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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 3 years

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The Last Dragon | The Witcher

Chapter 16 | Steel for Humans

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Targaryen!OC

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Warnings: Skeevy bandits being Skeevy bandits

Word Count: 7.5k

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Also! My tag list is open!

He's looking at her again.

She can feel it; a shiver up her spine, the prickling feeling in the back of her mind to be alert for something, all telltale signs of his eyes on her. Every time she turns to meet his gaze, to try and decipher the whys and what's in his eyes, he looks away. And in the midst of all of her uncertainty, she's sure of at least one thing, he's still reeling from her confession, despite it being weeks since her name, her real name slipped from her lips. He doesn't say that he's still trying to piece together the puzzle, but he doesn't need to. She can see it in the way he carries himself around her, his lingering eyes and stumbling words.

More than a few times he's called her Jane, instinctively, if she were to have to guess. And each time she just simply raises a brow at him before he swiftly corrects himself, eyes wild and uncertain, unable to directly look into hers. She never gets mad or annoyed, the exact opposite, in fact. She's never seen this side of Geralt that resembles a fumbling boy who still isn't a man yet; all rosy cheeks and shy conversation. Normally Geralt is so put together, constantly in control of the situation, and yet, something as simple as a name change is all it takes to throw him off.

Another thing she's certain of is just how much she enjoys the way he says her name, the smooth Valyrian name effortlessly slipping past his lips. It's like a symphony, a sound not even the most renowned of bards could replicate. But she'd never tell him that.

She continues staring at her face in the old mirror, dust and cracks speckling across her reflection. But she looks past it, staring at her eyes that are like liquid gold, and her fair skin, nearly glowing in the dim light. She frowns, lines appearing around her mouth - lines that weren't always there. Under her eyes are small wrinkles, hidden by the dark circles from countless sleepless nights in the least ideal spots, but she can pick them out a mile away.

She's older, that much is obvious, but how much older is not.

She used to count each day, the wall near the bed in her old room in Blaviken covered in small little lines meant to represent every time she fell asleep. She stopped keeping track after the town burned to the ground. At first, it was too painful to think of anything beyond the basic necessities of her survival. But then time drifted away, things grew easier the longer she spent with Jaskier. She smiled more, laughed more, and felt lighter than she had in a long time. And now she finds herself in an odd position, unsure of how much older she is.

"Geralt." She doesn't remove her eyes from her reflection. He grunts, a sign that he's listening. Always a man of few words.

"How long has it been since Blaviken?" She hears a sharp intake of breath before it's released back into the air. It's silent a moment longer.

"You don't know?" Geralt asks, skepticism and disbelief abundant in his voice.

"No." She reaches a hand up, tracing the new scars that mare her face, they're faint, nothing more than a whisper on her face. To everyone else, they're only visible in the flicker of a candle at the right angle, but she's always aware of them.

"Fifteen years."

Her hand drops, limp at her side. She turns a flurry of hair and wind, facing Geralt with an odd expression on her face. She can't discern how to feel with that revelation. How is one supposed to react upon figuring out the fifteen years have passed, and they don't even know it? She wants to protest, to scream that he's lying to her, and demand that he tell her the truth, the real truth and not some practical joke. But the longer she thinks on it, her eyes resting on Geralt's stone face, the more it makes sense.

She thinks back to Winterfell, trying to remember the smells of her previous home. To remember how everything felt under her fingertips - whether it be in the warm castle or the icy cold. She tries to recall how everyone looked the last time she saw them, tried to visualize their exact heights in comparison to hers, to recall small imperfections that made them not smooth porcelain dolls. Only then, when she focuses so hard on doing just that, does she realize she can't even remember their faces. She can see their general shapes, her mind recognizing them as either Jon, Robb, or anyone else important enough to remember. But when she tries to zoom in and make their faces clearer, they're nothing but humanoid-like blurs.

Her face twitches, in discomfort or shock, she's not sure.

"Huh." It's the only thing she manages to say, unable to force her mind to think of another response or to form the words with her mouth. She's utterly frozen in place.

She almost allows her mind to wander, thinking of what may have happened to the rest of the Stark children. Would they have found peace and safety, or would they have blown away like leaves in the wind, desolated by monsters and grief? But she banishes the thoughts before they could form. What would be the point? All it would do is pull her into another bout of melancholy, the same suffering she was drowning in whilst hiding away in Blaviken. So she does what she's best at; she takes all unpleasant thoughts and ghosts and locks them into a little box in the back of her mind. Leaving it to collect dust until it's long forgotten.

"You didn't know that?" Geralt asks, breaking his statue-like posture to step closer to Visenya. She doesn't answer, she simply shakes her head, her breathing shaky and unsteady.

'Fifteen years.'

The number echoes in her mind, it's on repeat and she finds herself unable to escape it. He's silent, Geralt is always silent. But she welcomes it, more so now than ever.

Her fingers begin to count down as she counts up, the numbers hardly above the breaths she takes. She looks down at the ground, counting the grain in the wooden floors.

"21, 22, 23, 24…"

She pauses, finishing the math in her mind. She opens her mouth, cautiously.

"Thirty-five… I'm thirty-five years old now." It makes sense, her face appears much older than when she first arrived, the lines and crow's feet not just a result of poor living conditions and battle scars.

"Is that a bad thing?" Geralt asks. Visenya looks up at him. His facial expression remains much the same as before, but his eyes glow with a hint of curiosity. Not that he would ever admit to it if she ever called him out on it.

"No, I just-- never thought I'd make it this far," Visenya says, a sardonic grin pulling at her lips that looks more like a grimace than anything.

"With the life, you've had--" Geralt starts, his voice low and raspy, but Visenya cuts him off with a bout of laughter that sounds more like knives than bells. He closes his mouth, simply raising a brow at Visenya.

"You have no idea, Geralt of Rivia." She shakes her head, the grin-grimace hybrid still on her face, yet her eyes tell a different story. They're despondent and regretful, and Geralt can't understand why.

"Then perhaps you should tell me." Suddenly Visenya is no longer laughing. She stares at Geralt with a type of intensity he's never seen in her eyes before. And before he can bring himself to get used to it, to allow himself to sink in the new atmosphere that surrounds them, she dissolves it, eyes turning warm and mischievous once more.

"Give it another fifteen years, and maybe then," she says, feather-light laughter following her words. She turns once more, hair whipping behind her as she continues to stare at her reflection. Her hair is longer, reaching a few inches below her breasts. Her roots are slightly grown out, allowing a little bit of shining silver to peek through the mud brown. She still can't decide if she wants to continue dying it or not. But she tucks that thought away, not wanting to unpack everything that comes with those thoughts. Not after she just packed away unpleasant thoughts that are of a similar vein.

"Plus, I've told you more things than I've told anyone else, and still I feel as though I know nothing of you," Visenya says, turning around once more, moving away from the dingy mirror. This causes Geralt to laugh - it's rough and dark, the complete opposite of Visenya's. It causes shivers to rush up her spine and a fluttering sensation to form in her stomach.

She passes by him, a hand ghosting over his shoulder. She exits the room and Geralt swiftly follows. His footsteps are much heavier than hers; she's like a soft summer breeze while he's the terrifying winter winds that threaten to blow everything down.

They walk the length of the hall, down the winding staircase, and out of the inn where Roach is patiently waiting for them. Throughout their small journey, they maintained not only the same distance between one another but the same space.

She only pauses upon reaching Roach, a hand resting on the mare's side as she gently pets her. Visenya looks at Geralt, who now stands precisely two paces away from her - one pace closer than he had been five seconds ago.

"Fair is fair," she says, raising her brows. A grumble of a laugh escapes his mouth, so quiet it could almost be mistaken for the world itself shaking. His laughter causes his eyes to close for a brief second before he opens them once more.

"I can't argue with that. In exchange for what you've told me, I'll tell you about my first hunt. Does that sound like a fair bargain?" he asks, a certain lightness in his eyes that quickly disappears in the time it takes for her to blink and open her eyes again. She holds a hand out, and he places his own in it. They shake their hands, two times to be exact.

"Sounds like a deal to me."

oOo

"I'd only just left Kaer Morhen, a new Witcher who was naive enough to think I could save the world. I came across a gang of men who were about to rape a young girl, a few of them holding back the girl's father." Geralt says, his voice quiet and somber, but she could hear each word perfectly. They're both riding on Roach, with Visenya in front and Geralt's arms slung loosely around her as he holds Roach's reins. The mare doesn't need much guidance though, she just follows the winding road ahead of them, and neither Geralt nor Visenya corrects her.

"And then what happened," Visenya asks, resisting the urge to turn around and look at Geralt. He's so good at obscuring any emotion or feelings when he speaks, often opting to talk with a monotonous voice. While hilarious when dealing witty one-liners, it makes it near impossible to discern how he feels. His eyes on the other hand are a completely different story.

To most, they may seem as empty and dead as a poorly done painting, but Visenya can read him like an open book - spotting small flickers of different emotions. After all, Visenya often employs the same tactic to appear as cold and unfeeling as possible, it's only natural she sees through when others try to do it to her.

"I killed them, the bald man with the rotted teeth and all his friends. The girl's father fled right after--" Geralt says.

"And the girl?" Visenya says, unable to stop herself from interrupting him. When he promised her a tale of his first hunt, this isn't exactly what she expected, yet she finds herself enthralled none-the-less. A part of her wonders how different her history might've been if Geralt lived in Westeros. What would be different, if anything at all. She knows with complete certainty that the Geralt she knows would have no problem defeating the Mountain. But if Geralt lived in Westeros instead of here, he wouldn't be a Witcher. Which means he'd have none of the capabilities that make him superior to mortals. So her train of thought is moot and pointless.

But she can't help the twitch of a smirk on her lips as she imagines Geralt slicing the Mountain's head off his body; the cut clean and precise. And instead of a girl about to be raped by a slimy bandit, she sees the Mountain looming over her mother, and Geralt saving her just in time.

"What happened to the girl?" This time she doesn't fight the urge to turn and look at Geralt. She turns her head just enough to see the right side of his face. His eyes are far away, recalling memories that are probably lifetimes away. The mid-day sunlight aggressively shines onto his face, but it's deceiving in its harshness for it provides no warmth. The air is cold and icy, freezing dead leaves and small twigs into timeless statues that will melt when summer comes again.

"She was covered in the bald man's blood, but unharmed, not that you'd know that with how she reacted. When I approached her, she screamed, vomited, and then passed out," Geralt says. His tone remains even, not portraying any feelings.

She turns her head to face the road once more, her lips pursing in concentration.

Would her mother have reacted the same if Geralt swept into her chamber like an angel of death, white hair his halo, and the blade strapped to his back his judgment? Or would she have thanked him, tears streaming down her face as she held her screaming children?

"And how did that make you feel?" she asks, not daring to turn and look at him once more. She fears if he takes one look at her eyes, he'll see all the thoughts furiously swimming in the flames that dance in them. She can feel him shrug more than see it, the movement of his shoulders causing his arm to brush against her back.

"Like shit," he simply replies. Visenya scoffs, a grin pulling at the corner of her lips.

She opens her mouth, a witty quip on the tip of her tongue when she's cut off by a scream. It comes from her right, in the forest, but not so deeply hidden that the dying trees and frostbitten leaves muffle the noises. Her posture turns stiff like a board, the hairs on her body standing up straight.

"Did you--" she begins, only to be cut off by another scream, this one more guttural than the last, yet not beast-like in nature. Visenya turns, catching Geralt's eyes. He nods, acknowledging that the shouts aren't just in her head, the manifestation of deeply hidden thoughts resurfacing. He hears it too.

Without allowing a moment of hesitation or for her mind to catch up with her actions, she jumps off of Roach, unsheathing her blade. The dragon hilt is cold as ice, but soothing to the heat slowly rising in Visenya.

A loud thud follows only a moment later, signaling that Geralt is following her lead. She'd feel touched by his lack of protest when it comes to her charging headfirst into the unknown, but the situation is far too dangerous for any distractions, even if only for a brief second.

Blood rushing and heart pounding, she turns to ice as another scream echoes in their ears. It's closer this time, sounding as if someone is shouting while choking on their blood. Visenya's pace quickens, her heart racing faster as adrenaline floods her body in preparation for the potential fight that seems more likely than not as each second passes. The grip on her sword tightens as she clenches her jaw. Dozens of battle maneuvers and tactics fly through her mind, all the years of training; both in Winterfell and with Geralt blaring in her mind.

Another scream, this one deeper than the previous. Visenya picks up her pace again, eager for this confrontation to be over before it even begins. She glances behind and Geralt is right behind her, sword unsheathed and face battle-hardened.

For the fifth time, another scream rips through the trees, but now that they're closer, Visenya hears the rustling of what sounds like people running. The muffled noise of jeers and mocking voices trickle into her ears.

People, they're dealing with people, and not literal monsters. Though most times, people can be the worst type of monster there is.

With a deep breath that she quickly releases, Visenya reaches a handout, pushing away the branches that separate her and Geralt from the apparent attackers.

'The blood of the dragon is not afraid.'

The phrase enters her mind without thought. But instead of banishing it away, she embraces it. She imagines Queen Visenya beside her, a stern expression on her beautiful face, lips curling into a snarl that would perfectly mimic Vhaegar.

When she opens her eyes, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. A group of six or so humans wielding various types of weapons that were dripping with blood stand in the small clearing. The source of the screams quickly became clear; a small family of elves with blood dripping from various wounds. A male elf lays on his stomach, unmoving; meanwhile, a woman cowers in a corner, pressing her body against a tree, three children with her. The smallest of the three were huddled on either side of her as she attempted to soothe them, tears streaming down her bloodied face. Meanwhile, the oldest, only looking to be seven at the most, stands in front of her, the branch from a tree between his unsteady hands. He holds it as if it's a blade, determined to protect what remains of his family.

The humans are bandits and not very successful ones; with worn mismatched leather armor and blades that look seconds away from rusting. But they wear sneers on the face, showing rotted teeth and foul words. They snap their attention toward Visenya who enters first and watch her for a moment as she watches them, taking in the scene before her.

She expected the worst, but nothing could've prepared her for this. It's too familiar, too close to home. She feels her vision go red, blood pumping in her veins, and skin nearly burning.

"Look at this boys, no need to find a nearby brothel. Looks like our entertainment found us," one of the men says, a twisted smirk curling on his cracked and bleeding lips. Visenya's face contorts into a look of disgust. The other men around them laugh, cackles that sound more like screams than sounds of delight.

Visenya tightens her grip on the hilt of her sword, teeth grinding as she clenches her jaw tighter. She takes a single step forward.

"Pretty thing you are, and you look like a fighter. Good, I like it when they fight," the man continues, undisturbed or intimidated by Visenya.

"And I like it when bastards like you are six feet under. Lucky for me you will be, soon," Visenya says, her voice gravelly and harsh like a growl. She smiles, her mouth looking more like the snarl of a wolf that's moments away from attacking.

The man doesn't falter, instead, he barks out a laugh, pointing his finger at Visenya as he does.

"Funny," he says. He nods his head at a few of the men, turning his attention back to the elf and her children. "But be a dear and be quiet. I have some business to attend to." He lifts his blade and begins approaching the woman. The child holds his stick up high, about to try and defend his mother when the bandit just shoves him aside, knocking the kid on the ground. A loud crack resounds in the clearing as his small head collides with a protruding rock.

The elven woman screams, crawling to try and get as far away as possible, clutching her kids tighter against her. Tears stream down her face as vigorous as a waterfall. Dread fills Visenya, all her thoughts consumed by panic.

"No!" Visenya screams. She moves to charge him, but a grimy hand holds onto her, keeping her from running. She turns towards the man, and wildly swings her blade. It misses, but in dodging it, he loses enough of his footing that he lets go of her.

He goes to grab her again, but before he can try, a blade slices into his neck, causing blood to gush out of the wound before he drops to the ground. Visenya doesn't have to look to know it's Geralt, but she does anyway. A deep scowl is set on his face, eyes blazing in a way that's eerily similar to Visenya's. He growls, eyes assessing the scene before them. He glances at Visenya, then moves his eyes to the leader. Visenya nods, understanding the nonverbal cue.

Save the girl.

"A fucking Witcher!" The man spits out. He spits turning away from the elf, no longer able to ignore the threat right in front of him. "Just kill them both, I hear Witchers make good coin."

Then everything descends into chaos. The rest of the bandits charge Visenya and Geralt, but she pays them no mind. She nimbly dodges each one of their attacks, leaving them to Geralt. Her eyes stay on the leader, who's eyes rest solely on her as well. He grabs a second blade from the ground, ripping it from the hands of the dead elf. He strides towards her and she meets him halfway in a clash of blades and fury.

Their blades meet in a cross, the clang of metal ringing in her ears. She scowls as he snarls, spittle flying into her face.

She jumps back and pivots to his side. His gaze follows her, body turning as she does. Like a butcher cutting a pig, he hacks down at her. She parries it with her blade, pushing it away as if it's nothing more than an annoyance. His second one comes down a moment later and she dodges to the other side, the blade slicing through empty air. A third swing, his other hand comes down, this time towards her face. She crouches low to the ground as she brings her blade up to block the hit, using her lower position to steady her body as she pushes against him, both hands holding onto the hilt.

He presses down and she pushes upward, arms shaking from the exertion. She screams, the sound eerily similar to the roar of a dragon, moments before it decimates its enemies with its fiery wrath. With a burst of power, she shoots up, causing him to stumble back.

Right and left, she slashes her blade at him. His leather armor takes the brunt of the first hit, but the second one manages to piece into flesh. She snarls as he screeches in pain. Clammy hands begin to shakily smack against his belt, desperately looking for a blade to try and stick her with, but she doesn't give him the chance.

She kicks him in the abdomen. The force of it slamming his already weak body against a tree. There's a loud crack as his body makes contact, another howl of pain escaping his mouth.

"Stupid bit--"

Her blade stabs into his neck, stopping him mid-sentence. Blood pours out of his mouth, a gurgling sound replacing his scratchy voice.

"Fuck you," Visenya says. She then spits at him, the saliva landing on his chest and disappearing into the blood.

She sighs, the sounds of fighting die down, and she turns around. Geralt is standing in the center of the clearing, blood speckling his armor and dripping off his blades, but luckily none of the blood is his. Her tense shoulder loosens slightly, the adrenaline leaving with the threats. She tosses her blade to the side, making a mental note to clean it later.

Turning to her right, she sees the elven woman with her children still cowering in the corner, all three of her children around her, the eldest of them knocked out cold. Now that no threats are looming over them, Visenya allows herself a moment to inspect the three of them.

The mother looks to be middle age, with wheat blonde hair and pallid skin, her bones protruding in a way that the bones of someone well-nourished wouldn't. Her eyes are down and as large as a doe, the sparkle in them enhanced by salty tears.

The small girl looks nearly identical to her, her wheat hair in a messy braid that's falling apart. She clutches her mother's hand tighter, moving further into her the longer Visenya looks at her. The other boy is the complete opposite, with dark disheveled hair and blue eyes. His face is blotchy and wet from tears, but he doesn't seem to fully understand why. Staring at Visenya with blank curiosity rather than fear.

"Are you hurt?" Visenya asks, making a conscious effort to make her voice as light and harmless as possible. She takes a step forward, a branch breaking under her foot. The woman gasps, pressing herself further against the tree.

Visenya stops, holding her arms up, a nonverbal sign that she means peace. The woman doesn't relax, not that Visenya expects her to.

"You--you--you," the woman stutters, tears still streaming down her face, but not as frantically as they were moments ago.

"Saved you, yes," Visenya says, taking another step forward. The woman doesn't cower, but her fear doesn't lessen.

"I don't have coin," she says, her voice wavering in between her sobs. Visenya shrugs, a small smile curling on her lips.

"And I have more than enough," Visenya says. The woman continues to stare at her, not uttering a single word. It's like they're frozen in place, only the tears running down her cheeks and their shaking forms giving away that they're in fact real. Visenya feels her stomach twist itself into knots.

She should grab her blade and leave the clearing behind, get back on Roach with Geralt and ride off to the next destination. At the very least her conscience would be eased by the fact that they kept these band of idiots from hurting the woman and her children.

And yet…

A voice whispers in her ear to not, that she'd never stop thinking about this moment, wondering what became of them. Did they save them from these bandits only to get robbed and left for dead by the next group of pricks with pointy swords? She couldn't live with it, she realizes. Not if she doesn't do everything in her power to ensure they arrive home safely and alive… wherever home is. A sigh escapes her mouth, so quiet it could be mistaken for the wind.

"You have no reason to trust me, I get that, but at the very least I saved you from those pricks, so I can't be that bad, right?" Visenya asks, voice rougher and blunter than she intended for it to be. Internally she winces as the woman cowers for a brief second, but then slowly she nods her head.

"Right. Your son is injured, how serious, I'm not sure. I don't know, maybe you have some training in the art of healing, but if you're not, at the very least, I'm no stranger to minor injuries. I can help him," Visenya continues. The elven woman doesn't cower anymore, her rapid tears dwindling to a light drizzle rather than a heavy pour. She nods once more, and Visenya finds herself sighing in relief.

Without wasting another moment she takes a step forward, turning towards the child on the ground. She crouches beside him, his mother moving to be on his other side. Her shining eyes are sharp, watching Visenya with the likeness of a hawk watching its prey.

He looks to be a mixture of his mother and presumably his father. His hair is a dirty blonde, freckles dotting his tan skin. He's not nearly as frail as his other siblings, similar to how Jon, Robb, and Theon looked when they first started training in Winterfell. But he seems to have much less meat on his bones.

Visenya places her warm hands on his face, lifting his head and moving a hand to gently cradle his head. There's a large bruise blossoming on the right side of his forehead, but there's no blood or any other signs of injury. She places a hand on his heart, feeling it beat against her hand, then slides it to the side of his neck, feeling a pulse there as well.

"He didn't get hit with a weapon," the woman says, whether convincing herself of his safety or trying to feed Visenya information she isn't sure. Or it could be a mixture of both.

"No, but he took a hard fall, I've seen men twice his size get knocked on their heads and never get back up, and if they do, they're never the same. There's bleeding, but that doesn't mean he's completely safe," Visenya says, removing her hands from his body.

"Is there anything to be done?" she asks, picking his up and gently cradling his head in her lap.

"Other than wait and see when he wakes? No. As I said, I'm no healer, but I have a tea that can help ease his pain. He'll have a bad headache and sore body, that much is certain," Visenay says. She looks over at the two other children; a girl and a boy. They're young, that for certain, younger than the boy on the ground.

"How much?" the woman asks, not removing her eyes from her son. Visenya's brows furrow in confusion.

"How much what?"

"How much will I owe you for the herbs?" the woman asks again, looking Visenya directly in the eyes. Her tears are dry, but her eyes still shine from the residual dampness.

"Nothing. He needs it now more than I do. I can buy more when I reach the next town," Visenya says, keeping her face as pleasant as possible. The woman purses her lips, clearly in thought. Silence washes over them until it's broken by the woman.

"Thank you. Not many humans would show kindness to elves, much less two so well trained in fighting."

Visenya snorts, a smirk appearing on her face.

"One human and a mutant, actually. But you're welcome. What good is all the fighting talent in the world if you don't use it well," Visenya says, slowly standing from the ground? The woman's eyes follow her form as she stands to her full height. "Our horse is near the road. We can take you wherever home is, and make sure you get there safe."

The woman nods, adjusting her son in her arms so that he is lying across her lap. With Visenya's help, she stands from the ground, holding her son's bridal style. Her two other children stay close, hiding a bit behind her, each one with a hand attached to her dress. Visenya turns, eager to leave the clearing and forget any of this happened, but the woman stopped her.

"I've already lost Aldon, my husband. I could not lose my son too, I truly appreciate what you have and are doing for us."

"I wouldn't speak so soon," Geralt's gravelly voice enters the conversation. They both turn to see him kneeling beside the body, two fingers against his neck. "He's fading, but he hasn't died yet."

Visenya strides towards Geralt, the woman, still holding her son, hot on her trail while her two children stay in place, silently watching with wide eyes. Visenya sits beside Geralt as the woman nearly collapses on the other side of Aldon's body. She takes a hold of his hand, her grip so tight her fingers begin to turn white.

"Can we save him?" Visenya asks. Geralt grunts, gesturing with his head in the direction behind them. She nods, knowing what he's saying without having to physically say it. She stands and runs the way they came in. Her feet are heavy, beating into the soil and breaking any twigs or crunchy leaves. The world is a blur around her, wind rushing against her skin. They can save him, but only if Visenya can get the supplies back to Geralt in time.

Either by sheer dumb luck, or the gods truly have shown them favor, Roach is right where they left him. Visenya releases a heavy sigh as she beelines straight for her pack that hangs off of Roach.

"Good horse. I'm going to give you so many apples once we reach civilization," Visenya breathes out, untying her pack from his saddle. He neighs, happily it would seem. She smiles, patting his side a few times before turning and rushing into the forest once more.

Everyone is in the exact spots as when she left. Geralt is leaning over Aldon with his wife sitting on the other side of his body. She clutches his hand in hers, knuckles turning white from the tightness of her grip. Her lips are quivering with large eyes, her body shaking every few minutes, the stark contrast of Geralt. With thin lips, hard eyes, and unwavering hands as he cleans the wound to the best of his ability; he's the epitome of stone. Visenya runs towards them, tossing the bag at Geralt once she crosses halfway through the clearing. He catches it in his hand, flipping it open and rummaging through it. He pulls out various bottles; some with powders, liquids, herbs: both brushed and whole, and bandages.

Visenya slows her pace, moving around Aldon to sit beside his wife. She glances at Visenya for a moment before looking back at her husband. She;'s breathing heavily, the sharp intakes of breath sporadic. A hiccup escapes her mouth every few seconds, eyes on her husband, waiting and hoping for any signs of recovering. Hand on the grass, it moves over until it brushes against her free hand. She doesn't look away from her husband, but she takes Visenya's hand, her cold body instantly feeling warmer from Visenya's proximity. It provides comfort, a sense of reassurance that Geralt knows what he's doing. That her husband will make it out of the mess, and this day won't become a travesty that's burned in her mind.

Geralt works quickly, each minute passing in a blur. He tears strips of bandages off with his teeth, the tearing sound from it enough to keep Visenya from getting lost in her thoughts. He wipes away the blood with a cloth, pouring a liquid that smells suspiciously like alcohol over the wound. It hisses upon contact but the noise swiftly dissipates. He then grabs one of the vials that contain a thick liquid. It's amber, with various herbs and other ingredients slightly discoloring it. He packs it into the wound, laying down multiple thick layers of the poultice. He then lifts the torso of the man just enough to wrap his torso in bandages. With her only free hand, Visenya helps him keep the body off the ground, mutely watching Geralt work.

Finally, Geralt sighs, removing his hands from the body, the two of them gently lowering him to once again lay on the ground. Blood is no longer gushing from the wound on the side of his body, unable to seep through the dense layers above it.

"They were pricks, but luckily they weren't skilled pricks. He would've bled out, but it wasn't a fatal blow. When he wakes he'll be weak, but alive," Geralt mutters. Visenya sighs, eyes moving to the elven woman. She removes her hand from Visenya's grip, moving her child off of her lap. Visenya immediately places hands on the small boy, taking him from his mother and cradling him. The woman cries out in relief, hovering over Aldon's body and placing a hand on his cheek.

She looks down at the boy in her arms, noticing the way his eyes twitch under his lids. He's dreaming, it seems. And from the small grin on his face, it's a good one. A soft smile forms on Visenya's face, wide eyes watching the boy, her breathing matching his. A familiar tingling sensation runs up her spine. She glances up, seeing Geralt's gaze firmly on her. She smiles, and he returns it. They've done it, managed to save an innocent family, keeping them from being torn apart by stick bastards with pointy sticks. It's...nice.

"We probably shouldn't move him too much in fear of disturbing his wounds. How far are you from here?" Visenya asks, turning her attention back to the woman. She lifts her head, eyes moving from her husband to Visenya. They're wet with tears again, but not tears of sorrow or fear. This time they're from an overwhelming feeling of joy and hope she didn't have moments ago.

"It's a short distance, we live just on the outskirts of Brunwich," she says. Visenya nods, opening her mouth but Geralt speaks before her.

"We just left," Geralt says.

"And we can turn back around," Visenya interjects, looking at Geralt with a stony expression; lips in a firm line and eyes daring him to contradict her. She clutches the child closer to her, not willing to let them go just yet. They need to be safe and back home, and Visenya needs to see it with her own eyes. Otherwise, her consciousness will never be sated. And Geralt gleans this, causing a sigh to leave his lips, not bothering to start an argument he knows he wouldn't win.

"We can," he concedes, voice lacking any form of enthusiasm or conviction in his words.

"Excellent." Visenya returns her attention to the woman. "Since his injuries are the most delicate, your husband can ride on Roach, and you can ride with him. I can hold your son, but would your two other children be okay to walk? I'm not sure they'd fit on Roach."

"They won't. We should camp here for the day until he's conscious and well enough to ride," Geralt says. Visenya nods and looks at the woman for confirmation, who nods as well.

"In that case, I will get Roach," Visenya says. She begins to adjust the boy in her lap to give him back to his mother, but she stands from the ground.

"I'll come with you," she says. Visenya nods, standing from the ground as well. She walks around Aldon, to stand beside Geralt. She gestures with her chin down at the child. Geralt opens his arms, reluctantly. She places the boy in his arms, and turns, dusting off any dirt that clings to her armor. Visenya nods at her and the two of them exit the clearing.

The air around them is quiet. They neither speak nor acknowledge each other. Occasionally Visenya glances at her out of the corner of her eyes, and she catches the woman doing the same thing. It's almost like two wolves dancing around each other, trying to figure out how to approach the other. It isn't hostile, neither of them having any obvious tension. It's just….silent.

The woods are as gloomy as before; a cold chill sweeping through the air with dead trees and crunching leaves in shades of brown coloring their world. Yet everything somehow feels lighter, less dull, and grey. Visenya feels weightless, the adrenaline from the battle still lingering in her veins and the rush from saving innocent lives giving a small skip in her step.

"I am Amaria," the woman -- Amaria says, making the first move. Visenya nods, continuing to look straight ahead.

"I am Amaria," the woman, Amaria, says. Her voice is louder than she's heard it, yet the only other times she spoke was during great distress. There's a melodic tone to it, each word slightly flowing together like the lyrics of a song. Visenya nods her head, staring straight ahead.

"Visenya." Leaves crunch under her boots, matching the pace of her heart, and the distant song that lingers in the back of her mind. It's been too long since she's heard music - and not just the drunken yodeling of tavern goers. She misses music and singing that are enjoyable to listen to. She misses the small tunes and fumbling lyrics that Jaskier always sang throughout the days. Everything is too silent now, and she finds herself trying to fill the silence the way he did.

"That's a beautiful name," Amaria remarks, stepping over an overly large root. Visenya smiles, glancing over at her. She's only the second person to call her Visenya. It's relieving...finally able to take ownership of her own name once again.

"Thank you, it's a family name." Amaria nods, falling silent once more, and unlike moments prior, this silence is not an easy one. Nerves fill Visenya, the uncertainty of what to say - if she should say anything at all overwhelming. She mulls over it for another moment, before just opening her mouth and hoping to not offend.

"What are your children named?" Visenya asks.

"Rohir is my oldest at seven, he's the one you helped. Then there's Elana, she's only four and my youngest is Vyron, he's only two," Amaria says, a wide smile appearing on her face as she thinks about her children. Visenya watches her with keen eyes, a pang of envy stabbing into her, a piece of her longing to know the feeling of having a family that's all your own.

"They're beautiful," Visenya says, tightly nodding her head. She drums her fingers against the side of her leg.

"Do you have any?" Amaria asks. She's seemingly unaware or unconcerned by the awkward air that surrounds Visenya. But it's nothing new, she's never been the best with people. Constantly being around such loud people like Jaskier, or quiet and reclusive people like Geralt, she never notices. But now, walking in the forest alone with Amaria, she can't help but notice how extremely difficult something as simple as conversation is.

"No," Visenya says, crouching to avoid smacking into a low hanging group of branches. Amaria nods, and then sighs. Her face scrunches into discomfort; pursuing her lips with eyes that are narrowed slightly.

"Sorry, I should not have asked. I'm sure Witcher mutations make conceiving a child near impossible," she says, her voice sympathetic and apologetic. Absentmindedly Visenya nods, only a moment later, fully processing the words.

"Wait what?" Visenya stops in her tracks, turning to face Amaria. Her mouth is agape and eyes wide, ashen brows furrow in confusion with lines on her forehead. She continues a few steps before realizing Visenya is no longer walking with her. She stops as well, turning around and facing Visenya.

"You and the Witcher. Aren't you two..." Amaria trails off. Visenya's cheeks are bombarded with heat that makes her skin bright red. There's a funny feeling in her stomach, tingles rushing up her spine. The thought of her and Geralt together isn't unpleasant, and that's the worst part. She almost enjoys the idea. But she quickly sweeps that away, her and Geralt having children would be disastrous, not that he probably could.

"Geralt and I are not...together," Visenya says, tone more frantic than she intended.

"Oh, I just thought maybe…"

"Well, you thought wrong," Visenya says, the words harsher than she intended for it to be. She releases a sigh of frustration, watching Amaria jump, slowly taking one step back from Visenya. Quickly, she crumbles back into the scared rabbit she was when Visenya first saw her. The familiar look in her eyes quickly snaps Visenya out of her frustration. Guild replaces her bubbling temper, immediately dousing out any annoyance in her voice.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh," Visenya says. Amaria nods, frown curling into a small smile. "Please, forgive me."

"You are forgiven. I should not have made such assumptions," Amaria says. She steps closer towards Visenya, a non-verbal sign that she doesn't hold any fear for her. Visenya smiles at her, and the two of them continue walking once more. Silence cloaking them in its aura for the rest of their walk, neither speaking even upon reaching Roach and bringing his back to Geralt and her family.

oOo

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you.

#geralt of rivia fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the last dragon #house targaryen #targaryen!oc #Geralt #GAME OF THRONES CROSSOVER #the witcher crossover #geralt fanfiction

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bigdaddib · 3 years

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Gendry Who? pt2

So, lol, this is from like so so long ago and I didn’t update it cause it started getting so much longer than I ever intended it to. I did make a part 2 though, from Gendry’s pov. If anyone’s still interested, here ya go

“Arya’s recital is next week, you coming?”

Gendry had long since conditioned himself to not respond too dramatically when her name was mentioned. Instead, he withdrawals so deep within himself even he couldn’t tell you where to find him. “Wouldn’t you be bringing Ygritte?” Gendry asked, not pausing as he shoveled down cereal and scrolled through his phone.

“Yeah, but she invited you too, she just has to know so she can reserve us a seat.”

This, however, Gendry did not prepare himself for. His spoon, just as it was about to enter his mouth, became so still not even a drop of milk spilled over the sides. His thumb hovered over his phone screen, eyes unblinking but not seeing anything around him.

Sure, she had said she had forgiven him. And, sure, he had believed her because she was Arya. If she didn’t forgive you, if she harbored any negative emotions toward you, you knew about it. But he didn’t think her forgiveness would change anything, as much as he had hoped it might. He had played multiple scenarios in his head on how it might, he had no choice in the matter. Letting his mind wander meant fantasizing about seeing Arya again, eyes soft and caring as she opened her arms so they could simply pick up where they left off two years ago. Thinking of what it would be like to kiss her again, even if it were just for a second…

Even if it were just on the cheek.

Those cheek kisses were what he had lived on. He’d be anxious for the end of the night because he knew he had a kiss on the cheek waiting for him. He’d need that kiss, since it was all he had to carry him through until the next time he saw her, then the cycle would continue. It was so easy to get caught up in that routine again, just one kiss on the cheek from her and he was left pressing his fingers to that spot dreamily an entire month after. He was fully prepared to rely on that last kiss for the rest of his fucking life. Forgiving him didn’t mean taking him back, and he had no right to ask for her back, he barely had the right to ask for forgiveness. It was a blessing that he managed that, especially with the way he had went about it. Jerking her around, stuttering his stupid arse off, it was a wonder she understood him at all, he sure as hell didn’t understand himself. He never understood himself when he was dealing with her, never knew what the right thing to do was.

Seeing her through the rain on the side of the road, angrily kicking her flat tire, the right thing to do was to help her out. When it turned out she was Arya Stark, famous rebellious daughter to Ned and Catelyn Stark, openly defying their wishes by pursuing ballet, the right thing to do was help her out and not expect anything in return. People must do things for her all the time, expecting some sort of favor in exchange. He wanted to show the small girl with wide grey eyes and soaked through dark clothes that he didn’t want anything from her, didn’t expect anything.

Then she had kissed him on the cheek.

“She…invited me?” was all he was able to say.

Jon raised a brow. “Did something happen between you two?”

Gendry’s overwhelming first instinct was to say “no!” Of course not! Why would he even think that?! Arya and him…they were nothing, he had helped her out with her car and her wifi and one time with her mysteriously broken bed frame and that was all they had to do with each other…

But that sort of thinking was what had gotten him into this situation, wasn’t it?

If he had simply answered these types of questions honestly, where would he be now? With Arya? Waiting outside her dorm room to take her to a quick lunch between classes? Walking hand in hand with her down the street, feeling her tucked into his side?

Embarrassing her?

He winced. He had to stop that. She wasn’t embarrassed by things like he was, she didn’t care, so why should he? If she was willing to let Gendry drag her down to his level, then he should be too. Whatever people said, whatever their questions and whatever their jokes, they shouldn’t bother him because he had her. He had her tucked in next to him, hand in hand, getting a sandwich before she had to head back to practice…

Except he wasn’t, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself have her without thinking she would one day wake up and realize she had been wasting herself away on him. Realize all the shit and jokes she would have to take for him weren’t worth it and she would leave. So he had to leave first, he had to make sure no one would know what sort of loser Arya was running around with so that maybe Arya wouldn’t figure it out either.

That wasn’t quite how things worked out though.

“What do you mean?” Gendry said, finally putting the spoon into his mouth.

“I mean…you guys never talk anymore, and you got kind of weird just a second ago.”

Gendry cleared his throat, set his phone down. “No…I just…you know she knows ballet’s not my sort of thing. But, uh, yeah, I’ll go. If she wants me to.” Honestly, he’d go anywhere if she wanted him to.

Jon nodded, grabbed his jacket and keys. He’d come over this morning to give Gendry his flat keys, but Gendry had said he didn’t need them. He trusted Jon enough to live with him for two years, he trusted him enough to keep a spare set of keys.

“Then I’ll meet you there, yeah?” Jon turned to look at Gendry as he opened the door to leave.

Gendry only nodded and didn’t move after Jon left.

Did this mean she wanted to be friends? Or was she only being polite?

No. If Arya didn’t want him there she wouldn’t invite him. That’s the way she was, she was blunt and straight forward. Which is why what he did to her was so difficult all around. The lying and sneaking around may have been fun for her the first month or two, but when they started getting into the “I love you’s” and holding each other all night, it probably got a bit redundant. He could feel it, he could feel her frustration with him, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Numerous times he found himself at her door with full intentions to simply give up and be with her, to not think about it so much. But then she’d open the door and he’d be struck by her smile and by her eyes and know deep, deep down, with everything in him, that he didn’t deserve her. He never would. No one did, but especially not him.

He’d never seen her dance before. Of course, he knew she did it professionally. The entire bloody world knew that. He assumed she was good at it. With her passion for it and the way she blatantly disregarded her parent’s wishes for her in order to do it, her skill was the last thing to questioned. He never felt he needed to watch her in action, he already knew everything he needed to know. Ballet, though he never took the time to watch anyone do it, was boring anyway. It must be, or else more people would say otherwise.

Obviously, he was wrong.

Although, he was biased. If it had been anyone else besides Arya dancing on that stage, he probably wouldn’t have been nearly as interested. But she was, and he couldn’t even find the time to blink. He had to watch the almost liquid way her body moved across the stage. Bent and twirled, leaped and stretched. Gendry knew Arya’s body well, probably better than he knew his own, and he liked to think he knew its limitations, but he never truly grasped its potential. What had he been doing, throwing her legs over his shoulders? Watching her back arch against a wall? What did any of that prove? He should’ve been driving her to practice, watch her dance every damn day. Not doing so was a fucking waste of time.

He was confused when it was intermission, even more so when he saw Jon snoring peacefully next to him. Angrily, Gendry shoved at his shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?” he barked.

Jon blinked dazedly. “Sorry, you won’t tell her, will you?”

Gendry rolled his eyes, feeling genuinely angry. How in all seven hells had Jon managed to fall asleep? Was he even watching? If Arya asked and Jon said she was wonderful, he would set the record straight. Besides, Arya was the one person he couldn’t lie to, not really. He could lie to Jon, he could even lie to himself, but not to her. Not to those big grey eyes.

Gendry found he was too angry to hold up conversation with Jon, so he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

The second half of the ballet seemed to be going just as good, if not better, than the first half. Gendry found himself leaning as far forward as he was able, watching as Arya’s body flowed just as easily and languidly as the silken dress they had put her in, knowing her very skin felt just as smooth.

When she fell onto her right ankle it took everything in him not to climb onto that stage and carry her off.

It took her two attempts to get back up, everyone around her kept up with the routine but it was all a bit awkward considering she was the lead dancer.

Gendry’s knuckles turned white as he saw her wince for the first time since knowing her. It stirred something different in him, something protective and fierce. He’d felt something similar to it once before, seeing her cry for the first time.

He hadn’t registered it at first, the single tear glistening down her cheek. He thought it was a trick of the light, a reflection off the window, anything but a genuine tear. Anything but a tear coming from Arya Stark’s eye. That simply wasn’t possible, Arya Stark didn’t cry, she couldn’t, wouldn’t let herself. But she was, and it was because of him. Fuck, if everything in him didn’t crumble into dust.

Arya wasn’t crying now. She was getting back up, dancing on that ankle he was sure he heard crack. And she kept dancing, right up to the very end. Gendry hadn’t taken a solid breath the rest of the performance, holding it for something horrible to happen, and when it was finally over he stood up in an immediate search for her.

Eventually, he found her in the dressing room, foot elevated and head in her hands. It was swollen an angry read, an ice pack rested on top of it. There was a man whispering in her ear, hand rubbing up and down her back. Gendry paused at the sight, Jon halting just behind his shoulder.

“Arya?” Jon called out.

Dejectedly, Arya lifted her head. Only her tired grey eyes visible. Gendry’s feet started walking toward her.

“You’re Arya’s family?” The man straightened up, back straight and shoulders broad. If Gendry was making assumptions, he’d say he was one of Arya’s dance teachers.

“We are,” Jon answered and Gendry’s chest tightened. He added nothing to contradict him.

“She should be fine. We had the doctor come in and—”

“I can speak for myself Jaqen,” Arya snapped. Jaqen’s only response was a sigh, brought his hand back to her bare shoulder.

“I’ll check up on you later,” he whispered and Arya’s only response was to rest her head back into her hands. Jaqen smiled tensely toward Jon and Gendry before leaving.

“Are you alright?” Jon was the first to ask, walking around Gendry and kneeling in front of her.

“No. I fucking blew it,” she bit out. “No company will hire me now, its fucking over.”

No one knew what to say, it was quiet for a moment. Then Jon tried, “You were beautiful up until then, Arya, I’m sure they’ll see that.”

Gendry let him say it, she didn’t need to hear that Jon had actually been napping the whole time.

“It’s fucking whatever,” her voice was violent, yet very tired. “I’ll just go to real college or something. The world is at my fingertips and all that. This is a sign I shouldn’t throw it all away,” she made it obvious she wasn’t serious about any of the words she was saying.

Gendry wanted nothing more than to go over and hold her as tightly. Maybe even let her cry on his shoulder, if she felt comfortable enough. He could feel it, her warmth pressed into him, her head nestled into his neck. Maybe it wouldn’t make her feel better, but he would.

“Can you…can you just bring the car around or something?” Arya spoke up. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Right. Right, Gendry, stay with her. I’ll text you when I’m out front,”

Jon left and Gendry promised he wouldn’t be the first to speak. He wouldn’t push her.

“Can you leave?” she whispered.

His heart shattered. “…Wh—why?”

“Because…because…” her voice cracked. She paused to release a heavy, shaky breath. “I can’t hold myself together around you.”

Something close to hope warmed him, and he let that propel him to kneel beside her as Jon did. It was a reflex to smooth a hand over her temple. “What are you holding yourself together for?” he whispered.

Arya shrugged in response.

“I won’t tell anyone that you’re upset if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Arya shook her head. “It’s not everyone else…I don’t wanna know.”

Gendry took a second to collect her meaning. “You don’t want to know you’re upset?” he clarified.

Slowly, Arya nodded.

“Alright, I won’t tell you either,” he agreed easily.

Arya’s shoulders shook in a dry laugh, revealing a dark, glistening grey eye. On the verge of tears. He rubbed a thumb over her brow bone. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he whispered. In movement a similar to the leaps she made on stage, she was in his arms. Head buried into his neck and fingers clawing at his back, she clutched him to her desperately.

Her entire body shook with her sobs and he felt his shirt absorb her hot tears, he was proud to hold her through it. It’s what he should’ve done that first time. He should’ve held her, all night if that’s how long it lasted. How long had she cried? He wondered that often. Was it all night? Did it carry into the morning? Was it no more than a second?

He himself found himself crying through an entire month. Alone in his room, often in the middle of his dreams. He’d wake up sniffling, laying on a wet pillow. That was different, though. He deserved it, she didn’t.

He had cried into that voicemail.

He wanted to ask about it, during the party. He wanted to know if she had gotten it, half hoping she hadn’t. He had immediately regretted it, once it was sent. A month later and he was still staring anxiously at his phone for a response, any response. A fuck off, an lol, anything at all, anything but that horrible silence. Because Arya Stark was never silent on things she cared about, and didn’t she care about him?

He hadn’t brought it up, obviously, because what would she say? What could she say to make him feel better? That she hadn’t gotten it? Maybe, but in retrospect her knowing his pain was a different sort of comfort. He wanted her to know he had truly cared for her, wanted to be with her, he wasn’t simply jerking her around. Whether or not that changed anything between them didn’t matter, as long as she knew that.

And if she had listened to it? What then? What more was there to say? She had heard him break and decided to leave him there and that was that. No response told him all he needed to know, no use in opening old wounds.

Except now, holding her, all of his wounds were open and pulsing and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Gendry’s phone buzzed which was probably Jon telling them he was out front. They didn’t move.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me carry you?” He tried, dreading watching her limp all the way to Jon’s car.

“Actually,” her voice was breathless and ragged, voice raw from sobbing. “I really don’t think I can walk on it. I already overworked it.”

Gendry was oddly excited. “I could…is there a back door or something? We could sneak out front.”

Arya pulled back enough to gift him a small smile. Nodding, she said, “I’ll tell you where to go.”

#gendrya #Gendry Waters #Gendrya fanfiction #gendrya ff #Arya Stark #arya x gendry #gendrya au

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ladyandtheghost · 5 years

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How “The Dany-Show” ruined GoT at the core: 3-point system

1. Sansa vs. Cersei:

How is it possible that we had a million reunions - many of them involving secondary characters for fluff and fan service with zero impact on the plot - but these two women who had so much drama, so much unresolved business, never saw each other again? This is where you would have found the good story to tell and a major plot strand to resolve: the conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters. This is what started it all, this is where it should have ended. This is the story they should have focused on.

So why didn’t they?

Because Game of Thrones was already dead and gone and the series had become The Dany-Show and nothing but The Dany-Show.

Every character, every story arc, everything had to be directed towards Dragon Barbie and her drama. So of course there was no time or space for anything that was not related to the The Dany-Show. Basically a black hole that sucked all the great storylines and characters into its dark void.

Massive loose plot strands like the Stark-Lannister showdown were left to rot, because it was far more important to show off that CGI budget for gratuitous dragon shots and inane conversations between secondary character including sex jokes on the main.

There was literally more screen time allotted to the dragons than to Cersei...

After four seasons of Sansa and Cersei constantly referring to each other and the day they would meet again (willingly or not), it’s scandalous that they shoved so many characters back together for pointless reunions that were more or less blatant fan service (Bronn and the Lannister boys, really?!) but the big conflict, the personal drama that was playing out between Sansa and Cersei - that had actually taken on political dimensions now - did not even get a single scene?

Wrong choice.

I mean can you even imagine how Lena and Sophie would have acted the shit out of their reunion, because I can and it makes me furious that we were robbed of it. When two characters have so much unfinished business, so much foreshadowing and so much history that still isn’t resolved, the least you can expect is to give them at least a half-assed resolution - but we did not even get that, because it had nothing to do with The Dany-Show. Because all the characters have to only think about Dany and relate to Dany and if there is to be a conflict between female characters, it has to involve Dany and no one else.

Poor Lena deserved better than to be reduced to playing a two-dimensional shadow of Cersei Lannister who was little more than a prompt giver to The Euron Greyjoy Side-Show (because sex jokes!)

Also Bonus fuck-up: the prophecy of the YMBQ? Cersei died in the arms of Jaime, if anything Dany’s attack had given her back the one person/thing she cares about. So how exactly did Dany rob her of “all you hold dear” when Dany’s attack caused Jaime to literally drop Brienne like a hot potato, declare his undying love for Cersei and run back into her arms for his final moment?

Before that, Sansa had already “taken” Jaime into her services together with Brienne. He’d actually switched sides to serve “another queen” (just not Dany) and at least this prophecy made sense for two seconds but of course the YMBQ had to be Dany because it’s The Dany Show, whether it makes sense or not...

They just didn’t care anymore, did they?

2. Little...who?:

So we have half a dozen characters rolling up to Winterfell who knew Littlefinger and his dirty business, and Arya, Sansa and Bran are about to go:

Only for some reason: NO ONE asks.

There is not a single reference to the fact that the Stark kids found out that Littlefinger is the mastermind behind 90% of everything that has happened since S1 and that he was executed for this. It’s like it never happened and he never existed and neither did all the important plot points before S8.

Did Jon ever find out that Littlefinger betrayed Ned and conspired with the Lannisters to bring down the Starks?

Did Tyrion ever find out that Littlefinger framed him at the Purple Wedding?

Did Varys ever find out that his nemesis was outsmarted and defeated by three teenagers?

Nope. Nope. And nope.

Ain’t we all?

A character who’s been hailed as MVP by a huge part of the fandom because he knew how to network and play the game™ that is advertised in the title like no other, isn’t even mentioned again. One of the most popular theories re: S8 was (ridiculous as I found it myself) “Littlefinger isn’t dead” because many people felt he was still important to the story and there was also a lot of unfinished business with other characters he was connected to...Jon, Varys, Tyrion, Cersei, Sansa...

Instead, Littlefinger himself, his death and every plot point he was ever involved in was simply erased - because Littlefinger and his relation to these characters had nothing to do with, i.e. did not contribute to...you guessed it...The Dany-Show and therefore POUF, he never existed...

3. R+L = who gives a f***

But you know, these are minor grievances compared to the fact that Jon’s character was not only dumbled down and turned into a complicit in genocide...

Jon’s parentage story arc - you know, THE big revelation and PLOT TWIST - was turned into a side note, a five-minute mini drama that was more about how this will affect poor little Dany and her feelings.

They gave us scenes of Dany waxing on about how Jon’s being the one true king stresses her out because she wants the throne and what she expects him to do about it - but they ROBBED us of the moment Jon tells the Stark siblings that he is not truly their brother, but their cousin.

Because who cares about how Jon feels about this and his “siblings” coming to terms with the fact that:

their father Ned Stark had kept Jon a secret from everyone

that he had not fathered a bastard and betrayed their mother

but saved the one true heir, at cost of his honour,

they lived with the Targaryen crown prince and raised him under everyone’s nose...

No, no, the important thing is how Dany feels about it all and how it affects her.

After the huge build-up, the theories, the overt foreshadowing, even more infuriating - after throwing poor Elia and her children under the bus and making Jon legitimate...

After literally EVERYTHING in this series leading up to the moment when everyone would know who Jon Snow truly is...it had no effect on the story whatsoever, besides contributing to Dany finally revealing the full extent of her insanity (which was only a matter of time anyways)

Heir to the Iron Throne? Targaryen Prince? Rhaegar’s son? PTWP?

The point is: Drama for poor little Dany because her nephew doesn’t want to fuck her anymore is the actual heir.

You can’t even say that it led to her advisors finding out and betraying her because that is something they should have done ages ago, at the latest when she burned the Tarlys. It gave them a legitimate alternative option, yes, but it was not the first time they thought she needs to go...

At least R+L=J served one good purpose: it rubbed Dany’s nose in it that she is not special at all. She is NOT the last Targ, nor the “princess that was promised” - and it was never her destiny to rule, she was only ever the “aunt” of the prince.

Sadly, this is again ALL about Dany and her feelings and how everyone else reacts to her in light of the news that Jon is Aegon.

So R+L=J is not even about Jon in the end, it’s just another element of The Dany-Show. And once Dany is gone, it’s like R+L=J also got erased (just like Littlefinger and the Stark-Lannister-conflict)

...because let’s just send the Head of House Targaryen and last of his line beyond the wall again just because the murderous army of the mad tyrant, whom he heroically freed us from, demands it...and of course we have to wrap up the last five minutes of this shitty episode.

Conclusion:

D&D just REALLY didn’t care anymore once The Dany-Show was over and it’s painfully obvious to see. The good news is that all of these plot points that got erased/dumbled down/ignored^^ are things that are important to GRRM, which gives me hope for the last books at least...

#game of thrones #sansa stark #jon snow #anti-daenerys #anti-dany stans #anti-d&d #cersei lannister

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orangeflavoryawp · 3 years

Text

Jonsa - “Red Curtain”, Part Two

Whoopsie. Just realized I never posted the update. Forgive me, I’m a mess.

Red Curtain

Chapter Two: Orgel’s Rules

"She may as well have spelled it out in the convenient magnetic alphabet along the fridge door. In big, colorful, kindergarten-sized letters:

Mistake.

That's what she was calling it." - Jon and Sansa. Summer's for lovin', after all.

Oh, and crisis. That, too.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2

* * *

The first and only time Jon Snow kissed Sansa Stark was back in middle school. She was 12, and he was 14, and neither of them were particularly good at ignoring peer pressure at that point in their pre-pubescent lives, so when they were locked in a closet for 'seven minutes in heaven' at Jeyne Poole's birthday party, well, he was just a budding teenage boy, after all.

And Sansa Stark was pretty. Always was. Except he hadn't really noticed it so specifically until that moment. She was pretty when she tucked her hair behind her ear nervously, and she was pretty when she folded her skirt underneath her knees as she settled on the floor of the closet, and she was pretty when she leaned forward and placed her hands on his shoulders in a sudden surge of courage, eyes wide and unblinking, her throat bobbing.

Hell, she was even pretty when she pulled back after the initial kiss, mortified and stuttering, when her teeth had clacked against his in her fervency, her determination. And sure, he had laughed, and she only blushed harder, her hands ripping from his shoulders instantly as though burned, and he'd known he'd fucked up then, but she was – god, she was so fucking pretty, and endearing, and she was Robb's little sister, oh god, only not so little anymore, not since the summer before, and definitely not now, and Jon had surged forward without thinking, meeting her mouth once more with his, a hand curled urgently around her arm to pull her to him, his other lighting on her shoulder, and he'd kissed her.

Sansa Stark.

He'd kissed her.

Even now, he remembers the way her lashes fluttered against his cheek, and the way she'd come unbalanced, nearly tipping them to the floor, their mouths jostling together for a brief, unbearably awkward moment, before she was suddenly laughing, pulling back, her fingers curling in his sleeve.

The truth is, he thinks that might have been the start of it all. Never mind the fact that they'd mutually agreed never to disclose the act to anyone else, or that they'd both admitted in the blaring aftermath that it had been a first kiss for each of them, or that the comfort and easiness of their following conversation had probably been the highlight of their imprisonment in Jeyne's closest.

Because he could talk to Sansa, he realized suddenly. In different ways than he could with Robb or Arya. Because she didn't laugh at him when he said it was his first kiss, and because she said she thought he'd done rather well, even as she was blushing furiously, and because she told him she was glad it was him she got stuck with (not that she'd said 'stuck with' per se, but he didn't really mind the insinuation anyway, which was kind of refreshing to realize, if he was being honest).

A stupid game, really. But there are worse things than being locked in a closest with Sansa Stark for seven minutes.

A fumbling, wet kiss. Some self-deprecating laughter. An honest conversation about the perils of navigating teenager-ism. No big deal.

The problem though, as he discovered shortly after, was that he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He's pretty sure he left that closet at least half in love with her.

Which is ridiculous, and yet, here he is, at the annual Stark summer cookout, beer in hand, trying his damnedest to look casual in his lean against the counter beside Ned when Sansa glides into the kitchen with bags of burgers and dogs and pork chops hanging from each arm. She stops short, blinking those sharp blue eyes at him, pushing her sunglasses further back along her hair, a smack to her lips.

"Jon," she greets, and it's not acidic, at least. Always the polite one, he reminds himself.

But fuck, she's still so inarticulately pretty. His chest heaves at the realization, his mouth parting unconsciously. He nearly slips from his lean against the counter.

See, the next time he very nearly kissed Sansa Stark was last winter. And okay, directly post-break up – on her part – was definitely not the time for it to happen.

"Harry's drunk. And getting handsy with his secretary," she'd said when she'd called him in the middle of what was supposed to be Harry's company's Christmas party.

"Sansa," he said, wanting to reach through the receiver and tug her to him.

"Pick me up?" she asked, voice cracking just the slightest.

"I'll be there in ten."

He was there in less.

In hindsight, it had been a long time coming. Jon knew Harry wasn't going to last. But try telling Sansa that. She was as stubborn as her sister, even if she was never so brash about it. She was the quiet sort of immovable. Like stone.

But Jon swallowed back his I told you so in favor of late night tacos and sharing a park bench.

"He's intolerable," she said, wiping sauce from her lip.

Jon only hummed his agreement, biting into his own taco.

"And a shitty liar. And sleezy, ugh, so sleezy. And – and not nearly as good in bed as he swears."

Jon laughed around the food in his mouth, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She huffed. "God's gift," she mocked. "Ha!"

Jon watched the way she picked at the wrapper of her taco, her brows furrowing. She looked at him then.

"But you knew all that," she said, more a statement than a question.

He cocked his head at her. "I did."

She sighed, shaking her head. "God, I'm so stupid."

"Hey, hey, no," he said, straightening as he turned fully to her.

Sansa kept her eyes on the half-eaten taco in her lap, silent.

He wanted to wrap an arm around her shoulders, or brush a thumb across her cheek, or take her hand in his, but he still had this stupid taco in his hand, dripping sauce all over his fingers, and he looked around for a napkin, found none, got even more frustrated, heaved a sigh as he turned back to her. She was still staring down at her lap. So he just shuffled closer to her, their knees knocking, his thigh braced to hers as he tried to wipe his hand along the taco wrapper in his lap. It was all very not-suave. "Hey," he said.

She looked up, eyes blinking owlishly, as though she hadn't expected him to suddenly be so close.

But then neither had he.

Jon sucked a breath through his teeth, eyes flicking between hers when he realized he could feel the hot expel of her breath, when he realized he could count her lashes if he wished.

"His loss," he said, breathless suddenly, and shit, why did he sound like that? Jon swallowed thickly.

She pursed her lips, watching him.

He took a breath. "I mean, god, Sansa, you should know by now. You're anything but stupid. You're... you're fucking exquisite, okay? And he's – Harry's a dumbass," he laughed, licking his lips.

She glanced to his mouth.

And oh. Oh no.

Jon stiffened, his breath hitching.

Her eyes flicked back up to his, and instantly, he knew what she meant to do.

Sansa leaned in.

Distantly, he remembered Ygritte. His girlfriend. And he was half a second away from discarding the thought entirely, considering the downward spiral they'd been in lately, and considering how much he realized he wanted this. Fiercely so. Enough to send him spinning.

But that's not the kind of man he wanted for Sansa. And not the kind of man he wanted to be himself.

Hell, she'd literally just ended a relationship with a man who had no qualms about kissing a woman who wasn't his girlfriend, and here he was, about to do the same. Just a different angle on the same shitty situation. Sansa was vulnerable, and hurting, and looking for comfort in the wrong places, it was true. And he understood this, on some level, but it didn't really process like that, in the moment.

It happened more like this:

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do much morethan kiss her, truth be told.

His hand went to her shoulder, stopping her.

(But not like that.)

Sansa froze, mouth thinning into a tight line.

Jon cleared his throat. "Sansa, I..."

She pulled back instantly, back ramrod straight. "Oh," she said, voice wavering. She took a deep breath, jaw clenched. "Oh," she said again, eyes straight ahead.

Jon fumbled with the taco in his hand, trying to set it aside on the bench. "Wait, Sansa, look, I just – "

Sansa stood suddenly, her food slipping off her lap. She looked down at it as though suddenly remembering it, her features narrowing in anger. She grabbed at the take-out bag on the bench beside her, wiping her fingers with a napkin she snatched from inside, the slip of her copper hair obscuring her face from his view for a moment.

Jon gulped back his regret. "Sansa, please, I'm sorry, I just – "

"Take me home," she said flatly, jaw clenched.

Jon sighed, standing as well, tacos forgotten. And his hands were still so fucking messy, and now it was smeared on his pants, and she was already stalking away, and fuck, he was so stupid, so frustratingly stupid and fuck these goddamn tacos, he was just –

"Sansa!" he called after her.

But she'd only repeated her request to be taken home and so that's exactly what he did, and it wasn't until she slammed the car door closed and stalked up her driveway that he finally deflated in the driver's seat, a hand wiped down his face.

Because what the fuck? He picked now to be an upright guy?

It wasn't like he hadn't been fantasizing about her well before things went south with Ygritte, imagining it was Sansa's legs wrapped around his waist whenever he gave in to an angry fuck. It wasn't like he hadn't brushed off plans with his own girlfriend because Sansa hit him up. It wasn't like he hadn't had it in for nearly every man she's ever dated under the petty pretext of 'just being a big brother'.

It wasn't like that at all.

Except it was.

And now he'd screwed up. Rejected her when she'd made the first move.

She hadn't called him again since then, and he'd only seen her a handful of times since, always briefly, always in the company of others, always with a stiff, practiced veil of indifference between them.

He hated it.

They were friends once. Good friends. And now... well, now Jon didn't know what they were.

"Jon! So good to see you!" Jeyne swoops in for the rescue, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before waddling over to the sink for a glass of water.

"Thanks, hon," Ned says as he makes his way over to Sansa, taking some of the bags off her arms. "Jon, will you help Sansa take the rest of it to the other fridge?" he asks, and jesus christ, Jon is beginning to think the man has it out for him.

But he sets his beer down anyway, grunting his ascent before Sansa can refuse his help and he spreads his hands out in a 'gimme' motion toward her.

That earns him a reluctant smirk and a shake of her head and damn, it does something to his chest that leaves him nearly winded. But he can't help smiling in return, and maybe this won't be so bad. Maybe she doesn't hate him. Or maybe it's just that damned politeness of hers. His smile wilts at the edges at the thought, just slightly, but he's tired of this melodramatic shit, and he just misses her and he hopes she misses him, too, holy hell does he hope she misses him, too.

They make their way to the garage through the side kitchen door where the Starks store their second fridge for such things. Big enough for Catelyn Stark's largest casserole dish, and big enough for Aunt Lysa's punch bowl, and Rickon's stash of cream sodas. Jon offers an awkwardly wide, close-lipped smile when he opens the fridge door and Sansa just scrunches her nose as she squats down, pushing her sunglasses further back on her head and then she starts to rearrange the contents.

"You just got in?" she asks.

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Yeah, Robb just picked us up at the train station."

"Long trip?"

He shrugs one shoulder, shifting the weight of the bags over his arm. "Couple hours."

"You should make it more often, then," she says, eyes still on the fridge.

He doesn't test that one. Doesn't really know how to, anyway. So he just hums in acknowledgement.

She glances up at him, hair swinging over her shoulder. "Robb misses you," she says in explanation.

"Do you?" The words are out before he can catch them. He stands there staring down at her.

She blinks, mouth pursing. And then she reaches for one of the bags off his arm and he hands her the extra burger patties wordlessly.

"Sansa..."

"Let's just... not," she says.

And god, he wants to bash his head into the freezer right then. He blows a breath through his lips and rakes a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Sansa, I never meant to – "

"I'd really rather you just forgot about it," she says, attention fixed back to the fridge.

He takes a moment, thinking on it. He doesn't really want to forget it though, that's the thing. But at the same time...

She gives a rough chuckle. "I mean, I was probably still drunk from the party, and feeling spiteful toward Harry, and you were there, and you were, well, you, and I think I just made a really stupid choice that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me and that... that wasn't right." She catches her breath, looking back up at him. "I didn't mean to use you like that. Or make you uncomfortable."

Nothing to do with you.

Jon blinks at her, mouth tipping open. Because what the fuck? What the – how could she – just what –

Now he really, really wanted to bash his head in. "Sansa," he grouses. What was going on?

"Dogs."

He rears back. "What?"

She opens an expectant palm toward him. "The hotdogs."

"Oh." He shakes his head, fumbling with the bag as he digs out the hotdogs, handing them over obediently and then –

Wait. Stop that.

Why is she so good at distracting him?

"Sansa, look – "

"And I'm sorry."

He swallows back his reply instantly.

She turns her gaze back to the fridge, tapping a nail nervously along the crisper drawer. "You don't have to worry. It won't happen again."

His mouth clamps shut, and now he's practically crawling out of his skin, ready to scream at her, and yet, god, if she only knew how much he had wanted to kiss her then, or just how much more he would have let her do to him, spiteful or not – but he's not sure that's the sort of thing she wants to hear right now, not if it was only ever a mistake to her.

She may as well have spelled it out in the convenient magnetic alphabet along the fridge door. In big, colorful, kindergarten-sized letters:

Mistake.

That's what she was calling it. That's what kissing him would mean to her. A mistake.

And you know, he is really, really starting to regret ever coming into this garage with her. Maybe awkward not-knowing is better.

Jon frowns, hand curling over the open fridge door. He opens his mouth, but the beeping of the fridge interrupts him, that stupid alert when the door is left open too long, and then Sansa is pushing the dogs further back on the shelf, asking for the pork chops, and they get the fridge stocked and closed in a matter of seconds.

Sansa stands then, and she's close. Real close. And Jon doesn't step back.

But she does. And maybe that should tell him something. Something he hadn't really wanted to consider before.

Sansa brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks," she says.

And everything he'd thought to say is suddenly deflated in his chest. Useless. He starts to bunch the empty grocery bags together. "Yeah," he says, and he can't help the edge to his voice.

"Jon?" she asks, a hand going to his arm.

He looks up at her then.

She's nervous, he can tell. And not because he knows this through some stupid love osmosis, but because he fucking pays attention. Because he knows what it means when her brows furrow like that, and when she pushes her lower jaw out just the slightest, and when she leans her head unconsciously to the left. Because he's known this girl since she was born, and he'll know her years from now, without doubt. Because he's become attuned to every minute detail of her. Because he doesn't know how to stop paying attention to Sansa Stark.

"Are we good?" she asks, tentative and soft.

And fuck no, they're not good. He's anything but good around her. Hasn't been for years, actually. But that's not what she needs right now, apparently. Or maybe he's just a coward, in the end. But he thinks he can live with that. If it's between being a coward or a mistake, he thinks he can live with that.

"Yeah," he croaks out – tries to mean it. He reaches for her arm, gives it an affectionate squeeze. "Of course."

And yeah, in the end, he just misses her. Misses the smile she gives him just then, easy and free.

It makes things a little easier.

His hand slips from her arm then.

She glances back toward the kitchen when she hears a loud bang and Arya's whine through the closed door. Instantly, the tension snaps, her chuckle lighting the way for his own mirth, and he's laughing then, a hand reaching back to rub the nape of his neck. "I don't think your sister's good though," he jokes.

She shakes her head. "And you were looking forward to seeing this family again?" she mocks.

He shrugs, leaning back along the closed fridge door. "Stuck with you, I guess."

She leans back beside him, arms crossing. "I'm glad you were able to make it." It sounds honest. Real.

Jon likes the sound of it.

"You, too." And he means it, he finds. He really does. "Going back tomorrow, though, I hear?"

She nods. "Yeah, Marg and I are trying to make a concert."

"Think you'll make it to sunrise?" he teases.

Sansa rolls her eyes. "I've never made it before."

He nudges her shoulder with his own. "Come on. Just try. You can sleep on the train."

She arches a brow at him.

"I've got a good feeling about tonight."

"Oh god, now I'm scared," she laughs.

"What?"

"None of your 'good feelings' have ever boded well for me."

"That's not true," he defends, a dramatic hand to his chest as though wounded. And damn, he thinks Theon is rubbing off on him. Not good. That is not good. He drops the hand instantly.

But Sansa only laughs, shaking her head. "Look, no promises, okay? But I'll try to hang in there."

He smiles cheekily at her. "That's all I ask."

She juts a finger into his chest then. "But you better not give me any shit if I pass out too early, okay? This is a 'no shit-giving zone', you hear me?" And then she crosses her hands before her, swipes them through the air. "Absolutely no shit."

He holds his hand to his chest like a goddamn boy scout. "Absolutely no shit," he swears solemnly. And god, she's just so fucking cute when she narrows her eyes at him.

But she leans back along the fridge again, smiling, and he thinks he can do this. He thinks he can relearn 'normal' with her.

"Work's been good?" she asks.

He rolls his eyes then, a hand wiping over his beard. "Same old, same old," he says.

The thing about inheritance law, see, is that the work is actually pretty fucking boring. And tedious, holy hell, so mind-numbingly tedious. And yet, working probate as a paralegal has introduced him to some truly interesting individuals. The ones that are preparing their wills, well, half of them end up waxing nostalgic with him, a stranger, just sitting there in their living room trying to get a signature out of them. And the stories! Oh man, the stories he's heard. But he likes to let people talk. Likes to listen. There's a lot someone will reveal when they think they're at the end of their life. A lot of candidness you don't find elsewhere. And sure, when he gets back to the office, he's often knee-deep in documents and his eyes are red from too much computer screen staring, but it's... oddly fulfilling. In a strange, coming-together kind of way – preparing an estate.

But then the other half he deals with are an assortment of paranoid upper-middle classers, stringent career military, young finance majors, and the occasional new parent.

He thinks of his mother then.

And it's not a glamorous job, certainly, but back when he was nineteen, and his mother hadn't left an executor, hadn't even left a will, back when his mother's childhood home had slipped from his fingers to some distant cousin, back when Ned and Benjen had hired a lawyer for him and made sure to secure enough of his inheritance to live by – he remembers what it felt like to navigate the 'after' with no clear discernment of what 'after' was supposed to look like, or how he was supposed to achieve it, or hell, how to even submit her death certificate to the DMV or who to call to turn off her water and electricity or how to change his phone plan from 'family' to 'single'.

How to settle the minutiae of death.

It's a strange, disconnected kind of experience. Tying up the ends of another's life. Maybe that's what got him. The cleanliness of it. The closure. Somehow outside of himself and yet, intricately tangled in it.

And Jon's sure there's a joke in there somewhere about it, but for the life of him, he can't figure it out just yet. He's stopped looking for punchlines a long time ago. Now, he just... is. Joke or not. He just is. There's a sort of peace to it.

And a paycheck's a paycheck, so maybe that's all it really is. Yeah. That's all it really is.

"It's the slow season," he says then, not having the words to really explain the rest. And isn't that just surreal? That probate has a slow season?

(He doesn't tell her that the majority of deaths happen around the holidays, that they happen in winter. But he thinks she knows this, even if he doesn't say. And it's not the kind of thing he whips out at the dinner table anyway, so he keeps his facts kept securely beneath his tongue – dismally objective as they are.)

But Sansa just nods, humming an acknowledgement. "I hear Mr. Mormont's been doing better."

Jon rubs along the back of his neck, stretching as he lets out a laugh. "Yeah, I don't think that guy's kickin' it any time soon."

Sansa nods sagely. "Good to hear." She drops her head back along the fridge, grin cracking wide. "Lyanna told me earlier, and I quote, 'The old bear doesn't know how to die'." She glances to him out of the corner of her eye.

"Honestly, the guy's revised his will like seventeen times at this point. I don't think he knows the meaning of 'terminal'."

They joke about it now, but five years ago, when Lyanna's uncle got the diagnosis and he'd first gone to Jon's firm, it certainly hadn't been a joking matter.

Now though – well, laugh so you don't cry, right? Mormont's a tough one, anyway. And he's the sort that doesn't make peace until he's ready. "Growing old ain't for pussies," as he'd said. Or was that Lyanna? Shit, he doesn't even know at this point.

Jon chuckles again. "Those two were cut from the same cloth."

"I'm glad she has Arya," Sansa muses softly then. "Just, you know – when it happens." She glances to Jon. "She'd never let her drown."

"No, she wouldn't."

A somber silence descends then, and with anyone else, it might have felt uncomfortable, or oppressive, but with Sansa it's just... contemplative. An easy sort of lull.

He picks at an imaginary thread along the hem of his t-shirt. "No, she'd sit with her," he says, and he doesn't know why.

Except he knows precisely why.

Because he'll always remember that morning on the Starks' porch and how she'd sat with him in his grief and never demanded anything or tried for meaningless words. How she knew he wasn't ready for some grand pep talk but he also wasn't ready to send her away.

Will you just sit with me?

How she just... stayed. How she stayed.

Yeah. He's not forgetting that any time soon.

Something comes over her face then that he can't really identify. But it's unnerving, and a little too scrutinizing for his taste, so he clears his throat, pushes off the fridge, grabs at the bunched-up, forgotten grocery bags along the counter beside them. "I swear, you Starks take in people like stray dogs," he mutters, a smirk at his lips.

She cocks her head at him. "Says one very happy puppy," she laughs pointedly.

He rolls his eyes then. "Alright, alright, move it or lose it, toots," he says, shooing her away.

She peels off the fridge and heads to the kitchen with a broad, knowing smile.

And just like that, he's okay again.

Jon breathes deep, exhales slowly.

It's summer, goddamn it – his favorite day of the year, with his favorite people around him. So why is he making it so much more complicated?

Jon shakes his head, following her out. In a matter of moments, he's bombarded by Bran and Theon trying to settle their argument over the latest DLC for their favorite video game, and he loses Sansa in the great expanse of the house, as she's ushered down the hall by Margaery, who offers him a short salute and a wink as a greeting.

"Did you bring your muscles?" Catelyn asks him suddenly, tearing his attention from Sansa's disappearing figure and halting Bran and Theon's argument around him as she plops an insanely large bowl of potato salad into his arms and nods toward the backyard in silent direction.

He nods dutifully at her. "Always, Mrs. Stark." He gives a wink for good measure, never missing her sly tut, though she tries to hide her smile. But it's enough. She's always been a woman of quiet affection, after all, speaking through actions rather than words. A stern look as she brushed the curls out of his eyes on he and Robb's first day of school, and firm, agile fingers when she taught him how to tie a tie, and a reluctant sigh as he'd ushered her into the selfie he took at last summer's cookout, even when her hand braced warm and steady at his back.

Maybe it was because she knew what it meant to lose a mother. Maybe because she was a mother herself. Maybe because you never really unlearn these things.

Jon makes his way outside through the sliding glass door, hulking potato salad in tow, and by the time Ned and Benjen have stopped the grill from smoking, and Rickon has grudgingly toted out the watermelon, and Jeyne has started husking the corn, the summer sun falls low and warm along the pool's waters just past the patio set. Bran and Arya arrive to the table wrapped in beach towels, and Margaery shrieks when Arya shakes her wet hair out at her, though she gets her back with a toppled beer into her lap, all by accident, of course, Margaery swears, and Sansa and Lyanna are howling with laughter while Ned and Catelyn try to wrangle everyone into their seats and Jon is – Jon is –

Happy. Stupid fucking happy. So happy it's hurting his jaw, and he thinks his smile might crack his face in two if he keeps it on any longer, so he tears into his burger instead, leaning back as he watches dinner unfold.

The food is demolished in record time, of course, and Robb offers to go get Jeyne's famous nectarine butter cake out of the fridge, dragging a bemoaning Lyanna behind him toward the kitchen to help cut up Arya's brownies with an argument of 'be the better significant other'.

Arya smirks at her girlfriend's retreating form, bringing her beer to her lips.

"Made those brownies 'special' this year, did you?" Theon asks pointedly.

Arya shrugs one shoulder. "I'm not Bran."

"Hey," Bran defends, looking very much like he's already slipping into a food coma without any further help. "I have sleep issues, as you all know."

Sansa rolls her eyes, rising to help her parents clear the table, and the image of her blurs just the slightest. Yup. Alcohol's kicking in now. But Jon's perfectly warm and contented, so he just settles further into his seat with his hands folded over his very full tummy.

"This innocent act is absolutely not believable, just so you know," Sansa jokes, once their parents are out of ear shot and through the sliding glass backdoor already.

Arya shrugs again. "Not like Lyanna would notice if I pinched her stash anyway," she laughs.

"What was that I heard?" Lyanna asks through the open back door.

Okay, so maybe not quite out of ear shot.

Jon chuckles as Sansa pinks with the realization.

Arya cranes her neck over the back of the patio chair. "What, babe, I'm not even – it's not like I'm – oh my god, put that down!" Arya vaults over the chair, toppling it, her beer sloshing over Theon's shoulder. She ignores his indignant 'Christ, Arya!' in favor of scrambling through the back door into the kitchen as Rickon keels over in a fit of laughter across from them.

"How'd she manage to keep that beer in her hand?" Bran muses dully beside Rickon, watching Arya flee.

"She didn't keep it in her hand," Theon grouses, wiping at his shirt. Beside him, Jeyne is offering napkins, dunking one into her ice water and dabbing at his shoulder. He shoos her hands away after a moment. "Fuck it, it's a lost cause." He stands up and reaches back to pull the shirt over his head, tossing it to his abandoned chair. "Pool time!" And then he's sprinting toward the pool in his trunks, canon-balling off the deep end.

"Theon!" Sansa shrieks. "You'll get a cramp!"

And god, she's so fucking adorable, Jon can barely manage to hide his smile behind his fist. But no one's watching him anyway, because Bran's already following Theon's example with an exaggerated whoop, and Jeyne's still fretting over the abandoned beer-stained shirt, and Margaery's still happily chatting away with Benjen in their little oblivious bubble at the far end of the table, and isn't that just a little unsettling because –

Jon shakes himself. No way. He doesn't even know how to begin feeling about that one.

"Score," Rickon says beside him gleefully, reaching for a beer from the ice bucket at the center of the table.

Catelyn swipes the beer from beneath Rickon's lips, appearing suddenly behind him. "Excuse me, little man."

Rickon makes a face. "Mom, I'm seventeen."

"And still so good at whining," she says sickly sweet, before she levels him with a deadpan look. "No."

Jon chokes on a swig of beer when he can't contain his laugh.

Rickon turns imploring eyes on Ned, who's come out the backdoor just behind Cat. He holds his hands up in surrender immediately.

Yeah, Jon thinks, because that's ever worked in this household.

"Your mom said no," Ned says in sympathy.

Whipped, Jon thinks, smirking at the exchange.

Rickon huffs, pushing his chair back and turning for the house. "We got any sprite?" he asks no one in particular, stalking away.

Jeyne looks after him with pity a moment before tossing Theon's shirt aside and going to help him raid the fridge. Or maybe help Robb escape the mania that is Lyanna and Arya in the kitchen currently. Jon's not particularly sure.

They never really make it to dessert anyway, as the Stark bunch ends up collectively piling into the pool, even Sansa, after dutifully tracking a half hour on her watch and entering the water not a second earlier. Bran and Arya take to chicken fighting on Jon and Theon's shoulders, Ned and Cat end up curled together on the swinging bench on the other side of the yard, and Jeyne and Robb have a splashing contest while she sits at the edge with her feet kicking water. Jon barely even notices the pool lights kicking in, or the lightning bugs coming out over the lawn, until Benjen puts on one of his old school records, their usual signal that evening had well and truly commenced, as well as Benjen's drunken nostalgia – although Margaery taking him up on a dance across the deck is most definitely new.

"Oh god, she's dancing with him," Sansa says, almost panicked, straightening up from her lazy hang over a pool noodle.

Jon laughs as he treads water. "It's just a dance."

She eyes him shrewdly. "A dance is never just a dance with Margaery."

Bran kicks languidly past them balancing his stomach over a beach ball. "It's not the first time they've dance."

Theon scrunches his nose at the comment.

"What are you talking about?" Arya kicks at Bran's ball, nearly toppling him, and he glares back at her.

He rights himself easily, continuing past them. "Last Christmas."

"What?" Sansa says, blinking wide-eyed at the comment.

But Bran is gone, trailing after Rickon in the deep end.

Sansa points at him, glancing around to each of them in turn. "How does he know that? How does he know that when I don't even know that?"

Theon shrugs, kicking back to the ledge. "The boy's a mutant."

"Yes, okay, but hello – best friend here."

Arya wiggles her brows at Sansa. "Did you know Rickon snuck Shireen out through the garage window one time when Mom nearly caught them?"

"I swear to god, Arya, if you tell Mom – " Rickon suddenly hollers from the other end of the pool, spluttering water.

Jon and Theon bust out laughing simultaneously.

"Oh my god," Sansa laughs, "Anything else you heathens want to share that I've missed?"

Arya reaches her arms back along the ledge behind her, chuckling. "Nah. Nothing as good as you and Jon making out in Jeyne Poole's closet." And then her face drops instantly, realization at what she'd said hitting her like a truck. Her eyes shoot to Jon instantly.

He's pretty sure he's just snapped his neck though, with how quickly he looks at her.

Arya mouths a silent, pained 'I'm sorry', bringing her hands together quickly like a prayer.

Theon's laugh putters out over the water. "What?"

Fun fact: Jon is just the slightest bit drunk at this point. Or at least, pretty well on the way there.

Another fun fact: He has absolutely no recollection of said confession. But it's coming in a little hazy now, the longer he thinks about it. It was just one of those nights. Arya had just broken up with Gendry, and Jon was visiting for Robb and Jeyne's engagement party, and there was a lot of alcohol, and a lot of Arya projecting the whole night, and they ended up sitting on the couch ruminating about what-ifs and lost moments and all that bullshit one talks about at one in the morning in the living room of your best friend's house after witnessing him and his soon-to-be unwrapping one too many lingerie sets to be at all comfortable.

And sure, maybe he'd wanted to tell someone, even when they'd both promised not to. Maybe he was just tired of the status quo. Best friend's sister, and all that. First kiss cliché. Like it was just a memory. A fond one, sure, but just that. A memory. Not to be nurtured into something more. Not to be held. Not to be taken as anything other than what it was.

Just two nervous-as-all-hell kids discovering new ways to fit together.

Except now, he thinks he's ready to admit he'll always want more. Even when he tells himself he doesn't. Because why would he tell Arya then? Why would he voice it at all?

He can spin all the excuses he can manage, and probably will. And he can drudge up a hundred different reasons, he's sure, for why he spilled the beans. And he can tell Sansa any number of reasons why he let it slip – all except the real one. That perhaps – and this is a big perhaps, a huge perhaps, the kind of perhaps that shakes you to your bones –

Perhaps she wanted him just as bad.

Jon figures this is the universe's way of letting him 'know'. Giving the push. The nudge. Making it happen. This was the universe telling him 'now' and 'her' and 'yes'. He just had to get his head out of his ass long enough to follow through on it.

See, it's kind of like that law. Or that set of laws. What is it? Fuck, Jon really wishes he'd paid attention in biology now.

Oh yeah.

Orgel's Rules. The first being: "Whenever a spontaneous process is too slow or too inefficient, a protein will evolve to speed it up or make it more efficient."

Now, Jon's no scientist. Of that he's sure. But he's pretty positive he's got the gist of it. And if his slow, pining ass can't get his shit together, well, here comes the 'universe', to speed things up a bit, a la Arya's big fat mouth style.

The only problem, he finds, is the way Sansa is currently looking at him.

He doesn't think he's ever seen that look on her face before. Not even when he rejected her kiss last winter. It's a blank sort of look. No pretty frown or curl of her brow. No pout or indignant shout. Just a look. A stare.

And oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jon nearly sinks beneath the water.

Sansa pushes her pool noodle away, wading toward the stairs.

"Sansa..." he croaks out, following her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He's just never seen her look like that.

"What's going on?" Robb asks, turning as he bobs between Jeyne's legs over the edge of the pool. Her hand stills in his hair as she notices Sansa's stiff retreat.

Jon rushes a little more toward the stairs. "Sansa."

"I should go," she says, voice flat, water steaming from her as she stalks up the pool steps.

He's not far behind her, oblivious to the family's curious – or in Theon's case, utterly flabbergasted – stares.

And this would be a really, really good time for that second rule to kick in, Jon thinks.

"Evolution is cleverer than you are."

Sansa whirls on him, and he stops abruptly, nearly slipping on the pool steps as he's reaching for a towel along the rail. He blinks chlorine-water out of his eyes when his wet curls plaster over his forehead. He wipes at them in anxious frustration. "Sansa, look – "

"You're an ass, Jon Snow." And then she whirls back around, stalking away in her pretty little turquoise bikini, snatching a towel off the closest chair.

Jon deflates instantly, standing half in and half out of the pool.

Alright, universe. Suppose that's a 'never mind', then.

"Dude, you're never getting it now," Theon goads, kicking off the floor of the pool to settle into a float behind him.

"Oh fuck off, Theon," he snarls, jumping up the remaining steps and storming after her.

Because fuck what the universe wants. And fuck Orgel's stupid fucking rules in the first place.

Evolution can suck his ass.

He's taking things into his own hands now.

Arya drops her head into her palm as Jon runs off after Sansa, dripping all along the deck.

Robb blinks dumbly at their retreating forms. "What the fuck just happened?"

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jon snow #sansa stark #red curtain #jon x sansa #jon and sansa #my writing #got fanfic

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captainelliecomb · 3 years

Text

Tagged by @zetaaa, and because I loved their post, and the others I’ve seen, here’s mine. Except that I don’t have 20 stories to list, even including a few WIPs, and I don’t tag people. Consider yourself tagged if you haven’t been tagged before but have thought about doing this. I want to read them!

(In doing this, I realised I’ve posted 16 stories and have several WIPs, so I do have 20! And I’ve never posted a story that wasn’t written as an exchange gift. How odd.)

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

Complete and Posted (AO3 Archive Warnings Noted)

“The corn maze is the best!” Betty’s ponytail bobs as she bounces down the hall, books clasped to her chest. (Does the Wolf Apologize, Riverdale (TV 2017), Betty/Veronica, M, No Archive Warnings Apply, Trick or Treat 2018)

“Still the little cinder girl.” (Little Cinder Girl, Cinderella (1950), Cinderella/Stepmother, M, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Trick or Treat 2018)

Red smells the Wolf long before she sees him. (Find Me in the Stars, Avengers Grimm, Cinderella/Red Riding Hood, T, No Archive Warnings Apply, Yuletide 2018)

Dawn broke before they finished getting people settled. (Not a Lick of Sense, Avengers Grimm, Cinderella/Red Riding Hood, M, No Archive Warnings Apply, Yuletide 2018)

“Well looky here.” Dahl sat at the top of the ramp, legs folded together, hands loose on her knees. (Bad Company, Riddick series, Dahl & Riddick, T, No Archive Warnings Apply, Chocolate Box 2019)

Kase gets fucked slow most times. (Pretty Little Pussy, Trials in Tainted Space, Kase/Steele, E, No Archive Warnings Apply, Shipoween 2019) (The pun in the title is terrible and makes me laugh every time I see it.)

Stupid. (Plant Specimen: Unknown, OW, Tentacle Monster/Xenobotanist, M, Rape/Non-Con, Trick or Treat 2019)

Jack Steele would never visit New Texas as a lowly tourist. (Public Use, Trials in Tainted Space, Jack Steele/Steele, M, No Archive Warnings Apply, Trick or Treat 2019)

The statue was so realistic that, in the flickering light, he seemed to breathe. (Breath and Blood, OW, Minotaur/Curious Female Historian Who’s Surprisingly Into That, E, No Archive Warnings Apply, Chocolate Box 2020)

Flynn Rider sagged sideways against the wall, nearly falling out of the chair they’d propped him in. (Golden Girl, Tangled, Pub Thugs/Rapunzel, E, Rape/Non-Con, Chocolate Box 2020)

Every step was agony, but she ran. (Desperation, OW, Feral Female Alpha Werewolf/Male Omega Living Alone in an Idyllic Woodland Cottage, M, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Chocolate Box 2020)

“It’s a shame,” the guard said as he stripped her, methodical. (Punished, OW, Male Dungeon Monsters/Servant Girl Thrown Into Dungeon as Punishment, E, Rape/Non-Con, Smut 4 Smut 2020)

Run, little Red, run, run away. (Run, Red, Run Away, Little Red Riding Hood (fairy tale), Big Bad Wolf/Red, Wolf Pack/Red, E, Rape/Non-Con, Smut 4 Smut 2020)

Lah trembled as Steele eyed him, but his chin stayed high and he burned with anger. (Broken Promises Made, Trials in Tainted Space, RK Lah/Steele, Able/Steele, E, No Archive Warnings Apply, Shipoween 2020)

Caine is a lot, sometimes. (Breathe Me In, Jupiter Ascending, Jupiter/Caine, M, No Archive Warnings Apply, Yuletide 2020)

“On a scale of accidentally burning down my shop to going to prison because you tried to steal a cow, how bad is this plan of yours?” Trish asks. (Lynette’s Worst Christmas Pageant Ever, Lynette- SouthernASMR Sounds webseries, G, No Archive Warnings Apply, Yuletide 2020)

WIPs

Brienne of Tarth still pissed blood the day she found the war hammer. (Mjolnir AU, 60% GOT 40% ASOIAF (for now, it started as 95% to 5% and keeps leaning more toward book canon), Jaime/Brienne (with possibly others to be added), probably M)

Brienne Tarth’s clearest memory of her childhood included her older brother, Galladon. (Brienne’s Mother is from Dorne and Brienne is Elia’s sworn shield canon divergence, ASOIAF, Jaime/Brienne, probably M)

After the Great Council, Brienne avoided personal conversation with Lord Tyrion for as long as she could. (post-GOT Brienne and Jon are sent to hunt down a dragon, Brienne/Addam with other pairings to come, probably M)

Selwyn Tarth did not know what to do with his only surviving child, his warrior daughter with her ugly, strong body and her maiden heart. (Brienne is sent to be a ward of Ned Stark because of Robert’s obsession with Lyanna Stark canon divergence, ASOIAF, Jaime/Brienne, probably T, may also include things like Mormonts literally turning into direbears and Starks into direwolves)

Oh, right, analysis! I tend to open with dialog, and I’m surprised so many of these don’t. Most of the first lines are not about the main character, at least until we get to the WIPs in which case Brienne of Tarth is clearly my go to girl, my world, my focus of everything.

#zetaaa #tag game #first lines #fic

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

Note

I read on a Reddit forum that Jon's scene where he beheads Janos Slynt in has been altered. Initially Jon would hang the frog guy, but in a reading to the audience a fan changed Martin that this is not "the Stark way of doing it" and that was why there was this change to the version we know. Couldn't that compromise the question of Jon being "Sansa's hero" as has been speculated?Sorry for the inconvenience, but it was something that didn't get out of my head.

Hello Anon:

I know about this subject.

I wrote about Jon Snow being Sansa Stark’s hero/true knight before, and this affirmation is not solely based on Jon Snow beheading Janos Slynt.

Now, let’s answer your question:

THE FORESHADOWING:

Sansa Stark wished for a hero that cut off Janos Slynt’s head as punishment for his participation in Ned Stark’s death:

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. “Life is not a song, sweetling,” he’d told her. “You may learn that one day to your sorrow.” In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound’s voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

And four books later, Jon Snow beheaded Janos Slynt using his sword Longclaw:

“You are refusing to obey my order?”“You can stick your order up your bastard’s arse,” said Slynt, his jowls quivering.[…] “As you will.” Jon nodded to Iron Emmett. “Please take Lord Janos to the Wall—”[…] “—and hang him,” Jon finished.[…] This is wrong, Jon thought. “Stop.”[…] “I will not hang him,” said Jon. “Bring him here.”“Oh, Seven save us,” he heard Bowen Marsh cry out. The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Jon said, “Edd, fetch me a block,” and unsheathed Longclaw. […] The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse.Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. “Please, my lord. Mercy. I’ll … I’ll go, I will, I …”No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended.“Can I have his boots?” asked Owen the Oaf, as Janos Slynt’s head went rolling across the muddy ground. “They’re almost new, those boots. Lined with fur.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

If you read the entire Jon’s chapter, you will find that during his conversation with Janos Slynt, Jon was thinking about Ned Stark and the participation of Slynt in his father’s death at King’s Landing. Jon even thought about how easy it would be beheading him with Longclaw. And maybe that was the reason why he opted for beheading him instead of hanging him, just as Sansa wished.

Also, take note that Janos himself had mentioned that beheading is for highborns (Like Ned) and hanging is for lowborns, like Jon, because he was a bastard. Janos was wrong tho, because Jon is not any bastard, is a highborn bastard, that’s why he has a surname, only highborn bastards bear surnames.

And during his interactions with Jon, Janos was the one that repeated over and over again that Jon needed to addresses him as “My Lord” because he was Lord of Harrenhall; so, following that logic, as “A Lord”, Janos deserved beheading and not hanging as punishment. But this was also wrong, at that point the Lord of Harrenhall was Littlefinger, not Slynt. Janos was wrong at everything.

Also, take note that after ordering Janos’ hanging, Jon thought:

[…] This is wrong, Jon thought. “Stop.”

[…] “I will not hang him,” said Jon. “Bring him here.”

What was wrong, Jon? Hanging Janos and not beheading him like “A Lord” deserves? Or maybe you remembered what Ned always said:

The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.

—A Game of Thrones - Bran I

This would also explains why Jon asked Janos for his finals words:

“If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse.

And believe me Anon, GRRM doesn’t need the fans tho remind him this. He is very thorough and he also have a very competent staff that helped him with his work.

THE CHANGE:

MARCH 2008: GRRM reads ‘A DRAFT’ of a Jon Snow’s chapter from ADWD, the one where he orders the death of Janos Slynt’s by hanging:

This morning at Technicon George read a Jon chapter. It was totally awesome. It covers the discussion between Sam and Jon from Jon’s point of view. Here’s what happens.

(…)

Next Janos Slynt comes in. Jon tells him that he is getting the command of a fort, with 20 Watchmen and 10 King’s men. Janos flips and is totally impertinant, calls Jon a boy, and says that he is not going. Jon says ‘yes you are. be ready at first light.’ Janos leaves, scoffing at Jon.

Next morning, Janos isn’t in the yard ready to leave. Instead he is in the hall eating breakfast with Aliser Thorne and their cornies, laughing about the whole thing. The hall is full of men, Grenn, Pip, Donal, King’s men, Thorne’s supporters, etc.

Jon walks in with like 7 guys behind him. He says ‘Lord Slynt, you are supposed to be preparing to leave.’ Slynt’s all ‘whatever.’ He and Thorne laugh. Jon says ‘I’ll give you one more chance.’ Janos says some stupid ass shit about how he doesn’t have to listen to a boy, that he has friends in King’s Landing.

Jon gives the signal, but he knows he is making a gamble because so many watchmen supported Slynt and Thorne in the election. Two guys grab Slynt and pull him out of his chair. Everybody in the hall is like ‘oh shit.’ Thorne grasps his sword hilt, looks at Jon, and then removes his hand, slinking away from Slynt. Janos now realizes that he is in serious trouble. He is dragged from the hall into the yard. Slynt makes a big scene, yelling about his friends in Kings Landing. ‘I was the Lord in Harrenhal’ he cries. Stannis and his men come out to watch and so does pretty much everyone else at Castle Black.

Jon says, ‘Take him to the wall.’ He thinks, 'I could send him away somewhere else, but if I send him to east watch, he’ll come back to cause trouble.’

'Take him to the wall,’ Jon says, 'and hang him.’

Slynt freaks, yelling, struggling, kicking as they throw him into the cage and start lifting. 'I have friends, if Tywin Lannister were alive you would never…’ His voice fades away as he is lifted to the top. The rope they found was a hundred feet long but the wall is seven hundred feet tall. They hear his neck crack as he hits the end of the rope.

Jon glances back at Stannis. Stannis nods, then turns and goes back inside.

(…)

Yes, I forgot to say that part. I think (if I remember correctly, I didn’t take notes) that Jon looks at Janos while in his office and wonders how big of a part he played in killing his father. He thinks about how easy it would be to pull out his sword, cut through bone, fat, sinews, and chop off his head.His anger about what’s happened to his family really comes out in this chapter.

-Posted on westeros.org by “LugaJetboyGirl-irra” (Source)

—MORE THAN TWO YEARS LATER—

OCTOBER 2010: GRRM reads ‘ANOTHER DRAFT’ of a Jon Snow’s chapter from ADWD, the one where he beheads Janos Slynt’s himself:

Liliedhe: Since GRRM read this chapter at Octocon, can somebody please tell us if there were any differences to what was reported here?

Ran: It’s been suggested that there is a difference, not so much as to what happens but how it comes about exactly. Poking someone to provide details. *poke poke*

Brush Guy: Luckily I was at Octocon. The ending’s been changed slightly. Although I’m not too sure I am allowed to tell.

Aw, what the heck, Jon beheads Slynt with Longclaw while Stannis is watching. It’s a pretty awesome scene, much better than the other version.

(…)

If I remember correctly, Jon says something along the lines of

'Fetch me a block.“ When a suitable block was found, Jon pushed Slynt and placed his head on top of it. “You’re going to die, but if you move your head it will be a lot more painful, and you will still die. Any last words, my lord?’ Slynt started babbling. “Please, m'lord I’ll go… I’ll go.” You already closed that door, Jon thought. “Can I have his boots?” Edd asked as Jon swung Longclaw down in a savage slice. Janos Slynt’s head rolled on the ground. “They’re made of fine leather, y'know, nearly new!” Jon sheathed Longclaw, and looked at Stannis. He gave a small nod and then turned around and walked away.

This is the basic ending, and the dialogue is almost word for word, I think. I’ve forgotten the little flourishes GRRM added to it but that’s pretty close. Maybe it was because he was reading it, but the part with Dolorious Edd asking for the boots seemed a bit out of place.

-Posted on westeros.org (Source)

Take note that none of the two drafts of the chapter is the final version that got printed.

Anyway, the thread in westeros.org about this subject has 13 pages Anon, you can read it yourself, but none of the guys that attended those two events has reported that a fan told GRRM that hanging is not the Stark way, so he need to changed that. I think the discussion happened on forums and fan-sites and two years later, when GRRM read that new draft of the chapter where Jon beheads Janos, the discussion became a rumor and the rumor became a “fact”��.

A reddit user has already stated this:

This is one of the famous rumors-turned-fact that really irk me.

The page that you’re citing here as your source is largely responsible for this particular rumor. Basically, someone went to a reading Martin gave for an early draft of that Jon chapter from ADWD. The poster tried to recall, the best he could, what happened in that chapter from memory.

He wasn’t the only one. I remember several write-ups about this at roughly the same time (2008-2009) because, well, I read anything and everything about ADWD during that period. Each one was slightly different, which makes sense since people were simply writing what they remembered. I recall only one that claimed to be an actual word-for-word transcript (a post that was made to either westeros.org or some other site) but it was taken down as Martin usually asks people not to record his draft readings and whichever site it was had moderators who took exception to the violation of that trust. That so-called transcript one ended abruptly with Jon’s order to have Janos hanged. Most of the others ended with Stannis nodding to Jon after Jon gave the order but didn’t include the exact method of Janos’ death.

Now, here’s the part that irks me. Later, as people digested and debated these readings over and over again, some people began to theorize that that this proved Jon wasn’t Ned’s son because if he were he would have him beheaded, not hanged (note: most of the writeups did not include seeing Janos actually being hanged). Conspiracy theorists figured, “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” and all that, so clearly R+L=J is true! Jon can’t be Ned’s son!

There was also a lot of open speculation about how much of this draft was complete; as in, was this the full chapter? Was the Janos sentence a cliff-hanger? Some said that it was, some said Martin had stated the chapter wasn’t finished yet, some argued, that sort of thing.

Flash forward to the release of ADWD. Suddenly every fanboy who recalled these early readings started to claim that Martin must have read their post/comment/etc. because he had obviously changed the chapter to suit the Internet’s desires and/or decided to squash the conspiracy theories. Not only did the chapter not end on a cliff-hanger, but he had taken the Internet’s advice and made Jon ask for the block rather than the rope.

There’s just one problem with that theory: Martin has stated many, many times that he does not read fan-theories on the Internet nor does he follow any fan-sites in any capacity.

In any event, while it’s certainly possible that Martin did change the chapter due to fan feedback received either at a reading, via fan-mail, or (if he’s a liar re: fan-sites) browsing the Internet, there is no concrete evidence to prove it. The fact that he foreshadowed Janos’ manner of death via Sansa in AGOT suggests to me that it’s far less likely he changed the chapter due to the fandom and far more likely that the readings he gave for this chapter were early drafts that he had yet to complete. He’s been doing the same thing with TWOW; reading chapters that aren’t yet complete.

In summary: there is no proof that this rumor is true. It could be, of course, but I get annoyed when people state a rumor as fact. This is not a fact; it’s simply a neat story that many of us fanboys want to believe is true. For all we know Martin always had Jon asking for the block even in the original draft. Or perhaps the original draft included the Stannis nod as the last line of the chapter but without Janos being killed and later Martin decided it didn’t want to make that chapter a cliffhanger. Or perhaps one of his editors read the draft and said, “Wouldn’t it be cooler if Jon killed him the Ned Stark way?”. We simply don’t know the truth but the rumor persists that it was the people (i.e. fans) who raised a ruckus and that Martin decided to placate their desires and change his story to suit their needs/wishes. But does that sound like Martin go you?

Posted on reddit by “jmk4422” (Source)

I couldn’t have said it better myself, thanks “jmk4422”!

IN ANY CASE…

Sansa wished for Janos’ death and she got it: Janos was sentenced to death by Jon, and Janos died. No matter the way of death, no matter if Jon did it himself or ordered others to do it. Janos died as punishment for his participation in Ned’s death, as Sansa wished, and Jon was instrumental in making that wish real.

But the author decided to make this connection even stronger.

Jon didn’t know that Sansa wished for Janos’ head to be cut off as ‘the exact’ punishment for his participation in Ned’s death, but Jon did cut off Janos’ head honoring the Stark way, to avenge Ned. And this Anon, is an epic, very strong connection, that no one can deny.

Also I recommend you to read some metas about Sansa’s wishes becoming real, her wishes actually happen. So I think this change in Janos’ way of death also followed that pattern.

Indeed, If the first draft read by GRRM had Jon ordering Janos death by hanging, but a later draft had Jon beheading Janos himself, I think the change was intentionally made to match Sansa’s wish, following the pattern already stablished in the Books.

So, no Anon, the change didn’t “compromise the question of Jon being -Sansa’s hero-”; the change has made this Jon and Sansa connection, canon.

And remember, as I said before, the reason why I think Jon is Sansa’s hero/true knight is not solely based on Jon Snow beheading Janos Slynt.

Thanks for the ask.

#Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #Janos Slynt #jonsa #grrm #it went from obvious to blatant obvious

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fuckallthegood0nesweretaken · 4 years

Text

The Dove and Her Hound - CH. TwentySeven

Title: Swear It

Words: 1,677

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I’ve been looking for jobs (even though there aren’t any) and trying to remain sane while locked up in my house with my entire family. I’ve also been trying to write more things to give y’all more content. I’m going to make a whole different post about that, so go give it a look! Enjoy the chapter!

Taglist: @tonbluemchen @affection-rabbit @art-flirt @10morgan10 @thatting @iwontdance-dontaskme @simsvetements

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

“Half are gone,” Greyworm said as he took some markers off of the war map.

“The Northmen as well,” Jon said. Yhon Royce grabbed some as well as a member of the Dothraki.

“And the Golden Company has arrived in King’s Landing.” Varys put a marker down. “Courtesy of the Greyjoy Fleet.”

“The balance is growing even,” you mused.

“We will rip her out. Root and stem,” Daenerys said, eyes straightforward.

“The objective here is to remove Cersei from King’s Landing without destroying the city.” Tyrion looked up at Daenerys and all she did was throw daggers with her eyes.

“Thankfully, she’s losing allies every day. Yara Greyjoy has retaken the Iron Islands in the name of her Queen, Daenerys of House Targaryen. The new Prince of Dorne has also pledged his support.”

“It won’t matter how many Lords or Houses turn against her. As long as she sits on the Iron Throne, she can call herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“So you’re saying that we need the Capital,” you said.

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen the people of King’s Landing rebel against their King when they were hungry. And that was before Winter began. Give them the opportunity and they will cast Cersei aside in favor of you,” Tyrion said. You could tell that he didn’t want the people to become collateral damage. He wanted as little death and destruction as possible.

“So we surround the city. If the Iron Fleet tries to ferry in more food, we’ll burn them with the dragons,” Jon said.

“And if the Lannisters or the Golden Company decide to attack, we’ll defeat them on the field,” you chimed in. “Cersei is our only enemy and once the people see that, it’s all over for her.”

It was silent for a moment as Dany mulled over the options. You knew that she wanted to go all out and randomly attack the Capital, but she knew that doing that would cause more harm than good.

“Alright,” she said.

“Many of the men we have are exhausted and wounded,” Sansa said. “They’ll fight better if they have the time to rest and heal.”

“How long do you suggest?” Daenerys asked her.

“I can’t say for certain. Not without talking to the officers.”

“I have come to help you and your people at great cost to mine and me. Now is the time to pay back and you want to postpone.” Daenerys posed it like a question but by the severity of her tone it was a statement.

“It’s not just our people. It’s yours too,” you said, trying to diffuse the tension. “They’re not ready to fight again so soon. All of them.”

“The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become.”

You sighed internally at the two hot-headed girls and rubbed your stomach absentmindedly, ignoring the conversation in front of you. You didn’t even really know why you were at the meeting in the first place. It wasn’t like you were going to fight and you technically weren’t a Stark anymore. You grimaced at that thought and started to lean on the table. In a flash, Varys was beside you.

“Are you alright, milady?” He said quietly.

“Yes, thank you. The baby was just kicking.”

“Do you need a chair, Lady Stark?” Daenerys asked you. You looked up and saw everyone’s eyes were on you.

“Yes. That would be helpful.” Daenerys gestured to Greyworm and he dutifully fetched a chair for you.

“Thank you,” you said to him. He nodded in response and retook his place by the Queen. The conversation continued and you tried to pay attention.

“Jon and Ser Davos will ride down the Kingsroad with the Northern troops along with the bulk of the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied. A smaller group of us will ride to White Harbor and sail from there to Dragonstone, with our Queen and her dragons accompanying us from above.” Tyrion paused for a second. “Ser Jaime has decided to stay here, as a guest of the Lady of Winterfell.”

“We have won the Great War,” Daenerys said. “Now we will win the Last War.”

She looked around the room and when no one said anything, walked out the door. Everyone else followed until it was only the Starks left. Jon started to leave as well, but Arya cut him off at the door.

“We need a word.”

---

“You understand they we’d all be dead if it she wasn’t here,” Jon said. “We’d be corpses marching down to King’s Landing.”

“Arya’s the one who killed the Night King!” Sansa said.

“Her men gave their lives for Winterfell—“

“And we will never forget them,” you said. “That doesn’t mean that I want to bend the knee to someone who can’t even respect me.”

“I swore myself and the North to her cause.”

“I respect that,” Arya voiced.

“You respect it?”

“We needed her. Her army and her dragons. You did the right thing. And we’re doing the right thing telling you that we don’t trust your Queen.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I do. And I still don’t trust her,” you said.

“We don’t know her. We never will. She’s not one of us,” Arya said.

“If you only trust the people you grew up around then you won’t make allies!”

“That’s alright. I don’t need many allies.”

“Arya—“

“We’re family. The five of us. The last of the Starks.”

“I’ve never been a Stark,” Jon said after a moment.

“You are. You’re just as much Ned Stark’s child as any of us,” Sansa said.

“You’re my brother. Not a half-brother or bastard brother.” Arya stepped forward.

“You’re our brother,” you said softly, putting your hand on his arm. Jon looked at the four of you and placed his hand on yours. He looked at Bran with a torn look on his face. You could see that he was fighting something inside of him and you got slightly confused. It only escalated when Bran spoke.

“It’s your choice,” Bran said. You and your sisters looked at Bran then back to Jon. Jon was nodding and it seemed as though he had come to a decision.

“I need to tell you something,” Jon said. “But you have to swear that you’ll never tell another soul.”

“What is it?” Arya asked.

“You have to swear before I tell you.”

“How can I promise to keep a secret before I even know what it is?” Sansa said.

“Because we’re family. Swear it. Please.”

“I swear it,” you said. The two youngest swore as well.

“Tell them,” Jon said to Bran. The three of you turned to Bran and he just looked at you for a moment.

“Jon isn’t Jon Snow. He is Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He was born in Dorne where our father, his uncle, took him before he could be killed by the late King Robert.”

Your eyes were wide and you looked up to Jon.

“So this means that you have a claim to the Iron Throne,” you whispered.

“Yes, but I do not want it.”

“I know that. Have you told Daenerys?” The way Jon flinched told you what you needed to know.

“How did she take it?” Sansa asked.

“She was definitely not thrilled. She thinks that I want the throne, and no matter what I say it won’t leave her mind.”

“Fuck,” you muttered.

“And I take it she is the reason why we can’t breathe a word of this?” Arya said.

“I wasn’t even supposed to tell the four of you. Especially not you.”

“Because if we know then the knowledge is in powerful hands,” Sansa mused.

“Yes.”

“So what are we going to do?” You asked.

“We are going to do as our Queen says and you are not allowed to breathe a word of this to anyone.”

---

It had been a few days since you and your siblings had that talk in the Godswood. You mostly kept to yourself and if you were around someone, it was Sansa or the Maester. The Maester had told you that in a few days he was going to put you on bedrest for the rest of your pregnancy. You weren’t looking forward to that so you tried to do whatever you could before that happened.

You had also moved rooms to be closer to Sansa and to get out of the place you once shared with Sandor. All of your things had been moved by someone else and you were reading by the fire when there was a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called, looking up from your book.

The door opened and Arya walked in.

“Arya! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just wanted to see you before I left,” she said.

“You’re leaving?” Your eyes widened. “You’re not going to fight, are you?”

“I’m going to be the one to kill Cersei.”

“Arya, love, don’t be too hasty. Bad things come to those who go looking for death. And I have a bad feeling about this battle. I do not think that Daenerys is going to keep her promise and spare the people of King’s Landing.” You struggled out of your chair and Arya was by your side quickly.

“Don’t push yourself, [y/n],” Arya said. “If you worry too much it will put stress on the baby.”

“How can I not worry when my sister is going off to a slaughter?” There were tears in your eyes and Arya brushed them away.

“How about this. If it gets too much and things start going too much out of hand, I will turn around and come straight back home. Okay?”

“Okay,” you sniffled. “I’ve already lost Sandor again. I can’t bear to lose you too.”

Arya’s eyes hardened just the slightest bit but you didn’t notice. She gathered you into a hug and rubbed your back gently.

“You won’t lose me.” You sniffed again and squeezed Arya as tightly as you possibly could.

“You swear it?”

“I swear it.”

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janiedean · 3 years

Note

Amazing how you can erase and twist everything someone says and not even bother to check things before launching in your 1000 words answer where you repeat the same things over and over again. When I say “Theon’s story is about destroying death”, I AM talking about his trauma and abuse. I’m not saying that Theon is a superhero, I’m saying that Theon’s story is literally about surviving and saying no to the dying of light, he’s always been trapped between life and death. How is that less meaningful than Jon being AA just because he’s special. Jon is stereotypical, not matter how much you deny it. He is the bastard son of the “good” Ned Stark that everyone seems to venerate, he becomes important, he’s actually a prince, and heir to the kingdom, he’s going to come back from the dead and apparently it’s not enough because he’s also AA. Also “I search for AA and see only Snow”, how is that not a red flag? Didn’t you think that it could be about Ramsay hiding Theon? I didn’t say that everything is about mythology and ancient literature, I said Theon has a lot of connections to it, connections that are hard not to notice, that actually make sense and are not taken out of nowhere like everyone in this fandom does. Theon’s story is about himself, not about Bran or any Stark, you’re just obsessed with throbb. Theon is connected to magic and to the gods, Theon is the rightful king of the Iron Islands, so why it’s so amusing to people when someone suggests that Theon has something to do. I’m not saying that Theon has to be important for his story to count, but why it’s so amusing to people the idea that Theon is an abuse and rape victim and at the same time he has something to do. When it comes to female victims, they want them to do great things, when it comes to Theon they constantly reduce him to poor say boy, but Theon is not like that, Theon is in pain and he wants everything to end, but he’s also angry and he wants to be free. I didn’t say that he has to explore the sea because he’s an Ironborn, you said that, not me. I think that that’s something Book!Theon would want to do if he survives everything. Because he would be free and he would go into the unknown. That’s not true Theon has no connection to the sea, the Drowned God himself wants him as king and he likes ships, there’s also the fact that he never learned how to use a ship because he was kidnapped at 10. Also what’s so wrong about him connecting with his culture? He could change things, he wouldn’t be a viking, he would be an explorer. The way you talk about it, it’s like dealing with trauma means closing himself in an house. And about the prophecy, what’s so amusing about saying that Theon has a lot that fits? I know that the prophecy is vague, but Davos and Stannis don’t come close to it as Theon does. Theon died in almost every possible way and managed to come back on his own. He keeps saying that he died in Winterfell. Read the last chapters in ACOK, it’s all there and it all happens at the same time, and still there’s so much more, so many things. And it’s like this HAS to be true, but you say no to everything, you don’t even think that he has something to do with the Iron Islands, you just think he has to “atone” to Bran, so how are you different from D&D? Theon doesn’t have to atone to Bran, Robb or anyone else called Stark, his story is about identity. And Bran is talking to Theon and yes, Theon took Winterfell, but it’s not the only reason their stories are connected, Theon taking Winterfell from Bran was a foreshadowing to them interacting in the future for different more important reasons, that was always clear to me

... anon never mind that I hadn't talked about this in ages so like you came into my inbox with some 500 words of replying at 8 am on a sunday morning and idk how *I* am supposedly twisting things when

you brought this out of nowhere

I hadn't talked about the AA thing nor anything wrt theon's ending in like... a year

you are basically making up half of what I said or didn't because like 'oh I didn't say he had a tying to the sea because he's an ironborn' but two lines later you say 'what's the issue if he reconnects with his ancestry' which.... means that he'd have a tie to the sea because he's an ironborn so what's the truth here

'you're obsessed with throbb' I didn't mention robb once in my entire answer nor throbb nor I have written throbb meta recently like... I ship throbb but I don't see how that has any relevance to an answer where I literally didn't mention it and I said theon's sl can't be just about the starks

idk why you seem to think I have great stakes re jon snow and 'he's stereotypical no matter how much you say he's not', I'm saying that for a chosen one archetype he's a deconstruction so he's not stereotypical in the way h*rry p*tter is or aragorn is or whatever and it's like objective text and honestly I have fic to write and stuff to do and I could have like completely ignored your ask and said 'I think you're wrong' instead yesterday I spent half an hour answering you like... you don't need to sound that aggressive or come at me with this entire block of text when I wasn't even the one starting this conversation

what’s so amusing about saying that Theon has a lot that fits?

anon I explained in those 1k reply or whatever all the reasons why everything theon has that fits is something every single other character has at that point dany has the exact same reasons for fitting it and I told you all the reasons why jon has extra things that fit that no one else has, like.... it's my opinion, I haven't changed my mind since 2012 on it, you aren't going to change it and no one is until grrm writes different, you don't need to convince me or look for me to validate your reading because you can have whichever reading you want and no one stops you, I just don't think it's correct, the end

The way you talk about it, it’s like dealing with trauma means closing himself in an house.

anon you keep on saying I say that but you are aware that if I say I want char X to get their little house in the village/woods/city of their choice and grow strawberries with their loved ones and be happy I'm not saying what you said and I'm talking abt endgame? jaime and brienne both also deal with trauma and when I say that I hope they get married on tarth have fifteen kids and never set foot in a court again I'm not saying having children is the only way to deal with trauma like.... one thing is the endgame one thing is how you get there, where did I say theon is gonna lock himself in a cottage in wow and stay there until ados? nowhere, like.... please a bit of chill here? you read a thing and arbitrarily decided it meant stuff it doesn't mean but I am the one twisting and erasing? like sorry but it sounds like you want a fight about it or smth and believe me fighting about who is AA is not on my list of to-do things for today, also 'I died in winterfell' is like... yeah, theon greyjoy died in wf then he became reek then he became theon again, it's metaphorical, jon literally died, also like if AA wasn't a main fiver then it'd probably be someone completely out of left field that no one gaf about and for that matter there's a character who has been dying and coming back to life who has a flaming sword since like acok, but do I see you telling me it's textual proof beric is AA? no, but that would make more textual sense than theon imvho so *shrug*

in short: anon sorry but it sounds like being that theon is your fave - which... I mean he's in my top three so I agree that he's a great fave choice - you want him desperately to have the main role in the main storyline which is imvho not the case and again... even if jon was stereotypical (which we can argue on but like... from your wording I think you hate jon ngl which fair enough everyone has their dislikes) it wouldn't make the textual evidence less evidence and like... idk how to say it nicely but not liking the protagonist is more common than not and if you don't whatever but that doesn't mean he's not and that the textual stuff indicating he has the mystical hero storyline doesn't exist, I'd suggest you make peace with that concept and with the concept that your fave doesn't need to have any specialness in their sl to be a legitimate fave, also like... in asoiaf everyone who is special™ has a shit life and when grrm says he wants a bittersweet ending like in lotr, do I have to remind anyone what was lotr's ending? samwise gamgee goes back to his little house and children and wife in the shire and says he's home and we're all happy that the dude who deserved it most got it great, if that's what he's aiming for I really don't think presuming everyone gets the magical great™ storyline is in the cards X°D but most of all: again, everyone who's had a sl being full of magic prophecies and shit in these books has had a crap life and hated every second of it that was related to those prophecies and I want theon to be happy at the end so in lack of any imvho text proof that says it's anyone but jon I'll stick with that because it means none of my faves is in line to hate their life, which is exactly what happens to jon if he's AA and exactly what I think is gonna happen and I don't particularly like that for him either bc I do want jon to have nice things but idt he'll get them, doesn't mean I'm trying to find any textual reason to decide on my own that AA is dany (a char I care a lot less about) so that she gets the brunt of it because that's now how it works, I made peace with it too X°D

#1 #2 #34 #5 #6 #anonymous #ask post #ch: theon greyjoy #ch: jon snow #honestly anon i'd ask myself why you're so invested in this you're looking for a fight #bc that's how you sound like #*shrug*#peace

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reidandweep · 5 years

Text

Little Doe

Jon Snow x Reader (female)

A/N- I was sent a request by @witch-of-letters around three weeks ago. Turned out it sent my brain into hyper drive and this was the outcome. I did not expect it to be this long. But I have never felt so proud than I have writing this. SO, @witch-of-letters , I am sorry for the wait and I hope you all enjoy.

Word Count- 19,891 words. Yes that is correct.

Warnings- death, angst, murder, spoilers (bit late now), fluff, and everything in between.

“I bet you can’t shoot an arrow through the middle of the target.”

“I bet I can.”

Y/N Baratheon was not a girl to be challenged. Especially by Jon Snow. Her closest and dearest friend from the North.

Ever since her father, King Robert Baratheon, and Ned Stark had formed an allegiance, Y/N had travelled with her father to Winterfell every month. Being the only true born Baratheon of her siblings, Y/N and her father was very close. Whilst Robert and Eddard Stark discussed important royal matters, Y/N and Jon were often causing trouble. From antagonising each other to cause mayhem, or choosing to do so on their own terms, the two together were a handful. With Robb added to the duo, the chaos greatly increased. For the trio showed no mercy with their mischief.

Robb smirked at the younger duo. Leaning against the pillar, he watched on as Y/N furiously grabbed her bow and arrows.

“If you shoot the arrow through the target, you can have my portion of shank at dinner tonight.”

Jon knew she would never back down the chance to have more food. Even though the Baratheon’s was one of the strongest families in all the kingdoms, the House of Stark produced the most glorious food in the kingdoms. Food that tasted like it was made with love and from the heart.

Squinting at the young bastard, Y/N nodded.

“Deal. And if I miss?”

Jon looked at Robb, a smirk forming on both of their faces.

“You have to wear a dress at dinner tonight. And we mean, a dress preserved for weddings and balls; not any sort of old tat.”

Y/N glared towards Robb as he spoke the conditions. Looking back at Jon, she waited to hear his opinion.

The young man winked at the young woman, shrugging his shoulders as though he did not know what Robb was going to say. He did. They had agreed on her punishment earlier that morning.

The young Baratheon loathed dresses. Refusing to wear them, unless for extravagant events; much to her mothers’ chagrin. She preferred to wear breeches and a tunic instead. They were more form fitting than that of a man’s; for her mother only appeased with the clothing if it could be altered to uphold some femininity.

The boys waited with baited breathes for her response.

“Deal.”

Cheers rang from the pair. Y/N shook Jon’s hand. Watching as the young bastard walked towards Robb, and away from the direction of the target. And any areas around it. They were all still learning to shoot, so It was no surprise that an arrow wold stray every now and then.

Taking a deep breath in, Y/N closed her eyes, slowing her breathing down. Opening her eyes, she raised her bow and arrow. Pulling the string back with necessary force, her vision zeroed in on the target. Moving her aim so that the arrow should fly straight through the centre. Taking one last inhale, she begins to release the string of the bow when-

“Y/N!”

The shout of her name caused Y/N to flinch, the arrow flying through the air. Embedding itself into the target. Just to the right of the bullseye.

Y/N groaned, throwing the bow to the floor, she swivelled to the direction of the shout. Looking towards the balcony, Y/N stared at her father.

“Father look what you did. You just cost me an extra shank you knob.”

Many would have been shocked to have heard how the princess spoke to the king, but it was normal. The two Baratheon’s were not the conventional pair.

King Robert chuckled heartily. With Eddard at his side, who raised an eyebrow in his son’s direction. The two boys bowering the heads, to hide their laughter.

“All of you get ready for the banquet tonight. Robb come with me and your father. We have matters to discuss.”

The three friends looked at each other in confusion. Robb shrugged his shoulders as he walked in the direction of your father and his.

“I wonder what they need him for.”

Y/N walked towards Jon. The pair watching as Robb and their fathers head into the castle.

“Well, you better start getting ready. Who knows how long it’ll take to get into your dress.”

Jon laughed as Y/N turned towards him, stepping so close that their breathes mingled. Leaning impossible closer to his face, Y/N glared into Jon’s eyes.

“I may have missed the bullseye, but if that was a real man, it would have gone straight through his heart.”

At the end of her words, Y/N moved back from their proximity and walked in the direction of her chambers. Jon staring at how her hips swayed as she aggressively walked further away.

Flittering his gaze between his chest and the target, he realised she was right. Shaking his head, Jon began his trek towards his own chambers. The only thought flittering through his mind was how he was one day going to marry Y/N Baratheon; bastard or not. He was going to make it a reality.

The banquet had begun 20 minutes before Y/N had arrived. Robb sitting next to his siblings and parents at the head of the hall. Even Theon was sat amongst the Starks. For once, Catelyn had allowed Jon to attend; to appease Y/N’s begs of her friend being present. Sitting away from all Baratheon’s and Starks, Jon conversed with his uncle Benjen, speaking of matters that could affect his future greatly.

Jon had been awaiting Y/N’s arrival. When she had walked through the door, he could not help but catch his breath. Neither could Robb, or any young man in close proximity. Whilst Jon could not tear his eyes away from Y/N, his uncle Benjen left Jon to ogle.

“Bloody hell. She should be bent over and ravished in that dress.”

Robb elbowed Theon in his stomach. Causing the ward to lose his breath; coughing on the lack of it.

Y/N looked at the table at the head of the room. Seeing her plate next to her fathers and her mothers. Walking towards it, she reached where it laid.

At the sight of their daughter, her parents ceased their conversation.

“You’re finally looking like a lady Y/N. What has caused this drastic change? Or should I ask whom?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at her mother’s words.

Going to grab her plate, she hiked up her skirt to climb up the platform to the table.

Piling more vegetables and mashed potatoes on her sparsely filled plate (most likely her mother’s doing) she shoved her shank into her mouth, ripping off a large portion of the meat. With her plate in one hand, and her shank in the other, Y/N pointed at her father with the bone of meat. Amusement clear on his face. Whilst her mother and siblings held disgust. Laughter could be heard from the Stark children at her antics.

“Stupid bets with the stupid Stark boys. I would have had it if father had not called for me.”

Robert bellowed with laughter at his daughter’s frustration.

She turned to glare at him, however, she could not keep a smile from taking over.

“Because of that, I am going to sit with Jon. The poor bastard is probably bored out of his mind.”

Cersei shook her head at her daughter’s words.

“You will do no such thing.”

Y/N bore her eyes into her mother’s, taking another bite out of her shank.

Chewing the meat ever so slowly, she swallowed the chunk. Throwing the bone on her plate, she licked her fingers clean; angering her mother even more.

“Let her mother, she’s acting like a homeless harlot any way.”

Whipping her head towards Joffrey, she took in his words. Looking her younger brother up and down with a glare that could kill, the young Lannister swallowed harshly.

Heading to walk past the Starks and down the steps of the platform, she kept her eyes on Joffrey, stopping to stand in front of the young Stark girls.

“Sansa cover your ears.”

The girl did so.

Directing her words back to Joffrey, she smirked at her brother.

“You can call me a harlot. But at least I’m not an incestuous little bitch.”

Cersei’s head whipped in her daughter’s direction. Watching as she diverted her attention to the Starks.

Y/N smiled as Arya, Theon, and Robb chuckled at her words. Motioning for Sansa to uncover her ears, she knew the girl still heard. But she didn’t care.

“Now if you’ll excuse me. I have fulfilled my duties and my part of the bet. So, I am going to sit with Jon and enjoy my meal.”

As she continued her path across the platform, Y/N reached out her hand to quickly grab Theon’s leftover shank.

The ward standing in his seat.

“You fucking bitch! I didn’t finish that.”

The girl trotted down the steps, walking through the array of people backwards.

Much like she had done to her father, Y/N used the shank to point at Theon.

“Next time you talk about bending over a girl and ravishing her without consent, think about how you will go hungry for the rest of the night.”

Turning to face Jon, she walked towards the man; who had witnessed and heard mostly everything.

Robb sitting next to Theon, laughed as the ward fell back into his seat in a sulk.

“She’s right mate.”

Theon scoffed.

“At least I won’t be married to her and have her not love me back.”

Robb stared at the Greyjoy.

“What do you mean? She might learn to love me back.”

Theon scoffed, continuing to eat the food left on his plate.

“You really think her, and Jon only see each other as friends. Why do you think her father and yours are marrying her to you? Jon’s a bastard and not a Stark. If he were, they would be married by morning.”

Robb shifted in his seat. He knew Y/N did not see him the same as he saw her. But for others to see the obvious tension between Jon and Y/N, and he hadn’t, made it even more real for Robb.

Sitting back in his seat Robb looked forward.

“Remember, you aren’t a Stark either Greyjoy. So, stop pretending that you are.”

Theon paused his eating at Robb’s words. Rage bubbling deep inside as he began to drink his wine excessively.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dropping her plate in front of Jon, Y/N raised her skirt to sit comfortably on the chair. Shovelling Theon’s shank, unattractively, into her mouth. Using her sleeve as a makeshift napkin to wipe her face.

Jon could not help but watch in amusement.

Swallowing the food, Y/N looked into her friend’s eyes.

“Has Ned told you?”

Taking a swig of his wine, he placed the cup down.

“Told me what?”

Wiping her mouth once more, Y/N reached over to grasp Jon’s drink, gulping some down herself.

“My father and Ned have arranged for Robb and I to wed.”

In disbelief, all Jon could do was stare at Y/N.

Putting his cup back on the table, Y/N leaned her head on her hand, watching herself play with her food.

“They haven’t told me yet. Turns out Arya over heard them tell Robb. She came to me straight away. Telling me that Robb did not argue against it, the cunt.”

Jon licked his lips. Running his hands over his face. Looking back at the young woman in front of him, Jon analysed her expression.

“And you’re not happy with this?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at his question.

Waving her hand in the air, she answered.

“Of course, I am not happy Jon. Robb is like a brother to me. I don’t view him in that way. And unlike some people in these kingdoms, I don’t want to fuck my family. I want to marry whomever I choose.”

Jon laughed at her words.

“Anyway, what did Benjen want? You seemed to be having a pretty serious conversation.”

It was Jon’s turn to stare at his own plate.

“He came to inform me that he was travelling to join the Nightswatch. And I told him that I want to join too.”

“Oh.”

Jon raised his gaze to the girl, seeing her expression fall.

“So, Lord Stark, Sansa, and Arya will be travelling to Kingslanding back with your family. I will follow Benjen to the wall-“

“And I will be here, marrying Robb, and helping your mother tend to Bran, whilst Theon does God knows what.”

All Jon did was nod his head.

“Well we better make the most of today and tomorrow.”

Raising her shank, she laughed as Jon cheered it with his own. The pair continuing to laugh throughout the feast.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As there last day together approached, Y/N and Jon never left each other’s side. Causing more mischief than ever before. King Robert and Eddard chose not to interfere, knowing that it was going to be a while before they would see each other again. Robb had also left the pair alone, for Y/N would be his wife soon, and they would be together for a long time coming.

The day went too quickly for the pair, and as morning came, Y/N could not help but feel the tears gather in her eyes at the thought of being left by her father and Jon.

Watching as Arya and Sansa left with her family in tow. She stood next to the Stark sisters as the clambered onto their horses.

“Keep Sansa safe Arya.”

“I will.” The younger Stark replied.

“And Sansa?”

The older Stark looked towards Y/N.

The Baratheon smiled.

“Help yourself to all my dresses and fabric. I’ve have never worn most of them.”

Sansa smiled in appreciation.

Y/N’s expression became more serious.

“And please be careful.”

“I will.”

The pair went to begin their journey to Kingslanding.

Y/N turned to the guard next to her; already mounted on his steed.

“Please watch over them Sandor. You and I both know how evil of a cunt Joffrey is.”

The Hound huffed at her words. Lifting the helmet, he placed it on his head.

“I’ll do my best. Don’t get yourself killed now little Doe.”

Y/N laughed at his nickname for her, watching as her family and the Starks set of on their journey.

She had already said goodbye to her father in privacy. Not wanting to cry even more than she knew she would when she would have to say goodbye to Jon.

Once the carriage and horses were a mere speck in the horizon, she allowed herself to face Jon. Examining the exchange between him and Robb, she could feel her heart hurt at the sight.

Strolling towards them, Y/N witnessed as the Stark brother’s let each other go. Quickly taking Robb’s position as he left the pair to say their goodbye’s.

Standing next to his steed, Jon watched as Y/N walked slowly towards him. Quickly gulping down the sobs in her throat, Y/N pulled Jon in too a tight embrace. Burying her head in the crook of his neck, the young pair stayed in that position for a long time, that ‘just friends’ would deem too long.

Jon was the first to pull away. Holding her face in his hands, Jon stroked her cheek with his thumb. Catching the tears that had escaped her eyes.

“I promise that we will see each other soon. You can tell me all about the married life with my brother.”

Y/N laughed. Clutching Jon’s furs with her fists. She pulled him closer, their heads resting against the others. A solemn look falling on her face.

“I don’t want to marry Robb.”

Jon let out a breath.

“I know. I wish you wasn’t.”

She replied.

“So, do I. I love him, but not in the way a man and wife love another.”

Pulling her head back, Y/N’s hand travelled to Jon’s neck. Her surprisingly warm fingers sending tingles down the man’s spine.

“Promise we will see each other again.”

Jon nodded his head.

“I promise.”

As he muttered his promise, Y/N leaned her face closer to his own. Placing her lips on his cheek, she slowly pulled them away. Detaching herself from the Stark bastard, Y/N sadly smiled at Jon.

“You better get going. By the time you get there, the snow would have melted.”

Jon chuckled. Mounting his horse, he positioned himself comfortable on the saddle.

Benjen began to follow the Nightswatch as they started their journey out of the gates of Winterfell.

Y/N stepped back as Jon trotted his horse to catch up with his uncle.

“Jon!”

Turning his head, he caught Y/N’s gaze.

“Remember. If you ever need to, aim to the right.”

Jon felt a large smile take over his face.

“Straight at the heart.”

Y/N smiled in return.

“Straight at the heart.”

Much like her father leaving, Y/N stood in her place. Refusing to move until Jon was a speck in the distance.

As she stood, watching Jon leave, Robb slowly approached. Standing to the side of the Baratheon princess.

The pair stood in silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Robb looked towards his soon to be wife.

“What for?”

She let a few tears fall.

“I love him.”

“I know.”

“I love you too.”

Robb turned his gaze back to the gates. The two watching as the guards shut them closed.

“But not in the same way.”

Y/N shook her head.

Placing a hand on Robb’s shoulder, their eyes connected.

“No. But I will be the best wife I can be.”

Robb smiled at her words. He had no doubt she wouldn’t.

Squeezing his shoulder, Y/N let her hand drop, walking away from Robb and away from the gates where she had said goodbye to her family and Jon. Walking into the castle that she now would call home. But nowhere would be home without her father. And nowhere would make her feel as happy as when she was with Jon.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As the months passed, it became easier for Y/N to become more comfortable in her permanent residence at Winterfell. Coming to terms of her life with Robb. He was her friend, and he needed her help. Robb accepted the fact that she did not love him the same, but he knew she still cared for him deeply. And when word had come to Winterfell that King Robert Baratheon had sadly passed, Robb’s shoulder was there for Y/N to cry on. Y/N had reciprocated the compassion when news of Ned’s execution hit Winterfell. She hated Joffrey and her mother with a passion.

The young Baratheon was distraught. Being the closest to her father out of her siblings, she felt as though she had lost the only true family member she had. Heartbroken that she was not at his side when he sadly passed. Her tears of sorrow were soon replaced with tears of dread when she realised what would occur if anyone was to find out the true bloodline of her siblings. She had known for years of Cersei and Jaime’s relationship. How nobody else had realised why she looked so contrasting to her siblings, Y/N prayed for the day that the truth would be revealed to never come.

However, it did, and as Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne, word had travelled around the kingdoms. Causing the War of the Five Kings to begin. With Joffrey, her uncle Stannis and Renly, Balon Greyjoy, and Robb, all fighting for the throne.

As the war surged forward, Y/N noticed that Robb’s attention had been caught by one of the young healers; Talisa. Watching the pair converse, Y/N smiled to herself. She was happy that he had finally found true love. And at that moment of thought, Jon entered her mind. She wondered where he was now. If he ever thought of her on his travels. If he was safe, or even still alive.

On a seemingly quiet night, Catelyn approached Y/N in the drawing room. As she pulled the girl into her embrace, she informed her of the nuptials that would occur that evening. “For Robb and I?”

Catelyn shook her head, a smile taking over her features.

“No. For Talisa and Robb.”

Y/N let out the breath she held. Robb was her “brother”, and he was finally going to get married. To someone who loved him back.

“Thank high heavens. No disrespect Catelyn. I love your son. But not in that way.”

The Stark woman laughed at the Baratheon’s exclamation; enveloping her in another hug.

“I know you mean no harm in your words. It’s not your fault that your heart belongs to Ned’s bastard.”

Y/N shook her head, pulling herself out of the woman’s grasp.

“Give the boy some slack Catelyn. He’s out there defending the wall for us.”

Catelyn dismissed the girl’s words with a wave of her hand.

“Now let’s get you in something more suitable for a wedding. No more breeches for the rest of the day.”

Y/N followed begrudgingly as Catelyn helped her get ready for Robb’s wedding.

Walking across the field, Y/N sauntered into Robb’s tent, watching as he finished getting ready.

“Well somebody looks like a king.”

Robb chuckled, turning to his friend.

“And somebody looks like a princess.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I am one, you dickhead.”

“You don’t dress like one.”

Y/N punched Robb’s shoulder at his words.

Robb laughed.

“Come one. Let’s go get you married. This is going to be the best wedding in all the kingdoms.”

For soon after the ceremony occurred, blood flooded the floors of the room. Waldor Frey’s men killing everyone and anything. With Greywind at her side, and a bow in her hand, Y/N fought off many of the soldiers. Trying her best to protect Robb.

Out of nowhere, one of Frey’s soldiers jumped from behind, swinging his dagger in Y/N’s direction. Just as Y/N thought this would be her end, Greywind attacked the soldier’s arm, causing the sword to slice Y/N’s face; narrowly missing her eye. She was alive. She could deal with a cut face as long she was alive. Pulling her arrow back, she landed it perfectly into the heart of the solider; Greywind keeping him down with his grip on the man’s arm.

“Y/N!”

At the shout of her name, she turned to Robb.

“Get out of here. Take Greywind with you.”

Y/N shook her head.

“I am not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are. Go find Jon at the wall. I am not going to lose both Talisa and you. Mother and I will be okay. Go.”

Y/N looked at Catelyn’s direction.

“Go.” The women whispered.

AS Catelyn held the knife to the throat of Frey’s wife, Y/N slipped out the room. Quickly mounting one of the horses, with Greywind at her side, and her bow on her back, she fled from the wedding and from Winterfell.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------She could feel in her bones the guilt of leaving Robb and his mother behind. Of not being able to help Talisa. Of not being able to do something more. The guilt and grief only grew more when on her way to the wall, as she stopped to eat in a small tavern, Y/N over-heard of the gruesome events that occurred after she left. Hearing men laugh as they spoke about how Waldor Frey’s soldiers cut off Robb’s head and paraded his body around. How Catelyn’s throat was slit open. How Talisa was murdered, and so was her and Robb’s unborn child.

She could not hear no more. Continuing to travel as she arrived closer and closer to the wall. Collecting weapons, furs, and food along her travels. Greywind never leaving her side. Y/N remembered the directions to the Nightswatch, having spoken to her father and Eddard about it in great deal; when she was younger. She was always fascinated by the stories of the wall, so it was no surprise that she would want to know more about the men who would be guarding it.

Y/N had been travelling for weeks when she finally arrived at the wall. Searching for a secluded space, she hopped off of her horse. Stroking the animal’s mane, Y/N grabbed out the necessary food from her satchel. Feeding both the horse and Greywind before devouring an apple herself. She could not risk lighting a fire and cooking. It could draw unwanted attention. But what she didn’t know was that she had already done so by being there. As she was finishing her apple, out of nowhere, Greywind began to snarl. Instantly dropping the core of her fruit, Y/N reached for her bow and arrows; standing in front of the horse with Geywind at her side.

Looking towards the area where Greywind gazed, she saw fur and lots of it, approaching where she stood at the wall. The figures moved closer and closer. Wildlings. Y/N had no time to run or hide. With the direwolf and horse by her side, she would not be able to escape quietly. Drawing her bow, Y/N made sure her weapons were secure on her body. She was not going to be killed by Wildlings. Not when she had survived this long.

As they approached, one by one, the Wildlings noticed the woman in front of them. She was dressed very similar to them. The only differences being that her furs were a mixture of red and black. Tormund stood near the front of the group with Ygritte by his side. So, it came as a very big surprise when they reached the wall to enter the watch, that a woman stood in front of it. With a bow in her hand and a huge fucking wolf snarling towards them.

Y/N pulled her bow to aim at the ginger Wildlings’ chest.

“Take another fucking step and I will shoot this arrow straight through your heart, Wildling.”

Tormund let out a boisterous laugh at her words.

“Will you kill me little fox? Will you kill us all? You don’t know who you are messing with.”

Without missing a beat, Y/N answered.

“No.”

Tormund continued to laugh.

“But he will help me.”

AT the sound of her words, Greywind began to growl louder, his body arching as he slowly strode closer to the Wildlings.

Tormund quickly became quiet.

“Now if you don’t let me go, I will paint this wall red with your blood and use your skulls as bowls to feed my direwolf. You hear?”

Silence encompassed them.

“I like her.”

Y/N shifted her arrow to the ginger woman at her words.

Tormund’s shocked expression moving to gaze at her as well.

Ygritte simply shrugged her shoulders.

“She has fire. You of all people should know how strong a person kissed by fire is.”

The Wildling’s murmured amongst each other, looking at Tormund to respond.

Tormund looked at Ygritte. The ginger girl giving a quick nod of her head. Their silent conversation coming to an agreement.

Turning back to the Baratheon, Tormund sheathed his dagger. Taking another step closer; to only take it back as the direwolf growled once more.

“Okay little fox. We do no harm.”

Y/N never let her eyes leave the group. Keeping herself on edge for any attack.

“Here me out little fox.”

“Do not call me fox. I am not a fox.”

Tormund could see Ygritte smirk in the corner of his eye. Yes. She would fit right in.

“If you have no place to stay, come with us Wildlings. You will be safe.”

“I don’t need your help. I am safer alone.”

Ygritte rolled her eyes at the girl’s words. She felt that way once too.

“You won’t be safe when the Whites arrive.”

Y/N shook her head. Not wanting to believe her words. She had heard stories, but it has been hundreds of years since White Walkers roamed around Westeroes. But her mind suddenly reeled back to all the warnings Eddard Stark had given before his death. Winter is Coming. That is what he meant.

Slowly lowering her bow, she kept the object in a type grip at her side. Clicking her tongue, she signalled for Greywind to heel at her feet. The direwolf still on high alert.

“If I was to come with you, you swear an oath to do me no harm.”

Tormund laughed once more. As did many of the other Wildlings.

“An oath? Were Wildlings. You’re lucky to even be offered shelter.”

Y/N continued to stare at the man, her eyes flickering to Ygritte’s, as the woman’s expression remained serious.

“We swear.”

At Ygritte’s words, the Wildlings bellowed disagreements.

Y/N, taking Ygritte’s word, began to lead her direwolf and horse towards the Wildlings. She trusted Ygritte. She even felt compelled to trust the big ginger one, but she still kept her eye out for any dirty bastard who would break their word.

“Fine. We will amuse this oath. But if you are to stay with us, you will live the Wildling way. They call me Tormund Giantsbane.”

As they began to head towards the Wildling’s keep, Y/N walked between Tormund and Ygritte. The rest of the Wildlings in front of them. Greywind stayed close behind Y/N for protection, as she led her horse by its reigns.

“Why Giantsbane?”

“I killed a giant when I was 10. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife. When she woke up, she suckled me at her teat for three months. Thought I was her baby. That’s how I got so strong: giant’s milk.”

Y/N could not help but smile at the man’s story. Confusing Tormund as many of whom he had told the story to would either look deathly afraid, repelled, or even turned on. Not amused like Y/N was.

“Now what do they call you little fox.”

Y/N thought whether or not to reveal her true identity. To be trusting or to be safe. She chose the latter.

“They call me Doe.”

Tormund looked at the woman in confusion.

“Doe? A deer?”

Ygritte laughed at Tormund’s expression.

“A female deer.”

Tormund glared at his Wildling friend.

“I know what a doe is, you fucker.”

Ygritte smirked.

“It sounded like you didn’t.”

As the two bickered back and forth, walking either side of the Baratheon, Y/N could not help but reminisce of the funny quarrels between her, Robb, and Jon. She missed them both dearly. Whilst she may never be able to reunite with Robb, she knew she was so close to seeing Jon. She could feel it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Turns out, Y/N’s feelings were correct. For the bastard of Eddard Stark was a lot closer than she thought. She had been living with the Wildlings for nearly a year when Ygritte had travelled back from her duties at the wall. But Ygritte wasn’t alone. It seemed she had turned the tables on her capture; catching the crow herself.

As Ygritte travelled back to the Wildling den with the crow, Y/N and Tormund sat at the fire. The man watching as the woman hacked and carved the elks they and other Wildlings had caught earlier that day. She had come to take position of cook the minute she arrived. Being near the fire reminded her of life back home. She had also taken up cooking whilst living with Robb; wanting to become friendly with the servants and hand maidens that she thought would be with her for life. But how she was wrong.

During her months with the Wildlings, her skills in sword fighting had become a lot stronger. Adhering the techniques of the Wildlings, the Starks, and those her uncle Jaime had taught her, made Y/N’s fighting style unique. Untouchable. Her skills with an arrow had no match to anyone else either. She was a strong warrior. One the Wildlings had come to admire.

“You’ve grown strong Little Doe. Nearly as strong as I.”

Y/N smiled at Tormund’s words. The man reminded her of her father. His contagious laugh and rosy cheeks were similar to that of the Baratheon king. Cutting the elk into pieces, Y/N placed them onto the fire.

“And I did not need one drop of giant’s milk.”

Tormund bellowed with laughter at the girl’s sarcasm. She was still a spitfire. That aspect had not changed.

Y/N had come to adapt to the Wildling lifestyle very quickly. Most of it not being that different to her adventures with Jon and Robb. Hunting, sparring, and amongst other training activities. She was more comfortable here than she had ever been under the gaze of her mother. No dresses in sight. Just thick furs and weapons. Jon would have fit right in, she thought.

Wiping her hands on her trousers, Y/N stood up, handing some already cooked food to Tormund. The man began to devour the food instantly.

“I am going to give the rest of this food out to the ones who have yet to eat. So, don’t think about eating my plate or else the last words out of your mouth would have been about how strong I am. Got it Tor?”

The man held up a thumb, shoving the rest of his forkful into his mouth. He had learnt that the young woman did not kid when it meant food was involved.

Picking up the large box of prepared food, Y/N trudged out the camp and headed towards the groups of Wildlings she had left to feed. The women and children smiled at her arrival. The men nodding their heads in respect. She began to hand out the meals; blissfully unaware of Ygritte and many other Wildlings entering the camp with Jon Snow at their side.

“Hey Dongo?”

The giant stopped hammering the pole at the sound of his name. He smiled once he saw it was Little Doe. Even the giants had come to care for the Baratheon. Everyone treated her as though she was a born and raised Wildling.

As Y/N’s attention was aimed at feeding the giant, she failed to see the crow, behind the large beast, being ushered into the main tent. Grabbing a large slab of shank out of her box, she handed the meat to the giant.

“If you want anymore, Xera is also cooking in the tent over there. You’ve worked really hard today.”

The giant nodded in appreciation, watching as Y/N carried on weaving through the groups of Wildlings to feed the hungry.

“I smell a crow.”

Tormund had ceased eating once he felt the presence of a stranger in the tent. Ygritte stood to one side of Jon, as the Lord of Bones stood at the other. The man pulling of his mask as he spoke.

“We killed his friends. Thought you'd want to question this one.”

Tormund kept his back to the trio.

“What do we want with a baby crow?”

“This baby killed Qhorin Halfhand. He wants to be one of us.”

At Ygritte’s words, Tormund stood from his seat; staring at Jon.

“That half-handed cunt killed friends of mine. Friends twice your size.”

Jon took deep breaths. Trying to not show his fear.

“My father told me big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts.”

“Plenty of little men tried to put their swords through my heart. And there's plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods. What's your name, boy?”

“Jon Snow.”

Tormund’s face changed to one of confusion. Having remembered a time when the Little Doe had mentioned a man named Jon. No last name. But it had been one of the few times she had talked so openly of her past. Of a boy she had grown besides, who had to leave to protect the place he lived.

Jon kneeled before Tormund, mistaking him for Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall.

“Your Grace.”

The wildlings laughed, Tormund ignoring his thoughts.

“Your Grace? Did you hear that? From now on, you'd better kneel every time I fart.”

With the Wildlings laughing, Mance Rayder appeared from the shadows, heading towards the crow.

“Stand, boy. We don't kneel for anyone beyond the Wall.”

Jon raised to his feet, watching the man before him.

“So, you're Ned Stark's bastard. Thank you for the gift, Lord of Bones. You can leave us.”

The lord of Bones left, Ygritte soon following in tow. As she exited the tent, Y/N approached the woman, food already in hand.

“Here you go Ygritte. Just heard you had arrived back. With company as well. Who’s the poor soul this time?”

Ygritte smirked at the girl’s words. Much like Tormund, the girl had spoken of a Jon. But had given no name. However, with the details she had told, Ygritte knew the man in the tent was the man Y/N had spoken about. Not wanting to give anything away, Ygritte took the food from the woman.

“You know, just some crow. We killed the rest. Thought this one could be useful, He’s in there with Mance and Tormund. Head in if you like.”

At the end of her words, Ygritte walked away, watching from her peripheral vision as Y/N began to walk into the tent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As she stood outside the tent, Y/N could hear Mance Rayder and Tormund tormenting the poor crow.

“The girl likes you. You like her back, Snow? That why you want to join us?”

As she quietly stepped into the tent, Y/N body became rigid at the sight of dark black curls. It couldn’t be.

“Don't panic, boy. This isn't the damned Night's Watch where we make you swear off girls.”

Tormund came to stand at the entrance, his face turning to see Y/N frozen in the doorway. Concern taking over his features.

“This chicken eater you thought was king is Tormund Giantsbane.”

Jon refused to turn to look at the man; only until he saw Mance Rayder’s expression change as well.

The leader of the Wildling’s had also seen Y/N stand in the door. Both men worried at her reaction to the sight of the crow.

“Little Doe is there something wrong?”

At the sound of the name, Jon’s head whipped to the direction of the door. Only one person other than Sansa that he knew was called Little Doe.

For the first time in two years, Y/N and Jon was in each other’s presence. Through loss, deceit, fear, they had gone through it all and were back together again.

“Y/N?”

Tears sprung to her eyes at the sound of her name. She never thought she would the sound of her name so much. But she missed the man that spoke them more.

“Jon.”

As she cried his name, the man strode towards the woman. Jon pulling her body flushed against his own. Clinging to each other with all their strength. Pulling the other tighter and tighter. Afraid to be ripped apart once more.

Pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, Y/N spoke to Jon for the first time in a long while.

“I came to the wall after what had happened, and I stopped to rest. But then Tormund and the Wildlings came; warned me about the dangers beyond the wall. I’ve been here since. I’m sorry I didn’t save Robb and Catelyn. I’m so sorry Jon.”

The girl cried. The sound broke the hearts of all three men. None of the Wildlings had ever seen or heard the woman cry. They weren’t aware of the terrors she had fled when they had found her.

Jon wiped away the tears. His hand cupping Y/N’s face, as the other continued to hold her waist; keeping her body close.

“It’s not your fault. You are a Baratheon, not a Lannister. You did not kill them.”

The young woman hiccuped.

“But I didn’t save them either. I should have tried harder.”

Jon held her closer, trying to sooth the woman in his arms.

“Baratheon?”

Y/N ceased her sobbing at the sound of Tormund’s voice.

“Shit.”

Lifting her head from Jon’s chest, she kept a firm grip of the man’s furs, as she turned her head to where Tormund stood next to Mance Rayder. Tormund continuing to look confused, whilst Rayder’s showed no expression.

Y/N sits down with the men and begins to explain to them her story. Of how she was meant to marry Robb Stark, the events of the Red Wedding, of all the hatred she held towards her mother and siblings.

“I have felt more at home here and at Winterfell than I ever did in Kingslanding. The only reason I was still there was because I am the only pure born Baratheon and I was not going to leave my father. If you wish for me to leave, I will do so. But I never intended to harm you. In anyway, and I am sorry that I lied to you both, and the others.”

Mance Rayder looked at Tormund, the man staring back. Their silent conversation being recognised by Jon as he came to sit next to Y/N. His body gravitating to sit as close as he possibly could.

The two men nodded towards the other. Looking back at the girl.

Mance Rayder spoke clearly to the woman.

“You have shown through your words and actions that you are no Lannister. That you are no coward. That you are a Wildling. Through and through. The only way you could be more Wildling is if Tormund had birthed you himself.”

Y/N chuckled at his words.

“That is true.” Tormund agreed.

“You are one of us. That will never change.”

“Thank you Rayder.”

The man smiled at the young woman. Taking that as his leave, he stood from his seat and walked towards the entrance.

“Snow.”

Jon looked at the man standing at the door.

“We shall discuss matters of you being here at a later time.”

At the end of his words, Mance Rayder left the room, leaving the trio alone.

“You’re still our Little Doe. Still unstoppable with a bow and arrow and a fucking great cook.”

Jon smiled at Tormund’s words to Y/N. He was proud that she had been able to survive so long in the game that was being played. Away from most of the carnage, but still aware of the fight. That she had been able to gain respect from a group that many people in Westeros never dared to fight against.

“Thank you, Tormund. You are still my fire.”

“Aye. You better tell that to your friend.”

Tormund left the pair alone in the tent. His laughter becoming quieter and quieter the further he travelled away.

Turning to face Y/N, Jon threaded his fingers through her hair. Wanting to feel her presence as much as he could. Cupping his hands with her own, Y/N leant into his touch. Glad to feel the familiar touch of the man before her.

“So, tell me about the Watch? Have you finally made some friends, besides me and your family?”

Jon chortled at her words. Y/N had always teased Jon about his lack of companions when they were growing up. As Robb and Theon grew older, they had many friends and even some women at their sides. Whereas it seemed Jon was content with only having her.

“A young man called Samwell Tarly. He has become a great companion of mine. But all men of the Watch are brothers in arms. We have each other’s backs.”

A sullen look took over Y/N’s features as she pulled her face away from Jon’s caress. Worry instantly took over Jon at the sudden change in her demeanour.

“And what would they make of you here with us Wildlings?”

Jon huffed out a breath; unsure how to answer.

“But you are not a Wildling.”

Y/N took great offense to her friend’s statement.

“You heard Mance Rayder. I am a Wildling. Through and through. The only way I could be more Wildling is if Tormund had birthed me himself.”

“Y/N, you are a Princess of House Baratheon and Lannister. You are meant to be in a castle, safe and away from all of this.”

Y/N was hurt. Jon of all people should know how much she hated her life in Kingslanding.

“You know that I have never wished to be a princess. You know that one of the reasons I travelled with father to Winterfell so often was because the horrible torment I would have faced when he had gone.”

Y/N rose to her feet, as her anger began to take over her emotions. Jon regretting his words as soon as he said them. Y/N’s hands slammed on the table between them.

“You know that the place I felt safest was at Winterfell and that all went when Theon betrayed your brother. When your brother betrayed his vow. When my grandfather betrayed me. Sending men to kill us all. Your brother may have died. But I had to watch one of my best friends die at the hands of my uncle. I had to run as I knew that Cateyln, the only honest and caring woman in my life, be killed. Whilst you were in Castle Black. Having no idea of the atrocities I faced.”

Y/N wiped her nose, as tears pricked her eyes once more. Looking away at the man in front of her. His saddened expression making her wish she wasn’t so harsh. But she could not allow him to disrespect all she had been through. “These people took me in. They could have left me to die, whilst I searched for you, but they didn’t. They helped me grow as a warrior. If Ygritte and Tormund did not take me in, I would most likely be on the other side of that wall, with eyes as blue as the summer sky, and skin as cold as the ice.”

Jon flinched at her words, at the idea of her being part of the dead beyond the wall. Standing from his seat, Jon strode around the table, moving to stand in front of Y/N, forcing the woman to look at him.

“I am sorry. They were your family as much as they were mine. I cannot imagine the feelings you have felt. But I am here now, and I am going to make sure that you are safe.”

Looking into his eyes, Y/N searched to see any lies. She loved Jon. More than she cared to admit, but they were a part of a game much bigger than the both of them, and that meant having to question the actions of those they loved.

Stepping closer, toe to toe, Jon could feel Y/N’s breath on his face. His eyes momentarily closing at the feeling.

“Will I be safe in Castle Black? Among the Nightswatch? Because I don’t think I will.

Y/N left the room, allowing her words to linger in Jon’s heart. His chest feeling heavy at the thought of Y/N feeling unsafe with him. But he knew it wasn’t his presence that made her feel unsafe, but that of the Nightswatch. For as far as they, and everyone else in Westeros knew, Princess Y/N Baratheon was dead. And she was. For this new woman, sitting next to Wun Wun in the open camp, was not the same Baratheon that Jon had left in Winterfell. But Jon’s heart still thumped as hard.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days after Jon’s arrival at the camp, Mance Rayder ordered for Tormund to escort a group of Wildlings to attack Castle Black from the rear. Instructing Tormund to have Jon accompany him.

Tormund and the Wildlings had prepared to leave camp, when out of nowhere, Y/N appeared at Tormund’s side. Cloaked and ready for the journey ahead.

“You are not coming Little Doe.”

Y/N stared straight ahead, ignoring Tormund’s words.

“He’s right Y/N.”

Jon slightly flinched at the glare she through his way.

“I am still pissed off at you Snow. So, don’t tell me that I would be safe at Castle Black, then tell me I cannot come with you. Because you will be proving yourself to be a liar.”

Turning her head back forward, Y/N began to march forward with the Wildlings. Jon was frozen in his place. Staring as the woman walked at the front of the group, unafraid of what was out there. Turning his head, Jon realised that Tormund had ceased moving, much like Y/N, glaring at the man in question. Jon gulped.

“You better start walking crow. You’ve already pissed off one Wildling today. Don’t make it another.”

Jon instantly began to walk, he and Tormund quickly catching up the group; situating themselves at the front once more.

It did not take long for things to go South. With Ygritte and Jon’s near-death experience climbing the wall, to Jon refusing to kill the innocent man, Y/N had to step in. She may have been angry with Jon. But she was not going to watch him be killed.

“Tormund! Stop! You are not going to kill him.”

As Y/N runs to aid Jon, Ygritte grabs her arms from behind; restraining the young woman.

“Ygritte if you were my friend, you would let me go.”

Ygritte held on to Y/N’s arms tighter.

“I am not going to let you go because you are my friend, and you will make the wrong decision.”

Out of nowhere, Summer and Shaggydog arrive at Jon’s side. Greywind had been kept absent from the expedition due to the treacherous climbing and walking. They could not carry supplies for twenty plus Wildlings and a direwolf.

As Jon was fighting successfully against the Wildlings, with the help of the direwolves, Y/N fought excessively hard to get out of Ygritte’s grip. Successfully doing so and grabbing her bow and arrow as well. Holding the arrow in the direction of Tormund and Ygritte, Y/N stepped closer towards Jon.

“You are not going to kill him!”

“He’s a traitor. Still loyal to the Nightswatch.”

“He’s my family and so are you. I am not losing anymore family…”

As Y/N held back the Wildlings, with Summer at her side, Jon successfully killed Orrell. Suddenly, an eagle swooped down to attack the man, clawing him across the face. Y/N turned at the commotion, running towards Jon, she whistled, causing a horse to approach. Placing her bow onto her back she pulled out her sword, swinging it back and forth to keep away the eagle and any approaching Wildlings.

“Get on the horse now!”

Jon slowly climbs onto the horse. He holds out his hand for Y/N to take. Looking sadly at the man, she ignored his hand.

“One day Jon Snow, we will see each other again.”

Clapping the horse on the back leg, Y/N urged the stead to gallop away from the Wildlings. Jon watching as she was quickly restrained once more by the people she had called family. She had put herself in danger to save him. Jon would never forgive himself.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s arms were bound tightly together. Gagged to stop her screams as Tormund ordered for Ygritte and other Wildlings to chase after Jon. She fought and fought to free herself, but she could not fight no longer. Tormund carrying Y/N himself to their base to rest. Facing forward, he dared not to look down at the woman in his arms, hearing her soft broken cries caused his heart to replace the anger he felt at her actions to change to sadness at the sound of her tearful woes.

Jon cleaned his facial wounds in a small pool. His horse grazing nearby. He heard the sound of a bow being drawn, turning to see Ygritte, an arrow notched and aimed at him. Anger surges through her at the betrayal of the man. His betrayal to the Wildlings. To Y/N. Her friends.

“Ygritte, you know I didn't have a choice. She always knew what I was. What I am. I have to go home now. I know you won't hurt me. Y/N wouldn’t want you to hurt me.”

Ygritte’s hold on the bow began to loosen.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. You know nothing of what you and her family have put her through.”

“I do know some things. I know I love her.”

Ygritte grunted, drawing her bow harder in rage.

“I have loved her since we were children. I loved her when her father told her she was meant to marry my brother. I loved her when I left for the Watch. And I love her now. Through all she has been through. I love who she was and who she has become.”

“Then why did you betray her. Why did you betray us?”

Jon paused with his words. Staring deep into Ygritte’s eyes, seeing the blinding rage that she held towards him.

“I have to make things right. To make it better for her.”

Ygritte fought back tears at the thought of Jon taking away her friend. But also, for the fact he was leaving her once more. Jon turned around, unaware, as Ygritte loosened an arrow into his shoulder. Jon fell to the ground, grunting in pain. Notching another arrow, Ygritte watched as Jon lurched up and grabbed onto his horse. She hesitated. Not wanting to hurt him more than she had. He was right. Y/N would not want her to do this. But she had to.

Jon mounted his steed as Ygritte shot an arrow into his leg; crying out as he spurred on his horse. With her anger rising once more, Ygritte shot her third and final arrow, lodging it into the crow’s back. If he were a target, it would be right on the bullseye. Cursing as she let the man gallop away.

When Ygritte arrived back to camp, her quiver empty, but no Jon in sight, Y/N wasn’t sure if she had successfully killed the man and left him to other creatures beyond the wall, or if she had let him go.

Y/N sat next to Tormund, arms still secured behind her back. Her face void of any emotion. Ygritte went to walk past the woman but halted as words left the princess’ mouth.

“Did you kill him? If you were my friend, you could at least tell me that.”

Ygritte looked at her friend, bound and sat on the floor. Like a slave. Like a prisoner. Nothing like one of their own. She hated to see her like this. But they had to be careful.

“I did what I had to do.”

Ygritte walked away from the woman, ignoring as her hunched shoulders went slack. Y/N no longer had the will to fight. Jon had betrayed her, the Wildlings had betrayed her, and she had betrayed them as well.

Y/N was kept detained for the time that the Wildlings prepared to invade the Black. Even though she had fought against them, Tormund and the Wildlings still cared for her. Becoming increasingly worried as she refused to speak and eat. All day and all night, she sat shackled, watching them prepare with a blank stare. Tormund could not deal with it no more.

Moving to sit next to the distant woman, Tormund dropped to the ground with a loud thud. Bringing a canter to her lips, he forced her to swallow.

“You are not dying because of that traitor, Little Doe. I understand why you did what you did. We forgive you.”

Y/N shook her head at his words.

“You shouldn’t. I protected him. I haven’t seen him for years, but the moment he goes against him, I was by his side. I turned against you when I should have stopped him.”

Tormund drank from the canter, staring into the distant hills. The air was cold, but not as harsh as it had been before.

“But we do forgive you. People do all kinds of things for love.”

Y/N scoffed.

“I don’t love him. Not anymore.”

Tormund couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s malice filled words.

“Yes, you do Little Doe. You love him, and he loves you. Through all the changes and things that have done you wrong, you love each other. Between you, there is fire, scorching hot fire. It cannot be put out. But it can be made stronger.”

Y/N processed Tormund’s words.

Tormund left the woman to think. She knew of the raids that had occurred in the towns. Having been kept behind and guarded by a group of Wildlings as they had occurred. She knew that the siege of Castle Black was to occur that night. She had to prove to her Wildling family that she could be trusted. That she has always been and will be a Wildling.

Rolling onto her back, Y/N pushed herself forward, flipping onto her feet. Bending her knees to get used to the feeling of standing once more, Y/N casually strolled through the Wildlings and towards Mance Rayder and Tormund and they spoke with numerous wildlings about the battle that was about to commence.

Slowing to stand beside Tormund, she listens to the conversation. Hearing the plan of action, Y/N nods her head.

“Okay, if someone can untie me, I’ll grab my weapons and get prepared.” Tormund jumped at the new presence, unaware of the woman at his side.

“You are not coming.”

Y/N turned her gaze to Mance, the man’s steely eyes piercing her own.

Determined, Y/N easily pulled her hands free from her restraints.

Tormund looked between her hands and the girls face.

“You could have freed yourself? You could have escaped.”

Y/N kept her gaze on Mance Rayder.

“But I didn’t because I had to pay for what I did. I still do. Let me kill those bastards who changed the man I knew. The Jon I knew would never have lied of his word. He is probably dead now anyway. I will have to come to terms with that. So, Mance Rayder, please allow me to fight. To fight for the Wildlings.”

Y/N knew he was alive. She knew Ygritte had not successfully killed him. The woman had overheard her words to Tormund. Her shots were calculated to hurt no kill. But Y/N had to, for once in her life, fight for family.

The man stayed quiet, the Wildlings around them waited for his reply, Ygritte, who was amongst the crowd, watched in anticipation.

“No.”

Y/N’s determined look fell.

“You will not fight for the Wildlings. You will fight with the Wildlings. With your family.”

A cheer broke out amongst the camp. Y/N beamed with a smile. She was not going to disappoint them again. Not this time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Castle Black, Jon and his men prepared for the battle. Jon hoped that Y/N would not be there. That she would not fight. But he knew, that if the Wildlings had forgiven her, that he would see her right at Tormund’s side. The battle could see the end of them both before they had even begun. A horn was blown. The crows stood their stance, ready to fight. But then another horn was blown, and Jon knew, that she was there, ready to fight as well.

Swords were swung, and arrows were flown. Blood from both sides was spilled and bodies of brave men and Wildling women fell. Jon was right, Y/N never left Tormund’s side, hacking and slashing all Nightsmen that came in their way. Taking a hit here and there, she entered the castle with Tormund, infiltrating from the inside.

Jon had just killed Styr when Ygritte had caught his attention. Her bow and arrow aimed at the Northern man. She slowly began to lower her bow.

“She’s inside with Tormund. Get to her.”

Jon nodded, going to thank Ygritte, when he felt the arrow fly past. Watching as it embedded into Ygritte’s chest. He ran to her, clutching her body as her breaths became shallow.

“Jon Snow. Look after her. You love her, and she loves you.”

Jon clutched Ygritte. He had made a friend in the sarcastic Wildling and he knew Y/N loved the woman as a sister.

“No Ygritte, she needs us both. She needs you.”

Ygritte struggled for one last breath.

“You know nothing Jon Snow. She needs you more.”

As the words left Ygritte’s lips, her body went limp in Jon’s arms. The man watched as Olly continued to fight. The bow still in his hands. Jon quickly carried Ygritte’s body to a safe space, covering her up. Taking a breath, he turned to the castle, heading in the direction he had briefly seen Tormund run.

Tormund and Y/N were back to back, fighting off the guards that crowded them. They had heard the cheers of the Nights watch. But they were not giving up. Y/ was not giving up. Tormund had two arrows embedded into his back, and Y/N’s left arm had taken a deep cut from one of the swords. Another scar to add to the rest. It was two Wildlings against many more crows.

“It’s over. Let it end.”

The pair looked to see Jon, deflated and broken.

“This is how a man ends.”

As Tormund raised his sword, clashing it with one of the men of the Watch, Y/N’s eyes widened in shock as she saw Jon reach for the cross bow. Aiming for Tormund’s leg, Jon released the arrow. The arrow hit where Jon aimed. However, it was not embedded in Tormund’s leg, but in Y/N’s left leg.

Jon looks on, masking in horror, walking to kick Tormund to the ground.

Y/N’s own legs collapsed from underneath her. The pain and exhaustion taking over.

“Put him in chains, we will question him later.”

“You hurt her any fucking more than you have, I will slice your throat boy.”

Two crows did as Jon instructed. Tormund screaming as they dragged him away.

Jon turned to leave.

“What about the girl?”

Y/N glared at Jon. Her breaths heavy and long.

He could not risk her any harm. If he gave her leverage, then they could both be harmed.

“Patch her up and take her to the cells.”

Before they could grab a hold of her, Y/N pulled the arrow from her leg, throwing the object to the ground

She stood, allowing the soldiers to pull her hands behind her back.

“Lock me away, but I a not having your filthy feathered hands touch me. I would rather bleed out. You’ve changed Jon Snow. This game. This war. It changed all of us. Some for good and some for bad.”

Jon gulped down the tears. Hurt from her words.

“I SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THEM. BUT HE SENT ME TO FIND YOU. TO BE SAFE. AND LOOK WHAT FINDING YOU DID TO ME!

Jon knew she referred to his brother and Catelyn. Even though she was being locked away, she still kept her identity a secret; knowing it would harm his position. He would have been killed for hurting her. Hurting the Baratheon princess. But she would have rather died a Wildling than lived longer as a noble.

The crows held her tighter, escorting her the same way that Tormund had been led.

Jon did not move until he could see her no more. Only then did he leave for his chambers. Preparing for the next step. Though she hated him, he was doing this all for her. He hoped that it would work.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whilst laying in their cells, Tormund and Y/N had been made aware of Ygritte’s death. Screams and cries were heard from Tormund for days on end; for his fallen family. When men walked past Y/N’s cell, they heard silence. Only Tormund heard the quiet cries at night. His own tears erupting once more. Crying for Ygritte and for the pain they both felt. She apologised over and over, and Tormund reassured her over and over again. It was not her fault.

Jon was soon named the 998th Lord Commander. The wildlings below unaware of their leader’s death and to position Jon was going to take of asking for their help. During their time’s in the cells, Y/N had become dormant. Hardly eating, sleeping, talking, or doing anything at all. Detached from all that was surrounding her.

When Jon came to free Tormund and herself, to help travel and save the remaining Wildlings. Jon had unsuccessfully tried to speak to Y/N; the girl simply ignoring him as she had everyone else. They were all worried for her health.

“She is too ill to travel.”

Tormund glanced at the woman in the cell, debating Jon’s words.

“If she has to stay in this hell hole, at least get that large friend of yours to help her health.”

Jon nodded his head.

Walking to Y/N’s cell, Jon crouched at the gates. The woman stared blankly at the floor. She seemed lifeless, but the expanding of her chest proved otherwise.

“I know I have changed. We both have. But I am doing this all for you. So, you can have the life you deserve. Away from all this shit that has happened. You cannot die. You did not die then, and you won’t now. So, for once, you are staying here, and you are going to accept help. Samwell we come down to get you better and keep you company. I wish I could home you in proper chambers, but they would kill you if I did. We will be back soon.”

Y/N slowly lifted her head as Jon spoke. Taking in his words. The two stared at each other in silence. Her eyes flickered to Tormund’s figure.

“Keep him safe Torm. Keep yourself safe too.”

Tormund smiled, glad to hear his Little Doe speak again. He had missed her voice.

“Aye,I am a Giantsbane. We will be all right. Ain’t that right boy?”

Jon nodded, still holding his gaze on Y/N. Even as they left the dungeons, the man never wavered his look from her. He saw her lie on the floor as they left. Falling to sleep.

Jon informed Samwell of his commands, making sure that he kept it private between the two. He did not want anyone else to question why she was having assistance. Samwell took the orders with no hesitation or question. Instantly going into action, the minute that Jon and the other Wildlings left.

Everyday Sam would force Y/N to eat and drink. Checking her wounds, bringing her fresh furs and even cleaning her own. Doing all he could to make sure she became healthy again. For a while, it was only Sam talking to fill up the silence. He spoke of his life before the watch, to his opinions on pointless things, to information of the houses. Y/N hid her amusement when he recited the history of House Baratheon to the woman. Still unaware of who she was. To him, she was a Wildling with hardly a clue of the history of the houses. Of what had occurred within the kingdoms. Or so she thought. Samwell was a smart man. Smarter than he looked.

“Jon told me stories of when King Robert and Princess Y/N Baratheon would visit Winterfell. Of how close he was to the princess.”

Y/N’s ears perked up at Sam’s words. Clearing her throat, she spoke to the young man for the first time.

“What kind of stories?”

To say Sam was shocked was an understatement.

“Well, he spoke of how they met and all the trouble they caused with his brother, Robb. Of how devastated he was when he heard that King Robert and Eddard Stark had agreed for her to marry his brother. How it confirmed his reasoning of joining the watch.”

Y/N pulled the thin blanket around her tighter. Her frame had become similar to how it was before, but she still did not fit her furs as she did before.

“If the betrothal had not been agreed then he would have stayed in Winterfell?”

Sam nodded.

“Precisely.”

“That bastard. He left because of Robb and I. He knew I never loved him.”

“I knew it.”

Y/N froze at Sam’s explanation. All this time she had been able to hide who she was, and this oaf had reeled it out of her.

“You’re the princess.”

Y/N drank from the cup at her side. Placing it back down, she leaned her head on the concrete wall, turning to look at Sam, who sat on the other side of the bars. On a stool, holding his own drink.

“Well, you going to kill me? Sell me for ransom and bribery?”

Sam shook his head in a comical manner. The girl quirked an eyebrow. From the time he had spent tending to her, she had come to realise that Samwell’s actions were pure. But she could not help but pull up her guard.

“I wold never. I had my suspicions when Jon asked me to tend to you that you meant something to him. But it was not until you began to eat once more, and your face began to fill out, that I recognised your features. You look very different to your siblings yet so much like your mother and father. You have her beauty and his dark hair and eyes.”

It had been a long time since Y/N had heard of her father or had been compared to him. She ignored the comments of her siblings and Cersei. But to hear that someone could recognise her as her father’s child made her smile once more. “Jon asked me to look after you. And that I will. I will do anything to make Princess Y/N Baratheon better once more.”

Sam’s words brought tears to Y/N’s eyes. Not of sadness or pain like she had cried for the times that have passed. But tears of gratitude. She felt for the first time, in a long time, happy to hear her name. To hear her father’s house and her name together. Even through all she had fought, Y/N truly believed her father would have been proud.

By the time that Jon, Tormund and many of the Wildlings had returned, Y/N was better and nearly stronger than ever. Sam had successfully convinced to be placed on full time guard duty of the Wildling woman. Helping her repair and get better. Sam confided in Y/N of his desires to become a maester. The woman encouraged him to do so, reminding him to not forget about Gilly and the child he has come to love as his own.

Sam travelled to library, where Jon sat, waiting for the news of Y/N’s condition.

“She’s better. She eats well, sleeps well, talks quite a lot.”

Jon let out a small chuckle. Remembering of all the times she talked his ears off growing up.

Sam relied all of her improvements. Before mentioning his desires to leave. To become a maester. Remembering both Gilly and Y/N’s encouraging words.

Jon stared at Sam, saying nothing.

“I’ll be more use to you as a Maester. More use to everyone now that Maester Aemon’s gone. The Citadel has the world’s greatest library. I’ll learn about history, strategy, healing. And other things. Things that will help when they come.”

“If Gilly stays here then she’ll die. And the baby that she named after me will die. And I’ll end up dying, too, trying to protect them. Which means that the last thing that I’ll see in this world will be the look in her eyes when I fail them. (pause) I’d rather see a thousand White Walkers than see that.”

Jon inhaled and exhaled. Nodding somberly, allowing Sam to go.

“Thank you.”

The men continued to discuss Sam’s relationship with Gilly and what it would mean for him to become a maester.

They sit in silence for a moment.

“I’ll come back. You’re not my only friend anymore. I have you and Princess Y/N to visit.”

Jon’s head whipped up at Sam’s words.

“How do you know?”

Sam smiled faintly.

“All the times you spoke of her, `and how you were so adamant of a particular Wildlings safety rang bells in my mind. Then when she was getting better, she looked more Baratheon every day. I asked, and she replied. Told me all that had happened since she was reported dead. Well, since your brother passed.”

Jon looked towards the doors. Pondering on whether to leave to see her. He had been wanting to since he arrived. No doubt Tormund had already re-laid all that had happened, to her.

“Go. She may act like she does not want to see you. But she does. She spoke the most when your name was brought up in conversation.”

Jon stood from his seat, bringing his friend into a hug.

“To you return.”

“To my return.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jon travelled to the cells where Y/N still stayed. Without an explanation, he unlocked the door. If the rest of the Wildlings were roaming around Castle Black, so should she.

Startled at the sudden noise, Y/N sat up from her position on the ground. Watching with baited breath as Jon yanked open the metal bars. Her time in the cells, and with Samwell, had left her hours to think long and hard about how she felt. How she felt about the game. How she felt about friends. How she felt about Jon. And how she felt about herself. She did not want to become a bitter woman. Y/N knew that Jon was doing what he thought was right. He always had. The man may have caused her pain and sorrow. But he was her best friend. He was her Jon.

Jon bent down to sit near Y/N, leaning his back against the wall, he left space between them. Trying to show that he did not want to over step any boundaries.

Without a word, Y/N scooted closer to Jon, so that their arms touched. Neither moved their gazes from the wall in front of them. Slowly, Y/N laid her head on his shoulder.

The pair sat there in silence for a long period of time. Basking in the shared company. It had been the first time in years that Jon and Y/N had been able to sit together, without talking about what had happened to them or what was going to happen next.

Ever so gently, Jon placed his right hand over Y/N’s left. Interlocking their fingers, he stroked the back of the woman’s hand. Basking in the small pieces of affection.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Jon smiled at her words. He was not sure if Sam’s words were true. If she still cared for him.

“So am I. You can wonder freely around the castle now. You can share my chambers, if you would like. I know you don’t feel relatively safe amongst the other men of the Watch.”

Y/N pondered his invitation. Snuggling closer to Jon, she tightened her hold on his hand.

“Yeah. I would appreciate that a lot Jon. Thank you.”

“I would do anything to keep you safe.”

Y/N tilted her head to stare into Jon’s own eyes. Entranced by the other, their bodies moved closer together. Y/N laying practically on top of Jon.

“And so, would I.”

They stayed in the cells for the rest of the night. Enjoying the silence and each other’s company. Cuddled in an embrace, Y/N and Jon fell asleep, wrapped around each other.

What they had been unaware of was little Olly slowly creeping down the cellar during their moment. Seeing his Lord Commander spread across the Wildling woman made the lads blood boil. He had lost his family, his village, his home, all to those foul monsters. And now the watch had lost their leader. A traitor. That is what Jon Snow was.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------And a traitor’s death Jon was given. Sitting in his chambers, Y/N had left mere minutes earlier to speak to Tormund about increasing her training once more, now that she had been healed better. Jon’s face was still flushed from the surprising kiss on the cheek from the woman. The unexpected affection causing the colour to travel across his face.

It soon disappeared when Olly quickly knocked on his chamber door, breathlessly explaining to Jon how Y/N had fallen down the steps when rushing to find Tormund. How she had heard a crack and could not move her right leg. Jon quickly left his chambers, following Olly who told him that Thorne was with the woman, who had refused any help unless Jon was there.

But what Jon had arrived to was not Y/N on the ground in pain with Thorne at her side. But Y/N held captive by Thorne; surrounded by members of the watch. The woman was gagged and shackled. The same she had been when the Wildlings lost the Battle of Castle Black.

Jon sees the woman crying. Turning to ask Thorne what the meaning of this all was, before Jon’s words could leave his mouth, Thorne plunged a knife into his stomach. Y/N’s screams ringing loud, even with the gag in her mouth.

With a hand on his stomach, Jon quickly manouvered to reach the woman. The loss of blood causing him to stumble. Just before he could reach her, Yarwyck, Marsh and two other black brothers proceed to stab Jon. Each dedicating their action ‘For the Watch.’ Jon dropped to his knees, swaying as he watched Y/n thrash against the men who held her captive. Her gag falling loose.

“Stop. Stop it now!”

Thorne moved to stand behind Y/N, his dagger held tightly to her throat. When she gulped, she could feel the blade digging into her neck.

“Don’t hurt her. She did nothing wrong.”

Thorne sneered at Jon.

“She’s a Wildling. Everything she does is wrong.”

Blood soaked Jon’s armour.

“She is Princess Y/N Baratheon.”

“I am a Wildling. Born and bred.”

Jon looked into Y/N’s eyes. Tears falling from both his and her own.

If he was going to die, she was not going to let him save her. She was not going to allow the title she despised to kill the man she loved and save her life.

And as Olly laid down the final blow, stabbing Jon in the heart, the last thing he saw was was Thorne, a man he had come to respect and follow, slice the blade across Y/N’s neck.

Their bodies falling to the ground simultaneously. Neither breathing. Neither alive. The blood poring out their bodies, and down the small dips in the snow, connecting the two puddles together. Even in death, Y/N and Jon were connected.

With a sign above Jon’s head, labelling him a traitor, and a sign above Y/N’s labelling her a savage. The men of the watch dismembered, leaving the bodies to be found in the morning.

And as the pair lay dead, Greywind and Ghost howled to the air, alerting Davos, Edd and his men about the bodies that laid in the snow. The group quickly bringing them into their quarters, with Greywind and Ghost protecting the door.

“We don’t have the numbers.”

Edd looked at Davos in contemplation.

“We have two direwolves.”

“It’s not enough. I didn’t know Lord Commander Snow for long, but I have to believe he wouldn’t have wanted his friends to die for nothing. Speaking for Princess Y/N Baratheon, those men have killed an heir to the throne. Our Lord Commander’s partner. Our friend in arms. She will not die for nothing."

“If you were planning to see tomorrow, you picked the wrong room. We all die today. I say we do our best to take Thorne with us when we go.”

Davos began to feel frustrated at Edd’s words.

“We need to fight, but we don’t need to die. Not if we have help.”

The men in the room murmured amongst them.

“Who’s gonna help us?” questioned one of the Nightswatch.

Davos looked across the faces in the room.

“You’re not the only ones who owe your lives to Jon Snow. Once they find out one of their own has been killed, they will come fighting and swinging. For Y/N may have been a princess, but she has a wilder family that lay closer to her heart.”

Realisation swept over Edd. He turned to the Night’s Watchman at his side.

“Bolt the door. Don’t let anyone in. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Edd exited the room. The man swiftly and quietly left the room, heading down the halls and out the castle to the man who could help them. For now, they needed the help of the Wildlings.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ash. All she could see was ash covering the grounds of Kingslanding. Of her home. The sound of screams and burning fire growing louder by the second. As the screams become louder, her vision started to blur. With the Red Keep in the distance falling to the ground; fire encompassing the building. Just before the darkness took over, Y/N heard a single word, over the screams and the terrifying sound of burning. As clear as day, a single word; Dracarys.

Y/N gasped as her eye’s shot open. Taking in the cold and chilly air around her, it quickly came to Y/N’s attention how exposed she was. Feeling a nudging of her hand, Y/N turned her head to see Greywind at the side of the pillar in which she laid. A blanket held softly between his teeth.

Slowly sitting up, Y/N took the blanket from the direwolf, wrapping it around herself securely. Her body felt extremely cold; like a corpse. How could she be alive? Jon’s men stabbed her. Looking down to her stomach, Y/N could see the angry red scars of where her stab wounds were. The last thing she remembered, before her dream, was Olly killing Jon.

Jon? Was he alive or dead? Y/N had no idea. As she began to panic, air leaving her lungs at a rapid pace, the door of the room creaked open. Twisting her head to look at the figure, she watched as Tormund stood in the doorway in shock.

“Tormund.”

“Little Doe!”

The man rushed into the room. Coming to help Y/N as she weakly stood from the pillar. Engulfing his arms around the small woman, she went to hug him back. Until she remembered her exposed state.

“I’m kind of naked Tormund, so I cannot really reciprocate.”

Tormund squeezed the Baratheon princess harder before letting go.

“It is only skin Little Doe. You are as naked as the day you were born. You should feel powerful.”

The woman laughed.

“I feel as though I was stabbed multiple times.”

“That’s because you were.”

At the sound of the new voice, Y/N watched as Melisandre entered through the doors. The dark red head gracefully walked through the doors and travelled to stand next to Tormund.

“She’s the witch that brought you and Jon back. I always say those kissed by fire had special powers.”

Tormund laughed at his own words.

Y/N could not help the shock in her body. She had died and been brought back to life. But so, had Jon.

“Where’s Jon? I want to see Jon.”

Tormund ceased his laughter at Y/N’s desperate pleas.

“I will get him for you.”

Tormund gave the woman another comforting hug.

“Don’t worry Little Doe. He’s okay.”

Releasing Y/N, Tormund headed to the door. Leaving the two women in the room alone.

Y/N felt the red witches gaze on her body. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she felt Greywind move closer; sensing his owner’s discomfort.

“You hold great power.”

Y/N looked towards the woman. Confusion written across her expression.

Melisandre stepped closer to the Baratheon.

“Power so pure that mystic creatures will fall at your feet in awe. That even the darkest of heart will not be able to hurt.”

The pair stared at each other in silence until the door opened once more. This time it was Jon who would walk through.

“Y/N.”

Hearing her name from his mouth brought tears to her eyes. The images of seeing him stabbed by the men of the watch tumbled through her mind.

“Jon.”

She sobbed as the man rushed through the doorway and encircled his arms around her body.

As Jon held Y/N, Melisandre exited the room. Her words hanging heavily in Y/N’s soul. She could not think of them now. Because Jon was alive. They were both alive.

Y/N rose her arms, to encircle them around Jon, when she suddenly realised again, she was exposed.

“Jon, I would love to reciprocate this hug, but I am naked.”

The man instantly let go. A blush covering his entire face and neck. He turned to see a set of clothes on the chair closest to the door. Quickly grabbing them, he handed them to the woman. Turning, once again, to face away as she began to dress.

Once she was fully dressed, Y/N walked towards the Stark bastard, wrapping her arms around his torso. Spinning in her hold, placed his arms onto her waist.

“How are you feeling?”

The girl winced at his question.

“Sore. Tired. Probably the same as you. How long have you been alive again for?”

Jon looked at the ceiling, thinking of all that had happened since he had awoken.

“A while. We thought you weren’t going to awaken. I’ve dealt with Olly and the men who did this to us.”

Y/N nodded her head, silently glad she was not present for the execution.

“And I have handed over Castle Black to Edd.”

Now that surprised her.

Looking up at the man, she could not formulate words.

“Why?”

“Because the Watch is not my home. We are going to take back Winterfell. Take back our home.”

“We?”

“You, I, and Sansa.”

Y/N placed her arms on Jon’s shoulders, staring her friend in the eyes.

“Sansa’s here?”

Jon grabbed onto Y/N’s hand, guiding her through the halls ever so slowly. The woman still getting used to the feeling of being alive once more. Her headache slowly dissipating and her legs becoming sturdier. Turning around the corner, Jon opened a door to a dining hall. The room full of many unfamiliar faces eating, and a few familiar ones.

Jon lead Y/N to the table which seated Sansa, Tormund, Edd, Brienne, and Podrick. All of their heads turning to the commotion of the pair entering the room. Murmurs becoming louder as many men of the watch saw Y/N alive. Much like their Lord Commander, brought back from the dead for a reason.

Sansa stood from her seat at the site of the Baratheon princess. All of them being informed of what had happened to her and Jon. For the more days had passed, the more they thought she would not return.

Letting go of Jon’s hand, Y/N embraced the young Stark woman; glad to see she had survived her tormented family.

“I am sorry for what that cunt Joffrey did to your father; and to you.”

Sansa grasped Y/N tighter.

“It’s okay. I survived. And the moment was splendid. But I had to leave as quickly as I could. Joffrey has been the smallest of my troubles thus far.”

Sansa pulled Y/N to sit down, with Jon moving to sit at her other side.

Y/N looked in front of her to the unfamiliar pair. However, one was more unfamiliar than the other.

“Podrick Payne?”

Startled, Podrick looked to the young woman.

“Yes, m’lady?”

Y/N let out a cheerful laugh.

“My god. You’re alive. And you’re no longer attached to my uncle’s side. What happened?”

“He was trailed for treason m’lady. For Joffrey’s murder. He did not do it. But he did not want me to be brought down with him, so he handed me to Brienne of Tarth.”

Y/N looked to the woman at his side. Amazement beaming in her eyes.

“You were sworn to the kingsguard of my uncle Renly.”

Brienne looked surprise at the amazement on the princess’ face and at her knowledge.

“That is right m’lady.”

Y/N smirked at the woman.

“There’s no need to be shocked. I made sure I knew everyone who was associated with my family. Even after I left Kingslanding and Winterfell. I still found my ways to know. The only reason I don’t know now is because I died.”

The table went awkwardly silent.

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Lighten up. I am alive aren’t I. You will need to tell me everything later. I need to know it all. I am just glad that everyone here is safe. I do hope Arya, Bran and Rickon have survived as well.”

Sansa looked towards Jon.

“The Bolton’s have Rickon.”

Anger surged through Y/N’s veins. It seemed that this war would never end.

“We will get him back, I promise. We will get back Winterfell, we will find Bran and Arya, and we will end this war.”

Determination laced the Baratheon’s tone. The group startled at the woman’s words. But slowly, one by one, they raised their glasses, ready to fight for this battle.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A battle is what they fought victoriously against Ramsay Bolton and his men. Y/N refused to stand a side; fighting on the battle field. With Podrick and Brienne having travelled to Riverrun at the command of Sansa, Y/N made sure to protect Sansa with all her might. Even escorting her to the dungeons as she unleashed the hounds onto Ramsay. Watching from the side as the man who had defiled her friend, die at the paws of his hounds.

Y/N watched on as Jon named Sansa the Lady of Winterfell. She watched on as Jon was claimed King of the North. But she refused to watch on as Jon prepared to leave for Dragonstone to meet the Khaleesi.

“I am coming with you and that is final. My uncle is alive. He sent the letter. I want to see him, and I am not leaving you.”

Jon raised his head to the sky, becoming quickly frustrated with the woman in front of him.

“What happens if this goes south?”

Y/N huffed at the man in front of her, crossing her arms.

“We’re in the North, wherever we go will go South. Except for Castle Black, and we’ve only just come back from there.”

Jon was not in the mood for her smart mouth.

The pair continued to bicker, unaware of those that watched on.

“This sounds familiar.”

Sansa giggled at Tormund’s words, having heard a similar conversation occur multiple times between the pair.

“This was my life before we left. If they were not causing trouble for each other, they were causing trouble for everyone else. Usually with Robb beside them.”

Tormund nodded his head.

“And he still has not admitted his love for her.”

“No. Neither has she for him.”

Sansa could not help but scoff at the duo’s ideocracy.

“Jon I am not letting you leave again. We are both alive for a reason.”

Jon grasped the woman’s shoulder with his right hand. Bending his head slightly so that they were eye level.

“And I want to keep you alive. That is why you are not coming.”

“Watch me.”

Before she could even try to walk away, Y/N was yanked back by Jon. Being pulled flush against his chest as his lips slammed into her own.

Sansa and Tormund looked on in surprise.

“We spoke too soon.”

Y/N moved her hands to tangle into Jon’s hair. His own hand’s gravitating towards her lower waist. The lips locked in a passionate embrace; exerting years of pent up emotion. Love, frustration, desire, sadness, and more rolled into this one action between the pair. Their lungs begging for air as they simultaneously broke the kiss. The space between their bodies not moving an inch. Both their chests heaved for breath. Y/N biting her swollen lip as Jon’s lust filled gaze stared into her own.

“That was long overdue.”

Jon chuckled at Y/N’s words.

“I would say so.”

In her peripheral vision, Y/N could see Sansa smirking at the pair with Tormund at her side; a beaming smile on the man’s face.

Shaking her head, with a smile permanently fixed, Y/N gazed at the man in front of her.

“I am coming with you. A kiss like that gives me even more reasons to be at your side. Don’t want you falling in love with this Dragon Queen, now do I?”

Jon groaned, throwing his head back at the woman’s words; continuing to over react as it caused the woman he loved to laugh.

“Fine.”

With her hands still in his hair, Y/N pulled his head back to her own. Their foreheads leaning on one another.

“You’re not getting rid of me again Jon Snow.”

Jon smiled back at Y/N.

“I don’t intend to.”

Y/N simply smiled back.

Hopping aboard the boat with Jon and Davos, the trio prepared to set sail to Dragonstone. To meet the Queen of Dragons and to take the next step in the Game of Thrones.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The trio sailed for weeks before they arrived. Y/N and Jon having become like their younger selves once more. Causing mischief for one another and for Davos. The man could not believe his eyes; seeing the Baratheon princess and the Stark bastard act so care free. He let them be, for once they would arrive to Dragonstone, all carefree antics would be out the window once more.

Looking into the crystal blue waters, Y/N breathed in the crisp see air. Jon moving to stand behind her, his hands encircling her waist as he laid his chin on her shoulder.

“We’ve survived this far. Do you think we will make it home?”

Y/N’s words were serious and deeply questioning. She wasn’t sure herself if they would make it home. If the Queen would comply with their plan.

Jon’s hands squeezed Y/N tighter to his chest. Her own hands raising to place over his, stroking her thumb across the rough, calloused skin. Bending his head down, Jon placed a kiss on her neck. Keeping his head in the crook of her neck as he breathed deeply in and out. He had taken accustom to doing so when he wanted to be reminded that she was here. Truly here with him. For he had imagined her touch so many times, that it took more than her hold to bring to reality that she was her; at his side.

“I will do anything I can for us to make it home. To make it back to Winterfell.”

“Whether its Winterfell, Castle Black, or even further North of this world, as long as you, Greywind and Tormund are by my side, I know I will be okay.”

The pair stared out into the ocean; allowing the silence to encompass them.

A mere few days later, the trio arrived at Dragonstone. Docking the ship at the harbour, Jon and Davos walked down the ramp of the ship to meet their awaiting company. Y/N staying on the ships a few minutes longer; making sure that all was secure for the journey home. Stood at the end of the dock was not only Y/N’s uncle Tyrion, but Missandei and Greyworm; ready to escort the guests to their queen.

“The bastard of Winterfell.”

“The dwarf of Casterly Rock.”

Tyrion and Jon both stared at each for a moment, quickly breaking into smiles. They stepped forward and shook hands.

“I believe we last saw each other on top of the wall.”

Jon chuckled, remembering the moment ever so clearly.

“You were pissing off the edge, if I remember right. You picked up some scars along the road.”

Tyrion nodded his head in agreement.

“It's been a long road. But we're both still here.”

Turning to address Davos, Tyrion introduced himself to the gentleman.

“I'm Tyrion Lannister.”

“Davos Seaworth.”

The pair shook hands in acknowledgement.

“Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay.”

Davos chortled.

“Unluckily for me.”

Moving a step backwards, Tyrion introduced Missandei to the two guests. The woman bowing her head in respect to the two men.

“Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons.”

Jon looked at Davos and his men.

“Of course.”

“I am not giving over my weapons. No fucking way. Not whilst we are on foreign land.”

The men and woman all turned to the sound of the new voice.

Y/N walked her way down the plank and to her accompanying men. Head held high, she situated herself to the right of Jon. Making it clear she was not letting go of her bow and arrow, or her sword. Her hand holding it tightly as it laid sheathed at her side.

Tyrion did not recognise his niece as she travelled closer to group. The face only becoming familiar once she ceased her steps, standing alongside the bastard of Winterfell. The last he had seen of her was before she and her family departed for Winterfell. Her dark brown hair long and luxurious like her mothers. She had been draped in the colours of both House Lannister and Baratheon. Now, as she stood before him, her hair laid half up and half down; slightly shorter than it had been before. Her body draped under fur upon fur; mixtures of browns, greys, and tans. She stood taller, stronger, more prepared for danger. Nothing like the innocent Baratheon he had last seen. Her face scarred from not only the Red Wedding but from the dangers she had faced whilst playing the Game of Thrones.

“You’re alive?”

Y/N could not help but chuckle at her uncle’s shock. She knew her family thought of her as dead. Her where about had not been recorded since the destruction of the Red Wedding. Not until now anyways.

“As are you uncle Tyrion. Seems we both took a hit to the face.”

The man touched his scarred cheek, staring directly at the one that laid across the right side of Y/N’s face. Slightly pink due to the rough wind and cold breeze.

“Whilst you were scarred in battle, I was scarred in a massacre. At the order of my own grandfather.”

Tyrion looked guiltily to the ground. Keeping his gaze fixed to the floor, he replied to his dearest niece.

“I took care of him.”

Y/N refused to drop her anger fuelled expression. She may have loved her uncle Tyrion, but to see a member of her family for the first time in so long, brought forward the repressed hatred she held towards her mother, grandfather, and other Lannister’s involved.

“I know. He deserved what he got. He should never have treated you the way that he did.”

Tyrion raised his head in surprise. Staring at the woman before him.

“He should have never called the order of the Red Wedding.”

As the group became silence over the woman’s malice filled words, Jon placed his hand on top of her own. Squeezing it ever so slightly; motioning that he was there for her. She squeezed back.

Missandei stepped forward, standing slightly behind Tyrion.

“The Khaleesi wishes to speak to you all at once of your arrival. But first, your weapons please.”

Y/N went to argue once more, only choosing not due to the look she gained from both Jon and her uncle. She felt like a teenager again. Huffing she pulled her bow and arrows from her back and unclipped her sword from her waist. Handing them over to the leader of the Unsullied.

“You better not damage them. Wildlings don’t have luxuries, like a Queen, to buy new weapons when one is broken.”

“Wildlings? I thought you were a princess?”

Y/N smiled at Missandei’s confusion.

“I was a princess. Not anymore.”

Missandei continued forward.

Davos, Y/N and Jon followed the woman on the path to where the Queen awaited. Tyrion and Greyworm trailing at the rear.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Jon, Y/N and Davos approached the throne room as Dothraki guards opened the doors to allow them entrance. Coming to a halt, the group cannot help but stare at the sight of the Khaleesi, sitting highly on the intricate throne.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.”

At Missandei’s words, Jon turned and looked at Davos.

“This is Jon Snow. He's King in the North.”

Tyrion could not help but smirk. Neither could his niece.

“Thank you for traveling so far, My Lords. I hope the seas weren't too rough. And who may this be accompanying you both? I was only made aware of the presence of male guests.”

Y/N resisted rolling her eyes at the Targaryen woman.

Before Davos could introduce her, Tyrion cleared his throat.

“This is Princess Y/N of House Baratheon, my Queen. Oldest and only pure blood child of the former King Robert Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Y/N could not hold her tongue.

“I was Princess of House Baratheon and Lannister, your Grace. But I am no longer.”

Daenerys was not sure how she felt about the woman before her. Deemed a princess but refused the title.

“Why so?”

“For the Houses in which my lineage belonged have hands soaked in blood. Mostly for the wrong reasons. I choose not to be associated with such terrors.”

Daenerys took in the woman’s words.

She continued to speak of the former support of House Stark to the Targaryen seat of the throne. Apologising for the actions of her father and more. Offering Jon Snow the position of Warden of the North if he swore to bend the knee.

Whilst the Khaleesi spoke to the trio, images flashed in Y/N’s mind. Segments of the dreams she had whilst Melisandre resurrected her those few months ago. The voice. The language. The destruction. It was her. The Khaleesi.

“You're right. You're not guilty of your father's crime. And I'm not beholden to my ancestor's vows.”

Jon began to discuss with Daenerys about the dangers of the White Walkers and the threat the Night King held. Seeking help from the woman and her armies.

“Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?

The torches of fire flew above them. Like in her dream. As the memories of her dreams began to take control of her attention, Y/N’s eyes misted over. It was as though a mystic force was forcing her to view these images of what may be the future. Throughout the sounds of fire and screams, Y/N heard the faint sound of a bird. Calling in the distance. The sounds of a crown.

“The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Knight King is real. I've seen them. If they get past the wall and we're squabbling amongst ourselves –"

He began to walk closer to the throne.

“We're finished.”

Turning away from the Khaleesi, he faced the Baratheon woman. Concerning taking over as he saw only the white of her eyes. Her Y/E/C completely gone.

Daenerys paused. Sensing the shift in atmosphere from the Northern man.

“I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it.”

Standing from the throne, Daenerys began to walk towards Jon, unaware of the cause of his concern.

“We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don't remember all of their names. I have been sold like a brood mare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea.”

She ceased her steps as she neared the man in question.

“They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will.”

Jon swivelled to face the woman.

Daenerys face fell as the colour drained from Jon’s. Following his gaze as everyone moved to stare at frozen stance of Y/N. Her face contorted in fear and anguish.

Y/N lip began to quiver as the sound of screams and fire became too much to handle. When all of the sudden, her breaths stopped. Her lips quivered no more. While Y/N eyes were still misty, her gaze was now transfixed on the Khaleesi. Her eyebrows furrowed, and terror was still apparent across her features.

Jon moved to stand closer to the woman, worried that she could collapse at any moment.

“Y/N?”

Her gaze did not waver. With her eyes on the Khaleesi, and the sound of screams and fire dissipating in her mind, Y/N uttered a warning. High Valyrian leaving her tongue as though it was her mother language. The words sending a shiver of fear down the Khaleesi’s spine.

“Ash kessa ropagon toliot se sīkuda Dārȳti. Syt lo se suvion won't ossēnagon īlva, perzys kessa.” (Ash will fall over the seven kingdoms. For if the ice won't kill us, fire will.)

Once the words left her mouth, Y/N breathed once more. The mist in her eyes slowly evaporated; coming back to her sense.

Shaking her head, Y/N looked around at the people in the room. Confused at why the Khaleesi and everyone else looked towards her in either worry or shock.

Locking her gaze on Jon, she grabbed his hand.

“Are we done? Is it time to rest now because I have a large headache.”

No one uttered any argument. Even the Khaleesi did not object, nodding to Tyrion as a sign that the conversations was over. For now.

“Missandei, may you please show our guests to their chambers. We will continue talks on the matter shortly.”

Tightening his hold on Y/N’s hand, Jon could not tear his eyes away from his woman as they were escorted to their temporary chambers.

“Y/N?”

Continuing to walk between Jon and Davos, Y/N turned her gaze to the Onion Knight.

“Yes, Davos?”

“Do you speak more than one language fluently?”

Instantly the girl replied.

“Yes. I speak three.”

The duo awaited her answer.

“I speak our mother tongue, sarcasm, and Tormund.The man makes up his own words. You get used to them.”

The two men looked towards one another. A silent conversation discussed between them. They would need to look into this matter further tomorrow. But as for then, they were all due a rest. For the weeks ahead in Dragonstone was to become some of the most active and challenging.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------During their stay in Dragonstone, Jon had convinced Daenerys to give her hand in support against the White Walkers. Gaining sufficient amounts of Dragon glass to help prepare the weaponry for the war. Since the meeting with Daenerys, Y/N’s words were not discussed. However, the Dragon Queen kept a close eye on the Baratheon. Stunned at the woman’s words and sudden eloquence of High Valyrian. For a woman who had denounced her title and lived amongst Wildlings, Daenerys could see she was powerful. And when Y/N interacted with the Queen’s dragons for the first time, Daenerys could see how strong that power truly was.

Whilst Jon and Davos assisted with the mining of Dragon glass, Y/N had found much time on her hands. Becoming acquainted with her uncle once more, and even learning more about the ruling of the Khaleesi. She was clearly loved by many. Especially her dragons.

Y/N had not meant to wander as far as where the dragons were held. But she was bored. And with Jon out of the castle, there was not much she could do. Walking across the grounds she whistled to herself, shuffling her feet as she walked. All of a sudden, the harsh sounds of flapping wings could be heard. Y/N looked up to the sky, to see Drogon descend to the ground, Y/N quickly stepped back. Keeping a safe distance from the creature. He was the child of the Khaleesi, and Y/N felt that the Queen was still not particularly fond of her.

Once Drogon reached the ground, the dragon roared loudly into the sky. Y/N covered her ears at the screech; instantly beginning to panic. The Khaleesi probably was already on her way. Accusing her of harming her dragon.

“No. No. Please stop screeching. I am not going to hurt you. Look I am really small. I have no weapons. I’ll even take off my furs if it makes you shut the fuck up.”

In her panic ridden words, Y/N pulled of her cloak, and carefully placed it onto the ground. The dragon sensed the woman’s panic; stopping his roars. Drogon’s eyes pierced into Y/N. Watching her as she stood a mere few feet away from the creature; her arms held up in surrender.

Elsewhere in the castle, Jon had arrived at the throne room, discussing with Tyrion and Daenerys about the next step in the plan; capturing a white beyond the wall. The roar from Drogon had startled them all, causing the trio to rush to the location of the noise. Greywind, Missandei, and Davos all hot on their trails as they emerged from their own locations.

But when they arrived at the heart of the noise, no one could believe their eyes. For Y/N no longer stood far away from the dragon; fear and panic taking over her features. But she stood next to the dragon’s enormous head, stroking the creature’s snout in a soothing matter. Rhaegal and Viserion had arrived between the time it took for the group to arrive. Each at either side of Drogon. All staring at Y/N in the same content and soothed manner.

“One night, I hold on you Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, you Castamere, Castamere, Castamere, Castamere A coat of gold, a coat of red A lion still has claws And mine are long and sharp, my Lord As long and sharp as yours.”

Daenerys slowly stepped forward. Y/N still blissfully unaware of the group.

“What is she singing?”

Tyrion came to stand by his Queen.

“It is the song of House Lannister, my Queen.”

Y/N never let her eyes drift from the dragon’s. Resting her own head on its snout as her hand travelled to stroke the dragon’s neck. She felt a connection with the creature.

“And so, I speak, and so I speak A girl of House of the Dear. And now I weep, and now I weep For the friends who are no longer here.”

Tyrion exhaled a deep breath.

“That my Queen… is not part of the song of House Lannister or Baratheon.”

“No.”

Everyone’s gaze locked on Y/N. Surprised that she had finally acknowledged their presence.

“It is part of me.”

Jon held his breath at her words. Watching in sorrow as a tear not only fell from Y/N’s eyes, but the three dragons as well.

Daenerys raged within. She was powerful indeed. If she had been able to connect with her children, moving them to tears, Daenerys would have to do all she can to keep the woman on her side. For even though Y/N did not wish for the seven kingdoms, Daenerys knew that she could still grasp it from the Targaryen’s hands.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When the night drew in, Y/N and Jon travelled to their chambers. Aware that their days ahead would be filled with difficult decisions and extreme conditions.

Even though the pair had shared chambers throughout their travels, they still ceased to have consummated their relationship. Both feared what the physical action could change between them. They knew of their love for one another. They had died for each other and would do so again. And yet neither had uttered those words. But in a world, such as their own, change was inevitable.

Once the duo had entered their chamber, Y/N discarded of her furs once more, pulling of her boots and untucking her shirt. Jon could see that she was still emotional. It seemed her emotions from her moment with the dragons had not dissipated.

Jon would usually leave Y/N to unchanged for bed, changing in one of the large bathrooms down the hall. However, he could not seem to have it in him to leave her alone at this moment.

Y/N began to get more frustrate with herself as she tried and failed to unbuckle her sword. Jon watched as she quickly gave up the task, holding her head in her hands in frustration. She had not felt this overwhelmed since the moment Jon arrived in the Wildling’s camp. Seeing her uncle again, the segments of dreams, her moment with the dragons, and the tension she felt from Daenerys, all became too much. Tears fell from her eyes and into her hands.

Jon’s heart broke at the sight of Y/N crying. He had only seen her cry few times of the years they spent together. Most of which had been the last few years. He missed when times were easier, brighter, happier. When all he thought about was marrying her. He still thought about it. But this game had clouded his brain; stealing time that he could have had with her. He did not want any more time to be lost.

Walking across the room, Jon lowered to his knee in front of Y/N. Pulling her hands away from her face, Jon wiped away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Slowly placing his lips onto her own, gently caressing his mouth across hers. He wanted her to know he was there. That he had always been there. Y/N reciprocated the gesture. Allowing her arms to travel to the man’s hair, pulling his raven locks free from its confines. Enveloping her hands through the tresses. Jon could not help but moan at the feeling. Pulling back, he muttered the words that had always been there. But had never been said.

“I love you, Y/N Baratheon. I loved you from the moment you arrived with your father for your annual visit when I was 12 years old. I loved you then and I love you now.”

Jon waited for a reply. The room filled with silence. Y/N’s hands still in his hair as she stared at the man in disbelief. Jon began to regret his decision when suddenly, Y/N began to giggle. The giggle soon turned into a boisterous laugh as a large smile overtook her face.

Jon looked on in hurt and confusion.

Seeing his confused state, Y/N pulled Jon’s face down to her own, placing a chaste kiss onto his mouth.

“I love you too, Jon Snow. There was a reason I did not want to marry Robb. I had another Stark in mind.”

“Me?”

Y/N giggled, her right hand moving to hold Jon’s neck.

“No, Sansa. Yes, you. It has always been you Jon.”

To say he was elated would be an understatement. That moment, Jon knew however this game ended, if Y/N was by his side, he could withstand the most ruthless leaders and most horrendous torture, as long as she was alive.

With the confessions of their love, the moment elevated their relationship emotionally and physically. For that night Y/N and Jon became each other’s half. Consummating their relationship… more than once. Deep down, they had always known that they held love for each other, but they both had to grow as people; as their own individuals.

The cherished moment seemed to have sparked a light in the pair. For after that night, they refused to leave each other’s side. Words of love and encouragement shared in intimate moments. They still caused trouble for each other as much as they did when they were younger, but now all Y/N and Jon could feel was each other’s love. And they would both do anything to keep the other safe.

The duo and Davos soon saw their group expand. Heading to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to capture a White Walker, they had gathered Tormund, Jorah Mormont, Gendry, Sandor Clegane, Thoros, Beric Dondarrion, and a few others along the way. With the loss of Thoros, a few other men, as well as Viserion at the hand of the Night King. Jon and his group had travelled to Kings Landing, to ask for the assistance of Queen Cersei against the White Walkers. Y/N had refused to attend. Her mother and uncle Jaime still blissfully unaware of her livelihood. She could not face her mother, after everything she had done. Not yet.

Winterfell was their next adventure. Travelling by boat with the Khaleesi and her hands, Jon wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist. The same as he did all those months ago when they had voyaged to Dragonstone. She turned in his hold, running her hands over the man’s shoulders.

“Are you ready? Ready to be back in Winterfell. With your family. With me.” she questioned her partner.

Jon looked down at the woman in his arms.

“I have never been so ready for anything else.”

“Neither have I.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Laying in the chambers that had once been his brothers, Jon turned to his side to see Y/N still fast asleep. Tired from the journey they had taken to Winterfell with the Khaleesi and her army. She had been feeling more tired in the past few weeks, blaming it on the numerous exertions beyond the wall, having to deal with Jon and Tormund every day, and her body still getting used to being alive once more.

Jon admired his beloved, wrapping his arm around the woman, pulling her to lay as near to him as possible. He watched as Greywind slowly move closer to the bed, placing his head on top of Y/N’s stomach. Jon dismissed the action, not thinking anything of the creature’s behaviour.

A smile overtook the man’s face. Leaning down, he placed a chaste kiss on Y/N’s forehead, smiling even wider when her own face broke out into a sleep filled smile. Still unconscious, Y/N reached out her hand in Jon’s direction. Jon instantly tangling it with his own. Laying his head down to rest, Jon shut his eyes. They would both need sleep to prepare themselves for the inevitable war.

However, what both of the wild spirits failed to realise that they no longer had to keep each other safe, but also the life that was growing as they slept. Greywind nuzzled Y/N’s stomach, hearing a small heart beat loud and clear.

For Jon may have thought to have been a bastard and Y/N a princess of House Baratheon and Lannister, but their child would be so much more. A child of the Houses Targaryen, Lannister, Baratheon, and Stark. A child of the Wildlings and rightful heir to the Iron Throne. A child of the North, South, East and West. A child that would create a new world.

A/N- Woah, three weeks of non-stop writing as well as exams. My next piece is either going to be Podrick or Sandor Clegane. So please, send your ideas. I hope you enjoyed this one.

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