#seven gates of rhaegar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

melrosing · 5 months

Text

MBO Robert's Rebellion: Episode 10

sorry for the accidental seven month hiatus 2023 has been foul but we are back. rounding off “season 1” with Harrenhal, then I’m gonna take some time to finish mapping out what the second half of the series looks like. but have done most of that already so shouldn’t be too long?? (famous last words)

btw this one feels like the longest I’ve written so let’s just imagine it’s a movie length finale or something idk

SEASON ONE: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6, Episode 7, Episode 8, Episode 9

SEASON TWO: Episode 1

title for this one: watch this age like milk when the harrenhal play reaches the stage

We find a slight, almost sickly looking young man in a green cloak, stepping delicately around the roots of a woodland - he looks a bit lost. Suddenly the sound of hooves as a young girl races through the trees crying with laughter, followed shortly by her three brothers, all ahorse. Seeing the young man on foot, the girl circles back and asks if he’s looking for the tourney of Harrenhal; the young man says that he is, but he’s lost his way. Brandon Stark, joining them, notes that this is Howland Reed, of a house sworn to House Stark - he should join their train. On cue the vast Stark train emerges through the trees

Panning through the trees, we now overlook a valley in which vast numbers can be seen travelling towards an immense castle in the distance. Howland how the fuck did you miss that

Opening creds

Aerys in his covered litter, travels through the gates of Harrenhal; Varys sits opposite him, watching passersby with interest. They hadn’t thought he’d come, Aerys tells Varys, but Rhaegar isn’t king yet, so why should he take the limelight etc. Varys agrees, noting it’s conspicuous that Lord Whent should have such vast sums as to host a tourney such as this - and leaves the rest to Aerys’ imagination. Varys then notes the absence of Tywin Lannister, who spurned the tourney that would invest Jaime into the Kingsguard; Aerys notes he has his eye on Tywin, too

Aerys steps out of his litter to applause from the assembled lords and ladies. He scrutinises them all. Rhaegar emerges shortly afterwards on horseback, and the cheers are twice as loud. Behind him, Ser Lewyn Martell helps Elia from a litter, shortly joined by Rhaegar; Rhaegar enquires after Elia first, then the baby - she is with child again, but it seems to be taking a toll. Oberyn Martell rides up to scowl at Rhaegar and take his sister’s arm

In Lyanna’s room at Harrenhal, where we find her elbowing Benjen out the door. As soon as she’s alone, she pulls a chest from under her bed, opening it to reveal a sword and armour. She picks up the helmet and considers it

A feast @ Harrenhal. Elia has taken to bed after her travels, so Rhaegar attends alone. He’s got his harp out again and sings a sad, slow song (does he know any others lol). Lyanna, sat at a nearby bench, weeps to hear it - it seems to strike her more than anyone in the room, though even she seems unsure why. Rhaegar looks up and meets her eyes. Just as they do so, Benjen Stark starts cackling at Lyanna’s tears, and Lyanna upends a flagon over his head

DANCING 🕺🏼 💃🏻 Ashara Dayne sits talking to her brother Arthur, whilst Ned looks on wistfully. Refusing Brandon’s urges to ask her to dance, Brandon decides to ask Ashara on his behalf and some spark passes between them etc etc it’s like that scene from Hamilton in which Ashara Dayne is founding father Alexander Hamilton. from now on please picture Lin Manuel Miranda as Ashara Dayne

Ashara, smiling at Brandon’s request, agrees to dance with Ned, and talks sweetly to him as they turn about the floor; however, it does not escape Ned that Ashara’s gaze often fixes on Brandon :/

Aerys with Barristan Selmy, watching the floor. He asks Barristan what he thinks of Jaime Lannister, soon to be a brother of the Kingsguard. Barristan thinks Jaime’s too young and naïve for such duty - and this boy does not look to him like a young Tywin Lannister. Unfortunately that was exactly what Aerys wanted to hear so you fucked that up Barry

Meanwhile, Elia sits with her brother Oberyn, unable to manage much food. Oberyn, worried, says he’ll fetch Rhaegar. Elia says there’s little point: the prince is always so distracted of late, hardly seems to see what’s right in front of him. Oberyn looks furious, and Elia, regretting she said anything, says there’s little and less she wants of Rhaegar - he plays for Rhaenys sometimes, but he’s no comfort to her, and she suspects she’s little to him. Whatever is going through that guy’s head, Elia can never coax him to share it. Elia tells Oberyn that he, on the other hand, is plenty of comfort to her, and should tell her something to make her laugh

Jaime gets his main character moment; Aerys summons him to the front of the hall. Jaime has accumulated some misgivings about this whole venture in recent weeks, but they fall away as he approaches the Kingsguard. Arthur Dayne watches on, expression inscrutable. Gerold Hightower swears Jaime in, and there’s a big ole cheer: Jaime beams, and for a moment he feels like a hero. Aerys beams as well until the crowd starts chanting ‘the young lion’. Well shit he’s just invested Tywin Lannister’s son hasn’t he. Aerys exits the hall and gnawing at his fucked up fingernails with Varys watching on

Drinking outside Harrenhal; Howland Reed is wandering about trying to find a meal. Three squires approach him angling for a fight, and begin to deliver blows when Howland won’t rise to the occasion. THEN! The Starks arrive led by Lyanna, who tackles the squires herself. The squires flee and Lyanna declares that Howland should stay in their quarters

Meanwhile, the King summons Jaime. Jaime arrives looking buzzed from all the attention and adulation, but Aerys looks less than pleased. Aerys asks Jaime to swear again he would die for his king, will he always obey? Jaime, perturbed, agrees he would. Aerys looks unconvinced, and after a moment, orders Jaime to King’s Landing to watch over Rhaella and Viserys. Jaime attempts to argue, but Aerys demands again that Jaime swear he would always obey. Jaime is forced to swear again, and abandon the tourney. Aerys tells Ser Gerold Hightower he doesn’t like the look of insolence in the boy’s eyes. Ser Gerold says he’s only a kid, and anyway he’d be happy to trade places with Jaime?? Aerys declines, wishes to teach Tywin Lannister’s son the humility his father never knew

In the Starks’ quarters with Howland. Lyanna inexpertly wraps a bandage about Howland’s injured arm; Benjen tells her she’s doing a shit job, Lyanna challenges him to do better. Brandon tells Howland he ought to learn to defend himself, and Lyanna tells him not everyone can - that’s what knights are for. Brandon tells Howland that Lyanna fancies herself a knight: Ned adds she might be better at swordplay than Brandon himself. Brandon seems surprised at this minor insolence from Ned of all people. Ofc, Ned is still smarting at what he saw between Brandon and Ashara

Jaime Lannister riding alone down the dark Kingsroad, looking more like a hedge knight than a member of the kingsguard. Reduced to angry tears, he shouts out into the dark in rage

NEXT MORNING! Tourney scenes!! Like that S1E1 joust scene from HOTD except without the ridiculous levels of gore lmao. We find Robert in the stands, still flushed from his own jousts, sat beside the Stark men. Robert has his Estermont cousin on his other arm, but asks Ned where he might find Lyanna. Ned says they’ve not seen their sister since the night before. Robert says they ought to keep an eye on his betrothed with so many men about; Richard Lonmouth, Robert’s drinking partner (yeah I forgot this guy existed too), leans over to suggest it’s Brandon they might keep an eye on instead - word’s got around he’d been wandering about the castle last night… Ned looks to Brandon, and Brandon won’t look back

Suddenly, some murmuring: a mystery knight has arrived!! Their armour is mismatched, sporting a weirwood tree, and they’re on the short side: a few laughs. Ned chews his lip - we can see right away that he knows who this is, and now we know too. Tense moment as the Knight of the Laughing Tree jousts, surprise (and Ned’s sheer relief) as they win almost effortlessly. Richard Lonmouth says he’ll place a bet on the Knight of the Laughing Tree’s next joust, Robert decides to bet against him

Some kind of montage of the KOTLT’s various jousts. At one point, they’re almost knocked from their horse, and they cry out. Ned jolts in panic, and Rhaegar’s head swings up - has he clocked who this is as well??? KOTLT recovers, and wins the joust. Aerys looking on, perturbed - has Tywin’s son returned is mismatched armour to spite him? Ser Gerold is sure that Ser Jaime is taller, but Aerys is already full on pizzagate on this notion, wants to seize KOTLT. Varys, at his side, advises he does not - look how pleased everyone is by this mystery knight. Not great PR for the crown to just grab the guy

Final joust. The Knight of the Laughing Tree demands to joust one of the champions of the previous day, i.e. one of Howland’s tormentors. Suitable tension etc, and the KOTLT wins comfortably. Robert groans, now deep in debt to Richard Lonmouth. The commons doing some kind of Masked Singer chant for the KOTLT to de-mask. Robert is descending the steps insisting he’ll do it himself. Ned panics, trying to grab his arm, when suddenly!!! Rhaegar stands up in the royal box (or whatever idk) to say something about tonight’s feast or whatever, and amidst the distraction, the KOTLT darts off behind the stands

It’s night. Lyanna has ridden into the woods, and removes the last of her KOTLT armour beneath the trees, grinning to herself. Then: cliché twig snap in the background someone’s followed her oh no!! Lyanna draws her sword - whoever it is has seen how she can fight, so she advises they don’t try her. Rhaegar emerges, and agrees that he has - though he’d be eager to see if they were a match for one another some other day. He notes that she’s the Stark girl; Lyanna says she’s not. Rhaegar laughs - it’s the first time we’ve seen him do so. Lyanna frowns and says she knows who he is. Rhaegar says he supposes no introductions are necessary then

Back at Harrenhal: another fuckin dance. Robert wants to ask Lyanna for a dance, but Ned has no idea where she is - he’s worried now, and suggests to Brandon they ought to go look for her. Brandon seems to be searching for someone else, agrees he’ll come look for Lyanna later. Meanwhile, Aerys is looking for his goddamn son where is that freaky kid. Robert meanwhile grabs at a serving woman

Back with Lyanna and Rhaegar. Lyanna wants to know why Rhaegar followed her. Rhaegar says she heard his song. Lyanna says everyone heard his stupid song. Rhaegar says no, you heard it. Lyanna like right ok whatever that’s supposed to mean. But she’s intrigued. She changes the subject, says she understands he fights well - why don’t they test each other now? Rhaegar tells her he didn’t bring a sword. Lyanna says that was stupid. Long look between them, sizing each other up

Quiet scenes over Harrenhal….. cut to Brandon and Ned in the halls of the Stark quarters preparing to raise the alarm for their missing sister. Perfect timing, Lyanna’s back whey. Brandon demands to know where she’s been. Lyanna says walking. Brandon scolds her, reminding her that a young woman should not be wandering in the dark unaccounted for!! Lyanna counters ‘and supposedly it’s fine for you to do the same?’, storms off to her room. oooo

Rhaegar returns to his room with Elia. She has not slept, and sits at the window reading. She does not ask him where he’s been. After a long period of silence, Rhaegar asks if she is well, and Elia answers monotonously that she is fine. Rhaegar asks after the child. Elia doesn't answer

FOLLOWING AFTERNOON: final joust!! Rhaegar jousts Arthur Dayne, and it’s suitably tense. Imagine a joust in ur head i’m not gonna write it. Ashara Dayne has joined the Starks in the stands, and cries for her brother’s victory. Brandon laughs and drinks to that. Lyanna looks tense, and Ned looks at her questioningly. Ofc Rhaegar ultimately wins, and Lyanna jumps for joy. Benjen tries to rib her, but she’s not paying attention this time. Applause is deafening all around them

Aerys spitting in the stands. This tourney was Rhaegar’s idea, he knows it, he’ll get to the bottom of it etc - no-one is listening.

Rhaegar is named the winner back on the ground to great applause, and is presented with a crown for his Queen of Love & Beauty. He stares at it for a long moment, like he’s unsure what to do w it

We find Elia in the stands, waiting for Rhaegar to turn to her with the crown. But Rhaegar seems to be searching the stands for someone else. Confused, Elia rises shakily to her feet to draw his attention (surely he knows where to find her).... just as Rhaegar finds the Stark girl in the audience. The crowd’s cheers go quiet, and Oberyn rises to stand beside Elia. Men have risen around Lyanna as well, daring Rhaegar to do what he seems about to

Rhaegar offers Lyanna the crown on the point of his joust, and Lyanna, looking flabbergasted, takes it in her hands

season one done we did it joe

#sparknotes robert's rebellion #asoiaf

100 notes · View notes

laurellerual · 1 year

Text

Harrenhal during the Long Night

A few days ago I did this survey where I asked you "Where will the great battle against the White Walkers take place?". 56% of voters chose "In the North, the Wall, Winterfell", but I disagree. Here I explain why I am part of the 41% who voted "In the Riverlands, Harrenal, the Gods eye, the Trident".

Why in the Riverlands?

Let's start with: I think Winterfell will be destroyed, and definitively rebuilt only at the end of the books. So the place where the victory against the White Walkers will take place will be the Riverlands.

The Gods eye is one of the most important places for the Old Gods and the Children of the forest, we know Howland has been there I think Bran will have to go, it's a place that will become relevant to the White Walkers storyline. And it's not the only place in the Riverlands closely connected with the faith of the Old Gods - indeed, we have seen more of them here than in the North. There are: High heart with its circle of weirwood and its woods witch, the Hollow Hill where one-eyed Beric sits surrounded by weirwood roots, Raventree Hall, and Harrenhal whose building seems cursed by the gods and has a godswood big like a forest.

The conflict against the White Walkers will have to be a major event, relevant in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, so there is no way it will only involve the first northernmost castles. What repercussions would such an event have on the plot? No one would believe that the North has been attacked by creatures that everyone thinks don't exist: it would be as if it hadn't happened. The undead army must reach to at least the center of Westeros. An interesting foreshadowing is found in Daenerys III ASOS:

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be.

Why will Harrenhal be important?

If the above turns out to be true, this means that a significant part of the people who inhabit the North and the Riverlands will find themselves fleeing to take refuge behind the first available walls. And as it happens, in the Riverlands there is a castle of immense proportions, mostly abandoned.

If you haven't read the chapters in which Harrenhal appears in a while, I recommend you review its architecture on the wiki (read the sections 'Walls and Towers' and 'Misc'). And then you come here and tell me that an immense place, with walls that cannot be passed through, a big pit, a great hall with more than thirty hearth, hot baths, kitchens as big as the great hall of Winterfell, and many acres of wood within the walls doesn't seem like the perfect description of a place where hundreds of people can take refuge to survive the apocalypse.

Harrenhal has impassable walls unless you have a dragon. The reason it fell so many times is that it was abandoned. Until now, fighting for the castle has been a waste of money for all the lords who have passed it. No one had enough people to guard all the gates, run all the fires, etc… not even using prisoners of war as slaves would have been enough.

But if refugees from half of the Seven Kingdoms were to occupy it, we would see those huge empty halls fill with life for the first time in centuries. Finally this cyclopean construction would make sense: it would become one of the main citadels of humanity.

Thanks for reading. If you want to find out why the other day while brushing my teeth I was struck by the brilliant intuition that Arya Stark might be the Lady of Harrenhal during the Long Night keep following me.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #harrenhal #riverlands #the long night #the battle for the dawn #arya stark #daenerys targaryen #bran stark

187 notes · View notes

catofadifferentcolor · 1 year

Text

Terrible Fic Idea #41: Game of Thrones, but make it Lord of the Dance

About five years back I broke Amazon's recommendation algorithm and it never quite recovered. Case in point, it's been recommending Lord of the Dance and Lord of the Dance: Dangerous Games to me for the last few weeks despite my never having expressed an interest in Irish stepdancing.

And then it occurred to me: Lord of the Dance sounds an awful lot like one of the titles someone might have in Game of Thrones, like Lord of the Tides. So naturally my mind went: What if Jon Snow was Lord of the Dance?

Aka: The Lord of the Dance Fic:

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon up to Robert's arrival in Winterfell - with one exception. In addition to being fairly skilled with a blade, Jon Snow excels at the Northern traditional dances, which to some degree resemble Irish stepdance and/or Slavic squat dance.

Instead of being sent to the Wall, Jon heads south as part of Ned's household, the intent being that he train to be Sansa's sworn sword, possibly even a Kingsguard in time.

While Ned, Sansa, and Arya follow their canon plot lines, Jon spends most of his time in King's Landing training or practicing his Northern dancing. Someone - likely Joffrey - catches him at the latter and gives him the nickname Lord of the Dance. It's meant to be derisive, but Jon wears it with pride, partly because he really is an impressive dancer, partly because anything is better than Bastard of Winterfell.

The rare moments Jon doesn't spend training are spend shadowing Sansa, which keeps her from telling Cersei of Ned's plan to flee King's Landing. They manage to take ship before they can be captured...

...and flee to Dragonstone, where Ned and Stannis write their letters declaring Cersei's children bastards.

The War of Five Kings takes place pretty much as in canon, with the exception Robb Ned is never named King in the North. Robb and Ned gather their armies to fight for Stannis - though the Red Wedding still happens as in canon, with Ned present to die beside his wife and eldest son.

In fact, all of canon pretty much takes place as before with one major difference: Sansa, Arya, and Jon are all safe on Dragonstone throughout, half for their own protection and half as guests to ensure the North's continued support of Stannis' claim.

During this time Jon finds himself joining the Dragonstone guard - even becoming its captain after Stannis leads most of his men North following the Battle of the Blackwater. He has near complete freedom of movement throughout the island, and it is during this time that Jon begins to suspect his father isn't Ned Stark at all.

By the time Daenerys and Young Griff arrive at Dragonstone, Jon has become throughly disillusioned. All of his family save his sisters are dead, Winterfell is in the hands of the Boltons, and the two men he admired most in his life - Ned and Stannis - turned out to be liars and religious fanatics. Sansa still hates him for interfering in her betrothal to Joffrey and Arya blames him for not being with Ned and Robb when they died at the Red Wedding. His only friend on the island is Shireen, who managed to slip off the ships when her parents headed north, as disillusioned by her parents as Jon.

When the Targaryen fleet arrives at Dragonstone, Jon opens the gates.

Dany and Young Griff (dealer's choice if he's Rhaegar's son or a Blackfyre) don't quite know what to make of Jon, but eventually warm to him after he gains the loyalty of one of their dragons. Jon comes to be a key player in their conquest of Westeros and is even named their heir until such a time they have their own.

Jon, Dany, and Young Griff reunite the Seven Kingdoms. Jon proves himself in the conquest and War for the Dawn which follows. Dany and Young Griff are crowned Daenerys I and Aegon VI, and Jon is named Prince of Dragonstone. Sansa is named Lady of Winterfell and is always quite bitter about it, while Arya runs away with her blacksmith.

What follows is the long business of putting down rebellions and restoring law and order to Westeros. It... doesn't go nearly as easily as the war.

Young Griff dies trying to put down a food riot in King's Landing about five years after being crowned, having been reluctant to use his dragon against the smallfolk. Dany is assassinated shortly after by those reluctant to follow an Essosi-raised princess. Their marriage produced no children and many believed the queen to be infertile.

Jon is crowned Jaehaerys III. His queen is Shireen Baratheon. But he always says he prefers the title Lord of the Dance as it's the first he earned for himself.

Bonuses include: 1) The world's softest, gentlest friends to lovers for Jon and Shireen. It's the one bright thing either of them have during the war and is built on a foundation of true friendship; 2) Jon, despite reading all the books hidden away in Dragonstone and coming to suspect the truth long before Dany and Young Griff arrived, never quite knowing how to feel about his Targaryen ancestry; and 3) Everyone Jon meets feeling the need to comment on his title Lord of the Dance, leading to Jon having to demonstrate how he earned the title more often than he'd really like and incorporating it in his list of official titles to get ahead of the gossips.

And that.... is surprisingly more than I thought would come from this idea. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #crack fic #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #asoiaf #jon snow #jon snow is a targaryen #lord of the dance #shireen baratheon #danerys targaryen #young griff #aegon vi targaryen

25 notes · View notes

thelustybraavosimaid · 2 years

Text

Dragonstone was a place of wonders.

Tall and grand, with numerous dragons carved into the towers, claws wreathed in stone flames, their mouths opened in a grimace. Some held torches in quiet solace, others stood tall and proud, others still kept their eyes on the gates, silent watchers. Enormous wings and tails formed entrances to the grand doors, led to seemingly endless stairs ascending to the top of towers, Jon watched them all.

There were other creatures, too—basilisks, demons and griffins, wyverns and minotaurs, among many more. He stared at them a little longer before three live dragons caught his attention as they let out a cry, circling around their home in grandeur.

There was only one on dragonback, and Jon squinted his eyes and shielded his gaze from the sun to spot the rider. Her pale hair flowed loose and long, flying upwards as she descended. The dragons, in unison, let out an earth-shattering scream. He stepped back, uneasy.

Can they smell fear? Jon asked himself. Not much scared him anymore, though. He had experienced death itself and lived to tell the tale, but though he had wished for dragons, he hadn't actually...expected to see any.

He took another step back, giving wide berth for their great wingspans, trying to keep his face as passive as possible.

"In time for your coming," she smiled as she jumped down from the largest of the three, unruly and scaled black-and-red. His eyes reminded Jon of Ghost, molten crimson pits that shone when the sun caught them in the right moment.

"Indeed, Your Grace," he gave a courteous bow. You are a welcome sight. The young queen was as lovely as men have said, her with the blood of Old Valyria. She was dressed in riding breeches and a flowing top in the colours of her House, the shoulders covered in mock dragonscales.

The dragon she rode the back of gave another roar before he spread his wings and took to the skies. The cream-and-gold one followed suit, the force of their heavy wings kicking up dust and loose grass, leaving only dragged imprints of their claws in the soil.

"Look," she motioned behind him. Her violet gaze fell upon an immense dragon that basked in the rays of the sun. He was curled as if in rest, but his eyes were open and he stared, pools of burnished bronze fixed on Jon as if they were trying to peer into his very soul.

There was something familiar about him, though he had never seen him before.

"This one is Rhaegal." She scratched him under the chin, but still the dragon stared at Jon. "Come closer, Your Grace. Have my word that he will not harm you."

He did as he was bid.

"Reach out your hand and let him catch your scent."

Jon pulled off the glove of his burned sword hand and spread his fingers apart, spying Daenerys' eyes lingering on his scars. The great wyrm extended his neck to rest his snout against Jon's palm, smoke from his nostrils as his huff warmed the king's hand almost uncomfortably.

Rhaegal leaned back, giving a growl of approval before returning his head to the grassy ground, and Jon gave a flex of his hand.

Her hand was back on the dragon, running over his armoured flesh before finding an empty space between his limbs, sitting down.

"He's named after my older brother, Rhaegar," there was a sadness touching her once-jovial voice. "Ser Barristan tells me men all over the Seven Kingdoms loved him."

Her brother.

He had heard of him, of course. He had supped with and learned from the armourer who forged the weapon that crushed the life from him. Lord Eddard Stark would not speak of him, no more than he had of his mother, but he had heard good things of him.

Does she think of what could have been, if her brother had lived? He wondered. He thought of her flying in the sky, seeing the world in a way few else ever would, thinking it invigorating...but lonely. Does she imagine him riding beside her?

Does she take strength and inspiration from his memory, as I once had The Young Dragon? As I do mine own family?

Jon wondered for the first time of what the long-gone man was like, the crown prince. He was curious to know if he was anything like the dragon queen. He wondered what his lord father's sister, the Lady Lyanna was like.

He wondered a great many things.

He shook his head—it doesn't matter now, he chided himself. They were gone, and all that was left was the two of them, encased by a wing and a giant tail of a dragon. A breeze blew through his hair, locks floating effortlessly in the wind. He put his glove back on, plopping down beside the queen.

"I have never seen him behave that way before. Rhaegal seems to be quite taken with you," the little queen smiled, running her hand over the side of his belly, stopping at a horn that claimed the space between the two of them. "Dragons may be lonely without a rider. Are you here to claim him for yourself, brave King in the North?"

Claim him?

That was not something he had pondered. Jon stood again, careful to step over the smooth black claws sharpened to natural blades.

The grey of Jon's eyes found the dragon's bronze and held it for a moment, then he found Dany's, a slow smile brightening his long face.

"No, Your Grace," he let his smile widen, his joy flavouring his words. "I'm here to claim your hand."

Her head bumped the side of Rhaegal's body as she threw her head back to laugh. "Is that so!" Her giggle died down. "I shall grant your request, bold king," the grin was still plastered on her face as her voice dropped to tease, full lips tinged with secrets untold, "but only if you take Rhaegal to the skies."

Inspired by [this post] by @tatticstudio55, it's such a beautiful piece of art that I couldn't resist 🥰

#jonerys #snowstorm #jon x dany #jon x daenerys #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #asoiaf #fanfiction

122 notes · View notes

viperixsworld · 2 months

Text

Tales of a Baratheon in a lion's den

Sack of King's Landing

WARNING: This story contains mildly graphic mentions of sex scenes, rape, blood, vomiting, and some gore. Read at your own risk. MDNI.

This story takes place before, during and after Robert's Rebellion, following the life of Margellyn Baratheon, lady in waiting of late Princess Elia of Dorne; sister of the future king Robert Baratheon.

Kingslayer's friend.

The night is dark and full of terrors.

The Red Keep was being besieged by the Rebel Army. They were at the Gates, waiting for their pray to either die holding their doors or starve to death. The people from the city gathered on the entry of the red walls, trying and failing to get in, as the royal guards protected the king, throwing boiling oil and shooting them arrows from above.

The Mad King had commanded quarentine.

All the servants remaining will do their chores with their mouth shut, or else they would have it sew up. The few lords and ladies that stayed regretted not having fled when they had the chance. Not that they were not loyal to House Targaryen anymore, but loyalty turns really unuseful once you have a knife to your neck, especially in the losing party.

As to the Royal Family itself, there were different situations going on. The king had locked himself in the throne room, accompanied only by his newest hand, a pyromancer called Rossart, and with the doors of said rooms guarded by the entire Kingsguard. Meanwhile, princess Elia roamed around her room, with the little princesses sleeping peacefully on the bed, unbothered by the chaos that devastated Westeros, unawered that their father was probably dead.

The night sky covered the battered city, leaving the fortress in a gloomy aura. Margellyn Baratheon, lady in waiting for Princess Elia, was praying in her dorm, as she usually did since the rebellion began. The king held her hostage as well as her princess and the children, as a bargain for House Martell.

Margie had been sended to the capital three years ago, only twelve at the time, by her brothers Robert and Stannis, like a present for the Royal Family.

Sure as the Seven Hells, they were regretting every decision now.

But Robert had just arrive from the Vale, the brand-new Lord of Storms End, knew how to deal with all women except his own sister, who was barely ten years older than his bastard daughter. He loved her, of course, but sure she was infuriating. Stannis also did love her, but he had enough in his plate, although at first he was reluctant to send a twelve-year-old girl who had never left the walls of Storms End to the big and dangerous city, he gave in to his brother's ideas, since it was already too difficult to raise a newborn Renly and clean up Robert's political disasters as lord, to do all that and control a naughty and talkative young girl.

She was perfect for the job, they thought, had a good hand with kids and the presence of the correct Princess Elia would surely be a very good influence on that rascall they call sister. But they had not thought about the Starks deaths, they had not thought Robert would lead a rebellion and that Stannis would been reclused in Storms End almost starving to death with Renly. The oldest one couldn't even imagine that he would be marching to the capital now, with the blood of Rhaegar Targaryen in his hands, with his sister being hostage within the same Keep as a pyromaniac king.

Robert would rather have his tongue torn out than admit this, but he hadn't seen Margie in two years. He was afraid of arriving at a fortress consumed by fire and not being able to recognize his sister's body.

Of losing another girl he loved to a Targaryen.

When the news of Lyanna's kidnapping came to the capital, Margie was horrified, couldn't even think of Rhaegar doing something like that. It left her Princess weak in the heart and she was angry at the Crown Prince for it, he deserved a punch in his pretty face. And when the Battle of the Trident was known, Margie was not angry anymore, she was scared.

She thought of all the ways the king could torture her or kill her as revenge for his son. She became paranoid, only seeing her Princess and the kids, not speaking to anyone else. She burned all the letters she had from her brothers, only wore orange dressed as the Dorne standard, refusing any kind of black and yellow.

But she was still alive.

Third day of siege, and she was still alive. In her prayers, she plead for her brothers to save her or the famine to kill her, whathever that came first.

But please, please, do not burn me alive.

She prayed for the children as well, little beings that didn't ask to be born in this mess and that awful family. And she prayed for her good princess, who she loved like no other, brokenhearted by that stupid prince.

"What are you doing?". ask the little princess wathing her dark-haired friend.

"Just praying" Margie responded " For a short Winter and a Spring full of wheat".

"Can you pray the Gods for a new dress?"

Margie laughed at her occurrence.

"I can try"

She prayed for her brothers, the three of them, Robert, Stannis and Renly. It's been a long time since she saw them. She wondered if Renly remembered her, if Stannis still had hair in his head or if Robert could have grown more, if that was possible.

She prayed for a sunny day among those clouded wars, for the blood to stop raining upon her and her loved ones and a sky full of peace.

But it was night.

And the night is dark and full of terrors.

The obscured city bagan to light, but it wasn't the sun. It was fire. Fire and blood.

Margellyn approached the window of her room, the capital of Westeros plunged into chaos and pain, among the banners of the rebel army, one stands out from the rest, one that does not belong to the lands of the North, or the Riverlands, or the Vale, or her own.

A golden lion on a red floor.

The Lannister have betrayed the King.

"We're doomed".

The Baratheon girl breathed out all the air in her body. It was the end, the King was going to set everyone on fire, she had heard him say it, she had heard what was inside the Keep, in under the city. It was the end.

She grabbed the first robe she saw, a pale pink over her white nightgown, shoeless. She left the room, on her way to the princess's royal chambers in the other wing of the Red Keep.

But on the way she found a crowd of servants fleeing in terror, pushing each other to escape the terror that was unleashed at the foot of the fortress. He saw royal guards drag the fleeing man back through the corridors. Among the chaos, there was a loud crash.

Everyone remained silent, looking at the gate in terror. That he was being beaten by the Rebel army. A moment of stillness, before the door fell.

"They're inside!" Targaryen guard raised the alarm.

The Lannister army entered the interior of the imposing keep to slaughter. They did not stop to ask questions or to save the servants from the edge of their swords. They killed everything that moved. Not that Margie wanted to stay and find out.

She ran as fast as her cold feet allowed her to the stairs of the royal wing. He had to alert his princess and get her out of here. She pushed every body that crossed her path with all the strength she possessed, if Robert saw her he would applaud her and laugh saying "Fury moves mountains, doesn't it, kiddo?"

Suddenly, she felt a tug on her arm. Terror invaded her mind, she was not a naive girl, she knew what happened to girls and women during sacks. The women of the court are cruel, and they tell stories of even crueler men to the girls newly arrived from all around the Seven Kingdoms. What those men did to women during the looting was the worst fate for a lady. The harlots suffered it daily, but at least they received reward for it. She knew what that meant, they took away their humanity, forcing them and leaving them dying at the end if they were lucky. The best thing to do, they said, was to close your eyes and pray that they won't leave you a bastard. "Don't scream" the most cynical would say "Don't give them the pleasure."

But Margie wasn't about to give anyone any kind of pleasure.

When the man pushed her against one of the walls and pressed against her, she wanted to vomit, but first her eyes caught a glimpse of an unlit candelabrum with a sharp ornament. He felt the man rip her silk robe with a knife that scarred her shoulder, then she reached for the candelabrum, stabbing him in the eye with it.

Shouts and curses were said to her by the man, as she returned to her way to the princess room.

Maybe they were safe. She thought.

Elia had told her before, that Maegor Targaryen built secret passages throughout the fortress, Rhaegar had told Elia that after the Dance of Dragons, many were sealed and over the years people considered this one of the many myths of the Red Keep. Rumors arose again after Queen Rhaella's escape.

Maybe they had used them and were already safe on their way to Dorne. She hoped.

When she reached the hallway of the princess's chambers, her heart began to relax. However, even in the darkness, an uneasiness settled on the back of Margie's neck, as she didn't see a single soul in the corridor.

The closer she got to the door, the farther away it seemed. The hum of the crowd riddled at the entrance was replaced by subtle, weak whimpers of pain... and the cry of a baby.

The door is open, leaving a small line of light that showed the interior of the room.

She saw it all.

The little girl being dragged from her hiding place and stabbed by one of the men, living her little lifeless body on the floor. The next thing left Margie with her heart pounding and vomit rising up her throat. The other man was larger, bulkier, similar to Robert, he took the babys from Elia as she cried being held by the first man. Blood and remains were everywhere, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't look away from that grotesque scene and she couldn't stop hearing the cries of her poor princess.

Just when Margellyn herself was about to scream in agony, alerting the murderers of her presence, a hand covered her mouth, stoping the shout.

A third accomplice got her and took her aside, right behind a column, pushing her against a wall. Her screams and cries were muffled up by the globed hand of this new person in the scene.

Maybe the Seven thought loud girls had to go screaming.

"Shut it, girl!" the stranger urged her with an familiar voice "Margellyn, please, stop it! You're gettin us killed!"

She knew that voice.

It was Jaime Fucking Lannister.

Her teary eyes focused on his sweaty face. He was dressed with his armour and that bloody white cloack. His golden locks look dirty and darkish, his esmerald eyes lacked of his usual spark. He wasn't grinning like an idiot as he would normally be when she was around.

He looked miserable.

But she wouldn't want to know how she looked.

The warm and stinky weather of King's Landing was no help with the stench of corpses and smoke from fires. Hiding behind a column in the middle of a dark hallway, which in other circumstances would have been completely unseemly, was now a moment of absolute pain and sorrow for the two, as they listened to the last breaths of the princess of Dorne.

His right hand still covering the girl's mouth, his left one held her hand, hoping it would soothed her.

He wanted to leave that spot as soon as possible, get back to his father and give that hardheaded Robert Baratheon his sister back. That was the wise decision.

But Jaime wasn't known for his wise decisions.

So he waited for the girl in front of him to stop crying. Normally, he would have complained about the girls' sentimentality and forced her to go with him to the throne room where her father and the rest of the army were gathered for their victory. Yet he just watched her calm down slowly, still covering her sobs in case the Mountain catch them and tried to harm her.

At this proximity, Jaime could see how her bloodshot eyes did not stop crying. And he also felt like crying, after everything he had done for the kingdom, he had broken his oath and the promise he made to the Dragon Prince.

"Don't get angry, Jaime" Rhaegar Targaryen said "But this is a job for prepared knights"

"But i am prepared, way more than these old men. What if they brake their hip?"

"OI! Be careful boy,I can smack you!"

The rest laughed but Jaime didn't.

The Prince put a hand on his shoulder.

"You have an important role here, promise me you will take care of my wife and my kids and a will promise you, when I get back, things will be different"

"I promise".

He had broken his oath, to the Prince and to the Kingsguard. When the Mountain and his men were out the chambers and out of sight, Jaime realised that it the sun was rising and took Margie's out of their spot.

Jaime began to head to the throne room, they had a lot to do, Storm's End was under siege from what he had heard Jon Arryn and his father say. When he noticed that no one was following him, he turned around.

The Baratheon girl stood still next to the column that had been her hiding place for The Seven Knows How Long, the braid that held her long black hair was disheveled, her skin was pale, almost yellowish, and her tearful eyes did not take off from the door.

Margellyn wanted the earth to swallow her and spit her out into the stormlands again. She wanted her mother, to be a little girl again with a newborn brother to play with and two older ones to bother. She wanted to meet Elia and her children again and play with them in the gardens. And above all, she wanted to stop looking at the pool of blood that could be seen running across the floor.

Jaime took a step foward and closed the door once and for all, separating them from the inert and crushed bodies of Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon.

"Margellyn, come on, we have to go"

"They're dead" she murmured.

"I know"

"They done no wrong"

"I know"

"Why are they dead?"

"I don't know"

He did know.

Only one Targaryen alive was a danger to Westeros, they didn't need to have future crazy Targaryen that could want to take the Iron Throne in the name of their bloody House. It didn't matter they were kids.

If It didn't matter, why did his chest sting?

The ruins of the city rise as best they can after the settlement. Those loyal to the mad king try to flee but are intercepted. The rebels take power and Tywin Lannister prepares for his next step. While Eddard Stark marches to liberate Storm's End, Robert rampages through Maegor Holdfast in search of a young woman he has not seen in years.

As they head to the Council room, Jaime notices the bruises and marks visible behind her (now noticeable in daylight) thin nightgown. The boy fears the worst, it was a long night, and when he found her she already looked like this. He didn't want to think about how it would have ended if he had arrived just a second later. He also knew who was behind those doors. Men, most of them bordering on old age, who would not accept the girls' appearances kindly, regardless of what happened just a few hours ago.

It was too late to turn back to her room for her to change, so he did the only thing that croos his mind, and took off his white ( now spotted red ) cloack and put it over her shoulders.

"There you have" said the boy "You looked cold"

Margie didn't say a word, she just tried to hide within herself, to erase herself from this narrative. There wasn't many times she stayed quiet, but in those moments she couldn't even think of use her voice.

Jaime opened the door. The room fell quiet.

Pairs of wrinkled eyes watch her enter the room a few steps behind Tywin's son, covered in a blood stained cape. At the end of the table, sat with his leg crossed and a cup of wine in his hand, was Tywin Lannister, as victorious as ever.

"Ah" he sighed with delight, as if everything was falling into place "There's the girl, alive and kicking".

The rest of the Commanders of the Rebellion seemed relieved, all that was left was to recover the Stark girl and Robert would not vent his rage on anyone else, they would share the wonderful loot and return to their lands under the rule of a new puppet of Tywin Lannister.

Joan Arryn stood up from his seat, analyzing the girl's posture, fearing that she was going to faint at any moment. Aside from the obvious feminine features, the girl was an exact copy of her older brother, who looked just like their deceased father. A plump face, with stormy blue eyes that looked reddish after tears, the same voluminous, dark hair. It was like seeing his foster child in the body of a scared little girl.

"Call the maester for this girl, and someone bring Robert once and for all" he stated.

Margie felt dizzy and dehydrated, her head pouding crazy. The adrenaline had left her body, leaving her with the lingering pain of the blows and cuts she had suffered during the siege.

While she waited for a maid to come get her clean in her chambers, she sat in a chair in the corner of the room, while man played war. Like a little girl, still covered in that bloody cloack. Jaime was there too, listening to his father plans to hunt down the other wildfire pyromaniacs lefts, every now and then, he would turn his eyes to the girl in the corner, checking if she needed anything.

This did not go unnoticed by Lord Tywin, who was more than satisfied with it.

"Where the hell is Robert?" asked some lord.

"Probably smashing some heads out there yet" said another one.

The thought of it made Margellyn want to vomit.

The siege was days of terror and panic for everyone. The entire fortress shook with every scream of the mad king. Nobody imagined that Lannister himself would betray the king and change the situation in favor of Robert's side. Margie couldn't help but think about how she said goodbye to Elia and the children once they fell asleep, how she said goodbye to her without knowing that it was the last time she would see her alive.

A maid came to take her to the maester and bring her clean clothes. After the maester cleaned the cut and treated the bruises on her body, the maid helped her bathe and dress in a new nightgown and robe, since Maester Yandel had recommended using soft fabrics that would not irritate the wounds. While the maid gently scratched the dirt and blood from her skin, Margie drifted away in her mind, thinking of good Elia, sitting on her bench in the gardens, breastfeeding little Aegon and his fascinating platinum hair. While little Rhaenys played with Balerion the Cat near the fountains.

Maybe if she sank deep enough in the tub, she could resurface in one of the fountains and wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Robert entered her room with strong steps and bittersweet face. It was night again, but she wasn't praying when he came in, not like last night.

She was scared of the dark sky now.

Scared of look at the window and go back to Elia's door again.

Margellyn was happy to see Robert, just didn't have the strength to prove it. But it's okay, because he could put enough strength for the two of them.

He picked her up as he hugged her, squeezed her a little too hard, until her sister let out a whimper.

"My little sister" he claimed, once he let her on the ground "You look like horseshit".

"You smell like it, Bobby"

A spark jumped in his chest when she said that nickname. When Margie was younger and Robert came to visit from the Vale, Margie had trouble pronouncing her r's, so she invented Bobby, her big brother.

"I had a chat with the maester, said you were good but that the night had been tough on ya', that ya needed rest" he said as they sat on the edge of the bed.

Her eyes filled with tears again, thinking of the siege.

Robert felt uncomfortable, he had missed his sister, but she was still a 15-year-old girl who knew what had happened that night.

He was her guardian now, her safety and future fell in his hands, just like Stannis and Renly, who were on their way to King's Landing at that time.

Just like those of the entire kingdom, it seems.

"Listen, kiddo" he said suddenly in a much deeper tone "Things are about to change for me, for us, I was the leader of the rebellion and..."

"They're going to judge you?!" she asked terrified.

"No! Seven hells..." he cursed, leaving her confused "... is much worse indeed..."

Margie feared the worst for a second, then she wondered who the hell could want Robert executed, since everyone loyal to the mad king was either dead or on the way to being so.

"Now that the Mad King and all his spawns are dead..." he began. And Margie wanted to cry again "The Regent Council is looking for a new king, the closest to the Targaryens"

"Tywin Lannister is the king?"

For some reason, that was more scary than a Targaryen.

"No..." he sighed "Our father's mother, Rhaelle Baratheon, was Rhaelle Targaryen by birth, daughter of Aegon Targaryen the Fifth of His Name" he explained "which, by royal blood, make's me, our father's firstborn, the new King of the Seven Kingdoms".

Margellyn was totally speechless. Of all the possible candidates for ruler, they have chosen their idiot brother. She loved him, of course, but he would be an absolute disaster as king, he was born to be Lord Baratheon of Storms End, not King Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms.

"That is..." she said

"NUTS! How could you even be King?" she wanted to say.

"... is unexpected"

"I knew I should have waited a bit to tell ya kiddo, but it had to be done, when the storm clears, the loyalist to Aerys would be gone and I will be king"

He didn't seem too keen on being the next monarch either.

Robert then prepared to leave, but not before saying.

"Stannis and Renly will arrive in the capital in a week, when they arrive we will talk about Storm's End. Tomorrow morning you will be with me in the throne room, when they announce my coronation and my engagement".

He left before she ask.

"What engagement?"

The door was shut.

Margellyn Baratheon was left alone in her room again. This time there was no danger. There was a storm outside, washing the sins of the streets away.

There was a storm outside.

Further away, a baby is born.

#baratheon #got #game of thrones #asoif/got #asoiaf fic #robert baratheon #house targaryen #house baratheon #baratheon oc #jaime lannister #jaime lannister x oc #got fic

6 notes · View notes

welldonebeca · 2 years

Text

The Things We Do For Love (I)

Summary: There is nothing Theon wouldn’t do to make Sansa happy. Bringing the only other man she had ever loved into their marriage isn't the most absurd thing he would do for her. It starts with just producing an heir, but this time, duty might lose its battle to love. WC: 2.5k words Warnings: Light angst. Fluff. Post-canon. Canon divergent.

Masterlist

Theon watched with his breath suspended as the gate opened in front of him, revealing the entrance to Castleblack.

It was cold - not the coldest weather he had ever seen, but still cold.

Surprisingly, he wasn't used to it. Pain, sure... he could live with it. But not cold.

Ever since his closeness to death, with the Night King, he always felt like he would never get warm again, and hated every second of it. The only time he ever felt good was in the arms of his Queen.

And he was here for her.

The wall, a place that used to hold criminals, bastards and the worst men to walk the Earth, was now gone. Castleback and the buildings that once housed the watch were full of families, women and children.

When Sansa chose him to be her husband, he wanted to refuse. He did refuse, time and time again. Theon wasn't worthy, he could never be. She was beautiful, strong, and a true goddess. And he was nothing but a survivor.

People called him a hero, Asha said it would be tactical to join their Kingdoms, and he loved Sansa. He married her because he loved her. His wife was the woman he loved the most in the world.

She gave him her name, made him a Stark as he had always dreamed, but he didn't feel worthy of her. He wasn't the man Lord Stark would have wanted for his beautiful daughter. Ned Stark would never have let a castrated man, full of fears, be with his oldest daughter.

Sansa deserved the best in the world, to have everything she dreamed of.

She deserved a family. Children to carry and raise, to love and hold dearly to her heart.

Everything he couldn't give her.

A wilding man walked to his horse and looked at him with hard eyes.

"What is your business?"

He willed himself to speak like the prince - she wanted him to be a King, but he couldn't - he was supposed to be.

"I need to speak with King Snow," he declared.

He almost wanted to laugh. Jon Snow, the little bastard boy he had grown around, the only one under him in their hierarchy, was now a King. Years ago, if someone had told him Jon Snow was who he was - the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the one who was supposed to be King of the Seven Kingdoms - and turned everything down to be king of the Wildlings, he would have spit in their face that that bastard was no king.

He was guided to Jon, and tried hard not to hide from the cold as the hunting party broke apart, and he left his men to go to him.

"Hello, Theon," he spoke, simply.

"Hello," he tried to keep his voice steady.

Jon looked different. Younger than the lady time he had seen him, somehow, with his hair grown into something almost like a mane, not hiding it with a bun anymore.

He looked like a king, even including the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Is Sansa here?" he asked.

Theon shook his head.

"She is not," he told him. "I'm alone."

Jon's face changed in concern.

"Alone?" he asked. "No party."

"A few men a few miles back," he assured him. Sansa had insisted. "I needed privacy. To speak to you as a friend."

He nodded slowly.

"You are my brother," Jon affirmed simply. "We grew up together."

"I know," Theon affirmed. "That's why I'm here."

Jon seemed more confused, and he cleared his throat.

"Maybe we can talk while hunting," he offered. He hadn't gone in a hint in years. "I'm still the best sharpshooter in the Seven Kingdoms."

His friend snorted.

"I'm glad the years didn't hurt your ego," he declared. "Let me find you something warmer, and we can go."

He wanted to say no, but Jon just walked away, grabbing extra furs to wrap around him.

"Is that how you treat all the ladies?" he asked jokingly.

Jon scoffed, walking away, not waiting for Theon to follow him - just like he did when they were young - and only turned to check if he was following him when they reached the spot where he had a bow and arrows.

"Test this one," he told him and grabbed an arrow. "Just don't shoot anyone."

He chuckled, weighing it and simply shrugged.

"Not ironborn material, but it will do," he decided.

Jon just nodded, and the other men quickly welcomed him before the group left.

The snow started to faintly fall as they did, and as he felt it on his face, Theon could remember the day he was standing on the wall of Winterfell with Sansa, with her fingers clenching his and their lives on the line. At the moment, he felt that jumping would be the end of their lives - on their own terms - and he was ready for it. And so was she.

When she kissed him before they fell, he thought it was to give him a sweet memory to cling to when death swallowed them.

When she kissed him again, after he said he wasn't coming with her to Castleblack, he believed it was to show her gratitude, like the princesses in the songs always did to their knights.

But then, she kissed him again when he returned to fight for them, in front of everyone - of the Dragon Queen and her people, of the Northern Lords - and held him close, as if he was a lover she had been eager to welcome back home.

And she kissed him again after he awoke from his brush with death.

Just then, he realised there was more to it. It wasn't gratitude or a way of survival.

He realised it was love.

Love that no one ever understood, not the North, not Asha and not Jon Snow.

Even when he treated him well, he could see it in his eyes.

The same hatred he had shown on their wedding day, when he thought no one was looking, of how Sansa had fallen for Theon, of all men.

He wanted to believe it was only the sins he had committed that weighted his opinion of their union, but he knew there was something more there. The same feeling Theon had grown up with, the same desire, except that Jon couldn't voice it, even to himself. What man would admit to himself to wanting his own sister?

Now, she was his cousin.

"You can ask me about her, you know?" he spoke aloud, though not looking at Jon.

"I don't want to know," he mumbled.

Theon shook his head.

"Of course you want to know," he called him out. "You love her."

Jon turned to him so quickly Theon thought he could hurt his neck, but he didn't give him any space to interrupt him. A childhood with Jon Snow made him an expert at pushing his buttons, especially when they were so obvious.

"And she loves you," he spat. "More than you even think she does. She misses you every day, and sends you letters every week. When was the last time you even wrote to her?"

He clenched his jaw, bothered.

"I write to her," he declared, and his eyes fell on some movement in front of them. "It's just hard with the free folk, I have to help them settle in and get used to their new life."

Theon scoffed.

"Why not take her help, then?" he asked.

"Sansa might be the smartest person alive when it comes to the Seven Kingdoms, but she knows nothing about the Free Folk," he reminded him.

Theon ignored him, aiming at the rabbit just as it jumped, and Jon gasped, startled.

He chuckled, amused at his surprise, but sighed, annoyed with his damn stubbornness, something that apparently was carried in the Stark blood.

"Sansa is the reason why you were able to unite the Free Folk in the first place, the reason why we have Winterfell," he reminded him, standing in front of him and dropping his bow while someone rushed to get the rabbit. "She is the reason I'm not a disgusting bastard's pet, and you aren't in a cross, flayed alive."

Jon watched his face for a moment, scowling.

"What do you want, Greyjoy?" he asked, at last. "Why did you come after me?"

Theon grabbed another arrow, unable to say it while looking at his face.

"We need heirs and the three of us are some of the few who know I can't give it to her," he declared, keeping his eye open and following what seemed to be a stag.

"Sansa says she doesn't care," he nearly whispered. "But I know she wants children, that she wants a family."

Jon inhaled sharply.

"I'm sure there are men loyal enough to help," he spoke between teeth.

It was obvious from his tone that he was forcing himself into saying it.

"We tried," he confessed. "We stop everything before they can figure out why she needed them. Sansa... can't stop thinking about her wedding night anytime they even walk into our quarters."

Theon remembered every single time they tried to have the conversation, how he always had to come up with a reason on the spot after Sansa escaped into her room, bursting into tears. How they had to cover the invitations with requests or gifts 'for their loyalty’.

"They all judge her, Jon," he shot his arrow. "Her scarred body, her nightmares..."

He turned to him.

"I won't let her be humiliated for marrying a man who can give her children," he affirmed. "I won't let them think she is barren because of me."

Jon's nose flared up as he seemed to realise what he was asking of him.

"Have you gone mad?" he asked, looking confused and angry. "What are you suggesting?"

Theon clenched his hands in a fist.

"It doesn't matter if you don't the same way, but think of her," he pleaded. "Just give this to her. A child. A family. It's what she deserves after everything she has gone through, after all the years of suffering we both know she had to endure."

He watched as his jaw shifted.

"I know well enough what she has gone through," he grunted.

Theon just stared at him, trying to will the memories back into where he had hidden them, where he wouldn't have to remember.

"Not unless you have seen it, you don't," he remarked. "Not enough."

He would never forget her eyes staring at him, the way she cried and pleaded for his help before letting the pain numb her when he didn't.

There was a long moment of silence before any of them said anything.

"Sansa can't want me."

Theon scoffed.

"Stop being stupid for a moment, will you?" he threw him an angry look. "She loves you. She loved you when you reunited and she still loved you when you bedded the Dragon Queen."

"What are you talking about?"

Theon understood it quite well, how people can just feel love for more than one person at once - he had felt it himself at some point in his life, in a very distant time. Jon was the only man aside from Theon she could ever want.

"She told it to me herself," he remarked.

It was his fault that he had cornered herself into saying it, that Jon was the only other man she could trust in her bed - a man she always thought she could never have. And he accepted it.

Theon would kill or die for Sansa. In any other situation, if he was any other man, he would have reacted differently.

But this wasn't any other situation, and he wasn't a different man.

He loved her, and he wanted her happy. If that meant begging another man to bed her and give her children, then so be it.

He already wasn't fit to be her husband. What kind of man would he be to deny her this?

"Love and want are different," he argued.

"Not to her," Theon interrupted him. "Not when it comes to you or to me."

Then watched the stag trying to race out of their sights, but took a quick shot, making it fall, and earning cheers from the wildlings.

The Free people moved to collect the large animal, and Jon looked at him.

"Is that even what she wants?" he asked. "What if the children are found out?"

Theon scoffed. The people of the North would have loved the children even more if they found out they were Jon's and not his.

"And what would they say? Oh, this boy looks too much like Eddard Stark. This girl looks too much like Arya!" he mocked.

Jon rolled his eyes, and Theon scoffed.

"It won't happen," he promised. "Any child that comes from Sansa is my child, and princes and princesses anyway. She is the Queen."

He could see the envy on Jon's face as he watched him.

"Your child," he mumbled. "Not mine."

Theon couldn't help but wonder what hurt more: not being able to give children to the woman you loved, or not being able to claim the children you gave her as his own.

Both positions felt terrible.

"We are not doing this for us, now," he remarked. "We do it for her."

Jon was the one man Theon knew loved Sansa was much as he did. The only one he trusted, too.

It didn't matter how much it hurt him to do this, he would never let her know.

Sansa would never allow him to ask such a thing to Jon if she knew how much it hurt him, and would never accept to lay with Jon if she knew the consequences would hurt him too. For one, they would be putting her above themselves, and her happiness above everything.

"She deserves this," Jon whispered.

"No one can know of my presence," Jon looked away. "So they can't trace the children back to my visits."

Theon nodded, confirming.

It would hurt Sansa's honour if they ever doubted her faithfulness to their marriage.

"I'll leave at dawn, I'll set things up until then," he continued. "Meet me in the woods the night you arrive with your men."

He nodded along. It was best that his men didn't see Jon with him.

"We can sneak you in through the crypts. Brienne will lead you into our room."

Silence fell between them, and Jon smirked.

"Do you wonder what Robb would think of this plan?" he asked. "Of his brothers going to impregnate his sister?"

Theon couldn't keep himself from laughing.

"We would both be dead before we hit the floor." he laughed.

Jon busted in a loud laugh and then turned to him with a smile on his lips that slowly turned sad.

"Can we... you..." he interrupted himself. "Name it after him? The boy."

Theon smiled a little bit. He didn't even need to suggest it.

"Sansa was going to do it without even asking us," he assured him. "Don't worry."

There was an unsaid knowledge between them, one that Theon couldn't ring himself to touch on.

That there would be others. Other nights, and other children.

As many children as she desired.

Theon watched with his breath suspended as the gate opened in front of him, revealing the entrance to Castleblack.

It was cold - not the coldest weather he had ever seen, but still cold.

Surprisingly, he wasn't used to it. Pain, sure... he could live with it. But not cold.

Ever since his closeness to death, with the Night King, he always felt like he would never get warm again, and hated every second of it. The only time he ever felt good was in the arms of his Queen.

And he was here for her.

People called him a hero, Asha said it would be tactical to join their Kingdoms, and he loved Sansa. He married her because he loved her. His wife was the woman he loved the most in the world.

Sansa deserved the best in the world, to have everything she dreamed of.

She deserved a family. Children to carry and raise, to love and hold dearly to her heart.

Everything he couldn't give her.

A wilding man walked to his horse and looked at him with hard eyes.

"What is your business?"

He willed himself to speak like the prince - she wanted him to be a King, but he couldn't - he was supposed to be.

"I need to speak with King Snow," he declared.

He was guided to Jon, and tried hard not to hide from the cold as the hunting party broke apart, and he left his men to go to him.

"Hello, Theon," he spoke, simply.

"Hello," he tried to keep his voice steady.

Jon looked different. Younger than the lady time he had seen him, somehow, with his hair grown into something almost like a mane, not hiding it with a bun anymore.

He looked like a king, even including the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Is Sansa here?" he asked.

Theon shook his head.

"She is not," he told him. "I'm alone."

Jon's face changed in concern.

"Alone?" he asked. "No party."

"A few men a few miles back," he assured him. Sansa had insisted. "I needed privacy. To speak to you as a friend."

He nodded slowly.

"You are my brother," Jon affirmed simply. "We grew up together."

"I know," Theon affirmed. "That's why I'm here."

Jon seemed more confused, and he cleared his throat.

"Maybe we can talk while hunting," he offered. He hadn't gone in a hint in years. "I'm still the best sharpshooter in the Seven Kingdoms."

His friend snorted.

"I'm glad the years didn't hurt your ego," he declared. "Let me find you something warmer, and we can go."

He wanted to say no, but Jon just walked away, grabbing extra furs to wrap around him.

"Is that how you treat all the ladies?" he asked jokingly.

"Test this one," he told him and grabbed an arrow. "Just don't shoot anyone."

He chuckled, weighing it and simply shrugged.

"Not ironborn material, but it will do," he decided.

Jon just nodded, and the other men quickly welcomed him before the group left.

When she kissed him before they fell, he thought it was to give him a sweet memory to cling to when death swallowed them.

When she kissed him again, after he said he wasn't coming with her to Castleblack, he believed it was to show her gratitude, like the princesses in the songs always did to their knights.

And she kissed him again after he awoke from his brush with death.

Just then, he realised there was more to it. It wasn't gratitude or a way of survival.

He realised it was love.

Love that no one ever understood, not the North, not Asha and not Jon Snow.

Even when he treated him well, he could see it in his eyes.

The same hatred he had shown on their wedding day, when he thought no one was looking, of how Sansa had fallen for Theon, of all men.

Now, she was his cousin.

"You can ask me about her, you know?" he spoke aloud, though not looking at Jon.

"I don't want to know," he mumbled.

Theon shook his head.

"Of course you want to know," he called him out. "You love her."

"And she loves you," he spat. "More than you even think she does. She misses you every day, and sends you letters every week. When was the last time you even wrote to her?"

He clenched his jaw, bothered.

"I write to her," he declared, and his eyes fell on some movement in front of them. "It's just hard with the free folk, I have to help them settle in and get used to their new life."

Theon scoffed.

"Why not take her help, then?" he asked.

"Sansa might be the smartest person alive when it comes to the Seven Kingdoms, but she knows nothing about the Free Folk," he reminded him.

Theon ignored him, aiming at the rabbit just as it jumped, and Jon gasped, startled.

He chuckled, amused at his surprise, but sighed, annoyed with his damn stubbornness, something that apparently was carried in the Stark blood.

Jon watched his face for a moment, scowling.

"What do you want, Greyjoy?" he asked, at last. "Why did you come after me?"

Theon grabbed another arrow, unable to say it while looking at his face.

"We need heirs and the three of us are some of the few who know I can't give it to her," he declared, keeping his eye open and following what seemed to be a stag.

"Sansa says she doesn't care," he nearly whispered. "But I know she wants children, that she wants a family."

Jon inhaled sharply.

"I'm sure there are men loyal enough to help," he spoke between teeth.

It was obvious from his tone that he was forcing himself into saying it.

"We tried," he confessed. "We stop everything before they can figure out why she needed them. Sansa... can't stop thinking about her wedding night anytime they even walk into our quarters."

"They all judge her, Jon," he shot his arrow. "Her scarred body, her nightmares..."

He turned to him.

"I won't let her be humiliated for marrying a man who can give her children," he affirmed. "I won't let them think she is barren because of me."

Jon's nose flared up as he seemed to realise what he was asking of him.

"Have you gone mad?" he asked, looking confused and angry. "What are you suggesting?"

Theon clenched his hands in a fist.

He watched as his jaw shifted.

"I know well enough what she has gone through," he grunted.

Theon just stared at him, trying to will the memories back into where he had hidden them, where he wouldn't have to remember.

"Not unless you have seen it, you don't," he remarked. "Not enough."

He would never forget her eyes staring at him, the way she cried and pleaded for his help before letting the pain numb her when he didn't.

There was a long moment of silence before any of them said anything.

"Sansa can't want me."

Theon scoffed.

"Stop being stupid for a moment, will you?" he threw him an angry look. "She loves you. She loved you when you reunited and she still loved you when you bedded the Dragon Queen."

"What are you talking about?"

"She told it to me herself," he remarked.

It was his fault that he had cornered herself into saying it, that Jon was the only other man she could trust in her bed - a man she always thought she could never have. And he accepted it.

Theon would kill or die for Sansa. In any other situation, if he was any other man, he would have reacted differently.

But this wasn't any other situation, and he wasn't a different man.

He loved her, and he wanted her happy. If that meant begging another man to bed her and give her children, then so be it.

He already wasn't fit to be her husband. What kind of man would he be to deny her this?

"Love and want are different," he argued.

"Not to her," Theon interrupted him. "Not when it comes to you or to me."

Then watched the stag trying to race out of their sights, but took a quick shot, making it fall, and earning cheers from the wildlings.

The Free people moved to collect the large animal, and Jon looked at him.

"Is that even what she wants?" he asked. "What if the children are found out?"

Theon scoffed. The people of the North would have loved the children even more if they found out they were Jon's and not his.

"And what would they say? Oh, this boy looks too much like Eddard Stark. This girl looks too much like Arya!" he mocked.

Jon rolled his eyes, and Theon scoffed.

"It won't happen," he promised. "Any child that comes from Sansa is my child, and princes and princesses anyway. She is the Queen."

He could see the envy on Jon's face as he watched him.

"Your child," he mumbled. "Not mine."

Theon couldn't help but wonder what hurt more: not being able to give children to the woman you loved, or not being able to claim the children you gave her as his own.

Both positions felt terrible.

"We are not doing this for us, now," he remarked. "We do it for her."

Jon was the one man Theon knew loved Sansa was much as he did. The only one he trusted, too.

It didn't matter how much it hurt him to do this, he would never let her know.

"She deserves this," Jon whispered.

"No one can know of my presence," Jon looked away. "So they can't trace the children back to my visits."

Theon nodded, confirming.

It would hurt Sansa's honour if they ever doubted her faithfulness to their marriage.

"I'll leave at dawn, I'll set things up until then," he continued. "Meet me in the woods the night you arrive with your men."

He nodded along. It was best that his men didn't see Jon with him.

"We can sneak you in through the crypts. Brienne will lead you into our room."

Silence fell between them, and Jon smirked.

"Do you wonder what Robb would think of this plan?" he asked. "Of his brothers going to impregnate his sister?"

Theon couldn't keep himself from laughing.

"We would both be dead before we hit the floor." he laughed.

Jon busted in a loud laugh and then turned to him with a smile on his lips that slowly turned sad.

"Can we... you..." he interrupted himself. "Name it after him? The boy."

Theon smiled a little bit. He didn't even need to suggest it.

"Sansa was going to do it without even asking us," he assured him. "Don't worry."

There was an unsaid knowledge between them, one that Theon couldn't ring himself to touch on.

That there would be others. Other nights, and other children.

As many children as she desired.

. . .

"The Things we do For Love" was posted on my Patreon back in May! To read it fully and get access to many other works before they are posted here and Patreon-Only posts, consider subscribing to my page! It's only $2 a month!

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth @amythyststorm33 @shaelyn102 @yknott81 @letsdisneythings @maximofftrash @kgbrenner @thefridgeismybestie @magpiegirl80 @mogaruke @shadowhunter7 @musicalcoffeebean @megasimpleplan4ever @deemoriarty @05spn18 @malindacath @kdcollinsauthor @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @widowsfics @frozenhuntress67 @averyrogers83 @notyourtypicalrose @nerdypinupcrystal @giruvega

Game of Thrones tags: @izbelross @ietss Jonsa Tags: @cosmic-darikano

11 notes · View notes

yourstruly-sephie · 2 years

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐓 𝐡 𝐞 𝐃 𝐞 𝐟 𝐢 𝐚 𝐧 𝐜 𝐞 𝐨 𝐟 𝐃 𝐮 𝐬 𝐤 𝐞 𝐧 𝐝 𝐚 𝐥 𝐞

𝟐𝟕𝟕 𝐀𝐂 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠’𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

News spread like wildfire—the headlines in bold. The King, captured and imprisoned by Lord Darklyn. This was the very outcome everyone feared would happen, and the very outcome everyone had warned.

The news of King Aerys' capture by the head of House Darklyn reached King's Landing within a matter of days. Lord Tywin was first to know, then the Small Council, then the Prince of Dragonstone. The Hand did not display any emotion upon hearing the unfortunate information, yet, he wasted no time to gather up an army to march forth towards the walls of Duskendale to retrieve the King. This was his answer to Lord Darklyn's traitorous actions, and there will be no mercy for him in the end of things.

While the Hand led an army to Duskendale, Rhaegar remained in King's Landing to keep everything in order for a while. The Prince broke the news to Nyrella. He explained in detail that Lord Darklyn ordered for their father to be seized once he stepped foot into the gates of Duskendale. The retinue that had accompanied the King was overwhelmed by the ambush. In a matter of minutes, the rentinue were slaughtered, including Ser Gwayne Gaunt. The Kingsguard was the last person standing to defend Aerys. Under the oath he made, Ser Gwayne bravely swung his sword, cutting down a rain of men, until he eventually met his fate by the blade of Ser Symon Holland. The scene at the gates of Duskendale was a bloodbath— gruesome and grim. Once Lord Darklyn had a hold of Aerys, he was not merciful as he threw the frail King into the dungeons of Dun Fort to rot.

Nyrella was struck with a wordless shock at what happened. Yet, she could not fully empathize with her father. In her opinion, this was a long time coming for him. She did not pray for him, letting his faith up to the Old Gods and the New. It was no surprise many people throughout the Seven Kingdoms did the same.

As the events continued to unfold, King's Landing was oddly quiet during all of this. Especially in the gardens, where the peaceful Princess was currently spending her free time. Comfortably sat at a table under an alcove and hidden by the lush greenery, Nyrella busied herself with another sketch. It was a rough outline of her scenery. She drew the vines that wrapped around the stony balustrades, the small vibrant hummingbirds that fluttered closely to the flowerbeds, and anything else she saw with her lavender irises.

Nyrella was in her own company at the alcove. Ser Harlan accompanied her the first hour or so, just as the sun finished rising. She excused him from his post early on. Yet, at first, the old Kingsguard was stubborn to leave her alone in the gardens, but with enough persistence he begrudgingly took his leave. She was grateful to be left alone for a few hours unbothered. She was able to focus on her sketches and the time took off a lot of her worries that clouded her these past few days. It was a much needed taste of peace.

Setting her drawing utensil down, Nyrella turned her head towards the view over the balustrade. She rested her chin on the back of her hand as she stared at the faraway moving currents. She blinked slowly, feeling the sleepiness over her eyelids. Her tired state of mind failed to pick up the incoming crunch of someone's footsteps.

Arthur walked towards the silver-haired maiden with his steady pace and rhythmic steps. He held his helmet with his left hand, while his dominant hand rested on top of Dawn's hilt. His bow-shaped lips formed into a small smile that indicated his genuine happiness when he saw Nyrella. She was a sight for sore eyes, especially surrounded by the flourishing nature.

He was thankful towards Ser Gerold for commanding his next post to guard over Nyrella. He exchanged a few words with Ser Harlan on her whereabouts. His sworn brother pointed him towards the direction of the gardens, specifically the alcove. Arthur had trouble maneuvering his way around the gardens since the Red Keep had many with confusing twists and turns. Yet, he managed to find her.

"Princess Nyrella," Arthur said as he cleared his throat.

Nyrella jumped a bit in her seat at the sudden words being spoken to her. She placed a hand over her heart, while a series of shivers ran down her spine. "By the gods, Arthur! You scared me," she voiced breathlessly. She looked up at the Dornishman, who raised his right hand in the air.

"My offense, I did not mean to startle you," he apologized, offering her a smile.

Recollecting her steady breathing, she inquired the Kingsguard, "What brings you here? I have never seen you in these parts of the gardens, much less without my brother."

Arthur chuckled as he saw Nyrella peeked behind him to confirm Rhaegar was indeed not there. "I was sent to be your personal guard for the time being," he explained.

Nyrella hummed, "I guess I was too much of a nuisance for Ser Harlan."

"Maybe so, he did look oddly pale and drained when he arrived back at the tower," Arthur jested

"Then, I guess you have a challenge in your hands, Ser," Nyrella leaned closer against the table.

"It's nothing I can't handle, Princess," Arthur replied.

Nyrella hummed. A smile escaped her heart-shaped lips. She blinked slowly at him as she held their eye contact. "Well, you are welcome to join me," her hand gestures to the vacant spot in front of her, "please take a seat."

Arthur did as he was told. He took the time to observe Nyrella as he got comfortable on the cushioned seat. She retracted her body back to her original position when he first laid his eyes on her. She gripped the writing utensil with her right, tapping the end on the table lightly. Her eyes were focused on the lead covered canvas with various shapes.

"Is that a new sketch? Maybe I take a look?" The Dornishman signaled to the piece of parchment.

"Here," Nyrella turned the sketch upside down and pushed it towards Arthur. She bit her lip, anxious about his reaction. "It's not my best work, I was experimenting with the vision you see," she pointed out.

It was Arthur's turn to hum a response. "You need to give yourself more acknowledgement than you do. You're a talent, Nyrella. If only I had your skill, I would never think to be a Kingsguard," Arthur looked back up to meet her anxious eyes. He pushed the sketch back to its owner with care.

Nyrella tilts her head to the side, "do you remember the tourney held in Lannisport for Viserys' birth?"

Arthur raised a brow as if he heard the most ridiculous thing, "of course I remember. I will never forget such a memory."

"I know, but remember when we were riding our horses as we approached the Rock. Our conversation that I would gladly teach you how to draw? I could teach you now," Nyrella's eyes sparkled. Her voice was filled with enthusiasm at the idea.

"Right now?" Arthur inquired.

"No, no, not right now," she shook her head. "I do not have the materials with me, but we could schedule another time to do so, like after sword training," she offered.

"I would like that very much, but I do not think Rhaegar or Jon would be open to the idea," Arthur added as he placed his helmet on the side of the table.

Nyrella leaned her head against her arm and drew invisible circles with her index finger. "You're right with that. What about another time?"

"Sword practice is my only free time, unfortunately," he broke to her.

"Right, right," Nyrella nodded her head. She continued to draw invisible circles on the wooden table. She took a couple of minutes to think to herself, leading the conversation into a silence. Suddenly, she jolts up in her seat, "I have the perfect plan!"

Arthur was taken aback by her boost of energy, "go ahead."

The Silver-haired maiden smirked mischievously. "We can still do it after sword practice. All we need to do is lie to Jon and Rhaegar," she suggested.

"I'm not following," Arthur clocked his head in confusion, "Lie? To them?"

"You and I always come to practice. Rhaegar and Jon trade days to go, but it is rare for both to come. Tomorrow, Rhaegar cannot go, so that means Jon has to go. But, we can lie to Jon, that Rhaegar will come in his place, so Jon doesn't come," she elaborated.

"That means that both of them don't come at all," Arthur concluded.

"Perfect is it not?" Nyrella leaned back into her chair with a proud smile from ear to ear.

"How do you know it will work? Wouldn't Rhaegar or Jon find out eventually?" Arthur was not so sure of the idea.

"You give them too much credit than they deserve," She sighed. "Rhaegar has a meeting to attend. And Jon, you don't have to worry about him, I will handle that matter."

Arthur hummed. He rubbed his chin with his free hand in deep thought. He was hesitant about the plan, but he did not know how to voice it towards Nyrella. His eyes glanced at Nyrella, who was back to leaning against her arm. She was looking to her right, where the ocean view was. The corners of his lip lifted up. He could not resist a smile when it came to her.

"If you are sure...then you have my full trust," Arthur broke the silence.

Nyrella straightened up hearing Arthur's answer. The glint of mischief in her eyes broke into a fire, "Really? You trust me?"

"Why wouldn't I? You never gave a reason not to," Arthur confided with Nyrella. He tilts his head slightly to the right to catch her gaze, offering her a small delicate smile.

"So, you're willing to let me rope you into something that goes against your code of chivalry?" She inquired further. There was a teasing tone to her voice.

Arthur chuckled deeply. "I can bend the rules for you."

Nyrella lowered her head as she felt the blood rush up to her face. She bit the inside of her lip to subdue the raging blush and the shivers that ran down her spine. "Walk with me? It's getting a little warmer here," Nyrella pushed herself on her feet, rising from her seat. She stretched her arms out as she let out a subtle yawn.

The Kingsguard had no choice but to follow. He stood up from his seat, then grabbed his helmet with his right. He took a step or two towards Nyrella to offer his left arm for her to take. She gladly linked their arms together, and they started to stroll around the garden.

The weather was splendid as it was always. Nyrella gripped the side of her gown, swaying the fabric of the skirt with the wind. The pleating of the skirt added more movement and character to the sand-colored fabric. While the bodice of the dress glittered like the golden specks in the sand. The gown was a warmer shade than she would have picked, but it was breathable for the warm climate.

"Arthur," Nyrella called his name.

The Kingsguard hummed, turning his head towards her direction.

"I have been meaning to give my condolences for Ser Gwayne. I know you are close to him," she offered him a smile.

"Thank you," Arthur nodded. "He's an honorable man and fought bravery until his end. I wish I had said my praises to him before he left us so soon."

"My thoughts exactly. He has always been a friend to Rhaegar and I. I hope one day his death will be avenged," Nyrella voiced as she looked up in the sky. She prayed to the Seven that Ser Gwayne was living in the afterlife well, for the deeds he accomplished in the living world.

"Your Queen Mother was generous to offer the Kinguard a day of mourning if we ever needed one," the Sword of the Morning mentioned.

Nyrella drew a breath, "She's very generous. My mother was so fond of Ser Gwayne."

Arthur noticed the sad smile Nyrella wore when the topic of her mother was brought up. He thought her reaction would be the opposite since Rhaegar freely discussed fondly about the Queen. He decided not to question her about it. He did not want to ruin the peaceful moment they had with each other.

"Do you often enjoy your time here?" Arthur directed the conversation to another topic.

"Yes, frequently, when you, Jon and Rhaegar are busy. I often draw you see, and sometimes walk around like we are," she emphasized with her hands.

"Sounds difficult," Arthur teased with a grin.

"You wouldn't imagine. I'm breaking a sweat just having this conversation," Nyrella teased back with a sweet smile.

Their eyes met each other, a smile mirroring one another. Suddenly, they bursted out into fits of deep hearty laughter. Their laughter intertwined together like a summer's song. It was sweet, warm, and the beginning of a fruitful love.

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

The sound of clashing blades were muffled by the crashing sounds of huge waves against the shoreline rocks. Nyrella and Arthur have been dueling, or what was reminiscent of dueling, for a couple of hours since the break of morning. The pair were drenched in their own sweat, also to the point of their limbs sticking to one another. The sun was yet to be at its highest and it was still before the clock hits noon, but they already had an eventful morning.

Nyrella's two hands gripped the hilt of her sword tightly as she circled around carefully. Her lavender eyes attentively watched Arthur from across her. The Kingsguard was reflecting her movements. The pair circled around, waiting for one of them to take the first move.

"I see you've learned from last time," Arthur remarked with ease as he maneuvered around. He did not once look down at his own feet—a mark of a great combatant.

Nyrella scoffed. She did learn from last time, when she fell on her bum after making the first move. There was a bruise that lingered for a few days to remind her. "I can do this all day," she said confidently.

"I am fully aware and so can I, but ..." Arthur briefly looked down at Nyrella's feet with a questionable raise of his eyebrow.

This promptly made Nyrella to look down at her feet, "But, what is it?"

Suddenly, Arthur swung his sword. Nyrella was caught off guard as she tried to dodge his attack but her feet got twisted trying to take a step back. She felt her entire body lose balance, and the gravity of the world pulled her down to the ground. Her sword flew from her hand a couple of feets away, while her free hands tried to break her fall. Nyrella felt the struck of pain hit her as her bum hit the warm stone ground, then her back followed soon after.

Nyrella groaned in pain. Her hands instinctively moved to cover her eyes from the sharp beam of sunlight. Arthur swung his sword in a circular motion before he sheathed the training sword into the scabbard. He stopped next to Nyrella's lying body with an amused smile, "But, you are easily distracted."

"You did that on purpose," Nyrella squinted at the Kingsguard. She did not take her defeat lightly nor Arthur's teasing.

Arthur chuckled. He extended his arm towards her, and as he leaned forward provided shade from the brightness of the sun. Nyrella uncovered her face, gladly taking his help. With a pull, she was back on her feet, still a bit off her balance, but she was up without any broken bones.

"It's a strategy. One you should never fall victim to, except for your enemies. You need to keep practicing," Arthur told her as he followed behind her step.

Nyrella waved him off. "I know, I know. Next time, I will get you."

The two of them stopped at a large boulder that held their stuff. They each drank from their pouches, the clear liquid of water slightly running down the sides of their face. Nyrella wiped her face clean with the back of her hand, then proceeded to take out materials from her bag. Arthur watched curiously from the side of eye as he continued to drink. He noticed the various parchment, sketches, and utensils that were laid out carefully on the surface. He wiped his face clean, and leaned over Nyrella's shoulder to have a closer look.

"You want me to draw like that?" Arthur said wide eyed at the intricate drawing of the Red Keep.

Nyrella rolled her eyes. "No, of course not." She pushed the drawing to the side, away from his view. "That's an awful sketch anyways, not my best work," she told him.

"Awful? Then, I would not want to know what you think of my abilities," he replied with an amused brow.

She turned to him with a few parchment paper in her hands. She extended them towards him with a delicate smile, "I'm harsh on my sketches because I've been drawing since I could remember. For you, you are only starting. It's the same concept as sword fighting."

Arthur took the parchment from her hands, "Alright, what am I going to draw?"

"You aren't going to be drawing anything complex at the moment. You have to start with the basics," Nyrella responded to turn back towards the pieces of loose parchment. She grabbed a black chalk, "Start with simple shapes like a circle," drawing a circle on her parchment. "You'll use these shapes to learn shading, light and shadow, and composition—the basics of drawing."

"You make it sound easy," Arthur said. He copied Nyrella by drawing a circle on his parchment.

"I could say that about sword fighting," she countered with a raised brow, "it takes practice like you said earlier."

Arthur let out a soft, partly laugh, "I suppose you are right. What do I need to practice on?"

Nyrella looked over to his parchment, then back at her's. She continued to do so for a couple of times, "Use soft lines to sketch the circle instead of one line." She demonstrated this by slowly sketching different lines to create a circle.

Arthur watched in awe as Nyrella concentrated on the sketch. The way the sun casted down on her made her look like a beam of pure sunlight. The flyaway strands of silver hair framed her delicate face and swayed to the rhythm of the breeze. Her eyes were lighter, sparkled like amethyst. The corners of her lips crinkled slightly as she unconsciously smiled. The sun had peppered her soft skin with a natural blush on the top of her nose and the apple of her cheeks. She was a living and breathing painting in front of him.

"I never asked, but how long have you been drawing?" Arthur inquired, tilting his head towards and leaning his body closer.

"I can't remember," Nyrella spoke as she set her chalk down. She met Arthur's eyes, noticing the unit satisfied with her answer. "I'm being serious. It's been a long time...but my mother, she was the one to introduce me to the arts."

There was a melancholy tone when she spoke. "Is she an artist like you?" Furthered Arthur.

"I learned everything from her," Nyrella wiped her hands with a rag. "She is Rhaegar and I's muse," she told him with a sad smile.

"I keep my mother close to my heart as well, even more so since she passed," Arthur mentioned with love in his eyes.

"When did she pass?" The silver-haired maiden questioned.

"I was very young around eight or ten namedays. My sisters look exactly like her," Arthur spoke with such fondness in his voice, that it made Nyrella's heart tighten.

"I wish I had the chance to meet her."

"She would have loved you."

"And I would have loved her as well. She raised an incredible person."

"Your mother as well, but further more beautiful and intelligent than I would ever be."

Nyrella blushed. "Alright that's enough flattery. You have to continue your practice," she redirected the conversation, but the redness on her cheeks would not go away.

Arthur chuckled softly to himself, a wide toothy smile plastered on his face. He grabs his chalk, and starts to sketch various shapes with Nyrella's guidance. "Of course," he replied.

Both of them focused on their sketches, but once in a while when the other person was not looking, they would sneak glances at each other. They spent this delicate time with one another in a peaceful quiet, as they did not need words to convey what they were feeling. It was as if they already knew each other so well, like the back of their hand.

Arthur did as he was told. He sketched various shapes, mostly the circle. He shaded them in, and paid attention to where the light would hit the surface of the shape. He used Nyrella's previous works displayed in front of him to reference his own sketches. Arthur wanted to someday be a capable artist, and to draw the things he saw, for it would last longer.

On the other spectrum, Nyrella was engrossed in her current piece of work. It was a drawing of Arthur. All artists had their muses, and for her it was Arthur. She drew him multiple times since she had met him. Many of them were when he was not looking at her or in his most natural state of either dueling or laughing. At this moment, she drew what she saw laid in front of her–him sketching. Maybe someday, when she has the confidence, she would show him all of the sketches that she drew of him and the ones that he inspired her to draw.

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

A few days turned into a few weeks. Nyrella and Arthur repeated their days the same. Sword training in the morning, then afterwards sketching. The lie that Nyrella sewed worked well to keep their meetings exclusive to just them. It was time for themselves to get to know each other more, and they wanted more, even if they couldn't say it out loud.

"I have an idea," Nyrella blurted out as she folded her hands in front of her. Her steps were in sync to the dark and handsome Kingsguard that was on her right.

"And what is this idea of yours," Arthur inquired as he looked down at her. His eyes rested on her silver hair that waved down past her waist, it vaguely reminded him of melted metal used in a blacksmith's shop.

"Why don't we go to the Hook ? Us along with Rhaegar and Jon," her feminine voice reached his ears. Arthur could hear the enthusiasm in her response, and he did not need to see her face to know she was smiling like she always does.

"What business do you have at the Hook?" His right brow raised in suspicion.

Nyrella finally looked up at him with a shrugged expression. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, proceeding to comb her elegant fingers through in a repeated action. It was a sign she was nervous. "Nothing really," she sighed, "but I was thinking, it would be fun to set aside our duties for a day. It would be good for all of us."

There was truth in Nyrella's words. Three months had passed since Lord Darklyn captured and imprisoned King Aerys. The tensions were high and there was still a standoff at the gates of Duskendale under Lord Tywin's command. However, the events trickled down in King's Landing due to the King and the Hand's absence. Rhaegar took the brunt of the effects, having to maintain the peace and order of things. The Kingsguard were on high-alert for most of the time, guarding and protecting the remainder of the Targaryens. Specifically, Arthur was assigned to guard over the Queen Mother and year-old Viserys, during the evening through the late night.

But, equal in danger. Anywhere outside the walls of the Red Keep was dangerous, more so now than ever. Even though the Hook is known to be a safer part of King's Landing, there was still a lingering possibility for crime, thieving, and death.

Arthur's lack of answer made Nyrella even more nervous of the fact. She could not foretell his answer because his facial expressions gave nothing away. She hoped he would consider the offer.

"It is a nice sentiment, but I am not sure if being outside the Red Keep is ideal," Arthur spoke up.

"But, Rhaegar and I had no problem when we went there before," Nyrella countered. It was going to take more than a simple no to back her down.

Arthur hummed. "That was before the King was captured. You must know that it is not safe for you or your brother," he elaborated his stance.

"I understand, but you will be there, to keep us safe," the silver maiden went in front of the Dornishman to stop him from walking, "No one would dare to fight a great swordsman like yourself."

A rich hearty chuckle came out of the dark haired Kingsguard, "You won't let this go will you?"

"And what gave it away?" Nyrella put one hand over her hip as she tilted her head slightly, raising her eyebrow in amusement.

"The flattery," was all he said, matching her amusement.

Nyrella bit her lip. "And did it work? I'm more than welcome to continue, since it seems you're receptive to the sweet words." She took a step closer, closing the distance between them. Her doe eyes looked into his deepest eyes.

Arthur warmly invited the challenge in her gaze. He took the last step between them. Their chests were inches from touching each other's. Their purple eyes stared into one another's as their rosy lips parted into a coherent smile. They were so close, they could smell the other's natural musk.

He carefully raised his hand to Nyrella's face, pushing away the strands of silver hair that fell over her eyes. His heart was pounding like a running horse on an open field, but Nyrella's was running ten times as fast. She felt the skin of his finger slightly graze over her cheeks, sending a chill down her back. Arthur parted his lips to speak, but another voice spoke for him.

"Nyrella, Arthur! There you two are!" Jon boomed across from them as he walked out from another entrance.

Arthur and Nyrella quickly pulled away, putting a severe distance between them. They forcefully snapped their gaze to their red-headed friend, who happily strolled towards them with a raised brow.

"I hope I wasn't disturbing anything," Jon said as he pointed to the two of them.

"It's good of you to join us," Nyrella said, picking up her long skirt and linking her left arm with Jon's right.

"Is it really? You and Arthur take the pleasure to always make plans without me," the redhead spoke up as the trio continued to walk along the garden path that was shaded by the tall wide branches of the old trees.

"Well that is because you are always trailing behind my dear brother like a lost puppy," Nyrella countered with amusement, "anyways, where is my dear brother? I have to ask him about going to the Hook."

"He's lurking in his room, but The Hook?" Jon inquired with furrowed brows.

Arthur hummed, followed with a sigh. "Nyrella has a plan for all of us to go to the Hook and..." he trailed off, not knowing exactly why she wanted to be there in the first place.

"To have fun. I heard from my handmaiden there will be a plethora of stalls up in the coming week. Merchants from everywhere will be there selling their goods, and I want to see for myself," Nyrella finished off for Arthur.

"Isn't it dangerous for your silver-haired head to be out in public while your deranged father is imprisoned by a lowly lord?" There was speculation in Jon's voice, almost the same as when Arthur responded to Nyrella.

"My exact sentiment," Arthur agreed which earned him a subtle eye roll from Nyrella.

She let go of Jon's arm to fold her's over her chest, "Consider it. It would be good for all of us."

"I have and it would be, but you are going to need more than one Kingdguard to come along with us. No offense to you Arthur, you're great and all. Maybe have Ser Barristan or Ser Oswell accompany us," Jon rubbed his scruffy chin as if he was debating which Kingsguard would be best to add to the addition.

Arthur and Nyrella give each other a look, "So you agree to going to The Hook?"

"Why not Arthur? I think living on the edge of danger would be fun for a change," the redhead smirked, "You should do it more often."

"You cannot be more agreeable than that," Nyrella said cheerily. She linked her arm with Jon again, then pulled the redhead forward away from Arthur. She glanced back at the Kingsguard, sticking her tongue out and scrunching her nose.

Very mature, he thought to himself as he shook his head while chuckling. He stood there, watching Jon and Nyrella conversed about whatever the topic they shifted to. He mostly focused on Nyrella. The way she gleamed and leaned forward to the redhead as her eyes widened from what the lord had said. Arthur never had the heart to tell her how beautiful she looked under the sunlight, even if it was minimal and covered by the shade of the branches. He was captivated by the way it seemed to glow. He was captivated in general.

Maybe someday, when he is capable of drawing far from basic shapes, he wants to capture Nyrella the way he sees her.

#asoiaf #pre asoiaf #house targaryen #oc!female #house dayne #arthur and nyrella #arthur dayne fanfic #arthur dayne fanfiction #arthur dayne #house connington #jon connington #the defiance of duskendale #king’s landing

9 notes · View notes

amethystmpress · 3 years

Text

DAENERYS APPRECIATION MONTH 2021: ↳ Day 1: Favorite books (A Clash of Kings)

clash of kings. her messianic arc, vaes tolorro, her firsts as a leader and a mother, prioritizing the well-being of her people over all else, the love and fear of dragons, magic, dreams, and family, and her first triumph over the others.

“This city is dead, Khaleesi. Nameless and godless we found it, the gates broken, only wind and flies moving through the streets.”

Jhiqui shuddered. “When the gods are gone, the evil ghosts feast by night. Such places are best shunned. It is known.”

“It is known,” Irri agreed.

“Not to me.”

The pale man with the blue lips replied in guttural Dothraki, "I am Pyat Pree, the great warlock."

The bald man with the jewels in his nose answered in the Valyrian of the Free Cities, "I am Xaro Xhoan Daxos of the Thirteen, a merchant prince of Qarth."

The woman in the lacquered wooden mask said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms, "I am Quaithe of the Shadow. We come seeking dragons."

"Seek no more," Daenerys Targaryen told them. "You have found them."

my multilingual queen! and right after this of course, is jon's chapter trecking through the similarly abandoned village of whitetree. fire and ice on the opposite ends of the world, yet their journeys are paralleled. jorah in acok tells dany about the north, the nights watch, and his father while jon is with them at that exact moment half a world away.

"I remember," Dany said sadly. "They murdered Rhaegar's daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon's sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?"

“I will not wed you, Xaro.” His face had grown cold at that.

“Then go.”

“But where?”

“Somewhere far from here.”

dany’s “eviction” at the end of acok made me so upset while reading. dany is so used to being forcibly displaced time again and again… “but it was run or die.” one of the saddest passages...

when she is scrambling for ships afterward to accommodate all her dothraki… xaro rejects her after her stringing her all along and she goes to the docks to manage for herself. most of them there mock or deny her, and she even has an assassination attempt against her. yet her priority is caring for her people and her dragons.

at the same time, the end of acok feels relieving because dany knows where she stands with the qartheen and where they stand with her. no more kissing ass, fake crying, or back and forth. the qartheen who once exoticized daenerys and her dragons now fear dany’s power after she burns down the house of the undying because it reminded them that dragons are dangerous... i love this. dragons are to be loved and feared.

They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power."

thinking about how barristan is surprised when he first meets dany in acok because he expected someone “regal” and instead she’s hustling in the streets in her cute dothraki outfit with her dagger… she’s such a princess

(manifesting jon snow stumbles across her like this after drogon 'drops' her off in the wilderness near the wall because jon snow meeting vagabond daenerys tiny, lost, and bundled up in furs >>>>>>> jon snow meeting queen daenerys)

and these don't even begin to cover all of my favorite things about dany's story in this book 😩 to top it all off, one of my favorite dany soundtracks by ramin djawadi. the mystery, grandeur, and tragedy of house targaryen and daenerys.

youtube

art credit: Jonathan Burton; Dorota Pijewska; https://t.co/h1sUxoPO1G?amp=1; https://viaanki.tumblr.com/post/182612921852/fire-ice-instagram-twitter

#danymonth2021 #daenerys #daenerys targaryen #jonerys #got #ramin djawadi #absolute MESS of a post but i love her #book quote #acok #Youtube

131 notes · View notes

the-king-andthe-lionheart · 3 years

Text

So this is definitely in response to that certain dark section of our fandom (you know exactly who you are) who are throwing a fit about the Arya and Daenerys fandoms enjoying the possibility of a canon Daenarya friendship in the future. So let’s look at all the quotes that possibly foreshadow a future Arya and Dany friendship and put it into context.

It was very dark right now, she realized. She hugged her bare knees tight against her chest and shivered. She would wait quietly and count to ten thousand. By then it would be safe for her to come creeping back out and find her way home.

By the time she had reached eighty-seven, the room had begun to lighten as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. She had lost the count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away. When she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been. She pretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Calm as still water, she told herself. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She opened her eyes again.

The monsters were still there, but the fear was gone.

Arya got to her feet, moving warily. The heads were all around her. She touched one, curious, wondering if it was real. Her fingertips brushed a massive jaw. It felt real enough. The bone was smooth beneath her hand, cold and hard to the touch. She ran her fingers down a tooth, black and sharp, a dagger made of darkness. It made her shiver.

"It's dead," she said aloud. "It's just a skull, it can't hurt me." Yet somehow the monster seemed to know she was there. She could feel its empty eyes watching her through the gloom, and there was something in that dim, cavernous room that did not love her. She edged away from the skull and backed into a second, larger than the first. For an instant she could feel its teeth digging into her shoulder, as if it wanted a bite of her flesh. Arya whirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running. Another skull loomed ahead, the biggest monster of all, but Arya did not even slow. She leapt over a ridge of black teeth as tall as swords, dashed through hungry jaws, and threw herself against the door. - Arya III AGOT

Here is the initial passage that has to do with dragons in Arya’s story. She comes across the dragon skulls in the dark and feels afraid of them. She feels as if the eyes of the skulls were watching her and did not like her. She also doesn’t recognize them for what they are. She initially refers to them as monsters, but later she comes to realize they are dragons:

This time the monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. Arya held the candle over her head. With each step she took, the shadows moved against the walls, as if they were turning to watch her pass. "Dragons," she whispered. She slid Needle out from under her cloak. The slender blade seemed very small and the dragons very big, yet somehow Arya felt better with steel in her hand. - Arya IV AGOT

Now admittedly the first quote does sound like the foreshadowing could suggest antagonism between Arya and Dany, but the second quote doesn’t suggest this. Arya thinks of them as if they are old friends. That is the most notable sentence of the paragraph, not the fact that she slid Needle out. But when you actually look at this paragraph you actually see a duality here. The monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. Yet she slides her blade out and feels better? So for me this quote just seems to foreshadow that Dany will be Arya’s friend, yet Arya will remain wary of her dragons like anyone naturally would be.

So putting these two quotes into context, it tells us that if Arya and Dany will meet they will initially be antagonistic and wary of each other (most Daenarya fans I’ve seen acknowledge this will likely be the case). However it also suggests that this wariness will eventually fade and they will become friends. Arya doesn’t need to think she is wholly safe from the dragons to have a friendship with Dany. EVERYONE is wary about the dragons, just like most people would be unsure and most likely afraid if they were in the same room as a large cat or a bear.

But this isn’t Arya’s only dragon connections in the narrative. Arya’s closest relationship is with Jon, who is half Targaryen. In Braavos Arya is fascinated by the courtesans and the Black Pearl in particular:

"The Black Pearl," she told them. Merry claimed the Black Pearl was the most famous courtesan of all. "She's descended from the dragons, that one," the woman had told Cat. "The first Black Pearl was a pirate queen. A Westerosi prince took her for a lover and got a daughter on her, who grew up to be a courtesan. Her own daughter followed her, and her daughter after her, until you get to this one [...] - Cat of the Canals AFFC

The woman with him could not have been more than a third his age. She was so lovely that the lamps seemed to burn brighter when she passed. She had dressed in a low-cut gown of pale yellow silk, startling against the light brown of her skin. Her black hair was bound up in a net of spun gold, and a jet-and-gold necklace brushed against the top of her full breasts. As they watched, she leaned close to the envoy and whispered something in his ear that made him laugh. "They should call her the Brown Pearl," Mercy said to Daena. "She's more brown than black."

"The first Black Pearl was black as a pot of ink," said Daena. "She was a pirate queen, fathered by a Sealord's son on a princess from the Summer Isles. A dragon king from Westeros took her for his lover."

"I would like to see a dragon," Mercy said wistfully. - Mercy TWOW

There is even foreshadowing that Arya will form a closer relationship with the Black Pearl in the future by becoming an apprentice for her so Arya can refine her highborn manners so it’s easier for the FM to place her into highborn society to do their work, because why not utilize a highborn girl in this way?

But also notice that Arya/Mercy is friends with a girl named “Daena” which is ridiculously close to the name Daenerys. And in the same conversation with Daena (Daenerys) Arya/Mercy also said she wished to see a dragon. And no this isn’t “Mercy’s” wish, this is Arya’s wish:

As Arya crossed the yard to the bathhouse, she spied a raven circling down toward the rookery, and wondered where it had come from and what message it carried. Might be it's from Robb, come to say it wasn't true about Bran and Rickon. She chewed on her lip, hoping. If I had wings I could fly back to Winterfell and see for myself. And if it was true, I'd just fly away, fly up past the moon and the shining stars, and see all the things in Old Nan's stories, dragons and sea monsters and the Titan of Braavos, and maybe I wouldn't ever fly back unless I wanted to. - Arya X ACOK

Doesn’t really sound like Arya hates dragons or have any issues regarding them. She wants to see them irregardless of any fear they may inspire within her that everyone would naturally have upon seeing a dragon.

Arya also expresses a wish to fly throughout her narrative and she also has wing symbolism in her arc:

If I was a crow I could fly down and peck off his stupid fat pouty lips. - Arya X ACOK

If I had wings I could fly back to Winterfell and see for myself. And if it was true, I'd just fly away, fly up past the moon and the shining stars, and see all the things in Old Nan's stories, dragons and sea monsters and the Titan of Braavos, and maybe I wouldn't ever fly back unless I wanted to. - Arya X ACOK

I wish I could change into a wolf and grow wings and fly away. - Arya XIII ASOS

She might be bald and skinny, but Mercy had a pretty smile, and a certain grace. Even Izembaro agreed that she was graceful. She was not far from the Gate as the crows flies, but for girls with feet instead of wings the way was longer. - Mercy TWOW

Also lets not forget how similar Arya and Dany are to each other and how many parallels they share. They are both lost princesses exiled and sent to Essos, specifically Braavos, after their father's deaths at the hands of Lannister's. They each know what it's like to be bought and sold and to be enslaved – Dany as a child bride and Arya as a child soldier. And they both have pretenders trying to take their claims. Both have been forced into becoming smallfolk, living in poverty and starved. And they both know what it's like to be hunted and scared. They adapt exceedingly well into other environments and cultures, and their morality and sense of justice are very attuned, as they seek to protect those that can not protect themselves. Very protective, they are both empathetic and maternal and care for the sick, ailing, and dying. Both of them are survivors and have both suffered abuse and sexual assault (more so for Dany, but it's still there). They are both clever and know how to manipulate people. They are both polyglots and both of their deepest desires are for home and family/pack. They both try to live up to the image of their older siblings (ie Sansa and Rhaegar). Arya is said to look and act like Lyanna and Daenerys is compared to Rhaegar by the people that knew him. They are both very close to their house sigils and even dream about them and the mystical beasts they both own. They both love horseback riding and they both have encountered mystical prophets. Wanted/considered becoming sailors and they both have fantastic people skills. Not to mention that it was Arya who said that the slaves should have killed the masters, while Dany is leading a slave uprising to overthrow and yes, execute the masters.

Dany is also not some “mad queen” and she does listen to the people who knew her father and Rhaegar. She is learning the truth about the monster her father was and learning to accept that. So there is no reason why Dany should continue to feel antagonistic towards the next generation of Stark’s for something they didn’t do.

I’ve also seen comments about how the fire devastation that is within Arya’s story must clearly mean “Dark Dany” and that Arya and Dany will be antagonistic towards each other in canon when they meet. I’m assuming these people are referring to the burning barn scene:

"You take her!" she yelled. "You get her out! You do it!" The fire beat at her back with hot red wings as she fled the burning barn. It felt blessedly cool outside, but men were dying all around her. She saw Koss throw down his blade to yield, and she saw them kill him where he stood. Smoke was everywhere. There was no sign of Yoren, but the axe was where Gendry had left it, by the woodpile outside the haven. As she wrenched it free, a mailed hand grabbed her arm. Spinning, Arya drove the head of the axe hard between his legs. She never saw his face, only the dark blood seeping between the links of his hauberk. Going back into that barn was the hardest thing she ever did. Smoke was pouring out the open door like a writhing black snake, and she could hear the screams of the poor animals inside, donkeys and horses and men. She chewed her lip, and darted through the doors, crouched low where the smoke wasn't quite so thick.

A donkey was caught in a ring of fire, shrieking in terror and pain. She could smell the stench of burning hair. The roof was gone up too, and things were falling down, pieces of flaming wood and bits of straw and hay. Arya put a hand over her mouth and nose. She couldn't see the wagon for the smoke, but she could still hear Biter screaming. She crawled toward the sound. - Arya IV ACOK

Arya rolled headfirst into the tunnel and dropped five feet. She got dirt in her mouth but she didn't care, the taste was fine, the taste was mud and water and worms and life. Under the earth the air was cool and dark. Above was nothing but blood and roaring red and choking smoke and the screams of dying horses. She moved her belt around so Needle would not be in her way, and began to crawl. A dozen feet down the tunnel she heard the sound, like the roar of some monstrous beast, and a cloud of hot smoke and black dust came billowing up behind her, smelling of hell. Arya held her breath and kissed the mud on the floor of the tunnel and cried. For whom, she could not say. - Arya IV ACOK

This chapter does not mean that Dany is going to go “evil” or “mad” and start burning stuff to the ground. You guys do remember that Dany has three dragons right? And that Dany is only the dragonrider to Drogon? That leaves two other possible dragons that could be stolen from Dany. We have Euron/Victarion who has the dragon binder horn and then we have Aegon who may or may not be able to claim one of those dragons for himself. There is also the possibility that Euron dies or Aegon dies and someone else will take their places as dragonriders via Targaryen blood or use of that horn. So besides Dany we have Aegon, Jon, Euron, and Tyrion who may all ride dragons within the story as they all have the proper set-up and foreshadowing for it to be a possibility. So why is it the automatic assumption that it will be Dany burning shit down?

Not to mention, wildfire has the same types of language used as the two quotes above:

And then some vast beast had let out a roar, and green flames were all around them: wildfire, pyromancer's piss, the jade demon [...] From bank to bank there was nothing but burning ships and wildfire. The sight of it seemed to stop his heart for a moment, and he could still remember the sound of it, the crackle of flames, the hiss of steam, the shrieks of dying men, and the beat of that terrible heat against his face as the current swept him down toward hell. - Davos I ASOS

So considering there not only is there a ton of foreshadowing that it will be Cersei who destroys King’s Landing with wildfire, but also there is foreshadowing that Jon Connington will do something incredibly drastic to win and keep the Iron Throne for Aegon. And may I remind the audience that the fires Arya went through and experienced in the Riverlands had zero to do with Dany. They were the direct result of the Lannisters.

So if Arya IV ACOK is foreshadowing a future fire she is stuck in, there is no evidence that the fire will be caused by Dany nor that the fire is dragonfire. And if you are going to point out the show as evidence, let me tell you something, go to the youtuber The Dragon Demands and watch his videos dissecting everything about the scene of Dany burning King’s Landing by using the script, listening to BtS content, looking at the storyboards, actually noting that a scene of Cersei looking out the window, depicting her watching people put barrels of wildfire on the battlements, etc. Because the compilation he makes proves that Dany burning KL the way that she did in 8x05 was a last minute change. It was supposed to be an accidental wildfire explosion before they changed it so they could justify Jon killing her. But I’m sure even with the evidence you’ll still cling to the idea of Dark!Dany because you are incredibly insecure about your fictitious ship and your blatant mischaracterization of your favorite “pure as the driven snow /s” character, because there is literally nothing in the books that foreshadows Dany going “mad” or “dark”. So why don’t you take your jealousies about Daenerys and Arya and the very possible Daenarya friendship somewhere else.

#arya stark #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf

111 notes · View notes

ode-to-fury · 2 years

Text

Winter Thorns and Iron Crowns Pt. 5

Summary: Ah, backstory backstory backstory. Reader has been in King's Landing for two years. She works up the courage to finally ask a question she has been meaning to ask for two years.

Pairings: Stannis Baratheon x reader (eventual) Arthur Dayne x reader (eventual)

Disclaimer: some of the characters were never in certain places in canon and I’m aware of this, but also I adore drama and suspense so we’ll call it creative license. Also I aged everyone up by two years for Robert’s Rebellion because I cannot stand the whole sixteen-year-old-dies-in-childbirth thing, sorry!

Stannis,

I hope everything is well. I was sorry to hear that Maester Cressen has taken ill. Try to be kind to him, not impatient. I was also sorry to hear that Proudwing still will not fly properly. Perhaps you can entice her with a bit of meat or bait? I don’t know, it is difficult to tell through letter.

The Red Keep has been interesting. King Aerys held a tourney and a ball in honour of Rhaegar’s nameday. I had to wear dresses the entire time, and shoes! It was horrible. Queen Rhaella also made me dance with almost every young man in attendance, and most of them stepped on my toes. I’m still horrid at dancing, I think the queen might be starting to despair of me. I am getting very good at the harp, however.

I don’t know when I will be able to visit. I thought that if you could perhaps convince your father to hold a tourney I could come, but I know you won’t, so I suppose I will have to make do with the entertainment I can find here. Though the library isn’t half as interesting as the one in Storm’s End. I think I’ve read all the adventure books, the rest is just religious stories, and I don’t really understand those. How can there be seven gods who are all actually one god?

In any case, let me know how Proudwing fares,

Yours,

Y/n Stark

Y/n looked at the letter one last time, then quickly went back and crossed out her last word, replacing it with a simple “Regards.”

Then she folded the letter. Rhaegar had very kindly shown her precisely how Stannis got his letters folded so neatly, by using a block of wood to press the edge down very hard. She sealed it with her wax and ring, carefully replacing the ring around her neck when she was done.

Then she was off to the rookery. She scampered down the sunlit halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, treading the familiar path to Maester Pycell’s side of the tower.

As she passed the courtyard in front of the gates, she saw Arthur Dayne sparring with ser Barristan Selmy, and her feet slowed without her notice. There was a circle of men around them, with Rhaegar amongst them, watching the two knights spar.

Through a gap in the crowd she saw that both men wore their gleaming white Kingsguard armour, though they fought with dulled weapons. Y/n knew they were dulled weapons, because ser Arthur fought one handed, instead of wielding his big shining greatsword, Dawn.

Even without his own weapon, however, it was incredible to watch him. According to most people in the keep, ser Barristan was a great knight, and he had won many tourneys and duels before becoming a kingsguard. He’d even unhorsed ser Duncan the Tall once.

Though, watching him face Arthur, she could not help but think he looked slow and old. The younger man moved with a grace she had only ever heard described in her books and as she watched, he disarmed ser Barristan, sending the older man’s sword clattering to the ground. The first time she had seen him, she had immediately thought that he was what a true knight should be, tall, bright-eyed, handsome. Though of course being handsome did not matter all that much when it came to being a knight. It helped, however. All the knights in her stories were always handsome.

Ser Barristan laughed and bent to pick up his sword. As he stood, both knights happened to glance over in her direction. Ser Arthur’s violet eyes met her own above a soft smile.

“Lady Stark,” ser Barristan greeted, giving her a kindly smile. They both inclined their heads to her, and she felt her cheeks burn at being caught staring. All the other men in the courtyard had seen her too, now, and she could see the laughter in their eyes as well.

Quickly, she curtsied and ran off, aware that she should have said something back, aware that she had probably made a fool of herself in front of them all, and wishing she could meld into the stone behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur stared out of the window and watched as the sun began to sink toward the Western horizon, thinking of Starfall. He missed his home, some days more than others. Today was a missing day.

It was a calm afternoon, though hot, and he was currently guarding prince Rhaegar as he sat with his mother in her parlour.

Rhaegar’s silver hair fell across his eyes as he bent forward, moving Y/n Stark’s fingers on the strings of his harp. He never allowed anyone to touch that harp of his, anyone but this northern girl.

Arthur had asked him about it once, and Rhaegar had smiled, and said, “No one has ever asked me to teach them before, Arthur."

He had been surprised to see her in the courtyard the previous day, watching his sparring match with ser Barristan. Mostly she kept to herself, eccept when quen Rhaella had need of her.

“Why don’t you grace us with a song, Lady Stark?” Rhaegar asked when he straightened. “Show my mother the improvement you’ve made.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she nodded hesitantly.

“What would you like to hear, your grace?”

“Something to make us laugh,” Rhaegar replied, and sat back next to his mother. "It is an afternoon for laughing, I think."

Y/n’s eyes moved across the room as she thought. When they landed on Arthur at his place by the window, a mischievous smile made its way onto her face.

She cleared her throat, making a big show of readying herself. Her voice rang out clear and smooth through the room.

The dornishman’s wife was as fair as the sun

Her kisses were warmer than spring…

The queen and the prince smiled, and even Arthur could not keep a grin from his face as she sang.

Brothers o brothers my days here are done

The dornishman’s taken my life

But what does it matter for all men must die and I’ve tasted the Dornishman’s wife!

On the last, she made sure to strum a false chord on the harp, and fell backward as if dying. It was endearing to see. Like a shield had been lowered, only for a moment, and Arthur could see the wildness beneath.

Rheagar laughed heartily at her theatrics, and congratulated her on her improvement, helped along by the queen’s motherly smile.

`~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you enjoy my song, ser Arthur?”

Arthur looked down to the girl. She was trying to hide a grin at her own jest, and failing miserably.

“I did, my lady,” he said, smiling along with her. “I wonder at how you thought to sing it on such short notice?”

“Something inspired me, I suppose,” she replied, and this time her smile was wide and full. She had two dimpled cheeks, and Arthur saw that the right was distorted slightly by the four scars on her cheek. He pitied her for them. Without them she might have been quite comely.

"Though I must admit," he said, "I did not think to hear a lady sing such a song. Are you not too young?"

She scrunched her nose at him.

"You should hear some of the songs the Greatjon used to sing at feasts up North," she said. "This was nothing, ser. I know some songs that would make even ser Llewyn blush, I'm sure of it."

When she spoke of her home, her way of speaking changed slightly, and Arthur heard the northern lilt creep back into her carefully controlled speech. He wondered if he did that too, when he spoke of Dorne. They were both of them a long ways from home, surrounded by people who did not understand.

They stood silently for a while, her watching the gardens outside the window and him watching the prince and queen as they spoke together. Some more ladies had joined them, no doubt hoping to impress the prince. Arthur wondered how long it would take him to decide on a bride.

“Ser Arthur,” Y/n started slowly, shaking him from his thoughts.

“Yes, my lady?” He asked, strangely glad for the distraction of her company.

“Everyone I’ve asked has told me that you are the best swordsman in the seven kingdoms,” she said, “Perhaps the world.”

He smiled.

"That is high praise, my lady," he said, though he knew it was true. Not even ser Barristan matched him, though a true knight was always humble in the face of praise.

"Yes," she said. "And Rhaegar always says you are kind as well."

"My lady, if your purpose in speaking to me was to flatter me, consider it to have worked," he said, smiling at her. She was not that much younger than him, he realised. She blushed.

"Half of my purpose, ser," she said sheepishly.

Her smile faded. She fidgeted with the end of her hair, and seemed to be making sure no one was close enough to hear them speak. He had never met anyone who fidgeted as much as she did. He'd seen her during sermons in the sept, unable to sit still for more than ten minutes without changing position, or tugging at her hair or her dress.

“Would you…” she bit her bottom lip. “Would you teach me?”

He gaped at her.

And she stared right back.

"Teach you...?"

"Teach me to fight," and as she said it, he saw her eyes fill with desire, with passion.

“My lady?” He asked, flabbergasted. “I am a knight of the kingsguard, I do not have time- it is entirely impossible- a lady- “

“I already know how to hold a sword,” she cut him off. “And the basic concepts. My brother showed my sister and I when we were younger,” she looked at him with big, pleading eyes and her lower lip jutted out slightly.

“One lesson,” she said, “And if you think I am hopeless, I will not ask you again.”

He stared at her.

Why?

“One lesson,” he said, and the words seemed to come out of his mouth before he was aware they would.

The smile on her face could have put the sun to shame.

"Thank you," she mouthed at him. before happily bounding off to rejoin the queen, who pulled her tight against her with one arm, almost out of habit. She whispered something to Y/n which made her laugh, and again Arthur found himself smiling along with that laugh. It sounded like the tinkling of a bell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind whipped at his shirt as he sat down on the rock next to Y/n Stark. It was a quiet little pier at the foot of the cliffs below the Red Keep, out of the way of prying eyes and ears. Both of them were soaked with sweat, and the waves crashing against the small rocks below him misted his face pleasantly.

The tourney swords he had had them practice with lay abandoned on the ground behind them.

She hadn’t been terrible. She did not have near enough muscle to be fast or strong enough yet, but her build was such that with practice she could become quite formidable. She had not lied about knowing the basics, and he had never met a quicker learner or a harder worker.

She laughed when he told her as such, that laugh that sounded like a bell tinkling.

“Would you write home to Winterfell for me and let my father know?” she asked, looking pleadingly at him, “He would not believe me if I told him you said so.”

Arthur smiled at her jest.

“My lady,” he started, unsure of how she would react to what he said next, “May I ask a question?”

She squinted at him suspiciously.

“Alright” she said suspiciously. “I will allow a single question.”

He laughed. “You are ever so gracious.”

She inclined her head.

“My lady… why?”

She frowned at him.

“I think you would do better asking one of your septons such a question, ser,” she said.

“No, I meant,” he gestured vaguely behind him, to the swords lying on the flagstones. “Why would you want to learn the sword? You are a highborn lady with many connections, you are not hard to look upon… why bother?”

She frowned then, and looked out across the water. She seemed to be considering the question.

“Back at Winterfell” she started slowly, “Old Nan was the woman who looked after my siblings and I. She told us bedtime stories of brave knights and heroic quests and far away places, only… None of the knights were ever women. Women were always the ones being helped. Does that make sense?” she trailed off, looking at the horizon.

“I’m afraid not.”

“It isn’t really a noble reason, I’m afraid,” she said, smiling softly.

“Your secret will be safe with me,” he said. “Knight’s honour.”

She smiled again, though it soured quickly.

“My whole life, I have come second to someone. My sister and I were born out of the same womb and yet she drew breath first. My siblings were louder than I was, and braver and stronger. Especially after Ned left for the Eyrie, I was the quiet one, who could not speak to others. I had to content myself with my horse and my books for friends, because none would speak to me, especially not after I gained my scars,” she touched her cheek softly. “I could not sit still, could not focus, could not listen. I was never good enough for anyone.”

“But then, we travelled to Storm’s End to see a tourney. And I saw the knights fight and joust, and everyone looked at them in awe, with love. And I thought ‘That will be me’,” there was a fire in her eyes when she looked at him.

“I want to slay the dragon, ser Arthur. I want to be the hero,” she shrugged then, like she had not just changed his entire perception of her.

“At least, I wish to try.”

#Game of thrones fic #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf imagine #arthur dayne #game of thrones x reader #asoiaf x reader #Stannis Baratheon

34 notes · View notes

rsberryf · 1 year

Photo

Just some Moth Prince Caelius

#rhaegar #seven gates of rhaegar #seven gates #caelius #the grove #art #drawing #sketch #sketchbook #doodle #artist #artist on tumblr #sambf #illustration #fantasy #dnd

14 notes · View notes

melrosing · 1 year

Text

sparknotes for ep 2 of my made up Robert's Rebellion adaptation because I don't trust HBO :) this part is more detailed because the introductions are over and I am having fun. once again, some changes: Rhaegar and Joncon canonically meet when squiring together, but I want to introduce him slightly earlier so now they'll first meet with Joncon as a page at the Red Keep (so he's maybe a little younger than Rhaegar). also, spot bonifer hasty - this is just before he finds jesus Prev Part - Episode 1

Next Part - Episode 3

Episode 2: The Boys Are Fightinggg

It’s been five/six years since ep 1. We open in the library of the Red Keep, where a fourteen year old Rhaegar Targaryen sits reading a heavy tome, brow pinched. After a moment, he shuts it carefully and rises to walk to a window overlooking the training grounds. A maester asks if he’s alright, and Rhaegar answers “it seems I must learn to fight” (cryptic lil fuck)

Opening credits roll. They’re the same as GOT except the music is caramelldansen

Joanna Lannister at Casterly Rock, sat in her solar with Genna; she’s visibly pregnant. A maid enters the solar looked panicked, and insists she speak to Joanna alone. Joanna allows this, and the maid confides something (guess what) concerning the twins. After ascertaining the maid won’t speak (and maybe issuing a tiny little threat), Joanna dismisses her with a bag of gold

Joanna confronts her children one at a time. Cersei is belligerent, insisting it was only a game. Jaime is distressed, unable to comprehend why what they were doing was wrong. Joanna states she will be placing their rooms apart, with a guard on Cersei’s etc - and don’t make her tell their dad. Both children look utterly horrified by that prospect, and Joanna seems uneasy threatening it

Aerys and Tywin at the King’s council. Lots of matters on the table etc. Some guy called Denys Darklyn is asking for a charter for Duskendale (it's clearly not the first time), which Tywin dismisses. Some Kingsguard has died, and they need a replacement. Tywin makes some suggestions of his own, and asks Aerys which he would prefer. Aerys is not really listening, only waving his hand over the flame of a candle. Tywin interrupts his musings, and Aerys burns himself in surprise. Asking the King his input on some matter, Aerys has little to offer. Tywin says something faintly facetious regarding the King’s attention span, and Aerys thinks he sees Pycelle smile

Rhaella, also pregnant, is in the gardens at the Red Keep, sat beneath a memorial statue of her parents. She grasps a bunch of flowers that she presumably means to lay at their feet, touches her bump and looks uneasy. Watching on is a castle guard who stands at the garden gate; Rhaella meets his eyes, pleading him closer, and they hold one another’s gaze for a long moment. Ultimately the guard breaks it, and looks down to his feet. Rhaella, looking away in despair, stiffly but violently shreds her flowers, and drops the remains beneath the statue before rising and leaving the garden

Anime boy Rhaegar learning to fight in the training yard. He seems a little surprised if reassured by his own skill, overpowering the master at arms at one point. Young page Jon Connington watches on, looking like he’s about to burst into applause. Aerys himself looks on from a high window, and looks Intensely Bothered

Aerys walking through the halls past a small crowd of men. He hears one say that Tywin truly rules the Seven Kingdoms, and turns abruptly to see the speaker - one Ilyn Payne, who looks shocked to see Aerys there. Aerys looks violent, like he might do something for a moment, but is ushered onwards by Barristan Selmy

Rhaella and Rhaegar at the dinner table in the royal… chambers??? whatever lol. Rhaella says she’s heard Rhaegar is fighting: that is good. Rhaegar is not super responsive to this praise. Rhaella then asks her son if she thinks the baby will be a boy or a girl. Rhaegar looks at her sadly

Aerys arrives belatedly to ruin dinner, decides he dislikes how quiet and miserable his family looks. Cracks a shit joke, doesn’t like the way his son looks at him, reads judgement in the kid’s eyes. Aerys is about to escalate in this sudden disagreement with his son, when Rhaella begins panicking - there’s blood pooling beneath the table. As Aerys realises what’s happening his anger abruptly turns to Rhaella, and he looks like he might strike her - then Rhaegar stands between them, and silently warns him off. Aerys is furious, but it works, and he storms out

Now Aerys is storming into the throne room, where Tywin sits his throne, listening to the grievances of some visiting lord. Aerys identifies Ilyn Payne at the sidelines, calls him over, and orders his tongue ripped out. This is appropriately grim :) Tywin looks on, displeased but unable to say anything. Aerys orders him off of his throne then takes it himself, and announces that as king he is ordering a tourney: the winner will join his Kingsguard

#asoiaf #cw miscarriage #sparknotes robert's rebellion

151 notes · View notes

esther-dot · 3 years

Text

first lines

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

Thank you for tagging me @rocknghorss!

I’m looking for a pattern and I can’t concentrate enough to notice one because I’m too focused on the fact that I have always said I don’t like reading second person, and here, I’ve written two fics with it! Hypocrite. Um…I clearly have a tendency to use my first sentence to set the scene which is against all writing advice. The opening is supposed to be snappy, and I’m here, “But if I don’t know where it is, how can I see it?” lmao. Also, I do have several that start with dialogue, and without the next sentences, I can’t say that I’m very fond of it which surprises me because for some reason, I thought that was a good way to start fics, but here, they just aren’t very grabby. I think, reading through this list, Sansa Stark’s Definition of Leisure is my favorite (#18) because it does make me want to read more.

I’m not sure who has done this already, but I’ll tag @amymel86 @vivilove-jonsa @schnoogles @charmtion @chispas-and-broken-bindings @cappymightwrite @cellsshapedlikestars @kit-kat21 @fromtheboundlesssea @sailorshadzter (no pressure---only if you feel like it!)

1. Because --He comes to Winterfell rarely, always unannounced. It warms her heart when he appears; wind chapped, hair wild, a smile hidden in the corners of his lips.

2. The Nights Are Dark -- The queen rides through the gates with the morning light, but it is night before he sees Sansa. Night, it is always night when she comes to him.

3. All That Is After -- The first time he returned they spoke only once before he had ridden into the night, swearing never to return.

4. Something Better -- “It’s pretty.” Jon’s dirty finger traced the wolf’s head on her crown. After her coronation she’d tucked it away in a box lined in velvet, locked it, and tried to put it out of her mind.

5. flames -- A fire, she could see it from her window, and she knew what it meant. Wool dress, thicker stockings, hesitation. How could she?

6. life is not a song -- “Tell me about the Long Night, Mama.” "Haven't you tired of that story, yet?" Sansa patted the pillow until Jeyne obediently placed her head where it belonged.

7. this one belongs to me -- Red hair, pale face, mud splattered across her cheeks, but all he could see were her eyes, Tully beauty, Stark fierceness, eyes that he would know no matter how her face had changed.

8. Stories -- “They say the former King in the North is a ghost.” “Is that what they say?” Sansa smiled at her son as he snuggled down deeper under his furs. “They say he’s a wolf.” “Oh my” she softly exclaimed, feigning surprise.

9. Free -- Saying goodbye to it all was painful, and relief. He could not hold onto the past without breathing in every bit of suffering he wanted so desperately to forget. Not wanted, he had to forget.

10. North -- "Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen and your mother was Lyanna Stark. You are not father's bastard, you’re heir to the Iron Throne."

11. Cursed -- He was standing before her, a man from her songs, King of the Seven Kingdoms, savior of Westeros, asking her the question she had always dreamt a prince would ask, but she was no longer that girl.

12. Jon is Jon -- You think of the crypts and the quiet dead, but on the streets of King's Landing the dead still cry out.

13. Sansa -- Sansa stood beneath the heart tree, its red leaves dripping down into the snow the same way fire licks up into the sky. Her fingers traced the memories pressed into its aged rings, the white bark holding every generation's prayers secret.

14. Together -- Everyone was mad at him except Sansa. When he arrived Sansa hadn't just hugged him, she held him, and allowed Jon to embrace her, much longer than was acceptable in Daenerys' eyes.

15. Choose -- "You love her." It was snowing, they stood on the battlements as they had before, but nothing was at it had been. Jon ducked his chin into his furs, his answer clear to Sansa even if he wouldn't speak it.

16. Healing -- After the war, for one moment, when her siblings and cousin had all survived, she thought they could finally find peace. She thought they were safe. But, Jon had promised, and he was now a dragon, as their new queen was fond of saying; there would be no peace for him. There would be no happiness for her.

17. Grey -- Riverrun was blue water, green trees, yellow sunlight; the North was only grey. The grey of the castle walls encircled her as if to assure her there was no escaping, this was now her home. She must learn to adjust to the cold, not long for the sun.

18. Sansa Stark’s Definition of Leisure -- Eventually his behavior had caused an argument, their first fight since he had returned, and gods, did he love it.

19. Feel – Worst of all, she makes him feel. He doesn't want to think about his father, let alone feel anything about it. He doesn't want to feel anything about his mother or the shame he had been made to feel for who he was. Shame was part of him, how could that shame no longer be his?

20. Sansa & Arya – There are many things you do not say. You are good at not saying these things, they sit on your tongue, held in only by your teeth and closed lips.

All of these are on AO3.

23 notes · View notes

butterflies-dragons · 4 years

Note

Hello! I love your blog. Your meta about women in Jon’s life and Lyanna was so good. Antis always try to ignore the Sansa and Lyanna parallels which is absurd because her story is so similar with Sansa’s... I guess they want to ignore those because they don’t want Sansa to be destined with a Targaryen prince (aka jonsa 🤭). So thanks for pointing them out. Are you planning to write a meta just about Sansa and Lyanna? It would be a good guide for our jonsa arguments. Have a nice day.

Hello Anon,

Thanks for your words.

Antis and haters gonna oppose and hate. That’s their thing. They questioned and denied every parallel that Lyanna and Sansa actually share, and proceed to attack anyone who dare to say they share those parallels. What’s knew about that?

Lyanna and Arya parallels are textual evident, they are easily spotted but they could be easily questioned as well, especially because most of the statements about Lyanna came from Ned, and he is not only an unreliable narrator, but his memories of Lyanna are embellished by love and trauma. If you contrast what Ned said about Lyanna with other sources, not so biased, Ned’s statements about her don’t look so evident and solid anymore.

Anyway, do you want me to talk more about Lyanna and Sansa parallels? Here you go:

Summary

Original Outline

Beauty

The wolf-blood

She-Wolves of Winterfell

Inner Strength

Sword & Armor

Knights protect the innocent

Singers & Songs

The Rose of Winterfell

Blue Winter Roses

Knights & Queens of Love and Beauty

Failed betrothal to a Baratheon

Pleading Ned to protect part of themselves

Targaryen Imagery

Dead before their time

Ladies of Winterfell

Bonus

LYANNA & SANSA

Original Outline & ASOIAF:

Sansa in the Original Outline:

‘Original Outline Sansa’ was very similar to Lyanna Stark.

Each of the contending families will learn it has a member of dubious loyalty in its midst. Sansa Stark, wed to Joffrey Baratheon, will bear him a son, the heir to the throne, and when the crunch comes she will choose her husband and child over her parents and siblings, a choice she will later bitterly rue. (...) Jaime Lannister will follow Joffrey on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, by the simple expedient of killing everyone ahead of him in the line of succession and blaming his brother Tyrion for the murders.

[Source]

As you can see, the ‘Original Outline Sansa’ shares parallels with Lyanna Stark and Elia Martel:

Romantically involved with the King/Heir of the Iron Throne

Mothers of their sons

Dead while protecting their children

Unwillingly caused the death of family members

Tagged as members of dubious loyalty to their paternal families

Regretted their doomed romances

But ¿How marrying the heir of the Iron Throne/King of the 7K is supposed to be an act of dubious loyalty? GRRM has stated that in high nobility there is no marriage without the Lord Father of the bride’s blessing. Furthermore, from the wedding the bride belongs to her husband’s house, that’s all the fuzz with the cloaking ceremony, going from the maiden’s cloak to your husband’s cloak. You left your paternal house to belong with your husbands house. Sansa’s loyalty was with her husband, and more important, Sansa’s love and loyalty was with her baby boy. So, how choosing his baby over her paternal house could be seem as an act of dubious loyalty then? And even if she wanted to come back to her paternal family, does she really get a chance without the risk of being captured, separated from her baby, accused of treason and executed, leaving her baby boy motherless?

But according to the Original Outline, there was an enmity between Starks and Lannisters. So, or Joffrey abducted Sansa, or Sansa eloped to marry Joffrey. How very Shakespearean! Romeo and Juliet all over again. Or even better, Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark all over again.

It is also implied by the fandom that this ‘Original Outline Sansa’ dies because the outline says that Jaime dethrones and kills Joffrey and “everyone ahead of him in the line of succession” (Sansa’s baby). Well, Sansa was not in the line of succession, but it’s probable that Jaime had to kill her to get to her baby boy, which reminds me of Elia Martell and her babies’ tragic deaths.

Sansa in Asoiaf:

Asoiaf Sansa never married Joffrey, never bore him a son, and she’s still alive. But she still shares a lot of similarities with her aunt Lyanna.

Both Lyanna and Sansa got infatuated by silver/golden princes, Rhaegar Targaryen and Joffrey Baratheon, and because of those romantic relationships, they unintentionally played a part in the deaths of their fathers and older brothers, Rickard and Brandon, and Ned and Robb. Later, both of them ended trapped in towers regretting their doomed romances.

According to GRRM, Asoiaf Sansa played a part in her father Ned Stark’s death. But I would say that Sansa’s fault lays more in trusting the wrong people than betraying Ned. The act of betrayal requires willful intent, and Sansa never wanted to betray her father. And we can say the same about Lyanna, she trusted Rhaegar over her family, ran away from her approved betrothal, lived a forbidden romance, and died after giving birth a son to her silver prince.

Sansa and Lyanna commit the same actions, but Lyanna gets more sympathy from the readers than Sansa, who is still considered a member of dubious loyalty or plainly a traitor to the Starks.

Also, as it was pointed out before, “Rickard Stark and Catelyn Stark both saw their firstborn sons murdered in front of them, while convinced that their daughters were far away being raped and abused by cruel princes, and then were brutally murdered themselves”.

Beauty:

Both Lyanna and Sansa are considered beautiful, but in different ways.

While Lyanna had a wild beauty:

“She [Lyanna] was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.” —AGOT - Arya II

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride. —AGOT - Eddard I

"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert,” Ned told him. “You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath”. —AGOT - Eddard VII

“The maid’s a fair one,” Osha said. —AGOT - Bran VII

The northern girl had a wild beauty, as he [Kevan] recalled. —ADWD - Epilogue

The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia's delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar's cause, Symond Staunton suggested to the king. —The World of Ice and Fire - The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring

Sansa possesses a traditional beauty:

Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. “Sansa’s work is as pretty as she is”, Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. —AGOT - Arya I

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily. —AGOT - Arya I

Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. —AGOT - Arya I

“I [Ser Cleos Frey] saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were.” —ACOK - Catelyn VI

Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was. —ACOK - Catelyn VII

“You are very beautiful, my lady,” the seamstress said when she was dressed. —ASOS - Sansa III

Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy. —ASOS - Sansa III

“Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.” —TWOW - Alayne I

“Had we known such beauty awaited us at the Gates, we would have flown,” Ser Roland said. Though his words were addressed to Myranda Royce, he smiled at Alayne as he said them. —TWOW - Alayne I

The wolf-blood:

Lyanna:

"Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave." Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born. "Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her."

"Lyanna was beautiful," Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya.

“She was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.”

—AGOT - Arya II

Sansa:

“I’ve never seen an aurochs,” Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen. Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. “A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table,” she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread. “She’s not a dog, she’s a direwolf,” Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. “Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want.” The septa was not appeased. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.” She scowled. “And where is Arya this morning?"

—AGOT - Sansa I

"It won’t be so bad, Sansa,” Arya said. “We’re going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we’ll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest.” She touched her on the arm. “Hodor!” Sansa yelled. “You ought to marry Hodor, you’re just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!” She wrenched away from her sister’s hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her.

—AGOT - Sansa III

Jeyne yawned. “Are there any lemon cakes?” Sansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. “Let’s see,” she said. The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya.

—AGOT - Sansa III

After my name day feast, I’m going to raise a host and kill your brother myself. That’s what I’ll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother’s head.“ A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, "Maybe my brother will give me your head.”

—AGOT - Sansa VI

She-Wolves of Winterfell:

Lyanna is literally the she-wolf in the tale of “The Knight of the Laughing Tree”:

But then they heard a roar. 'That's my father's man you're kicking,' howled the she-wolf."

"A wolf on four legs, or two?"

"Two," said Meera.

—ASOS - Bran II

Sansa went from a “wolf girl” to the she-wolf that killed a king:

He smiled at her. "Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand’s daughter.”

—AGOT - Sansa I

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

—ASOS - Arya XIII

“May the Father judge him justly,” murmured a septon. “The dwarf’s wife did the murder with him,” swore an archer in Lord Rowan’s livery. “Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws.”

—ASOS - Jaime VII

“Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle. The queen bristled. “I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf.” She refused to say the girl’s name. “I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son.

—AFFC - Cersei IV

What a kick-ass reputation: Sansa, the she-wolf that killed King Joffrey!

Inner Strength:

Lyanna:

"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert,” Ned told him. “You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath”. —AGOT - Eddard VII

Sansa:

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel. —ASOS - Sansa V

Sansa lost her direwolf Lady, and with her, the possibility to develop her abilities as a warg. But GRRM has still made Sansa an skinchanger through poetry. Her skin has changed to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

Sword & Armor

While Lyanna might have carried a sword, Sansa Stark is a lady armored in courtesy and she polishes her armor with her wits. As Tyrion Lannister said:

My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind … and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge." Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. "That's why I read so much, Jon Snow."

—AGOT - Tyrion II

Lyanna:

Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes.

—AGOT - Arya II

Sansa:

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord.”

—ACOK - Sansa I

Courtesy is a lady’s armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say. “I do not know Ser Willas. I have never had the pleasure, my lady. Is he … is he as great a knight as his brothers?”

—ASOS - Sansa I

“Gods have mercy.” The dwarf took another swallow of wine. “Well, talk won’t make you older. Shall we get on with this, my lady? If it please you?” “It will please me to please my lord husband.” That seemed to anger him. “You hide behind courtesy as if it were a castle wall.” “Courtesy is a lady’s armor,” Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that. “I am your husband. You can take off your armor now.” “And my clothing?” “That too.” He waved his wine cup at her. “My lord father has commanded me to consummate this marriage.”

—ASOS - Sansa III

He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy. Was that what made him speak? Or just the need to distract himself from the fullness in his bladder?

[...]

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

—ASOS - Tyrion VIII

Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. “Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger’s bastard?”

[...]

A lady’s armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. “As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger’s bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow.” And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled.

—TWOW - Alayne I

Knights protect the innocent:

Lyanna, as herself and as “The Knight of the Laughing Tree”, defended Howland Reed, a bannerman of House Stark:

“None offered a name, but he marked their faces well so he could revenge himself upon them later. They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then they heard a roar. ‘That’s my father’s man you’re kicking,’ howled the she-wolf.” “A wolf on four legs, or two?” “Two,” said Meera. “The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen. There he met her pack brothers: the wild wolf who led them, the quiet wolf beside him, and the pup who was youngest of the four.

(…)

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.”

—ASOS - Bran II

Sansa, as a lady armored with her courtesy and wits, defended and saved Dontos Hollard’s life, a defenestrated knight turned fool:

The king stood. “A cask from the cellars! I’ll see him drowned in it.” Sansa heard herself gasp. “No, you can’t.” Joffrey turned his head. “What did you say?” Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn’t meant to say anything, only … Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm. “Did you say I can’t? Did you?” “Please,” Sansa said, “I only meant … it would be ill luck, Your Grace … to, to kill a man on your name day.” “You’re lying,” Joffrey said. “I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much.” “I don’t care for him, Your Grace.” The words tumbled out desperately. “Drown him or have his head off, only … kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please … not today, not on your name day. I couldn’t bear for you to have ill luck … terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so …” Joffrey scowled. He knew she was lying, she could see it. He would make her bleed for this. “The girl speaks truly,” the Hound rasped. “What a man sows on his name day, he reaps throughout the year.” His voice was flat, as if he did not care a whit whether the king believed him or no. Could it be true? Sansa had not known. It was just something she’d said, desperate to avoid punishment. Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. “Take him away. I’ll have him killed on the morrow, the fool.” “He is,” Sansa said. “A fool. You’re so clever, to see it. He’s better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn’t he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death.” The king studied her a moment. “Perhaps you’re not so stupid as Mother says.” He raised his voice. “Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you’re my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

—ACOK - Sansa I

Singers & Songs:

Lyanna and Sansa are linked with singers and romantic songs.

Lyanna loved a singer and became a lady in a song, her own tragic romantic story:

The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle.

—ASOS - Bran II

The wolf maid was Lyanna Stark hearing her dragon prince Rhaegar Targaryen playing a sad song with the harp.

And curiously enough, a blue eyed redhead man called Jon also wept while hearing Rhaegar Targaryen playing a sad song with the harp:

At the welcoming feast, the prince had taken up his silver-stringed harp and played for them. A song of love and doom, Jon Connington recalled, and every woman in the hall was weeping when he put down the harp. Not the men, of course.

—A Dance with Dragons - The Griffin Reborn

Jon Connington was, of course, in love with Rhaegar Targaryen...

Sansa:

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. “The man has played us every song he knows thrice over,” Lord Eddard told her gently. “I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come.”

They hadn’t, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent.

But that was when she was a little girl, and foolish. She was a maiden now, three-and-ten and flowered. All her nights were full of song, and by day she prayed for silence.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

Bran and his brothers and sisters sat with the king's children, Joffrey and Tommen and Princess Myrcella, who'd spent the whole meal gazing at Robb with adoring eyes. Arya made faces across the table when no one was looking; Sansa listened raptly while the king's high harper sang songs of chivalry, and Rickon kept asking why Jon wasn't with them. "Because he's a bastard," Bran finally had to whisper to him.

—ACOK - Bran III

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” [sung in High Valyrian] Ned inspected the bruise himself. “I hope Forel is not being too hard on you,” he said.

—AGOT - Eddard VII

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

—AGOT - Sansa IV

After the meal had been cleared away, many of the guests asked leave to go to the sept. Cersei graciously granted their request. Lady Tanda and her daughters were among those who fled. For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother’s queen, of Nymeria’s ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist.

—ACOK - Sansa VI

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. All I could ever do was shout the words.

—ASOS - Arya IV

Lady Ashara was my aunt. I never knew her, though. She threw herself into the sea from atop the Palestone Sword before I was born.” “Why would she do that?” said Arya, startled. (...) “Why did she jump in the sea, though?” "Her heart was broken." Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid.

—ASOS - Arya VIII

"Do you require guarding?” Marillion said lightly. “I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,’ I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her.”

—ASOS - Sansa VII

Lyanna and Sansa are also linked with the tale of Bael the Bard and the Rose of Winterfell.

The Rose of Winterfell:

This is the tale:

According to free folk legend, Lord Brandon Stark, the liege of the north, once called Bael a coward. To take revenge for this affront and prove his courage, Bael climbed the Wall, took the kingsroad, and entered Winterfell under the guise of a singer named Sygerrik of Skagos. (“Sygerrik” means “deceiver” in the Old Tongue.) There, he sang until midnight for the lord.

Impressed by his skills as a singer, Lord Stark asked Bael what he wanted as a reward, but he requested only the most beautiful flower blooming in Winterfell’s gardens. As the blue winter roses were just blooming, Brandon Stark presented him with one. The following morning, the maiden daughter of Lord Stark had disappeared, his only child, and in her bed was the blue winter rose.

Lord Brandon sent the members of the Night’s Watch looking for them beyond the Wall, but they never found Bael or the girl. The Stark line was on the verge of extinction, when one day the girl was back in her room, holding in her arms an infant: they had actually never left Winterfell, staying hidden in the crypts. Bael’s bastard with Brandon’s daughter became the new Lord Stark.

Thirty years later, Bael was King-Beyond-the-Wall and led the wildlings’ army south, and he had to fight his own son at the Frozen Ford. There, incapable of killing his own blood, he let himself be killed by Lord Stark. His son brought back Bael’s head to Winterfell, and his mother who had loved the bard, seeing the trophy, killed herself by leaping from the top of a tower. The son was eventually slain by the Boltons.

[Source]

Jon’s first and only lover, Ygritte, told him this story:

“You said you were the Bastard o’ Winterfell.” “I am.” “Who was your mother?” “Some woman. Most of them are.” Someone had said that to him once. He did not remember who. She smiled again, a flash of white teeth. “And she never sung you the song o’ the winter rose?” “I never knew my mother. Or any such song.” “Bael the Bard made it,” said Ygritte. “He was King-beyond-the-Wall a long time back. (...) “Well, long before he was king over the free folk, Bael was a great raider.” (...) “The Stark in Winterfell wanted Bael’s head, but never could take him, and the taste o’ failure galled him. One day in his bitterness he called Bael a craven who preyed only on the weak. When word o’ that got back, Bael vowed to teach the lord a lesson. So he scaled the Wall, skipped down the kingsroad, and walked into Winterfell one winter’s night with harp in hand, naming himself Sygerrik of Skagos. Sygerrik means ‘deceiver’ in the Old Tongue, that the First Men spoke, and the giants still speak.” “North or south, singers always find a ready welcome, so Bael ate at Lord Stark’s own table, and played for the lord in his high seat until half the night was gone. The old songs he played, and new ones he’d made himself, and he played and sang so well that when he was done, the lord offered to let him name his own reward. ‘All I ask is a flower,’ Bael answered, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell.’” “Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious. So the Stark sent to his glass gardens and commanded that the most beautiful o’ the winter roses be plucked for the singer’s payment. And so it was done. But when morning come, the singer had vanished . . . and so had Lord Brandon’s maiden daughter. Her bed they found empty, but for the pale blue rose that Bael had left on the pillow where her head had lain.” Jon had never heard this tale before. (...) “Lord Brandon had no other children. At his behest, the black crows flew forth from their castles in the hundreds, but nowhere could they find any sign o’ Bael or this maid. For most a year they searched, till the lord lost heart and took to his bed, and it seemed as though the line o’ Starks was at its end. But one night as he lay waiting to die, Lord Brandon heard a child’s cry. He followed the sound and found his daughter back in her bedchamber, asleep with a babe at her breast.” “Bael had brought her back?” “No. They had been in Winterfell all the time, hiding with the dead beneath the castle. The maid loved Bael so dearly she bore him a son, the song says . . . though if truth be told, all the maids love Bael in them songs he wrote. Be that as it may, what’s certain is that Bael left the child in payment for the rose he’d plucked unasked, and that the boy grew to be the next Lord Stark. So there it is—you have Bael’s blood in you, same as me.”

—ACOK - Jon VI

This tale resembles Jon’s own story: Bael the Bard and Rhaegar Targaryen, both harp players, “abducted” a Stark maid, Brandon’s daughter and Lyanna, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell’. Rhaegar also crowned Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty with blue winter roses, and they procreated a “bastard” son, Jon Snow. Lyanna died after giving birth to Jon, and the memories of that tragic even haunted Ned, who remembers the Lyanna bleeding and the blue winter roses:

"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna's statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood.

—AGOT - Eddard XIII

Promise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She had loved the scent of winter roses.

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Immediately after this chapter, comes ACOK - Sansa IV, where Sansa got her first period.

So after a chapter about ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell’ it follows the chapter where Sansa Stark becomes a maid, Sansa literally flowered.

Next chapter is Jon again. There is a succession of Jon-Sansa-Jon chapters, that linked them thematically.

Also take note that Sansa was “abducted” by Petyr Baelish, a known deceiver, whose surname has a resemblance with the name Bael.

Blue Winter Roses:

Lyanna and Sansa are linked with flowers, but especially with roses:

Lyanna and the blue winter roses:

Ned could recall none of it. ”I bring her flowers when I can,“ he said. ”Lyanna was … fond of flowers.”

—A Game Of Thrones - Eddard I

"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna's statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood.

—AGOT - Eddard XIII

Promise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She had loved the scent of winter roses.

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost.

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Sansa Stark:

It was enough that she could walk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcella’s garden, and visit the sept to pray for her father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the Starks kept the old gods.

—AGOT - Sansa V

Her eyes were only for Ser Loras. When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst. To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. “Sweet lady,” he said, “no victory is half so beautiful as you.” Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls, his eyes like liquid gold. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after Ser Loras had ridden off.

—AGOT - Sansa II

—ASOS - Sansa VII

So we have Marillion, a singer, composing a song for Alayne Stone, Sansa Stark in disguise, that he meant to call “The Roadside Rose”

And Loras Tyrell, The Knight of Flowers, gave Sansa a single red rose. I will expand on this next, because Loras giving Sansa a red rose is an allegory in reverse of Rhaegar giving Lyanna the crown of blue winter roses.

Knights & Queens of Love and Beauty:

Lyanna was a Mystery Knight AND was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney at Harrenhal.

Lyanna as the Knight of the Laughing Tree

Lyanna, as herself and as a mystery knight, the Knight of the Laughing Tree, defended the crannogman, Howland Reed, a bannerman of House Stark:

But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists. Bran nodded sagely. […] “It was the little crannogman, I bet.” “No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.” […] “Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.” —ASOS - Bran II

Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty

Rhaegar Targaryen wearing an armor adorned with rubies (red) gave Lyanna a crown of winter roses (blue):

The Targaryen prince armored all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight.

—AGOT - Eddard I

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Sansa as a “Knight”

During the Tourney in honor of King Joffrey’s Name Day, Sansa, as a lady armored with her courtesy and wits, defended and saved the life of Ser Dontos Hollard, a defenestrated knight turned fool, as I explained above.

Sansa as the Queen of Love and Beauty

Art credit: Loras Tyrell Gives Sansa Stark a Rose and the Hand’s Tournament by Jonathan Burton.

Sansa was the unofficial Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of the Hand. GRRM wrote this passage as a resemble of the Tourney at Harrenhal, hiding hints and reversing colors.

Sansa attended the Tourney of the Hand at Kings Landing and met Petyr Baelish who told her that her mother, Catelyn Tully, was his Queen of Love and Beauty:

"Your mother was my queen of beauty once,” the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. “You have her hair.” His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away. —AGOT - Sansa II

Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, wearing an armor adorned with sapphires (blue) gave Sansa a (red) rose:

When the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and he heard Sansa’s fervent whisper, “Oh, he’s so beautiful.” Ser Loras Tyrell was slender as a reed, dressed in a suit of fabulous silver armor polished to a blinding sheen and filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The commons realized in the same instant as Ned that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires; a gasp went up from a thousand throats. Across the boy’s shoulders his cloak hung heavy. It was woven of forget-me-nots, real ones, hundreds of fresh blooms sewn to a heavy woolen cape. —AGOT - Eddard VII

During the second day of the tourney, Sansa wore the red rose in her hair:

The boy from Highgarden did something with his legs, and his horse pranced sideways, nimble as a dancer. Sansa clutched at his arm. “Father, don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him,” she said. Ned saw she was wearing the rose that Ser Loras had given her yesterday. Jory had told him about that as well. —AGOT - Eddard VII

The Tourney at the Gates of the Moon

And at this point in the Books, Sansa, as Alayne Stone, is organizing a tourney to elect the members of Robert Arryn’s personal guard, named the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights.

Alayne Stone’s betrothed, Harrold Hardyng, known as Harry the Heir, is competing in the tourney.

Since her betrothed is competing in the jousting and since she is daughter of Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale, Alayne Stone has great chances to be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty of the tourney.

The Tourney at Ashford Meadows

Sansa has also strong links with the Tourney at Ashford Meadows, but this is a matter for another time.

Failed betrothal to a Baratheon:

Both Lyanna and Sansa were betrothed with a Baratheon, Lyanna with Robert and Sansa with Joffrey:

If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done. —AGOT - Eddard I

There is also this parallel between Jenny of Oldstones, Lyanna & Sansa [I wrote about it here]:

Note the parallels between Duncan Targaryen, his betrothed Baratheon and Jenny of Oldstones & Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark and her betrothed Robert Baratheon: A Targaryen prince breaking an engagement with a member of House Baratheon that then originates a rebellion.

And this: Sansa was betrothed with Joffrey “Baratheon” and the engagement was broken in the middle of a war with Robb Stark leading an army against King Joffrey, and Jon almost breaking his vows to join Robb’s army to avenge Ned’s death and rescue their sisters. All of which makes me think about these parallels: Sansa being a hostage in King’s Landing & Lyanna’s “abduction”, Ned’s death & Rickard’s death, Robb’s death & Brandon’s death. And that leaves Jon to possibly play the role of Ned Stark in the future.

Basically if Jon and Sansa happens, they will parallel two stories: Rhaegar and Lyanna, a Targaryen/Stark couple; and Ned and Cat, a Stark/Tully couple.

And right now in the Books, Sansa Stark, under the disguise of Alayne Stone, is betrothed with a Robert-like young man: Harrold Hardyng, also known as Harry the Heir:

Both orphaned boys

Both wards at the Vale

Both handsome and physically strong

Both linked to Jon Arryn and the Vale

Both fathered bastards in the Vale: Mya Stone // Alys Stone

Both involved in a conflict with a cousin: Robert killed his cousin Rhaegar and became King // If Robert Arryn dies, his cousin Harry will be new Lord Arryn.

Both betrothed to a Stark girl: Lyanna Stark // (Alayne Stone) Sansa Stark

Pleading Ned to protect part of themselves:

"Stop them," Sansa pleaded, "don't let them do it, please, please, it wasn't Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can't, it wasn't Lady, don't let them hurt Lady, I'll make her be good, I promise, I promise …" She started to cry.

—AGOT - Eddard III

He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.

—AGOT - Eddard IV

"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna's statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood.

—AGOT - Eddard XIII

Promise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She had loved the scent of winter roses.

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Lyanna was pleading to her brother Ned to protect her son, while Sansa was pleading to her father Ned to protect her direwolf, Lady, part of Sansa’s soul. Later, Ned regretted failing Sansa…

Sansa’s pleading and repeating the word “promise”, triggered Ned’s trauma over Lyanna’s death. That also happened when Robert asked Ned to protect his children.

Targaryen Imagery:

Sansa’s chapters hide hints about Lyanna’s son, Jon Snow, true parentage.

Indeed, Sansa Stark has a very interesting imagery of white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire. I wrote more about it here.

Sansa’s Ivory silk dress stained with blood orange juice and ashes

“Liar,” Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers.

“Go ahead, call me all the names you want,” Sansa said airily. “You won’t dare when I’m married to Joffrey. You’ll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace.” She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.

“You have juice on your face, Your Grace,” Arya said.

It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. “You’re horrible,” she screamed at her sister. “They should have killed you instead of Lady!”

(…)

“Arya started it,” Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. “She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She hates that I’m going to marry the prince. She tries to spoil everything, Father, she can’t stand for anything to be beautiful or nice or splendid.”

(…)

“Sansa stalked away with her head up. She was to be a queen, and queens did not cry. At least not where people could see. When she reached her bedchamber, she barred the door and took off her dress. The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. “I hate her!” she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night’s fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

When the king’s herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she’d had them dye it black and you couldn’t see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Take note that the ivory silk dress was a “betrothal gift” from Cersei, that Sansa later had to “dye it black” so the “blood and fire stain” couldn’t be seen at all.

Oh George! Your wording here is just genius!

Sansa’s bedclothes stained with her moonblood and fire

When she woke, the pale light of morning was slanting through her window, yet she felt as sick and achy as if she had not slept at all. There was something sticky on her thighs. When she threw back the blanket and saw the blood, all she could think was that her dream had somehow come true. She remembered the knives inside her, twisting and ripping. She squirmed away in horror, kicking at the sheets and falling to the floor, breathing raggedly, naked, bloodied, and afraid.

But as she crouched there, on her hands and knees, understanding came. “No, please,” Sansa whimpered, “please, no.” She didn’t want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now.

Madness took hold of her. Pulling herself up by the bedpost, she went to the basin and washed between her legs, scrubbing away all the stickiness. By the time she was done, the water was pink with blood. When her maidservants saw it they would know. Then she remembered the bedclothes. She rushed back to the bed and stared in horror at the dark red stain and the tale it told. All she could think was that she had to get rid of it, or else they’d see. She couldn’t let them see, or they’d marry her to Joffrey and make her lay with him.

Snatching up her knife, Sansa hacked at the sheet, cutting out the stain. If they ask me about the hole, what will I say? Tears ran down her face. She pulled the torn sheet from the bed, and the stained blanket as well. I’ll have to burn them. She balled up the evidence, stuffed it in the fireplace, drenched it in oil from her bedside lamp, and lit it afire. Then she realized that the blood had soaked through the sheet into the featherbed, so she bundled that up as well, but it was big and cumbersome, hard to move. Sansa could get only half of it into the fire. She was on her knees, struggling to shove the mattress into the flames as thick grey smoke eddied around her and filled the room, when the door burst open and she heard her maid gasp.

In the end it took three of them to pull her away. And it was all for nothing. The bedclothes were burnt, but by the time they carried her off her thighs were bloody again. It was as if her own body had betrayed her to Joffrey, unfurling a banner of Lannister crimson for all the world to see.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

Even if the color of the bedclothes was not stated as white/off-white, it’s very probable that they were of white or an off-white color, like ivory. So, again, we find this very interesting imagery in Sansa’s chapters: white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire.

And this passage of a bed stained with blood that must be hidden makes me think about Ned’s dream of Lyanna’s death:

He dreamt an old dream, of three knights in white cloaks, and a tower long fallen, and Lyanna in her bed of blood.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard X

So I think there is another pattern here: betrothal, marriage and giving birth.

As I said before, the ivory silk dress was a “betrothal gift” from Cersei; and, as Sansa stated, the bedclothes stained with her moonblood was a proof of her having reached her womanhood and thus able to do her duty and marry Joffrey and bear his children.

Moreover, after Sansa’s first moonblood, she had this conversation with Cersei:

“I don’t blame you. Between Tyrion and Lord Stannis, everything I eat tastes of ash. And now you’re setting fires as well. What did you hope to accomplish?”

Sansa lowered her head. “The blood frightened me.”

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

Sansa had never felt less flowery. “My lady mother told me, but I … I thought it would be different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Less … less messy, and more magical.”

Queen Cersei laughed. “Wait until you birth a child, Sansa. A woman’s life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you’ll learn that soon enough … and the parts that look like magic often turn out to be messiest of all.” She took a sip of milk. “So now you are a woman. Do you have the least idea of what that means?”

“It means that I am now fit to be wedded and bedded,” said Sansa, “and to bear children for the king.”

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

An ivory silk dress, a “betrothal gift” from Cersei, that Sansa later had to “dye it black”, so the “blood and fire stain” couldn’t be seen at all, sounds pretty much like Lyanna Stark’s betrothal to Robert Baratheon being “stained” by Rhaegar Targaryen. And then, of course, of Jon Snow hidden in the Wall as a Black Brother/Black Knight of the Night’s Watch.

Again, Sansa’s bedclothes stained with her flowering blood and then with fire to hide the stain, sounds pretty much like Lyanna Stark’s bed of blood after she gave birth Jon Snow, the baby that had to be hidden so his Targaryen identity couldn’t be seem at all.

A white wool cloak stained by blood and fire

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VII

Out of the three passages with this imagery of white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire, this one, the one you asked for, has the more evident references of Jon Snow’s true parentage as the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

Here we have Sansa huddled beneath a white kingsguard cloak stained by blood of the death during the Battle of the Blackwater and wildfire.

I think most of the readers get distracted from the Jon Snow’s true parentage hints here, because they romanticize this scene and believe it foreshadows some romantic future events for her involving the Hound, based in the fact that Sansa had covered herself with “the Hounds cloak” twice. But the relationship between Sansa and the white cloaks is -by far- larger than that; it has more to do with the ideals of knighthood and chivalry, than with the men wearing them.

As you can see, GRRM has plagued Sansa’s chapters with hints of Lyanna’s son, Jon Snow, true parentage.

Dead before their time:

Lyanna:

“She [Lyanna] was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.”

—AGOT - Arya II

Sansa:

And so many others were missing. Where had the rest of them gone? Sansa wondered. Vainly, she searched for friendly faces. Not one of them would meet her eyes. It was as if she had become a ghost, dead before her time.

—AGOT - Sansa V

Lyanna and Lady (part of Sansa’s soul) both died in the south, before their time.

Lyanna’s ghost has haunted Cersei over the years, Cersei wanted to marry Rhaegar but ended married with Robert. Both Rhaegar and Robert loved Lyanna.

Lady is mentioned in the Books as a “shade”, a synonym for ghost. And after Ned’s death, Sansa became a ghost at the Red Keep’s court.

Sansa and Lady also haunt Cersei, as she remembered them both during her walk of atonement:

The queen began to see familiar faces. (...) She saw Ned Stark, and beside him little Sansa with her auburn hair and a shaggy grey dog that might have been her wolf.

—ADWD - Cersei II

At the end, only the remains of Lyanna and Lady returned home, to the North, to Winterfell.

Ladies of Winterfell:

Lyanna’s and Lady’s bones are buried at Winterfell, what makes them literally Ladies of Winterfell:

“She was more beautiful than that,” the king said after a silence. His eyes lingered on Lyanna’s face, as if he could will her back to life. Finally he rose, made awkward by his weight. “Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?” His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. “She deserved more than darkness …” “She was a Stark of Winterfell,” Ned said quietly. “This is her place.”

—AGOT - Eddard I

Shortly, Jory brought him Ice. When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.” “All that way?” Jory said, astonished. “All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.”

—AGOT - Eddard III

Bran felt all cold inside. “She lost her wolf,” he said, weakly, remembering the day when four of his father’s guardsmen had returned from the south with Lady’s bones. Summer and Grey Wind and Shaggydog had begun to howl before they crossed the drawbridge, in voices drawn and desolate. Beneath the shadow of the First Keep was an ancient lichyard, its headstones spotted with pale lichen, where the old Kings of Winter had laid their faithful servants. It was there they buried Lady, while her brothers stalked between the graves like restless shadows. She had gone south, and only her bones had returned.

—AGOT - Bran VI

Lady’s death and his return to the North to rest in Winterfell is linked with Lyanna’s death and her own path back home. I wrote about this before:

Now, back to Lady’s death. We know that this event is a turning point in Sansa’s arc, but other than that, the paragraphs leading to the direwolf’s execution are laden with symbolism and foreshadowing, not only for Sansa, but for Ned as well.

During the “trial”, Ned decides that he will take Lady’s life himself, in order to avoid having a butcher like Ilyn Payne do the execution. Then, before he struck, he pronounced her name in the same fashion Robb and Jon called the name of their direwolves before they both died. This for me foreshadows Ned’s own death. Also, before Lady’s death, Ned pleads King Robert to change his decision on putting down the direwolf, appealing to the memory of Lyanna, the woman Robert loved. Similarly, before Ned’s execution at the steps of the Sept of Baelor, Sansa pleads King Joffrey to spare her father’s life, appealing to the love he has for her. As we know, both pleas fell on deaf ears and both Lady and Ned lost their lives; bringing the story full circle, as Ilyn Payne himself cut off Ned’s head.

Another interesting thing is that before Lady’s death we have direct and indirect references to Lyanna Stark. We have the direct reference when Ned appealed to the love Robert Baratheon bore Lyanna, in order to save Lady’s life, and the indirect one when he ordered Jory to choose four men to return Lady’s body to the north, to bury her in Winterfell. This order Ned gave to his men alludes to his own decision to take Lyanna’s body to Winterfell to be buried in the crypts, after her demise, brought on by her doomed love affair with Rhaegar Targaryen.

And to finish this post, here some gifsets that illustrate some of the discussed parallels:

Sansa Stark and Lyanna Stark + parallels

Pleading

She-wolves of Winterfell

Beautiful, Captivating Child-Women

Hidden Metal ft. hair parallels

Broken ‘Baratheon’ Engagements ft. more hair parallels

Fair Maidens

BONUS

Lyanna and Sansa in the first Show pilot:

In The Original, Terrible ‘Game Of Thrones’ Pilot That Never Aired, there was a scene where Cersei burned the feather that Robert left at Lyanna’s statue in the Winterfell Crypts:

The Cersei scene that might ruffle some feathers

Let’s begin with a defining scene between King Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark in the Winterfell crypts.

The scene that aired on HBO is slightly different from the scene in the Cushing script, but the gist is the same. Robert asks Ned to be his new Hand of the King, a position left open after Jon Arryn’s death. That’s when Robert places something small but highly symbolic on a statue of his onetime betrothed, Lyanna Stark: a feather.

And that pretty much sums up the sequence you saw in Season 1

But in the script found in the Cushing library, Queen Cersei plays a pivotal role in this exchange’s aftermath ― so much so that her involvement would have changed a Season 5 episode, the recent Season 8 teaser and possibly more.

The following scene is written into the pilot script found at Cushing and involves Cersei visiting the crypts right before the feast at Winterfell:

Cersei exits the crypts, crosses the courtyard and walks into the antechamber between the kitchen and the Winterfell great hall. The celebration for the king’s arrival is underway, and servants are rushing past her with food. The queen’s handmaidens make adjustments to her outfit and remove her heavy fur.

Then Cersei reveals something she has inside her sleeve:

“A word with the Stark girl”. I have no doubt this meant Sansa.

We didn’t get to watch this scene, Cersei never came down to the Winterfell Crypts, and she never took the feather Robert left there for Lyanna. But a few seasons later, we got to watch a scene of Sansa at the Winterfell Crypts, next to her aunt Lyanna’s statue, where she found the same feather that King Robert left there years ago...

...And Petyr Baelish told her the story of Lyanna and Rhaegar at the Tourney of Harrenhal.... I wrote more about it here.

I hope this is enough.

Thanks for your message and good night.

#Sansa Stark #Lyanna Stark #parallels #anon ask #Sansa & Lyanna parallels #Lyanna & Sansa parallels

115 notes · View notes