#benjin stark

[witchofhimring]

The Princess and her Knight

Elia Martell x Reader

Ps: reader is born from a previous marriage making the Stark siblings her half siblings.

Elia Martell had always dreamed of being someone's princess. Y/n Stark always wanted to be a knight.

In very unusual circumstances a viper and a wolf find themselves intertwined.

note: simply wish fulfillment for Elia to get the crown she deserves 😤

She was the Princess of Dorne. Descended from Nymeria and Meria Martell. You had heard these stories from the cradles. On cold winter nights Nan would tell you of far-off places where there was no snow and the days were hot. They unnerved your brothers, who felt that women had no business wielding a sword or holding power. But you were utterly transfixed. More than once you and your sister Lyanna would sneak off, swords in hand. When everyone was asleep, the two of you snuck around, pretending to be Nymeria on her journey to Westeros. As the oldest child, you were expected to set an example. Well, that would explain why Lyanna and Brandon were so wild. The three of you were fresh young wolves, eager for a taste of life. Those days, however, were short-lived. One day a message arrived from Kings Landing. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was going to marry Elia Martell of Dorne.

You wondered what this Princess was like. Was she fierce like Meria? Alive with unquenching fire like Nymeria? They called her youngest brother a snake. Perhaps she was one too. Half expecting to find a woman with slits for eyes and fangs, a normal woman was slightly more surprising. She was smaller than imagined. With bundles of silky black hair and warm brown eyes. Sun-kissed skin was draped in flowing orange garments. She smiled as you curtsied. And a warm hand touched your cheek.

Elia Martell knew little of the north. It was a cold distant place, quite unlike home. She heard of the Northern Kings, the great walls and mysterious creatures known as the Others. Born sickly, Elia spent most of her time reading. She was encouraged to read books with filled with history and numbers. At night, when Oberyn finally left her room, she pulled out the other books. These were not books her family approved of. Not that they belittled her for it, but a Dornish Princess was expected to be more practical. “We are Princesses of Dorne, not some silly little southern girl. We are descended from warriors, not maids.” Is what Elia’s mother told her. She knew her family loved her dearly. But she wished they could understand. She wanted a world where she could be loved and love back. The stories where love conquered all. Her favorite was Aemon the Dragonknight and Princess Naerys. Even if the Targaryens were their centuries-old enemies, the story of Aemon loving his sister so fiercely it a fire in her. Of course, she was loved. But Elia wanted someone to hold her dear, just as Aemon held Naerys. So even as Elia got ready to marry Prince Rhaegar, there was an ache.

The Stark Banners flew over the procession. Like your sister Lyanna, you chose to ride on horseback. It was the day of Rhaegar’s marriage to Princess Elia. The procession was an endless line of Westeros’s greatest houses. “Look!” Lyanna pointed to a minstrel show on the side. It was a reenactment of Prince Aemon crowning his Naerys the Queen of Love and Beauty. The sept of Balor was packed to the brim. The crowd roared outside. Luckily, as the eldest daughter of House Stark, you had the honor of seeing everything in person. Elia was just as small as you remembered her. Rhaegar looked as though he could dwarf her.

Your next interaction with the princess was during the dance. Dancing had never been your forte. So as your father and oldest brother were busy, you slipped away. Eddard sat glumly in a corner as Lyanna and Brandon made themselves the life of the party. They could take care of themselves. You moaned in relief as you loosened your corset. A warm wind came up from the city. Your place on the balcony allowed you to see every light below. “Thank the Gods.” You sighed.

Elia was relieved to take a break. She loved dancing, but could only take so much of it. Oberon had offered to accompany Elia, but she refused. She needed to be alone. Every woman knew what was expected on their wedding night. Elia was ashamed to find tears behind her eyes. She was supposed to be the perfect lady, the perfect princess. But she was so scared. This act would be the last bit of her childhood stripped away. Oberon would leave, and she would be Elia Targaryen. The dark halls offered a brief comfort. It was a blessed moment out of the glare of court. Up ahead she saw a balcony. Quickly, Elia picked up her pace. Being a lady be damned she was going to get air.

“Thank-” She was not alone. A woman dressed in blue straightened her posture. Elia was stuck. There was a sort of wild beauty about her. It was so unlike the ladies at court, or even her own. But something so free and spirited. The girls h/c hair was let loose to her waist. E/c eyes, wild as the free forests beyond the walls. Maybe these thoughts were overly romantic. But Elia couldn’t help feeling them. “Your Grace.” She quickly jumped into a curtsy. “May I inquire about your name?” “Y/n of House Stark, Your Grace.” “Well, Y/n of House Stark, would you accompany me to the gardens?” The girl looked shocked, but not displeased (much to Elia’s relief). Y/n offered her arm, much in the way a knight might to his lady.

“It must be a very long way from Dorne. Do you find it cold here?” “Not much. Dorne is not always so hot. Do you find this too warm for you?” “A bit. It has been a cold winter.” The two of you had walked to the Weirwood Tree. Elia walked towards the tree and placed thin fingers upon its branch. The bark was like nothing she had felt before. It was both rough yet soft to the touch. “Isn't it beautiful.” Y/n’s fingers brushed the leaves. “Are there many of these trees up north?” Elia asked. “They're not all that common. You know we have one up at Winterfell.” A longing look passed over the girl's face. “Is everything well Lady Stark?” “It's just that this tree looks so lonely here. Weirwoods belong in the north.” At that moment, Elia knew this girl was as homesick as she herself was.

You had only been back at Winterfell for two months when Queen Rhaella sent for you. Lyanna had snuck up some lemon cakes from the kitchen. Benjin, Lyanna, and yourself were quite happy to finish. “Do you think we should share these with Brandon and Eddard?” Benjin took a bite out of the cake. Lyanna shook her head vigorously. “They’re too old for lemon cakes anyway.” Said you, older than Eddard and Brandon. That was when it happened. All three of you heard your father's footsteps down the hall. “Quick!” You covered the lemon cakes and shoved them under the bed. Not a moment later Lord Rickard Stark burst in, pride all over his face. “Y/n, you have been summoned to serve Princess Elia.” All three of you stood there, thunderstruck. It was Lyanna who burst out first. “What!?” She howled. Richard sent her a look and focused on you. “Y/n, may I speak with you?” It was with ill grace that Lyanna and Benjin left. Your father took a seat by the fireplace. You followed his example. “Y/n, as much of an honor this is, I want to make sure this is alright with you.” Lord Richard had always intended to sow roots in the south. But giving his eldest daughter to that pit of dragons, known as the Red Keep, made him pause. This was to be expected. You always knew one day you would leave. The court was stifling. You didn’t want to go. But you also didn’t want to let down your father. And then there was Princess Elia. She seemed sweet the last time you met her. “If it is your wish, so be it.”

Elia didn’t know why she was fussing over her appearance. Today she wore a Targaryen red. Elia didn’t like the colour. She wanted her oranges, yellows and whites back. King Aerys had a habit of giving unwanted comments regarding her Dornish style. She sat on a throne-like chair in her quarters, surrounded by her ladies. Among their numbers were Ashara Dayne, Malaria Sand and Nymeria Martell. At least she had been allowed to keep three of her friends. The doors swung open and Y/n entered. This time, her hair was done up. She wore soft blue fabric with wolves along the edges. “Your Grace.” You dipped into a curtsy. Elia stood up. “Lady Y/n, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Elia’s lips touched Y/’s cheek. It was cold as ice.

Despite how cold Y/n may have felt, everything else about her was warm. There was something about her voice, eyes and gentle hands that reminded Elia of the warm wind rolling over the sand. She was quiet, rarely voicing her opinion. But there was a tenderness Y/n showed that Elia had rarely felt. Perhaps it was the way Elia was used to being treated in Kings Landing. Y/n seemed to know what she needed. What she wanted. It was the small things. Like Y/n brushing her hair after a hard day, or making her a crown of Weirwood leaves.

Elia had never enjoyed rude health. That was what Nymeria Martell had told you. Though Elia tried to hide it, you could soon tell. She got exhausted quickly, sometimes had a delicate stomach and every month her period nearly made her collapse. Despite this all, she kept strong. That was what you admired about her. She truly embodied the words of her house. Unbowed. Unbend. Unbroken. She was a true lady. But you could tell that Elia wished for something more. One time, you had been training when Elia chanced upon you. At first you thought her angry. But you came to realize it was a longing. A longing to not be so constrained. So one day you decided to take her out for a ride. The rest of the ladies watched nervously as you helped Elia onto a steed. You had chosen a big northern horse. One that was stable and wouldn’t bolt. You got on behind Elia. Elia relaxed against you, black hair let loose. The wind whistled past you. Elia giggled as her fingertips brushed the leaves overhead. “Can you take me to the meadow?” “I am yours to command.” A laugh passed your lips. Just beyond this forest was a meadow owned by the royal family. “Over there!” Elia pointed to a warm spot with soft grass. Elia sat on the blanket you laid down. “I do think we have lost the rest!” It was another few minutes before the rest galloped into the clearing.

Later that night Elia found herself alone with Y/n, yet again. Elia, feeling better than most days, went for a walk with her. With laughter on her lips, Y/n gushed over the thrill of horse riding. Elia’s head rested against your shoulder, tired-eyed. Y/n sat down under the tree, bringing Elia with her. “Thank you Y/n.” Elia tangled her fingers with Y/n. “Would you like to do it again?” Elia nodded. Suddenly, she shivered. A wind had blown from the north. Not used to the cold, she shivered against Y/n. Immediately Y/n tossed off her cloak and put it over Elia’s shoulders. Her fingers went over the fine needlework. Despite their differences, one thing both girls were good at was sewing. On the back was the head of a dire wolf, the sigil of House Stark.

Elia’s first birth had been hard. You were woken by the feeling of something warm and wet against your thighs. At first, you thought Elia simply had an accident. But the metallic smell that reached you told a different story. Quickly you lit a candle and pulled back the sheet. Blood pooled between Elia’s legs. Gently so as not to alarm her, you woke Elia up. Before you could say anything Elia clutched her pelvis and moaned. You shook awake Lady Ashara and she in turn woke the midwife. Soon the room was bustling where once it had been quiet. You weren’t sure how long it lasted. Elia clutching your hand all the time. She bore the pain remarkably well. That was the price one paid with Elia’s condition. The midwives had Elia walk from one end of the room to the other. The sun was well in the sky when the midwife laid Elia down. “Y/n… if I die..” Your hand smoothed her black hair back. It burned to the touch. “Don’t say that. You’ve done so well.” Under your breath, you muttered old Northern prayers. Even a few to the Seven and Mother Royne. Finally, the baby came. A little girl, small and perfect. The midwife placed her in your trembling arms. “Elia, you did it.” Too weak to hold her baby, Elia touched the baby's chubby cheek. For one blessed moment, it was just you and Elia. Together in your world with the baby. Your serenity was broken. Rhaegar burst in. “My daughter! It’s a girl, right?” Relief swept through your veins. At least he would not be disappointed. Rhaegar took her from your arms. “We shall call her Rhaenys.”

Was it alarming how quickly Rhaegar had chosen the baby's name? Elia liked Rhaegar, perhaps even loved him. She took pleasure in their couplings, and he was kind. But recently something dark had settled over their lives. He spent more time at his desk reading rolls upon rolls of paper. Elia had tried to help, but he rejected any attempt. Rhaegar naming Rhaenys without her consent was the most startling. While most wives did bend to the will of their husbands. But even so, to make a decision like this without so much as consulting her was worrying. It also tickled her pride. Was she not his wife, a princess, and future Queen? Elia didn’t voice her frustrations, but the beginnings of resentment were starting to take root.

Elia had been absolutely bedridden. While Elia slept, you took Princess Rhaeneys outside to the courtyard. A wet nurse and nanny followed in your wake. The baby was swaddled in layers of soft fur. The baby took after Elia the most. With delicate features and short black hair. “Aren’t you the cutest little thing, hm?” Your finger brushed her forehead. “Lady Stark.” It was the King. The three of you sunk down into a curtsy. “Lady Stark, how is my wife?” “She is getting better, your Grace. Though still very tired. Would you like to hold your daughter?” You held out the baby. Rhaegar pressed himself very close. So close in fact that his nose was just inches from yours. Uncomfortable, you stepped back.

The Prince Who Was Promised. It was the prophecy passed down from ruler to heir for three hundred centuries. One day the Song of Ice and Fire would come, and the night of darkness driven away. He had correspondents in the North. And things were not looking peaceful beyond the wall. In fact, events progressed alarmingly fast. Wildlings were starting to form groups, and corpses rose where the sun did not dare shine. He needed the three heads of the dragon. He needed the Prince that was Promised. Elia had done well to fall pregnant quickly. And better yet, it was a girl. From the delicate look of her features and gentle purple eyes he knew her to be a Rhaenys. But there was always one part that bothered him. It said the Song of Ice and Fire. The fire aspect came in. But where the ice? Perhaps it would be his future Aegon’s wife, an ice bride. But could they wait that long? Would the Song of Ice and Fire come true in time? It had been another long night of scroll searching. After only a little sleep, he set out. The cold hair did well to rouse him from exhaustion. Rhaegar was strolling in the courtyard when he saw her. He recognized the lady as Y/n Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Stark. The second their eyes met, Rhaegar's chest contracted. Now this was a Visenya. With a wild, harsh beauty and muscles defined by years of training. Almost without thinking he walked up to her. He didn’t even hear what she had to say. This was ice.

Rhaegar was visiting more frequently. It was sweet to see him hold his daughter and sing to her. He even spent time with her ladies, dancing and singing to them. At first, like many, you found this change quite nice. Who wouldn’t want to be sung to by a prince? But Rhaegar had an ulterior motive. You never liked the way he gripped you. It was like vines over brick. Like he might bind himself to you. At first, you convinced yourself it was all in the head. But Rhaegar had a habit of suddenly popping up in unexpected places. Before, you had hardly exchanged a word. Now, he seemed to be everywhere.

“I hear blue roses grow in Winterfell.” Elia had gone to change for bed, leaving you and Rhaegar in the same room. He had stopped you from leaving. It was awkward to say the least, sitting here so closely to the Prince, a married one at that. “Yes, they grow in our greenhouse.” You replied. He was looking at you so intently. “And I assume they are very beautiful.” “I think so. My sister likes to make them into crowns.” “Tell me about your sister.” “Lyanna has only just turned thirteen. You saw her at the wedding, brown hair and gray eyes.” “And does she use a sword like you do?” “Yes, and horse riding is a passion of hers.” Suddenly, Rhaegar’s hand came up to your face. He brushed strands of hair out of your face. “I wouldn’t mind bringing blue roses to Kings Landing, My Lady.” Your heart dropped.

You now knew what his intentions were. Despite your lack of romantic interaction, it was obvious. And why in the name of the Old Gods did it have to be you! Rhaegar, unlike most previous Princes, had the reputation for being faithful to his wife. So why is he focused on you?! Your greatest fear was that Elia would find out. Would she hate you? The thought made you puke.

Elia was pregnant six months after her ordeal. That was when Rhaegar had the brilliant idea that the best place for Elia was Dragonstone. And my Gods was it the worst place you had ever visited. It was damp and cold. Elia spent most days bundled under the furs of her bed. For once her work remained undone. Elia had truly hit her limit. One night, you had finished singing a sleeping Elia a Roynish lullaby, when Rhaegar came in. Your hands tightened. “Lady Y/n, I see my wife is asleep.” “Yes.” You hoped he would leave. Instead he walked over and sat on the bed. You didn’t know whether to leave or stay. “I hear you are unmarried, My Lady.” You knew where this was going. “My father intends for me to marry Lord Baratheon.” You wanted to squash any ideas he might have. “You need not marry him, or is that your wish?” Was he serious!? Of course you would! At that moment it became too much. “Please Your Grace, I am very exhausted and am unable to entertain you any longer.” Your voice trembled with suppressed fear and rage. Something in Rhaegar’s Valyrian purple eyes changed and he gripped your hand. “Meet me in the caves, tomorrow after breakfast.”

Breakfast was hard to stomach. You could feel Rhaegar's eyes on you. It became too much. You vomited. That was all you could do after breakfast. Stumbling to the lavatory you hunched over. “Y/n!” Elia caught you by the arm. Steadying yourself against her, it was hard to walk. She walked you out of the room. Unfortunately, someone followed you. “Lady Y/n, I’ve been seeking your company.” Of course, it was Rhaegar. Because he couldn’t help turning up at unpleasant moments. “I think Y/n better rest.” Elia lead you away. “Wait.” Rhaegar had seized your arm. What happened next shocked you. The second Rhaegar had you, Elia tore his hand off. “She is unwell.” There was a steely bite to her voice. Before Rhaegar could do anything more, Elia led you away.

Fire and Blood. The famous saying of house Targaryen. But what of House Martell? Was their sigil not the sun? Perhaps Rhaegar was under the assumption that the blood of Martell was not as hot as his. Well, he was about to discover otherwise. Rhaegar had been reading his scrolls when Elia burst in, without ceremony. Never in her life had Elia felt so enraged. For the first time it was impossible to bottle her feelings up. Her fingers itched to tear at his face. She actually hated him. Elia had noticed a change in Y/n’s demeanor as of late. Where once she had been happy and cherrful, now Y/n was like a shadow. How when Rhaegar visited Y/n shrunk away. Every time Rhaegar approached Y/n, which was alarmingly often, she recoiled from his touch. The day when Elia had fallen asleep in her arms, she woke to Rhaegar storming off. Y/n, still clinging to her, sobbing openly. Something akin to jealousy stirred up in Elia’s chest. But much stronger like a storm. It had a grip on her heart. It kicked at her stomach. This was a different sickness. Instead of being laid low, it made her want to rage “You keep away from her.” Elia’s hands slammed into the table, fingernails piercing its surface. “Whom do you speak of?” Rhaegar looked up at her coolly. “You know who. Do not play a fool with me, Rhaegar Targaryen.” Rhaegar set down the scrolls. “Elia, the purpose of this matter is much greater than you and I.” Elia let out a derisive snort. “Getting your prick wet is hardly a great matter.” “I believe it is time to tell you. Elia, I must tell you the Song of Ice and Fire.”

“He’s as mad as his father.” Elia lay awake that night. Did he truly need Y/n for this “prophecy”. No wonder the Targaryens went mad, if they all followed this. Elia turned over to where Y/n lay. This past year Y/n had been the one to sleep beside her when Rhaegar was nose-deep in scrolls. While it was not required, Elia hated being alone. Y/n turned, facing Elia. She looked so calm, so peaceful. Elia held her cold hand, she then moved closer. That night, Elia swore nothing would ever happen to Y/n.

And so Elia kept her word. She always had someone report on Rhaegr’s whereabouts. Elia’s first thought had been to dismiss Y/n. It would be painful, but Y/n would be safer there. Perhaps Rhaegar would forget about her and one day Elia could invite Y/n back. But Rhaegar would never let her. There was one alarming change. Rhaegar was now letting Elia in on his research. How there would be a great Prince to vanquish the Others. Elia hated thinking about it, but at least she knew what Rhaegar was up to.

“Elia look!” The morning you received a gift from your sister. Lyanna had taken blue winter roses and tried them, pressed between two pieces of glass. The picture was lovely.

Sister,

I hope you are well. I hope these roses find you soon. Given you are stuck on Dragonstone. There are many this year. When you visit, there will probably be more. Dad has currently grounded me because I poured wine on Brandon’s head. Which was unfair because he was making fun of me. The only satisfaction I have is that Brandon can no longer visit the whore houses, at least for the next week. But I don’t see why I need be punished.

Everyone is doing well. Benjin is still annoying, father and Eddard send their love. Ps. There are socks for the Princess Rhaenys.

Love,

Lyanna Stark

You pulled out a pair of socks. They were actually quite nicely sewn.

“Your sister wrote to you? What did she say?” Elia looked over. “She sends me her love. And socks for the Princess.” “Well I am very grateful. I shall send my thanks.” Elia picked up the Princess from her colt. “Shall we?” The two of you liked to take walks by the ocean. It was nice and soothing and briefly banished all your troubles. You had taken off your shoes, sand between your toes. “Would you like go to back to Winterfell?” Elia asked. “I do miss home. Father may call me back for my marriage.” You said. But you wondered if Rhaegar would let you. While he had left you alone, it was still scary. The fear that Rhaegar might resume his advances was frightening. “If at any point you wish to.” Normally you would have not thought twice about saying yes. But something didn’t sit well with you. Why was Elia so eager for you to leave? Usually, Elia was hard put to have you leave her side. And the timing was suspect in itself. You finally voiced your fears.

“Rhaegar’s been confronting me as of late.” You had to get it out. As much as you loathed it. The secret was banging against your chest, begging to get out. “I know.” Elia sighed. Your legs buckled, tears bringing themself to the surface. “I didn’t want it.” You sobbed. Your shoes dropped as tears spilled over. Your hands clutched at your chest as if that might alleviate the pain. Your body fell to the ground. Elia came down with you, one arm around your shoulder. Her lips brushed against you hairline. “I know my dear, I know.” But you couldn’t stop crying. The relief you felt was enormous. As stressful as the situation had been, at least you knew Elia didn’t blame you. The sea crashed in the distance and seemed to come to a standstill as you rested against Elia. You cried into her shoulder for what felt like ages. “I’m sorry. I’ve gotten my tears all over your dress.” You sniffed. Elia laughed and pulled you further into her embrace. “It’s just a dress, you're more important.” Baby Rhaenys cooed between you two. Elia ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. “I think Rhaenys needs to go inside.” Both of you stood up. “Elia, could I have a moment alone?” Her hand stroked your cheek. You wanted some time alone. Your emotions were so on edge you might explode.

You watched Elia walk back inside. It was only when Elia went inside that you continued on your way. Getting cold feet, literally, you slipped on your shoes and went to the cliffside. The wind whipped around like a tempest. You allowed the wind to ruffle your hair. Maybe this is why Targaryens came here. There was a sense of peace you got from the elements. It was as if the wind might carry your pain away. Your eyes closed, letting emotion take over. You fell, fingers digging into cold, tough soil. Your nails cried out from the strength in which they were forced into the ground. A cold, hard breath left your body, carried away by the wind. Throwing your head back, you sent a prayer to the wind. Only the gray sky above was witness to your cry. Or so you thought.

“Lady Stark.” A cold, shaking hand clasped on your trembling lips. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. He came closer, one footstep after another, the ground giving way to his wake. Legs became stiff as lead. A strong hand seized your shoulder. “Lady Stark, please turn.” Only doing so when he put pressure on the shoulder that you unwillingly turned. Acid rose up in your throat. “Your Grace…please.” Tears fell freely. You didn’t care about dignity anymore. Right now all you knew was exhaustion and fear. “Y/n, I know this is unprompted, but there is information I must divulge.”Rhaegar’s eyes looked desperate and wild. There was a flame in those dark purple eyes. It was like you could feel the heat emanating from them, like wildfire. “Elia is not ice. I need a child of fire and ice." “You’re Grace, the Princess has already given you a healthy daughter. And it would be beneath my honor to have a bastard.” “Not a bastard My Lady, a prince.” A wild laugh burst from your lips, arms breaking free from his grip. Alarmed, Rhaegar stepped back. You must have looked mad yourself, hair freely flying behind you, eyes wide and savage. “Make no mistake My Prince. You will never have me or my love if that is what you are after. And when I bear a child it shall not be with a dragon. Dragons do not fare well in the cold.” “Ice is just what I desire. The Prince that was Promised, the Three-Headed Dragon. Elia can not give me that.” You feel to your knees, angry tears tearing at your skin. “You would…… you would abandon your wife for what!? You are mad!” Rhaegar knelt down to your level, hand on your chin. You broke. Rhagar howled as sharp teeth drove into his pale skin. You were thrown to the ground with the state of blood overcoming the scenes. “So this is how it is. I shall leave you to your own devices then.” He spat. Rhaegar walked away.

The next few days were spent in silent terror. You had harmed a Prince, treason. Even the daughter of Lord Rickard Stark was not immune to the rules. Hiding under the covers at night, you expected guards to come in at any moment. But to your surprise and delight, Rhaegar had left you alone. However, that didn’t mean this was the end. Elia suspected something was wrong. She was constantly by your side, more than usual. In public you were side by side, arms linked. But soon news came that caused a flurry of excitement. A tourney was being held at Harrenhal. Soon everything was being packed up and ready to leave that dreary rock. Maybe you would feel better once off Dragonstone.

Arriving at Kings Landing was a blessed relief. Even the tall red walls were better than windswept Dragonstone. Two days later, your family arrived. “Lyanna!” Forgoing courtesies, you left Elia’s side to hug your sister. Since you had last seen her, Lyanna had gotten taller. Her dark brown hair was long and tidy, cheeks a rosy glow. Lyanna practically jumped on you in her excitement. “Y/n! I’ve missed you so!” One of Elia’s ladies made an “ahem” noise and the two of you quickly broke apart. “Princess, this is my sister, Lady Lyanna Stark.” Lyanna curtsied, you noticed she had improved. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lyanna. Your sister tells me much.” Lyanna blushed. “Good things, I hope.” Elia laughed at the jest. “Very. Now how about we enjoy these lemon cakes and you tell me stories about Y/n when she was younger.” The rest laughed as you groaned.

The mood in Elia’s solar was pleasant. Lyanna seemed to enjoy eating cake and telling ever embarrassing stories about your childhood. “And then she fell right into the pigpen.” Lyanna laughed. “Only because you pushed me.” You snorted, giving her a gentle swat. Elia looked happier than she had in a long while, baby Rhaeneys situated on her lap. For that short time, no one had any worries. Until Rhaegar arrived. Elia’s smile faded and the sun was put out. The rest of you shrunk back as if confronted by the plague. The only person who seemed to be unfazed was Lyanna. “Your Grace.” She said and then sat back down. He walked over and pressed a kiss to Elia’s cheek. “My Love, I hope you are well.” But Rhaegar’s eyes were not on you, but Lyanna's. “Fire and Ice.” You had not known what Rhaegar meant by those words. It was only now that he was looking at Lyanna did you realize. If he could not have you, he would have her.

Your maid had just finished brushing your hair when a knock sounded at the door. “Who is it?” The maid called out. “It’s me.” Lyanna’s voice called out. “Let her in.” The door opened and a muddy, flushed Lyanna stumbled in, a grin wide over her face. “Prince Rhaegar let me join in on the hunt.” Your blood froze. Even breathing took great effort. “Please leave us.” The maid curtsied and departed. It was only when her footsteps faded did you speak. “Lyanna, what exactly did he do?” “Well, I was in the courtyard practicing my archery when he saw me! Honestly, I thought he would tell me off, but instead, he let me hunt some stag! It was so much fun!” Poor Lyanna. At fourteen, the girl did not realize the Prince’s intentions were not so innocent. “Lyanna, I believe he is trying to court you.” Your insides squirmed at the words, but she needed to hear them. The thought of Rhaegar taking advantage of your innocent sister made you physically ill. At first, Lyanna laughed. But when she realized you weren't jesting, those laughs turned into sobs. You pulled your sister into a hug, hand brushing her hair. "I swear I didn’t do anything.” Her tears stained your nightgown. “It’s okay, I don’t blame you one bit.” You let Lyanna sleep in your bed that night. After a cup of hot milk and honey, she went to sleep. But you stayed awake all night, thinking about what to do next.

Lyanna was in your presence at all hours. However, your duties conflicted with your plans. During dinner, you had to leave with Elia. Ever since her second pregnancy quickened her breasts had been swollen and red. You had only left Elia when she was in bed. You’d gone for a walk when Lyanna ran into Y/n. She was pale with red eyes. Wordlessly she flung her arms around your waist, fingers clutching the fabric. “Has Rhaegar bothered you again!” “Yes, yes he has! I was riding by myself when he came up to me. I tried to shake him off when he caught up and insisted we ride together.” “Did he do anything?” “He touched my hand. “And that is all?” “Yes, I promise.” Relief. At least he had not taken her maidenhead. But that did not mean you weren’t angry. “Go to bed Lyanna, I will deal with him tomorrow. It was time for the dragons to realize wolves too had fangs.

Requesting a meeting with the Prince terrified you. But Lyanna being in danger was far more horrifying. So that was why on a cold night, you stood in front of Rhaegar’s large oak door, the three-headed dragon carved into its surface. The torches gave the entrance an eerie atmosphere. You heard him call you in. Into the dragon's den, you went.

You had never been to Rhaegar’s solar before. It was a quiet, mysterious place. The circular wall was lined with shelves. The only light came from the fireplace, above the mantel held a curved blade. “Lady Y/n. I admit, I had not expected you to request an audience.” Dangerous. That was the only word you could describe his voice. Each syllable dripped off his tongue like poison. A predator ready to strike. “I wish to speak to you regarding my sister, Lady Lyanna.” Your fingernails dug into your palms. “ Yes. Your sister is quite lovely. A credit to your house.” A slight smirk made its way onto his face. “I am aware, My Prince. But I worry that your attentions may be taken as…..something more than they should not be.” Rhaegar’s eyes flashed something fierce and a malevolent smirk stretched over his lips. “So now that another has my heart you want me?” Flabbergasted. Was Rhaegar so enraptured by the prophecy that he could not see sense?! “My Prince, she is my sister and engaged to Lord Tyrell. If you pursue her Lyanna;s prospects will be ruined.” Rhaegar’s purple eyes hardened as his elbows rested on his knees. “Lady Y/n, if you accept my proposal I would not need to pursue Lady Lyanna.” You seemed unable to breathe through your mouth. Lungs barely able to circulate air. Rhaegar got to his feet, walking towards you. His large hands placed themselves on your shoulders, his lips inches from yours. Warm breath hits your chest, the skin heating up. “Please…..she’s so young.” You clutched his hands imploringly.There was not even room to cry, every organ in your body was ice. His hand cupped your cheek, getting closer. You could now taste his breath. Before Rhaegar knew it, you had fled.

A snake and a wolf lay together in the darkness. The heaviness of your situation suffocating. “Lyanna needs to go back north.” Elia’s hand held yours. “I know. The tournament will be over tomorrow.” Elia attempted to console you. “But what if he tries to harm Lyanna before then?!” Tears choked your lungs. Elia hushed you gently and wrapped her arms around you. The snake coiled herself gently around her wolf.

It was only by pure chance that you figured out Rhaegar’s plan. You had woken early that morning, clad in a simple blue dress and shawl. This morning had a cold touch in the wind, reminding you of Winterfell. Oh how you would like to go back to those days. Harenhall still bore the marks from Aegon’s attack all those centuries ago. A man whose belief in his divine right to rule was so strong he took over six kingdoms. This castle was just a remnant of this pride. Targaryen's had always been this way, taking what they want. You walked out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Looking down below, you recognize a familiar curtain of silver hair. With haste, you made to disappear before he might look up and see you. That was until something caught your eye. Rhaegar had in his hands a crown of blue winter roses. Roses that only grew in Winterfell. This did not sit right with you. He must be making it for the tourney today. But why would he go to such lengths to get blue roses for this one occasion? Most would believe that this was a touching gesture from Rhaegar to Elia. But why winter roses? Why not flowers from Dorne? Rage choked you. How dare he. How fucking dare he! You wanted to claw his eyes out and feed him to the wolves. No matter what, Rhaegar would pursue his desires. He was a dragon. A dragon you wanted to defang. You looked down at the young prince. Had he cared to look up, Rhaegar would have seen a she-wolf staring right down at him.

You had gained sickness when Elia woke up. The sad look on her face made you ill, but this needed to be done. Once everyone was gone, you slipped out of bed and hurried to Benjin’s room. Only Benjin and Lyanna knew what you were up to. “I think this will fit you.” Lyanna held up a breastplate. Benjin helped put on your armor as Lyanna handed him pieces. “All done!” Benjin admired his handiwork. You ruffled his dark hair. Lyanna was rummaging under the bed. “Lyanna? Everything alright?” “Yes.” Lyanna grunted. She hauled out a shield and turned it over. On its surface was a Weirwood tree. “Shall we start?” Lyanna asked. Grimly, you and Benjin nodded.

All that could be heard were the horse's thundering hooves. All your energy was put into defeating this latest opponent. Though you had jousted before, never had your limits been pushed thus. Your left arm was screaming in pain. Every time the pain became too much to bear, you looked up to Elia, Lyanna and Benjin. Only Lyanna and Benjin knew the truth. Yet the way Elia’s eyes followed you made you think she knew. Finally, you made it to the final round. In all honesty, you hadn’t expected to make it this far. But this was it. This was why you had entered the arena and this fight. “I announce, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen!” A roar louder than the waves against Storm’s End came up from the stands. He was clad in true Targaryen armor, making him look like the dragon he was. But even dragons were not invincible. The Dornish had brought down Meraxes, and by all the old Gods you would take down this one. Your lances lowered, it had begun.

You and Elia saw under the Weirwood Tree. Elia’s head lay in your lap while you made a crown of weirwood leaves. You told her the story of Aemon the dragonknight and his love Naerys. Whether it was romantic or the love a brother had for a sister was unknown. But it comforted you to think that the sad Queen Naerys had someone by her side. The path of a Queen or princess was lonely, as you had witnessed. Elia had always been a princess from the day of her birth. In Dorne there were the vipers that never harmed their precious princess. The same could not be said of Kings Landing. Elia opened her brown eyes and smiled at you. “What's this?” She asked, eyeing the leaf crown. “Something for the tourney.” “For Brandon?” You gave her a sly smile. “Not so your grace.” If the vipers could not protect Elia, then this lone wolf would.

It all happened in one moment. People in the audience were not even sure what had happened. Two great beasts had launched at each other. In the end, it was the mysterious Weirwood tree knight who remained standing. And then a shriek arose from the crowd. Of shock, surprise, excitement, and wonder. This knight with no name had unhorsed the prince. The knight's white stallion trotted over the squire who handed her a crown of Weirwood leaves and orange Dornish flowers. And went right up to the Princess. Elia stood on the balcony. Instead of shock or horror, her face held something no one but the princess and her knight knew. Their eyes met and at least for that day, as Elia set the crown upon her brow, everything was right in the world.

[blueroses789]

The Princess and her Knight

Elia Martell x Reader

Ps: reader is born from a previous marriage making the Stark siblings her half siblings.

Elia Martell had always dreamed of being someone's princess. Y/n Stark always wanted to be a knight.

In very unusual circumstances a viper and a wolf find themselves intertwined.

note: simply wish fulfillment for Elia to get the crown she deserves😤

She was the Princess of Dorne. Descended from Nymeria and Meria Martell. You had heard these stories from the cradles. On cold winter nights Nan would tell you of far-off places where there was no snow and the days were hot. They unnerved your brothers, who felt that women had no business wielding a sword or holding power. But you were utterly transfixed. More than once you and your sister Lyanna would sneak off, swords in hand. When everyone was asleep, the two of you snuck around, pretending to be Nymeria on her journey to Westeros. As the oldest child, you were expected to set an example. Well, that would explain why Lyanna and Brandon were so wild. The three of you were fresh young wolves, eager for a taste of life. Those days, however, were short-lived. One day a message arrived from Kings Landing. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was going to marry Elia Martell of Dorne.

You wondered what this Princess was like. Was she fierce like Meria? Alive with unquenching fire like Nymeria? They called her youngest brother a snake. Perhaps she was one too. Half expecting to find a woman with slits for eyes and fangs, a normal woman was slightly more surprising. She was smaller than imagined. With bundles of silky black hair and warm brown eyes. Sun-kissed skin was draped in flowing orange garments. She smiled as you curtsied. And a warm hand touched your cheek.

Elia Martell knew little of the north. It was a cold distant place, quite unlike home. She heard of the Northern Kings, the great walls and mysterious creatures known as the Others. Born sickly, Elia spent most of her time reading. She was encouraged to read books with filled with history and numbers. At night, when Oberyn finally left her room, she pulled out the other books. These were not books her family approved of. Not that they belittled her for it, but a Dornish Princess was expected to be more practical. “We are Princesses of Dorne, not some silly little southern girl. We are descended from warriors, not maids.” Is what Elia’s mother told her. She knew her family loved her dearly. But she wished they could understand. She wanted a world where she could be loved and love back. The stories where love conquered all. Her favorite was Aemon the Dragonknight and Princess Naerys. Even if the Targaryens were their centuries-old enemies, the story of Aemon loving his sister so fiercely it a fire in her. Of course, she was loved. But Elia wanted someone to hold her dear, just as Aemon held Naerys. So even as Elia got ready to marry Prince Rhaegar, there was an ache.

The Stark Banners flew over the procession. Like your sister Lyanna, you chose to ride on horseback. It was the day of Rhaegar’s marriage to Princess Elia. The procession was an endless line of Westeros’s greatest houses. “Look!” Lyanna pointed to a minstrel show on the side. It was a reenactment of Prince Aemon crowning his Naerys the Queen of Love and Beauty. The sept of Balor was packed to the brim. The crowd roared outside. Luckily, as the eldest daughter of House Stark, you had the honor of seeing everything in person. Elia was just as small as you remembered her. Rhaegar looked as though he could dwarf her.

Your next interaction with the princess was during the dance. Dancing had never been your forte. So as your father and oldest brother were busy, you slipped away. Eddard sat glumly in a corner as Lyanna and Brandon made themselves the life of the party. They could take care of themselves. You moaned in relief as you loosened your corset. A warm wind came up from the city. Your place on the balcony allowed you to see every light below. “Thank the Gods.” You sighed.

Elia was relieved to take a break. She loved dancing, but could only take so much of it. Oberon had offered to accompany Elia, but she refused. She needed to be alone. Every woman knew what was expected on their wedding night. Elia was ashamed to find tears behind her eyes. She was supposed to be the perfect lady, the perfect princess. But she was so scared. This act would be the last bit of her childhood stripped away. Oberon would leave, and she would be Elia Targaryen. The dark halls offered a brief comfort. It was a blessed moment out of the glare of court. Up ahead she saw a balcony. Quickly, Elia picked up her pace. Being a lady be damned she was going to get air.

“Thank-” She was not alone. A woman dressed in blue straightened her posture. Elia was stuck. There was a sort of wild beauty about her. It was so unlike the ladies at court, or even her own. But something so free and spirited. The girls h/c hair was let loose to her waist. E/c eyes, wild as the free forests beyond the walls. Maybe these thoughts were overly romantic. But Elia couldn’t help feeling them. “Your Grace.” She quickly jumped into a curtsy. “May I inquire about your name?” “Y/n of House Stark, Your Grace.” “Well, Y/n of House Stark, would you accompany me to the gardens?” The girl looked shocked, but not displeased (much to Elia’s relief). Y/n offered her arm, much in the way a knight might to his lady.

“It must be a very long way from Dorne. Do you find it cold here?” “Not much. Dorne is not always so hot. Do you find this too warm for you?” “A bit. It has been a cold winter.” The two of you had walked to the Weirwood Tree. Elia walked towards the tree and placed thin fingers upon its branch. The bark was like nothing she had felt before. It was both rough yet soft to the touch. “Isn't it beautiful.” Y/n’s fingers brushed the leaves. “Are there many of these trees up north?” Elia asked. “They're not all that common. You know we have one up at Winterfell.” A longing look passed over the girl's face. “Is everything well Lady Stark?” “It's just that this tree looks so lonely here. Weirwoods belong in the north.” At that moment, Elia knew this girl was as homesick as she herself was.

You had only been back at Winterfell for two months when Queen Rhaella sent for you. Lyanna had snuck up some lemon cakes from the kitchen. Benjin, Lyanna, and yourself were quite happy to finish. “Do you think we should share these with Brandon and Eddard?” Benjin took a bite out of the cake. Lyanna shook her head vigorously. “They’re too old for lemon cakes anyway.” Said you, older than Eddard and Brandon. That was when it happened. All three of you heard your father's footsteps down the hall. “Quick!” You covered the lemon cakes and shoved them under the bed. Not a moment later Lord Rickard Stark burst in, pride all over his face. “Y/n, you have been summoned to serve Princess Elia.” All three of you stood there, thunderstruck. It was Lyanna who burst out first. “What!?” She howled. Richard sent her a look and focused on you. “Y/n, may I speak with you?” It was with ill grace that Lyanna and Benjin left. Your father took a seat by the fireplace. You followed his example. “Y/n, as much of an honor this is, I want to make sure this is alright with you.” Lord Richard had always intended to sow roots in the south. But giving his eldest daughter to that pit of dragons, known as the Red Keep, made him pause. This was to be expected. You always knew one day you would leave. The court was stifling. You didn’t want to go. But you also didn’t want to let down your father. And then there was Princess Elia. She seemed sweet the last time you met her. “If it is your wish, so be it.”

Elia didn’t know why she was fussing over her appearance. Today she wore a Targaryen red. Elia didn’t like the colour. She wanted her oranges, yellows and whites back. King Aerys had a habit of giving unwanted comments regarding her Dornish style. She sat on a throne-like chair in her quarters, surrounded by her ladies. Among their numbers were Ashara Dayne, Malaria Sand and Nymeria Martell. At least she had been allowed to keep three of her friends. The doors swung open and Y/n entered. This time, her hair was done up. She wore soft blue fabric with wolves along the edges. “Your Grace.” You dipped into a curtsy. Elia stood up. “Lady Y/n, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Elia’s lips touched Y/’s cheek. It was cold as ice.

Despite how cold Y/n may have felt, everything else about her was warm. There was something about her voice, eyes and gentle hands that reminded Elia of the warm wind rolling over the sand. She was quiet, rarely voicing her opinion. But there was a tenderness Y/n showed that Elia had rarely felt. Perhaps it was the way Elia was used to being treated in Kings Landing. Y/n seemed to know what she needed. What she wanted. It was the small things. Like Y/n brushing her hair after a hard day, or making her a crown of Weirwood leaves.

Elia had never enjoyed rude health. That was what Nymeria Martell had told you. Though Elia tried to hide it, you could soon tell. She got exhausted quickly, sometimes had a delicate stomach and every month her period nearly made her collapse. Despite this all, she kept strong. That was what you admired about her. She truly embodied the words of her house. Unbowed. Unbend. Unbroken. She was a true lady. But you could tell that Elia wished for something more. One time, you had been training when Elia chanced upon you. At first you thought her angry. But you came to realize it was a longing. A longing to not be so constrained. So one day you decided to take her out for a ride. The rest of the ladies watched nervously as you helped Elia onto a steed. You had chosen a big northern horse. One that was stable and wouldn’t bolt. You got on behind Elia. Elia relaxed against you, black hair let loose. The wind whistled past you. Elia giggled as her fingertips brushed the leaves overhead. “Can you take me to the meadow?” “I am yours to command.” A laugh passed your lips. Just beyond this forest was a meadow owned by the royal family. “Over there!” Elia pointed to a warm spot with soft grass. Elia sat on the blanket you laid down. “I do think we have lost the rest!” It was another few minutes before the rest galloped into the clearing.

Later that night Elia found herself alone with Y/n, yet again. Elia, feeling better than most days, went for a walk with her. With laughter on her lips, Y/n gushed over the thrill of horse riding. Elia’s head rested against your shoulder, tired-eyed. Y/n sat down under the tree, bringing Elia with her. “Thank you Y/n.” Elia tangled her fingers with Y/n. “Would you like to do it again?” Elia nodded. Suddenly, she shivered. A wind had blown from the north. Not used to the cold, she shivered against Y/n. Immediately Y/n tossed off her cloak and put it over Elia’s shoulders. Her fingers went over the fine needlework. Despite their differences, one thing both girls were good at was sewing. On the back was the head of a dire wolf, the sigil of House Stark.

Elia’s first birth had been hard. You were woken by the feeling of something warm and wet against your thighs. At first, you thought Elia simply had an accident. But the metallic smell that reached you told a different story. Quickly you lit a candle and pulled back the sheet. Blood pooled between Elia’s legs. Gently so as not to alarm her, you woke Elia up. Before you could say anything Elia clutched her pelvis and moaned. You shook awake Lady Ashara and she in turn woke the midwife. Soon the room was bustling where once it had been quiet. You weren’t sure how long it lasted. Elia clutching your hand all the time. She bore the pain remarkably well. That was the price one paid with Elia’s condition. The midwives had Elia walk from one end of the room to the other. The sun was well in the sky when the midwife laid Elia down. “Y/n… if I die..” Your hand smoothed her black hair back. It burned to the touch. “Don’t say that. You’ve done so well.” Under your breath, you muttered old Northern prayers. Even a few to the Seven and Mother Royne. Finally, the baby came. A little girl, small and perfect. The midwife placed her in your trembling arms. “Elia, you did it.” Too weak to hold her baby, Elia touched the baby's chubby cheek. For one blessed moment, it was just you and Elia. Together in your world with the baby. Your serenity was broken. Rhaegar burst in. “My daughter! It’s a girl, right?” Relief swept through your veins. At least he would not be disappointed. Rhaegar took her from your arms. “We shall call her Rhaenys.”

Was it alarming how quickly Rhaegar had chosen the baby's name? Elia liked Rhaegar, perhaps even loved him. She took pleasure in their couplings, and he was kind. But recently something dark had settled over their lives. He spent more time at his desk reading rolls upon rolls of paper. Elia had tried to help, but he rejected any attempt. Rhaegar naming Rhaenys without her consent was the most startling. While most wives did bend to the will of their husbands. But even so, to make a decision like this without so much as consulting her was worrying. It also tickled her pride. Was she not his wife, a princess, and future Queen? Elia didn’t voice her frustrations, but the beginnings of resentment were starting to take root.

Elia had been absolutely bedridden. While Elia slept, you took Princess Rhaeneys outside to the courtyard. A wet nurse and nanny followed in your wake. The baby was swaddled in layers of soft fur. The baby took after Elia the most. With delicate features and short black hair. “Aren’t you the cutest little thing, hm?” Your finger brushed her forehead. “Lady Stark.” It was the King. The three of you sunk down into a curtsy. “Lady Stark, how is my wife?” “She is getting better, your Grace. Though still very tired. Would you like to hold your daughter?” You held out the baby. Rhaegar pressed himself very close. So close in fact that his nose was just inches from yours. Uncomfortable, you stepped back.

The Prince Who Was Promised. It was the prophecy passed down from ruler to heir for three hundred centuries. One day the Song of Ice and Fire would come, and the night of darkness driven away. He had correspondents in the North. And things were not looking peaceful beyond the wall. In fact, events progressed alarmingly fast. Wildlings were starting to form groups, and corpses rose where the sun did not dare shine. He needed the three heads of the dragon. He needed the Prince that was Promised. Elia had done well to fall pregnant quickly. And better yet, it was a girl. From the delicate look of her features and gentle purple eyes he knew her to be a Rhaenys. But there was always one part that bothered him. It said the Song of Ice and Fire. The fire aspect came in. But where the ice? Perhaps it would be his future Aegon’s wife, an ice bride. But could they wait that long? Would the Song of Ice and Fire come true in time? It had been another long night of scroll searching. After only a little sleep, he set out. The cold hair did well to rouse him from exhaustion. Rhaegar was strolling in the courtyard when he saw her. He recognized the lady as Y/n Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Stark. The second their eyes met, Rhaegar's chest contracted. Now this was a Visenya. With a wild, harsh beauty and muscles defined by years of training. Almost without thinking he walked up to her. He didn’t even hear what she had to say. This was ice.

Rhaegar was visiting more frequently. It was sweet to see him hold his daughter and sing to her. He even spent time with her ladies, dancing and singing to them. At first, like many, you found this change quite nice. Who wouldn’t want to be sung to by a prince? But Rhaegar had an ulterior motive. You never liked the way he gripped you. It was like vines over brick. Like he might bind himself to you. At first, you convinced yourself it was all in the head. But Rhaegar had a habit of suddenly popping up in unexpected places. Before, you had hardly exchanged a word. Now, he seemed to be everywhere.

“I hear blue roses grow in Winterfell.” Elia had gone to change for bed, leaving you and Rhaegar in the same room. He had stopped you from leaving. It was awkward to say the least, sitting here so closely to the Prince, a married one at that. “Yes, they grow in our greenhouse.” You replied. He was looking at you so intently. “And I assume they are very beautiful.” “I think so. My sister likes to make them into crowns.” “Tell me about your sister.” “Lyanna has only just turned thirteen. You saw her at the wedding, brown hair and gray eyes.” “And does she use a sword like you do?” “Yes, and horse riding is a passion of hers.” Suddenly, Rhaegar’s hand came up to your face. He brushed strands of hair out of your face. “I wouldn’t mind bringing blue roses to Kings Landing, My Lady.” Your heart dropped.

You now knew what his intentions were. Despite your lack of romantic interaction, it was obvious. And why in the name of the Old Gods did it have to be you! Rhaegar, unlike most previous Princes, had the reputation for being faithful to his wife. So why is he focused on you?! Your greatest fear was that Elia would find out. Would she hate you? The thought made you puke.

Elia was pregnant six months after her ordeal. That was when Rhaegar had the brilliant idea that the best place for Elia was Dragonstone. And my Gods was it the worst place you had ever visited. It was damp and cold. Elia spent most days bundled under the furs of her bed. For once her work remained undone. Elia had truly hit her limit. One night, you had finished singing a sleeping Elia a Roynish lullaby, when Rhaegar came in. Your hands tightened. “Lady Y/n, I see my wife is asleep.” “Yes.” You hoped he would leave. Instead he walked over and sat on the bed. You didn’t know whether to leave or stay. “I hear you are unmarried, My Lady.” You knew where this was going. “My father intends for me to marry Lord Baratheon.” You wanted to squash any ideas he might have. “You need not marry him, or is that your wish?” Was he serious!? Of course you would! At that moment it became too much. “Please Your Grace, I am very exhausted and am unable to entertain you any longer.” Your voice trembled with suppressed fear and rage. Something in Rhaegar’s Valyrian purple eyes changed and he gripped your hand. “Meet me in the caves, tomorrow after breakfast.”

Breakfast was hard to stomach. You could feel Rhaegar's eyes on you. It became too much. You vomited. That was all you could do after breakfast. Stumbling to the lavatory you hunched over. “Y/n!” Elia caught you by the arm. Steadying yourself against her, it was hard to walk. She walked you out of the room. Unfortunately, someone followed you. “Lady Y/n, I’ve been seeking your company.” Of course, it was Rhaegar. Because he couldn’t help turning up at unpleasant moments. “I think Y/n better rest.” Elia lead you away. “Wait.” Rhaegar had seized your arm. What happened next shocked you. The second Rhaegar had you, Elia tore his hand off. “She is unwell.” There was a steely bite to her voice. Before Rhaegar could do anything more, Elia led you away.

Fire and Blood. The famous saying of house Targaryen. But what of House Martell? Was their sigil not the sun? Perhaps Rhaegar was under the assumption that the blood of Martell was not as hot as his. Well, he was about to discover otherwise. Rhaegar had been reading his scrolls when Elia burst in, without ceremony. Never in her life had Elia felt so enraged. For the first time it was impossible to bottle her feelings up. Her fingers itched to tear at his face. She actually hated him. Elia had noticed a change in Y/n’s demeanor as of late. Where once she had been happy and cherrful, now Y/n was like a shadow. How when Rhaegar visited Y/n shrunk away. Every time Rhaegar approached Y/n, which was alarmingly often, she recoiled from his touch. The day when Elia had fallen asleep in her arms, she woke to Rhaegar storming off. Y/n, still clinging to her, sobbing openly. Something akin to jealousy stirred up in Elia’s chest. But much stronger like a storm. It had a grip on her heart. It kicked at her stomach. This was a different sickness. Instead of being laid low, it made her want to rage “You keep away from her.” Elia’s hands slammed into the table, fingernails piercing its surface. “Whom do you speak of?” Rhaegar looked up at her coolly. “You know who. Do not play a fool with me, Rhaegar Targaryen.” Rhaegar set down the scrolls. “Elia, the purpose of this matter is much greater than you and I.” Elia let out a derisive snort. “Getting your prick wet is hardly a great matter.” “I believe it is time to tell you. Elia, I must tell you the Song of Ice and Fire.”

“He’s as mad as his father.” Elia lay awake that night. Did he truly need Y/n for this “prophecy”. No wonder the Targaryens went mad, if they all followed this. Elia turned over to where Y/n lay. This past year Y/n had been the one to sleep beside her when Rhaegar was nose-deep in scrolls. While it was not required, Elia hated being alone. Y/n turned, facing Elia. She looked so calm, so peaceful. Elia held her cold hand, she then moved closer. That night, Elia swore nothing would ever happen to Y/n.

And so Elia kept her word. She always had someone report on Rhaegr’s whereabouts. Elia’s first thought had been to dismiss Y/n. It would be painful, but Y/n would be safer there. Perhaps Rhaegar would forget about her and one day Elia could invite Y/n back. But Rhaegar would never let her. There was one alarming change. Rhaegar was now letting Elia in on his research. How there would be a great Prince to vanquish the Others. Elia hated thinking about it, but at least she knew what Rhaegar was up to.

“Elia look!” The morning you received a gift from your sister. Lyanna had taken blue winter roses and tried them, pressed between two pieces of glass. The picture was lovely.

Sister,

I hope you are well. I hope these roses find you soon. Given you are stuck on Dragonstone. There are many this year. When you visit, there will probably be more. Dad has currently grounded me because I poured wine on Brandon’s head. Which was unfair because he was making fun of me. The only satisfaction I have is that Brandon can no longer visit the whore houses, at least for the next week. But I don’t see why I need be punished.

Everyone is doing well. Benjin is still annoying, father and Eddard send their love. Ps. There are socks for the Princess Rhaenys.

Love,

Lyanna Stark

You pulled out a pair of socks. They were actually quite nicely sewn.

“Your sister wrote to you? What did she say?” Elia looked over. “She sends me her love. And socks for the Princess.” “Well I am very grateful. I shall send my thanks.” Elia picked up the Princess from her colt. “Shall we?” The two of you liked to take walks by the ocean. It was nice and soothing and briefly banished all your troubles. You had taken off your shoes, sand between your toes. “Would you like go to back to Winterfell?” Elia asked. “I do miss home. Father may call me back for my marriage.” You said. But you wondered if Rhaegar would let you. While he had left you alone, it was still scary. The fear that Rhaegar might resume his advances was frightening. “If at any point you wish to.” Normally you would have not thought twice about saying yes. But something didn’t sit well with you. Why was Elia so eager for you to leave? Usually, Elia was hard put to have you leave her side. And the timing was suspect in itself. You finally voiced your fears.

“Rhaegar’s been confronting me as of late.” You had to get it out. As much as you loathed it. The secret was banging against your chest, begging to get out. “I know.” Elia sighed. Your legs buckled, tears bringing themself to the surface. “I didn’t want it.” You sobbed. Your shoes dropped as tears spilled over. Your hands clutched at your chest as if that might alleviate the pain. Your body fell to the ground. Elia came down with you, one arm around your shoulder. Her lips brushed against you hairline. “I know my dear, I know.” But you couldn’t stop crying. The relief you felt was enormous. As stressful as the situation had been, at least you knew Elia didn’t blame you. The sea crashed in the distance and seemed to come to a standstill as you rested against Elia. You cried into her shoulder for what felt like ages. “I’m sorry. I’ve gotten my tears all over your dress.” You sniffed. Elia laughed and pulled you further into her embrace. “It’s just a dress, you're more important.” Baby Rhaenys cooed between you two. Elia ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. “I think Rhaenys needs to go inside.” Both of you stood up. “Elia, could I have a moment alone?” Her hand stroked your cheek. You wanted some time alone. Your emotions were so on edge you might explode.

You watched Elia walk back inside. It was only when Elia went inside that you continued on your way. Getting cold feet, literally, you slipped on your shoes and went to the cliffside. The wind whipped around like a tempest. You allowed the wind to ruffle your hair. Maybe this is why Targaryens came here. There was a sense of peace you got from the elements. It was as if the wind might carry your pain away. Your eyes closed, letting emotion take over. You fell, fingers digging into cold, tough soil. Your nails cried out from the strength in which they were forced into the ground. A cold, hard breath left your body, carried away by the wind. Throwing your head back, you sent a prayer to the wind. Only the gray sky above was witness to your cry. Or so you thought.

“Lady Stark.” A cold, shaking hand clasped on your trembling lips. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. He came closer, one footstep after another, the ground giving way to his wake. Legs became stiff as lead. A strong hand seized your shoulder. “Lady Stark, please turn.” Only doing so when he put pressure on the shoulder that you unwillingly turned. Acid rose up in your throat. “Your Grace…please.” Tears fell freely. You didn’t care about dignity anymore. Right now all you knew was exhaustion and fear. “Y/n, I know this is unprompted, but there is information I must divulge.”Rhaegar’s eyes looked desperate and wild. There was a flame in those dark purple eyes. It was like you could feel the heat emanating from them, like wildfire. “Elia is not ice. I need a child of fire and ice." “You’re Grace, the Princess has already given you a healthy daughter. And it would be beneath my honor to have a bastard.” “Not a bastard My Lady, a prince.” A wild laugh burst from your lips, arms breaking free from his grip. Alarmed, Rhaegar stepped back. You must have looked mad yourself, hair freely flying behind you, eyes wide and savage. “Make no mistake My Prince. You will never have me or my love if that is what you are after. And when I bear a child it shall not be with a dragon. Dragons do not fare well in the cold.” “Ice is just what I desire. The Prince that was Promised, the Three-Headed Dragon. Elia can not give me that.” You feel to your knees, angry tears tearing at your skin. “You would…… you would abandon your wife for what!? You are mad!” Rhaegar knelt down to your level, hand on your chin. You broke. Rhagar howled as sharp teeth drove into his pale skin. You were thrown to the ground with the state of blood overcoming the scenes. “So this is how it is. I shall leave you to your own devices then.” He spat. Rhaegar walked away.

The next few days were spent in silent terror. You had harmed a Prince, treason. Even the daughter of Lord Rickard Stark was not immune to the rules. Hiding under the covers at night, you expected guards to come in at any moment. But to your surprise and delight, Rhaegar had left you alone. However, that didn’t mean this was the end. Elia suspected something was wrong. She was constantly by your side, more than usual. In public you were side by side, arms linked. But soon news came that caused a flurry of excitement. A tourney was being held at Harrenhal. Soon everything was being packed up and ready to leave that dreary rock. Maybe you would feel better once off Dragonstone.

Arriving at Kings Landing was a blessed relief. Even the tall red walls were better than windswept Dragonstone. Two days later, your family arrived. “Lyanna!” Forgoing courtesies, you left Elia’s side to hug your sister. Since you had last seen her, Lyanna had gotten taller. Her dark brown hair was long and tidy, cheeks a rosy glow. Lyanna practically jumped on you in her excitement. “Y/n! I’ve missed you so!” One of Elia’s ladies made an “ahem” noise and the two of you quickly broke apart. “Princess, this is my sister, Lady Lyanna Stark.” Lyanna curtsied, you noticed she had improved. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lyanna. Your sister tells me much.” Lyanna blushed. “Good things, I hope.” Elia laughed at the jest. “Very. Now how about we enjoy these lemon cakes and you tell me stories about Y/n when she was younger.” The rest laughed as you groaned.

The mood in Elia’s solar was pleasant. Lyanna seemed to enjoy eating cake and telling ever embarrassing stories about your childhood. “And then she fell right into the pigpen.” Lyanna laughed. “Only because you pushed me.” You snorted, giving her a gentle swat. Elia looked happier than she had in a long while, baby Rhaeneys situated on her lap. For that short time, no one had any worries. Until Rhaegar arrived. Elia’s smile faded and the sun was put out. The rest of you shrunk back as if confronted by the plague. The only person who seemed to be unfazed was Lyanna. “Your Grace.” She said and then sat back down. He walked over and pressed a kiss to Elia’s cheek. “My Love, I hope you are well.” But Rhaegar’s eyes were not on you, but Lyanna's. “Fire and Ice.” You had not known what Rhaegar meant by those words. It was only now that he was looking at Lyanna did you realize. If he could not have you, he would have her.

Your maid had just finished brushing your hair when a knock sounded at the door. “Who is it?” The maid called out. “It’s me.” Lyanna’s voice called out. “Let her in.” The door opened and a muddy, flushed Lyanna stumbled in, a grin wide over her face. “Prince Rhaegar let me join in on the hunt.” Your blood froze. Even breathing took great effort. “Please leave us.” The maid curtsied and departed. It was only when her footsteps faded did you speak. “Lyanna, what exactly did he do?” “Well, I was in the courtyard practicing my archery when he saw me! Honestly, I thought he would tell me off, but instead, he let me hunt some stag! It was so much fun!” Poor Lyanna. At fourteen, the girl did not realize the Prince’s intentions were not so innocent. “Lyanna, I believe he is trying to court you.” Your insides squirmed at the words, but she needed to hear them. The thought of Rhaegar taking advantage of your innocent sister made you physically ill. At first, Lyanna laughed. But when she realized you weren't jesting, those laughs turned into sobs. You pulled your sister into a hug, hand brushing her hair. "I swear I didn’t do anything.” Her tears stained your nightgown. “It’s okay, I don’t blame you one bit.” You let Lyanna sleep in your bed that night. After a cup of hot milk and honey, she went to sleep. But you stayed awake all night, thinking about what to do next.

Lyanna was in your presence at all hours. However, your duties conflicted with your plans. During dinner, you had to leave with Elia. Ever since her second pregnancy quickened her breasts had been swollen and red. You had only left Elia when she was in bed. You’d gone for a walk when Lyanna ran into Y/n. She was pale with red eyes. Wordlessly she flung her arms around your waist, fingers clutching the fabric. “Has Rhaegar bothered you again!” “Yes, yes he has! I was riding by myself when he came up to me. I tried to shake him off when he caught up and insisted we ride together.” “Did he do anything?” “He touched my hand. “And that is all?” “Yes, I promise.” Relief. At least he had not taken her maidenhead. But that did not mean you weren’t angry. “Go to bed Lyanna, I will deal with him tomorrow. It was time for the dragons to realize wolves too had fangs.

Requesting a meeting with the Prince terrified you. But Lyanna being in danger was far more horrifying. So that was why on a cold night, you stood in front of Rhaegar’s large oak door, the three-headed dragon carved into its surface. The torches gave the entrance an eerie atmosphere. You heard him call you in. Into the dragon's den, you went.

You had never been to Rhaegar’s solar before. It was a quiet, mysterious place. The circular wall was lined with shelves. The only light came from the fireplace, above the mantel held a curved blade. “Lady Y/n. I admit, I had not expected you to request an audience.” Dangerous. That was the only word you could describe his voice. Each syllable dripped off his tongue like poison. A predator ready to strike. “I wish to speak to you regarding my sister, Lady Lyanna.” Your fingernails dug into your palms. “ Yes. Your sister is quite lovely. A credit to your house.” A slight smirk made its way onto his face. “I am aware, My Prince. But I worry that your attentions may be taken as…..something more than they should not be.” Rhaegar’s eyes flashed something fierce and a malevolent smirk stretched over his lips. “So now that another has my heart you want me?” Flabbergasted. Was Rhaegar so enraptured by the prophecy that he could not see sense?! “My Prince, she is my sister and engaged to Lord Tyrell. If you pursue her Lyanna;s prospects will be ruined.” Rhaegar’s purple eyes hardened as his elbows rested on his knees. “Lady Y/n, if you accept my proposal I would not need to pursue Lady Lyanna.” You seemed unable to breathe through your mouth. Lungs barely able to circulate air. Rhaegar got to his feet, walking towards you. His large hands placed themselves on your shoulders, his lips inches from yours. Warm breath hits your chest, the skin heating up. “Please…..she’s so young.” You clutched his hands imploringly.There was not even room to cry, every organ in your body was ice. His hand cupped your cheek, getting closer. You could now taste his breath. Before Rhaegar knew it, you had fled.

A snake and a wolf lay together in the darkness. The heaviness of your situation suffocating. “Lyanna needs to go back north.” Elia’s hand held yours. “I know. The tournament will be over tomorrow.” Elia attempted to console you. “But what if he tries to harm Lyanna before then?!” Tears choked your lungs. Elia hushed you gently and wrapped her arms around you. The snake coiled herself gently around her wolf.

It was only by pure chance that you figured out Rhaegar’s plan. You had woken early that morning, clad in a simple blue dress and shawl. This morning had a cold touch in the wind, reminding you of Winterfell. Oh how you would like to go back to those days. Harenhall still bore the marks from Aegon’s attack all those centuries ago. A man whose belief in his divine right to rule was so strong he took over six kingdoms. This castle was just a remnant of this pride. Targaryen's had always been this way, taking what they want. You walked out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Looking down below, you recognize a familiar curtain of silver hair. With haste, you made to disappear before he might look up and see you. That was until something caught your eye. Rhaegar had in his hands a crown of blue winter roses. Roses that only grew in Winterfell. This did not sit right with you. He must be making it for the tourney today. But why would he go to such lengths to get blue roses for this one occasion? Most would believe that this was a touching gesture from Rhaegar to Elia. But why winter roses? Why not flowers from Dorne? Rage choked you. How dare he. How fucking dare he! You wanted to claw his eyes out and feed him to the wolves. No matter what, Rhaegar would pursue his desires. He was a dragon. A dragon you wanted to defang. You looked down at the young prince. Had he cared to look up, Rhaegar would have seen a she-wolf staring right down at him.

You had gained sickness when Elia woke up. The sad look on her face made you ill, but this needed to be done. Once everyone was gone, you slipped out of bed and hurried to Benjin’s room. Only Benjin and Lyanna knew what you were up to. “I think this will fit you.” Lyanna held up a breastplate. Benjin helped put on your armor as Lyanna handed him pieces. “All done!” Benjin admired his handiwork. You ruffled his dark hair. Lyanna was rummaging under the bed. “Lyanna? Everything alright?” “Yes.” Lyanna grunted. She hauled out a shield and turned it over. On its surface was a Weirwood tree. “Shall we start?” Lyanna asked. Grimly, you and Benjin nodded.

All that could be heard were the horse's thundering hooves. All your energy was put into defeating this latest opponent. Though you had jousted before, never had your limits been pushed thus. Your left arm was screaming in pain. Every time the pain became too much to bear, you looked up to Elia, Lyanna and Benjin. Only Lyanna and Benjin knew the truth. Yet the way Elia’s eyes followed you made you think she knew. Finally, you made it to the final round. In all honesty, you hadn’t expected to make it this far. But this was it. This was why you had entered the arena and this fight. “I announce, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen!” A roar louder than the waves against Storm’s End came up from the stands. He was clad in true Targaryen armor, making him look like the dragon he was. But even dragons were not invincible. The Dornish had brought down Meraxes, and by all the old Gods you would take down this one. Your lances lowered, it had begun.

You and Elia saw under the Weirwood Tree. Elia’s head lay in your lap while you made a crown of weirwood leaves. You told her the story of Aemon the dragonknight and his love Naerys. Whether it was romantic or the love a brother had for a sister was unknown. But it comforted you to think that the sad Queen Naerys had someone by her side. The path of a Queen or princess was lonely, as you had witnessed. Elia had always been a princess from the day of her birth. In Dorne there were the vipers that never harmed their precious princess. The same could not be said of Kings Landing. Elia opened her brown eyes and smiled at you. “What's this?” She asked, eyeing the leaf crown. “Something for the tourney.” “For Brandon?” You gave her a sly smile. “Not so your grace.” If the vipers could not protect Elia, then this lone wolf would.

It all happened in one moment. People in the audience were not even sure what had happened. Two great beasts had launched at each other. In the end, it was the mysterious Weirwood tree knight who remained standing. And then a shriek arose from the crowd. Of shock, surprise, excitement, and wonder. This knight with no name had unhorsed the prince. The knight's white stallion trotted over the squire who handed her a crown of Weirwood leaves and orange Dornish flowers. And went right up to the Princess. Elia stood on the balcony. Instead of shock or horror, her face held something no one but the princess and her knight knew. Their eyes met and at least for that day, as Elia set the crown upon her brow, everything was right in the world.

[zalrb]

do you think hotd will improve at all in season 2 because that's what people are saying since the structure and pacing will be similar to season 3 of game of thrones?

i personally think the main problems of the show won't be fixed. there's no time jump in the last 3 episodes but they were still boring, without any tension or suspense and the characters were still cardboards.

It’s not going to improve because I don’t care about these characters. With GoT, I was invested in Ned so when he dies and Robb and Catelyn vow to kill them all, I’m invested in that. I know Jaime, I know how important he is to Tyrion, what he represents to Tywin, what he means to Cersei so when he’s taken prisoner I know what that means for the Lannisters and the Starks. The season sufficiently tells us the lore of the white walkers, it starts with a deserter getting beheaded because he ran away from them, with old nan telling Bran stories, with Mormont and Benjin and Osha afraid, then we see what a white walker actually is so when they go north of the wall I’m at least curious. So when season 2 starts things can just happen, they can go and I want to know outcomes. HotD what happened? Daemon kills his wives, Viserys takes forever to die, Alicent resents that Rhaenyra had sex out of wedlock, Rhaenyra is around for some reason, the children fight sometimes, and who CARES?

[ravens-repose]

Iron and Gold - Sandor Clegane

Hey all! I'm Raven, and I'm getting back to writing after a short 6 year hiatus 🙃 please be patient, and please enjoy. OC is afab with gender neutral pronouns.

Chapter 1

Asra stood before the bedroom window, eyes closed with the glass windows pushed open, feeling the cool summer air around them. An all too familiar bite to the air tells them that winter is on the horizon after one of the longest summers they could remember. The Starks were always right eventually, winter is coming. They suspected the summer wont see the years end, so they enjoyed whatever warmth they could before the frost came. Asra got dressed in some of the nicer clothes they had for Winterfells’ guests, although they were never one for pretty fabrics and lace.

Asra could almost hear the bells of Kings Landing as they carried a message throughout the streets: Jon Arryn was dead. They had received message that morning, informing them of the Hands’ sudden passing. The fever, whatever it was, burned through him like wildfire and he had been dead by dawn. Asra knew him, not well, but better than most they suppose. He was a good man, and now King Robert was on his way to force another poor honorable soul into his drunken mess.

Ned Stark was someone they knew well, they had stayed several years in Winterfell when Sansa had only just come into the world, Robb and Jon still only boys, and had returned only 6 months past. He was an honorable man, and a loyal friend. Now the king comes to drag the wolf down south, where honor and loyalty went to die. Asra understood why, Ned Stark would sooner stab himself in the back before he would a friend. However they knew Ned, and once he’s seen the disaster that has become of the small council Asra fears he might actually throttle Robert.

When the royal family arrived at the gates, Asra turns their gaze upwards to see a few familiar faces staring back at them, before the crowd bows together before the king. Robert dismounted from his horse, motioning for Ned to stand. Ned bowed his head, nodding with a simple “Your grace.” Robert stood before his oldest and most trusted friend, scowling slightly. “You’ve got fat.” the king says dryly. The crowd all turns sharply and waits with bated breath. Ned remains silent, but raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly down to Roberts own stomach. There’s a moment of silence before the two friends burst into laughter, and just like that the years they’ve spent apart melt away.

Robert walks down the line, greeting Lady Stark and all her children. Asra stood behind the Stark family next to Jon, and they could practically feel the discomfort rolling off of him. They listen, fighting a smile as Arya named everyone accompanying the king. It was at this point their gaze lands on one of the biggest men they’ve ever seen. He must be the Hound, stories about the princes’ guard dog could be heard just about everywhere in Westeros, and for once the stories don’t disappoint.

Robert asks to be taken to the crypt, as he did every time from Asras' understanding. They watch as a flash of insult glimmers behind the queens eyes, but she holds back and simply stands to the side. Asra does feel some sympathy for her, they don’t imagine being forced behind the shadow of a ghost for two decades would make for a happy marriage, regardless of the company she keeps. This was going to be a long night.

~~~

Upbeat music filled the air along side laughter and excited chatter throughout the hall, with Asra standing to the side drinking from a horn of ale, feeling many curious eyes pass over them. The feasts here are different from where Asra is from, but the north is still better than Kings Landing. That’s something they suppose they’ll have to get used too, so many rules and dances with far too many steps. They were pulled from their thoughts as they watched Benjin Stark approach his brother Ned, the two of them immediately seeming to fall in to a serious conversation, although they heard nothing above the crowded hall. As Robb approached the two of them, Asra takes one final look at the three before turning and slipping out into the cold. They’re not a bodyguard tonight, they remind themselves.

Asra left the warm hall to find Jon beating a poor training dummy to straw-filled pieces. They walked over casually, stopping a few feet behind him. “Watch it Jon, at this point it looks like your partner might sue for peace.” Asra said in a lighthearted tone. Jon turns, broody as ever, and sighs “You too?” His question is clear, Asra may have been invited, but that doesn’t mean they were welcome. “Aye, could only stand being a spectacle for the masses for so long.” Asra answered, Jon nodded with a scowl that could rival Tywin Lannisters’. Asra chuckled, “Don’t look so fucking grim Jon, you’ll be going to the wall soon. I hope you find close family there, ones who don’t give a rats ass if you’re a bastard or the highest of lords.” Jon nodded, his head down turned, “So do I.” he says wistfully. Asra pats him on the back, “You’ll make a fine Ranger Jon.” they bid him a good night and went for a walk.

~~~

That night, Lord Stark approached Asra. “I’m going to a dangerous place,” He started, “I need good fighters, but more than that I fear I’ll need to call upon a few loyal friends before long. Will you ride with me to Kings Landing?” He asked. They could sense a certain hesitancy about him. “I would be more than happy to accompany you and your family Lord Stark, although, and I mean you no offense my Lord, but I wont be taking any vows. If it’s a loyal friend you want, its a loyal friend you’ll have.” they said with a light smile. Ned chuckled, “Thank you Asra, I will not forget this.” he said sincerely. Asra smirked mischievously, “Oh don’t worry, I wouldn’t let you forget even if you wanted to.”

[fromtheboundlesssea]

LNAW: is Benjin still Dany’s prisoner, or was he allowed to go to winterfell? Has Celia or the other Starks seen him?

Also when I say I can’t wait to see the northern lords tear Dany and Tyrion about for bringing a large army and no way to feed them, I mean it. I’m literally counting the days to next Thursday.

Benjen will show up next week!

[princesssarcastia]

Game of Thrones, s7e6

WHAT THE FUCK???!?>>?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT????

THIS IS BULLSHIT

UGH

okay WHAT the FUCK

What the fuck is Arya doing???? she’s....what the fuck?? leave Sansa alone goddamit.  lEaVE HeR ALonE

What?????? The fuck???? Jon??? you’re an idiot?????? god I thought at least Tyrion would have known that them going beyond the wall is stupid, but nooooooo, lets ocean eleven this shit and....and.....get a dragon killed??? no. nO. fuck off.  also I'm just gonna say it.  I wasn't gonna say it, I was gonna ignore the jet packing, but Jon shOULD BE DEAD. he was underwater in the cold for so long, that benjin bs was a cop out, fuck off.  its stupid.

I mean the stuff with Jon and Dany was fine, I guess........there was some emotions there I could get behind....

DEAD DRAGON. I gotta say, I 100% have a reason to hate the night king now. lets fucking murder him.  also did anyone notice.....jon was legitimately considering charging him like he did Ramsey when Ramsey killed rickon.  he was so upset about this that he almost went full-on murder mode. I liked that.

why is tyrion being a dick rn about the tarlys.  why.  50% of them were evil and the other 50% went willingly.  I agree with the rest of what he said, though; let’s break the fucking wheel.

the banter was funny, with snow’s eleven.  teasing the new guy is a time honored tradition.  gendry was a good sport.  really all of those little conversations were awesome.

also

um

ZOMBIE DRAGON.  HOLY SHIT.  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH–

[vulpixhoney]

guys

Arya isn't gone for good. Shes not leaving her home for good and family or running away to never return. Shes exploring, under Stark banners in her sisters name. She's a Stark and nothing will change that.

[turdblossommm]

Home

Summary: You were stuck on the wrong side of the Wall, waiting for your perfect time to leave and get back to your family.

Pairing: Reader x Tormund Giantsbane

Word Count: 2,350

A/N: Hey guys since episode was so sad I thought maybe so fluff would be nice. I’ve never posted anything GOT wise so this is my first go at it, please be nice I’m still trying to figure out how to write for him.

masterlist

It was supposed to be simple journey to the other side of the Wall, a quick trip with a few raids here and there.The clans just need more supplies and things were scarce their side of the Wall. The group never suspected that there would be a larger force at the tiny village. While others were murdered or escaped you were caught. Pulled away from the fighting by a man in grey robes with chains hanging off his shoulders

“I can’t let a women with child die” Your hand shot to your stomach, you weren’t with child. You weren’t completely sure of it but you weren’t going to stop him, lying could save your life. He passed you off to women in a dress with an apron

“Take her to Winterfell, inform Lord Stark of her” You rode on the back of the women’s horse to this Winterfell where you met this Lord Stark and started working in the kitchens with a women the called Old Nan.

As you spent more time in Winterfell you found out that you were indeed with child, you cursed your man and his potent seed. Thinking of him caused you to miss him and your other children. You regret few things in life, but climbing over that was the biggest one in your life.

“You’re not from here are you?” Eddard Stark asked one night after supper

“I’m from the North m’lord” You hated having to called these people by their ‘titles’

“You’re a little south from home?” You turned to him

“You’re women may not be fighters but where I come from everyone learns fight. If you are threatening me I will kill you” The lord raised his hands

“My brother is man of the Night’s Watch, when he come here again I’ll have him take you with him and send you back home” You stepped back

“Why? Why would you help me?”

“Because your husband deserves to know his child” You placed your hand on your growing belly “And you deserve to raise your child where you’re from”

“Thank you” You left the kitchen, you head swimming with the idea of being back in your tent, covered in furs you stitched together rather than the dress you wore. The idea of see your children and your man again, hunting for dinner and teaching them the ways of your people and their ancestors.

You bonded with all the Stark children, they loved to come and hide from each other and have you tell them stories. Your favorite of the Stark children was Arya, she belong on the other side of the Wall where she could learn to fight. 

You also like Jon, he was different from the other children. Some nights when Lady Stark wasn’t kind to him he’d hide in the kitchens. You’d tell him stories of your home while feeding him the left over lemon cakes and other sweats. Jon always knew that you were a Wildling, you never said it but he figured it out as he grew.

Sansa was a kind girl who wanted to be a proper lady, she was always sewing things for your son, Bjorigar. You were there for Lady Catelyn when she birthed Bran and Rickon who always played with Bjorigar. Robb and Theon were kind boys but they stayed away from the kitchens, except for when they were sneaking sweats. 

You remembered your last conversation with Jon before he left for the Wall. He was distraught that he couldn’t go to the feast and the ‘imp’ talked to him. He came in to the kitchens and you made him a plate and sat next to him

“You know I have three other children” you tried to distract the boy “My oldest son is a year older than you and I have two daughters about Arya’s age”

“Where are they?” He asked 

“Home hopefully my man is taking care of them”

“What are their names?” He asked and you smiled 

“My son’s name is Valulas and my daughters are named Norna and Nolla”

“Do you miss them?” He asked 

“Everyday” You sighed “And I’ll miss you and Sansa and Arya and Bran now that you’ll all be gone” You squeezed his hand after every name. You grew sad thinking about not hearing the girls yelling at each other down the hall, or that Robb and Jon won’t teach Bran to use a bow in the courtyard.

In the morning you packed your bag for your journey to the Wall with Jon and Benjin. Benjin walked into the kitchen and you he had a distraught look on his face

“I’m sorry” You felt your heart drop

“You can’t leave me here” You whispered 

“The Lanister Imp is coming with us and I can’t risk anyone knowing of you” You closed your eyes

“Fine but next time I’m going no matter what” It had been a long ten years since you’ve been stuck this side of the Wall.

~

Tormund rose in the morning and fed the girls while Valulas packed his bag to go over the Wall for the first time. They were to leave in a few days, they were waiting for the scouting group to come back. The days seem to drag on without you, he wished that he had gone instead of you.

He missed your smile and the dirty jokes you’d make. You were the perfect women for him, no one was better equipped to handle him than you. Tomrund knew that Mance secretly wished you were still around to keep him from his outlandish and somewhat destructive decisions

Part of him knew that you were dead, gone from this world. But deep down another part knows that you’re still alive and trying to make your way back to them, back to him. The kids are starting forget what you looked like but he could never forgot your eyes or the way your hair looked against he snowy landscape.

That night in Mance’s tent they brought him a little Crow who bent his knee to Tormund who thought it was the funniest thing he’d seen in a long time, not having laughed like that since you’d been around to tell your story about the time you hibernated for many moons with the bears. Mance questioned the boy and the boy claimed to want to be Free Folk. 

The boy said there was a women in his village that was Free Folk who told him he’d be welcomed this side of the Wall. Mance let the boy stay despite Tormund’s protests. Ygritte seemed taken with the boy, it reminded Tormund of when he was young, so he let the argument go.

He watch the crow quiver at the thought of climbing the Wall. The night before he stayed awake around the camp fire while Ygritte slept on the ground next to the log Jon was on. Tormund sat next to him and sipped his sour goats milk

“Good women are hard to come by, you better fuck her right” Tormund chuckled while glancing back a Valulas, making sure the boy still slept. Little did Tormund know that he was still awake, just listening to the sounds of the fire. He was scared, when his mother climbed the Wall she never came back.

“Do you have a good women back at camp?” Jon asked and Tormund chuckled

“She was never one to stay in camp” Valulas perked up, his dad never spoke of his mom. Norna thinks he believe she’s still alive causing Nolla to hit her, claiming that it hurt him too much to talk of her.

“Was?” Jon asked

“Yes, she climbed the Wall and never came back” Jon suddenly became uncomfortable, the Night’s Watch probably killed his women

“She was the only person capable of keep Tormund in place” Another man said “My sister was the best thing to happen to Tormund” Tormund nodded, he missed her every day, sometimes he’d wake and pretend she was up and making food to break their fast.

~

When the Boltons took over Winterfell after the death of Robb and Catelyn Stark, now being called the Red Wedding. You mourned the loss of their family and Winterfell mourned the loss of all the Starks. 

Bran and Rickon killed by Theon and Arya was missing while Sansa is being held hostage in the capital. Lord Eddard beheaded and on display for everyone to see, his head on display for everyone to see. The only thought that gave you comfort was that Jon was safe on the Wall. 

House Bolton took Winterfell after being named Warden of the North. You thought some clans were ruthless your side of the Wall, but the Bolton men come close to being as disgusting as the Thenns. You kept Bjorigar inside, not letting him play with the other children in fear of him being caught in the crosshairs of Ramsey Snow.

You stood in the court yard as Lady Sansa walked through the gates with Lord Baelish next to her. Her hair a dark black, not the red it used to be, she didn’t have the glow she had as a child anymore. She solemly slid off her horse and walked to the castle where she was met by Ramsey Snow, now Bolton.

Sansa looked beautiful in her wedding dress, shame it wasn’t to a honorable man just a sick bastard. You had heard rumors of what a monster Ramsey is, the things he’d do to people. You didn’t dare call Theon by his name, the poor boy had been tortured into something else.

“I need your help” Sansa told you one night and that’s all you had to hear before planning to help her escape. You were going to wait until night to steal a horse and ride for Castle Black, where Jon is.

You were walking atop the walls with laundry and Bjorigar when you saw Sansa talking to Theon and Myranda approaching them with her bow in hand. She was reahcing for Sansa’s arm, all it took was to see fear in Sansa’s eyes to shoved Myranda over the opposite side of the wall towards the square. You leaned over and saw blood pooling around her head as towns people gathered around her body

“Go!” You whispered and you watched Sansa and Theon jump off the side into a snow bank. You quickly picked up Bjorigar and jumped with him in your arms. You dug yourself out of the snow and hurried them along and ran for the forest, the quickest place to lose the Bolton soldiers.

When it came to crossing the stream you held Bjorigar above you head in hope of him not getting wet, winter is almost here you couldn’t risk him falling ill. You lead the children behind a log to hide while the Bolton men caught up to them. You were ready to fight the animals until a big blonde women came form the woods with another man

“Sword!” You called to the big women as Bjorigar crawled into Sansa’a arms. The big women tossed you one of her two swords and as you caught the blade you drove it through the chest of a Bolton soldier.

“Who are you?” You stood in front of Sansa and Bjorigar

“It’s okay” Sansa touched your shoulder “We can trust her” You nodded, trusting the girl and handed the women back her sword. Theon refused to come to the Wall, insted he was going to find his sister Yara.

You rode behind Sansa, with Bjorigar in front of you in the saddle, Brianne lead the group and Podrick stayed next to Sansa. It was an odd group, a big lady, little man, young girl and two Free Folk. You never thought this was the way you were going to get back to your family. 

~

Tormund listen to Jon plan for Hardhome with Valulas next to him, he wanted his girls safe too. After Mance’s death Tormund took over the leadership position, he was going to be Jon’s in with the council, convince then to come this side of the Wall until the figure out the White Walker problem. One of the Crows called Jon, saying there was someone entering the gates for him.

Tormund watched a big women ride in front of the group with a girl kissed by fire behind her. Jon quickly crossed the court yard and hugged the girl. It was a moment he yearned for with you, if you were alive he’d never let you go again. Tormund watch his son’s eyebrows knit together and then shock crossed his features as a little boy with red hair crawled into Jon’s arms and a women hugged him

“Mom?” You whipped you head around, thinking Bjorigar called for you. You looked down at your son who was now being held by Jon, not looking at you. When you looked up you saw a pair of blue eyes watching you. You knew his, you knew a younger version of his face

“Valulas?” You whispered and stepped toward the man in Free Folk clothing. Jon watched you look at Valulas, looking between the two of you he was sent back to the conversation before he left for the Night’s Watch. You’re oldest son’s name was Valulas.

You stopped towards the boy and the closer the got you started to see him more clearly and the man who stood next to him. The boy pulled you into a bone crushing hug and you felt tears slip down you cheeks. You pulled back and placed your hands on either sides of his face

“My baby” You turned to the man next to your son, the only man you have ever loved. He took two large steps towards you and reached his hand for your cheek. You grabbed his hand and you felt more tears fall down your cheek

“It’s really you” You nodded and he pulled you into his body, never wanting to let go

“Mama?” You pulled away from Tormund and turned to Jon still holding Bjorigar. You took his from Jon and place him on your hip

“This is Bjorigar” You looked up to Tormund, his eyes asking the question and you nodded “This is your father” You whispered and Tormund took the boy from you and held him in his one arm as the other gripped your hand

“Carry on” Tormund waved the people off and everyone went back to their hustle and bustle

“Where do we go now?” Bjorigar looked up at Tormund

“We go home”

[witchofhimring]

A name of your own

I was originally going to make some fics for mothers day but was really busy so I couldn't get them done in time. Since this the only one I finished I will be posting, just belatedly.

Hope yall enjoy!😘

Summary: You would make a name for yourself outside of your fathers prophecies.

Relationships: Elia Martell + daughter reader (platonic)

She sat across from him. The man she had once loved. But right now she felt nothing. 

Elia Nymeros of House Martell known that to be a Queen took strength. She had seen her own mother bend, but never break under the weight of her obligations. The obligations of a Queen were to support her husband, and have an heir. And yet, how does one uphold her husband's demands when they harmed her child? 

“You have to understand.” Rhaegar pleaded. His purple eyes were shining. But it did not move her as they once did. Once she might have melted under the sight. Now the only thing she could think about was her children, and how this man had endangered their lives.

 And for what?

Oh that's right .Because Rhaegar was so in love he just had to make off with Lyanna Stark, starting a war. Mad King Aerys might be dead, stabbed through the chest. But many good men and women had died. 

Lewin Martell. Dead, killed at the Battle of the Trident. 

Lord Stark and his son Benjin. Executed for tying to seek justice. 

Rhaella Targareyn. Died in childbirth on Dragonstone. 

Thousands of poor souls. Dead. 

“You have no right.” Her voice was oddly leveled. Elia did not need to raise it. He only had to look into her dark brown eyes to see the anger set in them. She would never forget, or forgive Rhaegar for all the lives lost. But most of all, it was the fact that he put her children in danger. Raeneys no longer slept well. These days she was up half the night in terror. Though Aegon did not truly know what had happened, the baby now had an anxious disposition. Whenever someone other than Elia held him, he cried. When the door opened, Aegon turned his head as if expecting to be attacked. No words could express an angry mothers rage that was strong enough. 

The door opened. It was as if time itself had stopped. 

So this was Lyanna Stark. 

“Aegon’s been-” She stopped, because it was at that moment Lyanna saw Elia. It was the world's most uncomfortable tableau. 

Slowly, Elia got up. Elia was rather taller than she looked. Her slender form and dress often gave Elia the look of a graceful willow. But to Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen thought they were seeing something else. Her dress was like a sea of red. Black hair cascading down in waves. The last time they had seen each other face to face, Lyanna was wearing a flower crown and Elia, heavy with her third child. It made Lyanna feel small. Less than. 

“Aegon?” Elia’s attention was turned to the baby in Lyanna’s arms. So this was the baby. 

Suddenly it clicked. 

“You named him Aegon!” Her voice tore the throat. Rhaegar seemed to shrink. Many times Elia had to resist the urge to smack some sense into Rhaegar. But never had she wanted to actually hit him. At least until he had left her to die. 

“You intend to replace our children.” She was no longer yelling. But it would have been better if she had. Instead it was the cold, angry voice she used when her rage was just brimming. The only time Rhaegar had even heard it was the time he crowned Lyanna Queen of love and beauty. It made Rhaegar shrink in his chair. 

Elia then bent down, almost nose to nose with her husband. 

“And let me tell you this. Any child you father with her, will never replace mine. I promise you that.” 

Y/n Targaryen was the firstborn to Rhaegar Targareyen and Elia Martell. It had rained on the day of your birth. That year had been unbearably dry. So the rain was a great relief. For the first time in months, the ground would be able to bear seed. With a clap of thunder you were born, crying overtaking the noise outside. Elia had always wanted an identity for her children. So when it was time to name you, your mother fought to have a name that was not tied to some prophecy. 

Y/n. No Princess or Queen had ever borne the name. It was all yours. Unfortunately, by the time Rhaeneys was born Elia had lost influence at court and so Rhaegar was allowed to name her whatever he wanted. As a little girl you had never understood why it mattered. All you knew was that Rhaegar’s attention was all for Rhaeneys and Aegon, leaving you and Jon behind. For you two fell outside the prophecy. 

But you would always have your mother. On the nights that monsters reigned your dreams, you ran to your mother. It was always her who caught you when you fell. Most of your days were spent indoors with Jon and Daenerys, your aunt. Unlike the conquering Queens, you could wield no sword. That was a severe disappointment to your father. Every time he would see you sewing in the corner, Rhaegar simply looked away. Rhaeneys was a true warrior, like her namesake. Elia had frowned when Rhaegar had boasted about this. She then reminded him that Rhaeneys was great in her own right, not just because she had a likeness of a long dead Queen. 

You were jealous of Rhaeneys and Aegon. Not that you didn’t have a good relationship with them. As siblings you loved one another. But it was hard when he would pass you by and only have eyes for the children who meet his standards. 

Rhaenys and Aegon didn’t love their father any more than you. Ever since they found out how he had tried to bastardize them, he was not truly their father. It was only because the idea was so popular, and your mother threatening to bring the Dornish down on him, that he relented.

It seemed that not even his secret wedding to Lyanna had panned out as planned. She was not his Queen. Only the consort. And he had no daughter. Another child by Elia would kill her and Lyanna had no luck with pregnancies since Jon. You could tell it frustrated him to no end. Consort Lyanna was in hiding these days. Barely seen by the public. You only saw her during state occasions. In their youth, Rhaegar and Lyanna had run away and married, sparking a war. Now, they hardly spoke.     

Destiny is never laid out in the stories of the past, but in the actions of the future. That much you knew. And you grew to be grateful for it. You would be known as Y/n, not some other distant figure that you must live up to. And as you lay your head down at night, you knew your mother loved you for who you were. 

You would follow Daenerys and Jon to Essos. It had always been your dream to discover far off countries. Elia had cried, but knew you were a grown woman. Rhaegar hardly noticed. From the docs Rhaeneys and Aegon gave tearful farewells. And so you were on your journey.

Three years later, a Prince and two Princesses arrived in King's Landing. Daenerys the Unburnt, Jon the Undead, and Y/n the merciful. During your time, you had helped spread medicine across many places. Together with other knowledgeable forces, you had learned and taught much. Now and forever you would be known as a great healer. As your feet landed on the docs, your family and Rhaegar were waiting. At its head was your mother. With tears in your eyes you ran towards her. She swept you up in her arms. 

“Welcome home, Y/n.”   

[blueroses789]

A name of your own

I was originally going to make some fics for mothers day but was really busy so I couldn't get them done in time. Since this the only one I finished I will be posting, just belatedly.

Hope yall enjoy!😘

Summary: You would make a name for yourself outside of your fathers prophecies.

Relationships: Elia Martell + daughter reader (platonic)

She sat across from him. The man she had once loved. But right now she felt nothing. 

Elia Nymeros of House Martell known that to be a Queen took strength. She had seen her own mother bend, but never break under the weight of her obligations. The obligations of a Queen were to support her husband, and have an heir. And yet, how does one uphold her husband's demands when they harmed her child? 

“You have to understand.” Rhaegar pleaded. His purple eyes were shining. But it did not move her as they once did. Once she might have melted under the sight. Now the only thing she could think about was her children, and how this man had endangered their lives.

 And for what?

Oh that's right .Because Rhaegar was so in love he just had to make off with Lyanna Stark, starting a war. Mad King Aerys might be dead, stabbed through the chest. But many good men and women had died. 

Lewin Martell. Dead, killed at the Battle of the Trident. 

Lord Stark and his son Benjin. Executed for tying to seek justice. 

Rhaella Targareyn. Died in childbirth on Dragonstone. 

Thousands of poor souls. Dead. 

“You have no right.” Her voice was oddly leveled. Elia did not need to raise it. He only had to look into her dark brown eyes to see the anger set in them. She would never forget, or forgive Rhaegar for all the lives lost. But most of all, it was the fact that he put her children in danger. Raeneys no longer slept well. These days she was up half the night in terror. Though Aegon did not truly know what had happened, the baby now had an anxious disposition. Whenever someone other than Elia held him, he cried. When the door opened, Aegon turned his head as if expecting to be attacked. No words could express an angry mothers rage that was strong enough. 

The door opened. It was as if time itself had stopped. 

So this was Lyanna Stark. 

“Aegon’s been-” She stopped, because it was at that moment Lyanna saw Elia. It was the world's most uncomfortable tableau. 

Slowly, Elia got up. Elia was rather taller than she looked. Her slender form and dress often gave Elia the look of a graceful willow. But to Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen thought they were seeing something else. Her dress was like a sea of red. Black hair cascading down in waves. The last time they had seen each other face to face, Lyanna was wearing a flower crown and Elia, heavy with her third child. It made Lyanna feel small. Less than. 

“Aegon?” Elia’s attention was turned to the baby in Lyanna’s arms. So this was the baby. 

Suddenly it clicked. 

“You named him Aegon!” Her voice tore the throat. Rhaegar seemed to shrink. Many times Elia had to resist the urge to smack some sense into Rhaegar. But never had she wanted to actually hit him. At least until he had left her to die. 

“You intend to replace our children.” She was no longer yelling. But it would have been better if she had. Instead it was the cold, angry voice she used when her rage was just brimming. The only time Rhaegar had even heard it was the time he crowned Lyanna Queen of love and beauty. It made Rhaegar shrink in his chair. 

Elia then bent down, almost nose to nose with her husband. 

“And let me tell you this. Any child you father with her, will never replace mine. I promise you that.” 

Y/n Targaryen was the firstborn to Rhaegar Targareyen and Elia Martell. It had rained on the day of your birth. That year had been unbearably dry. So the rain was a great relief. For the first time in months, the ground would be able to bear seed. With a clap of thunder you were born, crying overtaking the noise outside. Elia had always wanted an identity for her children. So when it was time to name you, your mother fought to have a name that was not tied to some prophecy. 

Y/n. No Princess or Queen had ever borne the name. It was all yours. Unfortunately, by the time Rhaeneys was born Elia had lost influence at court and so Rhaegar was allowed to name her whatever he wanted. As a little girl you had never understood why it mattered. All you knew was that Rhaegar’s attention was all for Rhaeneys and Aegon, leaving you and Jon behind. For you two fell outside the prophecy. 

But you would always have your mother. On the nights that monsters reigned your dreams, you ran to your mother. It was always her who caught you when you fell. Most of your days were spent indoors with Jon and Daenerys, your aunt. Unlike the conquering Queens, you could wield no sword. That was a severe disappointment to your father. Every time he would see you sewing in the corner, Rhaegar simply looked away. Rhaeneys was a true warrior, like her namesake. Elia had frowned when Rhaegar had boasted about this. She then reminded him that Rhaeneys was great in her own right, not just because she had a likeness of a long dead Queen. 

You were jealous of Rhaeneys and Aegon. Not that you didn’t have a good relationship with them. As siblings you loved one another. But it was hard when he would pass you by and only have eyes for the children who meet his standards. 

Rhaenys and Aegon didn’t love their father any more than you. Ever since they found out how he had tried to bastardize them, he was not truly their father. It was only because the idea was so popular, and your mother threatening to bring the Dornish down on him, that he relented.

It seemed that not even his secret wedding to Lyanna had panned out as planned. She was not his Queen. Only the consort. And he had no daughter. Another child by Elia would kill her and Lyanna had no luck with pregnancies since Jon. You could tell it frustrated him to no end. Consort Lyanna was in hiding these days. Barely seen by the public. You only saw her during state occasions. In their youth, Rhaegar and Lyanna had run away and married, sparking a war. Now, they hardly spoke.     

Destiny is never laid out in the stories of the past, but in the actions of the future. That much you knew. And you grew to be grateful for it. You would be known as Y/n, not some other distant figure that you must live up to. And as you lay your head down at night, you knew your mother loved you for who you were. 

You would follow Daenerys and Jon to Essos. It had always been your dream to discover far off countries. Elia had cried, but knew you were a grown woman. Rhaegar hardly noticed. From the docs Rhaeneys and Aegon gave tearful farewells. And so you were on your journey.

Three years later, a Prince and two Princesses arrived in King's Landing. Daenerys the Unburnt, Jon the Undead, and Y/n the merciful. During your time, you had helped spread medicine across many places. Together with other knowledgeable forces, you had learned and taught much. Now and forever you would be known as a great healer. As your feet landed on the docs, your family and Rhaegar were waiting. At its head was your mother. With tears in your eyes you ran towards her. She swept you up in her arms. 

“Welcome home, Y/n.”   

[ferreandhiscat]

I find it suspect you put Jorah Mormont and Benjin Stark on your list of top five g.o.t. characters but not a single woman.

there’s a really simple answer for that. 

the post is about the top five characters i wanna fuck. And I’m a gay man. 

miss me with your homophobia.

[winelover1989]

How are people so sure Jon will want to stay with Daenerys? Wasn't he grossed out by incest when he went to Craster's keep? It wouldn't it be out of character for him? I don't understand George Martin endgame here. I'm not a troll just genuinely trying to understand why Jonerys shippers are so confident in this relationship. And how do we know there will be a wedding?

If you aren’t a troll, then are you new here or were you living under a rock for almost an year? I’m tired of this stupid question but I’ll still answer it…Well incest in this medieval world of asoiaf, where the concept of genetics doesn’t exist, is limited to parent-child & siblings, basically to keep things clean in a family unit raised together. That’s why Targaryens had major issues with the faith because of sibling weddings. And that’s why Jon was grossed our by Caster who is the worst possible case, marrying his daughters & then their daughters with him.

Jon & Dany’s situation, an aunt & nephew relationship is socially acceptable in this universe. In fact, some of these relationships are preferred for the sake of property & alliances among relatives.

If you look at the family trees of most of these large houses, you’ll notice that almost all nobility in Westeros is related to each other. If you are one of those “But Starks are holier than thou” people, then… Ned Stark’s parents were cousins & so were Tywin & his wife. Wedding among aunt-nephew, uncle-niece & cousins is acceptable in Westeros, just as it was in medieval Europe.

As for why we “think” there will be a marriage because right before Dany came to Westeros, she literally said the best way to make alliances is by marriage, the very next season Jon & Dany (last two Targaryens, male & female, who could procreate and restore their dynasty) made an alliance, then constantly talked about having babies (Jon, the guy who would never father a bastard), then we literally witnessed them fuck onscreen (as did Tyrion)…

So we believe that they would get married because we understand the story world, Jon & Dany’s characters and their relationship and we try to judge fiction by the rules governing that fictional universe with magic & dragons, instead of getting our panties in a bunch over… fictional “incest”, in a universe aunt & nephew isn’t even considered incest, between a fire proof dragon rider & a resurrected guy, who aren’t even written as aunt & nephew (like Jon & Benjin) but as love interests from different houses, different continents & different races, who met as adults & fell in love. Now try to keep up before your lack of understanding of Jon’s character or the rules governing this universe comes to bite you in the ass in 2019 when Jon would still be fuckin Dany after finding out they are both Targaryens. But I’m 95% sure they will never spell out the relationship on the show & just elude to the fact that they are both Targaryens. So Yay for you!

[mantra4ia]

Top 10 Favorite Game of Thrones supporting characters

So far, and in no particular order:

Samwell Tarly - even though as the seasons progressed, I consider him more of a main character -  like Brienne of Tarth, whom I also love! If I couldn’t say Samwell, for those who would consider him a lead, then I’d happily say Gilly.

Walder Frey - who I love to hate. Because I can never look away from David Bradley. I was very satisfied with his fate.

Lady Olenna - what fire, keep the young whelps in line!

Lady Lyanna Mormont - I would be more than happy for her to sit the Iron Throne, or be a match/foil for Bran Stark like Meera was for Jojen, or see her go toe to toe with Olenna

Hot Pie (god I love him and his dire wolf loaf)

Sandor Clegane - he reminds me a bit of Ned Stark in a way, if Ned's brother had been the Mountain as opposed to Benjin

Jaqen H’ghar - he and Arya can rule the world.

Hodor - his backstory crushes me!

Podrick Payne - ever since he put the gold coins back on Tyrion’s table after the brothel.

Shireen Baratheon - breaks my heart, through her all other characters around her are enriched.

Honorable mentions to: Salladhor Saan - what a pirate; Barriston Selmy - the bold and honorable; Olly (why Olly!); Mance Rayder; Khal Drogo played by Jason Momoa - because of that wonderful golden crown scene; and The High Sparrow played by the legendary Jonathan Pryce!

[sadbiitchtiff]

Can someone tell me what the fuck happened to Bran? I just rewatched the episode where he and Meera fled the cave (watching Hodor die isn’t any eaiser the 2nd time guys) but he seems like the same Bran, he even gets excited to see his uncle Benjin? So what the fuck is going on fr fr. I am just so lost. Why is he suddenly the robot formerly know as Bran Stark? I don’t understand or like it yall.

[thephoenixalchemist]

Game of Thrones (my opinion on what might happen)

(This is going to be a very long post, but I wrote it so you might get a few giggles out of it.) (Also I have no idea how to spell some of the characters names so please forgive me.) So Game of Thrones is now starting to focus on who might sit on the Iron Throne in the conclusion of the television show. But then again, as we all know, the writer George R R Martin has an amazing talent of killing the people in the books/show that we all get attached too. Now Jon and Danaerys are being focused on as now we all know that Jon is a Targareon, meaning he is Danaerys' cousin, as Danaerys and her (very dead) brother were the grandchildren of the Mad King. But oohhh just hold your horses here, have we not learnt anything? What happened to all those people, who we thought were the "main characters" of this wild roller coaster ride of a series?? Hmm?? THEY WERE KILLED IN SOME OF THE MOST BRUTAL (and fucking hilarious) WAYS I CAN THINK OF!!! Let's list a few: Eddard Stark: head chopped off by the dickwad we know as Joffrey Robert Baratheon: drunk as he tried to kill Pumba for his dinner Joffrey Baratheon: poisoned (Thank you George) Lysa Arryn: went flying out of the Moon Door, with credit to Petyr Baelish Khal Drogo: ...well this ones a weird one... let's just say death by black magic and a not so magic pillow fight With this in mind, I honestly think that Jon and Danaerys, with Tyrian tagging along, are going to die sometime in the final seasons. (In Jon's case, for the second time.) Because of their goals and history and surprising survival in this disaster zone of dead bodies, I believe they're not too far from being dead bodies themselves. But wait! I hear you call out, Danaerys has three awesomesauce dragons to help her take over Kings Landing. Well here we go. *cracks knuckles* In my experience with dragons in both the cinema universe and mythology, the more terrifying, violent and merciless a dragon is, the easier it is to kill them. Example A; Smaug from The Hobbit. Scales as hard as diamond? Fuck you too! A tiny arrow the size of a damn toothpick compared to Smaug, A FREAKING ENORMOUS DRAGON, went straight into his heart and killed his instantly...sure. With this in mind, Drogon is probably gonna battle it out for a little while, then have a dramatic death scene with Mother Danaerys crying and swearing revenge on Cercei or whatever, but the other two are probably going to die within the first five minutes of the attack on Kings Landing. Also, did anyone forget that the Iron Throne is made out of swords that are Valerian steel? Someone's gonna realise this and be like "well shit we've got a few dragons on our asses; we need the best steel possible." Also they'll need those swords because no matter how hard we try to forget, the White Walkers are still a thing. Wait! Again I hear you scream out, what about Cercei? Do you not pay attention? Remember the prophecy at the beginning of the damn show? Honestly I can't remember how it goes off by heart, but I do know that it means that Jaime is going to have to kill his sister/lover in the end. I mean, it's a wonder why he hasn't before. (Bitch alert.) And what about Arya, I hear you ask. Ah yes the tiny assassin with a pointy stick who wants to kill everyone who had it in for her family. Most likely she will reunite with her family at home, with a trail of blood and dead bodies behind her. Though I do have an idea what will happen to her when the attack on Kings Landing occurs. So Jon and Danaerys team up and lead an army knocking on Queen Bitch's door, and Arya might tag along, because who is on her target murder hit list that she recites every night before she goes to bed? You guessed it folks, The Mountain. Although now, he's more The Zombified Mountain. And who else to go against him than Arya Stark, with Needle, to re-kill the new guard dog to the queen. Wait! Again I hear you cry out. (And you gotta stop, it's rude.) What about Tyrion? Granted, Tyrian is an incredible character with great wits and an even greater tolerance for alcohol. But then again, what will happen to him if Danaerys and Jon dies? Either Cercei will kill him, and that's how Jaime will get around to killing Cercei, as revenge or possibly in protecting his brother, OR Would what's left of the Kings Council accept that, as he is the last Lannister able to rule, Tyrian will be king? I'm pretty sure Jaime won't be king because he's got the whole "I'm a fighter not a ruler" sort of cliche going on. On the list of people who are still alive at this point, I believe that after all of the carnage and disaster that will ensure for the battle at Kings Landing, who will take throne, but the most unpredictable and brilliant character in all of Game Of Thrones; Petyr Baelish. Yes, I'm serious. Let me explain. This bastard is the most fabulous and extremely intelligent character I've seen on GOT so far. I will admit, Varys is up there on the list, but Baelish beats him by a fucking country mile. So in the end who's gonna step up to the table after everyone's dead but Mr Creeper himself, along with Sansa. Although from what we know about Sansa and her thoughts on Baelish, I don't think she would want to be queen with Baelish as king. I will admit, if Baelish does skip joyfully over everyone's dead bodies, yank the crown off of Cercei's bad hair do, and proclaim himself king, first of his name, what would happen to Sansa and Arya? Well, Sansa definitely won't marry him, and I think that Baelish would respect that. Baelish might make Sansa and Arya his wards, as they have no more living relatives (not including Benjin, because no one knows where the fuck he is or whether or not he's already turned into a Walker at this point.) Plus they're probably some more people out there wanting to kill the rest of the Starks, so protecting them would be Baelish's first move. (Second would be to get a new throne.) Overall, even if none of what I predict might happen doesn't actually happen, I think we all know that it's guaranteed to be a fucking bloodbath, with lots of good Ol' death and carnage. :) But what do you guys think? Honestly, I'm actually really interested. If you have read this all the way through, which I doubt most people have, swing by my inbox and tell me what you think is going to happen in the final seasons.

[dracox-serdriel]

Random Game of Thrones Predictions

I have a few predictions for the rest of the eighth season of Game of Thrones, under the cut for spoilers for all episodes through episode 08x02 A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

There are several things that have been previously mentioned/discussed on the show that are very likely to happen again, and soon:

Dragonglass to the heart: Bran watched as the Children created the White Walkers by plunging dragonglass into the heart of a man. Later, we encountered the undead-but-still-fighting-for-the-living Benjin Stark. According to him, the White Walkers tried to turn him into a wight, but their magic was “stopped” by the Children, who plunged a shard of dragonglass into his heart.

Moat Cailin: The Glovers refused to come to Winterfell, which means there is a much-less fortified target for the Army of the Dead/White Walkers.

A Staged Council Meeting/Crafty Fighting Tactics: Technically, I believe this has already happened. (See the section below with the same title.)

A Staged Council Meeting/Crafty Fighting Techniques

After re-watching the “Council Meeting” scene, I realize how, well... odd it is. First, the collection of people. Literally everyone of rank is there - all the Queen’s council, all the Lords, pretty much anyone with a recognizable face.

I don’t doubt that a meeting like that would be fundamental for preparation... but the keyword there is preparation. It should’ve happened during their actual preparations, all of which were underway before Tormund and co. arrived with news that the Army of the Dead was almost at Winterfell.

Basically, the whole thing seems like a recap.

And, Bran has been branded with Night King’s mark. He knows that the Night King will always know where he is... it’s possible that the Night King can spy on them, too, through the eyes of Bran.

Which gives his presence at the meeting an entirely different spin.

The only thing we got from this meeting is that they have a really, really crap plan: a handful of people will go for the dragon-riding Night King while everybody else is charged with holding off the dead and their White Walker counterparts for as long as possible so said handful can go after the (possibly unkillable) dragon-riding Night King...  oh, and Bran will be the bait, waiting in the Godswood with the Ironborne as guards.

Yeah, totally crap plan.

The only other thing we know is that Ser Davos will be the one to signal when it’s time to light the trench. So, at the very least, they’ve got some fire holding back the army of the dead. Excellent. That’s exactly 1 good part of their plan.

But, what if the entire “war meeting, recap mode...” was put on for the Night King? The Night King might know where Bran is - like GPS coordinates - but it’s clear from previous attempts on Bran’s life that the information is limited (for example, the Night King couldn’t just heave a spear at Bran from outside the cave and hope to hit him--he could get close, but it’s not 100% exact).

The Night King would sense his location, then see him, then attack.

Except, it won’t be Bran. If there is some measure of underground hidey-hole (the crypt or otherwise) beneath the Goodswood, then Bran could hide there. And someone will take Bran’s place. Who? My first choice would be Arya Stark with Bran’s face--but in order to do that, Bran would have to be dead, soo... she could have someone else’s face. Or her own, covered up.

She does have that spiffy new weapon, after all.

There were a number of things that I expected to see, tactically speaking, that I did not:

Armoring the dragons - I mean, the only known dragon slayer for centuries is coming their way. Protecting their two remaining dragons from his weapons is a pretty obvious move. How does one get a dragon to stand still so you can cover it in armor? I suppose you could warg into one. (Though I believe they will save the warging - particularly Jon warging into the dragon named for his father - for a big BOOM! later in the episode).

Pitch, Pitch, Everywhere - the  only way to stop the army of the dead is by lighting them on fire. I know they sort of fudged that fact in 05x08 Hardhome, letting the wildling soldiers “fight” the undead with some level of success. If there was ever a time to spread some highly flammable substances literally everywhere, it would be now.

A Flaming Sword / Arrows for All - We only know of 1 warrior with a flaming sword. Again, the army of the dead is stopped by fire. So I’m really hoping they’ve been passing out flaming weapons. Seriously.

They talked about lighting the trench on fire. Tyrion’s trick with the wild fire in the Blackwater makes me think that they wouldn’t be so dumb as to only have one flaming trench between them and the dead.

Best bet? They fight until they fall back to “the trench” -- then they light it on fire, setting an enormous moat of fire (I mean enormous, as far as the eye can effing see) that obliterates much of the army of the dead.

Dragonglass to the Heart

I’m sorry, but the whole “dragonglass to the heart” thing is way too cool to NOT happen again. The question is... how much will it happen?

For example, have all the soldiers been told that the only way to save themselves after being touched by a wight is to drive a shard of dragonglass into their chests? Sounds hardcore, but the Unsullied would be more than up to the task, certainly.

Conversely, it’s possible that only a handful of people know about this... Bran Stark, Jon Snow, Sam Tarley, etc. If so, then it’s quite likely that one of our recognizable characters will almost die but be saved by this.

My money is on Ser Jorrah. I personally think that he is likely to die in the next episode. Originally, I thought that he would do it saving his cousin, Lyanna Mormount, and that in the end, the last thing he saw would not be Dany fighting to save him, but rather Lyanna - his family, his own blood - fighting for him like he never disgraced their family name to begin with. 

Now, though, I believe that Ser Jorrah will be maimed and nearly killed saving Lyanna, who will then fall back with him to try to save him... and either she knows about the dragonglass herself, or she will find out (Sam seems the most likely to impart this knowledge)--and, of course, she will stab him in the heart to save his life.

Other candidates: Arya Stark, Grey Worm, Ser Davos

Moat Cailin

The Glovers refused to come to Winterfell, so there’s a less-well-defended keep with plenty of meat for the army of the dead.

We have been led to believe that there is a single Night King above the wall. But what do we really know about the White Walkers? The Children created them to defend themselves against the encroachment of humanity... and it’s possible if you destroy the Night King, you destroy all those he created.

But if you were the Children, and you were dying off and desperate to defend yourself, would you turn a single man into a White Walker and expect that to be enough? That’s a terrible strategy.

Chances are, the Children made more than one, which gives the possibility of more than one “blood line” (or, ice line, might be a better word). All the Night King’s descendants might fall with him... but what if there were others? A lot of others?

Who Kills the Night King?

I do think that the Night King is going to die in this next episode. So, we must ask... who kills him?

Ser Jamie Lannister

He is the Kingslayer, after all. And he has a Valerian Steel sword.

A Long March

I think the idea of multiple “ice lines” (seven is a nice round number--one for each kingdom) - each with a starting point of one White Walker - is pretty good. I find it hard to believe that the army of the dead and the Night King will be defeated in episode three, leaving us with three episodes of exposition dealing with Cersei and such.

Wouldn’t it be great if part of the army of the dead went straight passed Winterfell and marched south? Given how the sell-swords reacted to the situation with Stanis Baratheon, I am guessing that the Golden Company will run for their lives if the army of the dead was their enemy.

Suddenly, Cersei’s broken oath becomes the thing that condemns her rule. Her forces can’t fight the dead or the white walkers. And while the handful of living people sequester in the Red Keep are “safe” (surrounded by water and high walls for now), it’s only a matter of time.

...and they have to be rescued by Dany’s forces.

In a word: Ouch.