#or returning to winterfell to be with sansa

[sailorshadzter]

Prompt: After being captive in Dragonstone for several months, Jon just wants to let off steam especially after repressing all the things he wants to shout at Daenerys. He went to Sansa's solar itching for a fight, but Sansa is guarded (has the Lady of Winterfell walls up). He finally succeeds in baiting Sansa to a fight, and then he can't help but laugh during mid-shouting match. Jon misses the tension, confusion, and he misses being treated as an equal. Sansa is confused, annoyed, but she can't help but be amused. Jon reduces the tension by apologizing, and they awkwardly try to do their jobs (talk about the castle and evacuation).

ANONNN

this has been in my inbox a long time so i hope you see this!!!

send me prompts

He knows it’s wrong, but there’s no stopping himself now.

Without any hesitation, he’s pushing open the door to the solar that once belonged to him, to them, and of course there she sits behind the desk, her usual place. She looks up as he barges in, a brow arched in surprise, but her face does not change. 

Not at first, that is.

“Jon,” she greets softly, carefully, hands laying down atop the desk she sits behind. “I did not expect you,” she continues, blue eyes unwavering in their gaze. What she means to say is I thought you were with her, but she does not allow herself to speak to him in such a way. 

Not yet, that was. 

They’ve been apart for a long seven months and she cannot help but to wonder if the man that returned from Dragonstone was even the same man she knew. Jon was someone else entirely it seemed- though she hates to admit it. She thinks back to their last private conversation, one that had happened in this very same room just the day before… Did you bend the knee to protect the North, or because you love her? His face had changed when she’d asked such a question. She might as well have slapped him, the way he had looked at her then. Have you no faith in me at all? He had asked her, cutting her, striking her, filling her with shame. That could have been her chance, her one moment to tell him everything… But then she remembered the sight of him on the damned dragon queen’s arm and jealousy took control. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, but she’s shaking her head, rising up to come around the desk to stand before him, just an arms length away. “You weren’t at dinner.” He adds, recalling the way the lords had exchanged their glances, how Daenerys had whispered something to Tyrion, who only shook his head and swallowed a goblet of wine. 

“No, I wasn’t,” she says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her voice brokers no argument, but his blood boils all the same. He wishes for her to rage at him, to fight him, to curse him. “I am sure your queen was more than enough company for you.” Ah, there it was, that quiet resentment. She speaks the words before she can stop them, though truth was, she’s glad she’s said them now. 

“It’s rude to avoid her in such a way,” he snaps, harsher than he intends, but she’s laughing, blue eyes scathing in their gaze. “I mean it, Sansa, you don’t know what she’s capable of if you provoke her!” 

“Oh, don’t I?” She snarls, throwing her hands up. “As if I’ve not already faced her wrath once? As if her dragons have not already attacked a local farm? As if I’ve not already faced worse than her?” She rolls her eyes, turning away. “Your queen will be the death of us all-”

“She isn’t my queen!” He explodes, cutting her off, drawing her back. For the first time, her face softens, something like realization registering in her blue eyes. “She isn’t my queen,” he says again, softer now, gray eyes full of the desperation he feels in his heart. A laugh escapes him without warning, without hesitation, for this conversation is everything it shouldn’t be. He cannot help but wish he’d never come here at all. 

“Jon, I…” She speaks softly, hand twitching as if she might reach for him. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, quieter now than ever before, turning away to face the hearth, his back to her. It takes but a single moment for her hand to touch his shoulder, to turn him around to face her once more, the touch of her hand spreading warmth through all of his limbs. 

She swallows and then stands a little straighter, her arm falling back down by her side. “We do have the supplies to last, you know,” she says, changing the subject, understanding him in a way no one else ever could. 

“I knew you would find a way,” he says awkwardly, watching as she moves away, to sit back behind the oak desk, wishing he had the courage to sit on its edge as he once would have done. Perhaps with time… Perhaps there would be a day soon that they would fall back into their old steps with ease. “Lord Royce said the grain stores are plentiful.” She had done well to prepare Winterfell for the war that was to come, like the queen she should have been. 

“I have sent word to most of the remaining houses to retreat here,” she continues, hands folding together atop the desk. “This is the safest place to be, after all.” Jon is nodding, agreeing, and they quickly fall into an easier conversation- one of planning and of survival. He supposes that should they all live through the Long Night, there would be time enough for them to talk about everything else. 

And so they talk, not of their feelings, not of anything but what was to come. 

Everything else would come in due time.

[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.

[roseunspindle]

Sansa and Arya in the nights watch

Sansa and Arya are both rescued by Yoren, and so he has “Sandor (easiest name for Sansa to remember and respond to) and Arry Waters” to take to the Night’s Watch, along with the other boys. Arya and Gendry are still friends, and Gendry still finds out about Arya’s gender, and name (he’s not sure if Arya and or Sansa is worse about finding out about.)

Sansa is distressed to find that due to her tendency to play out songs and tales in her head, she’s quite a good actress and Gendry was less convinced she was lying about being a boy than he was about Arya. 

The just miss getting captured, so they all make it to The Wall. 

Sansa is even more dismayed, and Arya is equal parts annoyed and amused, to find that Sansa’s natural grace in dancing easily translates to sword play. Arya or “Arry” is of course put with the smaller boys, doing chores and running errands about. 

Maester Amon alone isn’t fooled a bit and quickly has “Arry Underfoot” mostly tending to his chores to keep at least one of the girls safe. 

Sansa is pretty much on her own save Gendry and Hotpie who have become her friends (though Hotpie doesn’t know she or Arry are girls)

Sansa wants to whine about her shorn hair, the calluses her hands develop, the muscle she’s putting on, her complete abandonment of manners with eating, and that she is very aware (unfortunately) of what naked boys look like. Because is she was whining, even on the inside, then that would mean those were the worst things. But her father is dead and nothing can be worse than that. 

[little-spicy]

SNOWFALL

Robb Stark x !Baratheon Reader

Summary: an alliance of house Baratheon and house Stark was going to set place in Winterfell. Y/N Baratheon and Robb Stark were to be wed and be man and wife.

WARNING: MDNI!! Smut 🔥🔥

THE EARLY MORNING WAS CRISP AND COLD, the warm breath that Y/N emitted could be seen in the air.

She held her coat close to her as she watched the morning sunrise. She felt sad as this would be the last moment she would be a young maiden. She would be married later in the afternoon and she felt frightened.

She was told her entire childhood that Robb Stark would be her betrothed. Her father and his father were friends and her father knew the best way their houses could come together was through marriage.

She was the oldest, being one year old than Joffrey and the only one of her family to have her fathers brown curls.

Of course her mother despised the agreement, she believed her daughter was worthy of a better suitor but nonetheless it was still set in stone.

Robb Stark was definitely different from what she imagined. She knew it could of been worse, he was a gentleman and kind, showing her the home that was soon to be shared.

And she could tell he was just as nervous was her. They were both young and knew their duties were required one day.

Y/N tried not to think of it as she felt the sun rise and felt the heat of the sun rest on red cheeks.

"Excited for the big day?" A voice said and Y/N jumped and turned to see her uncle Tyrion coming forward.

"Excited to be married and away from my family?" She asked her uncle sighed and stood beside her.

"It's probably better, you and I both know that kingslanding is no place for someone like you." He told her.

"And what am I?" She asked and he chuckled.

"Truthful, kind, surprising you turned out that way considering how your mother is." He said and she laughed.

"Don't say that too loud, mother can hear everything." She told him.

"That's because your mother is a wicked witch, have I taught you nothing from my bedtime stories?" Tyrion asked and the both laughed.

"I do, even though I know how my family is, I'll still miss them." She said and looked down at her uncle. "Especially you, what will I do without my favorite uncle?"

"You'll adapt, you'll grow that's a good quality you have as well." Tyrion said. "Just know that you'll be taken care of, that Robb stark is a good man, I hate to admit but he's a good man."

"Thank you." Y/N stared at the sunset and closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Time to start the day?"

"Of course, let's go." Tyrion said and walked with his niece.

Both of them taking of the future and of the past, making Y/N feel at ease from the words of her uncle.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••���••••••••••••••••

After the small walk and talking with her uncle, she returned to her chambers and only a few moments of peace lasted until her hand maidens came in and began to get ready for the wedding.

She smelled of lavender and lilac, and her long brown curls fell perfectly. She felt refreshed and as they dried her, she saw her wedding gown laying on the bed.

Soon her mother, Lady Stark, and her soon to be sister Sansa had come in to help.

The Stark women came to bring Y/N gifts to welcome her into their home. Sansa had helped make a veil for Y/N and Lady Stark had brought a beautiful brooch of the Stark family to welcome her.

She felt so honored by the kindness of the Stark family, of course she could tell there was never a dull moment.

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to be alone with my daughter." Cersei told the Stark ladies and the nodded.

"Of course, see you at the wedding my dear." Lady Stark said and Sansa followed behind and left the two women alone.

Cersei looked at her daughter and smiled, she placed her hands on her daughter's cheek and led her to the dresser.

"Let me do your hair." Cersei said and Y/N nodded and felt content as her mother brushed through her hair. Feeling as if they were home in the castle. "This will be the last time I do it, then you'll do it for daughters of your own."

"I'll miss this." Y/N said sadly. "You always made the prettiest braids."

"Your grandmother did the same thing for me when I was a child." Cersei told her. "You remind me so much of her, my mother was so kind and i remember the day you were born, I could just feel my mother's presence in you."

As Cersei continued to brush, Y/N but her bottom lip and felt the creeping question she always had when it came to her betrothal.

"Mother, is it scary?" Y/N asked her. "I mean I know you didn't marry father for love, how did you do it?"

"Wine, lots of wine." Cersei said, bitterly and grabbed a chunk of hair and brushed it softly. "Overtime it did help that I had children, I had you, that's all that mattered."

"Do you think he'll make me happy?" Y/N asked and Cersei scoffed.

"I wouldn't count too much on that, sometimes it's just an alliance, remember that." Cersei told her and Y/N grew silent. "Are only duty is to marry and bring honor to our house through marriage and bare many children."

Y/N nodded and the two of them fell silent as Cersei continued to do her daughter's hair.

Cersei loved all her children but something about Y/N was special. She was her first, the first one of her children to truly live. She looked up at Cersei and when she did it felt as if nothing mattered.

Her daughter looked up to her and still does, Cersei knows the type of person she is, but the warmth and innocent eyes of her daughter made her feel human and her softer side was only seen by her.

Cersei didn't care of that her daughter wasn't Jaime's all she cared was that her daughter was protected. She truly had a place for her little doe.

"Lets get you in your dress." Cersei said as Y/N looked in the mirror and saw her hair up in a beautiful braid.

She followed her mother and helped her in her dress. She tied up her corset and helped her to the tiniest detail, knowing this would be the last time she would.

"You look beautiful." Cersei said as she led Y/N to the mirror. Y/N felt truly beautiful, she forgot for just a moment what awaited her and felt happy with how she looked.

"Thank you mother." Y/N said and turned to her mother and hugged her tightly. Cersei held her daughter right and tried not to cry.

The women heard a knock on the door and Cersei wiped the tears away quickly and cleared her throat.

"Come in." Cersei said and the door opened to reveal Robert Baratheon, Y/N's father.

"You look so beautiful my little doe." Robert said and came over, he took her hands and took a long look at her.

Y/N blushed and smiled as her father looked down at her with such pride. He thought Lyanna was the most beautiful but at that moment, his daughter was the most beautiful thing he had seen.

"Let us go." Robert said and Cersei sighed and grabbed her veil and placed it over her. "Robb will treat you right, he's a noble man."

Cersei fought the urge to bite back but knew better than to do it. Y/N walked along her mother and father as they began to walk.

Each step they took Y/N began to fully realize she was getting married.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Many people were at the Godswood, the heart of Winterfell and where Lord Stark wanted the ceremony to be.

The tree stood beautiful before them, the faint redness of the leaves contrasted with the white snow. The birds chirped and the small murmurs of the people from Winterfell and the guests that came from Kingslanding.

Her mother parted from her reluctantly and went to where her brothers stood and Robert guided Y/N down the snowy path.

Y/N could see Robb in his bear skin cloak, his face freshly shaven and his eyes were full of emotions. Fear, admiration, and another one she couldn't figure out.

She felt her heart race as she came closer and closer to him. As Y/N and Robert came up to Robb, Robert smiled down.

"Take care of her." Robert said and walked over to his wife.

Robb looked at Y/N and he smiled, she blushed at his gaze and the Septon interrupted their eye contact.

"You may now cloak your bride and bring her under protection." The Septon said and Robb did so and placed the large cloak over her shoulders.

Robb then placed his hand on her back to bring her closer to the Septon and he continued.

"My lords and my ladies, we stand here to unite these two houses as one. Princess Y/N Baratheon and Lord Robb Stark as one flesh, one blood, and one soul."

The Septon pulled out a ribbon and grabbed both of their hands. Y/N's hands were shaking as the Septon took her hand and when Robb placed his hand on top of hers he took it gently and squeezed.

"In the sight of all who sees and in the eyes of the gods I hereby bound these two souls, binding them as one." The Septon spoke. "You may kiss your bride."

Robb looked at Y/N and leaned down to kiss her softly. When they kissed it felt strange, an unfamiliar feeling crept up and Y/N didn't know what it was but she liked it.

The feeling of his warm lips against her made her forget of everyone around them, ignoring the sounds of their cheering and screams of the houses being united.

They parted their kiss and looked at each other with bewilderment. Y/N smiled first and made Robb smile back, he kissed her left cheek softly and the both turned to the crowd in front of them.

"I present to you Lord Robb Stark and Lady Y/N Stark." The Septon spoke and everyone erupted in applause once more.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

After the wedding ceremony the feast that was held afterwards was a party to remember. For once everything seemed peaceful and joyful.

Cersei was actually civil with her brother Tyrion, Robert was blinding drunk yet, and even Joffrey was not as unpleasant as usual.

Everyone cheered and praised the happy couple, giving them their blessings and kind words.

It seemed everyone was so engrossed with the feast that Robb took Y/N away from the loud noises and back to their now shared chamber.

Y/N and Robb were still in their wedding garments, Y/N was able to get her braid undone and her long hair flowed behind her back. They were both unsure of what to do, and stood in front of each other in nervousness.

"I- uh- I know this isn't- that this is-" Robb was then was cut off by Y/N.

"Strange?" Y/N said and Robb nodded and sighed in relief.

"Yes." Robb answered. "We don't have to-"

"I- I want to." Y/N said, her face turning red. "I just want you to know, I know I'm not the ideal girl you intended to marry but I want to be the best wife I can."

Robb's eyes softened at her words, she cupped his cheeks.

"I don't want to be like my mother and father." She told him. "I want to be an ally, a companion, so much more than just an alliance."

She kissed both his cheeks and he grabbed her waist and pulled her close.

"I'd like that, I want you to know that I will be an honorable man."'Robb told her and held her tight. "I know I'm not the man you wanted either but I promise you I'll treat you as an equal."

Y/N nodded and grabbed his hand and placed it on top of her shoulders and guided him to take off her dress. The world felt still and they both felt as if they couldn't breath once Y/N's dress fell on the floor.

Robb then got on his knees and kissed up her thigh, she blushed bright red and felt electricity as she felt every kiss on her thigh.

She tried to hide a moan but Robb heard her and that's what made him feel bold, snap.

Robb suddenly got up and picked her up bridal style, she squealed as he placed her on the bed.

Y/N looked up to Robb and the look in his eyes held lust. She watched as Robb moved his hands across her body and felt her body tingle and goosebumps erupted.

He placed her on the warm bed, layered with thick blankets, and the soft feel of sheep's skin.

Her long hair fell back as Robb looked down at her, his eyes filled with lust.

"Gods, you're beautiful." He said and kissed one of her breast, causing her to squirm.

He smiled while continuing to kiss her, he went up to her neck and up until he reached her lips.

She kissed him and touched his cheeks gently. As they pulled apart they put their foreheads together and both caught their breaths.

"It's going to hurt for a second, I'll be gentle I promise." Robb told her and she could feel her tummy flutter as he grabbed his cock and rubbed it through he folds, touching her clit over and over.

She felt terror rise in her chest as she awaited the pain, all her life after she gotten her maiden hood, her maids, mother, and septas told her of the pain of her wedding night.

She felt his cock slide through and she hissed, she immediately put her hand on his arm and squeezed. He stopped and saw the tears fall.

"I'm sorry." He said and kissed her cheeks and waited for her to allow him to move.

"It's alright." Y/N told him and looked up to him with glossy eyes. "You can move, love."

The nickname she gave him made his heart swell and he moved at a slow pace, he tried not to cum as he felt her warm, tight walls grip him.

She felt the uncomfortable burn of being stretched and as he continued to move, the more bearable it was. The soon burn began to make her stomach flutter, and her breath hitch.

Robb watched as her expression changed from pain to pleasure. It made Robb swell with pride as his wife felt pleasure and leaned down and kissed her as his pace didn't stop.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gripped into his auburn curls. As they released each other from their kiss, she threw her head back with a moan.

"Please." She begged and Robb smirked, leaning down to her her ear.

"What? What do you need?" He asked tauntingly, and pulled back slowly and slammed back into her and she yelped in surprise.

"Please, don't hold back." She looked at him and touch her hand on cheek. "Fuck me."

She kissed him once more and he moaned in her mouth and obliged to her and began to fully pound into her.

He was feral, he was relentless and fully in heaven as she milked him.

"I-I'm, oh gods!" She yelled and felt her walls clamped down onto his shaft.

She felt him shudder in pleasure as his ropes of cum began to fill inside her.

"Gods, yes." He moaned and jolted as he moved his cock in and out slowly, coming down from his high.

She felt goosebumps on her arms and legs as she began to breathe heavily from her first orgasm.

Robb pulled out of her and she felt full of his seed as he collapsed beside her. She moved to her side to face him, the faint glow of the candles and fire shone on his face.

The look of happiness and content from his face made her heart swell.

"Hi." She said to him, which caused him to chuckle.

"Hi." He said and she felt her cheeks redden.

He put his hand on her hip and he could feel the goosebumps rise.

"So that was-" Robb couldn't find the words and she finished for him.

"Amazing." She said and he nodded, he leaned forward and kissed her lips softly.

"Now that you're my wife, I won't be able to get enough." He said and she shuffled closer to him and he held her in his arms. "I meant what I said."

"What?" She asked and looked up at him.

"I'd treat you as an equal, my wife and a friend." He said and Y/N laid her head on his chest. Smiling hearing those words and hearing the sound of his heart beating.

"Thank you." She said and moaned as she felt Robb touch her clit and made her squirm in his arms.

"What do you say, lady stark, another time?" He asked and felt his cum coat her thighs and smeared his cum around as lube and she could feel herself getting wet again.

"Yes, my lord." She said and Robb growled and got on top of her, she giggled as he enveloped her in his arms and kissed him.

She felt happiness in his arms, and held him close. Both of them later in the night tangled in each other and asleep together.

Both of them glad that they were husband and wife.

A/N: HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!! Ty for reading and I also wanted to add I'm doing commissions!!!! Just message me and I can show you some of my pieces or go to @ peytonmunson on insta!

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere House Stark Headcanons (Platonic)

"Winter is Coming." — House Stark.

❝ 🐺 — lady l: and another headcanon was made! Yay, I hope it turned out good and that you like it! Forgive me any mistakes. 💙

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of murder, unhealthy platonic relationships, messy writing.

❝🐺pairing: yandere platonic!house stark x gender neutral!reader.

The Starks are one of the most, if not the most, loving families in Westeros. They are fiercely loyal and protect each other with wolf-like intensity and strength. They care for each other and love each other devotedly.

When you were brought into the care of this family, these feelings did not change, but only increased further and became unhealthy. That didn't matter, however, to any of them. They showed their fury towards anyone who dared to get too close to you or threatened you.

Ned was the one who brought you into the wings of his family. You were the child of an innkeeper who ended up being murdered by some thieves, while still a small child you were found by the Lord of Winterfell and he, compassionate about your situation, brought you to his home.

Catelyn didn't know how to react, at first, when she met you. She feared that you were another bastard child of her husband and that he had brought you to be raised just like Jon. But as soon as her husband told her the true story, Catelyn felt a weight lifted from her shoulders and she became closer to you.

Robb gave you a warm welcome. As soon as he met you, he picked you up, hugged you tightly and welcomed you to the family. He adored you immediately and didn't hesitate to treat you like a member of his family. Robb is overprotective and takes care of you like an older brother takes care of a younger one.

Sansa adored you, simple as that. Although a little skeptical of you, like her mother, any worries or reservations she had were gone the moment she laid eyes on you. You looked so small and helpless, her instincts were screaming at her to take care of you. Sansa found herself overwhelmed by this feeling.

Arya is probably the closest to you. She is bold and courageous, she adores you and loves spending time with you, constantly picking fights with others for your attention. Arya is somewhat possessive and gets irritated when attention is stolen from her. She absolutely loves you and loves taking you with her to get away from boring chores.

Bran is the calmest one in his family, he doesn't demand so much of your attention nor is he possessive, he takes everything he can, but his only demand is that you read to him. In return, he'll love reading to you or, if you are interested, teaching you how to climb. He is very calm and the least dangerous.

Rickon is the youngest and, in some ways, the most spoiled. He constantly wants your attention and is always fighting with Arya about it. He likes to follow you around Winterfell and snuggle into your arms. He is quite jealous and will sulk when someone steals you from him.

Jon didn't know what to think of you at first. On one hand he was jealous of seeing you receiving all the love he so desired, on the other hand he was happy to have you around, since he started to like you a lot as he got to know you better. Any animosity he had for you would be forgotten once his obsession consumed him. Jon is very overprotective and will fight anyone to protect you.

Benjen doesn't spend much time by your side because of the Wall, but the few times he visited Winterfell, he adored you and telling you stories or holding you in his arms were his favorite things to do with you.

Ned didn't know things would come to this level. He knew his family would care and love you, but he didn't know how much. He even tried to be rational, but it was no use, not when he found himself obsessed with you. Once you called him "dad", there was nothing more to be done. You were a Stark until your death.

Catelyn acts like a caring and protective mother, which she is. She loves to brush your hair, reading to you or just being by your side. She fulfills your every whim and can never scold you for something. In her eyes, you were her baby and you could do nothing wrong.

Robb and Jon are always fighting over you, although their fights are never serious, they still happen and it's always up to you how to resolve them. A hug and a kiss on the cheek usually does the trick. Robb wants to be your favorite brother and Jon wants your unconditional love.

Sansa and Arya fight more than their brothers, they both want your attention all the time and this always leads to more fights. It's usually Ned who solves them. Sansa wants you to brush her hair while she tells you something and Arya wants to play or train with you.

Bran and Rickon don't fight that much, but sometimes a disagreement can happen when you pay more attention to one. It usually resolves when you threaten them that if they don't stop fighting, they won't have you. They are quick to apologize and hug you.

The Starks are wolves and we all know how protective wolves are of their litter, of their family. They will be ready to eliminate any threat to you and they will do so with a smile. Nothing is more important than you to them. Once the Lannisters arrive, the Starks will be ready to show their claws.

After all, leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe.

[dragonseeds]

besides daemon as a gothic heroine trutherism the reason i want to see more of harrenhal on house of the dragon is because i always thought it would play a significant role in twow/ados. if king’s landing gets annihilated due to some combination of wildfire, dragon fire, and jon connington bell-related ptsd and winterfell is in the hands of the boltons—and there must always be a stark in winterfell, which aside from being propaganda actually has something simmering there—where on the continent do these storylines converge?

it’s chekov’s monstrously huge castle that no one family can hold, that can hold armies, right in the middle of the continent—a liminal space, a temporal vortex, haunted and cursed, hungry and waiting. it sits on the god’s eye, where the first men and the children of the forest made their pact, where dragons died, where gendry realized who arya was just as rhaegar realized who lyanna was. balerion made a pyre out of the highest tower and there are weirwoods built into the beams and rafters. it’s where jaime was claimed and sent away by an unworthy king and where he returned to save brienne in a moment of certainty and bravery that sucked him into the past and propelled him forward all at once. littlefinger holds it and holds sansa captive, but she has giants to slay and the vale has men. the timing of its completion with aegon’s conquest, how he burned it that first day, and that it’s where jaehaerys held the great council that set into motion the dying of the dragons—but daenerys is a character who symbolizes rebirth, redefinition, reclamation (of her body, of her name, of her legacy: if the throne her family built burns like a pyre, melts like harren’s tower, what better place to restart than a castle that was also burnt and survived? and if arya goes back there, will it seem like an old friend this time?) like we’ve got to go back. the dragons are back. we’ve got to go back. different roads lead to the same castle. am i losing my mind.

[helaensa]

i’m not very associated with show jonsa, but something i have to say about it is the subtle love that those two had for each other, platonic or romantic, their relationship unfolds through nuanced and muted manifestations of love, emphasizing understated gestures, unspoken sentiments, and quiet interactions instead of overt displays, think about it,

when sansa gives him a cloak, it’s not only a gesture to imply that she cares for him even in small ways no one had bothered to do, but it also refers to the bridal cloak that is used to cover the bride and implies that she’s now under her husband’ protection and belongs together. it is a subtle way of letting him know that she care for him, want to protect him, and that now they are one fighting for their home.

they also argue and seem to not stand each other but the truth is that they cannot stand the idea that the other is in danger, that is why they lose their temper among themselves, against others who threaten them and in front of their bannermen like jon going into fits of rage at the mere mention of sansa’s name and sansa losing her mind in front of their bannermen at the thought of jon leaving winterfell (by dianaatrevor’s post).

when jon leaves the north, he tells us that it is part of him and that he’s leaving it in good hands. he entrusts this very important part of himself to sansa and then, when he kills his queen, it’s not for duty, this time he does it for love of the north (sansa) because that’s what they do, keep each other alive. sansa does the same, returns to the one place she swore never to return, for him, and she doesn’t do it alone, but with a whole army.

plus, there was even a scene planned between jon and ghost where he told to take care of her, and as always he’s giving her another part of himself freely.

that’s the kind of love they have, a gentle and restrained portrayal of romantic connections and it’s tragic that they didn’t return home together, it’s sad that they didn’t keep their promise to always go together, but the survival of the other is more important to them than their own unspoken feelings. the truth is that they are one of the few loves in the show and it can be interpreted in different ways and if i were stronger i’d enjoy it.

[maisiestyle]

"Ned Stark's Precious Little Girl"

Arya is a mix of both her parents. But as her story unfolds, with every new chapter and book, Arya has moved beyond her parents and into a far more dynamic character.

Ned was a role model to Arya, she loved him more than almost anyone (she loves Jon most of all). She holds on to Ned's memory now more than any of his children.

Ned is stubborn, quick to anger, loyal to a fault, and deeply devoted to his family to the point where he sacrificed his honor and died for his children.

Both Arya & Ned had a dislike for Southern culture. Which is double odd considering Ned was fostered in the South: That was never truly his place. Whereas Cat and Sansa are very much creatures made for the South.

Treatment of the smallfolk and not judging those lower than their station... That says a lot about their character, something Ned, Lyanna, Arya & Jon have all shown in the books.

Arya & Ned are similar but different as well. Where Ned was lacking, his ability to not see the truth in the lies around him - Arya has developed beyond that point. Ned was too slow and unyielding until it was too late and he died. Cat was to heedless, prideful, and emotional - that cost her life. At the beginning Arya was a mix of both her parents BUT her journey so far has made her grow and develop where her parents had not. By Book 5, Arya is extremely artful and considerate, patient and willing to face the truth in all its ugliness, adaptable and fluid like water - a changeling. That's how she'll survive where her parents did not.

While Sansa is learning how to flirt, organise a glorified party and remain passive and isolated.

Arya lives out in the open, has escaped death and captivity by her own wits, travelled all over Westeros leaving her memory imprinted on the people she met along the way, and her unyielding desire to never be helpless again which brought her to Braavos. The Sealord of Braavos stood up to a King and his dragons and won - all he did was whisper the "faceless men" and King's Landing yielded - that is true power. Arya will return to Westeros having grown in many ways. But like her father and mother, her family will always be her guiding light.

I love how the Northmen constantly connect Arya to Ned and want to fight for them both:

When White Harbour (a place Arya has visited twice with Ned) hears of "Arya Stark" marrying Ramsay.

“Was ever snow so black?” asked Lord Wyman. “Ramsay took Lord Hornwood’s lands by forcibly wedding his widow, then locked her in a tower and forgot her. It is said she ate her own fingers in her extremity…and the Lannister notion of king’s justice is to reward her killer with Ned Stark’s little girl.” - (Davos, A Dance with Dragons)

~*~

As "Arya" suffers in Winterfell, they connect her to Ned:

"The bride weeps," Lady Dustin said, as they made their way down, step by careful step. "Our little Lady Arya." ... What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." ...

"Lady Arya's sobs do us more harm than all of Lord Stannis's swords and spears.

~*~

The northmen want to fight for Arya:

“Even ruined and broken, Winterfell remains Lady Arya’s home. What better place to wed her, bed her, and stake your claim? […] Let Stannis march on us. He is too cautious to come to Barrowton…but he must come to Winterfell. His clansmen will not abandon the daughter of their precious Ned to such as you. - (Reek, A Dance with Dragons)

[…]

Lord Arnolf shoved himself up, a vulture rising from its prey. One spotted hand clutched at his son’s shoulder for support. “We’ll take [Winterfell] for Ned and for his daughter.” - (The Sacrifice, A Dance with Dragons)

~*~

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue." - (Dance with Dragons)

[esther-dot]

Pride & Prejudice AUs

You Look Like A Movie, You Sound Like A Song 2k @jonsastan

She had met Jon Targaryen there. It was a complete accident and at first, Sansa thought, a complete misfortune. He was drenched from an impromptu swim in his pond, and she was flustered, not wanting him to think she was vying for his attention. But as she had attempted to make her hurried escape, he had found her and invited her parents to stroll with him around the gardens. He had offered her kindness, and thoughtfulness, he had talked with her parents, discussed the present state of politics with her father and chatted knowledgeably about gardens with her mother.

A Certain Step Toward Falling in Love 2k by @comma-splice

Jon Snow returns North after departing abruptly one year ago.

The Bennet Sisters - a P&P AU comic by @melinaillustrations

P&P Gifset by @sardoniyx, P&P Gifset by @dcbicki, P&P Gifset by deactivated

Persuasion AUs

Who Loves Longest, Who loves Best 1k by @ladysaruka

After refusing him years ago, Sansa sees her cousin once again.

Persuasion edits one, two , three by @glueck

Mansfield Park AUs

Half Agony, Half Hope 10k, incomplete by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

After the death of his disgraced mother, Jon Snow is taken in by his uncle's family, the Starks of Winterfell. He grows up alongside his cousins, including the beautiful and kind-hearted Sansa, but knowing he can never truly be their equal, he fears he has little choice but to leave the place he's come to call home. corresponding moodboard

Catch Me If You Can 34k (P&P and Emma inspired too) by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

Set in the countryside of Regency England, Jon Snow has been in love with Sansa Stark for as long as he can remember. He wants her as his wife, but Sansa is not sure she wants to be a wife at all, and she knows she doesn’t want to marry the pragmatic and boring Jon. She’d rather help Theon Greyjoy come out of his shell and play matchmaker. But then Jaime Lannister comes to town and Jon finds he has some serious competition for Sansa…

Moments Like This (So Few and Far Between) 3k by @lydiamartenism

Mama and Papa left the house to go pick up Jon, the son of her father’s oldest friend. Three weeks ago, the phone rang and their parent’s announced that Jon would be coming to live with them since his mother passed away and had no one else to take care of him.

Northanger Abbey AUs

The Lady in White 7k by @kissed-by-circe

Dragonstone Manor had looked like it had woken only a few days earlier, after a slumber of several years, if not decades, and Sansa had felt like the heroine of a gothic novel, a mysterious, naive girl with a dark past or a dark secret, arriving at the opening scene of the most dramatic story of all times. Or Sansa as Katherine Morland in a Jane Eyre Setting.

Sense & Sensibility AUs

In Such Jocund Company 2k @maybetwice

It would be no matter at all for Captain Snow to return to the north after seven months’ absence, had Sansa’s heart not changed entirely in that time. A remix of Colonel Brandon and Marianne Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility.

Emma & Clueless AUs

if i loved you less 2k by @ladystarks

Her father has, often and fondly, told Sansa that she and Mr. Snow bite at each other like wolves, but he hardly understood that their verbal sparring was as exhilarating as a sport well done, or a match coming together under Sansa’s skilled hands. corresponding artwork

Sansa: A NOVEL in Five Parts 15k by @imagineagreatadventure

Sansa Stark, handsome, clever, rich, hopes to establish herself as her town's foremost matchmaker. After seeing her governess Miss Shae married to the rich and clever Mr. Tyrion Lannister, she feels as though she deserves that title. Her dear friend and cousin, Jon Targaryen, heartily disagrees and is quite proven right when Sansa sets her sights on marrying off her newest and dearest friend Jeyne Poole to the vicar Mr. Baelish.

A Baldwin and a Betty 2k

Jon drives to the Valley to give Sansa a ride home.

Emma AU art by @dcvahkiin and Clueless art by wolvesofspring

Emma Gifset by @dcbicki

General Regency AUs

No Notion of Loving by Halves 2k @darkmagyk

The Stark cousin, Jon, goes home to discuss matters concerning the entail on Winterfell. In which Jon is a really good guy, and I flagrantly disregard how entails actually work.

Manners and Misunderstandings 114k, WIP by @x-winging-it

The Stark sisters have travelled all the way to London to begin their first season, leaving behind the familiar world of Winterfell Hall and a disappointed Jon Stark- with whom the eldest Miss Stark has been convinced to break off a connection. In London they join family friends the Baratheons and the fashionable young Tyrells in a world of romance and balls. Meanwhile Gendry Waters has been plucked out of the life he knew to become his ailing father's heir, Robb, Theon and later Rickon embark on military careers in the Napoleonic wars, and their aunt Lysa makes a foolish marriage. When tragedy hits the family, they must come together, learning how manners may hide monsters and the best people are often those misunderstood by society.

You Could Draw Me to the Gallows 2k by @azulaahai

After having eloped from home with and subsequently been abandoned by wealthy heir Joffrey Baratheon, Sansa Stark refuses to come home. Having caused a scandal that is sure to prevent her from ever marrying, she is adamant not to bring further shame to the family name by returning to Winterfell. Until, that is, a visitor comes to her - Jon Snow, an old family friend, determined to bring Sansa with him back north. He has a solution to offer her - a proposal with the potential to change both of their lives.

A Perilous Dance Indeed & fiercely, tenderly and eternally 27k by @amymel86

He should either look away or interrupt this improper little meeting, he knows. For some unfathomable reason, he does neither. The two look far too intimate for Jon’s liking, although he feels he should have come to expect it to be so. A romantic like Sansa – however proper she is – would simply adore overt flirtations and a secret tête-à-tête. Even from where he stands, Jon can see the way in which she has stars set in her eyes like precious cut stones. He only hopes the man for whom they shine is deserving of it. *** Cousin Jon is to inherit Winterfell Manor and its estate after the untimely death of his uncle leaves a widow and two daughters. Sansa is expectant of an imminent proposal from her dear beau, Harrold Hardyng and everything will be absolutely, stunningly, utterly fine.

Waiting for Your Slippered Feet 49k by @wintry-ritu

Lady Sansa Stark has always looked forward to her come-out season in London, the balls, the rides in Hyde Park, evenings at Vauxhall, the romance and wonder of it all. Never had she imagined that it would happen like this, with her parents gone and her younger siblings underfoot. Now, all Sansa wants is for it all to be over quickly so she can get back to Winterfell. She needs a kind, amiable man who will be brave enough to take on his wife's siblings. That should not be so hard to find in London, should it? And while she is most grateful for Jon Targaryen's help, why must her cousin be so distracting?

To Make You Love Me 16k incomplete and orphaned

When Ned Stark dies, he leaves behind his wife, two daughters, and his family’s estate at Winterfell. What follows is a series of unwanted marriage proposals, houseguests who far outstay their welcome, and Arya parading around in a comically large hat and an oil-paint mustache as she declares herself the new ‘Lord of Winterfell,’ in an attempt to dissuade her sister’s suitors. However, when Mr. Jon Snow — their distant cousin and Ned’s appointed heir to the estate — comes to call, an oil-paint mustache is hardly enough to deter him from courting Miss Sansa Stark. And she thinks, perhaps, that a man could marry her for love more than her claim, after all.

Mine for a Season 101k by @vivilove-jonsa

Colonel Jon Targaryen is a single man in possession of a good fortune who claims no interest in finding himself a wife. With his war wounds, he thinks no young lady would want him anyway for anything beyond the allure of his pocketbook. Fortunately and unbeknownst to him, Fate has chosen to find a wife for him and will even deliver her right to his doorstep. Taking on the responsibility of shepherding a young lady about for a Season in London is not at all what Jon had wished to do but he had accepted out of a sense of familial duty. However, once he meets Sansa again after only having met her years ago as a child, he may not consider it a duty so much as a torment.

a lady of winterfell 185k, WIP by @wandering-scavenger

She bit her lip and exhaled shakily, “If you are so sickened by the prospect of marrying me, we should be able to obtain an annulment easily enough with your father’s connections.” “I will do no such thing.” he snapped, refusing to look at her. Sansa had never felt more rejected than she did at that moment. Her past experiences of being humiliated at the hand of Joffrey did not feel as painful as this. Even so, she could not allow him to see the weakness in her, not now. “I will not be left out, Jon.” she said, tilting her chin up to look down at him. He grimaced. They were silent for longer than she cared to count, but each second that he did not speak chipped away at her resolve and her ability to withhold her tears. Jon did not want her, and she could not blame him. Who could ever want her? It should not have distressed her as much as it did. She was never his favourite sister, she who treated him as a stranger since she was old enough to understand what a bastard was. A tear slipped down to her face until she tasted the salt of it on her lips. “If we marry, we will remain so.” corresponding gifset

moth's wings 47k by @cellsshapedlikestars

Sansa was determined to convince her aunt to let Arya debut, which is how she finds herself in her current predicament. “Who is this secret gentleman who has asked for your hand?” Aunt Lysa asks, and Sansa knows from her tone that she does not believe. (She has every right not to believe, for it is not true.) And then Sansa does something very, very foolish. She says a name. “The Duke of Dragonstone!” Or, Sansa fakes an engagement so that Arya can debut and marry the man she loves. The only problem? Her fake fiance just so happens to be in the city when he was not supposed to be.

An Understanding 2k, WIP by @thewolvescalledmehome

At the start of Sansa Stark's third London Season, she decides it will be her last. She will secure a husband by the end of the final ball. Jon Snow is new to the London Season and high society. He never expected to inherit money or property from an unknown uncle. When they meet at a ball, Sansa gets an idea.

you're in my blood like holy wine 72k

Sansa finds it difficult to look at Jon’s face, with its weathered lines and cragginess. It is the face of the North and a face that northerners trust; the face of Sansa’s brothers and her father, who had been loved and respected by their tenants as their forefathers had been when they were kings. How can Sansa feel anything but resentment, looking into that face and knowing that all of her years of hard work will never earn her the respect that that profile engenders within seconds? But she does. It is a small, burning coal of something that must be smothered.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

[mummer]

would you mind sharing some of your twow predictions/hopes? i'm trying to cope with a lack of twow 🤒

oh man where would i even begin. im gonna do straight up hard predictions and not allow myself to be very self indulgent here is what i think will happen unironically

melisandre does not intentionally resurrect jon bc that makes no sense for her character. i dont think she'll be the one to do it at all but if she does it will be an accident and also a brain shattering experience for her

jon is considered king beyond the wall (not king in the north.... yet) but you already knew that

jon spends more time beyond the wall actually. i am keeping this concept vague

night lamp is definitely real and stannis takes winterfell at some point but he wont survive the book

sam's oldtown chapters become unexpected fandom sleeper faves like theon's in dance

the rosby heir is olyvar frey

dany does not come to westeros before her final chapter and never even encounters jon. slave revolt in volantis yayyyyyy!!!!!

there is still no R+L=J reveal

loras ends up fine but drastically scarred

elia sand and aegon have a forbidden romance

pyp and grenn die offpage (i predict this so that i can be pleasantly surprised when they show up)

danny flint is revealed to be coldhands shut up actually

gerris drinkwater is surprisingly important to the plot

brienne and jaime both survive the encounter with LSH and survive the whole book i saw this in my mind

barristan either dies really early on or he eventually defects to join aegon because he thinks he's the more rightful heir. the ol treason for blood

the faceless men turn out to just be another branch of the iron bank who are doing assassinations for money more than obscure religious/political reasons. this blackpills arya enough for her to return home

sansa encounters jeyne again and this is what provokes her to move against littlefinger

theon...... joins the night's watch..... question mark

there's a gay sex scene but no one likes it

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

D&D saying that one of their favorite plots from the books is the Boltons in Winterfell is a massive sign of their sexism. Now, for anyone one else, I'd probably not care, in fact, I'd agree it's a very interesting part. However, when it comes to the showrunners who needlessly wrote in excessive rape and violence against women, I see it as a red flag. That's compounded by the way they wrote it.

From the beginning of the show, D&D sabotaged the storyline by removing Jeyne Poole. Keep in mind, ADWD was released in 2008, while GOT premiered in 2011, meaning there was no possible way for D&D to not know everything necessary to bring about that specific plot. Add to that the fact that GRRM was heavily involved in season one, them blatantly ignoring Jeyne makes even less sense if they truly cared about adapting it properly.

Knowing this, that D&D themselves sabotaged their own story, the way it was handled makes a bit more sense, though not nearly enough. Without Jeyne there to play the part of fake Arya, a new bride for Ramsay was needed. Sansa was D&D's favorite character, they were unsatisfied with the story GRRM had written for her, they wanted more screen time and plot relevance for her. It seemed like making Sansa take Jeyne's place was a good solution to both these issues.

Except it wasn't. Littlefinger sending Sansa out of the Vale to marry Ramsay makes no sense. Not only is Sansa the object of Littlefinger's obsession, a replacement for Catelyn in his mind, she also was important to Littlefinger getting the Vale on his side (in the show). She was charming the lords and knights, balancing their intense dislike for him with their desire to help/protect her. Not to mention she was his only alibi to save him from accusations of Lysa's murder. Sending her away from the Vale harms Littlefinger's plans. She also would definitely not be "protected" from Cersei; after all the Boltons were loyal to the Lannisters and hated the Starks, what's to stop them from killing Sansa or handing her over once the Northern lords are more settled?

Speaking of the Northern lords, D&D removed the Northern Conspiracy. Throughout the book plot, the Northern lords are plotting to save Arya and depose the Boltons (in a nutshell, it's actually much more complex, but I'm not going into that rn). It's an excellent expression of how the Northerners loved the Starks and hate the Boltons. In the show, the lords are a bit disgruntled, sure, but they have no interest in deposing the Boltons and saving Sansa.

Another major part of the storyline minimized by the show is Theon/Reek. Theon's struggle with identity is a major part of his character throughout the series, and ADWD is no different. He's been stripped entirely of his identity by Ramsay's torture and Theon's own choices. Part of his arc in this book is discovering himself apart from the Starks and the Greyjoys.

That's definitely not what the show did. As I said earlier, Sansa is D&D's favorite character, so naturally she became the center focus of this arc, while Theon was pushed aside. He's essentially reduced to the method of Sansa's escape and goes on track to return to his pre-season one perception of himself: a Stark. This is a massive disservice to his character, Theon isn't a Stark; his life with them is important to his storyline and will definitely inform what he becomes, but it's not the true culmination of his arc. Basically, Theon was turned into a side character in his own story. It's through his pov we see this story, he's the character most tied to Ramsay. Obviously Jeyne is important and a main character in her own right for this arc, but she is not the central character we see the story through. So why is Sansa? She has no stake in this story, Jeyne is forced there after being sex trafficked and Theon is a captive.

So what does this leave for the show version of the plot? There's no conspiracy, Theon's pushed to the side, and politics and overall story are sacrificed. Well that leaves torture and violence against Ramsay's bride. Without the many moving parts of that storyline, it's just a story of a woman being abused horribly by her husband and eventually escaping. However, the escape isn't even the main aspect of the story focused on, that's always the abuse. It's also purely Sansa's abuse, not Theon's or the many people tortured and murdered by Ramsay, Sansa is the sole focus.

So basically, D&D took a plotline that's filled with the inner workings of Northern politics and the complexities of battling identity loss and reduced it to another excuse to show a woman be raped and abused on screen. The desire to turn this stroy into another way to make Sansa suffer is disturbing, and to make matters worse she fucking thanks Ramsay later on?? This whole storyline in the show is disgusting and yet another sign of how sexist D&D are.

[leupagus]

Am I writing this largely because I enjoy the idea of Sansa and Stannis constantly hissing at each other like two belligerent cats? Listen,

x

By the first week of the siege, Sansa was forced to admit — if only to herself —that warfare was far less exciting than she'd imagined. When she had been told of Robb's victories in the Riverlands she had always pictured him triumphant upon a fearsome destrier, sword held high as he cut down his enemies before him. Then he'd been killed and she had lived through the Battle of the Blackwater, waiting either rescue or slaughter by the very man who was now her ally. That had not been exciting, precisely, but it had not been this dull and plodding affair. A far cry from the valiant knights and noble battles she'd read when she was a girl; but she'd had precious little turn out the way she'd been taught.

She slept at the camps near the front lines, in the same soldier's tent she and Brienne and Podrick had shared for the past four months. Stannis had made all sorts of ridiculous protests about "ladies" and "danger" until she'd had to remind him, once again, that her eight thousand men gave her the freedom to dictate her own movements.

"All very well while we're waiting out here, my lady," he'd growled in response, after his requisite glare at her flawless logic, "But when battle joins, you'll be nothing more than a nuisance."

"In which case, I'll be quickly killed and you can have Rickon installed as Lord of Winterfell instead," she'd replied, "as you were hoping to do in the first place." That had shut him up, at least, and he'd gone back to scowling at Winterfell's walls.

Every night when she returned to the camp, she stopped at Stannis's tent and joined the conference with their commanders and lieutenants. It was then that she learned about the waging of war: how men were best deployed, how training was maintained even in the midst of a siege, how sickness was kept at bay so that it did not kill more soldiers than did the battles. Stannis disliked her presence there, too, but she was rapidly coming to understand that he would only be truly happy when she was out of his life for good. Possibly not even then. He did not seem a man much given to smiles.

The men did not share Stannis's view, at least; as she walked through the lines each morning and night they stood to bow to her, and press the back of her hand to their foreheads as she remembered they had done to Mother so long ago.

"They say that the old gods have brought you back to us," Lord Reed told her one day, as he accompanied her on her daily walk to the winter town. "That they were angered when the Starks were driven from Winterfell, and that they're drawing you all back here one by one. They say that Robb Stark may come back from the dead, such is the rage of the gods, and avenge all who wronged your house."

Joffrey had been diligent in recounting every detail of what had happened to Robb's body after Roose Bolton had killed him. She repressed a shudder to think of it and held more tightly to Reed's arm, grateful for the warmth of him at her side. "I hope they are not disappointed if all they get is me and Rickon."

Reed chuckled. "They're well-satisfied, my lady," he said. They walked into the winter town just as the sun broke over the mountains. "You're a sight prettier than the Young Wolf ever was, that's certain."

The winter town was where her real work was done each day. It was the custom every winter for the smallfolk of the North to leave their hides holdfasts and journey here, bringing what they could cart or carry. The winter town would eventually house nearly one in three of every soul living in the North, seeking shelter together to endure the cold.

The Boltons had not bothered to do their duty, laying in no provisions and building no new housing. Up until now it had mattered little; even as the winds had begun to blow, few smallfolk had dared to come take shelter under the banners of the flayed man. The town itself had been all but abandoned, until word of the Starks' return had begun to spread throughout the North.

Now the winter town seemed to double in size with each passing day despite the ongoing siege of the Keep. Sansa had her hands full in directing builders, organizing kitchens, allocating what resources they had to feed and shelter everyone. In this she was aided by any number of friends and allies: those servants and household members who had first escaped during Winterfell's seizure by the Ironborn, or who had endured that but had fled the Boltons' brutal takeover; the households of her lords who had come to support the siege; even Lady Umber and her formidable staff lent a hand before she returned to Last Hearth. Her most steadfast assistants were Rickon and Shireen, who at first had joined her out of boredom but were now her little lieutenants, breathlessly updating her on all events of the previous night as she joined them for breakfast each morning. She received aid also from her men in the armies, assigning their builders to fortify the town in much the same way they were fortifying the siege camp.

Her lords approved of this; Stannis, of course, did not.

"You seek another threescore soldiers?" he demanded one evening.

The siege had now dragged on near a month. Bolton's men showed signs of distress, Lord Flint reported with no small satisfaction; they would not last much longer. But this had brought a fresh concern, and Sansa had broached it during their evening conference.

"We need to build up the palisades along the eastern side of the winter town," Sansa insisted, pointing at the map spread out along the table, with the various pieces representing the various companies all arrayed neatly atop. Stannis's wooden flaming hearts were outnumbered by Sansa's wolf heads two to one, though many of hers appeared hastily-carved from whatever spare wood was at hand. She reached for a flaming heart on the far side of the Keep, well away from the siege. "It need only be for—"

"Give me that," Stannis snapped, snatching it back. "Those men are covering the huntsman's gate, should any of Bolton's forces be cowardly enough to attempt escape rather than stand and fight."

"And you anticipate that happening in the next day?" she demanded, resisting the urge to lunge for the piece the way she used to with Robb when he had teasingly stolen her embroidery, holding it just out of reach. "There must be fifty or sixty men out of twelve thousand that can be spared."

"Why are the palisades in need of building up in the first place?" Stannis demanded, as Lord Glover opened and then shut his mouth to reply to her. "This winter town of yours is folly — you cannot grant entry to every farmer and tinker who pleads for shelter."

Sansa gaped at him in outrage, though even as she did so she was heartened to hear the murmur of her lords at such a comment. "That is precisely what is done, and has been for every winter since before Bran the Builder set stones to build Winterfell!" She glared at him. "This is a refuge, Your Grace."

"This is a siege, my lady," he retorted, looming over her. She thought longingly of the beautiful heeled shoes Margaery wore; she needed only a few inches to match Stannis's height, and see what good his looming did him then. "The smallfolk congregate here at their own risk!"

"My people congregate here because they believe I will keep them safe, and I will do so. With or without Your Grace's help!"

"Without, if it pleases my lady!"

Half-ready to club him over the head with the nearest chair, Sansa grabbed the flaming heart out of his hands and waved it in his face. "What are these men supposed to do, if Bolton and his soldiers escape out this way?"

Stannis looked too near a fit of apoplexy to reply, so it was Lord Cerwyn who cleared his throat and answered, "They are charged to report back, my lady, with some following at a safe distance to see where they go."

"It's perfectly obvious where they'll go," Sansa snapped. "Lord Bolton will make for the Dreadfort."

"Of course he will," said Stannis, finding his voice at last, though he did not try for the wolf's-head piece again. "That doesn't mean—"

"I know three dozen local boys who could hide along the route from the huntsman's gate to the eastern road and bring back reports, without clomping about the forests in full armor," Sansa said, slamming the piece down at the winter town. "And they might be able to bring back some food, while they're at it. Unlike your soldiers, they know how to hunt in the Wolfswood without frightening off half the game."

A few days later, she had her men.

[axelsagewrites]

Robb Stark*Cloak

Pairing: Robb x F!Reader

Platonic: all Starks x Reader, Sansa x Reader

Summary: When the reader returns to winterfell after being attacked she finds herself having night terrors again and only one person is able to make them stop.

Word count: 3486

Warnings: references to an attack but not explicit details, mentions of nightmares/terrors, mentions of bullying

Masterlist Here

Part two linked at bottom

Every summer or so your family travelled to Winterfell for the children to mingle and the fathers to talk business. It had been this way as long as you remembered. Being a couple of years older than Sansa meant she ran about after you, loving to copy after you and listen to your stories. You were also a year younger than Robb whom you had a complicated relationship over the years. As very young children you played together often, playing with toy soldiers and making up make believe games.

Once Sansa started tottering after you when she was seven, you ten, and him eleven he finally seemed to realise you were a girl and pushed you into the mud when you tried to join in with Theon, Jon, and him. When he was fourteen and you thirteen, he began to just avoid you mostly though when he was sixteen, he started to steal sideways glances and saying sweet words. Pretty words that were met with harsh words in return.

Somewhat to his credit Robb did try and apologise to you last summer for his actions as a child but you just smiled and told him it no longer mattered. There was now a civilness between you both but little more.

However, this summer and last were different by far. In between summers you had been out on a horse ride with your friend and a stable boy at your grounds, but you were not alone. When you rode deeper into the woods, your friends lagging behind, you felt someone pull you from the horse. The attack left you bruised and badly injured, but you had managed to survive it and that’s what people always told you. You’re okay, you’re fine, it could be much worse.

The stable boy had been the one to help you as your friend tore off on her horse to find help which luckily came in time. If not for the stable boy flinging himself on the man and helping your claw at him, you probably would not have survived.

Your parents offered to let you stay home this summer, but you figured maybe it would be good for you to roam a safer place. Winterfell had brought you so much comfort as a child that you looked forward to return.

The Starks had heard of the attack and sent letters at the time but when you climbed out your carriage you were met with Sansa running into your arms. “I’m so glad you’re alright,”

Your hands flew to stroke her hair, placing a kiss to her head, assuring her you were fine. It was ironic in a sense. Ever since the attack you felt the need to reassure everyone around you but yourself. Each Stark in turn including Jon offered their deepest sympathies and sweet words.

All but Robb. He was the last in the line to greet you, knowing you were here for his sisters more so than him. “Lady (Y/N),” he said as he took your hand to press a kiss to its knuckles. You bowed your head with a polite smile. You felt Robb give your hand a squeeze before he released it, “You look as radiant as last time I saw you,”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a small smile curling into your lips, “Thank you my lord,” you said before continuing your duties. You weren’t sure if it was the normalcy of the comment, the compliment itself, or the fact that Robb didn’t feel the need to extend you pity or have you reassured him that made a warmth grow in you. You never realised how much you valued normalcy until he had said it.

The day was pleasant enough if not enjoyable. You ate lunch and dinner with the Starks, Sansa making sure to be beside you the whole time. You sat in with her and Arya’s lesson and watched Bran try teaching Rickon to hold his wooden sword. The only problem was everyone wanted to know what had happened.

Sansa had asked about the details, Arya seemed to get a kick out the idea of fighting a grown man. Catelyn kept constantly assuring you of your safety which while sweet wore on. Jon listed all the things he would’ve done to protect you. Even Ned had asked about what had happened, something you did your best to be vague about especially with the girls. Sansa because she was sweet, Arya because she seemed to be getting ideas. Not to mention your parents constantly checking in. it was exhausting.

Despite being mentally so tired you lay in your chambers unable to sleep that night. The next day you were mostly fine on the outside despite your groggy nature which you blamed on the excitement from the day before keeping you up. The next you managed to sleep but it was the nightmares that disturbed you.

You did your best not to remember the attack but at night you seemed to relive it. waking up shaking and panting, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to remind yourself you were so far from home but that didn’t seem to help. Perhaps it was talking about it that had brought these nightmares back. Or maybe fate was just cruel.

By your seventh day in Winterfell, you were exhausted. Of the six night you had slept four and of those four nightmares raged through them. Some woke you up for a few minutes while others kept you up for the rest of the night. Heavy lilac circles rung around your eyes which threatened to close in a moment’s notice.

“Perhaps some milk of the poppy would help?” Sansa suggested at breakfast after you finally confessed to your nightmares.

You shook your head at her words, “Last time that just made it worse. I still had the nightmares I just couldn’t wake up,” When the attack first happened nightmares happened almost daily for the first month, but it was different, “(Y/F/N) stayed in my chambers with me every night for two months until she was sure they had stopped,”

“Maybe I could stay with you,” Sansa offered, clutching onto your arm, “Lady could sleep there too and then she’d be able to protect you,”

You smiled at her but again shook your head, “Your sweet Sansa,” you told her, running a hand over her hair, “But I need to sleep on my own. I cannot have someone sleep with me every night,”

Sansa nodded as she turned back to her breakfast with a sigh, “I just wish I could help,”

While you loved her dearly Sansa’s version of helping was to tell practically her whole family who told yours who just questioned you more on the dreams. By lunch you had had enough and excused yourself to the only quiet place. The library.

There was a fireplace that you didn’t bother lighting and half the books seemed untouched. There were a few tables and chairs dotted around the room and two armchairs placed near the fireplace. You took up a spot in one of them, pulling a random book from a shelf. Your eyes threatened to close with every word you read, and you didn’t even notice that you had dropped the book as they finally fell closed.

You woke up to a crackling fire and fur nuzzling your nose. Sitting up from your slouched position, the cloak slipped down off your chest. Your hands traced the edge of the fur lined wool that someone had placed over you like a blanket. The book you had been reading was placed beside you, a bookmark in the page you were last reading, and someone had obviously taken the time to light the fire but not stay to enjoy it. no one else was in the library and you couldn’t notice any obvious signs of someone coming in.

the room was solely lit by the flames as you noticed the darkness out of the windows. Stretching your arms, you began to get out the chair, picking up the cloak when it fell. Its fur was ever so soft, and the wool was thick that you wondered how you had not overheated. The black leather detailing on his clasps and pockets were crisp and precise. This was not a cheap cloak, and someone had left it to keep you warm without even leaving a note.

You raised it to your face, the fur tickling your nose, and inhaled its scent. A warm feeling flooded your heart as the woodsy smell filled your nose. It smelled fresh and earthy while also having misty fragrance to it. the smell made your lips turn up as your hands stroked its fur.

As you walked back to your chambers you noticed the emptiness of the corridors on your way. It was clearly far later than your nap was supposed to be. When you entered your chambers, you saw a jug of wine and plate of bread and cheese on a table waiting for you. This was when you realised just how hungry you were as you devoured the food. You weren’t sure if the one who had left the cloak had sent it or whether your absence at dinner, which you were sure you had missed, had caused someone else to send it up.

After eating you laid in bed, the cloak sitting on a chair in your room, and tried to sleep. Despite the nap you were still tired, but your lids did not close as easily as last time. When you sat up you saw the cloak again. Without thinking you padded over to the chair, snatched up the cloak and returned to bed, laying on top of the covers and instead used the cloak as a blanket. It was warm and as toasty as the fire had been. The furs nuzzled into your face and coaxed you into your dream filled slumber.

The morning rays woke you for the first time in over a week. No nightmares plagued your sleep, and you woke up without screaming or tears. For once you finally felt well rested. The sleep had done you well and you enjoyed the morning, braiding your hair, putting on your favourite dress, before going on a walk of the grounds. All this before breakfast. And still in the cloak a stranger had left on you.

When you entered the hall for breakfast you were one of the last there, but you were in the best mood out of all of them. “Good morning sweet Sansa,” you hummed as you took your place beside her, taking the cloak off, and began to butter your toast.

“You’re happy,” Sansa said with a frown.

This made you laugh, mouth filled with toast, “Is that so wrong of me?” Sansa shrugged but kept her eyes on you, her eyes squinting, “If you must know I slept nearly sixteen hours, nightmare free might I add, and have never felt better,”

“Oh (Y/N) that’s wonderful!” She praised as she clutched your arm, “We were wondering what you were up to yesterday,”

“To be honest im surprised I never woke up to a search party,” You laughed, and Sansa rolled her eyes and removed her hands from your arms.

“As tempted as we were Robb told us you were fine,” she said and your eyebrows knitted in confusion, “What? He said he ran into you at the library reading then that you told him to tell us you would be taking dinner in your chambers so you could have an early night. Did something happen?”

“No, no its fine,” you said, shaking your head trying to think, “It must’ve slipped my mind. It was a very good sleep after all. Its left me dazed,” you said but you knew you had never spoken to her brother yesterday let alone tell him your dinner plans.

Your fingers trailed over the fur of the cloak that was sitting beside you as you realised whose scent had lulled you to sleep. Almost as if it were fate this was the moment Robb had decided to come in with Jon beside him. “Robb where’s your cloak? You’ll freeze to death,” Catelyn chastised her son who had snowflakes scattered along his shoulders. Robb glanced at you before telling his mother he was not cold, “You better not have lost that cloak Robb. I paid good money for that,”

“It’s in my chambers I just forgot to lift it and didn’t wanna go all the way back,” the lied effortless fell from his tongue but you felt his eyes on you moments after. Your hands instinctively clutched the fabric beside you.

As you, Robb, and Jon had been the last to arrive it was no shock that you were the last in the room. Sansa had waited for you initially, but you told her to hurry to her lessons, not wanting her to be late. While true it was also because you had been eating your toast ever so slow so you could hang back to speak to Robb.

When she finally agreed and left the room you waited a moment before crossing the room to where Robb and Jon sat. You held the cloak out to Robb who turned around to look at you. It was the first time you had noticed how soft his eyes were and how strong his jaw was from this angle. And how his hair curled, so soft and perfect looking, “Thank you lady (Y/N),” his words snapped you back from reality as he took the cloak from you. You felt the flush that crossed your cheeks but ignored it as you turned and walked away, feeling unable to even speak suddenly.

You couldn’t like Robb? Not Robb surely? Jon perhaps. Theon maybe. Not Robb? Your parents had suggested the match a hundred times and Catelyn herself even hinted. It would be too perfect to be true. But the way his eyes looked at you…

You did your best to ignore the feeling creeping into your stomach the rest of the day and decided to just try and enjoy the day. It was going well, and you even managed to enjoy dinner though the whole time you kept stealing glances at the eldest Stark who on occasion even caught your eye with a slight smirk. For whatever reason that stupid smirk made your skin tingle more.

Then finally it came time to sleep again. You were tired from the day which you had thoroughly enjoyed but you lay in bed for hours unable to sleep. Yet again. You felt like the gods were torturing you. You couldn’t handle another nightmare or another sleepless night. Swallowing your pride, you wrapped yourself in your own cloak and quickly walked the halls before finding yourself at Robb Starks chamber and knocking on the door.

Then the reality of the situation set in. how stupid you looked standing in front of a boy’s chamber you rarely spoke to ask for his cloak to help you sleep. Quickly you turned around and went to walk away when you heard the door creak open behind you. “(Y/N)?” Robb asked, his voice heavy with sleep that made the way he said your name even sweeter.

You turned around with a sheepish smile, “Hello,” you said, biting your lip, “I need a favour,”

Robb nodded before he ushered you into the room and closed the door behind him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he led you over to a chair which he pulled out for you before sitting on the edge of his bed across from you, “Is everything alright?” his words grabbed your attention.

You played with the hem of your sleeve as you spoke, “I know this is gonna sound really dumb but I couldn’t sleep and I was wondering if maybe I could borrow your cloak?” you said, looking up to meet his now awake eyes, “Also thank you for today well yesterday now or well the day before in the library and that it was the first good sleep I had in a while and yeah and like thanks I guess,” your words flew out without you thinking, your skin burning hot.

Robb sat up slightly, his arms resting on his thighs to prop him up, “Why do you need my cloak?” he asked.

“It helped me sleep,” you confessed, your eyes falling to your hands that began to pick at your skin.

The room sat in silent for a few moments and finally you braved yourself to look up at Robb who must think you were a total creep. Instead, he was smiling softly, “That’s cute,” he said as he gazed into your eyes. A smile crept onto your own lips as you looked at him. Robbs hand went forward to hold yours, stopping your picking, “You shouldn’t do that though,”

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,”

“I get nervous,”

“I know,” Robb said as his thumb began to rub over your hand, “Do you want to tell me about it? Or if you’d like we can just sit here,”

“I’d like that,” you confused as your hands squeezed his and he squeezed back. The comfortable silence washed over you both. “Thank you by the way,” you broke the silence moments later, “For the food and the cloak and that,”

“It’s okay,” Robb said as he took your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it, “You looked so peaceful in the library. I couldn’t help but stare a little,” he said with a slight chuckle, “You were so beautiful but then you began to shiver,”

The way Robb looked at you felt so genuine, so tender. His thumb running over your hand, his eyes gazing into yours. “Should I fetch my cloak then?” Robb asked, pulling away from you and already you missed his touch but nodded.

Robb stood and crossed the room to fetch his cloak to bring back to you where you stood by the door. Robb walked closer to you but made sure to leave enough room for you to move out his way if you wanted. He brushed a stray hair strand that had fallen out of place behind your ear. His fingers softly trailed your jaw after before falling from your face.

Without thinking or warning you sprang forward, your arms flinging round his shoulders as you buried your face into his chest. His arms quickly wrapped around your frame and pulled you closer, the cloak falling from his hands. You breathed in his fresh woodsy smell that burned your nose with a sweetness.

You felt one of his hands holding your head, the hand almost the size of it. yet it made you feel safer. He began to stroke your hair, the other hand wrapped around your back to pull you closer. Tears welled in your eyes, “I was so scared that day,” you confessed.

“It’s okay,” Robb murmured, “It’s okay ive got you. You don’t have to worry anymore. You’re safe now,” he assured you as he stroked your hair.

Soft sobs left your lips and Robb placed kisses to the top on your head and held you as you cried. “Everyone expected me to talk about it and explain- “

“You never have to explain anything to me,” Robb said as he pulled back and took your face in his hands. His hands were rough but held your face so gently, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Im here for you, okay?”

“Thank you,” your said as your voice croaked, “Do you think,” you started, your eyes flickering away from his for a moment, “Do you think I could stay here tonight?”

“Of course,” Robb said, placing a kiss to your forehead. “I can sleep on the floor, or the chair and you can take the bed. Or I can go sleep with Jon or- “

“You don’t have to,” you interrupted him, “I mean if you don’t mind. I’d like you to stay in the bed with me,”

Robb nodded as he pulled back out of the embrace, he had held you in, “Of course I can. Whatever you need,”

You took your cloak off and Robb helped you into his bed in your night clothes before joining you under the sheets. Your head rested on his shoulder and his arm snaked under you, pulling you gently to lay on his chest. He held you in his arm, his hand resting on your waist. Without thinking you took his spare hand into yours. Your nose nuzzled into his chest, his scent making your eyes flutter shut. “Thank you again,” you murmured as your eyes grew heavier.

“Anything for you love,” Robb placed another kiss at the top of your head, “Just get some rest. I’ve got you okay. you’re safe now,”

Part Two Here

Taglist: @clairacassidy

[pastanest]

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

A/N: after an eternity away, I have returned with a gift. this took my entire heart and soul, and a month of my life, to write, so I truly hope you enjoy it!! ♡

warning: events up to Battle Of The Bastards referenced. also, it’s 8.5k words long 😳

part two can be found here

Yours - Part One

It was Maester Lewin that found you that day, stumbling on weak little legs that could barely hold your weight, through a thunderous storm towards the gates of Winterfell. He ran to you, nothing more than a helpless child that crumbled into his arms, your tattered clothes soaked through by the rain, wet fists balled at your face as you coughed and hacked into them. In truth, you do not remember much from that day, but you have heard every account from each member of the family that took you in.

While Lady Catelyn Stark always said she heard your coughs before she saw you, her motherly instincts bringing her to feet as she ran to meet Maester Lewin the moment he carried you through the doors of the castle, Lord Eddard Stark always first recounted the expressions on his children’s faces. Neither Bran nor Rickon were born by that time, and Arya was just a baby, but Sansa was just old enough to recall how sickly and thin you looked - a charming memory, you’d roll your eyes and tell her when she chose to bring up such details. Robb and Theon both held slightly different recollections, with Robb worrying that you carried some kind of sickness that his mother would catch by being close to you and Theon simply recalling that you were a girl around his age and that being his main thought at the time, but both always mentioned one particular detail: the eyes of the third boy in the room, locked onto you from the moment you entered the room until you were carried out of it.

They say that Jon Snow’s gaze was fixed on every door of every room he entered for the rest of that day, as though waiting for someone to walk through and deliver some news of you. Even teases from his brothers could not distract him. 

Once, on a rare occasion when you were alone with Robb because Theon was not shadowing him, he told you something in confidence, not wanting his dear brother to be teased for something nobody else knew that he had done. Supposedly, for the three nights that you spent unconscious or so delirious that you could not tell the difference between your sleeping and waking moments, Jon Snow would tiptoe past your bedroom door and check in on you. If the door was closed, he would not disturb you by opening it, simply stand there and listen through the door until he heard your labored breathing and felt assured of your safety for the night. If he heard you cough, he would run to report it to Maester Lewin immediately. On the occasions that the door was open when he passed it, though, he would stop to peer around the frame, seeing your face so exhausted even when sleeping, and felt something strange blooming in his chest, so strong he would find himself pressing his palm to his chest through his shirt to check that his heart was still there. Robb caught him doing this, but never told him, and you didn’t tell Jon that you knew of his check-ins until many years later.

Lady Catelyn Stark was in your room the majority of the time if Maester Lewin was not there, ensuring you were safe and breathing well. Having not long birthed her second daughter, she felt a strong maternal instinct over you and your worrisome state, unable to stop herself from picturing her own daughters in your place and wondering where your mother was, why she was not the one that was worrying over you, and if she couldn’t be, Lady Catelyn would do so in her place without question. One motherless child in the castle was enough, and she had no reason to hold the resentment to you that she held to the little boy that was so enchanted by you, even then. 

Once you had recovered enough to sit up and hold a conversation, Lord and Lady Stark pressed you with gentle questions on who you were, where you had come from, who your parents were, and why you had arrived at Winterfell. Unfortunately, you were too young to remember many details, only knowing your own name and your parents by ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’, only knowing the place you had come from as “south of here” and only knowing you were in Winterfell because they had just told you that. Your parents had simply told you to “head north” when the fire had started in your village, that was the most detail you could recount of your arrival. The Stark parents understood enough from your vague explanation to suggest that you did not have a home of your own to return to, and upon sending riders south, found the rubble and ash left behind from a village not two day’s walk from Winterfell - such a travel for one so young had been what ailed you. They debated amongst themselves what to do with you, whether to send you to a township with an orphanage and wondering if that would be the place for you. Over the days of you regaining your strength, the Stark children became your fast friends, slowly trickling into your room one at a time to introduce themselves and immediately trying to impress you, as children do. 

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell found it endlessly amusing, discovering Theon and Robb in your room practicing sword fights with broomsticks, making you laugh and applaud their display, which you thought then to be magnificent. Sansa, though younger than you, enjoyed sitting beside you on your bed and talking about her favorite stories of princesses and princes of old, which you listened to like it was your duty, having never heard the tales that highborn children were raised on and finding them fascinating. In turn, you told her of your favorite fairytales, most of which involved giants. Naturally, Sansa told you giants did not really exist, but when you asked her how she could know that, she sat back, stumped, and you grinned at her, continuing to tell her all of your favorite stories of giants, direwolves and white bears.

What truly set your permanent residence in stone was one fateful night, when Eddard Stark had been kept late in the hall, discussing important plans with the Lords of other northern houses. He had no intention of stopping when nearing the doorway to what had become your bedroom, until he heard a quiet laugh that he did not often hear. Lord Stark’s footsteps stopped just before the open door, never wanting to eavesdrop on his children, but needing to be sure. 

“All of you are Lords here, then? You, your brother and Theon?” Your question was an innocent one, and at the delay in your conversation partner’s response, Ned’s heart sank.

“My brother is, and Theon could be, I s’pose, but not me. I’m just a bastard.” Little Jon Snow answered you, sounding defeated. 

“Oh…why?” 

“Lady Stark is not my mother.” Jon explained, and you gasped.

“She’s not mine either, does that make me a bastard, too? We can be bastards together!” You sounded so excited at the prospect that Ned had to muffle his own laughter behind his hand.

The same laugh that had stopped him in his tracks reached his ears again, your complete lack of judgment towards Jon’s status putting him at ease. 

“No, because Lord Stark is not your father, but he is mine.” The young boy clarified.

“Oh…well, can we be friends still? Even if I’ve not got a title like you have?” You asked, voice so hopeful, making Jon chuckle again, with rosy cheeks that you couldn’t see under the dim candlelight by your bed.

“Aye, if you don’t mind being friends with a bastard.”

And you answered without hesitation. “I’d love to be, you seem like a wonderful friend!”

Nodding to himself, Lord Eddard Stark turned and walked the long way around to his chambers, so as to not disturb the conversation between you and his son. The moment he stepped through the door to his chambers, Lady Catelyn smiled warmly at him, and his lips were already parting to speak the conclusion he had come to the second he’d heard the laugh you brought to his boy. 

“I think she should stay with us.”

With your fate decided, you were officially taken under the wing of the Stark family. While you lived amongst them and played with the Stark children like a highborn friend of theirs would, you did not ever want to overstep, knowing they were leagues above you in status and not wanting anyone to assume your status incorrectly by association. So, upon being granted permission to stay with them, you asked in a small voice if you could be their maid; that was the only position that you knew by name because Sansa had mentioned it to you. Thinking it both hilarious and very endearing that you, a child, were offering yourself as a maid to the family, Lord and Lady Stark agreed to this, and asked their existing maids to train you when you wanted, but not to be at all strict on you. Still, you took your role as seriously as you could at that age, learning to fold clothes and prepare beds for the Stark children. Going into Jon’s room was always your favorite, because even if he was not sitting in there as he often was, there were pieces of him everywhere. Pages of parchment with scribbles of writing and doodles on them, battered wooden swords and shields that poked out from beneath his bed. You liked crawling up to the window and peering down at the castle courtyard from there, knowing that is where you were most likely to see him. 

“Lord Jon! Guess where I am!” You’d call in a singsong voice, waving down at him. 

He’d laugh, waving back at you. “I don’t need to guess, I can see you there! When will you be free from your duties?”

And you’d grin cheekily. “Soon, but if you made your bed yourself, I’d be done a lot quicker!”

It was a running joke between the two of you, because Jon Snow had made his bed every morning since learning of your position as maid, never wanting to appear as untidy to you or giving you further work to do on his account, but you’d insist he never, ever made his bed and it was such a chore for you to always do it for him.

The first couple of years that you spent at Winterfell were peaceful ones, spent adjusting to your new life and the family dynamic that you had slotted into, at your new best friend’s side. After that second year, Jon Snow came down with a terrible case of the pox, and you were terrified, seeing him the same way he had seen you when you had first arrived, weak and most often unconscious, in his bed. Strangely, Lady Catelyn did not leave his side that first night, which you thought to be odd considering the hatred you had come to understand she harbored towards him - very unfairly, you thought, and frequently told Jon the same. Of course, you knew that she did not leave the room because when you had asked Maester Lewin of Jon’s condition and he had said “If he makes it through the night, he’ll live”, you dragged your mattress from your bed and down the hallway, to the floor beside Jon’s and refused to move, insisting you would never forgive a soul that attempted to remove you from his side. Naturally, you did not sleep that night, your ears finely tuned to every ragged breath, cough and whimper that passed Jon’s lips, and it seemed Catelyn’s were that night, too. 

Only when the sun rose did you leave Jon’s side to run to Maester Lewin, fist pounding on the door of his chambers to wake him and have him check on your dearest friend. You had apologized for disturbing the castle’s Maester afterwards, but were too panicked to consider his sleep schedule at the time. Once he had evaluated Jon’s health, he confirmed to you and the rest of the family that he would, in fact, make it through, which seemingly allowed Lady Catelyn to leave the room. You, however, only left briefly to borrow a book from the castle library before returning to Jon’s room to sit at the foot of his bed, with the large book of fairytales in your lap. As soon as you were told you were allowed to stay with the Starks, Lady Catelyn began teaching you how to read and write, two skills that you thought yourself very lucky to have mastered by the time Jon Snow was fighting his war with pox. For the rest of the day, you did not move from the foot of his bed, and you read story after story aloud, hoping that somewhere in the land he was traversing within his tangled, sleeping mind, he could hear you tell tales of long Winters passed and the creatures that roamed the lands throughout them.

It was only sometime later that Jon admitted to you he had awoken an hour before he decided to open his eyes, because he was so enjoying you reading to him. 

When his eyes did flutter open, though, you all but flung yourself at him with a cry of his name, more relieved than you had ever felt in your entire life thus far. Through chuckles and coughs, Jon thanked you a thousand times and assured you he was fine a thousand more. For the next ten minutes, you would not let go of him as you rambled about how worried you’d been, how much you’d missed him, how you swore to never take him for granted ever again. And you kept that promise, the two of you becoming inseparable from then on.

It became common knowledge within the walls of Winterfell that wherever you were, Jon Snow would not be far, and vice versa. While Theon Greyjoy was Robb’s shadow, you were Jon’s companion, his other half, his partner in crime. You were the more mischievous of the two of you, and when Arya was old enough, she followed in your footsteps to become your secret accomplice. Due to the circumstance of your arrival, Lady Catelyn had a softness in her heart for you, for seeing you happy, and even she could not deny that you were at your happiest when you were with Jon Snow. Lord Eddard thought what was blossoming between the two of you to be the loveliest thing, and was proud of the involvement he had in your residence at Winterfell to continue such a bond. He, himself, was very fond of you and the happiness you brought the son that had been disadvantaged since his birth. Though he did not like to plan too far ahead, he hoped that someday, Jon may request his father’s advice on asking for your hand. 

And as the two of you grew up together, Ned Stark only became more confident in his hopes for his son’s happiness. In the eyes of others, you would only ever dare intertwine your pinky fingers and cast longing smiles at each other, but that was enough for Lord Stark to know what was becoming of the two of you. In the privacy of your own space, or the godswood, you were free to hold hands, hold each other completely, and even share the occasional chaste kiss if the moment called for it. 

The first of those kisses had been on your fourteenth nameday, when Jon had led you to the godswood and presented you with a bouquet of flowers that he had picked himself, tied together with a black cord necklace that had a silver sword charm hanging from it, that he had asked the blacksmith to assist him in making for you. It was a little crooked as a result of Jon’s shaking hands when welding it, but you only thought that made it more personable, proof of the fact he had been the one to make it for you, which only made it mean all the more to you. Untying the bouquet, you held it in your hands and turned your back to Jon, allowing him to bring the necklace around your front and clasp it at the back of your neck. The smile on your face when you spun on your heel was like nothing he’d ever seen, the tears in your eyes reflecting the light of the sun as it streamed through the leaves of the weirwood tree. Seeing the necklace he had made and gifted to you actually hanging from your neck for the first time was an experience like no other, and it continued to take his breath away every time he saw you wearing it thereafter, the pride with which you wore it never failing to give him butterflies. And every time you caught him staring at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the sword charm, he was brought back to the godswood, under the weirwood tree, when you had wrapped your arms around his neck, holding the bouquet of flowers behind his head and gifting him with the first kiss he had ever received from anyone.

But no matter how proudly you smiled whenever you were at his side, no matter how many times you bit the heads off of any that dared call him a bastard in your presence, no matter the countless nights spent reassuring him that you had never thought of him as lesser for his namesake, Jon Snow could never believe himself to be good enough for you. 

Lord Eddard Stark had hoped that when his son approached him not long after his sixteenth nameday, the time had come for him to bestow the fatherly advice of how to ask for a lady’s hand. It was only when Jon asked about the Night’s Watch that Lord Stark understood he had been sorely mistaken, and as Jon had never explicitly disclosed his feelings for you to his father, he did not think it was his place to ask his son if he was certain he wanted to leave you behind in taking such an oath. And when Jon shared his future plan with you, you did not feel it was your place to selfishly question why he would consider leaving you, when you knew such a position would bring him the feeling of honoring his father, something he had sought after all his life. And so, no opposition to Jon Snow’s future was presented, and your days together were numbered.

You had not taken Jon for granted since the day he had awoken from pox, but after he confessed his intention to join the Night’s Watch, you were more determined than ever to show him each and everyday just how much he meant to you. There was no ulterior motive to your actions, you wanted him to feel loved and appreciated in a way that only you could, for as long as you could. Some part of you did hope that perhaps your love for him would be enough to change his mind, but that did not motivate your actions, it was not an achievable goal in your mind, you were not foolish enough to believe you could accomplish the impossible. So, you began writing him letters and leaving them in places only he would find them. Posting them under the door to his bedroom, hiding them under his pillow, in the pockets of his jackets; and you would never tell him when you had written another, simply waited for him to find it, write his reply, and hide it for you, too. A constant and secret subtext to your every conversation that neither of you ever outwardly addressed, but in those letters, you laid your souls bare. Confined in written words, you were safe to dream of a future that could never be, to decide where you would live together, the colors you’d choose for the interior of your cottage, the horse rides you’d go on, the meals you’d cook together, the children you may have. All of it was safely locked away, for your eyes only, almost like the two of you could live that life through the rolls of parchment and then carry on your real lives satisfied by such fallacies. 

The sentiments in your letters would often reduce Jon Snow to tears when he read them in the solitude of his own chambers, wishing more than anything that he could give you such a life, cursing the Gods for forcing that kind of love to be so far out of his reach. He appreciated every word, rereading them countless times until he would fall asleep with the pages still clutched in his hands, dreaming of the life he could never have. 

Beyond that, everyday was met with beaming smiles between the two of you, both putting off the inevitable and pretending that the countdown of an unknown number of days was not looming over your heads with every sunrise and sunset you saw together. You would ride horses and hunt together, walk through the godswood hand in hand, spend hours on end in each other’s bedrooms, sitting beside each other on either of your beds to talk about anything and everything, to flirt until both of your faces were too hot to make eye contact anymore. And when Jon returned from the ritualistic event of beheading a deserter of the Night’s Watch with a white direwolf pup in his arms, you could not have squealed louder if you tried. The way that you cooed over that little creature, cradled it in your arms and spoke to him as though he could understand every word, made Jon’s heart sing further songs for a future he’d wish for over anything else, with as many animals as you would like if you would melt over them like you did Ghost.

After that, though, your lives seemed to pick up to a pace that neither of you liked. The death of King Robert’s hand led him to Winterfell, requesting Lord Eddard Stark replace his departed hand and join him in King’s Landing, and that in itself was a horrific enough turn of events. As the Stark’s maid by role, you would be best suited to serve Sansa and Arya, accompanying that half of the Stark family to King’s Landing and leaving Lady Catelyn and all of the boys, including Jon Snow, behind. But, of course, that was not the worst of it. Benjen Stark, as First Ranger of the Night’s Watch, was sent to Winterfell to appeal to the King for more men and resources, and the moment you saw Jon talking to him, you knew that your worst fear had come true at long last. 

Everything passed in a blur after that, to this day you cannot recall how much time passed between the dread hitting you at seeing Jon talking to Benjen, and the hollow pit that formed in you seeing Jon preparing his horse for his departure to the Wall. For the first time since meeting him, your steps towards him were nervous, hesitant, and you hated yourself for it. If this was the last time you were to see him for Gods knew how long, you should have run to him, taken every second you could in an act of pure greed. But the closer you were, the more real it became, the more it hurt to face the fact that he was leaving, for good. 

Hearing your heavy footsteps, Jon turned to face you, his face falling as he read the devastation in your eyes, clear as water. 

“Oh, (Y/N).” Not caring for the public opinion then, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping his cloak around you to hide the two of you away in a little pocket of the world where you were safe to just exist together, one last time.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make your leave any more difficult. But I will miss you more than any words I write to you will be able to express.” You confessed, pouring your heart out to him because it was the last chance you had.

Jon’s arms tightened around you. “I know, and I will miss you just as much, if not more.”

Pulling away from him just enough to see his face, you took a deep breath. “I love you, Jon Snow.”

For a moment, shock flickered in his eyes, before he settled into a soft, warm smile, because he knew, you both did. “I love you too, (Y/N), and it’ll pass. We’ll live. Promise me, you’ll go out there and live.”

You nodded frantically, because if all you could give him in your last moments together was your word, you were going to give it to him. “I promise.”

A teasing smirk reached his face then, attempting to lift your spirits. “I don't doubt you’ll have men falling at your feet the second you reach King’s Landing.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully slapped his chest through his clothes. “Don’t take the piss, you know none of them will ever compare to you, you just wanted to hear me say it for the hundredth time!”

Jon chuckled at that, always enjoying when you spoke the common tongue in the midst of the more formal vocabulary you’d been given since arriving at Winterfell, and shrugging at your insinuation. “Perhaps I did, but you know there are no women at the Wall, so you will forever be the only one for me, forgive me for wanting to hear you say I’ll be yours in the same way one more time.”

Smiling with him then, you took another deep breath and stepped away from him, holding his hands. “Well, if you get cold feet when you’re about to take your oath and decide you would like to reconsider the whole ‘taking no wife’ aspect, you’ll know where to find me.”

At that, Jon squeezed your hands and released a hearty laugh. “Aye, and if any man mistreats you, send me a raven and I’ll get him ordered to the Wall somehow to sort him out.”

Before Jon could mount his horse, he faltered, eyes darting from yours to your lips before deciding that if it was his last chance to do so, he was not going to deny himself the bliss that was you. Taking your face in his hands, he kissed you more passionately than he ever had before, your knees nearly buckling beneath you and your head spinning as he did, gripping his wrists to hold him there. 

By the time you parted from each other and Jon mounted his horse, you were both panting with dazed smiles on your faces. 

“I’ll always be yours, you know, no matter what.” He swore to you.

“And I will always be yours. Dream of me, Jon Snow.” You asked of him, and he grinned at you.

“Each and every night, I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”

And then, he was gone. Riding through the gates of Winterfell for the last time, not daring to look back at you because if he did, he knew he would see you collapse to your knees as you sobbed. He could feel the weight of that in his heart without needing to see it, and that was temptation enough to nearly turn back. If he looked at you then, he would never be able to leave.

Thinking back, that should have been what told Jon Snow that he never should have left. And it would not be long before he wished he never had.

His journey to the wall passed in a painful blur, feeling every inch of new distance that separated him from you, further than he had ever gone without you since the day you arrived at the gates and made Winterfell his home. Jon felt a chain tugging at his heart as it resisted moving any further from you with every step he and his horse took, every word he spoke with his traveling companions of his new life that would not include you. He was ready, he was so certain of it, but soon enough he realized that everything he would do for the rest of his life would have you at the heart of it. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he could have just saved you from something, and that was the only victory he truly felt. 

Upon entering the snow covered courtyard of Castle Black to begin his new life, an older man in a black fur cloak greeted him and the group of men that had arrived with him.

“Which of you is Jon Snow?”

He very nearly missed the question, too in awe of the sheer size of the Wall and wondering what the world would look like from the very top - being able to picture your amazed expression upon seeing it, as clear as day - but immediately concluding that everything he could see in the direction he came from would serve as nothing more than a reminder of you, not to him. To him, you were the world and more. 

“I am Jon Snow.” He answered, clearing his throat and stepping forward.

Reaching into his cloak, the older man handed him an envelope. “Never have I seen a raven arrive before the boy that the letter in its beak was addressed to.” 

Jon’s cheeks flushed pink, turning the letter over in his hands and knowing from the way his name was written on the front that it had come from you. Quietly thanking the man he did not know to be the Lord Commander at the time, he tucked the envelope in his own cloak to conceal it, and did not have the time to read it until he had retired to his quarters for the night and had to squint to read the words with candlelight.

“My dear Jon,

I watched until I couldn’t see you anymore, and then came straight here. I hope to not write too much, so that maybe this letter is sent in good time and arrives at the Wall before you do. We are leaving for King’s Landing soon; I will be grateful to no longer be in a room that exists solely as a reminder of you, like everything else here, but I fear that even in a place I have never been, I will find pieces of you. 

Please, let me know that you arrived at the Wall safely, and tell me of your first day. Are the men treating you kindly? 

I hope to see you in my dreams, I’ll be searching for you there.

Until we meet again.

Yours,

(Y/N).”

Quite suddenly, Jon found that he no longer cared for his own exhaustion at all. He rose from his bed and marched out of his chambers, heart set on a mission. If you had gone to the effort of writing to him quickly enough for it to reach him on his arrival, he would be damned if he did not reciprocate such a gesture. 

And so, when you arrived at King’s Landing, Lord Varys approached you with an envelope decorated with handwriting that you recognised immediately. The smile that overtook your face that had been missing ever since Jon’s departure, returned in grandeur, informing Arya, Sansa and Lord Eddard Stark that both you and they all knew exactly who had sent a raven to you. Even Lord Varys, ever the perceiver, smiled at your excitement. 

Without delay, you tore the envelope open, eyes scanning over your beloved’s words with fervor. By the end of the first sentence, your vision was blurred by your own tears, but you were determined to blink them away in order to read and memorize Jon’s every written word. 

“My Lady (Y/N),

Your letter arrived as intended, before I had even reached the wall. Thank you for sending such a precious thing, I have folded it and will keep it in a pocket over my heart for the rest of my days, I swear it. To carry a piece of you with me is the greatest comfort in this new place. 

The Wall is bigger than any can say, I hope someday you are able to visit and see it for yourself, but I understand if a short lived reunion would be too painful. 

I hope that King’s Landing brings you countless new sights, instead of constant reminders of our past, though I can speak to the fact that everything here reminds me of you, despite you having never set foot further north than home. 

My time here has been a good challenge so far. I have begun training with the other men; in truth, I think you could take on any one of them. 

I have not yet spent my first night here - I am writing to you with the same urgency with which you wrote me, but I am certain that I will see you in my dreams this night and every night thereafter, as promised.

I am not certain I will be able to reply to your letters often, but please, do not stop sending them. I will treasure each and every one. Please, tell me of King’s Landing, of the things you do there, of the adventures you have with Arya, and send my love to her and my father, as well.

Now, I’ll race to sleep to see you again. 

Yours,

Jon x”

By the end of his letter, your bottom lip was trembling and the tears you had been blinking away were cascading down your cheeks. Chuckling quietly, Lord Stark wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Come now, (Y/N), I doubt this was the reaction he wanted!” 

Sniffling, you nod at him. “You’re right.” Looking to Varys with determination in your eyes, you composed yourself as much as you could. “Please, can you take me to the ravens so I can write back?”

Sharing a glance with the Warden of the North, Lord Varys nodded. “Of course, my dear, follow me.”

Walking away from the family that had taken care of you for many years, you ascended the tallest tower of King’s Landing to find a raven sitting in a window, with a desk holding quills, jars of ink and rolls of parchment in the center of the room. Little did you know then, that would be the room you spent more time in than anywhere else during your stay at King’s Landing.

You would send letter after letter, starting at sending one a week, then one a month, then one every other, not wanting to bombard Jon Snow with correspondence when he was yet to respond to the very first letter you had sent from that tower. In between helping out in the kitchens to continue your role as the Stark’s maid, spending time practicing sword fighting with Arya and gossipping with Sansa, you would sit in that tower and wait. Most nights, that is where you slept, the last sight of each day being the stars that you stared up at from the window and hoped with everything in you, Jon could see them, too. 

Though it pained your heart to wait day after day and receive no word from him, your fondness for Jon Snow did not dare waver. Some part of you knew that he was still alive, that he was alright, because you firmly believed that if he wasn’t, you would feel it, even from so far away. 

Lord Eddard Stark’s heart ached for you when every eve, you would arrive at the door to the hand’s chambers with the same question, the same glimmering hope in your eyes and voice as you asked it, and he would have to let you down as gently as he could, each and everyday.

“I’m afraid there’s been no word from him as yet, (Y/N), but I’m sure he is just too busy with his duties.”

You would nod, because of course, that had to be the truth. It was not possible for you to even consider the notion that Jon did not want to hear from you, he had pleaded with you to keep sending letters, so you would, until he told you not to.

“The farmer’s boy that came to the kitchens today has some affection for you.” Sansa had said to you when you had joined her in her chambers after supper, smiling in the hopes that it would encourage you to do the same.

Instead, you barely even met her eyes, your tone showing little to no interest in the eyes she had seemingly spotted a boy giving you when she had visited you in the kitchens, that you neglected to notice.

“Does he?” Your tone made your disinterest clear, your focus on your duties as you made your friend’s bed, the act second nature by that time.

Sansa rolled her eyes and took your hands, bringing you over to sit down beside her on her bed. “Of course! How could you not see it?”

At that, you shrugged sheepishly, knowing the answer as well as she did. “There’s only one I’ll ever wish to see such things from, m’Lady.”

A common girl at heart, you had never been one to address the Starks informally. 

“Why is it that you cannot let him go?” Sansa asked you then, her voice pained for you, seeing you pine for her brother in such a way.

“He is gone, I know that to be true, m’Lady, but…it seems my heart doesn’t know the same.” You offered her a small smile, the most you could muster at the time, and Sansa sighed.

After that, she sought other means of cheering up. The two of you tried on every dress she had in her ornate wardrobe and danced around the room to music that was not playing, pretending you were fanciful Lords and Ladies at some grand ball. 

Once Sansa had fallen asleep, you had tiptoed back to the tower, pinning every hope you had on the thought that while you had allowed yourself to have some fun, there may then be a raven waiting for you. But upon reaching the top of the tower, you saw the window was empty, not a feather in sight.

And unfortunately, after that day, the events of King’s Landing meant that you only had more and more letters to send Jon.

To see the man that all but raised you, beheaded in front of a crowd that hurled abuse at him for confessing a crime he did not commit, was not something that you even had time to process. There was not a moment to grieve when you had to ensure Sansa’s safety, because you were the only one left to do so. Arya was gone, you didn’t know where, but you hoped that she had escaped safely and was living an adventure of her own. 

And later, the news of Robb and Lady Catelyn’s brutal murders while in the slippery hands of Walder Frey. Again, you were unable to think of yourself, and could only be with Sansa while she suffered and mourned the loss of her entire family, as she knew it.

You only allowed yourself fleeting instances to grieve, to feel the anxiety of it all, and those moments were all safely concealed in your letters to Jon that continued to go unanswered. They began to serve you more as a journal than correspondence awaiting a reply, and you found solace in the fact that your words and worries and pains were going to Jon, because they were safe with him. The knowledge of him holding all of your secrets and still, in some way, being there for you in receiving them, was the only comfort you had.

When Lord Petyr Baelish, someone you believed to be a worm of a man from the second you were introduced, came for Sansa, you were the only person she trusted enough to stay at her side. In fact, she completely refused to be parted from you, and Baelish agreed to rescue you, too, because he thought of you as nothing more than a maid and a means to earn points with Sansa. 

As much as you advised where you could, Baelish was never far enough away for you to be completely honest with Sansa about him or his antics, he made certain of that. While you could not protect her with regards to getting her away from him, you thought you could at least protect her in whatever schemes he manipulated her into.

Regrettably, that led you back to the place you had called home, except it was in ruin when compared to your last memory of it. Having first been overtaken by Theon Greyjoy, which was the greatest personal betrayal you had ever felt, it had since been infested with the Boltons. The act of marrying Sansa to Ramsay Bolton - who you desperately wished you could refer to as Snow in your own head to mentally scorn him, if such a namesake didn’t have a place in your heart that forbade you - was outright barbaric, in your opinion. You could tell the man he was from the sight of Theon, or Reek, as he was newly named. But again, you were not given a moment alone with Sansa to dissuade her.

Still, you did everything you could and stayed at her side at every waking moment. That was, until her wedding night. While on the way to her chambers to meet her before the event, one of Ramsay’s henchmen that you had thought was just walking past you, grabbed you and slammed your head into a wall, knocking you unconscious.

At her wedding, Sansa had scanned every face in the crowd, searching for you desperately. It did not take her long to conclude that you were not there, and that thought alone told her that everything was wrong. 

You awoke in darkness, unable to determine how long you had been unconscious for, but found one of your wrists chained to the back wooden leg of a bed, that was seemingly bolted to the stone ground that you were sprawled out on. The throbbing in your head quickly reminded you of what had happened and you fought to break free from your chains, to get to Sansa, save her, give your life for hers if the situation called for it, but it was fruitless. 

Only when you sat back against the wall, breathing heavily and crying tears of frustration, did the door open. There stood Ramsay Bolton, with a grim smile that you could only see in the light of the candle that he held to his face.

“Welcome home, maid.”

Having been stuck in a similar mindset to you, barred from processing his own emotions in the place of his duties, Jon Snow had, too, reached a point of no return, in more ways than one. He had read many of your letters to begin with, but as the months passed, he was given more and more responsibilities, more tasks that took more time, and journeys beyond the wall. As a result, Jon simply did not have a moment to sit down and devote to you, outside of his dreams. While he had tried to read your letters as and when they arrived, before he knew it, there was a pile of envelopes forming, all of which addressed to him, and he could not bring himself to read anymore. The more he heard of his family’s passing, he knew that you would be sharing your grief with him, and that was a weight he was not ready to bare, having not yet confronted his own. 

As well as that, the responsibilities Jon had been given and the things he had accomplished during his time at the wall had led to the majority of men, including the Maester, to vote in favor of him becoming the Lord Commander - a position he had never imagined were possible for someone like him. And his first thought on being granted such an honor was to tell you, it truly was, but without having read or replied to any of your letters since the very first, he thought it would be a disservice to the time you had given to him. One day, he would tell himself each and every night, one day he would sit down and read each and every one, and he would send you the longest letter you’ve ever seen, that would take 10 ravens to deliver to you.

But despite the continued chaos of his life at the Wall, Jon had noticed that no letters had arrived for him in some time. The last one you had sent had been from Winterfell, he knew that based on the sigil the envelope was sealed with, but he also knew that his home was under the control of the Boltons, who were not to be trusted based on the vultures they had been in claiming his home. 

Still, there was only time for him to worry about such things in between everything else. The wildlings he needed to save, the white walkers he needed to save them from, the fate of the rest of the world as he knew it, and how Samwell Tarley would fare as a father to his adoptive son, were amongst the most prominent of Jon’s thoughts. 

It was only upon saving the wildlings and doing what he thought was right - what he knew you would agree was the right thing to do - he was murdered in an act of mutiny from the men of the Night’s Watch, and a boy. Death was what allowed Jon Snow to regain some perspective. Once awoken from what should have been an infinite sleep, the red witch had approached him and asked what he had seen once life had faded from him.

“Nothing.” Jon had said, and he was not deceiving her.

It was true, he did not see a thing once the world faded around him. Everything disappeared into a great abyss, endless darkness, and he felt he was in an awful dream. That was, until he heard your voice, calling his name. Just a whisper at first, but it grew in volume, in urgency, until you were crying for him and with a gasp, his spirit returned to his wounded body. 

And the moment he had opened his eyes, he knew what he had to do. First, he had to punish those who had betrayed him and retire from his watch, having served his duty ‘til death, as his oath intended. As soon as he was free of such responsibility, he disappeared to his chambers and took the box of envelopes, all addressed to him, and sitting on his bed, he read through each and every one.

Jon Snow had never felt worse, or cried more, in his life. Reading of your sorrows and hardships, the pain you had felt in his absence and in your grief, how desperately you pleaded to receive word from him, of his safety. Even through his tears, though, you managed to make him laugh. Sometimes just a quiet chuckle, but the tales you told and memories you recalled were enough to bring hearty laughs from him as he wiped his eyes. By the time he reached your final letter, his face ached and his heart was heavier than it had ever been. 

“Jon,

I do not know how long I will have to write this, so I will keep this brief. Sansa is not safe here. I will do all I can to assist her in her escape, but it will not be easy.

If I can get her out of here, I will send her to the Wall, to you. She will tell you everything. 

I miss you with every waking and sleeping moment, knowing you will not be there when I open my eyes again. I hope to see you again, but in truth, returning here has resulted in seeing you in places that you have been, but no longer are. Please do not worry, I am not losing my mind, but my eyes are playing cruel tricks on my heart in such a familiar place, where I have seen you everywhere, more times than I can count.

Please take care of Sansa, and yourself.

Yours, always.

(Y/N) x”

All of a sudden, Jon Snow wished he had not so quickly resigned his position as Lord Commander. Had he not, he would order every man to Winterfell to rescue his sister and you, who you had not spared a single thought to in your own escape plan for Sansa. 

That was the moment he heard it, commotion at the gates of Castle Black. Regardless of no longer being the Lord Commander, he felt a responsibility to see to the arrival of whomever it may be. And like a miracle sent by the letters he had taken far too long to read, his sister was stood in the courtyard, with a knightly woman and her squire. The sight lifted Jon’s heavy heart beyond comprehension as he tentatively approached his sister, who had been a girl the last time he’d seen her and was now a woman, but when her face fell and she launched herself into his arms, he could not resist the sense of dread for what was to come; finding out the reason behind your absence from their party.

Not wanting to address the dark cloud that loomed over him until Sansa was settled, he sat with her in his chambers with a warm fire crackling at her feet and a bowl of hot stew in her hands. The two of them reminisced on the lives they missed terribly that were lost to time, and Jon knew either of them could only go so long before-

“Where will you go?” Sansa asked him with worried eyes.

“Where will we go.” Jon corrected her. “If I don’t watch over you, Father’s ghost’ll come back and murder me.”

And with a gentle smile, Sansa finally spoke your name. “And if you don’t rescue (Y/N), both Mother and Father’s ghosts will haunt you until the end of your days.”

He smiled back at her, a wave of relief washing over him like nothing he had ever known, because he knew you were alive. By no means were you safe or happy, but as long as you were alive, Jon Snow could fix the rest. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he would. Even if doing so killed him a second time.

———————

taglist: @otteropera @neymarjrrwife @oliviabelova

[feyhunter78]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon Snow TL: @mostclevermiss

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

[swordsandarms]

Man, I forgot how fucked up the scene was and how malicious Septa Mordane is with Arya specifically. You will have people write about how she is some struggling teacher with a peevish tongue sticking student. But she actually brought a child to tears and tried to force her to be seen sobbing in front of her peers.

1. This is not a helpful teacher going around her students to check their work and give advice. She targets Arya specifically (Marcella's work was also imperfect, but she has no power over Myrcella). Her tirade is straight up theatrical and loud on purpose. She doesn't point out what's wrong and how to fix it. It's all about putting Arya down.

2. Myrcella, a visitor, is made uncomfortable and feels sorry for Arya. But for the girls in Winterfell this seems to be a routine. They have been desensitized to this malicious behaviour (Sansa) or even find it typical entertainment (Jeyne).

3. She brings the little girl to tears. There is nothing worse for a child than to be seen crying, especially with strangers around, so Arya tries to leave. The Septa wants her to stay to endure that further humiliation. She is very visibly crying. No "go calm down and wipe your face and then you can return to your work" as some normal teacher/adult might do in such a situation while remaining stern. This is plain cruel.

4. She weaponizes Myrcella's presence to add up to how Arya is "doing everything wrong". Arya tries to "act right" by taking her leave from the Princess. Myrcella is further made uncomfortable by this whole situation, and how she's pushed at the front this way. And the Septa immediately intercepted before Myrcella could or couldn't give Arya leave by making it clear it wasn't about Myrcella - it's about cruelly keeping Arya there to suffer the humiliation of crying in front of her peers, no ifs or maybes. And, again, that is also at the detriment of the guests' comfort, as they are made uncomfortable already and moreso if they had to stay there to hear/watch this girl cry. Creating Arya discomfort is more important, though.

5. Arya's one bold ("misbehaving") act is the horse shoe bit, but we later find out that in such purely denigrating tirades meant only to make Arya feel bad about herself instead of constructive feedback on how to mend her work, the septa would tell her she has "a blacksmith's hands", turning it into a personal fault rather than the technicality of how to do the work.

Vile.