#is he *too soft*? well not when it comes to the Lannisters lmao

[lauraneedstochill]

I won’t fall for someone who can’t misbehave

summary: Aemond is betrothed to the sweetest girl in the Seven Kingdoms. She's smiley, soft and kind-hearted. Until she isn't. (or, alternatively: "No one took your side when you were a kid. But I'm doing it now.")

pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader (her House is not specified) words: 9000 +

warnings: slow (!) burn, attempted harassment, Aemond is in pain 70% of the time (headache and all that) and has no clue how to act around someone he's clearly in love with.

author's note: I'm working on 3 fics at the moment, and it's taking forever to finish (yay for my poor time management skills!), so I whipped up something short(er) for starters. I'm a bit more comfortable with sharing this one because I feel like it's actually more of my style (wow, that sounds kinda pretentious). Rhaenyra is the queen here but I barely mention the blacks (not out of spite, I just thought it wouldn't add anything to the story). also, I don't think women would be allowed to misbehave like that... I don't care ;)

Aemond knew of the preplanned betrothal even though everyone around him was ridiculously mysterious about the subject matter. He's been made aware of the upcoming visit of some noble family, and the preparations were quite extensive. Then he overheard Baela telling Jace that the expected guests will bring their daughter. The middle one. It wasn't very hard for Aemond to put two and two together. His wedding was long overdue, and Alicent was eager for him to make his choice. But he dreaded the mere thought of it.

Aemond's never been very good at courting women, but mostly due to the lack of trying. He's used to them looking at him with fear and suspicion as if he's some kind of wild animal ready to attack at any minute. Getting sidelong glances did hurt him growing up, but with time Aemond learned to benefit from it, using his fearsome image as a shield. No one ever dared to try and break it to see what was underneath. But now he is faced with the inevitable change that's approaching his life at the speed of a storm wave. To him, taking off the eyepatch won't be nearly as excruciating as giving into the vulnerability of letting someone in, opening up to someone. He's never been afraid of much but that? That was terrifying.

The anticipation made Aemond nervous. He knew he should probably ask around and try to gain any information about his soon-to-be wife, but it felt wrong. Not knowing felt even worse. No matter how good of a fighter he was, fighting the uncertainty seemed like a challenge. Aemond spent his nights tossing and turning, wrapped up in blankets as insomnia was clinging to his body. He tried to busy himself with training, but his usual easy victories brought him no satisfaction. He's been winning for so long maybe it was time for him to lose. Except not to his training partners but to a stranger, who in time will get a permanent place in his life.

His rides with Vhagar, which usually brought him peace, now had the opposite effect. The old dragon acted annoyed and disgruntled for no reason, huffing and grumbling at every turn as if she could sense his own frustration. You can’t tame your emotions yet I’m supposed to listen to your commands? Silly boy. If Vhagar could speak, she would probably tell him that, Aemond thought. And he blamed himself even more.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the headache came back. As usual, it started with a feeling of pounding heaviness in the back of his head, which then spread further: into his temples, forehead and down the hateful scar. Within a couple of days, the pain gets so bad, he has to grit his teeth to keep a straight face, and he's barely able to shove a few bits of food down his throat. But it's a topic he never brings up, it's a humiliating secret that's just between him and his mother. When he lost his eye, for the first month the pain was close to unbearable. The maester kept telling him that it was caused by the healing of skin tissues and assured that the intolerable feeling would go away. It never did. His scar was something he learned to cover up, and the bright red stripe faded slightly with time, but the pain lingered. Aemond opted to think that it only contributed to him becoming more resilient, yet that argument didn't withstand the test of time. The pain receded for some short periods, but then it'd always come back, and he could never get used to that, no matter how hard he tried.

He can only hope it will get better by the time the guests arrive. But the gods seem deaf to his prayers, and the night before the event he doesn't get a wink of sleep. He goes through his day in a daze, skipping the training session to hide in the library instead, although he can't bring himself to focus and read more than a single page. When the time comes for him to walk into the dining hall, it's the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself to go. Festive ornaments, tables laden with the finest dishes, bright-colored clothing of everyone around him blend and blur into each other. He takes deep breaths and counts his steps, gathering all his strength to sit down and not wince at the movement.

All it takes is one look at him for Alicent to understand what's going on.

"Aemond," she approaches him, whispering. "What's wrong? Is it the headache again?"

Aemond doesn't want to admit it, but he lacks the energy to deny it either so he just nods. She gives him a regretful look, gently squeezing his shoulder.

"Should I call for the maester? Maybe he will be able to come up with something to ease the pain."

"I don't think we have time to fuss over me," he declines with a pain-stained voice. "I was under the impression that we're expecting someone to join us today."

Alicent sighs. She knows better than to fight his stubbornness, but she hates how helpless it makes her feel. Aemond hates that feeling, too.

"Please don't tell me you require motivation," Aegon's voice is loud as it is but right now it sounds deafening, and Aemond sharply exhales. His brother flops on a nearby chair, bringing his ignorant attitude with him.

"Undoubtedly you've interacted with women before," he chuckles, completely unaware of Aemond's suffering. "Try not to scare her with your creepy stare, and maybe she won't run away."

Alicent briefly closes her eyes in annoyance. She glances around, making sure not to attract any attention, and then grabs Aegon by the chin, forcing him to look at her.

"Enough with pestering, I need you to behave yourself," her voice is tinged with irritation. "Just for one evening. Can you do that?"

Aegon's body stiffens up, the smug look disappearing from his face.

"As you wish, mother," he mutters, and she lets go of him. Alicent shoots another glance at Aemond before leaving. Aegon gives his brother a side-eye but says nothing.

Aemond is exhausted, anxiety's bubbling in his chest, and he thinks he has a few more minutes to compose himself yet that time passes in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, the guards at the door make the announcement, and he sees a group of unfamiliar faces. None of them are of his age, though, and for a moment that realization brings him some comfort. But then he notices a female figure in the distance as she's approaching the entrance.

When she walks in, the music goes quiet, and Aemond hears people gasping. It seems like every man in the room has his gaze on her. And she certainly is a sight for sore eyes. She moves with a gracious pace, the silky fabric of her dress flowing downward with every step. It's not too revealing, but it hugs her body in all the right places. Her hair is up, and he can see the waves of her collarbones peaking through. A half-smile is plastered on her face, but she doesn't seem to be nervous. If he was to take a guess, he would've said she was tired. But she won't let it show, keeping her head high and being seemingly unaware of the attention she got. Maybe she's used to it just like he is, Aemond thinks. Although people usually glare at him for a completely different reason.

"Someone is about to get a piece of cake," Aegon elbows him lightly, his voice low.

"Someone needs to shut up," Aemond snarls, earning a laugh from his brother. That catches her attention, and her gaze lands on Aemond. When their eyes meet, her face softens, smile growing wider. He tries his best to force a wan smile in return, but his stomach turns in discomfort. He can already imagine how people will react: a stunning woman like her with a man like him, what a tragedy. That thought stings, his anxiety growing stronger. The headache gets worse, and he tightens his grip on a cup of wine that he hasn't even tasted yet. Aemond can't help but wonder if she knew she would have to marry him. If it does bother her as much as it bothers him.

The members of her family are greeted as guests, with no mention of a possible betrothal. Her name is the only one he catches — and then silently repeats it a few times. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, the sound of it breaking through his clouded mind. She's seated next to him, as expected, and he notes that her dress compliments her eye color. Aemond is thinking of a way to start a conversation, but she beats him to it:

"You gave us such a warm welcome, but I must admit, I'm surprised by the scale of it. I hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience?"

When her words reach his ears, the buzzing in his head stops, and Aemond turns to Y/N, astonished by his own reaction. It's not the naivety of her question, nor the friendly tone of it. It's just her voice. Melodic and mellow, it feels soothing among the loud noises they're surrounded with.

"I assure you, your family was simply welcomed with the respect you deserve," he answers pensively. His throat is sore, but he can't steel himself to take a sip of wine, afraid that it will make him sick. He wants her to speak again.

Aemond asks about her family, letting Y/N lead the conversation. She's easy to talk to and she gives just the right amount of information before jumping to another topic. At any other time, he would've really enjoyed the flow of it, yet now he is growing weary. The headache is still there, but her voice does bring him some relief. That's until she abruptly stops.

"Are you feeling alright?" she sounds worried, and the same emotion is written on her face. Aemond tries to blink away his exhaustion. 

"I apologize if I'm not exactly the best at keeping you company. It's been a long day," he knows he should've come up with a better excuse. He feels like he can hardly function at this point.

She keeps her attention on him for a few more seconds. Then Y/N moves her eyes to the other end of the table, where her family is seated. She makes eye contact with her father and gives him a big yawn. It's obviously and comically fake but it works: her family finds an excuse to leave earlier. Aemond knows that now he also got a chance to escape soon after. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that he's the reason their conversation was cut short, but Y/N doesn't make a big deal out of it.

"We shall continue on the morrow when we are both well rested," she smiles reassuringly at him before leaving.

Aemond seriously doubts that he'll get any rest as his head feels like it's gripped in an iron vise again.

The next morning he drags himself out of bed later than usual, the pain now dull but present nonetheless. He sits with his face in his hands, breathing in and out, until he's almost numb. The almost leaves a sour feeling in his mouth — or maybe it's the nausea, he doesn't know nor does he care. He's been handling this for years, he can survive another day.

Aemond decides that since he is to be wed, he should make an effort for it to work. He thinks about his duty, his mother, about Y/N, who traveled all the way to the King's Landing for a man she's never met before. Aemond thinks of everyone but himself because there's only so much he can do without draining himself completely.

He missed the breakfast already but hopes to find Y/N within the perimeter of the castle and rushes out of the bedroom. He's passing by Helaena's chambers when he hears someone laughing. And it's not his sister. Aemond debates if he can deal with kids right now, but chooses to give it a chance and quietly walks in. Helaena has embroidery in her hands but seems more focused on a sight in front of her, and he follows her gaze. Y/N is sitting on the floor with her back to the door, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are on either side of her, their cheeks plump and pink, tiny fingers grabbing her dress. She's reading to them, and it's a tale they've heard many times before, yet the kids are listening attentively, occasionally making noises of excitement. Aemond doesn't need to speak gibberish to know that they are fascinated by the melody of her voice and the playful tone she uses to make the story more engaging. He leans on the door frame, his body relaxing at the sound. Jaehaera puts her head on Y/N's shoulder and eagerly turns the page, making her laugh again.

"You are an impatient little thing," Y/N giggles.

"That she is," Helaena agrees, and when Y/N turns to her, she is surprised to see that Aemond joined them.

"Pardon me, I didn't hear you coming in," she stands up in a hurry, both kids are instantly glued to her. "Your sister was kind enough to keep me company."

"I asked her to come by after breakfast, and they haven't left her side ever since," Helaena explains, sounding very pleased.

"Would you mind if I steal this new friend of yours?" Aemond asks while keeping his eye on Y/N, waiting for her reaction. Her face flushes but he sees no indication of discontent. Aemond grudgingly admits to himself that it brings him something akin to joy. But it fades, absorbed by his numbness.

"Make sure to be on time for dinner," his sister nods, calling for the nanny to take the kids.

It takes a little bit of persuasion but eventually Jaehaerys and Jaehaera let Y/N go, and she follows Aemond out of the room. Y/N mentions that Helaena wanted to show her the library, and Aemond agrees to take her there. Along the way, he strikes up a conversation in attempt to compensate for their last one. As she's telling him about her morning, her voice seeps into his mind like honey, and Aemond tries to concentrate to take the right turns and not trip on the stairs.

When they walk into the library, Y/N pauses, looking around in awe. This woman makes men turn around after her, yet she is so easily impressed by the simplest things, Aemond thinks. The prince wonders if she'll ever be impressed by him.

"This is where you study?" she's admiring endless rows of shelves, and Aemond gives her an affirmative "hmm".

"How many of these have you read?"

"Quiet a few," he is modest as ever, and she shoots him a curious look.

"I wonder what are your preferred subjects."

"History and philosophy," he doesn't mean to sound so terse, but whatever interactions with women he's had before, that experience obviously didn't turn him into a lady's man.

"Would you be so kind to share your favorite books with me?" when Y/N glances at him, there's a sparkle in her eyes. It looks like she's actually interested to know more, as if she does want to know him. His immediate response, however, is to distance himself, and he takes a step back.

"I'm afraid there are not enough hours in the day to name them all," Aemond opposes, hands clasped behind his back.

"Please, take pity on me, I need something to help me pass the time," she presses the matter further but does so very gently. "Name just a couple."

He gives into her pleading tone and reluctantly agrees but they don't stop at just a couple. They end up spending the day roaming in the library, lost in the labyrinth of shelves and books. She's never too pushy with her questions, she's making small jokes, she doesn't take offense at his cold demeanor. Behind his mask of feigned indifference, Aemond feels like someone is hammering at his left temple, and the pain echoes through his whole body. But he doesn't dare to leave Y/N hanging for the second day in a row.

The prince is too preoccupied with his internal struggle to notice that she's growing worried about him again, and by the time they come back for dinner, her face expresses an alarming concern.

"I must apologize if I tired you out with my relentless chatting," she says, almost whispering, when they're seated.

"You did not, no need to fret," Aemond states. I must apologize that you are to marry a man who can't curb the pain that's spilling out of him, he thinks.

Food is tasteless in his mouth. Y/N is sitting on his right, and Aemond's body can't adjust to the foreign feeling of someone being in his close proximity. He's so accustomed to being on his own, he doesn't know how to unlearn that.

Throughout the whole dinner, Aemond can feel his mother's gaze on him. Later that evening, when a maid brings him a cup filled with the milk of the poppy, he decides against taking it.

He regrets it the very next day.

When Aemond tries to lift his head off the pillow, he feels like his skull is full of rocks. They're rolling from side to side as the pain rumbles, and for a few minutes he can't hear anything else around him. That's why, when Aemond opens his eye, he's startled at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway.

"I did knock but got no response," she gives him a look that's a mix of concern and suspicion. She suspects that he's unwell again and it concerns her. He wishes she never knew of that burden of his.

Aemond moves up in his bed, clenching his jaw. He knows his mother well enough to realize she must've had a reason for this early visit. Alicent proves him right when she speaks:

"The queen went into labor a couple of hours ago."

He absentmindedly hums, not knowing how to react. His mother continues, with a hint of hesitance:

"There will be a feast when the baby is born. We thought... Rhaenyra and I, we thought it would also make for an occasion to do the announcement. About your betrothal."

Her words come as no surprise to Aemond. It is what's expected of him, it's about his duty and his responsibilities, but this time he doesn't want to think of that. He wants to be left alone, to drown in the layers of blankets, to go back to his short-lived slumber.

"The day Y/N arrived, I asked the queen to postpone the announcement. To give you some time to get to know each other," Alicent takes a few steps towards his bed. "It seems like you're getting along quite well?"

"I could think of no better woman than Y/N," Aemond admits and it is true. What he doesn't say is that he can also think of a dozen other men who would be more deserving of her, more than he is.

Alicent catches the discreet sadness in his words but doesn't know what caused it. She eyes her son with undisguised empathy.

"Her father implied that she is content with the betrothal, too. I thought you'd be happy to know," Alicent gives him a lax smile. "I shall let you go back to sleep," she adds and leaves.

Aemond knows he'll get no sleep now. He repeats the well-known routine of deep breaths with the minimum movements, scraping up the remains of his strength before leaving the room. He goes straight to Y/N's chambers, wondering if his mother visited her, too, and how that visit went.

To his surprise, Y/N is nowhere to be found. A maid informs him that she left the room a few hours ago. He can't find her in the library and she isn't in Helaena's chambers, either. He searches for her in the courtyard and then goes back to roam through the corridors, peering into every room on his way. He's lost in his thoughts until he hears Y/N calling his name. Aemond turns around — and there she is, at the other end of the hall.

"I've been looking for you," she skips towards the prince, beaming. He could never imagine anyone being this happy at the sight of him. She stops when they're only a couple of meters apart, her smile glowing.

"We must've passed each other, because I've been looking for you, too," he confesses. Y/N seems very pleased with herself though he isn't sure why.

"I think the weather calls for a walk," she blithely suggests. "Would you like to accompany me?" — as the words leave her mouth, she reaches out a hand to him. For a moment Aemond's looking at her baffled, and then hesitantly takes Y/N's hand. Her skin is soft, fingers warm, and she intertwines them with his own. That gesture comes so naturally as if they've done it before, yet Aemond clearly hasn't. The feeling of holding someone's hand is unusual to him. But it seems enjoyable.

By the time they get to the garden, Aemond finds that her hand fits perfectly in his. He's blushing profusely. He also notices that his headache receded a little and he can't help but think that Y/N was the reason for that.

"Your mother came to me this morning," she informs him as they are walking hand in hand. "I assume she talked to you, too?"

"She did," Aemond confirms. "Am I right to guess we had the same conversation?"

"Well, mine was about uniting two great Houses," Y/N mimics a man's voice, and Aemond grasps that Otto was there, too. "Your grandfather gave a very convincing speech".

"He had a lot of practice while being the Hand of the King. Maybe he misses having an audience," the prince chuckles and she laughs. Aemond holds a pause and then adds:

"Forgive me if I'm being too blunt but I wonder if the conversation was of unpleasant nature to you."

"It was not," she slows her steps. "I know what's expected of me and I will perform my duty. But if I'm being honest...," she turns to him, and the tenderness of her gaze tugs at his heart. "I am glad that it's you," Aemond feels a flare of an unknown emotion deep in his chest. "We'll make a pretty good team. Wouldn't you agree?"

Aemond lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looks down at their hands and then back at Y/N.

"It seems so," he tells her, a slight smile in the corner of his lips. There's a moment of comfortable silence as they make a short stop in the shade of the trees.

"But I shall give you a warning," Y/N says with a mischievous grin. "My siblings take any celebration very seriously. Every single relative of ours will come to the wedding, and most of them won't shy away from enjoying a cup of wine... Or two".

"Can any of them outdrink Aegon?" he jokes, and Y/N bursts into laughter.

Aemond gets carried away by their conversation once again, losing track of time. While she's listing her relatives, adding innocuous remarks about each of them, the prince is enthralled by the warmth that radiates off her. Her presence alone calms the storm of his insecurities, lulling his fears to sleep. She does that so effortlessly, it's almost intimidating. But there's a certain thrill to it, too — the thrill of being close to her, sharing laughs and stories, and Aemond clings to that feeling.

He enjoys the moment while it lasts; until his headache predictably creeps up on him a few hours later. He can't tell if Y/N senses that something is wrong but she's the one to suggest returning to the castle. Aemond gladly accepts it.

On the way back they're greeted by one of the guards who notifies them that the queen gave birth to a girl. Y/N lightly squeezes Aemond's hand.

"Tomorrow is a big day then," — and the prince knows exactly what she means. The fragile bond that they only started to get the hang of will soon become public knowledge. It won't be their secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.

"There is still time for you to plan an escape," Aemond jests half-heartedly.

Y/N looks puzzled for a second, but then shakes her head:

"Only if you're planning one. We are in this together, remember?" her thumb brushes over his. "It's all about teamwork."

Aemond savors the last fleeting minutes of their day. He barely touches the food at dinner, the pain in his head intensifying but he pushes through. When the time comes for them to part, he doesn't want to. That feeling is alien to him and the prince is clueless about its nature. But he knows that with her any misery will be bearable.

When Aemond walks into his chambers, he notices a little jar on the bed table. It's the one that the maester used to bring him the ointments in, and the prince sighs. The maester doesn't grasp the extent of the problem but occasionally would suggest a thing or two to help with the pain. They've tried using cold packs, then the warm ones, tried massaging his temples, then drinking cinnamon tea, then adding some ginger that's known as a remedy for reducing inflammation... Nothing has worked so far.

But he should make an effort.

Aemond barely glances inside the jar and tosses away a piece of paper with the instructions scribbled on it. The prince already knows it all too well: he applies a thick layer of whatever that concoction is on his scar, involuntarily wincing at the cooling sensation. It smells of herbs and feels oily but absorbs into the skin pretty fast.

For some reason, his mind goes back to his mother's words — "I thought you'd be happy to know". Aemond is unsure what happiness means. The happiest day of his life is forever chained with the worst one, smeared with blood and pain that he's been carrying through the years.

But now that he met Y/N, he questions if there's more to life than what he's been through so far.

While he is laying in bed, Aemond wonders if can consider Y/N his friend. If she will ever be more than just a friend to him.

And then, before he knows it, the prince is fast asleep.

He wakes up feeling like a new man. At first, he mistakes that feeling for the remnants of his dreams that he was enveloped with at night. He shakes off his drowsiness and looks at the ceiling, catching a glint of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. That's when Aemond realizes that the pain is gone.

He sits up, bewildered, waiting for any sign of discomfort yet nothing happens. He waits for a couple of minutes — and then for up to thirty, but his head is clear and doesn't ache at all. His eye shifts to the jar on the bed table, and Aemond makes a note to extend his gratitude to the maester later. Suddenly the upcoming festivities don't seem so torturous anymore.

He doesn't get a chance to see Y/N throughout the day as everyone is preparing for the feast. When Aemond walks into the hall of the Iron Throne, he takes in the decorated surroundings. Unlike the last time he was here, now he wants to remember every detail, knowing that this evening would be of great importance.

The room fills with people, but Aemond patiently waits for her alone. He spots Y/N the second she steps in. Her dress is violet, the material bright and luminous, and it puts her into the spotlight yet again since she's the only one wearing that color. As soon as she takes her place at the table next to Aemond, her hand finds his. He's getting used to that way too fast. It's hard not to.

The first round of toasts goes to honor Visenya, the newborn daughter of the Queen. Rhaenyra willingly tolerates the sweet talk, generous with her smiles and appreciation. At some point, when the timing seems right or maybe when her cheeks are already aching, she gives a nod to Alicent, and Aemond knows what it means. As she starts her speech, he ruefully releases Y/N's hand.

But right when they're standing up, with everyone around cheering and staring, Y/N lightly presses her body against his, and Aemond feels how tense her back is. That's when it dawns on him that she's well aware of the attention but she doesn't really like it. Instinctively, he puts his fingers on her waist, his touch respectful and delicate. She breathes out and briefly rests the back of her head against his shoulder. For a moment it feels like it's just the two of them.

That feeling doesn't go away.

Usually, he's not the one to take part in dancing, but he does so for her. Aemond feels out of practice and he can't tell if that's what makes his head spin or if he's getting tipsy from the intimacy of their dance. Her moves are elegant, well-rehearsed, her body follows the rhythm of the music with ease. He doesn't remember when was the last time that silly activity brought him so much elation. Did it ever?

Time flows by in a blur, and they eventually take a pause after going into a fit of giggles at the sight of Lord Velaryon trying to improvise a move and failing, only to amuse his loving wife. Y/N suggests going out for a while and Aemond is keen on following her but then his mother catches up to them, her hand and her gaze are on him in an instant, pulling him away.

"Aemond, you've been dancing," she can't hide her bewilderment, a timid smile on her face.

"Should I not? Seems like a suitable occasion," Aemond chaffs with a tilt of his head.

"It is, indeed," she doesn't let him go just yet, and he discerns the hidden meaning of her words, the apprehension she fails to conceal. Aemond wants to grant her some respite, at least for the rest of the day, so he tells her with plain-spoken sincerity:

"I can assure you, this isn't a cause for your distress."

But then he quickly finds a cause for his when he doesn't see Y/N around. He goes searching for her in the crowd, then leaves the room altogether, coming out into the hallway.

Aemond hears her before he sees her — and she isn't alone. It takes no effort to recognize the second voice, which belongs to no other than Jason Lannister. As the prince rounds the corner, they come into sight, and Aemond has a very bad feeling.

He missed the start of their dialogue, and the look on Y/N's face is unreadable. She's oblivious to Aemond's presence and he decides to watch them. He tells himself that he'll never allow her to get into trouble. There is something very tempting in having a chance to save her from anything; as if he feels the need to prove himself to her. He tries not to entertain that thought.

"... It's not too late to change that, don't you think," Ser Lannister purrs, his tone sickly sweet but arrogant.

"It is. Which I have no regrets about, ser", when Y/N talks to him there's not a hint of friendliness in her voice.

"Your approach may be short-sighted. The proposition of mine wasn't of a frivolous kind," he's circling her, the manner of his movement is borderline predatory.

"I believe you will soon find a lady to welcome your advances but I would very much prefer to drop this conversation," she recapitulates.

Aemond tenses up, feeling like this is the moment for him to step in. Then he looks at Y/N and realizes that something is off. Her face expression changes — but it's not a look of fear. By the rising of her chest, he detects that her breathing sped up, eyes are shooting daggers at the man in front of her. She's looking, for the lack of a better word, positively furious.

But Ser Lannister, apparently, is not very good at reading signs as he comes improperly close to her.

"I can be very persuasive," his fingers fall on her back — and then go lower. "I think you should appreciate the attention while I'm this generous and..."

He doesn't finish his sentence. In about two seconds his face is suddenly slammed into the nearby wall, the hand he put on her is now twisted behind his back. Y/N uses her free hand to push right between his shoulder blades, pressing him into the stony surface.

To say that Aemond is shocked would be an understatement.

Right at this moment, she looks like a different person. This side of her he's not acquainted with but it only adds to her appeal. The change is barely perceptible: she's still maintaining her posture, keeping up the face of a woman who knows her worth. But Aemond catches a flaming spark of defiance that threatens to shutter her restraint. He can sense her anger from far away despite her doing her best to contain it.

"I do not know what kind of attention you are used to, but you're forgetting your manners. Next time you dare lay your hand on me, I will not hesitate to break it," her voice doesn't lose its usual softness, but now has an added layer to it. It sounds sharper, bolder. It sounds like she's not afraid of anything.

Y/N lets Ser Lannister go, taking a few steps back and smoothing her dress. He's frozen at first, but then slowly turns to her.

"You didn't... You did not just do that," there's a visible red mark on his cheek that will undoubtedly turn into a bruise.

"Did what, ser?" her tone is laced with coldness.

The man looks at her in disbelief, his face is a parade of emotions — from shock to annoyance to anger.

"You will not get away with this," he scowls, nettled.

"You're telling me that you're considering letting everyone know you were overpowered by a woman? Sounds hard to believe," Y/N seems unfazed.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he roars:

"You, insidious wre...!"

This time Aemond is the one to interrupt the man:

"I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to my betrothed," Y/N flinches at his voice, turning to face him, and Aemond slackens his pace a little.

"Shouldn't she watch hers? She's talking to a lord," Ser Lannister exclaims lamely, his arrogance instantly toned down a notch.

"And I see no wrongdoing on her part. Care to explain what got you into this situation?"

"It was a... a simple misunderstanding," his excuse is so pathetic that it makes the prince sneer.

"And what was the matter in question?" Aemond comes closer to the man which makes ser Lannister evidently uncomfortable. He carefully contemplates his next move.

"I only wanted to extend my congratulations on her betrothal," the man fakes a smile. "Mayhaps I expressed myself poorly".

"You should opt to choose your words more wisely next time," Aemond looks down on him. "Perhaps you are needed somewhere else?"

"I shall rejoin the celebration then," ser Lannister eagerly agrees and bows out way too quickly.

Aemond can barely wait for the man to get out of sight before turning to Y/N. Even though the prince witnessed the whole thing, he can't stop himself from asking:

"Did he harm you?"

"He didn't get a chance," she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. She looks so embarrassed, he wants to offer her some comfort but isn't sure how.

"Dare I say we've got enough interactions for one evening?" Aemond tries to lighten the mood yet she only offers him a half-hearted smile.

"I'll escort you to your chambers," the prince suggests, and before she can argue he adds: "I know you can stand up for yourself if needed. But I insist."

Y/N doesn't move an inch.

"...You are not mad at me?" she's looking at him with doe-eyed sincerity, clearly upset. Aemond is mad at himself.

"I'm thinking about cutting his arm off," he says under his breath, but she catches it.

"Aemond, there's no need!" Y/N gasps and he sees a glimpse of a smile on her lips.

"I will have to disagree," he starts but then she grasps his elbow and Aemond's hand — finally — clings to her again.

"I don't want you to get in trouble because of me," Y/N confesses. 

"And I don't want you to get hurt," his fingers caress her arm through the lace material. Y/N's cheeks heat up and Aemond finds it adorable.

"I think I... I was the one who did some damage," she complains.

"You must imagine my surprise," Aemond drawls, teasing.

"Oh, Gods," a quiet groan leaves her mouth. "That was not very ladylike of me."

Y/N covers her face with the other hand, her grip on his arm loosening. Aemond dithers before gently brushing her palm away from her face.

"You did the right thing and you have nothing to be ashamed of," he enunciates each word. "He only sets an example of unseemly behavior."

"I'm afraid I wasn't too far off," Y/N remarks, her voice relenting.

"Hmm, you're certainly not to be truffled with," he retorts, earning a faint laugh from her as they start walking, arm in arm.

"May I inquire how did you... master that very handy skill?" Aemond ventures to ask. That image of her — brave and unapologetic in her anger — will be forever engraved in his memory. Aemond is apprehensive about voicing his curiosity, uncertain of her reaction but when she answers:

"My father taught me that," her tone is surprisingly impish.

"And how did you manage to talk him into it?"

"Talking didn't help much, actually," Y/N grins. "And then I broke my brother's nose and my father decided he should find a way to guide my enthusiasm."

"How old were you?"

"Nine," she looks so satisfied with herself, Aemond can't hold back the laugh.

Y/N joins him and they fall into the comfort of each other's company. But then her smile wilts.

"There was a time when I was the youngest child and my siblings... They weren't very nice back then," she blurts out. Aemond feels his heart sinking.

"What did they do?"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad, honestly, they were only teasing. It's just um," she's looking for the right words or maybe for an acceptable explanation, but there isn't any. "It was very tiresome mostly. I could never understand the reason for them being mean."

Aemond is yet to tell her the story of him losing his eye, and the memory pops back into his head in a flash. He knows exactly what she feels, his own sense of helplessness fresh in his memory. And it still stings the same, and Aemond loathes that.

While he revisits the past, unwillingly slowing his pace, Y/N spots the change in his demeanor within seconds. She sees his facial features congealing, his fingers clenching, and she comes to the only conclusion she can make.

"Is it the headache?" her voice is suddenly quiet, and Aemond comes to an abrupt stop. The question catches him off guard, words stuck in his throat and his mouth agape. He doesn't know how to react nor does he understand how could she possibly know that. Y/N is quick to clear up his confusion:

"I noticed not long after we met and then your mother confirmed my suspicions. I am sorry that I didn't ask you directly, I thought... I didn't want to sound intrusive," she explains coyly.

"By asking about my health?" he finds his voice again. "I am to become your husband, you are free to ask such questions."

"We've only known each other for about a day back then. Surely, you're allowed to take more time than that to open up to someone," she kindly points out.

A day. Up until now the only person who's known about his pain was his mother, and for years no one else ever questioned his well-being. And it took her a day to notice that something was wrong.

"Did the ointment help?" she asks hopefully. For a second he thinks he heard her wrong but the shadow of concern on Y/N's face tells him otherwise.

"That was your doing?" he can't hide his amazement, and it elicits a laugh from her, sonorous and dulcet. Aemond likes the sound of it, he really does.

"I've been fortunate to obtain the knowledge required," she informs him.

"And what kind of witchcraft is it?"

"It is not," she playfully elbows him. "It was something my grandfather taught me. He used to have an ache of a similar nature. No one could understand the cause of it, and it only got worse with age. But my grandmother refused to sit idly by and one day she found a way to ease his pain," Y/N has a dreamy expression on her face but it melts into a wistful one. He guesses that both of her grandparents passed away.

"After her death, he wouldn't let anyone help him. It took me months to persuade him and eventually he let me on her secret," her smile is bittersweet. "Then he died, and I never thought the recipe would come in handy ever again."

Aemond hates seeing her wallow in sadness. He puts his palm on top of her hand in an attempt to offer some consolation. If there was a way to free her of that grief, to take at least some of it upon himself, he would've done it in a heartbeat. But his touch is enough to bring back the cheerfulness in her voice.

"I should mention that your maester did help, too, although he was reluctant at first," Y/N reveals.

"And I presume that it also took some convincing?" Aemond thinks of the maester's face that always looks like he is surrounded by imbeciles.

"I shamelessly boosted his ego," she wrinkles her nose. "Told him there was no way anyone would ever be as skilled as he is, and that my attempt was merely a gesture of goodwill."

"But I wasn't just that," Aemond cordially protests.

They already reached her chambers but he doesn't want to let go of her hand. He wants to tell her that meeting her was like taking a breath of fresh air after being held underwater, like finding a source of light in the pitch darkness of the night or feeling the warmth in the dead of winter. Aemond wants her to know that she's been a saving grace for him, but he's somehow at a loss for words, his thoughts jumbling together.

"It was way more than that and I...," never in his life had he gotten this tongue-tied and flustered. Yet she treats him with the same kindness and with no sign of prejudice, listening closely and keeping her eyes on him. Her gaze is disarming enough to make him say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I must admit, you exceeded my expectations," Aemond breathes out.

It immediately feels like the worst, the dullest choice of words possible, and he wants to sink into the ground right this second. But then he sees her natural smile, genuine and bright, blossoming on her face again.

"I am glad to be of service, my prince," she murmurs the last part, and his heart skips a bit.

He didn't register the moment Y/N came a bit closer, but she isn't shying away from shortening the distance. There's something enamoring about her trusting nature but that's not what draws him in. For the first time, he experiences an unfamiliar feeling that tightens his chest, makes his breathing rapid. His gaze slips over her face, down from her radiant eyes to her smile, framed by the lips that look as soft as freshly bloomed flowers. The feeling melts into an urge — he only needs to take a step, to lean his head forward just a bit and...

Aemond inhales deeply. He thinks they are in no rush, he thinks it would've been disrespectful and naive. He's mostly afraid to misread the situation, to scare her away.

But he wants to make his intentions clear. Aemond runs his thumb over her knuckles, brushing them one by one. And then he takes her hand to his lips, planting a kiss on it. He allows himself just this flicker of bravery before straightening up and releasing her hand. When he looks at Y/N, her gaze is directed at him already. It feels like a particular question is hanging in the air; they let it dissolve for now.

"I shall bid you goodnight," her eyes linger on him for a second before she turns away.

As Aemond watches her go, he is certain he wants them to be more than just friends.

Lucerys's name day comes in a about month, and by that time Aemond's routine has changed drastically. It might look the same: he wakes up with the sun, flies with Vhagar, he trains regularly, he spends his free time reading — except now Y/N is a part of his every activity.

She's never nosy or clingy; he's the one seeking her company at all times. She's an early riser, too, and they're always the first ones at the breakfast table: he asks her about her dreams, they make plans, they poke fun at Aegon, who is perpetually sleepy, and Y/N can effortlessly hold any other conversation with his family which only makes him ever so pleased.

She watches him train with genuine curiosity, she never looks away nor flinches, even when he gets too competitive and rough. Her attention is flattering — and it's all on him, and it feels unusual at first, but becomes empowering and he bathes in it.

When he takes her to meet Vhagar, she's terribly nervous. Aemond jokes that meeting his old dragon will pose no challenge after she handled Ser Lannister. It gives Y/N enough confidence to pat Vhagar's snout as the beast observes her calmly. Aemond assures her that the dragon will never go against his wishes. What he wants to say is that Vhagar senses how he feels about her.

They spend evenings in the library, both absorbed in reading but always sitting close by, their arms and shoulders coming into contact more often than not. He sometimes can't help but get distracted which leads to him forgetting about his book, instead secretly watching her, his glance full of adoration.

For a while, he's oblivious to how inseparable they've become until Helaena tells him one day, while Y/N is playing with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in his sister's chambers. When Helaena mentions it ever so nonchalantly — "You two seem joined at the hip!", it startles him. But that moment doesn't turn into an awkward one — instead, Aemond realizes that he's not scared anymore.

"I will steal her away from time to time," Helaena says, as cheery as ever.

"Bold of you to assume I will let you," he chuckles, his gaze not leaving Y/N.

"I think she’ll have the last word," his sister retorts with a cunning smile.

Aemond doesn't think twice before admitting:

"She will never say no."

"My point exactly."

The Queen plans a great hunt to celebrate her secondborn son, and a feast is being held in no time. Aemond detests those pompous events yet Y/N seems too enthusiastic about the idea, and he begrudgingly agrees to participate. He doesn't want to burden her with his weighted resentment toward Luke but, as usual, she sees right through him. Y/N asks him if he has any reservations about the upcoming celebration, and that's when he decides to tell her. Aemond doesn't want her to pity him nor does he want to upset her so he keeps the story brief: he claimed the dragon, his siblings didn't like it, things escalated way too quickly and they haven't been on good terms ever since. 

She heeds his every word, then bluntly asks:

"Must you really go?"

He ponders before answering with a sigh:

"It would be rude not to. I should pay my respect."

"I wish he had the courtesy to do the same for you," she frowns.

"It would be a little too late for an apology," Aemond shrugs even though her caring tone moves him deeply.

"I still think you deserve one," she says like it's the most obvious, logical thing in the world. He wonders how obvious the reddening of his cheeks is.

"I do not wish to dwell in the past when so many great things lay ahead of me," and he only means her. Having a future with her is his greatest blessing.

She bestows him with her softest smile:

"I guess we should make the best out of the situation we are in. Maybe you will have some fun hunting."

Aemond doesn't know what was her definition of fun, but his definitely doesn't involve babysitting Aegon. Yet that's what he ends up doing as they get separated from the group of hunters and his brother gets so drunk, he can barely stay in the saddle. He babbles and whines and Aemond is on the verge of praying for a miracle when the two of them finally stumble upon a boar. The younger prince catches the animal without a struggle.

"Oh, must be good to be a boar. Wild and free!" Aegon grumbles on their way back to the camp.

"I just slit his throat. I doubt you would want to switch places with him."

"I didn't say I want to switch places," he shakes his head so vigorously, he almost falls down. Aemond moves his horse closer, grabbing Aegon by the shoulder to steady him.

"Although switching places with you sounds tempting," he sneers.

"And why would you ever want that?" Aemond raised his brow questioningly.

"You've got yourself a pretty wife-to-be," Aegon chants and whistles.

"Are you asking for me to tie you to that boar? That can be arranged," Aemond deadpans.

" 'tis won't be necessary," Aegon's quick to object. "Whatever she sees in you, those qualities are not in my possession," his frown turns into a grin and he winks at his brother.

Aemond lightly chuckles:

"You'll get no argument from me."

Leaving Y/N is not an easy task for Aemond but coming back to her might be the second-best thing in the entire world. And the first one, obviously, is being with her.

When they return to the camp, he helps Aegon down, impatiently looking around, and as his eye lands on her, his breathing hitches.

She's standing next to the hunting tent, surrounded by a group of ladies, Helaena by her side and they're both laughing as his sister unsuccessfully tries to finish her sentence. Y/N has a violet in her hair, strands of it falling down her shoulders, her smile bright against the fading evening sun. She helps Helaena to articulate whatever she's talking about, the ladies around them cackling.

Aemond admires his betrothed from afar, savoring the moment.

It amuses him that her softness is a choice, that she chooses to be open-minded and kind, even though the world around her is armed to the teeth, and she does know how to fight back. And yet, that's not what motivates her. Instead, she's an image of benevolence and generosity, always understanding and forgiving, hence why people are so naturally drawn to her. And he is no exception.

Aemond gets distracted when a couple of servants approach him and he instructs them to take the boar's carcass away.

"You had a successful hunt, dear prince," when Aemond hears the question, he rolls his eye. Turning around, he sees Tyland Lannister with a smile so forged his face might crack in half.

"As usual," Aemond answers indifferently. "Never took you for a hunter."

"I cannot appreciate cruelty," Lannister forces out. "And I am afraid I will not be able to negotiate my way out of a bear's grip. So I am here merely to control my brother's primal impulses."

The mentioning of Jason makes Aemond cautious.

"Developing some self-control may be beneficial for him," the prince mutters.

Tyland goes blanch white, taking the hint.

"I was wondering if I should address the delicate issue of my brother's sympathy toward your..."

"You should not," Aemond cuts him off. "Would be better to address his manners but it's the thing you must sort out amongst yourselves," with that, he turns away to find Y/N again.

Except she isn't there.

The ladies moved closer to the tent but she and Helaena are the only ones missing. It takes him a second to realize that the women look alarmed, glancing at the tent. Or rather inside of it.

Aemond all but runs there, going over the worst scenarios in his head. When he gets in and sees Y/N in the company of Ser Lannister, he thinks he's never been angrier in his life. If Aemond was a dragon, the lord would've been burned to a pulp as of right now.

Jason keeps his distance and his face expresses nothing but regret yet it looks like it's already too late as Y/N is glaring at him with a sharp glint in her eyes. And in the next moment, she loses her temper.

"...What am I missing exactly?" she asks Jason, her voice unexpectedly loud, and it draws the attention of some nearby men. She doesn't care.

"You've been eager to win me over, but I am yet to find a single reason why would any woman find your company endearing," she takes a step toward the lord and he shrivels under the weight of her words.

"Is it the winery that your servants built for you? Is it your herd of fine horses? You talk so much about your stable, one may think your betrothed is to marry a stallion," her smile is mirthless. Aemond hears a faint groan behind his back and recognizes Tyland's scared tone.

"But what are your accomplishments?" the tent gets deadly quiet as she continues. "Do you consider your persevering courtship to be one of them? Or your harassing of my parents, my relatives and even my maids with your never-ending propositions, no matter how many times were they all rejected? Or mayhaps ambushing me in the hallway counts as an achievement for you?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Aemond sees Helaena and Aegon, both looking stunned. Pretty much everyone around him has the same expression at the sight of Y/N. He, on the other hand, has never been more proud of anyone.

Y/N looks at Jason as if she wants to bore a hole in him, her voice getting lower but harsher.

"You want to know what prince Aemond did? None of the above," Aemond feels his heart freeze at the mention of his name. She is yet to see him but when she speaks, it feels like she's seen enough.

"The man I am about to marry has been nothing but kind, respectful and loving, fulfilling my every wish, granting me the comfort of his company and his loyalty. The man with the sharpest mind and the kindest heart — both of which you're clearly lacking," Y/N casts Jason a disdainful glance. "So from where I am standing, it looks like I'm the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms."

When she feels a hand on her waist, she isn't surprised and welcomes the touch with no hesitation, knowing full well who is standing beside her. She swiftly turns to Aemond, their eyes locking.

"I would like it if we left earlier, my prince."

"As you wish," Aemond wishes he could marry her right now.

Disregarding everyone's attention, he leads her out and asks the coachman to fetch their carriage. When they are away from prying eyes, her confidence wavers a little. It only fuels Aemond's ire.

"Give me just a second," he can't help himself.

Aemond goes back to the tent — and right to the Lannisters, one of them is already scolding the other. Tyland stops his lecturing when he notices Aemond, but the prince doesn't let him make a sound.

"That was the second time your brother couldn't hold his tongue," Aemond ignores Jason and walks up close to the other man. "If you care about his well-being in the slightest, make sure there will be no third time."

"Aemond, let us not make another scene. You must think how that will look like..."

Aemond stares Tyland dead in the eyes and promises:

"I will gut him like a boar. Imagine how that will look like."

Without saying another word, the prince storms off.

Y/N already got into the carriage, fidgeting with the hem of the dress as she falls deep into her thoughts.

"Ser Lannister will not bother you anymore," Aemond says, sitting next to her.

"I sure hope so," she mumbles, looking down at the wrinkled fabric.

"Y/N, whatever he said, you should not let it get to you. I do appreciate the gesture," way more than he cares to admit, "but there's no need to go through the trouble of standing up for me," Aemond barely finishes the sentence when she retorts:

"I will."

She looks at him, her eyes burning with blazing certainty.

"No one took your side when you were a kid. But I'm doing it now," she states as her palm covers his, the touch is as warming as her glance.

Aemond thinks he is the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

He runs out of luck so fast, he must've jinxed it. They are nearing the castle when the pain on the back of his head stings so unexpectedly, he winces, his eyebrows furrowing. Y/N notices it immediately and insists he should take a rest when they arrive.

"Mayhaps you have some of the ointment left?" she wonders, leading him to his chambers. Aemond rarely allows people to coddle him but he accepts her care freely. He is also aware that the near-miraculous balm that she makes is long gone because he hasn't had a headache in a while.

When Y/N finds out, she looks devastated.

"It must steep for a few hours, I can't make it right away," her enthusiasm brittles. She glances at him in a dither, mulling over something, while he lights the fireplace.

"There is another way that I know of," she slowly suggests. "But you will need to lie down."

"Quite a vulnerable position you want to put me in," Aemond lightheartedly jests but brings himself at her disposal with no second thoughts.

She sits on his bed right next to him, the bend of her hips an inch away from his arm.

"Close your eye," she asks calmly and he obliges.

Aemond senses that Y/N leans over him and he struggles not to hold his breath at the realization of how close she is. Then he feels the tips of her fingers on his face, the touch is so light and gentle, it makes him shiver. The pattern of her movements first contours his face, then goes up to his forehead, then slowly glides onto his temples. She massages them delicately in a circular motion.

"It was probably all the noise that caused this," she presumes.

"Or maybe the fact that the man makes my blood boil," Aemond says, although his anger is completely gone by now.

"He is pissed I didn't choose him," she laughs quietly.

"Choose him?" her words peak his interest. "You had a choice in the matter?"

"My father said he would hate it if I marry someone I didn't like," her thumbs are following the lines of his cheekbones, then run under his chin, then all the way up to his hairline, right next to his ears.

"May I ask what was your decision process?" Aemond selects his words very carefully. What he really wants to ask is why would anyone pick him, out of all people.

"I've heard you claimed the biggest dragon in the world at the age of ten," he can't see her smile but he can hear it. "That was impressive enough."

Aemond takes a peek at her through his lashes:

"That can't be the only thing you've heard."

"I can distinguish valuable information from pointless rumors," she notes imperturbably.

"I bet those rumors included the stories of me being the scariest man in the realm..."

Her fingers cover his mouth and he stumbles.

"I decided I would be the judge of that," Y/N says firmly.

"And what is your verdict?" he can't stop himself from asking, his pulse speeding up.

She doesn't think for a second:

"All the people who were spreading those vile tales clearly have never met you. There isn't a single bad thing I can think of when it comes to you."

Aemond shouldn't take it to heart but that's precisely where it hits, her voice cracking his shield, her eyes telling him she will never regret knowing him, caring for him. He thinks this is what true happiness is — being with someone who will choose you every time.

Her fingers graze over the strip of his eyepatch and she pauses her movement. She isn't breaking eye contact, waiting for his reaction, for his permission or refusal. Aemond gulps, helpless under her gaze, and doesn't stop her.

She picks up the leather strip slowly, as if she wants to give him a chance to change his mind. Aemond watches her, his body still, heart rate booming in his ears. Y/N removes the eyepatch and looks straight at the sapphire that gleams brightly in the warm lighting. And then she smiles.

"What do you see?" he exhales.

"Nothing scary, that's for sure," Y/N's gaze doesn't leave his face, her index finger tracing the scar, barely touching his skin.

"Nothing I don't admire," her voice is a little above a whisper.

"Nothing I wouldn't love."

His heart is beating so fast, it feels caged and ready to jump out at any second. Aemond forgets about the headache as if it never existed. In this state of bliss, he contemplates making a very emotional decision. But she makes one instead.

Y/N lowers her face closer to his and all of a sudden he feels a touch so light, it's almost like a petal brushes over his skin. It's her lips. She kisses his face — his scar — moving tenderly from the high point of his cheek to the area under the sapphire and then right above what's left of his eyelid.

When their eyes meet again, Aemond can only think of one thing.

He surges upward, his lips colliding with hers — she responds in an instant. His chest feels like it's on fire as kissing her is the most overwhelming feeling in the world, but he doesn't want to stop, ever. Her fingers gently slide down to his neck and Aemond uses his arm for support as he sits up without breaking the kiss. He then pulls her closer, one of his hands on her lower back and the other nestled under her jaw.

She softly sighs into his mouth — and it might be his new favorite sound. She tastes like berries, her lips getting more eager, fiery, addictive, and he is dizzy with joy and longing, trying to memorize each second. The pacing of the kiss grows heated and intoxicating as they melt into each other perfectly. They only part when both are out of air, their lips tingling, swollen and craving to continue.

"I must admit," she tries to catch her breath, she can't stop smiling, her hands caressing his face, "you exceeded my expectations."

Aemond laughs, cheerful and carefree, his nose bumping into hers.

"It's all about teamwork, as I've heard," he plants a quick peck on the corner of her mouth — and on the other one. And then they're kissing again, desperately drawn to each other. He's lost in the sound of her voice, in the feeling of her lips on his.

His love for her is all-consuming. Her love for him is healing.

Turns out, letting her in doesn't make him lose. With her by his side, he always feels like a winner.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

> the title is a quote from Hozier's song

>> I originally took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. I also can't help but mention the extensive research that @ adderess did, which only adds to that heartbreaking yet very realistic concept.

>>> I have a playlist for Aemond 🎵 I didn't add any music in this fic BUT I've listened to "Mr Sandman" a lot, especially the instrumental version (I didn't mention it earlier in case you don't like listening to music while reading). 💕 my masterlist

#aemond targaryen fanfic #I hardly believe anyone will read ALL that but I'm giving it a go #LISTEN my other fic is about Aemond getting his ass kicked #and there's lots of blood and family drama #so I wanted to start with smth light okay??? #is he *too soft*? well not when it comes to the Lannisters lmao #but pls let the man be soft for once #also my mental health needed a break from describing fights and torture so here we go #ALSO will I ever stop writing female characters who can stand up for themselves? probably not #hotd fanfiction #my stuff #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fics #aemond one eye x y/n #aemond targaryen hotd #hotd fics #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfics #aemond targaryen

[targaryen-dynasty]

OBJECT OF DESIRE (2/?)

Aemond Targaryen x female Reader

It's always sacrifice and duty. But what will you do, if it's put to the test?

WARNINGS: none!

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: This is a chapter to build the plot of the story. If everything goes according to plan (what it never does) you're getting two to three more chapters! Tried to end it with a cliffhanger, but ain't sure if it worked lmao

Two days have passed in which you haven’t heard or seen even just a trace of Aemond. You didn’t catch any glimpses of him in the corridors, didn’t see him around his siblings, and not even spotted him training with the sword in the early hours of the day. 

You have been counting on him to approach you the following day to whisk you away like he’s said, almost promised, to save you from the inevitable torment that was due the next day – but he didn’t come. 

And with his absence, the doubts about merely being used by him arise and become more prominent, constantly scratching in the back of your mind. 

The only thing that makes it all slightly better is that you have been seeing your father just as sparsely as your cousin; clearly having no desire to spend his days with you and make up for the time you’ve lost, knowing that you’re incredibly cross with him. 

But with yours and Daemon’s paths not crossing once also vanishes any possibility of you coercing him to cancel the courtship, even though the chances would have been small anyways. 

The chair you currently sit in is nearly as uncomfortable as the large throne looming behind you is rumored to be, at least that‘s what you fathom, and you‘re certain that the thick fur draped over it, warming your arse and back, does little to help with that. 

It is little consolation that King Viserys’ second daughter shares the same fate as you, sitting in a chair that’s just as unpleasant as yours. 

You have planned for Ysilla to accompany you while you’re receiving the chosen suitors, trusting her advice and her knowledge of you, however, it has clearly interfered with the plans of Queen Alicent. 

But Helaena is no bad company. There’s something about her soft aura, which you’ve already noticed back when you arrived, that calms you and makes your misery much more bearable. She’s not a woman of many words, but there’s wit and charm in them when she speaks. 

Lined up in front of you two stands a queue of different lords and highborn men, all chosen by none other than your father, and you’re glad that at least your advisor seems to keep track of the men that come to introduce themselves. Whenever you glance at her, you see her gauging their characters based on their appearances alone, and her expression always matches yours when a man that’s significantly older than you steps forwards. And so far, it’s been quite a few. 

In the sea of lords, Blackwood, Lannister and Manderly alike, there eventually steps a much younger lord forwards. You raise your brow, and your eyes briefly flit over his form before Helaena leans towards you. 

“This one doesn’t seem too awful, does he?” she whispers, and if you listen closely, you can hear just a lilt of tease in her tone. 

You would love to spend your time differently at this moment, and you’re certain Helaena would enjoy being somewhere else as well, although you do feel relieved to finally be at least marginally less bored by someone that’s closer to your age than your father’s. 

The lord is tall and well built, wearing a well fitted doublet in his Houses’ colors; knowing them well enough to be certain it’s a fellow House of the Vale of Arryn. He has a clean shaven face that shows now scars or blemishes, and his short, brown hair neatly sits in place. It’s clear he is very-well groomed, a stark contrast to some of the other men that have already spoken to you today. 

“No, he’s… alright,” you reply, nodding your head once. 

You’re caught off guard when he approaches you slowly, coming closer than any other lord before, and bows before you. He takes your hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. Although you don’t feel any attraction towards him, goosebumps still prickle on your skin; you’re intrigued. 

“My lady,” he says, rising to his full height again as he takes a step back. “May I say that you have a striking beauty. I am Lord Alec Hersy of Newkeep. Your name has been brought to me by the other men of the Vale, who know you well and speak of you highly, and my lady, ‘tis an honor to ask for the opportunity to court you and unite our Houses.” 

You notice that he speaks with a great deal of confidence, almost as if he’s practiced what to say over and over. As you think about your answer, your eyes flicker to the several men that are still lined up behind him, all their eyes fixed on you as they wait for their turn to approach you. 

It’s eerily quiet for the few seconds you contemplate his offer, though you know that you’re not yet allowed to make a decision, and there must have been something in the way you smile at the man before you that makes it appear as if you mean to accept his advances for suddenly another lord comes forward to stand by Lord Hersy’s side. 

The other man isn’t as bold as the Hersy, keeping a polite distance from you, but you see it in the way he straightens his back and keeps his head held high that he clearly is competing with the man next to him, vying for your hand in marriage without having said anything up to now.

He is just as tall as his opponent but with a leaner frame, and also wears a doublet in his Houses’ colors; another Lord of the Vale. His long, brown hair is tied up, and he has a confident air about him. And then you spot the broken wheel on his doublet, the coat of arms. You would have never guessed him to be a Lord of House Waynwood for its members usually tend to be more horse-faced, at least that’s what they say, yet this man is strangely comely. 

It is clear that both men that stand in front of you are attractive, but in different ways. The Hersy man has a charming and youthful look, while the other has a sophisticated and more mature standing, and you’re not quite sure what you feel more drawn to.

You tilt your head sideways slightly at his bold approach, a raised eyebrow prompting him to finally speak. 

“My lady, I have been very impressed with what I have heard about you. Lord Hersy is right when he says you have a striking beauty for you look just like your late mother did. It is a blessing you have her eyes and smile.” His words leave you frowning for a moment, because from what you’ve gathered over all these years, your looks take more after your father than your mother. But the lord continues to speak, pulling you from your train of thought. “As a Lord of House Waynwood, I would like to ask the honor of having you by my side. What do you say?”

You’re stunned by his boldness. Looking from one man to the other, you’re stuck between both of them. However, this doesn’t last long for the silence is suddenly interrupted by the doors to the Throne Room opening. 

A mop of silver hair steps into the room with a certain air of arrogance and smugness that clings to him like a cloak. Aemond. His arrival doesn’t only surprise you, but you can also hear the lords and nobles start to mumble and grumble under their breaths, and you’re most impressed by how unphased Aemond is at that. 

Taking in a sharp breath, you regain your composure, trying not to let your nervousness show too much, and refocus on the men standing in front of you. Aemond‘s presence is unexpected, and you’re not sure how to feel after being used by him and not hearing from him for the past two days. He has given you hope to put you out of your misery, and crushed it just as easily.

“The both of you are very kind,” you say. Both men start to smile politely, even more when it’s returned by you, however, their smiles drop just as quickly at your next words. “But before I make a choice, I will need to consult with my father.”

With Aemond approaching, boldly walking past the queue of bowing suitors, both men briefly bow to you, before making room for him. 

“Prince Aemond,” you say, not waiting for him to settle and start speaking. It seems as though you haven’t lowered your eyebrow at all, one surprising moment happening after the other. 

Aemond walks up to you, coming just as close as the Hersy lord did before with his hands clasped behind his back, and his intense stare doesn’t leave your features. He grabs your hand, bringing it up to his lips. It makes your pulse quicken, and this time your body starts to feel as if it’s on fire. You’ve been cross with him just a few seconds before, and yet the feeling of his lips on your skin is enough to make the anger vanish. 

“I know you expected my return, my lady,” he says softly, his voice just loud enough for you and Helaena to hear him and not the men around. “Will you come with me now, or will you leave this to the men that are too weak to give you what you deserve?”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, your eyes flit down to where his hand is still holding yours. “What exactly would I be getting if I were to choose you, my prince?”

Aemond smirks at your reply, and squeezes your hand in a reassuring manner. “These men do not understand you as I do, my lady, and they never will. They may pretend to worship the ground you walk on, but that will not change the way they see you behind closed doors.”

Something stirs deep inside of you at his words, warmth rising in your cheeks and a tingling sensation in your stomach. It’s all too easy to give in to him, to give in to his words if it means you get a chance with him. Your mind races as you try to push away the thoughts of the consequences; but to no avail. 

You swallow, and reluctantly pull your hand back to fold them in your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. “I want to express my great gratitude for your presence, Prince Aemond, but I am afraid I can not give you your desired answer,” you speak loud enough for everyone in the Throne Room to hear, making clear that it’s you being in control. “As I said, I will need to consult with my father before accepting any of the offers.” 

The smile you give him is polite, but it hardly reaches your eyes. His smirk drops at that, and with a bow of his head, he turns to his sister who has silently watched the exchange. “May I have a word?” It’s not a question but more a demand, giving her no chance to refuse. 

Helaena nods and rises to her feet, flashing you an apologetic smile before she follows Aemond and disappears through the king’s door behind the Iron Throne.

You’re left to deal with the suitors and guards all by yourself, and know you’ll have to find a way to bid the men that have come to seek your hand in marriage farewell; in the most tactful way possible. 

Standing up, you keep your hands clasped in front of you. You look over the remaining suitors, carefully analyzing each of them. “My lords,” you speak loud and clear, feigning your confidence, “thank you for coming here today. I am incredibly impressed by all your proposals, but it was a long and tiresome day, and I have decided to have another day of courtship in the morrow. If you would excuse me now.”

As the men exit the large room on your behalf, Helaena comes back from where she’s left with Aemond not long before; not in the presence of her younger brother anymore. There’s a small scroll in her hand, neatly clasped between her slender fingers. 

“Is there a lord that has piqued your interest already?” she asks, a gentle smile on her lips. 

You glance at the scroll, noticing that it’s sealed, before meeting her eyes again. “Is there a lord that has piqued my interest?” you ask, your teasing tone suggesting that you don’t think there’s even one man that would fit the bill. 

“You’re not entirely incorrect,” she muses, “though I think that Lord Hersy does seem a little… less unappealing than the others.” Her words make you chuckle, and you raise a brow as she hands you the scroll. “For me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. 

She nods, and you take it from her hands but don’t open it right away. It feels like something that’s best read in private.

“Do you not wish to know what is written inside?” she asks, gently, and not in a way that’s meant to pester you. 

Looking down at the scroll, you furrow your brow and sigh. There’s no way you can refuse her, a princess, without being impolite and appearing suspicious. “I… I suppose I do.” 

You break the seal and unroll it carefully in a guarded manner, making sure to be the first, and only one, to see what’s written inside. It takes everything in you not to allow your eyes to widen the moment you’re reading the first few words, not wanting to raise anyone’s suspicion. 

Before the princess can even ask, knowing she’d eventually do, you opt to tell her but keep the contents vague, giving a little fib. “Looks like…” you begin, trailing off as you pretend to read the scroll to its completion. “It’s a proposition from your brother, and apparently he wants me… to join him for supper.”

Helaena raises her brow, and you notice a smile creeping onto her lips. “This offer is certainly… an interesting one. A rather informal event for a prince to ask a lady to join him for. But do you wish to accept his invitation? You can decline, of course, but do keep in mind that my brother is quite the catch.”

You roll the scroll and keep it tightly secured in your palm, not keen on having its contents read by anyone other than you. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to meet for supper,” you reply. “My father surely would want me to be open-minded while searching for a suitable match.”

She brings a hand up to rub your upper arm, smiling softly at you. “That certainly sounds wise,” she hums. “I think my presence is no longer required today, although I am very curious to hear how your supper goes. Will you promise to tell me how it turned out in the morrow?” 

You bow your head. “Of course. I shall take my leave now, cousin, and I must say that this has been quite a pleasant afternoon.”

“You are most welcome, cousin. If you require any support, or an open ear, come speak to me. I will be here to lend you both of it.”

With Helaena’s words, you exit the Throne Room, heading straight back to your chambers. They are quiet, for once, though this moment of serenity doesn’t last long with Ysilla stepping out of the adjoining bathing chambers. 

She has a smile on her lips as she catches you in better spirit than anticipated. “I assume that the courtship has been successful? “

You bite the tip of your tongue, stopping your lips from pulling into a grin. “You can say that it has, indeed,” you reply. Not wanting to dwell on the topic any longer than necessarily, reducing the risk of her asking any more questions, you change it. “Is the bath ready?” 

Ysilla bows her head, getting the cue, and steps aside. “It is waiting for you, yes. May I fetch your robe, my lady?”

“That is very gracious of you, thank you,” you reply, and when she disappears to prepare the robe for you, you’re quick to stuff the scroll into the pile of riding attire you’ve taken with you upon the travel. 

You don’t tell her about the letter you’ve received, and even less about what’s written inside. Therefore your maid doesn’t know that there’s no need for her to prepare you for the night just yet. It’s easier for you if she leaves you alone very early to retire to the quarters occupied by your entourage for you don’t need any fuss about leaving your chambers so late. 

While you usually handle most of the bathing by yourself, scrubbing and cleaning your body, you’ve left the care of your silver hair to your maid. She washes it thoroughly, dries it with care, and once you’re dressed, she separates the strands to brush them carefully. She applies special oils on the silver strands, before your hair is loosely braided down your back.

It seems as though Ysilla is extra cautious to make sure you’re comfortable and ready for bed; preparing every detail, however small, and completing every task meticulously for you to retire for the night. You’re certain she awaits for your restraint to snap at any given moment for you to tell her even the smallest details of the first day of your courtship. But in the prospect of your night, she can wait a damn long time for that to happen. 

And only when she brings in a small tray with light supper does she finally bow to you, folding her hands in front of her body. “I shall now retire for the night, my lady,” she hums. “I am certain tomorrow brings with it new, exciting tasks and I need to rest to be able to cope with them.”

Sitting down at the desk, you grab the cutlery to cut into the woodcock that’s served. You look up at her with a soft smile on your lips. “Thank you for your hard work today, Ysilla. Rest well, and we will see each other in the morning.”  

Your maid nods her head once again, and sets off for the door. “May the Seven watch over you, my lady.” With these words, she shuts the door behind her, and only as she’s finally out of the room does her absence weigh down on you, making you terribly aware of the letter that’s neatly stored in the pile of your riding breeches. 

The next two hours are drawn out to the point you consider just walking out of your chambers, making your way through the winding corridors and right towards his apartments. But you don’t do that. 

Only when the sun has long set do you start to prepare yourself for what lies ahead. Your nightgown and shift fall to the floor, and are quickly replaced by smallclothes and tight-fitting breeches, topped by a soft tunic. A pair of boots and a warm leather jacket follow, completing your outfit. 

You fetch the scroll again, skimming over its contents, rereading them in case you’ve missed anything. Of course you haven’t, and it’s written at the bottom, too hard to miss:

‘Dress simply and practically.’

That’s what you’ve done as you push at the wall to the right side of your bed, revealing a door that’s hidden in plain sight. It has been built into the architecture of the castle, perfectly blended into the wall and hard to find if you didn’t know what you’re looking for. 

And you didn’t know – it was a hard guess, based on the drawing Aemond has scrawled below the invitation to a little adventure. 

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[fadingsnow]

POISON - lord velaryon! aged up! LUCERYS VELARYON x f! reader (SHORT)

SUMMARY AND TW: Reader is Jacaerys' daughter and heir. A lot of hate towards Rhaena.. sorry lmao TW: nsfw (fingering).. i need him so bad, Divider Credits: @firefly-graphics

His hoarse voice rang out against the walls of his and his wife's chambers, rough hands grabbing your thighs eagerly as you found a good place to sit, his lap.

"If only I would be rid of this farce marriage, tala- (niece)."

Your constant efforts to entice him more were starting to get to him, only a few moons ago, had you finally captured him in your grasp, or rather he had.

"Rhaena is a good woman, but not the one that I want." His eyes fluttered slowly, almost falling into a sleeplike look.

"Then, who might it be, Kepus? (Uncle)" You murmured in his ear, putting small kisses under it, knowing how it would make him even more reactable.

"I heard Lady Lannister has been a little eager now to take Rhaena's place, even said she wouldn't mind being your little whore."

"I already have someone in that place, don't I? My sweet niece, my little cock drunk whore. Don't even need to pay you four coppers to get you down on your knees, praising your Kepus (Uncle)."

You let out a small gasp at the carelessness of his words. It certainly had your thighs wrapping harder around his waist, and the throbbing inbetween them harder to ignore.

"I wonder if I placed my fingers in that tight cunt of yours that always seems so enticing, how easy it will be to make you come all over my hand. How about this? For each time, you cum without me letting you, each time I fuck my wife."

He lazily grinned at you, his curls falling to the side of his face. He knew Rhaena was a sore spot for you, you were always jealous at the mention of her, if only you were be able to be called lady Velaryon.

You narrowed your eyes at him waringly, your movements stopping slowly at his words. You and Lucerys usually played around, except you always were reluctant to even speak Rhaena's name during your.. visits. It felt rather disrespectful since she was still your aunt due to your mother being Baela, but you couldn't help but feel vigor from Lucerys fucking you instead of her. And well, you didn't exactly want him to actually proceed with his marital duties towards her, so you let what he said pass your mind.

"Perhaps. Only if you are able to do it, a person might believe with the way you're groaning against my neck, you might release your seed immediately." You smiled at him sweetly, your words the complete opposite from how you looked at him.

Lucerys' hand slowly pulls up your skirt, as his other hand travels to your thighs, trying to look for a piece of clothing, but then his eyes look up back to yours, surprise clouded his features. His lips pursed together, before he asked you.

"You came to me, bare naked?" His voice came out teasing, biting his lower lip.

"Well.." Your voice trailed off, a little embarrassed at your action. You weren't exactly sure why you had dressed in such way, you usually liked it when he took off your smallclothes, his teeth grazing against your thigh as he slid them off, then going to press his tongue against your cunt, making you moan too loudly.

"No need to be nervous, tala (Niece). It is only us in this room." His grip on your thighs tightened, his hips bucking a little against you. "After all, we are the only people that ever entered here, right?"

You could hardly breathe, as warm breath hitched in your throat. As your legs wrapped around his hips once again, you closed your eyes, trying to focus solely on him. When you opened them again, you found his eyes looking right into yours, a soft smile gracing his features.

His fingers slipped inside your entrance, making you arch your hips upwards, your arms hanging limply by your sides. The feeling of being penetrated completely by another made you shiver with excitement. His fingers worked their magic, rubbing against your clit, causing you to cry out in pleasure, his thumb pressing against your nub.

He kept his gaze focused on you, watching as you writhed beneath him. Slowly, he moved his fingers within you, the friction causing you to whimper, unable to stop yourself from doing so. You bit your lip, as his tongue dipped down, licking his way up towards your breast, kissing softly on its peak.

You let out an unsteady giggle as he continued to rub against your nub, his eyes closing close, a smile appearing on his lips as his fingers kept circling your wet core.

His other hand grabbed at the upper part of your dress which confined your breats, which he tugged and let loose. His eyes were blown wide at the sight of your breats, his mind already knowing what to do. Your breathing increased, your nails digging harshly into his shoulder blades as he started sucking on your nipples. You could barely hold back your moans, your inner walls squeezing tightly around his finger tips, and it seemed like you lost all control of the situation when he grabbed onto your leg, dragging it closer to him.

"Please, Lucerys, just let me-"

"Didn't know my little princess wanted me to give Rhaena my heir so bad?"

You gripped his hair tighter as his hand slid between your folds, his fingers finding purchase against your folds. You cried out louder as your walls squeezed and pushed against his digits, his fingers pushing against your walls gently at first, before increasing the pace and increasing the pressure of his fingers. His thumb pressed against your sensitive opening, which made you squirm and gasp loudly. It also brought tears to his eyes at the sound of your cries. He licked your nipple quickly, sucking it hard into his mouth.

Your breath became heavier, your body quivering against his touch, begging for more. He kept his pace slow, wanting you to catch up, wanting you to become overwhelmed, yet wanting you to climax soon. As soon as your orgasm began to build, your hands dug into his shoulders, pulling on his hair lightly, moaning louder than ever before. His fingers curled into your walls, pushing inside deeper as you released your scream, your head tossing backwards. His fingers pumped furiously, filling you up completely and leaving you trembling, your eyes rolling backwards as the final shudder wracked through you. His mouth remained glued to your breasts, his head hung low as you panted heavily, your legs weak at the knees. He kept his hold on your legs, bringing one of them around his waist, keeping it there for a moment until you managed to stand upright with a grunt. Once you did, he wrapped both of his arms around your torso, holding you close as you sat on his lap panting.

"If it gives you any reassurance, tala (Niece), you are much better then Rhaena." He brought his fingers to his mouth, slowly sucking on the white substance that was still currently dripping out of you. He directly looked at you, licking his fingers with no shame.

"Sweeter then her too."

#Spotify #make this go viral #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #lucerys x reader #lucerys strong #lucerys targaryen #lucerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon x reader #lucerys valeryon #prince lucerys

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Bittersweet Memories

Summary: You were there when Elia Martell was killed. You were one of her closest friends, wife to be to her brother Oberyn. After Elia was killed you were left to serve the Lannisters, leaving Oberyn under the impression that you also died. What happens when Oberyn arrives in Kings Landing after so many years for the wedding of King Joffrey? Who really killed the King? And would Oberyn survive his visit to get his happily ever after?

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 4.3k

Rating: M

Warnings: violence, mentions of abuse, angst, kissing, implied smut, poison, character death (it's Joffrey lmao), mentions of pregnancy (look, Oberyn is a soft boy in this and I am not sorry)

A/N: Been working on this for a while. I hope you like it x This is unbeta'd fyi

You were crying.

People were screaming and running around, yet you stood there, frozen to the spot as you watched your best friend and her children being killed in cold blood. You wanted to move away but you couldn’t, being held against your will by a guard of the Lannister’s who had stormed the castle.

Elia had stopped struggling after she watched her children being killed in front of her eyes. She had shut down, yet she turned her head to look at you.

Close your eyes, she mouthed and you did, trying to ignore the sounds that filled the hall as you imagined the warm brown eyes of the man who was supposed to arrive in the next few days to take you home. The man you loved, the man you were engaged to…

“Servant?” you blinked your eyes, having zoned out for a moment. You breathed in deeply before you approached Cersei, bowing. She eyed you with a raised eyebrow.

“The next time I have to repeat myself there will be punishment,” she hissed and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“The guests are to arrive for the wedding in the next days. You will be in charge of the Martell’s. You are to serve them in every way they want you to, you understand? Make sure to report everything you hear back to me.”

You only nodded before you turned around. You quickly walked to your quarters, only allowing to release the sob you had been holding in, after the door closed behind you.

When Elia was killed all those years ago, no one had known who you were in the chaos that happened after. They didn’t know who you were engaged to.They didn’t to this day. Your punishment for serving the old king was to serve the new one too.

Of course you had tried to escape. But it was more complicated than you thought.

There weren’t many ships leaving for Dorne. Not that you could afford it after you had been stripped of your possessions. And you were too afraid to sneak on to a ship. You had nothing but the clothes you were wearing. Well.. You had one thing. A dried dornish rose that had survived in between the pages of your favourite book. Both gifts by Oberyn which he had given to you on the day before you left to visit Elia.

It was the only thing that you had left from your old life.

Dorian coming here could be your way out. You just wanted to get back to Dorne. King’s Landing was a shithole and you hated the Lannisters. Only a month ago the so-called King, Joffrey, had punished you because he didn’t like the way you filled his cup with wine with 15 whips to your back. You were still healing from that assault.

You hoped Dorian would remember you. You hoped he would take you with him back home. Maybe you would have the chance to talk to Oberyn again. You didn’t know if he found another woman to be his wife.

Oberyn never really wanted to get married before you.

Sighing you sat down on your small bed as you looked down at your hands.

Maybe your life would finally change.

It was early on the next day when you woke up. It was still dark outside and you allowed yourself a moment to breathe.

So many years had gone by. You tried to remember the last day you had truly been happy.

It must have been a couple days before Elia…

You were in the garden outside with her and the children, taking a walk. Oberyn had sent a letter earlier, his writing always bringing a smile to your face.

It was bittersweet thinking back to those days. So many years had gone by since your friend was brutally killed and your life was taken from you. You always wondered if you could have fought them harder, if you could have run away after.

Oberyn had been your strength.

Not a day went by where you didn’t think of him.

The events after that fateful day left you in a constant state of fear and anger. You wanted justice. The one time you had laid eyes on Tywin Lannister you had the urge to use every single sharp object in the room to cut out his eyes.

While it wasn’t proven that he was the one who sent Gregor Clegane to kill your friend and future sister in law, the rumours were around and they had never been denied.

Oberyn would have had his revenge. He would know what to do. You couldn’t even fathom the immense grief he must have gone through when the news reached the lands of Dorne. Closing your eyes you breathed in deeply. You reached under your pillow, your fingers finding the single vile of poison you had stolen earlier that week. You were glad you had listened and studied a little with Oberyn, knowing just enough about what to take to have the desired effect.

The Lannister would soon know what it meant to lose someone they loved.

And hopefully you would go home.

The palace was buzzing.

You had been up for hours preparing the many chambers for Dorian and the rest of his entourage. They would stay for four days before sailing back.

You missed the air of your homeland.

Spending hours walking through the water gardens or looking out over the ocean. The air was different in Dorne. It was warmer and the people… You missed the people. Nobody was better than another in Dorne. People always helped each other. Even though they had royalty, they were approachable. More than once you had watched Oberyn on the markets buying berries and other things.

You had just flattened the bed linens for what must have been the hundredth time when the door opened. You saw Tyrion Lannister walk in and you bowed your head. From all Lanister’s it was Tyrion who would be the nicest. He nodded once at you as you looked up.

“These are your chambers for the time you’ll be guests to the king. Everything has been prepared. If you would excuse me now, I have to see my wife,” he said.

Someone else walked in and you were sure you were dreaming.

“Give well wishes to your wife,” a familiar voice said and a shiver ran down your body. You closed your eyes as you bowed again while Tyrion left.

“And what do we have here?” he asked and you knew he was talking to you. It was supposed to be Dorian. What was Oberyn doing here? You gulped, breathed in deeply before you looked up and opened your eyes.

He was even more beautiful than you remembered. Dressed in the colours of Dorne. Slowly you let your eyes wander up his body until you were looking into his eyes. He was older, you both were, but it was like he hadn’t changed at all. His eyes narrowed as he looked at you, then surprise washed over his face.

“You must excuse me, you look like someone I knew a lifetime ago,” he said, his voice quiet. You felt tears in your eyes.

“If I would have known it was you coming here I would have prepared a dozen bowls of berries, your grace,” you whispered. Oberyn kept looking at you before he turned around to close the door but he didn’t turn around to you.

“A little lifetime ago I was in love with a woman. On the day we were supposed to be married I buried her together with my sister and her two children,” he said and you sobbed.

“They never found her body and I was never allowed back to King’s Landing to look for her,” he continued.

“Oberyn…” you whispered and he turned around. He walked over to you so quickly you couldn’t even blink.

“Tell me something only she could have known. Something only my Rose would know. Tell me I am not imagining this…” he pleaded and you released a shaky breath. He was so close to you…

“You almost drowned once while trying to prove to me that you could catch a fish with your bare hands when we were children,” you whispered. “You have a scar on your right thumb that mirrors mine from our first practice at archery,” he reached for your right hand and brought it up, his thumb running over your scar.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his voice so full of pain you felt the tears in your eyes.

“I never managed to leave. I was there when… I couldn’t do anything. I was held prisoner by the Lannister’s guards until it was decided that I was to serve the King. They didn’t know who I was. They thought… They thought… I’m…”

“Hush now my rose,” he whispered. He bent down to kiss your forehead and you sobbed, your hand coming to rest on his chest.

“I’m so sorry Oberyn. I wanted to stop them… I wanted to get back to you but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t even send a raven…”

“It’s alright. I’m going to take you home,” he whispered.

“How?” you asked and he breathed in deeply.

“I don’t know yet. But I will not be leaving here without you,” he said.

“Oberyn…”

“You have no idea how much I missed you. How many nights, to this day, I lie awake and wonder how our life would be if we had been reunited, if I hadn’t let you go…” Oberyn whispered. His fingers tilted your chin up and you looked at him. Even though so many years had gone by he was still the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

“I missed you too. Every day. They took everything from me after… I…”

“I kept all your belongings. They’re still in my chambers.”

“You did?”

“I… When I feel alone they give me comfort.”

Your heart broke a little as you looked into the sad eyes of the man you still loved. It seemed like you weren’t the only one who had been unhappy.

There was a knock on the door and he sighed.

“This will be your escort to dinner,” you said and he closed his eyes, his forehead resting against yours for a moment.

“Stay here and wait for me,” he whispered.

“I… I can’t. I have to at least get back to my room. They will notice…”

“Please,” he squeezed your hand. You breathed in deeply.

“I will wait for you here when you return, my love,” you said after a moment and Oberyn smiled softly, only to roll his eyes when there was another knock on the door.

“That I have to sit through dinner with these monsters…”

“Go. I’m sure you will find a way to entertain yourself…” you teased and he chuckled. He let go of your chin and you turned away to take a step back, when he pulled you against his chest and kissed your lips. You threw your arms around him, one of your hands running through his hair and he groaned.

“Be here when I return,” he whispered against your lips.

“Promise.”

The days leading up to the wedding were spent almost exclusively with Oberyn. The queen herself had ordered you to serve the visitors of Dorne and you intended to, for once, follow an order she had given.

Oberyn and you spend all the time catching up. May it be outside when he walked the gardens, or inside when he kept you in his chambers.

“I can not wait for you to meet my daughters.”

“I can not believe you have eight daughters,” you chuckled as you laid on his chest.

“Maybe I can only father daughters, I do not mind,” he smiled. He had told you about Ellaria, his former paramour who he still loved very much, but parted ways just before he left for Kings Landing.

“I’m happy you had someone you loved after I… After me,” you said with a sad smile.

“I have loved many people in our time apart. And I have thoroughly enjoyed every single time, but no one was like you. I think Ellaria saw that too.”

“I would like to meet her some day.”

“You will. She’s the mother of my children. You have to meet her.”

You hoped he hadn’t seen the sadness in your eyes, as you turned your head to lay with your cheek against his chest.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you…” Oberyn murmured and you breathed out, trying to fight back the tears.

“It wasn’t you who upset me. I��m glad you found someone and lived your life. I’m upset this was taken from us to experience together…”

“We can still have that. I will take you home. And we will get married. And I won’t let you leave our bed until there’s a babe in your belly…”

You turned your head to look at him.

“Oberyn, I’m too old…”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. You narrowed your eyes and he chuckled.

“You are not old, my rose. Ellaria was older than you when she had our last babe…”

“But…” you stopped, trying to sort your thoughts.

“What?” he asked softly.

“Do you really want that? Me? We’ve been apart for so long, maybe you don’t like me anymore but the version of me you fell in love with.”

“Stop. I would marry you right now if I could. I will not leave you out of my sight until we are in Dorne and you’re safe.”

“What about getting revenge?” you asked, Oberyn having told you on the first night that he wanted to take revenge on the Lannister’s, mostly on Tywin, but did not know how to do it without starting a war.

“You are more important than revenge. You are more important than anything.”

You had told Oberyn to make sure to be seen out and about town the day before the wedding and the day of the wedding. He had asked you why, but you had just shook your head, kissing him deeply and telling him to trust you before you had walked out.

You hadn’t seen him since leaving the night before on the day of the wedding. It hurt not to be close to him, but you had a plan. A plan to get at least some revenge. Though you didn’t care who you got it on, as you stood there, changing the pitcher of Wine with the one you had prepared. As you watched the servant walk over to the table with the pitcher you breathed in deeply. You turned around, walking to the other side of the square as you caught Oberyn’s eyes.

He raised his eyebrow in question and you slowly made your way towards him, grabbing a fresh bowl of berries on your way.

“You Grace,” you curtsied and he chuckled as you set down the bowl in front of him.

“Just what have you been up to, my rose?” he murmured, but you just shook your head. Joffrey was humiliating his uncle at the table and that’s when you heard it. His cough. You turned away from Oberyn to watch. Oberyn followed your gaze, his hand grabbing a few berries as he watched the King choke to death as if it was the best play he had ever seen. People were screaming, Cersei was kneeling and calling for help and you, satisfied with the outcome of your plan, turned away to play the shocked servant.

Oberyn looked at you, standing up and leaning down as if to make sure you’re okay.

“All these studies seemed to have left an impression on you, my rose,” he whispered, giving you a small smile and you wished you could kiss him just then.

But you couldn’t.

Not yet.

The hours after King Joffrey’s death were a blur.

Cersei had immediately made out Tyrion and Sansa as the responsible one’s for her son’s death. That Sansa was nowhere to be found didn’t really help her case.

It was almost midnight when you opened the door to Oberyn’s chambers without knocking, finding the man sitting on the floor of the balcony with a cup of wine in his hands. When he heard you come in he set his cup down, getting on his feet immediately to pull you into his arms, kissing you all over.

“I was hoping it would be Tywin…” you whispered.

“It didn’t matter who. Everyone sitting there was guilty of something…” Oberyn whispered back.

“Still…”

“Tywin asked me to be the judge on the trial against Tyrion.”

“But…”

“I said no. I told him that I had to leave as planned due to a commitment I had made to my brother.”

“And he believed that?” you asked sceptically.

“No,” Oberyn chuckled, kissing down your neck. You closed your eyes, tilting your head to the side, to give him more room.

“What did he say?”

“That it’s a weird coincidence that the king was poisoned just when I arrived, a man who studied poison at the citadelle.”

You pulled away a little so you could look at him.

“But he also told me that I wasn’t on trial because I was seen all over town leading up to the wedding and would have had no chance to be the one who robbed the maester.”

You sighed relieved.

“Tell me, was it the strangler?” he asked and you nodded.

“Brutal. I love it,” Oberyn grinned and kissed you again.

“So.. So are you free to leave?” you mumbled against his lips as you felt his hands pull at your skirt.

“No. He reminded me that it was my duty to serve the crown. So I agreed to be the judge in exchange for something,” his hand ran up your thigh and you bit your lip.

“Or should I say someone…” he whispered against your ear.

“Oberyn…” you sighed.

“He was suspicious of course, but after all he agreed. Not that I trust a word that leaves his treacherous mouth. So my rose, the remaining time you are here, with me, you shall be my paramour,” his fingers were now on your inner thigh and you sighed.

“Which means you will not leave my side while we’re here. I need to keep an eye on you at all times. And hopefully after we’re back in Dorne you do not want to leave it.”

“Please…” you whimpered.

“What, my rose?” he asked.

“Please touch me… It’s been… I haven’t been…”

His hand left your thigh, both of his hands now framing your face as he looked at you with a strange expression.

“You haven’t…”

“I haven’t been with anyone since the night before I left Dorne, Oberyn…” you said and he looked at you, his eyes wild with passion, before he crashed his lips down on yours, his arms coming around you to pick you up. You crossed your legs behind him as he slowly carried you towards the bed, his lips not parting from yours.

Carefully he set you down on the bed, pushing you against the mattress as he continued to kiss you.

“Let me love you, my rose?” he whispered against your lips.

“How long will the trial take?” you asked, as he tugged on the linen holding your dress together.

“Not more than two days.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I do not want to conceive your child in this shithole of a city,” you grinned. He smirked.

“A lot of practice until I can fuck you on Dornish land then, huh?” he pulled at your dress, releasing a shuddering breath when your breasts were revealed to his hungry gaze.

“I dreamed of these tits…” he hummed, kissing down your neck, your collarbone until his tongue dared out licking between your breasts. Your nipples were already hard, begging for his attention. Slowly his lips kissed up your left breast until he finally sucked on your nipple while his other hand massaged your right.

You gasped, your hands in his hair, slightly pulling the way you remember he loved it.

He groaned, his eyes looking up at you as he flicked his tongue over your nipple, releasing it with a filthy plop.

“I want to taste you, my rose.”

“No… No, I want you inside of me. Please, I want to feel you my prince,” you whined, already pulling at your skirts. Oberyn groaned, letting his head fall against your chest and you felt him breathing against your skin.

His arms came around you as he rolled over so you were on top of him.

“Ride me, my love,” he said, his hands on your hips. You sucked your bottom lip in as your hands pushed under the robes he was wearing, your fingertips brushing over his warmed skin. You leaned down, your lips kissing his chest and he sighed. You could feel him hard beneath you, begging to be released.

“Missed feeling you…” you hummed, your tongue flicking over his nipple and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Feel me then, my rose,” he rasped and you grinned up at him with wicked eyes before you found his lips in a searing kiss.

You couldn’t blame him.

You really couldn’t. You knew as soon as he told you that he was thinking about offering Tyrion Lannister to be his fighter for his trial by combat because the Lannister’s chose the Mountain that he would do it.

That didn’t stop you from being worried.

You knew Oberyn was a skilled fighter. You had seen him firsthand, but you had also seen what the Mountain was capable of. The things he did to Ellia still haunting your dreams.

You sat here, next to the dornish house that had accompanied Oberyn to King's Landing. He had dressed you in his colours and wanted you to watch how he would finally get justice for all the heartbreak he and you had suffered since being separated.

When he had the Mountain on the ground, barely breathing Oberyn’s spear in his chest, your prince looked up at you. You were frozen by fear that something would happen to him.

He wanted to force the man to confess, but you just wanted to go home with him.

Slowly you shook your head as he held your gaze. He hadn’t confessed. And both you and Oberyn knew he never would.

Please, you mouthed to him and he closed his eyes to take a deep breath as he pulled the spear from the man’s chest only to kick off his helmet and kill the man with his spear through his eye.

You released a shuddering breath as you watched the Mountain die and Oberyn looked up at the Lannister’s. Cersei was furming, her face a mask of anger.

“Remember this the next time you try to take something that I love,” Oberyn said dangerously low towards where all remaining Lannister’s were sitting before he turned around and walked towards where you were sitting.

You took his hand, welcoming his bruising kiss on your lips.

“Prince Oberyn?” there was a voice behind you. Both of you turned around, finding Tyiron Lannister standing behind you.

“I take it you will take your leave right away,” he said and Oberyn nodded.

“No point in staying now that I’m sure I made more enemies taking down your sister’s monster,” Oberyn said. Tyrion looked at you then, with a strange expression on his face.

“I wish you well, and thank you,” Tyrion said as he turned to look at Oberyn again.

“All will be well as long as your family keeps far away from Dorne. We do not treat rapists or murderers as king’s advisers. We punish them accordingly.”

“Oberyn…” you whispered and he looked at you, his face softening.

“Now if you’ll excuse me. I will take my rose back to her homeland where she belongs,” Oberyn said and Tyrion nodded.

“Roses can’t bloom properly in King’s Landing. I’m sorry it took so long for you to be reunited with your home,” Tyrion said, giving you both a nod before he turned around. You swallowed and looked at Oberyn who was looking after Tyrion.

“Take me home, my prince,” you whispered close to his ear and he squeezed your hand, before he ordered everyone to prepare to go home.

You were breathing in deeply as you stood on the balcony of your chambers, naked as day waiting for the sun to rise.

You could hear the ocean and feel a warm breeze over your skin.

Warm arms sneaked around you, pulling you flush against a warm chest, big hands coming to rest on your growing stomach.

Oberyn kissed your shoulder, before he rested his chin there, looking forward where the sun just began to rise.

Even though it’s almost been a year since he brought you back to Dorne you still got up every morning to watch the sunrise, reminding you that you were home.

You felt him smile against your cheek as he felt the babe inside of you move beneath his hand.

“Good Morning my rose,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse from sleep. You turned your head so you could look at him, still not believing that after all these years of yearning to be reunited with him, you were indeed here, in his arms, married and pregnant with his child.

“Good Morning, my love,” you whispered back before you kissed him softly, hoping that every morning for the rest of your lives would begin in each other's arms.

#my fic #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x female reader #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

[sailorshadzter]

You know the Jonsa trope where Jon goes south and joins Robb army. And when he isn't willing to trade Jaime for the girls he goes on his own and rescue Sansa. Well can you write it with a little change? Sansa convinces Shae to come with them to the north.

LOOOVED this prompt, so much! so thanks! though, i sadly forgot to include shae coming with them, but we all know sansa will summon her to winterfell eventually anyways :) 

also, lots of tweaks because i cant be bothered to remember timelines or plots + it felt more angsty to add one of the changes i did.  (also, i forgot i implied that ghost went with jon to king’s landing LOL so ignore that i guess)  ((implied? i straight up said he went, who am i kidding lmao)) 

so yeah!! enjoy!! 

send me prompts

"What do you mean, you won't go?"

He's staring into Robb's clear blue eyes, trying to understand the words he's only just heard him say. "I can't Jon, you know that-" he stops, sighing when he sits back in his chair, arms folding over his chest. For several long moments, there's nothing but silence between the two of them before Robb leans forward, fingers spread across the wood of the table he sits behind. "You know I can't abandon this war for another one."

"Then turn in Jaime Lannister!" Jon spits, throwing his hands into the air as he takes a single step fowards. At his feet, Grey Wind growls low in his chest, though with a touch of Robb's hand, the wolf returns his head to his massive paws. But his golden eyes peer up at Jon from beneath the table, as if daring Jon to take another step towards his master. Outside the tent, his own wolf paces.

"I can't do that, either." Robb says, bowing his head as if he cannot bring himself to look into Jon's Stark colored eyes. "He's too important of a hostage."

"She's our sister," Jon rasps, hand clencing into a fist at his side. "You'll just leave her to rot there a prisoner of the Lannisters?" He cannot believe Robb is saying this, he cannot believe he would do such a thing as this. "We can't just leave her there!" It's been several weeks since their father was murdered in King's Landing, five since Arya was last seen. They have heard the rumors of how Joffrey Baratheon runs his court and Jon has heard the whispers of madness that surround their boy king. He worries for Sansa, who he knows remains in the clutches of the Lannisters. Some nights he can't sleep for worry of what must be happening to her there.

"Cersei Lannister would be stupid to harm her," Robb replies with another shake of his Tully touched hair. Though not as prominent as Sansa's vivid red locks, Robb is a trueborn Tully, certainly favoring his mother more than his father. "Not when her lover brother is in my keep."

"Then I will go." Jon snarls, turning his back on his brother and striding towards the tent's opening, ever intent on rushing through it.

"Jon!"

Robb's booming call forces him to stop, forces him to slowly revolve on the spot where he stands so he might face his brother. He's risen to his feet, a fist clenched where it sits on the table top. "You will go where your king commands," Robb speaks sharply; he knows Jon will hate him for this, he might even desert him for this. But then... Perhaps then at least Sansa would be safe. "I have not bid you permission to go anywhere." He watches as Jon sets his jaw, those Stark eyes of his reminding Robb of his father.

"I won't leave her there." Is all Jon says before he turns and strides from the tent. He would risk the wrath of the gods and Lady Stark for turning against Robb, but he couldn't live with himself if he had left Sansa there alone. He knows Robb is stuck, he knows being king is more than a crown, but if he will not go, then it must be him. "Ghost!" He calls out to his wolf as he rushes towards the tent that he called his own. Once inside, he stuffs a few belongings into a sack and throws it over his shoulder, adjusting Longclaw at his hip. "We're going South, boy." Jon says to the white wolf, who's tail thumps loudly on the ground. He knows King's Landing is no place for the wolf, but he knows what feeling his red-eyed, white wolf instills in those who see him.

When he steps back out into the afternoon sun, there's a chill in the air that turns his heart to lead. For a single moment, he contemplates returning to Robb's tent, to apologize, to make amends. But then he again thinks of Sansa and he turns away, heading towards the stables with Ghost at his heels. I'll make amends when I return, he thinks, all will be forgiven when he sees her face.

And so he rides away, down the long path that would lead him to the King's Road, to Sansa.

[ x x x ]

"I only would like an audience with my sister."

Jon stands at the bottom of the dais, where upon the Iron Throne sits the golden haired king, Joffrey. At his elbow, Cersei Lannister hovers, much like the queen she still thinks herself to be. It is well known among even the commoners that Cersei rules through her son, though Jon has to wonder what would befall the realm if Joffrey Baratheon made any decisions of state. "It hardly seems like a ridiculous request," Jon goes on, raising his dark colored eyes up to fall upon the king's green. He knows he cannot reason with this king, cannot tug on any heartstrings. This king will decide and that is that.

"I do not think my lady would care to meet with her bastard half brother," Joffrey sneers, drumming his fingertips against the arm of his throne. He looks bored, green eyes rolling as he shifts, glancing up towards his mother for only a moment. "However..." He sighs, turning his attention back to Jon. "Perhaps it will brighten her spirits," he's smirking at a private thought and a rush of anger surges through him. "I will have you escorted to her rooms." This is a moment of generosity, or what Joffrey would call it. Jon doesn't know him and doesn't know that tomorrow, Sansa would wake to rumors of just why her brother went unaccompanied to her rooms.

"Thank you, your grace." Jon bows over his arm, though it sickens him to do so. There's hundreds of words there on the tip of his tongue- words he would dearly love to say, punches he would dearly love to throw. But, no matter what, Joffrey is still the king. And harming the king would do little for him and especially nothing for Sansa. So he keeps his dark thoughts to himself and instead, follows the man dressed in Lannister colors out of throne room and into the main hall.

Upstairs, a knock sounds on Sansa's door.

She's been laying in bed for two days now and she isn't about to get up now. It's Shae, of course, that strides across the room from where she had been sitting in the window seat to get the door. Sansa can't hear what's being said, but she notices it's a Lannister man at the door. Propping herself up onto her elbow, she peers through the hangings on her bed as Shae nods and backs up before she shuts the door. "You have a visitor," she says when she's pulled back the bed hangings, staring down at her young charge.

"A visitor?" Sansa parrots back, surprise widening her blue eyes. She can't imagine anyone coming to visit her, especially after all that has happened. So she can only assume it will be Margaery who comes gliding through the door, smelling of roses and draped in silks. Sansa isn't certain she can stomach such a visit today.

"Yes, it's your brother." Shae replies and at once, Sansa's world stops spinning.

"B-brother?" She chokes out, suddenly sitting all the way up, nearly falling off the edge of her bed in her scramble upright. "My brother?" She exclaims, uncertain if she was more surprised that her brother has come or that Cersei has permitted a visit. At once, she's recalling every terrible thing that's happened to her here and how she's wished over and over again for a moment such as this... Where Robb comes to rescue her from this nightmare, where he comes and steals her away, to return her to their mother and to their home.

Shae smiles, dropping down to her level, smoothing back a stray lock of red hair. "It is your brother, Jon." For a split second, Sansa feels let down, but only for a moment for there is a knock on her door and she knows he's there. Shae rises up from the floor and crosses the room, yet again opening the door to a man in Lannister livery. She nods and gives thanks to the man who steps back and it's as Sansa is rising up from the bed that Jon steps into the room.

If she's disappointed that it's him and not Robb, she doesn't show it.  Rather, her face lights up from the inside out, the smile that appears as dazzling as the summer sun. Jon has only a moment to brace himself before she's flung herself into his embrace, her weight soft and warm in his arms. "Let me look at you," he says softly, pulling back from her just enough so he can look her in the face. She looks down and Jon reaches out, cupping her chin into his hand so he can gently tilt her face back to to his.

There is a fading bruise at the corner of her mouth, her lower lip split open as if she's been struck with a man's fist. Her eyes are like that of a deer, wild and fearful, but so blue they must be clearer than even the seas. "He hurts you," he growls, the anger white hot and rushing in his veins. The hand at her chin has slipped upwards, fingers gingerly trailing across the bruise, across the healing injury to her mouth. Tears are gathering on her lashes and she draws back, shaking her head.

"Not him, his men," she whispers, wrapping her arms around herself; Jon only then notices that the pale blue gown she wears hangs from her body. For a moment, the anger flees and instead he feels sorrow. He cannot begin to imagine what she's suffered here. "A king must never strike his lady," she says, her voice bringing him back from his thoughts. "That's what he always says." Now he thinks of her cowering beneath the fists of grown men and his anger returns.

"I'm taking you from here," he says, lowering his voice, sparing a quick glance towards Shae who stands at the window on the far side of the room, pretending she cannot hear their soft words. "Is there anyone here you can trust?" Sansa pauses for only a split second before she gestures towards Shae, a slow smile spreading over her battered lips.

"Only Shae," she says softly, turning her eyes back to Jon's. She had forgotten just how much he looked like their father and it takes her breath away. He reminds her of their father, he reminds her of Arya and it hurts... It hurts so much. She knows Arya is better off, wherever she was, but she can only hope she's safe and warm wherever that is. "But Jon.. You can't..." She trails off, shaking her head. "They won't let me leave." Joffrey was set to marry Margaery in only a few days, but she was still his prisoner.

"At the wedding," he says after a moment of thought. The plan is clear, during the feast there will be drinking and dancing, a perfect opportunity for her to slip away. "I will come for you during the wedding feast." He takes hold of her arms, pulling her close to him again. "I swear it to you, Sansa, I will come for you." For several moments, there is nothing but silence and the rapid beating of her pulse in her ears. But then, for the first time in weeks, in months, she feels it... A little flicker of hope. Of faith.

And so she nods.

[ x x x ]

Jon hadn't planned on Joffrey dying, but it certainly had added a little flair to the day he hadn't anticipated. It certainly gave him the distraction he needed to smuggle Sansa away from the feast and he used it to his advantage.

He creeps along the stone pathway, tugging her along with him. The cloak he brought with him is draped over her, shielding from prying eyes her vivid red hair. He's borrowed Baratheon colored clothes and with the old cloak she wears, they look like a peasant couple running from the pandemonium of the wedding feast. In truth, no one pays them any mind at all as they escape down the stone steps to the docks, which have emptied out aside from the old man that sits on the dock beside a small boat. Jon has already paid this man to hold the old boat there and he nods to him gratefully before he helps Sansa onto the poor excuse for a boat.

With her settled across from him, he begins to row; his path leads them further and further from the docks, from King's Landing, until it is only a speck on the horizon. Sansa has sat silently there, her head turned away from him, but it's then that she lowers the hood of the old cloak and turns her blue eyes upon him. There's dozens of things he wants to say to her. "Your necklace... It's missing a stone." Why were these the words he's chosen? She blinks in surprise and raises a hand up to trail the pads of her fingers across each delicate bead until sure enough, her fingers graze her own skin rather than the bead that would have been closest to the back of her neck. She reaches around and unclaps it, holding it between her hands as she inspects the broken piece, a look of recognition settling into place on her face.

A moment later, she drops it over the side of the boat.

He holds her gaze steady when she looks up at him and for a moment, there is silence. "Take me home," she speaks softly and Jon can only nod.

[ x x x ]

When they land, Jon knows something isn't right.

"Put up your hood," he says as he helps her from the rocking boat to the dock, steadying her when she stumbles. She nods before drawing her hood up over her red hair, shivering in the chilly air, the stolen cloak from King's Landing far too thin for the cold of the North. Down the way, at the other end of the dock stands a trio of men. Jon approaches them, Sansa trailing just behind him, recognizing one of the men to be a relation of the Frey's somehow. When he had left Robb, negotiations with the Frey's had been underway and Robb was to marry one of his many daughters, much to his distaste. "Sers," Jon greets and the three men turn, their gazes dark and untrusting.

"I know you," the Frey man says, recognizing him as Jon had him. "This here is the bastard brother of the King in the North." He speaks plainly and the other two men laugh, the Frey man too dissolving into laughter. "You know... He named you heir, didn't he?" The laughter fades and it's right then that somehow, Jon understands. The three men have their hands on the hilts of their swords and Jon backs up a few steps before he turns and gives Sansa a shove, shouting for her to run before he too picks up his pace, the whistle of a sword in the air far too close for comfort.

They run until Sansa is crying with a cramp in her side; they're deep in the forest that borders the dock now and somewhere in the distance, he hears Ghost's long, mournful cry. "What... What did he mean?" Sansa asks as she fights to catch her breath, having not understood the men back on the dock. "Why did they attack us if they knew you? If they know Robb?" She asks, her hood fallen down and her hair that had once been done so nicely was a tangle of curls hanging down her back. "Is he nearby? Mother, too?" Excitement lights up her face, gives her cheeks color and Jon doesn't have the heart to tell her. Not yet, not when he doesn't know for certain.

"Our camp was not far from here, come on," he says, choosing to ignore her question about why they had been attacked. They walk through the falling darkness and yet again, he can hear Ghost howling, closer now, and they are just about to step through the cover of trees into the camp.

At once, Jon knows his fears have been confirmed.

The camp has been destroyed- tents have been torched, bodies lay everywhere, soaked in the blood that pools beneath them. Beside him, Sansa's sharp intake of breath is like a knife in his gut. "Close your eyes," he whispers, reaching for her hand to take, to guide her through the bloodshed and the death. But when he looks back, her glossy eyed stare reminds him that she's already seen these horrible sights. She gives his hand the smallest of squeezes and that's when Jon knows that she's beginning to understand. "We have to go," he says, keeping his voice low, his free hand perched carefully atop of Longclaw. She nods, silent and pale, allowing him to lead her down the path that would have led them to the main tent, where Robb would have been.

But now, his body lays somewhere among the chaos, torn to pieces and sewn grotesquely back together by his enemies. The rumors would bring enough images to last a lifetime and when he hears them, Jon is thankful that he and Sansa managed to avoid seeing their brother in such a state.

They walk on and on, never talking, but he knows she silently cries as they go.

They walk until they stumble across a small hut, long since abandoned by whoever had once lived within. When he's certain it is empty and they are safe, Jon ushers her inside and when the door is closed behind them, he pushes a table in front of it, ensuring that no one was getting inside through it. The window is locked too, though he double and triple checks it within the first ten minutes they're inside.

He strikes at the old wood in the hearth with the flint and to his surprise, it catches fire. A few logs sit to the left of the hearth and he feeds one more into the flame, the warmth and light quickly spreading through the small cabin. "Come get warm," Jon says, turning away from the fire to face her where she stands, still draped in the old thin cloak. She takes a few steps towards him and he can see that she's exhausted. Of course she was, after all they had been through. And so he holds out a hand for her to take and when she does, her hand is small and cold, a perfect fit within his. Jon draws her closer to the warm fire and with his own hands, pulls the cloak from her shoulders.

The lovely silk gown she was wearing was torn in several spots on the skirt and he reached out to pluck a stray leaf from her vivid red locks. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek that was strangely reminiscent of the bruise she'd once worn only days before. "He's dead... Robb..." She whispers, tears clinging to her lashes when her lids sweep closed over her sapphire eyes. When she opens them again, Jon nods and a single tear falls, tracing along the curve of her cheek. "And my mother..." She chokes on the last word and Jon says nothing but rather he pulls her into his embrace, holding onto her as tightly as he dared. Her sobs were heartbreaking and Jon held his own sorrow in, knowing right then, she needed him to be strong.

Hours later, he's helped her into the bed that sits against the western wall, and now she sleeps soundly beneath the blankets. Ghost has found his way inside and has crammed himself into the bed beside her, the sight of her arm draped over his body enough to bring a smile to Jon's face. Though weary as he feels, he cannot sleep. Not yet.

Guilt seeps into his bones and sorrow twists at his heart. You never should have left, his brain keeps saying, over and over again. He glances across the room to where Sansa sleeps and his heart answers his brain without missing a beat. Yes, you should have. For some reason, saving Sansa had called to him more than anything else in his life ever had- making that choice was easier than any other decision ever had been. And though he feels guilt for not being there beside Robb when he needed him most... Guilt he will live with for the rest of his life... When he looks at Sansa, he knows he's made the right choice. If he was faced with the same decision again, Sansa or Robb... He knows who he would choose.

And she sleeps there in that bed, tucked against his giant white wolf.

#jonsa #jonsa au #jon x sansa #prompt request #my writing #i wrote this #eonweheraldodemanwe

[stupidstubbornbravebitchoftarth]

Sorry if this is a bit depressing but I just had the most horrible thought & need to vent. We know that GRRM told D&D about some characters’ endings - what if the ending he told them for Jaime was that he and Cersei die together??? And 8x05 was D&Ds Interpretation of that (it was shit and I hated it) but what if it was partly true?? I’m legit panicking rn, I cried for weeks after season 8 finished bc I couldn’t cope I have no idea what I’ll do if Jaime somehow dies with Cersei in the books too..

I know what you feel like and every once in awhile I get depressed about that too. But I am also pretty good at envisioning Brienne and Jaime on Tarth, teaching their little baby girl how to fight with a sword, while the sun sets over dark green meadows and the sapphire blue waters and they are at peace at last – it helps.

Disclaimer my knowledge about the whole GRRM vs. Dumb&Dumber debacle is very superficial – so what I am gonna tell you now is mostly what I can remember having read in other people’s posts lmao.

So for starters I believe having read somewhere that GRRM has been less and less involved in the actual writing process of the show BC he finally started working on the books. Praise God, She is too kind. He actually said he is kind of sorry for it but work e.g books caught up to him and it seemed like he didn’t even like the ending for the show (see the post where people compared his reaction to Marvel’s Endgame vs. The Reaction to his own show – it’s somewhere on my blog but I can’t Tag for shit so yeah just Google it it’s probably faster …. )

So for me that COULD mean that he was less and less contact with the writers and honestly maybe he actually wrote some of what he told D&D but then changed his mind and wrote other endings without telling D&D because a) he felt like it b) it’s his work c) probably thought D&D were fucking incompetent d) it was too late anyway

Also I just think that if he really kills Jaime off, which is always possible but I don’t think is going to happen,  it will be way more justified death, a just death not some fucking bricks. Like we know he is looking at Jaime and Brienne as a Beauty and the Beast retelling and Cersei is not of that much importance to him and he literally said that Jaime and Cersei’s relationship disgusts him or something along the lines of that. So I really cannot come up with a lot off GRRM worthy scenarios of Jaime dying with his sister other than maybe he will have to sacrifice his life to take her down or some shit but that is boring … in my opinion. Like I just don’t see a realistic ending that involves both of them dying at the same time for the simple reason that in the books Jaime is way more important than Cersei and I, personally wouldn’t sacrifice such a multifaced character like Jaime for a probably very funny to write but sometimes rather one dimensional alcoholic maniac, powerhungry villainess … like Jaime’s redemption arc is far from complete but Cersei’s plot? Idk I am not that far in the books yet but to me it seems like all signs are pointed towards her demise. Again it’s ASOIAF so GRRM could probably still find a way to redeem her or whatever but I don’t really see the point in it. I always felt like he is writing Jaime and Cersei in a way that, as the story goes on, reveals  that they in fact don’t mirror each other but are polar opposites actually pulling away from each other e.g the further Jaime heads towards redemption “the path of light” if you wanna say it like that, the further Cersei heads towards darkness and the only way they are equal can be found in the intensity their characters are involving, showing that House Lannister can be a force of evil and a force of good in equal measure or something going into that direction – it’s just a feeling though.

Also several prophecies and dreams are still unexplained and unresolved as far as I know like why is homeboy dreaming of naked Brienne with a sword in her hand – other than the fact that he is utterly and eternally in love with her

Why are literally all of their dreams revolving around each other

And, this is something I think about at least 435 times a day – D&D are fucking illiterate. While Gwendoline Christie does an amazing, incredible, showstopping, Oscar worty portrayal of everybody’s favorite highborn Ser fucking Brienne of Tarth – D&D’s interpretation of Brienne is …. well the thing you would excpect from two white dudes. They completly left out one part of Brienne which makes her so dear to many – the soft side, the femine side of her, the romantic side.  While she is the best fighter in Westeros, that’s not all she is and wants to be. Like tons of better analysts and writers pointed out – People tend to forget that she a) is a HIGHBORN LADY b) had to become a swordswomen to somehow make it in the Patriachy she is living in – which with her being deemed as ugly is even more of hellish nightmare. She didn’t really see another option other than becoming a Knight because everything else would have meant a lifelong endurance of humilation and submission. So at 16 she said, Fuck it, I will FIGHT any man who wants to oppress me for the rest of my life,  AND SO SHE DID. Her other option would have been eternal unhappiness and marriage to a man like four times her age. She became who she is because she had to. Unlike Arya who always hated being Lady however, Brienne is in someways way more similar to Sansa – both of them believe in tales of knights in shining amour that save maidens. Like as far as I can remember Brienne doesn’t hate being a Lady – she hates how she is being treated for it, THAT being said I think D&D failed to portray the overwhelming amount of that Brienne, so I am not very convinced that D&D truly interpreted and wrote things in the final episode the way GRRM would have – I mean look at the script lmao.

Also one way Jaime Lannister could potentially DIE is in a not literal way. Like the Death of Jaime Lannister could also be him becoming Jaime of Tarth? “Dying” in the arms of the woman he loves? – When he sleeps with Brienne for the first time on their wedding night or at least for the first time ( I mean having sex pretty much equals marriage in their world and they are both big softies so….) Or him “dying” by doing something extremly heroic therefore complety parting ways with the arrogant, the “evil” character parts of him (obessed with Cersei etc.) , signaling the completion of his redemption arc – like idk he slays a dragon for the lack of a better example so “Kingslayer” dies but “Dragonslayer” lives on. Like I am 90% sure the Kingslayer part of him is going to die and the Oathkeeper lives on. 

Also what happens in Beauty and the Beast? The beast dies – or so we think. What if Jaime pulls a Jon and gets murdered and then revived. Honestly we really don’t know how D&D interpreted what GRRM told them.

To sum up

Yeah, Cersei and Jaime could probably end up dying together again and I would probably never know happiness again.  Anything is still possible and everybody is entitled to their theories until the books come out and prove all of us wrong anyway. I personally don’t think it is going to happen I am just willing to believe that GRRM is a better writer than D&D and that is not very hard. For one, Cersei is not THAT important, Jaime’s redemption arc is unfinished and several prophecies unexplained. Jaime and Brienne’s arcs are connected and killing one or both of them of would be an extreme huge loss of unique and multifaceted characters as well as potential for the overall history, and also I think hard to pull of. I personally wouldn’t worry that much because yes Jaime could get killed off but if GRRM decided to do that it will make sense. The thing that made me so fucking depressed over Jaimes death is first and foremost the way he left Brienne which book!Jaime would  simply not do and even  for show Jaime it was soooo fucking out of character that I refuse to believe D&D even watched the other three episodes of Season 8. Like I just refuse to believe that GRRM would even write something like 8x4. Jaime’s death would make me sad because rarely I think you really need to kill a character to tell a good story but at least I know that book!Jaime is going out with a bang not a brick. Also there are not a lot of signs (if any ??) pointing toward Jaime’s death, most signs and prophecies can be interpreted in tons of different ways. Nothing is certain.

If it were upto me he would die in the Epilogue as an old man in the arms of Brienne surrouned by their kids and grandkids. In peace.

So if I were you I would stay out of the theory rabbithole as much as possible. I didn’t join the Jaime Lannister is Alive Clown Club for nothing. Just snuggle up with some snacks and the fluffiest and/or smuttiest Braime fic and have a good time.

Always remember Jaime and Brienne are chilling in the meadows of Tarth, having told the rest of the realm to kindly fuck off unless they are absolutely certain that it will be necessary to call Jaime “ Oathkeeper” of Tarth and a very pregnant Ser Brienne of Tarth to fight whatever creature from the Seven Hells was unleashed onto Westeros now. The only visitors allowed are the Stark Kids. Somewhere in the background Pod is somehow getting chased by a giant dog that stole his sword. The End.

#anon #Braime #that is all i can offer #brienne x jaime #game of thrones

[fictionxlover]

8x01

Let me start off by saying this was a good episode, especially an opening episode. Now let me just break this down by character so it’s easier.

Arya:

I LOVE how Arya is more happier and she is showing more of a soft side. It makes me so emotional how happy she is right now even though impending doom is on its way. The Jon/Arya reunion was SO BEAUTIFUL! Her jumping into his arms like old times, the smiles, Jon showing her the weapon. I also love how it highlighted that they will ALWAYS love each other but both of them have changed. You saw more of that when Arya defended Sansa. Arya is not that innocent 10 year old who enjoyed talking shit about Sans with Jon lmao like she has grown into a young woman, and has got this closure/closer with her sister. And ik some will be like ‘ARYA WOULD NEVER-’ but...yall said Arya instincts are always right (I saw it particually with last season too during Stark Sis Bowl lol) so if Arya says Sansa is just looking out for the fam, I believe her. And I think it made Jon be like, huh my little sister has grown and I trust her instincts. Also, again before haters jump on um c’mon, realistically at least 8/10 of us as adults see one of our siblings differently than we saw them as children. That’s just a fact. Moving on, um, GENDRYAAAA!! There reunion was more than I EVER expected! Her defending him, teasing him, smiling, gendry smiling, but also like woah is this beautiful lady flirting with me?? It was BEAUTIFUL!! I have some fears but I’m just going to try enjoy them moment. Overall, THIS WAS MY GIRL’S EPISODE YALL-

Sam:

I felt so bad for Sam this episode. At first he is excited to meet another Targaryen then he finds out that she burned his family alive. What I loved about this scene is that it kinda made Sam’s rose colored glasses fall off. I feel like after being friends with Aemon, and learning the stories, Sam saw the Targaryens in just a positive light. It reminded me how young Sansa believed all those stories about true knights but then reality punched her in the face. Just like it did with Sam. Not every Targaryen is a bad person but they do have their flaws. Their way of justice might not be what we think is morally right but in their eyes its justice. Then him trying to pull it together, and reuniting with Jon was beautiful. But...….sorry Sam telling Jon the truth kinda ruined the reveal for me. I can’t even disagree what Sam said about ‘would dany kneel for you?’ but it seemed like his resentment with Dany overpowered the reveal. It made it more about jon might overthrow dany than jon being shocked and trying to process everything. Also BRAN SHOULD HAVE TOLD JON BUT WHATEVER D&D

Tyrion:

Tyrion, Tyrion, Tyrion.....I like show!Tyrion more than book!Tyrion but they really dumbed his ass down. He really thinks Cersei is coming???? WITH HELP??? I can’t tell if he knows the truth and is just playing the game or if he actually believes his sister??? it would work at any of those ways because Tyrion’s fatal flaw is that he always wanted to be accepted by his family. His abusers basically. So, I won’t be surprised if any of these options are true. 

Daenerys:

Let me tell you guys I like Dany, I LOVVEEE Book!Dany more but I have to confess I have Stark stan reactions first. So it takes me while to be like let me take a step back and see this from Dany’s pov. I understand Dany is basically like I am here to FIGHT FOR YOU and yall just disrespectful. I feel bad for her when Jon isn’t really defending her in PUBLIC. I felt bad when Sam cried and she was like fuck. I feel kinda bad for her that Sansa doesn’t like her. But Dany...some of her reactions is....just D&D bs. 

First of all let’s talk about dragons. Dragonriders are suppose to have this special connection with there dragons. Not every random person can just hop on a fucking dragon. With Jon it makes sense he could because he is a Targaryen. However, Dany doesn’t know that! So yeah its cute her FWB is riding her other dragon but its weird she isn’t having alarms ringing in her head. Then why are yall making her sound like a 17 year old ‘we can stay here forever’, sis do you even like the North? You’re dragons are low key dying in this area lmao. And its just cringy. Why can’t yall show Jon/Dany talking to each other. Telling each other about their lives. Why is it just cringy fan fiction bs??? Even I’m like let me try get into this rl but they offer nothing and the chem is just not there between these actors. Its not there fault but its hard to even like them when we do not get more intimate moments with them getting to know the other. 

Now lets talk about Dansa. I believe Dany thought Sansa would be more warm to her but once Sansa said ‘Winterfell is yours’ Dany knew, Sansa doesn’t like her. She’s not here because she believes in Dany. Sansa is doing this because she HAS to. And that pissed Dany off. And I think Dany doesn’t like how Sansa brings up stuff in the meetings too. They should be brought up and Dany is like ugh this girl hates me lmao. Its interesting to me because I’m pretty sure this is the first time Dany has to communicate with other rulers/kinda queens. 

I feel like Dany’s journey before Westeros, people bowed down to her or worshipped/believed in her quickly. But in Westeros that’s not how its going to be especially considering her family history. She will have to earn their respect/belief and I think so far Dany hates it and not use to it taking so long. Even with Jon she said Sansa has to respect me or...XD. Listen I’m not saying Dany was threatening to exile or burn Sansa but you can tell she getting impatient. 

I am looking forward to Dansa scenes next episode though. Was this Dany’s episode? A little but I believe like Sam the colored glasses are falling off and she is realizing its not going to be easy. None of it is.

Bran: I really love how Bran is showing more emotion than he did last season. He seemed more emotional reuniting with Jon, got frustrated when they weren’t focusing on the threat. It’s showing that Bran is not dead. He is still in there. What I enjoyed the most about this episode is that it showed that Bran knows what needs to be done. It makes you wonder if he can see into the future or knows something? He knew to wait for Jaime already. It just makes you wonder...how far in the future can Bran see into and what time travel shit is going to happen lol. 

I believe Bran has one goal to defeat the NK and he is going to tell everyone to shut the hell up and get to work. What I didn’t like with Bran was how he said Jon isn’t my brother, you tell him. Does Bran have some resentment towards Ned? Is he going to treat Jon differently a bit? Did he say that because he already knows what will happen???? I just have a lot of questions yall -

Jon: *sighs* There are two well maybe 3 possible reasons for Jon’s behavior. 

1) He has some sort of agenda

2) He just a Northern Fool making the same mistakes Ned/Robb made, death didn’t change him and that’s D&D’s fault.

3) He is a Northern fool BUT the battle of winterfell will shake and fuck him up sm that it will guide him on a path to make better decisions, and growth. 

I loved Jon’s scenes with Arya, Bran, and Sansa. Jon hugging Bran so tight and joking about him being a man now. Then with Arya holding her tight, crying. It was SO emotional. I feel like with both Bran and Arya he saw they are them but have changed just like Jon. He loves all his siblings sm and Ik in his heart the choices he makes is because he doesn’t want to lose them. 

I also enjoyed his scenes with Sansa. I always said since s6, Jon/Sansa show sm vulnerability with their eye contact and emotional reactions, this episode proved its still there. Sansa bringing up her resentment towards Jon bending the knee, him trying to convince her that Dany is good, but then we get that moment we’re he is like do you have faith in me still? And Sansa eyes looked teary and said of course. It shows Jon just wants Sansa to believe and have faith in him. And Sansa just wants to protect the family, which includes Jon, and is sadden Jon doesn’t well not respect her opinion but still doesn’t take her advice to heart? And I feel this showed when he was badmouthing Sansa to Arya and Dany. 

I mean it makes sense to Dany he would be like she didn’t like me growing up, to cool Dany down that Sansa is hard to get to know....but with Arya...it was like he wanted another fam member to agree with him. That Sansa is an arrogant, thinks she smarter bitch and knows nothing. Then when he got a different reaction from a more mature, older Arya, I think it shooked him. He even mentioned Sansa needs remember I am her family. It’s like Jon thought he was in a different time. That its s1 and they all are children. But once Arya defends Sansa, Jon realizes woah things are different, we all are different. It just shows Jon still has some resentment towards Sansa like Arya did last season with Sansa but they all have to move on. Jon still is seeking approval like Tyrion kinda with the Lannisters but they need to stop and move on. 

Jon’s relationship with Dany is up and down for me. I love him getting to know other Targaryen, like in the dragonpit scene in s7 and them riding dragons together but the romantic aspect of their relationship if off to me like I said in the Dany part. They never talk. Yes they talk business, and they say fanfic things but I want an ACTUAL intimate, conversation when they are talking about the past, present, and future. They are trying to understand each other. WHERE THE HELL IS THAT?? 

I loved Jon riding a dragon and his experience was so realistic except I would be having a panic attack after and Dany would have to give me my pill and hold me lmao but I still don’t like how they don’t have a real talk. Also, Jon never defends her in public too???? All he says is I had no choice. BITCH SHE LITERALLY SAID I WILL FIGHT FOR YOU YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SAY I BEND THE KNEE TILL AFTER WAR DUMBASS-

i’m sorry jon stans but its true. there are just so many times you can say he is doing it for greater good. it just seems like jon caused more drama. then not having a reaction to what sam’s fam went through??? your bff’s fam?? And being like that would be treason, and being like I executed men before. Yes you have Jon but in certain situations. When they are being disrespectful assholes. I’m not saying what Dany did was wrong or right  but we all know the character of Jon Snow. I don’t think he would actually burn someone with a dragon except if he HAS to or he lost his mind. I like the idea of Jon losing his mind but we can’t have nice things in this show djhjfhlfk. 

the reveal again was overpowered by sam and I feel like Jon believed it too easily. yes he knows sam would never lie but he should have stomped over to bran right after. its just TOO EASY. 

Listen, Jon and Dany are flawed characters. I still like them but I’m also not afraid to call them out on some things I don’t agree with. Idc they are song of ice and fire lmao XD

Theon: My boi Theon came through. He is going to fight for the Starks and die for them like he SHOULD HAVE. That’s all I have to say. Also THEONSA MIGHT RISE YALL-

Euron: This Euron is no book!Euron but this man still confuses me lmao. Like he acts like he is in POTC, all he wants to do is fuck the queen which I think is code for I want her to have my baby then ima kill her ass. Like if he actually outwits/kill cersei….I will be mad but also be like well that was expected???

Bronn: This is so predicable I can’t even right now. He’s either going to kill one or both or the Lannister bros , get killed or fight with them. If there’s some other twist? COOL. but rn i’m like really? You want me to believe that Jaime or Tyrion will fucking die by Bronn’s hands? Crossbow imagery is fucking high grade A+ Lannister tragedy excellence but Cersei should pull the trigger not fucking Bronn.

Jaime: Book!Jaime is pulling through rn. I’m not one of those people who are like he is on a redemeption arc. Jaime doesn’t have to do that. But I am interested with his rl with Bran, Brienne, and what he does. Also, I hope he is like Dany sis your father was crazy XD

Cersei: I felt bad when my girl had to fuck Euron. Cersei is on that S3 Azula energy. She is losing her MIND and knows she is losing. And it’s making her more crazier. Then the fact that Jaime left her too. It reminds me when Zuko went on Team Avatar side and Azula was like FUCK YOU TRAITOR I’LL MEET YOU AT DAWN FOR THE FIGHT OF THE CENTURY ASSHOLE XD

Also, Azula lost her mind when Ty Lee and Mai betrayed her too. Cersei has NO one like Azula did and now she is just losing it. I really hope she has more of a plan and is not just going to make impulsive choices then die for it. I need one last thing from Cersei. Kill Euron in bed, do something.

Sansa: It’s funny because Arya seems the most happiest rn while Sansa is more anxious and protective. Sansa is not happy Dany is here. I want to compare this situation to something yall might understand more. 

Modern AU TIME: The stark siblings parents have died and unfortunately the oldest brother Robb has died as well. Robb has the left Jon the Stark family home. Now Jon’s name might be on the deed but he makes mistakes, leaves, and Sansa who cares a lot about the home/family runs it. Then one day Jon comes back and says hey I got married to this girl you never met, her name is Dany, also she owns the house with me now, and will stay with us. Now would you be 110% accepting or would you have some resentments and wary? 

YOU WOULD BE LIKE WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOME? JON WHERE WERE YOU? WHY DIDN’T YOU SEND A TEXT? WHAT YOU MEAN YOU BEND THE KNEE??? WHAT THE FUCK-

We all know Dany can be sweet and loving but Sansa doesn’t know that. Sansa is one of the last political savvy characters on this show. She said it last season, Dany is here for the throne. She wants people to bend the knee. North is one of those kingdoms. Yes, Dany said she would fight for the North but Sansa isn’t Jon. She doesn’t know Dany and just looks at the facts. 

What I find funny again too because this Dansa war is hilarious is that when Sansa says something in public that is also shady to Dany...its also a subject that needs to be brought up. It’s not like Sansa is saying your a stupid bitch in public. She is saying we need feed everyone and I wasn’t counting on your soldiers and dragons. What do your dragons eat? Dany comeback was KILLER but we also see the dragons are NOT happy and NOT getting enough of food. 

Also, I find it hilarious because last season some of us were mentioning Sansa preparing the North, and some were like that doesn’t matter. But it does???? Which makes sense but I’m also shocked they mentioned it. I think this Dansa war will end but them having conflict isn’t shocking. They have sm in common but they are also very different individuals. Could Sansa be more nice to Dany? Yes, but she’s Sansa and after her experience I can see why she isn’t accepting to Dany. At a young age she was accepting to Lannisters and looked what happened.

I loved Sansa/Tyrion reunion. I loved how Tyrion praised Sansa, how Sansa said sorry even though she didn’t have to, but also her shading Tyrion. It was the BEST. And I think it made Tyrion be like oh shit maybe she right- XD

I already talked about Jon/Sansa scene but again it shows Sansa cares for family/home and it saddens her Jon doesn’t take her advice to heart. Also, I did love she had the guts to say did you bend for the good or cuz you like her? Cuz business and feelings always gets mixed up. It also teases that Sansa is basically saying you did the opposite of what I told you again, you are following robb/ned mistakes.

Some might be annoyed at Sansa like some might be annoyed by Dany but I think this episode showed that Sansa is protective of her family and is doing her duty has a Stark. 

White Walkers: I don’t even know what to say to that. Some say it looks like a Targaryen sigil maybe who knows. I’m just going to wait and see how they explain the WWs.

Basically this episode was a good start to the impending doom but shows it’s not going to be easy for any of them. 

(btw we all have different opinions, i’m okay with talking and agreeing to disagree but no hate please :) )

#got spoilers #game of thrones #got #arya stark #sam tarly #daenerys targaryen #sansa stark #cersei lannister #tyrion lannister #bran stark #jon snow #euron greyjoy #Jaime lannister

[janiedean]

Idk if anyone already asked this but: what about ASOIAF/GOT characters and opera? Who are the experts, the casual fans, and the one who don't care but get dragged along anyway? Does anyone relate to a particular character? *cough* Is Tyrion the biggest Rigoletto fan? *cough* And/or, does any OTP relate to a particular opera pairing? :)

OKAY SORRY IT TOOK ME AGES BUT HERE I AM

(spoilers: you can find 80% of the following or will find it in my amazing opera singers au series)

lannisters & partners

tyrion is 100% an opera nerd and he identifies with rigoletto in frankly worrying ways - he’s like me with la traviata and cries at rigoletto’s first aria every single time and then at the ending PERIOD I DO NOT MAKE THE RULES but he also likes unconventional stuff ie russians/20th century germans (TYRION LOVES ALBAN BERG YOU CAN PRY THAT FROM MY DEAD HANDS)

bronn is the friends he drags with but the only character in any opera that he likes is sparafucile

cersei only listens to wagner because everything else is for the plebs and ofc her favorite is the valkyrie YES YOU KNOW THE ONE WITH THE TWINCEST she’s the biggest sieglinde stan

jaime likes it tho not as much as tyrion but he hates both dramas and wagner and tends to like comedies/stuff that ends well better and he and brienne meet bc tyrion set them up and sent them to see fidelio with his tickets and YOU KNOW THAT JAIME AND BRIENNE ARE 100% LEONORE AND FLORESTAN YOU DON’T CHANGE MY MIND ON THAT EVER IT’S THE MOST JB OPERA THAT EVER JB-ED

brienne also likes more the happy stuff than the sad stuff but yeah fidelio is Their Thing okay

tywin went because joanna liked it and then he stopped 

starks & partners

ned & cat are that couple of nerds who goes to the opera for their anniversary and likes just about most stuff except a few single things they find boring but not as much to argue about it. for themselves, cat tends to like those donizetti operas with sopranos who at some point 100% lose it, ned is more into verdi and probably would agree with tyrion on rigoletto because y’know, FATHERS RELATE

but they also wanted their kids to get into it so their family tradition is that all go to see the magic flute together bc it’s kid-friendly and it worked bc all the stark kids love it ;)

robb’s totally into the comedies and hates the dramas and not counting the magic flute which ofc he loves because IT WAS HIS FIRST his fave is 100% rossini’s cenerentola FOR REASONS

addendum to say that theon is the friend he dragged with and thought would be boring but instead loves it and ends up converting and theon’s favorite - bc he’s a nerd - is most likely le comte ory ie THE ROSSINI CRACK OPERA WITH THE THREESOME WHERE THE TENOR IS CROSSDRESSING AS A NUN AND THE MEZZOSOPRANO PLAYS THE GUY AND THE BASS SINGS AN ARIA ABOUT STEALING ALCOHOL

but their ship they see themselves into are carlo and rodrigo from don carlo because lmao IT’S THEM

(robb prob. also have a soft spot for la clemenza di tito bc he and tito are the same person but nvm)

jon’s like 100% into dramas ALL THE DRAMA ALL THE TIME his fave is 100% la forza del destino ie the most terribly dramatic telenovela in history of dramatic opera

(he introduced it to ygritte who ofc is instead into all the rossini comedies with the a++++++ main lead ie italiana in algeri, barbiere di siviglia and so on which is a cause of endless amusement on her side because then they have to compromise)

(sam doesn’t need to be introduced because he’s 100% a nerd who cried over la traviata too but he likes all kind of stuff and who’ll go to both sand and fun operas and HE ALSO LIKES CENERENTOLA BEST THO)

sansa ofc is into THE ROMANCE so her fave is totally la traviata but she and robb totally agreed on cenerentola as well basically she robb and sam are the cenerentola stans cinnamon roll brigade

arya isn’t that much into it but she’ll go to most fun stuff and admittedly she has a soft spot for la fille du regiment because she totally identifies with maria (and tonio’s... well tonio is gendry let’s be real lmao)

(gendry is the friend she brought with once bc she likes that one and he immediately noticed)

bran goes with the others and he’s fine with it but he’s more into symphonic and not opera but he does like the family magic flute xD

rickon at some point got dragged to see the firebird when he was like six and everyone thought he’d sleep through it and instead he comes out of it like ‘guys I want to play the drums when I grow up’

baratheons & partners

robert thinks it’s boring af and wouldn’t set foot inside an opera ever, he just went once with ned to see don giovanni as a compromise

renly thinks it’s boring af and never went, then turns out that loras is 100% into it especially ACTUAL older stuff ie gluck and he totally dragged renly to see iphigenie en tauride BECAUSE ORESTES AND PYLADES ARE THE TWO OF THEM and renly had to relent and actually liked it

stannis is The Opera Nerd. he has a subscription to the local theater, he knows everything there is to know, he has a knowledge of minor baroque authors that would scare music professors, he also always goes alone because robert and renly wouldn’t go with him IF they cared, and his favorite is 100% rossini’s guillaume tell but only in the original french version WITH THE BALLETS or it’s a travesty

and he realizes davos is His Guy For Real when he shows up for their anniversary with tickets and then realizes that maybe someone who never went won’t want to see SIX HOURS OF FRENCH GRAND OPERA but davos just blinks like ‘k sure I’m open to everything’ and actually likes it (spoilers: davos’s fave becomes rossini’s la gazza ladra after he gets into it bECAUSE HE TOTALLY RELATES TO THE GIRL’S FATHER WHO SHOULD GO TO JAIL BUT IS ACTUALLY A GOOD GUY but he also likes le nozze di figaro bc YOU FEEL THE LOVE FOR THE LOWER CLASS)

tyrells

all of them used to go with olenna so all four are into it

loras as stated is into early-mid 18th century stuff ie gluck/handel/the likes (he’s the only one who actually likes julius caesar)

willas totally is into romcoms he cried the first time he went to see l’elisir d’amore and he’s been mercilessly mocked since

garlan is a sane person and likes more or less everything except extradramatic stuff

margaery is into bellini don’t tell me norma isn’t her fave

tullys

lysa never was into it bc cat was and so she always refused to go

brynden totally introduced cat to it but he’s a man of not much taste for EXTRA DRAMA so while he likes his verdi he just wants to relax with his mozart gdi but his fave is something totally overlooked ie PROBABLY IDOMENEO BECAUSE WHY THE HELL NOT HE’D LIKE IT

edmure totally went with cat & brynden and also was more into comedies turns out that his favorite is eventually falstaff and he’s always grumbling that verdi shouldn’t have made just ONE comedy ffs

targs:

viserys prob is a nerd but just of his favorite stuff and he’s either into countertenor stuff OR obscure shit or french grand opera AT BEST, he’s probably the only person other than loras who likes julius caesar

dany’s into it but very casually, she probably likes il trovatore because fire imagery everywhere tho

rhaegar is 100% into verdi drama like jon took ONE thing from him and that’s it, he probably is the kinda person who likes othello best for the Sheer Drama Factor

greyjoys:

balon and victarion legit hate it

euron is the only person other than cersei who actually willingly would go to see the ring and loves wagner

asha only goes with theon but she doesn’t mind it also bc alannys is 100% crazy into it that said she hates drama

alannys loves it her fave is la traviata I don’t make the rules

martells:

oberyn’s the hugest don giovanni stan in existence I DON’T MAKE THE RULES HE IS HE IDENTIFIES TO A T

elia’s chiller but the martells have the best taste and so they’d all like mozart she’s prob. into le nozze di figaro best because she totally relates to the countess

arianne likes così fan tutte and would punch anyone who says it’s sexist

other ppl:

sandor was dragged by sansa and he had been like WHAT DO I EVEN DO IN A THEATER HELP but then she picked something like gounod’s faust which he would like, turns out that then he ends into the most obscure SAD stuff and likes boito’s mefistofele best lISTEN HE’D BE INTO FAUSTIAN DEALS OPERA

lf is the kind of person who says they love opera but then criticize every single thing in every single staging and keep on saying opera should have died with maria callas

pyp/grenn/edd/the nw crowd went with jon once to watch something REALLY fucking sad TBH IT’D BE ERNANI and they’re like ‘jon wtf this is the worst’, then when sam learns it he goes like GUYS NO LET’S RECTIFY THIS and he brings them to l’italiana in algeri or SOME rossini fun opera and they change their mind

... okay I think I got MOST OF THE RELEVANT ONES IF I FORGOT ANYONE/YOU WANT ANYONE ELSE PLS ASK ;)

#headcanon tag #too many things to tag sorry #jaime x brienne for ts #throbb for ts #sansan for ts #i think nothing else would get blacklisted??? here u go #haljathefangirlcat #ask post

[eliamatrell]

jaga... out of curiosity and respect for your URL... what's your take on rhaegar targaryen/lyanna stark.. also do u ship petyr/sansa 👀

njdsdnjsnjd NOTHING BUT RESPECT FOR ELIA NYMEROS MARTELL. i used to despise rhaegar/lyanna solely because i love elia martell more than i love myself but now i’m just. Ehhhhh. the older i get, the less salty i am, i guess. but i still strongly dislike how a lot of fans envision it (aka something akin to a disney’s fable, with unconditional love that conquers death blah blah blah. IT’S JUST WESTEROSI PROPAGANDA) but i think that it was a wildly passionate affair that ended with lyanna cursing his name and longing to slit dragon boy’s throat for what he did to her family (i mean, indirectly, but her kidnapping was the reason her beloved brother and father died, and for the starks family is A Big Deal. i love this co-dependent house, and their sharp teeth, and frost in their veins lmao). i am also into aus that include lyanna riding (………………away with) jaime lannister and/or arthur dayne. and as for rhaegar, his and elia’s marriage is my endless source of bitterness (because my girl deserved better) and delight (because i love unhappy marriages as a trope) and it’s a full-blown shakespearean tragedy! where in theory it all could be avoided but hamlet/rhaegar was too obsessed with his spiritual mission and died for it, bringing his innocent (oph)elia down with him. my fav fic depicting their courtship and downfall literally begins with a shakespeare quote dsdjnsuds (as flies to wanton boys are we to the gods / they kill us for their sport)

(i could. go on and on about everything elia related because she is the unsung martyr, the one reduced both in-universe and by fandom to a silent shadow, mute and weak and sickly and unworthy. god, we never even learn how she reacted when her husband humiliated her in front of every important player in westeros! nothing. nada. and it’s simply heartbreaking, because she must have realised so many things at once - that her husband doesn’t love her anymore, maybe he never did, that her position is no longer secure, that she may be soon cast aside, her children stripped of their titles and banished (historically there have been instances of the targaryen kings getting dethroned by their half-siblings), that every single person is watching her and waiting for her reaction, and she can’t give them satisfaction. and then when she was finally alone, she just broke down and cried for hours - and it was loud and ugly and angry - and damned her husband, damned that northern girl (who’s everything she’s not - lively, and healthy, and free, and wild), damned everyone in capital, the lannisters and the targaryens and the tyrells, and their scheming and backstabbing and short-sightedness. she knew they were all doomed, herself included, and she knew that she can’t be saved, but her children, maybe her children—) (i would die and kill for elia oh goodness) (also, according to canon - later, much later, during the siege of king’s landing, princess rhaenys targaryen hid under her father’s bed and called for him. that’s the only fragment in the books that truly moved me to tears, even though it was brief and mentioned only in passing - all hell broke loose and rhaenys was there, alone with her cat balerion (who survived her!), waiting for her father to come home and save them. god. i really meant it when i called their story shakespearean.)

and as for petyr/sansa: my opinion is…. uncrystallised? i don’t like what they did w/ petyr in the show but i need to re-read the series (my memory…… it’s bad.) in order to decide whether i’m into it. the jury’s still out, but i’m not opposed to it, you know. and speaking of the show - because of it (well, mostly season 6) i definitely do have a soft spot for sansa/jon.

#replies #usernarkik #IT GOT SO LONG AND DRAMATIC I'M SORRY #but like. i've been an elia stan for years now. #i am physically incapable of discussing pre-asoiaf without crying about the rightful crown princess of westeros #and she was never avenged! they never mentioned her in the songs! she was forgotten and nobody except her brothers mourned her. good god. #the only thing i'm sure of? i would carve out my kidney for elia nymeros martell #🗣🗣🗣

[sailorshadzter]

across the sea and back again.

here we have an au idea that quickly spiraled out of control lmao.

left on a cliff hanger purposely, perhaps ill get around to writing a part 2 if anyone would want to see that! 

follows canon plot until jonsa reunion in season 6. the story opens within days of their meeting at castle black. 

As the ship steers away from the dock, he spares only one last glance at the place he's known all of his life. The North will grow small in the distance, but he turns his back to it. He cannot watch the cold shores disappear from his sight, instead, he will remember them as they look then: cold, frozen, but home.

Instead, he turns to face down the deck to where she stands, quietly watching the Northern shores fade from view. She must feel his gaze upon her for she shifts, blue eyes finding gray, and she smiles; this was home now. He approaches her as she tucks her lovely red hair beneath her hood, turning back as the boat rocks them on the cold sea. A hand to her elbow, he steadies her, reminded yet again that she's never sailed before. "Let's go down below," he suggests, and though she seems hesitant at first, she follows after him only a few moments later, casting one final glance back at the place they're both leaving behind.

Though it is still chilly below the deck, it is dry and they are free from the frosty wind and splashes of ice cold sea water. Even now as he looks at her in the lantern light, he sees her skirts are damp and she's shivering. "Here," he swings his furs from his shoulders and drapes them over hers, shaking his head when she opens her mouth to protest. "I told you I would keep you safe." His hand falls into place over her shoulder, a light grip, a comforting touch that sends warmth through her entire being.

Time seems to stand still, as it always does when Jon gets so close; why does she wish he would get closer? "Where will we go?" An echo of the words they had shared only a few nights ago. His hand falls from her shoulder and she feels uncertain without the slight grip of his fingertips.

Jon smiles, settling upon the single bed in the cabin. "To Lys." It is a place where it is not about a family name, it is a place where hired swords guard the gates and the most powerful men are the richest ones. He's heard the rumors of the place- beautiful people, the blood of old Valyria still running through even merchant veins. On one hand, they might stick out, but across the Narrow Sea, no one will know them. No one will find them.

Not ever.

"I have heard they love music in Lys," she is not afraid because she is a Stark, no matter where she goes, she will always be the blood of Winterfell, she will always be Eddard and Catelyn Stark's daughter. She crosses the swaying floor to settle onto the bed at his side, their shoulders brushing as she shifts so she might face him. "Will we be happy?" She asks, softer still, her only real fear. The nightmare of a life she's lived all these years disappears behind her, but the future of the one she has now remains uncertain.

Without a doubt, he nods. "I'll make sure of it," he vows, hand over hers, warm and strong. She smiles and leans into him, head to shoulder, hands still yet clasped together upon her thigh. "I promise, Sansa..."

And she believes him.

[ x x x ]

He wakes in the night, the ship swaying beneath him.

Sansa sleeps, curled against him beneath the furs on the bed, one hand tucked beneath the curve of her ivory cheek. He rolls so he can face her, his gaze adjusting to the darkness of the cabin, listening to the sound of her soft breathing as she sleeps. Complicated as they may be, the feelings rushing through him bring him a sense of warmth, a sense of comfort. He draws a hand from beneath the covers, fingers tracing along the length of her jaw, sharpened by her days of pain and hunger, but no longer darkened with bruises left behind.

"I'll keep you safe," he whispers into the dark, eyes closing as the sway of the ship and the soft sound of her breathing lulls him back to sleep.

[  x x x ]

Lys is a bustling city, full of far more people than King's Landing or the North ever was.

Jon finds them a small, modest cottage that sits along the outskirts of the town, surrounded by fruit trees. He takes up a job as a hired sword for the gate, though he has traded Longclaw in for a blade that is not as recognizable. Though he insists she needn't do so, Sansa sews the finest gowns for Lys' most powerful noble houses- silks, lawns, laces- fetching a living that will after a time certainly surpass his. The truth was, she enjoys the work.

When she isn't sewing gowns, she tends to the garden that sits out back behind the cottage. She's never done such a thing as this and there's not much more she enjoys than hearing Jon's chuckle when she comes inside, dirt smudged on her cheeks, skirts tied up around her knees. Time passes, days into weeks, weeks into months... In Lys, she lives differently, she lives freely, without the contraints of etiquette, without the fear of violence or abuse. Here in Lys, she lives as Jon promised... She lives happy.

They live happy.

[ x x x ]

"Do you want a family?"

The question comes when they've been living in Lys for several months.

Jon looks up from where he sits, peeling lemons at their table while she stirs batter in a bowl. Sansa had never cooked a day in her life until they came to Lys, but like with most things, she was good at it. "A family?" He asks, both surprise and confusion settling into place, heavy like a cloak. His heart beat quickens, surprising him even more than the question she's asked. "I have a family."

She makes a face, shaking her head. "You know what I mean," she shoots back, setting the bowl she holds down onto the table as she stares at him with those big blue eyes. "A wife... Children..." She thinks of the children she's always imagined for herself, a boy she might call Robb and a girl that looks of Arya. As always, her heart aches at the thought of the siblings left behind, the family she's lost back in the North; the only thing she misses from the life left in the North. She thinks of them, the little siblings she never found, Arya and Rickon and Bran, she hopes they forgive her for leaving. She hopes they're alive.

For a long moment, he studies her face, Stark colored eyes finding blue. He rises up from where he sits, chair scraping the floor, his hand warm when it falls over hers. "I have a famiy, Sansa," he says again, offering her a smile as he squeezes his hand on hers. "I have you."

I have you.

His words echo inside of her mind, the meaning behind them giving rise to a wave of emotion that she must blink away. "Jon..." His name is a whisper on her lips and suddenly, there is no distance between them. The breath catches in her throat, her heart beat skipping as she feels his arm wrap around her. He's warm and he tastes of lemons when his thumb brushes across her lower lip, the gesture sending shivers racing the length of her spine. Once, these feelings welling up within her left her feeling shamed, for he's her brother, albeit half, but their father's blood is one and the same.

And yet...

Here in Lys, no one knows them. There would be no one to shame them for the nature of their relationship. For once in her life, she is free to love as she wishes- to make a choice for herself without fear, without worry. So she kisses him. And when she feels Jon's lips press back against hers, she knows this is the right choice.

He was always the right choice.

[ x x x ]

It's the middle of the night and she stands at the window that overlooks the sea, which roars in the distance, the only light that of the moon in the sky above. Sometimes, in moments such as these, she truly misses the North. Winter had yet to find them in Essos, but she wonders if there will come a time where she will feel again the sting of the cold wind. She wonders if someday, she might again step into the blinding brilliance of pure white snow. To her surprise, tears fill her eyes and she closes them, recalling how once she had thought she would never feel cold again. That day... When she had escaped to find Jon, running through the frozen forest in just a thin gray cloak, she had been so cold that day. She'd have frozen to death, surely, if Theon had not found that old mare that took her the distance to Castle Black.

Those days... They were so long ago and yet... Sometimes, even now, they feel as if they had only just been yesterday. The truth was, she was only awake because she'd been dreaming of that forest again, running for her life through the trees, the howl of a wolf chasing behind her. But she had not been running for Castle Black in this dream, but to Winterfell. Now that she's awake she feels strangely empty... As if there was a piece of her missing.... As if...

"Come to bed, won't you wife?"

Sansa jumps at the voice, but she's smiling when she turns around to face him where he lays beneath the sheet on their bed. They've been married four months now, but she's not quite certain she'll ever grow accustomed to hearing him call her wife. "I'm coming..." She murmurs, turning back to the window for only a moment more before she crosses the room and slips back into his arms. "I was dreaming..." She sighs against him, settling into place beside him with ease.

"Of what?" His breath is warm against her as he rolls closer, brushing his lips across her bare shoulder, teeth breaking the soft skin of her throat as a hand encloses a breast.

"Home."

The single word draws him back from her, it's meaning more than what it sounds like. "The North," his tenor vocals catch and he closes his eyes, as if it is too painful for him to think of what they left behind. "I miss it, too." He admits, settling back onto his side of the bed, though his palm remains where it was, her heartbeat a tattoo against his skin. We could go back, he wants to say, but he knows the truth, they can never go back. Not while the Lannister's still live, not when Ramsay Bolton still holds the North. She would never be safe there and so in Essos they must stay, no matter how badly either of them wished to go back. He had to keep her safe, it was all that mattered to him.

She turns into him, rekindling his motions from moments before, her mouth finding his as a hand threads through his dark curls. This is home now, she thinks as Jon moves between her legs, a warm hand pressing against the soft skin of her inner thigh. His mouth moves from hers and finds its place against her ear, his whisper warm against the shell of her ear. "I'm always home when I'm with you."

He was right...

Home was wherever they were together.

[ x x x ]

The first morning she wakes ill, she knows not what ails her.

But then a second morning follows, a third, even a fourth. By then she knows, by then she's come to see the other signs that came along with the morning sickness. Her breasts feel heavy and tender to the touch, so much so that even Jon's soft hands had caused her a new sort of torment just two nights before. Though the illness passes by the afternoon, she's left tired and irritable for the rest of the day, falling into a deep sleep each night with ease. Jon notices, but she says it's nothing, because she knows what could happen yet in these early days.

And so she keeps her secret tucked against her heart, if only for a few weeks more.

[ x x x ]

She's piecing together her latest dress order when Jon comes through the door, his boots heavy on the floor, a bowl of freshly picked fruit in his hands. "Welcome home," she greets with a mouthful of pins, various pieces of dark blue fabric placed around her, ready to be sewn together.

Jon stops where he stands, taking in the sight of her there, a smile curving on his lips. Sometimes, even now, he has to remind himself that she's real, that she's his. "Busy, sweetheart?" He asks as she approaches, settling down on his hunches just outside the circle of fabric that surrounds her only after setting the fruit aside on the table. "Ah, for Lady Rogare," he observes, noting the quality of the rich blue colored silk, a favorite fabric and color of the noble lady, one of Sansa's more notable customers. "You only just finished the yellow one for her." Sansa grins, pulling the last of the pins from her mouth, slipping it into place where a sleeve meets bodice, keeping it together until she actually sews it later.

"She was quite pleased with it," Sansa explains, thinking back to the delight the woman had shown at the sight of the yellow damask gown she had made most recently. "So pleased in fact, she ordered several more." Though long hours it would take her for each one, Sansa loves creating the elaborate gowns the Lys women enjoy, far different from the gowns of the North or even King's Landing. Daring and bold, the women only wore the lightest of fabrics in a vast array of colors- gowns in every color one could imagine, gowns Sansa's younger self only could have imagined existed.

Rising up to his full height, he reaches out his hand for her to take, helping her back onto her own feet that ache from her hours on the floor. "You're going to be kept quite busy," he remarks, leading her towards the table and helping her into a chair. She grins, thinking about the news she still yet holds onto. Busy indeed, she thinks with a chuckle that does not go unnoticed. "What's funny?" He turns back to her, brow arching as he peers down at her where she sits.

Somehow, this is the moment she's been waiting for.

"I have something to tell you," she says, standing back up so she might face him, reaching out to take his hand in hers.

His heart has begun to beat fast, as if deep down, he knows everything is about to change.

"I'm with child."

The breath stolen from his lungs, the world spins much too fast for a moment, and it is Sansa that guides him into the chair she had just vacated. "Are you certain?" He gulps when he finds his voice several moments later, his eyes wide as he stares up at her. At his expense, Sansa laughs, drawing his hand towards her, pressing his palm against the still yet flat plane of her abdomen.

Then she nods.

Just like that, the world seems clearer, brighter, as if this was what he's been waiting to hear all of his life. He jumps back to his feet and wraps her in his arms, happiness a warm surge through his every limb. "A babe..." He whispers, her laughter mixing with tears as he pulls her as close as he dares, relishing in the softness of her. "A babe of our own..." He draws back, just so he might look her in the face, his joy and shock evident by the expression he wears. "When?"

"Seven months, I'd say," she says, the best guess she can make in the timeline. "Around the time of Arya's nameday." Jon's smile returns and then he's pulling her back into an embrace, breathing her in, his body humming with the happiness that runs through him.

He's not certain any man deserves to be this happy, but he accepts it all the same.

[ x x x ]

"What shall we name him?"

They lay in bed together, the darkness closing in as the moon hides behind a stubborn cloud cover. "Him? It could be a girl, you know." Jon reminds her as he drums his fingers along the swell of her belly. But she shrugs, ever certain that it will be a son that comes in the next few weeks. "What do you wish to name him?" Jon flips the question back at her and she makes a face.

"I asked you first."

Jon chuckles as the babe moves beneath his touch, as if they can feel their father's hand through Sansa's skin. "Well... I did always think myself with a son I would name Robb." He would be a strong boy with the Stark looks, a boy that would roam with wolves and honor his family beyond all else. "And daughters, I thought I might have a handful of beautiful girls." He pictures those girls differently than he once did- for now he sees them born of her, with vibrant red hair and eyes the color of the summer sky.

Settling back against her pillows, she smiles, lost in the images he paints for her; a first born son clinging to her skirts, a second one in her arms, while a daughter grows in her belly. She can think of them all; the first a miniature version of Jon, with the Stark looks his namesake always wished he had. The second son would be a mixture of Tully and Stark, though more like his father in attitude. Their first born daughter would be little of her besides temper, a little dark haired girl that will steal Jon's heart. It would be their fourth child, another girl, that Sansa knows will come someday when they least expect her, but she will be their Tully redhead. She cannot explain it, but she knows these children will come to them, one by one, until their family is complete.

"Robb," she finally says, realizing that she's lost herself in thought, silence falling between them as Jon leans his head against her stomach, their babe twisting in the uncomfortable space that surely her womb has become.

That night she dreams of the godswood and giggling children. Beneath the heart tree, a foursome plays, a mix of dark and red hair, two boys and two littler girls. Four wolf pups play among them, a perfect pack, a little family.

When she wakes, she’s smiling. 

[ x x x ]

The day Robb is born, she dreams of Winterfell again.

It's lost to her, in the chaos that is labor, but when it is all done and she's propped up in bed, the infant in the crook of her arm, fast asleep, she remembers. "He will be King in the North," she whispers, leaning over the babe to press a kiss to his forehead. Jon laughs softly, for they both know it can never be true. Too tired to argue, Sansa only leans in closer, watching as Jon reaches out a gentle hand, fingertips brushing the soft head of dark hair their son has, a smile twitching on his lips. "Is it fair... For us to be so happy?" She asks softly, afraid to believe that this happiness could last. After everything they had been through, after everything that had led them to this moment, after all they had left behind... Was it right for them to find happiness like this?

Jon turns to her, one hand still on his son's head, the other reaching out to touch her cheek. "Of all people who deserve to be this happy... It's you, my love." His words are soft, they are the truth. Tears fill her eyes and she closes them against the emotions rising up within her, the smallest of smiles curving on her lips. "This is what I wanted for you," he leans in, brushing her mouth with his, gentle, tender, loving. "This sort of happiness is what I wanted you to have." A tear escapes and he catches it with his thumb.

Sansa lets out a deep breath and she nods; there was no way she could ever feel happier than this.

[ x x x ]

Robb is four months old when there comes a knock to their door.

It's the middle of the day and while the baby sleeps in his cradle, Sansa is sewing the last touches of a gown. Jon sits across the room at the table, sharpening the sword he's carried since taking the job as a hired swordsman. They exchange a quick glance, though it's not abnormal for such a thing to happen, there is something that feels strange about this knock.

Returning his sword to its sheath, casting aside his sharpening tools so he can rise up from where he sits, crossing the room to open the door. At the door is a woman, but a woman like he's never seen before. She's taller than any man he's ever met, dressed in armor of a Northern style, heavyweight for the weather of Lys. There's a sword strapped to her hip and another young man hovers just behind her in the yard, watching the scene unfold with a surprised gaze- as if he cannot believe what he's seeing. Before Jon can open his mouth to speak, Sansa is there, peering at the woman with wide eyes, an expression of true shock on her face. "Lady Sansa... It's you..." The woman whispers, tears filling her bright blue eyes as she falls to her knees. "I've been searching for you, all this time Lady Sansa..."

There was always hope, despite the doubt that nagged at her over the course of the last several months. There was always hope that she would find her, even when the rest of the world believed her dead. As she should have been- the price upon her head was higher than most criminals. Believed to be a participant in Joffrey's death, the Lannister queen swore a handsome prize for any man that brought Sansa Stark to her. And then of course there was Ramsay Bolton, who needed his Stark bride to solidify his stolen place at Winterfell. Though his price was not that of the Lannister's, it certainly was a sum that would keep many families supported in the coming winter months. But after the first six months of her vanishing from Winterfell, people could only assume she had perished in the cold forest, her body certainly to be found when the spring thaw came.

But Brienne had believed... She had believed she would find her.

And so she had traveled across the North, following any lead, any rumor that spread about Sansa's whereabouts. Eventually, the rumors quieted, and still she went on, knowing she could never give up her search. It wasn't until a second trip to White Harbor that she made a choice to get on a ship and sail for Essos, no reason to it except something tells her it's the right choice to make.

The ship lands in Lorath and she spends three months combing the city for any sign, any rumor, anything at all that will tell her that Sansa is there. But three months in and she's left no stone unturned in the port city, checking even the brothels to find her lady. It wasn't until she's walking through the main market that she overhears something interesting. "...That dressmaker in Lys!" A woman is saying, smiling as she sways her skirts back and forth to show off the detail in the glimmering fabric. "Isn't it lovely? She's quite talented, my father paid for three more for me!" Brienne listened for several seconds more, though the conversation turned and there was nothing else she could learn from eavesdropping.

However, that single piece of information proved quite fruitful, for after an inquiry at a local merchant, she learned more about the Lys dressmaker. Enough that she sets out for Lys that very next morning, finding herself at the door of the small cottage where the dressmaker lives. And it's her... It's her... After all this time... It was her.

"You must come home," she speaks, staring up into the face of the young woman, who's blue eyes peer back at her, still wide in her ivory features. "The North needs you." As if these words knock some sense into her, she shakes her head, turning away as if she means to end the conversation. "Please, Lady Sansa..." Sansa pauses, shifting back ever so slightly, lids sweeping closed over blue eyes, a hand curling into a fist at her side.

"I can't go back." Sansa finally speaks, turning back to face the lady knight. She thinks back to that first time she met Brienne of Tarth, who had tried to get her to come with her back then, offering her protection from the world around her. But, Sansa had trusted in Littlefinger and went to her marriage with Ramsay Bolton, a decision she knows she will regret until her final breath. Jon is at her elbow then, his touch steadying her where she stands; as always, it is him that brings her comfort. "I'm sorry you've gone out of your way to find me here, but please, I ask that you tell no one where I am." Sansa holds her gaze steady with the woman, taking a step forward, arm pulling free from Jon's grasp. "I can never go back North."

From his cradle, Robb lets out a wail and Sansa turns from the knight in her doorway to fetch the crying infant, cradling him to her breast, comforting him quietly. Brienne rises up from her knees, shock rocking her body as she takes in the sight of the baby Sansa holds- too young to be Bolton's child... Brienne's gaze shifts to the man in the room, who's Stark looks were undeniable, and now that she looks carefully, the baby was quite the same. Her mind is racing, reeling, with this new realization and understanding just why she says she cannot go back North. "My lady... If I may speak freely..." Brienne takes a step closer inside the door, a hand clenching into a fist at her side. "Ramsay Bolton has your brother, Rickon, in his dungeons at Winterfell."

Robb nearly slips from her grasp and she sags with the weight of these words; it is not Jon who reaches her first, but Brienne, who steadies the young woman with a surprisingly gentle hand. Sansa tilts her head back so she may look the lady knight in her eyes, blinking against the tears that gather in her own. Jon is at her side then, carefully taking their now smiling son from her arms before he steps back to stand just behind her, his eyes never straying from the woman in armor. Rickon, he thinks, recalling the little child he had left behind in Winterfell all those years ago. "Are you certain?" Sansa hears herself ask, though the voice sounds foreign to even her own ears. When Brienne nods, she winces as if struck, closing her eyes for a long moment. She opens them and casts a glance across her shoulder to where Robb gurgles happily in Jon's arms; protecting him... That was all that mattered to her.

And yet...

"Sansa, you know we must go." It's Jon's voice then, soft but encouraging, forcing her to turn around to face him. "The lone wolf dies..."

"But the pack survives." She finishes and Jon smiles, reaching out to tenderly touch her arm, giving her the courage she knows she needs.

"We can't just leave him." Jon says quietly and she knows, she knows. "We can find Arya and Bran, too." They could be a family again.

Deep down, her mind was made up long before Brienne spoke of Rickon. Her heart is hammering hard in her chest when she turns back around to face Brienne, the knight that has chased her across Westeros, even after she turned away from her. It feels strange, knowing there was someone so very devoted to her. "Brienne, will you take us home? Will you take us back North?" She asks and once again, Brienne is on her knees, sword raised in a gesture of fealty. Once, men had bowed to her father like this, had bowed to Robb like this... She takes a deep breath and accepts the vow offered to her, giving the knight one back of her own.

She turns back to Jon, leaning into him as his free arm slips around her waist, her hand reaching out to brush back the baby's soft, dark locks. "It's time to go home." Jon murmurs and she nods, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder.

And so home they would go, back to the North, back to Winterfell.

#jonsa #jonsa au #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #my writing #i wrote this #got s6 au #off to essos we go #i really do want to write a part 2 of them reclaiming winterfell and bringing their family back together #sooo uh yeah #we'll see

[sailorshadzter]

lets pretend this isnt riddled with mistakes (i REALLY forgot that the mountain was raised back from the dead??? can he still talk??? idk. he does here lmao and then never comes back because yeah, zombie guy stuff came up) 

basically this is a oneshot full of things i think will happen in season 8. i think a kidnapping plot is very plausible and i think the best time it will happen would be when the north sets out to fight against the night king.  but, as you read, you’ll see how i think cersei’s fate will play out by the end of the series. 

im not convinced daenerys would stand by and let jon live, considering his birthright, but i didnt want this story to be even longer by including a fight between them for the iron throne.  i read a theory about her dying in the fight against the night king & honestly that sounds right to me- but id already written the first half of this and was not about to go back and rewrite lmao. eventually i AM going to write that out though so be on the look out for that!

anyways hi 

here it is

im sorry if it sucks lol

You have to stay here.

He'd said those words over and over to her as he nearly dragged her down to the crypts beneath Winterfell, Ghost trotting after them, you'll be safest down here, he'd gone on, his dark eyes never leaving hers. Promise me you'll come back, she'd gripped the front of his cloak, unable to stop herself from pleading with him. Promise me, Jon. He'd taken her into his arms then, crushing her against him and Sansa could do nothing but commit to memory the way it felt to have him hold her. He'd kissed her forehead and smiled, but he made no promises. How could he, after all?

And then she watched him go, a cold sense of dread settled into the pit of her stomach.

By now, hours had passed, or so she supposed they had; she'd lost track of the time down there, surrounded by ghosts. She had passed the time praying to the Old Gods and the New, though she'd once sworn off praying, for what God had listened to her before? She had asked for guidance from her mother, her father, and even from her Aunt Lyanna. Sansa could only hope someone out there heard her. Reaching out a hand, she ran it along Ghost's back, watching with curiosity as the wolf suddenly sat upright. "What is it?" She spoke, her voice soft, her eyes following the wolf's line of sight. He'd settled his red-eyed gaze upon the door down the hall, the one which Jon had disappeared through some hours ago.

That was when she noticed it, the movement of the door as someone began to push it open. Her heart lept into her throat, her stomach churning as she rose up from where she sat on the ground. At her feet, Ghost had risen up as well, a low growl escaping his jaws as he took a few steps forward. Had they won already? Was the battle with the Night King truly over? Was this Jon returning to her? Or worse... Was it someone else come to fetch her, to take her to Jon's mangled body brought back to Winterfell? The door swung open then and Sansa felt her breath catch in her throat as a mountain of a man appeared in the doorway. "No..." She whispered as the man stepped into the corridor, his face hidden by a helmet, his white cloak a sign of who had sent him. Ghost was openly growling now, snapping his jaws in a warning to the man coming towards them. "Down, Ghost." Sansa spoke quietly, reaching down to tenderly rub the wolf's head, calming him. She'd never forgive herself if the Mountain killed Ghost and so she stepped in front of the wolf, holding her head high as the man approached her, no ounce of fear in her piercing blue eyes. "She's sent you then?"

Gregor Clegane did not recognize this young woman, this Lady of Winterfell. She was quite unlike the little girl that had once lived in King's Landing so long ago. But those eyes of hers... Those he remembered. Those he would never forget. "Aye," he replied in his gruff voice, reaching for her, her arm so small beneath his grip surely he would break her. Little bird, was that not what his brother had called her? The wolf at her feet snapped his jaws but she hushed him and the wolf sat back, though it continued to growl. Surprisingly, she did not fight against him as he drug her back towards the door, perhaps because she felt the strength of his grip on her arm and knew she was no match. Perhaps she valued her life more than she had back in King's Landing. And so he took her back up into Winterfell, down the main corridor and out the double doors into the courtyard where a huge, black stallion waited for its master.

Things were beginning to make sense now. Sansa could see no trace of servants or the guards left behind by Jon for her own protection. Either they were dead or frightened into hiding. It was snowing like mad and she had no cloak, but the Mountain didn't seem to care if she froze to death before they reached King's Landing. "Up you go," he lifted her onto the horse, the tight grip of his hands on her waist surely bruising her soft skin beneath her layers of clothes. Climbing up onto the horse himself, he snapped the horse into a trot and then they were gone, out the open gates of Winterfell and down the long road towards King's Landing. Looking back over her shoulder, Sansa felt a chill race down her spine that wasn't from the cold. It was Jon she thought of then, of his deep set, dark brown eyes, wishing with all of her might that he was there then. Please Jon, she thought as she was swiftly taken from her home, please be safe.

If nothing else, even if she got to King's Landing and Cersei took her head, she just wanted him to be alive.

[ x x x ]

All he could think of was her.

He rushed from the battlefield back towards Winterfell, back to where she was. Jon still could barely believe they'd won- he hadn't anticipated it, truthfully- but they had and now he had to see her. He had to hold her. He had to tell her just how he felt. But as he and a few of the survivors approached the gates, he felt it... A cold sense of dread that filled him whole, nearly snatching the breath from his lungs. "Jon?" It was Arya coming up beside him, her dark eyes meeting his, her features taut with worry. Could she feel it too? "Where are the guards?" Jon snapped his gaze from her face to the guard towers on either side of the open gate, realizing only then that there was no one within them. Sansa! He broke off at a run then, leaving Arya and the others behind, uncaring of the pain his battered body felt with every step that he took.

Down to the crypts he rushed, his mind whirling with hundreds of thoughts, but every one of them had to do with her. "Sansa!" He shouted as he nearly broke down the door to get into the passage, stumbling over the crumbling rock that once were a solid set of stairs. To his horror, she did not reply, but rather he heard the soft whining of Ghost. His wolf was pacing back and forth before the statue of Ned Stark, as if this was where Sansa has once been standing. "Sansa..." He came to stand before Ghost, who as soon as he'd noticed him, rushed towards Jon's side, his whining increasing. "It's okay boy," he murmured as he knelt down to put a hand to his ears, rubbing the soft head. "Where is she, Ghost? Where's Sansa?"

"Jon?"

He turned to look over his shoulder at the sound of Arya's voice, noticing only then that her face was bruised and pale. "There's a note." He stood up, his head swimming, and he reached out a hand to touch the wall, steadying himself. Arya approached, her worry evident as she extended out a rolled up parchment, already unsealed. He didn't have to ask her who it was from, for something told Jon he already knew. Unrolling it, Jon felt his heart skip a beat, felt his stomach sink as the unfamiliar handwriting began to blur. Damn her, he thought as he began to fall, damn that Cersei Lannister.

And then... Everything went black.

[ x x x ]

As the peaks of King's Landing came into view, Sansa knew she was in trouble.

Though she knew Cersei would not kill her outright, how could she after all? But coming back to this place... Here in King's Landing she had suffered so very much. Cersei would not make it easy on her. It would not be as it had once been. And worse yet, for all she knew Cersei would still yet blame her for the death of Joffrey, that alone could be her undoing. Sansa felt a chill race down her spine and she shivered from it, though the Mountain must have thought it was from the cold for he reminded her that they were almost there. Sansa could not help but to laugh-the cold had not bothered her for a long time now. She wished she could still yet feel the biting cold sting against her flesh, but that feeling had disappeared a long time ago.

Riding down the main road towards the Red Keep, Sansa noticed the city was quiet. It was early morning, so very early the sun had not yet even begun to rise. "Cover yourself girl," the Mountain suddenly spoke, draping what must have been his cloak over her hair, hiding her identity from prying eyes. No one could know Ned Stark's daughter, the now Lady of Winterfell, no, the Queen in the North, had been brought back to King's Landing. Drawing the cloak closer to herself, Sansa kept her eyes ahead, knowing everything was about to change.

Again, Jon came to her thoughts and so fiercely did she miss him that it brought tears to her eyes. Was he alright? What of Arya, of Brienne? Even Ser Davos whom she'd begun to establish a close relationship with. Those left in this world that she loved... Were they safe? Had the battle yet been won? And even Daenerys, what of her and her precious dragons? Had they made it through the battle unscathed? Or had they all fallen beneath the Night King's sword... Would there be no one to come and save her? No, she reminded herself, she would have to get herself out of this mess. Somehow.

It was then that they rode through the main gate and as the Mountain came to a stop, it was then that Sansa saw her standing there. Her blonde hair was cropped short, but her gown was as fashionable as ever, with long sleeves and a overlay of silk that draped across her front. Sansa felt her breath catch, but she made no movement even as the man behind her dismounted from his horse. "Get moving girl," the tight grip of his hands on her waist brought her back to the present, and Sansa staggered as her feet hit the ground for the first time in hours. He pushed her towards where Cersei stood in the doorway, paying no mind to how she stumbled over her own feet, clearly exhausted from the hours upon hours of riding. "My queen," he greeted as they approached, tugging the cloak he'd given her away, revealing her face to the woman. "I've brought you Sansa Stark."

Cersei's rosy lips curled with a haunted smile before she tilted her head, inspecting the young, beautiful woman before her. Even after hours of riding, of no sleep and no food, she was lovely. She had grown from a frightened young girl into a beautiful woman. Cersei could not stop the twinge of jealousy, could not help but to recall the old woman's prophecy of the younger, more beautiful queen who would take her place. She had once thought it would be this Daernerys Targaryen who had sailed across the Narrow Sea to reach Westeros, but now... Could it be the girl standing before her? "Hello, little dove." The use of her old pet name did not offer Sansa any comfort, but rather a cold dread settled into the pit of her stomach. But she held her head high and returned the smile that was offered to her.

She had survived Cersei Lannister and King's Landing once before and so she would do it again.

[ x x x ]

When he woke, his first thought was of her.

Forcing himself up from the bed, Jon grimaced, his wounds from the battle painful as they began to heal. "Jon." It was Daenerys seated beside his bed, to his shock, and he could not help but to feel disappointed. It should have been her... It should have been Sansa. "You shouldn't move yet." She went on, reaching out with her soft, gentle hands to push him back onto his pillow. "You'll only do more harm to yourself." He shrugged off her hands then, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rising up without a single word. Daenerys sat back in the chair, looking at him with those violet eyes of hers, not a single strand of silver hair out of place on her head. "Jon..." She watched him as he pulled on the nearest shirt, one that Sansa herself had sewn for him before his departure for Dragonstone. Seeing her precise little stitches nearly broke him and he sank back onto his bed, hands covering his face as he fought to regain himself.

"I have to go to King's Landing." He finally said without preamble, lowering his hands to look across at Daenerys. For a moment her typically passive face faltered, disappointment skirting across her features. But then she regained herself, simply nodding as she watched him get back onto his feet. "How long have I been out?" He asked as he reached for the rest of his clothing, the fur trimmed cloak Sansa had made for him now draped over his arm. Daenerys had stood up as well, her violet eyes dark as they met his. Two days, her words haunted him as he shook his head, tugging his cloak on and making to push past her. "Move, your grace," he spoke with a venom he'd not felt before, his only thoughts of the girl he'd let down. Once again, Sansa was in the hands of the enemy, once again he'd failed to protect her.

Daenerys could not stop the jealousy that lept into her thoughts, darkening her heart. She had thought Jon was her's... Had thought that after all they'd been through already, he would stand beside her no matter what. It was true, his father had been her own brother, but did that truly matter in the end? "You intend to go after her? Cersei Lannister will have you murdered before you can reach her. You would give your life for her so easily?" Jon's face twisted with anger and at once she regretted her words, but there was no taking them back now.  Jon stepped close to her then, his brown eyes never once straying from hers, a look in them she had never seen before.

"I would give my life for hers without hesitation." His hands curled into fists at his sides before he shook his head, the anger fleeing, knowing this woman could never understand how he felt about Sansa. No one could. "You want the Iron Throne, it is yours. I have no mind to take it." He finally said the words he'd been meaning to say since the day of his true heritage had been revealed. "I just want her." And then, without waiting for dismissal from the dragon queen, he was gone, nearly sprinting from the room in his haste to gather all he would need to get to King's Landing.

He would save Sansa if it was the last thing he did.

[ x x x ]

It was not the dungeons for her, as she'd expected.

In truth, the rooms Cersei had housed her in were rooms far beyond her station. Sansa noted the silk sheets and chiffon canopy, the gilded furnitature, and the spacious chambers. These had once been Myrcella's chambers. It was as if Cersei had refused to make a single change to the rooms her daughter had once occupied. Sansa had heard the news of her death, brought along to the North by word of mouth and she had felt remorse for the princess. Had they not once been something like friends? In truth, Sansa felt remorse for any innocent life claimed in this game, in this war for the Iron Throne. She wondered if Cersei thought it worth it... The life of her children for this clunky, ugly chair.

A knock on the door and then it opened, a handmaiden coming in with a fresh gown, another following after with water for her to wash. It was her second morning in King's Landing and she'd still yet to see Cersei and that... That was troublesome. But by the looks of the gown brought to her, the queen intended to take an audience with her this very day. And so Sansa allowed herself to be dressed by the maidens, though she did not wash with the water given to her- she would not risk it being tainted with poison.

It was a little later that the summons came- she was seated in the window, looking out across the courtyard of the Red Keep when there came another knock upon her chamber door. It was two of the queen's guard there at her door, their white cloaks a stark contrast to the dark looks upon their faces. "The queen wishes to speak to you, my lady." One guard spoke and Sansa could not help but to smirk; this was not a request, it was a command. But she rose to her feet all the same, allowing the two guards to lead her down the still familiar corridors, not to the Great Hall but to Cersei's own chambers.

She found her seated behind her desk as always, her eyes finding her own the moment she entered the room. "Sit, little dove," Cersei spoke, gesturing for Sansa to take the seat before the desk. "It has been a long time." Sansa did not reply as she took to the seat, her blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she took in the sight of the woman before her. Was that... The  curve of a belly she saw? Sansa knew it was true then, the rumors she had heard, that Cersei carried yet another child by her own twin. It won't live, the thought crossed her mind without warning, like a premonition of what was to come. Blinking, she forced a smile and held Cersei's gaze, though she still did not speak. Cersei leaned forward over the desk, hands spread across its surface, those green eyes of hers unwavering in their stare. "I should have had you murdered for what you did to my son." Her voice was dangerous and Sansa felt her stomach drop, her own hands clenching into fists on her lap. "But..." She trailed off then, leaning back in her chair, hands now pressed against the swell of her stomach. Within her she carried the solution to all of her problems- within her, she carried the heir that would follow her. There would be no Targaryen to rule after her. The child would be a girl, she was certain, the woman of prophecy that would take her place on the throne. It would not be Daenerys Targaryen nor would it be this Sansa Stark before her. "Perhaps an exchange of life can be arranged. Yours for the Targaryen queen's."

Sansa did not believe her, not for an instant. There would be no exchanging her life for the dragon queen's that much Sansa was certain of. If Cersei still yet blamed her for Joffrey's death, then she would die before anyone would come for her- if they even did. She still knew not the fate of the beloved family against the army of the dead. And she knew that if Jon and the others were dead... Then what was the use in life? Without Jon, without Arya... It just would never be the same. Jon... She thought of him as she always did, of his smile, of the gentle touch of his hand against hers... Just please be alright. "Perhaps, your grace," Sansa finally spoke, her smile slight as she tilted her head, red hair a waterfall. It made no sense to argue her case over Joffrey's death, she would never believe her. "Unless of course Daenerys Targaryen comes for you first." Without waiting for a response, without being bid to rise, Sansa got to her feet and turned her back to this queen, knowing she would never again pretend to serve her. Gone was the young girl this queen had commanded with fright and manipulation and in her place was this new woman, Sansa Stark of Winterfell. The likes of Cersei Lannister could not frighten her anymore.

[ x x x ]

He had been riding for hours.

Hours and hours and yet he felt as if he were no closer to Sansa than when he'd first set out. His body ached and his wounds were bleeding, but he could not yet stop. How could he stop when Sansa was within the enemy's hands? The others tried to get him to stop, Arya and Brienne, Davos and even Tormund, but stopping was not an option. Jon thought of nothing but her... It fueled him to keep on riding, to never stop pushing forward.

"Jon... Look." It was Arya's voice, pulling him from the depth of his own mind, and he glanced beside him to where she rode, hand extended out. Following her pointed finger, he swiveled his gaze and that was when he caught sight of it... The first glimpse of King's Landing. They were still yet far, but that single sight of the tallest peak was enough to give him the energy he needed to continue. "We'll get there in time, Jon." Arya spoke again, once again claiming his attention. Jon stiffened but then nodded, a small smile twitching on his lips. She was right, they would get there in plenty of time to save Sansa.

"It can't be more than a day of riding away," Brienne spoke up, her pale features marred by cuts and a deep set bruise to her left temple. She still yet could not forgive herself for straying from Sansa's side. Yet again, her lady was trapped with the enemy, perhaps suffering in ways she did not deserve. In Cersei's clutches... No, Brienne would not think of such a thing. They would get to her and save her without any harm coming to her. That was all she had to keep her going and so she would believe it until the very end.

"Aye." Jon spoke, glancing to his left at Tormund, who gave a single nod. "Let's make it less than that." He kicked his horse into a gallop and took off, the others taking off after him. Wait for me, Sansa... Jon thought of her smile then, the sweet way it tugged at her rosy lips when she probably didn't even realize it. He would never allow anyone to take that smile away from her, not when she only so recently gained it back. Jon had fought with everything in him to protect her and take back Winterfell, he had sold himself out to the dragon queen and lost the respect of nearly every Northern lord... But he would not lose Sansa.

[ x x x ]

Something was not right.

Sansa could feel it in her bones, that cold sense of dread that only came to her when something truly awful was about to happen. She recalled the first time she had felt it... When Lady had been sentenced to die. And then the next... When her father had so unjustly lost his head. The ripple of anxiety sent chills down her spine, goosebumps rising across the backs of her arms. It had been hours since she had walked free from Cersei's chamber and she was quite surprised that the queen had not sent for her once again. In fact, no one had come to her in quite some time.

Rising up from where she sat at the table, she tiptoed across the room to open her chamber door, even more surprised to find the guards once posted there were gone. Sticking her head out into the hall, she caught sight of a maid rushing by, looking worred. "What's happening?" Sansa spoke loudly, catching the girl's attention. The maid slowed to a stop, glancing left and then right as if she knew she wasn't supposed to be speaking to her. But Sansa stepped fully out of the room then, allowing the chamber door to close behind her. "Tell me what's happening!" If the guards had left their posts outside her door, then that meant something truly awful must have been going on somewhere else in the castle. "Are we under attack?"

The maid again glanced left and then right, swallowing against whatever fears were deep within her. And then... She spoke. "The queen is in labor, my lady." She spoke quietly, the words ones Sansa had not at all anticipated on hearing. "It is much before her time and she is struggling. Many of the guards and staff... They've abandoned their posts. Those who are loyal... They are doing what they can for her grace." And then the maid was gone, racing off towards where she had been heading all along: the main set of doors that would lead her out of the Red Keep and into the streets.

For a moment she could not breathe but then she steadied herself, knowing this could be her one and only chance at escaping. And yet... It was not towards those same doors that her feet carried her, but down the halls towards the queen's chambers. They were a buzz of activity, with maids going in and out, two unfamiliar men pacing outside the chamber door. Sansa went past them without effort, she supposed they had not even noticed her slip on by. Into the antechamber first, she became aware of how dire the situation had to be within the queen's bed chamber. Maids were on their knees, praying to the Old or New Gods, some to save their queen... Others... Perhaps not. For a moment, she thought she might back out, that she would leave without taking another step inside that room. No, she told herself, you must see this for yourself. She swept by them, pushing open the door to Cersei's chamber. No one noticed her entry, the two maester's at the foot of the bed conversed in soft, somber tones, their expressions dark. Maids gathered around the bed on either side, their clothing stained with blood, their faces tracked with tears. And then, there she was, the once golden queen laying there in her grand bed, face pale as death itself.

Sansa quietly approached the side of the bed, only then drawing notice from anyone in the room. Cersei's green eyes opened as her head swiveled to face her, lips moving in a silent plea, words that Sansa could not hear. The swollen bump of her abdomen was hidden beneath the draping silk, but even those were stained with blood. It was as she'd thought only a day earlier, the child would not live. And now it was clear to her, neither would the mother. Then she spotted it, a cot on the far side of the bed, where a small bundle was neatly wrapped. Surely within a child lay, a child that never even drew a single breath, a child born far too soon.  She made to step back from the bed but she felt a touch to her hand; looking down, it was Cersei grasping for her, lips again moving with words that she could not hear. Leaning down, Sansa placed her ear as close as she dared to the dying woman, to hear what very well could be her final words. Me? She's going to speak to me? Sansa thought, but pushed the thoughts away as she listened to what it was Cersei was trying to say. "A... Girl... Was it... A girl?" Cersei's words cut her like a knife and Sansa drew back, looking up towards the maester's that had heard their queen's whisper. One of them shook his head and then Sansa turned back to look into those fading green eyes. No, Sansa heard herself say, drawing back up to her full height as Cersei smiled, a laugh dying on her dry, chapped lips. And so I was wrong... So very wrong. Cersei closed her eyes then and drew a final breath, every ounce of fight leaving her body in that very moment.

And that was when Sansa left.

She backed away from the room as the maids began to cry in earnest, more than one falling to her knees at the queen's bloody bedside. The moment she was in the corridor, Sansa began to run, faster than she had ever run in all of her life. Down the halls and towards the main double doors, uncertain where she would go, but knowing anywhere would be better than here. Pushing past the doors, she stumbled out into the afternoon sunshine, the warmth of it unable to bring her any sense of comfort at all. She slowed to a walk and to a hault as she came upon the five men, all with their stark white cloaks, all with swords strapped to their hips. It was the men that remained of the queen's guard, men that would harm her without a second thought. Breath catching in her throat, Sansa took a step back, wondering if perhaps she'd been safer inside the Red Keep... But now it was too late.

The first man was approaching her, a hungry look in his eyes that Sansa had seen hundred's of times in a man. Fear clutched at her and she turned to make a run for it, but he grabbed hold of her arm before she could go, pulling her hard towards him. A fist connected with her abdomen seconds later and the very breath was knocked from her lungs as she collapsed upon the dirt. She had been here before, hadn't she? Too many times to count. Another hit came, this one in her side, sending her sprawling across the ground. "The queen bid us not to harm you, but now there's no queen." It was a second man that spoke, this one coming closer to reach out and take hold of a fistful of her hair, yanking her back up onto her feet. "But rumor is that you're as good as the Queen in the North... I ain't never been with a queen before, have you men?" The three other men laughed as they all crept closer, agreeing that no, they had never before. Sansa felt her heart skip a beat. This couldn't happen to her.. Not again... Not again! She fought back against the man holding her, his grip now on her arm, but no matter how hard she pulled she could not get free. A second man approached and his hand gripped the shoulder of her gown, tearing it away from her body. The third man was there too, closing in on her as Sansa began to shout, kicking and flailing with all of her might, blue eyes a frenzy as the last of the men circled her. A fist caught her in the mouth, another in the side, all the while the other two tore at her borrowed gown, making every attempt to tear it from her very body.

And then, they all heard it. The sound of galloping horses, the sound of someone come to save her.

Jon could see her up ahead, there in the courtyard of the Red Keep with five men around her. She was struggling against the one holding her and Jon could see her gown was torn, a sign that one of them had put his hands upon her in such a way that enraged him more than he thought possible. With the others thundering along beside him, they swept across the courtyard, breaking apart the five men that had suddenly abandoned Sansa, leaving her there to tumble into the dirt. Leaping from his horse, Jon unsheathed his sword and at once lunged at the nearest of men, the one that had been holding fast to her when they'd rode up.  And just like that, a battle had erupted in the courtyard, for even Davos had taken up his sword against a man in honor to fight for the girl that was hunched over on the ground, doing her best to catch her breath and calm her racing heart.

It took him only  three more slices before the man was cut down, slumping onto the ground as he gagged on his own blood, clutching at his wounded throat. Jon turned then, his eyes finding Sansa's as she looked out at him from where she sat, the gown she wore in pieces. "Sansa," he whispered her name before he began to run, racing towards her and throwing himself down before her. "Sansa!" He felt her a moment later, his arms winding around her as she threw herself into them, her body quivering as she buried her face into his shoulder. He held onto her as tightly as he dared, breathing in her sweet, familiar scent, the sounds of steel against steel the only other noise in the background as one by one, the queen's guards fell beneath his comrades blades. And then... It went silent.

Only then did he pull back from her, holding her at arm's length; he could already see the bruise upon her face, the blood on her lip. "I can't believe you're here," she whispered, her blue eyes shining as they filled with tears. Jon reached out a hand, thumb catching a tear as it slipped free, his lips curving with the smallest of smiles. How was it that he was always there when she needed him most? And not just Jon, she could see all of the others too, the ones that had come to save her from King's Landing. Arya stood just a short distance away, a strange look on her face, but Davos was smiling faintly, as if he'd always known the truth.

"I made you a promise, didn't I?" Jon's voice brought her back and Sansa looked back to him, only to see he was still yet smiling. "I will always protect you, Sansa." He had meant it back then, that vow of protection he'd offered her. Not just against Ramsay, but against anyone who might do her harm. At his words, Sansa was smiling too, before she plunged back into his arms, burying herself as close to him as she possibly could. It was only a few minutes later that he bid her to rise, drawing her up with him. Ser Davos was there then, draping her in his own cloak before offering her his arm, slowly taking her towards Jon's own horse that stood several yards away. Brienne and Arya met them there, Sansa embracing first her younger sister, holding onto the smaller girl for a long moment. And then she was forcing Brienne back onto her feet, for the tall swordswoman had knelt onto the ground at her feet, clearly shamed by Sansa's kidnapping.

Jon watched as she walked away from him, as she met with the others that she loved, knowing he had done as he'd promised. But it wasn't over yet. This was his life. She was his life. He followed the path he'd been born for- no, that he'd been reborn for, and it all led right back to her. And so he walked towards her again, to where Ser Davos was helping her up onto the horse's back and he climbed up behind her. "Lean on me," he whispered against the shell of her ear and he felt her body a moment later, her back against his chest as she settled into place against him. "Let's go home." He said to the others, all of whom had climbed back onto their own horses, all ready to make the journey back home.

Back to Winterfell.

[ x x x ]

It was days later and Jon found himself to finally feel like normal again. After fighting the army of the dead, traveling to and from King's Landing, as well as fighting again, he had found himself to be beyond exhausted. The only thing that had kept him going on the return to Winterfell was Sansa, who rode without complaint even as the bruises began to darken, even when she could not sleep from the nightmares that plagued her yet again.

The moment they had rode through the gates of Winterfell, it was to cheers and joy. The Northern lords and peasants alike had gathered within the gates, cheering the arrival of their Lady of Winterfell and all the others they owed their lives to. Jon had caught sight of Daenerys even, high in the tower that overlooked it all, her pale face peering down from a single window. But even that was days ago and he'd not yet even seen the Dragon queen, he could not even say if she still yet remained in Winterfell. It was as he had told her- he cared not who sat upon the Iron Throne.

Rising from his bed for the first time, Jon dressed in the clean clothes that had been laid out for him and left his chamber, his feet taking him the familiar path to Sansa's. But, it took only a quick glance inside to see that she was not there and at once his heart was fluttering fast. He made his way down the halls but still could not find her. At least... Not at first.

He found her on the upper walkway with Ghost, looking out over all of Winterfell. She was dressed warmly, her fur cloak draped across her shoulders, the gown beneath it a deep and somber shade of blue he'd never before seen her wear, but recalled it being a color Catelyn Stark had often worn. She looked so beautiful standing there he could not help but to stand and stare a moment longer than he meant to. "Sansa," finally he spoke her name as he approached, the sound of his voice catching her attention. Her smile was radiant as she reached out a gloved hand to touch Ghost's head a moment before the direwolf came towards him, rubbing his head against Jon's knees. He ran his own hand along the wolf's neck and spine, thankful he still yet had his companion, though he'd seen little of the direwolf since his return. Ghost had committed himself to Sansa in the same sort of way Jon had it seemed. "How are you?"

Sansa regarded him for a moment longer before she turned back to face the vast expanse of space that was Winterfell, her gloved hands falling into place upon the stone before her. "I'm home," she said simply, her lips curving with a smile. "We're home." She clarified then, turning back to face him, the wind catching her long red hair. Jon could not help himself from reaching out, tucking a strand behind her ear, his fingertips trailing the length of her jaw as he drew his hand back. She caught his hand then, giving it the softest of squeezes as she stepped a little closer, the gap between them minimal at best. She heard him say her name, so softly that she thought she might have imagined it, but he was smiling as she leaned in, almost hesitantly, catching his mouth with her own.

Jon took her into his arms the moment he felt her lips find his and suddenly there was no gap between them at all. He returned her kiss with every ounce of passion he could muster, wondering just how long he'd truly been waiting to do this. As he drew back a few moments later, it was to cup her cheek with his palm, her blue eyes finding his as her hand slid into place over his. And then he said the only words that seemed to make sense.

"We're home."

And now, all would be well.

#jonsa #jon snow #sansa stark #game of thrones #jonsa fic #my writing #i wrote this #got fanfic #cersei lannister

[sailorshadzter]

i was watching some game of thrones stuff (as usual lmao) & i’ve always had a soft spot for tyrion & sansa. i dont ship them romantically, but i love the relationship they developed during the time they did have together, and i like to imagine they remain close (honestly im excited to see what comes with season 8 for their reunion) during the duration of their lives.

anyways

i wrote a little something for them. set post season 7, pre season 8. their first private meeting with each other after arriving in Winterfell. 

He recalled the last time he'd saw her.

Young and frightened, moments before he'd been taken from the wedding feast of his long dead nephew. He had thought of her often, the young Sansa Stark, wondering where her life had taken her since they'd been separated. Once his travels had taken him across the seas, he'd not heard much from Kings Landing nor anywhere else. It had not been until the new King in the North, Jon Snow, had shown up at Dragonstone- where in the end he'd bent at the knee to his own silver-haired queen- that he'd learned news of his one time bride. Jon had not spoken in great detail of the horrors his sister had been dealt by the hands of the Boltons, but truth be told Tyrion didn't need such details to know the truth. He could not begin to imagine the abuse she had suffered... And to think it came so soon after her escape from King's Landing, where there too she had suffered. Was this all that life had in store for the young Sansa Stark?

But now, stepping into the main hall of Winterfell, Tyrion could see what kind of woman she had grown to be. She sat in a chair behind a long table, with a small, dark haired young boy (no, upon close inspection he could see it was in fact her younger sister, Arya) just behind her, hand carefully poised upon the sword sheathed at her side. Sansa had grown, that much he could see, and Tyrion could not help but appreciate the beauty she had become in the time since he'd last saw her. "My lord," Sansa greeted as she rose from her chair, her voice not so childlike as it had once been, not so timid. It was the voice of the Lady of Winterfell. "Welcome to Winterfell." She gestured about the room, the few men within the walls offering him a courteous bow. Behind her, Arya gave a single nod, though her dark eyes regarded him with a wary gaze. Those were not the eyes of someone who trusted easily, Tyrion noted.

"Lady Sansa," Tyrion greeted finally, coming close enough to offer the girl a bow suitable to her rank. This was the girl who should be Queen of the North, the eldest true born Stark child. He reminded himself to speak to Daenerys of this situation, for this girl had already lost almost everything. It would not due for her to lose her home and title too. "It is truly wonderful to see you again. I have thought often of you, in truth." The young woman smiled and it transformed her features, reminding him then of the young girl he'd first met in King's Landing many years ago. A time so long ago it was almost as if it had never even happened. "I was not so certain we would meet again."

Another smile twitched on the young woman's lips as she returned to her chair, her red hair falling across a shoulder as she shifted upon her chair. "In truth I thought the same." Her expression changed then, her blue eyes darkening as she gestured towards the few guards still yet remaining in the room. "You may go as well, Arya." Sansa spoke clearly and though the girl remained still a moment longer, she finally stalked away though the look she shot Tyrion was a dreadful one. "My sister means well, but I fear she is rude. Forgive her manners, my lord." Sansa could not help but to smile at her sister's expense, but she sobered when her eyes returned to Tyrion's. "Hand to the Queen, Daenerys Targaryen of all the Queen's..." She trailed off and settled a little more comfortably into her chair. "It is a role that suits you."

In truth, there was not much about this Daenerys that Sansa knew. They had of course officially met the evening before and Sansa had been awestruck by the dragon queen's beauty. And perhaps a bit jealous by the looks exchanged between her and Jon, though she'd of course never speak on it. "One would be surprised by how easy of a job it is when the royal is not a Lannister." Tyrion spoke and at once Sansa giggled, her hand straying to her mouth as her eyes danced with mirth. "And I must say, you were born to rule the North. Your brother tells me you are well respected in the North, far beyond the respect given to a daughter of Ned Stark. You have earned their respect as their leader." Sansa blushed to the root of her flaming hair, though her eyes held the look of a proud lady. She glanced around the great hall, where once she had watched her own father sit in the same chair she sat upon, speaking to guests the way she spoke to them now... After all that had happened... After all that she had been through...

It was amazing that she'd made it here.

"Jon flatters me. But I do my duty as best that I can. The North is loyal to House Stark," she spoke with a nod, thinking back to the men that had once served her father and grandfather, but now served her instead. "The North remembers all, my Lord Tyrion." Sansa went on, offering him a small, almost strained smile. "They will not forget the unjust ways of the Bolton's nor their abuse and so it is easy for them to return to the old ways and the old House Stark." Part of her wished to speak more but dignity told her otherwise and instead she fell silent, reaching for her wine glass to distract her from the memories that had already begun to resurface.

As Tyrion listened to her speak, he wondered if she knew how her face hardened at the mention of the Bolton's and he wondered if she knew how her hand trembled as she reached for her goblet of wine. He also couldn't help but to wonder when she had grown to like the drink, for he recalled a time when she turned her nose at it. Anger surged through him then, anger at what this poor child had suffered- her life should have been one of happiness and light. Instead, she had been used and abused and thrown away like trash. And yet... As he looked upon her, Tyrion could see that she had begun to rise above. It was as he had said all those years ago... You may survive us yet, Lady Stark. And survive she had.  "It is easy to obey when a ruler is as kind and beautiful as you are, my lady." Tyrion spoke with all the airs of a proper courtier and for a moment, it was as if they were back at King's Landing. "But you have captured the Northern men's hearts and their loyalties too. Think not it is only because of your family name."

Though she opened her mouth to speak, she was silenced by the sound of the door across the hall opening, and in came Jon, looking every inch the Northern King in his fur lined cloak. "Sansa," he greeted his sister with a grin as she rose to embrace him, their touch lingering perhaps a moment longer than Tyrion might have held onto his own sister. If he'd ever have embraced her, that was. He supposed the two had become close- how many nights had they spoken of the girl while in Dragonstone, after all? It was clear to him that Jon cared greatly for Sansa and she for him. "My lord, I apologize but I would like to steal my sister for the afternoon. There is much for us to discuss."

"Of course, my lord, my lady." Tyrion offered both a bow and watched as Jon offered her his arm. Though Sansa paused, silently bidding Jon to stay only a moment longer. And then she came around to the front of the table, to stand before him with a sheepish smile. Before he could speak, the girl had knelt and flung her arms around him, all propriety thrown aside in the moment. For a instant, he did not know how to respond, but finally put his own arms around the girl and embraced her back, relishing in the warmth of her.

"I am glad to see you, truly I am." She whispered into his ear before she pulled back and stood, smoothing the front of her gown without a word. Then she returned to Jon's side and slipped her arm through his, allowing him to lead her through the door in which he had come through only minutes before. And Tryion smiled, realizing then just how happy he was too, seeing her there like that. The girl had always had something about her that he liked and to see her grown into womanhood was a sight he was glad to see. He could only wish for her happiness in the years to come, for there was no one who deserved happiness more than Sansa Stark.

#game of thrones #sansa stark #tyrion lannister #sansa and tyrion #my writing #i wrote this #got fanfic