#ch: rickon

[ofhumanvoice-a]

Only. Cat.

[vaokses]

Anger, a daughter (Pirtir, Ch.1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You return to Dragonstone after nearly two years away, having done what was expected of you and secured your mother's standing with the Great Houses. The safety that you felt after once again doing what was expected of you is taken once you learn that in your absence, your family arranged for you to marry Aegon.

Word Count: 4.5k 

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Threats of violence. The usual Targaryen incest stuff.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Reader is a bastard of Daemyra (claimed by Laenor of course), firstborn child of Rhaenyra and heir to her mother’s claim. It is mentioned she has Valyrian features (the hair). She rides Vermithor. She and Aegon had a thing when she was still in King’s Landing. How relevant or impactful that ‘thing’ was depends on who of the two you ask. I’ve stretched the timeline a bit. Rhaenyra spent a few years more in King’s Landing (making Aegon around 16/7 when she leaves, and the Reader, the eldest of the Velaryons, around 14/5). Instead of six years in Dragonstone, the Blacks have spent around three there in this story. Viserys still lives (and is rotting slightly slower), Aegon and Helaena did not marry. Mysaria left for Dragonstone with Rhaenyra, but is still the information broker of the first season, just working from afar. The Reader has spent nearly two years touring Westeros, as her mother did, in search of a husband.

A/N: No Aegon or any of the greens yet, but I wanted to set up some things, so this can be considered a prologue of sorts. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

Title is from the "anger, a daughter" by volatilepoetry (link to the piece here, I couldn't find the author's socials)

“Cousin.” You greet with a wide smile, taking the riding gloves off as she comes closer, a mirror of your own smile on her lips. 

“Sister,” Baela greets in kind in well-practiced Valyrian, at your reprimanding glare answering with a defiant one of her own. She grabs your hands in hers, smile wide and mirrored in your own face. “I thought you would return to Dragonstone, at the end of your…tour.” 

“Even I tire of politics, of playing,” You admit, linking your arm with hers and letting her guide you towards the Driftmark castle. “I wish to rest for a while, before I am to report back to f-…to Daemon. I hoped our grandmother would grant me a few days here?” 

“I’m afraid it won’t be possible,” She tells you, pulling from her belt a rolled up message and offering it to you. “A raven brought this shortly after dawn.” 

You immediately recognize Daemon’s handwriting, as well as the parting message he directs at his daughters and you in place for a goodbye. Fly, daughter. 

Your sister is needed at home, tell her to return to us at once. You must ready yourself to fly to Dragonstone at my command. I’ll send word. Sōvēs, tala. 

“So, who did you choose? Whoever it is, you made father angry.” 

“Your father.” You correct, but she pays it no mind, as she always does. 

“So, who will be the lucky man?” 

You turn to face her as you both stand in the base of Driftmark’s stairs. 

“I didn’t choose anyone.”  

Of course, a Tyrell knight caught your eye and your attention for a while, and you could use the strength of the alliance marrying Vaemond Velaryon’s son would bring, or Rickon Stark’s. You even considered the proposal of Hobert Hightower’s grandson, if only to see your mother breathe fire at the mere idea of it, were you to propose such a union. 

But the tour was never organized for the purpose of finding you a husband, this you knew from the beginning. It is the reason you agreed to such a circus in the first place. As Rhaenyra’s first-born child, heir to the Iron Throne and future Princess of Dragonstone, you were sent throughout Westeros to remind the noble Houses of the pledges they made, of where their allegiance is to lie if they hope to remain on the Crown’s good side. 

What foolish Lord you couldn’t charm with a well-placed smile or compliment, Vermithor’s presence in their city would remind promptly of the risk of turning on your House, of undermining your mother’s claim. What wouldn’t bend to your will, you would remind how quickly you could break. Such was your task, what was demanded from you, and you played your part as you have always done. 

It matters not if by the end of this tour, after twenty months away from home -though a part of you reminds you it has been much longer than that, it has been over three years-, donning whatever face was deemed ideal to realize your objective; you cannot really remember who it is you were before it all. It matters not if it has been months since you’ve been able to meet your own gaze in a mirror, in fear of seeing a stranger -or worse, a familiar face, your mother’s, your father’s, Lady Mysaria’s- looking back. 

Your eyes meet Baela’s, and you whisper, “Have you heard I am to marry?” 

She hesitates, and that is enough of an answer. You shake your head, step away, stumble over your own feet. 

___ 

You almost feel a young girl again, in the worst possible way, dragged like a dog on a leash after your mother as she departed King’s Landing, gritting her teeth at your cries and answering with soft caresses of your silver hair to your promise that you would never forgive her for taking you from your home. 

Now, over three years later, you are to be dragged back to the city that saw you be born, away from your mother’s side, from your brothers’ and stepsister’s sides. And the people responsible for arranging for such a thing are set on hiding, on ignoring you since your return to Dragonstone. 

For a time, especially since your aunt’s death and Aemond’s claiming of Vhagar, you believed your mother and Daemon kept you unmarried, kept you here, so that if war were to break out, they would have you and Vermithor to send to battle, to which he is no stranger. You believed if you would one day have to marry, it would be to defend your own claim, offering your hand in exchange for an army, to a man that would know to bend the knee before his queen and before his wife alike. 

You believed they kept you near, they let you remain unbound and unmarried, because you served a purpose while free. You believed by playing your part as was demanded from you, twisting and turning to fit into whatever face you were expected to wear, you would have some control over any of it, you would be safe. How foolish, childish, those notions were. 

Since Vermithor flew you into Dragonstone, your mother has secluded herself in her rooms, and you have only Daemon to ask for answers to the madness that brews past the safety of the island. 

“I do not wish to leave. I will not leave, unless you tell me what awaits me in King’s Landing.” 

But you know, some part of you knows, and that part of you is gnawing at you, at your composure, at your resolve. 

Daemon shrugs one shoulder, “Why? It was once your home. That shithole of a city saw you be born, after all.” 

“My home is, as has always been, Dragonstone.” Lie, lie, lie. You remember the halls of the Red Keep better than you know the halls of this very castle. 

“Then you must be used to homesickness by now. Five and ten years raised in King’s Landing, nearly two years touring Westeros. You have spent…what? A year settled here?” 

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t much care, walking past you to pour himself a cup of wine. He lifts an empty cup your way to offer a drink, but you hold your ground, and insist, 

“I detest games, Daemon.” 

“You sound like your mother when you talk like that,” He quips, with cruel humor, chuckling at a joke that only amuses him. You turn to look at him with narrowed eyes and jaw set tight, and he lets out another mad little chuckle, “You also look like her when you glare like that.” 

“I only ask that-…” 

“When in your life have you asked for only one thing?” 

“And yet you have always indulged me. Indulge me now,” You ask, walking to him, forcing the tension in your shoulders to loosen and your face to reflect the softness of the child he has always had a weakness for. What is expected, what is needed, if you are to win this particular battle. Your mother, your brothers, they are to be faced with callous strength, with a temper and a certainty you inherited from the man who made you who you are; but the man himself is to be faced with the pleading eyes of his daughter, with the docile manners of a maiden who needs his guidance, his protection. And so, you show the face required to get the upper hand. Quietly, softly, you plead, “Do not insult me or my intelligence by acting as if I cannot understand whatever game is being played.” 

“You wield lies effortlessly,” He concedes, head lolled to the side as he considers you, “But you should know better than to try with me.” 

You allow yourself a smile, despite yourself, and let go of pretenses. Even so, you aren’t sure if the face you show Daemon now is an honest one, or merely yet another mask to try and gain his favor. 

Shrugging one shoulder as you lean against one of the stone pillars, you admit, 

“It was worth a try.” 

“It is more of an instinct than a choice by now, I’d say,” Daemon corrects, taking a few steps in your direction. You don’t miss the fact that he has positioned himself between you and the door, a physical reminder that whatever he is about to say is as inescapable as this room. “A useful instinct, now that you are to marry.” 

Your refusal is immediate, “No, I’m not.” 

At his answering look, halfway between surprise and anger, you wonder absently if this is the first time you’ve denied him since he married your mother. 

“You are aware this is not a request.” 

“I’ll feed to Vermithor whatever man you try chaining me to. You are aware this is not an empty threat,” You tell him. It feels good, to admit such a thing, to promise such a thing, because it feels true. “I told you I wouldn’t marry unless the war demanded it.” 

“It does. You are to avoid war, and marry my brother’s son, Aegon,” He promises, and he knows it, you see it in his eyes, that at the uttering of a single name your threat is made null. You realize then why it is your mother hides from you. “It is done, a deal has been brokered with my brother and his wife, y-…” 

“You have no right to make arrangements in my name.” You blurt out, a desperate attempt, not unlike a cornered beast lashing out and wounding its own maws as it bites the approaching spear. Now this, shamefully, terribly, this feels yours. This anger, this desire to hurt. With all the venom of a lifetime of wasted deference, of useless loyalty, you ready yourself to speak a lie once again, “You are not my father. Whore out your sons to the Hightowers if you wish, but you have no right t-…” 

Your words die in a gasp as Daemon hurls the cup in his hand at a wall and advances towards you, quick strides until he stands before you, towering over you with quickened breath. He doesn’t strike you, never has. But it is no less of a threat. A warning not to step out of line, a reminder of what your lies protect you from. 

A twitch in his expression, a glimpse of a snarl, before he warns, 

“Careful now.” 

“We both know there are things my mother won’t forgive,” You answer, “It is you who ought to be careful.” 

“She has approved of this union.” 

You doubt it. You want to doubt it, need to. It is one thing to try and link the warring branches of the House of the Dragon by joining Jacaerys, kind and gentle Jacaerys, and your sweet aunt Helaena. 

It is another to send her only daughter, her heir, to one of Alicent’s sons. 

Still, because some part of you, small and still in the carriage as it drives away from King’s Landing, grasping your mother’s hand in yours even as you curse her and her choices, cannot stand the thought of standing corrected, of being made to face that for the security of her claim Rhaenyra would give you away to a man on the far end of the Crownlands; you do not voice an argument, and instead clarify,  

“I was speaking of what you are threatening to do with your hands,” Daemon leans back with a thoughtful hm that does nothing to hide the way he still bristles at the faintest reminder of powerlessness. Careless, you push forward, insist, “Let us wait, let me stay, and…” 

“And what, hm? Let war come to us? Let those vipers continue to undermine your mother’s claim? Let them put Otto Hightower’s pawn on the throne our forebears forged?” 

You are shaking your head before he is even done speaking, and you can only offer a sigh as an answer, a plea as a retort, 

“Let me fight.” 

“You will fight as I see fit that you do,” He answers, simply, carelessly. “You will play your part, as is your privilege, your duty.” 

“If I had been a son, y-…” 

“I have had a lifetime of hearing your mother speak the same nonsense. I will not hear it,” Daemon interrupts, before leaning closer and reminding you, cruel, mocking, “You are not a son.” 

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world, I-…” 

“Then you should find it easy to tame a smaller one,” Daemon promises, not without cruelty. “We will depart in a month. The betrothal will be officially announced then, with us all in King’s Landing. Plenty of time to say your goodbyes.” 

“There have been…whispers of a royal event for months now. I didn’t know, I-…” 

“Did you think they were setting up a tourney for one of those shits? Or that my brother had somehow managed to sire another child?” 

You shake your head, but your heart races and your breath quickens, because how could you not see it before? 

You served your purpose, without faltering, without question. You amended the bonds your mother’s carelessness and her husband’s viciousness had broken, you strengthened the claim her mistakes had weakened, you lied and charmed to protect your brothers from the fate she imposed upon them. And now your use is through. 

The reward for your deference is a noose around your neck. 

“You had me travel the entire continent, entertaining countless proposals from the most insufferable of men and breaking bread with the most boring fucks alive, while you planned on giving me away.” 

“The tour was never meant to find you a husband, you knew that. A future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, birthing children for a…a…Tyrell? Or a Stark?” Daemon asks, as if the mere idea is unfeasible, ridiculous. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, and as wretched as that little cunt is, Aegon is my brother’s. A Targaryen.” 

You do not care for his tales of superiority, you do not care for those fantasies. Instead, you merely insist, “You plotted against me, while I was far from home.” 

“No. There is a plot, but it was not against you. If anything, this was done in your name, for your benefit,” He argues, pragmatically. Daemon leans closer, head bowed to meet your eyes. “Everything I’ve done has been to secure your claim, to ensure your ascension after your mother’s.” 

“To ensure your blood sits the Iron Throne.” 

He doesn’t deny it, and you don’t expect him to. The faintest of gestures of his head towards the door orders you to walk. You follow the unspoken command, for what else can you do but obey, and walk towards the door. 

“It is settled.” He calls out after you. At the absence of your answer, of your compliance, Daemon barks a call of your name. An order, a threat, even if it isn’t voiced as one, making you stop in your tracks. “You are a loyal daughter, and you know better than to forsake your duties to your mother. You won’t betray her.” 

“What you are asking of me is betrayal,” You argue, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “To marry our enemy, to lay with him, what is that if not a betrayal of my mother, of her claim?” 

“It is a sacrifice,” He corrects, but such appeasements, such manipulations, better suit Lady Mysaria. He has too much pride for the deceit to work, and so the lie stumbles in his tongue, rushing forward a truer sentence, “And I don’t ask.” 

___ 

Lady Mysaria finds you in the eastern balcony overlooking the sea, welcomes herself into the room and walks towards you, stopping only a few steps behind you She doesn’t announce herself nor ask for permission to speak, and you know better than to expect her to do either, after years of knowing her as your parents’ advisor. 

“I’m guessing you do not come here bearing good news.” 

“What would be good news to you, Princess?” 

“A freak dragon-riding accident leaving my future betrothed somewhere in the depths of the Narrow Sea?” You ask, rueful smile curving at your lips. 

“You speak as if you wouldn’t grieve for him.” 

“I would not grieve Aegon, or any of them, for I do not know the people they have become in these passing years.” 

“Is that why you ask my spies about him when they reveal themselves to you in your travels? To know the man he has become?” 

You sometimes wonder why you bother arguing with her. Not once have you been able to hold the upper hand for more than a breath. 

“I asked once.” 

You were wary, and far from home, and the flutter in your chest when Alasdair Tyrell laid a crown of Dragon’s breath on your lap -after his victory in the tourney organized to welcome you into the Reach- had felt familiar but wrong. Nostalgia and something else, something far more stupid, overwhelmed you, and you summoned one of Lady Mysaria’s spies, sent with you as a handmaiden, and asked her to tell you what she knew about how Aegon fared, who he had become in these passing years. 

You told yourself that while you knew better than to reach for a past and a bond long gone, neither could hurt you, so many years removed from the girl you were, so many miles away from what you once called home. And it didn’t, the past didn’t hurt you. What could have been did, however. 

“I will concede that you have learned to request information more subtly, but it does not mean you don’t ask, Princess.” 

“No, your spies offer information freely. Information I do not ask for,” You argue, but she breathes a short little laugh in response. It irks you, unsettles you, and you find yourself arguing further, explaining further, “I wanted to know if he was well, long ago, a-…” 

“And my spies told you he wasn’t.” 

“And so I never asked again.”

“It is a smart choice, to feign ignorance, but you should know better than to attempt to hide something from me.” 

“I have hidden nothing, for there is nothing to hide.” 

She hums lowly, considering her words with a sly smile on her lips. 

“You must refrain from defensiveness if you are to lie efficiently, Princess.” 

You grit your teeth but refuse her the satisfaction of knowing she prodded at a still-unarmored part of you. Instead, you bow your head as you did when you were barely five-and-ten and she had issued her first lesson on how to survive a world such as this. 

“Of course, Lady Mysaria.” 

“I would have expected you to be relieved, if nothing else, at the revelation of who you are to marry,” She muses. If she understands the threat written in your eyes when you turn to look at her, she cares not for it, and presses on, “You were quite close when you were younger.” 

“I was close to all of them.” 

“I mislike repeating myself. You cannot hide things from me, Princess.” 

You take a breath that feels a tad too shallow, you grit your teeth until you hold yourself under control, you hold your tongue until you’re certain it won’t betray anger, sorrow, something else. It feels invasive, unbearable, like fingers prodding at a well-hidden wound. 

“It was nothing. A passing infatuation of youth.” 

“Passing fancy,” She corrects. “The words the Queen used were passing fancy. If you are to shield yourself with the words of others, do so properly.” 

The troubling and annoying thing about sharing a home with someone that trades secrets is that none can be kept from her, and the frustrating thing about counting amongst those closest to you the person that taught you to lie and deceive is that you find it impossible to fool her. And with no secrets, with no lies, there is no fun in playing the game anymore. 

“What is it you mean to ask, Lady Mysaria?” 

“Aren’t you at the very least relieved? Contented?” 

You shake your head. 

“I do not know who Aegon is any longer. Who I-…” The revelation stumbles in your tongue, remains sealed past closed lips. The admission that you have forsaken yourself somewhere in the road to this day is something she might know already, but you refuse to admit aloud. “I have spent the last two years on lands foreign to me, many of them hostile to me. I am…I am wary, and I do not wish to do so again. I am tired of feeling…defenseless.” 

Mysaria lets silence linger for a few moments as you both watch your brothers’ dragons at flight in the skies above you. 

“You want war,” She states, “You deem fire and blood the only future in which you are safe.” 

It is a truly horrifying talent that she possesses, that uncanny ability of hers of digging under your skin until she finds the truer face out of all you wear and brings it to light in all its ugliness and its monstrousness. 

But perhaps that is why you can allow yourself to speak in honesty now, for the first time since you left Dragonstone for a royal tour, or perhaps for the first time since you left King’s Landing. 

“In war, me and my dragon are useful here, defending my claim. In war, I remain unbound, able to fight back,” You tell her, not caring about considering your words, about guarding your back. Turning your head to look at her, you argue, “In times of peace, I am sent away. Twice over, I have lost my home for the sake of peace.” 

“Hm,” Mysaria muses, and when she walks past you towards the balcony, you cannot help but follow. Your eyes seek the horizon, while the White Worm’s linger on Arrax and Vermax playing in the clouds above you. “You will not find yourself without allies, Princess. A spider can spin a web anywhere in the world, it needs only time.” 

“Speaking of time,” You start, straightening yourself and turning on your side to face her. You bow your head, in goodbye and in something else, something closer to gratitude than your hurt and your pride let you admit right now. “I fear our time together has come to a close.” 

“Your family isn’t leaving for King’s Landing for another two days.” She argues, but she knows, you are certain she does. It is no coincidence, that she has come to find you now, that she has come to say goodbye. 

Because honesty comes easy with her, you admit, “I dislike feeling like prey.” 

You could swear there is the beginning of a smile curving softly at her lips, but Mysaria merely bows her head and whispers a wish of, safe travels, Princess. 

___ 

Daemon approaches, you know him by the cadence of his footsteps by now, as you stand on one of the cliffs near the castle. He says nothing, joins you in watching as Vermithor stands before you, proud and stubborn, head held high despite your request that he bow it to allow you to climb onto his saddle. 

“Are you two having a fight?” 

“The old brat doesn’t want to leave the Dragonmont, and thinks we have a choice in the matter!” Your last words, hissed in Valyrian as you argue with the old dragon, make Daemon chuckle. “If I ask that Silverwing fly with us, y-…” 

“You know better than to ask that from us.” 

“He doesn’t want to leave her side. Vermithor, sweet thing, I feel for your broken heart, I truly do. But I won’t go by boat, much less carriage,” Vermithor answers with a huff of steam, and flaps his wings slightly, a warning that he will shake you off like he would a bothersome fly if you attempt to mount him regardless. You heave a sigh, “Stubborn fuck.” 

Vermithor understands the Common Tongue, you are certain he does, for he lowers his head for a moment as if to taunt you to try, and the call that echoes from deep in his chest truly sounds mocking. 

“It is your own restlessness, your own fear, that make him refuse you. You do not wish to leave, and so he doesn’t want to take you there.” 

“I did not want to visit half the places we did during my tour, and yet he took me anyways.” You argue, and though for a moment you think to ask him if he will try to stop you, you refrain.  

Daemon somehow knows that you have decided to take flight to King’s Landing tonight, and he has chosen not to stop you. Perhaps he understands the restlessness that has only grown in you since you were told of your betrothal, as perhaps that same restlessness consumed him once, when he was also young and sent off to marry for duty. 

“You weren’t afraid during your tour.” Daemon argues, but you shake your head. 

“Of course I was afraid. I did it anyways, because…because it was what you and mother demanded from me, but I was terrified,” You admit. Perhaps it is the darkness and quiet of a night in the vast openness of the Dragonmont, perhaps it is the defeat that clings to your very bones like the most bitter cold, but you do not care for lies, for masks, right now. “I haven’t stopped being afraid since we left King’s Landing.” 

Daemon turns to you, but you cannot look at him. You dread to look into your father’s eyes and see disappointment at your admission; you dread to see anger at your weakness. Most of all, however, you dread to see a shadow of regret, at what he’s done, at what he has failed to do. 

For it wouldn’t change a thing. You would still be sent off, you would still be given away, you would still be left with no control over any of this. 

At your silence, Daemon turns back to look upon the Bronze Fury. 

“And yet you do not want to return. And your dragon defies you because of it.” 

“He took me there once already, you know. A month or so before the tour began,” There’s a ghost of a smile playing at your lips as you share the memory. “It was…the worst storm I can remember, and he had us fly right through it. I cursed his name until I was hoarse and once it was over, I demanded he take me home at once. He took me to King’s Landing.”

"Did you land?"

"Of course not. It is hostile territory."

“It is your birthright,” Daemon promises. It used to feel liberating to hear him reaffirm your claim and your mother’s. Now it feels heavy. The weight of a crown you do not yet wear is entirely too great, and you bow your head. Daemon continues, “It was Vermithor who called to you, who allowed you to claim him. Vermithor, a dragon who only ever bonded with Kings.” 

“But I am no King,” You argue, returning your gaze to him. “For I am not a son.” 

Thank you for reading, i hoped you liked it! I would love to hear your thoughts on this!

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[feyhunter78]

Chapter Two - Your arrival in Winterfell stirs more than just feeling within Jon. Ch 3

He is an honorable man, not as honorable as his father or his Uncle Benjen, but he strives to be as good and true as they are.

The thoughts that enter his mind as he looks down at Lady y/n do not make him feel honorable. She’s beautiful, with emerald eyes and thick lashes, snow dusting her hair, the light of the moon giving her a crown of light, one befitting a princess. That’s what she is—practically is, the daughter of a Lannister, not any Lannister but Tyrion, the imp, the clever one. Jon could study for a hundred years and never come close to the knowledge her father possesses.

His own boldness surprises him, the way he clasps his cloak around you, securing it deftly, lingering a moment too long, wishing to spend eternity mere inches from you, breathing in your perfume. It’s light, floral, and sweet, perhaps jasmine? Sansa had been given a bottle once, she hadn’t liked it, preferring the scent of vanilla, and had thrown it out. Jon remembers how he retrieved it from where she had disposed of it and secreted it in his room. That night he dreamt of a future; one he knew he could not have but craved anyways. He had a keep, and a wife, a pretty, sweet wife who smelled of jasmine, and children who had his curls and ran to him smiling when he returned home. He would take them all into his arms, his children, his wife, and would be loved.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that you had been watching him, that he had heard the sharp intake of breath when he lifted his tunic to wipe the nonexistent sweat from his brow. He had known you were there by the sound of your bracelets clattering against the stone wall, the sound of your half step in the snow. He could feel your gaze burning into him the same way it had when you first arrived.

The lovely Lady Lannister, that’s what he’d taken to calling you in his head. The sound of your laughter was like bells, the smile you gave Bran and Rickon, the interest you paid to Sansa as she prattled on, it ensnared him.

So, he lingers, desiring nothing more than to gently tuck back the hair that the wind has blown in your eyes, to caress the curves of your face, to brush his lips against your own if only to know the taste for one fleeting moment, to pull you closer and drown himself in the scent of jasmine— he wants you. It’s a shocking thought, not that physical desire is unknown to him, he’s not a child, but this is different. He’s always known his place, known to rein himself in, but now? Now he has to jerk himself away, cast all thoughts of you from his mind lest he fall upon you like a madman and ravage you in the snow.

His throat tightens at the thought of what the Lannisters would do to him if he disgraced you in such a way, nevertheless what his father would do.

There is a flicker of hurt that flashes in your eyes, he can see it in his peripheral, but he stands strong. You’re not for him, you’re too good for him, he’s not worthy, what could he give you? Snow, that is all he could give, and snow is not enough for his lovely lady.

After he escorts you back to the guest chambers, he sets to walking, wandering the halls in the darkness, his mind so entangled he nearly misses the muffled cries. They come from an alcove, further down the hall, and he approaches carefully.

The sight he comes upon makes his heart drop, it’s Anna, one of the kitchen staff, a sweet girl with dark hair and joyful eyes, she is young, a year older than Arya. She’s curled in on herself, her clothes torn, her face wet with tears. There are even some marks, some bruises beginning to form.

Jon drops to his knees, holding his hands out and calling her name softly.

Anna looks up at him, startled, a doe nearly in flight. “Lord Jon—I—I am so sorry—”

He shakes his head and shushes her gently. “What has happened?”

Her bottom lip trembles, her voice thick with tears. “The prince, he—I was only trying to return to my chambers, I was not tempting him I swear, but he grabbed me and…” She burst into tears once more, burying her face in her hands.

Jon clenches his jaw, he had heard rumors from the other servants, stableboys who came with the Lannisters, he had hoped they would prove untrue. “Anna it is not your fault, please, let me walk you to your chambers, then I will call Laurayn to come and sit with you.”

Anna took his hand, her own trembling, and lets him tuck her under his arm, keeping her close as they made their way to her chambers.

“I will tell my father the truth of it; you will not be blamed.” He promises her, letting out a slow, steady breath to keep from raising his voice in righteous anger and startling her. Anna was kind and meek, she did her work diligently and didn’t cause any trouble, she should not have been attacked in her own home, his father would not stand for such violence against one of his people.

Anna shakes her head, clinging to the door frame of her chambers, tear tracks down her cheeks. “Please Lord Jon, do not tell him, I cannot bear the shame.”

“It is not your shame to bear Anna, it is his, that cruel prince, you did nothing wrong.” Jon says, the words coming out more forceful than he intends.

Anna shrinks back, and he apologizes softly, tucking his hands behind his back.

“No good will come from Lord Stark knowing, Prince Joffrey is heir to the throne, there is nothing that can be done, I will not be believed.” She says, resigned to her fate.

He has always felt caught between two worlds. Too common for the nobles and too noble for the servants, but he prides himself on keeping a strong rapport with those who serve in his home. Prides himself on striving to protect those who are more vulnerable, which is why it wounds him so that there is no action to be taken for Anna.

Laurayn arrives, wrapped in a cloak, her hair in disarray, and she thanks Jon before ushering Anna into the dark of the servant quarters, leaving him staring at the thick wooden door that closes behind them. It’s not right, Joffrey should be held accountable for his actions, Anna should not have to suffer in silence.

His jaw clenches and he turns on his heel, stalking back to his own room. There’s nothing to be done, and soon he will be at the Wall, he will be able to fight to protect everyone there. He will join a band of brothers dedicated to upholding the sanctity and safety of the North, of the continent.

Ghost is waiting for him, curled up beside the fire, raising his head, at his approach. Jon sinks onto the floor beside him, resting his head on the wolf’s flank, and scratching that spot behind his ears. He stares into the fire, breathing slowly like Old Nan taught him, calming his mind. Ghost gave a huff and licked his ear before laying back down, content.

He awakes on the floor, his body stiff, Ghost slumbering beneath him, the fire nothing but cooling embers. The room is cast in shadows, the moon full in the night sky, and a strange melody floats through the air, reminiscent of the wind whistling through the parapets as Jon gets to his feet to pull the curtains closed. His window overlooks the Godswoods, he draws comfort from the sight, and closes the curtains swiftly before turning to remove his clothes and slip into his night clothes.

The melody grows louder, no longer sounding like the wind, but high-pitched screaming, it pierces through him, and he stumbles forward, throwing open his door and falling into the hall. The hall is doused in blood, bodies lying strewn about and strung up on the walls. Jon pushes forward, bile rising in his throat, seeking the source of the screaming, if only to make it stop. His footsteps echo and squelch, he keeps his eyes forward, his mind racing even as it feels he is fighting through molasses with each step towards the sound. Where is Robb? Where are Arya, Bran, his father? Theon, Sansa, Lady Catelyn? Where has everyone gone?

The screams die down replaced by heart-wrenching sobs, and the hall transforms, it’s no longer his home, instead he’s in a holdfast he’s never seen before. The walls are lined with Baratheon and Lannister banners, the carpet plush beneath his feet. The world spins, his head reels, the wind knocked out of him as if he’s been knocked to the ground during sparring, then there is a door before him, half opened and marked with blood. He pushes it open carefully, and steps into another foreign hall.

It's much smaller than the Great Hall of Winterfell, with panels of richly carved wood and sconces made of silver mirrors, reflecting the torchlight. High arched windows on the south wall allow the daylight to stream in, and through them, he can see what some part of his mind whispers is King’s Landing. The sight would be beautiful if not for the carnage the lay before him. Dozens of bodies litter the floor and against the far wall is you, slumped to the ground, your sobs echoing off the ceiling, your gown darkened with blood as you clutch your father’s body. The scent of winter roses mired by the stench of blood seeps into the air, choking him.

He cannot stop himself, he retches, the sight, the smell, the sensations, all too gruesome to bear.

“Jon?” Your voice is weak, choked with tears and disbelief.

He wipes his mouth and looks at you, his feet moving without his command. He doesn’t want to approach you; he doesn’t want to see the dead, not like this.

You’re badly injured, the blood on your gown ever spreading, a sickly tint to your skin. “How could you do this? How could you leave me?” You sob, the look in your eyes hollows him, digs into his soul and dumps it among the corpses at his feet.

“I—what is this? I do not know what has occurred.” Jon says, keeping his eyes steadfastly on you, and away from the corpses.

“I was able to help Sansa escape but—there was no time, I could not go with her.” Your words are broken by a fit of weak coughs, speckles of blood covering your hand.

Jon’s heart bangs against his chest like a war drum as he reaches for you. “Do not try to speak, I will carry you away from here. We will find a maester, then Sansa, then we will go North, my father will be able to help.”

“Your father is dead, murdered, and Robb will soon follow. Our—our bannermen, they rose for the wrong bastard.” You mumble, your eyes threatening to close, your head lulling forward.

Jon kneels, and gently lifts your head, fear striking through him at your words. “What do you mean, Lady y/n who killed my father, who will kill Robb?”

You grab the collar of his shirt with surprising strength. “You cannot leave me, you cannot go to the Wall, Stannis will come, he knows, he knows about Joffrey, Jon, he will kill us all.” You cry, eyes alight with fear. “Promise me, promise you will protect me.”

The scent of winter roses returns, mingling with your jasmine perfume. His tongue is heavy, the words catch in his throat.

“Promise me.” You beg, your grip failing, your shattered expression so painfully clear it’s like a dagger through his chest.

“I will, I will, I swear it. By the old gods and the new.” Jon says, stumbling over his words as he gathers you in his arms.

A kick to his side startles him awake, and Arya stands over him, her eyes shining with mischief. “You cannot sleep here all day; you promised you would help me train.”

Jon Snow TL: @mostclevermiss

Grey title card = Jon POV Red title card = Y/N POV

[cappymightwrite]

Writing Musings

Ch.3 of My Maid of Stone is finally ticking along nicely and now the muse is really speaking because the fic ideas keep accumulating! Anyway, just for fun, I wanted to share the two most developed ones below and see what the Jonsa folks are vibing with:

a) Bookverse future fic, set during the Long Night/Long Winter in Winterfell, with Jon and Sansa as co-regents to Rickon. Not quite a year into a political marriage of convenience, both mistakeningly think the other resents the arrangement. Features alternating POVs, Old Icelandic + Old English poetry fragments as thematic section headers, and opens with Jon hunting in the wolfswood and Sansa lamenting his absence at home, both pining after the other.

b) Historical AU, set c. early 1920s in the Norwegian Arctic territory of Svalbard. After tragedy strikes, Sansa decides to leave the comforts of modernity behind to join a stranger turned husband on the Arctic island of Spitsbergen where he is carrying out scientific study. In a harsh climate where the nearest neighbour lives sixty miles away, strangers soon become better acquainted through necessity... but also slowburn intimacy ;)

Obviously, my first priority is to finish MMoS. I'm just excited to have ideas and inspiration flowing again! Let me know what you think :)

Cappy x

[angelwingtrap]

Speaking as an older sister.... asha SHOULD get to kill ramsay mhmm. That last scene in her adwd ch destroys me every time

Yess erghhh it makes me want to gnaw on a weirwood. And uh can I get a lil wild and ramble? So the series will probably end with the bittersweet “everything has been decimated and now we will pick up the pieces” thing. Asha and Theon’s stories are already a microcosm of that. They’ve both been put through the meat grinder and are figuring out what to do next. Killing Ramsay would give some much needed finality to this transitional period in their lives. I’m picturing Asha, when the fighting is done, seeing Ramsay dead and thinking: “this, at least, is over.”

Asha’s story is about dismantling the cycle of violence that has plagued her people for centuries, and yknow tackling how the selfish desires of men born out of desperation perpetuate war and death. She HAS to put an end to the violence between the Iron Islands and north. They’ll need each other come the wintertime. (But Asha has to accept the burden of her people’s crimes, and cannot outrun responsibility to have adventures. She must confront her own ignorance and selfish ambitions to save her people.) Theon is similarity tasked with disrupting the person-to-person cycle of violence and abuse that stems from the Greyjoy’s history. Ramsay is the sort of boogey-man that encapsulates everything in Theon’s life that led him to taking Winterfell. (The abuses he inflicts on Theon are VERY pointedly references to his previous life experiences imo!!!)

Asha has been reflecting in ADWD on how broken and beaten her family has become, she thinks her brother is lost for good. When they reunite, Theon is very much so still in Ramsay’s clutches mentally. Asha can do very little for her brother, or her family. She feels utterly powerless. But killing Ramsay? She can at least try. She isn’t afraid to die, but she isn’t ready to die for just anything. She truly wants to do something right in her life. (A post I made abt her logic behind requesting Theon be given to the tree here) Taking the north only caused more pain and loss, it didn’t bring her people a new age of glory. “Killing” Bran and Rickon did nothing to heal Alannys’s sorrows over Maron and Rodrik, just passed them to Catelyn. (See: Ellaria Sand’s monologue about “where does it end?”) but I think this is one death that truly could end so much suffering.

Okay I don’t know if this was coherent at all but I have so many squeelings (squid feelings) about the squiblings (squid siblings)

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

ch. 9 — behat (to promise)

notes: timeskip of a few months! also, guysss so ummm i really hate the last two chapters i wrote so i'll have to scratch them and start again... but im also in the middle of some pretty important stuff so yah. sorry about that.

summary: alethia meets thorunn. athelstan and ragnar talk about ragnar, promises are made.

warnings: mentions of depression, ppd and other mental health issues, ragnar is a bit of a dick tbh

tagged: @levithestripper @demon-of-the-ancient-world @grantairescurls

series masterlist | general masterlist

Alethia

It was getting colder in Kattegat. The temperatures had dropped in the past week, and Alethia could not help noticing that the days were shorter as well. But, there was a prolonged sense of gentleness within the cold days. Aslaug had given Alethia proper furs, Ragnar returned an old sword to her. She looked as if she was back in Winterfell, right after taking the castle back from the Boltons.

Sometimes, her heart tugged when Alethia thought of the North. Kattegat was similar to it, though the people were not. When Alethia woke up in Athelstan’s longhouse, she sometimes thought that she was back there, in Westeros. The thought seldom filled her with distress.

Still, Kattegat was a place that she thought she could call home. And as word spread that she was taken, that she really was Athelstan’s woman, Alethia had the sort of automatic respect she never did receive in England. 

That morning, she was the first free woman to push into the Great Hall. A few thralls were already working, setting the table and cleaning the floors. Alethia felt guilty each time she met the eyes of any of them. She was saving money to free them, but she knew it was a pointless endeavor.

But she and Athelstan agreed that they would never buy a thrall, or make someone a slave.

Hvitserk bounced up to Alethia before she could see him, crashing into her. Alethia stumbled backwards, landing on her back, and Hvitserk giggled, hugging Alethia tightly. While she was supposedly just a guard to Aslaug, Alethia had quickly become caretaker to Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd. Aslaug was too preoccupied with Ivar, and Ragnar…

Alethia lost some respect for him each time she thought on the matter. His three middle sons exhausted her thoroughly every day. It was not her responsibility, and yet, Alethia reveled in taking care of them, just as she had with Clothilda, Godwin and John in England.

“Are we going to play today?” Hvitserk asked.

“Like always.” Alethia promised. Hvitserk took her by the hand, pulling her to the table. He was always hungry, always the first to eat. Alethia had given up on trying to teach him any tablemanners, not that the Northmen took those particularly seriously.

“What are we going to do?”

“I was thinking of taking you hunting. Your brother’s skills with a bow have improved considerably, and Sigurd loves climbing the trees in the woods.”

“But it’s cold!” Hvitserk complained.

“Your mother bought new furs from the merchant three days ago. I’ll bundle you up so you stay nice and warm. And if your brother shoots a rabbit, you could have stew for dinner. How does that sound?” 

Hvitserk’s eyes brightened at the thought of his favourite food, and Alethia smiled. While Ubbe was responsible, taking himself quite seriously for a boy of eight, and would no doubt make it his mission to provide for his brothers tonight. Hvitserk, however, was the sort of playful that reminded Alethia of Rickon and Arya sometimes.

He was a wolf-child. 

Alethia hoped life would be kind to him. She tried to make it as much as she could. 

And Sigurd… however little the small boy liked to admit it, he was the one that took after his mother most. Already, Sigurd was drawn to bouts of anger and frustration, the only thing seemingly able to soothe him being when his mother sung to him. But Aslaug did not do that often.

Alethia sighed, handing Hvitserk a bowl of porridge.

“Where are Siggy and Thorunn?” she asked.

Hvitserk took a bite, gulping down his food without eating, before he answered. “I don’t know. Thorunn was crying again yesterday. She’s always so sad.”

“Okay. Do you know where she is?”

“No.” Hvitserk said. “I don’t really like her. She looks scary.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“You also look like her, but you don’t scare me.” Hvitserk continued anyway. “You aren’t so gloomy all the time.”

“I’m about to be very fucking gloomy.”

Hvitserk giggled, smiling widely as he saw his brother trudge towards the table. Ubbe was wearing a frown, hands rubbing his eyes.

“What is it, Ubbe?” Alethia asked.

“Ivar was crying again. I couldn’t sleep.” Ubbe complained. He climbed the bench next to Alethia. It did not escape her that he leaned against her, his hand searching for hers. Her heart broke a little.

“I will try to find something to help your little brother. And we are going hunting today.” Alethia said. “Is it alright if Thorunn comes along? I cannot take care of all of you at the same time.” 

Hvitserk frowned. “She’ll ruin it. She’s like Sigurd when he’s angry.”

“Will she be crying?” Ubbe said.

“Maybe.”

“I want her to be happy. She is our sister-in-law.”

“That’s right.” Alethia smiled. “Good job, Ubbe.”

“Maybe we can just send her back if she is very sad.” Hvitserk suggested. “Then it won’t be so scary to take her along.

“I promise you, you will have a great day.” Alethia said. “You two finish dinner, and help Sigurd get dressed, alright? Make sure he eats too, and give him some pears for his porridge. Ask the thralls for more in case you finish all the fruit. It’s important he has some. Can you do that?”

“I can!” Ubbe said.

Alethia ruffled his hair, and the boy hugged her quickly, before he looked away. Hvitserk stared up at her from his spot at the bench, before a cheeky grin appeared on his face.

“I hope you’ve gotten better at archery since last time.” he said, sticking out his tongue. Alethia raised her brows.

“Careful little man, or I’ll have to eat all the rabbit stew in the world by myself.”

Hvitserk’s insulted gasp was the last thing she heard as she slipped out of the Great Hall again. In the center of Kattegat, around the Great Hall, merchants were setting up their stalls. Alethia took note of one merchant who displayed little trinkets. As she stepped closer, her heart skipped a beat. There, amidst mostly worthless playthings and souvenirs, was a small collection of coins with what had to be Chinese symbols.

Alethia bought one of them quickly. She slipped the coin into her pocket, turning it over in her hand as she walked. 

Perhaps she could hide it somewhere, with a message of some kind. Perhaps archeologists would find it in a century. Then, she would have been here.

No. It was too dangerous.

Alethia stepped up to Bjorn’s longhouse. She knew that Bjorn would be away. He had been sleeping at Rollo’s house for the past two weeks, taking Siggy with him. Thorunn was alone here.

She knocked. There was nothing, not a single sound from within the house, but still, Alethia waited.

She knocked again. And again, there was nothing. But then, Alethia caught a quiet sniffle.

“I’m coming in now.”

No response. Alethia opened the door slowly, but closed it behind her as fast as she could. Inside the longhouse, it was dark, but there was a rank smell that permeated the walls. Alethia lit a candle, walking towards Thorunn. The girl was a little younger than her, and so similar to Alethia in so many ways. Alethia thought that, maybe, she could understand her.

If anyone.

Thorunn was backed into a corner like an animal, and as Alethia raised the candle, she cowered away. Alethia sat down a few steps away from her, putting the candle onto the ground. Thorunn shielded the scarred side of her face, knees drawn up to her chest. All she was wearing was a shift, and that was crusted with dark red blood. It was around her abdomen, and so, Alethia guessed that it stemmed from some kind of complication with birth. She tried to ignore the smell, tried not to focus on the way that Thorunn’s hair had turned into a matted mess.

Had no one taken care of her, Alethia would have been the same.

“Hello, Thorunn.”

“Who are you?” Thorunn asked. “Are you real? Did the Gods send you to mock me?”

“I am real. I am Alethia.” she said quietly. “Athelstan’s woman.”

“The priest has a woman?”

“Now he does.” Alethia replied. “And you are Thorunn, right? Bjorn told me all about you.”

At the mention of his name, Thorunn looked away. “He does not love me anymore.”

“I think he does. I think he simply does not know how to handle… you.”

“I warned him about that when I was still a thrall. He didn’t get it.”

“Lothbrok men.”

Thorunn’s expression changed. It wasn’t a smile, not yet, but Alethia was getting there.

“Would you like to come hunting with me? I’m taking care of Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd for today. I hear you’re good with a bow.”

Thorunn eyed Alethia suspiciously. “Bjorn set you up to this, didn’t he? He wants me to feel better about myself.”

“I don’t know Bjorn very well. All I know is that he’s an angry young man with a babe he does not know how to care for. You said it yourself, you thought the Gods sent me to mock you. I came because…  I had a feeling we were similar.”

“You’re not a monster.” Thorunn whispered.

“And what makes you one?”

“Have you seen my face?”

“Have you seen mine?” Alethia countered. “You have done nothing that would make you a monster.”

“I abandoned my daughter.”

“Not yet.”

“I don’t want to take care of her. I’m scared I’ll mess things up.”

“Every mother is.”

“Do you have a child?” Thorunn asked.

“I lost mine.” Alethia admitted. “I have no child that came from my own body, but I have been raising those of others, those that are lost for many years.”

“Can you raise my daughter?”

“You can do that yourself.”

“I cannot.”

“Yes, you can. Whatever I do for those children, it is never enough. I am never quite right. That is because I am not truly a mother, only a stand-in. And I don’t want that for Siggy.”

“I cannot do it. Look at me! She’ll grow up afraid.”

“Because of what? That scar?”

“Yes!” Thorunn cried out. “Do you not see what we are? How ugly and deformed we look?”

“Rude.” Alethia mumbled. “But I am loved. I know it. And not in spite of my scar, but because it is part of me. Bjorn will love you with or without it.”

“How do you know?”

“Just a feeling.” Alethia replied. 

“And what if I don’t deserve it? He’s the son of Lagertha! He could have anyone!”

“Your beauty does not make you any more deserving of love.” Alethia countered. She shuffled closer, and took Thorunn’s hand. “And even if we are monsters, are we not still women? We feel pain just as we feel love, and hate, and anger, and happiness. We are human, and therefore, we love. Let them point fingers. Dare them in your defiance of holding your head up high. Therein lies strength some will never understand. Do not let them take your spirit.”

“Them?”

“Those that would tear you down. You are a fortress, Thorunn. It is alright to feel weak, to want to hide away and never see the sun again. But the sun is beautiful, Thorunn. Outside is beautiful. Life is beautiful, just as it is terrible. You have a daughter, and you have the chance to raise her in a way that she shall always feel safe and loved.”

“It is so much.”

“I know it is. I am not asking you to feel alright. All I am asking is that you come hunt with me and the boys today. Let me help you. Let Aslaug, and Bjorn, and everyone else help you. I know asking for that help is hard, and so I will do it for you. All you must do is accept.”

Thorunn withdrew her hand, hiding her face in her palms, and for a moment, Alethia was afraid.

“Alright.” she said finally. “But I do not know where to start.”

“I do.”

Alethia stood, her joints aching as she did, and she thought that she was getting old. How silly, considering that she was only twenty. The thought of it excited her. Growing old! She never really thought she would, not even when she had still lived in her time. A life beyond twenty seemed unfathomable, and yet, here she was. Living. Breathing.

She took the bucket that stood in the corner of the longhouse and carried it outside, filling it with water. Returning to the longhouse, Alethia opened the shutters to let some light inside. It took time, but the wooden tub filled with cold water. When it was full, Alethia helped Thorunn up. She ignored the smell, the blood, the dirt.

Thorunn sat in the water, and Alethia threw the shift into a corner with dirty bedding and molding food. While Thorunn scraped the dirt off of her skin, Alethia took to work with her hair. Slowly, the mats disappeared. They weren’t as bad as Alethia thought they would be, and she thanked every higher power that Thorunn was a blonde, and not a brunette, where her hair would have been thicker, and likely impossibly tangled.

Alethia wanted to shriek as lice crawled onto her hands, and her scalp felt itchy while she flicked them off, crushing them under her boot. Using a comb, Alethia tried to rid Thorunn of the rest of them. Finally, she handed the other woman a towel, letting her dry herself while Alethia set out new clothes.

When Thorunn was dressed, the sun was considerably higher in the sky, and she looked like she was going to be okay. Hopefully.

“We’ll take care of the house later, but the boys are waiting for us. It’s almost noon already, and they’re likely fighting.” Alethia said.

“Thank you.” Thorunn replied. “I don’t know if I…”

“It’s nothing. I had help as well.”

“Can we be friends?” Thorunn blurted out. “I don’t really have… friends. I don’t think Bjorn counts – he’s more than that after all.”

Her eyes were so wide as she grabbed Alethia’s hands again, holding them in the space between the two of them. For the first time since they’d met, Alethia saw Thorunn smile. It suited her. As Alethia looked at her, she felt like a girl again. God, how she loved that. 

“Yes. I would like that.” Alethia replied.

Thorunn linked her arm in Alethia’s, strolling out into the street as if she was alright, and Alethia felt her heart beat in her throat out of happiness. She had a friend! How she’d missed that.

And Thorunn looked like she felt the same way.

Athelstan

Ragnar sat on the beach, watching as Athelstan drew up the walls of Paris. When he looked at Ragnar, Athelstan knew that his friend was somewhere else in his mind. Somewhere where there were no children, no wives, no kingdom, only Ragnar and the boat.

Then, Ragnar hissed through his teeth. “Tell me about Paris.”

Athelstan rolled his eyes. Paris, Paris, Paris. Since they’d returned from England, Paris was all that Ragnar wanted to talk about. “Again?”

“Please?”

Athelstan shook his head, smiling lightly. “I only went there once.”

“Continue.”

“I was visiting a monastery in Frankia, right outside of Paris, and one day, the monks there took me to see it.”

Ragnar had closed his eyes. He looked like he was sleeping, but Athelstan knew exactly what to say so that he would pay attention again. “But what I remember more, is the beautiful women.”

He had a feeling Alethia would not have liked those words. Alethia. Athelstan wanted to disappear into his mind, but then, Ragnar leaned forward with so much interest that Athelstan had to continue. “I almost… questioned my vows of celibacy.”

“You never told me that part before.” Ragnar said. And then, a wolfish grin appeared on his face. “Speaking of celibacy…”

Athelstan sighed. “Yes?”

“You and her… hmm?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Athelstan lied.

“She lives in your house. You have to have done something . Or did you get a second bed, you sad, sad man.” Ragnar teased. Athelstan considered his choice of words for a moment.

“What do you think?” 

Ragnar squinted, blue eyes disappearing momentarily. “Two weeks ago.”

Athelstan could not help but laugh, and Ragnar’s eyes widened. “You did not tell me?”

“The night we returned to Kattegat.”

“AND YOU DID NOT TELL ME?” he shouted.

“I thought it unimportant.”

“Next you’ll tell me you plan to make her your wife.”

“I am, actually. Planning it, I mean.” Athelstan mumbled. Ragnar’s eyes widened slightly, before he huffed.

“Why? Why bind yourself in such a way?”

“Because I love her.”

“I love Lagertha. And yet, I never should have married her.”

“You and I, Ragnar, we are not the same.”

“I know.” Ragnar replied. “Then you have my blessing. Though Kattegat does not have a church, so I do not know how…”

“She would refuse to marry me in a church. The Christian way, it binds her too much.” Athelstan shrugged. “It would have to be a Norse marriage ceremony anyway.”

“Good. Good. And now you have to tell me, what did you do when… you know?”

“Well, we uh…” Athelstan began. He knew he was reddening. At the same time, there was the warm feeling of satisfaction at the base of his stomach when he thought back to that first night. And all the nights that followed. “We did it, and then we did it again.”

Ragnar rolled his eyes. “You are such a Christian sometimes.”

“What is it precisely that you wish to know?” 

His friend’s eyes gleamed, and Athelstan regretted ever saying anything. “Has she ever gotten on her knees for you?”

Athelstan’s mouth turned dry. “I’m not- I am not answering that.” He stuttered out, and Ragnar laughed.

“I knew it. She’s corrupting you! My Athelstan, corrupted by some godless girl from England!”

“She is not from England.”

“No? Where then?”

“It is… complicated.” Athelstan sighed. “I suppose the land is comparable to Eastern Frankia.”

“Perfect. Then she’ll know how to help us with Paris.”

“Ragnar, no.” Athelstan said firmly. Ragnar froze, before he turned to stare at Athelstan.

“What do you mean, no?”

“Do not involve her in your raiding plans. Don’t. Do not offer her to plan it, to come to Paris, or to fight. I will not be your friend if you do.”

“You’re afraid she’ll die.” Ragnar mused. An itch of annoyance spread through Athelstan. Ragnar was being too unserious about this.

“No. I know her body would survive. But… if she goes to Paris, she will not come back the same. She has fought enough, Ragnar. And I suppose, in that way, you and her are the same. I know you take no joy in it anymore.”

“I am a Northman, of course I take joy in it.” 

“You do not have to lie to me, Ragnar. And I know I do not understand, but she will. You can talk to her. Many soldiers have.”

“What does she do with them? Some magic ritual? Or maybe she is a witch, and sleeps with them to wipe their memory and make them her slaves?”

“You’re trying to rile me up. You don’t believe in any of that.”

“Well maybe I do.” Ragnar said, raising his hands in mock defeat.

“Stop it.”

“Alright, fine. What does she do with them? Why do they go to her if not for… her womanly charms?”

“I hear she listens to them. Not that you need that, Ragnar. You talk so much anyway.”

Ragnar snorted, but Athelstan could see the emptiness behind his eyes. He knew that Alethia would be talking to him tonight.

Then, his friend scratched the back of his head, quickly changing the topics again. “So, marriage. What comes next? Children?”

“I haven’t thought about that.”

“But you want it.” Ragnar noticed. His eyes bore into Athelstan’s, and it felt as if he could read his mind.

“I do.” Athelstan said. There was something in his heart that ached when he thought of it. His own family.

“Perhaps your sons will fihgt alongside mine one day.”

“I want daughters.” Athelstan blurted out. “I want them to be like her, like Lagertha, like Siggy when they grow up. Like Aslaug and Judith.”

“Why?”

“Because they are stronger than we are.”

Ragnar paused for a moment, before he looked down at the sand. HIs hands dug into the ochre, disappearing below the surface that rippled like the ocean.

“If I do have a daughter…” Athelstan began. “I want to name her Gyda.”

When Ragnar looked up again, there were tears in his eyes.

Alethia

Thorunn was smiling by the time that dinner was being served by the thralls. Alethia watched as she talked to Aslaug, Sigurd tugging at her hand. Alethia was glad that she had gotten to help her. The look of deference slowly disappeared from Thorunn the longer she spoke to Aslaug, and, when Bjorn entered the Great Hall, trailed by Lagertha, who had Siggy in her arms, Thorunn did not turn away.

Alethia sighed with relief, picking up Hvitserk, who was attempting to fight Ubbe over her shoulder.

“If you want to hit your brother, try not to hit my head as well.” She told Hvitserk. He had the audacity to pout, crossing his arms before his chest.

“And why are you two fighting anyway?

Hvitserk only shrugged, stomping his foot to emphasize his point. Alethia tried to bite down the laughter that bubbled up her throat.

“He’s your brother, Hvitserk. I know Ubbe can be overbearing, but he means well.”

“Fine. I won’t hit him I guess.” Hvitserk complained. “I’ll play with Bjorn instead.”

When Athelstan walked into the Great Hall together with Ragnar, Alethia could not help but smile at him. Athelstan turned her way almost immediately, as if he was a dog that could sniff her out.

Ragnar followed Athelstan as he made his way towards Alethia, and now, Alethia was a little concerned. Ragnar never bothered talking to her.

“Hi.” Alethia said, and Athelstan hugged her without another word. He was uncharacteristically quiet, even for him. 

“He’s planning a raid.” Athelstan whispered in the hug.

“It’s okay. Thank you.” Alethia replied. She let him go, smiling amiably at Ragnar.

“Your sons are admirable hunters.” She said.

“I’d hope so.” Ragnar replied. His tone was so dry, so flat, so uninterested, that Alethia felt reminded of her own father.

“It wouldn’t hurt to take some interest.” She hissed. “They notice that, you know.”

Ragnar raised a brow, looking over to Athelstan as if they were sharing some kind of inside joke. Alethia was glad that Athelstan did not try to reciprocate his all-knowing smirk.

The king of Kattegat stared at Alethia a moment longer, as if he was trying to read her soul, eat her heart. Alethia tried not to look away as best she could, but when Ubbe tugged at her hand to gain her attention, Alethia did not care enough to continue their little contest. 

Ubbe was holding out a bowl of stew, filled with the prizes of their hunt today.

“Thank you Ubbe.” Alethia said. “Would you like to eat with me and Athelstan today?”

Ubbe nodded shyly, and Alethia patted the free space next to her. Athelstan sat, taking a bowl of stew out of the hands of one of the thralls. Alethia ate quietly, waiting until Athelstan had finished his quick prayer. It was the kind of domesticity they could only begin to afford.

Alethia’s hands found purchase in Athelstan’s and as she looked to him, she had a moment of peace between lifetimes of war. Athelstan was quick to kiss her cheek, before anyone could catch them in their little display. Alethia’s hand stroked his jaw automatically, and Athelstan smiled at her with such adoration that she thought she might die.

So much, for her. God, had there ever been a sweeter joke?

She ate her stew, and Alethia knew that, months earlier, she would not have tasted it. But there it was, and it satisfied her. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

There was a thought in the back of her mind, one that Alethia had not thought explicitly, but one she thought she’d known about for a while. She smiled at Athelstan, who did not know.

Later, Alethia helped Aslaug settle Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd down. The hunt had exhausted them, but they were brothers, and in such, always found a reason to fight. Aslaug had only a tired smile to spare Alethia as the three of them had finally fallen asleep. Ivar was still in Aslaug’s arms.

“Thank you.”

“I enjoy taking care of the boys.” Alethia assured.

“I meant Thorunn, and me. We did not want to ask for…” Aslaug began. “You have a place in my queendom.”

“And I shall defend it as if it were my own.” 

Aslaug smiled, nodding at Alethia as she made her way out of the Great Hall. It was starting to darken in Kattegat, and Alethia’s hand was never far from her belt. Athelstan’s longhouse was on the outskirts of town, where it became quiet. Alethia knew it was there not only because of the tranquility, but also because the forest reminded him of home.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alethia caught Ragnar, staring at her from afar. His eyes were unfocused, and Alethia knew he wanted something from her. Comfort, perhaps. 

In Wessex, Alethia would have opened her home to him. But Hagar had been nothing, had had nothing, and Alethia had used up all of her energy today already. She wanted to go home, to Athelstan. 

“Tomorrow.” Alethia called.

Ragnar jumped, as if he had not expected Alethia to speak to him. Then, he nodded through the fog that had to cloud his mind. Alethia closed her eyes, breathing out. Whatever Ragnar carried with him, Alethia knew it hurt. She had watched the king enough to know he felt about his crown the same way that Jon had. 

She did not feel guilty forgetting about that when she stepped into her and Athelstan’s house. 

And there he was, sitting at the desk, charcoal scratching over parchment.

“What are you drawing?” Alethia asked.

“You.” 

Alethia smiled, hugging Athelstan while leaning over him. She put her chin on his shoulder, her own face reflected on the parchment. It was her from a few days ago, hair still wet from swimming in the bay of Kattegat. Alethia knew that it would be the last swim she would take for a while. It was getting too cold for her to swim.

Winter was coming.

The thought of House Stark’s words no longer made her heart ache for Jon. There was the dull echo of a boy she’d loved as a girl, but no more. Not when Athelstan was right there with her.

Athelstan seemed to read her thoughts. “When it gets cold, we’ll be forced to spend more time inside.”

“The boys will be a lot.” Alethia sighed. 

“I was thinking… with all the time we’ll be spending inside,” Athelstan began. “Could you teach me? Your language, I mean.”

“Why?”

“I want to love you in your language.” Athelstan said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he pushed his chair back and stood in front of Alethia. There was a trace of fear in his eyes as he looked at her. 

“What is wrong?” Alethia asked.

“Nothing.” Athelstan replied. “Nothing at all. But, the truth is, my reasons for learning your tongue are more selfish than not.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I want to sing to my children in the language of their mother. If she’ll have me.”

Alethia’s mouth turned dry, and suddenly, her heart was beating in her chest. It was kissing Athelstan the first time all over again. “What are you saying?” she whispered. Athelstan’s hands grabbed hers a little more tightly, and he let out a shaky breath.

“Will you marry me?”

The sound Alethia let out was a half-laugh, half-sob, half-squeal. She threw herself around Athelstan’s neck, laughing. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, and I’ll have you. Just as you are, speaking my language or not.”

Athelstan enveloped her, hands holding her tight, safe, warm. His lips brushed her cheekbone, dusting a kiss there where a scar split her face. Alethia felt loved.

[mysticnightmarewrites]

the night we met - Ch. 7

The time is finally here. After everything Gendry and Arya have been to each other, it's time for Gendry to decide whether to take a different path. The consequences could be more dire than he's even realized. What will the world look like when he returns to the present day?

Read Ch. 1-6 on Tumblr

SONG: "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron PAIRING: Arya/Gendry LENGTH: 1.7k words WARNINGS: Minors DNI

The leaves of the heart tree were falling all around the godswood, falling into her hair, swirling around me, despite the summer sun stubbornly refusing to set just yet. They hadn't been there the night we met, but they were there now. Just like how I could feel the old gods in everything, though I hadn't noticed the first time around. When the leaves settled onto the ground, they formed a crimson path toward the woman I'd loved for what felt like my whole life, even though I'd been 21 when we met. I suddenly realized that there was only one of me left.

"It's up to you now," I could almost hear the bleeding tree whisper with its open mouth.

The glass of water I reached for felt solid in my hand, and I took a sip while I watched Arya stare at the heart tree, tears in her eyes and sister by her side. Something in me was pulling me toward her, down the trail of foliage, despite my best intentions to stay fixed to the ground near the door.

A ball of red hair darted by my side.

"Wotcher," I called out, and the kid stopped. "You're Rickon, right?" Ned had talked of him often.

He looked surprised to be addressed. "Most people are ignoring me."

"That sucks, kid. Here," I said, passing him the fidget spinner from my pocket. I had done the same the first time around, and it wouldn't hurt anything to show him that little bit of kindness.

"Thanks, man," he said, spinning it around his fingers as he found a little nook to sit where no one would run into him.

I turned back to the little table that had been set out and cringed at the loud clink of the glass on the metal. It drew Arya's eyes to me. She was wiping the tears off on her sleeve. I could tell she didn't recognize me, but there was curiosity in her gaze, taking in my cheap suit and my leather jacket. At the time, I'd just thought it was because she couldn't imagine her dad associating with anyone as rough as me. But now I knew there was a spark of something there, from the first moment we locked eyes. It had pulled me toward her even then.

All I had to do was walk away, and this would be the last time those eyes haunted me. The only time they had ever met. Knowing that was excruciating. There was so much weight on my shoulders, and I couldn't take it. But as much as I couldn’t stay, I couldn't get my feet to turn away. Surely it wouldn't hurt to hear her voice one last time? One final time before everything ended. Just a little something to carry with me.

Slowly, I made my way over to the only person I had ever allowed myself to love after years of hiding away my heart. “Hey,” I said, remembering the exact words I’d said that night.

“Let me guess, you’re sorry for my loss.” Arya could be like barbed wire when she wanted. It had been something I’d liked about her, and I still did. I smiled, in spite of myself.

“Nah. The world fucking sucks is what I was going to say.”

“See, he gets it,” she said, dramatically gesturing to me and looking up at her sister. “When I say something like that, you all look at me like I grew a second head.”

“For seven’s sake, Arya, you know mother doesn’t like profanity.”

“I know, I know, ‘It’s not ladylike,’” she said, and I soaked up every word I could. “Could you do me a favor?” Her voice suddenly turned serious. Sansa nodded. “Find out wherever Jon’s been sulking and tell him he needs to say bye before he leaves for the North tomorrow.”

“On it. Behave yourself, now.”

Arya nodded, but there was something of a twinkle in her eye, shining through the tears that lingered.

I’d forgotten we’d been left alone so early in the night, but it felt like magic standing next to her again in front of the heart tree. Had it really always been this electric between us?

“I’m Gendry.”

“Arya.”

“I know,” I said, thankful she hadn’t put out a hand the first time around either. I didn’t think I could bear to touch her.

“What brings you here?” she asked, as if she was a bartender pushing her sleeves back and ready to hear her patron’s long life stories.

“Ned showed up at my shop a while back – I’m a mechanic – and well, he knew my dad back in the day. Bobby Baratheon?” She nodded in recognition. “He helped me get an allowance from the old man. I’ll be going to college for the first time this fall because of him.”

“Sounds like my dad,” she said.

“I know it doesn’t change anything, but I just wanted to say, Ned deserved better than what those bastards did to him.” It felt like those words were important to say, no matter what would happen next. But then Arya said something I had forgotten.

“If you keep saying things like that, I’ll have to keep you around. No one else here is brave enough to say the truth. It’s suffocating. I could use someone who gets it.”

Her words were said lightly. There was no deep meaning in them. But after reliving all our years together, they carried a new meaning, the words shining a guiding light. I had been so focused on the pain. First mine, and then ours. But now there was something new, something deeper than even the joy we had found in each other’s arms.

By the time we had met, it had been many years since I’d faced my own great loss. I’d had years to learn how to grow around it, but I had had to do all the pruning and tilling alone, and it had been the most difficult thing I’d ever had to do, until I had to lose Arya. I wouldn’t wish that loneliness on anyone, and certainly not on the fierce woman in front of me. Arya had never needed anyone. She was the most independent person I’d ever met, but still, I had just spent countless moments walking through all the ways we had mended each other. And she had thanked me for it. She hadn’t just been grateful for all the fun and excitement we’d had. I had been there for her when no one else had. She’d tried to tell me as much, but I couldn’t see past myself. I couldn’t leave her at this party, alone. Couldn’t let her walk through the next few years of her life without anyone to lie down beside her.

As much as it had hurt losing her, I would carry that pain a million times over for her. All for her. I would be what she needed, and she would still let me go when she was ready to walk alone, but I would do this one thing. There was no time to look back. Only forward.

“Want to get out of here, then?” I asked, repeating the words I’d said all those years ago. I relished in her eager nod, but I watched as the Gendry I had once been took her hand and walked with her out the door.

“How do you feel about a motorcycle?” I heard my past self say as they moved out of earshot.

Relief filled my body and sent me to my knees. If I had let her go, a part of me would have always regretted it. That much was clear now. The bleeding face stared me down, the red trickling down the pale white bark.

“Take me back,” I whispered. “Take me back to the present. I'm ready. I’m ready.”

A swirl of leaves surrounded me until all I saw was blood, and my vision went black.

“Wake up, wake up!” I heard a voice calling. I came to with Rickon leaning over me. “Do I really have to micromanage all my brothers?”

His words didn’t fully process at first. “What time is it?” I asked, groggy. I felt like I’d been hit over the head with a brick.

“It’s 5. The guests will start showing up anytime now. Go pick a seat.”

Blankly, I stared at both sides of the aisle, wondering which to pick. I’d been friends off and on with Pod for years, and Sansa was my ex’s sister. I wasn’t sure what fancy people’s etiquette would say about a situation like this.

“For the old gods’ sake,” Rickon groaned. “Go sit over there. You’re one of us.” And then it finally kicked in that he’d called me his brother. “Nope, end of discussion,” he said with finality when he noticed I was about to walk his statement back.

“Man, you’re bossy,” I grumbled as I sat down in the back, where I hoped no one would much notice me, anyway.

The guests filtered in slowly, but it seemed like the seats were all filled in a matter of moments, and I tried to avoid catching anyone’s eye. The only person who seemed to recognize me was Pod, who gave me a nod. Rickon soon ushered the last person into their seat and followed suit.

When the violinist near the end of the aisle started playing, I watched as the sight I’d been missing for four dreadful years stepped into view. Her hair was shorter than I’d ever seen it, and her lipstick matched the soft shade of pink she was wearing. She walked down the aisle slowly, like she wanted to savor the moment.

When a bride walks down the aisle, most people, I’ve observed, stand and turn to watch the woman walk toward her soon-to-be husband. Some, however, turn to watch the groom to see if he cries, even just a little. But my eyes were on the maid of honor, who was clearly holding back her own tears as she took the bouquet so Sansa could hold Pod’s hands. It reminded me so much of that first moment I saw her, but these tears were entirely a different kind. She was happy. After all these years, I finally knew for certain. I couldn't help but grin to see it. And for a moment, the briefest moment, it looked almost as if she noticed me, but her face didn’t break for a single second. And before I could register it, the wedding was underway.

[treetopsnow]

“don’t close your eyes, please don’t close your eyes!” (arsa and rickon

“but i’m tired.” his words were more whined than spoken, turning his head to look at her. “and your voice is so soothing.” rickon gave her a drowsy smile, hoping she would forgive him for nearly dozing off while she was speaking. “do you wanna take a nap?”

[incorretrpquotes]

Nettie: Thanks for meeting with me.

Rickon: Are you kidding? I’d go anywhere to see a dog. Where’d you find him?

Nettie: There’s no dog, rickon. I just wanted to get you here.

Rickon: Ugh, are you kidding me? Now I’m gonna have to go online and look at dogs or else I’m going to be off the whole day.

[stormborns]

Chapters of A Song of Ice & Fire - A Clash of Kings - Bran IV      “This is Valyrian steel,” he said when the link of the dark grey metal lay against the apple of his throat. “Only one maester in a hundred wears such a link. This signifies that I have studied what the Citadel calls the higher mysteries - magic, for want of a better word. A fascinating pursuit, but of small use, which is why so few maesters trouble themselves with it.      “All those who study the higher mysteries try their own hand at spells, soon or late. I yielded to the temptation too, I must confess it. Well, I was a boy, and what boy does not secretly wish to find hidden powers in himself? I got no more for my efforts than a thousand boys before me, and a thousand since. Sad to say, magic does not work.”

[janiedean]

When Rickon asks about his mother, though, Jon’s sad smile gets a little stiff. He tries to talk about how much Catelyn loved her children but Rickon cuts him off, knowing a lie when he heard one. Jon says he wasn’t lying, but he and Catelyn had a strained relationship. Jon ends up going to the one person still in Winterfell that knew Lady Catelyn, not exactly close but Cat had never actively kept her distance. Jeyne Poole is delighted to be of assistance. 🍎

........................................... WHY

WHY

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

;_______; IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE BUT SDKLJGKDSLGJL ;______;

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

A STORM OF SWORDS

Summary & Foreshadowing Smorgasbord (Part III)

Love is in the air.

ASOS Part III: UNDER THE CUT

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

ASOS Part I: CLICK

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North

Jon Snow, King in the North

Jon (Aemon?) Snow

Jon the Builder & His Gift

Ahoy Matey! Arya Stark Sails the Ocean Blue

Bran the Broken, King of Westeros

High Septon Rickon?

Pick Your Poison: The Twins Meet Their End in the Mines of Casterly Rock . . . or King's Landing

Tyrion Lannister, (Prisoner?) Hand of the King

In Remembrance: A Look Back at Sandor Clegane's & Ygritte's Greatest Moments

ASOS Part II: CLICK

Dark Daenerys Highlights & Laughs

Let's Dance: Stark vs. Targ

Showdown at the Trident

A Rat in a Maze 🐀🔪

The Usurper's Knife

Bran the Dragonslayer?

Storm x Storm 🦑🖤🐉

ASOS Part IV: CLICK

Chapter Transitions

Previous books:

AGOT Summary & Foreshadowing: CLICK

ACOK Summary & Foreshadowing: PART I & PART II

Stumpy note:

If I didn't give you credit for discovering something or if I missed any foreshadowing, please contact me and I'll rectify that.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone that participated in the reread project. All of you have great observations and comments, I wish I could highlight them all. 🙂

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

Once again, thank you to @ladyofasoiaf for making the manual on all things jonsa. I heavily rely on it when making these posts. :)

Chapter Transitions

Sansa I (ch. 6) -> <-Jon I (ch. 7)

Sansa visits the Queen of Thorns, while Jon has a face-to-face with the King-beyond-the-Wall. The similarities won't stop there.

Thank you, @sxpiosexualx!

Beyond the spiked moat, two dozen men were taking their practice with sword and shield. With the castle so crowded, the outer ward had been given over to guests to raise their tents and pavilions, leaving only the smaller inner yards for training. 

[...]

A fire was crackling in the hearth, and sweet-swelling rushes had been scattered on the floor. Around the long trestle table a dozen women were seated. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Elsewhere two bearded youths in boiled leather were sparring with staffs, leaping at each other over the flames, grunting each time one landed a blow. A dozen women sat nearby in a circle, fletching arrows. - Jon I, ASOS

___

Outside its tall carved doors stood two guards in gilded halfhelms and green cloaks edged in gold satin, the golden rose of Highgarden sewn on their breasts. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Here at least they found defenders; two guards at the flap of the tent, leaning on tall spears with round leather shields strapped to their arms. - Jon I, ASOS

___

Sansa knelt at the feet of her future queen. "You do me great honor, Your Grace."

"Won't you call me Margaery? Please, rise. Loras, help the Lady Sansa to her feet. Might I call you Sansa?" - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"Your Grace?" The king smiled. "That's not a style one often hears from the lips of free folk. I'm Mance to most, The Mance to some. Will you take a horn of mead?" - Jon I, ASOS

___

Pale, elegant Lady Graceford was with child, and Lady Bulwer was a child, no more than eight.

[...]

The old woman called to Butterbumps. "Fool! Give us a song. A long one, I should think. 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' will do nicely." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

A dark young man and a pretty blonde woman were sharing a horn of mead. A pregnant woman stood over a brazier cooking a brace of hens, while a grey-haired man in a tattered cloak of black and red sat crosslegged on a pillow, playing a lute and singing - Jon I, ASOS

___

"Sansa," Lady Alerie broke in, "you must be very hungry. Shall we have a bite of boar together, and some lemon cakes?" - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"Sit, if you like," Rayder said when they were gone. "Are you hungry? Tormund left us two birds at least." - Jon I, ASOS

___

"He will," Sansa lied. "He is very . . . very comely." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Jon had his lie all ready. "The Lord Commander sent me to the Halfhand for seasoning, so he took me on his ranging." - Jon I, ASOS

___

Sansa realized that her mouth was open again. She filled it with a spoon of broth - Sansa I, ASOS

x

He took a long draught of mead to buy time for his answer. - Jon I, ASOS

___

Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Guest right or no, Jon Snow knew he walked on rotten ice here. One false step and he might plunge through, into water cold enough to stop his heart. Weigh every word before you speak it, he told himself. - Jon I, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa I (ch. 6) -> Jon I (ch. 7)

Sounds like fun!

The Baratheons have always had some queer notions, to be sure. It comes from their Targaryen blood, I should think." She sniffed. "They tried to marry me to a Targaryen once, but I soon put an end to that." - Sansa I, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon II (ch. 15) -> <- Sansa II (ch. 16)

Children, shared beds, men flying eagles, and brand new clothing in back-to-back chapters.

Thank you, @sxpiosexualx!

"I might get her with child."

"Aye, I'd hope so. A strong son or a lively laughing girl kissed by fire, and where's the harm in that?" - Jon II, ASOS

x

If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya. - Sansa II, ASOS

___

Rangers often shared skins for warmth, but warmth was not all Ygritte wanted, he suspected. After that he had taken to using Ghost to keep her away. Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade between them for honor's sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf took the place of the sword. - Jon II, ASOS

x

They spent long afternoons doing needlework and talking over lemon cakes and honeyed wine, played at tiles of an evening, sang together in the castle sept . . . and often one or two of them would be chosen to share Margaery's bed, where they would whisper half the night away. - Sansa II, ASOS

___

"Jon Snow, you know nothing. You don't go in with clothes." - Jon II, ASOS

x

They are children, Sansa thought. They are silly little girls, even Elinor. They've never seen a battle, they've never seen a man die, they know nothing. - Sansa II, ASOS

___

She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore. - Jon II, ASOS

x

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world's graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. - Sansa II, ASOS

___

Jon turned at the sudden sound of wings. Blue-grey feathers filled his eyes, as sharp talons buried themselves in his face. Red pain lanced through him sudden and fierce as pinions beat round his head. He saw the beak, but there was no time to get a hand up or reach for a weapon. - Jon II, ASOS

x

"Willas has the best birds in the Seven Kingdoms," Margaery said when the two of them were briefly alone. "He flies an eagle sometimes. You will see, Sansa." She took her by the hand and gave it a squeeze. "Sister." - Sansa II, ASOS

___

Jon wheeled and followed Tormund back toward the head of the column, his new cloak hanging heavy from his shoulders. It was made of unwashed sheepskins, worn fleece side in, as the wildlings suggested. It kept the snow off well enough, and at night it was good and warm, but he kept his black cloak as well, folded up beneath his saddle. 

[...]

Mance Rayder had not been blind to Rattleshirt's mistrust of the "crow-come-over," so after he had given Jon his new sheepskin cloak he had suggested that he might want to ride with Tormund Giantsbane instead. - Jon II, ASOS

x

"A new gown?" she said, as wary as she was astonished.

[...]

"More lovely than any you have worn, my lady," the old woman promised. She measured Sansa's hips with a length of knotted string. "All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it." - Sansa II, ASOS

x

And so it was that her lord husband cloaked her in the colors of House Lannister whilst standing on the back of a fool. - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa VI (ch. 68) -> Jon IX (ch. 69)

Oh boy!

When it was time for the bedding, her knights carried her up to the tower, stripping her as they went and shouting bawdy jests. Tyrion spared me that, Sansa remembered. It would not have been so bad being undressed for a man she loved, by friends who loved them both. - Sansa VI, ASOS

___

You'll know that, when you have a child."

"A child?" said Sansa, uncertainly.

Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry." - Sansa VI, ASOS

___

How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert? - Sansa VI, ASOS

___

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. - Sansa VI, ASOS

___

I see no reason why you should not be wed as soon as we know that your Lannister husband is dead. A secret wedding, to be sure. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

His account introduces a young maiden, or "wolf girl" as he dubs her, with the name of Sara Snow. So smitten was Prince Jacaerys with this creature, a bastard daughter of the late Lord Rickon Stark, that he lay with her of a night. On learning that his guest had claimed the maidenhead of his bastard sister, Lord Cregan became most wroth, and only softened when Sara Snow told him that the prince had taken her for his wife. They had spoken their vows in Winterfell’s own godswood before a heart tree, and only then had she given herself to him, wrapped in furs amidst the snows as the old gods looked on. - Fire & Blood

+.+.+

Sansa VI (ch. 68) -> <- Jon IX (ch. 69)

Wind through their hair.

Thank you, @butterflies-dragons!

The wind ran salty fingers through her hair, and Sansa shivered. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

A gust of wind sent icy tendrils wending through his long brown hair. - Jon IX, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon XII (ch. 79) -> <- Sansa VII (ch. 80)

Love and Winterfell. ❤️

Thank you, @esther-dot!

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. This is not your place. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"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 VII, ASOS

___

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said . . . but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman's hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

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. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

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. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"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." - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

Would I sooner be hanged for a turncloak by Lord Janos, or forswear my vows, marry Val, and become the Lord of Winterfell? It seemed an easy choice when he thought of it in those terms . . . though if Ygritte had still been alive, it might have been even easier. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"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!" - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

In the end Halder and Horse had to pull him away from Iron Emmett, one man on either arm. The ranger sat on the ground dazed, his shield half in splinters, the visor of his helm knocked askew, and his sword six yards away. "Jon, enough," Halder was shouting, "he's down, you disarmed him. Enough!"

No. Not enough. Never enough. Jon let his sword drop. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Emmett, are you hurt?" - Jon XII, ASOS

x

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.

[...]

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

[...]

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want?

[...]

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then. - Jon VII, ASOS

x

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.

[...]

I will tell her. I will! - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon XII (ch. 79) <- Sansa VII (ch. 80)

Ghostly silent, drifting snowflake. 🐺❄️

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.

Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. 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. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. 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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa and Chett appear to have two things in common: drifting snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

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:

Snow was falling. - Prologue, ASOS

vs.

Snow was falling on the Eyrie. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

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

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 - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

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

[...]

The snow was drifting in to cover him. - Prologue, ASOS

vs.

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

___

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

vs.

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

___

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. - Prologue, ASOS

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

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. - Prologue, ASOS

vs.

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

[...]

Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

A Snow Maid with her Snow Knight.

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

"What are you doing?"

Petyr straightened his cloak. "Kissing a snow maid." - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Garlan Tyrell or Jon Snow?

Thank you, @rose-of-red-lake!

"It is, my lady," said Ser Loras. "Garlan often trains against three men, or even four. In battle it is seldom one against one, he says, so he likes to be prepared."

"He must be very brave." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"Lord Commander. How may we serve you?"

"With your three best."

Emmett grinned. "Arron. Emrick. Jace."

[...]

"Which one do you want first?" asked Arron.

"All three of you. At once." - Jon VI, ASOS

___

"He is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Jon swelled with pride. "Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle." - Jon I, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa daydreams of dancing.

Joffrey and Margaery led in their place. How can a monster dance so beautifully? Sansa wondered. She had often daydreamed of how she would dance at her wedding, with every eye upon her and her handsome lord. In her dreams they had all been smiling. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

His mouth twisted. "I think we have already given them sufficent amusement for one day, don't you?"

"As you say, my lord." She pulled her hand back. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

"Lady Sansa." Ser Garlan Tyrell stood beside the dais. "Would you honor me? If your lord consents?" - Sansa III, ASOS

x

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon. - Jon XII, ADWD

+.+.+

The Winter Rose.

Sansa is not his rose.

"At the Hand's tourney, don't you remember? You rode a white courser, and your armor was a hundred different kinds of flowers. You gave me a rose. A red rose. You threw white roses to the other girls that day." It made her flush to speak of it. "You said no victory was half as beautiful as me."

Ser Loras gave her a modest smile. "I spoke only a simple truth, that any man with eyes could see."

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

___

Ygritte is not his rose.

Jon sat up. "Ygritte, I never stole you."

"Aye, you did. You jumped down the mountain and killed Orell, and afore I could get my axe you had a knife at my throat. I thought you'd have me then, or kill me, or maybe both, but you never did. 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. You know nothing, Jon Snow." - Jon III, ASOS

___

Ygritte doesn't like flowers.

"Men can build a lot higher than this. In Oldtown there's a tower taller than the Wall." 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. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

[...]

"Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers."

"What's wrong with flowers?"

"Nothing, for a bee. For bed I want one o' these." Ygritte made to grab the front of his breeches. - Jon V, ASOS

___

But Sansa does.

"Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. - Sansa II, AGOT

___

Sweet-smelling Sansa.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces. - Tyrion III, ASOS

x

And then there are the roses. Roses smell so sweet, don't they? Especially when there are so many of them. - Tyrion V, ASOS

___

The Roadside Rose.

"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." - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

The rose and the direwolf.

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

___

Tywin steals a rose before it blooms. Better a Lannister than a Tyrell, eh?

The Conclave met in Oldtown behind closed doors, Tyrion knew; its deliberations were supposedly a secret. So Varys has little birds in the Citadel too. "I see. So my father decided to nip the rose before it bloomed." He had to chuckle. "Pycelle is a toad. But better a Lannister toad than a Tyrell toad, no?" - Tyrion II, ASOS

___

ACOK: Jon IV (ch. 51) -> <- Sansa IV (ch. 52)

The winter roses had only then come into bloom.

'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. And so it was done. But when morning come, the singer had vanished … and so had Lord Brandon’s maiden daughter. - Jon IV, ACOK

x

"The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You've had your first flowering, no more."

Sansa had never felt less flowery.  - Sansa IV, ACOK

___

Plucked.

"But not deflowered, one can hope." Young Lord Hunter's bushy mustache hid his mouth entirely.

"Yet," said Lyn Corbray, as if she were not there. "But ripe for plucking soon, I'd say." - Alayne I, AFFC

___

Sansa and Jon don't forget the glass gardens.

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

x

Glass, Jon mused, might be of use here. Castle Black needs its own glass gardens, like the ones at Winterfell. - Jon VII, ADWD

+.+.+

Tyrion Lannister is a jealous man.

After all his planning, after the sortie and the bridge of ships, after getting his face slashed in two, Tyrion had been eclipsed by a dead man. - Tyrion I, ASOS

x

Tyrion had seen her only yesterday, climbing the serpentine steps with a pail of water. He had watched as a young knight had offered to carry the heavy pail. The way she had touched his arm and smiled for him had tied Tyrion's guts into knots. 

[...]

It doesn't matter, he told himself as he waited for moonrise. Whatever you wear, you're still a dwarf. You'll never be as tall as that knight on the steps, him with his long straight legs and hard stomach and wide manly shoulders. - Tyrion II, ASOS

x

"Chataya's?" Tyrion said, annoyed.

"It's good to be a knight. No more looking for the cheaper brothels down the street." Bronn grinned. "Now it's Alayaya and Marei in the same featherbed, with Ser Bronn in the middle."

Tyrion had to bite back his annoyance. Bronn had as much right to bed Alayaya as any other man, but still . . . I never touched her, much as I wanted to, but Bronn could not know that. He should have kept his cock out of her. - Tyrion II, ASOS

x

"Young lady," Shae repeated, savoring the words. "You're half right, m'lord. I'm young."

Eighteen, Tyrion thought. Eighteen, and a whore, but quick of wit, nimble as a cat between the sheets, with large dark eyes and fine black hair and a sweet, soft, hungry little mouth . . . and mine! Damn you, eunuch.

"M'lord Varys complimented Chella on her ears and said she must have killed many men to have such a fine necklace," Shae explained. It grated on him to hear her call Varys m'lord in that tone; that was what she called him in their pillow play. - Tyrion I, ACOK

x

He's getting taller, Tyrion realized as Pod stood in his stirrups for a better look. He'll soon tower over me like all the rest. - Tyrion V, ASOS

x

She fiddled nervously with her hair and looked down the table to where Joffrey sat with his Tyrell queen.

Does she wish it were her in Margaery's place? Tyrion frowned. Even a child should have better sense. He turned away, wanting distraction, but everywhere he looked were women, fair fine beautiful happy women who belonged to other men. 

[...]

And there was one woman, sitting almost at the foot of the third table on the left . . . the wife of one of the Fossoways, he thought, and heavy with his child. Her delicate beauty was in no way diminished by her belly, nor was her pleasure in the food and frolics. Tyrion watched as her husband fed her morsels off his plate. They drank from the same cup, and would kiss often and unpredictably. Whenever they did, his hand would gently rest upon her stomach, a tender and protective gesture.

He wondered what Sansa would do if he leaned over and kissed her right now. Flinch away, most likely. Or be brave and suffer through it, as was her duty. She is nothing if not dutiful, this wife of mine. If he told her that he wished to have her maidenhead tonight, she would suffer that dutifully as well, and weep no more than she had to. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

A man with a few parallels with Petyr Baelish sings a song.

The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring. But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing.

The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed, in a voice that was sweet as a peach, But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own, and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.

As he lay on the ground with the darkness around, and the taste of his blood on his tongue, His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer, and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,

"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done, the Dornishman's taken my life, But what does it matter, for all men must die, and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!" - Jon I, ASOS

x

Abel rubbed the sleep from his eyes, took up his lute, and launched into "The Dornishman's Wife," whilst one of his washerwomen beat time on her drum. The singer changed the words, though. Instead of tasting a Dornishman's wife, he sang of tasting a northman's daughter. - The Turncloak, ADWD

x

When they break, they break hard, Jon Snow thought as he watched them reel away. The drums had all gone silent. How do you like that music, Mance? How do you like the taste of the Dornishman's wife? - Jon VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

But another Bael did.

"Would that I were. I will not deny that Bael's exploit inspired mine own . . . but I did not steal either of your sisters that I recall. Bael wrote his own songs, and lived them. I only sing the songs that better men have made. More mead?" - Jon I, ASOS

+.+.+

A direwolf doesn't like Petyr.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

Instead the direwolf leapt forward, snarling.

Ser Ryman's palfrey shied off with a whinny of fear, and Petyr Pimple's reared and threw him. - Catelyn VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Petyr Baelish sounding a lot like Jon Snow at a Winterfell feast.

Thank you, @kadarakey!

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

The Sun.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog and @that-plo-koon!

Sansa … Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. - Arya II, AGOT

x

The arms of Tarth were quartered rose and azure, and bore a yellow sun and crescent moon. - Brienne II, AFFC

x

When he thought of his daughters, he would have wept gladly, but the tears would not come. Even now, he was a Stark of Winterfell, and his grief and his rage froze hard inside him.

When he kept very still, his leg did not hurt so much, so he did his best to lie unmoving. For how long he could not say. There was no sun and no moon. - Eddard XV, AGOT

x

The wine was very fine; an Arbor vintage, she thought. It tasted of oak and fruit and hot summer nights, the flavors blossoming in her mouth like flowers opening to the sun. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." - Sansa I, AFFC

x

"You cannot come with me," Jon said, cupping the wolf's head in his hands and looking deep into those eyes. "You have to go to Castle Black. Do you understand? Castle Black. Can you find it? The way home? Just follow the ice, east and east, into the sun, and you'll find it. - Jon III, ASOS

x

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"Snow," the moon insisted.

The white wolf ran from it, racing toward the cave of night where the sun had hidden, his breath frosting in the air. - Jon I, ADWD

+.+.+

Jon and Tyrion use shoddy substitutes for the sun. Who's the sun?

"Not necessary, but some find it pleasant. What of love?"

"When the sun has set, no candle can replace it."

"Is that from a song?" Tyrion cocked his head, smiling. - Tyrion II, ASOS

x

His dusky woman was enough to satisfy his appetites until he could reach Meereen and claim his queen. No man had need of candles when the sun awaited him. - Victarion I, ADWD

___

Bronn laughed, and Tyrion had to smile. "Into the tent, Shae, if you would be so kind." He lifted the flap and held it for her. Inside, he knelt to light a candle. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

x

A single candle lit the gloom, spicing the air with the scent of jasmine.

[...]

"Shae," he groaned, "it is not safe."

For a time she said nothing at all. Tyrion tried to speak of other things, but he met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he'd once walked in the north. Gods be good, he thought wearily as he watched the candle burn down and begin to gutter, how could I let this happen again, after Tysha? Am I as great a fool as my father thinks?

[...]

When the candle burned out, Tyrion disentangled himself and lit another. - Tyrion II, ASOS

x

All the sweet innocence of the world was in her voice. Innocence? Fool, she's a whore, all she knows of men is the bit between their legs. Fool, fool. "Better you than me." Tyrion sat. "We have a long day before us, both of us. You shouldn't have blown out that taper. How are we to find our clothing?" - Tyrion VII

___

Ygritte had brought a torch, but there was no other light. She stood beside a little waterfall that fell from a cleft in the rock down into a wide dark pool. The orange and yellow flames shone against the pale green water.

[…]

Smiling, she set the torch carefully in a notch of rock, and came toward him. "There's naught to eat in the dark but flesh," she whispered, biting at his neck.

[…]

The light was shifting all about her, Jon noticed suddenly. He looked around. "We had best go up. The torch is almost done."

[…]

"What?" he prompted, as the torch began to gutter.

[…]

By the time the torch burned out, Jon Snow no longer cared. – Jon III, ASOS

+.+.+

Ygritte or Sansa Stark?

Sounds familiar.

At a lord's court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he'd seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn't seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well, that stirred some things as well. - Jon II, ASOS

___

Tears would fill her eyes.

Oooooooh, I am the LAST of the giants, so learn well the words of my song. For when I am gone the singing will fade, and the silence shall last long and long.

There were tears on Ygritte's cheeks when the song ended. – Jon II, ASOS

x

Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all. -Jon III, ASOS

x

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. - Arya VIII, ASOS

___

Those easy Tully smiles.

She bit his neck and he nuzzled hers, burying his nose in her thick red hair. Lucky, he thought, she is lucky, fire-kissed. - Jon III, ASOS

x

Ygritte had been pretty in her own way, with her red hair kissed by fire, but it was her smile that made her face come alive. - Jon III, ADWD

x

Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. - Arya I, AGOT

___

Half fish, you say?

Ygritte punched his arm. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. I'm half a fish, I'll have you know." - Jon V, ASOS

___

Jon imagines a girl that does not exist . . . or does she?

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. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us. - Jon V, ASOS

x

"Who is Ygritte?" Donal Noye asked pointedly.

"A woman of the free folk." How could he explain Ygritte to them? She's warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. - Jon VI, ASOS

x

When his eyelids fluttered open, he was wrapped in thick wool and floating. He could not seem to move, but that did not matter. For a time he dreamed that Ygritte was with him, tending him with gentle hands. Finally he closed his eyes and slept. - Jon VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Ygritte and Jon have a conversation about Sansa Stark.

"And what if they do? I'd sooner be stolen by a strong man than be given t' some weakling by my father."

"You say that, but how can you know? What if you were stolen by someone you hated?"

"He'd have t' be quick and cunning and brave t' steal me. So his sons would be strong and smart as well. Why would I hate such a man as that?"

"Maybe he never washes, so he smells as rank as a bear."

"Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers."

[...]

Jon caught her wrist. "What if the man who stole you drank too much?" he insisted. "What if he was brutal or cruel?" He tightened his grip to make a point. "What if he was stronger than you, and liked to beat you bloody?" - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon lays with his kin, avoids answering a question, and contemplates whether Arya was ever truly his sister.

"She [Ygritte] even claimed we were kin. She told me a story . . ." - Jon VII, ACOK

x

She punched him. "That's vile. Would you bed your sister?"

"Longspear's not your brother." - Jon III, ASOS

x

Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? - Jon III, ASOS

+.+.+

Wedding bells for Sansa and her cousin.

How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" - Sansa VI, ASOS

+.+.+

A moody bastard, pretending to be Arya's brother, almost sleeps with his sister.

"Why did you say that?" Arya hopped to her feet. "You're not my brother."

"That's right," he said angrily. "I'm too bloody lowborn to be kin to m'lady high."

Arya was taken aback by the fury in his voice. "That's not the way I meant it."

"Yes it is." He sat down on the bench, cradling a cup of wine between his hands. "Go away. I want to drink this wine in peace. Then maybe I'll go find that black-haired girl and ring her bell for her." - Arya V, ASOS

+.+.+

Targaryens lusting for their sisters.

Lord Mace Tyrell and his entourage had been housed behind the royal sept, in the long slate-roofed keep that had been called the Maidenvault since King Baelor the Blessed had confined his sisters therein, so the sight of them might not tempt him into carnal thoughts. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

The Dragonknight once won a tourney as the Knight of Tears, so he could name his sister the queen of love and beauty in place of the king's mistress. - Bran II, ASOS

x

Why shouldn't I marry Cersei openly and share her bed every night? The dragons always married their sisters. - Jaime III, ASOS

x

"I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn't we do the same? Marry me, Cersei. Stand up before the realm and say it's me you want. We'll have our own wedding feast, and make another son in place of Joffrey." - Jaime VII ASOS

x

She pulled her hands away. "You are talking madness again. Would you have us ripped apart, as Mother did that time she caught us playing? Tommen would lose the throne, Myrcella her marriage . . . I want to be your wife, we belong to each other, but it can never be, Jaime. We are brother and sister."

"The Targaryens . . ."

"We are not Targaryens!" - Jaime IX, ASOS

+.+.+

Mance or Jon? Mance deserts for a cloak.

"You will have heard stories of my desertion, I have no doubt."

"Some say it was for a crown. Some say for a woman. Others that you had the wildling blood."

[...]

"It was for this."

"A cloak?" - Jon I, ASOS

x

+.+.+

Fertility and Children

The Tyrells have their sights set on Sansa.

"The Tyrells can trace their descent back to Garth Greenhand," was the best she could manage at short notice.

The Queen of Thorns snorted. "So can the Florents, the Rowans, the Oakhearts, and half the other noble houses of the south. Garth liked to plant his seed in fertile ground, they say. I shouldn't wonder that more than his hands were green." - Sansa I, ASOS

___

Three girls, with three different eggs.

An immense round fat man, as big as three Moon Boys, he came cartwheeling into the hall, vaulted onto the table, and laid a gigantic egg right in front of Sansa. "Break it, my lady," he commanded. When she did, a dozen yellow chicks escaped and began running in all directions. "Catch them!" Butterbumps exclaimed. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi," the Lysene girl said. "Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return." - Daenerys III, AGOT

x

Dany gazed at her eggs sadly. What had she expected? A thousand years ago they had been alive, but now they were only pretty rocks. They could not make a dragon. - Daenerys VI, AGOT

x

To break her fast the queen sent to the kitchens for two boiled eggs, a loaf of bread, and a pot of honey. But when she cracked the first egg and found a bloody half-formed chick inside, her stomach roiled. - Cersei III, AFFC

___

Dornish eggs, and a bat in Sansa's stomach.

For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat. - Sansa IV, ASOS

___

Sons, and daughters.

Should you ever have a son, Sansa, beat him frequently so he learns to mind you. I only had the one boy and I hardly beat him at all, so now he pays more heed to Butterbumps than he does to me. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

You'll know that, when you have a child."

"A child?" said Sansa, uncertainly.

Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry." - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

"I might get her with child."

"Aye, I'd hope so. A strong son or a lively laughing girl kissed by fire, and where's the harm in that?" - Jon II, ASOS

___

She added a third.

She pushed two of her snowballs together, added a third - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

Pearls.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

"The pearls symbolize fertility. The more pearls Your Worship wears, the more healthy children she will bear." - Daenerys VI, ADWD

x

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

He showed them how each face bore the sigil of one of the great houses: ruby lion, emerald rose, onyx stag, silver trout, blue jade falcon, opal sun, and pearl direwolf. - Sansa IV, ASOS

x

The bodice was decorated with freshwater pearls, though. The cloak will cover them. The cloak was a deep green, with a large hood. She slipped the dress over her head, and donned the cloak, though she left the hood down for the moment. - Sansa V, ASOS

ACOK: Sansa VII (ch. 62) <- Daenerys V (ch. 63)

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

She was breaking her fast on a bowl of cold shrimp-and-persimmon soup when Irri brought her a Qartheen gown, an airy confection of ivory samite patterned with seed pearls. "Take it away," Dany said. "The docks are no place for lady's finery." - Daenerys V, ACOK

___

Jeyne Westerling or Sansa Stark?

Queen. Yes, this pretty little girl is a queen, I must remember that. She was pretty, undeniably, with her chestnut curls and heart-shaped face, and that shy smile. Slender, but with good hips, Catelyn noted. She should have no trouble bearing children, at least. - Catelyn II, ASOS

x

And at Winterfell, Sansa was a little girl with auburn hair. My daughter is a maiden tall and fair, and her hair is chestnut. Men see what they expect to see, Alayne. - Alayne I, ASOS

x

"Your bosom will be as lovely as the queen's," the old woman said as she looped her string around Sansa's chest. "You should not hide it so."

The comment made her blush. Yet the last time she'd gone riding, she could not lace her jerkin all the way to the top, and the stableboy gaped at her as he helped her mount. Sometimes she caught grown men looking at her chest as well, and some of her tunics were so tight she could scarce breathe in them. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

"Jeyne," she called after, "there's one more thing Robb needs from you, though he may not know it yet himself. A king must have an heir."

The girl smiled at that. "My mother says the same. She makes a posset for me, herbs and milk and ale, to help make me fertile. I drink it every morning. I told Robb I'm sure to give him twins. An Eddard and a Brandon. He liked that, I think. We . . . we try most every day, my lady. Sometimes twice or more." The girl blushed very prettily. "I'll be with child soon, I promise. I pray to our Mother Above, every night." - Catelyn III, ASOS

x

If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. - Arya I, AGOT

x

The girl did seem to have a good heart, just as Robb had said. And good hips, which might be more important. - Catelyn III, ASOS

x

Lady Tanda had been fleeing as well. "You have a good heart, my lady," she said to Sansa. - Sansa V, ASOS

___

Don't worry about Roslin, the mother was plenty fertile.

When she told him of Edmure's concerns about Lady Roslin's fertility, he chuckled. "Your lord brother need have no fear, Lady Catelyn. She's small, I'll grant you, and narrow in the hips, but her mother was the same, and Lady Bethany gave Lord Walder a child every year."

"How many lived past infancy?" she asked bluntly.

"Five." He ticked them off on fingers plump as sausages. - Catelyn VI, ASOS

___

For the one hundredth time: Mance or Jon?

The boy did not have a name yet, no more than Gilly's did. That was the wildling way. Not even Mance Rayder's son would get a name till his third year, it would seem, though Sam had heard the brothers calling him "the little prince" and "born-in-battle." - Samwell IV, ASOS

___

But what do they want?

He watched the child nurse at Gilly's breast, and then he watched Jon watch. Jon is smiling. A sad smile, still, but definitely a smile of sorts. Sam was glad to see it. It is the first time I've seen him smile since I got back. - Samwell IV, ASOS

x

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

x

I don't want any Lannister, she wanted to say. I want Willas, I want Highgarden and the puppies and the barge, and sons named Eddard and Bran and Rickon. - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

Her Florian.

Sansa smoothed down her skirts and sat. "I think . . . fools, my lady? You mean . . . the sort in motley?"

"Feathers, in this case. What did you imagine I was speaking of? My son? Or these lovely ladies? No, don't blush, with your hair it makes you look like a pomegranate. All men are fools, if truth be told, but the ones in motley are more amusing than ones with crowns. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"A fool and a knight?" said Jonquil. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Sweet lady," said Florian, "all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned." - The Hedge Knight

x

The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup. - Jaime III, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa hears a dreadful song, and looks to the wrong people for help.

"I CALLED FOR A KNIGHT, BUT YOU'RE A BEAR! A BEAR! A BEAR! ALL BLACK AND BROWN AND COVERED WITH HAIR!" - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Would he command his Kingsguard to strip her naked once again? The last time he had done that his uncle Tyrion had stopped him, but the Imp could not save her now. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

No one can save me but my Florian. Ser Dontos had promised he would help her escape, but not until the night of Joffrey's wedding. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

I wish the Hound were here. The night of the battle, Sandor Clegane had come to her chambers to take her from the city, but Sansa had refused. Sometimes she lay awake at night, wondering if she'd been wise. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

The words came tumbling out of her. "Yes. I will. I would like that more than anything. To wed Ser Loras, to love him . . ."

"Loras?" Lady Olenna sounded annoyed. "Don't be foolish, child. Kingsguard never wed. Didn't they teach you anything in Winterfell? We were speaking of my grandson Willas. He is a bit old for you, to be sure, but a dear boy for all that. Not the least bit oafish, and heir to Highgarden besides." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Thankfully the dreadful song ends, and the cheese finally arrives.

Thank you, @karynlibrarian and @minitafan!

x

Tyrion broke off a nibble of the cheese. It was sharp indeed, and veined with wine; very choice. "Whoever the king names will not have an easy time stepping into your armor, I can tell. Lord Mormont faces the same problem."

Lord Janos looked puzzled. - Tyrion II, ACOK

+.+.+

A little bear cub.

Tormund gave a shrug, as if to say he would never understand such madness. "Well, you are a free man now, but if you will not have the girl, best find yourself a she-bear. - Jon II, ASOS

x

"I do. Lysa has no cause for complaint." He smiled. "I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jonnel (One-Eye) Stark, son of Lynara Stark, married to Sansa Stark.

Thank you, @occupyvenus!

"A blind boy, must be. Who ever heard of a king without ears? Why, his crown would fall straight down to his neck! Har!" - Jon I, ASOS

x

He could still hear wings, though the eagle was not in sight. Half his world was black. "My eye," he said in sudden panic, raising a hand to his face.

"It's only blood, Jon Snow. He missed the eye, just ripped your skin up some."

His face was throbbing. Tormund stood over them bellowing, he saw from his right eye as he rubbed blood from his left. 

[...]

Ygritte said, "Orell tried to take his eye out."

"It was him I asked. Has he lost his tongue? Perhaps he should, to spare us further lies."

Styr the Magnar drew a long knife. "The boy might see more clear with one eye, instead of two."

"Would you like to keep your eye, Jon?" asked the King-beyond-the-Wall. - Jon II, ASOS

x

Were there twenty or twenty thousand? In the dark there was no way to tell. This is a battle of blind men, but Mance has a few thousand more of them than we do. - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

Pyp turned aside to retch, and Jon found himself envying Maester Aemon his blindness. - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

"Aye," Slynt said. "A blind man with a chain about his neck, who does he think he is?"

Aemon Targaryen, Jon thought, a king's son and a king's brother and a king who might have been. But he said nothing. - Jon X, ASOS

x

The first time he had seen the Wall he had been younger than Devan, serving aboard the Cobblecat under Roro Uhoris, a Tyroshi known up and down the narrow sea as the Blind Bastard, though he was neither blind nor baseborn.  - Davos V, ASOS

+.+.+

Two Hearts that Beat as One: Jon and Sansa are forced into unwanted marriages.

Thank you, @esther-dot!

Mance nodded. "Good. You'll go with Jarl and Styr on the morrow, then. Both of you. Far be it from me to separate two hearts that beat as one." - Jon II, ASOS

x

Two hearts that beat as one. Mance Rayder's mocking words rang bitter in his head. Jon had seldom felt so confused. - Jon III, ASOS

___

"Here in the sight of gods and men," he said, "I do solemnly proclaim Tyrion of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

She had to bite her lip to keep from sobbing. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

If Tyrion did it, they will think I was part of it as well, she realized with a start of fear. How not? They were man and wife, and Joff had killed her father and mocked her with her brother's death. One flesh, one heart, one soul. - Sansa V, ASOS

+.+.+

It doesn't compare to kissing a king.

They spent long afternoons doing needlework and talking over lemon cakes and honeyed wine, played at tiles of an evening, sang together in the castle sept . . . and often one or two of them would be chosen to share Margaery's bed, where they would whisper half the night away. Alla had a lovely voice, and when coaxed would play the woodharp and sing songs of chivalry and lost loves. Megga couldn't sing, but she was mad to be kissed. She and Alla played a kissing game sometimes, she confessed, but it wasn't the same as kissing a man, much less a king. - Sansa II, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa keeps hearing stories about favors.

As for Elinor, she was promised to a young squire, a son of Lord Ambrose; they would be wed as soon as he won his spurs. 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

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. - Sansa VII, 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

+.+.+

A Girl in Grey.

The Liddle took out a knife and whittled at a stick. "When there was a Stark in Winterfell, a maiden girl could walk the kingsroad in her name-day gown and still go unmolested, and travelers could find fire, bread, and salt at many an inn and holdfast. But the nights are colder now, and doors are closed. There's squids in the wolfswood, and flayed men ride the kingsroad asking after strangers." - Bran II, ASOS

x

"No. I mean, yes." He blushed. "The colors. Our arms are purple and white chequy, my lady. With gold coins. In the checks. Purple and white. Both." He studied her feet.

"There's a tale behind those coins," said Tyrion. "No doubt Pod will confide it to your toes one day. Just now we are expected at the Queen's Ballroom, however. Shall we?" - Sansa IV, ASOS

x

Arya XII, ASOS -> <- Tyrion IX, ASOS

"There's frost above us and snow in the high passes," the village elder said. "If you don't freeze or starve, the shadowcats will get you, or the cave bears. There's the clans as well. The Burned Men are fearless since Timett One-Eye came back from the war. And half a year ago, Gunthor son of Gurn led the Stone Crows down on a village not eight miles from here. They took every woman and every scrap of grain, and killed half the men. They have steel now, good swords and mail hauberks, and they watch the high road—the Stone Crows, the Milk Snakes, the Sons of the Mist, all of them. Might be you'd take a few with you, but in the end they'd kill you and make off with your daughter." - Arya XII, ASOS

x

He could send Podrick Payne questing after Shagga, he supposed, but there were so many hiding places in the deep of the kingswood that outlaws often evaded capture for decades. And Pod sometimes has difficulty finding the kitchens when I sent him down for cheese. Timett son of Timett would likely be back in the Mountains of the Moon by now.  - Tyrion IX, ASOS

x

A groom led a fine grey mare out the stable door. On her back was mounted a skinny hollow-eyed girl wrapped in a heavy cloak. Grey, it was, like the dress beneath it, and trimmed with white satin. The clasp that pinned it to her breast was wrought in the shape of a wolf's head with slitted opal eyes. The girl's long brown hair blew wild in the wind. She had a pretty face, he thought, but her eyes were sad and wary. - Jaime IX, ASOS

+.+.+

The Wall defends Jon and Sansa.

"I hate this Wall," she said in a low angry voice. "Can you feel how cold it is?"

"It's made of ice," Jon pointed out.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow. This wall is made o' blood."

Nor had it drunk its fill. By sunset, two of the Thenns had fallen from the ladder to their deaths, but they were the last. It was near midnight before Jon reached the top. The stars were out again, and Ygritte was trembling from the climb. "I almost fell," she said, with tears in her eyes. "Twice. Thrice. The Wall was trying t' shake me off, I could feel it." One of the tears broke free and trickled slowly down her cheek. - Jon IV, ASOS

x

He had always had a yen to see the Titan of Braavos. Perhaps that would please Sansa. Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. It made him weary. Then and now. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

x

"Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

"I am your husband. You can take off your armor now." - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

Cold courtesy.

Perhaps that would please Sansa. Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. It made him weary. Then and now. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

x

Jon Snow sat up suddenly, and the three men froze at the sound of the slosh. "My lords," he said with cold courtesy. - Jon XII, ASOS

+.+.+

The Wall is yours, Jon.

The Wall is mine, Jon reminded himself whenever he felt his strength flagging. - Jon VII, ASOS

x

 The Wall is mine, he reminded himself. - Jon IX, ASOS

x

Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon and Sansa are left in charge, and reassure terrified people during a battle.

Thank you, @aegor-bamfsteel!

He looked around the ring of firelit faces. "I need two bows and two spears to help me hold the tunnel if they break the gate." More than ten stepped forward, and the smith picked his four. "Jon, you have the Wall till I return."

For a moment Jon thought he had misheard. It had sounded as if Noye were leaving him in command. "My lord?"

"Lord? I'm a blacksmith. I said, the Wall is yours."

There are older men, Jon wanted to say, better men. I am still as green as summer grass. I'm wounded, and I stand accused of desertion. His mouth had gone bone dry. "Aye," he managed. [...] "The Wall will stop them," Jon heard himself say. He turned and said it again, louder. "The Wall will stop them. The Wall defends itself." Hollow words, but he needed to say them, almost as much as his brothers needed to hear them. "Mance wants to unman us with his numbers. Does he think we're stupid?" He was shouting now, his leg forgotten, and every man was listening. "The chariots, the horsemen, all those fools on foot . . . what are they going to do to us up here? Any of you ever see a mammoth climb a wall?" He laughed, and Pyp and Owen and half a dozen more laughed with him. "They're nothing, they're less use than our straw brothers here, they can't reach us, they can't hurt us, and they don't frighten us, do they?" - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

"Oh, gods," an old woman wailed. "We're lost, the battle's lost, she's running." Several children were crying. They can smell the fear. Sansa found herself alone on the dais. Should she stay here, or run after the queen and plead for her life?

She never knew why she got to her feet, but she did. "Don't be afraid," she told them loudly. "The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There's thick walls, the moat, the spikes . . ."

[...]

Sansa raised her hands for quiet. "Joffrey's come back to the castle. He's not hurt. They're still fighting, that's all I know, they're fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon." The last was a lie, but she had to soothe them. She noticed the fools standing under the galley. "Moon Boy, make us laugh."

[...]

Sansa went to Ser Lancel and knelt beside him. His wound was bleeding afresh where the queen had struck him. "Madness," he gasped. "Gods, the Imp was right, was right . . ."

"Help him," Sansa commanded two of the serving men. One just looked at her and ran, flagon and all. Other servants were leaving the hall as well, but she could not help that. Together, Sansa and the serving man got the wounded knight back on his feet. "Take him to Maester Frenken." - Sansa VII, ACOK

+.+.+

Jon the Gargoyle.

Thank you, @dontbipanicjonsa and @minitafan!

When the moonstones hung from Sansa's ears and about her neck, the queen nodded. "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

He raised his eyes to gaze up at the walls. In place of merlons, a thousand grotesques and gargoyles looked down on him, each different from all the others; wyverns, griffins, demons, manticores, minotaurs, basilisks, hellhounds, cockatrices, and a thousand queerer creatures sprouted from the castle's battlements as if they'd grown there. - Davos V, ASOS

x

Ser Garlan laughed. "I was a plump little boy, I fear, and we do have an uncle called Garth the Gross. So Willas struck first, though not before threatening me with Garlan the Greensick, Garlan the Galling, and Garlan the Gargoyle." - Sansa III, ASOS

x

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?" - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Tyrion, the Targaryen groom.

Thank you, @butterflies-dragons!

Tyrion wore a doublet of black velvet covered with golden scrollwork, thigh-high boots that added three inches to his height, a chain of rubies and lions' heads. - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa, the Targaryen wedding guest.

Sansa wore a gown of silvery satin trimmed in vair, with dagged sleeves that almost touched the floor, lined in soft purple felt. Shae had arranged her hair artfully in a delicate silver net winking with dark purple gemstones. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Laughing despite everything.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

It was so sweet and silly that Sansa had to laugh, despite everything. Afterward she was absurdly grateful. Somehow the laughter made her hopeful again, if only for a little while. Smiling, she let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum . . . and from time to time in Ser Garlan's arms, when the dance brought them together. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

Jon had to laugh. Even now, even here. Ygritte had been fond of Longspear Ryk. He hoped he found some joy with Tormund's Munda. Someone needed to find some joy somewhere. - Jon X, ASOS

+.+.+

A shy maid on her wedding night.

Her hands trembled as she began fumbling at her clothes. She had ten thumbs instead of fingers, and all of them were broken. Yet somehow she managed the laces and buttons, and her cloak and gown and girdle and undersilk slid to the floor, until finally she was stepping out of her smallclothes. Gooseprickles covered her arms and legs. She kept her eyes on the floor, too shy to look at him, but when she was done she glanced up and found him staring. There was hunger in his green eye, it seemed to her, and fury in the black. Sansa did not know which scared her more. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

Qhorin came and stood over him as the first flame rose up flickering from the shavings of bark and dead dry pine needles. "As shy as a maid on her wedding night," the big ranger said in a soft voice, "and near as fair. Sometimes a man forgets how pretty a fire can be."

He was not a man you'd expect to speak of maids and wedding nights. So far as Jon knew, Qhorin had spent his whole life in the Watch. Did he ever love a maid or have a wedding? He could not ask. Instead he fanned the fire. When the blaze was all acrackle, he peeled off his stiff gloves to warm his hands, and sighed, wondering if ever a kiss had felt as good. - Jon VIII, ACOK

+.+.+

Two imprisoned husbands? Quickly after Tyrion is arrested, Jon Snow joins him.

"Hush, you'll be the death of us. I did nothing. Come, we must away, they'll search for you. Your husband's been arrested."

"Tyrion?" she said, shocked.

"Do you have another husband? The Imp, the dwarf uncle, she thinks he did it." He grabbed her hand and pulled at her. "This way, we must away, quickly now, have no fear." - Sansa V, ASOS

x

Slynt purpled. "Murder? You insolent pup. King Robert was not even cold when Lord Eddard moved against his son." He rose to his feet; a shorter man than Mormont, but thick about the chest and arms, with a gut to match. A small gold spear tipped with red enamel pinned his cloak at the shoulder. "Your father died by the sword, but he was highborn, a King's Hand. For you, a noose will serve. Ser Alliser, take this turncloak to an ice cell." - Jon IX, ASOS

+.+.+

A dragon knight shows up all over Sansa's chapter.

They continued down the serpentine and across a small sunken courtyard. Ser Dontos shoved open a heavy door and lit a taper. They were inside a long gallery. Along the walls stood empty suits of armor, dark and dusty, their helms crested with rows of scales that continued down their backs. As they hurried past, the taper's light made the shadows of each scale stretch and twist. The hollow knights are turning into dragons, she thought. - Sansa V, ASOS

___

Sansa dared not look down. She kept her eyes on the face of the cliff, making certain of each step before reaching for the next. The stone was rough and cold. Sometimes she could feel her fingers slipping, and the handholds were not as evenly spaced as she would have liked. The bells would not stop ringing. Before she was halfway down her arms were trembling and she knew that she was going to fall. One more step, she told herself, one more step. She had to keep moving. If she stopped, she would never start again, and dawn would find her still clinging to the cliff, frozen in fear. One more step, and one more step.

The ground took her by surprise. She stumbled and fell, her heart pounding. When she rolled onto her back and stared up at from where she had come, her head swam dizzily and her fingers clawed at the dirt. I did it. I did it, I didn't fall, I made the climb and now I'm going home. - Sansa V, ASOS

x

One step and then another, Jon told himself. One step and then another, and I will not fall. [...]

One step and then another, he resumed when the gale subsided. One step and then another, and I will not fall. [...]

One step and then another, he thought, clinging tight. [...]

Don't look down. Keep your weight above your feet. Don't look down. Look at the rock in front of you. There's a good handhold, yes. Don't look down. I can catch a breath on that ledge there, all I need to do is reach it. Never look down. - Jon VI, ACOK

+.+.+

A ghostly shape appears at the hint of dawn.

The eastern sky was vague with the first hint of dawn when Sansa finally saw a ghostly shape in the darkness ahead - Sansa V, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon and Sansa are drowning.

Thank you, @minitafan!

Ser Loras in white silk, so pure, innocent, beautiful. The dimples at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. The sweetness of his laugh, the warmth of his hand. She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Longclaw seemed heavier than lead in his hand, too heavy to lift. The man kept staring at him, with eyes as big and black as wells. I will fall into those eyes and drown. - Jon V, ASOS

x

Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." - Sansa I, AFFC

+.+.+

Sam, Gilly, and weird sister thoughts while sleeping.

He liked sleeping next to her. It made him remember times long past, when he had shared a huge bed at Horn Hill with two of his sisters. - Samwell III, ASOS

x

When the feast was done he went up to sleep; not to the lord's bedchamber where his mother and father lived but to the room he had once shared with his sisters. Only instead of his sisters it was Gilly waiting in the huge soft bed, wearing nothing but a big shaggy fur, milk leaking from her breasts. - Samwell III, ASOS

+.+.+

The blood of Winterfell.

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. - Jon VI, ASOS

x

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. - Sansa I, AFFC

+.+.+

Sons and daughters of Winterfell.

Lord Commander Mormont made you his steward. You are a son of Winterfell, a nephew of Benjen Stark. It must be you or no one. The Wall is yours, Jon Snow. - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. - Arya XIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Stone and Snow are north of the Neck.

Lord Redwyne laughed. "What is there north of the Neck that any sane man would want? If Greyjoy will trade swords and sails for stone and snow, I say do it, and count ourselves lucky." - Tyrion III, ASOS

+.+.+

I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you.

It was not as though he was the first man ever to keep a concubine. Sansa's own oh-so-honorable father had given her a bastard brother. - Tyrion VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon and Ygritte open and close like their foils.

Jon slid his dirk free, grabbing the man by the hair and jamming the point of the knife up under his chin as he reached for his—no, her—

His hand froze. "A girl." - Jon VI, ACOK

x

"I never meant to steal you," he said. "I never knew you were a girl until my knife was at your throat." - Jon III, ASOS

x

"Just as if I was one of those true knights you love so well, yes. What do you think a knight is for, girl? You think it's all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate? Knights are for killing." He laid the edge of his longsword against her neck, just under her ear. Sansa could feel the sharpness of the steel. - Sansa IV, ACOK

___

"Oh." Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she sighed, dying. - Jon VII

x

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps. - Sansa VII, ACOK

+.+.+

Prince Aemon keeps following Sansa around the story.

ASOS: Jon XII (ch. 79) -> Sansa VII (ch. 80)

They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"Sweet one," her father said gently, "listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me." - Sansa III, AGOT

x

The gift of a sword, even a sword as fine as Longclaw, did not make him a Mormont. Nor was he Aemon Targaryen. - Jon IX, AGOT

x

AGOT: Sansa IV (ch. 51) -> Jon VII (ch. 52)

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen. - Sansa IV, AGOT

x

ACOK: Jon VI (ch. 51) <- Sansa IV (ch. 52) -> Jon VII (ch. 53)

She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. - Sansa IV, ACOK

x

"No doubt you're right. So why don't you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I'm sure it won't be very long now." - Sansa V, ACOK

+.+.+

The theme of wanton behaviour suddenly explodes for two characters who have never exhibited wanton behaviour.

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

x

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

x

"So you admit it now? It was you, just as I thought. You are as wanton as your mother." - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Most succumb to their baser selves.

"I have heard that in the Sunset Kingdoms men take solemn vows to keep chaste and father no children, but live only for their duty. Is it not so?"

"It is," Arstan said, when the question was put. "There are many such orders. The maesters of the Citadel, the septons and septas who serve the Seven, the silent sisters of the dead, the Kingsguard and the Night's Watch . . ."

"Poor things," growled the slaver, after the translation. "Men were not made to live thus. Their days are a torment of temptation, any fool must see, and no doubt most succumb to their baser selves. Not so our Unsullied. They are wed to their swords in a way that your Sworn Brothers cannot hope to match. No woman can ever tempt them, nor any man." - Daenerys II, ASOS

+.+.+

Cinderella, her evil step-mother, and the glass slipper. Where's Prince Charming?

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

Up in the gallery the musicians took up their pipes and horns and fiddles again, and began to play "The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown." - Catelyn VII, ASOS

x

They brought her new shoes as well, slippers of soft grey doeskin that hugged her feet like lovers. "You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

Irri slid the slippers onto Dany's feet. They were gilded leather, decorated with green freshwater pearls. Does the butcher king believe a pair of pretty slippers will win my hand? "King Cleon is most generous. You may thank him for his lovely gift." Lovely, but made for a child. Dany had small feet, yet the pointed slippers mashed her toes together. - Daenerys I, ADWD

x

One of her sandals had slipped off during her wild flight from Meereen and she had left the other up by Drogon's cave, preferring to go barefoot rather than half-shod. - Daenerys X, ADWD

+.+.+

Will it be a Dornish princess for Aegon, and a northern girl for Aemon? Double ouch.

"Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late." She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. "If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl." - Daenerys IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa and Jon are all alone in bed.

Jon wondered where Ghost was now. Had he gone to Castle Black, or was he was running with some wolfpack in the woods? He had no sense of the direwolf, not even in his dreams. It made him feel as if part of himself had been cut off. Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. He did not want to die alone. - Jon V, ASOS

x

She threw back the coverlets. I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.

Her lord husband was not beside her, but she was used to that. Tyrion was a bad sleeper and often rose before the dawn. - Sansa IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Loopholes.

"By the High Septon or a Council of Faith. Our present High Septon is a trained seal who barks prettily on command. Moon Boy is more like to annul my marriage than he is." - Tyrion IV, ASOS

x

Robb's fingers brushed the pommel of his sword. "If I could I'd take his ugly head off. Sansa would be a widow then, and free. There's no other way that I can see. They made her speak the vows before a septon and don a crimson cloak." - Catelyn IV, ASOS

x

I wonder what the High Septon would have to say about the sanctity of oaths sworn while dead drunk, chained to a wall, with a sword pressed to your chest? Not that Jaime was truly concerned about that fat fraud, or the gods he claimed to serve. - Jaime I, ASOS

x

"You gave her to him?" she cried, dismayed. "You swore an oath to Lady Catelyn . . ."

"With a sword at my throat, but never mind. Lady Catelyn's dead. I could not give her back her daughters even if I had them. And the girl my father sent with Steelshanks was not Arya Stark." - Jaime IX, ASOS

x

"Vows made at sword point are not valid," the maester argued. - Bran V, ACOK

x

"She is old enough to be Lady of Winterfell once her brother is dead. Claim her maidenhood and you will be one step closer to claiming the north. Get her with child, and the prize is all but won. Do I need to remind you that a marriage that has not been consummated can be set aside?" - Tyrion IV, ASOS

x

Jaime sighed. "Then let them wed. It will be years before Tommen is old enough to consummate the marriage. And until he does, the union can always be set aside. Give Tyrell his wedding and send him off to play at war." - Jaime I, AFFC

x

"The monster has tied us a thorny knot," the old knight told Maester Luwin. "Like it or no, Lady Hornwood was his wife. He made her say the vows before both septon and heart tree, and bedded her that very night before witnesses. She signed a will naming him as heir and fixed her seal to it." - Bran V, ACOK

x

Septon Cellador cleared his throat. "Lord Slynt," he said, "this boy refused to swear his vows properly in the sept, but went beyond the Wall to say his words before a heart tree. His father's gods, he said, but they are wildling gods as well."

"They are the gods of the north, Septon." Maester Aemon was courteous, but firm. - Jon IX, ASOS

x

(A vow sworn in a sept . . .)

"Jon." Melisandre was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. "R'hllor is the only true god. A vow sworn to a tree has no more power than one sworn to your shoes. Open your heart and let the light of the Lord come in. Burn these weirwoods, and accept Winterfell as a gift of the Lord of Light." - Jon XI, ASOS

+.+.+

Her claim.

"The girl's happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark." - Tyrion III, ASOS

x

The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

"How can I lose men I do not have? I had hoped to bestow Winterfell on a northman, you may recall. A son of Eddard Stark. He threw my offer in my face." Stannis Baratheon with a grievance was like a mastiff with a bone; he gnawed it down to splinters.

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa." - Jon I, ADWD

+.+.+

Tyrion wants Winterfell and Sansa. Jon wants Winterfell and . . .

I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust. - Tyrion IV, ASOS

x

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. - Jon XI, ASOS

x

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

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. - Jon XII, ASOS

+.+.+

Count on Jon and Sansa to always forget someone.

Sansa had grown up with three brothers. She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

She threw back the coverlets. I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now. - Sansa IV, ASOS

+.+.+

They have the look.

"I see it now," the Lady Lysa said, as she set the core aside. "You look so much like Catelyn."

"It's kind of you to say so."

"It was not meant as flattery. If truth be told, you look too much like Catelyn. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

Stannis snorted. "I know Janos Slynt. And I knew Ned Stark as well. Your father was no friend of mine, but only a fool would doubt his honor or his honesty. You have his look." - Jon XI, ASOS

+.+.+

He's no Loras, but I don't think she'll be disappointed.

She could never hold a picture of Willas long in her head, though; her imaginings kept turning him back into Ser Loras, young and graceful and beautiful. You must not think of him like that, she told herself. Or else he may see the disappointment in your eyes when you meet, and how could he marry you then, knowing it was his brother you loved? - Sansa II, ASOS

x

She remembered her own childish disappointment, the first time she had laid eyes on Eddard Stark. She had pictured him as a younger version of his brother Brandon, but that was wrong. Ned was shorter and plainer of face, and so somber. - Catelyn V, ASOS

+.+.+

Throwaway lines that make us smile.

Dress warmly, Ser Dontos had told her, and dress dark. She had no blacks, so she chose a dress of thick brown wool. - Sansa V, ASOS

+.+.+

Shades of Jon.

"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws." - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head." - Arya XIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon hears a familiar song.

Thank you, @minitafan!

Yet still the drums beat on, the trebuchets shuddered and thumped, and the sound of skinpipes came wafting through the night like the songs of strange fierce birds. Septon Cellador began to sing as well, his voice tremulous and thick with wine.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

"Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don’t kill me, she wanted to scream, please don’t. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy - Sansa VII, ACOK

+.+.+

Arya's sister catches a crow.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

The crows were there too, screaming at the wolves and filling the air with feathers. Their blood was hotter, and one of her sisters had snapped at one as it took flight and caught it by the wing. It made her want a crow herself. She wanted to taste the blood, to hear the bones crunch between her teeth, to fill her belly with warm flesh instead of cold. She was hungry and the meat was all around, but she knew she could not eat. - Arya XII, ASOS

+.+.+

Alayne Stone or Jon Snow?

"I have no gallant knights in my service, Alayne. Such a tale would draw unwanted questions as a corpse draws crows. It is rude to pry into the origins of a man's natural children, however." He cocked his head. "So, who are you?"

"Alayne . . . Stone, would it be?" When he nodded, she said, "But who is my mother?" - Sansa VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Samwell Tarly or Sansa Stark?

Sobbing, he took another step. The snow swirled down around him. [...]

Sobbing, he took another step. The crust was broken where he set his feet, otherwise he did not think he could have moved at all. [...]

Sobbing, he took another step. - Samwell I, ASOS

x

One more step, she told herself, one more step. She had to keep moving. If she stopped, she would never start again, and dawn would find her still clinging to the cliff, frozen in fear. One more step, and one more step. - Sansa V, ASOS

___

Maslyn screamed for mercy. Why had he suddenly remembered that? It was nothing he wanted to remember. The man had stumbled backward, dropping his sword, pleading, yielding, even yanking off his thick black glove and thrusting it up before him as if it were a gauntlet. He was still shrieking for quarter as the wight lifted him in the air by the throat and near ripped the head off him. The dead have no mercy left in them, and the Others . . . no, I mustn't think of that, don't think, don't remember, just walk, just walk, just walk.

[...]

Why must he remember the fight at the Fist? He didn't want to remember. Not that. He tried to make himself remember his mother, or his little sister Talla, or that girl Gilly at Craster's Keep. - Samwell I, ASOS

x

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. - Sansa II, ACOK

___

Sam knew a hundred songs, but when he tried to think of one he couldn't. The words had all gone from his head. He sobbed again and said, "I don't know any songs, Grenn. I did know some, but now I don't." - Samwell I, ASOS

x

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. - Sansa VII, ACOK

___

Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell's birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was. But he grew ill at the sight of blood, and wept to see even a chicken slaughtered. - Jon IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Remembering Robb.

She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell. 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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

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

+.+.+

Jon's better at sums.

Thank you, @trins-trins!

She was looking at him the way she used to look at him at Winterfell, whenever he had bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward. - Arya I, AGOT

x

"Matthar, to the rangers. Dareon, to the stewards. Todder, to the rangers. Jon, to the stewards."

The stewards! For a moment Jon could not believe what he had heard. - Jon VI, AGOT

+.+.+

Oh no, does Willas have a bad leg?

"Willas has a bad leg but a good heart," said Margaery. "He used to read to me when I was a little girl, and draw me pictures of the stars. You will love him as much as we do, Sansa." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Suddenly he was too weary to stand, and his leg was agony from knee to groin. He fumbled for his crutch. - Jon VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Ashford alert: Willas was supposed to be another Leo.

The Fat Flower thrust him into tourneys at too tender an age, just as he did with the other two. He wanted another Leo Longthorn, and made himself a cripple. - Tyrion V, ASOS

+.+.+

Here we go again! A plot device does her best Sansa Stark impression.

Val looked at him with pale grey eyes. "He always climbed too fast." She was as fair as he'd remembered, slender, full-breasted, graceful even at rest, with high sharp cheekbones and a thick braid of honey-colored hair that fell to her waist. - Jon X, ASOS

x

Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue - Jon XI, ADWD

vs.

Worse, she was beautiful. - Arya I, AGOT

x

"Your bosom will be as lovely as the queen's," the old woman said as she looped her string around Sansa's chest. "You should not hide it so." - Sansa II, ASOS

x

"I had heard that Lord Littlefinger's daughter was fair of face and full of grace, but no one ever told me that she was a thief." - Alayne I, TWOW

x

Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones - Arya I, AGOT

x

"OH, SWEET SHE WAS, AND PURE, AND FAIR! THE MAID WITH HONEY IN HER HAIR!" - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." - Sansa I, AFFC

___

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely. - Jon XI, ADWD

vs.

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.

[...]

He smiled. "I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. - Sansa VII, ASOS

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ASOS: PART IV

Touch me.

Chapter Transitions

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[fromtheboundlesssea]

Love’s Not Always Wise Ch 79

Robb XXIII

They had postponed it as long as they could. They had sent a letter asking for time and it was made apparent that patience was not a virtue the Dragon Queen had.

“We will tread carefully,” Robb said. “Regardless of how you all view me, what Tyrion Lannister and those of Westeros that surrounds the queen matters more in this regard. To them I am the same boy who lost the North, who was tricked by the Freys, who didn’t trade the Kingslayer for my sisters. They might use their idea of me to make me give up the North. Perhaps we are wrong and the Dragon Queen is truly not like her father, but we cannot go without taking the proper steps.”

Robb looked to his siblings. Sansa smiled at him with nervous pride. Jon was solemn. Rickon was fidgeting. Celia was still in her room with Cat. She had refused to leave. Theon had stayed with her. She had been so angry when the decision had been made, even if she understood why.

“I have here an edict written by myself and signed by my siblings. And, should we all agree, I wish for the lords present to sign it and for the leaders of the Free Folk to make a mark they claim as their own to prove that all voices were in agreement”

“And what is it that the edict says, your grace?” Ser Davos asked.

“I shall be the one to go to Dragonstone.” The lords began to murmur. “If Daenerys Targaryen is as good as the Imp proclaims, then I shall write to the North and she and I will begin to discuss peace talks and how to ally ourselves for the coming wars. If she is like her father, and I do not write within a month’s time, I am either dead or her hostage.” He held up the scroll. “This edict dictates that Jon is to become regent until Rickon is able and willing to become king. And if my youngest brother never wishes to have the crown then it is to go to Sansa, and then Celia. This is so that, should the queen try to use me, the North has a smooth transfer of leadership that we need not worry about.”

“And while you are away, your grace?” One of the lords asked.

“Prepare. Prepare for the war that will decide the fate of Westeros.”

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[leesielex]

Magic Awakens | CH 25 Jon Snow (Bastard of Winterfell)

Summary: Jon struggles with more strange dreams and plays a prank on his siblings.

Small Snippet :

The wolves seemed to know what they all wanted before the children did. Sometimes the wolves chose to ignore them though, the wild willful animals that they were. Lady, Sansa’s direwolf, was the most gentle, a perfect lady like her companion. Of course, Nymeria was the fiercest, just as Arya was.

Grey Wind and Summer, Bran’s chosen name for his wolf, were loyal and protective, if not a little mischievous. Rickon’s was the wildest, but with him still just a toddler, the wolf behaved more in submission to his siblings than to Rickon’s control over “Shaggydog”, or so he believed. Arya made fun of her youngest brother at his choice of name, calling him stupid because they weren’t dogs.

Jon wasn’t sure of the creativity she expected from a toddler who barely knew how to speak yet. Oddly enough the name stuck and the wolf seemed pleased enough with it. There were some chaotic times with a home full of direwolf cubs. Mostly during dinner when the children insisted they bring their pups despite Lady Stark’s protests.

Nymeria would steal a chicken leg and run off as Arya chased her, knocking a few people on their arses. Once Catelyn gave a scream and forbade the wolves in the Great Hall after Rickon threw a tantrum and Shaggydog jumped up on top of the table, knocking goblets and plates to the floor with a crash. Then the wolf bared its teeth and growled at her. All because the boy didn’t want to eat his vegetables.

Grey Wind then jumped up to put the black wolf in its place. Food flew everywhere, upon their faces and in their hair, splattering across the floor. Their drinks spilled in Catelyn and Sansa’s laps, dripping from the table as the others lapped at the spilled meal and beverage.

Sansa cried about her ruined dress. Which caused Arya to pick up the already ruined food and use her fork to flick at her sister for the scene she created and annoying her. In turn, Lady and Nymeria were at each other’s throats joining the fight as well, growling and wrestling, baring their teeth and snapping at each other, just as their companions sometimes did to each other.

Ghost just stood obediently and silently by, watching it all unfold and waiting for Jon to sneak him scraps under the table and scratch him behind the ears. Now that the children and wolves were both older and better behaved, slightly at least, the direwolves were allowed wherever the children went. Though they still knew not to bring them to dinner. Especially if it was an important feast.

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[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

A Preview...

Someone requested a fix for their birthday...I don’t have the next chapter for I Just Think I’ll Scream quite ready for prime time, but here’s a sneak peak: 

Ch 20 Sansa

Robb and Ned were up and away before Sansa emerged from her shower in the morning. The house is chaos as Catelyn tries to wrangle the remaining Starks out the door. "Sansa, stop feeding Shaggydog scraps from the table and get dressed! Bran, there are two boxes of gourds by the back door that need to be brought to the store for the window display. Be a dear and put them in the car. And where are Arya and Rickon?" 

 Sansa skips up the stairs before she's pulled into the hunt, almost knocking into her younger sister as she slides down the bannister. "One of these days that's going to break."

 "Whatever, killjoy."

 "Mom is looking for you, but you better change. We are supposed to wear floral for the Women's Club Bake Sale. It's themed and Cersei Lannister is going to be there, so we have to be on our best behavior." Her little sister is wearing their dad's old Falcon's sweatshirt and ripped up jeans, looking for all the world like she's about to spend the day painting a house or cleaning out a garage, and not hobnobbing with their mother's friends and clients. 

 "I'm not working the bake sale. I'm selling tickets to the haunted fun house with Mycah." 

 "Says who?" 

Before Arya can respond, Catelyn is at the bottom of the stairs. "Me. You know that it'll be better for everyone if Arya isn't cooped up all day in a tent with the Women's Club ladies. Help me get through the midday rush, Sansa, and you can slip away and spend the afternoon with Harry if you'd like." 

 "Gods, Mom! They broke up weeks ago! Catch up!" Arya yells as the back door slams behind her and Sansa is alone, staring down the steps at her mother whose face has fallen into a look of concern. 

 "Oh, Sansa, dear. Why didn't you tell me?" 

 She sighs, "It's fine, Mom. Like Arya said, it happened weeks ago, and it was just a high school fling. They aren't meant to last." She turns back up the stairs, not waiting to see if her brush off was convincing. She dresses in the dark maxi dress waiting on her hook, with its long flowy sleeves and pattern of intricate woodland flowers. Usually, she feels like Florence Welch in it. Today though, as she inspects herself before the mirror, it's coming off less stylishly bohemian and more dowdy Victorian with the small ruffles along the high collar and shoulders. Ygritte would never wear something like this, a small ugly voice whispers. 

 Just as she's about to dive back into her closet, Bran yells up the stairs, "We're going to leave without you, Sansa," and it makes her choice for her. It's fine. She'll just hide in a corner of the tent with Old Nan and sneak lemon cakes all day. No one has to see her. So what if the band is playing this afternoon? It's not like any of them care if she watches their show, and she's basically heard the whole set already in rehearsals. It's not like Robb told everybody at school about it. It's not like she promised to get there early and save a spot up front with Marge and Jeyne. 

Ygritte will probably be there to watch Jon. Best to skip...at least until she gets over her absurd crush. 

 "Sansa! Mom is literally starting the engine!" Bran yells again. 

 "Coming!" The best she can do is throw on sunglasses and a wide-brimmed fedora and hope no one recognizes her. Outside, Arya is still arguing with Rickon about buckling his car seat and Cat is on her phone, pacing up the driveway while Bran sits on the back step, whistling the march from Bridge Over the River Kwai. "Liar," Sansa flicks off his baseball cap. "We're nowhere near about to leave."

 "She was starting the engine before her phone rang."

 When they finally find a parking spot, it's apparent to everyone that they would have been better off leaving the car at home and walking. Though the festival hasn't officially started yet, the main street is closed off, and the big parking lot has been covered in carnival rides overnight. Arya peels off from their group when Mycah gives her a holler from on top of the Ferris wheel, leaving Bran and Sansa to lug the several boxes filled with decorative gourds to the hardware store, while their mom takes Rickon and their contributions to the bake sale in the opposite direction.  

 Outside the store entrance, Benjen is struggling with his pop-up tent, which keeps leaning to one side in the wind, while Meera watches him from the front step. "This is your fault, Sansa! Making me set up a stand, like I'm some lady selling doilies at a craft fair," He curses when the whole thing folds up on top of him.

 "Good morning to you too, Uncle Ben," she rolls her eyes. "Where is Robb? He can get you bags of sand to anchor the tent. And don't knock doilies. There are entire rooms at the Met devoted to Myrish Lace alone. You can poke fun at craft fairs once even one of your pieces is on display at a similarly storied institution. Until then, you better get comfortable setting up this tent because I have three holiday craft markets lined up for you this season."

 "You're just supposed to be sprucing up my website, not taking over the business! And don't get me started on your brother. I haven't had my morning caffeine fix yet because he disappeared on a coffee run ages ago. How long does it take to pour a bloody cup of coffee? If Jon Snow is holding up my joe with some pumpkin spice, whipped cream nonsense-"

On cue, Mr. paparazzo himself, appears in the doorway and before Sansa can land on an emotion, he's lifting the box from her arms with a gruff "G'morning Sansa," and then he's back in the shop, leaving her empty-handed and a bit empty-headed. 

 "He looks like he needs caffeine more than you," she remarks at last, meeting eyes with her uncle.

 Meera sniggers. "You think? He looks like he spent the night sleeping under a car." Sansa wouldn't go that far, but it was hard to miss the circles under his eyes or how pale and papery his skin looked in the cold morning light. 

 "Give the kid a break. They played their first show last night, didn't they? If he's a bit wrung out this morning, that just means he's doing it right." Benjen jumps to Jon's defense. 

 "Well then, he's been doing it right every weekend. He's looked like this every morning since he started at the store," Meera says, heading back inside to supervise since Robb is still M.I.A. Sansa thinks about Ygritte's Instagram feed with its late night cigarettes and coffee at the diner and regular parties in what looks like someone's grungy basement. So, Jon works hard and plays hard. It's not entirely shocking. It niggles at her though; how tired he looks and how he doesn't talk about partying when he's at Winterfell. Her other friends are always eager to share their weekend escapades, but when Sansa asked how his party went when his Mom was out of town, Jon just gave her a noncommittal shrug and told her it was fine. 

 That's because you aren't really friends. She turns, more than ready to join her mom at the bake sale, when Robb comes skipping across the street with a drink carrier in hand. "Sansa! Just the girl I'm looking for." Her brother is as chipper as ever, seemingly inured to whatever effects from last night's show have taken the wind from Jon Snow's sails. "Can you help with the window display? Mom told me to spiff it up for the festival, but you've got a better eye for that kind of thing."

 "Oh, sure. Skip out of work for an hour to flirt with some barista and then come back at the last minute to coerce your sister into doing your job?" Benjen barks and Robb's face turns scarlet. 

 "I… uh, what? No… I wasn't flirting…" 

 "Aren't you doing the same thing to me, Uncle Ben?" Sansa retorts, saving her brother from his bumbling. She makes a note to stop by the coffee shop and find out who this barista is. Uncle Benjen may be onto something. "Come on Robb, give Uncle Benji his coffee and I'll spare a few minutes for a consultation." 

 Inside, Bran and Meera are balancing tiny pumpkins on their heads as they wind through the aisles, trying to trip each other up. Jon Snow is leaning against the paint counter, looking ragged. She fights the urge to ask him if he's okay, opting instead to tip over Bran's pumpkin and herd him over to the window display. "Here, help me before Mom walks by and turns Robb into the headless horseman." They distribute the gourds in artfully artless piles throughout the window, as Jon and Robb hang a paint chip mobile over their heads; the autumnal pièce de résistance that Sansa spent hours making last year.

"Sans, I wish you could have been there last night. It was amazing," Robb excitedly recounts the band's show, "Jon was on fire, and apparently some promoters from White Harbor were there and Satin thinks he can book us some shows at North State! Isn't that great?"

 "Yeah, though, won't that be hard with swimming?" She doesn't want to rain on Robb's parade, but maybe Arya is right. She is a killjoy.

 "I have a meet in White Harbor next month. Maybe we can book a few gigs around it. What do you think, Jon? You up for a weekend road trip?"

 "Uh.." Jon scratches at his neck, blearily. "I mean, that's a long drive to do late at night."

 "Don't worry, we'll get a hotel for the weekend!"

 "I don't know-"

 The bell jingles at the door, and before Meera can scramble off the counter where she's been reading a comic, Catelyn is inside, gazing around the space, looking deeply unimpressed. 

 "Mom, uh, we were just finishing up with the decorations." Robb wobbles on the ladder in terror, unable to hook the last end of the mobile in place, and Bran ducks behind a pile of pumpkins, trying to hide his glee.

 "Robb, you should have opened the store fifteen minutes ago. How are you just now finishing the decorations?"

“Well, the gourds only just arrived-” Robb starts, lamely. 

“Never mind,” their mom sweeps through the space, picking up the boxes still out from stocking, tidying the candy by the register, before turning one last critical eye on her teenage employees. Jon cups his neck as he holds the ladder with his other hand. Robb scrambles down, having finally managed to hang the mobile correctly, rushing forward to grab the empty boxes from his mother. “Cersei Lannister is going to be here any minute. Get this garbage to the back. Meera, flip the sign and Jon, take the ladder back and...splash some water on your face or something. You look like death, warmed over. Jory is coming around ten, if you need to take the afternoon off.” 

Jon’s ears turn pink as he folds up the ladder beside Sansa, and she looks out the window, mortified. “Sorry Mrs. Stark, but that’s not necessary” he begins, but Catelyn is already walking back to the office with a tired wave. 

“I said it was a lot of hours you were taking on between school, the lumberyard and this. Just make sure you are fitting sleep in or you’ll make yourself sick, dear.” 

[mysticnightmarewrites]

the night we met - Ch. 1

It's been years since Gendry last saw Arya, and his heart has never truly healed. When Sansa's wedding threatens to force a reunion he is not ready to face, Gendry finds himself begging the universe for a second chance. Not to go back to the end to keep it at bay but to go to the beginning to keep it from happening at all.

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SONG: "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron PAIRING: Arya/Gendry LENGTH: 1.6k words WARNING: Fic will be 18+ in subsequent chapters. Minors DNI.

The first time I ever pulled up the driveway to the Stark manor, it was for a funeral. It was only fitting, then, that the last time would be for a wedding.

When I got the invite, printed on sparkly, pink stationary, I wondered what Sansa was thinking, inviting me, out of all people, after everything that had happened. I almost hadn't come, and with the front door looming large over me, I wished I hadn't. If Sansa hadn't called last week – demanding I be there for her "special day" – I’d have still been at home on my threadbare couch in an oil-stained jumpsuit watching Ancient Zombies. Not dressed in a nice suit and shiny shoes. A farce, just polish on my rough edges.

I owed the Starks a lot. Too much. There was no way to tell Sansa no.

The doorbell rang loud inside the manor, but no one came to open the door. So I was early, then. On the inside, the manor looked the same as it had before, but with bouquets of flowers bursting across the wall and out of the floors. I had almost left the entrance hall when the guest book in the corner caught my eye. Sansa would like it if I added my name. There, on the mostly blank page, were the four letters that, after all these years, could still pierce my heart.

Arya had written her name in the way she always had. Large, block letters that had once closed out postcards and hand-written notes when everything was falling apart. So she was here. Of course she was here. What were thousands of miles when your only sister was getting married? My feet turned toward the door, begging me to run far away, but in life you can't go back. You can only trudge forward and put the closed door behind you. I wrote my name, all lowercase letters, next to hers, remembering times when I had been as close to her as our names now were. These days we weren't even in the same book.

A shout of my name coming down the hall alerted me to a ball of curly red hair launching at me. "Rickon!" I exclaimed surprised as I wrapped my arms around the boy and mussed his hair like I used to, before I remembered he wasn’t a boy anymore and I wasn’t his favorite sister’s boyfriend either. But he still smiled up at me. "You've grown! What are you, in high school now?"

Rickon rolled his eyes and teasingly punched my shoulder. "Nope. I'm a freshman at Riverlands U." Our old school. It didn’t need to be said. The kid already knew.

"Wow, it’s been that long, has it?"

There was a suspicious twinkle in Rickon’s eye as he grabbed my elbow and started guiding me toward the godswood, where the ceremony would take place. I hadn't realized Sansa would want a northern wedding, but it made sense, too.

"Wait a second.” I lifted up a small box wrapped in obnoxious pink paper I’d bought just for the occasion. Rickon started to point to an elaborately decorated gifts table, which only had a handful of presents on it, but I shook my head. "No, I mean, where's the bride? I need to give this to Sansa myself."

His mouth opened in surprise, his brow furrowed. For a moment, he looked unsure. "I suppose that's allowed. You're not the groom after all," he said, tapping his chin. "And I'm sure Pod wouldn't mind. You're family," he declared, taking me by the arm again, but this time pulling me in a different direction, toward the bedrooms.

The closed door in front of me felt like an impenetrable wall. Arya was on the other side of it. She had to be. I could almost feel her energy wrapping around me at this distance. The ghost of everything I couldn't have, mocking me and shredding up my heart.

Rickon knocked sharply a few times, yelling so loud I thought they could hear him all the way in the capitol. "Gendry wants to see you!" My heart stopped. I didn’t think I could bear to see her, even by accident, and so I added, not quite as loudly, "Sansa, are you there?"

Her light, clear voice rang out from the other side. "Just a moment!"

When the door opened, Sansa appeared, wrapped snug in a fancy robe with the word bride embroidered on the back in pink thread, and she'd never looked happier, not since I'd known her. I'd been that happy once, but I didn’t let my sour thoughts take the smile off her face.

The door closed before I could see anything beyond it. I almost wished Arya had opened the door, just so I could see her face, one last time, without a crowd of people around to stand witness to my pain.

"I'm so glad you came," and the way she said it made me think she meant it.

"I couldn't say no to you, Sansa. I had something I wanted to give you, actually, before the ceremony, in case I don't see you later." In case the panic of seeing her again made me leave before the toasts were even given.

She looked curious, but accepted the box and pulled off the paper, wadding it up and tossing it to Rickon, who caught it like the football star he was.

"Oh," she exclaimed when she lifted the lid of the jewelry box to find a small, heart-shaped locket. She opened the clasp delicately to look inside. When tears filled her eyes, I felt like I fucked up, and I wanted to throw up from the nerves of it all.

Carefully, but purposefully, she set the box down on a table and unclasped the gold chain currently around her neck, dripping with sapphires, and replaced it with the plain, gold locket.

Her hands found mine and she squeezed them tight. "Thank you so much," she whispered solemnly. Her blue eyes were still damp. "This means the world to me. Getting to have dad with me on my big day. How'd you get a picture of him?"

I knew my eyes must have looked glassy, too. "I cut it out from the picture he gave me years ago, when he first came to see me, of him and my…father. To prove he knew him. He left it behind and I kept it as a reminder of what he did for me. But I felt it was time to bring it back, where it belongs."

Sansa nodded and pulled me into a hug. "Go wait in the courtyard, then, you two," she smiled. "You've got to give the bride enough time to primp." With that, she slipped back into the room.

For all I knew, Arya was on the other side, maybe leaning against the door, remembering what we can never have again. Remembering how it ended. But I’m not. I’ve thought about all that pain too often in the time that’s passed. No, I’m thinking about how it all started.

"Go on ahead," Rickon said. “I need to go check on my soon-to-be brother. Not like I have enough of them already or anything."

I walked in silence to the godswood. What had once been sacred for many was now only sacred for the few. And while times had changed, the heart tree still stood solid in the center, its blood-red leaves bright against the pale bark. The godswood may have been empty, but it was filled with memories.

It had felt like a great, cosmic joke that just months after Ned had popped back into my life – having wrangled a stipend out of my bastard of a biological father – the world had decided to take him away. A crash, they'd said, but that felt too neat, too clean, considering the seedy world he'd been pushed into in good old Bobby B's circle. An accident? More like a Cersei-dent. They'd held his funeral here in the godswood. It's how he would have wanted it. And that was the first time I saw her, standing by that tree, looking uncomfortable in a black skater dress. She’d been clutching blue roses and trying to hide the tears in her eyes. That night had felt like a dream, not real life. Because how could someone like Arya not be a dream? She stood there now in my imagination like a ghost, a transparent shape outlined in misery, and I couldn’t bear the sight. So I turned away and sat with my back to the tree, weary with dread and not religious enough to kneel and pray like I've seen others do.

The aisle was spread out before me like it was mocking me. Reminding me of what never was. What could have been, once, maybe. I'd had all of her once. Then most of her, some of her, and then none of her, and all of that had cut me to the bone.

I closed my eyes, remembering the way she'd looked that night, fear in her stance and tears in her eyes. With everything in me, I wished I could go back to that night, tell myself to turn away and take a different path, when she had yet to touch me and work her way into my heart. I wanted to stop hurting this much.

"Take me back to the night we met," I whispered over and over, rocking back and forth, my head thudding against the bark of the bleeding tree. "Take me back. Take me back." I couldn’t hold the tears back anymore.

Continue to Chapter 2: