#oc x house Clegane

[ligawolfcosplayandarts]

ASOIaF OC X Canon WIP

Am I only one who feels like if you draw ASOIAF anything you get this arty style specific to nearly all other ASOIAF artists?

Ngl I need get more references to Clegane's keep.

I actually wanted just to colour n shade and go to next in my drafts folder, but as someone who was art representative of school as child, perfectionism is forged in my brain too deep so here we are.

[themotherofblood]

CHAPTER 3 | RIVER OF GOLD | The Journey | T.L x Reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2

tw: mentions of rape and murder

~ the wedding was charming, if a little gauche ~

"My new home— it doesn't feel much of a home. It is foreign, I am foreign. I see it in the way the attendants glance at me, mayhaps my wild hair. A mythical creature trapped in a fine gown made of crimson velvet and gold. The beaches however are beautiful, sometimes I take off my boots and stand at the shore; salt water cools my feet and just for a moment. I don't miss home."

The journey had been swift, the preparations made through the evening with rows of wheelhouses and bannermen on horses, a joy parade to have Tywin lead his young wife to his ancestral seat. Ravens were sent hours before the blazing afternoon sun, to have your chambers thoroughly prepared and unpacked with your belongings. It appears Lady Genna Lannister had taken personal initiative to gather a toehold of handmaidens and a personal secretary for your coffers.

Your sisters had been tearful, puffed-mouthed poppets clinging to your skits with their dolls in hand. Nyela had fixated a minute glare upon your husband as he conversed with his brother in the Great Hall. The household staff gathered to see off their darling lady and liege lord.

"You swore you would take us with you," Ellia whimpers,  "we supposed to visit Uncle Doran."

"We were supposed to," you correct, taking a piece of her loose behind her ear "I'm sorry darling." You engulfed her, the scent of lily soap so strong, it felt like engulfing your mother.

Nyela still clung to your back, small eyes—hooded and glaring at Tywin. When he turned to look at you, an amused frown settled upon his forehead as he looked to your hip.

"You're our sister, you stay with us." She grumbles, if her tiny ineffective fists could do anything, she wished she could drag you to your chambers and lock you in.

"I will write to Doran and Oberyn, they will come get you. Alright?" You crouched to meet their eyes, holding on one shoulder each.

Ellia, still pouting, buried her head in your shoulder, nuzzling the motherly warmth she often tried to find in your arms. Your brother walked over, having taken your brother from his nursemaid's arms and walked over to you. The boy, barely over two summers, had not a clue of why his siblings lamented for you. A stranger yesterday and now a stranger today, you held his little fist. Tracing over his face, the feathery touch of your fingers tickling at his skin making him giggle.

"I'd be a stranger to you the next we meet," you cooed as his tiny fist curled around your finger, babbling away at your hair sat by your chest. "You be good."

Your brother Olvyar turned to you next, a brotherly smile curling in his lips and eyes covered in guilt. You knew he felt terrible for stopping you from running, but in truth he was saving you from the cruel wrath of your father's pride—you were not his pride, even with his flesh and blood, you never would be. The one hard bone your father swallowed, even though Olvyar was his brother's seed sired by your mother. He was a son, a young man knighted and proud.

Olvyar for the longest time wanted nothing to do with your father's estate nor Westerlands politics, if he could. He too would have abandoned your father for adventure at sea with Oberyn, however seeing as though the only mere morsel of affection within Loren Maerilys was for him, you'd told him. Standing on your toes and pinching your older brother's teen puffy cheeks.

"You take care of us, you would be the lord of Deep Den." You hissed at him, hoping your brother would see reason beyond his boyish dreams

When you looked into his eyes, your own was looking back at you, just far more grief-stricken as yours were glossy. You opened your mouth, your form of a farewell was to be another lecture to your elder brother. He however chased your word back into your mouth as he opened his.

"I will look after them, and write to you at every turn of the moon." He reiterates, tilting his head just so as he looks down at you. "I will take care of them, I will be the Lord of Deep Den."

You held his arm, sternly nodding at him before pulling him to a half embrace. Squeezing his larger body so tight he had to set little Loren down to reciprocate.

"Don't let them be afraid, Olvyar. Don't let them be alone." You whispered, closing your eyes tight to fight away the tears threatening to fall.

"Never."

"My lady... it is time," Tywin called, standing with his hands clasped in front of him with a coaxing quirk to his brow and a forever stern disposition.

You bowed your head, to use your brother's chest as a shield as you wiped the salted drops away from your lash line before straightening yourself.

Dressed in a comfortable gown, devoid of fastened corsets or itchy gold hems to travel with ease through the eight hours of journey to Clegane Keep and then after a respite another four hours to Casterly Rock—your new home.

You offered not one look to your father as you walked out of the Great Hall holding onto both your sister's hands on either end. Your brother following behind as you were ushered to your carriage, you gave Deep Den one more glance; a superstitious tendency as you called to Mother Rhoyne for protection before taking the footmen's hand as he helped you into the sizable carriage. Reined in by eight horses, the wheelhouse was rather extravagant for such a short journey.

You settled in for a moment, sighing and resting your head against the plush velvet padded walls inside the carriage, your new home— you were married.

Perhaps even your bedding had made it so anxiously apparent on your skin that you no longer belonged to yourself, but to the crimsons and golds of house Lannister, to Tywin—

He had been rather aloof to your presence since the bedding last night, having made you feel so warm, an exasperating pinnacle and making you squeak at the strum of his fingers. Your cheeks burned hot even as you felt the gentle cramp within your claimed environs.  Then this— your handmaiden Odiele found an odd form of compliment when Tywin's cupbearer had approached your lady's maids to inquire of your health.

You took that wholeheartedly as you had prepared yourself to break your fast, and then the waft of cold hit you. Not a word, not a word to you beyond formalities, it is at that moment your mind gave way to further past your bedding and to the ceremony feast. Your Daima Eldrã had told you, men often melt when their frigid minds crawl to their pillar. It was a deal, that was your marriage. You looked to your belly, wondering if a blonde child had already made a home there, waiting to spread within you and have you waddling about all fat and sweaty.

You were sure your mind had raced even harder than the dozen horses shifting in your riding party outside, however, the very man that clung to the crevices of your head peaked through the door of the wheelhouse. Pulling himself in and sitting opposite you, he glanced at you for a mere moment, the glint of questioning in your eyes that called to him. You thought he would ride with his brother. 

"You seem displeased?" Tywin raised his brow, appearing defensive, perhaps irked by your reaction.

"No- I thought you were to ride with Lord Kevan, my lord," you muttered, still finding it hard to meet the steel green of his eyes, the frown perpetually etched onto his forehead often left you dislodged for your firm disposition. He did scare you, you would never let him have the satisfaction of knowing so.

"If that is what you wish, my lady." Tywin shuffled to the edge of his seat. His discontent was apparent, you had displeased him. He is your husband, he is trying, and you are trying.

"No- I, stay..." you stutter holding onto his arm "Please." You blurt out meekly.

He grunts for an answer, turning to the stained window as you shuffle closer to it, waving at your sisters clinging to Olvyar's side as the horses neigh, and the procession moves. The first carriages trot away from the moat bridge, and then your carriage moves. That unsettling dread fills your chest again, regressing you to a child of seven summers being sent as a ward to Dorne to your uncles. You gave up the olive greens of your house to the mustards of Martells and now you gave those up for the crimsons of house Lannister. Shedding skin after skin, no home would truly be yours, first the burden of your father then the responsibility of your uncles and now a child bearer for your husband.

Tywin should have travelled with Kevan, irked at his brother's attempts to find leisure in this match. Kevan had physically hauled his elder brother away from their carriage to yours. So here he sat, within the first hour of the ride. The carriage shielded both bodies from the chilled air outside but made the inside unbearably stifling with tension, you would meet his eyes, freeze and curl your lips to a tight smile before uncomfortably looking away.

A young thing so fierce he had thought, you cowered from within, a small sense of satisfaction within Tywin. Maybe you wouldn't try and strangle him to death at night, or stab him as he coupled with you. A Martell after all, a tinge of distrust was highly warranted of the Old Lion. What worried him even more was taking you to Clegane's Keep. A true test of your loyalty— what loyalty? It had only been two days since your wedding— he could picture a torn sneer over your face. Being made to present your dainty hand to the man who had raped and murdered your dear aunt and Targaryen cousins.

He watched as the rocking of the carriage lulled you to soft slumber, head resting against the cushioned wall. Hugging yourself with your neck cranked to find comfort, pouted mouth breathing puffs for lazed breaths. The terrain of the Gold Road was smooth with nary a bump, yet Tywin came to sit next to you. The uncomfortable crank in your neck ought to make it ache in the morning, your head finding itself on his shoulder as you slept, the thick cloak covering your body as you lift your legs next to you. Resting against your husband.

A tight jostle however startled you to consciousness, your adamant need to still remain ridden by sleep you peeked one eye open, taking a moment to gather your bearings, Tywin's hold on you tightened, making you aware that you were indeed resting against his body. An apologetic frown upon your brows as you made an attempt to shuffle to the other end, his hold remained firm.

"Sleep." He whispered, squeezing your shoulder.

You, by the Mother's grace, remained a bed for the remainder of the journey. A mellow call of your name is what broke you away from your clouded warm dreams of the sea.

The face of your handmaiden however above you as she sat with a cloak in her hands, you grumbled awake, rubbing your eyes with the back of your palm.

The tenuous tugs of sleep still had you curled to the cushioned seat, grumbling as Syaria pulled you up, accustomed to your demands for more sleep she shifts to hold you straight. You scowl at her mothering, hissing as you felt the bitter tug of the hairbrush she ran through your mussed hair to neatly put into a braid.  She slipped the cloak over your shoulders, humming to herself as your body was finally in focus and properly awake.

"Lord Tywin?" You croaked, one last broken yawn breaking through you. Shrugging the gentle ache in your shoulders.

"Out with Lord Kevan." She mused, letting you a satisfied hum before shoving a branch of Meswak for you to chew on.

You had a faint memory of feeling warm, the heavy feel of arms upon you to find your husband's chin resting on your head as he lay awake. You shuffled out of the carriage, the other maids of your horde holding up a sheet of white cloth as you changed behind its security into more appropriate riding clothes. You sat on the foot of the carriage, shooing away the Westerlands maid as she bent down to lace your boots, you were perfectly capable of tying them yourself.

Once ready they pulled away the white curtain as you stood to your height, stretching your arms up in the air to yank at any odd knots within your skin, the carriage had swaddled you in for nearly seven hours from dusk to dawn. The Gold Road was painted orange with the peak of the morning sun, horses neighing away as people changed shifts, a moment of respite and preparations for your arrival at Clegane's Keep.

You walked back five paces, your lovely black mare Nysa sat with her hooves curled in, Eldrã lovingly feeding the sweet thing apples, spoiled girl—

"Might I interrupt for a ride?" You called, Eldrã turned to you smiling, she petted your cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"You rest alright, dæriya?" she asked, concerned but toying at a far greater subject as she with ease switched to her mother tongue of Rhyone. He was with you last night. sweet girl

"Quiet well, daīa." you hummed holding onto Nysa's reins as you pulled yourself onto her.

Fredrick already stood at the ready. If you were to bolt away from the procession, you pointed your head to the edge towards the clearing where you were sure your husband sat with his brother breaking fast.

"Sleep well, Serret?" you asked a spurt of happiness within you, having the people closest to you accompanying you through this new journey.

"Well enough, my lady." He smiled baring his thirty-one perfect teeth, one happened to be chipped.

"Race with me?" you smiled sheepishly, pointing at the edge of the forest.

"I don't think racing at your station is appropriate now." He pressed, he wouldn't deny you. He never could, he never would.

"And if I were to order you, use my station. Would you do it?" A cheeky grin spread through your face, head tilted and mischief coating your features after a moon.

"Then I shall have no choice but to obey, my lady."

"Then we race!"

Nysa took off with the speed of storm winds, your braids whooshing against the wind as you tore through the forest line, the sun already risen, the orange fading and clear blue skies up above. It felt like an exotic delicacy willed into your environs as the fresh air bathed your skin away from the lingering tensions from the night before. You stopped, right at the edge of the forest line. Turning back to find Fredrick five paces behind before he too halted next to you.

You giggle, poking your pink tongue out at him before turning to bask in the scenery, you finally let your thoughts flow as you tarry.

"How am I expected to raise my palm to a man that raped and murdered my aunt," you muse, that sullen heaviness in your heart wet again weighing you down.

"Do you want me to kill him?" He blurted, a jape in all honesty but a blade pierces a man all the same.

You chuckle, shaking your head— a fine prospect, a violent one but one that Oberyn had fantasised over multiple times, Gregor Clegane's head resting at his foot.  You wondered if you stared at his plate of food at lunch, you wondered if The Mountain might fear you of poisoning him. The entirety of your family sat shaking their heads on your shoulder.

You looked around, about a yard away sat your husband by a thoroughly filled table, a black tunic and vest of sable fur with his leg bent and resting over his other. Fine leather boots reaching up his knees, he was watching you from a distance. His arm shot in the air, finger bent to call you over to him.

You sighed, looking at Fredrick before turning Nysa as you trotted over, dreading the conversation you were soon to have.

"My lords." You bowed, barely meeting their eyes. Relishing the sudden warmth against your skin from the lit fire.

"My lady."

"Wife."

Lord Kevan rose from his seat, gesturing for you to replace yourself,  he passed a knowing nod to his brother before leaving.

"Are you cold?" Tywin asked, inspecting the gloves on your fingers and the fur lining of your coat.

"The weather hasn't agreed with just yet I'm afraid," you agree, smiling at him "The Dornish climate is a lot more forgiving." 

All you could do was rub your leather gloves palms together, speak to him, say anything dammit—

"I have employed a governess for you," Tywin began, setting his plate of food "all the way from Oldtown."

"What use would I have for a governess? Our children would have years before they needed one."

Tywin looked surprised for a moment like the mention of possible children tickled at his hoped.

"You were raised Dornish, it is for your own good."

You frowned, toying at the cusp of what he meant.

"What? Being devoid of good societal behaviours, do you think I am unladylike?"

Tywin's lips pressed into a hardline "You are expected to be the Lady of Casterly Rock, now I will not have mockery being made out of my lady wife and by extension me."

"And why do you suspect it is so? It is you who wanted a lady wife with more than half a brain, have your feet turned cold now my lord?" You appeared irked, pushing your weight against the chair you sat on, married for two days and your husband already believed you daft.

"Do you intend on letting Gregor greet you?"

Silence, an arrow right on the mark you stared at him through the lining of your scrunched eyebrows, that heaviness greeting itself once more.

"You will perform your duties, my lady, you wish not to be greeted. I will allow it. However, the matter of the governess is unchanged if you are to raise my sons."

"My lord, the Keep is ready for you." a foot soldier approached.

You sucked in a sharp breath, wishing you had a pendant vial of poison before stepping foot in that establishment. Tywin gave you a stern look once more before helping you into your horse.

The two of you rode to meet the procession, you very valiantly chose to ride in on Nysa, the niceties of lady ship so far behind your mind, and your husband shook his head as he rode in front of you.

The attendants of Clegane's Keep and the one monstrously large man stood amongst the crowd. People revered the blonde image of Tywin atop his white stallion. Their liege lord once in a moon had come to grace them.

Smile, you should smile but instead, your face seemed to have frozen itself to an unimpressed leer, eyeing Gregor with the malicious power of Mother Rhyone, drop dead— drop dead you sick bastard.

Footmens rushed to lay stools by the horse to make your unhorsing more graceful as you huffed off, patting Nysa as she gently neighed before walking to your husband.

The gruff voice of Gregor Clegane echoed, you were wishing a lance through his heart "Welcome to Clegane's Keep, my lord—" he bows his head before turning to you "My lady."

The anticipation burned up as Tywin watched you from his periphery, honour the fool that ruined your family, you lifted your hand and Tywin's chest deflated. A gloved hand turned and presented for the Mountain to bend and lay a kiss upon your palm. A gloved palm, you remained untouched.

"Clegane's Keep is yours."

Tywin turned to Kevan this time, his younger brother who appeared rather amused at your doings. He merely hoped that you would be introduced to Genna soon.

A gloved hand, a leather toy for a dog, deprives him of the honour of greeting you. You never said you'd let him.

Ahhhh first of all, I thank everyone for the support through this odd time of drama. I figured I’d best focus on my writing and thank everyone that reached out to me.

Secondly. I totally wanna make the reader poison Gregor Clegane, I’m just not sure if I wanna do it this early.

Taglist (thank youuuu💐)

@joker640 @wondergal2001

[vrshxw]

Vengeance.

Sandor Clegane x fem!Martell!OC

Fucking a stranger while being held prisoner by the Brotherhood Without Banners wasn't Adora Martell's brightest idea.

warnings: sexual content (piv), slight!irrelevant!bondage

word count: 1.2k

A/N:!this is only the first chapter of my ongoing fanfic on wattpad (vrshxw), so for additional content check it there!

The small ray of sun that glistened through the cracks of the wooden caravan was the only thing that kept her sane. It was a hope, a reminder of the freedom she had and could reclaim.

The time spent locked away was measured by the strained, drunk voices of the Brotherhood, mainly Thoros'. As long as the sun was still shining he was chirping and groaning and humming. A not so foreign want to smash her head against the filthy wood of the caravan crept in again and again until he went to sleep. But even then, the bastard will start moaning and bluffing.

Adora could only wait patiently and enjoy some of the only moments of silence she'll get until the thieves finished their meal. She only ate during supper, enough to survive and be able to sleep without having a growling stomach and the Brotherhood quickly realised that after some failed attempts to shove food up her throat, thinking she'd starve herself.

The small door suddenly opened, pulling her out of thought. A couple of hysterical laughs were loudly audible, as she heard them throwing some other cursed soul in. "We have found you a friend, princess!" The archer's comment brought an even scowl to her figures.

And then, it was dark a quiet again. The new companion was silent as fuck, not even moving from the place in which the thieves put him. Adora cleared her throat, trying to get some reaction out of him. A man it seemed he was, a voluminous man, by the struggle of the Brotherhood to get him in. What kind of man his size let some cunts like them to capture him? She was dying to get the bag off her head and see him. The tight ropes around her and the smelly bag on her head that caused more grease to appear in her hair were the aftermath of a failed attempt of escaping. Damn the archer! If it wasn't for him she'd be far already. But no, he had to fire his arrow right into her already too weakened calf. The wound was long forgotten, one of their pathetic excuse of a healer made sure to add some salve on and bind it with rags. That was several weeks ago, months maybe, she was sure it was healed, however she couldn't test it due to the bindings around her.

She cleared her throat again, louder this time, bored by the man's quiet nature. After some minutes of listening to his even breath that reeked of cheap ale, Adora finally realised that he was unconscious. She huffed loudly, the first sound she let out for some good days.

Was it a couple of hours? Or just mare minutes? The dornish princess couldn't say. The man finally moved, letting out a hoarse groan.

He attempted to move, and only after he tried he realised that there were ropes that bound his whole body tightly.

A bitter voice laughed at him.

His eyes travelled in the dark of the caravan to catch the glimpse of the figure of a woman. Her binds were matching his, however she had a bag over her head, that prevented her from seeing his face.

The man's gaze continued to scan his surroundings, only finding unknown, the small ray of sun on the roof that allowed the smallest amount of light in showing him just that.

"Lost?" The woman's mocking voice stopped his gazing around. It was almost like her stare could burn through the bag on her head, allowing her to see every one of his chaotic moves, that ideed signaled that he was confused.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked, thankful she couldn't see the look on his face, because if she did she would've seen a perplexed idiot.

He could feel the woman's smirk under her bag. "Someone not very differed from yourself"

The man let out a sound that could be classified as a laugh, even though it was more like a sneer. "I doubt that"

Her nostrils flared "You might be right actually, I could never stink the way you do"

He scoffed at her response, yet finding it quite appealing. He was need of a bath indeed. He could tell the woman also haven't got the chance to bathe in a while, but it was clearly not as bad as in his case.

"You don't know what I'd give for a bath" He grumbled, now paying a precise attention to the smell of his sweat.

"And perhaps a maiden or two to massage your shoulders as you do so, I take it?" She rose a brow inside the dullnes of her bag, her tone obvious, familiar to the nature of men.

"I might make you to do so, you seem quite content with it" He straightened his posture, stretching his tired bones.

She let out a 'hmph', tilting her head. "Well, I am quite entertaining"

The corner of his lip twitched. "Bet you are." For the first time he took his time to check her out and analyse every inch of her.

Feeling his deep stare, she crawled closer to him as fast as she could due to the ropes. She stopped next to him, bringing her chest forward. He somehow twisted is hand in the bindings and made a move to grip her arse.

She let out a faint chuckle, understating he had the same desires-no, desperations as her.

It was plain that neither of them had the chance to fulfil their needs. He took advantage of the fact that she wasn't able to see his face. She might be the only woman who fucked him wiggly, except the older whores that would fuck any man without remorse, but still they were paid whores and she was a willing woman for all he knew.

She ended up in his lap, undoing her breeches as his hands were tied behid his back unable to move, leaving all the word to be done by her.

Both of them groaned feeling her grind against him before succeeding to slip inside her with an even guttural moan. Her shoulders were pressed against his armoured chest, leaning on it to help herself ride him with the lack of balance the ropes around her legs gave her.

Adora found herself letting sounds loud enough for the members of the Brotherhood outside to hear them, the rough slapping of her bottom on him, along with his groans there and there. A faint headache would root at the level of her head from all the noise she was doing, as she felt herself tightening around him, but it was good, not only because she was close to her peak, but because it felt like revenge, like those thieves outside were paying for it with their ears falling off and unsuccessful curses.

And she continued to do so, until she, herself was tired of the vengeful sounds she was making.

read future chapters on wattpad

[daniellewritesfr]

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Welcome!

I will write for almost every GOT character, if you have requests feel free to send them in! If you're wondering about my rules see This Post

Fluff ✼ Angst ✾ Smut ★

Jon Snow

My Lady (Jon Snow x f!Reader) ✼

Robb Stark

Amongst The Ice And Snow series (Robb Stark x f!Reader)

[lasmarginatvra]

Oath || Sandor Clegane × Original Female Character

Alerie Arryn Lore

After her mother dies giving birth to another stillborn child to Jon Arryn, she grows up under the care and affection of Horace Hightower, the sworn shield of the Lord of the Vale. Keeping the promise he made to his beloved, Horace raises his biological daughter almost in secret, taking her around the woods and teaching her the value of the sword and knowledge, far from the turmoil of the rebellion. When Jon Arryn is appointed Hand of the King, he decides to bring Alerie, who is now a young woman, with him to the warm capital, she will do everything to oppose him but will join him only two years later, when the lifeless body of her father Horace is found in the woods.

Born: 290 AC circa

Parents: Lara Florent and Jon Arryn (former) / The Fox Horace Hightower (real father)

Siblings: Robin Arryn (stepbrother) Darrik Arryn (stillborn) Alfered Arryn (stillborn) Bryce Arryn (stillborn) Annarel Arryn (stillborn)

Love interest: Sandor Clegane (husband)

From the beginning, the girl's indomitable nature clashes with the harsh reality that inhabits the Red Keep, for this reason she manages to attract the silent attention of a pair of dark and stern eyes. After the death of Jon Arryn, Alerie manages to obtain the protection of King Robert from the harassment of the lions of house Lannister. Comforted by the arrival of the Starks, she immediately forms a close friendship with Sansa and months after the execution of Ned Stark she dedicates herself entirely to the protection of the girl who she considers as her blood cousin, this will lead her into a forced marriage with Joffrey's dog Sandor Clegane. The Hound is known as the most ferocious and bloodthirsty being in all the seven kingdoms, the only man who according to that blonde cunt with the crown, will be able to break her and make her eat her tongue. In reality, it will be Alerie herself who will tame the restless and stone-cold heart of her gruff husband, managing to wrap him around her little finger.

Children: Katherine Clegane, Elynor Clegane, Laina Clegane and Horace Clegane

Titles: The Fierce Rose of the Vale, The Fox's cub, Little Dove, Lady of Clegane's Keep.

Weapon(s): Knives/blades, bow and arrow

btw It's a story I've been thinking about for weeks and I don't know how to cope.

I'm so sorry for my bad english lmao :)

[ohmy-zabrak]

Belated Wip Wednesday

[chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct]

Drawing of my Game of Thrones OC Royona Clegane💗

Also if anyone can tell me the actual name of the kind of headdress she's wearing? I've looked everywhere and i can't figure it out.

[rp-partnerfinder]

Hi all!

She/her in my 30s, looking for someone to play a Game of Thrones RP with - specifically a Sandor Clegane against my OC.

I double up and would be willing to play any type of character in the GOT/HOTD fandom as you'd like, as long as it's MXF because that's what I portray best.

21+ only!

Give this a like and I'll get back to you - ⚖️

.

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Imagine...

Gregor is one of Jocelyn's many experiment. He is freakishly large and scary with a very high sex drive. He is also loyal to doctor Jocelyn. He is like a predator and becomes more aggressive when he gets horny, which is most of the time. Jocelyn would chain him up and then touch herself, watch him go crazy and break the chains, and then fucks her. She also put other female subjects in the room with him and watch him break free and roughly fuck the subject. It an important part of her experiment, she needs to monitor and record her experiment's capacity and tolerance.

Jocelyn was happy that Lyra was a successful experiment. After a days of constantly getting used by Gregor she is finally pregnant. If Jocelyn is right the baby would be just like Gregor, huge and freakish with strong urges. It will be a huge success and get her a lot more fundings

[grace268]

270 AC

The Dragon Dreamer

Valyria of house Dohaeragon

My Oc for Sandor

[kaellecappuccino]

For Mermay, I used Inkscribble’s incredible avatar maker on Dolldivine to make my 6 OC’s : Sansan children (I ADORE mermaid/merman Sansan au)

Here they are all ! Im gonna get into who they are individually just for fun. 

The eldest is Elinor, or Elie. She’s named after Sandor’s sister, and she’s her father’s daughter : same long jet black hair, same narrow grey eyes, same nose. She’s very tall and very muscular just like him (couldn’t translate that well with the maker), and has his cynical wit. Being the eldest, and given her parents respective trauma, she feels strongly responsible for all of her siblings and takes a lot upon her shoulders. She wears the Clegane colors with pride and will get viciously violent for her family without hesitation. She has a complicated relationship with her mother because of that violence, mostly because Sansa fears for her and is a bit jealous of how close Elinor and her aunt Arya are. Arya gifted her a direwolf pup that she named Steel. Elinor is a fighter, and will eventually get married to Aemon Steelsong, Mance Ryder’s son.

Three years younger than her, her brother Eddord is the heir to Winterfell. He has the stature of his father, along his long black hair, but the eys of his mother, large and Tully blue. He does not enjoy fighting as much as some of his siblings, but his height and strengh makes him naturally good at it. He’s very charming, funny and kind. He has a way with people that he takes after his mother, with whom he’s very close. The North is his home and he takes great pride in taking care of its people. He’s adored by many, including his youngest siblings who admire him a great deal. He’s also quite close to Elinor, with whom he enjoys hunting, and he helps her communicate with Sansa. He wears the grey and the white of the Starks, the side of the family he feels the most connected to. Arya gave him one of Nymeria’s pup, that he named North.

Next comes Aryon, one year younger than Eddord. Of all Sansan children, he’s the one that has the most Northern look : long face, almond grey eyes, dark brown hair that he wears long and braided. Aryon has a quiet temperament : he’s not shy, but rather observe than recklessy act. After Elinor, he is the best fighter of the siblings, and the best rider of them all : he’s more deadly riding his horse than anyone, and is fascinated by the Dothraki culture from which he wishes to learn. Because of his connexion to horses, he doesn’t spend as much times as his siblings with his wolf, Coldtooth, that he let roam freely. Discreet and reliable, he gets along best with his brother Eddord, and Sansa often compares them to the sun and the moon. He admires his older sister Elinor a lot and helps her take care of their younger siblings. 

Two years Aryon’s junior comes Jonquil, Sansan second daughter. She is renommed for her beauty, rummored to rival her mother’s. She has long luxurious black hair and bright blue eyes, with a lovely face that blushes easily. She looks very kind and perhaps light-headed, but is in reality quite stubborn and pushy. Arya says she’s the spitting image of Sansa before King’s Landing. Jonquil is very clever and loves to take care of her appearance : she mostly wears her grandmother’s Tully colors, with lots of dark blue and dark red, flowy fabrics and silvers jewels. She has her father sharp tongue and isn’t afraid to use it, even to be mean. She used to be very close to Elinor, but didn’t understood why Elinor would get into arguments with their mother. Just like her parents, she’s a romantic at her core and is enchanted by love songs. 

Finally, four years younger than Jonquil, and ten years younger than Elinor, comes the twins : Bael and Catya. They are the spitting image of Sansa, with bright red hair and large tully blue eyes. Bael is the eldest of the two, and just like the King he was named after, enjoys writing and singing songs. He is very close to his father and to his uncle Rickon, whose first child was born the same day. Bael is a dreamer, a poet. He is kind and very funny, very imaginative. He his the most curious of the sibilings about his parents story, and will write several songs at a young age about his late uncle Robb battles, fascinated by him. Bael is very very protective of his twin sister Catya.

Catya is the sweetest, most soft-spoken child Sansa and Sandor would have, and also, the last. Juste like her brother, she has long red hair and bright blue eyes. She’s a very delicate and very fragile child, and never spoke a word : she was born mute. Sandor, Sansa and their other children invented a sign language to help her communicate. Quite soon, it became obvious she was blessed with the green sight, and had to learn how to navigate her gift with the help of her uncle Bran, with whom she grew very close to. She adores all of her siblings, and is as protective of them in her own manner, as they are of her. She dresses in a lot of white and red, just like the Godswood she spends so much of her time in.

idk how to explain why I used a mermaid avatar maker to illustrate my OCs but it's Mermay and Inkscribble’s work is undefeated, I absolutely adore it.

anyway bye happy Mermay my Sansan people, full love <3

[ligawolfcosplayandarts]

Even though I don't ship SanSan , this was too good not to draw for SanSan fans who love my cosplays, Oc and art. Also I needed to draw this in general. Because I don't ship certain pairings doesn't mean I shouldn't draw memes of them for those who do.

Also hope the anon who hate asked weeks ago, eat this !!!

Sansa is portrayed adult in this art anyway, and I need to draw more feminine figures.

This also don't need to be meant as ship art, just Sandor being support. Take this pic how you want.

Enjoy peeps, and I adore you all.

I had to do it before someone else does . Here is template.

[ladyinwriting18]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @thegreatwicked !

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Currently 32! There will be more! Also some of the fics I've written are old. I'm talking 2013 old lol

2. What's your total A03 word count? .........237,027 Fuck that's a lot of words LOL

3. What fandoms do you write for? A LOT LOL Mainly Star Wars and other characters played by Adam Driver. But I've also written for Marvel, House of The Dragon, Game of Thrones and Once Upon A Time.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

A Place To Escape (NSFW Multi-Chapter Kylo x OC/Completed)

I Want Another (NSFW One Shot/ Aemond "One-Eye" TargaryenxYou

Missing The Taste Of You (NSFW One Shot/ Kylo x Reader)

The Gift (NSFW One Shot/ Sandor Clegane x Reader)

The Principal's Office (NSFW One Shot/ Modern Day Kylo x Reader) IDK WHY THIS HAS SO MANY KUDOS I DON"T THINK THIS ONE SHOT IS ANY GOOD LOL

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes! I love talking to my readers and honestly every comment that gets left on one of my stories touches my heart!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Uh.....I don't think I have any. Most of my fics are smutty one shots that end happy ;) lol

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I would say A Place To Escape because I worked the hardest writing that fic and Kylo and Evangeline go through A LOT before their happy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not really. I once had someone comment that I must be jealous of Rey cause I write KyloxReader fics but I'm also a Reylo sooooo. But I'm sure there are people out there that talk shit about me and my writing lol

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? YES. All of the smut all of the time.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Nope. Well.....once I wrote that Heath Ledger's Joker falls through a wormhole into the real world of NYC were me and my two best friends find him and taken him home......Don't ask....and no you can't find that fic anywhere LOL

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I have! Not for awhile now but they're deff fun to do!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Jesus idk...there's so many.... Prob Sandor x Sansa cause I've loved them the longest.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Most likely Darkness Into Light. It's never been released but it's a multi-chapter Kylo x reader fic where reader is also an apprentice of Snoke's and Rey tempting Kylo back to the light causes all these problems. I've had the story planned out and semi-written for years now. I love my ideas for it but I don't think I'll ever have the time or energy to finish it/put it out there to the world.

16. What are your writing strengths? I feel like I'm mostly known for my smut writing abilities because I not only write smutty fics but also write smutty audios. Most of my followers call me "smut goblin" lol But I have been told that I'm good at writing about powerful emotions connected with SA. And that I'm good at the characterization of various characters.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I'm too hard on myself and I think I suck. I also think I'm awful at writing descriptors. Like describing what clothing looks like or a place or things like that.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I've done it a little bit in A Place To Escape. I wanted Evangeline to have a native language that she used once or twice that Kylo wouldn't understand. But I ended up just using Italian words because.....reasons lol

19. First fandom you wrote for? Oh god....I'm not even sure now because I've been writing for so long. But when it comes to my Ao3 it would be Once Upon A Time (Rumbelle for life!)

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? Gonna have to say A Place To Escape because I put my heart and soul into that fic. And it's also the first ever multi-chapter thing I EVER finished.

No pressure tags! @simpremerat @weareallstoriesintheend @just-some-random-blogger @late-to-the-party-81 I feel like I'm forgetting people.....I'm so sorry my brain is legit trash at remembering people's usernames!

But if I tagged you, then I've read your stuff and I adore it! -Lady In Writing

[vrshxw]

Touch // S. Clegane

fandom: Game of Thrones

pairing: Sandor Clegane x Lannister!fem!OC

warnings: Violence, Smut, Normal GoT Stuff

status: Completed

summary:

"Jadeyn Lannister is a cruel woman. And so beautiful. Perhaps the thing that made Sandor Clegane catch her eye was the fact that he did not marvel at her beauty like the other knights in King's Landing."

Read it on Wattpad

[komotionlessqueenmm]

PART ONE

Okay so this is a list of my short stories, with links leading to each post. Some stories have been discontinued, some are complete. And some are ongoing. I list the name of the story, who is paired in the story, what the character/person is from, and lastly if it's complete, ongoing, or discontinued. If there are multiple parts, they should all be linked.

NON-REQUESTED STORIES

1.) The Phoenix & The King (1-?)

• King Harald Finehair X Jade Clegane OC

• Vikings & Game of Thrones crossover

|DISCONTINUED|

--

2.) Lean On Me (1-2) - (2-2)

• John Marston X Reader

• Red Dead Redemption 2

|COMPLETE|

--

3.) You Are Mine, And I Am Yours. (1-1)

• Toecutter X Reader

• Mad Max (1979)

|COMPLETE|

--

4.) My Sweet (1-?)

• Dani Filth X Yandere!Reader

• Cradle of Filth

|DISCONTINUED|

--

5.) My Sweet Domesticated Demon (1-1)

• Hellboy X Reader

• Hellboy (2004)

|Completed|

--

6.) One man's trash, is another man's treasure. (1-4) - (2-4) - (3-4) - (4-4)

• Bo Sinclair X Reader

• House of Wax (2005)

|COMPLETED|

--

7.) Sudden Appearances (1-1)

• Dr. Nelson Wright X Reader

• Flatliners (1990)

|COMPLETED|

--

8.) Giving into Desire (1-1)

• Jeff Hardy X Reader

• WWE

|COMPLETED|

--

9.) Swimming Lessons (1-1)

• John Marston X Reader

• Red Dead Redemption 2

|COMPLETED|

--

10.) This wasn't supposed to happen, but I'm glad it did. (1-5) - (2-5) - (3-5) - (4-5) - (5-5)

• Peter Steele X Reader

• Type O Negative

|COMPLETED|

--

11.) Life & Death (1-1)

• Death!Jeff Hardy X Life!Reader

• WWE (Supernatural entities edition)

|COMPLETED|

--

12.) Lustful Desires (1-1)

• Incubus!Jeff Hardy X Human!Reader

• WWE (Supernatural entities edition)

|COMPLETED|

--

13.) Leprechaun King (1-1)

• Leprechaun!Sheamus X Human!Reader

• WWE (Supernatural entities edition)

|COMPLETED|

--

14.) Those Werewolf Eyes (1-1)

• Werewolf!Jon Moxley X Human!Reader

• WWE (Supernatural entities edition)

|COMPLETED|

--

15.) Bear Cuddles (1-1)

• Human!Roman Reigns X Werebear!Reader

• WWE (Supernatural entities edition)

|COMPLETED|

--

16.) Lokabrenna (1-?)

• Osferth X Reader

• The Last Kingdom & Vikings crossover

|ONGOING|

--

17.) Hellhound (1-3)

• Tyler Galpin X (Y/n) Wolfgang Von Frankenstein

• Wednesday (series) & Misfits (Sorta)

|ONGOING|

--

18.) Hail To The End Of The World~ (1-?)

• Gunnar Jensen X Reader

• The Expendables (movies) & The Walking Dead (Series)

|ONGOING|

--

REQUESTED STORIES

1.) NO TITLE (1-1)

• David X Reader

• The Lost Boys

|COMPLETED|

--

2.) NO TITLE (1-1)

• David X Reader

• The Lost Boys

|COMPLETED|

--

[vannyandthejets]

The Wolf and the Wildling

Chapter Three: Daryl

༄ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Stark!OC

༄ Season: 1

༄ Warnings: some swearing, injury, mentions of violence

༄ Word Count: 4.4k

༄ A/N: Not much of a note, but I gotta say that there aren't many Daryl gifs out there that have a Game of Thrones-y vibe, so any of the ones I use for this series just suspend your disbelief a little. That gif is actually Daryl standing in Winterfell idk what you're talking about "the Atlanta woods."

Daryl watched with careful eyes as half of Winterfell hustled throughout the courtyard to prepare King Robert and Lord Stark for their morning hunt.

The King’s cupbearer followed the burly man like a duckling to its mother, the boy’s blonde head of hair only raising when Robert yelled at him for more wine. His son, Joffrey, mounted his horse with the help of one of the largest men Daryl had ever seen. The Hound they called him, though Rick said his real name was Sandor Clegane.

From what Rick had divulged, House Clegane was of no real nobility. The Clegane’s grandfather earned his knighthood by saving a Lannister life, received lands and titles because of his bravery, and now here The Hound stood, a hulking beast of a man with his face half burnt from an incident everyone in Westeros only spoke of when they thought he couldn’t hear them.

Daryl also knew Sandor had two brothers: Ser Gregor, The Mountain, and their eldest brother Ser Negan, whom they called The Blade. Both the men were rumored to be just as big—if not bigger—than The Hound, and twice as horrific, though Ser Negan was more hearsay than he was man. After the Clegane’s father died in a hunting accident, Negan disappeared and has not been seen or heard from since. Ser Gregor, on the other hand, was a member of the Kingsguard.

As if Daryl’s thoughts summoned the man, Ser Gregor came bounding through one of the tunnels of the castle and into the courtyard, the largest greatsword Daryl had ever seen strapped to his side. Ser Gregor mounted a warhorse substantial enough to carry three Daryls as if it were a pony. Though the two towering brothers were merely a few feet from each other, not even a glance was exchanged between them.

Lord Stark’s ward, a boy from House Greyjoy they called Theon, approached the man with reverence to hand him his gloves. There was something else in his eyes, though. Daryl thought he’d imagined it at first, but Theon Greyjoy’s face bore the faintest flash of resentment. He’d know the look anywhere after being on the receiving end of it for most of his childhood.

“Are you a knight?” A small voice asked from somewhere below him. Daryl nearly jumped at the sudden noise. He looked down to find the second youngest Stark boy, Bran, watching him with a curious gaze. “My brother says you’re a knight from House Grimes. I say you aren’t, because Father didn’t say you were.” Behind Bran the youngest boy, Rickon, eyed Daryl nervously.

Daryl couldn’t help his slight smirk. Where Bran favored his mother in all but the hair color, Rickon was Adara made over. They shared the same big, grey eyes, rust-colored hair, and dotting of freckles along their noses and cheekbones.

“I don’t think our guest enjoys being pelted with questions, boys.” The sweetest voice Daryl had ever heard spoke behind him. He turned so quickly that his cloak narrowly missed brushing against Bran’s face.

Lady Adara stood before him, even more beautiful than she was the night before. She wore a simpler ensemble this time, though Daryl thought it might’ve been his favorite of the two. The first layer was a blue linen gown with a high neckline—a common trim in the North—covered by a dark grey overtop coat that was pinned just above her waist. Both the dress and the coat had the same long sleeves that flared out at her wrists, only this time the coat’s trim was fur-lined. Her hair was styled much the same as the last time he saw her. He suspected it was the way she most loved to wear it. Watching her in that moment, the way the long, auburn strands cascaded down her shoulders despite the tightness of each ringlet, Daryl had to agree.

Fawn, who appeared recently groomed, lumbered up beside her, the direwolf’s iridescent eyes moving between the men on their horses and her mother. When Bran and Rickon’s wolves, Summer and Shaggydog, clumsily ran up to their big sister, she patiently watched them nip at her and run around her in circles, never growling or reciprocating their taunts.

“Lady Adara.” The smallest crack in Daryl’s voice made the two young Stark boys snicker behind him. He fought against shooting them a glare, instead slightly bowing to her. “Off to join the hunt?” He joked. The same melodic laugh she released in the godswood came from her so easily that Daryl considered running back to the heart tree and praying he’d never have to go another day without hearing it.

Adara turned to look at her father, who was in the middle of a conversation with the King. “He brought me along on a hunt once,” she remarked, crossing her arms over her chest when a breeze blew. “I cried so hard when he shot a stag with an arrow that Father knew then never to take me again.” The smile on Daryl’s face may have been small, but he could have sworn his heart grew three sizes.

“Are you a knight or not?” Bran repeated his question in the lull of their conversation. Adara rolled her eyes and moved to stand beside her little brothers, placing her hands on their backs. “You’ll have to forgive these two. They don’t meet many men outside of House Karstark or Glover these days, and most of them don’t make for very good knights.” She glared at the boys and ruffled their hair. “Maester Luwin is looking for you both. I suggest you either find him or a decent place to hide.”

Bran and Rickon exchanged one look before bolting in two different directions, Summer and Shaggydog tailing behind the boys. Adara giggled as she watched them scurry away. Daryl couldn’t help but admire the easy way she dealt with her siblings. Even in being stern she showed her love.

Adara watched the men of her family, the King, and all their companions gather in the courtyard, a look on her face that Daryl struggled to read. King Robert rode off first, the signal for the others to follow. Just before Lord Stark followed behind him, he smiled at his daughter and gently dipped his head. The smile she returned did not reach her eyes, Daryl could tell, but he decided against acknowledging it for the time.

“I heard my father invited you on the hunt, but you declined,” Adara pried when the last man was beyond the gates of the castle. She said nothing else, only watching him with a smug smirk on her face. He did his best not to reveal how much the small gesture affected his heart rate. “I usually to do my hunting alone. Less noise, easier kill.”

Adara nodded as though she fully understood, but changed the subject. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what is a man from House Grimes doing heading to the Wall? Do you plan to take the black?” Daryl thought this was another joke, but she wasn’t smiling when she asked.

“No, m’lady, nothing like that.” He could have sworn he saw Lady Adara breathe a small sigh of relief, but thought for sure he had to have imagined it. “I’m a friend to Lord Commander Mormont.” It was the truth, and Daryl didn’t want to have to lie to her.

Before Adara could reply, an ear-piercing scream erupted from the godswood. Daryl barely had time to react before she was running as fast as her legs could carry her through the courtyard. Fawn and Daryl moved quickly, catching up with her as she rounded the corner.

The first thing Daryl noticed was how still Bran’s body was.

As Lady Catelyn wailed for her son and cradled him in her arms, the boy’s eyes remained closed and he was limp as a dead stag. When Adara herself screamed and went to help her, Catelyn cried harder, screeching at Adara not to touch him. “Stay away from him! STAY AWAY! DON’T TOUCH HIM! YOU CAN’T!” She bellowed. The fright plain on Adara’s face made Daryl nearly angry enough to confront the woman, but he held his tongue. Doing so with the family in such a state could cost him his life.

Lady Catelyn cried for Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, anyone to help. When her eyes found Daryl, she begged and pleaded to him, but the maester reached the lady before Daryl could come to her aid.

Young Rickon ran to the scene with Shaggydog in tow, his big, grey eyes surveying the horror with confusion. Adara beckoned him as streams of tears ran from her eyes. Rickon ran into her arms and buried his face into the crook of her neck as the entire population of the kingdom watched in terror.

If it wasn’t for Fawn’s deep, guttural barks barely drowning out the sound of the two Stark women’s hysterical sobs, Daryl may not have noticed that she and her two siblings had their heads pointed to the window of the Broken Tower, all three of them yelping as though Bran’s life depended on it.

It had been almost three months since Bran’s fall when Daryl was summoned back to Winterfell by a raven from Lady Adara Stark. He sat in Rick’s study, staring at the fire of the hearth when Michonne entered with a small scroll. He stood when he saw the imprint of a direwolf’s head on the wax seal. Adara, his mind repeated. After this long with no word, she was all he could think about.

Daryl,

I sincerely apologize for the silence over these many months. If I’m to be honest, which I always hope to be with you, daily tasks of any kind have been daunting. I wish I had better news to bring you, but Bran’s condition remains the same. Maester Luwin assures us that he will wake with time, but I’m not sure how much longer I can wait. My guilt eats me alive. I haven’t slept in weeks. Lady Catelyn will hardly let me see him.

I write to you because I need you. Something happened last night, and now my family and I fear for our lives. I understand you’re a man of importance in White Harbor, but if it isn’t too much trouble—

Daryl didn’t bother finishing the note, simply putting it in his shirt pocket and heading for the door. Michonne’s brow crinkled. “What was in that note, Daryl? Is everything all right?”

“The Starks need me, so I’m goin’.” Daryl let his natural accident slip in the comfort of the Grimes’ castle. Michonne stopped him just before he flung the door of the study open. “Any special reason why you’re so loyal to the Starks after spending one night there three months ago?” She raised a curious brow at him and crossed her arms, waiting for his answer.

Daryl gnawed on his bottom lip, attempting to think of an answer better than the truth. “Me and Lord Stark just got to be good friends is all. He’s sayin’ there’s some trouble and he wants me to come help.” He could tell the moment the words left his lips that Michonne didn’t believe him, but she moved away from the door. “You can go, but if you’re not here when this baby comes…” She rubbed her swollen belly. The child was nearly past due, and Daryl did worry he might miss the arrival of the newest addition to House Grimes, but Adara needed him. He intended to find out why.

“You know I’ll do my best, Michonne.” He wrapped her in a tight embrace before lightly kissing her cheek and advancing through the castle halls.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt such a strong loyalty to House Stark. Sure, he liked Lord Eddard, and his men were easy to get along with as long as they weren’t mouthing off about “wildings.” All he did know—and it was with absolute certainty—was that three months without the woman who captivated him with one glance was long enough.

Daryl barely let Nerio slow down long enough to barrel through the southern gate of Winterfell, the horse’s hoofs hardly making contact with the earth until they finally came to a stiff halt in the courtyard.

He dismounted Nerio and handed off his reins to the nearest stableboy. “Do you know where Lady Adara is?” The boy opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by the small voice of Rickon Stark, who crept up from Nerio’s other side. Shaggydog, dark as night in comparison to his littermates, eyed Daryl angrily from his place beside the youngest Lord of Winterfell. “She’s in Bran’s room,” the boy of six mumbled.

Daryl gently placed his hand on Rickon’s head. “Do you want to come with me to see them?” He considered dropping the useless fake accent, but there were eyes and ears all around even if they weren’t up close. One wrong move and Daryl’s luck would run out.

Rickon shook his head. “I just want to be with Shaggy.” He reached out to pet the direwolf’s head. The two of them sauntered off to another part of the castle and out of Daryl’s line of sight. He sighed once they were gone. Rickon was barely old enough to understand what was going on. His father was about to leave soon and the brother he’s closest with was in a possibly permanent sleep. He hoped the child wouldn’t have to suffer through much more.

Daryl found Septa Mordane, who took him straight to Bran’s chambers without a word. He imagined the woman was mourning for Bran herself as someone who had likely been around since before the boy was a glint in his parents’ eyes.

He knocked lightly, and that unmistakable soft voice told him to come in. Daryl’s heart nearly fell out of his chest when he laid eyes on Adara. The coils of copper that usually sat half-pinned in a simple fashion on the sides of her head were wild and untamed. Where she would have adorned the attire of some Northern variety she wore only a dark slip with a thick overcoat. Her legs up to the knees were on display from where she sat.

Bran laid in his bed beside her with his eyes closed. His chest rose and sank just enough to give Daryl peace of mind for the time. He’s still alive. Summer, nearly doubled in size since he last saw the direwolf, watched Daryl closely from his position beside the young boy.

Adara jumped up when she saw him and wrapped her coat around her torso. “Gods be good! Daryl, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think it would be you. I could have been more presentable at least.” She attempted to smooth out her hair and clothes. Daryl smiled softly and closed the door. “Actually, m’lady, this might be my personal favorite look of yours.”

As soon as the door was shut, Adara’s eyes became glassy and her bottom lip quivered. The air escaped Daryl’s lungs all at once from the devastation of such a look, and he searched the room as if the solution to her problem was somewhere in Bran’s chambers. “Lady Adara, if I offended you I—“

Before he could get another word out, Adara’s arms were wrapped around his neck and she was sobbing into his shoulder. Daryl froze. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged anyone besides the Grimes family, and maybe Tormund when the drinks were flowing. Namely, he didn’t want to lose himself. Her scent—something he normally could ignore if he tried hard enough—enveloped him with no mercy. Rose oil and the smoky airs of Winterfell.

He slowly placed his hands on her back. “I came as soon as your raven landed. You said something happened?” Daryl searched the room until his eyes landed on Fawn, who was also larger than she had been three months ago. She sat beside Adara’s chair, and from the looks of both the wolf and her mother, they’d hardly abandoned their posts.

When Adara’s head rose, Daryl immediately released her despite his desperation to keep her close. She sighed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Lady Catelyn went to rest for a while. You’ll need to lock the door while I explain.” Daryl did as she said.

He took the chair closest to her, but left a comfortable distance between the two of them. It was more for his own sake than hers. If Daryl had any hope of being able to think clearly, he couldn’t be in the clutches of that intoxicating smell again.

With eyes full of fear and a shaky voice, Adara recounted the events from two nights ago. “A fire was set in one of the old buildings. I heard everyone yelling and Robb calling for people to help. My room is just down the hall from Bran’s, so my first thought was to check on him.” She paused and studied her brother in his comatose state. One of Adara’s trembling hands moved to her mouth. “I saw the man go in there.” A single sob emitted from her before Daryl sat up and took her hand in his.

“Hey,” he whispered, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s not something you want to talk about.” As much as he was yearning to hear what the man did, he wouldn’t make her relive anything she didn’t want to, but Adara shook her head adamantly. “No. You need to know this, because something is wrong, Daryl.”

It was the way Adara said his name that made him straighten. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as a sign for her to continue. She stared at the point where their wrists met and cleared her throat. “He was dressed as though he belonged here, but all the same, when I saw the way he crept, I knew he wasn’t a Winterfell man. He didn’t knock either. Just opened Bran’s door wide enough to enter, and didn’t bother closing it.”

Daryl didn’t like where this story was going, but he held his tongue. Adara sighed with a deep exhaustion. “I heard yelling and…and thrashing. Just as Lady Catelyn cried out, Summer came bounding through the halls and into Bran’s chambers. I…I walked in just as Summer ripped into the man’s throat.” A single tear slid down her cheek as her free hand when to Fawn’s head. “Lady Catelyn’s hands had been slit open by the blade that was intended for Bran. A Valyrian steel dagger with a golden handle. Not something that a hired killer would have.”

Daryl couldn’t decide on which part of her story he wanted to focus on the most. She kept referring to her mother as Lady Catelyn. A man was hired to murder a defenseless child. He snuck into the extremely secure walls of Winterfell, meaning he could have harmed anyone, including Adara.

“Are you okay?” He finally asked. She nodded slowly. “He was dead before he ever knew I’d seen him. I’m not sure how Summer knew Bran was in danger, but he did.”

They both watched Summer sleep soundly beside Bran. Daryl never knew direwolves to be tame, domestic animals. They killed, ate, and slept. Yet the wolves that belonged to the children of Ned Stark seemed to be in tune with their caretakers. It was an anomaly he respected, slightly feared, and doubted he would ever understand.

He waited a beat before speaking. “Any ideas about who would do this? Or why?” Adara leaned back in her seat and rubbed her eyes. Daryl didn’t feel he had much of a right to the emptiness that shrouded him when she let go of his hand, but it was there nonetheless.

“I met with Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin, Theon, Robb, and Lady Catelyn. She told all of us about what happened, but none of us could surmise who would do such a thing. We know Bran saw something. He’s been climbing since he was able to stand on two feet. He’s far too sure-footed to have stumbled on his own.” She stared at her sleeping brother with such a sorrowful gaze, it was all Daryl could do not to take her in his arms again.

He chewed on his bottom lip as he considered the situation the Starks were facing. “Does the King still expect your father to be Hand after this?” Daryl couldn’t imagine a world in which a father would be forced to separate from his ailing son and endangered family after the child was nearly killed and his wife maimed trying to defend him, but kings were nothing if not careless.

Adara’s laugh was one of anger—short and barely audible. “My father made his choice. He could decide to go back on it, but Ned Stark is a true man of his word. Besides, he loves King Robert. He would sooner die than disappoint the man.” She spoke the words as though they annoyed her. Daryl didn’t blame her. Rick never spoke highly of King Robert when they were alone. It couldn’t be easy anticipating having to live so close to a king who cared so little for anything besides women and wine.

A question Daryl had pondered since he first received Adara’s note came to his mind as they sat there watching Bran. “Why do you call your mother by her first name?” He didn’t mean to ask it so abruptly, but Adara didn’t seem to mind. She actually appeared rather surprised by his inquiry, sitting back up in her chair and raising a brow at him.

“I assumed everyone in the North knew that she’s not my real mother. Lord Stark isn’t my real father, either,” she admitted, laughing at the shock that must have been evident on his face. “My father was Brandon Stark, the eldest son of Lord Rickard and brother to Ned. My mother was a lowborn girl whom I never knew.”

Daryl wasn’t sure how to ask his next question, but he didn’t have to. It was like Adara could read his mind. “I’m a bastard, yes. My surname was Snow until I was Bran’s age. Father asked King Robert to legitimize me as a Stark, to which he happily obliged, but I have no qualms with my past. I am a bastard and a Stark, and proud of both titles.” She smiled at Daryl in a way that reminded her of Lord Eddard. Maybe she wasn’t his daughter, but she favored the man plain as day in appearance and personality.

Despite sharing similar features with her adoptive father, Adara had the same fire-kissed hair as Lady Catelyn, though Adara’s had much more curl to it. Daryl was reminded of another curiosity as he studied her features. “You mind if I ask you something else?” He was so comfortable he nearly let his natural accent through.

She dipped her head, Daryl’s signal to continue. “I understand why she looks at Jon with so much…loathing, but why you? You’re not her child, but you’re not Lord Eddard’s either. Shouldn’t she be a little happier to have a niece?” Before he finished speaking, a sad smile appeared on Adara’s face. Daryl immediately regretted asking, but there was no taking back his words.

“Before Lady Catelyn married Ned Stark, she was betrothed to Brandon. From what I’ve been told, she was quite taken with him, and he with her,” Adara started, absentmindedly twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. “Before that, though, Brandon met my mother, Seranne. I don’t know much about her because she died from a fever when I was two, but Maester Luwin says she’s where my hair comes from. They were 16 when they met, and their relationship didn’t last long. She didn’t tell Brandon that she was pregnant. She just showed up one day with me in her arms. I looked so much like Brandon that there was no way for him to deny it, so Lord Rickard took her in. She stayed here until she died, and only two years later the Mad King butchered both Brandon and Lord Rickard.”

Daryl remembered Rick’s lessons on the Mad King Aerys. He vaguely recalled a story about the Stark men being murdered in the capital, and now here he was looking into the eyes of another person who suffered because of the murderous king’s delusions.

“Lady Catelyn didn’t know I existed until she married my father. She knows full well that I came about long before they knew each other, but because I have this hair…because she knows it came from my mother, she despises me. She thinks Brandon only liked her because she reminded him of my mother,” Adara finished, a bite of vexation in her tone. Daryl couldn’t help but be irritated on her behalf. Sure, her anger over Jon Snow was understandable in a certain light. Any woman would be scorned by her husband’s infidelity, though Daryl didn’t entirely understand why an innocent child had to bear the brunt of that distain. Hating Adara over genetics, over something as trivial as a hypothesis was something entirely different. It was juvenile.

“And I thought House Stark was perfect,” Daryl joked. Adara’s laugh was so joyous in the dark aura of the room that it startled him. He couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without hearing that sweet sound.

Shouting from outside broke the pair from their conversation. Fawn stood at once, the hairs on her neck prickling in a way Daryl did not find comforting. He was on his feet with Adara not far behind. “Gods, surely they aren’t sending contract killers in broad daylight now.”

“Lady Adara!” The panicked voice of Septa Mordane echoed through the halls. Daryl opened the door to the wide-eyed old woman with her fist in mid-air. She jumped at the sight of him. “Lord Daryl! When did you arrive?” He went to correct her mistake, but Adara interrupted before they could get off on the technicalities of titles. “What’s happened, Septa? Is everyone all right?”

Between sharp breaths from running to find Adara, the septa attempted to sputter out the information. “Your sister…Lady Arya…She was by the river…” Adara’s eyes widened in fear as she put her hand on the septa’s arm to steady her. “What is it? Is she hurt?”

“Her wolf attacked Prince Joffrey, and now she’s disappeared.”