#also I will never stop feeling immensely frustrated with Cersei

[bioshocked-astroghost]

Been severely binging Game of Thrones in a matter of about 5 days or so (only my second time watching it, last time was honestly a year or two ago?) and god I forgot how much I fucking love this show I’m at the start of s7 and GOD I fucking love Arya so much she really DECIMATED House Frey in like, what? A day? Two? Avenged the Red Wedding and made sure everyone knew who did it

I love her so much I’m about to explode she’s fucking amazing

[musicallisto]

⚔ — 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥; (tyrion lannister x f!reader)

@multifandomfix​​ requested: Hey, for your start of the year event, could I get #44 with Tyrion Lannister, please? Thanks in advance if you end up choosing it. I hope 2021 will be a great year for you. 😊

song: bazzi - beautiful | 𝄞

summary: How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

author notes: I ain’t never seen a fluffy one-shot written by me, always half of it gotta be depressing

word count: 2.7k (what the HELL)

warnings: language + the typical stuff that’s commonplace in GoT

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 younger, young enough to hear her speak freely around you, you’d often heard the illustrious Cersei Lannister, blessed may her reign be, mutter her implacable adage through slit eyes and arrogant teeth; in Westeros, when one played the game of thrones, they were either crowned or buried. Some win and some die, she’d state with a smug grin, ignoring Jaime rolling his eyes right by her. You would always nod in silence; partly because you, lesser Lady of King’s Landing, certainly did not dare to contradict your most redoubtable playmate; but also because, deep down, you believed in her truths. You’d seen it when your father came back from his battles, commanding the Crown’s armies across the Southern seas, or when you heard the whispers at Court of yet another fallen Lord who believed he could play with fire like the Targaryens; there was little more than victors and vanquished, and you, as a lady-in-waiting to the future Queen, could sleep easy at night knowing you were on the right side of the world.

Yet when the rebellion led by your father’s army of mutineers was crushed by the King’s forces, when your brothers all fled into exile across the continent; when your title, name, and lands became those of a traitor to the Crown; you understood that in the game of thrones, death was the only blessing the powerful bestowed when they were clement; for there was far crueler and harrowing a punishment than torture: humiliation and servitude.

King Robert Baratheon, his mercy guided by Tywin Lannister’s murmurs, decided against sending you to death as he would have any of your brothers, despite the abject crimes your name now carried. In all his bonhomie, he had made you a servant of his wife instead, perpetually condemned to following the Lannisters around and never quite catching up to them.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked Jaime one time, in hushed tones, aware that a servant caught talking to the Kingslayer with such familiarity would cause quite the scandal.

“Probably because he knows you were always a dear friend to Cersei and me.”

That was Jaime, as always; believing what he wanted to believe, and damned would be the one who’d change his mind. And to think he still thought, with a disconcerting assurance, that Cersei and you were still dear friends...

You hadn’t asked her why you were still alive. You knew she’d eye you for a moment, then order you to fetch her some water. She savored the sight of you in rugged clothes and immensely exhausted.

The only one who knew was Tyrion.

He always knew everything.

Even more so when it was about you.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked him one evening, in the quiet banquet hall, only illuminated by flickering candles. He had looked up from his chalice of wine and at you, clearing the last dishes from the grand supper, and he swore his heart ruptured. He loved nothing more than staying absurdly late after dinner so he could catch you alone, but when your misty eyes, still too pure and bright for a world so cold, asked such unfathomable questions...

“I don’t know,” he had muttered casually.

Neither of you believed it. There was nothing Tyrion didn’t know.

But how could he tell you it was Tywin’s sick little pleasure, to keep you in chains at an arm’s length from him, from his embarrassment of a son? How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

“Sometimes I wish he had not,” you had confessed with this outrageous beauty of yours, chin up and prosody of a dame despite the greasy plates in your elegant hands.

Tyrion had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. You were not the King’s prisoner, nor the castle’s, nor your family name’s; you were his, and he loved you so ardently, beyond all the words he knew, that he was utterly paralyzed.

The wine and hall were long cold by the time he went to sleep that night.

The following days, inexplicably, Tyrion was the first of the family to retire to his quarters after dinner. A pang of sullenness stung your throat when you brought the usual wine cup to an empty chair. Never before had he gone to bed without wishing you goodnight. Not since the night, so many years before, when you had run out on Cersei and Jaime to stay with their boring and lame little brother and talk the night away with his electric soul...

“Why didn’t Tyrion wait for you?” Jaime had whispered into your ear as you leaned over to pour him more wine.

You froze, almost long enough for Cersei to flair your discomfort. That was Jaime, as always; surprisingly perceptive when he allowed himself to be...

“I don’t know.”

You and Tyrion were so alike. You had the same inflection in the voice when you admitted to not knowing something... frustration and defeat.

“Maybe he’s not feeling well. You should check on him.”

“I’m certain he is f—”

“Y/N, go tend to my brother, please,” he cut, his voice a little louder.

You stopped, looking at Jaime, strong and tall and almost imperturbable. You were a servant of the Lannisters, but Jaime rarely bossed you around. You looked deep into his eyes, looking for a hint, a glimpse... and found it; a remnant of the boy you once knew, the childhood friend you sparred with wooden swords with. The boy with mischief and connivance.

“Yes, of course, my Lord.”

Your footsteps already echoed in the somber halls when you remembered you hadn’t even brought the wine pitcher back to the kitchens.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Tyrion’s closed door. Years before, you had run up and down all the castle halls in search of passageways and hiding spots with a giggling Cersei on tow; yet you had never felt as lost and out of place as you did then, knuckles hovering over the wooden panel.

“Lord Tyrion, your brother asks to see you,” you called in one breath after knocking sharply. Calling the twins by their titles was disturbing enough to you; but Tyrion, brilliant and dedicated Tyrion, Tyrion you'd find reading hidden in the library and who'd blush when you asked him what his book was about—Tyrion, a Lord of Casterly Rock?

“No, he does not.”

There was nothing he didn't know. Especially when it came to his brother... and you.

“I...,” you sighed, at a loss for words. So many untold truths jostled in your throat, none eloquent enough for his bright soul. “He insisted I check up on you, sir.”

“Well I'm fine, am I not? You can go now.”

His words echoed in your skull with the strength of a thousand storms. Taking a shaky breath, you prepared to turn around and leave him... but a sudden force rumbled deep in you like a menacing earthquake. You might have been stripped of your lands and rights, you might bear the name of a traitor and a criminal, but he had been a general before he was a corpse and you had been an eldest daughter before you were a plaything. Your foot grazed the door, almost with too much violence, when you turned to face it.

“Truth be told, I wanted to check up on you as well, and to tell you that I’m bewildered at your recent behavior towards me, and that I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this shift in your attitude, and that I esteem you dearly and dared to hope that it was the same for you, and that I am frankly hurt by your sudden coldness, and that if you will not deign to tell me whatever is happening, then I will merely wish you a pleasant night and disturb you no further. Sir.”

Catching your breath, you turned on your heels before you could regret any of the words you’d just said. It would be a miracle if Tyrion managed to catch any of them clearly with how fast you had hammered them; let alone answer to them... yet as you were about to leave, the door was unbolted, and there stood a seemingly somber and preoccupied Tyrion.

“Come on in. And please, we’re alone. Don’t give me any of that “sir” crap, I know you hate it.”

And like so many times, so many years before, you stepped into Tyrion’s quarters like inside a forbidden dungeon, but it all seemed twice as small and dark as it did when you were reckless children.

The both of you remained silent for long moments, even after he had motioned for you to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of his bed; the shadows from the fireplace projected onto his face made Tyrion’s unmoving silhouette all the more unreadable.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“Do you wish to know why the King didn’t have your head when your father rebelled? Well — why my father didn’t?”

Your eyes widened for a split second, but your irritation barely subsided. For some reason, despite your never-ending quest for answers, the subject of your family’s treason and fate always prompted you to defensiveness when it was mentioned by others... especially by your best friend. The one who knew too much.

“What does this have to do with anything, Tyrion?”

“Everything, Y/N. It has to do with everything.”

“Enlighten me, then. You always know better than everyone else.”

Tyrion took a deep, interminable breath before continuing. It was only then that you noticed how shaky his hands were; for the first time, you read a disconcerting uncertainty on his face.

“My father knows humiliation is far worse than death, especially among Lords... and he knows how to take the most pleasant acts of revenge on his enemies. Your last name... and myself.”

You kept quiet. The puzzle was starting to piece itself together, spurred by Tyrion’s voice, low and even, albeit a little unsteady — as though the charred logs and crackling fire were confiding in you themselves...

“He’s known you since you were an infant. You were always proud and righteous, a proper Lady and a treasure to your name, but still pure and kind... all the traits I adored in you when I first met you. He knew nothing would hurt you more than stripping you of everything you had - status, respect, poise, and dignity... and your friends. He’s burying your family’s legacy under grime and filth and savoring every second of it...”

His words became progressively spaced, as though he was choosing them carefully. You hadn’t yet noticed your own hands were shaking now, too.

“And he can screw me over as well. Any chance he gets, he takes.”

His shoulders were solid and unmoving, but his words came in ragged breaths and laborious swallowing. He took a step forward, finally breaking free from the backlighting of the fireplace; his eyes were fixated on you, resolute and, despite the nervousness, more tender than ever. You remembered the expression all too well; it was the one he had worn all through the night you had talked until daylight about anything and everything... and seeing the enamored child in the man before you, you started to understand it all.

“He’s always known how much I care about you. How your presence never fails to lighten my mood and ease my worries, or how I’ve always looked for excuses to talk to you alone and catch your eye at supper. Most of all, how you’ve always given me exactly what I wanted... a chance. And he always thought it was the ultimate example of my weakness. To kick you around like an animal when I can’t do anything about it and know it’s all partly because of me is his favorite game...”

You clasped your hands together on your lap to curb your agitation. He had taken another step towards you, and you couldn’t break away from his gaze. Each of his features held more love than you’d ever known; more than when your father would ruffle your hair, or when you’d share your family tart with your brothers and smeared all the jam on their cheeks; and you couldn’t fathom how long it had taken you to discover this warm and fuzzy feeling you got whenever Tyrion was around had a simple name: home.

“Tyrion,” you spoke before the tears invaded your eyes. “Are you saying you fancy me?”

“Ah, to hell with it.”

Eyes entirely bathed in light now, he responded almost immediately and clearer than before.

“I’m saying I love you, Y/N, and that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I first thought that I only liked your company, and admired your grace — that you were just the sister I wish I’d had, but I’ve had to face the fact that your face and voice set me afire in a way that nothing else can. I’m light and naive when you’re around... and you make me believe I have the strength they all won’t stop blabbering about. But I thought that if I could convince my father I saw nothing more in you than a whore like all the others, he would maybe let you go... maybe set you free.”

And the last confession seemed to hurt him more than everything else he had admitted that night, because it cut him right in his pride.

“I was wrong.”

An impossible soreness had taken over your throat during Tyrion's tirade, leaving you struck and mute. For a few seconds, all you could hear was the gentle hooting of the wind outside and the rapid and disjointed thumping of your heart... when you spoke eventually, it was but a hoarse whisper.

“All these years...”

“Yes.”

“And all those girls I had to see you with...”

“None of them mattered. None of them were you.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Tyrion?”

“Why would I?” he puffed with an acerbic laugh, gesturing at his frame, his scars, his cynicism and selfishness, and his wit and brilliant mind and feverish eloquence and golden eyes...

And suddenly your father's voice echoed in your head, unmistakable yet so distant, as he had spoken to you one day when you were little; he had said that angels existed in this world, closer than one might expect, and more often than not they took on unexpected forms, but once could always recognize them as they were the shiniest forces in the world around when everything was grim and black.

Maybe it was the dim lighting of the fire and moonlight that cast abstract shadows on the walls, or maybe your eyes and heart playing tricks on you, but you swore Tyrion was veiled by a pulsating halo, gold and black, that got even more radiant as he half-smiled.

When you leaned over and kissed him, you did not doubt that he truly was the angel your family tales had told you about, and maybe the only remaining angel in Westeros — because kissing him was like every star in the sky falling into place and forming new constellations, and when he grabbed your face to deepen the kiss, you were certain you felt his wings rustle.

“You have the most beautiful soul in this damn city, Tyrion,” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

Had he always looked at you with this unshakeable air of triumph and delight, or was it another trick of the light?

“If you knew how long I've waited to tell you how beautiful you are...”

“Tell me. Over and over.”

There was a smile on his face, the first genuine and devilishly charming one you'd seen in weeks when he stepped back and closed the velvet curtains.

He told you all night.

tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee ​ @softeninglooks ​(all my writing)

[fortunatelylori]

GOT: That awkward moment when Daenerys Targareyen turned into Mount Vesuvius

Oh, rejoice all you Dany critics, all you Jonsas and all you Sansa stans! Our deliverance is here! From this day on we can finally shed the shackles of the anti-Dany tag, stop censoring the conqueror’s name and go wild in the Daenerys Targareyen tag! Dark Dany has arrived! 

Praise be! Praise be!

General impressions

This was, by far, my favorite episode of the season. Miguel Sapochnik really delivered on this one. It looked stunning, the fighting was interesting and realistic in that it showed the type of carnage that is handed down when an army attacks a highly populated city and the visual effects were incredibly impressive. 

This shot right here might just be one of my all time favorite GOT shots: 

It was also, frankly, a relief to finally have Dark Dany out in the open. The show has skirted around the issue of Dany’s turn to the dark side since season 2. If you were shocked by what happened in this episode and think it came out of nowhere, you have no one to blame but yourself. In this corner of the fandom we have been speculating Dany would end up burning King’s Landing for years. 

Also ...

That’s season freaking 2, you nincompoops!  

And they really weren’t stingy on the Mad King imagery now that the Her Darkness is here. Dany starts the episode looking like this: 

What is the most pressing thing on khaleesi’s mind? 

Girl! If you’re so worried about Jon’s lustrous, romantically jealous, always put together cousin, do yourself a favor, put a comb through that hair, slap some foundation and blush on and get a freaking grip! You need to be bringing your A game to this fight!

Luckily, Tyrion decides to give Dany the incentive she needs in order to tend to her person hygiene ... Getting ready for an execution, of course!

Dany is wearing a piece from the Targareyen nuclear winter collection. Very avangarde. 

Things don’t improve from here and, as we all know, she ends up Dacarys-ing her entire fandom: 

The city surrenders, the bells ring just as Tyrion had stressed through out the episode and Dany ponders ... She’s come to Westeros expecting to be embraced and loved. Being loved and accepted is very important to Dany. Without those two things, granted unconditionally and uncritically, she feels undervalued. King’s Landing ends up paying for that lapse in adoration: 

This episode, GOT decided to take a break from ripping off How to Train your Dragon and decided to rip off Pompeii (2014) instead: 

Pompeii:

GOT:

Pompeii:

GOT: 

Pompeii: 

GOT: 

So yeah, guys! Daenerys Targareyen is a cataclysmic event! Can I get a hallelujah? Cause this delulu, sexually frustrated, teenage soccer mom is having fun!

Apart from the sweet taste of vindication giving me LIFE, the reason why I enjoyed this episode so much is that it focused on the 3 characters who actually had an arc this season. Apart from Dany, those are: 

Arya Stark

I think the most important line Arya has uttered this entire season was this: 

Arya: I know death. It has many faces. I look forward to seeing this one. 

In true GOT fashion, be careful what you wish for. Arya is confronted with the most extreme versions of death imaginable, first in the specter of the Night King and his armies. And now, in the shape of Daenerys Targareyen and her dragon raining fire on a defenseless city. 

And while the White Walkers rattle Arya’s cage, they don’t manage to break through it. Her reaction to the destruction of King’s Landing is far more emotional than what she experienced during the Battle for the Dawn. 

I think that’s because the White Walkers were existential threats, catalysts of violence. They were not willfully cruel, they weren’t there to punish. They had a purpose and they served that purpose until the end. 

The destruction of King’s Landing, on the other hand, is a human act. Someone makes the decision to destroy this city, burn people alive, murder and rape them. Daenereys chooses to do this: 

The Stallion that Mounts the World serves Arya the most extreme lesson in revenge she could have ever gotten and the results finally break through Arya’s shell. 

Another top ten GOT shot: 

This is so visually striking! The blood framing her eyes just jumps at you. She looks like a rag doll on the verge of being tossed against a wall. This girl who has gone through such harrowing experiences, the brilliant assassin who ended the Night King is now in danger of being squashed as if she were an ant. 

It really drives home not just the immense power Dany is wielding but also that in being rendered powerless, Arya always manages to find strength in herself and her basic empathy: 

I’m really curious how her arc is concluded next episode. 

Jaime Lannister

I was never a Braime shipper so, while I get your dissapointment, guys, I definitely don’t share it. I absolutely love how Jaime’s arc was concluded. I do think there will be differences in the books (I still believe Jaime is the valonqar). However this: 

was foreshadowed back in season 1: 

Cersei: Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We shared a womb. We came into this world together. We belong together. 

Jaime’s story started with Cersei, he dedicated more than 20 years of his life to this relationship, to the detriment of everything else in his life. It feels natural to me that his arc would end with hers, as well. 

I think, in a really sad way, Brienne was Jaime’s last stitch attempt at getting Cersei out of his system. That would explain his awkwardness during their sex scene. And it almost worked, because Brienne is someone Jaime cares about. However when faced with the possibility of Cersei dying, Jaime goes back to her because he can’t bare to let her go through that alone. 

I mean ... if you look up the definition of tragic couple, I half expect a picture of Cersei and Jaime to pop up. And I find it supremely ironic that the couple who shocked and disgusted everyone back in season 1, now gets a tearful reunion, the male character fighting a death duel to get back to the woman he loves and the woman who hardened herself against everything finally becomes human in the arms of the only person she truly wants.  

This, to me, is love ... 

Yes, I’m fucked up. Let’s not dwell on that! 

However, as much as I enjoyed watching these three characters make their way through this episode, there are still two things that managed to tarnish this episode for me. 

Let’s start with the obvious, shall we? 

Jon Snow

This used to be Jon Snow, back when he had a POV and a spine.

In this episode Jon Snow stands idly by while a man gets burned alive: 

Jon’s POV continues to be blocked and, at this point, I’m tired of trying to figure out what is going on behind the curtain. I’m just not willing to do it anymore, simply because Jon’s actions this episode speak louder than any supposed intention he might have in acting the way he does.

I want you to follow this conversation very carefully: 

Varys: We both know what she’s about to do. 

Jon: That’s her decision to make. She is our queen. 

Varys: Men decide where power resides, whether or not they know it. 

Jon: What do you want? 

Varys: All I’ve ever wanted. The right ruler on the Iron Throne. I still don’t know how her coin has landed but I’m quite certain about yours. 

Jon: I don’t want it. I never have. 

Varys: [...] You will rule wisely and well, while she ...

Jon: She is my queen. 

This discussion is crucial to the ultimate question of whether or not Jon Snow bares responsibility for what happens in King’s Landing. And I would say that based on this, the answer is a resounding yes. 

Varys starts plotting in episode 4, the moment he realizes that Dany is about to treat King’s Landing and all its inhabitants to some good ol’ fashion fire and blood. He tells Jon in this scene that they both know what she’s about to do. Jon doesn’t contradict him. He hankers down on the “whatever my queen wants” party line. 

Whether or not Jon is political or simply a idiotic coward, the fact remains he knows enough of Dany at this point to figure out there is a strong possibility that she will sack the city and many, many innocent people will die. Varys is trying to get him to act. He’s had chances to formulate some sort of resistance against Dany since episode 1. He has chosen not to. He’s chosen not to plot against her, he’s chosen to tell her the truth about his parentage instead of using it to his advantage, he’s chosen to abandon the dragon he could have used against her and to keep those closest to him in the dark about his motivations. 

He’s made his choices. If he’s done it out of love for Dany, than he’s an irresponsible and selfish fool. If he’s done it to protect the North and his family, he has done so at the expense of everyone else in Westeros. Either way, these are the consequences: 

This man, and I’m very sorry to say it, is not fit to be anyone’s king. In this episode he barely manages to keep his men from killing indiscriminately and raping women. He doesn’t even take charge of protecting civilians and trying to take them to safety, the way Arya does. 

Instead, Jon drags his men after him and runs from the city with his tail between his legs.... 

I just .....

My other point of contention with this episode doesn’t really have much to do with the episode itself but rather that the set-up for the pay-offs delivered here wasn’t done properly in past episodes. For example: 

Cersei’s downfall: We all knew it was coming and it was bittersweet and moving. However they’ve given Lena Heady barely anything to do all season. She’s had a total of 4 scenes so when the end eventually comes, it feels shortsighted and incomplete. 

Claganebowl: Another one that was telegraphed in advanced. The scene itself is brilliant however the set-up for it is so hamfisted. The Ds couldn’t think of another way these two could meet but for Sandor to just up and decide with no prior warning that he’s going to KL. Why now so damn particularly? In that vein, The Mountain is supposed to be a mindless zombie. How come he is now perfectly capable of disobeying orders from both Cersei and Qyburn? 

Arya’s story: As I mentioned, I absolutely loved Arya in this episode. However, I can’t help but wish they had put more work in her POV and in her revenge vs. humanity dilemma to truly make Sandor’s advice and her journey through the burning city as emotionally rewarding as it could have been. 

Tyrion: I get that I’m not allowed to understand what the hell is going on with Jon, but why has that extended to Tyrion all of a sudden? Tyrion starts off the episode betraying his only friend and condemning him to a fiery death and for the life of me I don’t understand why. He’s clearly terrified of Dany. Considering her state of mind when he informs her of Vary’s betrayal, she’s one step away from executing him as well. When he sets Jaime free, he seems resigned to being executed by her later on. So why not try to work with Varys to overthrow her? It certainly isn’t that he thinks she’ll make a good queen. He can’t possibly think that in this episode. Is it greed and desire for power? They haven’t done a good enough job for me to buy into that wholesale. So what is it? 

Favorite scenes: 

The “Are you unforgiven too?” scene: 

So close, no matter how far Couldn't be much more from the heart Forever trusting who we are And nothing else matters

All the while, the Lannister theme plays in the background .... PERFECTION!

The “Love Thy Brother” scene: 

I know I criticized the set-up but the scene itself is spectacular. The visuals alone are breathtaking. The fighting is brutal and absolutely horrendous. And the two of them falling into a bottomless pit of flames, feels particularly chilling and sad considering the Hound’s fear of fire. 

My favorite part of the scene, though, is the cutting back and forth between Sandor and Arya. Coupled with their conversation that convinces Arya to give up her list, this creates a wonderful parallel between the two characters and a nice bookend to their twisted but, surprisingly, poignant relationship. 

The “In the queen’s ashes” scene: 

Maisie Williams has been a real champ this season. And this episode, in particular, was her coup d’grace. I absolutely loved her acting in this scene. On top of that, the imagery of the destruction around her, the eerie quiet after the chaos that had come before and ultimately the discovery of the charred bodies of the woman and child she had tried to rescue, with echos of the Stark theme in the background, make this a truly outstanding scene.

It becomes even more poignant when you think that this is the city that started Arya’s tragedy when her father was executed and her book wish that King’s Landing would burn to the ground. When faced with the reality of it, Arya finds empathy, not satisfaction.

In the BTS, the Ds compare Arya to Virgil taking her journey through hell and it truly feels that way. Up until she jumps on that horse and fades into the fiery landscape.

Beautiful!

Episode MVPs:

Lord “It’s been an honor, sir!” Varys

I’m going to nominate only one MVP for this episode because this man truly is in a league of his own.

He is the true hero of this episode and the fantasy show equivalent of a martyr. He is the only one ... THE ONLY ONE ... that actually tried to stop Dany from committing genocide. And as thanks for his bravery and commitment to saving innocent lives, he was betrayed by his best friend and burned alive.

[jaimelanniser]

jaime + sansa + 🍋🍰

so this is actually a continuation of this story bc i got attached and it’s under a cut cause it got long

They rode for Casterly Rock separately.

Sansa was given a carriage and she had Lannister men accompanying her, carrying her belongings, all of which fit into two trunks, most of them dresses from Queen Cersei from when she had been another Lannister’s bride.

Every bump of the road felt like it cut into her, splitting her open on her way to another prison. That was what the Rock would be to her, just like King’s Landing. Surrounded by enemies, by Lannisters; she would not be safe in her own room. She would have nobody.

They were even stripping her of her identity.

In a month’s time, she would be Sansa Stark no longer.

The thought made bile rise up in her throat, but she would not let them see her turn her insides out, so she swallowed it down and took another drink of water. The journey seemed endless, days in and days out, and Sansa wished she had somebody to keep her company.

Of course Ser Jaime had offered to ride alongside her, but she had politely refused, and said she was sure he would prefer to ride ahead of her, since her journey would be a longer one on wheels than his would be on horseback.

He hadn’t argued.

Sansa had never been to the Westerlands. In her life, she had only ever been in the North and at King’s Landing, a child and a prisoner. And despite her impending destination, she could not help drawing back the curtains of the carriage to admire the views.

Crossing the Reach had been impossibly green, with vast lands of flowers and livestock. The west was mountains, towering above them, with affluent rivers meandering between them. It felt golden.

At long last they reached the castle that would be her home, and even though she had promised to herself that she would hate it, Sansa was struck by the magnitude of the castle, the immensity of its elevation, and how impossibly small she felt as they rode up to it, moving slowly so the carriage would not be pulled backwards by the force of the earth’s pull.

“Lady Stark,” she was greeted by a lady in waiting when she stepped out of the carriage, looking around at her new home. As much as she wanted to hate it, the white stone, clean walls, and vastness of the castle was not unbecoming.

She was satisfied to note that one glance at the red banners splattered across the walls like blood were enough to get her stomach twisted and her fingernails clenching into her hands.

“If you please, my lady, I will show you to your quarters,” the girl told her, and Sansa gave her a small nod. Was she under Cersei’s pay, too? Would this girl, small, blonde like everybody in this side of the country -- would she report back to the queen with everything Sansa did, as well?

Sansa was already lost a few minutes’ walk into the castle, with wide staircases and portraits of long-nosed men with striking light eyes and golden hair adorning every hallway. Until they made it to an open door, which she was led into.

She couldn’t hold back a sharp intake of breath. Where everything else in the castle had been red and gold, this room was grey. Silver curtains hung by the tall windows overlooking the sea, wolfskin covered the bed in the center of the room, and the rug was pale fur.

The girl seemed pleased by her reaction, even as she stood meekly by the doorway. “Ser Jaime ordered the room changed for your arrival, m’lady,” she told her quietly. “He also said I should be at your disposal if you were to need anything.”

Need? Sansa had walked into the room towards the window, running her fingers down the newly woven curtains and turning her forehead to press against the glass.

A sweeping sensation in her stomach, or chest, came through her as she looked down at the precipice between her bedroom and the ocean.

She swallowed and turned her eyes away, back into the room that was meant to make her feel at home. What she needed was to go home. Her own home. 

But Winterfell had burnt with Theon’s betrayal, and where was home when she didn’t even have a family?

Sansa tucked those thoughts away and turned back to face the eager girl with a passive look on her face. “I thank you for your help, but I would like to be alone now.”

She expected the girl to scurry out, but instead, she nervously hovered at the door. It was a few moments of Sansa looking at her expectantly before she blurted out, “I’m sorry, milady, but Ser Jaime wanted you to meet him in the East Wing terrace upon your arrival...”

Yes, Sansa thought bitterly. Ser Jaime seemed to want a lot of things.

Wasn’t that how he’d lost it all? His hand, his honour, his cloak? So she lifted her head a fraction in a nod of sorts. “Take me to him, then.”

Navigating the castle was a pattern of sorts, Sansa realised as they walked around it to the other side; she would need to memorise the way to her chambers if she did not want to ask for help later on.

The East Wing terrace turned out to be an expanse of floor without walls, high above, with a similar view of the ocean. Wind had picked up in the late afternoon, and Sansa felt a chill run down her spine in her warmer King’s Landing dress.

Jaime Lannister was standing at the edge of the wall, looking out at the sea, much like the last time they had spoken to one another.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she announced her presence to him, folding her hands in front of herself dutifully, and noticed that the waiting girl had gone.

The future lord of this castle turned around to face her, and didn’t smile, but took her in all the same. “Sansa,” he greeted her, walking over slowly. “I am pleased to see you’ve arrived in good health. I trust your journey wasn’t too terrible?”

“No, my lord.”

Jaime nodded slowly. “Right.” He paused. “Were you shown to your chambers?”

Sansa lifted her chin a little, staring right back at him. “I was.”

There was another moment in which Jaime seemed to think that she was going to say something else. She wanted to laugh. Did he expect her to thank him for giving her a taste of something she would never have again?

“Good,” he finally settled for, quickly, breaking her gaze and walking around to the table in the center of the room, where some food was laid out.

It took all of her self-control not to react at the sight of small, yellow cakes with a thin slice of lemon skin on the top. Ser Jaime had gone to pick one up, turning it over in his hand. “I was told these were of your particular liking,” he commented, turning his face up to look at her. “I thought I might welcome you here with them.”

Was the satisfaction of pride worth the grumbling in her stomach of hunger and the longing she felt for the sweet, sour cakes?

She watched as Jaime bit into it, chewing without a care in the world. This was so easy for him, wasn’t it? He was losing nothing, and Sansa wasn’t stupid. In the long run, a marriage to her would mean the North for them.

The anger that the thought caused to surge in her was enough to quiet down the desire for the lemon cakes, and Sansa fixed him with a steely look. “I’m not hungry, ser.”

Slowly, Jaime set the cake back down onto a plate, and let out a long breath through his nose. “Of course you aren’t,” he muttered, shaking his head somewhat. Then he walked over to her, stopping only when he was right in front, so that she might see a single yellow crumb on his moustache.

“You might not believe me, but you are safe here,” he told her, quietly. “My sister...” A flash of pain, almost, crossed his eyes. “She cannot reach you here. Joffrey cannot reach you here.”

Sansa did not know what to say to that, so she said nothing.

“I would encourage you to start speaking to me, my lady,” Jaime finally said, taking a step back. “You might find that I am a worthy friend to have.”

He started walking away, back inside, but she did not turn to watch him go. It was only by sound that she noticed he stopped before he left, and she kept her ear perked for words.

“It won’t hurt your pride if you eat the cakes when I’m not watching,” his voice called out to her. “I’ll tell the servants not to inform me of whether you did, and you can have a treat and still feel that you won.”

Sansa felt such indignation at his words that she whipped around to -- to something! Protest, yell at him, throw a lemon cake in his stupid, handsome face. Anything would do; but his back was to her and he was down the hallway before she had settled her thoughts into order.

Silent fury drove her forward towards the tray of cakes, absolutely intending to throw them into the ocean, just to spite him and his arrogant, cocky attitude. He was not all that, and she would not be bribed with a stupid thing like lemon cakes.

No.

She stopped herself when she reached the table, her fingers hovering above the sweets. No, making a scene wouldn’t do. She was better than them. She would not let them see that they got to her.

That was what Jaime wanted, she was sure. For her to lose it somehow. But she would not.

A few beats passed and Sansa looked over her shoulder; there was still nobody in sight. She glanced back at the tray and leaned in to take a deep breath; the scent of the lemons wafted over to her.

Nobody would need to know.

It would give Jaime the satisfaction.

But he wouldn’t know!

It was symbolically poison food.

It had been ages since she’d had one.

Sansa didn’t think any more about it, darting out to grab a cake and popping it into her mouth. The acid taste stung her tongue and she wolfed it down eagerly, savouring the treat even as she berated herself for her weakness and consistently looked back to double check that she was still alone.

It was with shame and frustration in her belly that she returned to her chambers that night, vowing to get back at her awful tyrant of a future husband even if it was the last thing she did as a Stark.