kolhozanet

[mzannthropy]

It is more fascinating as an actor, I think, to empathize with someone deeply faulted and wrong, to try and find your way into why they are doing these things. [Playing] a guy who is doing all the right things and is driven by being good, it’s harder to do that. And I think people who do it successfully, who play classically heroic roles, are very talented actors. But at the moment, I just find it more interesting looking for the fucked-up people.

Good on Kit! I hope he gets to play all sorts of interesting characters. Any actor worth his/her salt should be able to play a villain.

[blumenflowergelb]

Love and Soulmates (2/2)

• Yn Tyrell was a very beautiful man, Jon thought. The way his eyes shone when he caught blue butterflies and the way his curly blond hair had fallen over his face while trying to prep the butterflies to display, made Jon‘s heart warm. He wasn’t just beautiful. At times he wished to hide him in a box and never allow anybody to look at him, other times he wished to show Yn to the whole world so that they can understand how wonderful he was. Jon wasn’t stupid, he knew that most thought Yn a fool. And truth to be told it did not help that Yn was often found doing strange things. Jon will never forget the day after their wedding night Yn woke him up to search for ‘northern worms’. Jon did find this strange but still went with him and dawn had found them digging around the dirt of the Godswood. The few months of their early marriage left Jon with an impression that the Gods hated him for making him a bastard and giving him this soulmate. However overtime Jon got used to the weirdness of Yn and he even grown to love him. Now Yn‘s eccentric ways were the usual and Jon couldn’t believe that once he lived without Yn.

• They had an idyllic life, filled with adventures, love and most importantly family. Baby Rickon grew and was barely a baby anymore, Bran was climbing around as always, this time with Yn. Even Robb has grown to like Yn. It wasn’t a secret but in the beginning Robb tried to hide his dislike towards Yn as much as he could. Jon never had a feeling that Yn was bothered by it but never said anything until one day Robb and Yn got into a fight, which ended with both of them falling in the ice cold waters around Winterfell. At the time he was playing with the girls and only heard about what had happened when Luwin asked him to go to the infirmary. Jon went but he was never told what went down between Robb and Yn, only that they had made peace. To the surprise of everybody Sansa has taken Yn as well as ducks to water. It was probably because Yn liked sewing, he was very good at it, and when Lady Catelyn was not looking, he joined Sansa and Arya in the sewing circle. What nobody surprised was how much Arya loved Yn. If Yn wasn’t at Jons‘ side than he was on Arya‘s, making trouble. Even if they were bothersome and outright annoying at times, Jon couldn’t be more happier. He got a fuzzy warm feeling in his chest just thinking about Yn and the way Yn looked, made the warmth light up and burn through him. His laugh, just the way he talked made his heart burn throughout his whole body and Jon felt home at Yns‘ side. His soulmark was a reflection of his inner happiness. His compass, filled with Tyrell roses, became more meticulous. New animals appeared, for example a snail whom Yn called Joe, and even other flowers like the Flower of Ladies. It was beautiful.

• Of course, nothing goes as planned in life. Jon Arryn died of old age. He passed away silently in his room at the Red Keep, and the King wanted Jon‘s father as the new Hand. This led to Jon‘s family being separated, and now sitting at the Red Keep, looking out on the courtyard Jon felt his heart ache. He has sworn to never forget the sight of Bran and Arya winking at them, the way Lady Catelyn was ready to let her tears fall and the sad look on Robb‘s face as he held a crying Rickon. Sansa tried to look like a lady who knows her duty but Jon knew her too well. Even Yn was not capable of making her as happy as she was before. When Jon told this his father, Ned just nodded and told him that everybody has to do their duty but he will talk to Sansa.

• After the gruelling months of leaving Winterfell for the Red Keep they arrived and both Jon and Yn were sent to their room. Their room. A fact that Jon was avoiding as much as he could. They never truly shared one room, expect sometimes like when Yn was in so much ecstasy about the fuzzy cows of the North that he had fallen asleep in Jon‘s room. The only night they shared a bed intentionally was on their wedding night, but they only slept. Jon wasn’t even sure if Yn knew and understood what was supposed to happen if they shared a bed. Usually people knew about such things but Yn was not usual. Regardless Jon wasn’t interested telling Yn what was expected of them, he just layed next to Yn and tried to sleep. And now they had to share a bed again. The only difference was their age, and Jon knew that Yn was interested on certain matters. The looks of Yn did not evade him, but he was too embarrassed to talk about it. So he just went in the room, which was bigger than Jon has ever expected a room being, and sat down on one of the chairs before a window looking out on the courtyard. Yn stood there for a second but hesitantly sat down. They didn’t speak until Yn sighted and begann to talk about the future. They were to remain in the Red Keep for a moon‘s turn and then go to Highgarden for a year. After that year they could decide to either stay or go to Winterfell. There were talks of Jon getting a holdfast but nothing was certain yet. As far as Jon knew, the Lady of Highgarden already wrote Yn asking him to stay for a few years and than decide whether they are going North or not. As of now they are only going to stay for a year.

• The days in the Red Keep were very boring. Because of Jons‘ status as a bastard he couldn’t just go everywhere he wanted, especially because the Queen looked like he was the Stranger come again whenever she saw him. As Yn didn’t care to go anywhere without Jon they mostly stayed inside. On some occasions they went out of their room, like supper with Ned and Sansa but they spent every minute together. If Jon could be honest he enjoyed Yn‘s presence. He had always to say something about the strangest things that existed and whenever Jon wished for silence he stayed silent. The only time Yn‘s eyes were not on him was when Loras arrived. He was a very beautiful young man but quit arrogant too. Still Jon liked him and looked forward to seeing him again. However after staying in their rooms for half a moon turn Yn turned restless and he spoke so often about going to the city that Jon yielded. They went and Jon hated it. The smell, the people, the sights and smells were strange to him. The people were rude and truly he felt so small and unimportant. Yn tried to take him to several different places but Jon couldn’t befriend this new world. After Yn told him that he would like it overtime Jon looked very sceptical and Yn kissed him. They were behind a tavern in a little alley where only the drunken or the whores went. Yn kissed Jon like there was no tomorrow and by the time they were done Jon‘s lips were all bruised. He felt lightheaded, his blood was boiling for something more. It didn’t help that they went by a street full of scantily dressed people, and by the time they were in their room Jon was ready for anything. To his delight they did end up doing more kissing but Yn clearly did not want anything more. That night Jon slept deeper than ever.

• They repeated their outings to the city several times, but only nights. By the time dawn arrived they were in their room acting like nothing happened. Ned hasn’t remarked anything about their tired faces, only slightly nodded at Jon after their fourth night. As little Jon‘s father spoke, as much did Loras talk. He was making jokes all the time and if it didn’t include Jon too he would have found it funny. But it was more annoying than ever, particularly after Loras found a slight bruise behind Yn‘s ears. At this found his cheekiness reached a new point. Yn was clearly bothered by it, which lead him to leave his room when Loras was coming. But as always Jon had to come too. Usually they were either in the Godswood with Sansa, who took a liking to sewing with Yn under the shadows of the large brown oak tree, or they were in the library. Jon would read books about History and Yn always took books about plants and animals of the known world. Yn always took a great care of not being seen by the servants or by the people and it made Jon‘s heart warm every time. Than one day Yn wanted to go to the highest point of the Tower of the Hand. While reading he had found a species of spiders that lived very high and made webs looking like gemstones. Jon found this particular and was dubious of finding a spider like what Yn mentioned but he still went up for Yn. They deliberately choose a day where Ned would be in the tower, busy with his counsel. The walk up the stairs was long and Jon was growing to be more unsure the higher they went. Yn tried to calm him by saying they they will climb out of a window but it won’t be harder than the ones in Winterfell. When Jon asked how he knew where this window was Yn just smirked. Before Jon could repeat his question they arrived at the end of the staircase. Yn was already walking to the end of the corridor and as he was about to tell Jon something they heard the voices. Jon had to make sure he heard correctly but by the way Yn stood there he knew he has heard something. It came from behind a door, in truth it was more of a panel in the wall, that Jon couldn’t see before standing in the hallway. The voices were not speaking. They were moaning and grunting.

• Before Jon could do anything Yn was already opening the door. In that second a lot of things happened. For one a woman shrieked, than a a thud was heard and Yn looked like somebody slapped him. He took a step back and shoved Jon just out of the way as a sword descended on Yn. The next moment Jon heard a sick crunch and Yn crying out. He could smell the blood but before he could do anything Yn was already pulling him down the corridor onto the stair. He didn’t understand what was going on only that Yn was shouting for the guards and that they almost flew down the stairs. Then Yn simply collapsed while taking a step, just in time to fall on a Stark guard. He heard the guards asking what was going on but he couldn’t care less. As he crouched down to see Yn he went pale. Blood was seeping out of him in small rivers, Yn tried to say something but only the words Queen and Kingslayer were understandable. Jon‘s compass was burning and burning and his head was hurting too, and as a guard touched his shoulders he shouted at him to go up and take them. He wasn’t sure who they were but he was sure that somebody pulled a sword on Yn. The next hours went by in a haze. Jon couldn’t remember to save himself how they arrived at the maesters room, he couldn’t remember if the guard caught the perpetrators or not. But he could remember the way Yn looked and the way his blood smelt like.

• Ned Stark was sitting in one of the counsels talking about new laws to generate more money for the crown and pay of the dept when a boy came inside and told Ned that his son was with the maester because Yn Tyrell was attacked. Ned was out of the room and was running to the maester‘s chamber while asking the messenger what had happened. At hearing that Yn was attacked and was dying he let out curses but at hearing that the Queen and his brother were being held by his own guards he cursed freely. Upon arrival at Pycelle‘s chamber he saw Jon, bloodied. He went in his knees before Jon and cradled his head in his hands. He couldn’t care less that Jon was already a man, his son was looking like he bathed in blood. Two streams of tears were going down his cheeks and Ned couldn’t help himself but hug him. While trying to soothe Jon Ned looked to Jory who was standing before the door with his sword unsheathed. He looked grimm and Ned could see some splatters of blood on his hands. Before he could ask Jory what has happened, Jon begann to talk about spiders and the highest point of the tower, the voices and the sword gleaming before Yn. At this point he was crying again and he tried to hide his face between Ned‘s shoulder. Ned could hear the rest of the counsel yelling and talking and than Renly Baratheon was standing behind Ned. He has already sent for the King and for Loras Tyrell.

• It was already the Hour of the Wolf when Pycelle came out of the chamber. He signed Jon to go inside while he himself stayed out to talk with Yn‘s brother. Jon heard the door close but he only had a sight for Yn. He knew that Yn was alive but not the state he was in. And it wasn’t good. He looked ashen, his curls were matted with blood and his whole upper body was wrapped in linen. He looked awful. Jon just simply brought a chair and sat down next to Yn‘s bed. He didn’t hear anybody come in until Loras touched his shoulder. He didn’t say anything and just stared at his brother. After some time he left. At one point Jon has fallen asleep because the next time he opened his eyes it was already dawn. His father was sitting next to him, a new scar on his cheeks. Jon looked at him but before he could ask Ned told him that they found the Queen and the Kingslayer participating in an intimate relationships. Probably that was the reason why Jaime Lannister cut Yn down. The Queen and his brother were under arrest and their children were held in their rooms. The King was raging and Ned was trying to grasp the situation before it escalated. It was a big mess, and Sansa was in the middle of it. By the time Ned arrived to put the Lannister bastards under house arrest, Joffrey was already threatening to cut Sansa‘s throat. Robert was needed, who then barged in Joffrey‘s chamber and beat him up. For now Sansa was staying with the guards in the Hand‘s room but she will go back to Winterfell via ship with Arya. Letter were sent across Westeros to meet at a Great Council deciding the punishment on House Lannister and the heir of Robert Baratheon.

• Yn woke up seven nights after the attack. While he was delirious, he could understand and talk enough to tell who was in the room. A month after Yn‘s wakening the Queen and his brother were executed. Joffrey Waters was sent to serve on the Walls and his brother Tommen was to follow him after he was of age. Myrcella was sent to exile on Essos. The sister of Yn was to marry the King in a small wedding but because of the Tyrells the wedding was grander than ever. They were seventyseven courses and seventyseven option of drinks. Seven singers and seven groups of seven dancers entertained the wedding guest and Margaery was bedded the same night. Jon would have enjoyed the wedding more if Yn was in a better shape but duo to blood loss he was pale and looked very weak. The good thing was that he regained his ability to walk. Maester Pycelle was skeptical about his recovery but Yn became better and better. However against his mother wished Yn decided to go back to the North with Jon. They were to leave two days after the wedding alongside with Robb and Lady Catelyn and the guards that accompanied them from Winterfell to the wedding.

• The day they left was on one side sad on the other side happy. Jon was to see his sisters and brothers and than in two years time he would even get his own stronghold in the north. Yn was healed enough to make the journey and Robb has invited both of them to see the league lords of the North. But Jon would probably not see his father for years as he was permanently the Hand of the King. Once he was old enough he would leave his post but everything could happen. And Jons‘ stronghold was very close to the Wall, which meant that he would not see Winterfell for a long time. But at least he had Yn.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

The Scooby-Doo AU sounds fantastic!

I take it that in this AU, Jon is Shaggy, Robb is Fred, Sansa is Daphne, Arya is Velma and Ghost would be Scooby, right?

If you have the time and inclination, i would really like to see the story published and further developed. It would be interesting to see what "ghost" is haunting Minisa and what other adventures the group might get up to.

I've had about 2k words of this written for at least a year and a half, but cannot seem to write anything past that. I've said before on here that "period pieces" are hard for me, and I wanted to set this in the 70s. I was not alive in the 70s, I'm not super interested in it as an aesthetic (I lean more towards 90s if we're considering recent history), so I find that harder to write.

I WANT to write this so bad because I have a pretty specific scene in mind for the middle, but who knows.

You know what? I might never actually post it, but I don't mind what I've written so far, so if you want, below the cut is what I have actually written of it.

.

Sansa watches mom hang the phone up with a click that sounds loud in the quiet tension of the kitchen.

“That's the third one,” Sansa says to break the silence, when mom doesn't say anything, when she just goes back to the casserole.

“We've talked about this,” mom sighs. She doesn't even look up, just starts layering more scalloped potatoes into the pan she'd started before the call came in. Sansa starts to open her mouth, but she hears the distant buzz of the washing machine and mom cuts in, “could you?”

She knows there's no use in trying to argue, so she gets off the stool and makes her way to the basement stairs and heads down.

“You know, you could get the laundry,” she tells Robb, who's lounging on the couch, idly watching The Price is Right, still in his pajamas. When Robb just shrugs, she huffs and starts to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer. “Where's Arya?”

“Out playing hockey with Rickon,” she hears him respond through a mouthful of food, and when she looks over, she sees the bag of chips on the coffee table in front of him.

Once the dryer is loaded, she grabs the next basket and starts to load it into the washer, and she carefully says, “Grandma called again.”

Behind her, she hears Robb shift. “She still seeing ghosts?”

“Mom still doesn't believe her.”

“Don't tell me you do?”

“No, of course not, but I am worried about her, which mom doesn't seem to be. I just keep thinking about her, all alone in that big house...”

“I know,” Robb sighs, finally getting off the couch and coming over to help sort the laundry with her. They're in Bran and Rickon's baskets now, and Sansa's nose crinkles up at the smells wafting out of them. “I think if dad were here, she'd probably be more open to listening to Grandma, but...”

He doesn't have to continue, Sansa knows. Dad tries not to take business trips in the summer so that mom doesn't have to handle all five of them alone, all day long, but this time he hadn't been able to get out of it. She knows mom's stressed, and Sansa's been trying to help out as much as she can, but even Rickon alone is a handful.

“What if I went?”

“You?” Robb turns to her with a frown.

“Just to check it out. Make sure it's nothing.”

“There's no way you're going down to Riverrun by yourself,” Robb laughs and Sansa feels a pang of annoyance shoot through her.

“What if someone's been breaking in? Like a burglar? Or what if it's some wild animal? We can't leave Grandma alone.”

“And what would you do against a burglar or a wild animal?”

Sansa shoots him a glare that he doesn't see because he's turned back to the laundry. She wants to remind him that women can do things. Women aren't helpless. It's the seventies, not the fifties.

(Except Sansa knows Robb wouldn't be saying any of this to Arya – because Arya isn't helpless. Sansa has never been the type of girl to stop shaving her legs or her underarms, to stop wearing a bra in protest. She never joined in to play sports when they were kids. Sansa wishes she could be more like that sometimes, but she's not. She likes pretty, soft things and Robb thinks she's weak. She probably is.)

She turns back to the laundry, finishing the sorting and piling the next load into the washer, fighting the lump in her throat at her own helplessness.

“We could all go.”

“What?”

When she looks at Robb, he's looking at her again, thoughtful. “You, me, Arya,” he says. “We could go check on Grandma, and it would give mom a bit of a break, you know? She wouldn't have to feed all five of us for a little. Less dishes, less laundry, less worrying.”

There's a relief that floods through her at the words, because she really is worried about Grandma – she's been all alone in that big mansion by the river for two years, ever since Grandpa died.

“Okay,” she smiles, closing the lid of the laundry. “Let's go.”

…

Deciding to go and actually going are two very different things, it turns out.

For one, they don't have a car.

Well, the family has two cars, actually, a luxury that Sansa often forgets is a luxury. Dad makes enough money that they can have two cars and send three kids to college while still living in their well-to-do neighborhood. But one of the cars is at the airport in long term parking where dad left it, and mom needs the other to run errands and take care of Bran and Rickon.

“We could take a train?” Sansa suggests as they sit in one of the booths of Luwin's Diner. Arya's busy working on a double fudge sundae, Robb's finishing up his fries, and Sansa takes another sip of her strawberry milkshake.

“I don't think a train goes anywhere near Grandma's house. The closest stop would probably be in Red Fork, and then we'd still have no way of getting to Riverrun.”

“Sans, doesn't your boyfriend have a car we could borrow? Isn't his dad a car salesman?”

Sansa feels her cheeks flush with heat and she shakes her head. “Harry and I broke up at the end of the semester,” she says like it doesn't bother her. Like she hadn't walked in on him naked, in bed, with a girl from his Literature class.

“Bummer,” Arya says, though Sansa knows it's because of the car thing and not actually Harry. The one time they'd met, Arya had not liked Harry. But then again, Arya's never liked any of Sansa's boyfriends, and she’s usually, annoyingly, right.

Robb's been silent for a while, he's staring out the window and Sansa turns to see what he's looking at. Across the street is a pizza shop and an auto body.

“I'll be right back,” Robb says, a slight frown on his face, a line between his brows. He gets up and leaves the diner, crossing the street towards the auto body. Mance's Auto, the sign reads.

“Where's he going?”

Arya leans over to watch Robb with her own frown. “Is that Jon's van?”

“Jon who?”

Arya sighs and points at a teal blue Volkswagen van that's parked in the alley between Mance's Auto and the pizza shop, so far back that Sansa hadn't even seen it at first. “Jon Snow.”

Memories slam back into Sansa's body, looking at that van. Of Robb and Jon and Theon driving off in it, mom's disapproving frown every time they did. Of that van parked on the street outside their house, the smell of pot drifting up from the basement whenever mom and dad weren't home. Of the one and only time she'd ever been inside it – Joffrey's letterman jacket lying in the back seat, abandoned, while Jon's leather one sat heavy and warm over her shoulders. Her eyes red and puffy, her nose still running. That endless silence as he drove her home.

She hasn't seen Jon in years.

“I didn't think they were friends anymore?” is all she manages to say as Robb disappears inside the auto body.

“Beats me.” There's a pause, and Sansa can feel Arya's energy shift into something mischievous. “C'mon, let's go see.”

With that, Arya slides out of the booth and Sansa stares after her in shock. “Arya!” she hisses, but Arya is already halfway out the door and Sansa quickly grabs her purse to follow. As she gets out of the booth, she digs around and manages to find a few bills that she drops on the table and hopes is enough. If not, Mr. Luwin knows they're good for it.

She follows Arya outside and across the street, but Arya doesn't go into the shop, she goes around the side alley, to the van. To Sansa's surprise, Robb and Jon are already there.

It really has been years since she last saw Jon, not since the summer after Robb's high school graduation. Jon looks different now – he's always had long hair, but now it's tied back out of his face and he's grown a beard and his hands are covered in grease or oil, she can't tell. There's a rag that hangs from one of the belt loops of his jeans and Jon is busy using it to wipe his hands, though Sansa thinks the effort is wasted, since the rag seems to be just as covered in grease as his hands are.

He and Robb look like they're arguing, but Jon's mouth snaps shut when he sees her and Arya at the opening of the alleyway between the auto body and the pizza shop. It's also then that Sansa notices a white dog leashed to a bit of fencing, with a bowl of water and food near it.

“Hey Jon,” Arya greets, looking between him and Robb. “It's been a while.”

“Arya,” Jon nods at her and then his eyes slide over to Sansa. “Sansa.”

“Hi Jon,” she gives him a little wave, unsure what else to do. There's a weird tension in the alley that she can't figure out.

“Does Jon have a car he can lend us?” Arya asks, and from the way Jon sighs, Sansa can tell this was the conversation he and Robb were already having.

“Jon says his boss wouldn't lend us a car,” Robb says with a frown. “And he won't let us borrow his van.”

“Robb,” Sansa hears herself say, and she almost winces at the scolding tone. She sounds a lot like their mother.

“What?” Robb asks with wide eyes. “We wouldn't need it for too long! And his mom doesn't live that far, he could walk to work no problem.”

“Do you still have that beanbag in the back?” Arya asks, moving towards the side of Jon's van. “I used to love that thing.”

Sansa watches as Arya takes hold of the handle and Jon opens his mouth in protest, but he's too late. Arya pulls open the door and instead of a beanbag chair that Sansa doesn't remember ever seeing (though again, she'd only been in the van once, and she hadn't been paying much attention to the interior), there's a lumpy twin mattress stuffed into the back, rumpled sheets piled haphazardly on it, trash bags of what looks like clothes on the seats in front of it.

Arya stares at it in confusion, until Jon moves forward and shuts the door, the slam of it echoing through the alleyway.

“Your mom kick you out again?” Robb asks, voice low, and Sansa wishes desperately that she and Arya had never followed. She feels like she shouldn't be hearing this. “You know you can always crash-”

“It's fine,” Jon starts wiping at his hands again with the rag. It's useless. He's just making it worse. “If you need the van to help your grandma, you can take it.”

“Where will you live?” Robb asks with a scowl. Arya still looks a bit shocked at the revelation.

“I dunno, maybe I'll go apologize and see if mom will let me back in.”

“Was the fight your fault?”

Jon shrugs and it only deepens Robb's frown.

“You could come with us?”

All three of them turn to look at her, and Sansa wonders where that even came from. The words simply flew out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying.

“That's a great idea!” Arya's confusion clears and is replaced with excitement. “C'mon Jon, this roadtrip will be loads more fun if you're along and I'm not stuck with these two dorks.”

Sansa watches Jon hesitate, looking between his van and Robb, then the back entrance to Mance's Auto. “I guess Mance has been on me to take some time off,” he hedges. “Ghost would have to come, too.”

“Perfect,” Arya grins.

…

Jon's van smells vaguely of pot and dog, but it's not as bad as Sansa thought it would be. Definitely not as bad as she was expecting a van that someone was living out of to smell like. With the windows rolled down, both smells disappear fairly quickly anyway.

They set off three days later, after finally convincing mom to let them go (even though they're all in college and legal adults, it was still a fight), and after Jon had gotten approval to take two weeks off work. When they finally set out, she notices that Jon has cleared out the van a bit – she has no idea where the mattress went, but it's gone and replaced by the beanbag that Arya loves so much. Jon and Robb sit in the front seats and Sansa sits in the middle row with Ghost at her feet while Arya sits in the back on that beanbag and messes around with the rest of Jon's stuff.

“You're going to break that,” Sansa whispers at her over the back of her seat as she watches Arya open a portable record player and start fiddling with it. Up front, Jon and Robb are talking in low voices, she thinks about Jon's mom, and so she tries not to listen in because it's none of her business.

Nothing about Jon is her business.

[istumpysk]

Here I am, haunting your halls again. Life got in the way but I noticed some interesting things in my reread and since I did threatened to come yell at you, TADA!!!

Ok, so in Portuguese they divided Game of Thrones in two volumes so I can't give you the pages numbers in case anyone wants to go check, but I'll do my best to provide context for the little bits I bring.

- So many hands: Ghost brings Jon the hand of one of the man that got killed by the Others. Jon burns his hand. Jaime cuts Torrhen's hand in battle. And then Eddard, the Hand of the king gets his head chopped off. Listen either George got a fixation with hands or the Jon part could be a parallel just like we had the Direwolf killed by a Stag.

- Arya's future as an explorer: In Sansa's chapter after Eddard tells them he is sending them back to Winterfell, Sansa is upset and Arya tries to cheer her up by offering to fix the dress but also by sharing her excitement of traveling by boat, examining that it would be an adventure.

-Bran the Broken: Bran's Chapter in which all the northern lords are at Winterfell and he goes to join them for dinner. Torrhen comments about Bran's disability which leads Bran to think "Broken,...Bran, the broken?"

-Sansa and staying true to herself: ofc I had to add something about Sansa!! So, Sansa is this character that is a lady at 3, but also a dreamer, in love with a world of heroes and legends. And she crashes with the horrible truth that the world isn't a song. And yet, despite everything she stays true to herself. When she is forced to send the letter to Robb, her brother asks what is wrong with her, to which Bran replies that she lost her wolf. That would make it seem like she is now less Stark or that she lost part of herself. Which in a way is true but Sansa is still herself, when she gets fetched to the Queen to write the letter she is polite to the ones that went to get her. She is polite at court even when she is scared, she is polite to Jeyne even if she is thinking less than nice things. She is a lady, she is courteous by nature, and she stays like that just like Arya stays wild.

Now the Arya and Bran parts could be coincidence, could be that the producers took the "Bran, the broken" bit and used it. But I thought it was interesting.

I will also say that Season 1 had something that I enjoyed and miss in the books, Cersei and Robert's conversation. I really love their scene together from the show. But reading Jon's chapters again? Seeing my smart, observant boy again? Loveee it!! And little Sansa ❤️

That is all for now, got to go back to join Robb's revolution!!! Sorry for the huge text!!

Never apologize, I'm glad your reread is going well.

You forgot Catelyn cutting her hand! He's such a weirdo, his fixation on hands won't stop for the rest of the series (pray for Arya).

It's so funny, the Arya ship stuff starts fast and furious right from the beginning. I don't know how some people manage to read her chapters and not see it.

I forgot the Bran the Broken aspect starts appearing so quickly.

I would argue that Sansa is the Stark who is most sure in her identity. So I guess you don't need a pet wolf to feel secure in who you are. Shocking!

Definitely don't think anything you mentioned is a coincidence.

Enjoy the revolution! 😊

[winxbutbetterimo-ovo]

Aisha Long ver 1

(some stuff is from the fan wiki i just tweaked)

Name: Aisha Arya Bayoumi

Looks: Aisha is a dark-skinned girl with a medium brown complexion, long, 4b dark brown hair, and cerulean eyes. She has very full lips.

Relationships: Shes mostly close to Flora and Musa, and her soulmate is Nabu

She shines in her normal, charmix, Enchantix and harmonix forms the most.

Personality: Adrenaline addict, but especially loves hiking because she was locked away for so long she loves the feeling of being in the open (she loves the courtyard of Alphea) she also loves freediving because of her merpeople cousins.

She is extremely opinionated and open minded. She is as intuitive like Stella, and when asked to, gives practical and pragmatic advice. She is also a talented dancer, athlete and speaks many different languages. The pixies trust her, and because of that Aisha is one of the few people who know the location of the Pixie Village. Aisha gives practical advice and always provides a shoulder to cry on. However, besides the other girls, she might even be the most sensitive of the crew. She has also been shown to be rather stubborn and impatient, which can get her into trouble by making her hold grudges and jump to conclusions. This could result from her isolated upbringing growing up, as she didn't really have many friends, aside from the Pixies and Anne, making her come off as a little anti-social at times when she first appeared.

Aisha was a bit boy-shy at the start. At the same time, Aisha dislikes Riven the most as she does not appreciate his attitude towards girls. 

When Aisha joined forces with Nebula, she became the enemy of the rest of the Winx, being ready to allow Nebula to imprison Queen Morgana in the magic mirror where she was condemned to fade into the shadows, and the Wizards of the Black Circle as well even if the Winx tell her that Nabu would never have wished for her to choose Vengeance. They thought that she wanted to avenge the death of Nabu, but she was not cruel enough to go through with it. Throughout the season she still loves sports and is still determined and energetic. She does not stifle her sporty tomboyish side and still is ready and raring to go on an adventure.

She is the most physically gifted of all the Winx, but she is also capable of keeping up with, if not surpassing the Specialists, often demonstrated through her knowledge of various sports such as rock climbing, wind riding, and staffmanship. Being the princess of the Ocean Planet, Aisha is very skilled in many water sports such as swimming, surfing, and windsurfing, but is also a skilled dancer. Aisha is capable of holding her own in physical combat as she has been seen holding back a mutant and also capable of fighting on physical par with opponents.

History: Aisha was born as Crown Princess of the Lands of Andros to King Teredor and Queen Niobe. her relatives are King Neptune (uncle), Queen Ligea (aunt), Crown Prince Nereus, prince Tritannus, and princess Tressa (cousins) of the Seas of Andros.

Growing up, aisha was very sheltered and kept away from most people for her safety and education purposes. Thus she grew up very loney and becomes scared of being alone, especially in the dark. she had only 1 friend, Anne, who taught her how to let loose and dance, but had to move away. Aisha is a very well travelled princess despite her lonely and sheltered childhood, but her first time actually living away from home, was when she ran away to save the pixies from Darkar's lair and to Alphea, where she was accepted as a second year student after she convinced her parents to allow her to attend so that she can become a better fairy and future Queen of Andros.

her family was always very close to the pixies and visit every year. she was also not very close to her mer-people cousins except for the times they meet for reunion reasons or public appearance reasons and when they exchange letters. Her childhood friend anne was the daughter of one of her ladies in waiting, but they moved away when the lady herself passed on, forcing Anne to move away to live with her father.

Powers: Her magic is pinkish magenta in color. Aisha has water/ocean-based powers. Aisha can generate and control Morphix, a fuchsia-pink-coloured substance (likely of her own creation) composed of water molecules and that can morph into any shape or form desired. Aisha uses Morphix to create a variety of solid structures such as shields, ropes, bo staffs, nets, cages, surfing platforms, and even a roller rink. She can use Morphix as both a solid and liquid substance. Aisha has been shown to manipulate the consistency of her Morphix, with its forms such as bouncing rubber, flowing liquid, sticky goo, insulation barriers, super-powered counter-attacking walls, and more. Aisha has been known to create useful and elaborate things with Morphix, Her Morphix power can also manifest itself into spells, such as attacks. Additionally, Aisha is capable of separating water molecules to allow beings to breathe underwater and protect them from oceanic pressure and the cold.

Aisha also knows some basic, first-level spells that all fairies can use, such as telekinesis, transmuting objects, and fixing minor messes. 

Aside from Morphix and plasma, Aisha can also manipulate and control water along with most forms of fluids, including drinks. Aisha is able to produce sticky slime to trap and restrain, while using bubbles to trap opponents, cushion impacts, and douse fires. As the Fairy of Waves, Aisha can also manipulate various aspects of the oceans, such as shifting the tides, controlling ocean currents, and generating tidal waves. She also possesses some weather-related abilities, such as conjuring rain showers, producing clouds for defence, and summoning miniature hurricanes.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

ASOS; Steel and Snow: 30 JON IV (pages 406-413)

Several teams climb the Wall, as Jon watches on, and some of them even make it to the top.

-

Here, thought the top of the Wall loomed eight hundred feet above the forest floor, a good third of that height was earth and stone rather than ice; the slope was too steep for their horses, almost as difficult a scramble as the Fist of the First Men, but still vastly easier to ascend than the sheer vertical face of the Wall itself.

I'm just. imagining half way up the climb, Jon hears something odd, looks over, and there's just a mountain goat licking the ice wall, just, doing that gravity defying bs toehold thing mountain goats do.

Also: insert appropriate joke about horses from Skyrim here.

In the Seven kingdoms it was said it marked the end of the world. That's true for them as well. It was all in where you stood. And where do I stand? Jon did not know.

Ain't that a huge metaphor for so much of this series and fandom. matters of perspective.

Jon's having his own identity stuff, on the heels of Sansa and Arya facing a loss of identity in different ways, here's Jon facing what this undercover mission has done to him, and who he wants to be. It makes me want to bully Robb a little bit, ngl.

... make shift climbing gear!

Jon was watching them inch along when he heard the sound - a sudden crack that seemed to roll along the ice, followed by a shout of alarm. And then the air was full of shards and shrieks and falling men, as a sheet of ice a foot thick and fifty feet square broke off from the Wall and came tumbling, crumbling, rumbling, sweeping all before it. Even down at the foot of the ridge, some chunks came spinning through the trees and rolling down the slope. Jon grabbed Ygritte and pulled her down to shield her, and one of the Thenns was struck in the face by a chunk that broke his nose. And when they looked up Jarl and his team were gone. Men, ropes, stakes, all gone; nothing remained above six hundred feet. There was a wound in the Wall where the climbers had clung half a heartbeat before, the ice withing as smooth and white as polished marble and shining in the sun. Far far below there was a faint red smear where someone had smashed against a frozen pinnace. The Wall defends itself, Jon thought as he pulled Ygritte back to her feet.

Holy shit.

So in the show, Jon, Ygritte and Tormund are all part of the climbing team, and it's blizzard weather. Jon and Ygritte are the bottom two of a four man tether with Tormund up the top when the crack happens and wipes out the NPCs, Jon has to bravely swing to the side to catch the ledge before some dickhead cuts the rope dropping both Jon and Ygritte to their deaths.

The book scene is far more impactful, just imo. D&D really want Jon to be the Big Action Hero, and he's just, he's not? D&D genuine do not understand what genre the books are, or they didn't care and they just wanted to make adventure mans in pseudo magical medieval times.

... also if you want to make this less emotionally tragic: Pinnace, noun (geology): an individual column of rock, isolated from other rocks or groups of rocks, in the shape of a vertical shaft or spire. Pinnace, noun: a small boat carried on a large ship, used to carry goods and people from the ship to the shore.

The dead were burning when Grigg the Goat reached the top of the Wall. By the time Errok's four joined them, nothing remained of Jarl and his team but bone and ash. The sun had begun to sink by then, so the climbers wasted little time. They unwound the long coils of hemp they'd had looped around their chests, tied them all together, and tossed down one end. The thought of trying to climb five hundred feet up that rope filled Jon with dread, but Mance had planned better than that. The raiders Jarl had left below uncasked a huge ladder, with rungs of woven hemp as thick as a man's arm, and tied it to the climber's rope. Errok and Grigg and their men grunted and heaved, pulled it up, staked it to the top, then lowered the rope again to haul up a second ladder. There were five altogether.

That's genius, much smarter than having everyone try to climb a single rope or the Wall itself. Also lends itself to impress just how large the raiding party is, versus what D&D gave us. They really tended to do everything smaller except the number of naked women and swear words. and blood pack allowance.

"Can you feel how cold it is?" "It's made of ice," Jon pointed out. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. This wall is made o' blood." ... "Don't be frightened." He tried to put his arm around her. Ygritte slammed the heel of her hand into his chest, so hard it stung, even through the layers of wool, mail, and boiled leather. "I wasn't frightened. You know nothing, Jon Snow."

YKN,JS = 🥛🥛

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Adventures- Sansa Stark

Pairing: Sansa Stark x Reader

Characters: Sansa Stark

Warnings: N/A

Request: N/A

Word Count: 425

Author: Aaron

Sansa lay, sprawled and fatigued across the large deerskin rug that embellished the hardwood floor or her Winterfell abode as the close fire crackled and roared, and the winter storm threw hail on the large, thick windows.

“What do you want?” She asked as you peered your head around the heavy door, it had not taken Sansa long to befriend you, but as a lowly market trader the world of castle interiors and ornate embellishments was new to you, and far from your normal reality of splitting bread with your siblings and enticing patrons to your mother’s market stand.

“What’s wrong with you?” You asked, joining her in laying along the bedroom floor. “You are the daughter of Ned Stark, you have almost everything you could ever ask for, why are you moping around?” She rolled her head until your eyes met, she had a sheepish smile adorning her soft, pale lips.

“It really is not all that people think it is. Of course, we get nice things and I’m very grateful to not have to worry about food, or warmth or safety… for the most part anyway. But I crave a life past just lounging around the castle and attending boring social events. I want some fun and some adventure in my life.” She pushed herself up and leant against the frame of her large bed. “I’m not sitting here saying that I want to go and slay dragons and find ancient lost treasure. I just want to be able to explore what more to this world there is, right now I’m limited to the keep and I think me, and Arya have explored every inch of this our father will allow us to.”

“Me and my father often go on runs to the south so that we can purchase supplies for our wares. Maybe you can persuade your father to join us? It normally takes us a few days by horse and cart, but it’s hardly the most perilous journey. We are lucky to see any fauna past some deer, so you won’t come to any harm.”

“Even if my father did allow me to join, he would send men with us, enough to fill a small army. It would defy the point but thank you for the offer.” She rolled a small coin in her fingers and tossed it from palm to palm. “One day I will go on grand ventures all throughout the lands. For now I will just have to be content hearing my father’s stories from his own travels.

[docpiplup]

ASOIAF RARE PAIRS WEEK 2022

Day 7: Free choice/ Time Travel AU -> Nedrya for @atypical-asoiaf-pairs

Arya had been invited by Ned Dayne to come to Starfall and staying some days together.

One day while they were on a trip throughout the Torrentine, Arya and Ned found suddenly a strange man appeared behind a rock formation that was close to the riverside. The man seemed diorientid and confused, his cloak was white decorated with small green hands.

"He must be a Gardener, look at his cloak" Ned said.

Arya remembered a frew Maester Luwin's history about the Age of Heroes and the old kings of the Reach, Old Nan's tales about the legendary Garth Greenhand and his descendants like Brandon of the Bloody Blade, Rose of the Red Lake, Flores the Fox and Garth the Gardener...

"House Gardener ended with Aegon's conquest, it would be impossible to find a member of the family nor their bannermen "

"Maybe he's an actor from a play, I'll go and ask him"

"Ser, can we help you?

"I'm not a knight"

The man told that he was Rodrik and that he was member of the guard of Garth the Gardener and that he was on his way to Highgarden but he got lost and  he got surprised that he suddenly appeared in Dorne.

"I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell and he's Edric Dayne of Starfall, we're now in the river Torrentine, not far from Blackmont. I live in the North, but Edric knows this land very well" Arya thought that maybe neither Winterfell or Starfall existen yet if it was true that he was from the past, but she tried to introduce them to him and try to confort him.

"We were about going fishing, would you want to come with us, Rodrick?" Edric asked him. He was so sweet. Arya thought the same. We were thinking to say the same thing, just like she and Jon.

They sat by the river with Rodrik. He murmured something. Something about a witch who had brought him here. It was hard to understand him. A woman with dark hair and hazel eyes, he told.

All he remembered is that he was on a battlefield with Garth against the Casterlys, the woman told him that he could find a way to defeat them and he follow her, she told him to search information about the Age of Heroes in a great library, and the woman disappeared.

"Rodrik, come here, you got lost in your way, I can help you!

A woman whispered from afar.

"Garth needs you to be by his side for the next time, come with me"

The woman approached. At first Arya thought she might be the woman who had brought Rodrik here, but this one was blonde and had brown eyes.

"Are you another time wicht?"

"More or less, I guess the one who brought him here is an old friend of mine" She smiled. " Lady Stark, Lord Dayne , are you the ones that had been taking care of him? Thank you, sometimes it's difficult to locate an unexpected intrusion through the portals"

"What kind of portals are those?"

"I guess at this point I have to tell you the story" Arya and Ned listened with eyes wide opened.

"Centuries ago an old maester came to Sunspear offering Nymeria the spells he had been working during all his life, spells that create portals to travel through time.

'You can be the queen of time' Levy said.

"Levy spread his portals through Dorne, the rest of Westeros and even Essos, connecting all places and all times. And then Nymeria formed a secret guard to keep the portals safe."

"For people like me, it's our duty to keep everything as it was, I have to make sure that that man returns to his original period, so his intrusion doesn't interfere in the timeline. Time is what is.

We try to be discrete but sometimes we can't avoid that someone discovers by accident. You can join us or keep this as a secret. You choose, maybe now you're too young, but in the future both of you can be good recruits."

"Go to the Sandship and ask for Larra" she said, before she lead Rodrik where he  belonged.

Arya and Ned looked at each other.

"Maybe next time we can go on a trip to Sunspear" Arya asked later whrn they were gone.

"And adventure, it sounds great" Ned laughed.

[nineteensixtieschikadee]

Arya Stark & Femininity

This might turn into a mini rant, so bear with me here. A lot of times whenever I watch old GOT clips, (bc I hate myself) and read stuff about Arya on fansites, I realize that there’s been a lot of misconception about her and her character. Particularly about her being a woman. And a lot of times i see this sort of “justification” from her fans that the reason why she’s such a fan-favorite character in the show (and to some extent, the books?) is because Arya is esentially this “bad-ass ninja asassin tomboy who’s out for revenge against those who’ve killed her family.” And some of her fans and especially her anti’s will call her out expressing that “Arya’s only a child who doesn’t like girly things like dresses and boys and doing her hair. She “identifies” herself as a tomboy because she likes “boyish things” like sword play, and playing in the mud, and gore, wrestling, etc. I was scrolling through the Jonrya tag here on Tumblr, this is a comment I found regarding Arya:

The moment I read that I straight up just wanted to rant! Lol! Also, I’m sorry for the formatting, I’m writing this on mobile. :( Anyways, these people who make those claims about Arya, esentially only see her as this small girl who likes fighting and getting dirty. They completely disregard everything else that makes Arya, Arya. Pretty much just limiting her to her sex, understanding that because Arya likes boyish things, she’s NOT ALLOWED to inherit things, like the North, fall in love and get married, have a high position in the hierarchy and in politics. It’s because that these people see her as someone who hates needlework or everything that isn’t Sansa, everyone believes that she hates everything that makes her FEMALE. Everybody here knows that Arya’s my favorite female character in the books, so I just wanna talk about how the general public views her, and how their views tend to go against Arya’s entire character.

People have this view that she is the “exact opposite” of Sansa. And while that’s true in terms of their different characteristics, it doesn’t mean that Arya is against everything that makes Sansa, feminine. Now lemme elaborate here. Sansa is everything that represents “femininity.” Especially in terms of the inspired time period that ASOIAF takes place in. She’s very girly & lady-like, is mannerful, “soft-spoken.” She daydreams about boys and being a princess. She’s graceful and elegant. She knows her place in terms of society, and as a woman. AND YEAH, Arya is the exact opposite of that. Yes, she has this boyish nature. She’s wild and free spirited. Loud also adventerous. But that’s the thing: Arya has a lot of femininity in her. It’s just not the femininity that we’re used to. What society percieves as “normally feminine.”

Arya is not Sansa. And it’s because she doesn’t act like a “lady” that the audience sees her as this girl who “doesn’t want” or most importantly, should not want/get the same treatment as the typical noblewoman in Westeros should recieve. This idea was engraved into people’s heads because of the show, and that’s how we’re supposed to see her. As this cold hearted ninja assasin warrior who happens to be a girl, but doesn’t act like a typical girl. The audience pretty much places her in the “I’m not like other girls” trope. Which is honestly, so wrong to me. Because yeah okay, Arya isn’t like the typical lady. But god, she is far deeper than that, and is a much more complex character.

Here’s the thing, Arya does not reject being a female, and most importantly, she does not reject the typical ideals of what makes a lady feminine. Of course not. In fact, she actively encourages that women be included in all things, especially in things only made for men. She believes that women should not be held back or ignored because of their sex and femininity.

“The Lannister’s are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

This excerpt is from Arya’s very first chapter in AGOT. It is also my favorite Jonrya moment, lol. And asides from the scene foreshadowing potential plot points for not only Jon & Arya, the scene introduces to us and examines Arya’s perception of society and more specifically, the women in society. In this scene Arya joins Jon in observing Prince Joffrey, talking about the Lannister/Baratheon coat of arms. Jon makes a point that while the Baratheon sigil should be enough to prove that Joffrey is of royalty, the Lannisters (Cersei) are a proud house, married into the royal family. So therefore Joffrey is of house Baratheon AND Lannister. That is why the Lannister sigil stands besides the Baratheons. Because they, specifically Cersei, should be seen as equal to the king.

And while Jon makes this seem like it’s wrong or not needed, Arya disagrees with him. She tells him that the women should not be forgotten, as they should be seen as equal to the men. That the women are just as important as the men, and that it would be of good conduct to not forget that. And with that being said, she never acknowledges that Joffrey’s mother is too lady-like or too feminine to be seen as an equal to the king. Nope. Although she does question later as to why if women cannot fight, why should they have a coat of arms. Though that is hardly the point of her argument.

Another point that makes people believe that Arya is not feminine or does not support femininity, is when she flat out says to Ned that she hates the idea of being a lady.

“Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady.”

“I don’t want to be a lady,” Arya flared.

Alot of people misinterpret this as Arya not wanting to be a noblewoman, because she only likes to play with swords, and get dirty. Because acting like a lady is stupid and not her. This is simply not true. Arya has no problem with women, or being a lady. She is a lady. A highborn one. What she does have a problem with is that being a lady often means being trapped in the conformities of what society percieves to be the acceptable standard for women in this time period.

All of the acceptable standards is what Sansa is. And she is not like Sansa. She does not believe herself to be a lady like her sister or her mother. When she first reveals her true identity to Gendry in ACOK, he immediately apologizes to her for his behavior and calls her m’lady. :3 Arya unfortunately sees this as a form of mockery and an attack because while Gendry acknowledges that she is a lady, Arya doesn’t act like a typical lady or even look like one. That insecurity of not being a lady like her mother and sister makes her believe that Gendry is using her sex against her. Like a form of irony. But I mean, we all know that’s far from the truth, lol!

And Jon recognizes this too! It’s the reason why they are so close and tightly knit together. Because Jon understands Arya, and sees her insecurity like how she sees his. They are one and the same. Jon sees and understands Arya’s frustrations of sexism viewed in Westeros. He acknowledges that Arya is to become a lady. But he also sees that Arya is not the conventional type of lady wanting to stick to the norms. She is a different type of lady, and to him, that is okay. He may tease her for it once in a while, pointing out all the unfair limitations that women have to go through. But he accepts her for being this unconventional noblewoman, and often encourages her to pursue being different.

“Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”

Later when Jon and Arya say their goodbyes, Jon gifts Arya with the swords. Needle. This is his way of saying, fuck all them haters, be who you wanna be. Solidifying the idea that he supports her and accepts her for who she is. Kinda like how Tyrion told him to use his identity as armour, Arya should do the same to herself. It’s okay to be different than the rest. Fuck the rules.

It’s not that Arya hates the idea of being a lady. It’s a far cry from that. It’s the sexism that goes along with being the typical lady that infruiates her. Arya loves running around, riding horses, playing with swords, being loud and adventurous. She has a firery temper to her. And just because she likes doing all of that, and is all of that, it doesn’t mean, shouldn’t mean that she isn’t a lady. That she can’t be a lady. All of those things shouldn’t limit her to being viewed as a girl, a highborn lady. She is a woman, and she identifies as one.

“Listen to him, boy.”

“It was the third time he had called her “boy.” “I’m a girl,” Arya objected.

That is why, even though she sees herself as a woman, she often tells herself and other people that she is not a lady. Despite others telling her that she is one. Her insecurity and her frustrations do not allow her to see herself as a lady because she isn’t a “conventional woman.”

But the thing is, even though Arya doesn’t enjoy most of the typical lady-like things, she still has a ton of femininity to her. And people often ignore her more feminine traits in favor of her more “badassery” side, which unfortunately are most often occupied by men. People forget and downright ignore that Arya is really intelligent. She particularly excels in math. It’s one of the few things that she’s better at than Sansa. She loves flowers—like her aunt Lyanna. The very person who she’s said to look and act like the most. And a really important one is that she has motherly instincts. It’s what helps her protect other kids throughout her journey. Her ability to empathize enables her to be more social with outcasts and befriend others without judgement. She is well-mannered and kind to strangers. (An example of this would be when she apologizes to a common woman who lent her a dress to wear, and she accidentally destroys it because she and Gendry were playing by the acorn tree.) She can also cook and clean just like any other woman—or any other person. All of those are feminine traits, and are traits that make her more human. And the show opted to get rid of all that and gave us some cold-hearted, angry, ninja.

The audience perceives that because Arya is this ninja warrior who rejects the common standards of being a lady, it means that she can’t have these other more female traits. Nope. She’s not allowed to have or want more rights and power because that’s not her. She’s a warrior and nothing more. She can’t find love because she has to be this bad-ass independent woman who don’t need no man. That’s not her, that’s her sister. We can’t have Arya be any more female than she already is because she rejects the idea of being female. Leave all that crap to her sister! Sansa’s the princess—and we can’t have Arya being a princess or queen. Arya’s only allowed to carry a sword.

And it’s the audience’s perception of her that goes against everything that Arya is, and everything that she believes in. Because remember, Arya hates the idea that being a lady means being trapped in the societal norms. And it can be said vice versa too. Arya still respects those who want to be more of the conventional type. Arya may not have the more typical feminine traits that make her a lady, but to hell with it! It doesn’t mean that she’s not allowed to have the other things that the more conventional woman would/should have. That goes against all of her views and beliefs. The audience puts Arya at an unfair standard because she doesn’t act like a conventional woman.

It’s the same thing as the audience saying that Jon Snow doesn’t want a title or power, because he’s devoted his life to the Nights Watch and is unselfish. False. Very false. Just like Arya. Arya’s young. She still has time to grow, and no doubt she doesn’t think of all those things now because of other priorities. But she’s slowly getting there. And there is so much foreshadowing of her finding love, becoming a woman gaining power, etc, etc. She’s not there yet, but that’s a part of her growth. Just because she defies the typical female standards, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want or wont want all those things later.

Like com’on. Everyone knows that Arya is the only legitimate candidate right now to inherit the North. Everyone knows. The Northmen know, the Nights Watch knows, the people in Kings Landing knows. Hell, even the damn wildings know this. And it’s because of this knowledge that formed the majority of the northern plotline in ADWD. People are going to war for her. She is the true key to the North, and that’s why the Boltons lied and said that they have her. It’s why Jon went to war and died for her. I don’t think Arya will truly believe it if/when she finds out that people are fighting for her because she holds the power to the North. Unless Jon’s gonna be the one to tell her himself. The fact that she is being set up to inherit all this power, and yet people deny it and believe that she doesn’t want it because it’s “not her” in regards that she’s not feminine enough, is seriously infuriating.

I mean look at the type of women Arya respects and idolizes. Where do you think she got the name Nymeria from? Nymeria’s name originates from the Princess of Dorne herself, Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar. Princess Nymeria was said be very beautiful, strong-willed, cunning, and full of wisdom. She was a “warrior-queen.” From that alone, her femininity clearly did not matter. She was a woman whose goals were not held back because of her femininity and sex.

Arya does not hate femininity or things that makes women more feminine. She doesn’t truly hate wearing dresses or being a lady. It’s being conformed to the general standards that she hates. It’s her sex being used against her that makes her angry. It’s not being able to be herself that she despises. And thanks to Sansa and her mother’s judgement of her, Arya’s insecurity only heightened. Despite looking exactly like Lyanna, Arya herself believes that she’s not beautiful enough to even be considered a lady. Only Jon and Ned allowed Arya to be Arya. Only they called her beautiful, and only they encouraged her to be who she wanted to be. Arya loves her fellow women. And yeah, she also loves Sansa despite her being such a pain in the ass bitch, lol.

Arya’s character encourages women to just be women. She encourages us the audience to just be ourselves despite all the conformities forced upon us. Her character explores the limitations of sex, gender, and especially the loss of identity. Arya not wanting to be a lady doesn’t actually mean she doesn’t want to be a lady. She doesn’t want to be held back by the standards of being a lady. Her question, her argument is that why should women be limited only to being this or that. Women are far more than meets the typical standard, and if society can’t accept it, then fuck that! Women can be knights and still be a lady. They can be fierce and passionate and emotional and still be a lady. Women can be warriors and still be a lady. Just because there are some women out there who don’t fit the ideal standards of what it means to be lady, it shouldn’t make them feel like less than one.

[starksinthenorth]

Knights of the Westerosi Round Table

The Green Knight reminded me a lot of Brienne’s journeys through the Riverlands. At times, all the wandering and side quests felt pointless while reading/watching but the author is still making a point through all the little adventures. GRRM’s point comes across clear than that of the Anonymous poet, but both still were making one through the use of the knightly quest. This got me thinking about “true knights” in ASOIAF and how they may have inspired GRRM for the various people who are explorations of that idyll. I plan to write a more in-depth series on this at some point, if more research gives me more ideas. For now, here’s the two biggest parallels I’ve picked up.

Brienne + Ser Gawain

In the original tale, Ser Gawain is known for being courteous, compassionate, and humble. These are exactly the types of virtues that Brienne The poem bases this strong character on his Christianity. But at least one telling he is irreligous, unfit for Christian knighthood, and kills other knights without purpose. Potentially another connection to Brienne in particular is that he is sometimes called "the Maidens' Knight" and considered a champion of all women. Here, a double play: Brienne is herself a Maiden Knight, but is also the Stark Maidens' Knight, sworn to find and protect Arya and Sansa.

In the poem/movie, Ser Gawain plays a winnings game with a lord, wherein each gives the other his winnings of the day. There’s also the beheading game, where Gawain beheads the eponymous Green Knight and a year later has to meet him to lose his own head. I saw some parallels with both of these to the deal struck between Brienne and Lady Stoneheart: a life for a life, though it isn’t Brienne’s own exchanged for Jaime Lannister, but Hyle’s and Podrick’s. Only TWOW will tell us how this ends, of course, but the poem ends with Gawain keeping his head and the knights of the round table swearing to forevermore wear a green sash in remembrance of his journey and as a reminder to be honest.

Jaime + Ser Bedivere

The first major parallel between these two is that Bedivere is a "handsome, one-handed warrior." I don’t think this needs explanation, although I cannot find how Bedivere lost that hand.

Together with Arthur, he addresses the abduction of St Gwladys/Gladys, abducted and held captive by a king after her ather refused to allow a marriage. The parrallel here is rather one-to-one: Ned Stark refused the marriage of his daughter to a king. Jaime Lannister sent Brienne on a quest to find that daughter. Bedivere also wields a magic lance, while Jaime was supposed to wield a ~special~ Valyrian steel sword that he sent with Brienne on her quest to find Sansa and Arya.

It is Bedivere who later throws Excalibur into the lake, though he twice fails to do so because the sword is too valuable to Britain (somewhat like the biblical narrative of Peter denying Jesus three times). He later joined a hermitage and died there, with his kindred knights. What all this says about Jaime is mere speculation. Perhaps Jaime finds a true king he deems deserving of his faith and loyalty, as Bedivere was to Arthur. Jon, Aegon, Daenerys, Bran, and Sansa are all potential candidates, along with the bevy of other claimant-kings in the series. Maybe Jaime even accompanies that king/queen to their end, conducting some symbolic gesture (Ice into the God’s Eye? Dragoneggs into the dragonmont?), before later becoming a septon or a green man of the God’s Eye or a Night’s Watchman. This is all far-flung (like Excalibur!), but still interesting to ponder.

[kyloren]

i was never really into the jonsa ship, but that post of yours has got me really interested... do you have any fave fics of them??

welp, we’re going old-school, lads. prepare for some of my favourite fandom throwbacks well, I failed at that, I put some of the newer things on the list, too

CANON-VERSE:

Now You See Me: Kissed by fire, Ygritte thought to herself, just like me. 

Goodbye Means Going Away (And Going Away Means Forgetting): Memory is unreliable. No one understands this better than Rickon Stark.

Take My Crown Away (Don’t Smile So Sweetly, My Love): A world where everything is easier. Except for those who love, and love too much.

Build a Ladder to the Stars: Jon abandons the Night’s Watch to join Robb’s cause. After rescuing Sansa from King’s Landing, he and Sansa find themselves in a relationship they never saw coming.

A Winter’s Tale: The War of Three Dragons comes to the Vale, bringing Jon Snow and Sansa Stark together once more.

The Winter of Our Discontent: In the end it is Jon and his men of the Night’s Watch who come to take her back to Winterfell.

tell me true (who are you): Ned Stark brought a dark-haired, grey-eyed bastard babe home and called him son. Years later, Jon Targaryen does the same.

Lift Me Like an Olive Branch and Be My Homeward Dove: She never dreams of Jon Snow but in the end he is the one that comes for her under a Targaryen banner, the might of Winterfell and the North behind him with their father’s sword on his back.

The Whispering Ghosts (Left You Out In The Cold): Winter came and brought Jon home. [this is the first Jonsa fic I ever read, boy, did it fuck me up]

A Bronze Crown: In the end there are no knights. In the end Sansa must rescue herself. Based on the prompt: he doesn’t ride to her rescue; she comes north with her granduncle and the armies of the Vale to wage war on the Boltons, save his life and teach his assassins and the Boltons a sharp lesson.

how ruthless are the gentle*: “Yes, I do.” The easiest lie he’s ever told, by far. It came so naturally, he hardly thought of it as false. “She’s easy to love.”

Tell the Ones That Need to Know (We Are Headed North)*: After years of confinement in the Red Keep with Ned prisoner in the black cells, the Dragon Queen comes. With the knowledge that Jon Snow is actually a Targaryen, she agrees to let the Starks return to Winterfell only if Jon marries one of the Stark daughters. Sansa volunteers so they can all go home. Soon she figures out being married to Jon isn’t bad, but it is complicated.

Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things*: We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark. 

Dragons of Red, Dragons of White*: An AU where the Battle of the Trident took place, but just between Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon. Their duel and its outcome have ramifications that none could foresee. In the world built afterwards, dragons once again rule and roam Westeros, among them the son of a northern beauty and the king. Prince Jon and his kin, Stark and Targaryen alike, face new challenges from both without and within. Whatever the future holds, the Seven Kingdoms will learn that, whether in a coat of red or a coat of white, a dragon still has claws.

A Knight’s Watch: Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths with characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places.

The Conquest*: Three hundred years after Aegon the Conqueror built a new empire on the ashes of the Valyrian Freehold the known world is a place of war. The Targaryen Empire is pressed by enemies, the Seven Kingdoms war amongst themselves and forces contrive to pull them all apart.

Live Without Shame: When Catelyn’s treatment of Winterfell’s Bastard unexpectedly softens, Sansa reconsiders her relationship with Jon. But despite the revelations that ensue, Jon must and will always remain Winterfell’s Bastard and suffer its consequences.

The Tempered Kingdoms*:  After years of wars, death, destruction, politics, and White Walkers, a tentative calm has returned to Westeros partially due to the rulership of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. But politics rues its head again as Stannis Baratheon demands his right to rule, while the former Queen Cersei languishes in a cell, plotting her revenge against all who live above her. Sansa Stark is forced to return to King’s Landing after being found by the rumored lovers Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth.

winterbloom: “You’ve traveled a long way for a rumor.” Sansa lives at the Wall under the protection of her brother Jon Snow, but when Sandor Clegane comes looking for her, she and Jon begin to realize that she is not as safe as they once hoped.

As History Changes: Jon agrees to accompany Stannis south to the Vale and he meets a person he did not expect to meet.

hold onto your heart (you’ll keep it safe): When Sansa turns eleven her wrist burns. She excitedly unwraps the cloth guarding her skin, waiting eagerly for the name to finish forming. The dark letters stop after only three and when Sansa leans in closer she realises that she knows that name and she knows that handwriting already.

carve your heart into mine: Sansa spent many evenings sewing her wedding dress by the fire, dreaming of her husband. The gown spilled out of her hands like a silver river, burning brighter from the light of the flames. She had embroidered it with a noble husband in mind, but she wed her lowborn love in the godswood, with snowflakes falling on her veil. 

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE:

Into the Darkness of the Grave: The tragic death of Eddard Stark’s cousin Lyanna brings her estranged son back to Winterfell House, the family’s old plantation home, for her funeral.

The Other Shoe: If anyone had told Sansa Stark that she would be married to Jon Snow, expecting a child with him at the age of nineteen she would have laughed at them. Not because Jon was a bad person, for he had slowly come out of his shell in the past seven years; not because she was young, her parents were married right out of Hogwarts; simply because Sansa Stark seemed to be the anthesis of a happy ending.

several sunlit days: Everyone knows you don’t date Robb Stark’s sisters unless you want to spend your days avoiding hexes and angry bludgers shot at your head. Too bad Jon’s traitorous feelings could care less.

the unexpected champion: Jon must swim to The Black Lake and retrieve something *cough* Sansa *cough* stolen from him. This task makes him realize who he should invite to the Yule Ball.

Where Did You Sleep Last Night: Sansa needs a new guitarist, Jon needs a new band, and the two of them definitely don’t need each other.

and labor till the work is done: Stark Industries is a family legacy she was hoping to avoid: Robb is a project manager, grooming to eventually be a partner, Arya is a summer intern with Bran sure to follow next year and Rickon in another three, and even Jon Snow, who is technically not family but who has been around for as long as Sansa can remember, works as an estimator. But Sansa is not who she was at sixteen or eighteen or even twenty and she’s still in the process of learning what’s truly important, like who she is, who she wants to be, and what kind of people she wants in her life.

One Of The Few Things: Jaime and Sansa spend a lot of time pining over Brienne and Jon together. Sometimes, they actually even do their jobs.

flower shaped heart*: Alayne Stone has lived her whole life in her hidden tower, forbidden by Mother to leave. But she yearns for an adventure like the ones in the songs, so when a man named Jon Snow crashes into her tower and into her life, she seizes the chance. They travel to King’s Landing where the floating lanterns shine each year on her nameday. The new world is exciting and frightening, but Jon Snow is there to guide her every step. He is not nearly as terrible as Mother said men are, though the rest of the world might be. Danger, betrayals, and lies form the steps of their journey as Alayne uncovers terrible secrets.

Crawl up to my Room: Jon left her side after a few moments of silence and she watched him leave with a quiet thought playing in her mind. He was her stepbrother for only a few hours, and she already found herself utterly fascinated and irritated with Jon Stark. 

in the summer, as the lilacs bloom: “You did tech in high school,” Sansa points out. (Yeah, I did tech because you were playing the lead and I was in love with you.) Jon doesn’t tell her that, though. Of course not. Instead he agrees to spend his summer stage managing this passion project of hers, and some trace of his seventeen-year-old self has dried out his throat at the thought of three months’ constant contact with Sansa.

Down from the Mountain: Sansa flies home from college after her older brother Robb, one of the country’s hottest young pitchers, is hurt in a car accident. Robb’s best friend Jon is there to help the Stark family in any way he can.

Little Bed in the Big Woods: “I stared at him for a solid five minutes because he looked like what I imagine god would look like if god was a lumberjack.”

A Game of Stars*: When the Mad Emperor hears that the Starks are Force-sensitive, he discovers the hidden rebel base on Hoth. He sends Jon there with one order: Burn them all. But bring the Stark children to Coruscant. It’s time for the two most powerful Force bloodlines in the galaxy to merge.

I’ll Pack My Goods for the Arkansas Woods*: When Sansa’s brother goes missing, it falls to her to defend the house and the woods against the greed of the Boltons and Freys. All of this would be much easier if she could fight fire with fire, and there’s a saying in the valley: that all the Starks are a little wild, and all the Targaryens are a little mad. Her cousin Jon just happens to be both.

In the Face of Death: On a long list of things Jon never expected, Sansa came top.

United States of Irreversible Oblivion: With the government losing its fight at the northern border, Sansa’s only hope is that one of its soldiers, Office Jon Snow, will return for her and save her from the horrors of a collapsing society.

remember me love when i’m reborn: ‘Longest Night’ has biggest night in hollywood history. “Joffrey wanted someone to make him famous, and as soon as Sansa wrote a movie for him that did just that, he left her in the dirt.”

Hear the Wolf*: The Starks are in Hogwarts. Sansa has to learn to stand up to her ex-boyfriend and Jon has to learn to face his past. They’re determined to do it alone. Will they ever admit they’re stronger together?

Somewhere in the Winter Woods*: Lost on her way to her grandmother’s cabin in the winter woods after running away from home, beautiful young Sansa thinks she’s run into trouble when she crosses a white wolf in the forest. Instead of harming her, the animal guides her to his master, a handsome warrior named Jon who lives in solitude and clothes himself in black.

* marks the ongoing stories. 

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: VII

A/N: I apologize for the wait. I hope you guys still like this little story of mine.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T (Maybe M??) For Blood, allusions to smut, my continued overuse of italics, poorly written, soft confessions of feelings

Word Count: 8.3k (Someone please take my computer away)

Read Chapters I-VI here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Seven: The Price of Happiness

All of Dorne was a delight to the senses. The food was better, the wine more tart, the air itself smelled sweeter and punctuated with the scent of salt of the ocean and the heat of the sun-warmed walls. It was paradise. Never in her life had she met a family more loving and open with their affections—or their squabbles. The Sand Snakes welcomed her with open arms and quelled most of the fears that turned Y/N’s stomach.

And having the company of Sansa and Arya gave Y/N an immeasurable amount of joy. Simply knowing they were alive and well and within her reach let a small bit of weight lift from her shoulders. All of them melded together into a strange camaraderie that Y/N quickly grew accustomed to. Arya trained with Obara, Elia, and Obella—and little Dorea would sometimes sneak away from her mother and Septa to try to keep up with the older girls. And Arya was insistent that Y/N join them at least three times a week. Sansa would sup with Nymeria and Tyene and would drag Y/N along when she wasn’t occupied with Ellaria and Oberyn. They would read to little Loreza to help her sleep. Sarella was still in Oldtown but had sent a raven with a kind word, welcoming Y/N into the fold.

All of it was…perfect. So perfect that Y/N was waiting for something terrible to happen to knock her from the pedestal of the happy life she’d created at Sunspear.

“You are quiet, My Tully,” Ellaria said as they sat together on the sand of the strip of beach just outside the fortress’ walls. A handful of handmaidens waited to be called, standing in Sunspear’s forgiving shadows, with a half dozen guards. Ellaria had stolen Y/N away from Manfrey Martell’s lessons. Oberyn’s cousin was the current Castellan of Sunspear and had been teaching Y/N the proper way of keeping the household and surrounding city running smoothly, as it had for centuries.

“I am enjoying the view,” Y/N replied as she watched Ellaria tie her skirts a little high around her waist as she wanted to wade into the water. Her four daughters were all laughing and splashing a few paces away, without a care and nearly infectious with their joy.

“We agreed to not lie to each other, My Tully. Nor keep secrets.” When she was finished tying her own, Ellaria pulled Y/N to her feet and made quick work of tying her skirts, too. She grasped her hands and led her out to the lapping water.

It was warm and clear—a far cry from the usually-muddy waters of the rivers around Riverrun. Ellaria continued to lead her in until their bundled skirts were in danger of getting wet from the shallow waves but did not release her grip even as they slowed to a stop. She pulled Y/N a little closer and brushed a kiss against her shoulder, exposed in the Dornish style dress Nymeria’s favorite seamstress had tailored especially for her in a pretty sky blue. The ugly scars from the arrow were exposed but very few paid them any mind.

“Tell me what is burdening you.”

“You will think me foolish,” Y/N murmured.

“Never.”

Y/N sighed and squeezed at Ellaria’s hands before wrapping her arms around herself. “Everything here is so…lovely. A paradise.”

“Just as I told you all those moons ago at that wretched wedding; I knew you had the right heart to make Dorne your home.”

It was almost as if Ellaria was trying to banish whatever gloomy thought Y/N had with kisses as she stole one from Y/N’s frowning mouth and then another as she started to smile. “And I am grateful to be here, to have you in my arms now—you and Oberyn both. To be welcomed to happily by your family. But I am worried…the gods have only afforded me this happiness to rip it away from me. Surely I cannot be this happy for the rest of my days.”

“Why do you think that your happiness must have limits? The gods delight in their creations. Why should we not delight in them as well?” Ellaria smiled and looked like a goddess herself in the sunlight and surrounded by clear, sparkling water. “Your happiness does not have a limit because the gods deem it so. Only you can determine how happy you are in this life. I have chosen to take every opportunity to seize happiness, joy, whenever I can. You have brought me such joy, My Tully. I want you to have the same—but you must let yourself.” Ellaria pulled Y/N close again and pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Will you let yourself?” She asked against her lips.

“I will try,” Y/N answered with a laugh.

A sudden splash of water had her sputtering and Ellaria chuckled. “You will,” Ellaria stated, wet fingers trailing against Y/N’s cheek.

Ellaria tasted like saltwater and sunshine when Y/N kissed her again. “I love you,” Y/N said, the words bubbling out of her throat before she could even think to stop them.

“My heart has been shared between you and Oberyn since I saw you at the market. I love you, sweet girl, and I will remind you of that fact every chance you give me.”

**

“You travelled through the Kingswood during a battle?” Y/N could feel her throat tightening with each passing word. Word had come to Oberyn that the Lannisters knew Sandor had been seen in Dorne. Ellaria’s words about embracing joy—and the fact that Ellaria loved her—had lifted her mood for the past handful of days but the news had quickly soured her disposition. She asked plainly what had happened on the way to Dorne with Sansa and Arya and expected to hear that he had taken the most benign route possible and then be on her way. That was not the case. “I told you to take her to safety-”

“The little bird’s alive, ain’t she?” Sandor griped. “She’s fine.”

“Thank the Seven,” she retorted, face still contorted with rage. “I cannot fathom your reason for endangering her—you know the Stone Crows-”

“Aye, the Stone Crows,” he mimicked, remembering the Mountain Clan men Tyrion had brought to King’s Landing and used as reinforcements around the castle during the Battle of the Blackwater. “Stupid bunch of brats with swords. They bleed just like the rest of the Lannister’s cunt forces.” But he dropped his voice and leaned close, letting the scent of blood orange he had on his tongue waft over her. “You were right to leave her care to me. I would never let any hurt come to her. Do not doubt that again.”

Y/N scowled. “And Arya? You were just letting her run about, killing people?”

“She is a little beast. There is no taming that one. You’re lucky I got her here without gagging her.” His burnt face twisted. “I’m sure you taught her that.”

“The only thing I tried to teach Arya was how to use a bow.” Y/N grumbled and rubbed at her temples. “But, thank you for seeing them here—safely. It means a great deal to me.”

“Did you truly kill Gregor?”

The question surprised her, as did the soft tone (as soft as Sandor could be, anyway). “I did.”

“Was it quick?”

“Not as quick as I would have liked.” Y/N sighed. “I am sorry I took that from you, your revenge.”

“You did what you had to do. He deserved what he got.” He glanced at the door to Sansa’s chambers. He had been assigned, by a smug Oberyn who knew that Sandor wanted to leave, to be Sansa’s sworn sword. “The Little Bird would say the gods were kind or some other stupid shit.”

“Are you certain seeing his rotting head would not quell some of that rage? To see he is truly dead? The Silent Sisters haven’t taken it for cleaning just yet.” It was still sitting in a box in one of the fortress’ undercrofts. (Arya had poked at it with the end of a quill and Sansa had steadfastly refused to look at the decomposing lump of flesh when Y/N had told them about her own ‘adventure’ in King’s Landing.)

“No,” he said, final and direct.

“Very well. But I am sure you will lay your eyes upon it eventually. Oberyn has said he wants it dipped in gold and strung up in chains within the throne room once it is clean.” Y/N looked at Sandor, truly looked at him. “Please, be kind to Sansa. While she is learning the ways of the world at Prince Doran’s behest, she still has a gentle heart. And she is very fond of you even if you and I both know nothing will come of this childish infatuation of hers.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed but he did not say anything.

Y/N took a small step forward, knowing she needed to say this if only to sate the small bit of fear she had in her heart. “But if I ever catch you breaking her heart or using her as your brother intended to use me, I will make sure your skull sits next to his.”

“My lady!” Daisy dashed into the hall and barely cast a glance at Sandor. “Prince Oberyn is waiting for you in his solar.”

Y/N nodded and looked one last time at Sandor and received a half-hearted glare in return before she let Daisy lead her through the gilded, warm halls even though she had traversed this path too many times to count, often in the dark of the night. She tried to shake off the foreboding feeling of the Lannisters knowing Sandor was in Dorne and the annoyance that the swordsman also put Sansa and Arya in harm’s way with minimal success. Daisy left her side with a smile as they reached the opened door and Y/N sighed as she spied him sitting at his desk intensely focused on whatever task was set in front of him. Bits of parchment were scattered about. A well of ink was precariously perched near the edge. The entire room was draped in shades of ruby red and highlights of orange that shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in from the large windows, opened to let in the salted air from the ocean below. Sumptuous cushions were piled beneath the western window and a small table with a cyvasse board was set up across the room near the door that led to his bedchamber. He almost seemed to be a work of art she was fortunate to look upon—a god at rest captured by the finest artist the world had ever known. While she had readily admitted her love to Ellaria, she could never seem to find a time to say it to Oberyn. She knew she loved him, loved him like she loved Ellaria. But it seemed inappropriate to blurt it out over a meal or in the heat of some tryst. (And Ellaria found the entire situation hilarious.)

His head snapped up as he heard her footfalls and his lips pushed up into a smile as he set down his quill and waved her over. “Come here, my moonlight.” He reached out to her with ink-smudged fingers and pulled her into his lap as she laughed.

“What are you working on?” She asked, pulling the bit of parchment he was scratching at off the desk. It looked to be a correspondence to his brother Doran—at least that is what she assumed before Oberyn took it from her grasp and flung it over his shoulder.

“Nothing of importance.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear just to hear her laugh again as his grip squeezed around her waist. “I do have something from home for you though.” He patted at her thigh to have her stand and then he strode over to the single trunk in the corner and opened it. Something blue was clutched in his hand and his smile was contagious as he turned toward her. “Come, my moonlight. Let us see if it will suit you.”

Y/N did as she was bid and walked to his side. Blue velvet unfurled from his grip and she unconsciously reached out for it and let her fingers trace over the delicately embroidered, inky black trout at the center of the cloth. Small, red Pentoshi towers lined the hem in sparkling thread. As she pulled it closer, the faded scent of evergreens and her mother’s perfume met her nose.

Oberyn carefully pulled the cloak from her grasp and then set it upon her shoulders and fastened the aged silver clasps, fashioned to look like fish scales, onto her dress. It fit perfectly. He smiled as he said, “your father said it was the cloak he had made for your mother when they were married. Her bridal cloak—now your maiden’s cloak.”

Y/N flung her arms around his neck and held him tight. “Thank you. Thank you for this.” She knew exactly what it was when he had first pulled it from the trunk. Her mother had always wrapped her in the cloak when the air turned cold within the halls of her father’s keep. It would drag behind Y/N’s little legs to the delight of her mother who would then chase after her and scoop her daughter up into her arms. The cloak would be wrapped around her tightly to escape the chill by her mother’s careful hands. It was like she could hug her mother again in a strange sort of way.

Oberyn laughed as he returned the embrace. He pulled back just enough to press his lips to hers, delving his tongue into her mouth with ease and delighting in the happy sound it coaxed from her throat. His sneaking fingers slid to grab at her ass and smiled against her mouth as he did so.

“But I have a question for you.”

“And I shall answer.”

Oberyn looked at her, dark eyes shining in the sunlight but…the smallest bit of trepidation also seemed to color his face, too.

“What is it, my prince?” Y/N asked, voice soft.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“I realize that I have pressed this all upon you like a man half-crazed. I did not even ask if you wanted to be married—or if you would prefer a life like Ellaria—or a life outside of Dorne and free of me when this war is over. I only had the agreement drawn up after you told me of Tywin’s intentions. I could have stolen you away after your betrothal to him was made public but I knew it would cause bloodshed—and you, my moonlight, have a gentle heart.”

Y/N smiled as she looked at him, heart squeezing. Knowing he further delayed his want for vengeance because he cared for her meant more than words could say. Her thumb swept across his cheeks and she savored the warmth he exuded. “You have a gentle heart, my prince. And I am blessed by the gods to know it.”

Oberyn kissed her softly. “My own mind can be a cruel place. And Stark—Robb—had mentioned how you never spoke of marriage when you were young. It was not something you ever wished of.”

“I was blessed by parents who loved each other fiercely. And Uncle Hoster knew he could never bring a match forward that my father would approve of so he did not try. A child loved as much as I was would only demand the same love in a marriage. It was made increasingly apparent that a loveless marriage was what most women had, especially women of my station. I would not marry if I did not love them. If I was not sure that my heart was safe.”

She could almost taste the words bubbling on his tongue as he opened his mouth, “and I know that I have hurt you-”

“I want to marry you, Oberyn.” She said with a smile, feeling silly, happy tears sting her eyes with Ellaria’s words once again ringing in her head. “I want to call you my husband and I want to be your wife.” Her heart was light and singing in her chest. It was true. She knew that with every fiber of her being.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“You love me,” Oberyn breathed. And then he was smiling at her as if she had hung the sun and stars.

“I love you.” And it was so easy to say.

Oberyn’s warm hands cradled her face and he pressed his mouths to hers. This kiss was the softest he had ever given her, almost reverent. “You love me,” he whispered into her panting mouth as he pulled her ever closer. “Tell me. Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” The words were hummed, happy. “I will love you forever.”

And she believed him.

**

Y/N woke when she heard a tapping at her door.

“Y/N,” the voice whispered on the other side. “Are you awake?” The door creaked open and a small figure slipped in. Arya climbed into her bed and slipped beneath the silk sheets when Y/N waved her forward.

“What is wrong, Arya?” Y/N asked, pulling the younger girl close and trying to keep her eyes open. Dinner with Oberyn and Ellaria had lasted well into the night and was filled with sweet wine and spiced foods and heated kisses that seemed to eat time. The realization that they all loved each other left them drunk on each other’s presence and the wine certainly did not help. Her throat was sore from overuse and she could still feel phantom fingers between her thighs. She must have only been asleep for an hour before Arya knocked.

“Bad dream.”

Y/N hummed and pushed her fingers through Arya’s hair. If she was being honest, Y/N was almost surprised it took Arya this long to crawl into her bed. Sansa had done it at least a dozen times since Y/N had arrived at Sunspear. But Arya, genuinely, kept her hurt close to her chest so Y/N did not blame her for taking the time she needed.

“I keep seeing the Freys toss Mother’s body into the river.”

Y/N instinctively tightened her hold. She had not realized Arya had witnessed the Red Wedding. Sandor must have taken her to The Twins in hopes of reuniting Arya with Robb and Catelyn—a bloodbath greeted them instead.

“I see it over and over when I close my eyes. I want them dead. All of them. Every single Frey needs to be dead-”

“They will be. I’ll make sure of it.” Y/N pressed a kiss to Arya’s forehead. Despite her exhaustion, she meant her promise. All of them would meet The Stranger for their crimes. The joy Ellaria spoke of, that Y/N was quick adopting, seemed to have stretched to vengeance. There would be joy to see their enemies bleed. There would be joy to see them dead. “Even if I have to do it myself.”

“The Boltons, too,” Arya said, voice starting to tighten with unshed tears.

“Oh, yes. We’ll rip them out. Root and stem.” The traitorous Northern house would see a gruesome end, too. No matter if they were holding Winterfell or not.

Arya let herself cry then, curling farther into Y/N’s hold and Y/N rubbed her back with soft hums, letting the young girl finally express her grief. But, eventually, Arya’s sobs quieted to even breaths. She had fallen asleep on Y/N’s chest just as another knock came at the door. Sansa slipped into her room and Y/N found herself between the Stark sisters as the moonlight shone through the balcony opening. “A bad dream?” Y/N whispered as Sansa snuggled into the overstuffed pillow beside her.

Sansa shook her head. “I am happier than I have been in a long time. And I owe it all to you.” She reached out to grasp one of Y/N’s hands as it still rubbed at Arya’s back.

But Y/N shook her head. “You survived because you are strong, little one.”

“It is because of you that Arya is here, that we are alive. We are safe. Together.”

Y/N squeezed her hand. “You and your sister both have been through great and terrible trials. You must be there for each other.”

Sansa pressed closer and tightened her grip on Y/N’s hand. “Can you sing to us? Like you did when we were children?”

Y/N wanted to say that she and Arya were still children—just grown too quick by the terrors of the world. “What would you like to hear, little one?”

“Jenny’s Song. You sang that the night before you left Winterfell.”

“That is a sad song. Are you certain?”

Sansa nodded.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts…”

**

Daisy flittered about her chambers, gathering a handful of dresses and chemises and folding them neatly into a pair of saddlebags. Prince Doran had sent Y/N a raven and requested that she, Oberyn, and Ellaria travel to the Water Gardens so he could make her acquaintance. “Truthfully, I have written Oberyn several times inquiring when I would meet you but he has taken it upon himself to hoard your time. If you are agreeable, I would have you visit the Water Gardens and would host a feast in your honor. Lords and ladies are already arriving so I hope to see you soon.” He signed the missive with a flourish.

When Y/N asked Oberyn about ignoring his brother’s requests to visit the Water Gardens he smirked and kissed her. “It is not a crime to want you all to myself.”

Y/N chided him with a smile and said she’d already sent a raven back to Doran stating that they would be there the following night. The palace Doran called home was only three leagues away along a pleasant, coastal road. Oberyn knew it well as he usually visited his brother once every fortnight. (“But I have been preoccupied, my moonlight!”)

“I can pack my own bags, Daisy,” Y/N said, noticing a strange rigidity to her friend’s posture as she went about her unnecessary task. She tugged at Daisy’s skirts like a child, slowing her from her quick pace. “Something is troubling you.” And then poor Daisy nearly collapsed in tears and Y/N hurried to wrap the other woman in her arms, shushing her sobs. When her cries quieted, Y/N held Daisy’s wet face between her hands. “Tell me. Let me help you.”

Daisy sniffled. “Daemon wants to marry me.”

“But that is happy news?” Y/N asked, genuinely confused. Daisy and Daemon seemed more in love than ever since coming to Dorne.

“Father will never allow it.” More tears trickled from Daisy’s eyes.

Seeing her dear friend so distraught pulled a heated type of anger from her chest and Y/N curled her hands tighter around Daisy’s face, making sure she listened. “Your father didn’t say anything when we were trapped during the Battle of Blackwater. He did not send a raven to see how you fared. He did not inquire after you after I moved you to Dorne out of a selfish desire to keep you by my side, to keep you safe. Tell me: do you want to marry Daemon?”

“I do,” she hiccupped. “More than anything. He even sent a raven to his lord father for his approval.”

“And he gave it readily, did he not?” she asked, already knowing the answer and watched as Daisy nodded. “Then you have no barrier. If Lord Allyrion requires a dowry, I will pay it. I will pay for the entire wedding if it means you smile again.” If Y/N was allowed to be happy then surely Daisy was, too. Her good, sweet Daisy.

“But Father-”

“Your father can come to Sunspear and speak to me if he thinks to stand in the way of your happiness.”

Daisy sniffled again and pushed out a shaking breath. “I would never ask you to-”

“You didn’t ask, Daisy. But I am telling you that I will not allow your father to keep you from being happy.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Daisy’s forehead and felt a bit of tension leave her shoulders. “You and Daemon are traveling with us to the Water Gardens. We can celebrate your betrothal alongside mine.”

Daisy’s smile was watery but sincere and she suddenly lunged forward to wrap her arms around Y/N in a tight hug. And Y/N was simply happy to see Daisy relieved of her turmoil—at least for a moment. And she meant what she said; she would fight Daisy’s father for her to marry Daemon. And she knew she would win.

The Stark sisters and the Sand Snakes met them at the gates of Sunspear and wished them a pleasant journey. “Please give Prince Doran my regards,” Sansa said before they departed. Y/N knew she missed Doran’s company and teachings, he had sent her away from the Water Gardens to Sunspear when he’d been given word that Y/N was coming to Dorne. And while Sansa liked not having to sneak through the halls to avoid Myrcella, Y/N knew she adored Doran and everything he taught her.

The ride was enjoyable and short and Y/N took the opportunity to let her mare run through the shallow waters. The horse was a gift from Oberyn, a traditional Dornish betrothal gift. Sand Steeds were a point of pride for the Dornish; could run for a night, a day, and another night without tiring or floundering. Most were treated as dotingly as children. The horse was as dark as night with a burnt orange mane and tail—Y/N had named her Qēlos, the High Valyrian word for star. She was the most beautiful horse that Y/N had ever seen and the smoothest ride she’d ever experienced.

But soon the palace of the Water Gardens crested on the horizon, rising from the sand with white and yellow stone and brining the scent of blood orange groves. Lush greenery spilled over the walls as did the sound of trickling water. The golden gates were opened by a pair of hooded guards who bowed as they passed. Servants lined the courtyard to welcome them and handle their horses and bags, each of them bowing in turn as well. Y/N barely had time to admire the beautiful, arching architecture of the palace before Oberyn and Ellaria both grabbed at her hands and all but pulled her inside. She craned her neck and looked everywhere she could as she was pulled this way and that, down a hall, around a corner, further into the shadowed halls by her eager betrothed and paramour. The entire palace seemed to hum with life. Chambers and apartments were filled with visiting lords and ladies. Servants were slipping by, arms filled with dresses or linens or food. Music whispered from around some other corner.

They eventually slowed in front of a beautiful white door banded with bronze and two guards nodded at Oberyn before pushing it open. The solar was filled with more white marble and fluttering white curtains that overlooked the manicured gardens and a handful of pools and fountains. The furniture was a warm, golden wood and every surface had a bowl of some sort of berry or wine or golden trinket or statue. A man in a wheeled chair was sitting behind the perfectly organized desk and looked up from his work with a smile as he heard the door open. His face was kind and greying black hair was cropped to his shoulders. Robes of orange hugged his thin shoulders and sparkled with golden thread.

“Doran, this is-”

Doran waved a hand and dismissed Oberyn’s introduction. “Lady Tully. We meet at long last.”

Y/N quickly curtseyed and placed her hand in his when he reached for her, smiling when he pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “It is wonderful to meet you, Prince Doran.”

He patted her hand and then wheeled himself around the desk. “You are early. I would have met you at the gates.”

“We never keep your time tables, brother.”

Doran chuckled affectionately. “I know. But you are all here now. I will make the proper introductions at the feast tomorrow. I want you to enjoy my home before the wedding.”

“You will come to Sunspear, won’t you?” Ellaria asked with a smile.

Doran nodded. “I will be there next month for the festivities. I would not miss my only brother’s wedding. I would have preferred to have it earlier,” there was a pointed look at Oberyn who only smiled, unperturbed, “but I understand that Oberyn wanted you to be ‘settled’ in Sunspear before making you a Martell.”

Y/N smiled at Oberyn without thinking. It had been Oberyn’s idea to hold off on the wedding and she was grateful. Having the stretch of time, letting her heart settle, before her life changed again in another way was a quiet kindness that she would always hold dear.

“Did little Loreza enjoy the book I sent for her nameday?” Doran asked.

“She did,” Ellaria answered, “insisted on having Sansa read it every night.”

“Sansa sends her love,” Y/N quickly added.

“She is a fine lady. I was lucky to have her here despite the unfortunate circumstances.” It was said so earnestly that Y/N couldn’t help another smile splitting her face.

A quick knock at the door revealed Daisy, escorted by a beaming Daemon, carrying a familiar wooden box. They both curtseyed or bowed in turn before carefully setting the box on the edge of Doran’s desk and then excusing themselves, Daisy winking as she went and letting Daemon curl his hand around hers right before the door shut in its frame again.

An anticipatory silence stretched through the room as they all looked at the box. It was simple. No embellishments or special cuts of wood. It was just a box. But Doran reached out and dragged a finger across it like it was made of something precious.

“I shall like to speak with Lady Tully for a moment,” he said quietly without taking his eyes off the box.

“Of course,” Oberyn said before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “We shall just be at the pools,” he added, mostly for Y/N’s benefit so she could know where to find them.

Ellaria also kissed her cheek before following Oberyn out, providing some comfort, and soon Y/N was left alone with the ruling Prince of Dorne.

Doran rolled back around his desk and gestured for Y/N to take a seat in the ornately carved chair across from him and she quickly settled onto the white linen cushion. She was equal parts nervous and hopeful as Doran gave her a soft look she couldn’t quite decipher. “I will admit that I had my reservations when your raven first arrived. Fostering your little wolf was not a part of my plan but it was a welcome surprise. Lady Sansa is quite the student. She would have made quite the formidable Princess of Dorne.”

Y/N cocked her head to side at that, wondering what he meant, but he pressed on.

“And now you have brought me a wonderful gift.” He opened the box, sliding the wooden cover off with ease and then reached inside. The oversized skull had been dipped in gold only a few days prior and glittered in the bright sunlight as Doran held it aloft. “To know he is dead has brought my soul a small reprieve of the ache it has felt for decades.” The sound of the skull hitting the desk as he set it down was low and heavy. His fingers spanned over the cap and his nails bit into the gold. “Oberyn has always been the viper in the grass—ready and willing to strike at a moment’s notice. A willful little brother who seemed to outshine the sun whenever he was happy and burn anyone who tempted his wrath.” Doran fixed her with his dark gaze. “But I am sure you have seen that firsthand.”

“I have,” Y/N answered.

Doran nodded and did not move his hand from the dead man’s head. “You are like him, aren’t you? A burning rage just simmering beneath your skin. But you are able to hold your wrath and ruin back to play the game.” He hummed and Y/N tried not to fidget in her chair like a child. Doran was more perceptive than almost everyone she had ever met and she was waffling between being impressed and being innerved. “If you can kill a beast like this and still be gentle, you will be a fine Martell.” His fingers finally lifted from the skull to reach out toward her again and Y/N readily placed her hand in his and smiled as he squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need, simply ask. I will make sure you receive it.”

**

The feast was a decadent affair. Filled with food and wine and music to delight every sense. And the assembled crowd had roared when Doran introduced her as, “Lady Y/N Tully—Slayer of the Mountain!” Oberyn kept a hand over her leg, dragging his fingers against her thigh and growing more and more bold as the night continued on until he was all but cupping her through the flowing blue silk of her skirts. Ellaria pressed berries against Y/N’s smiling mouth as she laughed, knowing exactly what Oberyn was doing.

The sticky night air had her pulling off the thin cloak she had about her shoulders, letting the golden Myrish lace pool around her waist. A few of the guests let their eyes linger on the scars on her exposed chest and back—or the thin bit of scarring across her cheek and then asked if she’d be willing to tell her story. Stating “I was shot by a fool” was infinitely less riveting than “I was able to evade The Mountain’s blade” but both stories gained her a bit of fanfare regardless. The golden skull was displayed in front of her on the table like a shining beacon of how she, a lady, brought a small bit of vengeance on behalf of the ruling family of Dorne.

“The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children.” It was something Manfrey had told her during her studies, face solemn and sad. And Y/N watched almost every person revere the gold-dipped skull in a sort of wicked appreciation before they were formally introduced.

The only person who seemed unnerved by it was Princess Myrcella, tucked into the arm of Prince Trystane. She was too polite to wrinkle her nose at the display of carnage and vengeance but pointedly did not look at it even as Trystane marveled at how large the skull was.

“Dorne suits you, Princess,” Y/N said to Myrcella knowing the young Princess was just as much out of her element as Y/N had been in King’s Landing.

“You as well it would seem,” Myrcella said with a small smile. “I hope to speak with you about…about your duties here. Prince Doran has said you’re very capable.”

Y/N nodded with a smile of her own. “I shall answer any question you may have, Princess.”

Trystane, heir to the throne of Dorne, was definitely his father’s son but seemed to have inherited a bit of a flirtatious streak from his uncle as he managed to snag a berry from Ellaria’s bowl while getting Y/N to agree to a dance. He winked as he walked away with a furiously blushing Myrcella still on his arm and Oberyn laughing into the night air.

“Careful, my prince, it seems Trystane is trying to steal our Tully,” Ellaria mused with a sly smile.

Oberyn leaned close to press a kiss against Y/N’s throat and smirked when she shivered. “Is it true, my moonlight?”

“Oh, yes. You’ve found me out. It was all a ruse to marry a too-young prince and have the Riverlands invade Dorne.” She gasped as Oberyn pinched at her inner thigh, pleasant ripples shooting up her leg and coiling in her stomach.

“Careful. Careful.”

The mischief that sparkled in his eyes made Y/N smile and she placed her hand over his and squeezed, for herself more than him she supposed, and she grasped Ellaria’s hand, too. “The gods could not take me from you both. I promise you that.”

But then Harmen Uller then swept her into a dance, not necessarily waiting for her to accept his hand before pulling her out of her seat, and drew a hearty laugh from her throat as they nearly bowled over other dancing couples. Ellaria then stole her for a dance of her own and then Trystane proved himself to be a graceful dancer, too.

It was all so…perfect.

Y/N pressed a kiss to Ellaria’s cheek as Oberyn danced with little Lady Coryanne Uller, Ellaria’s niece. She was a girl not but five and already named the heir to Hellholt after her father.

“I just need a moment to catch my breath, my love.”

“Do not be too long. I do believe Lord Allyrion is waiting his turn for a dance,” Ellaria said with a chuckle.

Y/N smiled and promised she would be back soon and then started toward one of the side doors of the grand hall, passing Doran as she did and squeezing his shoulder as she went. A servant opened the door with a soft smile and a small bow, letting her out into one of the halls. She slipped through and heaved a sigh when the door closed behind her. The music was muted and the air cooler against her heated skin.

A soft noise caught her attention in the quiet of the hall and her curiosity led her to peek around the corner to see Daemon and Daisy wrapped around each other. Again. Y/N stifled a laugh and turned away, continuing down the hall in the opposite direction. A handful of guards were stationed along the wall, each of them acknowledging her presence in one way or another as she found her way out onto a portico overlooking the still water pools. The blood orange trees swayed in the cool night breeze and brought the scent of citrus to her nose. She leaned against a carved column with a hum, resting for just a few breaths.

“My lady.”

Y/N stood straight and looked out into the night.

A short figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in a hooded cloak and walking with a limp. They reached up to pull off the hood and-

“Tyrion?” The name was pushed out of her in a rush.

The Lannister cautiously moved closer to her on the pink marble of the pools’ terrace. “My lady, I have come to warn you-”

“Warn me? Your family would be insane to think they could come to Dorne and leave unscathed.” Tyrion pursed his lips—it was then that she noticed how bruised his face had become. Molted purple and blue skin covered half his cheek and arced over his eye. “What did she do to you?”

“Cersei has never been fond of me,” that was all he said. “I am sailing for Essos. But I needed you to understand—they know.”

“Know what? Now is not the time for riddles-”

“They know that Dorne has sided against the Crown.” His bruised face flushed with a vibrant blush she could see even in the dim light. “They are coming. And Cersei and my father are determined to hurt you.”

“They won’t make it through the Bone Way. If the Targaryens and their dragons could not conquer Dorne, a tired army from the Westerlands cannot.”

“My lady, please, listen to me. They are not coming with an army—not yet. I told you—they want to hurt you.”

“Let us help you. Oberyn can-”

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice echoed in the hall and reverberated out into the night air. “My lady?”

Y/N turned. “A moment, Daisy!” But when she turned back, Tyrion was gone.

Daisy stepped out onto the portico with a frown, lips swollen from her rendezvous with Daemon. She glanced out into the dark, looking for what Y/N had been seeing. “What is it, my lady? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N cast one last glance out into the dark terrace and saw nothing. Tyrion was gone. “It must have been the wine.” She needed to speak to Doran. Now. But she refused to spoil Daisy’s happy night. News of her betrothal to Daemon had been met with joy and cheers just before the feast had begun and Y/N wanted to let her friend have as much happiness as she could.

“Prince Oberyn is looking for you.”

She nodded and let Daisy lead her back to doors of the grand hall before shooing her way. “Go. I know Daemon is waiting for you in the shadows.” The happy and embarrassed blush that bloomed on her cheeks made Y/N laugh before she skittered away, back into the arms of her love.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and smoothed her skirts. It would do no good to run in screaming that the Lannisters were coming. She had the most tenuous grasp on belonging here, in Dorne.

“Are you well, princess?” One of the servants asked, hand on the door and ready to let her in. He was young, she could tell. Probably no older than Arya.

“Not a princess just yet,” she said with a smile and trying to ignore how her heart was in her throat. “But I thank you, yes. I am still acclimating to the heat, I am afraid.” It was an easy explanation.

“Shall I fetch you some water?”

Her smile grew. “No, no thank you. What is your name?”

“Gyles, princess,” he said with a tip of his head, dark hair shorn short.

She chuckled. He seemed insistent on the honorific. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Gyles.” She turned to the other servant, not wanting to be rude. “And you? What shall I call you?”

“Ilyn, my lady.” There was a sickly sweetness to his tone and his smile a bit too wide for his face.

Something about him turned her stomach within an instant but she smiled regardless, the perfect lady. “Pleased to meet you, Ilyn.” She turned to Gyles and nodded, letting him push open the door. Y/N slipped in and quickly moved to find Doran but was swept up into a familiar embrace.

“You mustn’t slip away without a word, my moonlight. You are the guest of honor.”

She turned in Oberyn’s grasp and felt a small bit of relief at the sight of his smiling face. “My prince, I must speak to you and your brother.”

His smile faded. “What has happened?”

She shook her head, letting her hands slide across the golden brocade of his robes to grab at the leather of his belt as if that would keep her mind from spinning. “I cannot tell you here. Please, my prince, please.”

Oberyn’s lips drew into a thin line and he nodded once before grabbing her hand and leading her toward Doran.

**

She did not sleep.

Ellaria had to pull Y/N from Doran’s solar and put her to bed like a child when she had started to sway on her feet. But all of them, every single one of them, were so sure that the Lannisters could not touch them.

But Y/N could feel a terrible, creeping sensation engulfing her entire body. She wanted them to be right. She wanted the Lannisters to be too weak or foolhardy to actually hurt the Martells. But something in her stomach told her to be wary.

So, she sat on the edge of her featherbed and looked out the open window and into the night sky. Watched the water lap in the pools while the air smelled of the lush gardens. She hadn’t readied for bed aside from kicking off her golden sandals, staying in the blue silk dress Oberyn and Ellaria had insisted she wear tonight. They liked her in blue. “We will have all the time in the world to dress you in our colors, My Tully. For now, we shall see you in blue.”

The din of the feast eventually faded as guests retired to their chambers or fell asleep in their seats in the grand hall, bellies full of good food and drink. None of them knowing of the threat of the lions. As the dark sky started to turn pink with dawn, she heard it.

Someone was whistling.

And she knew the tune.

And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know.

She slipped off her bed and over to the door, taking care to open it slowly to avoid the creak of the hinges.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.

She stepped out into the hallway and listened. There was nothing. Nothing except for the whistle.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o’er his hall, with no one there to hear.

Y/N followed the sound across the fortress, hearing it grow louder with every step. Her heart roared in her ears. Her knees knocked together like a newborn foal. She was not brave.

She was scared.

Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.

A figure slipped around the corner and she pumped her shaking legs, willing herself to go faster, to please go faster as she followed and Y/N realized with a terrible sense of dread that the only door in that hallway led to Prince Doran’s personal chambers.

A scream rang out.

Y/N pushed open the door in time to see Ilyn standing over Doran, bloody knife in hand. Trystane was huddled behind his father, sitting in a pool of blood. Doran was clutching at a gushing wound across the top of his chest, eyes hard and defiant.

Before she could even think to do something rational, Y/N ran at Ilyn and tackled him to the ground. The marble was unforgiving to her legs but she barely felt it as she struggled with the man over the knife, climbing over him in an attempt to gain the upper-hand, to keep him subdued. Her hand closed over the blade as he shoved it toward her throat and she felt it cut through her palm, tearing skin and muscle from the bone. She hadn’t even realized she was screaming until Ilyn slammed his other fist into her throat and rendered her silent for just a moment. The blow shoved her backward and off him just enough for the would-be assassin to scramble up to his feet and dart back out into the hall.

Y/N scrambled over to the Dornish princes, trying to see if they needed help but Doran waved her on, pressing a fist against his wound. “Go!” He said through gritted teeth. “Get him.”

And Y/N did as she was told. By now, the halls were filling with people—some wondering why people were screaming and others seeming to know exactly what happened.

“Stop him!” She screamed, pointing her bloody hand at the fleeing Ilyn as she continued to give chase. “Stop him!”

Ilyn heard her scream and sneered at her over his shoulder just as he made it to the entry hall.

She wouldn’t catch him. She knew it. He was too fast but she could run until her legs gave out. “Stop him! Stop him!” She continued to scream, praying someone would.

Just as Ilyn stepped into the growing sunlight, he stumbled. A choking, gurgling sound escaped him and Y/N ran to see what had stopped him. It was Oberyn—the head of his spear buried deep in Ilyn’s stomach.

Oberyn’s mouth was moving, she could see it. He was coaxing something from Ilyn even as blood dripped from his mouth and spattered against the marble floor. But all she could hear was the thump-thump-thump of her heart and the blood pumping through her veins.

Y/N jumped as Daisy grasped at her uninjured hand. The poor girl held up her hands with a shaking smile, like she was trying to help a feral cat. “My lady, I need to tend to your hand.” The words were muffled.

Y/N let Daisy lead her back into the great hall where the remnants of the feast had not yet been cleared away and slumped into the chair deemed hers the night before. She barely winced when Daisy started to clean her angry wound. She barely noticed when the maesters came in to help.

What she did notice, however, was a box placed atop her forgotten dinner plate. Her name was written on a bit of parchment in a familiar scrawl.

Her fingers shook as she reached out for it.

“Don’t, my lady,” Daisy hissed. “You don’t know what’s inside!”

But Y/N unlatched it and pushed open the lid. Her scream choked the air from her lungs.

Sitting inside the box, on a golden cushion, was the head of her father.

A/N: Welp. Please let me know what you think. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic​

[solacryptid]

Unexpected Fate

Inheritance Cycle (Eragon) and LOTR Crossover. Vilansia and her dragon, Svellevarina, have spent many years training young dragon riders alongside Eragon and Saphira. But, their time of adventure has come. The people of Middle Earth have called for aid and Alagaesia will answer.

Chapter 7: Now far ahead the road has gone...

The sun had long set when we reached the outside of a dense forest. I could feel the ancient energy that surrounded the woods, the trees were tall and thick with a heavy canopy of leaves. Somehow, even with the growing darkness around us, the forest appeared even darker. Certainly not as inviting as the entrances to Du Weldenvarden.

Aragorn led us inside the forest, his pace now a bit slower.

"Be careful young Hobbits," Gimli whispered. "they say a great sorceress lives in these woods: an elf witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell,"

I couldn't help but smile. If only the dwarf had met my own queen, Arya. I imagined he would say something similar, though, there was a hint of bias towards my fondness of the queen. I had always considered her strong, wise, and calculating. I could only hope to be the fraction of the elf that she is.

Svellevarina had a difficult time walking through the trees as they grew tightly together. She was often forced to walk around many of them, sometimes losing sight of the group for a moment before coming into sight again.

"Well," Gimli continued. "here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox,"

Elves surrounded us, halting us in our tracks as their sharp arrowheads pointed directly at each of us.

"Oh," he said.

I tensed, ready to withdraw my weapon if they made a move to attack. Legolas had loaded his bow, aiming at the Elves in front of him.

"The dwarf breaths so loud we could have shot him in the dark," a male elf stated as he stepped forward, regarding the dwarf with raised eyebrows.

The male elf then spoke with Aragorn in an unfamiliar language. As he addressed Legolas briefly I assumed it was a shared Elvish language. The dialect was quite different from my own, meaning there was little chance of me understanding even bits and pieces of what was said. Instead, I relied on the body language of those speaking and the energy that they gave off.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves! Speak words we can all understand," Gimli spat.

"We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the Dark Days," the elf replied gravely.

"And you know what this dwarf says to that?" Gimli continued in a harsher dialect, his voice thick with anger.

"That was not so courteous," Aragorn said to him.

With a glance at Frodo, the male elf said: "You bring great evil with you. You can go no further,"

Aragorn kept stride with the elf as he stepped away, speaking urgently to him. They continued their conversation away from the group, leaving the rest of us to wait there as the armed group of Elves watched us carefully.

Svellevarina found a break in the trees to lay down, resting her head on the soft ground. The rest of us tried to find comfortable seats as well for we were unsure just how long the wait would be.

"Gandalf's death was not in vain, nor would he want you to give up hope," Boromir said as he looked to Frodo. "You carry a heavy burden, Frodo. Do not carry the weight of the dead,"

The Hobbit did not reply, but his wide blue eyes met Boromir's in acknowledgment. I made my way over to my dragon, kneeling beside where she laid her head.

"Your mind is still troubled," She stated to me. Svellevarina was not wrong. The thoughts I held previously were having a difficult time letting my mind find the peace it needed to.

"I am going to attempt to scry Murtagh and Thorn if you wish to join me," I said to her.

"Of course," she shifted her position so that she curled around me, her body shielding me from the direct view of the group to provide at least a bit of privacy.

I withdrew a pool of water before us with the ancient language, making sure to seal it there so that it would not soak back into the soil.

"Draumr kopa," I whispered.

The water rippled as an image began to form on the surface. Murtagh's face came into view then, his eyes snapping up to meet mine. I could see that he was in his chambers based on the wooden decor behind him.

"Vilansia? Is that you?" He asked.

"Indeed, my breoal," I replied.

His shoulders dropped with a sigh. "So you are still alive,"

I glanced at Svell behind me. "Yes, Murtagh, of course, we are,"

"What's wrong?" He peered at me, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

I leaned back against Svellevarina's side, my words failing me.

"We have suffered a great loss," my dragon said. "one we did not anticipate,"

There was a pause as Murtagh looked from Svell to me. "Are you all right?"

"We are fine, shur'tugal. We made it out unscathed,"

"Well, what took place? I have not seen you so solemn, Vilansia," Murtagh said gently. The sound of sliding scales behind Murtagh reached my ears as the vibrant red of Thorn came into view. Svell hummed slightly at the sight of his presence.

"Svellevarina and I are part of a group. Eleven companions we started with when we left for our journey," I began as I recounted the events that took place within Rivendell and our journey to the Mines of Moria. Svellevarina took over to describe the tentacled beast she saved the Hobbit from. I continued the tale, describing the great fight within the Dwarf city and the Balrog that ultimately brought down the grey wizard.

Murtagh ran his fingers through his dark hair as he leaned back. Thorn's ruby eye came into view.

"Keep faith in your company, shur'tugal," Thorn said. "The journey has just begun,"

"That is my very concern," I replied as I narrowed my eyes. "It has only been a month of travel thus far and we have already lost a vitally important member of the Fellowship," I sighed. "What hope is there, truly?"

Murtagh offered a lopsided smile. "They have you and Svell, do they not?"

"Yes, breoal, they do. But are we enough?"

His smile faltered. "Now, it does no good to doubt your own abilities let alone your dragons'. What would Arya say to you?"

I looked down towards my feet. "She certainly would not have any of it,"

"She certainly would not, you're right," he sighed. "Vilansia, do not blame yourself. You did all that you could, as did Svell. All you can do is focus on the road ahead of you,"

"There is not much good that can come from focusing on the past," Thorn added.

"Elrun ono. I, I did not realize how much I needed to hear those words," I replied quietly.

"I understand. This is a difficult task, I can't imagine that it will get any easier. Rely on each other, the two of you are capable of so much when you are together," Murtagh said before he shrugged, "Perhaps Eragon can provide better direction but just know that I understand your emotion,"

I chuckled dryly. "Both he and Arya Drotting would remind me how dangerous emotions can be,"

"Well, that is their teaching. Even if what they say is hard to hear, don't forget that they only ever want the best for you,"

"They have always looked out for you both," Thorn said.

"We know," I replied.

"Come, Vilansia, we best be ready for when we depart," Svellevarina said.

"Elrun ono, Murtagh, Thorn. I appreciate you speaking with us,"

"It was I who asked it of you, remember, breoal?" he replied. "Keep in contact when you are able. I will pass on the knowledge of your well-being to Arya and Eragon but I suggest scrying them as well,"

"Of course. Elrun ono,"

"Esterní to you both," Murtagh replied.

I released the water back into the ground, effectively ending the spell.

"Lady Vilansia?" I heard someone call. I stood, stepping around Svellevarina to find Legolas standing before me. "We have been granted entrance to Lothlorien, we must go,"

"Thank you, Legolas," I replied gently.

The Fellowship was led further into the forest. Faint blue lights were strung along the branches of the tall trees illuminating the growing darkness of the night.  It gave our surroundings an ethereal glow, and I could feel the ancient magic surrounding this place.

"Caras Galadhon, the heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light," our guide informed us before we continued on.

Our pathway of stone turned into a wooden, winding staircase around a thick trunk of the tree before us. It was the largest of the trees that surrounded us, the same blue lights in the canopy of the forest built within it's' bark above the stairway that led up into the higher branches of the trees. It was as if they had taken the stars and brought them to the earth. My breath was taken from me as I looked on. It was glorious. We were taken to a city within the trees, levels of wooden platforms, and walkways all around us. We were brought to a platform that held wide steps directly in front of us. The silver light was too bright to see anything beyond the steps. Two figures appeared in the shining light, walking towards us, hand in hand. The two of them emitted an ancient power, their eyes were piercing and calculating. They came to a stop on just before the steps as they regarded each of us. The two of them did not have the reaction towards Svellevarina that I might think they would. In fact, there was no observable reaction from either of them. I felt Svell's slight confusion at this.

Lord Celeborn was the first to speak. "The Enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone," he paused. "Ten there are here, yet eleven there were, set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar,"

Lady Galadriel's piercing eyes rested on Aragorn. "Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land. He has fallen into shadow,"

"He was taken by both shadow and flame: a Balrog of Morgoth, for we went needlessly into the net of Moria," Legolas informed them.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life," the Lady said. "we do not yet know his full purpose," she looked to Gimli with a sympathetic smile. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dum fill your heart, Gimli, son of Gloin, for the world has grown full of peril and in all lands, love is now mingled with grief,"

Boromir began to weep beside us, his shoulders shaking as he dropped his head to avoid her gaze. I could feel the movement of energy around them, as if magic was part of their very being, like the dragons of Alagaesia.

"What now becomes of the Fellowship? Without Gandalf hope is lost," Celeborn said.

My chest tightened. To hear this Elf Lord say aloud my very fear did nothing to ease my mind.

"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife," Lady Galadriel said. "Stray but a little and it will fall to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while the company is true," the Lady smiled, her face warm with kindness. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace,"

The same Elf that led us into the city of Lorien to lead us to where the group would rest for the night.

A sharp pressure pushed against my mental barriers, causing me to wince and halt in my tracks. Svellevarina growled low in her throat at the perceived attack. With furrowed brows, I looked up towards Lady Galadriel to find she was already looking at me.

"You are considerably powerful, Lady Vilansia of Alagaesia," she said to me. "Both you and your dragon will indeed change the fate of the Fellowship," she regarded Svellevarina. "There has not been a creature so beautiful within Middle Earth for some time. It is an honor,"

Svellevarina shifted, her head tilted to the side. "There is an ancient power about you, Lady of Light. The honor is mine,"

With my dragon's cue of the dip of her shimmering head, I bowed to the both of them before we turned to join the rest of the fellowship.

Gentle music echoed around us as we settled down for the night. The blue and silver lights dimmed slightly to give the illusion of late night within the city. The company was taken to a wide opening in a large tree, the soft ground providing comforting support. The hobbits had laid out their blankets upon the ground next to each other against the inside of the tree. Gimli's snores loudly informed us that the dwarf was asleep next to the Hobbits. Aragorn had taken to sharpening his blade next to Boromir. Legolas stood outside of the roots of the tree, his faraway gaze looking out towards the Elvish city that surrounded us. I removed the saddle upon Svell's back, allowing her to stretch and clean the scales upon her shoulders and upper back with her barbed tongue. She laid just outside where the Hobbits sat, resting her head upon the mossy ground.

"A lament for Gandalf," Legolas said as the music continued.

"What do they say about him?" Merry asked.

"I have not the heart to tell you, for the grief is still too near," he replied.

Samwise stood, and with a deep breath said: "The finest rockets ever seen, they burst in stars of blue and green. Or after thunder, silver showers, came falling like a...rain of flowers," his shoulders fell as he sat back onto his bedding. "Oh, that doesn't do him justice in the long road,"

Svellevarina hummed. "It came from the heart, little one. That is all that matters,"

The hobbits smiled tightly and I could tell that he was not completely convinced. The four of them eventually settled, using their packs as pillows as they drifted off to sleep. Boromir spoke with Aragorn for a short while before he, too, got some rest. As Svell relaxed, wisps of smoke rose from her nostrils, rising up to meet the tall branches of the trees that surrounded us. I walked out a little farther from the group, my back to them, to better take in Lothlorien. The way in which the city was built among the trunks of the trees, a considerable distance from solid ground, reminded me of my home city, Ellesmera. Though, there was an entirely different atmosphere and look between the two of them. The cool tones of Lothlorien felt elegant and ethereal. Not to say the Ellesmera did not possess those qualities, however. Instead of the glowing hue of blue and silver, my home city was made of earthy green and yellow tones. I sighed, closing my eyes. I relaxed my mind, letting it wander throughout the ancient trees, connecting with each of them as I meditated.  Even the trees held a level of consciousness not normally found in others, the magic of the Elves no doubt having an effect on them over time.

Something moved behind me, and I snapped my eyes open to face it. Frodo had edged his way from the group of sleeping Hobbits, his bright blue eyes focused on in front of him. He continued to walk away from the group, making his way down the staircase that led to another wooden platform. I rebuilt my mental barriers, bringing myself back to full focus. With silent steps I began to follow him, peering down the steps.

A hand on my shoulder stopped me. "Let him be, Lady Vilansia. He is in no danger here," Legolas said behind me.

I turned to him, then glanced back down the stairs. Frodo was no longer in my sight. I reached out in search of him with my mind. He was indeed safe, for now. I kept aware of him for fear that something may happen. "Very well," I replied, following him back to the rest of the group.

The soft snores of the Hobbits intermitted with Gimli's loud ones filled the air.

"May I ask a question of you, Lady Vilansia?" Legolas asked quietly.

"Of course," I said to him, "And please, call me Vilansia,"

He nodded once. "I wonder, what is your home city like?"

"I admit, Du Weldenvarden is nothing like the Elvish cities I have visited here so far," I replied. "Our capital city, Ellesmera, was where I was born. To me, it is the grandest in comparison to all others within the Elven province. Our buildings are part of the trees, our lives are woven together with the existing forest through ancient magic,"

"Are there many dragon riders there?"

"In Ellesmera? No. My queen resides there with her dragon as do Svellevarina and I. But we are the only dragon riders that live in the capitol,"

He thought for a moment. "Then you two are the only Elvish riders?"

"There are many other Elvish riders, some graduated and others still in training,"

He bowed his head. "Thank you for indulging my curiosity,"

A small smile lifted the corners of my lips. "You are welcome, Legolas,"

He leaned against the root of the tree, looking out into the city once again. I checked on Frodo's well-being through the mental connection I had established moments ago. He was all right. Perhaps  I did not have anything to worry about here in Lothlorien. Svellevarina looked my way with her bright eyes.

"Come, shur'tugal. Get some rest while you are able,"

I undid the belt that held my weapon within its sheath, setting it on the ground next to me as I sat, leaning my back against Svell's right foreleg.

"Arya Drotting would love it here," I said to her.

"Aye, she would. Firnen too,"

I sighed lightly, my eyes lifting up to the tops of the trees. Svellevarina pushed a comforting calm to wash over me before she drifted off to a deep slumber, the tension of our previous battle leaving her as she dreamed of home. I let her dreams fill my mind, closing my eyes to better view the images before me. Saphira's blue scaled flashed before my eyelids and Firnen's deep hum echoed in my mind. Their respective riders came into view. They stood next to each other, hand in hand, as their dragons took to the air behind them. Arya brought her free hand to touch her chest just above her heart with her fingertips before lifting it up in front of her. I smiled. It was a fond gesture the two of us shared for as long as I could remember, even before I was made a dragon rider. Though I knew that Svellevarina had no control of her dreams, I was grateful that I could share in this image with her.

_______

Translations from the Ancient Language:

Draumr kópa - Dream stare

Breoal - Family

Shur'tugal - Dragon rider

Elrun ono - Thank you

Dröttning - Queen

Esterní - Good fortune

______

next chapter

[queenaryastark]

I honestly don't say this to be negative about AG as a romantic pairing. I really don't. But...

Arya's ending on the show would not be fixed by having Gendry on that ship. It wouldn't even be fixed if Jon was there (though there would be a reason for their departure if she was trying to help him escape) nor even if her whole family was on board. The issue is that pursuing a life at sea doesn't fit any of the canon era Starks. None of them have a nautical background. And I'm not even comparing this with the books here. For the character created in the show, this doesn't make sense. One throw away line doesn't justify having that as Arya's endgame anymore than that random line gives her the skills to navigate a ship through mapped or unmapped waters.

The character who fits the west of Westeros adventure (and who D&D copied when trying to get rid of Arya) is Elissa Farman. Elissa grew up on the docks and on boats. She sailed her own boat at fourteen. Even though she loved Rhaena, she loved the sea and her desire to explore the unknown even more, so she chose a life at sea over her. The writings Elissa left behind show that she had always wanted to explore what was west of Westeros and find a way to the other side of the world through that route.

Compare all of that to show!Arya's one (1) throwaway line.

Endings to S8 for Arya that would have kinda made sense IMO:

Arya joining Gendry at Storm's End to help him learn how to rule a region, make sure the storm lords didn't take advantage of him, and build another pack with him.

She could have joined Bran's government in KL (even though his ending makes no sense either) and made sure Tyrion wasn't a part of it.

She's been trying to get back to Winterfell the whole series, so she might have taken up leadership of the North and worked to rebuild the region as the Stark in Winterfell.

Arya has also been trying to get back to Jon, so she could have joined him at the Wall and built a life with the Freefolk.

At the end of the day the show was crap. A romance wouldn't have fixed it. Plus, Gendry giving up his lordship just to sail off and die on that ship makes no sense either. But JMO.

[istumpysk]

I really like your take about the Starks endgame being in the line:

sit on the king’s council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or sail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother’s Faith and become the High Septon ... “You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.”

Obviously the marrying king and ruling his castle is so Sansa and sail a ship across the sunset sea hints at adventurer Arya, but I am a little stuck on the other ones. Who is to sit on a King's Council? Jon? And raising castles like Brandon the Builder is likely Bran. But what I love the most is High Septon Rickon. Damn I want that so bad. Lately I have bitterly resigned myself to him dying, but him becoming High Septon would make me so happy. George you better not kill that poor child 😭

Au contraire, anon! You have it slightly backwards. Let’s take another look.

sit on the king's council -> Bran.

Here’s George R. R. Martin being a little cheeky when hinting Bran may sit on the King’s council. Naturally he’ll be the head of that council... hardy har har. Funny guy.

He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder -> Jon.

Good old Jon the Builder. Anon, it is actually Jon Snow (I) with all the foreshadowing (II) of restoring (III) The Gift and its natural resources (IV), creating and settling new noble houses (V), and raising new castles there (VI).

King Bran Stark will likely be regifting The Gift back to the Starks, who used to hold dominion over it, undoing a Targaryen order of the past. You might call that Brandon’s Gift.

sail a ship across the Sunset Sea -> Arya.

Next up, Captain Stark. Anyone still doubting this is delusional, and we don’t need to expand on it any further.

marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon -> Sansa.

Who is that Arya? Right, that’s Sansa. Marrying a King, ruling his castle, having his princes, and continuing the line of succession of what must be a very important integral house to the story. Small problem, can anyone think of a spare King that’s lying around? Can’t be Bran, that doesn’t make sense. I guess we’ll have to wait and see how this mystery plays out.

enter your mother's Faith and become the High Septon -> ???

Um, I’m not sure what the hell to make of that, to be honest. The other four are undoubtedly being directly referenced (the Sunset Sea being the dead giveaway), so this is either Rickon or it was added to dilute the foreshadowing a touch. Your guess is as good as mine.

Of course if he does survive the series, travels South to stay close to Bran (aww!), and eventually join his mother’s Faith and become the High Septon in an epilogue, I will scream from the mountains that I’m a genius and predicted it from the very beginning.

And if he dies, I will claim that it was a foregone conclusion. I don’t make the rules, ok?

Anyway, that’s the story of how one conversation between father and daughter, spoiled the whole gosh darn ending in the very first book.

“He was going to be a knight,” Arya was saying now. “A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he still be a knight?”

“No,” Ned said. He saw no use in lying to her. “Yet someday he may be the lord of a great holdfast and sit on the king’s council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or sail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother’s Faith and become the High Septon.” But he will never run beside his wolf again, he thought with a sadness too deep for words, or lie with a woman, or hold his own son in his arms.

Arya cocked her head to one side. “Can I be a king’s councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?”

“You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.”

Arya screwed up her face. “No,” she said, “that’s Sansa.” – Eddard V, AGOT

❤️🐺

[scoundrels-in-love]

82 and/or 70 for the writing prompts for days (if you please :)

Incredibly late, but here it is, finally. Continuing with my October’s theme of angst... “Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.” + “What are you afraid of?”

Also on AO3.

---

It's been several hours since they arrived at Rayder's little cabin on the side of the Northern Mountains, but the wind and the rain has not let up, and the storm tolls even closer than before.

Brienne takes what little comfort she can in the crackling fire that slowly consumes what little firewood had been carried in by Rayder before his departure in spring and pieces of shabby furniture she had broken apart; she'll make sure to compensate him. Jaime had looked like he wanted to comment at that, but refrained, which must've been the testament of the pain he was in.

Not that he wasn't still running his mouth in moments of inspiration. “Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while,” Jaime had said after they had stumbled in, pushed the busted door closed and barred it to the winds, and unsuccessfully tried to hail help from SAR command center or the rest of their team. Anyone, really.

His voice had had a sort of casualness to it, as if they had been chased under some roof by a sudden downpour and merely missed their bus. As if his right arm wasn't pressed to his chest at an awkward angle that belied its mangled, broken state. As if Sansa Stark wasn't a sobbing mess in Brienne's arms, hungry and hurt. As if Brienne didn't feel each thunder's roll like a wrecking ball beating an unsteady heartbeat against her composure.

Sansa is sleeping now, curled up and pale in the flickering light, every bit of a child that she really is. Brienne tries not to think of Arya who is very likely still out there, weathering this storm somewhere. Hopefully far away from Littlefinger, who Brienne would personally geld, if he wasn't already in police's custody.

Jaime swims in her field of vision, dragging a blanket with him. She hadn't even heard him shuffle through his 24-hour pack, between trying to ignore the storm and the gurgling, muddy stream of her thoughts. She feels bad, for not having helped.

"Since the kid's got yours, thought we could share mine," he speaks in a hushed voice, but he raises the blanket and shakes it a little, aluminized plastic rustling and makes Brienne immediately look over to where Sansa's sleeping. Doesn't seem she's stirred at all.

"No need to look so alarmed, Tarth. Couldn't shock your delicate sensibilities even if I wanted to. Just a good, old-fashioned cuddle for warmth."

She frowns, opens her mouth to rebuke, but lightning strikes so close she thinks it might've embedded itself in her spine, and freezes. Moments later, thunder bellows in a way that blows any thoughts out of her head.

"Don't you trust me?" Jaime asks, mistaking her silence for something else, and bringing her back to the present with the way he genuinely sounds hurt. Sansa still sleeps the sleep of an exhausted child and Brienne is suddenly almost envious. Except she isn't. She knows the weight of such sleep too well and…

Brienne tethers herself to this moment instead.

"I do," she tells Jaime, seriously, because she does. Despite the way he frustrates her, despite the way he knows how to cut her to the bone, despite the history that drips in his footprints all the way from King's Landing, she trusts him like any other member of her team. And it's never been misplaced, least of all today when he saved her at the expense of his own arm.

"You can't take that back when this little adventure's over," he announces, though still almost whispering, before sitting down next to her. She brings the blanket around them both before Jaime can even make an attempt, careful not to jostle his right arm. She's done the best she can for it and the ibuprofen should have kicked in by now, but it's a far cry from the actual medical help he requires.

Her heart is heavy, as if every bit of mud and rock and the fallen tree that had almost swept them away has turned into guilt manifestation and nestled in there, but Brienne's got no words to express it, so instead she pinches the edges of blanket together in front of them, so he doesn't have to hold them with his left.

She doesn't keep track of time, the only landmark in its vastness is the frequent and devastating lightning and thunder duet. At least she isn't thinking about the other stormy nights, at least she isn't being swept away by the other landslides of guilt that are always biding their time.

“Truth or dare?” Jaime suddenly speaks up, bumping his shoulder into hers as if it was some kind of inside joke of theirs. “Ah, but it's always the truth with you, Tarth, isn't it?" 

Brienne glances at him with a scoff, only to be caught off-guard by the way he's looking at her. Piercing and focused, more than he should with the pain he's in, and searching for something. He has made a habit of it, somehow, looking at and through her, in a way that never matches the insincere charm he often bears.

"I’ll go first," he says, lips pale and stretched into a ghoul of the bright, infuriating smiles she's so used to. "So, tell me, what are you so afraid of?”

"I thought you were supposed to go first." Her lips are dry and she escapes their blanket wrap a little to reach for a water bottle set next to the radio in front of them. There's another lightning streak and she spills some of the water, with the way she squeezes the bottle.

She drinks, ignores the way he's still staring at her. "Yes, with the question. You're shaking like a leaf, tell me why."

"It's cold," she tries to brush him off, but it'd not be convincing even if she was a better liar. She's not. And Jaime knows it - knows her. But she won't answer, she can't, she might unravel if she tries. And so they sink in silence, at least between the two of them, once she cocoons them in the blanket again.

"Fine, I will answer it myself." There is both steel and an echo of a broken string in his quiet voice and she tenses, unsure of what to expect.

"I am afraid of wildfire. And the smell of flesh burning in it. Did you know Aerys loved it? Both, really. The screams, too." He is staring blankly into the fire, but she can tell he sees something else, something he's far too late to be saved from.

"I stopped him. I had to. And the courts agreed, self defense, even though..." he gives half-shrug. "It wasn't me I was scared for." Her hand covers his left, where it's digging into his pants' leg.

"But now, I can't look at it, not even in those big, historic blockbusters. Used to love them, now I have to look up if there's wildfire in it first. Even a trailer can make me shut halfway down." He laughs a little at that, derisive and tired and she doesn't know what to think, because it turns her opinion of him upside down and at the same time, it doesn't change anything. It's still him, maddening and beautiful with sharpness. Brave to the point of recklessness. Good, too.

Maybe Jaime won't think of her much less if she says her truth, too. At least it should distract him enough to lose that expectant, empty look. Like anything cruel she could dish out he will laugh off with 'heard already', while hoarding it close like a dagger collection held under his pillow. She knows how easy it is to cut hands on them constantly.

"The storm. I am afraid of storms.” 

There is pause, for a derisive comment about her choice to be in SAR or her being an unlikely Stormlander, but it doesn't come. It's a small relief, almost the opposite. If he had said that, she wouldn't be propelled forward to drop the rest of the story at his feet.

"When I was 5, I wandered too far away from home. My brother had told me Just Maid was hidden somewhere on Tarth, most likely the cave system in the cliffs. And then the storm rolled in and I got stranded on an outcrop in one of the caves as it filled with water." She tries not to recall the piercing white through the darkness, the way the water had been sloshing almost at her feet and seemed to be teeming with shadows of beasts, the way each thunderclap threatened to collapse the ageless stone onto her body. The cold and the belief she's never been so alone in this world. Rather, that the world existed somewhere far beyond her reach.

It had only been the start of the nightmare.

"They found me two days later. But Galladon, who had been desperately looking for me... He had been caught in another cave quite like me, but he. He didn't make it out." She had been crying for her brother and father the moment she was pulled into the daylight, even before, but every adult hauling her toward the ambulance had been too busy telling her it'd be okay now.

They had been lying.

"I joined SAR thinking that maybe I could make a difference, that maybe I could prevent a night like that. My father had grayed in those days, thinking both of us dead." She almost hadn’t recognized him. It had felt like the world the people pulled her into wasn't the one she came from, like she was thrown into some other, cold reality that wasn't hers.

Sometimes, Brienne still feels like that. On days like these, on days she's hurt and afraid of the storm's wrath that rattles in her bones, like some doom-promising amulet. There's been so many, since then. The fireplace she's staring at blurs at the edges.

"And then the floods took Renly. Right before my eyes. I was too slow, too afraid of the storm. I failed him, I failed him, I failed." There are so many she has failed that she can't even begin to name the pressure in her chest now. She's crying now, the blurriness leaking down her cheeks in yet unrealized sobs, but her voice grows choked before it fades out.

"You did your best, Brienne. You did your best today, you pushed where others fell back, and we found her. We found her, Brienne. She is safe from the storm and she will make it home."

Lightning flashes beyond the window pane, swallowing everything in white, horrid light. They're always so insatiable, the storms, and today they almost took Jaime, too. Or her, but part of her expects it someday.

If it had taken him…

"And I know you did your best back then, you're just incapable of doing otherwise. It isn't your fault. Nature is a dick. We aren't gods. We just try to do what they're too nonchalant for."

It doesn't heal her, because nothing will in one swift and graceful touch (she might never, the best she can hope for is a scar), but it soothes her, the conviction in his tone. Jaime's always been blunt with her, he wouldn't coddle her now if he didn't think it true.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as she starts to sob. "But Galladon," Brienne manages to whisper into his neck through sobs, part of the twisted echo that no logic and therapy manages to silence.

"You were a child, for fuck's sake. I hope your father never blamed you for it, because if he did..." Jaime trails off, with intensity she can almost physically feel like heat. Maybe it's just because he's warm and despite the blankets, she hasn't felt not freezing since they left the base in the morning.

"No, never." It might have been easier if he did, like some of the townsfolk did (Roelle, her homeroom teacher, might as well have written 'disobedient little killer' in her journal, with the contempt she filled Brienne with.). Maybe if he didn't mourn so carefully around her, as if afraid that if he showed his hurt, he'd hurt her.

But she understands, she does. After all, for the same reasons, Brienne could never speak about the canyon of hurt and guilt in her heart, because how could she ask her father to comfort her, when he was in pain, too, and because of her?

"Good," Jaime tells her and lets her cry, seemingly understanding that no shushing can fix this broken dam, battered by too many different blows today.

Maybe she dozes off, maybe she just cries softly for so long that the only thing she can register anymore is the crackle of fire, but at some point, she snaps to the realization that there's no more thunder and white hatred dancing beyond the window.

Jaime's head is resting atop hers, so she must've fallen asleep, and there is a crick in her neck, so surely his, too, but he isn't aware just yet as his breathing is deep and even. She doesn't move to wake him up, he needs every moment of rest he can get.

It's not comfortable like this and yet it somehow is. She feels empty and almost light for it, instead of just floating down the stream like... Like something else than the first comparison on her mind. Brienne closes eyes again, allows the warmth to settle somewhere deep in her, anchored there with Jaime's inhales and exhales.

And then, the radio crackles to life. "Selmy to Tarth and Lannister, can you hear me? Over."

She untangles herself from the nest they've made somehow as fast as she can while being careful so that Jaime wouldn't fall over and hurt his arm. Her hands are shaking when she grabs the radio, though for different reasons now.

"Tarth here, with Lannister. In Rayder's cabin. We have Sansa Stark, safe, but with a sprained ankle. Lannister has sustained a severe arm injury, we will not be able to make it back on our own. Over." The relief rushes to her head with speed that makes her dizzy. She feels Jaime stirring behind her and she turns to look at him, smiling.

"Copy that. We are on our way. And just so you know, Arya Stark was brought in by Sandor Clegane a few hours ago. Over."

Brienne sags because that is better news than she could've hoped for and it's so unexpectedly much.

"You did it, Briene," Jaime tells her and his smile looks more familiar. But not quite the same. Warmer, somehow. The shift is almost imperceptible, but she's always been good at telling when winter sunrises become those of spring. And he calls her by her name still, with almost fondness, that settles somewhere in her chest like a golden chain with a little bell.

"We did it," Brienne corrects him. Then, she wills her legs to function once again and gives his good shoulder a gentle squeeze on her way to wake Sansa.

Soon, they will be home and it won't be quite like before, but maybe for once the storm will leave behind something kind, instead of taking and taking with it.