#your parent is a GOD a faceless god that you are to worship and follow without question. to not go against them or slight them in any way

[agentjepsen]

something something early seasons sam&dean when they were looking for john and wondering if he was even alive and then his death and every horrible thing that comes after it with the caption as “But there's no other explanation. He's gone for good.” “You're lying.”“Am I? Do you remember the twentieth century? Think the twenty-first is going any better? Do you think God would have let any of that happen, if he were alive?” something something

[goodqueenaly]

Hi again! I had a follow-up question from your response a while back about the waif’s origin story. I feel like this is probably a thorny topic so I want to be deliberate in how I phrase it. Do you think Would the Faceless Men perhaps not consider taking in the waif as part of an exchange as at odds with the anti-slavery stance of the city? To be clear, I don’t suggest her situation equivalent to slavery, but more in a general sense that a person is being traded away w/ their agency/life choice

I apologize for wording it insensitively.

I don’t think you worded it insensitively, myself.

Anyway, I think it is fair to consider the ethical implications of a society or institution which accepts people as payment for services. However, I think there are a few points to keep in mind here. Number one, I think the Faceless Men almost certainly consider slavery evil. When Arya angrily (and justifiably) complains that the historical first Faceless Man “should have killed the masters!" (emphasis in original), the kindly man replies that this first Faceless Man “[brought] the gift to them as well … [sic] but that is a tale for another day”. Likewise, TWOIAF advances a theory that the Doom was caused by the “assassinations of too many of the reputed mages who renewed and maintained the rituals that banked the fires of the Fourteen Flames”, which may indeed be (and I think likely is) the tale to which the kindly man alludes. Nor should this attitude on the part of the Faceless Men be particularly surprising for an institution centered in Braavos (and seemingly exclusively so), a city which both literally owes its existence to resistance to slavery and maintains a staunch anti-slavery position unique to the Free Cities.

Number two, the House of Black and White does operate, at least in some sense, as a religious temple. There is a long tradition in our own world of parents giving their children to a variety of religions or religious houses, to be raised as priests or other similarly dedicated figures within that faith, and this practice does not seem to be totally unknown in Terros either. While I don’t believe this happens with the House of Black and White on a super common basis - I think the Faceless Men specifically demanded the waif to temper the father’s incentive for murderous revenge in his prayer to Him of Many Faces - I could see where the House of Black and White has participated in a practice common enough to various religions. These children are not sold but rather, in the eyes of their parents and devotees of those respective faiths, offered to a particular god, for the service of that god. Likewise, while average Braavosi may not precisely worship Him of Many Faces, they certainly know about the services (for lack of a better term) offered at the House of Black and White and understand (so Jaqen H’gar informs Arya) the secret code to recognize and give proper deference to the assassin-priests of the Many-Faced God.

Number three, Arya’s own treatment by the House of Black and White, as well as the way the kindly man speaks about the waif, may suggest that the waif had (relatively speaking) a bit of agency in whether or not she became a full Faceless Men agent and assassin. On a number of occasions, the kindly man offers to let Arya go, to end her training as a Faceless Man and even to find her alternate employment in Braavos. Nor does the kindly man merely try to tempt Arya away from this life: he warns her in no uncertain terms that she must pay a heavy price, “all you have and all you ever hope to have”, if she should ever have a chance of joining their order. More to the the point, the kindly man informs Arya that the waif “gave Him [sic] all she was, all she ever might have been, all the lives that were within her” in order to become a Faceless Man herself. Put together, I think the waif may well have been afforded the same choice we see given to Arya, and told that to become a servant of the Many Faced God she would have to willingly surrender her entire self (not to mention pass all the associated training). While we cannot say for certain what specific alternatives the House of Black and White might have proposed (compared to, say, those the kindly man lists to Arya), I think it’s at least possible that at some point, the kindly man or another priest had a serious heart-to-heart with the waif and determined whether she could, and would, choose to become a Faceless Man.

[galvore]

➽ fundie!ayato x indoctrinated!reader ➽ 3.1k ➽ religious fundamentalism; bible verses, sacreligious undertones, abuse justified by religion, mindbreak and brainwashing, indoctrination, the whole cocktail, virgin!reader, afab!reader, forced tradfem roles, slight choking, rough sex, corruption, breeding, mentions of pregnancy but no actual pregnancy, free use, floor licking, humiliation and degradation, corporal punishment (bamboo stick), spanking, somnophilia, gaslighting and general manipulation.

・❥・ I tried to keep the reader's gender as neutral as possible but we all know fundamentalists like their gender roles, so the reader is still defined as being born a woman. this piece touches on a lot of beliefs of the subservient wife according to religions such as mormons, so you are warned here and are to accept you are exposing yourself to this content once you click on the read more.

・❥・ this is just madness at this point, please enjoy the fact I finally cited actual bible verses in one of my works.

"A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet. For Adam was formed first, then Eve. And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman who was deceived and became a sinner. But women will be saved through childbearing — if they continue in faith, love and holiness with propriety." - 1 Timothy 2:11-15

𝟏. 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞.

From childhood, you were brought up to always respect the authority of the Archons, who watched over the Inazuma region and gifted your people with a wonderful and luscious experience, always properly observing the holidays and celebrations, and making sure to punctually present your offerings in the times of worship. 

Having been born a female, you knew you could not bear the blessing of a vision with your frail and sinful will and duly followed your father’s teachings to learn the ways of the housewife so as not to disappoint the will of the gods. Whilst your brothers trained relentlessly in their adolescence, you were to stay at home and assist your mother in the kitchen, perfecting her recipes, following in her steps patching up their training clothes whenever they got tarnished during missions and learning how to keep a perfect household running steady. 

The only escape you were granted was dreaming of the moment your parents would present you with your future husband, the faceless figure you were indoctrinated to long for since old enough to comprehend your life wasn’t just yours, your existence was part of the bigger design drawn out by the Archon themselves, and to reject it would be to repute not only your entire being, but so the faith your family and clan were built upon, and such disgrace could simply not be an option, as the dishonour and disgrace you would curse yourself and your people would be immeasurable, so you chose to keep your head low and be keen, always keeping sweet, yearning for the day your prince would finally come to sweep you off your feet and take you away to make you his wife.

That day finally came a couple of years after your coming of age, during the spring celebrations, your clan had decided to host that year’s festival, lavishly decorating the entire compound to live up to the past festivities, full of colourful lanterns, lavish food stands littering the streets, wonderful activities for the guests at every corner and most important of all, the entire complex’s flora in full bloom. Amongst the falling petals of magnolia is where your father presented you to your future betrothed, a tall light blue haired man named Ayato Kamisato, his presence akin to a demigod, standing tall amongst the numerous personnel members accompanying him, he bowed in such a regal manner and held your hand with such gentleness before he whisked you away to accompany you through the festival, you couldn’t be more thankful for your father’s choice. 

And whilst he stepped away from you to gather some food to eat while you finally got to know each other since, in his words — a proper lady should not take part in such trivial matters like money —  you looked up at the night sky thanking the Archons for they had truly blessed you with such a godly husband.

𝟐. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐭.

The wedding preparations had been such a stressful endeavour for you, especially after discovering you were not marrying just a man, you were set to marry the head of the renowned Kamisato clan, this single information had been enough to send you spiralling into an endless pit of overthinking, questioning if you even were worthy enough to look upon such glorious and decorated man, doubting yourself if you were to ever be capable to fill the empty place at his side so many others, who you thought to be worthier than you, desperately longed for. 

Now, not only did you have to fulfil your destiny to become a godly wife, but you also had to uphold the honour of your clan as a chosen representative in front of the notorious family, not a single step nor word was to go unplanned so as not to fall in disappointment to the Kamisato clan’s members scrutiny.

The weeks prior to the ceremony had both your body and mind as tight as a string, ready to whine out in frustration at any inconvenience or problem you were presented with, from the dress not fitting properly and having to perform the proper wedding ritual perfectly replicating even the position of your toes, to the choice of which flowers and decorations to use as the banquet’s centrepieces. But as thin as you were stretched you never snapped nor wavered, always upkeeping your soft spoken and gentle facade you were taught was proper, in a weird way almost reflecting the one of your future husbands, already unconsciously stepping up to the role of a proper consort with each day that passed. 

The most worrisome inquiry though, remained the first night together, having been brought up on the notion you were to save yourself and remain pure for your future husband, as he was the one the gods assigned to educate you and guide you in your marriage, you had to remain so ignorant of the subject as not to taint your mind. Funnily enough, you weren’t even aware of the anatomical differences men and women were born with, even though you were brought up around your numerous brothers.

So much so that that night, when Ayato bared himself to you, after having thoroughly enjoyed unclothing you of the pure white cloth you were dressed with earlier in the morning, and having explored and marked your body with his mouth as to claim it as his for eternity to come, you were shocked to see his virility in all its glory. 

You were left so speechless and devoid of any thought he took it upon himself to guide you, opening you up with his slender fingers, closely examining every change of expression you would go through, your thanks and pleas for more of this foreign feeling only helping in arousing him more. 

But his gaze held darker thoughts behind the apparently enamoured facade.

Such a pure little thing, so beautiful, graceful, and most important of all, untouched. So sheltered and primed for him to corrupt and take apart, only for him to put back together with the way he ought to be more suitable to his tastes. He couldn’t wait much longer as he watched you writhe underneath his ministration, he knew he should have prepared your virgin cunt with better care so as to not make it hurt, but he was also sure you wouldn't have cared either way or better you couldn’t. So ignorant of sex and its mechanism he could manhandle you as he pleased, mistreat you and trick you into following his lead because your husband knew best, and you were to trust him and his every word, as that was the faith you were indoctrinated with.

Ayato had obtained many things in his life, his swordsmanship, his honour, the leadership of his clan and even the control of the Shuumatsuban, but all paled in comparison to claiming you, his cock sitting snugly inside you, slamming against your cervix with how brutally he was fucking you, your thighs clamped around his sharp hips, and one of his hands was free to roam and trace the bruises and teeth imprints he left with his mouth, whilst the other slowly wrapped around your throat, holding you right against the mattress perfectly still so he could watch your eyes roll back into your head as he finally let himself succumb to pleasure before passing out.

𝟑. 𝐀 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐭, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.

Every morning you would wake up in the Kamisato estate, you would thank the archons for looking down upon you and securing you with such a prosperous opportunity, before getting out of bed and allowing the maids to take over to aid you in getting ready for the long day ahead of you. The first thing on your list was to cook a fulfilling breakfast for your husband, even though his staff was plenty equipped to do so on their own, you couldn’t let your talents go to waste and so you settled for overseeing the cooking staff and guiding them into following your husband’s wishes for the day’s meals he communicated to you the night before.  

After helping him dress and get ready for the day you would bid him goodbye at the door like a proper wife would as he’d leave the household to tend to his duties as clan leader, leaving you to arrange the homely duties, such as staff shifts, organising events for the fellow clan’s members, basically just busying yourself with all possible tasks related to the household or social norms whilst waiting for your beloved to come home.

It was not uncommon or out of place to talk about children as a married couple, especially if you considered it was part of Ayato’s duty as the clan leader to conceive a male heir, to continue the bloodline, but after the first night as a married couple your husband had started to demand for you to let him breed you regularly as to ensure an offspring as soon as possible, which you didn’t quite understand the purpose of, considering you thought that only one time would have been enough according to your threadbare knowledge of basic biology, but he’s your husband, after all, he knows best. 

You’d be a bad wife if you questioned him.

So you always happily obliged, flipping up your skirts and bending over the dresser every morning to let him cum inside you, always making sure to thank him for gifting you his seed to impregnate you, before picking up your discarded underwear and making sure it fit snug enough around your entrance as not to waste any of your husband’s precious gift. 

You had learned that if you managed not to spill any down your thighs during the day he would reward you by giving you a subsequent second round of breeding, many times have you ride him right at the dinner table as a form of personalised dessert as he liked to call it, uncaring of the many eyes observing you from the walls of the grand dining room, all the while praising you for being such a good subservient wife for him, his precious blessing gifted to him by the Archons.

However, if you didn’t, he would ensure to remind you that wasting such a precious thing like the Kamisato’s seed had consequences, making sure to have you personally clean any spillage by licking it up yourself from the floor under his supervision, and with each misspent drop, you could be sure to anticipate at least five strikes of his trusted bamboo stick he liked to keep in his office, sitting right before the outer edge of his desk, always ready for him to be put to use as he saw fit, to keep all of the people the gods had put below him in check.

𝟒. 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

Your parents and elders had indoctrinated you with the belief that your husband was to be considered as holy as the god themselves, anything he chose for you was for your own good as he knew better since he was born a man, made in the image of the gods themselves, and so above you. Everything he did was for the greater good, he knew how to decipher the design the gods had in plan for both of you and nothing would stray him from fulfilling the glory you two were destined to obtain.

Hence why, when you awoke for the first time from a foreign pulsing sensation, somewhat panicking at the unusual weight you were feeling constrained under, only to realise your husband had decided, unbeknownst to you, to use your sleeping body to satisfy his burning desire, you simply let him. 

You didn’t object nor even so moved a single finger, happy to lay there and let him use you as he saw fit, after all that’s what you were taught. Always be a good wife, lenient and pliant for your husband, you are just a tool for him to reach his true godly glory in the eternal life, after all, you are there to aid him into leaving a legacy for the future to witness and as such you should always be ready for him, conscient or not.

And as you laid there, balancing on the edge between sleep and awake, you listened to him talking down onto you, how you laying there oh so peacefully had tempted him, that your body being sprawled in such provoking position had caused him to have sinful thoughts and because of them he needed to punish you by using you and could cleanse himself of his sin if and only he managed to finish inside of you. All the while battering your insides, uncaring of any discomfort you might have to face in the following morning, his gaze zeroed in on your soft features, never stopping the venom spilling from his mouth.

But like any good and righteous wife would, you apologised to him, apologised for your sins with half asleep mumbles you barely managed to conjure up from your slumber plagued throat, croaking feeble asks for his forgiveness, to please not hate how his wife could not restrain her sinful temperament as it was your original sin and cross to bear in existence when the gods created you to be born as a woman, that you would do anything and everything to help him cleanse his being, starting from letting him use your body to expel this deplorable affliction, with each and any hole he decided to use to rid himself of his disgraceful lust.

𝟓. 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲.

There were many things you still didn’t quite understand about your marriage, considering the only example of a relationship you ever witnessed up close was the one between your parents, but you thought each clan had to have their own traditions, or at least that’s what you would tell yourself every time your faith even threatened to waver in front of your husband’s actions. 

You wondered if your mother had to go through the same treatments as you as you stood in front of your bathroom mirror tracing the marks Ayato would leave behind on your innocent body early in the morning, in those brief moments before he woke up, the only window of time you had to think of yourself before quickly hiding the bruises underneath layers of eccentric fabrics, along with those shameful thoughts, and scurrying off to the kitchen to see if his breakfast was ready to be served.

You pondered on why exactly your beloved husband would feel the need to punish you so cruelly before the bout of doubtful thoughts got shattered by the sharp impact of the bamboo against the flesh of your ass, quickly washing away any considerations and substituting them with meek and genuine apologies for the inexcusable behaviour you were guilty of, knowing it was your place to submit and obey to your husband, and the consequences of not adhering to said conditions were to be felt and earned on your bare skin.

You constantly asked yourself was truly what the gods meant for you, every time he would choose to bend you over and empty his balls inside you, at the most random moments of the day, in any setting private enough for him to do so, uncaring if the mansion’s servants were present or not, if this was truly your greatest calling, if because of how you were born you couldn't have had any higher inspiration in life than to bear your husband’s descendants, if being used akin to a breeding cattle was your one and only purpose.

But you never voiced these complaints, always remembering the mantra that had been ingrained into your brain since you were born, you were to keep sweet and so you did. Always remaining perfectly pliant, bending and jumping over backwards to carry out each of your husband’s requests, and making sure you would deliver in the most godful way.

After all, you were born into this world just a mere woman, your private doubts were of course the seed of sin that had been planted in you by the evil polluting this world, tainting your form and impeding you from achieving the greater good and that’s what made you unworthy of being above your husband. The meddlesome hesitancy that underlined your very being was to be ignored and shoved down like a bitter pill to swallow, you were born a sinful being in your essence, tainted at birth by this cruel world, unlike your husband, who was born godly and blessed.

Who were you to go against his teachings and beliefs but a mere flawed being. 

And so you didn’t. You made sure to be soft-spoken and kind mannered and kept sweet, always prim and proper for Ayato to use as he pleased, keeping your head down and never making a peep unless authorised to do so. Submitting fully to his, and by the default, the Archons’ higher design.

"Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything." - Ephesians 5:22-24

[misseffie]

How do you think would be a wedding between Arya and Gendry as they don't have the same religion ? You're supposed to marry in front a fire when yo worship R'hllor, but a fire in a godswood doesn't seem a good idea. Perphaps Gendry woulnd't care much about religious traditions, i don't know, what do you think ?

This is a cool question! I think Gendry and Arya both have an interesting relationship with religion (explored more in the books than the show).

Tbh I'm not sure whether Gendry is a fervent believer of R'hllor.

All we get from the books is this:

"Do you have no love for the gods, son?"

"Not for your gods." Gendry stood abruptly. "I have work to do." He stalked out without a bite of food.

"Is there some other god he loves?" asked Hyle Hunt.

"The Lord of Light," piped one scrawny boy, nigh to six.

If we take that at face value then yeah, he follows R'hollr. But unfortunately Gendry isn't a POV character so we have no idea what he's thinking or how much he believes in The Lord of Light.

I grew up in a Catholic country and most of my friends did the catechesis and had a Holy Communion. But a lot of them didn't really believe in God (hell, a lot of their parents didn't either). They did it because it was the done thing. Just like a lot of people celebrate Christmas even if they don't have religious beliefs.

Considering how skeptical Gendry is in general, it's a little difficult for me to see him as a religious character. But I guess if he's seeing men being brought back to life then I guess that might convince even the most cynical.

That being said... Gendry is kind of stuck with the Brotherhood and they all follow R'hllor so... he could just be following R'hllor because that's what all the other grown men around him are doing? I honestly have no idea.

When things get dark with the brotherhood they seem to behave more like a death cult (not unlike the faceless men). So I think part of the reason Gendry stays with the brotherhood and follows R'hllor is because he is miserable, lost and out for revenge. Not unlike Arya's reasons for joining the Faceless Men and becoming a follower of the Many-Faced God. Btw, isn't it interesting that they've both joined religious death cults that originate from the Free Cities? 👀

But in any case, I think that Gendry won't be a follower of R'hllor near the end. Partly because certain Red Priests will be exposed as frauds and also because once he is reunited with Arya he won't be driven by revenge anymore.

I also think once Arya is free of the Faceless Men she will no longer be a follower of the Many-Faced God and will return to her religious roots.

So a northern wedding makes the most sense for those two, if they were to get married.

The 2nd option might be a small wedding under the Faith of the Seven. Since Catelyn was a fervent follower and Gendry's mother probably followed The Faith some degree. But if I'm being honest I don't think neither Arya nor Gendry have a strong connection to The Faith. I'm just offering it as a "neutral" choice.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

the unseen one - 16

Pairing: Hades!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: i rewrote this 100 times. hope you guys enjoy it xx

Next Chapter >>

Her head felt heavy as her senses returned to her. The first thing that returned to her was sound, although all she could hear were mumbles and murmurs. She opened her eyes to the feeling of a moist cloth being dabbed onto her forehead. As her view got sharper and clearer she was able to make out various female faces looking down at her, one holding the moist cloth that was being constantly dabbed on her forehead, care and curiosity on their faces. She immediately raised her torso from where she was laying, recognising she did not know any of these women and as she turned her head to look at where she was staying, she also did not know where she was. 

She pushed away from their grasp, her feet hitting what felt like hot stone as she rushed from where she was. Y/N did not know where she was or who those people were but if there was something she knew it was that she needed to rush away from them. She ran further into wherever she was standing until she hit someone, making her fall back into the same hot stone. 

      - I’m so sorry, my lady. - she raised her head to see a clothed figure reaching his hand to help her get up which she declined. Y/N kept scanning her surroundings. It was dark and hot but not hot in a way a holiday felt, hot in a way that felt like her breathe was about to be constantly taken away. Her eyes returned to the clothed figure, examining it until she realised the figure had no face. She let out a shriek, crawling away from the figure, wondering if she hit her head a bit to hard. The figure followed her which scared her even more causing her to crawl away, praying that she woke up from his nightmare. The faceless man stopped, bowing ceremoniously which confused her. - Your Highness. 

      - I got this. - she recognised that voice. Finally something she recognised in this god forsaken place, whatever that place was. She turned her head ever so slightly, seeing James standing behind her. His expression softened, softly taking her hands in his helping her to her feet. Y/N wrapped her arms around him, the only single thing she knew was real right now. He carefully brushed her hair with his fingers, kissing the top of her head. - It’s alright, sweetness. You’re alright.

     - What the fuck? - she finally softly murmured, still looking around her surroundings. Everything seemed to be carved out of rock, black stone which shimered whenever the river which seemed to cut the land in half where some translucent figures seemed to be travelling in it. James cuddled her closer to him, not entirely sure how to break it to him. He didn’t even know how she’d gotten the pomegranate in the first place. - James, you need to take me home. I have to speak with Anne, she’s acting weird and I have to work tomorrow. 

     - Sweetness ... - he sighed, cupping her jaw in his hands, not entirely sure how to explain it to her. She’d think he’d gone insane if he told her who he really was and what her eating the pomegranate had cursed her to. She gave him a confused look yet relished into his touch. - I need you to come with me. 

Y/N noticed his tense features, lips pulled tight and eyes avoiding to look into hers as he regularly did. Her hand cupped his cheek, ring finger caressing it in a soothing manner. He leaned onto her touch, he was sure he could find a way to get her off the underworld. She hadn’t eaten the pomegranate knowing what it was and therefore, he was sure he could argue it at the council of Gods but he still had to explain it to her anyway. He took her hand in his, taking her into his office. She found it way more calming than the dark outside with grey yet illuminated walls but what she found more lovely was her sunflower on his desk. He took a seat on top of his mahogany desk, thinking about how to tell her, how to explain it to her. Her parents had been historians so she probably knew how a bit of this worked but the hard bit was to try and convince her. 

He opened his mouth, trying to find the words to say to her but finding none. Thankfully, Hecate intervened, walking into his office in such fashion that suggested she was the ruler of the Underworld and not the other way around.  

      - She’s alive. - Hecate placed her hand over her face, sighing deeply. Last time they had a mortal in the underworld, things didn’t end up exactly swell. Between Orpheus, Theseus, and Pirithous, she knew exactly how things went downhill whenever one was near. The only exception was that this particular mortal had eaten the fruit of the dead and thus now belonged to the Underworld. - Mortals are incredibly resilient these days if you ask me.

       - Excuse me? - Y/N spoke up, mostly to herself than to the woman. She had to admit she looked intimidating with her red fiery hair and thin matching red dress which went beautifully with her pale complexion. Her eyes moved between her and James as her mind started to make up the wildest of assumptions. 

       - I wanted you to know .. - the redhead turned to face the man sat on the desk, finger pointed towards him. - That this maiden plan is a terrible plan. If you wanna coddle her so much, then do it yourself. 

      - Hecate, that’s quite enough. - he threatened, his patience for her sarcastic and sassy remarks growing smaller and smaller. Y/N’s head immediately moved back to Hecate. She knew that name, it was an odd one and one she had definitely read before.

      - Hecate? As in the Greek goddess of witchcraft? 

      - I am the Goddess of Witchcraft. - she snapped her head towards the mortal, innervated the mortal did not bow down ready to worship her. She did miss the good old Greek days where people feared her name. She was about to berate her once she realised why she did not know. Her head turned to face James who had the most annoyed look on his face. - You haven’t told her yet, have you?

      - Told me what? - her eyes settled onto James’ face, mind going haywire.

      - That you’re in the Underworld. Most specifically the Asphodel Meadows. Do you seriously don’t know? - she scoffed at Y/N who was looking at both James and her like a scolded child. - Oh dear Zeus, you don’t know. 

     - Yes, Hecate, she does not know. She did not steal the pomegranate because as I fucking told you, she was with me all of last night. 

     - Wait ... the underworld does not exist. - she raised her hands in exasperation. - It’s just the ancient way of dealing with death and since the Greeks were afraid of dying and stop existing, they created the Underworld. 

     - For someone who’s fucking the God of the Underworld, you sure are clueless. - she narrowed her gaze at the both of them before deciding that dealing with both him and her as something she did not want to waste her immortality time on. She closed the door behind her, the sound of the door banging being the only one as Y/N stared at him.

     - James, you better explain yourself, right now. - she stomped her foot against the floor, not entirely sure if she was dreaming or not. Underworld, God of the Underworld, Hecate? Between that and Anne’s weird behaviour, she wondered if insanity had finally hit her. 

Bucky sighed, hand rushing through the back of his neck. He wanted to tell her, he really did and when he thought about telling her, he always considered taking her out something nice and ease her onto it. However, the current circumstances did not allow him to slowly and sweetly introduce her to what had been his environment for years. 

He took a few steps forwards, placing his hands on her shoulders to try and pull her into him but she pushed him back, hands in front of her and pushing onto his chest.

     - You lied to me, James. - he couldn’t see her face as she was staring at the ground, but he could hear the disappointment in her voice.

     - C’mon, Y/N ... - his fingers grabbed her chin, softly pulling it up so he could look at her face. - Wouldn’t you have thought I was crazy if my opening line was I’m the God of the Underworld?

     - Why am I here? - she lowered her arms, hand coming to hold the opposite elbow. 

     - Last night someone stole a pomegranate from her and it somehow ended up with you. You at ...

     - I know the fruit of the dead myth. - she let herself slide onto one of the chairs of his office. - Am I here forever?

     - No. - he rushed to her side, crutching to her level, taking her hands into his and mindlessly started to rub circles on her skin. - I’m gonna figure this out, I promise. You didn’t eat it knowing what it was and I didn’t give it to you, the rules shouldn’t apply. 

     - So ... are you Hades? Is that your name? - Y/N wondered if he had lied about his name too.

     - It is my name, it’s complicated, sweetness. I think that’s something to explain to you later.

     - Can I still call you Bucky?

     - You can call me whatever you want, sweetness.

tag list: @philogrobizedvee​​​​  @keithseabrook27​​​ @inlovewith3​​​19

[gotmattitude]

it will take more than common sense

WHO: Kitty Wilde ( @wildevvitch ) & Matt Rutherford.

WHAT: Kitty and Matt run each other at Undique. They fight, and there is an unexpected break.

WHEN: Friday, 26 April 2019.

WHERE: Undique Stadium.

WARNINGS: Classic Kitty warnings. Racism, violence, homophobia, injuries, mentions of manipulation.

Matt is getting ready to do some training, making sure he's carrying a water bottle and sports towels for later. The past couple weeks have been going... pretty alright, even if he's sort of afraid to admit it out loud. It's like, if he says it, the Aether will find a way to balance it out and just give him some more shit to deal with. So he's been cautious, trying not to enjoy himself too much.... but apparently, even thinking about his good mood attracts negativity. A flash of blond hair catches his eye, and he turns, hoping to see Quinn, or even Sam, but instead... finds Kitty. He openly rolls his eyes and groans, putting his hands in his pockets. "What? Aren't you too busy trying to put collars on people to hang out at Undique?"

Kitty laughed in the loser named Matt Rutherford's face. "Collars are so last November. I'm helping werewolves now regain their humanity as my mission to the Big Man on top." She pressed her manicured hands to pray to Jesus. "I'm not hanging out here. I'm scoping whether or not the Sirens are worthy of moi." Kitty circled around Matt like a tigress and smirked at seeing him so uncomfortable. "Where are your friends? I don't see them around... Oh wait totes forgot. They're disgusting witch hunting Malleys now. Is that what you're doing too? Spying on us real witches, Dumpel?"

Matt narrows his eyes. "You can't do that shit. No one can. You're not actually God, Kitty." He's suddenly nervous, though, and thinks they should probably look into what can be done, and how bad it could be. If there was a way to make it painful, he thinks Kitty would use that. Matt ignores her comment about the Sirens and straightens his back when she starts circling around him, wishing it had no effect on him, but Aether, it does. At the mention of Yejun, his fist clenches, the nails digging into his skin. He remembers what Santana told him about her, about Tina. "Yeah, Kitty. That's what I'm doing. Why? You got something to hide?" Ah, shit. He shouldn't have said that. He shoves away the retort that surfaces next. "You know, for someone that talks about smiting all the time, you got a fuckton of bark but not a lot of bite." The fuck is happening to him? The second Kitty showed up, it's like his anger was turned up to 150%.

"Oh who said I was God? I do what He wills and He wills us Christians to be the masters of all animals on His bountiful earth." Kitty's face shone with patriotic pride as she stared up at Matt. The CWA needed a new project since the members were getting very restless and petty lately. They had been bickering among themselves. Kitty knew a refocused strategy was what the club needed for unity. Alena, her familiar, swam inside the small water jug Kitty had slung on her arm. She gasped when Matt confessed. Jesus I've done it! Kitty thought and pointed at Matt. Commanding his atrocious behavior. "Clean out your damn mouth, Matthew. The Heavenly Father might let you into purgatory to amend your sinful existence if you repent how unholy you are." Kitty was ready to pull the purifying salts from her secret hiding place.

Matt wanted to punch her. He didn't, but Aether, he wanted to. "That sounds like bullshit," he said, shrugging, trying to come across as nonchalant. Kitty gasps when he implies she's in the closet, and he thinks maybe he sank a bit too low. It doesn't matter though, because she opens her mouth again and his chest tightens once again. "What? You want me to clean out my fucking mouth? Does this shit bother you? Unholy fucking words? At least I don't have to resort to threatening to take someone's control to feel fucking powerful," he says, ignorant to Kitty's intentions.

Kitty laughed at Matt's reaction and smirked. "Cheese and rice, when will you heathens understand. I am powerful. The Lord picked me to be powerful." Kitty dug into her shirt and pulled out the shards of cleansed salt to sprinkle in front of Matt's face. She summoned her magic circle. Heavenly Father, I’m but your humble servant, lend me your power. Fill your holy vessel with your magnificence, cleanse this unholy magic!

BOT: Kitty 😼:  1d7  = (6) = 6

BOT: Matt 👥:  1d7+2  = (2)+2 = 4

Matt starts to say something back to Kitty when she pulls out some dust, some of which manages to land on his mouth, but that's nothing compared to the shock of the spell hitting him. "What the fuck," he exclaims, and laughs bitterly. "What? We're doing this shit?" Taking a second to focus, he summons Sydney, and reaches into his bag to pull out a mojo back, which he squeezes until there are specks of cayenne floating out of it. <<She thinks she's the shit, but Goofer knows she's full of shit, >> he casts, and Sydney breathes out a stream of cayenne towards Kitty.

BOT: Matt 👥:  1d7+3  = (4)+3 = 7

BOT: Kitty 😼:  1d7 + 1d10  = (1) + (7) = 8

Kitty said back with glee. "Yes, we're doing this." Alena sighed and swam disapprovingly in a circle in the jug. So the doppel had a new trick did he. Kitty had some too. "Alena! Come on!" She ordered her juvenile angelfish and Alena let out a spew of unhappy bubbles but she followed Kitty's command. Soul Armament! Kitty cast her spell and opened the jug, spraying the water out and sending Alena out. Her fish shone in a burst of light and Kitty pulled out a shiny glaive to swipe through Matt's dumb spicy magic. Kitty hated spicy. "Goofer goofed up." Kitty growled.

BOT: Kitty 😼:  1d7 + 1d10  = (4) + (5) = 9

BOT: Matt 👥:  1d7+2  = (7)+2 = 9

Kitty decided to test her glaive out before getting serious. She splashed a small amount of water at Matt's face. "Repent." She ordered Matt. "Come to the light, Mathieu." She said his name in French to make it sound snobbier. This was fun. This was going to be a trophy win for the Lord.

Matt watched as Kitty's familiar transformed into a weapon and hit him once, and then just sort of sadly spat some water on his face. "What the fuck is your deal? Have you ever stopped to think for yourself, you insufferable little racist?" He scoffs at her. "What do I have to repent for? I'm fucking curious." Reaching in for another mojo bag, the one with the chicken painted on it, he dipped his thumb inside it, and spread the dust in a line from the bottom of his neck upward, as Sydney started hopping around him over and over. <<Headless chickens run in circles, headless chickens, fuck her up.>>

BOT: Matt 👥:  2d7+2  = (7+6)+2 = 15

BOT: Kitty 😼:  (1d7 + 1d10)*2  = ((3) + (6))*2 = 18

Kitty was surprised Matt didn't know her mission. She had been so clear. God had made it clear for her. "The Lord is the only true way. It's written in the Bible. No one shall put any other power before the Lord. I was born to serve His Will, and that means destroying the worship of false idols." She smirked at Matt's bags and his stupid spells. He thinks that will stop me? Heavenly Father, I’m but your humble servant, lend me your power. Fill your holy vessel with your magnificence, freeze and purify the sinner! Kitty shouted and swung her glaive wildly. The water around Matt shot up following Kitty's glaive and then in an instant froze solid to strike into Matt and Sydney like spikes.

BOT: Kitty 😼:  (1d7 + 1d10)*2  = ((7) + (9))*2 = 32

Matt starts to argue, when a shield materializes in front of Kitty and her weapon. He takes a step back, and dismisses Sydney back into her tattoo. She doesn't need to see him whacking at that thing like he's chipping away at an iceberg. "What the fuck is a false idol? And does your god tell you you have to be a fucking dickhead to serve his ass?" Picking up a pair of ugly glasses, he grabs a handful of Goofer Dust, and tries to thin out the barrier between them. <<Fuck that up?>> he casts, almost like a question.

BOT: Matt 👥:  1d7+4  = ((7)+4)/2 = 5.5

Matt laughs, shaking his head. "Who? Elliott? Is he that important to you that you think being his friend is worshipping him?" He wipes off the excess dust off his hands, and prepares his next spell, rolling a sigil between his fingers. "You're no one to correct a man that does more good for everyone than you could ever do. And it's fucking sad. Maybe if you had a mind of your own, you'd be less of a fucking bigot." The paper between his fingers is tiny now, and he mimes throwing a dart at the shield. <<Forces of hoodoo, break apart the shield around.>>

BOT: Matt 👥:  1d7+2  = ((6)+2)/2 = 4

BOT: Kitty 😼: 1d0 = (0) = 0

Kitty rolled her eyes and swore under her breath, "To hell with it, you guys need a re-education on the vileness of demons. The nameless and faceless lameities which give you your magic are nothing but soothsaying demons, you foolish fool!" She crossed her arms and gave Matt a bitchy staredown. It pained Kitty to admit Matt's last words stung. The last time she had a mind of her own, she had been punished by the Lord. She had been deemed foul by her own parents. "What does this fake witch know about a mind of one's own, Lord?" She asked the Heavenly Father loud enough for Matt to hear. Then she clasped both hands around her cross pendant. It was time to end this. Heavenly Father, I’m but your humble servant, lend me your power. Fill your holy vessel with your magnificence, let my spirit be yours, my body nothing, let it bear all wounds, all pain, all death, for my place is with you in Heaven, shed me of this mortal sin… 

Kitty felt the power of the Lord flowing inside her. This was what God wanted. To make sure every sinner knew he wouldn't forgive them unless they admitted to their wrongdoing. The blinding white light shone from her body and Kitty grabbed her soul armament. She was aiming her glaive straight at Matt. No, Kitty, this is wrong! Kitty heard Alena in her head and the handle beneath her hand was swirling like rough waves.  'Aleana, stay put!' Kitty grabbed the glaive with both handles. Why was her familiar freaking out now? This isn't what our power should be used for, please, you know that! The glaive was shaking in Kitty's grasp. 'Our power?Don't think so highly of ourselves. This is God's power and you LISTEN to me, you dumb fish!' Kitty broke through Alena's struggle and forced the glaive to swing just as the holy energy burst from her. And let my body burn up in your light of Justice, oh Heavenly Father! Kitty shouted, shooting the light from the glaive's crystal tip with a mighty swing. Kitty's vision flooded with white after she saw the tip of her weapon crack before the soul armament exploded in small shards and disappeared into the aether.

Matt shakes his head. "No, our demons look more like you, you foolish fool," he mocks, trying to reflect Kitty's glare, but if it's purposeful he just kind of feels like it's dumb as fuck. He would've found something to hang on to when Kitty maybe reacted to his retort, but hers was a punch in the gut. Is he his own person? Will he ever be more than a ghost, a shadow? "Oh fuck off--" he starts, but interrupts himself as Kitty begins to cast. He has a bad feeling about it, and his stomach coils into itself. He thinks to cover himself with his hands as a beam of light hits him, and agony burns through his stomach, his chest, his throat, before the white turns black. His legs buckle underneath him and he falls, unconscious.

Kitty coughed as she wobbled up to stand. Her arms were covered in black soot and she felt like she did 700 cartwheels in 2 minutes. "Alena, come out." Kitty called out. But there was no response. Kitty sniffed and stopped because even breathing hurt. "Whatevs, be a pouty bitch! Like I care! Stupid fish." Kitty muttered under her breath and grinned when she saw the lump in the distance. That used to be Matt Rutherford. 'See? See how strong I am, Lord? See how never question Your will?' Kitty wondered if God was watching. If God would finally show her that He was listening and cared about her. She was walking past the doppelganger and saw he was passed out. Kitty looked around. There was still no one. "Ugh. Don't you have someone coming to check in with you?" She asked. Matt of course didn't say anything back that unconscious jerk. "Alena, come on, we need to help this doofus." She called out to her familiar. Still no reply.

BOT: Kitty 😼:  1d36 healing Matt = (11) = 11

Kitty extended her hand over Matt's head so he'd at least wake up. Because it was weird to leave someone unconscious. That was it. Heavenly Father, I’m but your humble servant, lend me your power. Fill your holy vessel with your magnificence. Mend his body. Bring his mind back. She saw some of the wounds on Matt close up. "There, you happy now?" She was asking Alena. But there was no reply from the juvenile angelfish. 'Cheese and rice, you hold a grudge.' Kitty thought. After healing, Kitty limped away. She'd have to go heal herself later when Alena came back.

Matt took in a sharp breath, and found that everything hurt. Groaning, he pushed himself up so he was sitting, and muttered a reply akin to 'I'm happy I'm fucking alive,' before blinking a couple times. When his vision came back to focus, he pushed himself up, and realized that Kitty was gone. "Tina deserves way better than her," he mumbled under his breath, then summoning Sydney back into this plane. "C'mon. I gotta get myself to Penny. Better check if I'm really curse-free while I'm there."

[readbookywooks]

Catelyn

Catelyn had never liked this godswood.

She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and decay. No redwoods grew here. This was a wood of stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Here thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshappen roots wrestled beneath the soil. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names.

But she knew she would find her husband here tonight. Whenever he took a man's life, afterward he would seek the quiet of the godswood.

Catelyn had been anointed with the seven oils and named in the rainbow of light that filled the sept of Riverrun. She was of the Faith, like her father and grandfather and his father before him. Her gods had names, and their faces were as familiar as the faces of her parents. Worship was a septon with a censer, the smell of incense, a seven-sided crystal alive with light, voices raised in song. The Tullys kept a godswood, as all the great houses did, but it was only a place to walk or read or lie in the sun. Worship was for the sept.

For her sake, Ned had built a small sept where she might sing to the seven faces of god, but the blood of the First Men still flowed in the veins of the Starks, and his own gods were the old ones, the nameless, faceless gods of the greenwood they shared with the vanished children of the forest.

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. "The heart tree," Ned called it. The weirwood's bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle's granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

In the south the last weirwoods had been cut down or burned out a thousand years ago, except on the Isle of Faces where the green men kept their silent watch. Up here it was different. Here every castle had its godswood, and every godswood had its heart tree, and every heart tree its face.

Catelyn found her husband beneath the weirwood, seated on a moss-covered stone. The greatsword Ice was across his lap, and he was cleaning the blade in those waters black as night. A thousand years of humus lay thick upon the godswood floor, swallowing the sound of her feet, but the red eyes of the weirwood seemed to follow her as she came. "Ned," she called softly.

He lifted his head to look at her. "Catelyn," he said. His voice was distant and formal. "Where are the children?"

He would always ask her that. "In the kitchen, arguing about names for the wolf pups." She spread her cloak on the forest floor and sat beside the pool, her back to the weirwood. She could feel the eyes watching her, but she did her best to ignore them. "Arya is already in love, and Sansa is charmed and gracious, but Rickon is not quite sure."

"Is he afraid?" Ned asked.

"A little," she admitted. "He is only three."

Ned frowned. "He must learn to face his fears. He will not be three forever. And winter is coming."

"Yes," Catelyn agreed. The words gave her a chill, as they always did. The Stark words. Every noble house had its words. Family mottoes, touchstones, prayers of sorts, they boasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage. All but the Starks. Winter is coming, said the Stark words. Not for the first time, she reflected on what a strange people these northerners were.

"The man died well, I'll give him that," Ned said. He had a swatch of oiled leather in one hand. He ran it lightly up the greatsword as he spoke, polishing the metal to a dark glow. "I was glad for Bran's sake. You would have been proud of Bran."

"I am always proud of Bran," Catelyn replied, watching the sword as he stroked it. She could see the rippling deep within the steel, where the metal had been folded back on itself a hundred times in the forging. Catelyn had no love for swords, but she could not deny that Ice had its own beauty. It had been forged in Valyria, before the Doom had come to the old Freehold, when the ironsmiths had worked their metal with spells as well as hammers. Four hundred years old it was, and as sharp as the day it was forged. The name it bore was older still, a legacy from the age of heroes, when the Starks were Kings in the North.

"He was the fourth this year," Ned said grimly. "The poor man was half-mad. Something had put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him." He sighed. "Ben writes that the strength of the Night's Watch is down below a thousand. It's not only desertions. They are losing men on rangings as well."

"Is it the wildlings?" she asked.

"Who else?" Ned lifted Ice, looked down the cool steel length of it. "And it will only grow worse. The day may come when I will have no choice but to call the banners and ride north to deal with this King-beyond-the-Wall for good and all."

"Beyond the Wall?" The thought made Catelyn shudder.

Ned saw the dread on her face. "Mance Rayder is nothing for us to fear."

"There are darker things beyond the Wall." She glanced behind her at the heart tree, the pale bark and red eyes, watching, listening, thinking its long slow thoughts.

His smile was gentle. "You listen to too many of Old Nan's stories. The Others are as dead as the children of the forest, gone eight thousand years. Maester Luwin will tell you they never lived at all. No living man has ever seen one."

"Until this morning, no living man had ever seen a direwolf either," Catelyn reminded him.

"I ought to know better than to argue with a Tully," he said with a rueful smile. He slid Ice back into its sheath. "You did not come here to tell me crib tales. I know how little you like this place. What is it, my lady?"

Catelyn took her husband's hand. "There was grievous news today, my lord. I did not wish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself." There was no way to soften the blow, so she told him straight. "I am so sorry, my love. Jon Arryn is dead."

His eyes found hers, and she could see how hard it took him, as she had known it would. In his youth, Ned had fostered at the Eyrie, and the childless Lord Arryn had become a second father to him and his fellow ward, Robert Baratheon. When the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen had demanded their heads, the Lord of the Eyrie had raised his moon-and-falcon banners in revolt rather than give up those he had pledged to protect.

And one day fifteen years ago, this second father had become a brother as well, as he and Ned stood together in the sept at Riverrun to wed two sisters, the daughters of Lord Hoster Tully.

"Jon . . . " he said. "Is this news certain?"

"It was the king's seal, and the letter is in Robert's own hand. I saved it for you. He said Lord Arryn was taken quickly. Even Maester Pycelle was helpless, but he brought the milk of the poppy, so Jon did not linger long in pain."

"That is some small mercy, I suppose," he said. She could see the grief on his face, but even then he thought first of her. "Your sister," he said. "And Jon's boy. What word of them?"

"The message said only that they were well, and had returned to the Eyrie," Catelyn said. "I wish they had gone to Riverrun instead. The Eyrie is high and lonely, and it was ever her husband's place, not hers. Lord Jon's memory will haunt each stone. I know my sister. She needs the comfort of family and friends around her."

"Your uncle waits in the Vale, does he not? Jon named him Knight of the Gate, I'd heard."

Catelyn nodded. "Brynden will do what he can for her, and for the boy. That is some comfort, but still . . . "

"Go to her," Ned urged. "Take the children. Fill her halls with noise and shouts and laughter. That boy of hers needs other children about him, and Lysa should not be alone in her grief."

"Would that I could," Catelyn said. "The letter had other tidings. The king is riding to Winterfell to seek you out."

It took Ned a moment to comprehend her words, but when the understanding came, the darkness left his eyes. "Robert is coming here?" When she nodded, a smile broke across his face.

Catelyn wished she could share his joy. But she had heard the talk in the yards; a direwolf dead in the snow, a broken antler in its throat. Dread coiled within her like a snake, but she forced herself to smile at this man she loved, this man who put no faith in signs. "I knew that would please you," she said. "We should send word to your brother on the Wall."

"Yes, of course," he agreed. "Ben will want to be here. I shall tell Maester Luwin to send his swiftest bird." Ned rose and pulled her to her feet. "Damnation, how many years has it been? And he gives us no more notice than this? How many in his party, did the message say?"

"I should think a hundred knights, at the least, with all their retainers, and half again as many freeriders. Cersei and the children travel with them."

"Robert will keep an easy pace for their sakes," he said. "It is just as well. That will give us more time to prepare."

"The queen's brothers are also in the party," she told him.

Ned grimaced at that. There was small love between him and the queen's family, Catelyn knew. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock had come late to Robert's cause, when victory was all but certain, and he had never forgiven them. "Well, if the price for Robert's company is an infestation of Lannisters, so be it. It sounds as though Robert is bringing half his court."

"Where the king goes, the realm follows," she said.

"It will be good to see the children. The youngest was still sucking at the Lannister woman's teat the last time I saw him. He must be, what, five by now?"

"Prince Tommen is seven," she told him. "The same age as Bran. Please, Ned, guard your tongue. The Lannister woman is our queen, and her pride is said to grow with every passing year."

Ned squeezed her hand. "There must be a feast, of course, with singers, and Robert will want to hunt. I shall send Jory south with an honor guard to meet them on the kingsroad and escort them back. Gods, how are we going to feed them all? On his way already, you said? Damn the man. Damn his royal hide."