#trant is a short king

[erovalkyrie]

TACTICAL TAKEDOWN!

(art raffle win for 100 followers on Twitter, request by Seri_xxxi!

and being overpowered by a man quite shorter than him, Jean Vicquemare was never the same

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

sandor clegane x reader

Chapter 6

Previous chapter here

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for this chapter- Threatening, Joffrey (we know why), mention of sex, breathing restriction, 18+ language.

Your arm is linked with sansas as you walk through the city courtyard seeing the gold, white, and red decorations. You look up seeing the banners, seeing them draped from windows and strung across the walls. Walking into the town square the space has been cleared and the severent are working to continue the decorations. 

You see joffrey barking orders as merryn trant and hound stand behind him. He notices the two of you and adjusts himself before walking over. 

“My lady sansa. Lady clegane.” he says 

“Your grace” you both say. Your eyes glance up at Sandor before focusing on the king when he speaks. 

“Wonderful don't you think..i think this is just what kingslanding need the festival!'' Joffrey says. 

“It's beautiful.” Sansa acts. 

“Yeah sure, it should be completed in 2 days time i hope the food will be good, come with me my lady, I want to show you where the fool will be performing.” Joffrey says, holding his arm out to sansa. Who takes it? He takes a step as the other two men begin to follow. 

“Not you dog, stay, keep an eye on the bloody workers if they can ever fucking move fast enough.'' Joffrey says before walking off leaving you Sandor and the other guard who assisted you and Sansa on the walk to the courtyard. Sandor nods his head to the guard who must be new by the way he shakes when he sees his superior, and the guard scurries off to fill his place with Sansa and joffrey.

Sandor turns watching as the servants continue to work. It's quiet for a bit before he turns his head to you looking at you. You notice he's looking at you so you look back at him. 

“What?” you ask, his hardened expression doesn't change. 

“What?!” you exclaim as he turns his head back forwards. 

“Are you hurting?” he asks reluctantly. You frown in confusion not understanding what he means until he speaks again. 

“The first time is usually uncomfortable, '' he says. Your ears burn as you realize he's talking about last night in public. 

“O-oh..i'm alright, s-sore. I should ask the same for you.” you say looking up at him. 

“Mm. just cat scratches i've had worse.” he grumbles. 

“I'm not hurt, you know. You didn't hurt me sandor, like you said.” you say taking his hand, his rough palm in your soft one. He looks down to you, feeling your hand in his. 

“The marks…do those hurt?” he asks. 

“Not at all if anything…I kind of like them.” you say blushing lightly. A short chuckle leaves his lips as he looks back to the servants. 

“Your cape is back in the room.” you add on. 

“Hmm..last night wasn't enough for you then little fox?” he asks. 

“N-no! I mean yes– i-I it was enough- i enjoyed myself- i hope you did as well- i'm just suggesting- n-no i'm not. NO i mean ah…” your face burns as you fumble over your words. 

“If you'd like it b-back you're going to have to get it yourself. My maids are terrified of you so they will not return it by mail.” you say pulling your hand away from him.

Amused at how easy it was to fluster you but less so that your hand is gone from his. 

“Fine then..” he huffs and holds out his arm to you. 

“I'll get it myself.” he says, waiting for you to take his arm. 

“Good” you say and hold his arm in yours. You turn your head away, opening your mouth to speak again when you're hit from behind, causing you to almost fall forwards if sandor hadn't caught you. Three men run by you, the last one running into you. Sandor grabs the third by his neck lifting him. 

“Watch where your fucking running boy! You've hit the princess. Watch it or I'll use your entrails as a damn jump rope!” he barks out, resorting back to his usual roughness. The man whimpers in fear once the hound puts him down. 

“M-m-my apologies milady!” he says bowing before running off to his friends. 

“You alright?” he asks you. Going back to you facing you. Your hand rests on your shoulder where he hit you. 

“Yes. Thank you for catching me.” you say. He nods, bringing his hand  up to your face, tucking your hair behind your hair, spotting the marks he left on your neck. He lifts your chin looking at his handy work. 

“Fucking pigs running through the streets nearly ran into me!” you hear jeoffrey's whining voice. Sandor pulls his hand away from you before turning to face the sound of the king. 

“You just stare at the fuckign flags waving in the air you mutt?” Joffrey asks, not really wanting an answer from sandor. 

“Sure.” he says 

“Mm whatever entertains your boring scared ass. Honestly I don't know how you entertain yourself around him.” joffrey says walking passed you both making sandor roll his eyes with a sneer mouthing a mockery of joffrey. Making you press your lips together suppressing a laugh. 

“Come along dog, we have to look in the bakery.” Joffrey says not really having to do so; he's probably just hungry and wants food. 

—-----

You continue the rest of the day and and the next exploring the festival decorations ever going as far out as the the towns square only with two f your hand maidens. Sneaking out of the castle with out a gaurd is no easy feat and often times with in the hour a gaurd who bring you back to the castle. Every guard its been has been Sandor.

you admire the decorations the towns people have done and the hope they share for a good and well festival even spending some time with the local children in the orphanages. Playing games and reading to them. Until you are once again escorted back to the castle.

But now you are on a different mission you walk into the seamstress house.

“Excuse me?” You ask a woman

“Oh! My princess!” She says and bows down.

“Shh no no i-im not supposed to be outside of the castle walls without supervision please get up.” You say begging her. She raises.

“Can you please make something like this. Black gold and yellow?” You ask

“A black dress milady? Was th’re a death in the family?” She says her thick accent almost missing words.

“N-no i want to wear it for the festival would you be able to make it for me?” You ask handing her paper with the sketch and your size.

“ o’course i can.” She says with a smile.

“Thank you i apologize for the short notice um. Here” you say placing a little pouch of coins on the table next to the paper.

“OH why mildly id’a do it f’free” she says you shake your head.

“No no. Your dresses you make are far too beautiful to not be paid for.” You say and smile.

“I’ll do me best, I’ll ‘ave it sent into the ca’sle on the day.” She says you nod smiling at her before hurrying off having heard that the guards were looking for you.

————

Walking down the hall you reach the library on your usual rounds to keep yourself entertained. When you’re stopped by two guards thier armor shiny and unbent letting your know they are new.

“Hello there little lady.” One speaks as the block your route to the library.

“Excuse me ser’s” you say and try to pass but to no avail you cant pass them, more like they wont let you.

“Whats a pretty thing like you doing out alone eh?” The other says hes got a Scottish accent.

“You’re blocking my way. Excuse me i wont ask again?” You say sternly looking up at them.

“Oh so fierce. Eh the little minx bites then does she? Id like you to use those teeth for something else then eh?” He speaks again. A disgusted look falls upon your face.

“She dosnt bite, but i do.” You hear the familiar gruff voice behind you.

The immediately straighten up.

“What are you two bastards drivleing on about.” Hound speaks again.

“N-nothing ser.” He  says. 

“Making s-sure the lady princess is safe on her w-way..” the other speaks.

“Fuck off or i‘ll cut off your cock and balls myself and shove them so far down your throat you’ll be coughing each others semen for a week.” He says shifting in his stance. The men bow to you before they scurries off. 

You turn to him facing him looking up at him. 

“You alright?” He asks. You nod in response. 

“We’re you following me?” You ask a small smile on yor face. 

“No.” He says immedetly before starting to walk off you smile at him skipping up to him. 

“You were weren’t you?” You smile looking at him as you walk. 

“No I wasn’t I was just walking the same way as you were standing.” He says 

“That..that sounds like watching me.. Don’t you think its also familiar that every time i’m out of the castle walls you’re the one to come a retrieve me?” You say. He stops and turns to you. 

“No, and if i was following you.” He says you smile up at him taking a step closer. 

“Why?” You ask, knowing that he was, placing your hands against his armored chest. His hands remain one at his side and one as his sword. 

“Because little fox…” he trails off you nod your head waiting for him to finish. 

“Because this city is not safe half the time.” He says. A toothy grin forms on your face as you realize what he’s trying to say. 

“You’re worried for me arn’t you?” You ask he huffs. 

“You are! Sandor you’re worried. Well you needn’t worry becuase i have a strong personal gaurd that follows me wherever i go.” You say. His dementor changes his soft gaze hardening. 

“You, Sandor. You follow me.” You say poking at his chest. He grunts and begins to walk away from you. 

“Will I see you tonight?” You ask out to him leaning your head to the side. 

“why?” He asks 

“The festival?” You ask 

“I have to be there.” He says 

“Good.” You smile. You watch as he turns to walk off again but turns back to you taking a few steps twords you due to his long strides and leans down to you kissing your cheek before turning and finally walking away.

————

You stand in front of your mirror, your maids interchanging dresses for you to look at as you wear to the festival tonight.

“What do you think of this, my lady?” one asks as she holds out a pink and white dress. 

“It's too…young I would look like a strawberry and cream pastry.” you reply. 

Your handmaidens giggle as one retorts to you. 

“Maybe the lord clegane would find you good enough to eat.” she says as they all giggle your face flushes with heat as your mind backtracks to the night. 

“This my lady?” she asks, holding up another dress. 

“Too green.” you say 

“My lady the dress you ordered came in?” she asks again, holding out a new dress.

You look at it for a moment recognizing the colors; it looks like sandors house banner. The black dress with yellow accents and golden corset display.

You smile about agreeing to it when the doors open and your hand maiden walks in with one of the queens holding out a dress crying in your presence. 

“Her grace the queen has requested you wear this for the night my lady.” she says holding out a red gold and white they would more than likely be restricting as hell. Your smile fades when the black dress is taken away from you and the maids help you undress in the current one. Your eyes glance back at the other dress before you're completely stripped of the dress you hand on and you step into the dress cersi told you to wear. 

The dress slips on perfectly, the collar coming up slightly around your neck, not leaving any room for slouching. As the maiden laces the corsets your breath becomes more and more restricted. 

“F-fuck.” you curse under your breath as she fully tightens the corset. You grab onto the desk side as she tugs pulling your waist in more and more. Until the ties are tight enough. 

“Are you alright my lady?” she asks, concerned. 

“Y-yes i'm fine.” you say your hand resting on your stomach now sucked into the heavens. She nods. She bends down to fix the trail of the dress so you can fully see the results of the garment. A knock at the door can be heard. 

“Enter.” You call out as the door opens. Sandor walks in. Causing the maid who opened the door you hurry a step backwards. You turn to see him in new armored gear. The white and gold armor shining against his dark hair and features. The intricate patterning on spikes and swirls reside on the shoulder pieces and in the middle of his chest the crown symbol. His white and gold cape flowed behind him. But what shocks you the most is his face, he shaved, but more so most likely forced too. And a boy about 16 or so follows close behind him.

A smile forms brightly on your face as your mouth drops open a bit. When you fully turn to face him. His grumpy resting bitch face still present as he sneers a look at the maid from cersi’s hands and she squeaks past him to return to the queen. His eyes hit you seeing you in the dress and his eyes immediately soften. 

“Did you shave?!!.” you ask excitedly. He doesn't answer his eyes just wander your garments growing colder again

“Ive been poked and prodded and shaved down i have uncomfortable armor and they gave me a fucking squire…im not in the mood for jesting. If anything all i want is to cut the fucker who did this to me in half and feed his shit to jeoffry for ordering it.” he says slowly. 

You walk to him only now noticing how heavy the dress is. 

You stand in front of him looking up at his face then down to his squire. 

“And you are?” you ask if the boy seems stunned to be in your chambers more than anything. 

“J-joss stillwood milady.” he bows. 

“Pleasure to meet you. Has my lord husband treated you well?” you ask. 

“Yes milady. Of course.” he says, actually telling the truth. You look back at sandor. 

“You look very handsome sandor.” you say. 

“Shut the fuck up.” he grumbles his heart burting at the compliment. You give him a small smile.  “Cersi has asked that i escort you into the banquet hall as a guard, as lord ...and as a husband” he says your eyes widen ever so slightly.

“Well you certainly look the part then.” you say he sighs and holds out his arm. For you you take it and exit the chambers walking to the banquet all seeing other guests walking the same way.

————

Holding onto sandors arms you can hear the faint gossip from others as you walk towards the doors. You feel the looks as people stare. 

“y/n.” you hear sandor speak. You look up at him seeing he’s already looking at you. 

“Ignore them. That's what I do.” he says, having noticed your discomfort. You nod. 

 You reach the doors and are announced. 

“I present princess y/n of house clegane and her lord husband, kingsguard, Sandor “the Hound” Clegane.” Everyone stops what they are doing and bows to you. As you enter. You see cersi, joffrey, tommen and sansa sitting at the head banquet table waiting for you. 

You both walk down the aisle that will soon become a dance floor to the table. You lift your skirt ever so slightly to climb the few stairs to your seat. Sandor pulls out the chair for you and you take a seat. He stands behind you slightly to your side. 

“Welcome my dear, i'm so glad the dress made it to you in one piece you look ravishing, Doesn't she look beautiful clegane?” cersi says turning to sandor to ask. 

“Yes, your grace.” he answers coldly. She picks up her knife and cups tapping the metal utensil against it. Quieting everyone. 

“It is with great pleasure that I have invited you all here tonight. We have music, fine wine, food, dancing here and in the courtyard. This festival brings us all together. Please enjoy yourselves." She says everyone cheers before the music begins. She sits back down and food is placed on the table. 

Everyone begins to eat but you sit and poke at the food. Cersi takes notice of this and leans to you. 

“Are you well my dear?” she ask

“Yes, your grace.” you answer. 

“I hope as well, my maidens told me of you and sandors consummation, I do hope those markings amount to your body healing well.” she says. 

“...y-yes your grace i haven't needed a maester.” you say she nods. And leans back to her seat you looks up at sandor you stands like a brick wall watching and scanning the room. You watch as everyone enjoys the party and dances and eats. You manage to eat a small amount before not wanting anymore, just a few raspberries and strawberries. You've sat at the table half board and half content for an hour or so before Sansa gets up and walks to you.

“y/n..dance with me?” she asks, standing next to you.

“Oh i don't think..” you say 

“Come on!” she says holding out her hand you sigh and nod standing up and taking it. Sandor follows close after you both to watch as a guard. She leads you out through the open doors to the court yard where more music plays and others are eating and dancing. 

A new song begins just in time as you both take your place. You admire Sansa's dress. A flowy blue dress no doubt Joffrey has chosen for the golden landed bodice shines against the outside lighting. The dance begins and you hold up your hand turning along with sansa. 

“I can't breathe in this dress.” you say to her. 

“Neither can i” she says, giving a small laugh. 

“My hand maids tied it so tight I can feel my heart beating in my throat.” she continues. You laugh and nod. Turning to the side to switch partners as part of the dance, it's a young man around your age as he smiles at you, surely admiring you. 

“You smell good my lady if I may interject.” he says. 

“Thank you my lord.” you answer. 

“Willow berry and prose is such a fine scent of a beautiful princess.” he says linking your arms with his as part of the dance requires. 

“Y-yes.” you say.

“I'm lord of the hotel house , segal.” he says. 

“A pleasure.” you say before returning to sansa. 

“Who?” she asks. You shrug giving her a pained expression. 

“Sandor doesn't seem to have taken a liking.” she says gesturing over to where he stands by the doors. You see him looking at you, his gaze hardened at the sight of the man who was making conversation with you. You also watch as joss nods his head enjoying the music in his place next to sandor.

“Oh no..”you say Sansa laughs as the dance shifts once more bringing you back to the lord. 

“Pleasurable once more.” he says. 

“The dance, yes of course.” you say. He chuckles, shaking his head. 

“No my princess, you are.” he says 

“I appreciate your kind word my lord for I am promised to another, sealed in fact.” you say looking over at the 6’7 monster of a guard and husband standing glaring. 

“Ah..well a dance will not hurt then.” he says. Before you can answer the dance ends and you curtsy as he bows to you. 

“May I have the next one?” he asks

“I really dont think-” you begin glancing at Sansa who has already been caught up by joffrey. 

“Please my lady, dance. one.” he says holding out his hand you nod taking it. The music begins again to play a very upbeat song known for lots of movement and dancing which you don't know how you will complete in the dress. He pulls you into him and begins to lead the upbeat dance. 

Not being able to last the entire song you break away from him gathering your dress and walking off trying to catch your breath. 

“My lady?! Are you alright?” he asks, you hold out a hand to tell him to go away but too out of breath to speak, but before he can place a hand on you he is grabbed by sandor. 

“Fuck off.” he speaks gruffly. 

“Excuse me sir but I am a-...” he trails off seeing Sandor fully and runs off. 

“Are you alright little fox?” he asks you to look at you. You place your hand on your stomach as you walk farther away from the music and dancing. You walk out onto the side view balcony hearing the faint music. Still struggling to breath your lack of air causes your vision to blur black spotting in your vision. The dress becomes heavier by the second causing you to lose your footing and hit the side barrier, you gasp about to fall off the side when you're caught by sandor he pulls you into him. 

Your knees give out as he holds you. He kneels to the ground. His hand is placed on your waist feeling the hard boning of the corset and hearing your labored breathing.

“Shall i call the maester ser?!” Joss asks worriedly.

“No…For fucks sake” sandor curses before he pulls out his dagger and cuts the corset down the middle allowing for a gush of air to return to your lungs. You grab onto him as you can finally breathe again. You blink as your vision clears. The color also comes back to your face as he places his hand on your cheek. You give him a weakened smile placing your hand over his. His eyes scanned to make sure that that was all that was causing your discomfort. 

“You're alright now little fox.” he says, kissing your forehead. Helping you stand before lifting you into his arms he carries you away from the party back to your chambers.

READ CHAPTER 7 HERE

[ode-to-fury]

Winter Thorns and Iron Crowns pt. 16

Summary: Stannis and Robert really not doing the Baratheons any favours when it comes to beating the idiot allegations

Pairings: Stannis Baratheon x Reader

Disclaimer: Ok! This is the last part! I’m so sorry if the prose isn’t as good I haven’t read the books in a minute so I might be using a different writing style a little I’m so sorry. Also really sorry if this sucks I haven’t touched this fic in like a year and a half lol. Anyway I hope everyone enjoys. Eat your heart out Bridgerton season 3 This is how you do a friends to lovers confession!

Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon’s Kingsguard, strode through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast and felt trepidation close it’s unrelenting fingers around his heart.

It was raining, drops pattering against the walls, dripping from eaves and lightly spattering onto his armour as he walked.

He clenched his fists at his sides, knowing Robert had sent him on this errand as some sort of test, though whether it was his test, Barristan could not say.

He stopped in front of a set of double doors, polished so that he could see his reflection in them. He took off his white helm and knocked on the door. Once. Sharply.

It was a few moments before a girl answered, pitch black hair and wide, deep blue eyes.

“Yes, m’lord?” She asked him, half hiding behind the door.

“Is lady Stark within?” He asked her kindly.

“Yes, m’lord,” she replied, and dropped into a quick curtsy. “But, begging your pardon m’lord, she said she wanted no visitors today, owing to the rain.”

He suppressed a roll of his eyes.

“Would you be so kind as to inform her that she will have to make an exception for a summons from king Robert?”

The girl’s already wide eyes widened even further, and she nodded, disappearing behind the large door.

A short time later, Y/n Stark came to the door.

She was dressed in black, her golden brown hair braided back from her face almost austerely, drawing attention to the lines around her mouth, the shadowed bruises beneath her eyes, the four thin scars on her cheek which seemed even more stark against her pale skin.

Barristan remembered the first time he had seen her, a shy, unremarkable girl. She had blossomed during her wardship, had become a lovely young woman, quick with a grin or a sly look for him or anyone else.

No trace of that girl could he see in the woman before him now. Now, all he could see was her slumped form in front of the Iron Throne, tears streaking across her cheeks.

Her lip curled as her eyes met his, as they travelled up and down, taking in his white armour and cloak.

Her eyes were dull, no trace of the twinkle that he had become accustomed to.

A great shame, for her beauty had always been in the twinkle of her grey eyes.

She shook her head, sighing through her nose.

“And out of everyone, he sends me you,” she said scornfully.

“Robert always did have the most terrible sense of humour.”

Will I ever be forgiven for living? He thought, knowing full well which one of his brothers she would have preferred to see outside her door.

“Well?” She snapped, before he could say anything, “Are you going to escort me or just stand there like a halfwit?”

He saluted and turned, not knowing how to reply, and began the long, silent walk to Robert’s solar.

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

Barristan held the door for lady Stark as she strode into the room. He closed it behind himself and took up a place beside it, opposite ser Meryn Trant.

Deliberately, he did not allow any thought on his new brother to enter his mind or show on his face.

The lady Stark strode into the room, black skirts swirling.

Robert, Maester Pycelle, Jon Arryn and even the king’s eunuch were present. Stannis Baratheon was still on Dragonstone, and would leave within three days, if his letters told true. Which they always did.

She sat down on a chair opposite the king without waiting for his leave, and Barristan felt his jaw tighten in tandem with Robert’s.

She and Robert stared at one another across the table for a long moment before she poured herself a goblet of wine.

“So,” she said finally, “I have been summoned to the king. I assume there is a reason for it?”

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but it was Jon Arryn who spoke first.

“Marriage.”

The word fell into the silence of the room like an arrow into a shield.

Robert cleared his throat.

“Ahem, yes. I’ve been informed that it is my duty as king to take a wife.”

He flashed her a sheepish smile across the small table, charming in its boyishness.

“A wife from an important family,” Jon continued for him, “With influence, and power. You were raised here, at court, this you know.”

Y/n nodded slowly, her face a blank slate.

“I would have it be Cersei Lannister,” the new Hand continued. “The Lannisters are the richest family in the realm, and we could do worse than having the lord Tywin bound to us.”

He took a deep breath.

“Robert would have it be you.”

Y/n’s shoulders tensed. She sat upright.

“Me?” She asked, her voice small.

“Of course you!” Robert burst out with a laugh. “You are a hero to the smallfolk, a figure from stories already told around hearthfires throughout the realm.”

He smiled at her warmly.

“We would have been kin, you and I.”

Y/n’s jaw tensed.

“I am not Lyanna, Robert.”

“I know that!” The king said, “But she is not here, and so cannot be my queen. If not her, I would have it be you. For the sake of the realm, for the sake of my sanity, for the sake of her memory.”

Like as not he thinks the difference too small to matter, Barristan could not help but think.

Y/n looked at the table, her lips pursing. For a moment, Barristan saw once more the unsure young girl who had stared wonderingly as he sparred with Arthur Dayne in the courtyard.

“You know better than most what is at stake here, Y/n,” Jon Arryn said.

She looked up once more, and this time her jaw was set, her eyes hard.

“I do,” she said quietly, but not softly. “Just as the king knows better than most why I cannot accept his offer.”

Robert shot up from his chair, his hands slamming down on the table.

“Y/n,” he said, “Think for a moment- !”

“I have, your grace,” she hesitated. “Robert. Ask me to do anything else for the realm. Ask me to die, if I must. But do not ask me this.”

“And if it turns out he does not love you?” Robert growled at her. “You would have me kiss Tywin Lannister’s feet for a man whose heart turned to stone long ago?”

It was lady Stark’s turn to stand, and Barristan found himself reaching for the hilt of his sword.

“I daresay you could do worse than Tywin Lannister’s feet, or Cersei Lannister’s cunt,” she hissed venemously at him. “My answer is no.”

She spun around toward the door.

“I am your king!” Robert shouted at her retreating back.

She stopped, but did not turn back to him.

“Do I have your leave, your grace?” She spat the last words like an insult.

Robert’s face was red, and he looked for a moment as though he would argue further but then he waved a hand at her back.

“Bah,” he said, sagging into his chair, “Get out of my sight.”

Y/n opened the door and strode out.

“And send someone with wine!” Robert called after her, just before the door slammed shut.

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

“My lord,” Stannis’ chamberlain called hesitantly from the door to his rooms.

“What?” He asked, not looking up from the harbour catalogue. The man was incompetent at best, but Stannis put up with it, just as he put up with everything in his life.

“Ah, Lady Stark to see you, my lord.”

Stannis’ hand stilled on the page.

He had seen this morning, the preparations starting to be made for the royal wedding as he made his way up from the harbour to the Red Keep. Flowers being brought in, carts stuffed with barrels of wine rolling in from the direction of Dorne. He had paid it no mind, had not been the least bit interested in who Robert had chosen to marry so long as he was somewhat sensible in his choice.

Until the bakery.

He’d never noticed there was a bakery in that particular street before, but as he rode up toward the Red Keep, one woman was shouting at another as they opened for the day.

“I thought it was the Stark girl he’s marrying?”

“Maybe your right, I thought it was a Lannister.”

“No, no, my sister washes linens for the Hand, said she heard him complaining about the king not goin’ along with his choice.”

“Well… there you have it then. Got to admit it won’t change that much for us.”

Stannis hadn’t realised how tightly he was holding the reigns until his horse reared and almost threw him. He wrenched them again, turning the animal to the right course, ignoring the looks of the men riding with him.

She’s no Lyanna, but it’ll do.

He should have known. He should have seen that Robert would not allow him this, would never even think of what such a proposal might mean to Stannis. He should have- he should have-

What? Proposed to her first?

He’d almost laughed aloud, but instead had merely ground his teeth harder.

The thought that she would ever consent to a life shackled to him, the second son, when she could have the Iron Throne was laughable. The thought that she would ever consent to a life shackled to him when she could have Robert was even more so.

He had given his report of Dragonstone to the king’s small council, the king notably absent, endured their gripes about his failure to capture the two Targaryen children, and made his way to his chambers.

His appetite was gone, but already he had work to do as master of ships, and it served well enough as a distraction from the pain in his chest that had not eased since the morning.

Absurdly, he wondered how long it would take Davos to get to the Red Keep from Dragonstone if he would summon him.

He realised his chamberlain was still waiting for his answer, and cursed himself for a fool.

The mere thought of her presence stole his wits from him, made him tense, and breathless.

The last thing in the world he wanted was to see her.

But then he was nodding to the man, and closing the ledger, because he had never been able to deny her a thing.

And then she entered.

Her long hair was swept up in braids, in a style that reminded him of his childhood in Storm’s End. She wore black, and seemed pale, and there were dark bruises beneath her eyes which he knew matched those beneath his own.

His heart clenched in his chest, under no control of his own.

“Lady Stark,” he said in greeting. Too hard, too cold by half but he could not do it any other way.

She frowned, almost bemused, and sank into a quick curtsy.

“Lord Stannis,” her head tilted slightly to the side. “Forgive the intrusion.”

She cast her eyes to the door, where his chamberlain lingered still.

“Leave us,” he snapped. The man obeyed quickly.

Her eyes roamed over his face, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Why did you not come?” She said, after what felt like too long of a silence.

“Robert said your ship landed this morning. I was waiting all day.”

He did not look her in the eyes when he bit out, “I did not wish to interrupt your preparations.”

She frowned again.

“Preparations?”

If he was any other man, if he was Robert, perhaps, or Brandon Stark or Rhaegar Targaryen or some peasant in Fleabottom, perhaps he would have overturned his desk. Perhaps he would have walked to the wall and broke his hand against it.

Instead he looked down at the closed book on his desk.

“I suppose I should congratulate you on the match, or,” he could not resist adding through clenched teeth, bitterness leaking into his voice, “Perhaps it would be better to congratulate him, and give you my condolences.”

The frown remained on her face for a heartbeat, and then understanding dawned in her eyes.

“You…” he startled at the sound of her voice, at the hurt in it.

“You think I agreed to marry him?” She asked, shock in every word.

“I assumed so, yes,” he said stifly, not wishing for her pity.

“Only a fool would turn down the king.”

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

“After all this time,” she said, disbelievingly, “You think I would marry him? After everything? Do you truly know me so little?”

He blinked. Once.

“You- ?”

“I turned him down,” she said quietly.

“Of course I did, Stannis.”

He stared at her, clenched fists forgotten, clenched jaw slack for once in his life, disbelief and shock vying for the honor of making his knees weak.

Relief, as well.

The shock on her face morphed into hurt, slowly, and it felt as though someone was sliding a sword into his stomach, like a slow death by starvation all over again.

She schooled her features into indifference, and Stannis thought perhaps that was worse than a year of starvation.

“It did not cross my mind that you would refuse him,” he said, and the words sounded too bland to his own ears, and he wished fervantly for once in his life that he could cease speaking but the words seemed to fall from his mouth without his consent.

“Robert has always gotten everything he wanted- “

“He isn’t you, you halfwit!” She burst out, anger momentarily breaking through the indifference. “And you should know me better by now than to think I want that godsforsaken throne to myself when it has brought me nothing but misery my whole life!”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and her neutrality reasserted itsself. If it did not hurt so much, he would have been impressed by her control.

“I am glad to see you safe, my lord,” she said blandly.

“It seems I’ve been a bigger fool than I realised. You must excuse me, I have much to do. There is to be a wedding in a few days.”

“Y/n- “ he tried, pathetically.

“Good day, lord Stannis.”

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

A fortnight later, Y/n sat on the small pier beneath the cliffs of the Keep above her, waves hitting the wood as though they had better things to do, and watched the sun rise.

Has anyone ever told you a crown would suit you, lady Stark?

The wind tugged at her braided hair as she sat, thinking of times long passed, of a pair of laughing purple eyes.

Inevitably, those eyes turned to the deep blue of the ocean, roiling with anger and frustration, softening only when they met her own. She sighed.

When someone cleared their throat behind her, she startled, springing up from the rock she was sitting on, the barely healed wound in her back screaming its protest at her sudden movements.

“Stannis?” She asked, marginally calming at seeing it was him. He stood holding a piece of parchment in a black doublet and cloak, the leaping stag done with gold thread on the breast the only embellishment.

Gods, he was thin, his eyes slightly sunken, his cheeks hollow, a dusting of hair across them. The last she had seen him was at Robert’s wedding, where they had not so much as looked at one another.

She tried to lift her chin in as much defiance as she could muster. In truth, she merely felt tired, her heart still ached when she thought of their argument, that he could think she would ever marry Robert.

That he could think she did not love him.

“Lady Stark,” he said formally, bowing at the waist, and she felt her eyebrow lift.

When she said nothing, his jaw tightened, as did his knuckles on the paper her held.

He cleared his throat, looked down at the parchment he held, and not for the first time she marvelled at his talent of speaking without seeming to unclench his jaw at all.

“I have spoken to the king,” he started unceremoniously, “And sent a raven to your brother Eddard at Winterfell, as well as Maester Cressen at Dragonstone, who has always councilled me well and truly.”

She frowned when the parchment trembled slightly in his fingers.

“I know that I cannot offer you Storm’s End as is my right by birth,” she started at this, opening her mouth to ask him what in the hells he thought he was doing, but he spoke over her, not taking his eyes from the page.

“But all seem to agree that the match would be favourable for both of our houses and the realm.”

Her mouth still hung open as he crumpled the parchment in his fist, almost angry when he asked her.

“So, lady Stark, would you… “ his fists clenched, and he still had not looked at her.

“Will you be my wife?”

She stared at him for long moments, and she found that she was angry.

“No,” she said.

His eyes snapped up to hers, and they almost took her breath.

“No?”

“No,” she said once more. “How dare you? How dare you come here, after assuming I would marry Robert for a chance at the throne, after not speaking to me for a fortnight, after everything, and ask for my hand purely out of the interest of our houses!”

She’d started shouting, and it was undignified but he made her blood boil.

“I waited for you, Stannis!” She yelled. “I gave up Winterfell, my home, my brothers! Do you have any idea how the ships in the harbour call to me? How badly I want to leave this godsforsaken place? But I stayed, for you! I have had countless offers of marriage in the past fortnight, but I turned them all down, even Robert, even the fucking Iron Throne, for you! Because I thought you- !”

She stopped abruptly, aware of what she was about to admit to. Her chest heaved, and he stood there, staring at her with wide eyes.

“My answer is no,” she said icily.

She made to sweep last him to the Keep, but he caught her arm. His grip was unyielding, but did not hurt her, and as she looked up at him she realised again how much he towered over her.

“Because you thought I what?” He asked her, quietly.

She could not look him in the eyes for fear of what she would find there.

“Because I thought you loved me.”

After a moment of silence she did glance up, and his eyes met hers. She could see no discernable emotion on his face, only the deep blue of those dark eyes.

The moment stretched, and her heart sank when she realised he would do nothing. It broke in her chest.

“Never mind,” she managed as she turned away once more, for the last time.

“Wait- “ he said suddenly, trying to stop her.

“Let me go, Stannis.”

“I did not think you could love me,” he burst out.

She stopped her struggles in her shock, and he clenched his teeth and finally let go of her arm.

“Once, when you were visiting Storm’s End when I was seventeen, there was a storm, and Shipbreaker Bay was as wild as I’d ever seen it. You held on to my arm as we watched it from the library,” he said quickly, looking at the ground as though meeting her eyes was not bearable. “I’ve been in love with you since that day, perhaps before, even. But you- “

He stopped abruptly, and she stared at him as his words sank in, finally.

I’ve been in love with you since that day.

And as quickly as her heart had broken, she found he had mended it. She could not help but shake her head, and walked over to him, lifting his chin with a finger so he looked down at her.

“You are a halfwit,” she said through her grin.

She saw his jaw clench and his eyes darken and wanted to laugh out loud at him.

“I am afraid I do not follow, my lady,” he said stiffly, starting to pull away from her, but she did not let him, not now.

“Stannis,” she said softly, speaking over whatever quip was about to leave his severe mouth, “I’ve loved you since we were children. Since the first day you showed me Proudwing, do you remember? The sun hadn’t even come up properly yet.”

She could see he did remember, just as she did.

“But I was too young to know it was love,” she continued. “Too young to see the truth.”

“I thought you were strange,” he said stiffly.

She snorted a laugh, and laid a hand on his arm, the ridiculous man. His body was tense as a bowstring, his eyes stormy as they held hers.

Scared, she realised, and grinned at the realisation. Stonefaced Stannis Baratheon is scared.

“I thought you were strange too,” she replied, not finding it in her heart to tease him just then. “A strange, lanky little boy who frowned too much and had dark blue eyes just like the ocean. I wanted to try and make you laugh.”

And, wonder of wonders, a small, hesitant smile found its way onto his severe mouth, and the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, and it was a sunrise to match the one on the horizen behind them.

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

Stannis Baratheon smiled despite himself, despite the emotions roiling his stomach around, despite the thoughts he could not seem to get in order. Despite everything. Such an immense feeling of love welled up in him that he felt he would die from it.

She smiled too, and her eyes twinkled in that familiar way. Starlight and sunlight and flickering firelight all came together in those iron grey eyes when she laughed.

Then she stood on her toes and brushed her lips against his, barely more than a touch, barely a second, but fire raced through him. Fire and lightning and ice and everything at once.

“Ask me again,” she said, still standing close to him, hand in hand, her breath tickling his lips. “Correctly.”

“Marry me,” he said, almost in a trance, “Be my wife, please.”

She kissed him again, and again it was like a storm in his chest.

“Alright. For you.”

[aegor-bamfsteel]

Can we really say Arys Oakheart is a worse human being than Balon Swann or the Kingsguard of Aerys II (including Barristan Selmy)? I don’t even hate any of these individuals per se, but in the case of Ser Arys I just don’t see the correlation between “more easily manipulated” and “shittier person” ? I mean, morally he’s clearly head and shoulders above Trant, Moore, Blount, etc.

I said in the two relevant asks that Balon was worse than Arys, due to going along with the child murder plot, and even expressed disdain for Aerys’ Kingsguard. As for Arys not being a shitty person, there’s this:

"Shall we go?" Ser Arys offered his arm and she let him lead her from her chamber. If she must have one of the Kingsguard dogging her steps, Sansa preferred that it be him. Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy, while Ser Preston treated her like a lackwit child. Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued. The others obeyed without question . . . except for the Hound, but Joff never asked the Hound to punish her. He used the other five for that. —Sansa I, ACOK

Maybe there’s someone in fandom who is as forgiving as Sansa, but it’s not me. In this case, the actual child murderer Sandor Clegane proves himself more moral than Arys. If a character hits an innocent 12 year old because their spoiled brat of a king ordered it, I’m not going to be making their excuses. Moral cowardice is one of the character traits I most personally dislike in fiction. Here’s the medal that designates him better than Trant and Blount, as per your opinion:

[ddagent]

For the podcast verse, a question from a listener: "Hi there Jay and Bee! Long time listener, first time writer. You guys have read a lot of awful and very historically inaccurate fiction about Goldenhand and Blue Knight, but are there any books out that that get their story right? I know there isn't a whole lot of information about them, but have any novels even tried to stick with historical facts? Thanks for taking my question, love the show! ~Jane"

From @elizadunc: For the podcast ‘verse if you’re so inclined! Hi Bee and Jay! Were the names of Goldenhand the Just and Ser Blue lost to history? Or are they just widely unknown?

Thought I’d get in some more podcast verse before I stop for some food. Happy reading!

J: The following podcast contains strong language, literary violence, and explicit sexual content. 

(tourney horn plays)

B: Welcome, everyone, to The Bear and the Poorly Written Maiden, the footnotes. I know it hasn’t been that long since our last episode but we are—

J: —procrastinating from poorly written student essays. 

B: (sigh) As we’ve mentioned, Jay and I are doctoral students, and part of that includes teaching some of the undergraduates. Some of them are very adept, others are—

J: —idiots.

B: —struggling with the material, and the rigour of the course. So, we thought we’d take a break, reply to a few of your questions, and finish off the lemon curd biscuits that arrived in the post this morning and hope that Jay doesn’t spray the microphone with crumbs. 

J: I make no promises. 

B: Well, at least you’re not an oathbreaker like your ancestor. 

J: Really? You’re bringing up the Mad King–oh, you can’t see this, listeners, but Bee is smiling. Never trust a girl from the Stormlands. They appear virtuous and honourable but they’ve got a sharp tongue, too.

B: It’s the Goldenhand in me. 

(long pause)

J: I–uh–I’m going to read one of your questions now, listeners. So, this was sent to our email – thebearandthemaiden@ravenmail.com – and it’s from notjanebond. She says, "Hi there Jay and Bee!” Hello yourself. 

B: Hello!

J: “Long time listener, first time writer. You guys have read a lot of awful and very historically inaccurate fiction about Goldenhand and Blue Knight, but are there any books out that that get their story right?”

B: Interesting question.

J: “I know there isn't a whole lot of information about them, but have any novels even tried to stick with historical facts? Thanks for taking my question, love the show!” That’s very nice.

B: She sounds very sweet. 

J: Should have included your address, Papa Bee would have sent you some biscuits.

B: He’s more excited than we are when we have fans. 

J: Anyway, is there any books that get them right? 

B: Historical fiction, though, so not textbooks. 

J: The King’s Road is one of my favourites; it’s one of the books we bonded over, wasn’t it?

B: Final year of undergraduate, yeah.

J: Basically, The King’s Road is a story of how Goldenhand became Goldenhand: it covers his time in Stark captivity and then his return to King’s Landing. It’s less of a romance and more of a burgeoning friendship, and it uses a lot of the journals and records from the Stark camp, Bolton’s men, and of Qyburn, the Mad Queen’s Hand. 

B: Interestingly enough, there’s another book called Off the King’s Road which follows a similar path but is a lot more explicit. I remember reading a chapter of it in school before the librarian, Septa Roelle, caught me. 

J: How red was your face?

B: Oh, Casterly Red. I’ll see if I can’t track down a copy. But I think it’s fair to say that a lot of the historical romances take liberties. (pause) The Hour of the Wolves is a short story collection set during the Long Night, and one of the stories concerns Goldenhand and Ser Blue. It’s very poignant; romantic, but not overly so. 

J: There’s a new book coming out called Evenstar, which promises to be a lot closer to historical events. 

B: The author actually contacted Dad and me for information. Should be a good read. 

J: We’ll have to read it on the podcast when it comes out. So, in answer to your question notjanebond, there are some books out there that are more historically accurate, but a lot of the ones we read just take a few basic facts and ignore the rest. We should read some Trant on the podcast; those are terrible. 

B: If we must.

J: It’s why people listen: they want to read the car crash literature; the bad sex acts and dialogue. And to hear how red your face gets when things get too explicit.

B: Okay, we have another question. This is from elizadunc. Oh, do you think that comes from Duncan the Tall?

J: Could be. What does she say?

B: She says, “Hi Bee and Jay!”

J: Hello elizadunc the Tall.

B: “Were the names of Goldenhand the Just and Ser Blue lost to history? Or are they just widely unknown?” That’s a really interesting question, and it’s less a case of lost to history, and more a case of...libel? 

J: Bee and I have done a few papers about Goldenhand and Ser Blue, but we always refer to them as their actual names – which we won’t repeat in this podcast, because by some manner of coincidence, we share their names. 

B: As regards to a lot of historical fiction, one of the first novels published in this genre took a huge amount of creative licence with the representation of Goldenhand’s father, and, well—

J: —my House sued, and won.

B: So, a lot of writers now use the names the minstrels and mummers adopted during the reign of King Jon and afterwards to sing songs of the two knights. 

J: Interestingly, in The King’s Road, the events that would lead Goldenhand and Ser Blue to be called as much hadn’t happened yet. So, in a lot of the novels set before the Long Night, they’re referred to as the Kingslayer or the Golden Lion, and she’s referred to as the Maid or the Beauty.

B: One a comment, one a critique. Very fitting. 

J: Well, that’s the beauty of Goldenhand and Ser Blue: they complement each other, which is how love should be.

B: (pause) You always surprise me with these moments of sheer romanticism.

J: Well, like my ancestor, I am a romantic. Just need to find the right woman to bring it out in me. 

B: Thank the Gods you don’t have a sister. 

(tourney horn plays)

[captainfangirlll]

SHOW ARYA STARK VS BOOK ARYA STARK

Book Arya: She is frequently compared with Lyanna Stark, Ned said Arya in first book that she rides horses as a northern lady, like Lyanna used to do and that she looks like her and acts like her.

Show Arya: Lyanna and Arya resemblances is never mentioned but the actress who played Lyanna looks like Maisie a Lot

Show: Arya was in love with Gendry in S2-S3 (according to Maisie Williams) but they didn’t show us signs of this, just the scene when Gendry is shirtless in Harrenhal.

Book: We don’t know if Arya is in love with Gendry in books but she is confused about he feelings for him because she is too young to understand it, but we can read in books how she looks at Gendry in that way:

"She climbed to the roof and peeked down. Gendry was beating out a breastplate. When he worked, nothing existed for him but metal, bellows, fire. The hammer was like part of his arm. She watched the play of muscles in his chest and listened to the steel music he made. He’s strong, she thought.”

And she is jealous about Gendry:

Then maybe I’ll go find that black-haired girl and ring her bell for her.”

“But…”

“I said, go away. M’lady.”

Arya whirled and left him there. A stupid bullheaded bastard boy, that’s all he is. He could ring all the bells he wanted, it was nothing to her.

And later in another chapter he remember him about that:

"My father had honor," she said angrily. "And we weren’t talking to you anyway. Why don't you go back to Stoney Sept and ring that girl's stupid bells?"

Yep she thinked about that a lot apparently

She also thinks in a romantic way about Gendry. She said in a chapter think about Gendry like that is something Sansa would dream in her songs wich are romantic songs:

..she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs. But that was just stupid, like something Sansa might dream

Show: Arya loves Jon Snow more than anyone but we can only see that in season 1, 5 (when she didn’t throw needle to the water) and little season 8

Book: Arya thinks in Jon every time, he is the one she looks for After her father’s death:

Jon wouldn’t care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . “Jon looks like me, even though he’s bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me ‘little sister.’” Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad.

She would have given anything if Jon had been here to call her “little sister” and muss her hair.

She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon . . . but it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her “little sister.” She’d tell him, “I missed you,” and he’d say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together.

She even compare Gendry to him and that’s why she trust Gendry immediately

“NO!” Arya and Gendry both said, at the exact same instant. Hot Pie quailed a little. Arya gave Gendry a sideways look. He said it with me, like Jon used to do, back in Winterfell. She missed Jon Snow the most of all her brothers.

Show: Arya serves as a cupbearer to Tywin Lannister after he saves her and Gendry, wich is a great change actually in show.

Book: Boltons mens take Harrenhal from Lannister, Lord Roose Bolton arrives to take charge of the castle. Arya, now calls herself "Nymeria", or "Nan" for short, and is named Roose's cupbearer for her role in the freeing of the prisoners. She inadvertently meets Elmar Frey, the squire she would have to marry under Robb's agreement with the Freys, though they remain unknown to each other.

Show: The Brotherhood finds Arya, Gendry and Hotpie and their plan is let her immediately with her mother and brother.

Book: In books TB takes more time before takes Arya with her family, they even stop in hostals and brothels, and they make Arya wear a dress that’s why Gendry mess with Arya saying her she looks like propped girl and a lady.

Show: In tv show Melissandre captured Gendry first and then The Hound kidnnaped Arya.

Books: In books Arya have a little fight with Gendry and then she runs away from him in that moment The Hound captures Arya and the last thing she heard is Gendry screaming her name.

Show: Arya never saw Catelyn’s body after red wedding, only Robbs.

Book: Arya sees her mom and Robbs bodies after red wedding, but Catelyn’s no as her own, Arya is a warg in books like Brann and she wargs into Nymeria to take out of the river Catelyns body, then Beric Dondarrion finds Catelyn and resurrected her with a kiss.

Show: In books Arya meets Brienne of Tarth and she have a fight with The Hound for Arya.

Books: Arya never meets Brienne in books.

Show: Arya reunites with Jaquen in the House of black and white

Book: Arya never see Jaqen again, she trains with other faceless man in braavos known as Kindly Man and the Waif, who accept her in.

Show: Arya kills Ser Meryn Trant in braavos, she also pass herself as an oyster saleswoman and trains hard with the waif.

Book: Arya learns to lie from the waif, she also pass her self as “Cat of the canals” a street urchin, to learn secrets and report them to the kindly man. She also begins learning the art of lying from the waif. During this time, she kills a deserter from the Night's Watch named Dareon, and she briefly meets Samwell Tarly, a friend of her half brother Jon Snow, though they do not introduce themselves to each other. After these incidents, she accepts milk meant for "Arya". When she wakes the next morning, she is blind.

Show: Arya gets blind and stay in the street as a homeless girl, she also trains with the waif and is repeatedly abbused and punched by her, she receives her sigth again after she drinks waters from the water well Jaqen gives her.

Book: Arya remains blind and in the service of the House of Black and White in Braavos. The blindness is induced by the milk she drinks every night. She continues to dream through the eyes of her direwolf, Nymeria, but speaks of it to no one. She still struggles with leaving her identity as Arya Stark behind. While she is blind, Arya wears the guise of "Beth", a beggar girl. She wanders the streets of Braavos, begging for money and listening for bits and pieces of information. She becomes better at lying and detecting the lies of others.

Arya receives her sight again after she is able to identify the kindly man and hit him with a stick when he sneaks up on her. It is implied, however, that she does not simply sense his presence (as he assumes) but sees him through the eyes of a cat hiding in the rafters.

Show: We don’t know what Arya does in her freetime in braavos we only see her training and training.

Books: In books we can know more about Arya, she pass her time warging cats also with the company of braavos courtesans the most seductive woman in Essos, so Arya learns a lot from them, the last chapter we read about her she seduced a man so we start to see Arya’s grow.

Show: Sansa is the one who marries Ramsay Bolton.

Books: In books is Jeyne Poole the one who marriea Ramsay, but they said all the north the girl is Arya Stark, that’s why Jon is murdered in booka because he break his votes to rescue “Arya”.

SO

Arya is gonna comeback to Westeros like in the books, the last we know from her is that she killed a man who was not ordered by the god of death so is possible we would see same as the show, the waif trying to kill her, she kills the waif and come back to Westeros.

Arya is very different in books than show, I think we are gonna see an Arya really different than the girl she used to be but not as cold as the show, Arya in books is still a social girl, she also learns a lot with braavos people and talks braavosi.

Theories:

She is gonna meet again Lady Stonehert because she is the one who help in her resurrection, I think at first she is gonna team up with her to kill the freys and also meet Gendry again (bc he is with LS) but then she will have to kill her, because she’s gonna realize she is cruel and only live for revenge (that’s gonna help in her arc about revenge and how bad it is) so she’s gonna save her mom from that misery.

Shes gonna go to north with the brotherhood and Gendry to look for Jon, after she heard “Arya Stark married Ramsay Bolton”

And I don’t know guys the history in books is so different idk what’s gonna happen, im very sure we are gonna see a romance between Arya and Gendry, a reunion with Lady Stoneheart and she fighting in the long night, I don’t think she kills the Knight King theres also no NK in books, so we are all Jon Snow, we don’t know nothing.

[thatlittlered]

Vows | Chapter Four

Summary: A faithful dog or a broken man… Whatever the case, Sandor has taken vows he does not intend on breaking.

   Like the beautiful bodies of those who died before growing old,

   sadly shut away in sumptuous mausoleum,

   roses by the head, jasmine at the feet -

   so appear the longings that have passed

   without being satisfied, not one of the granted

   a single night of pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.

 Longings ~ Constantine P. Cavafy

◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇ 

Series Masterlist.

When he wakes, the room is dimly lit, a couple of flickering candles almost burnt down to the wick. Everything seems to be covered in smoke and the foul, acrid odor of tallow.

There are stains of dried ale all over his tunic, the watery kind he’s been downing for days, and the straw bed barely beats the comfort of hardwood floors, but he got what he paid for and he’s not planning on wasting every last coin so that the Stark girl will enjoy her privacy.

There’s heavy pounding at the door, the voices outside rising to a crescendo of rage before a man barges inside the room, short and drunk as any, followed by the stocky woman who robs Sandor blind every night for a pint of ale and broth you wouldn’t feed a pig.

“You got the money yet? We gave ya two days, s’time to pay up.”

His head is pounding as he rises from the bed, body aching in every way imaginable and hand twitching at the thought of silencing the scum before him.

The man’s hands get a hold of Sandor’s shirt, and the woman gasps. when he reaches for his sword, heavy metal pulling at his muscles.

“Listen here, pest, you ever let yer filthy hands near me again, you’ll be searching for them outside the city walls. Have I made myself clear?”

“Aye, ser.”

Sandor grunts, half satisfaction, half pain when the rage inside him fades.

“Don’t let me see you again.”

They both scurry away like frightened mice, filthy insects running from his boot.

The entire place stinks of wine and piss, dirt everywhere around him, and suddenly he longs for the comfort of his own chambers. Dark curtains that spare him from painful sunlight, fine selections of wine and peaceful silence, all things that made it his personal heaven until a certain northern girl invaded his life.

Now everything in it smells of rosewater.

They are no longer his quarters. The she-wolf took over with her many braids, silken dresses, and glassy Stark eyes that he would kill for, without knowing why. In her new lair, she takes the time to heal and lick her wounds. As wolves do, away from the eyes of others in fear of proving weak and falling prey to bigger predators.

Sandor allows it.

Within the hour, he’s ready to leave.

A little girl helps him dress, meekly passing him pieces of his armor despite him telling her there’s no need. She’s small and bruised all over, an abstract sculpture of bones that has seen and felt too much. He only lets her help when he sees the fear in her eyes and suspects that should he send her back, she might receive a beating.

When he’s strapping up, she takes the chance to shove her tiny hands into his pockets, quick and smooth as if she’s been trained for this. She walks away with two copper pennies.

He allows it.

◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

When he reaches the room, the door is ajar and he’s almost angry at how you never fail to make yourself vulnerable. There are threats left and right and you might as well be welcoming them. He moves to knock, he really does, but the wind beats him to it, pushing the door enough so that he might get a glimpse at you.

Suddenly, making his presence known doesn’t seem as appealing.

Your hair lies long and loose, obscuring the lightness of your dress, yet allowing glimpses of skin on your arms in a southern fashion. For once no plaits adorn it and it hangs in all its northern glory – a sharp contrast.

The handmaiden floats around you, hands curling in your locks as she runs a brush through them, tugging a little too painfully at every knot. He supposes a Stark girl’s hair is not made for this.

‘Any word from your brother, my lady?”

You hum and for a moment he deems it the most peaceful sound he’s ever heard from your lips, but it’s sorrowful. You accepted your fate long ago.

“Is there ever? I’m afraid the king is much too occupied with the newest impending threat. I suppose my brother is too small an enemy to consider when Stannis Baratheon is approaching the city.”

Nira gasps, almost dropping the brush and Sandor laughs to himself from where he stands behind the door. The maiden is older than you, yet you outsmart her in so many ways, you might not be quite the little bird he thought you were.

“Do you truly believe it, my lady, that Stannis will reach the capital?”

“Has the world ever known a Baratheon who failed to succeed in their quest? He will reach the city, Nira, for that rest assured. What happens after that, remains to be seen.”

She moves to face you, resting on her knees to grab your hands with a familiarity that surprises Sandor.

His lady wife is good at making friends.

“Even so, the King’s army will hold. The Lannister troops are already flooding the city, Lord Tywin made sure of it. No harm will come to you, my lady.”

Your own hand raises to her face, a gentle cradle of her cheek – a mother’s touch, the kind he’s long forgotten.

“I have no fear of Stannis. My greatest enemies surround me every day.”

“And yet, it seems that your lord husband’s presence has discouraged them.”

“All lions quiet before attacking their prey.”

The door slams then, the force of wind meets the force of man. Nira rushes to check, always mindful of her lady’s safety, but there’s no one there.

Still, the following days pass in relative silence, mindful of curious ears that creep behind closed doors. Nira has seen enough to know the crown has eyes and ears in every corner. Instead, there’s quiet singing when handling your hair and hushed whispers about childhood stories. Everything blurs with your drinking, honey mead, and berries melting on your tongue.

Sandor Clegane is nowadays quite literally, your shadow.

For a man who’s meant to guard the King, he seems to prefer keeping an eye on you. In the gardens, buried amongst roses and greenery, you can sense his presence. In the quarters you’re supposed to share, no one dares enter but Nira and yet, every now and then, you can hear heavy steps in the hallway.

He never addresses you and you feign ignorance in fear of him stopping.

Nira’s words keep coming back to you; he’s your best chance at safety in this city.

  ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

Footsteps follow on your trail, the same sound of armor clinking with every step, albeit more graceful, less weighty. You’re awfully used to your loyal guard stomping around court, he makes no effort to conceal his presence.

A smile tugs at your lips, you’re starting to understand Sandor Clegane.

“You can always talk to me, you know.”

A hand appears from nowhere and tightens on your wrist, white-knuckled, strong. You turn to fight it but find your feet dragging along the marble as you lose your balance. He pins you to the wall so effortlessly.

“I’m well aware, Lady Stark.”

His breath stinks and he makes a point of shoving his face as close to yours as possible, all in a way that makes your legs go weak and your stomach churn. No fear, you remind yourself. He’s no big predator, he’s but a snake, lucky enough to find a mouse on the ground. Others would crush him.

“Ser Meryn, I would ask that you remove your hands.”

Gloved fingers grasp your chin, bound to leave bruises.

“I must admit, my Lady, that for a woman broken in by the Hound himself, you seem entirely too merry. Tell me, how is your dog treating you?”

Your body recoils, almost melting to the wall in an effort to avoid the proximity.

“I would also ask that you refer to my husband by his title.”

He laughs, such a disgusting sound.

“You’re in no position to ask for things, little lady.”

“And if you don’t let her go, you’ll be in no position to walk when I’m done with you. Your head will be hanging in the throne room if I have it my way.”

Your gaze turns to Sandor, familiar heavy footsteps approaching the scene. His sword is drawn, his eyes are murderous and for the first time, you realize the day might not end with your blood on the floor.

Trant laughs again and it’s a death wish.

“Now, now, Hound, it’s always good to share.”

“I don’t share, especially not with cunts like you. What’s wrong, Trant? I thought you liked them younger.”

His nose moves to graze against your skin, so close to your lips, tears gather in your eyes.

A friend of Robb’s had stolen your first kiss, pinned you against a stack of hey and touched places you would never have allowed him to. Your brothers beat him to the ground the next day.

Sandor Clegane won’t avenge your honor. He’ll chop off anyone’s hands the moment they touch you.

“I like them broken first and foremost. I’m sure you’ve taken care of that.”

White knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from the effort to keep his composure, Sandor’s large form exudes a burning animosity. His face is red with suppressed rage, and when Trant’s fingers make their way towards your chest, everything snaps inside him.

His sword never meets the hideous flesh of your attacker, but his fist does. A blow to the jaw, powerful enough to make the cracking sound echo in the hallway. Then Sandor’s hands are pressing his face into the wall, a great force overpowered by one greater. It gives you the chance to escape.

Your attacker seems light-headed, gripping his shattered nose where blood runs plenty. There’s stillness on both sides. If hatred was visible, the air would be all shades of red, scarlet and ruby, like the stains on Sandor’s glove. Then suddenly movement, so much force in every hit.

Sandor rains blows onto the man as if he means to smash him into the very earth and there’s barely any resistance. He doesn’t want him dead, he wants him smashed, obliterated, nothing left to bury.

The bloodied rat on the ground manages a hit on Sandor’s face and it only works to enrage him further.

You’ve seen him fight before in the tournament, moves sudden but precise when in duel, you’ve heard stories of men who’ve faced his sword, but this is different. It’s raw violence and force, uncharacteristic rage fueling him.

And then he stops.

He looks at you, always with his good side.

“Go back to yer room.”

You don’t move an inch. You know what this means, you know he’s not stopping and suddenly you’re but a youngling again, running around the training ground with Robb and Jon on your heels. Your father calls for them, forbids you from following.

At night you learn about the man whose head your father took before their eyes, a sight he sheltered you from.

You won’t let Sandor do the same.

Trant’s blood will be in your hands, whether you witness it or not. And so will your lord husband’s when word gets out that he pummeled a fellow Kingsguard member to death. You won’t allow it.

“I said, go back to yer room and lock the door. Don’t let anyone in until I tell ye.”

“I will if you come with me.”

The man scoffs, blood dripping from his fingers.

“Don’t question me, girl. I’ve got to finish some business.”

“If you stay, we both know it will be the end of you, one way or another. The things that Joffrey will do-“

“I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

“You will be if you don’t walk away. Just walk away, Sandor.”

It’s the first time he’s heard his name in a while, first time ever from your lips. Of course, he notices.

“I walk away now, he’ll do it again. I stay here and finish what I started, there’s one less cunt in this fuckin’ city.”

“And is that worth your head?”

He stares at you, so openly, his eyes still screaming murder, yet you refuse to relent.

All it takes a swing of his sword, a single move to push it in Trant’s heart while he’s gasping for air.

He turns to him, spitting on that mess of a face he’s created, branding his work, and then walks right past you, grabbing your arm right where the other man had. It hurts but you don’t dare tell him.

You let him drag you all the way to your chambers, smaller feet catching up with his strides.

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇ 

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

He latches the door and sheds his gloves, then as many pieces of his armor as he can. He looks like he’s struggling to breathe and you worry. His face is flushed, angry scars growing paler every moment.

He reaches for the pitcher of mead on your table, a mistake. It’s awfully sweet, disgustingly so, and he spits it out the moment it meets his tongue, knocking the whole thing over in an effort to push it away.

“That’s not fucking wine.”

You move across the room, his hunched form still in the corner of your eye. His face is buried in his hands and he rubs desperately, most likely because the rush of blood in his head feels impossibly warm. That’s when you notice his bare knuckles, cut and bruised and bloodied all over.

You reach for the bottle of wine under the table, one he put there himself, and place it across him where you sit.

“You’re hurt.”

“Just shut up for a while, alright?”

You do as he asks, but your hands still reach for his. Of course, he pulls away.

“Are you fucking deaf?”

You smile, “I’m not talking.”

Sandor’s lips quirk at that. He watches you wipe away the blood, as gently as if tending to a child.

“It’s nothing.”

You only hum in response, following his previous order. The rug is wet and cold against the skin, relieving pain he has not felt yet. For once he doesn’t fight it.

“You should have let me kill ‘im.”

“I told you, the King would have your head.”

He snorts and it’s a sound you’re getting used to, “What it’s to you?”

“I have no wish for blood to be spilled in my name. Especially not yours.”

“You think of it so nobly, little bird. The blood is only in the hands of those who spill it. Guilt will get you killed, sooner or later.”

“So I’m not to hold myself accountable if you’re accused of attacking a fellow member of Kingsguard?”

The quirk falls from his lips.

“I’m not fucking Kingsguard.”

“You guard the King, do you not?”

You make him laugh and a sense of pride fills you. You gather it’s not something many can do.

Silence washes over you as you tend to his cuts, taking the bottle from his hands to pour wine on them plentiful.

“What the fuck are ye doing?

“I’ll get you more wine, but first I need to dress these.”

“They’re fine as they are.”

The look on your face gives away that you’re not backing down. Damn northern stubbornness.

You wrap his knuckles gently, a torn piece of fabric drenched in wine to prevent infections, the way your father taught you. You suppose it stings but Sandor makes no move to suggest so. When it’s done, you consider it, making sure there’s still blood flow. Your lips fall gently on the makeshift bandage in an almost kiss.

He pulls away like it burns.

“I want to thank you.”

“There’s no need, stupid girl.”

“Must you always interrupt me, my lord?”

“’m not your lord.”

“You’re my lord husband and I must address you some way. If not by title, then by name, but if you please, let me finish.”

He grows quiet.

“I want to thank you, Sandor, for everything, but I beg you, don’t fight for me. With what you did to Ser Meryn, all that Joffrey could do to you… I’m good as dead without you.”

There it is, your cards all on the table.

“I won’t turn into some cunt-proper lord just so your noble heart won’t be plagued with guilt, girl.”

“I never asked you to, I only ask that you don’t endanger yourself, certainly not for me.”

The man grunts and turns his gaze from you, which you take as a sign of agreement.

The table shakes when he moves to stand.

You grab his hand again, this time holding it in place.

“One more thing.”

“Spit it out.”

“I would be forever grateful if you could move back in. It’s my understanding that you’ve established a stay elsewhere, perhaps somewhere far more convenient…” He wants to laugh, the rat-filled room where he stays coming to mind, “…but I would feel much safer if you stayed here from now on.”

You can’t help but observe him, the deepest in thought you’ve ever seen him - good hand rubbing his beard.

“I can arrange for a second bed, or I can take the floor, it’s no issue. I only ask that you don’t leave.”

“Is fear worth your reputation, little bird? People will talk.”

“We are wed before the gods, let them talk. There are few things left for them to say about me anyway.”

At morning Nira arrives to find her lady awake, drinking at sunlight. A snoring lord continues his sleep undisturbed, boots half perched on the table while he rests, long and wide, on the uncomfortable armchair.

The stench of wine and sweat mixes with rosewater.

Her lady smiles.

“We are going to need another mattress.”

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[awolfhasnoname]

Her Hound, His Wolf

PART SIX

A/N: I have FINALLY found time to write another chapter for this, sorry to keep you waiting guys! Ive just finished Uni exams so this will give me more time to continue these series. Thank you so much for the patience.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Violence, Usual GoT warnings

Words: 1.6K

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or gif(s) used below.

Y/N’s twin brother Robb has progressed and fought harder than anyone had thought, but she knew he would. She believed in him, they were even calling him the Wolf King, stories started streaming in about him turning into a dire wolf at night. No doubt thanks to Grey Wind constantly being at his side. The stories made Y/N giggle, she couldn’t wait to tease him about it when she saw him again. If she ever saw him again.

Although she was so proud of her brother, his advances hadn’t made it any easier on the Stark sisters stuck in the clutches of the Lannister’s.

Y/N were being called to court today no doubt because of the most recent attack by Robbs army.

Y/N went to answer a knock on her door, expecting to be greeted but the usual hulking figure she was surprised to see another guard standing there. “I’m here to escort you to court, lady Y/N.”

The walk to court was slow, she knew what was coming, this would be the beginning of the end of the Stark girls’ days at Kings Landing.

Y/N froze as the sight in court came into view, Sansa was already on her knees in front of the king, a small pool of blood coming from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes then travelled to Sandor, standing as always beside his king, his expression as cold and unrevealing as always.

“Ah finally, Lady Y/N,” Joffrey called, a devious grin on his face and a loaded crossbow in his hands. “You’re both here to answer for your brothers’ latest treasons.” He raised the crossbow to point at Sansa, she began defending herself “Your grace, whatever my traitor brother has done I had no part, you know this, I beg you please.” Y/N hated how Sansa spoke about their brother, but she understood it was a matter of survival.

As Joffrey had Lancel read out the crimes against their brother Y/N stepped closer to the King, planting herself in between Sansa and the arrow pointed at her.

Sandor’s chest constricted, how was he supposed to protect this girl if she bloody insisted on putting herself in harm’s way every day.

Joffrey put the crossbow down but gestured for Ser Meryn Trant to continue the punishment, he raised his hand again. The hit knocked Y/N to the ground and she could faintly hear the mumbles and gasps from the crowd behind them. Her eyes remained cold, raised to the kings, his face plastered with the same grin, clearly happy for a new play thing to break in, “Sansa has had her punishment for today, take her back to her chambers,” a Knight came to help Sansa to her feet, her worried expression turned to her sister but Y/N only gave her a warm smile. Joffrey saw this and his anger grew, “You can mess this ones face up as much as you want Trant.” Another blow hit the side of her face, trying to stay as strong as possible. As the beating continued, Y/N kept her façade, giving nothing away but small whimpers. “Meryn, the lady is overdressed, unburden her,” Joffrey ordered Trant. The young wolf’s eyes found Sandor once more. She was surprised to see the anger on his face and his hand around the hilt of his sword, white knuckles showing the hard grasp against it.

Trant ripped the back of her dress leaving her shoulders and back exposed, as the garment began to fall down she grabbed it before she could be too revealed. Upon seeing this Trant gave her a swift kick in the ribs. All the air left her as she doubled over trying to regain some sort of breathing pattern. “Meryn, why don’t you show us how your new dagger performs?”

As he unsheathed his dagger he mumbled to you “this is for the tavern you Stark whore.”

Y/N regained her composure and looked up at her king with daggers in her eyes, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. She heard Sandor shift at the King’s side as if he was taking a step forward but she didn’t move her gaze. Just then the doors to court swung open “What is the meaning of this!” Joffrey’s eyes shot to the back of the court as Tyrion strides through the room. Y/N’s eyes flick to Sandor seeing a flash of relief before his usual scowl replaced it but his grip had lightened on his sword.

Tyrion turned to Meryn, “What kind of knight beats a helpless woman?” “The kind that serves his king,” Meryn spat back.

“Someone get the girl something to cover herself with,” Tyrion announces before turning to the King. Sandor was by the Stark girls’ side in an instant ripping the cloak from his back and draping it around her. “Yer okay little wolf,” he whispered before helping you stand.

“Hound, take the lady back to her Chambers,” Tyrion commands before giving her an apologetic look.

Sandor helps the young wolf walk until they are out of sight, he then places his arm beneath her and lifts her bridal style to carry her back to her chambers. She simply rests her head against him, not having any more fight left in her today.

Sandor placed her on her bed, he looks at her and opened his mouth before thinking better of himself, she hadn’t missed it though. “Go ahead, tell me I’m a stupid girl with a death wish or whatever it is today that I’ve done wrong.” He simply sat next to her cleaning the cut on her cheek, “Not today, little wolf.”

She eyed him carefully, this was the first time they had spoken since the day she had embarrassed herself in front of him. He noticed the glance but continued attending to the cuts and bruises on her face. “Are ya ever gonna talk to me again?” he questioned but she refused to meet his gaze. After another moment passed he spoke again “Aye, I keep forgetting how fucking stubborn you are.” She couldn’t help the small smile that graced her face, which in return brought a smile to Sandor’s lips. “I’m sorry for the other day…” she finally speaks. Sandor just continues as if he hadn’t heard, hoping to avoid that conversation.

She continued when he hadn’t responded, “I shouldn’t have assumed that it was okay…” trailing off again as this time he turned to stare at her. “You were upset and hurt, I was comforting you. It was just reaction and I didn’t want you to do something you would regret.”

She looked at him in slight disbelief, “Sandor, I didn’t try to kiss you because I was upset. Is that what you think?” he looked away then. “Why else would a girl like you want to kiss an old dog like me?” The pain in his tone hurt her deeply, she grabbed his chin and turned his face to look at her again.

“I wish you could see yourself, the way I see you.” Y/N spoke so softly as if she thought Sandor would spook at any given word. Her hand reaching up to stroke the side of his face that he hated so much which in turn caused him to tense under the feather light touch. Sandor grabbed her hand before looking her in the eye, “Y/N don’t, you don’t want this. You don’t want me.” His voice was stern but she could see the pain in his eyes, all she wanted was to take that pain away.

“I have to go. The boy cunt will be expecting me back at his side.” Sandor removed his hand from hers, leaning back slightly to create some space between the two. Y/N just sighed, used to the feeling of his rejections by now. She grabbed the cloak that was wrapped around her shoulders before practically throwing it him. “Can’t forget your precious Lannister cloak.” She spat as she moved to find something to change into, her broken dress barely covering her top half. Sandor couldn’t help but stare after her, her back fully exposed watching the way her figure curved. All he could do was stare after her in adoration, his gaze trailing every inch of skin he could see. Until his eyes focused on a few distinguishable marks on her back and he froze. The raised skin shining against the light hitting it, scarred lines marked her back in short slices. As soon as he was able to make out the small scars they disappeared as she placed a robe around her.

Y/N turned around and was surprised by the look on Sandor’s face, shock mostly but what worried her the most was the slight look of fear in his eyes. Then it hit her, she didn’t realize how exposed her back was. Pulling the robe around her tightly as if to hide herself even more her defenses rose again. “You can leave now Sandor. I can take care of the rest of the cuts. Thank you for bringing me back to my chamber.” Her tone was flat, almost cold. Sandor just took steps towards her and for the first time since they had known each other she backed away. Slowly he raised his hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I will never let anyone hurt you again little wolf. I promise you that.”

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[cami-chats]

First Choice

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Pairings: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark

Summary: Trapped in King's Landing, Sansa is offered one choice about her life: who she wants to marry. Picking Ser Sandor Clegane was one of her best decisions. 

Warnings: Joffrey exists, a not entirely healthy relationship bc this isn’t a modern au

Sansa was standing in front of the court, down in the center like she'd done so many times now. Her hands were laced in front of her, and though she kept her posture relaxed and her back straight, she knew how cruel Joffrey could be even with Margaery holding most of his impulses back. 

"You've been very good to the crown during the war, Lady Stark," he said, clearly a line he'd had to memorize from someone else. The only ‘goodness’ she’d had to the crown was not betraying them, something no one had expected. "It is long since time you be married. As a reward for your loyalty, you may choose your husband from any of my unmarried knights or lords of the court. Name them now and it will be so." If the little smirk on his face hadn't given away that that wasn't part of the plan, the way Cersei clenched her jaw would have done it. 

Sansa now had to choose one of Joffrey's sycophants to shackle herself too, and everyone that thrived under his command was either cruel, or smart and cruel (like Littlefinger). She wished she could refuse, but that would undo all the success she'd managed in recent years. Her eyes flitted around quickly, saying a mental prayer to the old gods asking for guidance. She glanced over the King's Guard, then shot back. The law prohibiting them from marrying had been lifted, and the Hound was still unwed. He looked out of place in his white and golden uniform with his scraggly hair and sword that had seen more action than the rest of the King's Guard combined. He was not handsome, but he no longer scared her. He was the only person in the capital to ever protect her. Perhaps it was from a sense of duty or an order that had been given to him, but he'd done it all the same. "If it pleases Your Grace," she said, dipping into a curtsy, "I would wed Ser Sandor Clegane." 

A beat of pure silence. 

Margaery set a light hand on Joffrey's arm and whispered something in his ear. When she leaned back, he appeared cooperative, though his thumb was rubbing against the ring on his first finger the way he did when things did not go his way. "Very well, Lady Stark. I find your request in order. Queen Margaery will oversee the details as a testament to your friendship, and of course, the Queen's generosity." He gave a nod to dismiss her, and Sansa curtsied again before walking to the side of the room where the other lords and ladies were loitering. Many of them were staring outright, and the others were looking with little more subtlety. She kept her head high and continued looking towards the throne like nothing had happened. 

Read on AO3 or below 

*

"The fuck are you playing at little bird," he growled. 

Sansa startled, nearly pricking her finger on her sewing needle. "It's called needlepoint, surely you've seen women doing that before." 

"Everyone in the damn capitol knows that the women I bed are paid for their time." 

"Hm. I don't suppose I could talk you out of doing that once we're married? It seems the only husband I know of that refused was my father." 

"I'm not going to stop fucking just to remind you of your damned father." 

"Why in seven hells would you assume I want you to stop entirely?" she asked mildly, not looking up from what she was doing. 

Sandor snorted harshly. "It's a good thing you're talking to me and not some other man, he'd think that was an invitation." 

"It was, rather. Perhaps I'll work on being more direct with you so that there is no misunderstanding on our wedding night." 

He stared at her in disbelief for a long moment, then turned around and left, his armor clanking loudly against the stone. 

*

"To the bedding!" 

"No," Sandor spit out, that vicious bite to his voice that often preceded someone's guts spilling out of them. 

Joffrey was the king, and before that he'd been a spoilt prince-- he wasn't used to people telling him no; he came up short. 

"Does anyone here really doubt that I'll do it?" The answer was a resounding no. Sansa was poking idly at the remains on her plate, not reacting to what was being said even though every person there could hear what was happening and they knew that she could as well, what with Sandor being directly at her side and all. He picked up his drink and downed the rest of it. "Come on," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her with him as he stood up. Fortunately, she'd been expecting something like that so she didn't make a mess. She dropped her fork and was able to get her skirt out of the way of the chair. She wasn't quite an expert on navigating the way he man-handled her, but she was sure she'd master it before the year was out. 

Despite Sandor's declaration that no one was going to watch them, there were a few brave stragglers that peeked around corners and tried to follow them as silently as possible. Their attempts hardly mattered though, because Sandor slammed a bar over their bedroom door before any of them were in spitting distance. He was practically shaking with rage, shoulders tight and expression twisted into a scowl. 

"I must admit, I didn't think you'd be so angry about this." She’d been stripped half naked and beaten in front of the entire court before, this was only a step further. Sansa had of course dreaded the event, but she had mentally prepared herself for it. 

He glared at her. Once, it would have made her flinch. She used to be so terrified of him, but now it was difficult-- if not impossible-- to muster up that emotion. "Get on the fucking bed." 

With a mental shrug, she started undoing the ties at the side of her dress. She doubted that he noticed the embroidered three hounds intermingling with Stark wolves, but she had made an effort. 

In a quick motion, he was in front of her, so close she could smell the wine in his breath. His hand was like iron on hers, preventing her from continuing to take off her wedding gown. "What in seven hells are you doing." 

"Getting undressed?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure your usual bed mates keep their skirts on for ease, but I don't plan on leaving this room until morning so staying dressed seemed rather pointless." 

He just stared at her incredulously. 

Since it didn't look like he was going to let go of her hand so she could continue undressing, she leaned forward and kissed him. He jerked back, so shocked that he let go of her and actually took a step back like he was afraid of what she might do next. Figuring that she might as well take advantage of the situation, she went back to untying the side of her dress. She was glad she'd made it this way since clearly no one else was going to help her take it off. He didn't move again until after she finished, pushing the dress off so it fell to the floor in a heavy heap. 

She felt nervous being so exposed in front of him. The only people that had seen her with so little on in this way had been either family or handmaidens, and Sandor was very clearly neither of those. She wanted him to think she was confident with herself and her body, so she continued to look at him the same as she'd done with her dress firmly on her shoulders. Nerves teased in her stomach though, a constant reminder that although she'd been briefly married to Lord Tyrion, they had never done what a wife and husband do. She tried to step forward, to take the next step for them, but he stopped her. 

"What in seven hells do you think you're playing at, little bird?" he said, gripping one of her arms tightly, the arm held between them like a shield-- a shield that was about to bruise. 

"It's called a wedding night, Sandor. Surely you've heard of it even though you've not been married before." When that didn't get a response, she added, "Consummation? We have sex so they can't split us up at a moment's notice?" 

He ignored that. "You chose me. Why?" 

"Who should I have picked instead?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Meryn Trant, who's beaten me and has interest in children? I'd rather slit my throat than entertain a single second of his time." 

"Trant's a weak cunt, and he lost interest the moment it became clear you were a woman instead of a little girl," Sandor sneered, the very idea obviously bothering him. 

"If not him, then who? Joffrey will still not let me return home to marry a northman. My choices were those in the hall that day, and I believe I chose the best." She was going to leave it there, but if there was ever a moment to be too honest, it might as well be when she was about to be naked in front of her new husband. Quietly, she added, "I would have chosen you all the same. Of all the men in Westeros, I would have picked you." 

He scoffed, clear that he didn't believe her. 

The sting of hurt was familiar, easy to swallow down like it didn't exist. "Does it really matter? We're here now. If you wanted to say no, you could have. You're on Joffrey's King's Guard, he would have given you that choice. So I think, if we're asking the question of 'why me', it should be you answering that." 

"You're not blind." 

"No, but you're acting like you are." She slid her small clothes off, and they landed atop her dress around her ankles. His eyes flickered down, then back up. Like she wasn't the least bit impressive to him. Like he'd seen better and could pay for better. She grit her teeth. "Fine." She turned around and stalked to the bed. It had been a while since she'd let herself get embarrassed. Surrounded by all these lions in the capitol, she'd done what she needed to, desensitized herself to the barbs and embarrassing words so she could survive. But now her face was flamed red, tears threatening to brim in her eyes. It had been presumptuous of her to assume that he would take no issue with this. She'd thought her fairy tale days were done, but here she was, assuming that Sandor would jump at the chance to be tied to her for the rest of his life-- or hers, whichever happened first. "You could have suffered through one night with me before you spent the rest of your time with the whores in this city, but I suppose I shouldn't have expected even that from you." 

"Suffered?" Sandor repeated gruffly. There was something in his voice she couldn't describe, but it felt important. 

She glanced back at him, and this time desire was obvious on his face. When he saw her looking, he couldn't change his expression fast enough to hide it. “Suffered,” she confirmed. “Because either you take me now, or you leave to have someone else.” 

*

Margaery had taken her for a walk, the gardens filled with wintertime flowers since summer was still a ways off. Instead of having tea outside at the center table, they circled around until they were back inside, sitting in a little room that only had the one door. Privacy as much as the Queen could get, her guards standing outside that door but unable to hear them now. "So tell me," Margaery said conversationally, "how big is his cock?" 

Sansa snorted, covering her mouth as she descended into laughter. When she composed herself, she said, still chuckling, "Satisfactory." 

"Even better." She leaned forward, arms crossed in front of her on the table. "Now that you are living in wedded bliss, why the Hound? He's hardly the most handsome option that was available to you. I know that Joffrey did not allow you much time to pick," she said, expression twisting sympathetically, "but my brother was right there. We'd always talked about you joining my family." 

"True, but I wanted a husband that would be more than inconvenienced by me. Loras is rather handsome, but we both know that he has no interest in me." 

"A husband with no interest in you but you look good together, is better than most noble ladies receive." 

"Yes, but now I have a husband with ample interest in me. I think I prefer it this way." 

Margaery looked at her for a moment, then grinned. "You love him. Good for you. I always worried about your happiness when you're so far south. If um, you should find his attention wandering, let me know? I have a few tips I'm sure would be useful for you." 

"I'll keep that in mind." She'd probably need the help. Getting Sandor to sleep with her even the once had been much more difficult than she'd anticipated. 

*

"Do you like children?" she asked. 

"No," he said shortly. 

She didn't let that bother her. "Have you ever thought about having them?" 

He looked at her, saw where the conversation was going and said, "You're a crazy cunt." 

"And?" 

"And you're the only one that's ever wanted to so I never considered it." 

"Would you like to?" 

"No." 

"Will you get me pregnant so that at least I can enjoy having children?" 

"The fuck's to enjoy. Kids are annoying and loud." 

"You don't have to tell me. Arya and I picked on each other so much I'm surprised one of us did not accidentally perish." 

"All the more reason not to have them." 

"If I don't have children to worry over, I'll worry over you instead." He'd gotten a taste of what that had been like in the time they'd been married, and she was willing to bet he wanted to avoid it getting worse. "Is that what you want to look forward to?" 

"You're manipulating me," he said, glaring at her. It wasn't playful; he was upset with her for even trying it. "Don't." 

"Fine, I want to bear our children. Give them to me. I don't care if you don't, I do. Either you give them to me, or you refuse to fuck me so that you don't have to risk it. That is your choice." 

"You're a bitch." 

"And you're an arse. I suppose you can think on it as long as you need because it would be the same as refusing." That didn't mean she was above trying to get him to see it her way. Or, more accurately, she wasn't above reminding him how much he'd grown to like sex with her. After their first week together-- where he kept refusing her so she was trying to seduce him every night with questionable success-- they'd had something of a normal marriage. She joined Margaery or the other ladies of the court during the days, and at night he'd make her feel good. She had never known there could be satisfaction in bruises on her body, but the reminder of him gripping her hips was welcome. 

When it came time to sleep, she stripped all the way down instead of changing into night clothes. Sandor gave her a withering look as if to say she wasn't fooling him, but he didn't say anything aloud. He took off his armor, the padding, and the soiled underclothes, then pulled on a clean set of underpants, not that it would do him much good from feeling her. He laid down, she pulled the covers up over them, and then she snuggled close, resting her head on his chest. 

"What are you doing?" 

She could feel the words rumbling inside his chest as he spoke them. It would be too strange to ask for him to keep talking so she could keep feeling it, but she wished that she could. "Getting comfortable." 

He looked at her suspiciously, but when she didn't make a move to get more on top of him, he sighed and put an arm around her waist. He closed his eyes to go to sleep, but that only made him more aware of her. Despite all the times they'd had sex now, they didn't exactly cuddle. Normally they'd fuck, she'd get cleaned up, and by the time they were back in their clothes, they got to their sides of the bed and fell asleep. He was too awake to go straight to sleep, which meant that he was awfully aware of every inch of Sansa that was pressed against him. He slid his hand down to grip her arse, and he could feel her smile against his skin. "This doesn't mean you win," he said, rolling over so that he was on top of her. 

She looked just as smug as he'd thought she would. "I don't need you to agree with me, Sandor. I just need you to get me pregnant." 

"Why do you want children?" he asked, honestly confused as to why anyone would them, but especially Sansa with him. 

"Why don't you?" 

"Loud." He wound his fingers through her hair, letting some of his weight drop so she felt covered. "And annoying. They always need something." 

"And I like to be needed. Besides, children have so little guile. They think they do, but when they lie, it's a harmless game. I prefer that to the lies adults tell me. And what can I say, I'm hoping for some sons." 

"Sons," he repeated incredulously. 

"You told me once, that my sons would be killers. My father was a killer, and my brothers would be, and my husband would be, and my sons will be. My father was, my brothers are now, my husband is. Is it wrong to want to prove you right?" 

"It's not something to look forward to." 

"My children will either be killers like their father, or victims like their mother. I'd rather they be killers." 

"You feel like a victim with me little bird?" he asked, almost teasing instead of accusatory. 

She curled her hands around his back, spread her legs just a little so he fit better in between them. "In bed, with you, I'm free. Out there, I'm a wolf without a pack, and the lone wolf dies." Something her father had said, trying to stress that they needed to stay together. As soon as they'd started going their separate ways, they'd started dropping like flies. Father, Mother, and Robb were dead. Jon probably was, and Theon was a traitor. Arya was likely dead for many years, Bran had survived originally but probably was dead now. Without any of the rest of them, what chance did little Rickon have? That left her, alone, with a hound for company and a rose with the sharpest thorns in the seven kingdoms. It wasn't a replacement for pack though. She knew that. With everyone else dead or missing and presumed dead, all she had for family was herself and the option of creating more family. "I want a family. I don't expect for you to be as involved in their lives as my father was in ours. All I ask is that you let me do this." 

Sandor kissed her, and in the morning, he didn't ask where her usual foul smelling cup of tea was. She smiled, going about the rest of her day with a bounce in her step. 

*

"Oh, by the gods, look at you!" Margaery beamed. She was standing across from Sansa, holding her hands in a joyous grip. "You're positively glowing. I think motherhood will suit you quite well if pregnancy makes you look so radiant." 

Sansa laughed, easily falling into step next to her as they turned and Margaery looped their arms together. "I'm pleased you think so. I expect I'll be relying on you quite a bit. Sandor acts like I'll have two at once if he spends too much time with me." 

"Men are like that," she said, rolling her eyes. "Give him some time, I'm sure he'll come around. If not, I hear there's a tavern that serves half price drinks to knights. Maybe that will pick his mood up." 

"I doubt it." She was pretty sure that he didn't drink much anymore. Some wine, certainly, but he never dipped into anything harder these days. Mostly he joked that she was the reason he was drinking with all her prattling about babies, and that had been before she knew she was pregnant. Now that she did know, he'd probably be even more cross with her in their daily life. "But then, it can't hurt." 

"That's the attitude that makes you so delightful," Margaery said, smiling kindly at her. If someone had told Sansa that her best friend would be Joffrey's wife, she would have thought them a liar. Margaery had been a gift from the gods as far as Sansa was concerned, saving her from either death or a marriage of torture with Joffrey. She managed to control most of his sadistic urges, though Sansa worried with the turn the war had taken, that there would be no holding him back before he died-- not that Sansa knew much of anything about the state of the war, but she did hear things sometimes. "Any idea what you're going to name them?" 

"I only found out I was pregnant a few days ago, I haven't had time to think of names yet." 

"Isn't Jon a good northern name? How about Jon?" 

"Jon is also the name of my bastard brother that I treated rather poorly my entire life. The name is good, but I'm afraid the gods would sense a lack of humility." 

"I'm not sure the gods care that terribly about your affairs, but then, the seven are different from the old gods. Perhaps you're right," she teased, "and they'll turn you into a toad for your horrible, horrible crime." 

"Maybe not a toad," Sansa allowed with a laugh. "I suppose you have a suggestion for names?" 

"Have you ever considered Margaery for a little girl's name?" 

Sansa snorted so loudly she hurt her nose. She had basically recovered when Cersei Lannister showed up, flanked by two guards in Lannister red. 

"Queen Margaery," she said, giving the barest incline of her head. 

"Queen Mother," Margaery said, smiling widely as if she were delighted to see her. She let go of Sansa to give Cersei a hug that was not returned before going back to Sansa's side. "So wonderful to see you today, I had worried about your health after the state of the wine last night. Perhaps it was a bad batch, I shall have the royal stores inspected to ensure we never have an incident like that again." 

"You are too kind," Cersei said with a tense smile. It was always her smile when Margaery was around. "Fortunately, you both look to be in good health. Good humor as well, I could hear Lady Sansa laughing from the other side of the castle." 

"Pardon, Queen Regent," Sansa said, giving her a curtsy. "I learned last night that I am pregnant. I've been laughing near all morning, my mood is so good." 

"Congratulations. Your first?" she asked, though she knew full well that this was the first time Sansa had gotten pregnant. She probably knew that Sandor was the first person she'd had sex with too, but Cersei was wrong on occasion. 

"The first of many, I hope." 

"I take it Ser Sandor is most pleased?" 

"Indeed, your grace. He is not so obsessed with his legacy as I expected him to be though, he mostly seems to be happy that I am excited." 

"He sounds like an ideal husband. I am pleased you've finally made your home here, Lady Sansa." She inclined her head towards Margaery again, then left, brushing past them. 

*

Sansa wished there was someone around that she could ask what in seven hells was going on! Sandor was busy guarding that cunt of a king they had, and Margaery was dealing with business around the city, last Sansa had seen. The fact that no one in this city cared to share secrets with her anymore did not help. That being said, she would take not knowing what was going on over dealing with Little Finger any day. 

The room was packed, more so than any other day when Joffrey held court. Every little lord or lady had shown up for this meeting and whatever it would entail. If it was an execution, Sansa wished someone would say it now and spare her that realization and experience since once had been quite enough for her life-- it didn't matter that most executions were held outside since Joffrey was breaking rules all the time and would certainly delight in making the servants scrub the floors until they were numb. 

When the doors opened and men wearing not only northern armor but Stark branded armor walked in, she felt faint. There was a pillar at her side and she leaned into it heavily as the procession came all the way in. In the center was Jon. He was taller than she remembered, but maybe that was the great sword strapped to his side. His hair was longer, the top half of it tied back like Father used to do so it was out of his face. There was a neatly trimmed beard covering the bottom half of his face, but most importantly, there was a confidence to the way he held himself that had never been hinted at when they were children. Robb had had it, but Jon was the bastard of the family. He'd sunk into the background when possible, hunched in on himself when not. At his side and slightly behind, was Arya. She looked... like Jon. Taller and definitely older, all traces of baby fat gone from her face. Her hair wasn't as curly as Jon's but it was the same length and styled the same way. Instead of a great sword, she had a thin little thing at her waist, and Sansa didn't doubt it was sharp. Arya had never mastered how to walk like a lady, it had always been like she was running somewhere. She had the confidence of someone that knew how to protect themselves, and Sansa prayed she hadn't been hurt too much to learn that. 

"Your Grace," Jon said respectfully, giving a small bow. Arya did not follow suit. 

Joffrey was looking down at them, an expression on his face that meant if this didn't go well, he was going to have a temper tantrum. "Are we here to discuss the terms of your surrender?" 

"You misunderstand, your grace. I'm here for two things, and you agreed to discuss them. It was my understanding that we would discuss them in private, not in front of your entire court." 

Joffrey grit his teeth. "Speak or I will throw you out." 

"Very well. I want you to relinquish the Iron Throne's claim to the north so we can be our own kingdom. We'll stop our attack, and you don't try to bring us under your control again." 

If this had been a few years ago, Joffrey would have tried to order his men to kill them all. He still didn't have much in the way of restraint, so it was obvious that he was angry when he said, "What was your second request?" 

"Sansa Stark," he said, and Sansa felt her heart stop then start again, double time. "She belongs in the north, we're here to take her home." Jon had phrased the first term more openly. He was requesting that the Iron Throne release them. This one he stated like they wouldn't be leaving the room without her. 

"There is no Sansa Stark here," he said, eyes narrowing. 

Arya looked over the masses, eyes finding Sansa easily. She quirked an eyebrow at her, and Sansa grinned. She glanced at Joffrey, then shrugged. It's not like Sansa could yell from her position that technically she was Sansa Clegane now, so she settled for that. 

"We know that she is," Jon said, voice like steel. The two siblings that Sansa had always treated like grime, and here they were, come to save her. The truth was, if they hadn't come here for her, all they had to do was pull their troops back to Northern land and declare themselves free. The last person to successfully march on the north had had dragons, and for many generations, they had been loyal to the crown. They came here for her, and they weren't leaving without her. Sansa wondered if Joffrey even noticed that, or if he was too busy being offended at them trying to take a piece of 'his' kingdom. 

"I'll think on it. Why don't you go back out to your little camp while I make my decision." 

Jon bowed again before leaving, but this time, he kept his eyes straight on Joffrey, a clear challenge to his authority despite the subservient gesture. Arya winked at Sansa, then joined their brother and all the guards as they exited the hall, heads held high. 

Sansa could feel people stare at her as soon as the doors closed, but she didn't care. She wasn't smiling now, and instead of staring at the doors with longing, she turned to watch her husband. Joffrey stomped off the throne and into the room behind it where they had their small council meetings. Sandor had to follow him, and with them gone, the crowd started to shuffle like leaves on a tree when the wind blew. Some of them left, and others stayed to see Margaery continue with business. Sansa stayed to the end like she always did when Margaery was sitting on the throne, and Margaery joined her as they left the building to take a short walk. 

"How does your pregnancy find you? Any morning sickness?" 

"Not today, and not in the past weeks either. I believe it is behind me, now. Thank the gods, I could hardly keep any food down." 

They chatted idly until they had more privacy, and Margaery dropped her voice so it wouldn't carry past where they could see. "I have no intention of forcing your brother's hand," she said, tone more serious than Sansa had ever heard. "Tomorrow, we will welcome them into the city and discuss the situation as allies." 

"You can convince Joffrey of that?" Sansa asked, voice equally low. 

"I will take care of the king if you take care of his mother." 

"I- Margaery- I don't know if I can-" 

"I believe in you, Sansa." Margaery pressed a little vial into her hands. "It need not be messy. Cersei drinks more than a soldier, visit her with a plea to get her son to listen her or something, and then you are done." 

"I'm not sure I can kill her." 

"If you cannot, I need you to tell me now so I can make other arrangements." Margaery was always kind with Sansa. So kind and all she asked in return was Sansa's company. 

Sansa had never killed anyone, had never even hurt someone. She thought of Cersei's claw around her arm, telling her to drink, saying vile things about sex, and standing there without lifting a finger when Father had been murdered. All of it made her angry, but only one of those was a good enough reason to do anything to her. Trying to kill Bran, mothering only bastard children to her brother instead of the king, and killing Ned Stark when he found out about it, those were reasons. If Margaery was telling her about this now, it meant that trial and imprisonment wasn't an option. Cersei was going to die tonight, and given the options, she knew what she had to do. Sansa stared at the bottle for a long moment, then tucked it in her dress. 

*

In one hand, Sansa had a small bottle of milk of the poppy, and in the other, a dagger. Valyrian steel, though all Sansa knew about it was that it was more expensive than regular steel. "You know you will not make it out of this room alive." She held her hands up, displaying the items. "For all your choices have ruined my family, I respect you. You don't deserve to be dragged through the streets tomorrow like a victory boar. You can have one, and we can avoid all of that." 

Cersei sneered at her. "Avoid it? Don't you remember when Stannis was attacking the capitol? I told you that a noble woman's fate at the end of a city under siege was always... unpleasant. Your little show here doesn't change that." 

"It's your choice," Sansa said quietly. 

"Perhaps my choices are not so limited as you think," Cersei said. Even now, Sansa was scared of her. Cersei was backed into a corner-- figuratively, not quite literally, not yet-- dressed only in her small clothes, and she still looked as poised and in control as she did when she was sitting atop the Iron Throne. 

"You're right. I could always tell Sandor that you threatened to gut me like a deer. I imagine whatever he can think up would be much more painful than either of these." 

"Do you think yourself a wolf, little dove?" It had been so long since Cersei had called her that. It used to fit her, but no longer. Maybe she wasn't a wolf yet either, but she was closer than she ever had been before. "Trying to show your teeth? You couldn't get your hands dirty if your life depended on it." 

Sansa paused for a moment, then dropped her hands down to her side. "You're right. I don't know how to use this," she said, turning the knife to a less threatening position. She took a couple steps back and knocked on the door. She stepped to the side, and it opened. Sansa held the knife out to her, knowing that Arya was there wearing her own face. She wanted Cersei to know exactly who was doing this to her and why. "She does." 

Arya was confident, every step the walk of a person that had killed foes twice as threatening as the former queen in front of them that had killed as many as Sansa herself. "Eddard Stark's legacy lives on. Who will remember you?" Arya asked. “I, Arya Stark, blood of the First Men and daughter of Eddard Stark, sentence you to die by order of Jon Stark, the King in the North, for unjust murder of our father.” She flipped the knife in her hand, and with one quick motion, a line of red across Cersei's throat. Blood stained the white fabric, and she died quickly, a hand at her throat as if she could stop it. There was a look of surprise on her face to the very end, like she couldn't believe all her games and shows of power hadn't been enough to save her in the end. Arya wiped the blood off on the bed's blanket, then snapped it back into place on her belt. "You're pregnant," she said, looking at Sansa. She’d noticed before, but it hadn’t been the time to talk about it. 

"I am," she said numbly, looking at the still bleeding corpse. Cersei was certainly dead, but blood was still seeping out. She hadn't been expecting that for some reason. Cersei’s hair had always been golden and well groomed, but now the blood was streaming along it and making the colour impure. "Married, as well." 

"I guessed as much." She gently took Sansa's arm and led her out of the room, closing the door behind her. "You look good. I was afraid they'd have you locked away in the dungeons dying from infection over the years." 

"They never threw me in the dungeons. Joffrey always thought I was too entertaining for that, then he was married to Margaery and she convinced me to play nice as she mitigated his damages." 

"Good." 

Sansa couldn't help but look at her doubtfully. 

"What?" 

"Used to be that you would accuse me of liking it here and betraying our family." 

"I used to be an idiot. So did you. Neither of us are who we used to be. Who's the father?" 

"Sandor Clegane." 

"The Hound?" 

"The very same." 

Arya didn't miss a step as they walked through the halls towards the entrance where they'd met up at the beginning of the night. "I can get rid of him for you." 

"Don't. By the gods, Arya, do not." 

"Er, okay? Feeling fond of dogs now? I know I said a lot changed, but I didn't think it had been this much." 

"Believe it or not, I chose him. It was my idea to have a baby, as well. If you'd like to talk to him about it, I'm sure he'd be more than happy to complain about how mean I am to him with someone that could appreciate it." 

"He can't complain to anyone else?" 

"The only one it would be safe to complain to is Margaery, and her and Sandor don't exactly sit down for afternoon tea every day." The very thought was laughable, though entertaining. 

"Do they ever talk?" 

"Not as far as I know." 

"I can't believe you finally did it," Arya said, shaking her head but a smile on her face. At Sansa's quizzical look, she elaborated, "Marry a high lord and have his beautiful children. It's not how I imagined it happening, but here you are." 

"Not how I imagined it either; this is much better." 

"I'll say. I hope you don't take this as a personal offence, but you're looking chubby around the edges, not just in your stomach." 

"O...kay?" 

"And you still look happier than I've ever seen you. You're fucking glowing, it's disgusting." 

Sansa laughed, shoving her shoulder. "Do you think Jon would let me name my son after him?" 

"You'd want to?" she asked, disbelief clear in her voice. 

"I was always horrible to him when we were children and I regret it, but he's one of the strongest people I know. You are as well, but I don't think I'd like the justice the gods would give me for having a daughter named after you." 

"Too wild for you?" 

"Exactly. With Sandor as a father, I'm sure they won't need any help." 

"'Sandor', gods Sansa I wonder if I'm ever going to get used to this." 

"I hope so, I'd like for us to keep in touch when everything settles." 

"Keep in touch? You mean you're not coming home?" 

"I want to. I suppose it depends on how long all of this takes though. Could I-" she stopped, swallowing thickly. "Do you think Jon would want to see me?" 

"I know he would." 

"Could you... take me to him?" 

"Too dangerous tonight. Unless you have another major secret for me, you're not any good at fighting." 

Sansa made a face. "I think the first time I held a weapon was earlier tonight." 

Arya nodded since that was what she'd expected. Sansa was strong, but she wasn't violent or aggressive. She was... like Mother, actually. Strong and poised in a way Arya had no hope of achieving; it just wasn't her, and trying to be that way had made her miserable when they were younger. "I'll talk to Jon, but you'll see him tomorrow." 

*

"Sansa?" Jon asked. He seemed to be in a state of disbelief, like this was everything he'd wanted but didn't know how to deal with it now that it was happening. 

"Jon!" Sansa ran, tackling him in a hug. She was bigger than him now. For some reason, she hadn't expected that, but she'd been taller than every other woman she'd met since she finished and they had no idea how tall his mother had been so she probably should have known. "It is so good to see you. I thought you'd been killed when the Bolton's were trying to take over Winterfell." 

"Turns out Stark's are harder to kill than the rest of Westeros wants us to be," he said, hugging her back tightly. There was no way he didn't feel the swell of her stomach through the dress, and when they split apart, he looked down then back up at her face and raised an eyebrow. 

Sansa couldn't help but grin. "You remember the Hound, right?" 

"Tell me you're joking." 

"I don't think she is," Arya chimed in. "I heard someone refer to her as Lady Clegane, and who else would marry him?" 

"Sandor happens to be wonderful." 

Arya snorted. "'Sandor is wonderful'," she said in high pitched voice meant to imitate her sister. "I'm sure he is, but seven hells, Sansa, couldn't you have made him change his name to Stark instead of the other way around? Going from a wolf to a hound is downgrading, no matter how great he is." 

"I don't think I... can do that?" She glanced at Jon. "Could I?" 

He shrugged. Not to make fun of him, but he looked kind of awkward now that he wasn't bursting with happiness. "I don't see why not. Assuming he'd go for it, that is." 

"I get the feeling that if we give them one night alone, he'll be convinced." 

"Arya," Jon chided, blushing. 

"Oh please, you're fucking a wildling who's twice your size, we all know what's going on in your bed." 

Sandor, who had seen them and started getting closer, slowed to a stop when he heard the last sentence, looking at the group like he wished he didn't know them simply because it would make his life easier. Sansa saw her husband and beamed, waving him over. "Sandor! Come meet my family." 

After that, he didn't really have a choice but to finish walking to them, settling into place at Sansa's side. "We've met," he said shortly. 

"Well you can meet them again as a member of the family instead of a part of the King's entourage. Oh that reminds me, how do you like Jon for a name for the baby?" 

Jon's eyes went wide. "Please don't," he muttered. 

At the same time, Sandor said, "I don't give a fuck." 

Instead of being downtrodden by his lack of interest like Jon and Arya expected, Sansa brightened even further. "Good, that's settled." 

"Don't I get a say," Jon said faintly, fully aware that no, he did not. At least, not one that mattered. 

"You want to move up north," Sandor stated, and Sansa nodded. 

"But we can talk about it later tonight." 

Arya gave Jon a look as if to say 'I told you so'. 

Sandor grumbled, "I hate the cold," like he too, knew exactly how that conversation was going to go. 

Sansa just looped an arm through his and leaned into him. Everything had turned out... perfectly. That was a nice change.

[gascon-en-exil]

Joining the Game Late: S6E6 “Blood of My Blood”

Synopsis

A forgettable Stark from Season 1 is back to rescue Bran and Meera. Sam’s come home with some lies for and about his family, but Gilly blows it and they dine and dash with a sword. Margaery seems to have found the Seven and convinces Tommen to do the same, thwarting the Tyrell-Lannister alliance against the Faith. Arya keeps getting caught up with the King’s Landing plot, then tries rewriting the script both on and off stage. The Waif is coming to kill her now, but she’s got Needle back so that should end well. Walder Frey has problems, but he’s also got leverage in Edmure Tully who’s been in his dungeons for three seasons. It’s Cersei and Jaime vs. the world for like the fifth time. Dany reunites with Drogon and decides to stick with what she’s good at.

Commentary

GoT is going out of its way to get me talking about characters I rarely shine my personal spotlight on. Sure, Margaery’s got her power play(?) around the High Sparrow and her own family and the twincest Lannisters are back to reaffirming that they’re going to kill everyone who isn’t them, but it’s the stuff outside King’s Landing that caught my attention this time. Like the opening on Bran’s story - apparently the return of Benjen was meant to be a clever wink to book readers who’d been expecting him, but all I can think about is how terrible a deal Meera’s been given. She helped Bran go north of the Wall based on the visions of her brother, and ever since she’s been kidnapped, nearly raped, forced to watch her brother murdered, and then had to watch Summer and Hodor get torn apart by ice zombies as she dragged an unconscious teenage boy on a sled too heavy for her through a blizzard while still being pursued by the aforementioned zombies. I know almost everyone in this universe has a terrible lot because that’s just how it is, but still. 

Next up is Sam and Gilly at Horn Hill. I admit that I still don’t care about Sam or his dull little romance and found family, but it dawned on me that this is the first time that the Reach has actually appeared in the show. From my research I’ve picked out that House Tarly was influenced by provincial southern France in contrast to the decidedly Parisian Highgarden and House Tyrell, and GoT makes that evident in the design of Horn Hill and the fashions and behavior of its residence. Laying aside the usual issue of mostly Anglo actors portraying not!French characters I enjoyed this little window into the fashionably pastoral life of Sam’s family. It was considerably more interesting than almost anything else involving him has been, even with his father as starkly cruel as described. What a shame that this clearly isn’t going to be a recurring setting, although I understand that this close to the end the show doesn’t really have time for setting up a character’s background in so extensive a manner.

Last on my list of neglected storylines is one I brought up last time, now with something resembling a conclusion. Arya’s story has always felt like one of the most aimless ones, following her all over the place where she stumbles in and out of the company of various mentors and learns about herself and how to kill more effectively. The problem with this, aside from the general lack of focus, is that both her geographical and developmental momentum practically ground to a halt upon arriving in Braavos at the start of Season 5, with the House of Black and White offering her little more than multiple training montages, a bunch of cryptic lore dumps easily surpassed by those documentary-style shorts produced along with the show, and some ongoing friction between the vengeance that drives Arya and her baffling desire to become a killer with no identity and (allegedly) no opinion on whose time it is to die. This tension comes to a head with her latest mark, an actress portraying Cersei in a stage play parodying events in King’s Landing from the first through fourth seasons. By speaking with Lady Crane Arya comes to the realization that she has something in common with Cersei even though the woman has been on her hit list since Season 1, and this combined with her innate sense of justice leads her to refuse the job she’s been given and strike out from the Faceless Men. 

It’s a solid moment on its own and comes with some good meta commentary on the nature of adaptation and the roles that women occupy in this world, but while watching it I couldn’t help but think of how Arya had already learned sympathy for one of the people on her list before and had even admitted to such in her Faceless training. Of course the Hound is a less significant character than Cersei and certainly less of a villain, but unlike Cersei Arya had meaningful interaction with the Hound and actively chose not to kill him at a pivotal moment. All this time the show has been stacking Arya’s quest for vengeance with her sense of justice; she brutally murders Meryn Trant as he’s revealed to be even more loathsome than previously known, but she spares the Hound because he has a redemption arc coming after their wanderings and can’t bring herself to follow through with the Faceless assassination here. I know the end of Arya’s Braavos arc is coming very soon, as she’s got to get back to Westeros to kill a bunch of Freys and Littlefinger, etc., and here at the end of it I can’t help but think that the main thrust of her time there was just about pointless. What did she learn at the House of Black and White apart from a disguise trick, and how much more did she learn by happening to go backstage at a bawdy street play?

[qveenofthorns]

Brave, gentle, strong: there is only one (no really—I checked)

“When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong.” – Eddard Stark, Sansa III, AGOT

I’ve seen a lot of metas about textual evidence for Sandor being the BGS That Was Promised™, and I started wondering if there are any other candidates. What if we’re all so ~blinded~ by our ship that we missed something else right in front of us? I used A Search of Ice and Fire to check every single Sansa/Alayne chapter for these words (and variations of them) to see if she thinks of anyone else using all of these terms.  

Here are all of the of the uses sorted by character/chronologically (excluding the times she tells Sweetrobin that he’s brave and strong or she tells herself to be brave like Robb):

Joffrey

1. “It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold.” Sansa I, AGOT

Okay, so I think we can discount this one given the context of Ned’s “brave and gentle and strong” quote, but I really wanted to cover all the bases. It’s also a pretty superficial assessment, moulding him to fit the part in which she’s cast him based on the songs.

Barristan Selmy

1. “One knight wore an intricate suit of white enameled scales, brilliant as a field of new-fallen snow, with silver chasings and clasps that glittered in the sun. When he removed his helm, Sansa saw that he was an old man with hair as pale as his armor, yet he seemed strong and graceful for all that. From his shoulders hung the pure white cloak of the Kingsguard.” Sansa I, AGOT

This one is also an extremely obvious no, though it is still interesting. Despite being old, he seems like a knight from the songs and we see the Kingsguard cloak for the first time in a Sansa POV.  

Sandor

1. “She stepped backward and bumped into someone. Strong hands grasped her by the shoulders, and for a moment Sansa thought it was her father, but when she turned, it was the burned face of Sandor Clegane looking down at her, his mouth twisted in a terrible mockery of a smile.” Sansa I, AGOT

This is after she first sees Ser Ilyn Payne, whom she finds terrifying. Her initial response to Sandor’s touch is positive and this won’t be the last time she backs into him when she’s afraid.

2. “Sandor Clegane scooped her up around the waist and lifted her off the featherbed as she struggled feebly. Her blanket fell to the floor. Underneath she only had a thin bed gown to cover her nakedness. ‘Do as you’re bid, child,’ Clegane said. ‘Dress.’ He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently.” Sansa VI, AGOT

This is the first BGS occurrence since her conversation with Ned. She’s depressed and suicidal and hasn’t bathed in who-knows-how-long after his death. Joffrey has demanded she get dressed and bathe or else “his Hound” will do it for her. She still asks that Joff leave her alone and doesn’t move, at which point he orders Sandor to get her out of bed.

3. “‘Here, girl.’ Sandor Clegane knelt before her, between her and Joffrey. With a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he dabbed at the blood welling from her broken lip.” Sansa VI, AGOT

Not only is he being gentle with her here, he also just prevented her from committing a murder/suicide.

4. “‘True knights,’ he mocked. ‘And I’m no lord, no more than I’m a knight. Do I need to beat that into you?’ Clegane reeled and almost fell. ‘Gods,’ he swore, ‘too much wine. Do you like wine, little bird? True wine? A flagon of sour red, dark as blood, all a man needs. Or a woman.’ He laughed, shook his head. ‘Drunk as a dog, damn me. You come now. Back to your cage, little bird. I’ll take you there. Keep you safe for the king.’ The Hound gave her a push, oddly gentle, and followed her down the steps. By the time they reached the bottom, he had lapsed into a brooding silence, as if he had forgotten she was there.” Sansa II, ACOK

The serpentine encounter is the perfect example of the walking, talking dichotomy that is Sandor Clegane. “Iron fingers” catch her wrist and prevent her from falling down the steps and he makes a joke about how she’s trying to kill them both (something to consider for the future, Sandor: you’re the one lurching out of hidden doorways in the middle of the night, so maybe that’s part of the problem). She says he’s hurting her but he doesn’t let go of her wrist. Then he makes some inappropriate comments about her body and asks her to sing him a song about knights and fair maidens (because he’s a closet sappy romantic like that) because she likes knights. She says she likes true knights and then we come in at the quote. So we go from scary drunk who’s holding her wrist too tight and coming on to her sexually (the only time he ever does) to immediately realizing he’s way out of line, going back to gentle touches and promises to keep her safe. He also lies to protect her from Boros Blount on the very next page. I think it’s fairly safe to say his brooding is primarily about two things: kicking himself over how he just acted, and the “keep you safe for the king” part (he knows Joff well enough to realize that the king is the biggest threat to her safety). In a Daenerys ACOK chapter, she says of Jorah, “Sometimes he thinks of me as a child he must protect, and sometimes as a woman he would like to bed….” I reread that chapter the other day and couldn’t help but think of SanSan and this scene in particular.  

5. “The Hound pulled her to her feet, not ungently.” Sansa III, ACOK

This is at the beginning of the scene where she’s beaten and stripped by Boros Blount. While he’s gentle with her in that moment and does tell Joffrey to stop later, his inaction on this occasion is the biggest regret of his life and he cries about it on his “deathbed.”

6. “A stab went through her, so sharp that Sansa sobbed and clutched at her belly. She might have fallen, but a shadow moved suddenly, and strong fingers grabbed her arm and steadied her.” Sansa IV, ACOK

Okay, so I’m kind of convinced that Sandor spends all of his free time stalking her (because he doesn’t know how to handle the fact that he has positive feelings for another human being?). He’s always lurking in shadows, only to pop out to save her from falling. How often does he hide in the shadows near her that we just never see?

7. “She made herself look at that face now, really look. It was only courteous, and a lady must never forget her courtesies. The scars were not the worst part, nor even the way his mouth twitches. It’s his eyes. She had never seen eyes so full of anger. ‘I… I should have come to you after,’ she said haltingly. ‘To thank you, for… for saving me… you were so brave.’” Sansa IV, ACOK

Ugh, I just have so many feels about this interaction. Between these two quotes, Sandor bb gets sad because she’s scared of him and “still can’t bear to look,” so he lashes out. “He is a dog, just as he says. A half-wild, mean-tempered dog that bites any hand that tries to pet him, and yet will savage any man who tries to hurt his master.” Yes, because he is an ABUSED dog and no one has every tried to pet him before so he’s getting very confused. I’m getting side-tracked by the feels so I’ll stop myself here.

8. “Of late Ser Osmund had taken Sandor Clegane’s place by Joffrey’s side, and Sansa had heard the women at the washing well saying that he was as strong as the Hound, only younger and faster. If that was so, she wondered why she had never once heard of these Kettleblacks before Ser Osmund was named to the Kingsguard.” Sansa VI, ACOK

I considered also including this under the Kettleblacks, but decided against it because she’s not the one saying they’re strong. Her attitude here feels similar to her attitude during the first unkiss mention (“these other girls/women are so silly—I have the Hound and what they have is inferior”).

9. “He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened.” Sansa VII, ACOK

This one typically gets left out because it doesn’t exactly portray him in a positive light, but I’m trying to include everything, good and bad. I have some thoughts on this re: the unkiss, but this isn’t the place for that. Short version: it would have been very easy for GRRM to write something like “she wished he wouldn’t,” but instead he wrote “wanting it to be over.” I’m not saying she wanted him to kiss her in that moment, but she didn’t not want him to kiss her either (or it could be a “just get it over with” scenario).

Tyrion

1. “Sansa watched him walk off, his body swaying heavily from side to side, like something from a grotesquerie. He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too. He’s still a Lannister, her brother and Joff’s uncle, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father’s head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.” Sansa I, ACOK

“More gently than Joffrey” is a pretty low bar. Overall, not a very glowing review of Tyrion: he’s not a monster, but he’s grotesque, can’t be trusted, and could turn into a monster later.

Osmund Kettleblack

1. “Sansa tried to run, but Cersei’s handmaiden caught her before she’d gone a yard. Ser Meryn Trant gave her a look that made her cringe, but Kettleblack touched her almost gently and said, “Do as you’re told, sweetling, it won’t be so bad. Wolves are supposed to be brave, aren’t they?” Sansa III, ASOS  

If you didn’t have déjà vu while reading this, something is wrong because this is almost EXACTLY the same as a Sandor moment included on this list. (“‘Do as you’re bid, child,’ Clegane said. ‘Dress.’ He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently.”) HOWEVER, I don’t think Sandor would have been so chill in this particular situation. This is as she’s being dragged off to marry Tyrion and seeing as finding out Sansa had married Tyrion made Sandor suicidal, well, that’s a thought for another day. Between this and Sandor #8, I feel like there’s potential for a SanSan meta solely comparing Sandor and the Kettleblacks. (Someone else please write that—I’m only even doing this because I have mild writer’s block on a fic and needed a break.)

Ser Dontos

1. “‘Not far.’ Ser Dontos took her hand in his own and rubbed it gently. “Your friend is near, waiting for you.’” Sansa V, ASOS

This is while she and Dontos are escaping after Joffrey’s murder. It’s mentioned that they take the serpentine steps at one point. See Sandor #4 for another important interaction there.

Petyr Baelish

1. “He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too… and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle… but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she’d known at King’s Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei’s ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters we’d her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.” Sansa I, AFFC

Wow, so there’s a lot to unpack here but most of it isn’t relevant to this post. However, this is one of the many times she compares Sandor favorably to other men.

2. “‘Forgive her, my lords,’ Petyr Baelish said softly. ‘She still has nightmares of that day. Small wonder if she cannot bear to speak of it.’ He came up behind her and put his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘I know how hard this is for you, Alayne, but our friends must hear the truth.’ Her throat felt so dry and tight it almost hurt to speak.” Sansa I, AFFC

I see two SanSan parallels in this brief passage. Putting his hands on her shoulders from behind reminds me of her first interaction with Sandor and her throat hasn’t been “dry and tight” since the Blackwater. All of the language in the Blackwater scene is highly sexual, but here, those are the only words that stand out and I only noticed them because they’ve been used before.

Lothor Brune

1. “Sober, he was a quiet man, but a strong one. And Petyr says he’s loyal.” Alayne II, AFFC

The only thing I’ll say about Lothor is that Sansa also compares him to Sandor/he triggers memories about Sandor (ex: the incident with Marillion where she thinks it might be the Hound saving her for a moment before she realizes that’s impossible).

Here’s a chart for the visual learners

Conclusion: Sandor is the only man worthy of Sansa, as per her father’s parameters

While, just like Sansa, “I knew the Hound would win,” I didn’t expect the results to be this conclusive. He hits all three points while no one else scores above a two. SANDOR BB IS THE ONLY ONE WHO MEETS MORE THAN ONE CRITERIA. SHE NEVER DESCRIBES ANOTHER MAN AS BRAVE. NOT ONCE. ONLY HIM. She talks about brave men in general, but he is the only specific man she ever calls brave.* And it’s not internal monologue like all of the other instances I’ve outlined—she’s saying it aloud, thanking him to his face. And it’s also worth noting that several of the occasions she describes another man as gentle or strong are callbacks to interactions with Sandor. Knowing GRRM, there’s no way that’s an accident. So SanSan is endgame or GRRM is the world’s biggest troll. Either way, my heart hurts.

*While bravery only shows up once in this analysis, Sansa does frequently describe women (herself included) as being brave and also reminds herself to be brave a lot (that whole weird thing where GRRM writes female characters like actual people instead of accessories to the men in their lives).

[tyrionxsansa-tenxdonna]

Chapter 1. No title so far.

His head was pounding, the last thing Tyrion remembered was sitting at his desk going over wedding expenses and then getting hit in the temple with something metal.

Shaking his head the first thing he observed was he was in a dungeon. It looked like the dungeons below the red keep but why would he be there had Joffery or his father finally decided he was no more of use to them. Looking around the large cell he could just make out a markings on the wall one looked liked a direwolf sigil and the other a snake.  He turned his head to the wall in front of him and froze; in the deem touch light he saw a body laying on the other side of the large cell. His heart skipped a beat, the body had auburn hair. His wife Sansa was laying flat on her stomach motionless. He tried to run over to her but was cut short by chains on his wrists.

He tried to wiggle his hands free from the chain but it was no use they were securely locked on his wrists. Tyrion didn't understand had his father found out they hadn't consummated the marriage, if so he now feared what had happened to Tysha would happen to Sansa. No my father wouldn't do this Sansa is high-born. It has to be Joffery.  Which did nothing to subside his fears. He knew Joffery had some weird fascination with his wife but would he really go this far. He wasn't sure. Maybe.

Focusing on his unconscious bride before him he could see the she was bleeding from a head wound. His blood boiled. In his anger he vowed to whichever gods that were listening that whoever did this would pay. He couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. Which made him even more scared for her wellbeing. “Sansa.” He whispered her name hoping to not draw  unwanted attention to any guards who may be outside their cell. She remained still.

He could feel panic start to rise up in him as he again tried to free himself but it was no use the chains wouldn't budge. Cursing Tyrion turned around and punched to wall behind him. He felt so useless, if only he was like Jamie this probably wouldn't have happened. His hand stung and became red from the punch.

A noise caught his attention Tyrion looked over at Sansa and saw that she was starting to wake up. Standing he went as far the chains would allow. “Sansa?” He tried again to get her attention to look at her face. She lifted her head but he couldn't see anything because her hair got in the way. Sansa’s hand came up and brushed her hair away. He could see where she had a mark on her face from laying on the stone floor. Blue eyes meet green. She looked scared; more scared than he's ever seen her show. “Sansa. It's going to be okay.”  Tyrion didn't know if he was trying to calm her or himself.

Her eyes landed on him she looked confused. She ran over to him but was cut short by a chain around her ankle. Her body slammed on the ground. “Sansa are you alright?” He could feel a pit in his stomach with each word. Straining against the chains trying to get to her he could see her pulling herself up. Her lip was busted from the impact. “How did you get here?” She whispered sounding scared. She had retreated back to the wall leaning with her knees to her chin.

“I'm not sure. I was in my solar and then was hit from behind.” He explained.  Sansa still looked at him confused. He wished he could read her mind to see what was going on in her head right now.

He sat down the chains making it difficult.  “Sansa, I promise you I won't let them hurt you.” He said it with assurances.  But she didn't look any less scared. In fact she looked even more scared as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“No, you have to promise me you won't say anything to make these people angry?” Confused now he asked, “Do you know who did this?” Looking away from him she nodded.

“He’s worse than Joffery and the Mad King.”  His blood ran cold at that statement. How could anyone be worse than the Mad King? Tyrion looked around the cell once more and his eyes fell again on that snake craving on the wall he knew he had seen it before. Then it clicked. That mark had been found on Ser Maryn Trant after he was found dead and then again during the mob when Sandor said that when he found Sansa the four men who followed her were dead as well, but no one could find out who did it. He had people on that for weeks with no luck.

“He's the Mad King in this world. I don't understand how you got here though.” She looked at him like he was a puzzle; he wasn't sure what she was saying. Before he could question her the door opened. Sansa moved as far from the door as the chain would allow. He stood preparing for who it was but Tyrion  couldn't believe what he was seeing as Robb Stark strolled in with a baby dragon on his shoulder followed by a dwarf with his face covered. “Who are you?” He demanded. Robb glared at him and sneered “Quiet Lannister.” The dwarf walked into the cell stopping dead center of it. He motioned for Robb to come in to the room. The boy did as he was bid dropping a iron bucket beside the dwarf. Inside the bucket was coal and logs. Handing off the dragon the imp finally spoke the voice sounding all too familiar “Dracarys.” The dragon poured flames from his mouth igniting the contents inside. The dwarf handed off the dragon and motioned with his hand to Robb. The young wolf bowed his head and left them alone.

Sansa started to cry and shake. And again for the second time that night he felt useless. He looked at the man standing in front of them. He was the same height as him. He clapped his hands together and removed the scarf from around his face. It wasn't his burned face that gave Tyrion pause but he felt like  he seemed to be looking in a mirror minus the burns. “Shall we get started?” His burned twin asked.

Ok. That's it tell me what you th ink if you have any questions just ask?

[fictional-guns]

Warinings: Strong language English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes :/ Chapter One: I laid over the shoulder from the Hound, and he carried me, back to the Red Keep. I had no force to say something at the moment. I only had the feeling that my ribs where hurting and my face was slightly swollen.Then I noticed he sat me on a bench against the wall. So before he left I took all my strength that was left and came back when I sat and ask:"Sansa?" He looked back at me. "The little bird is save. Like you now." I nodded slightly and wanted to wait til the pain in my torso stops, so that I could go back to look after my lady. But it doesn't stop, I sat there without help, without any person. I could've cried, but I won't it was not the first time that someone want to beat the shit out of me. "M'lady are you ok?" a worried voice spoke to me. I looked to the side where Tyrion Lannister stand. I think he only said M'lady 'cause it was an Situation that is maybe confusing so he spoke in titles. "Why you asked for a fucking maid? She doesn't deserve it. No ones looked after me." I heard the king complain. Tyrion rolles his eyes and meant:"Although she's not an high grace like you that doesen't mean we shouldn't take care of them. She is the maid of your fiancée Sansa. It is important that her personal maid is able to work for her." I believed that he knows that I am one of those less real friends she had here, and he wasn't a man that would take away a little girls friends. "Hound bring her to the measter, now." he commanded. The big Hound stand up and came to me. But he doesn't threw me over his shoulder like last time. He tried to be gentle. He picked me up like bridal style and my tiny hands clutched around his neck. You could here the screaming voices and the helpless people. It was loud much too loud for my mind. So I closed my eyes and hoped that the noises would go away. And yeah they were going to be quiet, so quite I only could here the steps of the man that carried me and his heavy breathing. With his legs he opened the door from Grandmaester Pycelle. The old man was confused that the Hound came in he sat me down onto the patient table. "Take care of her. Command from Lord Tyrion." the Hound said to him. I didn't like Pycelle much, he was more intereseted to see parts and touch parts of woman that he shouldn't see or touch. "What happned to her, is only her face hurting?" he asked the Hound. Before he coud went out of the door. "She beat her badly, maybe her ribs could be broken. When can I come back?" he answered and asked the next question. "One hour." the maester meant. So the Hound went out and the maester was doing his work. "Open your dress, honey. We want see if your ribs are really broken." he said. When I was honest I wouldn't like to do such a thing but I had no choice. I opened the fabric of my dress but hold it so that he only could see the part where it was hurting. But his eyes glanced for a look to my chest. So he bandaged my rips and torso. he gave me an ointment for my swolling parts that  had on my face. And he meant I should wait til the Hound is comming in again. I realy asked myself why the Hound want bring me back to my chambers. It wasn't like that I was a lady or smething. I was just a maid. But then he stepped in. "Come on little maid." he just said and picked me up again. He knew what Pycelle was and although he took care of me that he always tried to touch things and that was what the Hound knew. he brought me to my room and laid me into my bed. But before he could sat me up I said:"Thank you, Ser." "I am not a Ser." he said. "I know." I answered, my voice just so small in compare to his, so quite. "Then why you call me like that." he asked. "You are more Ser than many other knights I know." was my final words. He only looked at me and if I did not fancy it he had a smile in his dark eyes. "You should stay in bed, 'til your are able to workd again." he told me and went out. He didn't know that I couldn't stay in bed until I was able to do something again. I was a maid, always ready to work and to serve. I know that Sansa would say it was ok for her, but she need me and Shae. Ok Shae could do a few days my work with, but I need to go to the taverne next day, to earn some money. Although I could get as maid a chamber and food it was still not enough because someday I want to go somwhere else, I didn't want to stay in this shitty city. But my head was to dizzy to think about that the whole time because of that milk of poppy I got. I had and quite sleep and I didn't wake up til the next morning. When I was about to get up lady Sansa and Shae stepped in. "(Y/N), you shouldn't get up." she said with a worried look. And Shae helped me to get to my bed. "But I can't stay in bed all day long." I answered. "Your ribs are broken you can't work. It is really ok, if you are about to get some rest." she said. "It would be really better when you stay here." Shae added. I sighed. "If the King and Cersei find out. I would get an punishment." I said. "I will take care of that problem." my lady said. "No, you have enough Problems with that little monster you call fiance." I said. "Really (Y/N), stay in bed it is an order." Sansa commanded. "Your grace it is really lovely from you, but I am a maid I have to do my work." I tried to make her understand. "I can do your work while you are get some rest ok? And I will bring your food and something. It's not a big deal (Y/N)." She smiled. I smiled back. "But only for a few days." I said. and laid my head back into the pillows. Sansa got out with Shae and smiled at me. "Get well, (Y/N). And thank you, that your tried to help me, although you get in danger too." she thanked me. I nodded to her. And then I got some sleep again. During the day it was nothing special. Shae brought me food, and sometimes I drank a bit of the potion the maester gave me. But now it was late evaning so I had to get up. I got dressed in a one of my few same red servent dresses and went out of my chambers. My feet find the way through the floors until I was by the taverne. I saw a few faces that were not foreign. Like Bronn, Meryn Trant, a few other guards and the Hound. "Glad that you came to your shift, (Y/N)." my boss said. "Yeah, need money, you know." I answered but smiled. "When you can't take it longer make a break ok?" he advised me. I simpley nodded and take a jug with wine. I gave in gradually, and when I was by the Hound, I wanted to thank him again, because yesterday I was too weak. Before my steps went to him to make his cup full he looked at me, slightly worried but he doesn't said anything. "Some wine?" I asked him. He nodded and I bend over to gave him some wine. "That's up to me." I said to him. "You dosen't need to gave me a favor girl." he meant. "But I want. It's just not enough only to say thank you, for someone who saved me. If I can't do anything for you tell me." I said to him. I wasn't afraid of the Hound, yeah he was a killing machine but he wasn't a man that would hurt a tiny girl. I stand before him. And I decided to do something no one woud have done. I leaned to his face an gave him an short kiss on his cheek. Although it was his burned side. Some of the guard yelled and said something like:"Wow, the dog got a bitch for him." but I didn't care. He should know that he isn't such a monster, for me he is not a monster. I went away and do my work the whole night long. Although my ribs were hurting an pulsating, but I need that money. Some of those guards were much too drunk, but like I, I wasn't really careful so I poured some wine on his pants. "Sorry my lord. It was not intentional. Please forgive me." I excused me fast and looked to ground. "Are you serouis? Stupid girl. Maybe you shoudl get a lesson." he warned. "A lesson my lord?" I asked while I was starring on the ground. And than he grabbed mm by my waist and threw me on his lap. His rough hand squeezed the side, exactly there where my ribs was hurt. "I am sorry Ser, don't hurt me anymore." I said with a whining voice. The whole room was quite and watched. "Don't hurt you? I will break the other ribs too girl, if you don't do what I want." he threatend me. "W-w-what you will do?" I asked in fear. "I will fuck you this night, in your sweet little cunt. And then I let my friends fuck you." he whispered but loud enough that all could heard it. "But I am a virgin, Ser. It would not really be gentleman like." I tried to change his opnion. "Better than I thought a virgin is tight." he laughed. And beat me into my ribs. I fell to the ground and was nearly about to cry. Then he wanted to grab me again and he looked into my face. He wanted to hit me. But before that could happen some stepped in. "Let go of that girl." Sandor yelled at him. The drunk man watched the Hound. "Why I should, that stupid bitch-" he began to speak. But Sandor let his fist punch into his face. He fell to the ground. "Look what a coward are you? Beat up little girls like her. Bet you piss in your pants when I would put my sword out."  the Hound threatend. But the drunk guard was sure he could be better than Sandor. "When someon is pissing in his pants than it is you. They call you the Hound, the only thing I see is a puppy." he provocate him. Than Sandor took him by his throat and pushed him against the wall so the man wasn't standing on the ground. " You little piece of shit. Don't you understand I could kill you with my own hands. And all see what a shitty knight you are." he made fun of him. Sandors hand went tighter on his throat. The man was panicing. and he trembled and his hands tried to get the hand of the Hound away. "I am sorry, I am sorry." he yelled so loud he could but it was only a whisper that escape his mouth. Sandor let him down. The man ran out the taverne. And Sandor came to me. "Her shift is over." he said and take me with him. My boss looked slightly shoked but nodded to the Hound. When we were out he asked angered":Why are you so stupid and go to work girl? You shouldn't go work here when you are ill like this." "I have to. I need money. I need it." I said to him. His both hands where on my shoulders and he turned myself to him. "Why? It is so important that you want get in danger?" he asked. "I want to leave, somday I want to have enough money to leave this fucking shit city they call capital." I cursed and my feelings nearly overhelmed me. It was hard to live here. "Where will you go? You have no one." he said and let go of my shoulders. "I don't know, only away from this shit. I can take care of myself." I meant. He chuckled. "Take care of yourself? If I would not had punched him, now you would lie with this man in his bed and his friend would rape you." he make me clear. "I have no other choice, Sandor." I said louder. He didn't expect that I call him by his forename. "The porblem is you are braver than you should be. And that's why you glide into something like this what happend." he confronted me. "I am not brave. I am just a servent girl..." I sighed. His eyes were disappointed. "Thank you again Ser. And sleep well." was the last thing I said before I went away from him.

[asongoftasandfire]

@thencrtherngirl

                   The words struck her as…oddly sentimental, given the nature of the man- I want a baby. Of course, an heir was what any lord wanted, logically, but he said he wanted a baby, and she could almost imagine the giant of a man handling a small infant with something nearing grace and care, the child dwarfed in his large hands. It was a lovely image that softened him at the edges for almost a whole minute, before it was gone, and reality replaced it.

       Because of course, one didn’t simply go out to a shop and buy an heir. One made an heir. And the process, with the Mountain, seemed the kind that a woman might not live through. Either the making of the child, or the birthing of it.

“ Ah…of course, that is something most men put their minds to, or so I’m told, ser. ”

“You won’t be my first wife, ye know.” he said. “But the other one’s didn’t give me sons.” he said. “You’ll do better. You’ve been beat by Meryn Trant, they tell me.” he said. “Was that before or after the king decided he didn’t want to put his royal babies in a traitor girl?”

“Don’t give me that sulking look. At least they didn’t give you to the Hound. He cries after he fucks a girl.” He let out a short, barking laugh. “So does the girl.”

[sailtheplains]

A mix of shots but wow, remember when King Bobby B first showed up.  I don’t think Arya has grown at all. That poor kid is so short. 

Also wow does Jon look like Lyanna in that screenshot

[coolhandlaz]

My Top 15 Episodes of Game of Thrones

As this wonderful series comes to a close, I’ve decided to list my top 15 favorite episodes. Which moments were your favorites?

Honorable Mention(s)

Episode 209: “Blackwater”

The first major battle in the series showcases Tyrion Lannister acting as a hero to the people of King’s Landing as well as exposing Joffrey as cowardly. Fire and ships abound, this episode is a precursor to the intensity that is to follow.

Episode 306: “The Climb”

Much is at play this episode, setting up a variety of showdowns that would happen at later episodes. The reason this episode makes the list for me is Petyr Baelish’s speech to Varys at the end. This speech explains everything there is to know about his worldview and it is expertly written, delivered, and gives double meaning to the episode title.

Varys: “What do we have left when we abandon the lie? Chaos…a gaping pit waiting to swallow us all.”

Baelish: “Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder.” 

Episode 703:  “The Queen’s Justice”

The first meeting between Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen sets in motion a chain of events that culminates in the episode entitled “The Bells”. Cersei puts an end to the sand snakes of Dorne while the rest of the Lannister forces over run the castle at Highgarden. Olenna Tyrell delivers a blow to Jaime, the news that she was the one that poisoned his son Joffrey. 

“Tell Cersei. I want her to know it was me.”

Episode 704: “The Spoils of War”

Daenerys lays waste to a Lannister loot train as a counter to their taking of Highgarden. The visuals are punishing as we witness the full firepower of Drogon but also of Dany’s rage.

TOP 15

15.) Episode 605: “The Door”

The White Walkers attack Bran Stark and the the Three-Eyed Raven and we learn how Hodor came to be. 

14.) Episode 406: “The Laws of Gods and Men”

Tyrion is put on trail for Joffrey’s murder and spits venom at the city he once protected at Blackwater. It ends with Peter Dinklage giving one of the greatest speeches in the series, before demanding a trial by combat.

13.) Episode 509: “The Dance of Dragons”

An episode filled with horror and heroics. Still feeling like he was chosen by the lord of light, Stannis Baratheon burns his daughter alive, feeling the sacrifice was necessary. In the fighting pits of Meereen, Daenerys is ambushed by the Sons of the Harpy, but is rescued by Drogon, who makes a triumphant return.

12.) Episode 510: “Mother’s Mercy”

In the finale of the fifth season, we see Cersei making her march of atonement, the recreation of the Mountain, Arya assassinating Meryn Trant, and Myrcella getting poisoned by the sand snakes. But it was Jon Snow getting murdered by his own men of the Night’s Watch which is the lasting memory of the episode.

11.) Episode 109: “Baelor”

This episode set the tone for the rest of the series as our main protagonist, Ned Stark, is decapitated at the order of Joffrey. Arya flees and begins her journey toward becoming one of the greatest heroes of House Stark.

10.) Episode 508: “Hardhome”

Jon heads north to warn the Wildlings of the impending White Walker attack. After a fierce battle, they witness the Night King resurrect the fallen, serving as a warning about an impending invasion.

9.) Episode 402: “The Lion and the Rose”

A lavish wedding is held to wed King Joffrey Baratheon to Margaery of House Tyrell. During the ceremony, Joffrey is poisoned setting off a chain of events in the season that would lead to Tyrion Lannister executing his father and leaving King’s Landing.

8.) Episode 408: “The Mountain and the Viper”

Jorah is exiled by Daenerys for spying on her. Ramsay is legitimized as a Bolton. Oberyn Martell fights the Mountain on behalf of Tyrion in a trial by combat. Oberyn is brutally murdered after demanding the Mountain confess to the rape and murder of his sister. 

7.) Episode 410: “The Children”

Brienne of Tarth battles the Hound, leaving him seemingly for dead. Arya heads to Braavos. Tyrion kills Shae after finding her in his father’s bedroom. Soon after, he executes his father and flees King’s Landing.

“I will always be your son.”

6.) Episode 610: “The Winds of Winter”

Cersei destroys the Sept of Baelor with wildfire, killing the Tyrells as well as the Sparrows. Tommen commits suicide. Arya ends Walder Frey. Jon is declared King in the North. Cersei takes the throne. Dany makes her way to Westeros. But the turning moment is Bran learning that Jon was actually the son of Lyanna Stark, Ned’s sister.

5.) Episode 803: “The Long Night”

The Battle of Winterfell features the long awaited clash between the living and the dead with many of our heroes falling and Arya Stark finally saving the day with a dagger to the Night King’s heart.

4.) Episode 609: “Battle of the Bastards”

Jon Snow faces off against Ramsay Bolton at Winterfell in order to take back the North from the family that betrayed his at “The Red Wedding”. By the end, Sansa Stark delivers the final blow to Ramsay, marking a chilling end for one of the show’s most despicable characters.

3.) Episode 309: “The Rains of Castamere”

In one of the most shocking moments in television history, Stark blood was splattered across the walls of Walder Frey’s dining hall. “The Red Wedding” let us know that no one was safe in Game of Thrones.

“The Lannisters send their regards.”

2.) Episode 409: “The Watchers on the Wall”

Jon and the men of the Night’s Watch defend the Wall from a Wildling attack. Ygritte is killed and dies in Jon’s arms while many men die to keep the wall safe.

“I am the sword in the darkness. The watcher on the walls.”

1.) Episode 805: “The Bells”

Despite all the atrocities committed by both heroes and villains throughout the course of the show, nothing compares to what Daenerys unleashed upon the people of King’s Landing. This episode features a perfect portrayal of what happens when someone who suffers from a mental illness is pushed to the brink. And it was tragic. That makes this episode my favorite of a series with many great stories. 

“Let it be fear.” 

I wrote a short piece delving more into my opinions on “The Bells” and Daenerys specifically:

https://coolhandlaz.tumblr.com/post/184933022259/in-defense-of-daenerys-targaryen-and-why-the?fbclid=IwAR1yTSKha5mWKdJUt3sC9LqxFZXSDIOKSjns0Dt36HhVTGCtvrqEMeJ7tLk

Enjoy the finale. It’s been a great ride!