#eddard the assembler?

[atopvisenyashill]

imagine you’re ned. your son and heir is nearly marriageable age and your family is down to one (1) slender branch. your eldest daughter is also a major catch and nearing an age when a betrothal might be arranged. you’ve also got a bastard son whose future urgently needs to be decided, and three younger children whose futures must be considered too. you are severely traumatized by everything that went down during robert’s rebellion, and while it’s the long summer, winter is coming. what plans do you make for your children?

i think the key thing here to understand is that ned wants to BURY this secret. that’s his MAIN priority. so personally if i’m ned, i don’t want any of my kids in the capital. rip to robert but if i was ned trying to avoid the capital, i would have made sure those kids were promised before he came calling. probably also, the best place for jon IS the wall comma but we know ned did sort of want robb & jon to continue being close and EYE think it’s mean to banish a child to the wall SO!

i’m going to apologize without apologizing to catelyn about being so hostile about the wylla of it all*** and signaling that i will be less hostile to anything she has to say regarding her feelings towards jon or wylla from this point forward.

im sitting the oldest three down and telling them You Aren’t Grown But You’re Not A Baby. i am expecting more from you but also, i didn’t know shit when i became lord, its fine if you don’t know, that’s why you have all these advisors. i’m emphasizing family togetherness here.

also im telling catelyn to have a talk with sansa about like, Being A Woman; like a for real one where she’s Serious to Sansa about the actual reality of it (bc it does seem like they don't ever....genuinely prepare Sansa which is crazy bc Catelyn seems from her own memories plenty prepared for her move & marriage)

idk that Ned notices the catelyn-arya issue as an issue. i think he sees this as very typical exasperated mom-unruly daughter thing. however, if he’s paying more attention to them bc he is being possessed by the spirit of bisexual asshole from chicago, i think the fact that sansa & arya argue all the time is p obvious, so i Do think id sit them down & be like “the hell is happening between you two” and i’m arriving much faster at “arya needs an outlet” and letting her train with the boys/finding someone who will train her. if catelyn is like “this will not help her behavior” my argument is nothing else has why can’t we try something new + i mean cat if YOU want to learn how to use a sword, i can get someone to train you too. maybe you would feel better if you got to beat the shit out of something once a day idk. i can put some padding on theon if you want and you can just go hog wild. something something the north is hard.

then i am engaging sansa POST HASTE. even one Second of thinking would tell you that robert was gonna want to engage joffrey to sansa, they are Very close in age!!! so im simply beating him to the punch PUBLICLY

but not like too publicly, i dont want robert to know im husband hunting until its too late

who do i engage her to? i mean that’s tricky bc catelyn is going to have opinions & imo if they’re too Weird of a choice, robert is going to send a raven like “hey just call that off i got joff right here.” probably the only non northern house that Doesn’t get robert’s attention in a negative way is the blackwoods, with brynden being around sansa’s age and heir.

but really staying in the north is key - you’re probably guaranteed an immediate yes and i think ned could absolutely pull the “my whole family is dead robert, let me keep my kids in the north” card. does this argument work? honestly, no idea but i think it doesn’t hurt to announce it first and if necessary ask for forgiveness afterwards.

esp bc as you say, they’re down to One (1) branch. i do think ned can and Would lean heavily on guilting the hell out of robert IF after he announces the engagement robert is like “what the fuck”

(if robert asks about arya, well first of all i’m making the same argument, second of all, i will have prepared for that and had a betrothal for her too that i can’t possibly break.)

but we’re threading a thin needle here when it comes to all these engagements being Good but not Suspicious. the girls are tricky are on their own but jon is a whole can of worms. i dont need to get jon engaged any time soon - men get married later often anyway, and if i give him a nice match, catelyn is going to have a heart attack. but i think ned would just fully commit to Giving Jon A Place At Winterfell if he gets to make the choice before robert comes (is sending him to the wall easier? probably, but so was sending him with howland so). to tell jon “you will be to robb what i would have been to brandon, what i wish i would have had.”

i think id just like, foster jon somewhere. and not in a “im sending you away” way, i would once again compare him to myself, since ned also got fostered, and i'd ask for jon's input to make it clear this isn't a punishment for Existing As A Bastard. two ways to do this. either i get the boys together (EYE Rani VisenyasHill would also bring sansa in but i do Not think that would occur to ned) and say “what are your opinions on which of our vassals we should foster a stronger bond with by sending them jon for a few years?” OR im going “and i know just who to send you to - my good friends HOWLAND REED” whatever causes ned less anxiety. robb gets to escort jon there (do i go with?? idk, worried that would make Robert look at me too much) and stay for a bit (brandon seemed to travel a lot, i think ned should encourage the same with robb. get these kids out of the fucking house ned!!). might send robb out on a lil tour just so people don’t get jealous idk

Prepare for Winter. idk what this entails when you have years longs winters. are they hoping to get one more round of produce planted and grown? do they start consolidating in the same castles for warmth and safety in case of snow? do they flock to the southern north houses, like does white harbor get Super packed during winter? i would assume white harbor gets kind of important as the only major port city but how far out does the ocean freeze?

anyways i think i’d float the idea of fostering bran out to white harbor, so he can become a knight and live in The Big City, with the aim of preparing him to start his own Stark cadet house. I'd focus on making it kind of Manderly-esque, in that the house is meant to be built around a city (maybe another port city?) and meant to culturally be a lil Southron-y.

i would ask jon & robb what they would prefer - jon living with bran (eventually) or jon returning to winterfell.

NOW ROBB'S MARRIAGE. okay, like, the thing is, i think it wouldn't hurt to continue fostering a sense of unity with the south by reaching out to a rich house who will give me a bride with a huge ass dowry that we can use to continue Preparing for Winter. but also. again it's about not pissing robert off. would he be upset if i said like, hey i'm engaging robb to margaery tyrell? maybe a myrcella match would make robert feel less jilted, especially since i am potentially sending jon off to foster elsewhere, so robert won't even have contact with the kid nor will myrcella until they're all grown up. but i do worry robert would get greedy, and also that this would be too much for ned's nerves.

not to be like, ned should be angling to be known as the Stark Who Cured Winter Starvation, but i do think Ned should have been really digging in and trying to make it easier to travel in the north. it gives him a great excuse to ignore robert, it regains some points with some of the lords in the north who seem to feel bitter about rickard & brandon's behavior, it cements his own legacy as A Lord Who Rose To The Occasion, A Lord Who Cared (which, imo, seems to be something Ned cares about - he is quite preoccupied with his reputation tbh!!), and it helps him get his house rebuilt.

tldr - foster jon somewhere in the north and let him feel like its his joint decision alongside robb (and sansa, maybe). get sansa & arya engaged BEFORE i even THINK about contacting robert for anything. send bran to foster at white harbor (not right away). Prepare For Winter (whatever that means). get robb a rich fiance so i can Prepare For Winter and be known as the stark who Prepared For The Winter. call me Ned the Prepared. Ned the Winter Killer.

all of this is so that by the time robert comes north after jon arryn has been off, i don't have to send sansa & arya down there, jon is already gone, and potentially I can say that myrcella can marry robb if robert gets pushy. also, this would allow me some semblance of control over the south if i have to go there - i've already started working on shit with wyman, mending fences through arya and sansa's engagements, and i have CRONIES to bring south. then i am immediately and i mean IMMEDIATELY going to fire the entire small council including renly, putting my own people in there, and telling stannis that if he doesn't get his ass to the capital right now i am accusing him of conspiring against the king and having him marched across the goddamn bay to answer for his behavior.

*** listen i can’t tell cat. this isn’t a debate about whether he should have it’s about If Ned Realized His Kids Would Grow Up One Day What Would He Do. if i want to keep jon around and fight marginally less with my wife about it, i think id just be up front about The Lie. that is to say, i'd apologize without apologizing (i dont think he’d would want to apologize when he’d do it again and i also think ned is too Like That to just lie to manipulate cat and say he’s sorry for how he’s approached it - and i do think we’re really stretching the limits of ned’s ability to lie here), and just tell her something about wylla. like, she was married & i completely fucked her life bc i was horny & sad and then i took her kid away from her and i’ve been really touchy about whether that was a good thing to do or not. something. say anything. fucking anything. just acknowledge he’s been a dick & also make her feel a little bad (he said that line about brandon, he’s not above a little guilt & low blows).

(the ashara story would work BETTER to get cat’s sympathy - like she KILLED HERSELF do you know what kind of yarn he could spin about that & his guilt keeping jon here bc of that!! but he’d never do that lol. tbh i’d also just bring up ashara - i would say that i reacted so negatively bc like, i murdered her brother and then she killed herself 😭 that’s bad enough and now people are saying she had my BASTARD? that i ruined her life TWICE and then she killed herself?? of course i was pissed off people were gossiping about it, but i should have been nicer to cat about it. but anyways, ned would just never lie on ashara’s name, he had the wylla story in mind and that’s the one he went with. but,,,, he HAS a story. ned SAY THE STORY OUT LOUD.).

Does this fix everything in their marriage? Obviously not, i’m sure Cat is still going to push about Jon, but I think signaling that i'm going to be less hostile about this would bring Cat’s hostility down in turn.

[misswynters]

A Stark’s Fury

Cregan Stark x targ!wife! reader

[warning: blood, you getting cut in the arm

[synopsis: You are the wife of Cregan and younger sister of rhaenyra. You get cut in the arm and your son, Eddard, also gets hurt. Which makes cregan furious.

[note | here’s a lil something while i write the final chapter for winters embrace, just a short drabble :) also instead of rhae getting cut it’s you.

[requested: by anon

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting an amber glow across Driftmark. Laena Velaryon’s funeral was a somber affair, filled with the mournful silence of the assembled nobles and the soft lapping of waves against the shore. Among the gathered were you, the younger sister of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, your husband Cregan Stark, and your son Eddard, who clung to your skirts, his wide eyes taking in the solemnity of the occasion.

Your silver hair flowed down your back, and your violet eyes glistened with unshed tears as you stood beside Cregan. His strong arm encircled your waist, offering silent support. Despite the warmth of the setting sun, a chill hung in the air, a reflection of the grief that weighed heavily on your hearts.

As the ceremony proceeded, you noticed the tension simmering among the children. Your son, Eddard, stood with Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, trying to comfort them in their shared sorrow. Your heart ached for them, especially for Rhaena, who had just lost her mother.

When the time came for the family to pay their final respects, you and Cregan approached the bier. You whispered a prayer for Laena’s soul, your voice barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. Cregan squeezed your hand gently, his presence a solid rock amidst the turbulent sea of emotions.

After the funeral, you found yourself in the grand hall, where the tension between the Blacks and the Greens was palpable. You kept a watchful eye on Eddard, who was playing with the other children. However, the peace was shattered when a scuffle broke out between Aemond and Jace. The sight of Aemond taunting Jace, and the resulting fight, sent a shockwave through the hall.

Eddard tried to intervene, but in the chaos, he was struck and fell to the ground, crying out in pain. You rushed to his side, your heart pounding with fear and anger. Cregan was by your side in an instant, his protective instincts flaring as he assessed the situation.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

“Aemond taunted Jace, and then the fight started,” you explained, your voice trembling with emotion as you cradled Eddard.

Cregan’s eyes darkened with anger. “This has gone too far.”

The confrontation escalated when Alicent Hightower, her face twisted with rage, advanced on Rhaenyra, who was defending her sons. You stepped between them, trying to defuse the situation, but Alicent’s fury was uncontrollable. She drew a knife, lunging at Rhaenyra, but you intercepted the blow.

The blade sliced across your arm, and you cried out in pain, clutching the wound. Cregan’s roar of fury echoed through the hall as he moved to shield you. He grabbed the knife from Alicent’s hand, his face a mask of rage.

“Enough!” he bellowed. “This madness ends now!”

King Viserys, looking frail and distressed, tried to intervene. “Peace! There must be peace!”

Cregan turned on the king, his eyes blazing. “Peace? Look at what your family has done! My wife is injured, my son is hurt, and for what? Petty squabbles and insults?”

Rhaenyra, tears streaming down her face, reached for you. “Sister, I’m so sorry.”

You managed a weak smile, despite the pain. “It’s not your fault, Rhaenyra. But something must change.”

As the maesters attended to your wound, Cregan kept a protective arm around you. He glared at the Greens, making it clear that any further aggression would not be tolerated. The hall was filled with a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken threats and unresolved grievances.

In the aftermath, Cregan insisted on returning to Winterfell with you and Eddard. “We’ll be safer there,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I won’t risk your lives any longer.”

You nodded, grateful for his unwavering support. “Thank you, Cregan.”

He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your cool skin. “I love you. I will always protect you.”

As you prepared to leave Driftmark, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for the family you were leaving behind. You took a moment to say your farewells to Rhaenyra and her children.

“Please, take care of yourselves,” you whispered to Rhaenyra, holding her hands tightly. “We’ll be in touch, I promise.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Be safe, sister.”

With a final embrace, you and Cregan gathered Eddard and boarded your ship, setting sail for Winterfell. The journey was long, but Cregan’s presence and Eddard’s innocent chatter kept your spirits high.

Winterfell welcomed you with open arms. The cold, crisp air and the familiar sights brought a sense of comfort. As you settled back into your home, the events at Driftmark seemed like a distant nightmare.

Cregan, ever the doting husband, ensured you had everything you needed to recover from your injury. He personally oversaw the maesters’ treatments, and his protective nature brought you solace.

A few hours later, as you sat by the fire, Cregan wrapped a warm blanket around your shoulders and handed you a cup of hot tea. “How are you feeling?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

“Better,” you replied, taking a sip. “Thanks to you.”

He smiled, sitting beside you. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

You leaned against him, finding comfort in his strength. “I know. And I’m grateful.”

Life in Winterfell slowly returned to normal. Eddard resumed his lessons and playtime with the other children, while you and Cregan focused on the responsibilities of ruling the North. Despite the distance from Driftmark, the shadow of that day lingered.

Later that night, as you lay in bed, you turned to Cregan. “Do you think things will ever be right again between the Blacks and the Greens?”

Cregan sighed, his brow furrowing in thought. “It’s hard to say. The wounds run deep. But we must try, for the sake of our family.”

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. “I want Eddard to grow up in a world where he doesn’t have to choose sides.”

Cregan’s grip on your hand tightened. “We’ll do everything in our power to make that happen.”

Many moons have passed, and your wound healed, leaving only a faint scar as a reminder of the confrontation. The bond between you and Cregan grew stronger, forged in the fires of adversity. Winterfell thrived under your joint leadership, a beacon of stability and strength. In the morning, as the first snow of the season blanketed the ground, you stood on the battlements with Cregan, watching Eddard play with the other children.

“He’s so happy here,” you remarked, smiling at the sight of your son’s laughter.

Cregan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Of course he is, this is our home. He’s meant to be here.”

You nodded silently, feeling a deep sense of peace. Your eyes went to the scar on your arm, being reminded of what happened. You looked at your husband, with sadness in your eyes.

“I hope my family will stop this infighting, i wish for all of this today end” Your thoughts began to wonder of all the possible outcomes this conflict can end with. This could very well mean that death will linger in your family. Something no one will ever be prepared for, war costs everything.

The quietness of Winterfell enveloped you as you drifted into a fitful sleep beside Cregan. The room was cold, and the memory of the somber events—the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, the sharp sting of your wound—still weighed heavily on you.

In your dream, the landscape was bleak and foreboding. A storm raged over a desolate battlefield, its fury tearing at the very fabric of the sky. You wandered through the chaos, a spectral figure in the storm’s heart. Amidst the destruction, you saw a vision of a great dragon, its scales a dim and faded silver, bound by chains of ice that slowly constricted around its body. The dragon’s eyes were filled with a profound sorrow, as if it sensed the end drawing near.

A shadowy figure emerged from the storm—a man cloaked in shadows, his face obscured but his presence undeniably menacing. His voice cut through the tempest, speaking directly to your mind, “The chains of fate are not easily broken. A great loss is coming to your house.”

As you reached out to free the dragon, a dark prophecy formed in your mind, clear as day. “Cregan will face a treacherous choice,” you heard yourself say in the dream. “A betrayal will come from within. Death will follow.”

You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering like a cold shiver down your spine. Your breathing was rapid and uneven, and a profound fear gripped you. You turned to Cregan, who was lying beside you, his face furrowed in concern.

The sudden movement and your distressed state had startled him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep as he reached out to steady you. His hand found yours, his grip warm and reassuring against your icy fingers.

“My dream,” you managed to stammer, your voice trembling. “I saw... I saw something terrible. A dragon in chains, and a warning about you—”

Cregan’s eyes narrowed with concern, but he quickly sat up, his arm wrapping protectively around you. “What did you see? Tell me everything,” he urged, his voice steady despite the worry etched on his face.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I don’t know all the details, but it felt so real. I fear that something dark is coming, and it will bring pain to us and our house.”

Cregan nodded, his expression resolute despite the alarm in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said softly, pulling you closer to his body. “For now, try to rest. You need it” He cradled your body as you leaned towards him, the warmth of his body bringing you comfort.

As you lay back down, you could feel the storm of fear inside you slowly ebbing, but the weight of the dream’s prophecy remained heavy in your heart.

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[goodqueenaly]

If Elia wasn’t at harrenhal would Rhaegar crowning Lyanna have still been a scandal?

I think so, yes - a scandal different in kind, and perhaps to a limit extent different in degree as well, but a scandal nonetheless. While I do not at all want to undersell the extent to which Rhaegar passing over his own wife shocked and offended onlookers at Harrenhal - there is a reason Elia reportedly sat there “stiff-backed and trying to act as if nothing was wrong” in a probable attempt to minimize Rhaegar’s public humiliation of her - Rhaegar’s choice to snub his wife was only part of the Harrenhal tourney scandal. This is a point I made before (in a reblog from the late great Steven Attewell), but to reiterate, while the crowning of a queen of love and beauty is not necessarily and in all cases an expression of romantic sentiment, this act is not also completely free of such implications in every case either - especially when the chosen lady (or, rather, girl) is, by the standards of her (creepy, fetishizing) society, “part child, part woman … [a] ‘maid’ … [f]ertile but innocent, beloved of the singers”. For a man who was himself the son of a monarch infamous (at least in his early reign) for his seemingly omnivorous sexual appetite, offering the crown of queen and love and beauty to a beautiful, as yet unmarried (more on that in a moment) maiden, without any obvious sociopolitical justification for doing so, I think would have been seen as no less than the prince propositioning Lyanna in front of virtually the entire assembled nobility of Westeros - in other words, scandal enough on its own, without the added IOTL insult to Elia.

Moreover, because Lyanna was betrothed - and betrothed to the Lord of Storm’s End, no less - Rhaegar offering her the crown of the queen of love and beauty was a gross political insult, one immediately recognized by the Stark-Baratheon party present. Indeed, not for nothing does Yandel report that “Lady Lyanna's brothers seem[ed] so distraught at the honor the prince had bestowed upon her”, with “Brandon Stark … [having] to be restrained from confronting Rhaegar at what he took as a slight upon his sister's honor”, Eddard being “calmer but no more pleased”, and Robert Baratheon “brood[ing] on the insult”, so much so that “his heart hardened toward the Prince of Dragonstone from that day forth”. Even if Rhaegar, and likely the vast majority of the attendees, probably knew nothing about the specific geopolitical goals of the Stark-Tully-Baratheon-Arryn power bloc, every Westerosi aristocrat could appreciate the standard expectations of alliance represented by diplomatic marriages - expectations threatened by the apparent attempt by the crown prince to seize and use the Stark maiden at his whim, and presumably similarly discard her at his leisure. Again, if I can quote myself, “Lyanna was just sexualized enough to be seriously considered a target of romantic attraction while also being just unavailable enough to make any such attraction from anyone not her betrothed (or, perhaps, one of her brothers or her father’s bannermen) truly scandalous”.

[poisonousrain222]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 — 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐦

𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings. brief description of injury

disclaimer. the cursive paragraph is a flashback in case it’s not clear

3.3k words

series masterlist

“I command the council to make all necessary arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors,” Joffrey spoke. King Joffrey, now.

The commanding tone came easily to him, it seemed. No wonder — the boy had looked down on everyone and everything since he was able to talk and his mother’s constant coddling hasn’t exactly helped his delusional superiority. Years of being able to do as he pleased without any consequences whatsoever had created an arrogant, whiny little boy.

The Lannister woman shifted in her seat beside her sister — the Queen — and glanced to the left at her nephew. Even now he reeked of arrogance and entitlement. He was lounging on the Iron Throne, rather than sitting on it. His lips were pulled into a self-satisfied smirk as he gazed down upon the assembled court, clearly relishing the way they all had to crane their necks to look up at him. Truly, an awful sight and she could suppress a scoff only with great effort.

Now here they all stood, witnessing a child ascend to the throne, whose childhood consisted of torturing animals and having other children flogged if they dare deny his wishes. The mere thought of what he could do with all that power he now held made her stomach churn.

Nevertheless, the Queen would do anything and everything for her darling children, which was simultaneously her greatest strength and most fatal flaw. Her sister’s repeated warnings about Joffrey’s behavior went ignored, dismissed as mere jealousy or spite.

The bells continued tolling as Lord Eddard of House Stark entered the thrown room, their deep resonance echoing off the stone walls. The hall was filled with an eerie, suffocating tension and the air felt thick with unspoken words, as they parted the crowd to let the lord of Winterfell through.

In this moment she wished her brother Tyrion were here. Defusing tense situations with comical quips came always easily to him, though they were scarcely appreciated. Envy of both her brother’s absences overcame her suddenly, their freedom to be anywhere else but here a bitter reminder of her own obligations.

The girl’s gaze was now directed at Stark, whose facial expression was everything but pleased. Though one had to admit, the northerners were known for their rather serious faces. I would be too if I lived so far up north, she thought, as she remembered the biting winds and summer snows when traveling to Winterfell a little more than a fortnight ago. Though she wasn’t sure if she preferred the stinking air and pressing heat of King’s Landing over the cold.

Her thoughts were interrupted, when Stark called on Ser Barristan. He held out a paper scroll toward the knight, making her sit up straighter in curiosity. Her eyes glanced to her sister to try and gauge her thoughts. Cersei’s tightened lips betrayed a mixture of skepticism and disdain, the slightly raised eyebrow almost daring. The younger Lannister noticed the challenging eye contact between the wolf and the lioness and wondered if there was more to it than they would say.

“Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm—” Ser Barristan read aloud, after breaking King Robert’s seal on the scroll. “—to rule as regent until the heir come of age.”

The Lannister girl could barely suppress a smile, as she saw Joffrey’s head whipping in his mother’s direction out of the corner of her eye. Yet the calmness of her sister raised suspicion. If Cersei truly believed Robert’s demand to become reality, she would not be so calm. Now that her son was king, she would do everything in her power to keep him on that ugly throne.

Cersei stood. “May I see that letter, Ser Barristan?”

And her suspicion was proved right only a moment later — Her sister ripped the paper in half twice and let the pieces drift to the ground, like leaves falling from a tree before the winter. Each fragment was a symbol of her blatant disregard for the late king’s last demand. Though she had expected nothing less from her, the sheer audacity of destroying a royal decree in front of the entire court made her chest tighten with anger. This was more than just the destruction of a document; it was a declaration of war against anyone who would challenge her son’s claim.

The younger Lannister immediately opened her mouth to protest, but quickly closed it before words spewed out. She remembered what her brother Jaime had told her prior to his departure. You’ve got a mouth quicker than your wits, he had said. Think first, or you’ll get into trouble I can’t pull you out of. And she had promised him this, though not without grumbling.

Even if she would raise her voice now, call out the truth in front of the entire court and declare the injustice of this moment, it would accomplish nothing but putting herself at risk.

“Those were the king’s words,” Ser Barristan voiced what everyone was too afraid to say, disbelief was evident in his tone.

“We have a new king now.”

There was not a single person present who dared to raise protest and they were wise to do so — Who would choose a dead king over a living one?

Cersei turned to Lord Stark, her voice dripping with authority as she commanded him to take the knee and pledge his loyalty to Joffrey. The northerner looked frail, yet determined. His injury had clearly taken a toll on him and not to forget, his best friend’s death must weigh heavily on his shoulders. His hands gripped his crutch so tightly his knuckles turned pale and his face glistened with sweat. Whether this was due to his wounds or simply to the oppressive climate of the capital, she wasn’t sure.

“Your son has no claim to the throne,” he spoke. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence.

There was not a man nor woman present, who did not know about the rumors. Everyone knew, had heard the whispers about the birth of the Queen’s children, yet no one would dare say this out loud. Declaring to the king himself that he wasn’t a trueborn heir was as productive as signing ones own death warrant. If this wasn’t the milk of the poppy clouding his judgment, then he must be a fool.

“Liar!” Joffrey screeched, while his mother only scoffed. Her amused scoff never boded well.

“You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark,” she mused and her sister had to silently agree. He has just handed them a perfect justification to imprison him for treason.

This proved once again that the capital was a place where honesty was more often punished than rewarded. King’s Landing was a city built on secrets and lies, where survival depended not on honor but on knowing one’s enemies’ weaknesses and how to exploit those.

Right after Cersei called for Ser Barristan to arrest Stark, the youngest Lannister felt a heavy hand on her arm. Whipping her head around, she spotted a Lannister guard already looking down at her through the visor of his helmet.

“Come, my lady.”

She casted one final glance at the chaos unfolding in the throne room, before she let the guard guide her to safety. The clang of clashing swords and screams of dying men echoed behind her.

With bunched up skirts, she hurried down the halls of the Red Keep toward her chambers, the guard now merely an annoyance. She had the urge to warn both of the Stark daughters, as they were innocent in all of this.

Given the chaos unfolding in the throne room, Lannister guards would soon slaughter anyone loyal to House Stark. Yet helping them would mean going against her own family and she knew well enough what her sister’s wrath could bring.

Blood was supposed to be thicker than water, wasn’t it? That’s what they always said.

The guard’s footsteps behind her served as a constant reminder of her position. As a Lannister, it was expected of her to stand behind her family, to support their actions. But truthfully, what good had blind family loyalty ever done for her?

Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, cold and stern as always: A lion doesn’t concern himself with sheep — But they weren’t sheep. They were wolves, and more importantly, they were only girls.

Something about them having to pay the price for their father’s actions made her stomach twist with guilt. She hadn’t spoken more than a few pleasantries with them, yet now there was something that made the Lannister woman want to shield them from harm, as little as she was able to. It was foolish, really. Dangerous even.

Perhaps this desire about warning Sansa and Arya wasn’t about choosing between wolves and lions at all, but about what kind of person she wanted to be in this game of deception and betrayal.

As soon as she had been safely escorted to her chambers, she waited only a few heartbeats, before stepping out again. The guard was now gone.

She cursed her stupid dress, while she hurried down the halls. The chambers, which had been assigned to the Starks upon their arrival, were but a short distance away and she fervently hoped their paths would cross before it was too late.

Just as she rounded another corner, she halted abruptly.

“Lady Sansa,” she gasped, as her eyes landed upon her tall yet delicate frame. The northern girl’s chest was heaving, mouth agape and sky colored eyes wide. She must’ve already heard what happened.

“What do you want?” she replied cautiously, while she slowly took a few steps back. “My lady.”

In other circumstances, the Lannister would’ve smiled at her unwavering politeness. She must be terrified — the sister of the Queen approaching her just after her father had seemingly betrayed the royal family. Understanding how threatening this must appear, she held up her palms in a gesture she hoped would ease the girl’s fears.

“I only came to warn you. Your father has been arrested for treason. He—”

“What? Why? He was King Robert’s best friend, he would never betray them, I—” Sansa almost stumbled over her own words, her voice rising with each syllable as panic took hold.

The older woman shushed her with urgency, simultaneously glancing over her shoulder down the hall. The stone walls seemed to amplify even the smallest of sounds, and nobody was supposed to be overhearing their conversation. Guards were undoubtedly searching for both Stark daughters at this very moment. This exchange needed to be swift.

“He told Joffrey he is no trueborn heir,” she said bluntly. “In front of the whole court.”

The girl furiously shook her head. “Why would he say this? He knows Joffrey is my intended and I will be his queen. He did not mean it, I am sure, my lady. He must be grieving for his dear friend Robert and maybe—”

“Sansa,” she interrupted her gently. “Don’t defend him to me. I would not have cared, if he had called Joffrey a bastard to his face. Save this for court, because you will have to answer for your father’s crimes, as unfair as it may be.”

Sansa’s state saddened her — her shoulders were slumped, eyes cast downward on the cold stone floor, her entire posture resembling that of a wilting flower. The girl who had arrived in King’s Landing full of dreams, now stood before her like a shadow of her former self, the weight of sudden political reality crushing her.

“Listen to me,” the young Lannister urged. “It’s not too late. They will not hurt you, for your mother has taken my brother Tyrion hostage. Cersei wouldn’t risk it. When they question you about your father’s crime, emphasize his deep grief over Robert’s death. Remind them that he is severely wounded, with the milk of the poppy heavily clouding his judgement. Assure them that your father was not speaking from a place of reason, and he would never speak such words against Joffrey, the son of his beloved friend Robert, under normal circumstances.”

The auburn-haired girl seemed in shock. Her blue eyes were wide with disbelief, her pale face drained of all color. The composed, courtly demeanor she had so carefully cultivated since arriving in the capital had crumbled, revealing the frightened child beneath.

The sight awakened something profound within the queen’s sister. A rush of complex emotions flooded through her — Not pity, which felt too condescending for what she was experiencing, but something more nuanced. It was understanding, but also recognition of a shared vulnerability that transcended house loyalties and political divides. In Sansa’s frightened eyes, she saw a reflection of her own past self: A small girl without enough power to change a cruel reality.

“Can you do that?”

Sansa snapped out of her daze and nodded quickly. Before being able to say anymore, both their heads snapped up at the sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway. The distinct clanking of armor grew louder with each passing moment, making both women tense and stare in anticipation.

“Stay strong,” the older woman whispered at last. “Because you are.”

Their eyes landed on a massive figure, as soon as he rounded the corner. The huge silhouette nearly filled the entire width of the hallway, his broad shoulders casting an imposing shadow against the stone walls. The scarred side of his face remained partially hidden behind strands of dark hair, but there was no mistaking who stood before them. His presence commanding attention and inspiring a complex mixture of dread and strange relief.

The Lannister knew the Hound since she was a girl, as he has been sworn to her family for most of his life. Before he was appointed Joffrey’s personal guard, he had been Cersei’s.

The girl was still a little lion cub, always running and skipping about the castle grounds. Even at that tender age, she possessed the cunning of her house, though hers manifested with a certain playfulness and defiance for her father’s rules. One of those rules was: Don’t sneak away on your own. She told herself, she wouldn’t go in too deep and come back before supper, so no one would even know she was gone.

The woods weren't far anymore, she could already see the tree line stretching in front of her. With a heavy breath, she pushed forward through the tangle of tall grass, sharp thorns, and dense bushes that caught at her dress and scratched her skin, but determination kept her moving.

When she was surrounded by tall coniferous trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze, she suddenly heard rustling in the undergrowth, and stilled completely. Her heart quickened as she strained to listen. Squinting her eyes in concentration, she could make out a flash of auburn fur between branches and leaves.

A fox slid out gracefully from behind a tree and eyed the little girl with its predatory gaze. Its amber eyes seemed to assess her, calculating the threat she might pose in its territory.

In an instinct born of fascination, she crouched lower and extended her hand toward the creature. Curiosity often outweighed good sense. This moment of childish wonder seemed to get swiftly punished by the gods, as the fox suddenly lunged forward and sank its sharp teeth into the tender flesh of the child’s hand.

She screamed out in surprise and pain, the sound echoing through the silent forest. With one last threatening growl, the fox scurried back into the dense undergrowth, disappearing among the shadows of the trees.

Her hand throbbed, the puncture wounds already beginning to swell and trickle with crimson drops. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She stumbled over exposed roots and uneven ground and ran back toward the castle as fast as her small feet could carry her, fearing that the fox might return or worse, that something larger might have heard her cries.

“What the f— What are you doing here?”

She felt her heart skip a beat and stopped abruptly in her tracks. Simultaneously whipping her head toward the voice, she was met with the imposing sight of her sister’s personal guard — The Hound.

Relief flooded through her chest, washing away some of her fear, but it was quickly followed by a sharp pang of shame. She hadn’t wanted to be discovered like this, especially not by him. In childish defiance she pulled her lips into a stubborn pout and her eyebrows furrowed. She didn’t want him to see her hurt.

“Why are you here?” she shot back, voice too high-pitched to be taken seriously.

Instead of answering, he moved his massive body and crouched in front of her. The girl stayed still, injured hand clutched in her other one and gaze cast downward toward the forest floor, her small shoulders tensed with pain and embarrassment. Rough palms suddenly yanked the wound closer to his face, so he could inspect it properly in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

His movements were surprisingly gentle despite their decisiveness. She had never seen him so up close before, and despite the stinging pain in her hand, she couldn't help but stare at his face with curiosity. The long, dark brown hair hung over the burnt part of his face like a curtain, partially concealing the scarred flesh beneath, while his intense brown eyes remained focused on examining her injury. Despite his scowl, his gaze could be described as almost soft, for such a hateful man.

“What bit you?”

“A fox,” she mumbled.

Without another word, he pulled out a cloth from underneath his armor, wrapped it around her hand and pulled it together tightly, before tying a knot. She couldn’t suppress a small whimper, when the fabric pressed onto her wound.

“I just… wanted to pet it.”

The man stood with an unreadable expression, his eyes not leaving her face. “Kindness gets you bitten.”

As angry and harsh as he seemed, she knew him not to be the monster that people proclaimed him to be. Beneath the growls and glares lay something else, which was lacking in his older brother entirely. The Hound was a brutal man, unquestionably, but not a mindless one.

“Get away,” Sansa’s voice rang through the hallway. Though wavering slightly, she was making an effort to sound brave.

He only chuckled at the sight of the two women. He wasn’t a fool. One look at their faces told him everything about the secret conversation they were having.

“Queen’s orders.” His eyes shifted to the Lannister woman, all traces of amusement disappearing from his face. “These halls aren’t safe for you right now,” he growled.

She shot him a displeased look, but didn’t object. Arguing, yelling, fighting, running away — nothing would make a difference. The fate of the Stark girls lay outside her power now.

“It’s alright,” she murmured to Sansa, then fixed the Hound with a glare that conveyed her contempt for Cersei’s doings, even though she knew he could do nothing to about it. His expression didn’t falter, as hard as stone and as cold as ice.

a/n: yes i know, a lot is happening but like, i gotta set the scene OKAY!! more sandor interactions will come obvi 😝

previous chapter | next chapter ->

[racefortheironthrone]

Regarding the Greyjoy Rebellion, we know Stannis Baratheon sailed the Royal Fleet around Westeros to defeat Victarion Greyjoy at Fair Isle - presumably, after Stannis’ victory, Robert’s forces would have marched overland to the West Coast to ferry over to the Iron Islands. My question is a logistical one: would Robert’s force have needed to set sail from one fixed location (Seagard? Lannisport? Oldtown?), or would each force essentially set off from wherever made sense for them geographically? Like, I’m sure Robert would eventually link up with the Riverlords, Valemen and Reachmen to set sail from Lannisport or wherever, but wouldn’t the entire host all need to wait around for Eddard Stark’s banner men to finally be assembled?

I would imagine they probably would have set off as three separate contingents - the Warden of the West's army, Robert's army, and the Warden of the North's army - and probably from whatever port was closest. Lannisport would be the logical embarcation point for Tywin's army, Seagard would be the closet for Robert's army unless he loaded all his forces onto Stannis' ships at King's Landing and went the long way round, etc.

[warsofasoiaf]

Regarding the Greyjoy Rebellion, we know Stannis Baratheon sailed the Royal Fleet around Westeros to defeat Victarion Greyjoy at Fair Isle - presumably, after Stannis’ victory, Robert’s forces would have marched overland to the West Coast to ferry over to the Iron Islands. My question is a logistical one: would Robert’s force have needed to set sail from one fixed location (Seagard? Lannisport? Oldtown?), or would each force essentially set off from wherever made sense for them geographically? Like, I’m sure Robert would eventually link up with the Riverlords, Valemen and Reachmen to set sail from Lannisport or wherever, but wouldn’t the entire host all need to wait around for Eddard Stark’s banner men to finally be assembled?

If it was anything like the Crusades, then probably each force set off from the place that made sense with a meeting point in mind. Once the Iron Fleet was taken care of at Fair Isle, the oceans would be clear enough to organize for a coordinated landing, or at least what passed for one with medieval levels of technology and communication.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[nynaeve-mashiara]

“I have longed all these years, for Rhaenys, the sister I lost in the Sack of Kings Landing. Can you imagine my delight when I learnt I had yet another sister, who had been hidden in plain sight for twenty years?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Rule by my side, be my Hand, help me mend the Seven Kingdoms and usher in a golden age of Targaryen rule.”

“I wish I could believe you true. I wish my brother had survived the Sack of King’s Landing. I wish it was only Rhaenys’s blood, dripping off of Tywin Lannister’s hands. That my children had more than one uncle by blood.” She said, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Yet I have Dreamt, and had Seeings, and been warned by ancestors as varied as Bloodraven, Visenya the Conqueror, Daenys the Dreamer, Queen Helaena, Aegon the Conqueror, and Uncle Aemon at the Wall, of a black dragon painted red, covered in a cloth of gold. The Golden Company, howevermuch it is a sellsword company, working for coin, would never aid a Targaryen in reclaiming the Iron Throne. All their commander generals and most of their other officers have been Blackfyre loyalists, or their descendants.”

The wolf bared its teeth. The red and the yellow dragons swooped lower.

“I am here simply to request that you leave, and to reclaim my family’s ancestral sword. I will let you leave unharmed, if you so do.”

“What would it take to convince you, sister?” Aegon choked out.

“You cannot. I am sorry you have been raised in a lie, but my brother is dead. Blackfyre, if you please.” She said, holding out her hand.

“You dare dismiss your king?” Jon demanded.

“I am the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, Prince Rhaegar’s only surviving child. Did you think anyone with a shred of knowledge of history would believe you? Both of my grandfathers fought in the war of the Ninepenny Kings. Ser Barristan Selmy killed the last male-line Blackfyre pretender, the captain general of the Golden Company. It was that deed that got him elevated to the Kingsguard. If you wanted him to have as much as a shred of credibility, you should have picked any other sellsword company. Better yet, you should have handed him off to grandmama eighteen years ago.” she said, resting her left hand on the dirk at her hip and beckoning with the right she still had extended towards Aegon. “Telling Queen Rhaella is the only way anyone would have believed you, believed him true. Yet she never would have. Face it, Jon, you spent five years in the Golden Company under captain general Ser Myles Toyne. The original agreement must have been with him. There is no way a Toyne would work towards a Targaryen restoration; it is as likely as having Stannis Baratheon crown me tomorrow.”

“You dare, you, the cause of the entire War of the Usurper.” Jon bit out.

“I think you will find, Jon Connington, that the trigger of what would be known as Robert’s Rebellion, the War of the Usurper, was murder.” She said, cocking a brow. “Mother and father eloped, true. Mother out of love, or a wish for independence, or to be rid of a betrothed she did not want. Father out of the belief that Lyanna Stark’s steel, her wolf blood, her ice, the magic in the Stark bloodline, unbroken since Brandon the Builder raised the Wall eight thousand years ago, would produce a warrior princess worthy of the name Visenya. Worthy of being the third head of the dragon. Worthy of carrying a prophecy he did not fully understand. Yet war could have been avoided, had not Aerys Targaryen burned Brandon Stark alive in his own armour with wildfire, and demanded Rickard, Eddard, and Benjen Stark, and Robert Baratheon travel to King’s Landing to suffer the same fate. For the crime of wanting Lyanna Stark returned, whom they believed to be abducted.”

“Aerys was the king!”

“Aerys was mad!” she bit out. “Hand over Blackfyre, and I will allow you to leave.”

“And if we refuse?” Jon scoffed.

The white dragon raised its head high, looking behind them towards the assembled ranks of the Golden Company.

“Then, Jon, I will simply recreate the Field of Fire. The only parts of Westeros not loyal to me is Joffrey Hill and his sycophants in King’s Landing, the Westerlands, and the Iron Islands. Cousin Renly has decided to lay aside his claim, to keep his position as Master of Laws on the Small Council, and wedding Aunt Daenerys.” She said, taking a step closer to grip the hilt of Blackfyre.

He gripped her wrist to wrench her hand away, but froze as an arrow flew just an inch past his head.

“Those arrows are poisoned, Blackfyre. I might be a Targaryen, the Blood of Old Valyria, but I am also a Stark, the blood of Winterfell, a daughter of the North. I was raised by Rickard Stark as his heir, the future Stark, Lady Paramount, Warden of the North. I am loved, honoured, respected there. The Crannogmen of the Neck do not allow me to walk anywhere unguarded.”

With that, she drew Blackfyre out of the scabbard at his waist, and turned to return to her dragon. Her wolf followed her, and Ser Arthur Dayne, her sworn shield, her protector, walked backwards so he still had them in his sight.

[romanoffstarkovs]

Emeria Stark: The Silver Wolf

Emeria Stark, the younger twin sister of Robb Stark, was a vibrant and fun-loving child from an early age. Growing up in the majestic Winterfell, she enjoyed exploring the vast grounds, climbing trees, and engaging in playful escapades with her siblings. Despite her lively nature, Emeria often struggled with feelings of inadequacy. She felt overshadowed by her siblings, especially her elder sister Sansa, who seemed to excel at the traditional activities expected of a noble lady, like sewing and courtly etiquette.

Emeria, on the other hand, was more interested in adventure and had little interest in the conventional pursuits of a lady. She would often find herself tangled in thread and making a mess of her sewing projects, which only added to her sense of not being good enough. These feelings of shame and self-doubt burdened her, making her believe that she could never live up to the expectations placed upon her as a Stark lady.

When the time came for her sisters, Arya and Sansa, to travel to King's Landing, Emeria couldn't bear the thought of being left behind in Winterfell. Yearning for an adventure of her own and hoping to escape the constant reminder of her perceived failures, she convinced her father, Eddard Stark, to allow her to join them. Ned, seeing the determination in his daughter's eyes, agreed to her request, though he reminded her to be careful and true to her Stark values.

In King's Landing, Emeria found herself feeling both overwhelmed and intrigued by the bustling city. Among the crowded streets, she encountered a boy named Gendry Waters, a blacksmith's apprentice. Gendry's down-to-earth nature and easy friendship became a bright spot in her otherwise tumultuous life at the royal court. They shared secrets, laughter, and dreams, forming a bond that transcended the rigid social barriers that typically separated nobility from commoners.

However, their newfound friendship was short-lived, as tragedy struck the Stark family. Emeria's beloved father, Ned Stark, was unjustly executed by the Lannisters, plunging her world into darkness. To make matters worse, Gendry was taken away from her, and she felt like she had lost everything that mattered.

Fueled by grief, anger, and a desperate desire for justice, Emeria made the daring decision to run away from King's Landing, vowing to avenge her father and find Gendry. Her journey took her to unfamiliar lands, where she encountered a young man named Young Griff, who introduced himself as "Aegon Targaryen," the long-lost heir to the Iron Throne.

Young Griff revealed that he sought to reclaim his birthright and was assembling supporters to aid him in his cause. Intrigued by his determination and touched by his offer to help find Gendry, Emeria struck a bargain with him. She pledged her allegiance to his cause, agreeing to support his claim to the Iron Throne, in exchange for his help in seeking justice for her father and finding her lost friend.

As Emeria and Young Griff embarked on this quest together, they faced numerous challenges, forging an unbreakable bond along the way. The journey tested Emeria's strength, resilience, and belief in herself. With every step, she learned to accept her flaws, realizing that she was enough, not as a perfect lady, but as a courageous and compassionate individual capable of making a difference in the world.

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

@spacerockfloater Were you also furious on Jeyne's behalf when her shitty male relatives attempted to usurp her? Did you think she was asslicking when she recognised the wider ramifications for female succession, for her own rule, if the Greens succeeded? Do you think it might have been in her own damn interest for the Greens to fail? Why do you think GRRM included the detail that she'd already seen 3 attempts to usurp her by the time of the Dance - just as a little extra dressing? Or a key motivation behind her support for her female relative?

Add in the context that female inheritance at that point had been under attack ever since the Grand Council at Harrenhal. The longstanding tradition of the Andals and the First Men - that though a son may come before a daughter, a daughter comes before an uncle - was ignored by the lords assembled there. Rhaenys had been the rightful queen by all laws and traditions. Vaemond had then used the precedent set by the Grand Council to put himself forward as heir to Driftmark ahead of Baela and Rhaena (who at that point had been betrothed to Jace and Luke since infancy, an arrangement that was Laena's idea to help her friend and brother out, so no, Rhaenyra was not usurping her stepdaughters - Vaemond was essentially usurping Rhaena by contesting her betrothed).

So with that context, it's no wonder Jeyne Arryn backed Rhaenyra. It's no wonder that Lady Tyrell also sent this iconic 'fuck you' as an excuse not to send any aid to the Greens:

Little Lord Tyrell’s mother wrote to say that she had reason to doubt the loyalty of her son’s bannermen, and “being a mere woman, am not myself fit to lead a host to war.”

Icon.

"B-But what about Rosby and Stokeworth?" Here's my breakdown on Rosby and Stokeworth - in sum, no, Rhaenyra was not in a position to roll out any alienating radical reforms in the middle of a civil war.

Rhaenyra allied with Dalton Greyjoy did she? The Greens tried that too! And in the end they allied with the Triarchy - that other group of pirates with a long history of kidnap and enslavement.

"B-But what about Nettles?" As my name probably suggests, I am a Nettles girlie. I care very deeply about Nettles (I touch on her and Rhaenyra's treatment of her here). I don't think Jeyne Arryn cares about Nettles anymore than Rhaenyra, or most of the nobility on Rhaenyra's council (except for Corlys, Gerardys and Jace), or any of the Greens - because that's the point of Nettle's character.

The fact is, Rhaenyra doesn't have to be a radical intersectional third wave feminist to gain the support of other highborns who also aren't radical intersectional third wave femininsts. That simply isn't the standard by which Jeyne Arryn is judging Rhaenyra - the precedent of a woman ruling is enough.

Insist all you like that Rhaenyra hypocritically only thought of herself as the exception, that she didn't care about other women. It doesn't change the fact that the Greens are shitty to women too (including to Jaehaera!). It doesn't change the fact that Rhaenyra's ascension would have been a STEP. At worst, Rhaenyra was just the same as the Greens - but with the added bonus that her ascension would have set a new precedent. It would have redressed the damaging precedent set by the Grand Council.

Add in the general culture of loyalty to the King and taboo of oathbreaking - and no, support for the King's chosen heir isn't actually that controversial in Westeros. This is a world in which the Mad King cooked Rickard Stark alive in his own armour and strangled Brandon Stark while he watched - and Eddard Stark's reaction to the Kingsguard knight who killed Aerys is to denounce him as a Kingslayer. The writers thought they were being clever with that 'stale oaths' line last season - but honour is actually culturally important.

Especially considering Rhaenyra had been heir since she was 8, had made a royal progress that went a whole lot better than the one depicted on HOTD, and the lords had years to get used to her as heir - hence why half the realm did actually support her. The Grand Council had also already set the precedent that tradition can be overturned to crown a man, so why not to crown a woman? Especially when the Greens had dishonourably concealed the King's corpse for 10 days, leaving it to rot while plotting a coup, all to crown a man widely known as being a lazy glutton at best. So yeah, the Greens didn't exactly endear themselves from the start.

As for endangering Jeyne Arryn... literally every house that declares for either side is in danger by this measure. It is logistically impossible for either side to grant every ally a dragon. Add that in the book, the promise of a dragon, and the sending of Tyraxes, was a promise made and followed up on by a 14-year-old boy, not Rhaenyra lol. Rhaenyra at that point in the book is generally agreed to have been absent from her council out of grief - this was a point in the story where a young Jace was trying to step up as heir until his mother recovered. As teenage stumbles go it's better than the mess Daeron makes of Tumbleton.

As for the Supposed Grudge Against Targs...

What is this obsession with insisting that the other noble houses must hold a grudge against the evil colonist Targaryens? While they somehow don't hold a grudge against the Hightower Targaryens and their apparently nice not evil dragons? Is it because you think the Greens are more Westerosi? And the Black's familial ties to House Arryn, House Strong, House Baratheon etc don't count?

The Conquerors weren't doing anything that the lords of Westeros weren't already doing. Their entire involvement in Westeros began when Argilac Durrandon asked for their aid in defeating Harren Hoare, and offered them buffer lands between the riverlands and the stormlands. They decided it wasn't in their political interests to get caught up in the constant cycle of land conquests by rivalling kingdoms - but they decided to play the same game the Kings of Westeros were already playing anyway, only better.

The feelings of the noble houses towards the Targaryens actually varies depending on their unique histories with the Targaryens, including their unique experiences during the conquest. House Tyrell owes their status to the Targaryens, House Hightower is probably still shitty that they weren't made wardens of the Reach instead (maybe that's why Lady Tyrell is so iconic in her fuck you to the Hightowers?). House Tully also owe their position to the Targaryens - and the other riverlords remember who liberated them from Harren Hoare.

House Arryn had a bloodless takeover - albeit with the implied threat of violence. Though it is mostly remembered as the time a Targaryen Queen took an excited little boy for a ride on her dragon. And when that little boy was murdered and usurped by a kinslayer, it was House Targaryen who delivered justice - a justice that the Valemen fully approved of, due to the cultural hatred of kinslayers.

And Then We Get To House Stark-

-Who you also think should hold a grudge against House Targaryen at this point in history. Show Cregan Stark certainly seems shitty, claiming "at least you didn't threaten me with your dragon". I mean we could make a distinction between someone actively threatening you with a dragon and an implied threat - Torrhen Stark simply saw the dragons and that was enough. But implied violence is still coercion, true. The Starks had their fair share of both actual violence and the implied threat of violence, like every other damn house in this feudal world with an army.

Show Cregan also seemed to forget that his ancestor Alaric Stark had already addressed this grudge. With Good Queen Alysanne. You know, wife to Jaehaerys the Conciliator? Those Targaryens who Conciliated? Who used soft power and built roads and overturned the first night and did a bunch of other stuff to fix the wounds left by Maegor the Cruel? The North in particular, especially the smallfolk, have generally positive memories of Good Queen Alysanne - the Queen who strengthened the Night's Watch with the New Gift. She had towns and castles named after her.

Of course, the north is not a monolith. Alaric's son Ellard Stark was less concerned with strengthening the Night's Watch, and resented the transfer of land. It is speculated by Maester Yandel that this grudge caused him to vote against Jaehaerys' choice of heir in the Grand Council, voting for Rhaenys instead. But Jaehaerys was never as popular in the north as Good Queen Alysanne. It's also possible that Ellard Stark voted for Rhaenys because a) the north generally love Good Queen Alysanne b) Alysanne always supported Rhaenys as heir c) Rhaenys was the rightful queen and d)the North have only positive experiences with Targaryen Queens at this point.

Either way, considering Show Cregan's concern with manning the Wall, it didn't quite make sense for him to not mention Good Queen Alysanne. But I imagine Book Cregan had it in mind.

I imagine Book Cregan also had the fact that he was also almost usurped in mind when he supported Rhaenyra over the Greens. Hey would you look at that, both Cregan and Jeyne, the 'asslickers' as you call them, have personal experiences that factor into their decision to back Rhaenyra beyond simply being asslickers!

Cregan was only 13 when his father died, and his uncle took over as his regent. His uncle refused to relinquish power when Cregan turned 16. The fact that Cregan had to have his uncle and cousins imprisoned strongly suggests that they were never going to relinquish control. Cregan was betrayed by his own family. So not only did the Greens probably remind him of his uncle, but Cregan was acutely aware of the political ramifications of allowing coups to go unchallenged.

Because guess what, the North isn't actually a homogenous icescape of isolationist brexiteers like the Show suggests. The Night's Watch sends missives to every King they can during the War of the Five Kings for a reason - the question of who sits the Iron Throne actually impacts the aid and resources they receive. Barba Bolton goes south to beg for food aid for a reason - because even the most pro-independence northerner can recognise that total isolation is unfeasible.

Cregan also had a little brother who died when he was 11, and had recently lost his wife and childhood best friend. I'm sure he and Jace probably bonded over his own very recent loss. Jace also reportedly reminded him of his little brother. Cregan, like Jeyne, had both political and personal reasons to support the Blacks.

But sure, it's great that the political and the personal was excised from the story for the far superior purpose of insisting that TARGS ARE BAD. Show Cregan and Show Jeyne aren't characters, they aren't compelling, they aren't interesting - they are just mouthpieces for the tiresome agenda of TARGS ARE BAD. For the ridiculous insistence that Targs are particularly more violent and more classist, that the violence and classism of the rest of the nobility is somehow more legitimate.

Book Jeyne Arryn, fresh from the latest attempt by male relatives to usurp her: "She remains our rightful queen, and mine own blood besides, an Arryn on her mother's side. In this world of men, we women must band together. The Vale and its knights shall stand with her".

vs

Show Jeyne Arryn: I don't have time to consider familial ties, solidarity from shared experiences or the wider ramifications for female succession, where the fuck is my dragon?

Rhaena: Should have read the fine print bitch.

Tyraxes: I was bigger in the book 🙁

[beautifulloverwitch]

By Fire, Sea and Blood

The untold tale of an approaching collapse

Chapter three: Look at her now.

previous ///// next

Summary: An attempt to push the children together, unite them as the one, seemed to only gnaw at the growing rift between them all.

__________________

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Daenerys Velaryon (strong! oc)

wc: 7k

warnings: assault

Taglist: Open

Masterlist

The king found himself struggling to enjoy the magnificent model he would commonly take delight in assembling. An intricate model of what the histories attempted to put into words of the indescribable Valyrian capital. Whenever he was away from the prolonged and sometimes uneventful council sessions, he would allow his eyes to skim over each intricate detail of the stone display. Not shying away from expressing his disapproval regarding any errors that so slightly contradicted what he had envisioned. Today a great concern rests upon his mind, the ever-growing tension between his family haunting his every step.

“Your grace? Are today’s changes to your liking? If not, I shall call for the stonemasons to return” his squire asked, confused by his king’s lack of interest today.

His silence even startled his wife who sat by the table the two so commonly conversed on, she glanced over her shoulder to her pondering husband.

The king arose from his dwelling sea of thoughts and looked up at the awaiting squire “No need, Eddard,” he spoke, he gestured to him “let us continue another day.”

Alicent’s narrowed gaze followed the squire as he left before she worriedly looked at the troubled Viserys “Is everything alright Viserys?”

He looked to her and sighed, groaning as he stood up and made his way to join her at the table “I’ve found myself consumed with worry these passing moons,” he explained as he attempted to word his concerns.

“What kind?” Alicent sounded eager to know, she had hoped he’d begun to realise her own concerns.

“The boys,” he addressed, bewilderment written across his features, his thoughts distracted him enough that he had not noticed Alicent’s hopeful expression “All that I have tried to do, nothing has quelled the animosity between them!”

Alicent sighed in dismay “Your kind intentions should not be wasted my King,” she explained, taking a sip from her cup “you’ve done all you could.”

He shook his head in disagreement “not enough,” he muttered to himself before looking to her again, curious to ask, “How has time treated Helaena and Daenerys’s friendship,” He was worried the animosity had corrupted even their pure bond.

She hummed before answering “They’re doing well, they care not for the boy’s hostility of one another,” she frowned in confusion as she stated aloud “even Aemond seems to have grown fond of princess Daenerys,” the words tasted bitter, for She was quite contented by the rift between her sons and Rhaenyra’s boys. Daenerys seemed to be a strongly rooted obstacle that proved a great challenge in maintaining that rift.

He pondered for a moment, speaking his thoughts aloud “Aemond, Helaena, and Dany have always been fond of one another, why is it so difficult for them to maintain sentiments for the lot of them?” the longer he spoke of their hostility, his voice would waver with anger “I had hoped Jace, and Daeron would grow to have the fondness those three seem to share.”

Alicent shook her head, hands resting upon her lap as she patronisingly spoke to him “My king, two boys being milk brothers does not garner amity.”

The king huffed, recalling what became of their third son “you speak as though it was not you who had sent Daeron away so soon,” he spat, still irked by the decision to have the boy sent away from his home at the young age of five. A sigh escaped him as he realised the venom of his words made his wife sink into her seat “all I wish is for this family to be united, for the boys to not stand against one another but together,” his fist clenching as his tender voice spoke of the dream he so longed for “there will be a time when none of us will be there to protect them,” his fingers running over his gloved hand, concealing the decaying finger beneath it “I only wish for them to be allied together when such a time comes.”

Alicents brow knitted together as she pictured such a future, a future where she would not be there to protect her children. Imagining who would take her place, she had considered, for a mere moment Viserys’s dream of a future they were absent from, but the vines of a delusion born of deception tightened their grasp on her again. A world absent of Viserys would be a world full of Rhaenyra, with a crown decorating her head. A crown with four hands gripping it tightly.

Falling back to her ways she voiced “Those boys are barbaric unlike their sister,” earning a disapproving stare from her husband “you can’t expect them to change.”

“Our boys are no different,” at their mention, Alicent seemingly did not appreciate Viserys placing them on equal grounds as she lowered her hardened gaze to the ground “and there is still time for them all to learn.”

His words caused Alicent to look back up, wary as she noticed his fingers fiddle with his bandaged little finger, something he would always do whenever he was considering an important decision “I’ve made the decision, that it is best for all the boys to do their princely duties together,” at those words Alicents demeanour changed, her head seemed to retreat backwards, perturbed by the proposal, words seemed to escape her as her eyes darted around while Viserys continued “every feast one of them is invited to, all of them go, whenever one of them is meant to be training at arms, they will all be training it arms, if one of them is studying, all of them will be studying,” he explained, he punctuated each sentence with a slap to the table. A proud smile on his lips as he looked at his wife, his smile soon faded as he noticed the look of disbelief on her face.

“Viserys, you can’t,” she simply stated, attempting to gather words “the boys cannot bare walking past one another!” her voice trembling with worry at what prospect such a decision could create.

“I understand your worry my queen,” he spoke calmly, raising his hand up attempting to dampen her concern “but that is the very reason they must go forth with it.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat “you’ve already made the decision,” her eyes widen, incredulous when he nodded “without my council, nor Rhaenyra’s, the mothers of the children you’ve decided to make such a ruling on?”

He refused to meet her gaze as he spoke “had I asked for either of your council, I would have realised the true source of this enmity between the children.”

She fell back into her seat, chest falling and rising as she attempted to subdue the growing anger bubbling within her. Her head shaking in pointless refusal before glancing back up at him “I would not wish to question your decisions your grace,” she voiced with forceful respect and acceptance for the decision “but I ask you to allow me the right to choose whom shall help prepare the princes for their duties,” this earned her a wary look from her husband before she continued “I wish for them all to be taught by the best mentors the seven can offer, might I remind you it was I who chose the septa for Helaena and Daenerys.”

The king reluctantly agreed, and she stood up, lips tense as she muttered “Your grace,” before leaving his chambers. He sighed, jaw clenching as one of the figurines shattered to the ground after Alicent slammed the door to his chambers rudely shut.

The three boys awkwardly stood beside one another as they awaited their mentor to offer them their weapons, the fourth boy absent for he was deemed far too young to be trained in the art of the sword. Their mentor was a man with coal black and lush hair, his attire the coveted white of a member of the Kings guard. He approached the boys with three wooden swords in hand, handing it over to Aegon and Aemond while shoving one towards Jace. The boy clutched the blunt blade in his arms, a fearful look on his face as he watched the man walk away.

“I was appointed by the queen to instruct you all to become formidable swordsmen,” he announced, hands resting on the hilt of his wooden blade, his piercing eyes scanning over the three princes “you all may be in your earnest ages but your training will still be harsh, and I am intolerant of any unnecessary weakness displayed by any of you,” he glanced to Jace, eyes sending a message of plain detest “this training is unavoidable, by command of the king,” he felt satisfied when he saw Jace cowering under his gaze “swords up!”

The boys raised their swords, all of them struggled to keep their arms extended as the weight of the swords caused their muscles to ache. The man circled them all, using his wooden sword to adjust their arms “let it be an extension of your arm,” he instructed, swatting away the other hand of Aemond “one hand prince Aemond.” Aemond nodded before raising his sword again, sword extended and arm as steady as possible.

Aegon had a proud smile on his face as he managed to learn quite quickly, the advantage he had did not go unnoticed by the two younger boys, but neither dared voice their opinion on it. Jace was soon to follow in skill, even though he could only observe for Ser Criston neglected to focus on the boy. Aemond seemed to struggle the most out of the three, baring most, if not all of Cristons attention. He swung at the training dummy, grunting as he twisted his wrists in an incorrect manner.

Aegon would notice his brothers struggle, nudging Jace and gesturing for him to watch the boy as he grappled with the wooden sword. The two laughed at his struggle and Aegon shouted to his brother ��come on brother! A dragonless Targaryen must learn to fend for himself from the ground,” he yelled, earning a surprised laugh from Jace.

Aemonds face flushed in anger, vexed by his brothers jabs and his nephew’s laughter. He channelled his anger through his swings. Criston gave a quick glance of caution to the boys before advising the irked Aemond “lighter swings my Prince.”

An amused Jace spoke to his uncle “We shouldn’t even be here, what good use is swordsmanship on dragon back?” his words and their laughter did not miss the ears of Aemond.

He halted his movements, sword clenched at his side as he sneered at the muddy ground. Had he looked up at their taunting faces, he would have mistaken them for the wooden dummy before him.

“Did I tell the either of you to stop?” Criston asked prompting them to choke on their teasing laughter. Once they turned away, he gave a reassuring nod to the vexed prince "go on."

Aemond huffed out a shuddered breath, displeased by his reliance on someone else to come to his own defence.

Aegon and Jace from then on did not shy away from making little comments about the slow learning and dragonless boy. Seemingly, the Kings decision served well to bring the boys together, two of them at least.

“That will be all for today,” Criston announced as his eyes jumped about the three boys, not knowing whether to feel disappointed or pleased by their amateur progression. His eyes lingered on Jace, whom this time, had not been bothered by his stare, he was too busy joking with Aegon to notice.

The boys placed their weapons back upon the rack, the dragon keepers waiting to escort them to the dragon pit. Aegon shoved his weapon to his brother “If you could brother,” He spoke, not paying him any mind as he walked away.

Aemond huffed in annoyance at his brothers disregard for him, noting how Jace was quick to follow Aegon. He returned the weapon to its place on the rack and turned to join them. Fell away his annoyance as he saw his brother, his blood, walk away with the dark-haired bastard. Seeing his brother walk away with the boy left Aemond in dejected humiliation. His hands balled up at his sides, feeling the stares of the those that took pity on him.

Criston rested his hand on the tense shoulder of the boy, an attempt of comfort but the boy was quick to shrug away his pity and march off the training grounds. Cristons cold stare did not waver as it followed the two tormenting boys.

As the months passed so continued their endless torment of the boy. Nothing seemed to dampen their teasing remarks to Aemond, whose anger seemed to rise and boil beneath his skin. He slowly began to excel in every teaching they received together, he was swift with his sword and calculating in his movements, he would be prepared for every teaching with their appointed Maester, and courteous to every Lord and Lady he encountered with the other two. To his dismay, it never seemed enough for his brother to stop.

Months after the king enforced the rule upon the boys, Luke joined their sessions and to Aemonds misfortune, he was quick to side with the two wolves that continued to gnaw at him.

He attempted to inform his brother of his detest at how he has been treated these few months. He was given a false assurance that his feelings had been acknowledged, only to have offered Aegon upon a silver platter, another wound to prod at with his sharp words.

He blankly stared ahead of himself, the tome in his lap long forgotten. Fingers digging into the leather binding and oxidised paper. The look in his eyes void of the beaming light of the sun that shone upon the godswood. Lips squeezed in contempt and face still as he marinated in his own anger.

Daenerys was too lost in her own rambling to notice his usual silence lasting far too long. She glanced down at him from the tree crook she settled upon, worry whelmed her as she saw the distant look on his face. Hopping down she called out “Aemond,” a soft grunt escaped her as she landed on her knees against the dry ground, probably scraped them beneath her dress “Aaaaeeemmmooondddd” she drawled out, her voice held a wavering puckishness that fell away when he remained unresponsive. She knelt beside him, an arm around her knees as she tilted her head to get a better look at his face, her hand reached out and rested upon his shoulder and she called out for him again, the note of tenderness seemed to reach him as he glanced up at her “Aemond?”

His jaw rolled as he ducked his head, trying to ease away his anger.

“What has caught your tongue?” she jovially asked, resting beside him “you’ve barely flicked past a single page,” she pointed to the untouched bookmark on the tome. She chuckled as she asked, “I do hope your sessions with the Maester have not granted you someone more interesting than I to read with you,” she frowned when she noticed the sneer that danced across his upper lip. Her lips downturned and she rested her back against the bark of the tree, fingers fiddling with the compass that hung at her hip. The two sat together in a long silence, the girl sighed, the uncomfortable silence felt awkward to her, but she knew he needed a moment to gather himself.

words came together as his thoughts cleared, he asked “your brothers…” her brows knitted at the mention of her young brother “have they ever teased you?”

She was taken aback by the question, an incredulous look on her face as she asked, “what could they possibly tease me for?”

He abruptly interrupted “for not having a dragon, have they ever shamed you for not having a dragon?” He was taken aback by how her face suddenly dropped at the mention of it, dread overcame him as he accused her “They’ve spoken about it to you!” he bolted up from where had sat and looked down at her, the sudden action caused her to tense in fear “Luke and Jace have been ridiculing me to you, and you’ve allowed it?! All these months?” he shouted; voice wavering as he pictured her laughing along with her brothers at his troubles.

Daenerys frowned in confusion, baffled by the conclusion he had so swiftly arrived at. She shot up from the ground and remarked “what? No! I would never!” she exclaimed, but it seemed as though it was not enough, grimacing in shock as she saw him shake his head and begin to walk away from her. She chased after him and stood in his path, growing outraged by the accusation. He turned away from her, rudely giving her his shoulder to speak to “Luke only spoke ill of you once and I gave him AND Jace an earful to make them cease their taunting!” she explained. When she had first heard of her brothers’ jests about Aemond, she was terribly hurt by their barbed words. She was not innocent of poking fun at him either, but she knew that some open wounds were best not to be pried at, Especially with Aemonds fiery temper.

The first she was made aware of her brothers’ insults, she wondered if they had thought the same of her, for she was in the same predicament as the boy they constantly poked fun at.

Her eyes glazed over with the sorrowful sheen of tears “I, out of everyone understand the plight you and I face,” lips twisting as the young girl did her best to maintain her composure “to laugh at a struggle that I understand would make me crueller than Jace, or Luke, or your brother!”

His lips pursed as he pondered her words, hands gripping at his arms as they grew tighter around his chest. His brows knitted as he stared at the cobble floor, giving it instead of her an icy glare.

A shuddered sigh escaped Daenerys “why would you think I’d ever laugh at you for such a thing?” she questioned, fingers brushing over the knuckles of her hand.

“You’re their eldest sibling,” he muttered, his foot digging at the floor beneath him. His gaze slowly moved up the brush across the sky and back to her as she patiently stood at his side, awaiting an answer “younger siblings always learn from their elder sibling.”

She scoffed, her hands breaking away from one another “I would hope not,” she made her way back to the abandoned tree slowly followed by a wary Aemond.

“Why is that?” he asked, his voice now softer, losing the burning harshness.

She was subtle to wipe away the hot tears before turning to face him as she sat down “Imagine! To deal with one Aegon is enough, but two or three!” she jovially exclaimed “I’d be praying to the seven to take me sooner.”

Pleasant surprise splashed away the solemn and cold expression on his face before he laughed along with her.

She sighed in relief upon seeing the smile that tore through his often-dour face. He joined her and sat beside her again, seemingly noticing she awaited a response from him “forgive me for placing blame upon you, it’s just not fair,” he said, his shoulders slumping in sorrow “my brother takes joy in their presence, if I am not the hind of the joke, I am a nuisance.”

Her bottom lip jutted outwards as she pondered “Maybe he won’t realise it now, nor will he realise tomorrow, nor the day after that,” she looked over her shoulder, seeing his sorrow taking grasp of him again, she rested her hand over his, her words laced with sincere warmth “But no friendship compares to that of a brother’s.”

He glanced down to their joined hands, before looking up at her with a child’s sheepishness. She patted his hand “He will come around to realise the joy of your presence, just as I have, with time,” her kind voice assured. She sighed for a moment before proposing “as for my brothers, I will keep watch of them, I will… be sure that next I go archery training… I shall be closer to where you and my brothers commence your sword training.”

His face awkwardly contorted to relief at hearing her assurance, no matter how naïve it may have sounded he held it closely to heart in hopes of it someday coming true. To hope for some day, that he may share a trusting endearment with his neglectful brother.

He fiddled with the edges of his book before asking “Have you thought about your mothers’ question?”

Daenerys chuckled and shook her head “Will there ever be a day that passes where you don’t ask me about that?” she harmlessly chided “Have you ever considered to ask me about my archery skills? I have finally managed to shoot the target and not my father’s foot.”

“It’s an important decision Dany,” he defended setting the book aside before turning to face her. He struggled to understand her evasion, the reason for his endless prying was because it was the one topic, she seemed disinterested in ever discussing with him.

Rolling her eyes, her head fell back against the tree. As much as she had taken joy in his presence, she favoured Helaena’s more, a moment with her was always free from talk of politics. The pestered girl was quick in her remark “A decision which I am a decade away from making!”

The aspect of the throne’s importance was still foreign to her, she knew whom ever sat it ruled the seven kingdoms and was king or queen. She knew its history, she knew of how coveted it was by both noble and low born, but her knowledge of it ended at that.

“If a decade had already passed,” he slowly suggested, his hand quickly reaching for her arm as she began to rise from her place beside him “what would you say?” he curiously questioned, expression silently pleading for her to consider his question.

The bothered Daenerys pouted, as she glared at the unmoved boy. Sighing she stared at the ground, it should have been an easy answer, who would not want to rule the seven kingdoms?

The light squeeze she felt on her arm pulled her away from her short-lived pondering. Her hand reached up to pull at the lobe of her ear “yes?” she answered, wincing as she tugged her ear too hard “A seat so coveted, a responsibility so large, so… powerful, I see no reason to refuse it,” she explained, before looking to him. Shoulders rigid when she was met with what she perceived as doubtfulness from Aemonds eyes. Nails beginning to dig deeper into the delicate flesh of her ear.

Reaching up he pulled her hand away from her ear, clutching it in his hand. She glanced down, lips twisting the side, had the decision been asked of her months earlier, she would have said yes, but now all she could think of was the other option. She looked at him through the corner of her eye, relieved to see the familiar ungraceful grin on Aemonds lips “If it is of any consolation, I think you should say yes,” He was met with a jovial scoff from Daenerys, who tugged her hand away from his and lightly shoved him away. He chuckled at her childish action and justified “Only because I think you’d make for a great queen.”

It was true, for although Aemond had detested the fact that the throne was to be inherited by his half-sister once his father passed. He was more than capable of baring that if it meant Daenerys would success it after her. In his eyes she would make for a memorable queen if the histories were to be kind enough to her. With the right guidance, he believed she may be capable to mend whatever mess her mother would leave for her to manage.

They were aligned once again side by side. Three of them so huddled together that the fourth looked entirely misplaced, as though he had mistakenly stumbled upon the training grounds and was too ashamed to leave. They were also accompanied by Ser Harwin, the commander keeping watch over his trainee archers, but made use of every moment he could sneak a pointed glance over to Rhaenyra’s boys as he watched them neglected by their instructor.

The righteous Ser Criston hands were rested at the hilt of his sword, watching the near piteous swings of his newest pupil, prince Lucerys. He had learned to hide his disgust behind a face tightened by his years of upheld duty untainted by depravity. He tore away his gaze on the boy and towards his favoured pupil, the only who seemed recuperate far quicker than the rest.

“The weapon is an extension of your arm Prince Aemond,” he stated, the young prince turned to look at him attentively “understand that and your swings will be much quicker.”

Aemond sighed, his arm gripped tightly at the wooden sword hanging at his side “my strikes can’t get any weaker Ser Criston.”

Criston walked over to him and turned him towards the dummy again “Strong strikes serve you no good if you don’t know where to use them, and when,” He explained to him, his instruction not reaching the rest of the boys who would have made good use of his instruction “nor will they help you if you are without the speed to avoid the strikes of your opponent.”

His brow scrunched as he listened before nodding and continuing his lighter, yet rapid assaults on the flesh of hay and bone of wood.

“Your opponent will not stick to one place young knights!” Criston yelled as he strode around them all “move around them, evade whatever attacks they intend on making!”

Jace nodded, twirling his blade in his wrist as he prepared himself. The boy latched on to whatever instruction he could gain from the stoic knight, pushing it to its limit until he overhears another instruction not meant for his ears. He and the rest stalked around their opponent and struck every few steps.

Luke would look over to his brother and attempt to mimic his movements, he could mimic his brother all he wished, but he could not mimic his brother’s physical condition which Luke has yet to perfect. His face grew red, and breaths grew rapid as his arm idly hit his opponent. He grimaced as he dropped his hands to his knees, catching his breath.

“Congratulations prince Luke, you’ve been effectively maimed by your opponent,” Criston scolded, restraining the smirk that pulled at his lip upon hearing the laughter of Aemond and Aegon “lift your sword from the ground.”

Luke pouted, huffing as he stood up to face his opponent again, trying to regain motivation to impress the cold Criston, who had not spared the boy a moment unless he had made an understandable mistake for him to reprimand.

To the right of the field Daenerys stood rigid with bow outstretched in hand, clad in a simple blue dress and leather bracers. Behind her was her instructor, wary of each time she let an arrow soar. Daenerys was adamant on learning how to use the ranged weapon, her father was reluctant, and many around her attempted to talk her out of this ambition. Her mother found it odd at first, not many princesses wish to seek to have such a trait in their arsenal. But when honeyed words and charm wore out, her daughter would eventually need another means of protecting herself.

Daenerys found today’s session to be less than fulfilling compared to the rest. While her shots landed somewhere other than the centre of her target -a great improvement compared to her first session- she did not feel the satisfaction of success, for her mind was busied in keeping watch of her brothers and Aemond.

Nobles gathered around to watch the princess, who had gained the vexing title the bungled archer. Curtesy of her dear uncle Aegon.

Aemond would glance over to where she was every now and then, impressed by her improvement, and Light chuckles slipping from him, finding himself amused by how red her face would get whenever another arrow found itself upright on the ground. His sudden spike of happiness did not go unnoticed by Aegon, who glanced between his brother and his dark-haired niece with disgust.

Daenerys snuck a quick glance over her shoulder while she drew back another arrow. She saw Aegon gesture to Aemond while muttering something to Jace and Luke, both laughed but froze when they saw her piercing lilac eyes warn them to seize their laughter. Jace nudged his brother to quiet down before the two moved away from Aegon.

Aegon noticed them retreating further and further away. He followed their gaze and noticed the warning look their sister had given them. His nostril flared as he huffed, irritated by her presence. He glanced around the training grounds and noticed how everyone seemed to have their attention on her, the bastard girl graced with a feature special enough to distract them all from the plain obvious.

 He stalked towards his brother, leaning over his shoulder. A bewildered Aemond tensed, leaning away from his brother who had a menacing grin on his face “You think archery will be enough for her to protect herself? Should we invite our dear niece to join us in our training as well?” he spoke gesturing towards her with his head. Aemond looked at her from the corner of his eye, wary of what words would leave his brother next “Those eyes aren’t capable of protecting her from what mortal perils lie on the ground,” his taunting smile grew wider as he saw his brother turn to him, a silent message of caution emanating from his icy blue eyes “I heard there are people in the world that want to pluck them, right. Out.”

An irked Aemond forcefully stepped forward, away from his looming brother that stumbled back from the force of his movement. Aegon chuckled walking back to his station, merrily twirling his sword.

The action did not go unnoticed by the watchful Daenerys. She could only imagine what the exchange was about to cause such a response from Aemond. Adjusting her grip on her bow she breathed in.

“This is your last shot for the day princess Daenerys,” her annoyingly stoic instructor spoke, arms across his chest as he told “narrow your focus.”

She frowned in worry before shaking away every other possible bother. Stance open and arrow arm loose as she drew back the nock of her arrow against the string of her bow. ‘Just this one shot, just one shot, please!’ she pleaded, eyes focused on the bright red dye at the centre of her target. It was as though every failed attempt faded away as she restated her goal time and time again. She released the nock of her arrow and allowed it to find its path.

Her face softened with hope, the moment she let go, her body relaxed from its rigidity and her bow fell to her side. It was like a ray of sun cutting through a cloudy day when a bright smile tore across her face. The arrow once in her grip, was now protruding from the red dot of her target. She turned to look at her instructor, who had met her with a look of stifled pride.

She was alerted by applause coming from around her, the young princess was bashful upon seeing the noble men and women applauding her success around her. she bowed her head in appreciation before handing her bow to her instructor. Her brothers startled her as they gathered around her.

“You finally did it!” Lucerys yelled, jumping for joy as he pointed towards the target.

Jacaerys squeezed her arm “Father made a mistake not coming today.”

She shrugged before joking “maybe he’s been the cause of my shortcomings,” Her joke garnered laughter from her younger brothers. Glancing away from them she had noticed the approaching nobles and realised she had another important duty to attend to. She was not keen on another teaching from Septa Olera, she was only in a rush to avoid the prodding eyes of the Lords and Ladies “I’ll see the both of you at dinner!” She told her brothers, giving the two light pats to their heads before rushing past them.

As she dodged and weaved between the men and women, yelling quick thank you’s as she ran past. She regrettably had to run past Aemond as well, whom wanted to congratulate her “Dany, yo-“

She turned to face him as she walked back towards the stair “I’ll speak with you later Aemond!” she offered him a quick smile before rushing up the stairs.

His arms fell to his side, saddened by her dismissal. He continued practicing his strikes, his guard returned, Daenerys was no longer present to thwart her brothers taunting of Aemond.

Aegon glared at the faces of the dispersing crowd, who had not even bothered to gather around him after Daenerys departed the training grounds. Their disinterest caused his blood to boil, all she had done was shoot a toothpick through a cotton plate.

“Back to your stations Princes!” Ser Criston called out; he found the crowding of the princess unnecessary. Such a simple discipline archery was, he called the weapon of cowards. Too scared to get close enough to a fight. It was the art of the sword that should have garnered that attention.

The man returned to his attentiveness of Aegon and Aemond. Luke and Jace had eventually stopped their practice and simply watched. Criston had not cared enough to notice. Jacaerys had grown to find it irritating, himself and Lucerys were barely advancing in their training.

Lucerys took matters into his own hands once, he thought the knight had perceived him as too weak and slow. The looming shadow of wanting to be better, pushed him to take Cristons Morningstar, wanting to take swing at that weapon instead. The boy nearly knocked his own head off his shoulders, had the stone walls surrounding the training grounds not caught the weapon. From then on, the shadow of Ser Harwin strong seemed to linger inconspicuously in the training grounds.

Harwin would not shy away from sending disapproving glares towards their neglectful instructor. He whistled to the two boys, gaining the attention of Jacaerys. He gave a quick nod towards Cole before turning his back to them.

Jacaerys turned to look at his instructor, attempting to gather the will to ask “Ser Criston?” he gulped when he was met with the intense stare of the knight “What can we do?” He asked, puffing up his chest, he was a prince why should he be so unnerved by a king’s guard? “My brother and I have been doing for months what prince Aegon and Aemond have been doing in a week.”

Aemond had his back to them, his brow arching up as he smirked to himself. He heard Aegon whining, mocking the two boys. He did not hide the laughter that omitted from him.

Ser Criston hummed “My teachings have proven effective so far, young prince.”

“I do not plan on challenging a tree to a dual Ser Criston,” His bluntness startled him, but he kept his head high.

Cristons smugness fell away, instead it was replaced by the familiar jaded expression “very well, let us test your skill, shall we?” he turned to look at Aegon “Prove to me you can best Aegon and both you and your brother may ascend to my next teaching.”

Aegon was startled, glancing to the young boy. Aegon was at a great advantage, but eventually took the opportunity to place at least one of the Velaryons in their place. He swung his sword around as he approached the frightened Jacaerys “Come Jace! You needn’t worry, this will take me only a few moments.”

As their swords clashed it was clear that Jacaerys attentive ear was of great use to him, their prowess was nearly similar. Had it not been for Aegons height, their skill would have been identical. Jacaerys struck with force, while Aegons actions were erratic, he was stunned by the boy’s strength.

His presumption of Jacaerys weakness cost him, he was so stunned he had not noticed that his sword had been knocked out of his grip. He was awakened from his stupor by the young boys bellowing laughter of victory.

Jacaerys turned to look at his brother who mirrored his joy. He turned to look back at Aegon, hoping for a pat on the back, thinking the older prince to be a good sport about his loss. Instead, he was tackled to the ground, he was quicker to awareness than his opponent, fighting back against the furiously humiliated boy. An event the queen would be quick to latch on once she receives word of it.

Ser Criston was not quick to pry the two off one another. Aegon stumbled back, a quivering sneer on his lips. Glancing around him, attention returned to him at the worse moment, the judging stares of the crowd piercing into him. he could have sworn that the face of his mother appeared at least ten times as he looked around.

Such a childish display from the eldest of the young princes.

He cut through the unmoving crowd, marching swiftly to his chambers. He thought he had grown accustomed to the disapproving glares and painful criticisms of his mother, but to feel it ten-fold was something he had never expected himself to face. Never a moment was he seen at his best, always at his worst.

As he passed through the shadowed edges of the courtyard, he heard the sound of what he perceived was the goading laughter of the cause of his greatest woes. Daenerys Velaryon sat beside his sister, laughing to her hearts content, while he was made to fall to a shadow, she had never been in. whatever thought of rationality had drowned in the boiling water of years of anger and jealousy. His hand, as though with a will of its own, reached for the hilt of the dagger strapped to his hip. Such turmoil this day had been for him, and such a lingering putrid taste it would leave in his mouth, so he had to wash it out somehow.

Helaena had a pitiful smile as she watched Daenerys struggle to complete her embroidery, or even start it for that matter. She was hunched over, embroidery held closely to her face as she worked.

“Your hand is shaking too much, stop clenching the needle too much!” she attempted to reach for the needle only to have her hand gently swatted away.

“Septa Olera will notice that you’ve helped me on my embroidery Helaena,” She explained.

“How?” she questioned curiously.

She scoffed before resting the embroidery on her lap “all she’ll have to search for is perfection and discipline.”

“Let me at least tie off your thread at the start!” she urged.

Daenerys sighed and handed it over to her. She rested her hands on her cheeks as she leaned on her knees, peering over to see Helaenas work. She frowned when she saw her swap out the blue thread she had been using “My thread…”

“It’s frayed Dany, let’s use one of mine! Septa Olera always admires it, she’ll be sure to give you the same admiration!” she spoke credulously.

Daenerys found Helaena’s unwary demeanour terribly reassuring, never hid her intent, and never seemed to hold an ill one. It had taken her weeks to grow accustomed to it and eventually it became the greatest reason for her to view her aunt as a great friend to keep.

Helaena pulled out her favourite red thread, poking it through the needle before beginning her work “Break away a branch of red…” her soft voice spoke, but her words had not slipped the curious ears of Daenerys, she pierced the back of the fabric and looped back to pierce it again. Creating a small loop at the back of it, she pierced the fabric a third time and passed the thread through the loop “charging towards…” she pulled the thread and closed the loop around it “a dances end.”

She presented it to the confounded Daenerys, it was the only downside to her friendship with Helaena. The curious sentences she would mutter every now and then irked Daenerys for she would never be capable of deciphering any of Helaenas often concerning riddles.

Her surroundings petered out as she fell to the constant daze she’d go into after hearing one of Helaenas riddles. A sharp tug at her hair tore a shrill scream of horror from her throat. She tried to pull away, but her attacker kept a tight grasp of the handful of hair he had kept in his grip. Hair so long it reached her lower back, she took so much pride in the head of hair she had been born with.

The tugging had suddenly ended, and she collapsed to the stone ground in front of her, her cheek and palms scraping against it. The blood trickling from the scrape on her cheek and brow, and the burning of her palms seemed to not be of concern once she noticed the long tufts of hair landing around her. The braid that hung from the back of her head was now on the ground in front of her. Her lips began to quiver as she sat on her knees. As it dawned upon her, she turned to look at her attacker, who laughed at her state.

“Aegon!” Helaena cried out in shock.

Aegon clutched his chest as he cackled. Many began to gather around, gasping in horror upon seeing the sight, all of them looming over. The mortified princess stared at the locks of hair in her attackers’ hand with beating dread in her wide eyes, sobs beginning to build within her chest. Heart hammering in her ears as she began to shrink away. Her heavy tears began to pour so much that had she not been focused on understanding why he would do such a thing; she would fear that she would drown herself in her own sorrow.

“A few more cuts Dany, and we’ll get rid of everything else strong about you.”

One of the lords stepped forward, reaching down to the terrified girl, pitying her state “princess Daenerys… let me take you to your mother,” his hands slowly resting on her shoulders.

Like a dear running at the sound of a snapping twig she bolted out of the courtyard, the sound of her cries following her. Her once long dark hair, now a mess of length. She had evaded every one of the guards and nobles she encountered and disappeared into the red keep. Stumbling into the secret dark corridor she had accidentally found one day; the darkness of the corridor repelled her from making it a common place to visit. But her feet seemed to guide her straight into it.

Shutting the door behind her she shook her head, glancing to the left and the right of the ill-lit corridor. She rushed towards the sight of two rays of light, falling beside the worn window, and scurrying to the wall, curling up against it. The exhilaration of the run combined with the trepidation inflicted upon her by Aegon’s Malicious actions, threw the poor girl into a panic. Her face blemished by the anguish of it all, heart beating at a rate the rest of her body found it difficult to catch up with. Her limbs limp around her as she fought against this foreign feeling. The sound of drops hitting the cold cobblestone caught her currently frenzied attention.

Her finger tapping for each second that passed before the next drop of water splashed on the small puddle it had formed.

Eight seconds she had counted. Gathering her courage, she gulped and pushed herself up and against the wall, head leaning against the cold stone as she fought to regain control of her body. Heaving in a deep breath of air, for a moment it felt as though it had all cleared, but her breath hitched at the interrupting sound of the splash. With that she let out a shuddered exhale, finding a calming rhythm. Collecting herself with every eight seconds.

Her legs straight ahead of her, Staring ahead of herself as she tugged at her ear, she found it difficult to reach for her hair, every time she had, another strand of hair would find itself in her hand. it was not a clean cut; she could still feel the painful tension of his tugging on her scalp. It had not helped that the thoughts of why he would do such a thing to her began to beat against the wall of her skull.  With every possible reason that was denied, she eventually had to succumb to the fact that the reason of why, was to her dismay: unknown.

[vivacissimx]

It's hard to pick one part of Jon's narrative arc that I enjoy the most because he's a dynamic character who evolves quite a bit. However, one part of Jon that I appreciate is that as he grows, the people he chooses to admire as his own personal heroes do as well.

When Jon had been a boy at Winterfell, his hero had been the Young Dragon, the boy king who had conquered Dorne at the age of fourteen. Despite his bastard birth, or perhaps because of it, Jon Snow had dreamed of leading men to glory just as King Daeron had, of growing up to be a conqueror. Now he was a man grown and the Wall was his, yet all he had were doubts. He could not even seem to conquer those.

-ADWD, Jon VII

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword.

-AGOT, Jon VIII

Jon's first ideas of heroism/great men come hand in hand with the certainty that he will never be one. He denies himself hope; he denies himself even childhood. Maybe that's because he doesn't feel like he's allowed to have those things.

"I am almost a man grown," Jon protested. "I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children."

-

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

-AGOT, Jon I

[That isn't how the adults around him see it, just Jon's perspective - "And even a bastard may rise high in the Night's Watch," Ned reflected. Still, his voice was troubled. "Jon is so young. If he asked this when he was a man grown, that would be one thing, but a boy of fourteen…" (AGOT, Catelyn II)]

But his admiration of warrior princes and kings muddles quickly.

Jon was still not certain how he felt about it. Robb a king? The brother he'd played with, fought with, shared his first cup of wine with? But not mother's milk, no. So now Robb will sip summerwine from jeweled goblets, while I'm kneeling beside some stream sucking snowmelt from cupped hands. "Robb will make a good king," he said loyally.

"Will he now?" The smith eyed him frankly. "I hope that's so, boy, but once I might have said the same of Robert."

-ACOK, Jon I

Specifically Jon's relationship with the King he meets face to face, Mance, is a complex one - Mance is Ned Stark's enemy, a man who broke the vows Benjen and Jon swore, and he's in league with the North's ancient enemy. Besides that, he doesn't look much like a warrior.

"[Mance] was the best of us," said the Halfhand, "and the worst as well. Only fools like Thoren Smallwood despise the wildlings. They are as brave as we are, Jon. As strong, as quick, as clever. But they have no discipline. They name themselves the free folk, and each one thinks himself as good as a king and wiser than a maester. Mance was the same. He never learned how to obey."

"No more than me," said Jon quietly.

-ACOK, Jon VII

The singer rose to his feet. "I'm Mance Rayder," he said as he put aside the lute. "And you are Ned Stark's bastard, the Snow of Winterfell."

Stunned, Jon stood speechless for a moment

-ASOS, Jon I

Mance had spent years assembling this vast plodding host, talking to this clan mother and that magnar, winning one village with sweet words and another with a song and a third with the edge of his sword, making peace between Harma Dogshead and the Lord o' Bones, between the Hornfoots and the Nightrunners, between the walrus men of the Frozen Shore and the cannibal clans of the great ice rivers, hammering a hundred different daggers into one great spear, aimed at the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. He had no crown nor scepter, no robes of silk and velvet, but it was plain to Jon that Mance Rayder was a king in more than name.

-ASOS, Jon II

[Contrast to another man who doesn't "look like he should" yet Jon dislikes him. "The king was a great disappointment to Jon. His father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Jon saw only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups." (AGOT, Jon I)]

I'm not quoting this out but I think it's artful that GRRM puts Jon in Mance's camp right before Stannis comes to the Wall. Mance's host is impressive (an entire people) but it lacks discipline (Mance is all that holds them together). Stannis's army is small, but disciplined, and Stannis is as rigid as Mance was malleable to the unique needs of the wildling clans ("Let them keep their pride, and they will love you better." His Grace would not listen. He said, "It is swords I need from them, not kisses.") Jon never admires Stannis per se, actually he's more annoyed than awed even when Stannis offers him Winterfell and a Stark name.

Now, ADWD Jon Snow is someone who's been analyzed at length - he's harder and meaner than ASOS Jon. He's no longer able to compromise with the stakes so high, and in many ways he lacks his previous faith. If AGOT Jon didn't dare dream, ADWD Jon runs on nothing but dreams, holding together his patchwork peace in the same way that Mance did his, while running the Night's Watch with the brutal efficiency of Stannis Baratheon.

But those aren't Jon's heroes or role models...

This was pointless, Jon thought. Pointless, fruitless, hopeless. "Thank you for your counsel, my lords."

Satin helped them back into their cloaks. As they walked through the armory, Ghost sniffed at them, his tail upraised and bristling. My brothers. The Night's Watch needed leaders with the wisdom of Maester Aemon, the learning of Samwell Tarly, the courage of Qhorin Halfhand, the stubborn strength of the Old Bear, the compassion of Donal Noye. What it had instead was them.

-ADWD, Jon XIII

This is such a seminal Jon Snow quote.

Maester Aemon? Wise. Wisdom isn't about his education, it's about his perception and empathy. Maester Aemon is always the one to offer advice when AGOT-ASOS Jon is going through crises of identity as the brother-son-bastard of House Stark vs. being a man of the Night's Watch. Only Aemon knows what it means to have a King for a brother. Although he's not present for most of ADWD, Maester Aemon's words of kill the boy, let the man be born are what Jon clings to.

Sam Tarly isn't learned, he's learning. Sam Tarly dreams and reads and saves Gilly when Jon couldn't. There's a lot to say about how Sam represents humanity to Jon but for the point of this post, it's important to note that Jon admires him for it. Loves him.

Qhorin Halfhand, whose time with Jon was limited but a) in that time, he opened Jon's eyes to a new perspective on the wildlings, and b) was willing to sacrifice everything for his beliefs.

Donal Noye! This one is fantastic because Donal Noye is formative during Jon's time in the Watch. He's not a flashy ranger (Ben Stark isn't even included in Jon's top five brothers of the Night's Watch list! RIP bozo jk Jon does call him one of the best men of the Watch in ADWD Jon V), he always phrases things in the worst possible way (you're a bastard and a bully; The moles all went in terror of him, and rightfully so, since he was always threatening to rip their heads off), he's just the quasi-leader of Castle Black who holds Jon down with his only arm while Aemon cauterizes his wound.

And what Jon admires in him is his compassion.

It's probably arguable that Jon names these people as a way of comforting himself, because ADWD Jon doesn't particularly like his own actions. He weaponizes his bastardry against himself and he's consumed with doubts.

But there's an empathic reading too, that these are all people on the margins of the social order, and they're all people who enriched Jon's life personally. They taught him hard lessons and happy ones, and whoever he is, whether Jon or Lord Snow, a rebel and a turncloak, aye, and a bastard and a warg as well - he chooses to rely on their strength and memory to guide him. Jon Snow thinks better of himself for having known these people, and so his heroes morph from warrior princes and doers-of-great-deeds to those who are able to improve the lives of their friends and brothers even in impossible situations.

ADWD Jon Snow is incomplete and often in pain, but he's not stagnant. In fact for once he's allowing himself imagine a future of his making, in no small part because he's seen these men do the same.

"Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall."

-ADWD, Jon VI

[yerevasunclair]

A New Sigil

Summary: This is an AU where Ned & Cat are builders/shipwrights/explorers. They are having a pillow talk about improvising the Stark banner.

  “What would the name of our household and castle be?” Catelyn questioned him. They were lying in a soft bed with summer flowers, a bouquet that Catelyn rooted out at the crest of the cascade. Ned made her dreams come true. He built her a castle in their newfound paradise in the unexplored part of the Sunset Sea, a group of 4 neighboring islands thousands of miles away to the west in between the Stony Shore and Cape Kraken. Their castle near the waterfall at its northeast was constructed with the help of soldiers, peasants, shipwrights and merchants, 50 who come from Essos and another 100 loyal banner men from the North, Stormlands, Riverlands and Crownlands. Both of them shared their ideas to its design, the large area shaped into a compass with each watchtower stationed in the North, South, West and East that jutted out of the two outer, circular walls and were all connected by a stone bridge to the central keep. Ned formed the keep into an octagonal prism with octagonal towers at each corner. The towers were tall enough to view the stretch of the ocean, but were nowhere near as high as the castles in Westeros. Outside the keep were smaller houses reserved for the families of the trusted men who were instrumental to their cause, to venture the unknown west of Westeros.

“I don’t know yet.” Ned said as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

Eddard Stark was reputed as the new generation’s Brandon the Builder. In the South, he created roads and waterways for cultivated lands of wealthy nobles and erected the keeps of landed knights. In the North, he worked with his brothers to increase infrastructures. The Lord of Winterfell Brandon Stark sought to raise more defensive structures and warfare devices in the Gift and west in order to quell the raids of the Free Folk, Skagosi and Ironmen. Ned greatly contributed to Brandon’s militaristic ambitions, through the construction of 4 fortresses along the west coasts of the North to spy on the Ironborn’s activities and hinder their future invasions from moving further to Bear Island. The fortresses found at Cape Kraken, the Stony Shore, Rills and Sea Dragon point, are currently garrisoned by the younger sons of households Glover, Ryswell, Dustin, and Flint. Catelyn was a shipwright and she assembled the vessels more gigantic and advanced than the Greyjoy Fleet for each fortress. It had proven its benefit when the Ironborn attacked the fishermen to steal their catch and boats and they were fought at sea before they could reach the shores to set farming villages on fire.

Following that accomplishment, Ned offered his help to younger brother Benjen, the new Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, as they repaired the unmanned castles along the Wall. The numbers of men sent to the Night’s Watch were increasing and Benjen thought that it was time to assign them by groups to restore the other 8 abandoned castles where they could permanently settle in. Catelyn saw the Wall for the first time and was appalled that they had to live in the coldest region until the projects were finished. It took 5 years of struggle before she and Ned were able to leave the Wall and picked up the children who they left in Winterfell with their cousins for their safety. Lord Brandon gave a portion of Brandon’s Gift to the Free Folk who surrendered and assigned other new lords to divide and occupy the rest of the New Gift. They are tasked to pay their taxes to Castle Black, for the men in the Watch to be well fed and provided with more swords and better training.

After all their hard work, King Rhaegar summoned Ned & Cat again to build warships for him. The King shared his dream to conquer beyond Westeros with the aid of Viserys and Daenerys, as soon as the internal conflicts are settled and their three dragons hit maturity. They would lead the biggest expedition ever created, Rhaegar to support the establishment of Daenerys’ dynasty in Essos through her marriage to Khal Drogo and the completion of Viserys’ quest to set forth beyond the Sunset Sea with Eddard and Catelyn.

The journey bore its fruit. As soon as they arrived, they scouted the islands and there were no people. They surveyed for a fortnight and discovered a land that possessed fertile soil, which was abundant in ironwoods, rare plant species and the vegetation of marrows, roots, alliums and cruciferous greens. The two-jointed key islands had five colossal mountains that were arrayed in an arc and from the highest peak, the falls spilled into the stream that grew wider and wider as it approached the sea. Ned aimed to mine one of these mountains, to unearth its hidden metal ores and gems and commission a jeweler to make jewelries as presents for his lady wife and his daughter Sansa.

They have already resided there for two years and neither was the place extremely cold or warm. It had mild rains, dry days that were windy and sunny and yet with infrequent storms that were perilous. They planned to put the expedition on hold, to which Prince Viserys agreed. Prince Viserys thought it were practical for him to rove ahead to what is beyond, for everyone’s travel to proceed spontaneously as he is able to guide them to the right path. Viserys had found another wide land but when he returned to them, he made no order for them to prepare their supplies. He told them to stay put while he goes back to King’s Landing to report to his brother of his learning.

“What about the River Wolf castle?” Catelyn proposed after a long moment of silent thinking. There was an insightful reason why she came up with the name. The woods were filled with a pack of wolves that posed no threat to men, for they are beavers, rodents and elk. But most of the time, they hunted their food in the rivers.

“That’s a good one.” He smiled. He actually thought of naming it after her as an honorific but hers was still a bright title.

“I still can’t believe you are doing this all for me.” Catelyn said as she ran a finger across his collarbone.

“I’d do anything for you. I will fortify territories in your name and in honor of our love.” Ned looked at her, as he softly rubbed her skin with the pink rose.

“We shall put banners in it with our new sigil, which would be a wolf with a fish in its mouth.” Catelyn tried to tease to let him chuckle. His face was the most stunning when he laughed and that always enchanted her.

“Why do you choose a flag of a wolf eating a fish?”

“Because you caught me and since then you’ve been eating me all the time.” She said jokingly at the thought of the flag having double meanings.

“Is there truly no end to this wild imagination of yours?” Ned chortled at that. One thing that many people don’t know about his wife is her dirty-mindedness. Respectable highborn women should never seduce their men first but Catelyn had the talent of seducing him with her sensual, flowery remarks and doing it her way.

“No, because you are my inspiration.”

“To me it’s a silly child’s drawing, Cat. People would make fun of it.”

“I want the Stark and Tully symbols to be seen in one flag. So how else would you put it in a creative way, such that it will represent our shared values and principles?” she looked up to meet his gaze.

“I once thought of a black silhouette of a howling wolf by the river, with the full moon above it.”  

“Hmm…or with leaping fish? So it’s going to be a hunting wolf swimming in the river about to catch the fish. That’s great! You should draw that for me, your idea and mine. You can draw as many as you can, so that we can look on them and decide mutually which one we want.”

“Aye, I’ll do that first in the morning.” Ned rolled to his side to put his leg around her. He rubbed his nose against hers and she giggled.

The next day, Ned drew Catelyn’s idea. He drew a wolf splashing through the water with an opened mouth about to snatch the jumping fish. But it was more of a painting on the wall and not fit as a venerated representation. He tried again on the second page, with a howling wolf head and it’s mane created out of overlapping sea waves with a few small, black fishes that outlined it. It looked all right, but he wasn’t contented yet. He tried variations of a howling or snarling wolf head inside a full moon or atop the crescent moon, or with waves to be fair to Cat. He invested so much focus and time, that he did not notice Catelyn standing beside him and observing how frustrated he had become.

“I like the howling wolf head and the long sea waves on the left arc of the full moon. It’s brilliant!” she said as she kneaded on his tensed neck. Sansa and Arya knocked on their doors and whispering to each other about something incomprehensible.

“Lady Mother! Lord Father!” They yelled at once.

“The door is not locked, my darlings” Catelyn replied to them. Sansa and Arya came in running and halted in front of their parents with their hands at the back. They were concealing something behind them.

“We came up with our own sigil! It’s a wolf with a fish in its mouth and Sansa embroidered it wonderfully on the cloth!” Arya burst out with joy while Sansa squealed at her exhilaration. She then rolled out and held the top corners of the square cloth for them to see. It was exactly as Ned had imagined and Catelyn guffawed at it. It was the Tully trout’s trunk in between the clasped teeth of the wolf. The wrinkled muzzle and its happy eyes made it even more hilarious.

Sansa and Arya stared at each other as their mother went on laughing while their father was inspecting every detail, puzzled about who drew their bit on mediocre yet distinguishable level which was accentuated by Sansa’s sewing skills and choice of colors.

Catelyn’s belly started to hurt and so she took deep breaths to get more air. She would have rolled on the floor like a child if she did not make an effort to suppress her laugh.

“It looks like my direwolf Lady. Right, father?” Sansa asked softly. Her tone hinted her slight disappointment at the way his father was judging her work with his eyes.

“Yes, it is spectacular…how did you..” Ned was lost for words as a corner of his mouth twitched into an amused smile.

“Oh, it was Robb, Jon and Jory who sketched it altogether with pencil. They were bickering about what a wolf should look like or not. Robb’s wolf snout looked like some long narrow loaf bread though he did well with the face shape, ears and thick mane. Jon did a little better but he couldn’t pull off the mouth biting a fish. He thinks it makes no sense but we are Tullys so THERE SHOULD BE A FISH. Jory butted in and taught us step by step on how to draw a wolf more simply. He forgot the fish so I added the fish.” Arya thoroughly explained with pride.

“Septa Mordane showed me the sophisticated embroidery techniques and I practiced harder to master them until I finished this.” Sansa expressed in a gentle tone to her parents but turned her head to Arya and said, “But Robb & Jon have a point. Who would want to raise a flag of such an inane, childish emblem?”

“I am just commending which doesn’t necessarily have to be taken.” Arya refuted.

“You were really serious, huh?” Catelyn took the artwork from Sansa’s hands.

“You knew?” Sansa and Arya said at the same time.

“Forgive me for eavesdropping. It was very endearing of you, sweetlings.”

“So it’s not a shock after all.” Arya sulked.  

“Your stitches are good, Sansa. Clean and orderly.” Catelyn praised as she perused every inch of the image.

“Thank you, lady mother.” Sansa said courteously.

“Your mother has chosen a banner for us.” Ned tore the page of his journal and showed it to them. Sansa and Arya finally realised that the one their father drafted was the one that they were looking for.

“Yes! That’s it!” the girls approved readily.

Since then it became the official flag of the Tully Starks and soon they were famously called the River Wolves, a mighty pack of adventurers who roamed westwards to lay the foundations of their own country and bloodline that would thrive for a millennium.  

[goodqueenaly]

"It was for love," Sansa said in a rush. "Father wouldn't even give me leave to say farewell." She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so willful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn't loved Joffrey as much as she did. "He was going to take me back to Winterfell and marry me to some hedge knight, even though it was Joff I wanted. I told him, but he wouldn't listen." The king had been her last hope. The king could command Father to let her stay in King's Landing and marry Prince Joffrey, Sansa knew he could, but the king had always frightened her. He was loud and rough-voiced and drunk as often as not, and he would probably have just sent her back to Lord Eddard, if they even let her see him. So she went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and thanked her sweetly … [sic] only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in Maegor's Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun outside. 

Not me thinking about how this moment reminds me so much of how I see Lyanna at various points in her situation with Rhaegar. We’ve not been in Lyanna’s head, of course, but I’d be willing to believe that at least when Lyanna met up with Rhaegar sometime around New Year’s 282 AC, she believed she was to some extent in love with him - the seemingly dashing, handsome, romantic prince who had named her queen of love and beauty before virtually the entire assembled aristocracy of Westeros against all social tradition. Just as importantly, I think Lyanna also believed that she needed an alternative, and soon, to her impending marriage to Robert Baratheon. Having been “long betrothed” to Robert by the time of the tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna may have assumed or been told (especially in the aftermath of that shocking tourney display) that she would be married sooner rather than later to the Lord of Storm’s End (especially with Brandon’s own nuptials to Catelyn Tully, likely part of the same alliance bloc, imminent). There was no one who could stop this marriage from happening - except, perhaps, the Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne (but certainly not the paranoid, suspicious, violent king). If she married him first (and there was precedent, as Lyanna may have known, for polygamous marriages among the Targaryens), then she could not be legally married to Robert. It was Rhaegar, Lyanna may have thought, who could save her from this fate, and so Rhaegar she would turn to, making a journey across the Riverlands to somewhere near Harrenhal in order to escape with him.

These aspects of Lyanna’s story in turn recall certain parallels with Sansa’s story here. Just as so Lyanna might have seen Ned’s insisted that her fiancé “was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart” as the promise of a miserable future married to Robert, so Sansa imagines that Ned’s promise to “make [her] a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong” would result in him “marry[ing] her to some hedge knight” when “it was Joff [she] wanted”. Too, just as Lyanna may have idealized Rhaegar, at least at this stage, as a perfectly chivalrous and loving knight and prince, so Sansa in this moment idealized Joffrey (describing him several times in AGOT as “her gallant prince” whom she describes in “Sansa III” as “worthier than his drunken father”, a deep contrast to the king who “had always frightened her”). In turn, just as Lyanna sought to avoid such nuptial doom, in her mind, by turning to an alternate royal power - not the king, but his son and heir - for a marriage to this prince instead, so Sansa seeks to stay with her (so she thinks at this point) beloved prince by appealing to an alternate royal power - not the king but his queen. The solution for both Stark girls was defiance to their paternal powers, circumventing their orders so that they might stay with the princes they imagine they love. However, just as Lyanna may have come to discover that her prince was a deeply unhappy man who may have seen her primarily, if not entirely, as a vehicle for prophetic fulfillment, so Sansa comes to discover that her prince was a cruel sadist who enjoyed only using her as an outlet for abuse and torture. Just as Lyanna ended her days trapped in a tower far from home (likely on the orders of that same royal power to whom she had appealed), guarded and imprisoned by Kingsguard while Ned and his companions battled them outside of it, so Sansa finds herself trapped in a tower far from home on the direct orders of her royal advocate, imprisoned by a knight of the Kingsguard and other guards, while her father and his men are attacked outside of it. 

[aegor-bamfsteel]

What does “beneath the gold, the bitter steel” mean?

This is a great question because while other writers have analyzed the content of this phrase and its various symbolic interpretations, there isn’t enough analysis on how it is used: “Beneath the gold, the bitter steel” is the battle cry, and not the motto of the Golden Company (which, much less known, is “Our word is as good as gold”). It is absolutely necessary that we define a battle cry versus a motto/house words in the ASOIAF universe before we can interpret this phrase in its intended context.

Catelyn Stark defines what mottoes/house words mean in AGOT: “family words are mottoes, “touchstones, prayers of sorts, they boasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage.” They are official words of the house (usually placed on the coat of arms with the sigil in real life, though that doesn’t seem to be the case in Westeros) that for the most part proudly boast of their honor, strength, or of their legendary traditions: the Tully words take this most literally (As “Family. Duty. Honor” is nothing but a simple statement of their good character), the Arryn words (”As high as honor”) are similar though only honor is emphasized, the Baratheon (”Ours is the Fury”) and Lannister (”Hear me Roar”) and Tyrell words (”Growing Strong”) boast of their strength, the Greyjoy (”we do not sow”) and Martell words (”Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.”) are reminders of the unique traditions both houses have held since before the Conquest: that of the Old Way of reaving and that of resistance to being ruled (this dates to before the Targaryen Conquest as Meria explains; and likely in reference to the constant fighting between the small Dornish kingdoms). 

The official words of the Golden Company bear the most similarity to those of the Tullys and Arryns, as it is a pledge of loyalty and honesty, but unlike theirs there is a condition: those who are not loyal in return (in other words, those cities that cannot pay the gold they promised) will not receive it. These words are perhaps more important to understanding the character of Aegor Rivers than the better known war cry, as a motto is more official and it’s more likely he chose it personally around 212, as opposed to the battle cry that probably developed among the troops he led; he believed keeping one’s oaths were of utmost importance, but that reciprocity was equally so. This is sensible characterization for someone who made a 40-year oath to place the Blackfyre family on the throne, and apparently swore a blood pact with Lord Torwyn Greyjoy, but also hints to his refusal to support those who would not support him in turn (consider that the Golden Company was founded very shortly after the disastrous Second Blackfyre Rebellion Aegor refused to play a part in). The fact they alone seem to have words at all whereas most of the other companies (Stormcrows, Windblown) just have banners speaks to their refusal to consider themselves Free Company sellswords and instead a free brotherhood with the trappings of a Westerosi noble house.

A war/battle cry is used very differently from a motto in the series. Here are some examples:

Rodrik Cassel shouts “Winterfell!” and Ser Willis Wode shouts “Harrenhal!” before fighting Tyrion’s men, the names of the castles of their liege-lords. (agot)

During the Battle of the Green Fork, the northern men shout “Lord Eddard!” and “Winterfell!” after their injured/imprisoned Lord’s name and castle. The mountain clans of the Vale in Turn shout “Halfman!” after their patron (agot)

Alyn Ambrose shouts his betrothed’s name “Elinor!” as a battle cry during the Battle of the Blackwater, which her cousins think is very romantic. (asos) Tyrion himself shouts “King’s Landing!” after the city; he notes to the clans it’s not Joffrey’s name (the king/lord of KL, who he hates) or Casterly Rock (his birthplace), because that’s the city Stannis is trying to sack (acok)

Asha Greyjoy calls the howling of the mountain clan attackers of Deepwood Motte “the war cry of the North,” referencing their overlord Stark’s sigil. (adwd)

The Golden Company shouts the ancient battle cry of House Connington “A griffin!” to confuse the defenders during the invasion of Griffin’s Roost; of course, the griffin is the sigil of House Connington and makes up part of the name of their castle. (adwd)

I think these instances are sufficient to define a war/battle cry as 1-2 word phrases meant to identify oneself on the battlefield and give oneself courage; they are reminders of what the shouter is fighting for: their liege lord, sometimes identified through his castle or sigil. The Golden Company’s war cry is far longer than these examples and is nearly as long as its official words. While it’s possible that some might shout the entire phrase as a sign of battle prowess (they’re able to keep talking long enough/with enough breath despite fighting), I believe in practice the true battle cry is “Bitter Steel!” (as battle/war cries are invariably unique nouns).

Notice that many battle cries are the name of a liege-lord’s castle. Despite being knights sworn to the Golden Company, the Company itself does not have a castle the way House Whent or House Connington or House Stark or House Lannister do, but is an assembly of skilled warriors constantly travelling in Essos, living in battlefield tents with no permanent home. The idea of the Golden Company being homeless is made clear in the nickname “Homeless Harry Strickland”, but extends to its other members such as Laswell Peake or Young John Mudd wanting to return to Westeros after 100 years or calling themselves Westerosi despite clearly being mostly Essosi in ethnicity. So until the Golden Company reaches Westeros and establishes a base there, it will not have a proper battle cry as those knights sworn to castles do.

The Golden Company has no castle, and it has no sigil device as a Westerosi house does (sigil device by which I mean objects like the Tyrell rose or the Stark wolf; the GC has banners of plain gold like the Night’s Watch has banners of plain black or the Kingsguard’s plain white; all three are non-hereditary military-like organizations that require oaths to join), but what it does have is a founder/liege-lord/(captain-general). As Half-man is the somewhat affectionate nickname the mountain clans use as a cry to show their allegiance to Tyrion, Bitter-steel is the Westerosi nickname of Aegor Rivers, the closest approximation to a house founder the Golden Company has that it can use as a war cry. The difference is that Tyrion is the clans’ current employer (as Lord Eddard was still the Northern Lord Paramount at the time of the Green Fork Battle), while Bittersteel has been dead since 241; calling out for him makes it seem as if he is still leading the Golden Company long after his death, symbolizing his/its immortal goal of returning triumphant to Westeros.

tl;dr “Beneath the gold, the bitter steel” is a full war cry that embodies the unusual position of the Golden Company: not just another Essosi sellsword company, but despite its banners and motto and knights certainly not a Westerosi noble house or oath-bound organization; they roam Essos with no permanent home until the time they can fulfill their old dream of going back to Westeros, a dream that keeps alive the memory of their unconquerable founder: Bittersteel.

[racefortheironthrone]

Hi Maester Steven, first of all thank you for writing one of my favorite blogs on the Internet. I like your theory that Sansa will denounce LF before the assembled knights of the Vale - but it made me think why she would turn against someone whom so far she has viewed as a (if slightly creepy) benefactor.

On the show, it's because she learns that LF planned to have Bran assassinated, and because he's moving against Arya. That's unlikely to be the case in the books.

The most satisfying reason would be if she learns that LF betrayed her father in Eddard XIV, GoT. It would give her closure about her own part in his death, and show how LF's machinations come back to bite him after a long, long time. But how could she find out about it?

Wolf dream is the easiest option, if somewhat crude. Otherwise there are not too many people left who could tell her. Ned and Janos are both dead. Barristan is in Essos. Cersei has no reason to tell her, and Sansa wouldn't take the word of some random foot soldier. I think the Hound is the only realistic candidate, especially given his story arc and history with Sansa.

I imagine the following scenario: Brienne learns that Sansa is in the Vale, and offers herself as her personal bodyguard. Sansa doesn't trust her, but realizes that she needs some protection. She asks about the Hound, and Podrick tells her that he recognized him hiding as the gravedigger on the Quiet Isle. Brienne & Podrick (and possibly Jaime) then seek him out and convince him that serving Sansa would be a better way to atone for his sins. They smuggle him into the Eyrie, and he tells Sansa a few things about what Uncle Petry was really up to.

Do you think this is plausible, or do you have a better idea? What I don't see yet is why LF wouldn't take countermeasures, like ensuring the Hound ends up stumbling drunk through the moon door.

I think the faster, easier, and most likely way that Sansa is informed of Littlefinger's treachery (she knows more than we think, keep in mind she was a witness to Lysa's death) is through the Mad Mouse passing on intelligence from Varys. Because the Mad Mouse doesn't fuck around, see?

[warsofasoiaf]

Based on the last ask about Northern independence and Stannis having the “right” over Renly: if Stannis hadn’t been sitting on Dragonstone, and was actively working, or seen to be working, to establish a claim to the Iron Throne via either a declaration of himself as King or the assembling of forces, do you think Robb would have backed Stannis over a crowning of himself as King in the North?

It would depend on what the actions were, but I’d say so, and I’d be certain of it if Eddard’s endorsement of Stannis was able to escape King’s Landing and make its way to the Northern camp. In that case, Robb probably would have invited Stannis to sail up the Bay of Crabs to coordinate. 

Thanks for the question, Westbrook.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King