#but he is eyrie's close companion

[impossible-rat-babies]

vierapril day 15--favorite minion

"cricket is what i call him, and long has he been a steady companion at my side."

[flowerandblood]

Aemond & Rhaenys's children

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

I've decided to create moodobards and descriptions for each of Aemond and Rhaenys' children from The Fall from the Heavens series to make it easier to place the events of the final chapters in space-time. I am adding descriptions created later by the maesters, giving a more detailed look at each of the children of the ruler-regents. The only warning is sibling incest, lol.

Viserys

Firstborn son. Quiet, calm, empathetic. He inherited his hair color from his father and the color of his eyes from his mother. As he aged, he resembled his mother more and more.

King Viserys saw his parents as if they were demigods: the path they set him on was the one he wanted to follow. As a child, he was reserved and shy, gazing at his father's figure like the mightiest of heroes, flying on the world's greatest dragon. His mature demeanour and ability to take good advice made him a wise and prudent ruler, acting violently only when necessary, concerned for the welfare of his family and the Kingdom as a whole.

When his uncle, Prince Aegon, began plotting against him in the Eyrie after the death of his mother, Rhaenyra, declaring himself the true heir to the throne, he sent Aegon's father, Daemon, and his younger sister Visenya to him, hoping to resolve the conflict peacefully. Visenya, to their grandfather's amusement, was to say to her uncle:

‘I will return to King's Landing with the message that you will kneel, or with your head.’

His marriage to his uncle's youngest daughter, Princess Alyssa, although met with resistance in the form of his grandfather Daemon and his father wanting him to marry his own sister, Visenya, proved successful and happy; the young king became a father after just the first year of their marriage. Queen Alyssa, known for her kindness, laughter and sense of humour, filled the entire court with joy. They lived to have six children.

Queen Alyssa and their first-born son, Aemond

Aegon

Three years younger than Viserys. Mischievous, clever, arrogant. He inherited his father's white hair and the color of his eyes. Like his father, he did not forgive easily.

Many compared him to his grandmother's husband, Prince Daemon: like him, he was hot-tempered and easily enraged. However, where his uncle would burn and destroy, he would delve into his mind, clever enough to devise a plan by which he could crush his opponents. His elder brother's enemies were his enemies and they could count on neither forgiveness nor oblivion. He and his younger sister, Visenya, became honorary members of their brother-king's Kingsguard.

To strengthen the bond between the North and King's Landing, his brother ordered him to marry Lord Stark's daughter, which he did. The Prince, although at first aloof and unhappy with how quiet and prudish his wife was, grew to love her when he discovered, while staying in Winterfell, her deeply hidden nature.

It turned out that his wife not only understood what lust was, but also what the art of war was, and after only a few months the people of the North could watch Prince Aegon teach his lady-wife archery. They lived to have four children, and he spent his life travelling on his dragon between Winterfell and King's Landing.

Aegon and Visenya

Daeron

Six years younger than Viserys. Honorable, wise, prudent. He inherited most of his siblings from his mother and his grandfather, Harwin Strong. Many at court said he resembled his uncle, the ruler of Dragonstone, Prince Jacaerys.

Viserys' beloved brother, the Sun Prince. He inherited his mother's ease of conversation as well as her gift for diplomacy along with his father's fierceness and directness. He and Viserys shared a unique bond from childhood and remained close companions throughout their lives. Though devoid of Targayren hair colour, it was he who aroused the greatest desire in the opposite sex, and every lady of the court dreamed of becoming his wife.

To their despair, his gaze was directed at only one woman: his sister, Aemma, whom he loved deeply from the day she was born. Throughout their childhood they remained inseparable, and in moments of separation they exchanged long, affectionate letters with each other. When Aemma turned sixteen, Daeron visited his father to ask him for her hand, and he agreed.

Daeron turned 23 and Aemma 18 when they stood together in the Great Sept, becoming husband and wife. Their marriage was successful and happy, and they did not part with each other for a moment. They lived to have eight children, and after their parents flew off on their journey to Essos, Daeron became the Hand of the King, taking his father's place.

Daeron and Aemma

Visenya

Seven years younger than Viserys. Harsh, fierce, untamed. She inherited her father's hair color, curls of her mother and the eyes of her grandmother, Rhaenyra.

Called by some the Fiery Princess, Daemon's favorite grandchild. The whole kingdom rejoiced at the announcement that a daughter had at last been born to the ruler-regents, but it was not known at the time that she would become a true dragon. In secret from her father, she unfastened his dagger from his belt and, to his fury, practised wielding it in solitude.

Although neither he nor his wife considered her interests worthy of a lady, her character left them no room for compromise and, to their despair, eventually the whole of the Red Keep could watch their daughter confront her own brother, Aegon, in a sword fight.

She refused to wear gowns, dressing exactly like her father, choosing mostly black, fitted tunics and breeches. In a frenzy of rage, deciding that her hair was getting in her way while flying on her dragon, she cut it to shoulder height one day, startling the entire court. Walking with her sister through the gardens of the Red Keep, she looked from behind as if she were a man.

The people of the court lowered their eyes in fear at the sight of only two people: King Regent Aemond and his eldest daughter. It was said that her gaze, gait and smile were animal-like, menacing and warning. Her mood changed like the weather and one never knew what would please or anger her, while arguments between her and her father made it seem as if the whole keep was shaking.

If it could be assumed that Princess Visenya ever loved anyone, it was certainly her younger sister, Aemma. Though like fire and water, her older sister always kept her safe, relying only on her opinion. When her parents wanted to reason with her, they would send her younger sister to speak with her. When the betrothal between Prince Daeron and Princess Aemma was announced, Visenya was to say:

‘If I were a man, I would have abducted her long time ago and taken her as my wife in the tradition of Old Valryia.’

Her brother-king gave her a choice: she could, like her brother Aegon, be married off or become an official member of his Kingsguard. She opted for the latter, becoming her eldest brother's shadow from then on.

Aemma and Visenya

Aemma

Eleven years younger than Viserys. Devoted, bright, compassionate. She inherited the dark curls of her mother and the brown eyes of her grandmother, Alicent.

Called the Light of the Kingdom: according to those who knew and described her, she could only be matched in beauty by her mother. Beloved child of her parents, full of warmth, joy and generosity, she resembled a Queen Regent the most out of her siblings.

Her gentle, patient nature meant that she was the only one able to get through the fortress her father had created around his mind, discussing with him for hours by the fire. She was very close with all of the members of her family, adored and loved, however, the closest relationship she had was with Visenya, and the ladies of the court said that it was her elder sister who stole her first kiss.

Although she was originally to be betrothed to Lord Lannister's grandson, her mother very quickly recognised the exceptionally close bond between her and her brother, and it was not long before Daeron himself asked his father for her hand.

Their father gave his consent to their marriage, and just a few months later their nuptials took place in the Great Sept in front of the entire Realm. The ladies of the court were to say at the time:

‘Prince Daeron and Princess Aemma spoke little during the feast, looking at each other with eyes full of tears, smiles on their faces that told all gathered that this was the happiest day of their lives. As they danced with each other, they seemed to see no one around them, their hands entwined together, refusing to let go, holding them close to each other.’

Daeron and Aemma

Aemon

Fourteen years younger than Viserys. Withdrawn, intelligent, humble. He inherited his mother's dark hair and his father's eyes.

The only one among his siblings from whose egg a dragon did not hatch. The Septon confessed to his parents that from an early age he showed signs of genius: he learned to read and speak extremely quickly, discussed lierature and philosophy as if he were a grown man and was perpetually hungry for knowledge. He expressed his desire to become the maester, and despite his mother's despair, his father agreed to send him to the Old Town, so he could receive his education there.

Saera

17 years younger than Viserys. Sensitive, introverted, observant. She inherited her grandmother's white hair and her mother's eyes.

Ever since she was a small child, she had been telling her parents about dreams that she did not understand: it was only after a discussion with her aunt, Helaena, that it became clear that they were both seeing similar images, hearing similar sounds and smelling similar smells when they slept. This worried their parents, because they didn't want their youngest, most sensitive child to carry the burden of visions that could overwhelm her, so when they were unable to reason with her, Helaena spoke to her.

Author's note: I spent hours correcting the saturation, light and tone of all the images to match, I colored some of them too (hair). You can reblog this post, but do not repost my edits. Thank you. 😇

[scarareg]

Ok I forgot all about the canon sapphic characters they're erasing to make Rhaenyra cool who are they and why am I not kissing them as we speak

Of course Anon, thanks for asking! Here are who they took from us:

-Laena Velaryon

After Viserys decided to marry Alicent over her, her parents were angry but Laena could not care less , and it is said that "Her ladyship shows far more interest in flying than in boys".

People also noted that Rhaenyra and Laena became fond and "more than fond" of each other, and because Dragonstone and Driftmark were so close, Laena and Daemon visited Rhae often, and Rhae did the same and they flew together. They are the ones who decided the engagements of Jace and Baela and Luke and Rhaena; and when Laena was going to give birth to her new baby, Rhae was there during the birth that ended in tragedy.

-Alysanne Blackwood ,aka Black Aly, the myth, the legend, was a badass hunter and archer.

In the Battle of the Burning Mill, Ser Amos Bracken killed Lord Samwell Blackwood (her brother), so she took action and immediately slayed Ser Amos with a weirwood arrow. This should have happened in HOTD S2 Episode 3, but they didn't adapt it for some reason

She is Benjicot Blackwood's aunt and was his advisor. She also commanded 300 archers.

She shared tend with Sabitha Frey, and rumors say they were dating

-Sabitha Frey, Lady of the Twins, widow of Lord Forrest Frey, the head of House Frey, and mother of his child, but it is said that she always preferred women over men. Mushroom described her as a: "sharp-featured, sharp-tongued harridan of House Vypren, who would sooner ride than dance, wore mail instead of silk, and was fond of killing men and kissing women"

-Jeyne Arryn

Lady of the Eyrie, head of House Arryn.

Her cousin Ser Arnold Arryn tried to take her position twice because he claimed women were too soft to rule. He failed and she imprisoned him and disinherited him and his family line.

After Daemon killed his first wife, Rhea Royce, he wanted to claim Runestone for himself. Lady Jeyne passed it to Lady Rhea's nephew. Daemon went to her to complain, but Lady Jeyne put him in his place, told him he was unwelcomed in the Vale, and told him to leave at once.

When she joined Rhaenyra side, she said the quote: "In this world of men, we women must band together". This should have happened at the beginning of S2, when Jace should have gone to her to ask for her alliance, before going to the North with the Starks. Obviously all of this was omitted in the show.

It is said Jessamyn Redfort and her were dating

-Jessamyn Redfort stayed by Lady Jeyne's side throughout her life. She is said to have been Lady Jeyne's "great companion". It's giving "Historians will say they were good friends"

[mrs-willow]

"A Raven and a Falcon"

Chapter 6

The caravan traveling from The Eyrie was nearly half a mile long. It consisted of carriages, wheelhouses, and about fifty knights sent to accompany the family, their friends, and their servants. Near the front of the pack, Lord Robert Arryn rode atop his tall war horse flanked by two of his sons. The eldest, Caelan, rode on his right and sat atop an equally large war horse, and to the left of the Lord, Rhonnel, Robert's youngest son, rode a smaller, swifter horse meant for agility on land. The three men were the picture of nobility and power. All are dressed in similar blue colors, signifying their house with silver adorning the saddles and halters of the three horses they rode. Men carrying the blue banners painted with a moon and a falcon rode in front and alongside the party, daring anyone to get in their way on the long journey to the Riverlands. About halfway down the caravan, a large wheelhouse rumbled along, led by four workhorses. The carriage was pained a deep blue, and the windows were decorated with silver woodworking. A significant amount of natural light and fresh air was allowed through the large windows to keep the passengers comfortable. One of the smaller windows on either side of the carriage opened to allow someone to stick their head out and look around if need be. The interior consisted of plush pillows and substantial cushioning in an attempt to make the ride as enjoyable as possible. Think curtains were hung around the windows of the cabin to block out the sun if need be. Once again, several knights surrounded the luxurious carriage, one of which led a small horse by its rains tied to the saddle of his own steed. The small horse has a light chestnut color with an even lighter mane and tail. He was a present gifted by Lord Robert to his daughter for her name day. When the woman spotted the gift, she began to weep with joy. Lillian had always asked her father for her very own horse but was consistently refused due to the dangers of riding alone, and Robert refused to give his daughter any ideas or risk her being hurt. Now, nearly a week into the journey, Lillian had switched off, and on riding the horse, she named Cassian after a hero from one of her childhood bedtime stories. Due to inexperience, Lillian was unable to go more than an hour or so on horseback, and she could not even begin to think of the difficulty she would have when she tried to take him on anything besides a walking pace. Robert told her that Cassian had been brought north all the way from Dorne at his request. Their horses were fast but easily controlled. He had been trained prior to being presented as a gift so that Lillian would have no issues with him getting spooked easily and potentially thrown off. The blue of his sable blankets reflected beautifully off his shiny coat, and the woman could not bring her eyes from her angelic new companion. 

Lillian opened the window closest to her seat when she and Sarah had finished their lunch, “Beau?” Lillian called out to the man riding closest to her. He was mid-way through his thirties but beginning to grow some grey hair, the result of a stressful job, she guessed. Beau had been working for her family since long before she was born, and the two were quite close as he was usually assigned the hard job of protecting the Lord's only daughter. He accompanied Lillian anytime she stepped out of the castle walls and sometimes even within the halls of the Eyrie. Aside from Sarah, Lillian spent a lot of her time with Beau. The two were like siblings, and because of this, Lillian could tell the real reason Beau always waited around outside her chambers past his working hours was in hopes of spending some time with a young handmaid who called Lillian her best friend. Lillian had noticed the pair's infatuation with each other years ago and had been trying her best to feed the flames of the relationship. 

“Yes, my Lady? Ready to take Cassian out again?” The knight questions as he steered his horse alongside the wheelhouse. 

“Yes, please,” Lillian confirmed as she jumped from the moving wheelhouse, landing ankle-deep in the mud that covered the expanse of the River Road from the Vale all the way to Raventree. 

“My Lady!” Beau exclaimed as he dragged the woman from the moving wheelhouse and the foot traffic of men on horseback. “Please, allow me to stop the carriage before you leap from it,” the man begged as he helped the young woman into her saddle. 

“And what fun would that be?” Lillian goaded as she kicked Cassian into a Trott to catch up with her fathers and brothers.

The party rode on until dusk, when they reached the destination for the night. An inn that sat where the King's Road and the River Road met. The Crossroads Inn was rather nice for a roadside stop; it sat in a small field surrounded by forest on two sides. It sported a large stable and an even larger dining room and pub. A few of the nights leading the arty had ridden ahead to alert the innkeepers of their upcoming arrival so they might prepare beds and enough food for the caravan. When everyone had finally arrived at the destination, few patrons remained in the inn due to the cold conditions, and many travelers postponed their journeys until after winter had passed. Snow had started falling a few hours prior, but the inn remained warmed by the fires lit in every room. Lillian and Sarah were led to a small room with two small beds on the third floor of the establishment. A large bathtub sat in the corner of the otherwise barren room. The fire glowed softly as Lillian bathed and then dressed. As Sarah began her own routine of preparing for bed, Lillian was overcome with a wave of nostalgia. 

“Do you remember when I would refuse to sleep unless you were in bed with me?” Lillian questioned as her friend pulled back the covers to the bed closest to the door. “I was always so scared at night. I thought for sure that there were monsters under the bed, and the only one who could protect me was you.” 

Sarah chucked with a soft smile, “Of course, I remember, my Lady. I was always so excited to do it, too. It was like a never-ending sleepover.” 

“I could never understand why we had separate chambers. I always thought you were my sister by blood.” Lillian mumbled as she fought off sleep. 

“I remember crying to my mother when she wouldn't let us play while you were in your lessons with the Septas,” Sarah replied. “I thought it was so unfair that we couldn’t be allowed to play all day together.” 

Lillian watched as Sarah brushed through her long, dark hair, “Here, let me help you.” 

Lillian rose from her bed and walked to her friend's side. As she began brushing through the tangles, she remembered all the times when the two were little, when they would spend hours hidden in the libraries learning how to do the “big girl hair styles.” They obviously looked ridiculous, parading around the castle with knotted braids and frizzy hair, but the two thought that they could pass as high ladies without question. 

As Lillian began to weave her handmaid's hair into a long braid for sleep, she came to a saddening realization. “You know, this will probably be the last time we will be allowed to share a room, if only for the night,” Lillian said with a sad smile. “I don’t think my soon-to-be Lord Husband would approve of his wife and her friend running off together all the time.” 

“Yes, my Lady, I do believe that this trip will be the last of our sleepovers.” 

When Lillian finished, she sat down beside Sarah and said, “I guess we will just have to make the most of it.”

The two women squeezed into the small bed, drifting off as they giggled about past memories. Sarah slept on her back, arms wrapped tightly around her friend, who slept cuddles into her side, hand held tightly in hand. The girls slept deeply throughout the night until the sun began to stream through the windows the following morning. 

“Ugh,” Lillian groaned as she rubbed her back-side, “I don’t know how much longer I can take sitting for all hours of the day.” 

“I know, my Lady,” Sarah agreed, “I feel as though my legs will never work properly again.” the handmaid said as she stretched her arms above her head. 

The caravan had stopped to rest their horses a few miles from the nearest keep. Stonehenge could be seen faintly in the distance, partially obscured by the tall, snow-covered trees that rose up all around the long road. A light blanket of snow covered the ground, and all the trees and foliage surrounded the party. In truth, it was cold on the journey but not nearly as freezing as it gets this time of year in the mountains. Robert had assured his daughter that winter would come to the Riverlands, just a bit more delayed than the Vale. As Lillian stridden up to meet her Father and Brothers, she spotted the three huddled around a small table with a map laid out in front of them. A few of the commanders of the guards accompanied the small group, all muttering quietly under their breath. 

When Lillian got closer, her Father declared, “It's settled then,” in a commanding voice, “finish with whatever preparations we may need, and we will stop for the night at Riverrun.”

As Lillian finally approached her father, she asked with confusion, “Why Riverrun father?” That keeps their looks to have more than enough room for us to camp just outside as we have been.”

Robert sighed, “My dear, that is Stonehedge,” the man said with a hard look. “We will receive no offers of hospitality from the Brackens.” 

Still, with increasing confusion, his daughter asked, “But is it not proper for all keeps to offer shelter for another Lord and his party for the night?” 

“Aye, daughter. But still, the Brackens know of your upcoming marriage to the soon-to-be Lord of Raventree. They will not open their doors for us. I would be surprised if they don’t chase us away from their gates.” 

Startled, Lillian could only look to her father with fear in her eyes, “But we have no qualms with them. Arryn and Blackwood have never crossed swords.” 

“Still, my dear, I am afraid that their hatred for Blackwood trumps their neutrality for our house,” Robert said with a sigh as he rested his hand on his daughter's cloaked head. 

“I take it I will not be permitted to ride Cassian the rest of the way to Riverrunn?” Lillian said, her eyes pleading. 

“You thought right, my dear,” Robert said as he began to lead her back to the wheelhouse. 

“But Father, I have been trapped in there for two weeks! The air grows stale after so many hours.” Lillian complained with a whine. 

As Robert helped her up the steps after Sarah, he spoke in a teasing but final tone, “Then open the windows, my dear.” 

After five more hours of riding, the caravan finally reached their destination at Riverrun. The sun had long since set, and the cold had grown more and more harsh. The winds continued to increase in strength when the party finally entered the gates at the Tullys Castle. Lillian had fallen asleep soon after they had begun to ride again, but Sarah confirmed that they had no trouble when passing by Stonehedge. The two women sleepily stumbled up to the guest chambers accompanied by Beau. The room was far more luxurious than that of the roadside inns where they had stayed most nights. Before Sarah could even begin to ready her Lady for bed, Lillian had fallen asleep, face down, on the plush mattress. Soft snores left her mouth as Sarah held back a giggle. 

When Lillian woke the next morning, she was ushered into the bath as a small team of handmaids tried to scrub the grime from a fortnight of travel from her skin. They washed her hair and let it dry as the women scrubbed at her arms and legs. Regardless of the hassle, the Lady's favorite Lilly-scented soap was brought with the caravan from the Vale and was used that morning at Riverrun. As the maids fussed over her, Lillian turned to Sarah with a tiered expression, not yet fully awake at the early hour. 

“What is all this fuss? It's not like we won't be sitting in that torture chamber for another ten hours.” Lillian grumbled as a woman ruffly scrubbed at her leg. 

“My Lady,” Sarah said in exasperation, “We will only be riding for two hours today; we will reach Raventree by midday.” 

“Oh,” Lillian said, suddenly more awake than she previously was. “Of course, how could I forget.” 

With that, Lillian stayed quiet, clear nervousness plastered on her face. 

“You know,” one of the older maids began as the girls scrubbed at the young Lady's limbs. I heard that Lord Blackwood is extremely handsome,” she said with a small smile, an attempt to comfort the clearly nervous young woman now in her care. 

With a snort, one of the younger maids, who was perhaps scrubbing a bit too roughly, said, “Well, I hear he is as brutal between the sheets as he is on the battlefield.” She was still focused on her work. “I mean, he didn’t earn the name Bloody Ben for nothing.” she finished with a small smirk. 

With that, Lillian froze, as did the other maids. 

“Get out,” Sarah said with clear anger laced in her voice. 

With the head hung low, the young maid scurred from the room like a small child who had just been grounded. 

“Leave us, all of you.” Sarah continued as the rest of the elder women rose with apologetic looks.” 

Sarah helped Lillian rise from the deep tub and towel off the dampness from her skin. Lillian stood naked in the middle of the room, arms covering her chest as Sarah began to run her skin with oil to ward off unwanted dryness from the cold winter air. 

“What did she mean?” Lillian questioned. “I know he is rumored to be brutal in combat, but why would he be like that on the sheets? Does he practice in his chambers or something?” Lillian continued as Sarah's cheeks grew red, and she avoided her Lady's eyes. 

“That, my dear, is something we can talk about later, but for now, I would like you to ignore that silly girl's comment.” 

“But why?” Lillian pressed as Sarah continued to rub her Lady's skin with oil. 

“I will tell you all about that later, my Lady. It would be improper to talk about it now. You must not mention that little comment to anyone else, okay?” 

“Oh,” Lillian sighed. “Well, if you insist,” Lillian said with a still confused expression. Secretly, the young woman was excited to be a part of some big secret.

After a few hours of preparation and a short breakfast, the caravan began its final leg of the long journey. Lillian sat in the wheelhouse once more, stiff from the confines of her more formal outfit that inhibited her ability to slouch and definitely prevented her from riding on horseback. As the party continued through the Riverlands, Lillian gazed out her window, breathless at the beautiful scenes of nature. Waterfalls, rivers, and small brooks littered the land. The smaller water features had frozen over, but the larger rivers still ran strong. Large forests stretched for miles as the small hills ranged as far as the eye could see, covered in grass and, occasionally, grazing herds of livestock. The young woman fell more and more in love with this new land she would call home the longer she observed it. They passed small villages as small children ran alongside the horses, waving to the pretty women in the carriage. Lillian felt her heart swell with excitement, nearly overcoming her nervousness. However, when the caravan finally reached Raventree lands, and the castle rose up imposingly in the distance, Lillian felt her heart drop out of sheer nervousness. At that moment, she was grateful for refusing breakfast that morning as she would have surely thrown it all up at the sight of her new home. Large towers protruded from the edge of a cliff, surrounded by high walls that wrapped around the top of the entire hill the keep rested upon. There was a small forest off in the distance; otherwise, the castle was surrounded by green fields of grass that were visible from as far as the eye could see. Clutching Sarah's hand with a white knuckle grip, Lillian took a deep breath, closed it, and turned away from the window as the party grew closer and closer to Raventree.  

As Robert rode up to the gates of the castle, he found them already open and a large welcome awaiting the family's arrival. The courtyard was so large that a full-sized stable, as well as all his men, could fit inside if need be. Blackwood banners lined the walls as the welcome party stood quietly waiting for their Lord's dismissal or introductions. Robert and his sons, as well as a few of the Arryn guards, stopped their horses just off to the side of the main entrance, leaving plenty of room for the large wheelhouse to make its way in eventually, still a little ways from the entrance inside the high walls. Robert and his sons dismounted. Robert immediately strode for Lord Blackwood and his family, standing at the end of the courtyard. Caelan and Rhonnel waited by their respective horses, prepared to greet the Blackwood family as soon as their Lord Father bid them over. 

When Robert reached the family, he and Lord Blackwood stared at one another quietly, waiting for the first man to break the silence. Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what this reunion would be like. It was unclear who broke the staring match first, but seemingly at once, the two towering men began laughing at one another as they embraced. It had been so long since the old friends had seen one another. The two men couldn’t help but through propriety to the wind as they embraced like no time had changed. Robert bid his two sons to join him in their greeting when he finally turned to the tall man standing beside his old friend.

“Robert,” Samwell began, “I would be honored to introduce my eldest son, Benjicot.” 

Robert studied the man with cold eyes as he looked upon his only daughter's future husband. The man was tall. In fact, he was taller than his father, Samwell, and nearly taller than Robert himself. He had shorter black hair that looked like it had been attempted to be brushed for the formal occasion but somehow still stuck up in random places. If he was fearful of Robert and his scrutiny, his dark eyes did not show it as he maintained eye contact with his future father-in-law. He wore a dark tunic with a red and black cape fastened at his shoulders and a sword fastened at his hip. 

With an approving smile, Robert reached out and took the man's hand, “An honor to finally meet you, Lad. I have heard many great things.”

Benjicot allowed a small smile to his lips, “I am pleased to hear it, sir.” 

Caelan and Rhonnel were introduced to both men when the Wheelhouse finally rolled into the courtyard. All the many windows were drawn shut as one of the Knights walked around to the door, and another man brought out the portable steps.

As Lillian felt the carriage come to a stop and voices just outside, she swore she had never felt so scared in her life. Sarah looked at her Lady with an encouraging look. She took her hand and gave it a sharp squeeze. The woman reached out and fixed a piece of Lillian's long hair behind her ear as the carriage door opened. With one final deep breath, Lillian watched as Sarah rose from her seat and made her way down the steps, waiting for her Lady just outside. Lillian closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and plastered on the bravest face she could muster.

When Lillian emerged from the wheelhouse door, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sharp change in lighting. The first thing that she noticed was the large courtyard she was in, surrounded by Blackwood banners and countless men. The next thing she noticed was Beau's outstretched hand, waiting for her at the end of the steps. Gratefully, she took the knight's strong hand and made her way down the steep steps. When she reached the bottom, she heard her father's voice ring out, beckoning her to join the rest of the family in the introductions. As she made her way over, she kept her gaze low, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, especially those she could feel burning into the side of her head. When she finally reached her father, she looked up and met the older man. He was already gazing down at her with a kind look. 

The man reached out and took the young lady's hand, “it is an honor to meet you, my Lady. Your father talks so highly about you. I must say, you have exceeded my expectations.” 

With a blush and a small curtsey, Lillian stated, “Thank you, my Lord, you are so kind. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

With a smile, Samwell reached out to the man standing next to him. Drawing Lillian's eyes away from his kind face. “I would like to introduce you to my son, Benjicot Blackwood.”                                     

AHAHAHHAHAHA THEY MEET AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA. thank god, I am killing myself with this slowburn. next chapter in Benji pov (hehehe) and here is what I imagine for the dress and the hair.

[tiredtogepi]

A Lady & Her Hounds

Chapter 7

The Hound x Fem!Reader (Jon Arryn's daughter; Sabrina)

This chapter contains: Fluff | Death

Word Count: 1003

In the morning the three of you went on your way. For some reason the mood was light and you were full of hope. Even if you had to see your step mother, bringing Arya with you would give you some credit and maybe you could have some say in how your future would go.

You could see from afar something had happened with a farmer, his lot was burned, broken and sacked, and the criminals left him dying sitting by a rock. Arya and Sandor approached him while you stayed on your horse. The man explained what happened. Sandor gave the man some water and ended his suffering.

“That’s where the heart is.” He showed it to Arya.

As he walked back a man jumped from behind him and bit his neck. That man was quickly killed, but the damage was done. Another one approached

“You’re The Hound! There’s a fat bounty on your head.”

“And you think you’re gonna collect it?” He knew that man didn’t stand a chance.

“That’s the man that said he would fuck me bloody if he saw me again.” Arya said taking out her sword.

A few seconds later he was dead. Arya has come a long way, you thought to yourself.

As you made camp now close the hills of the Eyrie, you could see how he was struggling with the wound on his neck.

“You have to do something about it or it’s gonna get infected.” Arya started.

“No fire.” He said quietly. She continued to grab a piece of burning log and walk towards him.

“It’s gonna be quick I pro—“

“No fire!” He yelled.

“At least let me clean and sew it.” You tried to convince him. He nodded while still looking away from you both.

You grabbed a little bag that you carried on your horse and walked back to him. You put some of his hair away and started by cleaning his neck with alcohol. Your bodies standing close to each other while you took care of him gave you a calming sensation. He felt the same, he had a strong wish to hold you, but he would never make the first move.

“You said your brother gave you that sword? My brother gave me this!” He looked at Arya as he pointed to the right side of his face. You started carefully using the needle to close the wound while listening to the story of how his brother burned him for playing with one of his toys. You finished stitching him up and put on an ointment to help with the healing.

“The worst part is was my brother who did it.” He commented.

“Your brother is a monster…” You mumbled quietly thinking he wouldn’t hear you. He looked up at you realizing you just showed him your empathy.

“It’s all done, you should feel better now. I stitched it and added this natural ointment I made a while ago. It’s good for helping the skin heal, from cuts, scratches, burns…” He looked up at you.

He didn’t thank you. He was not very verbally expressive, but you could tell a lot from his actions and body language.

You finally could spot the Eyrie from where you were and you made. You walked down the path to the Bloody Gate and both Arya and Sandor seemed to be talking like long-time friends. It was interesting to see how their relationship developed, but yours seemed like it stayed the same somehow.

“Who would pass the Bloody Gate?” The guard announced

“The Bloody Hound, Sandor Clegane and his… travel companions, Lady Arya Stark, niece of Lady Arryn and Lady Sabrina Arryn, daughter of the deceased Lord Jon Arryn.” He responded.

“Then I would like to offer my condolences, Lady Arryn and her son Robin died... three days ago.” The guard explained. There was silence for a few seconds.

“If what you say is true then I am the new Lady Arryn.” You stepped forward.

“Unfortunately my Lady, there’s someone else in charge of The Eyrie.” The guard seemed to also not like that situation.

“And who might that be?” You were confused.

“Lord Baelish.” The guard responded.

There was a dry silence that later was filled with Aryas laugh. Laughing at her own misery. You were taken with anger pulled out your dagger and stepped towards the guard only to have Sandor holding back.

“It’s not worth it.” He looked at you. You knew he was right, but the frustration was just too high.

“Listen, take Arya back to camp and wait for me there, I need to go get my dogs. I’ll meet you there by nightfall.” You told him and left.

Luckily most animals were kept on the sides of the bloody gate, since it was the flatter land. You watched as the two of them walked back. You quietly made your way to the stables and found four of your dogs near the horses.

“What happened to the rest of the dogs?” You asked a passing stable boy.

“Lady Arryn got rid of them a long time ago. They scared Lord Robin.”

“What did she do to them?” You knew, but you needed to confirm it.

“She fed them milk of the poppy. They never woke up again. These ones didn’t eat it, we kept them here because they keep the rats away.”

You thanked the gods that you had started herb training with the four them before you left. They understood they shouldn’t eat that and it saved them.

Once you opened the stable doors they ran to you. Jumping, happy crying, tail wagging and licking your face. You missed your kids. You tested to see if they still knew their commands, and they were perfect. They were the smarter ones who were chosen to start a harder training that saved their life. Two boys Desert and Forest, and two girls, Rain and River. You regretted not training the others. But at least you were together now.

[namiko2789]

When the war is over.... will you have me?- Part 1

It was the start of the dance, everyone knew of this, everyone feared this and awaited this for years. Since King Viserys named Princess Rhaenyra as his heir, the sounds of conflict resonated in the halls of the Red Keep and ravens spread the news throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Once the raven reached Maester Talos' hand and his frail fingers opened the letter, you knew.

The bells rang throughout the Eyrie calling everyone to the main hall. Being born in house Arryn meant there was no fear of height, yet, here you were staring at the moon door wishing you were somewhere else. Your most beloved aunt walked to the highest seat followed by her dearest companion Jessamyn.

"King Viserys has died" announced the head of House Arryn Jeyne Arryn. "We will shortly receive the claims of both successors soon"

"Both successors?!" murmuring spread like wildfire in the room.

My aunt nodded towards me to open the Moon Door. I glided towards the lever and pulled on it. As I did, the wailing sounds of the wind quieted the room. Even the largest of knights of the Vale respected the Moon Door and stared at the deep fall with anguish in their faces. My aunt was no stranger to the thought of imprisoning or executing orders but she was very patient. My father knew this as he tested his luck twice before she placed him on a cellar. I held no ill will towards my aunt, my lord father was a man who believed women had no rights, and if he had succeeded as the head of the house, I would had been sold off the first oaf my father thought would bring advantages to his rule. My aunt was no such person, she believed in justice, even when she was a bit crass when she addressed men.

As I pulled on the lever once again to close the door, my aunt rose from her seat and addressed the audience.

"I have no doubt we will hear from both the Greens and the Blacks"

"We swore allegiance to Princess Rhaenyra" spoke Lord Cassius.

"Honor comes before at all times my lords, indeed, but so does the safety of our lands" she replied.

"Queen Aemma was of our blood" replied Joffrey Arryn my sweet and noble kinsman.

"And I agree but we have to see how they keep their word and afford the kingdom some peace" she stated solemnly. "For now we must adjourn. Lady Jessamyn, Lady Alia walk with me"

To that command, I immediately approached my aunt. "Yes, Lady Aunt" I curtsy and smiled broadly at her.

"My dear child, by the Gods you grow lovelier every day." She hugged me tightly. "Now, we must be ready for the envoys to arrive, would you be willing to accept the task?"

"It would be my duty to bring honor to house Arryn, perhaps auntie Jessamyn could help me with the preparations" I winked at her.

"SSsssh you cheeky child, if they hear you" she said walking as I followed, "I cannot afford to loose my position, not yet, the Gods have punished me already by not giving me children, I cannot have the lords realize the true reason"

"Auntie, the Gods may not have given you children but you know well that Joffrey and I love you like our true mother" I grabbed her hand "This is true, and whatever your passions we do not care nor do we judge" I paused, "The Gods themselves place these feelings in our hearts, how can they be wrong"

"My dearest child, you have to spend more time with Septa Talla instead of Maester Talos" she placed her hand upon my cheek, "You think of things future, not present and I'm afraid at one point your mind and intelligence will get you in troubles"

"Do not fret dear mother, now, who do you think will come?" I asked continuing our walk around the halls.

"You wish to know if you will catch the attention of a Prince" Jessamyn said in between giggles. "A pampered perfumed lord mayhaps?"

"Auntie!" I scolded her, "I do not have a desire for a pampered spoiled prince, nor an oaf as father would had wanted me to wed"

"Then, who do you seek dear child?" she asked intently as she held Aunt Jeyne's hand.

"I want a true, noble man" I said , "One of our lands perhaps? One that knows the value of the mountains and rivers and that is true to his word and vows"

"Maybe one of the envoys will be from the Riverlands, the Crownlands or even the Stormlands" auntie commented.

"Maybe"... I replied with a pensive expression.

[loksthegreat]

Part 1 of drawing the daughters in law of Queen Elaena IV!

Lady Sabitha Tully, the wife of Elaena’s third son and hand of the king to his older brother, prince Aeron, born in 599 AC

She was the eldest child of Lord Tully by his first wife, who died in childbirth giving birth to her third daughter, born in 602 AC at Riverrun, Sabitha married prince Aeron at the age of 18, after having been infatuated with the prince for a year in which the two exchanged frequent letters, their hasty wedding broke her engagement to the heir of house Bracken and left her and her fathers relationship in ruin, Lady Sabitha returned to court with her husband, who had laid off his studies at the citadel to be with her instead, where she would soon grow influential and support her husband in ruling the seven kingdoms as hand. She was known to be a fearless woman, that stood her ground in battle, as well as court, where she held a reputation for being sharp tongued and honest, though rarely cruel. Lady Sabitha sat as many council meetings as did her husband and her good brother, the king, valued her as an advisor, for she was as logical and pragmatic a thinker, as she was well spoken. She had six daughters, whom she loved, though she often said her relationship with them was more that of a father and his children, as she felt she held none of the warmth a mother should have. The girls where raised more by her younger sister and prince Aeron than by Sabitha, although she made a habit of carrying the girls with her to her study as well as council meetings when they where babes.

Lady Beatriz Corbray, the wife of Elaena’s seventh son, a famous warrior, prince Baelor, born in 609 AC

Born in 604 AC, Beatriz was the only daughter of Lord Jonos Corbray, who was said to cherish her most among her many brothers and therefore allowed her to do as she pleased, pursuing her great love for horse riding, archery, falconry and swordsmanship alongside her brothers, some say her father even allowed her to compete in jousts disguised as a mystery knight. She was known to be tall with weathered, angular features and a long mane of untamed curls, and while boys had been a passing fancy of her in the past, beyond the occasional flirt with one of her fathers knights or a visiting nobleman’s son, it is said that Beatriz found a love out of fairy tales in prince Baelor. The singers tell us that the prince stumbled upon the wild Lady in the year 630 AC, while traveling to a tourney at the Eyrie, his group had been attacked by mountain clan men and separated, Lady Bea, disguised as a man was roaming the Forrest as she often did and the two became companions upon their travels, some say prince Baelor fell for her while still under the impression that she was a man, true or not, Lady Bea disappeared upon their arrival at the Eyrie, only for Baelor to spot her at her fathers side during the tourney, grinning widely at him as it is said. After that they where wed within a week, at her fathers castle in the Vale. They would end up having only two children, a daughter in 632 and a son five years later.

Lady Alanna Velaryon, the wife of Elaena’s second son and lord of the tides, prince Daemion, born in 595 AC

Alanna was born in 598 AC to the son and daughter of a cousin of Queen Elaena’s mother, Lady Larissa Velaryon, she was known throughout the seven kingdoms for her immense beauty and talent with the harp, as well as her singing voice. She had been betrothed to prince Daemion, who would inherit Driftmark from his grandmother some day, as a babe and had been send to court at only 11 to become close with her future husband. While his brothers secured themselves great love matches Daemions love laid with the sea, with his dragon, and with his older brother, the king, whoms most adamant supporter he was. Alanna and her husband were friends and cousins rather than lovers, even after they were wed on Driftmark in 613 AC. While her husband traveled the world or spend his time at court, advising his brother, Alanna ruled as the Lady of Driftmark and preferred to surround herself with other women. Her closest companion and dearest friend was the Lady Larrya of Lsy, whom was the widow of her cousin. Lady Aly, as she was called by her friend Larrya, had three children with her husband, triplets, two sons and one girl, born in 618 AC, on which she doted all her life.

[blue-mint-winter]

Reading Fire and Blood - Jaehaerys and Alysanne's reign

I liked the early chapters and how Jaehaerys and Alysanne took over. The politicking and scheming against Rogar and Rhaena factions was interesting. All in all, both Rogar and Rhaena had fascinating stories as the losers of the power struggle that were allowed to live... but they ended up living without joy, losing those they loved and dying in obscurity.

I think it was maester Anselm who was behind the poisoning of Rhaena's companions. Androw was just a tool, he was too stupid to think of this scheme on his own. It would make sense why he'd kill Anselm when he was uncovered, he wanted the real mastermind to die as well, but then he took the credit for the whole plan.

Elissa Farman's story about stealing dragon eggs to get money so she could build a ship and go exploring the ocean to the west (eventually her ship was sighted in Asshai) was very interesting. Also, Jaehaerys basically confirms that non-Targaryens can become dragonriders, that's why he was so concerned with the eggs being in other hands. I think this opens a lot of possibilities for the main books, like Tyrion or others becoming dragonriders. Also, maybe Elissa's journey is a clue about how Daenerys will come to Westeros. Maybe she'll go east and arrive on Iron Islands, that's why they were so important in the books. Maybe Euron found a way to sail the western seas.

Aerea's story was also interesting. It's pretty clear that she claimed Balerion because she wanted to be the queen (and she was Maegor's heir after all). The one with the biggest dragon rules them all. Things didn't go to plan and she was gone for a whole year, then she came back infected with worms and had a very disturbing death. I'm most interested in what happened in the months before she got infected. I think maybe she wasn't kidnapped by Balerion, like many speculate. Maybe she deliberately went far east, because she wanted to find Elissa Farman? Elissa told her about her idea to go around the world, it's possible Aerea went to meet her halfway, because she had to fly over land. If they succeeded, maybe then they went to Old Valyria together? It's really unknown, but in a year there was enough time for many things to happen before Aerea got infected, came back and died.

Rhaena all in all has a very compelling story, but she isn't very likeable. She's very selfish and only wants power to fulfill her own desires. She hurts everyone she's close to, because she doesn't care about their wishes (prime examples: her mother, Elissa Farman, Androw Farman, Aerea). She could have taken over as queen, but she was unwilling to compromise her own love life and marry a suitable man with an army, instead choosing a useless lump so she could carry on her lesbian affairs. And that ended up in her own downfall because she treated her tool of a husband like shit until he snapped. Possibly, she and Maegor could have been a real power couple if Visenya's first proposal came through. Maegor was great at gaining support from men, while Rhaena did the same with women. And Maegor wasn't against his wife having a female lover, which was proved by Alys Harroway and Tyanna. So in another world, it could have worked out between Maegor and Rhaena.

Shivers sounds like a magical disease. It would explain why Daenerys died despite no one else from her family dying (Targaryens are immune to normal diseases). It was interesting that Boremund and Jocelyn also got sick, but survived. Later on Maegelle died from greyscale, which is a magical disease. I wonder if Jocelyn only having one child was a result of complication from Shivers. Maybe the disease affected her fertility.

Daella's story was really disturbing to me. She was afraid of everything, but for some unknown reason her father wanted to marry her off ASAP? So she chose the oldest possible suitor, Rodrik Arryn, because he reminded her of her father (what in daddy issues...). I assume because Eyrie had no kittens, horses, bees and other things she was afraid of. Then Alysanne got letters written by Rodrik's daughter how Daella is happy and everything is great, but then later finally gets a letter written by Daella herself that she's pregnant and very afraid so Alysanne went and stayed with her until birth of Aemma and Daella's death. Idk, all of this seemed fishy. Why did Rodrik, who already had children, force Daella to get pregnant right away, despite her being young and small, so she was sure to have a difficult birth? Why was Rodrik trying to hide the pregnancy from Alysanne?

I have a bit of pet theory, Daella's description is similar to Helaena, so it's possible Daella was a dragon dreamer. My theory is that the things she was afraid of were connected to her siblings deaths. Bees - Saera's ruin and connection to Braxton Beesbury known as Stinger. Horses - Viserra broke her neck falling from a horse. Kittens - Daenerys had a kitten, which could have carried the disease from a rat to her. Dragons - that one's the toughest to figure out, none of the siblings are killed by a dragon, but Daella's granddaughter Rhaenyra is.

What else... how come Gaemon and Valerion died in cradle, but Gael lived? Maybe it's maester conspiracy getting rid of new male heirs and potential husbands for Alysanne's daughters?

For some reason, Alyssa, Saera and Viserra are described in a way to make them all completely unlikeable - cruel, sly, vain, conniving, manipulative, drunk, promiscuous, stupid. I think this is a sign of the maester bias again. Daella is written as just a stupid and frightened child, similarly with Gael, who was described as small, frail and simple-minded. The only one of the sisters that gets a good rep is Maegelle who became a septa. She's credited with advising Jaehaerys to make up with Alysanne and later nurses patients with greyscale and dies of that disease. She's basically a saint. But the maester had nothing positive to say about any of the other sisters and that was just clearly weird, because they were loved by family.

I liked the tidbit how the first road Jaehaerys built was the one going straight to the Wall. He probably was aware of the prophecy and that's why he insisted on a male heir (Prince that was promised).

[blueberrypancakesworld]

As my lectures for college are about to start I find myself sad that I won't be able to spend time reading your posts as I'll be swamped with work 😭😭😭 So this may be my final request for a long time and I thought it would be right to go back to where it all started for me: Aemma. So I would like to request a story where the queen had a twin named lovingly after their grandmother Alysanne.It was their mother’s wish that neither of her children would be forced into marriage and she [ Alysanne ] manages to stay unmarried but shares a deep love with Ser Harrold Westerling, going against all to be with the man. I feel like Rhaenyra would trust her with the Ser Harwin Strong secret and that alysanne would always defend her boys so her neice and nephews wouldn't have to suffer, reminding people that Rhaenys' hair was black (which is true lol). Icing on the cake if this is long. But again, you don't have to write this, toats use for brain rot though lol.

It was a damn honor to write this one-shot for you @freelyunlikelykingdom. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the fact that you have so often made your requests to me that were always so nice and interesting to write. Thank you very much. I hope that I can give you joy with this story before the longer break. I will wait patiently for your return on tumblr and my blog (we all do, other followers may also who knows). I will receive you with ready finger on the keyboard for the next request. Also, all the best for the coming time and I hope it is not too exhausting. We see and one day again...and have fun reading.

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Cohesion of blood

warning : tiny fluff , comfort , angst , loss of family , mentions of death , tragic life

masterlist

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Aemma Arryn, later queen and wife of Viserys the First, was a kind woman. Loved by all, she was a true companion to her husband. But in all that time her heart had always belonged to the Eyrie and to Heaven.

But between all the duties, mourning and tasks, there was still someone who would be eternally in her heart. Alysanne Arryn, her twin sister who was only a few minutes younger. But it was these minutes that the two would never forget. Even though they were always connected by blood, it was reproaches that would and did run through their hearts.

Alysanne was named after her grandmother, the kind queen of the previous king. She was the best of both houses of the dragon and the hawk in the sky. Even though both had never really known their mother, they sometimes seemed to be able to feel the loving words and the short holding.

When their young mother held her two daughters and expressed her last wish that flew like a breeze around the high castle. ,,None of my children shall be forced into marriage" her words were weak and yet so clearly audible that it was like the roar of a dragon before she closed her eyes and ascended to the dragon. And so it should remain Aemma fell in love with Viserys at a feast to which they were invited. A perfect couple as it would soon turn out.

But for Alysanne there was nothing more heartfelt than the happiness of her sister. It was the guilt she had been giving herself for years. If I hadn't been born, mother would still be alive she thought too often and seemed to want to make it up to her twin sister with every gesture.

The family had to stick together. And it was true, the family did stick together, even if it was difficult for everyone. But most of all for Alysanne. Because in every beautiful spring when everything is blooming and flourishing, it was the love that she experienced still under the leadership of Jaehaerys.

He was a handsome man who had only recently joined the Kingsguard. A handsome title and virtues he followed. But it was love that united the two. The initial glances, the handing when getting out of the carriage or the lifting up on the saddle. Even when walking the hacking under the pretext of the heat. It was these gentle touches that became the conversations in the garden.

That lasted for hours as he reported on his work and she told him everything about her house and the landscape. But even this led to more behind closed doors and escorted trips to the Eyrie. Love could not be forbidden so close to the gods. But they had never married the possible it would not be. The law forbade it. Nevertheless, love blossomed in the spring and withstood every adversity.

Even if it was the whisper of the court and even Aemma knew it, it was Alysanne who loved him. She loved him and her mother always wanted her to marry someone who would not force her. Two gentle strong souls who had found each other. In the form of the Kingsguard and the twin sister of the Queen or the potential heir of the House of Arryn.

But every spring comes to an end and it becomes dark. Aemma Arryn died giving birth to her second child. She died leaving her twin alone. The horror of that day she would never forget. How they cut her open and she screamed for her life. It was Harrold who had to hold her so that she did not knock the master away. ,,I am so sorry my dear" she heard him say between her screams. But it was over.

Aemma was dead and she was the only daughter left of Daella. The falcon dragon alone and without a twin. The days were dark and full of sorrow. Her house in the heights seemed to become more and more the perfect place. And soon she moved back to the castle alone without Harrold.

It was the loneliness that came to her and flowed through her. Her sobs and cries of grief mingled with the howling of the wind. And never had she blamed herself more for everything. But even so close to the sky, time did not pass imperceptibly.

More than ten years had passed in which she was now the head of the house. A decision that her half-siblings did not really like, but they seemed to accept it. She had grown older, her prime, her young years gone. But it was the afterglow in the sun that showed her beauty. And never did her blood seem stronger for her family than now.

From the heights she had watched everything that happened in King's Landing in her own family. A tragedy. But now she knew that she had to do something soon. The falcon had to swoop down and react. Otherwise Aemma would be forgotten forever. Her gaze went from the portrait of her twin sister to the window.

A blue, sunny, cloudless day hung around the castle. When suddenly a loud screech was heard and a small smile crept onto her lips. My Aemma she thought and the older woman hurriedly went into the courtyard where she saw her beloved niece. ,,Rhaenyra, my dear child!" she exclaimed and embraced the blonde Targaryen.

With each meeting Rhaenyra seemed to show the best of Aemma and Viserys. And for a moment as Rhaenyra looked to Syrax, Aemma seemed to be standing there. Her twin lived on in her daughter, a beautiful thought. A thought that gave her support and security, something she knew would protect her.

Rhaenyra was like her own daughter and sister to her. She would do everything for them, the family held together. But she didn't have to look again to see that there was sadness in the violet Targaryen eyes that she herself had. ,,The winds seem to want to tell me something," she said as she went with Rhaenyra to her personal room. The young woman, who was no longer a little girl, smiled sadly for a moment. ,,Do you read me so well, aunt?" she asked, accepting the glass of wine with thanks. ,,One can see that something is bothering you, my dear child, what is it?" she asked and took a sip of the sweetish wine from Dorne.

She briefly looked at the roundness of the belly of the princess and future queen. Soon she will give birth she thought bitterly and felt her hand tighten around the goblet. It was the birth that had taken everything from her and yet she owed it her life.

A truly macabre irony. ,,My children...Jace and Lucery and little Joffrey" she began and put a hand on her belly. She took a short shaky breath in and out and it seemed to take all her strength not to cry immediately. Gently Alysanne put her hands on Rhaenyra's and pressed softly. ,,They are Ser Harwin Strong's children...they are bastards," she said at last, tears running down her cheeks.

She immediately wrapped her niece in a hug and lovingly stroked her back, trying to take away some of the pain of the secret. She gently embraced Rhaenyra's face and looked into her eyes that resembled Aemma's so infinitely. ,,Rhaenyra, you are the most important thing in my heart. You helped me through my grief, you are like a daughter to me...you give me back Aemma. It doesn't matter if they are bastards, they are your children and my blood and we stick together" she assured and Rhaenyra smiled through her tears. It was a heartfelt moment and she knew only too well how Rhaenyra felt. She herself had sinned. ,,Does anyone know?" she dared to ask and broke away from the embrace.

Shaking her head, she wiped away her tears. ,,No, there are rumors and suspicions, but the queen...she hates her, she has taken over everything," Rhaenyra admitted, and it was guilt that stabbed into the heart of the elder. Slowly she rose and approached a large cage. A hawk was sitting there, looking at her with interested eyes. ,,It is my fault, Rhaenyra, it always has been. First my mother's death, I should have been the older one to save Aemma....in another time I might have been your mother. It is my fault that I left you and Westerling alone" she said and turned back to Rhaenyra who had also stood up.

She opened the cage and the falcon flew onto her shoulder. ,,It's time I do what I missed in mourning" she went to Rhaenyra and slowly knelt down in front of the princess and future queen.

Rhaenyra wanted to make her stand up, but she waved her off. ,,Let me finally do my duty and serve the queen. Let me do my duty as Lady Arryn and be your ally. Let the falcon bring down the tower of the Hightowers and avenge me...let me bring your mother back to you in the cause of justice" she demanded before she rose and Rhaenyra embraced her. ,,We will fly back to King's Landing at once, I will have all the troops ready, I will not leave your side" she said swearing and went with Rhaenyra to the writing table where she started to write the letters and orders. And it came two days later that Lady Alysanne Arryn went with Rhaenyra on Syrax back to King's Landing for ten years.

While the falcon Daella named after her mother flew beside the two. Back in the capital, it was all over the place that the Lady Arryn was back. It had been a long time and her heart contracted as she saw the changes in the castle. The faith of the seven had been enforced and seemed to have taken over everything. She herself remained loyal to the old gods and knew something was wrong as soon as she entered.

Any trace of the dragons and family affiliations seemed gone. No one felt the cohesion of the blood, she thought bitterly as she walked with Rhaenyra into the princess's room. As soon as she entered, she saw the many people who had gathered. The blood of the family was finally together again. ,,Lady Arryn has returned after ten years, a true event," she heard Daemon say, who could not have been more like his elders. Besides Daemon and Rhaenyra, there were two brown-haired boys in the room, as well as Laenor Velaryon, even if he had clearly changed.

In addition, a knight she identified as Harwin Strong. ,,It's changed a lot for the worse since I left I see...but you Daemon are still the same" she said back and saw the short grin on his face. You must be Jace and Lucerys?" she asked acceptingly and walked up to the two. Their blue dress with white accents stood out against the dark colors of the Targaryen, and yet the falcon seemed to belong among the dragons.

Uncertainly the young looked at each other before they shook hands with the woman. She lovingly embraced them both before the younger let out a delighted cry. ,,Is he trained?" he called out questioningly, referring to the hawk that sat back down on the older woman's shoulder. ,,This is Daella, she is like my daughter and friend" she said softly, but she didn't have to look at Rhaenyra to see the sad look.

Alysanne herself had never had children and it was quite lonely so high in the sky. But she would not complain. She knew she was too old to bear children without dying. If she died, her half-siblings would take care of the order.

She let the two young ones play with the bird and was about to go to Harwin and Laenor when the door opened. ,,Birdie?" sounded astonished and Alysanne turned around. ,,Harrold" came like a breath from her lips before she rushed to the older knight and embraced him. Tears gathered in her eyes as she was reunited with her love.

She felt his hands stroking her back soothingly. His heart was beating just as fast as hers and yet he did not look a bit ugly in her eyes. A kiss, gentle yet intimate, was exchanged and apologies ran across her mouth. ,,Well, that's a surprise," Laenor said and chuckled. ,,Not only you have your secrets" said the knight and the others seemed to have nothing to say about it. And for a short moment it seemed that everything was fine.

Until a few weeks later, when the dinner came. The dinner that was supposed to make everything better but just made everything worse. It was also the first time in ten years that she had her supposed family together again. But deep inside they were all dead. The only ones who lived on were Harrold and Rhaenyra, next to her house.

Briefly, there was disgust in her gaze when she saw Aegon, a boy without self-control, and his brother Aemond, a quiet yet handsome man. Only the daughter Helena seemed to have got the good nature Viserys. She was the only one, besides Viserys, Daemon, Corlys and Rhaenys, who seemed to be left from the old times.

And yet in all this time she has never had so much power as she has now. The entire green valley of House Arryn was behind her. Even if she did not own a dragon, her troops were dangerous. A falcon was more nimble and agile than a dragon, and the green ones seemed to forget that. 

The dragon is decaying under the stones of the green she thought and took a sip of her wine as she smiled at Viserys. The once good friend was a shadow of his former self. The sickness and the throne had not spared him. Everything seemed to become even more gloomy and only the sun above the castle of the Eyrie of her house seemed to shine.

In her eye, none of the children deserved a dragon. She also had none, which is why she was alone. Aemma rode Syrax with Viserys only a few times, but it was a long, long time ago. ,,It's good to have you back," she heard Viserys say softly, and he also took a sip of wine. ,,It's been too long...but a lot has changed in that time. But she is still watching over us" she said and saw Alicent's jealous look.

Alysanne knew that the queen did not like to talk about Aemma and yet it seemed that the old queen, the pretty hawk, was still flying around them all and playing her role. ,,You don't have a husband Lady Alysanne or is it the knight?" Alicent suddenly asked without warning and it became silent at the table. ,,No, I have no husband, no king like yours. Many knights have asked for my hand, you must be more precise," she answered, and Daella shrieked and flew onto the back of the chair. ,,I think you know exactly which knight I mean," Alicent said and was about to retreat when Aegon intervened. ,,You've been whoring with this Westerling for more than three decades," he said, and even a blind man could recognize the alcohol on him. ,,Just like them and those bastards!" he hissed and this time it was Alysanne's turn to jump up.

Daella shrieked again and looked excitedly at the people with her black eyes. ,,Shut your tongue, you foolish boy. A person born of intrigue and treachery doesn't talk about his family like that. You nest here, kill the dragon and call your own blood bastard. Are you so blind that you overlook the obvious?" she asked, and the others had also mostly stood up. ,,And that is?" asked Otto, who looked at her darkly and coldly. ,,They are her children with Laenor, they are perfectly normal. You forget that Rhaenys also has black hair because of the Barathons, it is perfectly normal and you are fighting like a bunch of children for the throne" she said bitterly and saw that the truths and lies were finally revealed. ,,A wretch doesn't talk about the king like that" Aemond said and approached her. ,,This is the Lady Alysanne Arryn, the guardian of the Green Valley and its vassals. The twin sister of the former queen Aemma Arryn show her more respect," Harrold said, stepping from his post and standing in front of her. ,,Enough! You all get along now!" Viserys shouted, visibly exhausted, sinking back into his chair.

But he was right, it was enough, it was over. The reign of Viserys the First passed and what he left behind was a broken family. The black and the green rose and with them a war. A war that she knew would be the end of the dragons, the Targaryen. And it would be. The more days passed the more she lost. First it was Rhaenyra's children before Daemond and Rhaenys died. Finally Rhaenyra was taken from her. But in that time she was not idle, on the contrary. She supported Rhaenyra with her troops as good as she could. And she had half an army due to the size of her vassals.

In the end, it was she herself who beheaded Otto Hightower in her made armor and ruled over King's Landing with Rhaenyra. She was inherited in the green valley as a wind dragon and even if she was never a Targaryen Daemon thought that she was worthy of a dragon. And while the war raged there was hope in the form of the marriage between her and Ser Harrold Westerling. Before they both ruled the green valley as Lady and Lord Arryn after the war. And they still stood after the wars. The hawk had won and brought justice to Aemma. And she thought she saw in the winds even her deceased family members. Because no matter what would happen she knew family, your own flesh and blood would stick together forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[halfyearsqueen]

Character development question: 1. What is Rhaenyra's bond with Syrax like? Was it strange growing up with two parents who had no dragons of their own? 2. Has Rhaenyra ever met her aunts and uncles on her mother's side? Has she visited the Eyrie? 3. How does he behave towards her Ladies and maids?

please send me character development questions. | @wcrriorhearts

her bond with syrax is ? it's something that both feels like syrax is another limb of hers, and is ? her closest companion. what they have is both a partnership and something that is ? magical and difficult for her to even begin to unravel beyond the fact she ? simply knows that she feels what she feels. they know each other's pain and react to it instinctively. she's never really known a world without her in it and doesn't want to . her bond with syrax is something uniquely special to her because so much of it is just ? not being alone. never being alone. and even when she doesn't / can't ride she goes to the pits to visit her anyway, when she can. and i think due to how much eggs were laid from her dragon alone and the fact the majority of dragon riders while she was growing up where already claimed, older dragons - i don't think she thought it that odd at all beyond a sadness for the fact balerion had passed. and like ? the fact aemma never got the chance to claim a dragon is something that fills her with a renewed sense of grief because ? so much of her mother's life was devoted to the act of siring an heir for viserys, she doesn't know if she ever wanted to beyond the fact she simply ? did not . but so much of her wishes that she could've known that feeling of freedom that rhaenyra herself feels upon dragonback.

she's ? met one of her aunts more then once, but for the most part no she hasn't. jeyne's father, aemma's oldest half brother, died the year rhaenyra was born. and her second uncle likely passed as well while she was too young to really remember him. as for aemma's eldest sister ? she has spoken to her once, at aemma's funeral. the aunt she is the closest with is her aunt amanda massey, nee arryn. who married the lord of massey's hook in the year 100. as to whether or not she has visited the eyrie, she went all of once - on tour in 112AC when it came to finding suitors to make a potential match with. it was there she met her older cousin jeyne in person - which was ? the only time she spoke to her before the dance. she would later send her eldest son to the eyrie to squire for her cousin circa 126AC, where he would later spend the next year.

rhaenyra treats her ladies in wait like sisters. they're both her only real friends and the people she's been close to the longest without any sort of complications getting in the way of that bond. but there's also a sense of responsibility there as well when it comes to their futures, and how they are very much noblewomen, yes, but they are still ? their futures hinge on their performances in her household. she is above them socially, and she knows that any action she might take in court could well reflect badly on them in the long run. they are family to her, but she's fully aware of the duty she has toward them in finding them suitable matches and giving them that feeling of a choice that she never really had when she was wed. with her maids she's ? she's kind to her maids. they don't do anything to her personally to warrant anything else, and like ? they do help her. their assistance and their ? support is something she does appreciate a great deal. but she's also fully aware that she has a higher duty to them then anyone in her household. it's less about politics and more about their livelihoods.

[wcrriorhearts]

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 — send 💭 + a topic to receive a headcanon about said topic.

@asoulunbound said: 💭 + first years in King's Landing for Aemma

Aemma was ten years old, when the betrothal to Viserys was decided and her father sent the child to King's Landing, so that she could get used to living there, before she would be married the following year. During her childhood, Aemma had regularly visited the capital for name days and other festivities and always loved it. Her beloved grandmother Queen Alysanne was there, as well as her cousins. Aemma had always loved Rhaenys and Daemon dearly, because her older cousin treated her like a little sister and Daemon was a whirlwind who entertained her.

So coming to King's Landing was very exciting at first, but it would be a lie to deny that the novelty wore off after a week or two and Aemma began missing her home. She missed the Vale and her father, as well as her older siblings, even though she had never been truly close to them, but knowing she COULD NOT go back home to them again made everything feel very heavy and definite. Marriage meant very little to a ten year old child and she had seen the whole ordeal like and adventure at first, but the gravity of it all began weighing on her after a while. Nonetheless, the first two years were the happiest of her childhood. With Daemon around, who was only a year older than her, she had a constant play mate and companion around, who was taught alongside her and who dragged her along to explore and have fun. She had grown up as the only child at the Eyrie, with all of her siblings 20+ years older than her, so having a cousin her age was thrilling. Even though Aemma was betrothed to Viserys, her was already 16 at the time and not very interested in the shenanigans of two literal children, so she spent much more time with Daemon than her future husband - or husband, because even after they were married, her life did not change at first.

She remained in her childhood bedroom after their wedding and life continued as normal for almost two more years. Two years in which she was educated as before, played in her free time & was allowed to be a child. Almost all of her favorite childhood memories included Daemon in some shape and form, or Rhaenys, who she visited in Driftmark as much as her grandparents allowed, getting to know her cousin's children and enjoying time away from the Keep. Unlike her cousins, Aemma never claimed a dragon and never wanted to. She admired the boys for the fact that they were dragon riders, but it was not something that quiet, gentle Aemma desired for herself and no one ever pushed her to. Her grandfather was not someone who supported dragons and therefore he was not disappointed in Daella's child for not claiming one of her own.

Her childhood ended a month after her thirteenth name day, when she bled for the first time and Viserys insisted on taking his child bride to his bed, against the advice of the Grand Maester and his grandmother, who worried about Aemma's well being, given how young she was. That day everything changed and her life of freedom, adventure and happiness was over in the span of a single night, because she went from being a child, to being considered a woman and a short time later she was already pregnant for the first time, which ended in the birth of her son, who died a week into his life in the cradle. Nothing was ever the same and Aemma spent years after missing the innocence of those early years in King's Landing, when she had believed her life would always be this way: filled with fun, laughter, her cousins and no worries in the world. Instead she lost her childhood, Daemon was sent away, she was no longer allowed to visit Rhaenys frequently and her life was soon dictated by pregnancies and loss, as well as the pressure placed on her of having to produce an heir.

[impossible-rat-babies]

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss for eyrie/zenos, i am begging...

ty azia <3 i went off the deep end in their weird mutual pining situation

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss [1k words]

'Tis a bitterly cold morning in Ishgard.

The wind blows down from the peaks of Abalathia's Spine to cover the city in a fresh layer of powdery snow; the rolling thick grey clouds above promising more to come. The air stings the tips of Eyrie’s ears as they step off the stoop of the House Fortemps estate and they almost wish they could go back inside.

Lord Edmont would gladly entertain them the rest of the day if they so desired; hours of conversations over a dozen pots of tea and a constant warm hearth. Continue the conversation into dinner and sweet wine while he showed them the beginnings of his memoir. A suggestion that instead of heading back to the inn for the night that they could stay in one of the guest rooms.

Eyrie knows Edmont wants only the best for them—an open hearth and home for their aching feet and weary heart.

Another day, perhaps. A promise made in clasped hands and soft smiles that they would visit in the next few months.

But a long road awaits them with chocobos to rent to cross the wastes to Western Coerthas and beyond still to the Hinterlands and Idyllshire. Long stretches of travel made necessary by their companion.

Sighing, they squint against the familiar pain in the back of their eyes. Readjusting their glasses, they turn to look for a familiar shape. Further down the road--past the lines of houses to the edge of the Pillars they spy him.

Fresh snow crunches beneath their heavy boots as they take the steps in sets of two, moving past the lamp post to the raised dais that overlooks the Foundation.

Against the grey clouds and spires of Ishgard cutting through the ever present fog below, Zenos stands an impressive figure. Ever filling the space around him—ever drawing eyes to look. And yet no one stares. No one dares to approach. Alone, the trails of his coat flutter in the breeze and stray hairs dance along—hand resting lazily on the hilt of the sword at his side.

They step up onto the dais, folding their arms across their chest.

“Are you finished?” Zenos speaks, looking down at them as they approach.

They give a slow nod, pausing to peer down upon the city. Far below, the faint glow of the aetheryte is outlined the mist beside the pin pricks of lamps lit to combat the fog. It sticks in the crevices of the city like the cold and wet ice of snowfall after snowfall. The people are like shadows from this dizzying height as they shuffle about their day; not a wit given to those staring down at them from above. Just like the thick flakes of snow that will merely turn to slush beneath worn leather boots.

It would be trite to say the view did not hold too many memories for them—of the long conversations with Haurchefant shared over bottles of wine with the sunset to keep them company. The bone deep loneliness of sunrises spent without him--a gnawing hole in their ribcage. An empty bottle.

“Kisne…?”

They look up when he says their name so quietly, brow furrowed. He stares down at them, lashes long enough they wonder how frost doesn’t cling to them. Concern written in how close he stands to them— in the line of his lips thick with words unspoken. There's the urge to press a hand to his stomach to push him away. To keep their space, but Eyrie's hand curls to a loose fist instead.

They look away, shoving their hands into their armpits. Their voice is heavy--tongue like lead.

"'Tis nothing, Galvus. I know this view well is all that troubles me. It looks to the south--Central Coerthas stretches past the Gates of Judgement to the mountains on the horizon." They pause, a sigh escaping their lips and they squint. "I know naught when I will get the chance to see it again."

They promised Edmont a visit, and yet the months feel longer with each passing year. Time stretching out--aching and thin as it wears itself into their bones.

"Your eyes trouble you." He says to break the silence only the snow can bring.

A smile comes unbidden to their lips and they look up at him again.

"Aye, that too. Can you find my blindfold in my pack? I thought glasses would suffice for the day."

Without a word, Zenos searches their bag, finding one of the many with ease. They reach out to take the blindfold from him, but he pushes their hand aside without a word. Their sound of protest ignored and any further qualms silenced.

Zeno's hand are far gentler then he has any right to be out in public as he takes their glasses. Folds them with care even as he leans down to affix their blindfold; fingertips brushing against cold flushed cheeks as he ties the back together. Tenderly he pulls out hairs stuck beneath like he's done it a dozen times before.

And yet he's only watched before. Allowed them the privacy of this small ritual and dared not offer his help. He stares not at their eyes as his hands linger on their cheeks far longer than they should; the warmth of his palms seeping into their cheeks as he smooths a wrinkle on the edge of the fabric.

Not unlike their own hands this morning--fixing his eye patch. Brushing his own hand aside to do it themselves. Whispering that they wanted to do it as they both sat half dressed from the night before as the grey morning light washed the inn room in its fog like haze. Letting their touch linger along with their eyes--staring far too long to be considered polite. Far too soft for the people that they are and the ways they share a bed.

Far too much for how he held their hand and pressed a kiss into their palm.

Opening their mouth to speak, but Zenos pulls away before the words even come to their lips. Their breath escapes in a rush of foggy air instead, feeling him tuck their glasses. The cold stealing what warmth he left behind from their skin.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

"Yes." They nod mostly to themselves, the moment fading to the dull cold. "The road awaits."

[rememberences]

who: @longbowhalllord​ where: the eyrie, the kingdom of the vale when: following the coronation of queen ravella arryn, upon hearing of the disappearance of the princess maddalena

The sound of Graham Royce's footsteps echoing within the narrow hallways of the sparkling castle nestled within the Mountains of the Moon was hardly anything new for any to pick up on; for his presence had passed through these stained glass windows time and time again. There was a kinship shared between himself and Lord Tristan Hunter, one that the Hand of the King had respected and valued since prior to his role upon any small council or within any council chamber. There was no denying the importance he placed upon the root and the bond of family and blood, and thus, their relationship and communication continued.

Even though there were times where the man wished Tristan Hunter could offer more to discussions than a disappointed sigh and a knowing look from across a table; despite the fact he no doubt agreed with the man for the majority of the conversations that were held over the council table, he knew the man was the most experienced and the most dependable. He was the essence of the honour of the Vale itself; truthful, steadfast, and utterly loyal.

Still, he made his way toward the apartments of the Master of Laws, briefly seeing the man's son Martyn in the hallway. Lord Royce paused to have a brief conversation with the boy, who no doubt would have heard of the disappearance of his close companion the Princess. When the governess continued on her way with the child, he continued to Tristan's chambers, allowing for the guards to make his presence known before entering the chambers. "My Lord." He greeted, his tone formal; he was always formal upon their first meeting, as though it were part of nature itself for him.

"I have just come across Martryn." Graham spoke, remaining stood with his arms crossed over his middle as the door closed behind them; his eyes looking over the desk. "How is he taking the news of the Princess?" There was another matter he wished to speak to the man of, a certain Tully Princess that had been a subject of the Master of Law's correspondence to the River King - though there were more pressing matters.

This was a difficult time, though that had begun to feel like the norm at this rate; how it seemed tragedy had made a home within the Mountains of the Moon and their great Kingdom. The missing Princess was only the latest issue, and they all suspected the same; the same nuisance that had always plagued them, those clans. Searches had been sent out headed by the Lord Commander, who was always ready to seemingly spread his hate and infect something, somewhere else. There was no quenching the flames of disgust and rage within him.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Sansa VII (Chapter 80)

My little snow angel! ❄️🥰

Tandem chapter alert: <- Jon XII, ASOS

Quick summary from @esther-dot. :)

But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie. And I am Alayne Stone, a bastard girl. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping, but this dream had not been like that. Home. It was a dream of home.

Lots of dreaming the past few chapters.

When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. Later, when he was older, he had been ashamed of those dreams. - Jon XI, ASOS

x

<- Jon XII

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

+.+.+

The Eyrie was no home. It was no bigger than Maegor's Holdfast, and outside its sheer white walls was only the mountain and the long treacherous descent past Sky and Snow and Stone to the Gates of the Moon on the valley floor. 

It's everyone's favourite waycastles! A bit disappointing they're not holding hands this time.

She could see Sky six hundred feet below, and the stone steps carved into the mountain, the winding way that led past Snow and Stone all the way down to the valley floor. - Alayne I, AFFC

x

Steep stone steps crept up the mountainside past the waycastles Stone and Snow, but they came to an end at Sky. - Alayne I, AFFC

+.+.+

Aside from her aged maid, Sansa's only companion was the Lord Robert, eight going on three.

Lol.

+.+.+

Lysa was as lonely as she was. Her new husband seemed to spend more time at the foot of the mountain than he did atop it. He was gone now, had been gone the past four days, meeting with the Corbrays. From bits and pieces of overheard conversations Sansa knew that Jon Arryn's bannermen resented Lysa's marriage and begrudged Petyr his authority as Lord Protector of the Vale. The senior branch of House Royce was close to open revolt over her aunt's failure to aid Robb in his war, and the Waynwoods, Redforts, Belmores, and Templetons were giving them every support. 

It's The Grand Vale Conspiracy!

The Corbrays are singled out before that nugget.

+.+.+

The mountain clans were being troublesome as well

Thanks for the constant reminder.

+.+.+

That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning. Hullen had helped her mount, and she'd ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world. I thought my song was beginning that day, but it was almost done.

Don't worry, I think I hear the band tuning up your favourite song.

He remembered Robb as he had last seen him, standing in the yard with snow melting in his auburn hair. - Jon IX, AGOT

+.+.+

She pushed her pillow away reluctantly, threw back the blankets, went to her window, and opened the shutters.

[...]

Sansa left the shutters open as she dressed. It would be cold, she knew, though the Eyrie's towers encircled the garden and protected it from the worst of the mountain winds. 

Ned!

He crossed the room, pulled back the heavy tapestries, and threw open the high narrow windows one by one, letting the night air into the chamber.

The wind swirled around him as he stood facing the dark, naked and empty-handed. - Catelyn II, AGOT

+.+.+

She donned silken smallclothes and a linen shift, and over that a warm dress of blue lambswool. Two pairs of hose for her legs, boots that laced up to her knees, heavy leather gloves, and finally a hooded cloak of soft white fox fur.

My little white snow fox!

+.+.+

When she opened the door to the garden, it was so lovely that she held her breath, unwilling to disturb such perfect beauty. The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground.

+.+.+

All color had fled the world outside. It was a place of whites and blacks and greys. White towers and white snow and white statues, black shadows and black trees, the dark grey sky above. A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here.

I sometimes forget no colour isn't always a negative thing for these Starks.

<- Jon XII

You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here.

+.+.+

Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. 

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses

❤️❤️❤️

She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips.

❤️❤️❤️

It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

Rewind!

AGOT:

Prologue: ice threat introduction.

Final chapter: fire threat introduction.

ACOK:

Prologue: cold-hearted King Stannis with his dying maester.

Final chapter: kindhearted King Bran with his dying maester.

ASOS:

Prologue: Chett, drifting snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

Final chapter: Sansa, drifting snowflakes, and...?

Snow was falling.

vs.

Snow was falling on the Eyrie.

___

What was wrong with him? He could hardly breathe. Had he gone to sleep? 

vs.

Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? 

[...]

it was so lovely that she held her breath

___

It was a heavy fall, thick white flakes coming down all about him. 

[...]

The snow was drifting in to cover him. 

vs.

The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. 

___

He got to his knees, and something wet and cold touched his nose. Chett looked up.

vs.

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling.

___

He could feel tears freezing to his cheeks.

[...]

He felt as though he were being attacked by a cloud of pale cold bugs. They settled on his shoulders, on his head, they flew at his nose and his eyes. Cursing, he brushed them off.

vs.

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks.

[...]

She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips.

___

It isn't fair, he wanted to scream. Snow would ruin everything he'd worked for, all his careful plans. 

[...]

There’d be no lord’s life for the leechman’s son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. 

[...]

The snow's taken it all from me . . . the bloody snow . . .

Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig.

vs.

It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

[...]

Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. 

Chett associates the falling snow with Jon Snow, but in this almost identical scene, please don't believe Sansa's ghostly silent drifting snowflakes are Jon Snow. That would be silly.

+.+.+

At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground

Oh no, Alyssa's broken and half-buried.

+.+.+

It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for.

Would someone feed these poor kids?

<- Jon XII

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it.

+.+.+

But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

We can't have a godswood without a weirwood! Isn't that right, Jon?

I believe that's the second time we've been told this about the Eyrie.

The builders had intended it as a godswood, but the Eyrie rested on the hard stone of the mountain, and no matter how much soil was hauled up from the Vale, they could not get a weirwood to take root here. - Catelyn VII, AGOT

Weirwoods don't take root here. Got it!

Who's the weirwood?

Will they lay Sansa down naked beneath the Iron Throne after they have killed her? Will her skin seem as white, her blood as red? - Catelyn III, ASOS

x

In their midst was a pale stranger; a slender young weirwood with a trunk as white as a cloistered maid. Dark red leaves sprouted from its reaching branches. - Brienne IV, AFFC

x

Ahead he glimpsed a pale white trunk that could only be a weirwood, crowned with a head of dark red leaves. - Jon VII, ADWD

Got it!

+.+.+

She remembered a summer's snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They'd each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she'd had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she'd slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn't, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing.

❤️

+.+.+

What do I want with snowballs? She looked at her sad little arsenal. There's no one to throw them at. She let the one she was making drop from her hand. I could build a snow knight instead, she thought. Or even . . .

Maybe you could put him right next to the dragon knight.

The hollow knights are turning into dragons, she thought. - Sansa V, ASOS

Second and last time 'snow knight' will be written in the text. Both times appear to be strongly suggesting something about children (in forests).

"Sam the Slayer!" he said, by way of greeting. "Are you sure you stabbed an Other, and not some child's snow knight?" - Samwell V, ASOS

+.+.+

She pushed two of her snowballs together, added a third

No comment.

+.+.+

When it was done, she stood it on end and used the tip of her little finger to poke holes in it for windows. The crenellations around the top took a little more care, but when they were done she had a tower. I need some walls now, Sansa thought, and then a keep. She set to work.

The snow fell and the castle rose. 

Whenever I read that last sentence I remove the word fell, and smile.

What's happening?? Is she building what I think she's building?? :D

<- Jon XII

Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

+.+.+

It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood.

Sansa plants trees.

+.+.+

For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with the steep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top . . .

Imagine believing this doesn't lead to Sansa rebuilding Winterfell. Good lord, buy a lifeline.

+.+.+

Was my lady well? Did she wish to break her fast? Sansa shook her head, and went back to shaping snow, adding a chimney to one end of the Great Hall, where the hearth would stand inside.

Dawn stole into her garden like a thief. The grey of the sky grew lighter still, and the trees and shrubs turned a dark green beneath their stoles of snow. 

I never know what to make of that.

+.+.+

Her bridges kept falling down. There was a covered bridge between the armory and the main keep, and another that went from the fourth floor of the bell tower to the second floor of the rookery, but no matter how carefully she shaped them, they would not hold together. The third time one collapsed on her, she cursed aloud and sat back in helpless frustration.

Broken bridges. Is that a metaphor? Feels like it.

+.+.+

"Pack the snow around a stick, Sansa."

She did not know how long he had been watching her, or when he had returned from the Vale.

+.+.+

"That will give it strength enough to stand, I'd think," Petyr said. "May I come into your castle, my lady?"

Sansa was wary. "Don't break it. Be . . ."

". . . gentle?" He smiled. "Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?"

Fuck off.

+.+.+

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

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

That's you, Sansa. It's a dark and cold place for others.

+.+.+

She stood, towering over the great white castle. "I can't think how to do the glass roof over the gardens."

We can't forget to build the glass gardens!

Glass, Jon mused, might be of use here. Castle Black needs its own glass gardens, like the ones at Winterfell. We could grow vegetables even in the deep of winter. - Jon VII, ADWD

x

'All I ask is a flower,' Bael answered, 'the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o' Winterfell.'"

Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious. So the Stark sent to his glass gardens and commanded that the most beautiful o' the winter roses be plucked for the singer's payment. - Jon VI, ACOK

x

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

Littlefinger stroked his chin, where his beard had been before Lysa had asked him to shave it off. 

Me thinks Lysa wants Petyr looking like his younger self.

Gross. Weirdo.

+.+.+

He moved through the garden, gathering up twigs and sticks and shaking the snow from them. When he had enough, he stepped over both walls with a single long stride and squatted on his heels in the middle of the yard.

Whoopsie daisy!

And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow. - Arya VIII, ASOS

x

The Titan of Braavos. Old Nan had told them stories of the Titan back in Winterfell. He was a giant as tall as a mountain - Arya I, AFFC

x

The device painted on the shield was one Sansa did not know; a grey stone head with fiery eyes, upon a light green field. "My grandfather's shield," Petyr explained when he saw her gazing at it. "His own father was born in Braavos and came to the Vale as a sellsword in the hire of Lord Corbray, so my grandfather took the head of the Titan as his sigil when he was knighted." - Sansa VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa came closer to watch what he was doing. His hands were deft and sure, and before long he had a crisscrossing latticework of twigs, very like the one that roofed the glass gardens of Winterfell. 

You know, it just occurred to me that Sansa is using Petyr to help build the castle.

Lol, sucker.

+.+.+

"This is just right," she said.

He touched her face. "And so is that."

Sansa did not understand. "And so is what?"

"Your smile, my lady. Shall I make another for you?"

"If you would."

"Nothing could please me more."

+.+.+

When she used sticks for the covered bridges, they stood, just as he had said they would. 

Crisis averted, the bridges stand!

+.+.+

The First Keep was simple enough, an old round drum tower, but Sansa was stymied again when it came to putting the gargoyles around the top. Again he had the answer. "It's been snowing on your castle, my lady," he pointed out. "What do the gargoyles look like when they're covered with snow?"

Like Jon Snow?

"Yes. The gods have been kind to you, Sansa. You are a lovely girl. It seems almost obscene to squander such sweet innocence on that gargoyle."

"What gargoyle?" Sansa did not understand. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

Heat rose shimmering through the chill air; behind, the gargoyles and stone dragons on the castle walls seemed blurred, as if Davos were seeing them through a veil of tears. - Davos I, ACOK

x

In place of merlons, a thousand grotesques and gargoyles looked down on him, each different from all the others; wyverns - Davos V, ASOS

+.+.+

The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they'd raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. 

Sansa flinging snow that slid to his neck.

+.+.+

"That was unchivalrously done, my lady."

"As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home."

She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

Wait until we do it again.

+.+.+

"I told you that nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more." He stepped closer. "This."

+.+.+

Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss . . . before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?"

I change my mind, there is a Trauma Olympics, and having to run through a gauntlet of Joffrey Baratheon, Sandor Clegane, Tyrion Lannister, and Petyr Baelish instantly makes you the winner.

+.+.+

"What are you doing?" Petyr straightened his cloak. "Kissing a snow maid."

That's Snow's maid!

+.+.+

I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub

"Well, you are a free man now, but if you will not have the girl, best find yourself a she-bear. - Jon II, ASOS

+.+.+

You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands."

give me your hand

give me your hand

give me your hand

+.+.+

"I won't."

DECLINED!

+.+.+

He sounded almost like Marillion, the night he'd gotten so drunk at the wedding. Only this time Lothor Brune would not appear to save her

Sansa's going to have to save herself this time.

+.+.+

"You shouldn't kiss me. I might have been your own daughter . . ."

"Might have been," he admitted, with a rueful smile. "But you're not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age."

"Petyr, please." Her voice sounded so weak. "Please . . ."

God, he's so deranged. Like, at least I understand Joffrey's mental disorder.

+.+.+

"It's not so great." The boy knelt before the gatehouse. "Look, here comes a giant to knock it down." He stood his doll in the snow and moved it jerkily. "Tromp tromp I'm a giant, I'm a giant," he chanted. "Ho ho ho, open your gates or I'll mash them and smash them." Swinging the doll by the legs, he knocked the top off one gatehouse tower and then the other.

It was more than Sansa could stand. "Robert, stop that." Instead he swung the doll again, and a foot of wall exploded. She grabbed for his hand but she caught the doll instead. There was a loud ripping sound as the thin cloth tore. Suddenly she had the doll's head, Robert had the legs and body, and the rag-and-sawdust stuffing was spilling in the snow.

Well, I don't know about Tyrion Lannister, but I know another giant who should immediately start worrying about his head.

Who truly killed [beheaded] Eddard Stark, do you think? Joffrey, who gave the command? Ser Ilyn Payne, who swung the sword? Or . . . another?" - Tyrion II, ACOK

x

Varys and Littlefinger were no more loyal, he suspected . . . only more subtle, and thus more dangerous. Perhaps his father's way would have been best: summon Ilyn Payne, mount three heads above the gates, and have done. And wouldn't that be a pretty sight, he thought. - Tyrion VI, ACOK

x

"Dear dear Petyr," said Varys, "are you not concerned that yours might be the next name on the Hand's little list?"

"Before you, Varys? I should never dream of it."

"Mayhaps we will be brothers on the Wall together, you and I." Varys giggled again. - Tyrion VIII, ACOK

Which wall?

+.+.+

Lord Robert's mouth trembled. "You killlllllllled him," he wailed.

She sure did.

+.+.+

"Help him to my chambers," Colemon told the guards. "A leeching will help calm him."

"It was my fault." Sansa showed them the doll's head. "I ripped his doll in two. I never meant to, but . . ."

"His lordship was destroying the castle," said Petyr.

"A giant," the boy whispered, weeping. "It wasn't me, it was a giant hurt the castle. She killed him! I hate her! She's a bastard and I hate her! I don't want to be leeched!"

So, who's cutting off his head?

Sansa, Arya, and Bran are incapable of beheading a man. Theon couldn't even do it properly.

Slashing Littlefinger's throat in the Great Hall, and letting him bleed out like a pig on the floor for an audience is not George R. R. Martin writing. That's not what we want to see kids doing.

Winterfell has no headsman, and never will.

Jon is not going to Dragonstone, please don't make me laugh.

So, who's cutting off his head?

+.+.+

They led the boy away. My lord husband, Sansa thought, as she contemplated the ruins of Winterfell. The snow had stopped, and it was colder than before. She wondered if Lord Robert would shake all through their wedding. At least Joffrey was sound of body. 

This is why I love when that side of the fandom loses their mind over Sansa wishing for the Hound instead of Ser Dontos.

She does this a lot. She'll do it again with Tyrion in a second. This is how low the bar is.

+.+.+

A mad rage seized hold of her. She picked up a broken branch and smashed the torn doll's head down on top of it, then pushed it down atop the shattered gatehouse of her snow castle. The servants looked aghast, but when Littlefinger saw what she'd done he laughed. "If the tales be true, that's not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell's walls."

Winterfell's walls! What a perfect place for a head. I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, jackass.

It recently occurred to me that two of our three major giants lose their head in this story. No, not the doll. The other infamous giant.

Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood. - Bran III, AGOT

x

Those as say the giants are all dead never saw this one, I swear. Big as an ox he was, and a voice like stone breaking."

"The Mountain!" Ser Marq said loudly. - Eddard XI, AGOT

x

Hot Pie was kneeling too, before the tallest man Arya had ever seen, a monster from one of Old Nan's stories. She never saw where the giant had come from. - Arya V, ACOK

Gregor Clegane loses his head. Petyr Baelish will lose his head. All eyes on Tyrion Lannister?

Is there any old legends about giants losing their heads that I'm not aware of?

+.+.+

Sansa would have welcomed banishment. The Gates of the Moon was much larger than the Eyrie, and livelier as well. Lord Nestor Royce seemed gruff and stern, but his daughter Myranda kept his castle for him, and everyone said how frolicsome she was. Even Sansa's supposed bastardy might not count too much against her below. One of King Robert's baseborn daughters was in service to Lord Nestor, and she and the Lady Myranda were said to be fast friends, as close as sisters.

A great sign this is the first thing we learn about Myranda.

+.+.+

I will tell my aunt that I don't want to marry Robert. Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows.

Sure thing Jon, you go tell Stannis you have no interest in marrying Val.

Can we take a second to go through this book again, and laugh?

Jon II: gifted a new sheepskin wildling cloak

Sansa III: gifted a new maiden cloak, switched to a Lannister cloak

Jon III: Ygritte insists they're married, because she was stolen

Sansa III: forced to marry Tyrion Lannister

Jon V: dying man, chaos, runs away from his unwanted marriage

Sansa V: dying king, chaos, runs away from her unwanted marriage

Jon XI: How would you like to marry this sofa that looks eerily similar to Sansa Stark?

Sansa VI: How would you like to marry your cousin?

Jon XII: No thank you, Stannis.

Sansa VII: No thank you, Lysa.

Is this hard to notice? I don't know, I don't think so.

+.+.+

Sansa felt sorry for her little cousin sometimes, but she could not imagine ever wanting to be his wife. I would sooner be married to Tyrion again. 

There it is.

Major "Sorry Val, I prefer Ygritte" energy.

+.+.+

"Lady Lysa requires your presence in the High Hall." The singer's eyes undressed her as he spoke, but she was used to that.

Would the author let this girl breathe for five seconds?

+.+.+

To hear the servants talk, Sansa was not the first maid to suffer his advances, and the others had not had Lothor Brune to defend them. But Lady Lysa would hear no complaints against him. 

What are you saying exactly?

+.+.+

Since coming to the Eyrie, the singer had become her favorite. He sang Lord Robert to sleep every night, and tweaked the noses of Lady Lysa's suitors with verses that made mock of their foibles. Her aunt had showered him with gold and gifts; costly clothes, a gold arm ring, a belt studded with moonstones, a fine horse. She had even given him her late husband's favorite falcon. It all served to make Marillion unfailingly courteous in Lady Lysa's presence, and unfailingly arrogant outside it.

The allure of singers. The most powerful men in all of Westeros.

+.+.+

Littlefinger had dismissed the Eyrie's captain of guards and put Ser Lothor Brune in his place.

Tyrion-esque move. And they all abandoned Tyrion.

I want to believe in Lothor Brune so badly.

+.+.+

"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her."

And when I told you the tale o' Bael the Bard and how he plucked the rose o' Winterfell, I thought you'd know to pluck me then for certain, but you didn't. - Jon III, ASOS

x

He doesn't remember, Sansa realized, startled. He is only being kind to me, he doesn't remember me or the rose or any of it. She had been so certain that it meant something, that it meant everything. A red rose, not a white. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

He could tell she did not believe him. If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. - Jon III, ASOS

x

"I will not have the rose and the direwolf in bed together," declared Lord Tywin. - Tyrion III, ASOS

+.+.+

"No one is to enter so long as Alayne is with Lady Lysa," Marillion told them.

"Aye." The men let them pass, then crossed their spears. Marillion swung the doors shut and barred them with a third spear, longer and thicker than those the guards had borne.

Sansa felt a prickle of unease. "Why did you do that?"

"My lady awaits you."

The mother sings her grief for her dead son, Sansa thought, but Marillion grieves for his fingers, for his eyes. - Alayne I, AFFC

If you're looking for rational, unbiased takes on Marillion, you have come to the wrong place.

+.+.+

She looked about uncertainly. Lady Lysa sat on the dais in a high-backed chair of carved weirwood, alone. 

I don't get the weirwood chair, or weirwood Moon Door.

Meh, probably nothing.

+.+.+

Sansa stopped before the dais, and curtsied. "My lady. You sent for me." She could still hear the sound of the wind

Given this is a chapter that heavily features Winterfell architecture, and Sansa almost being pushed out of a tower, I looked hard for Bran, but didn't find him.

Is it the wind? Doubtful, the wind is not her friend in this chapter.

I've noticed he seems to follow Jon and Arya more. I suppose he's taking the Ned Stark approach: don't worry about Sansa.

+.+.+

The High Hall seemed to grow a little colder. The walls and floor and columns might have turned to ice. "He kissed me."

Lysa's nostrils flared. "And why would he do that? He has a wife who loves him. A woman grown, not a little girl. He has no need for the likes of you. Confess, child. You threw yourself at him. That was the way of it."

Sansa took a step backward. "That's not true."

"Where are you going? Are you afraid? Such wanton behavior must be punished, but I will not be hard on you. 

"So you admit it now? It was you, just as I thought. You are as wanton as your mother." Lysa grabbed her by the wrist.

Here comes the accusations of being wanton.

He was a bastard, after all. Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. - Jon VII, ASOS

x

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. - Jon X, ASOS

Strange this would suddenly start appearing at the end of the book for these two specific characters.

These two specific characters who never exhibit wanton behaviour.

+.+.+

We keep a whipping boy for Robert, as is the custom in the Free Cities. His health is too delicate for him to bear the rod himself. I shall find some common girl to take your whipping, but first you must own up to what you've done.

Like always, the author is going to make it as difficult as possible for the reader to find an ounce of sympathy for Lysa Arryn.

+.+.+

"Have you no honor?" her aunt said sharply. "Or do you take me for a fool? You do, don't you? You take me for a fool. Yes, I see that now. I am not a fool. 

It could not be more obvious that every Jon <- -> Sansa chapter transition was written in succession in this book, but if you needed any more evidence, here's the author forgetting to turn off Janos Slynt.

+.+.+

"Did you come with Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood, the time they visited to lay their feud before my father? Lord Bracken's singer played for us, and Catelyn danced six dances with Petyr that night, six, I counted. When the lords began to argue my father took them up to his audience chamber, so there was no one to stop us drinking. Edmure got drunk, young as he was . . . and Petyr tried to kiss your mother, only she pushed him away. She laughed at him. He looked so wounded I thought my heart would burst, and afterward he drank until he passed out at the table. Uncle Brynden carried him up to bed before my father could find him like that. But you remember none of it, do you?" She looked down angrily. "Do you?"

Is she drunk, or mad? "I was not born, my lady."

"You were not born. But I was, so do not presume to tell what is true. I know what is true. You kissed him!"

"He kissed me," Sansa insisted again. "I never wanted—"

"Be quiet, I haven't given you leave to speak. You enticed him, just as your mother did that night in Riverrun, with her smiles and her dancing. You think I could forget? That was the night I stole up to his bed to give him comfort. I bled, but it was the sweetest hurt. He told me he loved me then, but he called me Cat, just before he fell back to sleep. Even so, I stayed with him until the sky began to lighten.

Drunk, and mad.

Info bombs! I don't know why the above would be any less significant than everything else she learns.

Family, Duty, Honor, Sansa. Family, Duty, Honor meant I could never have her hand. But she gave me something finer, a gift a woman can give but once. - Sansa V, ASOS

x

You said it was my mother you loved. But of course Lady Catelyn was dead, so even if she had loved Petyr secretly and given him her maidenhood, it made no matter now. - Sansa VI, ASOS

Why do we revisit this three chapters in a row? She's going to tell him.

+.+.+

Your mother did not deserve him. She would not even give him her favor to wear when he fought Brandon Stark. I would have given him my favor. I gave him everything. He is mine now. Not Catelyn's and not yours.

Is that another random story about a favor Sansa gets to hear? Why?

He had worn her favor in the Battle of the Blackwater, where he'd slain a Myrish crossbowman and a Mullendore man-at-arms. "Alyn said her favor made him fearless," said Megga. "He says he shouted her name for his battle cry, isn't that ever so gallant? Someday I want some champion to wear my favor, and kill a hundred men." Elinor told her to hush, but looked pleased all the same. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to...another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone. - Alayne I, TWOW

Just kidding, I know why.

+.+.+

We made a baby together, a precious little baby." Lysa put her hands flat against her belly, as if the child was still there. "When they stole him from me, I made a promise to myself that I would never let it happen again. Jon wished to send my sweet Robert to Dragonstone, and that sot of a king would have given him to Cersei Lannister, but I never let them . . . no more than I'll let you steal my Petyr Littlefinger. Do you hear me, Alayne or Sansa or whatever you call yourself? Do you hear what I am telling you?"

Over Lysa's dead body will Sweetrobin be fostered.

+.+.+

"The Moon Door." She tried to yank free. "Why are you showing me the Moon Door?"

"You squeak like a mouse now, but you were bold enough in the garden, weren't you? You were bold enough in the snow."

My spidey senses are tingling a bit here.

+.+.+

"Look down," said Lady Lysa. "Look down."

She tried to wrench free, but her aunt's fingers were digging into her arm like claws. Lysa gave her another shove, and Sansa shrieked. Her left foot broke through a crust of snow and knocked it loose. There was nothing in front of her but empty air, and a waycastle six hundred feet below clinging to the side of the mountain. "Don't!" Sansa screamed. "You're scaring me!" Behind her, Marillion was still playing his woodharp and singing, "Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey."

Even knowing what happens, I find this difficult to read.

+.+.+

"Do you still want my leave to go? Do you?" "No." Sansa planted her feet and tried to squirm backward, but her aunt did not budge. "Not this way. Please . . ." She put a hand up, her fingers scrabbling at the doorframe, but she could not get a grip, and her feet were sliding on the wet marble floor. Lady Lysa pressed her forward inexorably. Her aunt outweighed her by three stone. "The lady lay a-kissing, upon a mound of hay," Marillion was singing. Sansa twisted sideways, hysterical with fear, and one foot slipped out over the void. She screamed. "Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey."

Alayne had not seen the body, no more than Robert had, but she did not doubt the fact of the singer's death. - Alayne I, AFFC

+.+.+

The wind flapped her skirts up and bit at her bare legs with cold teeth. She could feel snowflakes melting on her cheeks. Sansa flailed, found Lysa's thick auburn braid, and clutched it tight. "My hair!" her aunt shrieked. "Let go of my hair!" She was shaking, sobbing. They teetered on the edge. Far off, she heard the guards pounding on the door with their spears, demanding to be let in. Marillion broke off his song.

Our little non-fighter found the correct defence.

It's hard to believe she'd be registering what's happening at the door or with Marillion at this point, but we'll give the author a break.

+.+.+

"Lysa! What's the meaning of this?" The shout cut through the sobs and heavy breathing. Footsteps echoed down the High Hall. "Get back from there! Lysa, what are you doing?" The guards were still beating at the door; Littlefinger had come in the back way, through the lords' entrance behind the dais.

Oh look, Petyr Baelish is saving her.

Just like Tyrion Lannister saved her in the throne room.

Just like Sandor Clegane saved her from the mob.

Perhaps -maybe- this doesn't make them protagonists, or love interests? Crazy, I know.

+.+.+

"Her." Lady Lysa grabbed a handful of Sansa's hair. "She's the trouble. She kissed you."

What's missing from this chapter is the fact that Sansa's hair is now chestnut brown. It's never once mentioned in the text. I always thought that was a bit of a blunder from George, but now I kind of appreciate him letting me have the illusion of her building the snow castle with red hair.

+.+.+

"Be quiet!" her aunt screamed. "I never gave you leave to speak. No one cares about your castle."

Half the men in Westeros care about Sansa's castle, Lysa. Both of them.

+.+.+

"I don't want her here." Her aunt's eyes were shiny with tears. "Why did you bring her to the Vale, Petyr? This isn't her place. She doesn't belong here."

Sansa doesn't belong in the Vale, and Jon doesn't belong in the crypts with the other stone kings. It's not their place. I concur.

+.+.+

"NO!" Lysa gave Sansa's head another wrench. Snow eddied around them, making their skirts snap noisily. "You can't want her. You can't. She's a stupid empty-headed little girl. She doesn't love you the way I have. I've always loved you. I've proved it, haven't I?" Tears ran down her aunt's puffy red face. "I gave you my maiden's gift. I would have given you a son too, but they murdered him with moon tea, with tansy and mint and wormwood, a spoon of honey and a drop of pennyroyal. It wasn't me, I never knew, I only drank what Father gave me . . ."

The tansy mystery is solved!

I think people tend to worry too much about this passage. Sansa is a window into another storyline, that's all.

+.+.+

"Have you been at the wine again? You ought not to talk so much. We don't want Alayne to know more than she should, do we? Or Marillion?"

You would be foolish if you think Sansa knowing all this information is going nowhere.

+.+.+

Lady Lysa ignored that. "Cat never gave you anything. It was me who got you your first post, who made Jon bring you to court so we could be close to one another. You promised me you would never forget that."

Ouch. I'm telling you, somewhere deep down he knows.

+.+.+

"Tears, tears, tears," she sobbed hysterically. "No need for tears . . . but that's not what you said in King's Landing. You told me to put the tears in Jon's wine, and I did. For Robert, and for us! And I wrote Catelyn and told her the Lannisters had killed my lord husband, just as you said. That was so clever . . . you were always clever, I told Father that, I said Petyr's so clever, he'll rise high, he will, he will, and he's sweet and gentle and I have his little baby in my belly . . . Why did you kiss her? Why? We're together now, we're together after so long, so very long, why would you want to kiss herrrrrr?"

Rest in peace.

+.+.+

"Lysa," Petyr sighed, "after all the storms we've suffered, you should trust me better. I swear, I shall never leave your side again, for as long as we both shall live."

Brutal.

+.+.+

Lysa threw herself into Littlefinger's arms, sobbing. As they hugged, Sansa crawled from the Moon Door on hands and knees and wrapped her arms around the nearest pillar. She could feel her heart pounding. There was snow in her hair and her right shoe was missing. It must have fallen. She shuddered, and hugged the pillar tighter.

Instead of making the connection to Cinderella, and the glass slipper (Where's your Prince Charming, Sansa?), I have to sit through 179 metas about this stupid shoe being the cause of Littlefinger's downfall. The shoe that's buried under feet of snow on a gigantic ass mountain, probably a mile away from Lysa's corpse, which has been eaten by a mountain lion.

I don't spend nearly enough time making fun of Preston Jacobs.

+.+.+

"My sweet silly jealous wife," he said, chuckling. "I've only loved one woman, I promise you."

Lysa Arryn smiled tremulously. "Only one? Oh, Petyr, do you swear it? Only one?"

"Only Cat." He gave her a short, sharp shove.

Lysa stumbled backward, her feet slipping on the wet marble. And then she was gone. She never screamed. For the longest time there was no sound but the wind.

It's unfortunate Catelyn's dead, this would have been a fun chapter transition.

+.+.+

Marillion gasped, "You . . . you . . ."

The guards were shouting outside the door, pounding with the butts of their heavy spears. Lord Petyr pulled Sansa to her feet. "You're not hurt?" When she shook her head, he said, "Run let my guards in, then. Quick now, there's no time to lose. This singer's killed my lady wife."

Final thoughts:

To summarize, with regards to Littlefinger, Sansa knows the following:

He "found a place" for Jeyne Poole.

He was awarded the empty honour of Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Lord of Harrenhal before the Red Wedding.

He killed Joffrey with Olenna, and framed Tyrion.

He was in love with Catelyn, and claims Catelyn gave him her maidenhead. She did not.

He had a child with Lysa that was aborted.

He killed Jon Arryn with Lysa, and framed the Lannisters.

He convinced Lysa to lie to Catelyn about the Lannisters.

He killed Lysa, and framed Marillion.

He's been pushing a lot of sweetsleep on Robert Arryn.

Sansa is his weakness.

Did I miss anything? Boy, this dude is beyond fucked.

-> return to menu <-

[azvolrien]

The Home of Dragons - Chapter Two

Part Two, in which our heroes settle in and do a bit of sightseeing. More interesting than it sounds.

~~~

           Drekaheim didn’t have much in the way of hotels and none that allowed pets, so instead they had arranged to rent a house from a local merchant who was away on business for a few weeks. It was not huge, but it had enough space for Redbolt to sleep in the living room downstairs without breaking any of the furniture and a balcony on the first floor gave an excellent view down the fjord. Asta and Redbolt sat on the balcony while Roan and Bramble went in search of some groceries.

           “You have to wonder what happened to them,” said Asta, gesturing out at the city. “The Eyrie Culture, that is. They were clearly an advanced and powerful civilisation, to build places like this, to harness dragons – dragons! – and stretch their empire from one end of the mountains to the other. And yet, they just… vanished. And it can only have been about five hundred years ago, if that was when the Harbinger and her dragon came to Stormhaven. You’d think somebody would have left a record of what happened, where the survivors went… But whatever writings they left, there’s nobody alive today who can read them!”

           “Maybe whatever happened was so bad that nobody wanted to remember it,” said Redbolt. “Or maybe it was so bad that nobody survived to remember it.”

           “Cheerful thought,” said Asta.

           “So, then…” said Redbolt after a companionable silence. “You’ve been doing well up here? She’s been treating you proper?”

           “What? Who, Roan?”

           Redbolt nodded. “I like her,” he said. “She seems a good sort. And I can tell you mean the world to her. But, berserkers like her and her granda… They’re not always…” He flattened his crest and looked away. “Not always stable. Sometimes… things happen without anyone meaning them to.”

           “I never knew her grandfather,” said Asta. “Bruide died before I ever met Roan. But she’s told me a lot about him; he spent a long time teaching her to keep it – the battle-madness – under control as she was growing up. She would never hurt me. I’m happy with her – we’ve built a good life together out here.” She sipped her tea. “And it must be said, the sex is amazing.”

           Redbolt hunched his wings, drawing his head in close to his shoulders. “Didn’t need to know that.”

           Asta just grinned.

           Redbolt raised his head again, looking down towards the harbour. “So, this place – we know what it used to be, but what is it now? Part of the Empire?”

           “I’m led to understand that’s something of a grey area,” said Asta. “The formal Imperial border is to the south of here, in the hills between Kaldrfjord and Myrkfjord – mainly, I think, because there’s not much here the Empire wants, to be perfectly honest; it’s not of great strategic value and there are more plentiful resources further south. Mines, fishing grounds and so on. The Emperor of the day wasn’t going to bother conquering it for a few interesting ruins. The local monarch – I think it’s a queen at the moment – owes no particular allegiance to the Emperor.”

           “So from Kaldrfjord south is part of the Empire, but Myrkfjord is independent,” said Redbolt, nodding.

           “Yes and no. They aren’t sworn to the Emperor, but according to the treaties from the end of the Raiding Period – which, old as they are, do still have legal weight – they are sworn to the High King of the Sea Lochs. Who, since the annexation of the rest of the Sea Lochs, just so happens to be the same person as the Emperor. So they pay some taxes and the Empire has a minor military presence here – you may have noticed the fort down the fjord as we were sailing in – but they aren’t necessarily subject to all the same Imperial laws.”

           “Agh, that makes my head hurt,” said Redbolt. “Don’t know how you can wrap yours around it.”

           Asta shrugged. “I am, technically, nobility. Even scions of minor branches are taught politics in our nurseries, even if we decide we want nothing to do with it when we grow up.”

           “Sky above,” muttered Redbolt. “Doesn’t sound worth the trouble if you ask me.”

           “Which is why I’m quite content to live with Roan at the broch and spend my days tending our vegetable garden,” said Asta with a small smile. “Whatever the rest of House zeDamar is involved in, I want no part of it.”

           Redbolt opened his mouth, but whatever comment he had in mind was interrupted by a loud whistle from the street below and they both looked over the balcony railing. Roan was back from the market, with Bramble trotting at her heels and a canvas shopping bag slung over her shoulder.

           “That dog’ll be the size of a pony when she’s full-grown,” said Redbolt.

           “I know,” said Asta, getting up from her chair. “We’re making sure she’s well-trained before she gets that big. The breeder had some good advice there.”

           “I found some really nice-looking bread,” was Roan’s immediate greeting when Asta opened the door, before leaning in to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “You know, that stuff with lots of egg in it? Looks more yellow when you cut into it. Should be nice with some jam. In, Bramble. In! Good girl.” She squeezed past Asta in the hallway and went to unpack her finds in the kitchen. “Have you had your breakfast yet?”

           “Redbolt has,” said Asta, leaning on the kitchen doorframe. “He went hunting earlier. But no, I’ve just had some tea.”

           Roan nodded and lit the stove with a click of her fingers. Soon the logs had caught and were burning brightly, heating the iron plate on the top. “There’s definitely something happening in the big square by the port,” she said, breaking a couple of eggs into a frying pan. “At a guess, I’d say someone important’s going to be there – they’ve gone all out with bunting and such, lots of food stalls around the edges and a stage for a band, but the city guard are out in force as well.”

           “Hmm. Perhaps the local monarch making an appearance?”

           “Aye, maybe. Could take a look later on, if it’s not too busy. But before that…” Roan rummaged in her pocket with her free hand and pulled out a crumpled leaflet. “Found this ad for a tour of some of the tunnels they’ve been exploring, ones they’ve kept as the dragon riders left them. Sound interesting?”

           Asta read over the leaflet. “The wording is a little sensationalised,” she said drily. “Far more exclamation marks than is strictly necessary. But yes, it does sound worth seeing. Stories of dragons were… Well, I wouldn’t say they were a childhood obsession of mine, certainly not as much as constructs were, but I always liked hearing them. I’d like to see some of the places where they actually lived. Ones that are accessible without serious mountaineering, that is.”

           “What, you don’t think you could scale Eyrie Spire?” said Roan with a grin.

           Asta held out one slender arm, indicating her distinctly scholarly musculature with a sweeping gesture of her other hand. “Let’s just say, I think I would need some training.” She turned the leaflet over to study the drawing printed on the back. “It may have to be just you and me if we do go on this little tour. I’m not sure Redbolt would fit through some of these tunnels.”

           They asked him about it after breakfast; he assured them he didn’t mind staying behind to watch Bramble – “They don’t interest me that much anyway.” – and they set off to investigate joining a tour.

           However sensationalised the leaflet’s descriptions had been, the tour guide was nothing but professional; he explained that he split his time between studying the Eyrie Culture at the University of Duncraig and exploring the various sites they had left behind in the field, and led the tour group on a winding route up through the city and into the cliff dwellings that overlooked it, finishing up in one of the caverns that had been carved out for the dragons themselves. This usage, at least, was beyond debate, for the bones of a dragon still lay in the yawning cave-mouth, exactly where the beast had died centuries before. A small crew was at work near the entrance, cleaning off a crude emblem of a dragon that had been stencilled onto the stone in fresh white paint with some illegible text splashed beneath it.

           “Apart from the skulls kept in Stormhaven, the Drekaheim remains are the best-studied of all known dragon skeletons,” the guide explained as the tour group gathered around for a closer look at the bones. “We’ve found other, smaller ones in the caves as well, but this is the only one that has been left in-situ – and bigger ones have been found up in the mountains, but, well, they’re a lot harder to visit.”

           Roan carefully paced out the length of its skull – easily six feet even without including its horns. “What could kill something this massive?” she wondered aloud, not really meaning it as a question.

           The guide answered anyway. “We don’t really know,” he said. “It’s one of the biggest remaining mysteries about them – everything we’ve found so far would suggest that only another dragon would be a match for one, but you can see for yourself there’s no damage to the bones, nothing to suggest they wiped each other out in a civil war.”

           “Some sort of plague, maybe,” said Asta.

           “That’s the leading theory at the moment, yes.”

           The group disbanded in the cavern and drifted their separate ways, leaving Asta and Roan standing together by the dragon’s skull.

           “It’s not as big as the one in Stormhaven,” said Asta, trying not to make that sound like a criticism. “The skull of the Harbinger’s dragon is at least three times as long.”

           Roan nodded absently, measuring its front teeth against her hands. “Maybe it was younger when it died,” she said. “I think – well, Granda didn’t stop to measure the one he saw, but he always made it sound like it was bigger than this one. Makes you wonder how big they got. Even on a smaller one, those forelegs don’t look big enough for it to walk with. Must’ve leant on its wings like a bat.”

           “Some of the stories suggest they never really stopped growing,” said Asta. “I… don’t think that can possibly be true, but they were clearly able to reach an extraordinary size.” She walked to the edge of the cavern mouth and peered down over the drop. The Eyrie Culture clearly hadn’t thought a safety rail was necessary, but one had been added more recently. “I do like to think there are still a few out there somewhere. Oh, look – you can see Redbolt on our balcony from here!”

           “So you can,” said Roan with a laugh. “Come on, we’d better start heading back down.”

           The sound of distant music reached their ears as they left the tunnels and walked back down through the streets towards the great plaza. Asta cocked her head to listen. “Is that… No, it’s not the Imperial Anthem. Similar, though.”

           “Anthem of the High King,” said Roan without breaking stride. “I heard it enough times at uni.”

           “‘Someone important’, you said earlier,” said Asta slowly. “You don’t suppose…”

           “Surely not,” said Roan. “Even up here, we’d have heard if the Emperor was coming for a visit… Want to have a wee nosy, though?”

           Asta gave her a careful look. “I expect it’ll be crowded. Will you be all right?”

           “Mmm… I think I’ll manage if we can stay around the edges of it.”

           Asta nodded and stood up on her toes to kiss the corner of Roan’s mouth. “Then… Yes, let’s have a ‘wee nosy’.”

           It looked like most of Drekaheim had gathered in the plaza, all looking at the stage at the landward end. A woman in a long cloak of fine wool – presumably the Queen of Myrkfjord, if the gold torc around her neck and jewelled brooch securing the cloak were any indication – stood facing a curious metal archway in the centre of the stage, flanked by guards in colourful dress uniforms. Asta and Roan found a spot at the edge of the plaza that still gave them a decent view of the stage, in the shadow of a balcony and next to another dragon emblem stencilled onto the wall. This one was in blue paint rather than white, but otherwise the same as the one in the eyrie cavern.

           Roan clutched Asta like a protective talisman, her breath quivering no matter how hard she tried to steady it. Asta wrapped one arm around her waist and held her tightly. “It’s all right,” she said over the murmur of the expectant crowd. “Just hang on until we see what’s happening here, then we can go home.” Roan nodded, swallowed hard, and remained silent.

           Two people in long robes stepped up on either side of the arch and raised their arms. Immediately, light flared at the arch’s apex and the air within it began to shimmer and whirl.

           “Oh, they’re Portallists!” said Asta. “Their work does not come cheap…”

           The air stilled as the portal stabilised and people began to emerge through the archway. Six heavily-armoured soldiers came first, each one armed with the short sword and tall shield of the Legions, and took up stations along the front of the stage.

           “God-soldiers,” Asta quickly explained to Roan. “They’re god-soldiers – highest elite of the Imperial military, trained for it since infancy.” Roan gave a small, sharp nod, but she was beginning to relax a little.

           More official-looking people came through the portal and quickly stood aside. A new figure emerged alone. He was a tall, athletic young man, and while his only clear sign of rank was a simple band of polished steel around his brow, the rest of his clothes spoke volumes of wealth and power: he wore a short mantle of black bearskin around his shoulders, while a broad belt of carved leather cinched a long, well-tailored coat embroidered with silver thread and dyed a rich shade of blue.

           “That’s not the Emperor, is it?” asked Roan, frowning. “He doesn’t look like the pictures I’ve seen…”

           “No, but it’s the next best thing,” said Asta. “It’s his eldest son, Prince Leovar. Or Crown Prince, now. The heir to the throne. He’s a bit younger than we are – about twenty-five now, I think. His father must have thought he was ready to handle a state visit by himself.”

           Two more people came to stand with the prince, a little behind him and to either side: another young man, the same height as the prince but slighter in build, fair-skinned and ash-blond with a brightly-patterned silk scarf around his neck, and a woman of about the same age, shorter and plumper than either man, a little darker-skinned than the blond, and with reddish-brown hair carefully braided into a style far more complex and elegant than Roan’s single long plait.

           “No idea who they are,” said Asta at Roan’s questioning look.

           A few more attendants filed through the portal as the presumed queen stepped forwards for an official greeting, her words magically amplified to reach the back of the crowd. Finally, six more god-soldiers emerged to stand guard behind the prince and his companions, and the portal was allowed to close.

           Prince Leovar returned the queen’s greeting, saying something polite but essentially meaningless about how honoured he was to be welcomed to Drekaheim. The band struck up again, playing what was probably a local Myrkfjord anthem. Roan smiled a little, rolling her eyes at the formality, and released her tight hold on Asta until her hands were just resting on her shoulders.

           Then the balcony above them exploded into flames, and the whole plaza erupted in sheer panic. Roan threw herself over Asta until debris stopped falling then scrambled to her feet, hauling her away from the fire with one hand clamped around her wrist. The plaza filled with smoke – fear-stricken voices – a crush of too many bodies all desperate to flee at once. Roan had her head down, crashing forwards like a charging elk, barely looking where she was going.

           Too late, Asta spotted the claw-mark in the ground. Her toe caught in the deep gouge – she tripped and fell her length on the stone with a dizzying crack, yanking her arm from Roan’s grasp. Roan screamed her name and turned back, reaching out, but the crush dragged her away. Asta got her hands under her, tried to struggle off the ground – someone tripped over her, striking her above the ear with a hard-toed boot. They swore and almost fell, but caught themselves and skittered away without helping her up. She curled up in a trembling ball where she lay, covering her head with both arms, and waited for the chaos to stop.

           Everything went black before it did.

~~~ Oh dear.

Confirmed: brioche.

[mollyencrypted]

So, the King Lear On The Continent AU (AKA, the one where @inexplicifics' Warlord Geralt keeps getting dragged into everyone else's petty political bullshit, and Cordelia has rather complicated feelings about her terrible family):

The thing is, Cordelia is not a politically savvy woman. She isn't cunning as her sisters are, cannot play the games of flattery and falsehood that will allow her to survive. What she is is observant. She listens, she talks to people, and she knows that in the Wolf's lands the people have well-kept roads and well-stocked stores, the peasantry can afford to change their clothes, there are no unscrupulous nobles diverting the wealth of their people into their own purses. And in the Wolf's lands, the exiled third daughter of a senile King from a country that few people even remember exists might have prospects outside of a whorehouse or gutter. Might even have a chance to save her family from themselves.

The court sorceress, Lady Miranda, is young and naïve, barely more than a student, and cannot reconcile Cordelia's unjust banishment with her image of Lear the benevolent, the just, the noble, but Cordelia has always counted her as a friend, and so whilst her father professes not to care where she ends up, be it desert or marshland or the bottom of the sea, Miranda hears her request to be portalled to Wolvenberg.

In Wolvenberg, she steels herself, squares her shoulders, tries to capture that same indomitable spirit that runs through her sisters, and that once ran through their mother too. And she walks into the closest inn - the Griffin's Eyrie, and scans the interior. There's a group of Witchers drinking in the corner - she's thought they might be there, if they're anything like her father's soldiers - and she strides up to them, trying very hard to ignore the fact that she is very young, and not very skilled in self-defense, and these men are very big. And she drops to one knee, and begs them to escort her to the Wolf, where she might request sanctuary. She's expecting them to leer or look down her dress or...well, she's not really sure what else and doesn't want to know either, but the point is, they don't do any of those things. One of them gives her a hand and helps her up, and his companions finish up their drinks, and nobody seems at all suspicious of her motives, and isn't that peculiar? But now is not the time to be unpacking all of that.

She spends three days with the four Witchers - Griffins, she learns, on their way back from a hunt - who continue to treat her courteously and not very much like her father's soldiers at all, before they finally reach Kaer Morhen and she is brought before the White Wolf, Warlord of the North, and hopes that behind that unreadable expression is a heart that will see fit to help her. She tells him about her father, his failing mind and growing ego and the way she and her sisters - sharp-tongued Goneril and volatile Regan - grew up, always competing with each other for his love and attention, the way he has now left himself at the mercy of two women who have no reason to love him back, raised with the knowledge that they will never be as good as sweet demure Cordelia and faced with the sight of him casting aside even her, and she begs him to please, help her fix it, because she knows she has every right to resent him and she does but she still doesn't want him dead and her sisters will show no mercy.

As she speaks, she feels rather foolish for daring to think that the most powerful man on the Continent would listen to the pleas of a disgraced ex-princess from a nowhere-country, but when she is finished he hmms and retreats to speak with his Council. And Cordelia is lead away by a young woman in a blue-and-red silk dress, who introduces herself as Milena and offers to help her clean herself up.

In the end, the decision is made that the Wolf will not invade Cordelia's former homeland (and she's relieved at that), but that he'll lend her a small force, comprised of eight Griffins, to provide numbers and Lambert, to speak for the Wolf and guard her and Milena, who is apparently his wife (or something like that, Cordelia isn't sure) and whose presence will hopefully make it clear that this is very much not an invasion (and also to stab anyone who gets too close to Cordelia and shouldn't be there.)

Cordelia's terrible family end up gathered in one of the council chambers, and Cordelia gets to work, with her escorts staring down anybody attempting to object. Her father has formally abdicated the throne and isn't in a fit mental state to re-ascend anyway; she asks his cousin if he'll be willing to host the old king at his estate, and that's that problem taken care of. His cousin, whom she's always called 'uncle', is just as short-sighted as he is, but he's loyal and trustworthy and will ensure he spends the rest of his days in comfort.

Finding someone to take the throne is a little harder - her father has no sons, neither of her sisters can be trusted with that much power, and she herself is certainly out of the running - but her uncle's eldest son is of royal blood and is a truly good and responsible man. He's almost as naïve as she once was, but his brother is anything but, and although he's technically illegitimate, giving him a title and land of his own ought to keep him loyal enough to the new King that he'll make a decent advisor. Both her sisters would have been far happier in the military, but there's nothing Cordelia can do about that, and so she requests that they be given advisory positions too, and her father's former chief advisor, blunt and honest, to appoint anybody else necessary and keep them in line.

Cordelia herself cannot stay in the kingdom, although now-King Edgar has rescinded her banishment. She cannot remain in court after bringing the Wolf's forces upon the country, and she cannot bear to stay with her father after his treatment of her (she loves him, but she does not like him especially much, after all of this), and so she returns to Kaer Morhen. And...it's good, is what it is. Witchers can smell lies, it turns out, and so people are honest in a way her father's court rarely was, and she makes friends quickly - Milena, Oliwia, Aleksander, Jaskier... and maybe they haven't found a real job for her yet, but she can sew and spin and sing a little bit. She'll make a place for herself here somehow, and she'll work through her complicated mess of feelings eventually.

It's going to be alright.

No, really.