Burdensome | Brienne of Tarth x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Brienne of tarth ( I love this woman dear…) "Please, I don't wanna fight" "Wherever you go, just be sure it's somewhere I can, too" ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Brienne come to a crossroads about something that makes you both realise that the scars of the Red Wedding still run all too deep.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, mentions of death, grief, mourning

↳ word count: 1031

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Brienne was not exactly thrilled, to say the least; an invitation to an allied house’s most recent party to celebrate a wedding between the eldest son and the person he had fallen in love with - last time, such a thing did not go down well, and you understood her apprehension more than most. Maybe a little too well on the understanding front.

You missed Robb more than anyone else, as he had been your childhood friend, and it was through his mother - the lady Catelyn Stark - that you had even met Brienne; but you wanted to go, as you were keen on the house.

They had always been a friend to you, and offered you food and clothing and shelter at no expense when you had needed it most when you could not safely make it to Winterfell.

You wanted to see such a joyful moment, although the scars of the Red Wedding as they called it, still ran more than deep; you still could not look at a wolf without crying, and nor could you look at a dog with dark grey fur and yellow eyes anymore.

You could not hear Robb’s voice without mourning the friend you had lost so long ago; you wished that he was there, that you could go to the party with him and share the joy together and share in both the pride and humour of being asked if you were of some sort of relation due to nothing but your closeness.

You would have been proud to have called him kin, just as he would have been proud to do the same. But Robb was not coming back, and you knew that. You knew that you would have to go to the party alone, despite your lady’s insistence not to.

“Brienne, I love you more than I can ever say,” you told her quietly, shaking your head. “But I have to go. If nothing else because Robb would have wanted me to.”

“Sir,” Brienne sighed as she dumped her armour beside the bed and began to change into her night clothes. “I understand that the loss of Robb is not something that you can get over - believe me, I still mourn for Lady Cat. But it would be too much for me to go, you know that, and I would worry for you all the same if you went without me.”

You frowned, sitting beside her on the bed and gently kissing her bare shoulder. “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do.”

“Nor am I,” she admitted with a curt shake of her head. A soft cough left the back of her throat as she tugged on her shirt. “I have only ever asked that, wherever you go, just be sure it’s somewhere I can, too… and I’m not sure I can follow this time.”

You nodded slowly, clearing your throat as you looked at her sword resting against the nightstand; it was a beautiful weapon, almost as beautiful as the woman who wielded it. Yet in the dim lighting, it seemed to hold the same blue as her melancholic eyes; the loss that still overpowered you both and kept a steady weight upon both pairs of shoulders.

It wasn’t as if either of you had people who could go in your stead the way that Lords and Ladies did, and it wasn’t as if hiring someone to go along was in the question, either; but if Brienne said she could not follow, then you respected that.

You understood her decision, and you had always said that you would do such a thing; but you did not want her to worry, and nor did you want to disappoint an ally who you so often referred to as a good friend.

For a moment, you hung your head as you sighed; debating on what to do until she gently cupped your jaw and turned you to face her. The sadness in her eyes was as bright as dragon’s fire, and drowned out the small smile upon her lips.

“Please, I don’t wanna fight,” she said with a shake of her head.

You swallowed thickly as you leaned into the touch, allowing a heavy and burdened sigh to leave your lips as you stared into those melancholic eyes. “Nor do I, my beloved… but what do we do?”

“Well,” she hummed. “We can always talk more about it tomorrow. Or you can send a raven to Jon Snow, and ask for his thoughts - I know you thought of him as kin, perhaps some outside perspective would do us both good.”

You dared to smile as you nodded slowly. “You always were the smart one.”

Gently, she patted your cheek as she shook her head with great fondness. “I know. But compared to you, my good sir, it isn’t exactly difficult.”

For a split moment, the scars did not exact as you laughed along with her; seeing her blue eyes light up without melancholy, for even just a few seconds, made it more than worth it.

To hear her stupendous and gorgeous laugh and to see her wonderful and brilliant smile made your knees week just like it did when you first saw her; she did not need to use a stroke of her sword to make you crumble and to turn your knees to something as useful as a bowl of milk left in the heat for days.

Brienne was, without a doubt, the single most beautiful woman you had ever met in your life, and you would have done anything to make sure that she was happy; you would have done anything for her, and all she needed to do was to ask.

But the second the laughter died down, the melancholy came back to her eyes, and you wanted nothing more than to cry; it was almost as if she felt guilty for experiencing a brief and fleeting moment of unburdened joy.

But you felt the same.

The scars of the Red Wedding still ran deep, and the burdens that came with it would never go away; you would never get over it, and you were certain that she would not, either. 

if you made it to the end of this fic and you enjoyed it, then please, if you have any cash to spare, any at all, maybe consider making a donation to help Sara to get medical aid and relocate - any amount of money, no matter how big or small, does make such a huge, genuine, difference.

[cdragons]

When the East Winds Blow

Stannis Baratheon x YiTish Second Wife!OC (who also doubles as a childhood friend)

Aka: A WOC fixes all of Westeros' bullshit with a magic flute and is about to whoop a bunch of old white men's asses with a slipper because they need it ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Next Part

Summary: 美灵 (Měilíng) was a young girl from the port city of Shenlong in Yi Ti when she learns that she is the only living child of 徐浩然 (Xú Hàorán), a cruel and powerful merchant in Wan, and takes her to Westeros to expand his company. Scared in a new land, her only companions are her trusty flute and memories of her mother's stories. But she will have a friend who will change her life forever, and she will do the same for him.

Warning(s): MDNI 18+; Domestic Abuse; Child Abuse; Cersei is the worst; Tywin is the worst; Robert is a pig; Měilíng's dad is like 40 years+ her mom's age, and the worst; the story is going to be written like those Ted Ed mythic videos; Robb and the Northern boys and the other OC don't show up for a lil' bit, but it's coming

Author's Note: Please read this post for reference. Exams and ADHD are kicking my ass, and I need a distraction. Please do not repost without my permission. I did not come up with the names for the Yi Ti regions; that credit belongs to the brilliant @anya-snow. If you are interested in the names' translations, it is at the bottom.

From the Beginning:

“As she entered the world and cried out in victory for her survival – the fearsome, dark clouds parted, and the sun’s feeble rays shone only to pool the delivery room as the gentle breeze brought by the sea welcomed Xīwángmǔ’s new child, and the small wind chimes and bells danced in its embrace.”

In the Shenlong province, a young girl gave birth to a young girl. However, the baby was exceptional. As she grew, she showed to have a very cunning mind. She has met thousands of foreigners daily since being born in a port town. Her proficiency in learning foreign tongues alone caught the attention of one of the oldest and wealthiest merchants in Wan. Měilíng did not have much, but she had her mother and her simple life by the docks, and that was enough for her.

Xu Hàorán, an aging but powerful merchant in Wan, was the most important port city in Yi Ti. The merchant was very old, and his wife had long died without giving him any children. At the news of the child’s birth, he ordered the child and her mother to be brought to his home.

After seeing the child’s face, it was clear that this was his daughter. Recalling the time he spent with a girl from a poor fishing family years ago, he realized that Měilíng was the product of that night. Overridden with joy at the idea of him finally having an heir, he immediately ordered Mei to begin her education as he locked her mother in a small, dark room.

Měilíng despised her father. Soon, it became years since she saw her mother, and she missed the lullabies she would sing to her. She would long to listen to the stories of the great water dragons that controlled the storms and the seas.

But still, she decided to continue her education. She showed much promise at a young age for business and trade. She had a keen eye for craftsmanship and a talent for linguistics. Her proficiency in learning foreign tongues made her a vital tool in expanding her father’s company across the Golden Empire to Essos and eventually to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

In return for how rich his daughter made him, Měilíng’s father granted Měilíng one visit to her mother. When the pair reunited, Měilíng’s mother gifted her beloved child a flute from the bones of a basilisk killed by the great Dragon King, who ruled the sky and its storms from his kingdom in the sea.

Because of how quickly she learned Westerosi’s Common Tongue, her father decided it was best to bring her with him on the voyage to Planky Town in Dorne, where he hoped to expand his trading route to the pockets of the high nobility.

On the seas, a cyclone headed directly to the ship Měilíng and her father were on, but only Měilíng was calm.

Taking out her bone flute, she played a simple but beautiful tune to the sky, and the cyclone disappeared, and the winds brought their ships to Dorne in half the expected time. Although this story was kept secret by the crew under strict oath of Hàorán’s orders, she was soon called “风子” or “Child of the Wind.”

“Bewitched were the Martell’s – for they have never seen such finery in all their years. ‘What luster! What radiance!’ they exclaimed. After rigorous negotiations that resulted in a broken vase and spilled wine by thrown glasses, a trade was brokered, and the Xu’s have planted their first flag in the West.”

After reaching Dorne, the Martells refused to meet with the foreign merchant. They believed that any goods his ships carried had long become spoiled and rotten from the sea voyage. But they were shocked to find the fruits fresh and ripe, the herbs and spices’ scents had not dulled, and the porcelain vases retained their glossiness and shine. But what caught their eye the most was how superior their silks were compared to their own. Their roughest bolt alone was far smoother than the Princesses’ finest dresses.

The silks and fruits caught the eyes of a young Princess, Elia Martell, and her younger brother, Prince Oberyn. Fascinated by the riches, their curiosity was peaked by the olive-skin-toned girl, who wore strange braids and smelled of the ocean and wind.

Elia asked Mei if Yi Ti was anything like Dorne. Měilíng replied that only one region in her country matched Dorne, and it was Ren. She wove tales of how the Renii managed to thrive in the deserts and become masters of magi and developing technology and medicine. Although Mei had never personally visited Ren, she told the Donrish princess and her brother all the stories of the province she could recall from her lessons and her mother.

Měilíng asked Elia if there was any magic or dragons in Dorne. Elia laughed in delight. She told the foreign girl that Dorne did not have dragons, but they had vipers with poison so potent that it would instantly kill a ten-foot man. The Seven Kingdoms' only dragons were underneath the Red Keep in King’s Landing. But they were all dead. But there was no magic. This disappointed Měilíng.

Elia asked if Měilíng knew anyone, and Měilíng replied that Elia was the first person in Westeros she had ever spoken to. Amazed by the girl’s fluency, Elia exclaimed that she and Měilíng would be best friends for the rest of their lives. Měilíng thought the young princess strange but agreed nonetheless.

Seeing her children make friends with the merchant’s daughter, Princess Lorenza was pleased to see the strange girl smile. But Hàorán was furious. Greed from his newly gained wealth made him paranoid, and he thought Měilíng was ridiculing him in the Common Tongue. He faked a smile before hurrying his sale to the mother so that he may properly punish his willful brat.

After purchasing their goods, the sewists in Sunspear immediately went to work producing the finest garments for the upcoming ball hosted in the Red Keep at King’s Landing.

Meanwhile, Hàorán grabbed Měilíng’s arm and dragged her to the ship. He locked her in her room and told her she would not have any food tonight. They would leave for Yi Ti after the Martells returned from King’s Landing.

“Silence swept across the hall when the heralds announced the arrival of House Martell. When Dorne’s ruler and her children arrived, a collective gasp was heard amidst the hushed keep – never had anyone seen such pure, unadulterated beauty before their eyes. Every young girl, hoping to catch the eye of Prince Rhaegar and hold his gaze, felt fury flush their bodies. But no other girl was more envious than the little Lioness of Casterly Rock. Cersei Lannister, daughter of the Hand to the King, had come in complete confidence that she would be the most beautiful girl in the Seven Kingdoms. But after gazing upon the young Elia Martell’s dress with silk-embroidered suns and stars, golden rings, and topaz diadems – she felt utterly and completely humiliated. She turned to her father to demand they go home, but his stern gaze made the spoilt and rotten girl stay silent in flushed shame.

Tywin Lannister was not faring any better. He had paid more than enough gold dragons to order the finest Dornish silks for his daughter’s dress – only to see it as a tacky, cheap counterfeit. But even he had to admit that Princess Elia Martell was the only girl whose beauty was worthy of watching the crown prince’s. Seeing how her father’s eyes were no longer on her, Cersei decided that she would do whatever it took for Elia Martell to die a miserable and painful death.”

Nobles crowded the Martells’ daughters and sons. They were driven mad with envy at their beauty– so rare to find silk so smooth and lustrous while remaining thick enough to keep away the chills in the evening sky as autumn chased summer away and winter was creeping on the Mad King’s doorstep.

One noble lady with embroidered turtles on her dress approached the Martell Princess. She was Lady Cassana Baratheon, nee Estermont. She begged her friend to tell her who gifted the princess with such luxury, and her friend revealed that her husband had brokered a deal with an old, wrinkled merchant from Yi Ti, along with his young daughter, who carried an old flute with her everywhere she went. She shared stories about how her little sun, Elia, was quickly won over by the foreign girl’s charms, and now they acted as close as sisters born from the same womb.

Cassana wished to know if they could invite the merchant to her home. She thought it would be cruel for such a sweet girl to be trapped on a boat with no companions.

“‘Oh, how wonderful it would be to have a girl around,’ thought Lady Cassana. ‘Robert has gotten too used to being so rowdy after being fostered in the Vale, and hopefully, the little merchant girl will straighten him out.’

Robert stood beside the table, its surface heavy with meats and sweet cakes. He was only ten years of age and had already managed to grasp the attention of every young man his age in the room. Her mind wandered off, thinking about her youngest son, Stannis, who locked himself away in the guest chambers after the Martells arrived—always studying, her youngest boy. Lady Baratheon adored her two boys, but she longed for the longest time to be blessed with a daughter. She thought if the Gods had blessed her and Steffon with a girl, she would help bring Stannis out of his walls and help reel Robert in. If what the Princess of Dorne had spoken true of this trader and his daughter, then Cassana had no doubt that she would make a truly excellent companion for her boys.

Back in Dorne, Měilíng scratched her ears. Had someone been talking about her? Was it the Dornish Ruler she met a few weeks ago? Perhaps Elia? Měilíng shook her head. Thinking someone would speak of her so much was a silly thought. She was only the daughter of a merchant who played the flute. Still, her ears burned as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. To forget her hunger, Měilíng brought her prized flute to her lips to ease her worries and blew to create a sweet but sad melody.

Back in the Red Keep, a young Stannis Baratheon had crept away from the banquet in the Great Hall. He despised crowded rooms, and Robert’s boisterous guffaws only added to his irritation. Once he entered his room, he opened the window and took out the book Maester Cressen lent him while packing for this trip. He had not begun reading it. But a stream of calm and soft notes entered his ear before he could read the title.

“A flute?” he thought to himself. He tried to remember the instruments played downstairs.

There were lyres, harps, and lutes. But there were no flutes. Stannis lifted his head and heard the sweet, silvery tune from the window. Book still in his hand, he decided it best to read his new book beside the window, where he could continue listening to the lovely melody. He glanced down at the book, finally reading the title.

The Golden Empire of Yi Ti”

Tagging: @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @a-libra-writes, @aphroditesmoon, @valeskafics, @anya-snow, @dreaming-for-an-escape and anyone who wanted more of the worldbuilding of GOT are welcome!

Translations: Mandarin was used for YiTish bc author is Chinese

美灵 (Měilíng) - "美" means "beauty" and "灵" means "spirit or soul"; it can be translated as "beautiful spirit"

浩然 (Hàorán) - "浩" means "grand or vast" and "然" is a conjunction and the author will look further into it; it can be translated as "vastness or expansive"

徐 (Xú) - a common Chinese surname that became popular in the Zhou Dynasty and has multiple translations, but the author chose the translation of "slowly."

瑶池金母 (Xīwángmǔ) - "Queen Mother of the West"; the wife of the Jade Emperor and mother goddess in Chinese mythology

风子 (Fēng zi) - "风" is "wind" and "子" is for "child"; it can be translated as "child of the wind"

[brokenfuturerpg]

PBS FEMENINOS POR EDAD

Hola personitas. Venimos con un aporte que nos ha costado un tiempito reunir. Es posible que algunos PB tengan 1 añito más de lo que pone, porque igual cumplieron recién. Esperamos les guste ^^

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[scifrey]

you requested more Keepsakes prompts, and I have to say, I LOVE the way you write Eleanor. perhaps some little scene from her married life with Hob? general domestic bliss? or something less blissful, like getting into their first bad argument and figuring out how to deal with it?

alternatively, Hob and Morpheus go on holiday and Morph is very bad at taking vacations...

xo @hardly-an-escape

Oooooooooh. What an excellent prompt. Thank you!

Keepsakes: A Kissing Bough

Fandom: The Sandman Series: Hob Adherent Series Rating: Slightly Spicy. Please curate your experience accordingly. Pairing: Hob/Eleanor

Hob and his wife have been charged with finishing the decorations before Christmas Morning and the start of the Twelvetide celebrations.

Eleanor's parents call her 'Nell' at home. It is a common enough diminutive for Eleanor, as common as 'Hob' had been in the mid 1400s, when it seemed that every Robert he met went by it.

The problem is, Hob didn't know that was her nickname. They'd been married eleven months, and he'd been calling her 'El' the whole time.

But how was he to know? The Giffords only ever called her Eleanor in public, and called him the full 'Sir Gadlen' or, 'my son-in-law', even after his marrying into the family.

No friendly "Robert-my-boy!"s from Master Gifford as Hob had secretly hoped for, as his own father had once chortled while thumping him playfully on the shoulder. The man still resented Hob for his lack of old-family connections, for all that he'd mellowed toward Hob after seeing how seriously Hob took his duties as Husband and Father. And where Master Gifford led, his wife dutifully, dolefully followed. 

Not even a nice cordial "Robb dear" from Mistress Gifford in all those months.

So it is quite a surprise when, after the elder Mistress Gifford's after-supper lamp had finally burned down, and she declares her old eyes too weary to continue her needlework by firelight alone, she calls Eleanor 'Nell'.

Her husband had gone straight to bed after their meager supper, grumbling heartily about the privations of the Advent fast and how a morning of eggy pies and the Twelvetide feasts could not come fast enough.

With no husband to chivvy along before her, Mistress Gifford rises from her stately chair by the hearth in the Great Hall, and bestows each of the three Gadlens arrayed on the piled furs on the floor before it a fond kiss on the forehead. One to Hob, who helps steady her with a gentle hand on her elbow as she stoops, her own hand on his shoulder, to offer the kindness. Then one for her daughter, sat opposite him. And the last to her grandson, dozing with all the abandon of a small creature who knows that it is utterly safe and utterly loved, in his moses basket beside Hob's knee.

 As she kisses them, she murmurs, "Happy Christmas Robb, Nell, my wee little Redbreast."

"Nell?" Hob asks, as soon as his mother-in-law has creaked her way out of the room. "Why have you not told me you are called Nell?"

"It is grim," she pouts. "It sounds very much like knell , wouldn't you say?" This is accompanied by a theatrical shudder that makes her bosom jiggle, and so burns its way into Hob's memories for that alone. "Death knell."

"Ah, never mind that. Death's a mug's game," Hob says, and cups her fire-warmed cheeks in his palms to bestow his own kisses on his wife. "I'm never going to die, so you shall never need ring out for me." Eleanor giggles as he digs his fingers into her hips for leverage, and scoots her closer to him, so he can bury his face against the pleasing softness of her neck. "Though you may keen in other ways for me, should you like."

"Hob!" El laughs. "Pray, do not leave a mark , we have to sit at the top table with my father in the morn—"

He had promised El that he would tell her his secret when they'd been married forty years, but here, sitting by the fire in the Great Hall, surrounded by warmth and plenty, the proof of his devotion to this life wheezing out the sweetest little snores a babe could make, he was tempted to break that oath and confess all.

There was something about the Twelvetide that encouraged confession, even now as a Protestant celebration, without a confessional to be had in a Catholic church.

"Enough," El gasps at length, pink-cheeked and panting prettily. "We have work to do, and if you wake Robyn I will be very cross with you."

The elder Giffords had left their daughter and son-in-law, with their youthful energy, to finish the kissing boughs before Christmas morning. It was well on midnight now, the feeble light from the rush-tapers dwindling and the fire in the big stone hearth beginning to fade to nothing but toasty-red coal. It was just the right sort of fire for toast.

Hob says as much.

"It is always one appetite or another with you," El huffs with a roll of her eyes, but rises. "I shall go to the kitchen, but I will share not a morsel with you when I return if these last boughs are not woven when I return. And do not throw the remaining greenery into the fire to make it look like you finished, Robert Gadlen," she scolds, catching him thinking that very thing. "There are to be twelve Crowns of Green, and I know how to count."

Hob plucks the hem of her skirt off the furs, and brings it to his lips for a revenant kiss. "As my Queen commands." 

She frees herself with a smirk and an imperious tug, and sways away to the kitchen.

"There, Robyn my lad," Hob says to his son, who has opened his dark eyes just long enough to take in the spectacle of Hob's oath. "That is how you keep your wife happy. Learn the art from me, my fine wee apprentice, and you will make of me a very indulgent and biddable grandfather in no time at all."

Robyn smacks his lips, clearly unimpressed with his father's training, and returns to sleep.

Hob is in the process of tying off the ribbons of the final garland when El returns with a napkin bundle consisting of a fresh bottle of wine, an old loaf of bread, and a tiny pot of new butter. 

Hob prefers old butter, likes the tangy burst of salt on his tongue, and his darling wife knows this. As such, she has also nicked one of the leftover bundles of sea salt that are meant to be gifts for her father's servants at his annual St. Stephan's feast, so Hob can powder his toast as he likes.

This is what love is, he muses, as he cuts them slices of bread with his belt-knife, and El retrieves the toasting forks from their hook by the hearth. Old bread, and stolen salt, a sneaky taste of butter before the advent fast is officially over, and a babe sleeping with his little milk-pout mouth gaping open like a little boor.

As Hob threads the bread onto the fork tines, and holds them carefully over the coals, El busies herself by tidying up the leftover sprigs of greenery. Bringing the winter growth indoors to remind the world that no winter lasts forever, that life persists and waited under the snow even now, is a tradition older than Hob himself.

He's seen Twelvetide traditions come and go, but this one persists, as immutable and comforting as knowing that in a year ending with eighty-nine, Hob's Stranger will be waiting for him.

It is nice to be younger than something.

El bundles her posy of leftover holly and mistletoe, finishing it with a crimson-red ribbon, then stands and dangles it over his head to coax a kiss out of Hob. He leans back against her legs, tips his chin up obligingly, and lets her fold down to meet him.

"If you continue to distract me, I will burn the toast, dearest wife," Hob murmurs into her mouth.

"That would be a waste," El agrees. She releases Hob to his duties, but does not relinquish the posy.

They eat toast, and brush away the crumbs and butter grease on the napkin, and share the bottle of wine between them, and laugh, and whisper in hushed voices. El holds the posy over the moses basket, and they kiss Robyn's fat cheeks. She dangles it over her head, and Hob kisses her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the dear swell of her chin. She loops the ribbon on his belt, and takes him in her mouth. When he has come to his pleasure with his fist jammed in his own mouth to prevent waking the baby, he hooks the posy on her belt and breaks his fast in the cool darkness before the dawn.

In all, they have quite a splendid Christmas morning indeed.

Like her mother before her, El chivvies her boys up to bed before the night grows too light. Robyn wakes long enough to whimper for his own break of fast, and Hob cuddles El up between his legs on the bed so he can hook his chin over her shoulder and watch Robyn's eyelashes flutter as he drinks his fill.

Morning will come soon enough.

The Christmas cake would be served to mark the official end of Advent, Hob's father-in-law would get his eggy pie, and they would all go to church so Eleanor could show off her new son to her old parish. The days of the Saints would be filled with acts of charity, feasting, dancing and delight. Someone would find the Bean in the Bread and be named the Lord of Misrule, and they would play silly games, and drink too much, and wrestle, and jest, and sing. On the Twelveth Night, Hob would gift his wife with the handsome leather-bound notation book he'd commissioned for her, a place for her to record her favorite composition. To Robyn, who was too young to know what presents and Twelvetide were, he would gift a handsome toy duck he'd spent the Advent carving. It had slappy leather feet attached to little wheels with hobnails, which clattered and flapped when one towed it along on a string.

And then the decorations will be removed from the house in order to preserve the good luck accrued through the Twelvetide, and the Gadlens would bid the Giffords a Happy New Year, and tromp home to their estate on the unfashionable south bank. Hob would review the profits for the year with Mr. Fletcher, his steward, and visit his warehouses with a gift of ale and an afternoon's leisure for his dockworkers, and come Candlemas, he'd join his groundsmen in rolling up their sleeves and readying the fields to feed the estate anew on Plough Monday.

But for now, Hob will keep his peace.

Christmas is not a time for such a confession as the one that teased at him.

"Dearest Nell," he says. "Darling Nell. My sweet call to ruination."

"No, no, you brute, stop calling me that," she gasps as he wriggled the three of them down into a comfortable nest of feathered pillows and thick wool blankets.

"My ruin?" Hob asks, mouth resting against her nape as Robyn stretched and unlatched, offering his fist to his father now that his tummy is full and he is ready to be spoiled in other ways.

Eleanor rolls over to hand the baby to Hob to wind.

"That name, you wretched, wretched man," she complains, burying herself into his side as he pats Robyn's bottom obligingly. "Call me Nell again and I shall really make you regret it."

"If that is your command, my queen, my wife, my Eleanor." He kisses her crown, her forehead, her shoulder with each oath. "Sweet El."

He expects her to reply to him with haughty teasing, but when she does not, he shifts Robyn out of the way to look at her face. She is already asleep.

"You see, my wee lad?" Hob whispers to his son. "That is how it is done."

Robyn spits up on his shoulder to show his appreciation for the lesson.

[night-daily]

I definitely won | Robby Keene x f!reader Diaz

Summary: Roby flirts with you just to make Miguel angry but it's all fake or it's something more?

warnings: spoilers from cobra kai season 1!, dislocated shoulder.

a/n: english isn't my first language :]

You are Miguel's cousin and you have been living with him and his family since you were a baby, so he treated you as his little sister even though you were the same age as him. And hell, he was so overprotective with you so it wasn't a surprise for his friends and to everyone that you were off limits.

But everything got worse when he started learning karate with the one and only, Johnny Lawrence, which was Robby's father, and of course, there was bad blood between him and Miguel.

So just to mess up with Miguel, he flirts with you and you did it back because you didn't like it when Miguel treat you like a little girl who can't make her own decisions. But there was a problem, even if you know the flirting it's all fake, your heart doesn't, and recently you have been feeling something when Robby smiles at you or even looks your way for a second.

''Hey princess'' You hear his voice before you see him with his skateboard in hand walking closer to the bench at the park you have been sitting the past half hour.

You roll your eyes at his greeting. ''You know Miguel isn't here, right?''

''You were waiting for me, baby?'' He ignores your question and sent you a cocky smile.

''Oh, buddy, you are the one who ran into me, aren't YOU waiting for me?''

''I wasn't but now that I see you, it's not that bad'' He sits beside you, so close that you can feel the heat of his body. ''But seriously, what are you doing here alone? It's late'' For a second you thought you heard concern in his voice but it was Robby, that wasn't possible.

''Well... Miguel was supposed to pick me up to go home together but he hasn't shown up and I have trying to call him and i got nothing so...'' You said with your hands crossed over your lap, your fingers touching each other, you did it this when you were nervous, and Robby knows it.

''I can walk you home'' you narrow your eyes at him, it has to be a catch, he's being nice. ''O-Only if you want to, of course'' he says nervously, waiting for your answer but you just nod your head and you get up from your seat, he sighs with relief before following you from behind.

The two of you start walking side by side, your hands touching a little in every step but none of you says anything. Little moments like this with Robby make you think that maybe it could be something more between you, that you aren't to only one feeling it. But even if he could feel something for you, he would do something about it? After all, you're cousin from one of his rivals.

''Do you feel something?'' You ask suddenly taking him off guard, he tilts his head to you confused, ''I mean, for Sam'' you avoid his eyes but you still can feel his gaze on you. You didn't even know why did you ask that, but Robby could hear the jealousy in your voice.

A smirk crosses his face ''Yes'' he says watching how your shoulders tense and you started walking faster, almost running. Your heart hurts as your feelings, and you just want to go home and cry, you shouldn't have asked if you weren't ready for the answer, now you have to endure the rest of the way. Lucky for you, you were a few steps off the entrance at the apartment complex before you could step in, Robby grabs your wrist turning you to face him.

''I do feel something for Sam'' he whispers to you. Why he was saying it again? You heard it very clearly the first time, he was just torturing you now. Before you could yell at him he continues talking, ''but as a friend, nothing more, I have my eyes on someone else'' And he mean it literally his gaze in your eyes was so intense, your breath hitches in your throat and you are unable to speak. ''I just want to make it clear'' He let go of your wrist and you hum in agreement, you feel your cheeks blushing.

''Good night Robby, see you tomorrow at the karate tournament'' before you could regret yourself, you pressed a kiss on his cheek and you run to your apartment.

Robby stands there for a moment, he couldn't believe the girl he likes just kiss him, he can feel the butterflies in his stomach and he swears he would do anything to keep feeling this way.

''Good night, yn'' he mumbles to himself and starts walking to his house.

The next day it's the All-Valley Karate Tournament in which Miguel and Robby are competitors, you are so excited, you want to see both of them, you know how hard they have been training for this moment. As soon as you arrived, the host it's introducing everyone, but Robby has no dojo to represent, that took you by surprise, what happened? Did his sensei drop him off? That couldn't be, right? His eyes stop at yours and he gives you a little smile at the view of your frown brows in your face to reassure that he is okay, you sigh and smile back at him. All this exchange doesn't go unnoticed by Miguel who only gets mad.

The time passes and now is the semi-finals. Robby is paired with Hawk. You look very carefully at the match in front of you, they are so good even if you don't understand the rules of the karate very well, but you do understand when Hawk uses an illegal kick and dislocate Robby's shoulder. You start running to Robby's side while Hawk is disqualified as he should. The worry is all over your face as you get close to him.

''Can you walk?'' you ask him concerned. ''I hurt my shoulder, not my legs, princess'' he tries to smile through the pain. ''Not funny'' you say seriously, ''lean on me'' he does it and you walked him backstage, you could feel the gaze of everyone on your backs, but right now you didn't care anymore.

''I'm going to look for a doctor, wait here'' ''Don't go, please y/n'' he pleaded to you. You feel bad to see him in this state ''You need help, Robby, I won't be long, i promise'' you assure him squeezing his hand.

When you were about to leave, Daniel, Robby's sensei, step into the backstage room with a doctor by his side ''You should listen to your girlfriend, you need help with that shoulder'' the two of you blush at the word girlfriend but none of you correct him either.

The doctor walks to Robby's side ''Take a deep breath'' you still hold Robby's hand and his grip is thigh. ''Everything will be okay'' you whisper but you don't know if you are telling yourself or his. ''At the count of three, ready?'' Robby nods and he's biting the inside of his cheek ''1...2'' and the three never comes but the doctor grabs his shoulder to pop it back into place. ''fuck'' Robby raises his voice. You almost pass out just watching him suffer.

Daniel comes closer and begins talking to Robby about his behavior and how he had changed, you decided to give them some time alone. Finally, after a few minutes, they get out together, smiles on their faces and now you know everything it's fine. Robby advances to the finals and his rival it's Miguel, you weren't surprised but something about this match makes you feel nervous. You were standing beside Daniel and other competitors watching them fight, Miguel was angry that was very clear and he was showing it in every move. ''This is for no staying away from my cousin'' Miguel attacks viciously Robby's injured shoulder

Unfortunately, Robby ends up losing the match but at least he didn't fight dirty like your cousin and you were happy about that.

You rush towards Robby, ignoring Miguel's open arms. You hug Robby in your arms, and he tries not to groan in pain but he fails ''Sorry'' you mumble breaking the hug, ''And I'm sorry my cousin is an asshole and you didn't win''

''Are you kidding me? Of course I won'' he wrap his arms around your waist and you threw your arms behind his neck. Your foreheads touching, ''kiss me then'' you whisper ''your wish is my command, princess'' he grins and finally kisses you on the lips, and you couldn't be more happy.

[catofoldstones]

the ashford theory with j0n or aegon just means it signifies sansa's suitors and it ties into political marriage with what we see with the north heir crisis could have a j0nsa marriage betrothal but then again like the other suitors it might not even be endgame just something that happens as a plot point, its the fans resisting the idea of it so much but not with other characters ,when j0nsa could make perfect sense for the north heir crisis plot makes me laugh a bit and now the same fans say his targ heritage doesnt matter but they were so keen on it with others d@ny's hypothetical marriage to him , his targ/lyann@ heritage reveal is important to the plot maybe not to his personal motives (unless he goes nuts and demands the north by right as robb's heir) but its going to affect the plot whether they like it or not, j0nsa hypothetical match being so furiously debated feels like sore losing

You’re so correct, anon. It’s mostly because Sansa isn’t a fan favourite, and even with most people who do like her, they don’t want her to end up with anyone because of her general history with men (which is sort of understandable). But suddenly saying that Jon’s Targaryen heritage doesn’t matter just to argue against a ship is buck wild. I genuinely want to study the people who said this like rats in a lab.

[etaindelaserna]

Hello again....Do you mind if I ask your top 5 (or top 10) favorite moments from any media that you love (can books, anime/manga, tv series, movies, games, etc)? Thanks if you want to answer. Sorry if I ask too much or if I accidentally send this ask twice.....

Hello! Don't worry! I'm always appreciative when I see one of your asks pop up. So. Here. We. Go. As always in no particular order:

Gandalf talks to Frodo in Moria about Gollum (The Fellowship of the Ring)

There is something about that dialogue that always struck me as true, as something that touches our very essence. Not passing judgment too hastly, but also that our life is full of opportunities and each day we are confronted with the question what to do with this day. Nothing is lost. It just hasn't happened yet. We can choose whether we want to succeed or fail, whether we want to be good or bad.

Naruto confronts Zabuza about Haku (Naruto)

That moment never fails to make me tear up. Until that moment I didn't even consider Zabuza to be capable of having emotions but Naruto tore his armor away and revealed the deep connection he shared with Haku. I felt sad watching them die and yet it taught me and Naruto a lot about the shinobi lifestyle.

The truth about Itachi is revealed (Naruto)

Yeah, that one was a shock. I always wanted to believe that there was more to Itachi's story other than that he killed his whole clan because he "wanted to test his strength". Especially because he always tried to avoid a fight with Konoha shinobis and definitely didn't seem keen on killing them. But that Itachi sacrificed everything except Sasuke for the village -- that was a punch.

Luffy fights Arlong for Nami (One Piece)

Everything came together in that moment. I knew from the moment Nami couldn't let Zoro drown that something was up and when Arlong showed her that he will never ever let her or her village go, her desperation and fragility accumulated into pure epicness: asking Luffy to help her, Luffy trusting her with his hat and the boys just ready to beat the shit out of Arlong and his crew.

Theoden's speech at the Pelennor Fields (Return of the King)

Goosebumps. Every single time. The words. The music. Everything that leads up to it was pure desperation and then the riders arrive and god damn it. They came. They showed up to fight against the evils of Mordor. I was 13 when I saw this scene for the first time and I wanted to ride with them into battle.

Mufasa's ghost (The Lion King)

Mufasa's death must be something that has been ingrained into every millenials DNA. Just thinking about this scene, the music, Mufasa's desperation to save his son, his face when Scar betrays him, Simba's fear and sadness when he discovers that his father is dead ... it's a tragedy that speaks to one of our deepest fears: the loss of a parent or a loved one. And then ... he comes back to guide Simba, to remind him of his responsibility. It hits home.

Jon Snow's resurrection (Game of Thrones)

Jon was easily one of my favourite characters of the show. When he was killed I didn't want to accept it. It just wasn't possible that this was the end. This was all it amounted to: dead, because he did the right thing. Just like Ned and Robb. So when he was brought back to life I felt alive, too. It gave me hope that after all this something good would come out of it ... but yeah, then season 7 and 8 happened.

Vader saves Luke from the Emperor (The Return of the Jedi)

Another moment that just touched something within me. Luke's love for his father made him turn back to the light side. I've known Star Wars since I can remember but it still makes me cheer. It restores hope.

Morgain brings Arthur to Avalon (The Mists of Avalon)

I always felt that Arthur and Morgain were meant to be, but destiny made them half siblings. And when after all their hardships and years of separation, even after Morgain tried to dethrone Arthur and after he killed Mordred, she still seeked him out, only to find him mortally wounded from the battle -- and Arthur accepted her, was glad to see her one last time and asked her to bring him to Avalon. I felt the tragedy and sadness of their story. I also always felt that Arthur truly loved Morgain but knew that it could never be. So her kidness at the end, promising him, that she wasn't going to leave again, was at least some closure for me.

Harry learns the real truth about Sirius (The Prisoner of Azkaban)

This twist, that Sirius wasn't the one who betrayed Liliy and James, was such a surprise. But what sold the moment for me was the relief Harry felt when after years of abuse and neglect by the Dursleys, he would be able to live with Sirius. I loved that moment. It was so easy to imagine how happy Harry must have felt in that moment.

[writingsofwesteros]

Cut to Robb bossing the bastard twins around. She is nude on the bed while they’re still fully dressed. Robb is rubbing his hands all over her body, groping her and making her moan. He doesn’t let Jon touch her right away, only making him go over what he’s done with his twin when alone in bed. To his twin’s humiliation, he describes to Robb how they watch the other masturbate. The twin humping a blanket or pillow while Jon pumps his erection. Which Robb chuckles at while palming his bulge. Imagining how cute she must look like that. Jon admitting(again) to Robb that he likes to put “just the tip,” into his pretty twin. Robb has his head between her legs, lips smacking over her cunt as he hums “That must be why she’s like this. You made a whore of our sweet sister. Look at how she squirms just from my kiss to her cunny. Teasing her poor pussy with the head of your cock. Now she needs the full thing or she’ll go completely mad. Insatiable thing…”

“R-Robb… I..!” He cuts her off by shoving two fingers into her opening.

“Jon, do what you like with her breasts. I know you love them,” Robb chuckles at the envious glare Jon has his way.

Jon is quick to start on her breasts. She keens from his teeth lightly biting her nipple. Robb returns to pumping his fingers in and out of her cunt, kitten-licking her clit with a smile. A second try could hurt, right? It would be the first time for her anyway… “Jon, your sister has the sweetest cunt I’ve ever had. You say you’ve never tasted it?”

Jon unlatches from her breast, his hands caressing her sides “I did not know it was a thing that could be done.”

“Get down here then, brothers can share. Right sister?”

Robb is wild !!

She's losing herself to the pleasure; eyes rolling back as her legs shake. Her soaked pussy so creamy and drooling for them as Jon moves to feast

[jedimaesteryoda]

What changes if Lord Quellon is the only Greyjoy to return home from the Battle of the Mander alive, in your opinion?

You mean if all his sons died instead of him: Balon, Victarion, Aeron and Euron?

That would change things significantly. He was already not keen on Iron Islands' independence and losing his sons would have undoubtedly affected him on a personal level. He would likely stay out of war after that.

That means no Greyjoy Rebellion, and the Reader's sons and many Ironborn don't die. That also means Theon doesn't go to Winterfell. It also means no Ironborn invasion of the North, no sack of Winterfell, no Ramsay taking power and Robb doesn't marry Jeyne. Robb has no urgency to go back north, and no broken marriage betrothal means no Red Wedding.

Podrick Payne's father also doesn't die, meaning Podrick will likely grow up with a healthy father figure. 🤗 It means Pod doesn't squire for Tyrion and Brienne, and Mandon Moore kills Tyrion on the Blackwater. It also means no tourney of Lannisport after the Greyjoy Rebellion meaning Jorah never meets Lynesse, and he never goes to Essos.

Quellon would continue his measures to curtail the Old Way without Balon undoing them. However, there is the question of Balon's sons Rodrik and Maron who sound very much in the mold of their father and their uncles going by what Theon said. They could be a ticking time bomb.

Does Quellon live to see the War of Five Kings? If so, he will likely stay out. If he is dead, and Rodrik Greyjoy is the new Lord of the Iron Isles, then he will get into the war. Of course, he may seek Iron Isles independence, but he would target the Westerlands the way Balon did when he first rebelled rather than the North.

[yellowsocialbunny]

house stark sims portraits

Lord Eddard Stark has a long face and long brown hair. His closely-trimmed beard is beginning to grey, making him look older than his thirty-five years. His dark grey eyes reflect his moods, turning soft as fog or hard as stone. Eddard is shorter and less handsome than his older brother Brandon had been, according to Catelyn Stark; however, she also states that Ned has a "good sweet heart beneath his solemn face". He keeps faith with the old gods. He is fiercely protective of his wife and children, whom he loves deeply.

Lady Catelyn Stark is beautiful, with fair skin, long auburn hair and blue eyes. She has long fingers and high cheekbones. Her own sons Robb, Bran and Rickon, and daughter Sansa take after Catelyn in their coloring. Catelyn is peaceful and holds duty over desire as a governing principle of behavior, but she is fiercely protective of her beloved family. She is wise and cunning. Her attire includes gowns and a woolen dress of Tully red and blue.

Lord Robb Stark is his father Eddard's son, with a keen sense of justice and courtesy. He shares his father's devotion to honor and is frequently accompanied by his direwolf, Grey Wind. Robb's appearance favors his Tully side, with a stocky build, blue eyes, and thick red-brown hair. He is strong and fast. He opens the series as a boy of fourteen years. Robb wears a white cloak and surcoat over his mail. He wields a longsword and an oak shield decorated with a direwolf's head.

Jon Snow is the bastard son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Jon has more Stark-like features than any of his half-brothers. He is graceful and quick, and has a lean build. Jon has the long face of the Starks, with dark, brown hair and grey eyes so dark they almost seem black. Jon looks solemn and guarded, and is considered sullen and quick to sense a slight. Jon has resented his bastard status most of the time. He desires to be viewed as honorable and wants to prove he can be as good and true as his half-brother, Robb.

Lady Sansa Stark is traditionally beautiful, taking after her mother's family with her high cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and thick soft auburn hair lighter than her mother's. She is eleven years old at the start of A Song of Ice and Fire. As she has grown up, her figure has been described as tall, graceful, and womanly. Sansa is described as soft-spoken and sweet-smelling. Like many girls her age, Sansa is enthralled by songs and stories of romance and adventure, particularly those depicting handsome princes, honorable knights, chivalry, and love.

Lady Arya Stark is a spirited girl interested in fighting and exploration, unlike her older sister, Sansa. Arya wants to learn how to fight with a sword, to the horror of Sansa, who enjoys the more traditional pursuits of a noblewoman. Arya is particularly close to her half brother, Jon Snow, who encourages her martial pursuits. She is said to take after the fiery Lyanna in temperament. Nine years old at the start of A Game of Thrones, Arya's appearance is more Stark than Tully, with a long face, grey eyes, and brown hair. She is skinny and athletic.

Lord Brandon Stark is a sweet and thoughtful boy, well-loved by everyone at Winterfell. Like his siblings, Bran is also dutiful and tough-minded, but also possesses a propensity for adventure and excitement; he yearns to see far off places one day and dreams of becoming a knight. Bran favors his mother Catelyn in appearance, having the thick auburn hair and deep blue eyes of the Tullys.

Lord Rickon Stark is playful but temperamental and stubborn. He has a breathless laughter and fiercely tries to be like his older brothers. Rickon's family often thinks of him as a baby. Rickon favors his mother Catelyn in appearance, having the bright blue eyes, auburn hair, and easy smile of a Tully.

descriptions by A Wiki of Ice and Fire

[ozu-teapot]

Films Watched in January 2023

La Jetée | Chris Marker | 1962

Boro in the Box | Bertrand Mandico | 2011

Lebenszeichen (Signs of Life) | Werner Herzog | 1968

Trans-Europ-Express | Alain Robbe-Grillet | 1966

Henry Fool | Hal Hartley | 1997

Fay Grim | Hal Hartley | 2005

Ned Rifle | Hal Hartley | 2014

Les Enfants Terribles | Jean-Pierre Melville | 1950

La vie rêvée des anges (The Dreamlife of Angels) | Erick Zonca | 1998

Bob le Flambeur | Jean-Pierre Melville | 1956

The Working Class Goes to Heaven | Elio Petri | 1971

Big Time Gambling Boss | Kôsaku Yamashita | 1968

Dementia 13 | Francis Ford Coppola | 1963

One More Time | Maurice Hamblin | 1974

Love Rites | Walerian Borowczyk | 1987

Emmanuelle 5 | Walerian Borowczyk | 1987

Behind Convent Walls | Walerian Borowczyk | 1978

Men | Alex Garland | 2022

The Juniper Tree | Nietzchka Keene | 1990

M3GAN | Gerard Johnstone | 2022

La marge (The Margin) | Walerian Borowczyk | 1976

Flux Gourmet | Peter Strickland | 2022

Letter From Paris | Walerian Borowczyk | 1975

Peter Von Kant | François Ozon | 2022

Lady Oscar | Jacques Demy | 1979

Bold = Top Ten

Some notes: After watching the Borowczyk biopic (of sorts) Boro in the Box I decided to catch up on some of the later movies by the "dead Polish film maker" which I was more unfamiliar with, which turned out to be a very mixed bunch. Similarly I'd been promising myself to watch the Hal Hartley “Henry Fool trilogy” for ages but found Fay Grim a huge disappointment after Henry Fool. Ned Rifle was more of a return to form at least.

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

TBH if Robert Arryn has a lot of the same issues in that timeline I highly doubt Ned and Catelyn would be keen on betrothing Sansa or Arya to him. There are other southern alliances they could make, such as in the Riverlands where they also have family. If we're talking complete AUS I like the idea of either Sansa or Arya being betrothed to Edmure's eldest son (who in this AU is a lot closer in age to them) and being Lady of Riverrun.

That said if everything is fine with Robert & Cersei & Ned doesn't have a grudge then the truth is Sansa or Arya are the best political matches for actual Joffrey Baratheon because they're tied by blood to three Kingdoms and their dad put Robert on the Throne.

Furthermore there is an advantage to the Willas Tyrells marrying Sansa or Arya in that timeline bc the reality is the Tyrells are seen as upjumped stewards by some like Cersei bc classism so marrying into a prestigious and respected bloodline that's old as fuck like the Starks would be in their interest.

I do agree that Robb would have to marry northern, there's no question about that

But those are just my opinions

(cont.)sorry but i forgot to add to my previous ask but when it comes to jon arryn he would likely want his only son and heir to marry someone from the vale. furthermore in terms of wanting to match his son with a daughter of his beloved foster sons like myrcella baratheon exists as well and esp in this timeline where she's actually legitimate and not only that but she'd be a higher match than both sansa & arya as she's a princess because those things do matter lol in their society. of course as i said before if robert is still the same i don't see cersei not fighting a match, even if she and robert b are on much better terms. In that scenario i could see bran marrying bethany blackwood given the historical ties between the starks and blackwoods, if a northern house I could see him marrying eddara tallhart or one of greatjon umber daughters. Like some others have mentioned Edric Dayne and Arya would've made a good match though I think ned and cat might not like one of their children being all the way on the other side of the continent

I also don't think that Ned would be okay with his kids marry so far from Winterfell. I think he would prefer if all his kids stayed in the North where the Starks are the liege lords. Catelyn would have an aneurism with any of her kids marrying a Dayne due to her assumption that Ashara Dayne was Jon Snow's mother, lol.

[tilmyworldfadesaway]

MALE CHARACTER LIST

2D & 3D

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Zuko

Banana Fish

Ash Lynx

Yue-Lung Lee

BLEACH

Byakuya Kuchiki

Ichigo Kurosaki

Renji Abarai

Ulquiorra Cifer

Uryū Ishida

Bungō Stray Dogs

Chūya Nakahara

Castlevania

Alucard

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Code Geass

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Death Note

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Detroit: Become Human

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Devil May Cry

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V

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Diabolik Lovers

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Double Decker! Doug & Kirill

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Dr. Stone

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Dragon Ball

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Trunks

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Koujaku

Durarara!!

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Grey's Anatomy

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Haikyuu!!

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Harry Potter

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Heaven Official's Blessing

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Howl's Moving Castle

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InuYasha

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Kimetsu no Yaiba

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League of Legends

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Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic

Judal

MARVEL

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Steve Rogers

Metal Gear Solid

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My Hero Academia

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Mobile Suit Gundam SEED/Destiny

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Neon Genesis Evangelion

Shinji Ikari

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Noragami

Yato

One Piece

Sabo

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One Punch-Man

Speed-o'-Sound Sonic

Owari no Seraph

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Ranma ½

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Arondir

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Faceclaims asiáticos para diversas tramas

G-Dragon

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[aeg3n]

♔⊱ @kronulv ⊱ for an envious starter .

ㅤㅤㅤTHE RETURN OF THE YOUNG WOLF COULD NOT HAVE COME AT A WORSE TIME. Aegon has never met the man before now, and yet, he cannot help but begrudge him from the moment he lays eyes upon him at the Dragon Queen's side. Is this why she did not come to him in Westeros? The Northerner won her over first? It only takes one look between the two for Aegon to know that he'll have no hope of winning her allegiance away from the North now, shared blood or not. As bitter as the realization is, the worst is yet to come, for he remembers what Myrcella had once told him. This is the man she had wanted to marry. Her first choice , before her prince in Dorne or any of the other suitors who had clamored for her hand. Everyone had believed the Stark to be dead, so what will change now that the world knows that he isn't? What if Aegon's queen has certain regrets about her choices now? There are many horrible thoughts that cross his mind about the unexpected threats to his claim posed by this turn of events, how his plea to Jon Snow was based in a mutual need for allies, and now he will have no need of Aegon at all with both his brother and Daenerys joining their power to his. All of his political leverage here has been decimated in an instant. But the thing that rules his mind the most is the concern about Myrcella. Such a foolish concern, a childish pull of emotions, yet it festers in his mind.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ The entire world thought you were dead, ❞ he finally speaks to the man, taking a seat across from Robb when no one else is near enough to hear them talk. ❝ Though they believed the same about me once, so forgive me if I am not so impressed by the mystique of it. ❞ The cup before Aegon is empty, but he does not bother to fill it, instead turning it absently in his palm. ❝ I was told to come to Westeros so that Daenerys would seek me here. Now I know why she did not. It seems the promise of an army is not all that has swayed her. Don't pretend otherwise. ❞ And he curses the spider under his breath, for how could Varys not know the King in the North had gotten there first? Was Aegon misled from the start? ❝ I suppose your brother won't be so keen to ally with me now that you've returned with another army for him to use instead. With dragons. ❞ And there is a chance my queen might prefer you over me , but he refuses to voice that aloud, the very thought of it akin to a dagger plunging into his chest. A bitter, resentful smile crosses the would-be king's face, his fingers tightening around the empty cup. ❝ By all means, reclaim your home. But do not go South again, not unless you intend to help me win my throne. ❞