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sinofwriting · 1 year

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A Bastard - Theon Greyjoy (Part One)

Words: 7,203 Summary: She had to do this as much as she dreaded and hated it. But she would never forgive herself if something happened to him, her kraken on land.

Note(s): Thank you so much @nyctophilic0vitnir this fic would have never happened without you sending me a request for Daemon and I can't thank you enough for looking this over for me and all your suggestions.

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She could feel her hands shaking, fingers stiff as she kept on attempting to do her embroidery, but her mind was racing, stomach filled with dread. She hissed as the needle slips and pokes at her, drawing blood. Setting her embroidery down, she lifts her finger to her mouth, sucking at the spot where blood was rising for just a second. Standing, she smoothes her dress, before exiting her chambers. She had seeked solitude, but mayhaps she was in need of distraction.

She smiled as a half naked Rickon came barrelling down the halls and she could hear Lady Stark's exasperation, she quickly scoops the tiny boy up.

"What do I have here?" She gasps, purposely making her voice loud so Lady Stark can hear her and know that she has the whelp in her care. "Why, I think it's a wolf." "Wolf." He parrots back to her, grinning up at her and she can't help but return it.

Turning the corner, she smiles at Lady Stark, who is looking at her youngest with disapproval.

"Rickon Stark. You need a bath." "No!" He shouts, nearly deafening her ear. "It's alright, Lady Stark, I can give him a bath. Right Rickon?" He nods.

The older woman sighs, but nods. "I hope he'll behave for you. I nearly went to get Robb." "He'll be fine." She tells the woman, before moving inside of the room that Lady Stark normally gave Rickon bathes in.

As she carefully cleans the boy, her mind wanders. Wanders to Theon, to their babe that rests in her belly. It wanders to what she will have to do. For Lord and Lady Stark were kind and fair people for letting her stay with them for so long.

A fostering that had gone long when her parents died, but they wouldn't let her stay once they learned of her being with child.

And Theon, poor Theon. She feared often that he would be killed due to something his father did, but with this, she now feared that Lord Stark would kill him if he found out that he had fathered a child, a bastard, with a girl that was under his protection, his care.

Drying off the boy that's starting to fall asleep, she thinks of the letter that she had received from her uncle, her father's brother, a man she had never met. Offering for her to come home, to meet her father's family. She knew little of them. Her father had left Dorne when he was four and ten name days, and had only returned once, after meeting her mother to introduce her to his family before returning to what he had made his home.

She ached at the thought of her parents, at the little memories she had of them, having joined the Stark household when she was one and ten and now she was eight and ten. Scooping the boy up, she carefully makes her way to the nursery, setting him in his bed and covering him with furs before retreating back to her chambers.

She knew little of her father's family and little of Dorne, but what she did know was that bastards weren't treated like a shame there. Her jaw twitched at the reminder of Lady Stark's treatment to Jon. Her uncle himself in his letter told her of the eight daughters he had, all with the name Sand, the name bastards carried in Dorne.

It would not be shameful for her to have a bastard, her family would welcome her and her child. It's with that knowledge, that she begins to write a letter accepting his offer and telling him that she should arrive there within a moon or two's time, planning on leaving shortly after sending off her letter.

It would be costly to go to Dorne and she would need at least one guard, but she had more than enough coin to afford it. She had been given a sizable amount when her parents had died and she had earned more through carvings she did.

Rolling up her parchment, she moves from her chambers to Maester Luwin's room of sorts, knowing that his helper who mainly deals with the ravens will be there. Handing it to him, she offers a smile to the Maester before leaving to Lady Stark's solar, hoping that she will be there.

Knocking on the door, she waits to hear her say enter, before opening the door. "Lady Stark, I was hoping to have a meeting with yourself and Lord Stark." Her eyebrows furrow, eyes glancing down at the papers scattered on her desk, before nodding. "He's looking over some letters from his bannerman, no better time to talk to us than now." She tells her, standing. She offers the woman a nod of her head, before following her as she practically sweeps out of her solar and to her husband's.

Moments later, she carefully sits in front of the Starks. Lord Stark sitting while his wife stands beside him.

"I can never repay you for the kindness you've given me by letting me stay with your family." Lord Stark's frown deepens at her words. "Is everything alright?" "Of course, my lord. As you know I received a letter from my father's family just a couple of days ago. They asked if I'd like to go to what was my father's home, to stay with them, and get to know my kin."

He hums and she keeps her eyes on his face and not the distressed Lady Stark's.

"They are your family, your blood and kin. I suppose you want to go?" "Yes, my lord. I have loved my time at Winterfell, but I think it's time for me to go home. To go to Dorne." The words leave something akin to ash in her mouth. She had never been to Dorne, but she knew that she needed to call it home, for it would be home soon enough.

"I ask not for coin to get there, but only your helping in procuring a guard on my journey there. I will pay for their services myself, both the journey there and back." He makes another hum. "I can get you a guard, but I will pay for their services. For until you are in Dorne, you are still under my care and protection."

"Ned," Lady Stark hisses, but he pays her no mind.

"When will you leave?" "I hope in a few days time. I have already sent a letter back saying that I'd be leaving soon." "You are eager." He notes. "I am my lord." "I can't stop you, but just know that you will always be welcomed at Winterfell no matter what." "Thank you." She murmurs, standing as he waves a hand to dismiss her. "I'll have someone to be your guard by supper, you will leave in two days time." She nods, another murmur of thanks leaving her before she leaves the solar.

Relief and dread war within her at Lord Stark's easy acceptance of her wanting to leave. And she's ashamed that most of her dread is only because it means leaving Theon.

She loved the Starks and Winterfell. She'd miss the wildness of Arya, Jon's solemness, and Old Nan's stories, but she would miss Theon most of all. She'd miss his stories from home, about his sisters and mother.

The tales from the Ironborn. About the drowned god that he still thought of as his. And his japes that nearly went too far, especially with little Arya, but he always cared to make sure he never made her cry. And she knew that it was him teaching her archery. He was the best in the North, possibly all of Westeros, with a bow. She felt a pang in her heart as realized what she'd be depriving him and their babe of.

It made supper rough as she avoided his eyes and told the Stark children that she'd be leaving in two days. Robb had tried to deny it, Sansa had immediately teared up, and poor little Bran had thrown himself into her arms, soaking her dress with his tears as Arya also attached herself to her, telling her that she wasn't allowed to leave.

Jon had stayed silent but she could see the stricken look on his face at her news. Theon had attempted to ask her what she meant, but she ignored him, using the excuse of soothing Bran, who was surely crying himself dry.

"I received a letter from my father's brother, asking if I'd like to come home. I accepted, I've always wanted to know my father's family, and even as a babe I never met them." She tells them a certain truth in the words.

None of them like it, Arya especially, but a look from their father stills their tongues.

She doesn't however know why - as the castle goes quiet - that she's surprised when Theon slips into her chambers. Her whispered hiss of his name doesn't earn her that cocky grin that it always has.

Instead, he looks at her with pain, a strange solemn look on his face, one that fits Jon much better.

"You never told me you got a letter."

She winces at his words. She hadn't even planned on replying to the letter, at least not this soon. But she had missed her last two moon's blood and her breasts were a bit more sensitive and swollen, something Theon had noticed and enjoyed.

And sure enough, when she snuck away early in the morning to visit the midwife that lived in Wintertown, she confirmed her suspicions and fears, she was with child. And suddenly that letter had become her solution.

"I hadn't thought of it much." Half truths always made better lies. "Just like you didn't think to tell me that you're leaving? You've never spoken of wanting to go to Dorne." "No, but I have of wanting to know more about my father, his family, where he was born. I know only the little of Dorne that has been told to the both of us when learning. That is it. You are lucky enough to know the history of the Iron Islands, your family, the tales that have been around longer than we can imagine. I know none of that. You know who is your uncle, cousin, aunt, because you met them, you have seen their faces, however long ago it was. I have never met anyone in my family. My father married my mother, a ward, who had no family, and now I have the chance to meet family, be with them. Tell me you wouldn't do the same?"

He looks away from her, unable to deny it. She sighs, moving to him and taking his face between her palms, looking in his eyes.

"It's not that I wanted to hurt you, I just feared your reaction. Not because you would ever harm me," she quickly says, seeing his stricken face. "But because of your hurt, your pain. I never wanted to be the source of that." Something softens in him at her words, she can see it in his eyes and the line of his shoulders.

"I wish I could come with you."

She aches at those words, because she too wished it. She wished more that they could marry in the Godswood, could stay with the Starks as they had their babe. But she would even love it if Theon could come with her, could join her in Dorne.

The ache nearly makes her tell him, nearly makes her grab his hand and place where she would one day swell with his child, but she's reminded that for all their kindness, Theon is hostage here at Winterfell with the Starks.

They may treat him well and close to a child of their own, but he is a hostage who needs to be careful of what they do. That knowledge makes her keep her mouth quiet. She wanted him to know, but it would most likely cost him his life if not their babe's.

When she wakes early the next morning and sits where the boys spar, she's not surprised when Jon and Ghost join her, the latter climbing into her lap, still just small enough to do so, but she imagined that soon he'd be too large to fit in any lap.

"It won't be the same here."

She turns to look at him, "I will miss you, Jon. You truly are a brother to me."

And he was. She loved the Stark children, but Jon held a special place in her heart, her little brother though not by bond or blood.

He ducks his head at her words, "As you are a sister to me." She smiles, leaning her head to briefly rest on his shoulder.

"I'll miss you, Jon Snow. You'll have to write to me. More than once a moon." She insists, but he doesn't say anything, suddenly looking nervous, and Ghost gives a small whine. "I actually wanted to ask to go with you." Her jaw drops slightly.

"To be your sworn shield. You'll have the title of Princess there, and even if you didn't you'd be on the other side of Westeros, a place where you've never been with people you don't know. I'd like to protect you, to be there for you."

"Jon," she starts, wanting to accept her offer, no matter how selfish it would to accept it, just so she could have someone she knew with her, her brother with her, but she knows of his want to join the night's watch, to be at the wall, though a good measure of that desire is because he is not a trueborn son.

"I can't. You've wanted to go to the wall and to be part of the Night's Watch for so long now. And Lord Stark," she shakes her head. "He already doesn't want you to leave and go all that way to the wall. You think he'd let you go with me to Dorne? And what about Robb, Arya, and Bran? Little Rickon? They'd miss their brother."

"They'll miss you." "They will and I'll miss them." "So you'll let me?" "Jon," she sighs, but suddenly he's standing, a sword at his hip that she hadn't noticed before and then he's unsheathing the sword and carefully kneeling in front of her with the sword in his hands. Ghost leaps off her lap, sitting beside his master, as if he's trying to copy Jon.

"I offer my protection, Lady and soon to be Princess Martell. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I will keep your secrets as my own. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Her eyes are wide and she should urge him to get up, to not offer such a thing. But if she couldn't have Theon with her, maybe she could have her brother.

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise."

He does with a stunned look and his hands shake as he sheathed his sword and she rises with him, quickly taking him into her arms.

"You are my sworn shield now, little brother. Shall we never be parted and you never in harm's way be put." "Aye," his voice is thick.

"I thought you'd say no, tell me off, or go to Lord Stark." She squeezes him tight before stepping away. "I'm afraid for Lord Stark that I'm too selfish and I wanted a comfort from the home I've known for so long to my new one. You are lucky, however, that it will be Lord Stark you answer to and that honor is important to him as are oaths. It is only because of that, that the oath we just made will not be broken by his word." "Aye." He agrees.

With his new oath in mind, she returns to her chambers and quickly starts to embroider a sunspear with the color of Snows and a few spots of yellow thread, signaling his status as her sworn shield with this cloak.

She had intended to give it to Arya, in an effort to help make her actually stay in her lessons with her gone. Hoping that her words of someone needing to provide Jon with a cloak and other clothes would stay her a little bit, but it was far too important for Jon to have this cloak now.

She vows to instead talk to Theon, to strike a deal between him and Arya, where he will continue to teach her archery and even some swordplay as long as she attends her lessons.

She manages to finish just before breakfast begins, quickly giving it to Jon and ushering him to put it on as they make their way to the hall. Slipping into the hall, she makes sure to stand tall, chin out slightly. It wouldn't due to seem ashamed of her decision.

Lord Stark ends up taking it better than she had thought. He even looks relieved when Jon repeats his vow. Lady Stark's mouth is pinched, but there's a looseness to her shoulders. She had been trying to get Jon away from Winterfell for years now, since before she had even arrived, if servants were to be believed.

Arya is upset, blaming her mother for her favorite sibling's departure. Robb is also upset, but he's quiet after Lord Stark tells him that he can't accompany them on their journey to Dorne.

Sansa looks relieved, while Bran looks excited, making Jon repeat his vow over and over, knowing that it's close to a knight's oath.

Theon, though, her Kraken on land, his reaction sends a pang to her heart and tears to her eyes. His anguish and hurt that he had shown before wiping it clear and nudging Robb, trying to distract him from his upset.

It makes her want to reach out to him, to hold his hand in hers, makes her want to reach down and cup the soon to be growing swell of her belly. She wants to explain why she said yes, even though she doesn't have too.

In her chambers later in the day with only candle light to help her as she finishes packing, she doesn't startle at the sound of the door opening nor at the arms that wrap themselves around her middle though it does make her stiffen and she's happy that Theon just registers it as surprise, murmuring an "It's me" in her ear.

"I will miss you." She sighs. He presses a kiss to the shell of her ear. "I will miss you as well."

"Will you write me?" The question leaves her lips before she can think and embarrassment fills her.

"I'm sorry," she begins to apologize, but before she can continue, Theon's turning her around, so they're facing each other, his brow furrowed. "Of course, I'll write you. You must know that I'm fond of you, my lady." "I do." She had never doubted that.

"I just, I know that your correspondence is always read before and I would understand if you didn't want anyone to know that you were fond of me." She rests her hand on his chest.

"I would hate for you to be punished because of me." "I will take any and every punishment if it means I can write to you." He swears and she can't stop the tears that spill from her eyes. "Careful," she warns, ignoring his concern for her tears. "You sound as if you want me as a salt wife." "I'd have you as my only wife." His words have her freezing, the ache in her heart turning to a stabbing pain.

"You can't mean that." She whispers. "Of course I mean it." He scoffs. "Theon, I'm leaving in the morning, you can not tell me that you wish to wed me." "But I do. I do wish to wed you! I would have asked for your hand on your six and ten name day if I could. Make no mistake in thinking that I didn't like sneaking into your chambers in the dead of night and sneaking kisses in the godswood when no one is around, but I will always regret that I could not court you. I wish to marry you, I have since before we first kissed."

His words make her weak, her head spins and her stomach turns. She had thought him fond of her, liking her, but figured that he'd go back to the brothels when she left, much like he did before she turned six and ten.

But he wanted to marry her, something she had thought only she wanted. And more than that, she could feel blood rush to her cheeks, he had wanted to court her, properly court her.

Theon Greyjoy, a nasty boy, who teased Sansa about loving the idea of knights and princesses and true love, had wanted to court her. She wished not for the first time and not for the last that he was just being fostered with the Starks and not a hostage due to his father's actions.

A man who as he had grown older and never heard from, wanted to be the opposite of. He wanted a ship, yes, and to live by the sea, but he didn't want salt wives and more children than he could name.

"I wish for all that too." She hesitates, but lifts her hand to cup his face. "I wish you could come with me. Dorne, I think they would treat you well." "I just want it to treat you well." "Write me, often. And," she pauses, heart aching, but she couldn't ask him to stay true to her, not when she wasn't telling him the real reason for her leaving. Not when now she knew that he would insist on joining her, insist on her hand, and for his insistence, he'd lose his head.

"When I leave, I'd like you to seek out others for pleasure." "What?" "Theon," she pleads. "It is because I love you, that I ask you of this, though it pains me." Tears slip down her face. "We may never see each other again, or it could be many moons. I would not want you to stop seeking pleasure from someone else just because of me." "And if I only want you?" She closes her eyes, "I can not make you do anything. I just ask that if you feel the urge that you don't feel like you've forsaken me by acting on it." "I don't know if I could ever feel want for another woman after lying with you, for I haven't since." "Theon," "I'm telling you the truth, my Lady, that is all." She nods, but doesn't say anything else, exhaustion weighing heavy on her mind and body.

He must see it, because he quickly ushers her into bed and under the covers, not paying attention to her protests of needing to finish packing. He just throws her a look and then does it for her.

And she watches him with heavy eyes, as he goes around her room and makes sure all of her things are packed away. He then latches her trunk before joining her in the bed, ushering her into his arms, and she should protest, but he radiates warmth and she wants one more night of being held by the man she loves.

—

The memory of Theon holding her close and his words of wanting her for more than just the space between her thighs, tempers her through the journey to Dorne.

Her guard's scoffing, his muttered words of "Bastard" to Jon, his fearful looks to Ghost, and his lustful looks to her, finally prove too much as they get to only a few more days of riding to Dorne.

Snapping at him to leave and tossing him a bag of coin, unwilling to hear him call Jon a bastard again. He tries to protest, but a look to Jon has him pulling his sword and the guard leaves, pushing his horse fast.

"Was that a wise decision?" Jon asks, sheathing his sword and pointing for Ghost to sit, as soon as they can no longer hear the sound of his horses hooves. "If I had to hear him call you a bastard again, I would have taken your sword and killed him myself." Jon's eyes go wide at her words and he gives a nod. "Understood, my lady."

She wrinkles her nose at the address, but before she can say anything, she feels her stomach turn, and she pushes away from her horse she was just about to mount again, getting sick in the bushes.

As she heaves, she feels Jon gently rub her back.

"We should find a maester. You are not well." She shakes her head, standing straight and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I am fine." "You are sick." He insists. "I am fine." She repeats, turning to face him. She then lets herself finally place a hand on her stomach, where she has started to swell.

"I'm with child, Jon. It disagrees with travel." His eyes are wide and they flicker between her face and where her hand rests.

"With child?" "Yes." "But," he blinks. "That's why you wanted to leave." She swallows roughly, but nods. "Yes." "You never said." "I wanted to sooner, but I didn't trust the guard that Lord Stark sent with us." "But you are well?" She smiles at him, fondness striking her for his concern over her.

"I am. I will need to see a midwife when we get to Dorne, but I am well." "Why not a maester?" "I trust a midwife more. They usually themselves have had a child. Though, if my uncle isn't opposed and he is the one to meet us, I will ask him if he'd be willing to check me. According to rumors, he trained to be a maester."

"The red viper?" "It would make sense for him to have some sort of training if he's as good with poisons as stories are to be believed." "You would trust the red viper to check on you?" "He is family. And Dorne doesn't hurt children, even while still in the womb."

Her words still his tongue, but as they cross into Dorne and reach Sandstone, they are quickly approached by a man and his guard, and she can see his hand on the pommel of his sword, Ghost tenses by her side, following Jon's orders to protect her.

Lowering into a curtsey, she keeps it a bit longer than she's ever had.

"Prince Oberyn," Jon lets out a little breath, and she can see from the corner of her eye his knuckles turning white as his grip on his sword tightens, but he too bows.

"I thank you for your invitation and hospitality. This is my sworn shield and a man I'm honored to call my brother, Jon Snow." She stops curtseying, but keeps her head tilted down, not willing to believe that just because she was family meant she could get away with disrespect.

She hears him chuckle, a nice sound that has her shoulders relaxing.

"You are much like your mother." He steps closer, using a finger to raise her head so they are looking eye to eye. "But there is much of your father in you." Those words are quiet, solemn and she can't help but reach up and gently squeeze his wrist. "He talked fondly of you, Prince Oberyn, my father. Called you a rascal, but you were his favorite brother." He smiles at her, "I would love to hear you tell that to Doran. He'd refuse to believe it. And please call me Oberyn or Uncle. None of this prince business." He waves his hand at word prince, stepping away from her and she can see Jon finally relax his grip. "Of course, Uncle."

He beams at the title, and it makes her heart ache, remembering the loss of her Aunt, his sister, and her children, his niece and nephew.

She knew Prince Doran had children, but they were older, hadn't been considered children for years. And while she didn't remember everything her father had told her about his favorite brother, he had made it clear that he loved children. To see them just be children, untainted by the horrors of life.

Oberyn turns his attention to her brother.

"Jon Snow, you are Ned Stark's boy." Her eyes narrow at the way he paused before saying Lord Stark's name. It was odd and made her itch to know why he did it.

"I thank you for guarding our Princess back to us. You will be treated well here in Dorne." Jon casts a look at her, but nods. "Thank you, Prince Oberyn." "Of course. Now," He claps his hands together and turns his attention back to her.

"I've rented a few rooms for us, you look like you need some rest." His words are firm but filled with concern and it makes her swallow roughly.

"She's been sick since we left Stoney Sept." "Jon," she warns, "I told you I am well." He goes to say something, but he looks around and stops, jaw clenching. "I won't hold my tongue when we are in private." She reaches over to him and grasps his arm, "I don't expect you to."

She's aware of the keen eyes of Oberyn and his guard, but she doesn't take away her hand. She would not hide her affections for Jon like she had been forced to in Winterfell. He had gone long enough without much affection, and she wouldn't let her words of reassuring that Dorne would be good for him fail.

"Let us get to the rooms where we can talk in private." "Thank you."

Her, Jon, and Ghost follow the Prince and his guard, Daemon, to an inn, and she has to stop herself from giggling at Jon's expression when he realizes that it's next to a brothel.

"Breathe, Jon." She whispers to him, as they enter the inn, after pausing to give coin to a servant from the inn to bring their trunks up. "Dorne is a much different place." "It's the middle of the day." He hisses, eyes darting around. "People want pleasure during all times of the day, not just night." He gapes at her, before his nose wrinkles. "Disgusting." He mutters and she can't stop her laugh at that.

Not noticing how it catches the attention of her uncle and his guard, but Jon doesn't miss it and he doesn't know how to feel about the red viper and the way his gaze rests on his sister.

Was he looking at her in hunger because she was all he had of his brother? Because she was family that he'd never gotten to know, when so much of it had been ripped away? Or was it something else? Something more Targaryen of nature?

She was a beautiful woman and he'd seen many of men look at her with a hungry gaze. Robb had even looked once or twice. He'd have to look to see what sort of relationships the Martells had.

He was sure a marriage to a cousin or two was in practice, as it was nearly everywhere, but he needed to know if they too practiced the wedding of siblings, or if it was only Prince Oberyn who was of unnatural inclinations.

Heading up the stairs, Oberyn gestures to one of the rooms. "This for you, Niece. And there's a door connecting the room next to yours, for your guard. Daemon and I are in this room." He opens the door across from her.

"Please come in and sit while your trunks are brought up and the owner finds a lady to wait on you." She frowns at the words. "I'm quite fine without a maid to help me." "You are a princess. At Sunspear, Doran already has two picked to help you." She has to tighten her hands into fist so they don't go to rest on her belly.

"I've never had ladies to help me. I suppose I'll have to get used to the idea." Her quiet words make him frown and he gestures for Daemon to stand by the door.

"I'd like to talk about your sickness. You say you're well, but you've been sick for half your journey." She looks nervously at the door that's still open.

"Daemon may leave if you aren't comfortable." Oberyn says, misinterpreting her glance. "No," she shakes her head. "It's fine if he stays. I don't mind. I just prefer the door is closed." Before she can finish the last word, the door is closed and Daemon stands just beside it.

"Thank you, Ser." He smiles at her, "Most welcome, Princess."

She looks around the room, bright and filled with color. "May I sit?" She asks, gesturing at the chaise close to the writing desk that sits near the middle of the room. "Please."

Sitting down, she lets out a sigh at the feeling of sitting on something soft for the first time since they had left Winterfell. She smiles as Ghost trots over to her, sitting by her feet.

"I'm not sick." She states, chin out. Oberyn seems amused by her words, leaning against the desk. "Yet, according to the man who has vowed to protect you, you've been sick since Stoney Sept." "I'm afraid I don't take well to traveling at the moment. The movement of the horse makes me nauseated." "I see. And if you were to ride in a carriage?" She grimaces before she can stop herself.

She had only traveled by carriage once, when her parents took her to Winterfell to be fostered and rocky movements of the carriage had made her miserable.

"I've never liked carriages either." He winks, before moving to sit beside her on the chaise.

"I don't know if your father ever told you, but I met you once. When you were just a babe."

She looks at him with wide eyes, not noticing how Jon has stepped forward, eyes glued to them, while Daemon has his eyes glued to Jon.

"You were the sweetest thing; I have eight daughters of my own and I still think you were the sweetest babe I've ever seen. You were quiet, startlingly so, but you always were looking around, eyes open. Your eyes are much like my sisters, your aunts. You have Elia's eyes." "I never knew." "I wouldn't expect you to.” His eyes are sad.

“Elia wanted to meet you, but your father and mother refused to go to King's Landing with you. So she asked me to see you in her stead. I had already planned on it, wanting to see my younger brother and his wife that had lured him away from Dorne. I visited and they still were trying to find a name for you." "Still?" "You were only a moon old, maybe two. They didn't settle on one until after I left. So while I was there, I called you Waterlily."

Her hand goes up to cup the one necklace she wore no matter what. Only taking it off when she bathed. Her father had gifted it to her before they left her at Winterfell. Pressing a kiss to her brow and calling her Waterlily for what would be the last time.

Tears prick her eyes at the memory, at the knowledge of how she got the nickname, and at hearing it after so long. "It was their name for me. Not the one just anyone used, but family."

He smiles at her, "I'm glad that our Waterlily has finally returned home."

Taking a breath, she lets her hand fall from where it was touching her necklace to her stomach. He had soothed her nerves with a story, with talks of her parents, and she felt ready.

"I'm with child." His eyes widen, but his smile doesn't fall or change.

"Ah, yes morning sickness is a strange thing for many women. And traveling on horse makes it worse?" She nods, "I didn't have it until we reached Stoney Sept and after that nearly every time I got off my horse I was getting sick." He frowns and gets up, gesturing for her to lay down.

"How many moons are you?" "I'm unsure. I haven't had my moon's blood for three moons though." "And I'm assuming before your journey you were still active?" Blood rushes to her face at the words, but she nods. "Yes."

He turns to look at Jon, nose slightly wrinkled. "I don't want to assume, but I have to ask, is the child yours?" Jon looks ill at the thought. "No, no. I'm her sworn shield."

His nose unwrinkles and he turns back to her. "I'm going to ask that you strip down to your shift so I can examine you. I want to see how far along you are and just check to see how the babe is doing. Is it alright for Jon and Daemon to stay in the room?"

She nods, but looks at Jon. "You can leave, Jon. I understand." He shakes his head. "I'm your guard, I'll stay." "Nothing untoward will happen." "I'll stay." He insists and she sighs, but gives up. Jon had the Stark stubbornness if she had ever seen it.

Standing up, she carefully reaches behind her and undoes her dress’ ties. Her left arm comes up to her chest, hugging the dress to her as she moves a bit further away from the chaise before taking it off fully. She murmurs a thank you when Oberyn takes the dress from her and lays it on the bed.

Laying back down on the chaise, she breathes a little easier. Her dress was a bit heavy and she knew that she'd have to buy some fabric soon to make dresses better suited for Dorne. She'd buy some more to make Jon things as well. He'd suffer in his current wear.

"How active were you exactly?" He asks, as he kneels beside the chaise, his eyes appraising the small swell of her stomach. "It matters?" "It will help. Activity affects your moon blood as soon as you have it." "I've been active since I was seven and ten," she starts, figuring he'll ask that as well. "As for how active." She spares a glance at Jon who's staring at the wall as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. "For the last six moons, once a day about."

"Were you a heavy bleeder?" "Yes."

He frowns and his gaze moves from her stomach to a small box sitting next to him, full of different things she's seen Maester Luwin with.

"Is that bad?" "Not bad. It's common for Martell women. It can make birth a little messier, is all. And before or even after your moonblood stopped, did you notice any changes? In sleep, appetite, anything?" Blood rushes to her cheeks again as she remembers one change she had noticed nearly immediately. "My breasts became very sensitive."

He makes a humming noise and then gestures to her belly. "May I?" She nods.

She watches as he carefully rests a hand over the small swell of her belly, before moving his hand down to rest below it and he pushes up slightly, making her wince.

"Sorry." He murmurs. "It's alright."

He moves his hand up again and presses down just a light. As he continues to examine her, fingers gently poking at the swell of her belly, hand pushing on it from different angles, and fingers gently touching her hips, making them move and turn just a little.

"From experience I'd say you were six moons," her eyes widened at that. "But, from what I can feel and what you've told me, I'd say you're four months and with twins." Her hand comes to rest on her belly. "Twins?" He nods, standing.

"Twins. We haven't had them for awhile in the Martells. I don't know your mother's family." She shakes her head, "No twins." "And the father's?" "From what I know of the Greyjoys, they don't have twins." "Then you've been blessed by the gods. Twins are a blessing whether or not they've been had in a family before. We will have a feast to celebrate in Sunspear." Oberyn tells her, with a smile.

"Did you say Greyjoy?" "Jon," she sighs, sitting up. "Greyjoy? Theon Greyjoy? That's who got you with child?" "Yes."

"I should've killed him." "Jon," she scolds. "I'm a woman grown. I knew what I was getting into when Theon turned his attention to me." "And you wanted his attentions?" "Yes. If I had said no, Theon would've never touched me. He may say nasty things but he's a good man."

"And when will he be joining you? If he is such a good man?" Oberyn asks. Her jaw clenches and she looks away from Jon. "He won't be."

"He doesn't want anything to do with…" Jon trails off and then his features are twisted into a snarl. "And you call him a good man?"

"He won't be coming, because he doesn't know." Her words are firm and she looks at Oberyn, knowing it is to him and later Prince Doran, she will need to explain herself too.

"Theon Greyjoy is a hostage at Winterfell. He is treated well, allowed to take lessons with their heir and to eat with them, but he is a hostage. If his father does anything, he will be dead. And while at Winterfell I was under Lord Stark's protection, he takes honor and vows very seriously. He vowed to my father and mother to protect me like one of his own. If he had learned that Theon had any interest in me and then acted on it, he would've been punished. And if Lord Stark learns of Theon being my children's father, he will take his head. Regardless of what the Ironborn might do due to him taking Theon's head."

Oberyn looks at her, silent and nothing showing on his face before he nods, understanding clear in his eyes.

"You are smart. You love Theon and want him alive, but you also see that war would break out if Lord Stark was to take his head. Doran will like your counsel on a number of matters, I imagine. And neither I nor Ser Daemon will say anything about the father of your children. Doran will be the only other one to know."

"Jon?" She asks, voice quiet as she looks at a boy who looks more like a man than he should. "I vowed to keep your counsel and even If I hadn't I would never share something you want kept secret. No one will hear this from me." "Thank you." She whispers. "Thank you."

#theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy x reader #theon greyjoy fic #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones fic #got x reader #got imagine #got fic #a bastard verse

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sugutoad · 1 month

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matchup trade for @nicosavior456 !

GAME OF THRONES

Your Significant Other

I ship you with Sansa Stark — Queen of Winterfell. You mentioned before that you prefer women who lean on the side of being more feminine and awkward with a little mix of shyness and I think that sums up Sansa quite well. It is a pair that brings out the best in one another, clinging to one another when the world tears everything apart. Her quiet naive personality fits perfectly with your more rational and just one. I feel like she needs someone who can really treat her well because of her past experience with men. And I wholly believe that you are perfectly suited for that.

HEAD CANONS

Sansa knew you as a child and she never really liked you at first. You and your cousin randomly appeared in her life and her father treated the two of you sometimes better than her? She loathed that. But eventually romance as you grew older and more mature

Sometimes after a busy day, all she wants is to lay down in your arms — forever safe and sound.

The two of you have the stupidest arguments, but it ends with the both of you giggling like little kids. It would be small things such as ‘What’s better: Cats or Dogs?’ Or ‘What should we eat tonight?’. Sometimes, it just feels good to let go of all your responsibilities and be yourself with someone you love and trust.

Great Houses

We Do Not Sow

You belong in House Greyjoy. I’ll be honest, I was really reluctant on choosing this house at first since I couldn’t find one that suited you well, but after a quick game of cancellation, House Greyjoy was victorious. Since you come from a middle-class family, I tried to stay away from the high houses such as Baratheon, Targaryen, Stark, Martell, Tyrell and Stark. That left me with Greyjoy, Arynn and Tully. But Arynn and Tully never settled in my heart. You see, I imagine that you would fit so well into the Greyjoy family with Theon and his sister.

HEAD CANONS

Theon and you were both taken hostage by the Stark family after the rebellion of your family. Originally, they were going to take you but some thought you weren’t worth much. Theon’s father was willing to offer his son too alongside his nephew. Thus, you both arrived at Winterfell at such a young age and expected horrors such as torture…. but, they treated you like sons

You were the son of Ara Greyjoy, the ‘beloved’ and youngest sister of Balon Greyjoy. Unfortunately, she passed away a few weeks after giving birth and Balon raises you as his own son. Well, at least with the same treatment he gave Theon

You and Theon are literally brothers. Always teasing one another and horse riding, talking about some pretty girl he laid his eyes on recently. Theon’s capture devastated you the most and you did everything in your power to get him back, but he never did. Yara claimed her brother was dead but you didn’t give up on him even though you were so close

Your Best Friend

Your best friend is Robb Stark — King of the North and the Young Wolf. The two of you actually make such a good pair. Both of you are just, rational and pragmatic, but also a bit reckless. While he wants to go hunting, you would want to stay home. Some wonder how the two of you became friends. The truth is that you both were willing to sacrifice your own needs multiple times.

HEAD CANONS

A part of you was alway envious of Robb. He was the perfect child for his parents and heir to one of the greatest kingdoms. He could ride horses better than you, run better than you and get more girls than you. But you could never hate him, no matter how much you tried

He would be so supportive of you and Sansa if he was alive. If he were to choose anyone for his sister, he would trust you the most above all. He knows you won’t hurt her and treat like the lady she is

Before everything went wrong, the two of you would lay wide awake and shit-talk the King, the Lannisters and literally everything. After a long day, it just feels good to let out every bad thing you thought that would get you in trouble, but you two trust one another

Rivalry

I think you would not get along with the Kingslayer — Jaime Lannister. I feel like it would first originate from what you heard of him. Perfect Jaime who is the heir of the Lannister house. And since you both grew up in houses that didn’t like one another, you both didn’t like one another either. Once you discovered he was the one who pushed Bran off the tower and hurt Ned Stark at King’s landing, this hate for him increased even more. He might have had a character arc, but to you, he is still a cocky bastard who hurt your family. Though, this hate slowly decreases and the years go on, a part of you will never settle right with him.

#sazh matchups #sazh moonboards #Game of thrones #asoiaf #got #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones x reader #matchups #Game of throne matchups

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istumpysk · 1 year

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Turncloak (Theon V) [Chapter 41]

Ack, I'm sorry. I'm guessing all the Theon posts will require a read-more link moving forward. Too many plots, lies, and mysteries.

It's okay, I'm making a promise to myself to never deactivate.

"The gods of the north have unleashed their wroth on Lord Stannis," Roose Bolton announced come morning as men gathered in Winterfell's Great Hall to break their fast. "He is a stranger here, and the old gods will not suffer him to live."

Is the Breaker of Trees having difficulty with the snow? The gods unleashing their wroth on Stannis is silly, but I kind of want to believe it.

Don't worry, they haven't forgotten about Roose.

"The gods have turned against us," old Lord Locke was heard to say in the Great Hall. "This is their wroth. A wind as cold as hell itself and snows that never end. We are cursed." - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

It's fun when you hate both sides.

+.+.+

Theon Greyjoy did not join the uproar. Neither did the men of House Frey, he did not fail to note. They are strangers here as well, he thought, watching Ser Aenys Frey and his half-brother Ser Hosteen. Born and bred in the riverlands, the Freys had never seen a snow like this.

The author would like you to know these Freys are out of their element.

+.+.+

The north has already claimed three of their blood [↓↓↓], Theon thought, recalling the men that Ramsay had searched for fruitlessly, lost between White Harbor and Barrowton.

On the dais, Lord Wyman Manderly sat between a pair of his White Harbor knights, spooning porridge into his fat face. He did not seem to be enjoying it near as much as he had the pork pies at the wedding.

Lol.

+.+.+

Elsewhere one-armed Harwood Stout talked quietly with the cadaverous Whoresbane Umber.

House Stout is a vassal of Lady Dustin's. We'll make note of this but hold off on declaring them Team Stark.

+.+.+

Last night, unable to sleep, Theon had found himself brooding on escape, of slipping away unseen whilst Ramsay and his lord father had their attention elsewhere. Every gate was closed and barred and heavily guarded, though; no one was allowed to enter or depart the castle without Lord Bolton's leave.

Already calling himself Theon, and daydreaming of an escape. Reek is mostly behind us.

+.+.+

The nearest thing to a home that remained to him was here, amongst the bones of Winterfell.

A ruined man, a ruined castle. This is my place.

She was looking at him the way she used to look at him at Winterfell, whenever he had bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. Who are you? that look had always seemed to say. This is not your place. Why are you here? - Jon XII, ASOS

You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place. - Jon XII, ASOS

+.+.+

He was still waiting for his porridge when Ramsay swept into the hall with his Bastard's Boys, shouting for music. Abel rubbed the sleep from his eyes, took up his lute, and launched into "The Dornishman's Wife," whilst one of his washerwomen beat time on her drum. The singer changed the words, though. Instead of tasting a Dornishman's wife, he sang of tasting a northman's daughter.

He could lose his tongue for that, Theon thought, as his bowl was being filled. He is only a singer. Lord Ramsay could flay the skin off both his hands, and no one would say a word. But Lord Bolton smiled at the lyric and Ramsay laughed aloud.

I'm not thrilled he's singing these songs, nor am I thrilled he's fashioning himself as a present-day Bael the Bard, but I'm going to trust it's nothing more than clues that it's Mance.

+.+.+

Lord Ramsay wanted his wife clean. "She has no handmaids, poor thing," he had said to Theon. "That leaves you, Reek. Should I put you in a dress?" He laughed. "Perhaps if you beg it of me. Just now, it will suffice for you to be her bath maid. I won't have her smelling like you." So whenever Ramsay had an itch to bed his wife, it fell to Theon to borrow some servingwomen from Lady Walda or Lady Dustin and fetch hot water from the kitchens.

✨ foreshadowing ✨

+.+.+

A few of the older men spoke of other snowstorms and insisted this was no more than a light dusting compared to what they'd seen in the winters of their youth. The riverlanders were aghast. They have no love of snow and cold, these southron swords.

Once again the author would like you to know these Freys are out of their element.

Remember when the show had the Dothraki fighting on horseback in the north during winter? They took away all of the snow and it was still the dumbest thing I've ever seen.

+.+.+

The air was thick and smoky and a crust had formed atop his porridge when a woman's voice behind him said, "Theon Greyjoy."

[...]

The woman smiled crookedly. "Do you take me for a whore?" She was one of the singer's washerwomen, the tall skinny one, too lean and leathery to be called pretty … though there was a time when Theon would have tumbled her all the same, to see how it felt to have those long legs wrapped around him. "What good would coin do me here? What would I buy with it, some snow?" She laughed. "You could pay me with a smile. I've never seen you smile, not even during your sister's wedding feast."

"Lady Arya is not my sister." I do not smile either, he might have told her. Ramsay hated my smiles, so he took a hammer to my teeth. I can hardly eat. "She never was my sister."

That's not what I was told!

Washerwomen. That was the polite way of saying camp follower, which was the polite way of saying whore. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

If you're not a whore, what are you?

Anyway, Rowan calling Arya his sister wasn't a mistake. Rowan sees the Starklings as his kin.

Rowan grabbed him by the throat and shoved him back against the barracks wall, her face an inch from his. "Say it again and I will rip your lying tongue out, kinslayer." - Theon I, ADWD

She also has great respect for Eddard Stark, which is a little puzzling.

"Winter is coming …"

Rowan gave him a hard look. "You have no right to mouth Lord Eddard's words. Not you. Not ever. After what you did—" - Theon I, ADWD

Other than the Hooded Man, Rowan and Mors Umber are the only people to ever accuse Theon of being a kinslayer.

"—a turncloak and a kinslayer," Crowfood had finished. "You will hold that lying tongue, or lose it." - Theon I, TWOW

Because of that, plus her bizarre fondness for House Stark, many have speculated that Rowan is the daughter Mors Umber lost to the wildlings.

When Mors was young he was a fearsome fighter. His sons died on the Trident, his wife in childbed. His only daughter was carried off by wildlings thirty years ago. - Jon IV, ADWD

She dies, nothing will come of it. Could be a fun little easter egg though.

+.+.+

I was never beautiful like Sansa, but they all said I was pretty. Jeyne's words seemed to echo in his head, to the beat of the drums two of Abel's other girls were pounding. Another one had pulled Little Walder Frey up onto the table to teach him how to dance. All the men were laughing. "Leave me be," said Theon.

Seems like these women are creating a distraction.

+.+.+

The woman leaned close. Her breath smelled of wine. "If you have no smile for me, tell me how you captured Winterfell. Abel will put it in a song, and you will live forever."

"As a betrayer. As Theon Turncloak."

"Why not Theon the Clever? It was a daring feat, the way we heard it. How many men did you have? A hundred? Fifty?"

Fewer. "It was madness."

"Glorious madness. Stannis has five thousand, they say, but Abel claims ten times as many still could not breach these walls. So how did you get in, m'lord? Did you have some secret way?"

I had ropes, Theon thought. I had grapnels. I had darkness on my side, and surprise. The castle was but lightly held, and I took them unawares. But he said none of that. If Abel made a song about him, like as not Ramsay would prick his eardrums to make certain that he never heard it.

Theon figures this out relatively quickly.

Every gate was closed and barred and heavily guarded, though; no one was allowed to enter or depart the castle without Lord Bolton's leave.

↓

The man was just a singer, a pander with a lute and a false smile. He wants to know how I took the castle, but not to make a song of it. The answer came to him. He wants to know how we got in so he can get out. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

That's great, but I'm still troubled by Mance.

Does she never sleep? What game are you playing, priestess? Did you have some other task for Mance? - Jon IX, ADWD

+.+.+

He wanted to hit her, to smash that mocking smile off her face. He wanted to kiss her, to fuck her right there on the table and make her cry his name.

I think you need some quiet time in your kennel.

+.+.+

A battle was being fought in the yard; Ryswells pelting Barrowton boys with snowballs. Above, he could see some squires building snowmen along the battlements. They were arming them with spears and shields, putting iron halfhelms on their heads, and arraying them along the inner wall, a rank of snowy sentinels. "Lord Winter has joined us with his levies," one of the sentries outside the Great Hall japed … until he saw Theon's face and realized who he was talking to. Then he turned his head and spat.

Ryswells and Dustins are playfighting. Could be nothing.

Later:

More snowmen had risen in the yard by the time Theon Greyjoy made his way back. To command the snowy sentinels on the walls, the squires had erected a dozen snowy lords. One was plainly meant to be Lord Manderly; it was the fattest snowman that Theon had ever seen. The one-armed lord could only be Harwood Stout, the snow lady Barbrey Dustin. And the one closest to the door with the beard made of icicles had to be old Whoresbane Umber.

I'm not sure what is going on with these snowmen, but something here is important.

Lots of people believe it's a secret signal to Bolton enemies outside the walls. I have a few problems with that theory,

Walder Frey was one of the squires who built the snowmen.

He might have taken the guards for a pair of Little Walder's snowmen if he had not seen the white plumes of their breath. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

There's no visibility in these snow storms.

Outside the snow was coming down so heavily that Theon could not see more than three feet ahead of him. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

The snowmen become impossible to distinguish.

Huddled in their hooded cloaks, the guards outside were almost indistinguishable from the snowmen. Only their breath fogging the air gave proof that they still lived.

Outside the snow still fell. The snowmen the squires had built had grown into monstrous giants, ten feet tall and hideously misshapen. - Theon I, ADWD

Perhaps it's symbolism?

+.+.+

Beyond the tents the big destriers of the knights from White Harbor and the Twins were shivering in their horse lines. Ramsay had burned the stables when he sacked Winterfell, so his father had thrown up new ones twice as large as the old, to accommodate the warhorses and palfreys of his lords' bannermen and knights. The rest of the horses were tethered in the wards. Hooded grooms moved amongst them, covering them with blankets to keep them warm.

Sorry, this reminded me that I forgot to point something out in the previous Theon chapter.

We have to pay attention to hooded men with daggers for an upcoming Theon chapter.

Farther on, he came upon a man striding in the opposite direction, a hooded cloak flapping behind him. When they found themselves face-to-face their eyes met briefly. The man put a hand on his dagger. "Theon Turncloak. Theon Kinslayer."

"I'm not. I never … I was ironborn."

"False is all you were. How is it you still breathe?"

"The gods are not done with me," Theon answered, wondering if this could be the killer, the night walker who had stuffed Yellow Dick's cock into his mouth and pushed Roger Ryswell's groom off the battlements. Oddly, he was not afraid. He pulled the glove from his left hand. "Lord Ramsay is not done with me."

The man looked, and laughed. "I leave you to him, then." - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

So many mysteries to solve, isn't this fun?

↓↓↓

But under the hood, his hair was white and thin, and his flesh had an old man's greyish undertone. A Stark at last, he thought. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

He could feel his missing fingers cramping: two on his left hand, one on his right. And on his hip his dagger rested, sleeping in its leather sheath, but heavy, oh so heavy. It is only my pinky gone on my right hand, Theon reminded himself. I can still grip a knife. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

+.+.+

Theon made his way deeper into the ruined parts of the castle. As he picked through the shattered stone that had once been Maester Luwin's turret, ravens looked down from the gash in the wall above, muttering to one another. From time to time one would let out a raucous scream.

Bran's still visiting.

+.+.+

He stood in the doorway of a bedchamber that had once been his own (ankle deep in snow that had blown in through a shattered window), visited the ruins of Mikken's forge and Lady Catelyn's sept. Beneath the Burned Tower, he passed Rickard Ryswell nuzzling at the neck of another one of Abel's washerwomen, the plump one with the apple cheeks and pug nose.

Is it known as Lady Catelyn's sept? How cute.

These wildling women will kill some of the men they're seducing.

"You killed a boy as well."

"That was not us. I told you."

"Words are wind." They are no better than me. We're just the same. "You killed the others, why not him? Yellow Dick—"

"—stank as bad as you. A pig of a man." - Theon I, ADWD

I hate everything about this, because it reminds me of Osha's show storyline with Ramsay.

Drennan lay half-naked in the gatehouse, in the snug room where the drawbridge was worked. His throat had been opened ear to ear. A ragged tunic concealed the half-healed scars on his back, but his boots were scattered amidst the rushes, and his breeches tangled about his feet. There was cheese on a small table near the door, beside an empty flagon. And two cups.

[...]

Osha. He had suspected her from the moment he saw that second cup. I should have known better than to trust that one. She's as unnatural as Asha. Even their names sound alike. - Theon IV, ACOK

+.+.+

Winterfell's inner wall was the older and taller of the two, its ancient grey crenellations rising one hundred feet high, with square towers at every corner. The outer wall, raised many centuries later, was twenty feet lower, but thicker and in better repair, boasting octagonal towers in place of square ones. Between the two walls was the moat, deep and wide … and frozen.

Are we learning this for a reason?

+.+.+

The woods, the fields, the kingsroad—the snows were covering all of them beneath a pale soft mantle, burying the remnants of the winter town, hiding the blackened walls Ramsay's men had left behind when they put the houses to the torch. The wounds Snow made, snow conceals, but that was wrong. Ramsay was a Bolton now, not a Snow, never a Snow.

No, he's a Snow. Bizarro Snow.

+.+.+

Stannis Baratheon is out there somewhere, freezing. Would Lord Stannis try to take Winterfell by storm? If he does, his cause is doomed. The castle was too strong. Even with the moat frozen over, Winterfell's defenses remained formidable.

Three characters have hinted at the same thing.

Would his brother be as bold?

Not likely. Stannis was a deliberate commander, and his host was a half-digested stew of clansmen, southron knights, king's men and queen's men, salted with a few northern lords. He should move on Winterfell swiftly, or not at all, Jon thought. - Jon VII, ADWD

We would be fools to march on Stannis. Let Stannis march on us. He is too cautious to come to Barrowton … but he must come to Winterfell. - Reek III, ADWD

The Freys and Manderlys are taking the fight to Stannis at the beginning of TWOW, but I think I know what happens afterwards.

+.+.+

He might prefer to cut the castle off from the outside world and starve out its defenders. Winterfell's storerooms and cellar vaults were empty. A long supply train had come with Bolton and his friends of Frey up through the Neck, Lady Dustin had brought food and fodder from Barrowton, and Lord Manderly had arrived well provisioned from White Harbor … but the host was large. With so many mouths to feed, their stores could not last for long. Lord Stannis and his men will be just as hungry, though. And cold and footsore as well, in no condition for a fight … but the storm will make them desperate to get inside the castle.

That feels somewhat important. Team Bolton has more food than Team Stannis, but they don't have a lot of it.

The Vale has lots of food.

+.+.+

Snow was falling on the godswood too, melting when it touched the ground. Beneath the white-cloaked trees the earth had turned to mud. Tendrils of mist hung in the air like ghostly ribbons. Why did I come here? These are not my gods. This is not my place. The heart tree stood before him, a pale giant with a carved face and leaves like bloody hands.

Make up your mind.

+.+.+

A thin film of ice covered the surface of the pool beneath the weirwood. Theon sank to his knees beside it. "Please," he murmured through his broken teeth, "I never meant …" The words caught in his throat. "Save me," he finally managed. "Give me …" What? Strength? Courage? Mercy? Snow fell around him, pale and silent, keeping its own counsel. The only sound was a faint soft sobbing. Jeyne, he thought. It is her, sobbing in her bridal bed. Who else could it be? Gods do not weep. Or do they?

Earlier we learned Jeyne never leaves her bedchambers.

Sour Alyn had been saying that Ramsay kept his bride naked and chained to a bedpost, but Theon knew that was only talk. There were no chains, at least none that men could see. Just a pair of guards outside the bedchamber, to keep the girl from wandering.

He's not hearing Jeyne. That's absurd.

Bran is the only one who can be heard through trees, so I have to believe he's hearing Bran crying.

+.+.+

There are ghosts in Winterfell, he thought, and I am one of them.

You're a ghost, but are you a hooded man?

+.+.+

Scraps were thrown onto the floor to be gobbled up by Ramsay's girls and the other dogs.

The girls were glad to see him. They knew him by his smell. Red Jeyne loped over to lick at his hand, and Helicent slipped under the table and curled up by his feet, gnawing at a bone. They were good dogs. It was easy to forget that every one was named for a girl that Ramsay had hunted and killed.

The author never forgets, Ramsay.

+.+.+

Two of Roose Bolton's scouts had come straggling back through the Hunter's Gate to report that Lord Stannis's advance had slowed to a crawl. His knights rode destriers, and the big warhorses were foundering in the snow. The small, sure-footed garrons of the hill clans were faring better, the scouts said, but the clansmen dared not press too far ahead or the whole host would come apart. Lord Ramsay commanded Abel to give them a marching song in honor of Stannis trudging through the snows, so the bard took up his lute again, whilst one of his washerwomen coaxed a sword from Sour Alyn and mimed Stannis slashing at the snowflakes.

There's another southron lordling in over his head.

Let's pray those hill clans and their sure-footed garrons press on all the way to the Wall, where they can wait for Sansa to arrive.

And please, for the love of god, pray for the Dothraki horselords. They're going to need it.

+.+.+

"Somewhere beneath us are the crypts where the old Stark kings sit in darkness. My men have not been able to find the way down into them. They have been through all the undercrofts and cellars, even the dungeons, but …"

"The crypts cannot be accessed from the dungeons, my lady."

"Can you show me the way down?"

"There's nothing down there but—"

"—dead Starks? Aye. And all my favorite Starks are dead, as it happens. Do you know the way or not?"

This is a reminder that Lady Dustin knows Theon is House Bolton's plaything, and might not be truthful with her words or intentions.

I personally don't buy this is a show, but you do you.

+.+.+

Only a shell remained, one side open to the elements and filling up with snow. Rubble was strewn all about it: great chunks of shattered masonry, burned beams, broken gargoyles. The falling snow had covered almost all of it, but part of one gargoyle still poked above the drift, its grotesque face snarling sightless at the sky.

This is where they found Bran when he fell.

That partly broken gargoyle poking through the snow is Bran.

Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know. - Bran II, AGOT

I would feel a lot better if two gargoyles were poking through the snow.

+.+.+

No one had expected the broken boy to live. The gods could not kill Bran, no more than I could. It was a strange thought, and stranger still to remember that Bran might still be alive.

Bad news, Brynden.

+.+.+

He had always thought of the crypts as cold, and so they seemed in summer, but now as they descended the air grew warmer. Not warm, never warm, but warmer than above. Down there below the earth, it would seem, the chill was constant, unchanging.

The crypts are suddenly feeling a bit more inviting.

+.+.+

"The bride weeps," Lady Dustin said, as they made their way down, step by careful step. "Our little Lady Arya."

[...]

"Roose is not pleased. Tell your bastard that."

[...]

"Dressing her in grey and white serves no good if the girl is left to sob. The Freys may not care, but the northmen … they fear the Dreadfort, but they love the Starks."

Block out all the noise and tinfoil, and read it again.

She knows it's not Arya, and she's concerned Ramsay's going to blow it for Roose.

If she was secretly conspiring against House Bolton, would she talk like this? Would she want Jeyne silenced? Would she actively participate in this ruse?

+.+.+

The Freys may not care, but the northmen … they fear the Dreadfort, but they love the Starks."

"Not you," said Theon.

"Not me," the Lady of Barrowton confessed, "but the rest, yes.

Theon might be half-mad, but he's astute.

+.+.+

Old Whoresbane is only here because the Freys hold the Greatjon captive. And do you imagine the Hornwood men have forgotten the Bastard's last marriage, and how his lady wife was left to starve, chewing her own fingers? What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl.

Looks like I have to move House Hornwood to Team Stark.

+.+.+

No, he thought. She is not of Lord Eddard's blood, her name is Jeyne, she is only a steward's daughter. He did not doubt that Lady Dustin suspected, but even so …

"Lady Arya's sobs do us more harm than all of Lord Stannis's swords and spears. If the Bastard means to remain Lord of Winterfell, he had best teach his wife to laugh."

Do us. Do US more harm.

Totally unconcerned with the girl's well-being, it's only about the danger it poses to Roose.

+.+.+

"My lady," Theon broke in. "Here we are."

"The steps go farther down," observed Lady Dustin.

"There are lower levels. Older. The lowest level is partly collapsed, I hear. I have never been down there." He pushed the door open and led them out into a long vaulted tunnel, where mighty granite pillars marched two by two into blackness.

There's no way that was thrown in there for no reason.

Something is down there.

+.+.+

Shadows slid and shifted. A small light in a great darkness. Theon had never felt comfortable in the crypts. He could feel the stone kings staring down at him with their stone eyes, stone fingers curled around the hilts of rusted longswords. None had any love for ironborn. A familiar sense of dread filled him.

Not so inviting anymore.

+.+.+

"The ones on this side were Kings in the North. Torrhen was the last."

"The King Who Knelt."

"Aye, my lady. After him they were only lords."

How many times are we going to bring up the King Who Knelt? I'm starting to wonder if it will happen again ...

...

+.+.+

The stone eyes of the dead men seemed to follow them, and the eyes of their stone direwolves as well. The faces stirred faint memories. A few names came back to him, unbidden, whispered in the ghostly voice of Maester Luwin. King Edrick Snowbeard, who had ruled the north for a hundred years. Brandon the Shipwright, who had sailed beyond the sunset. Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. My namesake. Lord Beron Stark, who made common cause with Casterly Rock to war against Dagon Greyjoy, Lord of Pyke, in the days when the Seven Kingdoms were ruled in all but name by the bastard sorcerer men called Bloodraven.

Speaking of things that might happen again, I'm thinking Bran might sail across the Sunset Sea ...

...

I will never understand why Theon was named after a Stark. Did George forget Ned didn't name this one?

+.+.+

"That king is missing his sword," Lady Dustin observed.

It was true. Theon did not recall which king it was, but the longsword he should have held was gone. Streaks of rust remained to show where it had been. The sight disquieted him. He had always heard that the iron in the sword kept the spirits of the dead locked within their tombs. If a sword was missing …

There are ghosts in Winterfell. And I am one of them.

Sometimes the ghost is Theon, other times the ghost is Bran.

+.+.+

They walked on. Barbrey Dustin's face seemed to harden with every step. She likes this place no more than I do. Theon heard himself say, "My lady, why do you hate the Starks?"

If you were a Stark loyalist and confirmed Bran and Rickon might still be alive, would you be visibly uncomfortable? Would your face be hardening?

+.+.+

She studied him. "For the same reason you love them."

Theon stumbled. "Love them? I never … I took this castle from them, my lady. I had … had Bran and Rickon put to death, mounted their heads on spikes, I …"

"… rode south with Robb Stark, fought beside him at the Whispering Wood and Riverrun, returned to the Iron Islands as his envoy to treat with your own father. Barrowton sent men with the Young Wolf as well. I gave him as few men as I dared, but I knew that I must needs give him some or risk the wroth of Winterfell. So I had my own eyes and ears in that host. They kept me well informed. I know who you are. I know what you are. Now answer my question. Why do you love the Starks?"

"I …" Theon put a gloved hand against a pillar. "… I wanted to be one of them …"

"And never could. We have more in common than you know, my lord. But come."

That's not a lie. Theon was part of the war efforts, he'll know how many men from Barrowton assisted Robb.

I understand she hates Ramsay, but there's nothing about this woman that indicates she secretly supports the Starks.

+.+.+

"Lord Rickard," Lady Dustin observed, studying the central figure. The statue loomed above them—long-faced, bearded, solemn. He had the same stone eyes as the rest, but his looked sad. "He lacks a sword as well."

It was true. "Someone has been down here stealing swords. Brandon's is gone as well."

"He would hate that." She pulled off her glove and touched his knee, pale flesh against dark stone. "Brandon loved his sword. He loved to hone it. 'I want it sharp enough to shave the hair from a woman's cunt,' he used to say. And how he loved to use it. 'A bloody sword is a beautiful thing,' he told me once."

"You knew him," Theon said.

The lantern light in her eyes made them seem as if they were afire. "Brandon was fostered at Barrowton with old Lord Dustin, the father of the one I'd later wed, but he spent most of his time riding the Rills. He loved to ride. His little sister took after him in that. A pair of centaurs, those two. And my lord father was always pleased to play host to the heir to Winterfell. My father had great ambitions for House Ryswell. He would have served up my maidenhead to any Stark who happened by, but there was no need. Brandon was never shy about taking what he wanted. I am old now, a dried-up thing, too long a widow, but I still remember the look of my maiden's blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain.

We just learned Brandon Stark had no problem dishonoring highborn girls he never planned to marry.

The crannogman saw a maid with laughing purple eyes dance with a white sword, a red snake, and the lord of griffins, and lastly with the quiet wolf . . . but only after the wild wolf spoke to her on behalf of a brother too shy to leave his bench. - Bran II, ASOS

Dot, dot, dot.

+.+.+

"The day I learned that Brandon was to marry Catelyn Tully, though … there was nothing sweet about that pain. He never wanted her, I promise you that. He told me so, on our last night together … but Rickard Stark had great ambitions too. Southron ambitions that would not be served by having his heir marry the daughter of one of his own vassals. Afterward my father nursed some hope of wedding me to Brandon's brother Eddard, but Catelyn Tully got that one as well. I was left with young Lord Dustin, until Ned Stark took him from me."

Unreliable narrator Queen in the North Barbrey Dustin.

Brandon probably did say that, but men say a lot of things to their side pieces.

+.+.+

"Lord Dustin and I had not been married half a year when Robert rose and Ned Stark called his banners. I begged my husband not to go. He had kin he might have sent in his stead. An uncle famed for his prowess with an axe, a great-uncle who had fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. But he was a man and full of pride, nothing would serve but that he lead the Barrowton levies himself. I gave him a horse the day he set out, a red stallion with a fiery mane, the pride of my lord father's herds. My lord swore that he would ride him home when the war was done.

"Ned Stark returned the horse to me on his way back home to Winterfell. He told me that my lord had died an honorable death, that his body had been laid to rest beneath the red mountains of Dorne. He brought his sister's bones back north, though, and there she rests … but I promise you, Lord Eddard's bones will never rest beside hers. I mean to feed them to my dogs."

Surprised to learn many side with Dustin on this one.

I think it's unfortunate he didn't bring back her husband's remains, but I'm not sure how realistic that was.

Eight men plus Lyanna were dead in the Red Mountains of Dorne, and a newborn baby was massively complicating things. I think we have to give Ned Stark and Howland Reed the benefit of the doubt here.

+.+.+

Theon did not understand. "His … his bones …?"

Her lips twisted. It was an ugly smile, a smile that reminded him of Ramsay's. "Catelyn Tully dispatched Lord Eddard's bones north before the Red Wedding, but your iron uncle seized Moat Cailin and closed the way. I have been watching ever since. Should those bones ever emerge from the swamps, they will get no farther than Barrowton." She threw one last lingering look at the likeness of Eddard Stark. "We are done here."

There is no way this woman is an ally. None.

Barbrey's dogs will not be eating Ned Stark's bones, but Ramsay's dogs might get to eat a Lord of Winterfell.

+.+.+

The snowstorm was still raging when they emerged from the crypts. Lady Dustin was silent during their ascent, but when they stood beneath the ruins of the First Keep again she shivered and said, "You would do well not to repeat anything I might have said down there. Is that understood?"

It was. "Hold my tongue or lose it."

"Roose has trained you well." She left him there.

Shiver me timbers! Roose didn't train him?

I don't know guys, I think what you see is what you get with this woman.

Final thoughts:

Let's ask ourselves the obvious, how did she know to check the crypts for missing swords?

The simplest explanation is Wyman Manderly, but that doesn't automatically mean she's on Wyman Manderly's team.

Putting that aside, what's more strange is one of the spearwives will ask to see the crypts.

"What do you want?"

"To see these crypts. Where are they, m'lord? Would you show me?" Holly toyed with a strand of her hair, coiling it around her little finger. "Deep and dark, they say. A good place for touching. All the dead kings watching."

"Did Abel send you to me?"

"Might be. Might be I sent myself. But if it's Abel you're wanting, I could bring him. He'll sing m'lord a sweet song." - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

Figure that one out.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #the turncloak #theon v

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dontbotherwiththepronunciation · 9 months

Note

The Theon poll was so interesting. I was just curious if you’ve ever seen any of the show? I couldn’t remember if you said you read the books first and then watched the show or if you’ve never seen the show at all. If you have, did you watch the whole thing? Was there anything you liked about it or thought the show portrayed well?

It's kind of you to show interest anon and I don't hold anything against you but oh god this was such a struggle and I ended giving up because I can't talk about the show without wanting to hurt people but also the longer I think about it, the less apologetic I want to be. I want to be allowed to tell everyone how much I despise it but I know I would get in trouble for that and I'm so tired of it. The more I think about it, the more depressed I get and the more hateful I become. I think it makes me depressed because fandom proved I'm not allowed to be hateful and angry, although I know I have the right to be.

"Was there anything you liked about it or thought the show portrayed well?"

I actively forget the show exists until someone mentions it, but I filled two journals with show thoughts (they were abundantly negative), so here are the few things I marked down as positives.

I’ve always been a fan of Ramin Djawadi's work and used to play some of his pieces so that was the highlight of the show for me. “Winds of Winter” and some other themes used for Dany give me goosebumps and so does “Light of the Seven”. There was a time I could play that one on the violin and piano.

“Watching your vicious bastard die gave me more relief than a thousand lying whores.” (I didn't even have to google that sentence. I heard it once and it became engraved to my brain)

Lena Headey and most of the casting for the Lannisters. I hated what they did to Tyrion's character later on and also how they made Cersei less unhinged but I think both of them had the range to play the characters properly had they been given decent scripts.

There was this thing they did with Sansa's hair that I thought was interesting. Her style changed and assimilated to whoever she was learning from/trying to emulate. A nice and fitting touch.

Up to Season 6 (I think. Not fully sure), I liked most of the costuming for Cersei. The red dress with the golden metal corset shaped armour...gay gay homosexual gay.

Florence + the Machine's adaptation of "Jenny of Oldstones".

The adaptation of "The Rains of Castamere"

Dubrovnik and Peñiscola as two of the most important filming locations were such a smart choice! I had been to both of the cities in the past and it was so fun to spot which places they filmed in. They really made the best out of such small and rather niche places and I applaud how much they played with perspective in order to make us ignore the constant use of the same set spaces.

I really liked Isaac Hempstead Wright's acting during Season 2. It felt very similar to this despair and impotence that ACOK Bran feels and my heart ached for him.

Season 6 episode 10 made absolutely no fucking sense but it was the most entertaining one and I think seeing Cersei blow up the sept was the happiest experience I had with that show. What an icon she was, burning all her enemies to the ground...would have made me even happier if her actions had consequences but I still cherished the moment on itself.

I hated everything related to the Greyjoys and the writing team threw every possible interesting plot and dynamic for them out of the window, but there was a scene somewhere in Season 2, when Theon returns to the Iron Islands in which Balon Greyjoy is given a more deeply and hurtful characterisation. Theon accuses him of "giving him away, like a dog he didn't want anymore" and the camera stays at Balon's expression of pain and desolateness. I really dislike most of the fandom's characterisation for Balon. This however, was interesting.

Michelle Fairley's last scream and her following lifelessness during the red wedding was hunting. I am #anti Robb Stark(/j) and I didn't like Richard Madden as Robb so I didn't feel a lot during that scene until she started to shine. Amazing actress.

Season 1, episode 10 (I think), a scene in which we see Catelyn and Robb react to Ned's death. Michele Fairley does this thing where she starts leaning against trees and breaths heavily in order to not let herself cry and Robb is hacking a tree with his sword before his mother hugs him as he sobs "I'll kill them all". I don't like Richard Madden but I loved that scene. The composition and setting was so atmospheric and the musical score was very emotional, love those strings. I rewatched the scene right now to make sure my thoughts were the same and, yes 15-year-old-me, I full-heartedly agree!

The animated shorts were a hesitant and reluctant source of joy for me. @/hell-heron has made use of them in gifs and I think they are lovely to look at.

That's about it

"I was just curious if you’ve ever seen any of the show? I couldn’t remember if you said you read the books first and then watched the show or if you’ve never seen the show at all. If you have, did you watch the whole thing?"

I watched till half of season 2 after spending three years analysing the books without any show influence or imagery, didn't like it, got called a slur and was told to go back to the plantation by show people because I didn't like the whitewashing, finished watching it in 2019 against my will, really hated it.

The concrete things that made the show a source of anger and sadness instead of allowing it only to be uninteresting for me, asides from Stark goggles and overall me hating show!Theon and show!Dany (two of my favourite characters), listed from most to least personally upsetting:

Missandei of Naath (Sexualization, pseudo-maturity and imposed adulthood of black Girls)

Jeyne-Sansa switcherroo (Not doomed by the narrative, just ditched and other unimportant, unsatisfactory, insufficient girls (Jeyne W, Penny, Kyra, Pretty Pia, etc.))

"Dark" "Dark eyes" "Dark hair" "Dark vs Fair" (Whitewashing under the pretence of ambiguity á la fanon!Rue from the Hunger Games)

The philosophical stance of the narrative (Nihilism vs. Optimistic Existentialism vs. Embracing the absurd & The Myth of Sisyphus; conclusion: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING)

Ableism (Wex Pyke, Ilyn Payne and my other fellow (selective) mutes, constant jokes on the expense of mutilated people that the watchers were meant to laugh at, the dismissal of Tysha, Bran's not-sense-making impotence/infertility and the connotations of lovelessness for disabled people, Tyrion making fun of a supposedly mentally disabled cousin just for the lols)

Renly, Loras, Jon Connington, Satin and "Olyvar" (???) (Home of phobia)

Sansa Stark (Destroying a character to marketise a YA Heroine)

Daenerys Targaryen (Slowburn character assassination)

The even stronger orientalist tropes in Dorne (Girlbossing your way through character massacre)

Robb Stark (Simplifying the text and creating a male oc)

Arya Stark & Brienne of Tarth (Contraproductive and unresolved internalised misogyny)

#speaking #anonymous #fandom related #anti got #sorry if this came off as very hostile anon. It's nothing against you. I just really hate that show and how I have to constantly acknowledg #it's existences in this fandom.#Again not against you! You seemed genuinely interested and I am sorry for letting you down.

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authormikamathews · 7 months

Text

TV Theon Greyjoy, a man to Pity.

I have never read the books, ignore that, but in the Game of Thrones TV show I felt so bad for Theon Greyjoy... well at least until he killed those kids and sacked Winterfell. He was a prisoner in a gilded cage, always at risk of slaughter. He was abandoned by his father, mistreated by most and hated by many all for something he did not really do...

In no way did he deserve his torment by Ramsey and I cannot entirely say I blame him for his deeds at Winterfell, since it was what he was literally raised to do. He was honoring his house, had the Starks done what he did they would have been sung as heroes. He was a victim of circumstances beyond his control and it makes me very, very sad...

He could have been so much better had his loyalties not been divided, his life not been stuck in a gilded cage, and his mind not broken by mistreatment and torture...

What do you think?

So... yeah!

#indie author #authormikamathews #book writing #game of thrones #theon greyjoy #george rr martin #book blogs

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cdragons · 1 year

Text

Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered

Chapter 2: You are my Best Friend, the Family I Chose, the Home I Found

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

A Robb Stark X Yi Tish Reader/OC Story

Author's Note: The Reader/OC will be mentioned but not written in this chapter, but she will make an appearance in the next one. I do not own Game of Thrones or ASOIAF or any of GRRM works. But please no hate, but please comment, like, or reblog if you liked reading this story and want me to continue! Also the OC's name and her pet's name are not in Mandarin but in Romanization because the characters in this chapter are thinking in English.

Also many thanks and love to @valeskafics as my beta! Check out her work if you don't follow her already, she's amazing!

Warnings: sexual content, sexual abuse, mentions of SA and r*pe but no descriptions, violence and violent themes, depression, suicidal actions, mentions of PTSD & survivor's guilt, offensive and racist terms, GOT canonical misogyny & sexism, angst (so much angst), and dark/yandere attitudes.

Previously in “Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered”:

“A place where she would meet another Greyjoy, but a different Greyjoy, a better one. A Greyjoy whose blood was Ironborn, but his heart would be northern. A northern boy whose blood carried the salt of the sea, but whose heart and soul were strengthened and bathed by the snow, the trees, and the winds of northern land. A boy who she distrusted before slowly and surely becoming her found brother, and she becoming his found sister.”

Theon’s POV:

Theon Greyjoy was somewhat of an enigma to most people, and to himself if he dared to be honest. He was known as Robb Stark’s best friend and brother, but Gods Old and New help him if he forgot that he was young Lord’s, no sorry, the young King’s inferior. He was the rakish and obnoxious ward graciously taken in by the honorable Eddard Stark, late Lord of Winterfell and House Stark, Warden of the North. But the term “ward” doesn’t hide the fact that he was their captive, their hostage. A hostage who at the age of ten, was robbed from his family, his culture, his home, after witnessing hundreds of Iron Island sailors and civilians being completely annihilated, just to be plopped down in the middle of a frozen mainland where no one likes him. Ned Stark may never have beaten him, but that didn’t mean the fact that he could with full jurisdiction send Theon to the gallows with a single word, and no one would bat an eye. He was supposed to an Ironborn, except he wasn’t, not since he lived amongst mainlanders for the past decade. He wasn’t a Northerner and couldn’t be a Stark, and he certainly wasn’t an Ironborn and he despised being a Greyjoy. He wished he wasn’t one the moment he stepped foot on the mainland, since he was brought to Winterfell, since he felt the gaze Lady Catelyn Stark’s cold and righteous eyes. But by the Drowned Man, he never hated his family name so much until he knew you.

Oh gods, you. He couldn’t help the sheer pride and love in his smile thinking about you, even in his sorry state. Because despite how his body still healing from the wounds brought by the ambushed arrows, the pure elation and shock from you storming the shit-stained Frey keep with five-thousand men (if he wasn’t so fucking plastered, he would’ve cried) and saving Robb and most of their asses, with minimal losses of only 157 men 158 if you include Talisa. You had even managed to subdue both Roose Bolton and Walder Frey before dragging their asses to the prison cells, along with the rest of their traitorous kin. However, there wasn’t time to celebrate their (really your) victory as you immediately put everyone to work. For someone who worked in the shadows, you looked so natural in organizing the camp to sections reserved for healing those who survived, and preparing the burials for those whose lives were lost. After that, you rushed every lord whose mind was just lucid enough in the largest empty tent. You insisted that finding whoever assisted the Frey’s in this ordeal, as Walder Frey may have been a vile greedy cunt, he wasn’t a tactical mastermind. And while Roose Bolton was an apathetic amoral sociopath, he could never possess the imagination for something so grand scale. After countless sleepless hours, the pieces were all put together, and ice that froze every lord’s blood in learning that this was a premeditated trap engineered by one fucking Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. The chaos and fury that followed was a sight to be memorized and passed on for years to come, any lost morale before that moment came back by a thousandfold strong. The southern snakes had really done it now, even if the plan had worked, the North would only drawback until they could strike once more. If there was one thing about the North that would always remain true, it was the fact that the North and its men never forget, especially an act as sacrilegious as what they now call the “Red Wedding”.

Every lord was shouting and screaming out blame, whether it be the execution of Lord Karstark, the release of the Kingslayer, the broken oath to the Frey’s, and on and on did they go. They didn’t stop until Lord Umber blamed on Theon for his father’s invasion to the North (despite that 1) he didn’t even know about the bloody invasion, and 2) he never left the fucking camp), and the usually mild-tempered Daiyu leapt on the table and knocked the Greatjon Umber on his great ass in retaliation. The sight of you in command will never leave him, not even when he had forgotten his own name and was too feeble to wipe his own ass. Even in your most irritable state, you dared not publicly showcase your emotions. But everything from the cold fury in your eyes to the raw determination in your spine, was enough to freeze a dragon’s fire. By reminding everyone while nothing can change the past, this event only further proves how there is no limit to the Lannister’s teachery, and that it was imperative to secure the North’s independence from the Southern leeches. You then told them of how you learned of the plan through a deal with a stranger wearing a red tunic and grey cloak, and that if they managed to survive the treachery, they were to immediately send word to Dragonstone.

“Dragonstone,” shouted out Lord after Daiyu grew bored of him and was now contently purring against Theon’s legs as he stood by you, “why in the seven hells would we send word to Dragonstone? So that we can get pissed over by Stannis Baratheon? How do we know you didn’t just make up the deal so that we could bend the knee to Stannis, or perhaps you’ve been working for the Lannister’s with the Boltons and Frey’s? Well? Answer me you chink-”.

Theon drew out his sword the second before he could finish, “You take those words back and beg for my sister’s forgiveness right now before I cut your tongue out and feed it to my falcon, you rancid shit.” Theon could allow disrespect against him, he grown used to it after all; but he would be flayed, eaten by hounds, and broken to a shell of a man before he allowed anyone to utter a word of disrespect to you, let alone that word. Each of the bannerman’s eyes shifted between the men, as most knew better than insult the mysterious spy from the far orient in the presence of the young Kraken. If Theon was not with their king, he was by his sister’s side, arm over her shoulders and her head on his, more often in silence as words were never needed in order to take comfort in one another.

And the girl was no different in her devotion to her brother, as her protection over him was as ruthless as it was creative. More than once had there been instances of soldiers throughout the camp making claims ranging from mad visions in their sleep to horses stampeding them throughout the woods to those who spoke ill of the Stark’s ward. The bannerman would have demanded their king to call for her head hadn’t her punishments been more amusing than irritating. Not that it would have worked, if there was only one thing the two young men had in common, it was the devout protection they showered the stoic spy. Even when the young king broke his oath to the Frey’s to marry his pretty foreign healer, did he remain true in his defense if anything it only grew. Such was the case with his own direwolf, who although remains steadfast in guarding his currently comatose companion, adored the Yi Tish girl far more than the now late queen if they were honest, as he was often seen being petted and fed scraps by her and even playing with her shadowcat. However, they just reasoned it was due to being acquainted with one another since the pup’s arrival at Winterfell shows what they know.

You placed a hand on your brother’s wrist, stopping any further action on his part towards Lord Umber. Theon’s eyes immediately darted down to your hand, and then looked at you. To an outsider, the act would look no different than a scolding to a child; however, those who had watched the two grow together, like one Lady Catelyn Stark, recognized the interaction to be one of the many of silent conversations between the two of you. Her eyes darting down to her late husband’s ward’s wrist, eyeing the rather poorly made charm bracelet you had gifted him for his name day so many years ago. Being a ward to one of the seven great houses, Theon was gifted many precious things, from expertly made blades to fine cloaks; but that little…thing was the item he treasured more than life itself, that and his loyal falcon, Ari. A falcon abandoned by its mother, was found by Theon and was assisted in healing the poor creature by none other than you.

A moment passed, and another had gone by, followed by a few more before Theon reluctantly lowered his arm and sheathed his sword. You turned your gaze to Greatjon once more, hand still holding on your brother’s wrist, before speaking in a loud and clear manner, “I will graciously ignore you accusing that I would ever betray House Stark, even going so far to suggest that I would ever switch loyalties to a southern house I had never cared, but may I first ask you what is the purpose of the North’s campaign to the South?”

“Pah! Aye, I can tell you, to march down to King’s Landing and swing our steel at enough of their piss-haired inbred to free the North-,” Greatjon was interrupted by the slamming of your fist to the table.

“WRONG!” You exclaimed, “Our goal from the beginning, our true purpose was to free our Lord Eddard Stark and his daughters from King’s Landing, and upon his death, we swore to avenge him and rescue his children! Have you forgotten my lords, forgotten Ned Stark, late Lord of Winterfell, the man you swore fealty to when you bent the knee to his house? Now we stand, fighting in a war, leagues from our North, miles from King’s Landing, from his daughter who he loved and cherished so dearly that he confessed to crimes he did not commit in attempt to save her from the lion’s den? Does Ned Stark stand here, does his daughter Lady Sansa? In fighting for the North’s freedom, we had forgotten our first goal, our true purpose! To avenge the blood of House Stark, to fight and protect their children! And as a result, the Gods have punished us for forgetting that purpose to the state we see ourselves in now. We have lost our greatest bargaining chip, half our men in taking Lord Karstark’s head, and now with greater losses in numbers with the betrayal from both House Frey and House Bolton. We may have regained one wolf, but such a miracle cannot be claimed by us as it had been Ser Sandor who brought her home.” Your words brought the attention of Sandor Clegane, who was standing in a corner. He was observing the scene unraveling before, in both shock that you thanked him for his act, and cursing you for bringing any attention at him at all.

“And do not ignore that another young wolf still remains at the lions’ mercy. And if Sandor’s words of her treatment hold truth, then I fear that her livelihood is at more risk than ever when word reaches the Red Keep that Tywin Lannister’s plan had failed.” Your voice grew more somber and quieter as you finished your speech. It seemed as if time had stopped, shame overtook every lord’s and lady’s face at your words, and Lady Catelyn knelt on the ground, sobs overtaking her body. The relief and joy in being reunited with her Arya, was overshadowed by the realization that still had one daughter far from her arms. Greater grief struck her in learning that her sweet Sansa had been routinely beaten and ridiculed at court by Joffery’s orders.

Ever so carefully, you knelt beside her, and gently placed your hand on her shoulder before grasping her to stand while allowing her to take comfort in your strong but gentle grip. You quickly called for a squire to fetch some cool water before handing Lady Stark a simple but clean handkerchief to wipe her tears. Such an act of familiarity to a highborn from a lowly spy would never be tolerated in normal circumstances, but no one dared to point this out, fearing that their Lady would fall apart had it not been for your support. After what seemed to have been an eternity to pass, Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island stepped forward.

“The girl is right.” Her voice left no room for argument, “In fighting for our freedom, we had forgotten our people, our past leader, and his own blood. We lost sight of our true goal, and in doing so we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable to our enemies. Right now, Stannis Baratheon is our best hope in retrieving Ned Stark’s daughter. And we need all of the hope we can get, be it in numbers or supplies.” The next words coming out the fierce Mother Bear of House Mormont shook everyone to their core, “I can sacrifice our independence, I can bend the knee to another Southerner, but I cannot call myself a northerner if I forget my oath in avenging the Quiet Wolf, along with Jory Cassel, and the rest of the northern men that died in that rotten keep.”

“But how can expect Stannis to hope true in his word, is he even aware such a deal took place?” Lord Rysell rose from his seat, his voice filled with trepidation. “After all, was it not Stannis who killed Renly, his own brother, his very own blood? How can we expect a Southerner, nay, a KINSLAYER to hold even a weight of honor after witnessing the mutiny we all had barely escaped with our lives? And what of the cost? What was traded for such information?”

“Stannis Baratheon along with Jon Arryn had been running King Robert’s kingdom throughout his entire reign. While Jon Arryn tried to reign in Robert, Stannis was the one who had actually proposed new laws in attempt to benefit the kingdom. This was a man who at age of 17, held his brother’s castle at Storm’s End and ate shoes and rats rather than surrendering to a hopelessly superior army from both land and sea. He, who ensured that his men, smallfolk, and his little brother were fed before him. And more importantly, Stannis has ships, ships that can lay siege to King’s Landing by targeting Blackwater Bay, should he want for an alliance.” Theon couldn’t keep the pride out of his eyes, here you stood, recounting the accomplishment of one man, stunning every lord by your extensive knowledge of military history in perfect clarity. Those hours spent in the Winterfell library and extensive lessons with Maester Luwin seemed to have paid off.

“As for the matter of honor, this war will not be won through honor, no this is war that will be done on the matter of duty.” Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you braced your body in continuing, “Ned Stark’s duty as Hand of the King was to the kingdom. In choosing his honor, he lost his head. Robb Stark chose love over duty, and it cost him the lives of his wife, his child, and nearly 3000 of our men. Our duty to the North was to avenge Ned Stark’s death and protect his children, and in that we have failed miserably. Whether Stannis Baratheon is honorable remains to be seen, but it was his devotion to his duty had made his men so loyal to him and his enemies call him a man ‘truly just.’ As for the matter of proof, I would hope that this message that bears his seal to provide some comfort.” You hand a creased letter to Catelyn Stark for confirmation. After vigilant investigation, she confirmed that it was indeed written in his hand and that seal bore House Baratheon’s sigil, along with the seal of Dragonstone.

“And I can assure you my lords that the price was more than fair,” your confidence was slowly diminishing as you chose your next words carefully, “all that was asked from the stranger was that I sail from Seagard to a locate an individual and escort them to somewhere Beyond the Wall, afterwards I would be told more details of my mission from there.”

“What comes after you get those details and finish escorting them?” Theon didn’t recognize his own voice. “Do they send you somewhere else, who’s this person, where are you going?” Seven hells, is that panic in his voice? “When do you come back?”

You looked towards your precious brother, eyes trying to convey a hidden message you don’t dare to speak aloud. You take a deep and shaky breath before clearing your throat in an attempt to keep your voice steady and clear, “I don’t.”

And just like that, chaos erupts once more.

Theon doesn’t realize he was asleep before being so rudely pulled out of his dream…memory?

“Well, memory it may have been, but a nightmare to relive it once more.” Theon thought as he tried to focus on his surroundings, before seeing the reason he was awoken in the first place. On his chest, stood a majestic falcon gazing into the eyes of his owner. Despite being a first-class hunter, one would think this bird of prey that feeds on both fish and birds alike by swooping at tremendous speed with little to no sound, was really a smaller parrot if others knew how spoiled Ari was for attention and treats. “Forget Robb, the real challenge will be in keeping this little fellow from going mad from losing his main benefactor,” thought Theon as he lovingly stroked a finger on Ari’s head, the falcon sweetly preening from attention from his beloved savior.

“THEON!” A familiar voice bellowed as the footsteps whom Theon was sure belonged to one auburn-curled king grew louder as they stride closer to his tent.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Knowing what will soon come, I only hope to find a barrel of ale to drown my sorrows in afterwards.” And with that being his final thought before rising from his cot and just finished dressing himself before his tent’s flap flew open, and in came the Young Wolf with a fury so terrible it would bring down the Wall.

Robb’s POV

After arriving at the camp, Robb immediately jumped down his horse and demanded a steward to take care of his steed before he marched forward with only one person in mind, Theon Greyjoy. His father’s ward, his best mate, his brother without blood and in-arms, and the brother to one particular Yi Tish girl that was sailing further and further from where she belonged. If there was one person who knew where she was going, it was Theon. He had to know, Li and Theon had a bond between them. A bond that Robb loathed to admit many times, as it was that bond that could not be easily shattered or poisoned as such with the bonds of mere companions or even lovers. For companions, some periods of time apart would often do the trick, but even on the most drawn-out operations his father sent you out on, time only proved to strengthen the bond as you would return with tales of the people you were sent out to watch, and even come back with small gifts as tokens of fond remembrance. Every single one of those gifts, no matter how often Theon would act as if he were given something burdensome, were treasured and placed inside a wooden box that he secretly commissioned one of keep’s craftsmen to create in order to store them. Even if you two were lovers, however painful that would be for him, it would be of great comfort to Robb knowing that it such affections would one day pass. No matter how great the flames of passion arose, they would usually die out, especially in one’s youth. In your case, hopefully in a way so spectacularly horrendous that it would kill any hope of rekindling those flames ever again. But no, instead you two stubbornly remained siblings, and your bond was that of great platonic love and adoration. It baffled Robb to no end as to why the two of you remained so insistently loyal to one another, but it was the same answer every time Robb brought out his frustrations.

“He is my brother,” you would say without fail. “He is the family I chose to love and cherish, and so I will choose him. I will choose him every time.” You would look directly at him, with your big brown almond-shaped eyes, so warm and frank, as if you were stating so completely plain and obvious to a tempering child.

“Can’t you choose me? I would choose you. I could be your family.” Robb exclaimed in great exasperation at your persistence. After all, why couldn’t he be your family? He who saw how well you played and calmed his younger siblings when he, his mother, his father, and even the septas were too busy; who would always help you whenever you stumbled upon a difficult word that you couldn’t spell or pronounce; who would show you the secrets of the Winterfell Keep that he would not even show to Jon or Theon; he who saw your secret smiles and hidden protection you bestowed upon the many strays and smallfolk children in the village town. By the Seven’s sake, he was to be the Lord of Winterfell and of the North after his father, who better than him to take care of you?

“No,” you stressed out, “No Robb, you couldn’t. You and I could never be each other’s family, not the way that he and I are, not in the way you want us to be.” You looked at him with your eyes, your big, brown, warm, cruel eyes; eyes that looked so genuinely apologetic that it almost made him forget his anger, almost. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Robb was sure that he sounded pathetic, but he needed to know, to understand, why he couldn’t be the one for you. Was it the differing status between you both, did his mother speak ill to you when he and his father were unable to witness it, or was it because you had feelings of love for someone else, someone not him? Oh gods, he could feel his young heart breaking at that final thought.

“Theon and I…”, you tried to find the words that could capture the meanings you didn’t know the words to, words that were not in any of the languages you had learned and spoken, “he and I are bonded. In a way that goes beyond words, beyond simply moments and memories. It is built on an understanding that only the two of us know of, something you have never and I pray that you never will understand, because it is a pain that very few our age knows about, and that is really all I can say of the matter.” With that being the final word, you turned and walked away, leaving the young heir more lost and aggravated than ever.

“Oh Li, my sweet, darling Li.” Robb thought as he admonished your words with tender childing. “How could you be so blind to your so-called brother’s selfish and arrogant ways? Do you not see how he would ruin you, how he would twist your naïve and tender heart with his cunning words and leering eyes?” After all, brother or not, Robb was not as stupid as many would like to him to be. Yes, he would admit that marrying Talisa was in poor taste, especially in letting her believe that she meant far greater to him than her original purpose. A purpose to strictly bring physical comfort and to destress after hard-fought battles, as well as to help him forget that he was to marry one of Walder Frey’s daughters and to forget about you. While he had never meant in their affair to go so far, he will admit that he got carried away with her. He got lost in their conversations and banter, in her altruistic warmth and kindness, he allowed himself to give into the idea of championing love and how it would conquer any obstacle set before him. But most of all, he longed for the idea of sharing a love with someone new, someone who didn’t know him from his youth. He wanted to love someone who didn’t know of the many insecurities that plague his mind whenever he planned for his next battle. He pined at the idea of someone who didn’t see the vulnerable boy he hid away to project the undefeated wolf marching towards the lion’s den. He was desperate for the warmth and frankness that would be rewarded to him from a woman whose love was sweet and generous and easy.

Talisa had been all of that, and more, so much more. She was opposite to you in every way, physical and emotional. The only similarity that could be shared between the two of you would be that your hair was dark, but even in that there were too many differences. You had routinely cut your hair to your armpit, whereas Talisa’s hair flowed past her midback. And upon further inspection, one could see very things streaks of silver and grey as a result of stress, meanwhile there were no such signs in his late wife’s dark locks. Both of your faces were beautiful and similar in some features but your beauty differed in hers not only in the regions of birth, but in evidence of treatment. Both of your faces had a straight nose, downward turned lips, and almond-shaped eyes. But Talisa’s elegant and angular visage contained no markings or blemishes of any kind. There were no crow’s feet, or scars. Even after witnessing her most laborious treatments and amputations, did she contain an angelic maturity that would envy the wealthiest of highborn women. Everything about her… her willowy and pliant frame… unblemished reddish hue complexion…angelic lips…legs that stretched for miles and were connected by full hips…all of it in the form of one truly mythic beauty.

Whereas you…if Talisa’s beauty could be compared to an angel that glowed compassion and wisdom, yours was that of a survivor that radiated the hardships from years of regimented training for an enduring body and great mental fortitude. Your shoulders and rib cage were broad, but your stomach was slim with a taut core. Your arms were a bit trim, but years in learning how to properly shoot a bow and arrow, along with varying combat made them toned and fine. Your calves were strong and thick and they stretched your trouser legs, and while many insisted you looked more man than woman, you relished in their power in action. Your waist was sinched in a way that showed off the fullness in your hips, and perfectly gave way to your marvelous ass that he stared at more times than he likes to admit, especially with Theon’s overly protective gaze following him no matter the time or place. But he had remained respectful in his gaze if you don’t count the number of times, he spied you while swimming in the springs with the sheer small clothes as your only barrier, or when he watched you bathe in your quarters in the secret compartments or whenever he stroked his cock with an unwavering gaze as you rubbed your clit calling out his name.

While Talisa’s skin bared no markings, there seemed not to be a single patch of skin on your outer framework that didn’t contain a fading mark or scar. Even your proportional facial features: with downward lips that usually remained stoic, and straight framed nose that rarely crinkled even when it was red in the harshest of winters, and eyes that seemed unemotional until one paid close attention in order to see the carefully guarded mirth and gentleness that brightly shone in your peace; were littered with marking brought by you whenever you spied a pimple and removed it, letting it bleed and fester before it healed and scarred. This aggravated his mother and sister Sansa to great lengths, especially Sansa as she would insist that you were spoiling your own beauty and that no man would ever want to marry a woman with such awful scars on her face. You would turn to her stating that you would likely never marry in the first place, nor did you want to leave. Marriage would mean leaving Winterfell, the Stark family, and your new friends, including her who gave you your first gift. This shocked and flustered Sansa, as that “first gift” was a poorly embroidered handkerchief she just wanted to throw away, but instead gave it to you. Not long after, Sansa gifted you a much prettier embroidered handkerchief, one that had little blue flowers sewn across the borders. She insisted that you throw out the first, but you told her that she made both, so both were too important. So, you bought a small wooden box from your meager savings, and tucked both away neatly and lovingly. She still chided you something fierce whenever she caught you picking and scratching your own face. But sometimes Robb would pass by Sansa’s chambers, and double back in shock seeing the two of you conversing (well, more akin to Sansa gossiping and fantasizing about the South while you gave monosyllabic responses) on her bed while she practiced braiding your hair.

This brought up the most glaring difference between you and Talisa, although neither of you were born in Westeros, let alone in the North. But Talisa would never, could never be a Northerner, not in the way he and his family were Northerners as they were Starks, not in the way you grew to be a Northerner. She would never be able to adapt to the bitter cold and snow, could never love the harsh and biting winds, take comfort in the fresh air and scent of smoke wood burning in a hearth the way you had when you were brought to Winterfell by his father. There was no doubt that she would be respected, admired even, but the North and its people would never take to her in the way they took to you. You, who after weeks of careful interrogation and healing, took off running in the Godswoods, climbing its trees, breathing in its holy air, sitting before the weirwood tree with no fear as if you knew it your whole life. While it took a good while for you to gain the castle’s staff trust, it hadn’t taken much time for the village folk to look after you, despite being a foreigner who barely spoke the language. Granted there was the occasional drunk and youthful miscreant who still called after you in offensive terms, but they were quickly taken care of by Theon (who was the third in the keep to take you under his wing, after his father and Maester Luwin).

In return for their kindness, you became somewhat of a silent guardian. You made sure that no wild animals harmed anyone, even those who lived outside the village and in the deep forests; ensured that no child was lost after dark, often returning with bitemarks and long bleeding scratches; and fought off cruel men to the women working in the brothels and the barmaids in the Smoking Log. You even went so far as to “educate” the men who crossed your ire with you... somewhat disturbed skillset from the streets of Qarth. These particular teachings brought you much favor with the town’s women, none more so than Ros (who just so happened to your brother’s favorite whore). So much so that she liked to refer to herself as your “best friend,” a sentiment you returned wholeheartedly, as she was one of the few who heard you laugh, not just a giggle, but a full-bellied laugh, and seen you genuinely smile more times than anyone (besides your brother of course and him). And animals, gods. Don’t even mention to Robb about the animals, he could go on and on about how you seemed determined to take in every stray that wondered around aimlessly, hoping for some scraps of food or a place with walls to keep out the cold. In the first year you were brought, Robb could name over a dozen separate occasions you brought in a stray to care for before being found out. His father had hoped that by letting you keep your beloved shadowcat, you would stop this habit. This caused the very opposite of his hopes to happen, as you had no intention to stop taking in every stray that looked you with sad eyes. You only made sure to hide them in more…discreet locations, mostly in Jon’s and Theon’s rooms, as they shared a fondness for a singular cute creature with sad eyes (you).

But even that was not the limit of your protection. You even provided help to the wives whose husbands abuse them in cruelties beyond imagination, to where these men’s cruelties extend to their own children. These circumstances were tricky to say the least, as there was little to be done as the wife and children belonged to her husband and father, as he was usually the main provider of the family. Very few women dared not indicate any signs of abuse to anyone, much less towards his lord father. Robb was in his father’s solar at the time, learning about his future duties when in you barged in, holding a thick stack of evidence and documentation of not only the alleged offenses, but also proof in showing that these women willingly came to you to bring forth justice, knowing that their Lord Eddard Stark could only do so much. Not only that, but you also found evidence of reports of similar offenses being thrown out, meaning that you took the time and energy to fish out the documents from every trash heap in order to properly present your case.

This is where your true talents laid, in your relentless empathy and your perseverance for change. You may hide your heart in guarded walls made of heavily forged iron, but that didn’t take away the fact that you cared, you cared so deeply. You would use the skills you tirelessly trained for the purpose to protect those who cannot demand protection from those in power and cannot afford to bring attention upon themselves. In presenting the evidence, you asked whether this would be enough to request a change in policy regarding the protection of women and children in not only Winterfell, but across the North. Your body in steeled posture, expecting refusal and rejection, froze in shock in hearing that he would immediately establish a new policy regarding the treatment of familial relations, and punishment in violating that policy would result in amputation or beheading. Immediately, you raced across his desk and hugged him so tightly that Ned Stark was sure you had been possessed by a strange benevolent goblin. Noticing your precarious position, you straightened yourself out and apologized profusely before thanking him and swiftly exiting his solar. When brought up to House Stark’s vassal houses, many protested, though none more so than Lord Roose Bolton, as rumors of him leeching and torturing his wife and smallfolk were legendary in infamy. He questioned why such Lord Stark felt it necessary for such a policy to be implemented, but Robb’s father remained firm in keeping your anonymity, knowing you would be targeted for serious punishment if the lords knew of your identity.

“Being a Lord is like being a father, except you have thousands of children and you worry about all of them. The farmers plowing the fields are yours to protect. The charwomen scrubbing the floors, yours to protect. The soldiers you order into battle.” He paused before continuing, “But it seems, I have forgotten what it means to be a father to many others. I have evidence, of hundreds, if not thousands of reports stating the mistreatment by a family head’s hands. Reports that were never brought to me by men I thought I could trust. As Warden of the North, it is my duty to care for these women and their children, but I have failed in my duty. That is why I have created this law, and any violations of this law will be brought to my attention by the official guards of each house’s town. However, any knowledge of these violations going unpunished will be informed to someone else, someone personally placed and hidden that not even your best spies will find. They will be my eyes and ears; they will be my messengers. Should you bring your own twisted sense of justice upon them, I will know, and as you all know, I’ve never been one to use a headsman to do my beheading.” With that being the final word of the matter, Robb’s father dismissed his men, and called for the ravens to carry out the new law across his land. Robb would never forget those words for as long as he lived.

True to his father’s words, reports of these violations were kept in the known, and the Northern houses were expected to carry out the law’s sentences. Wicked men who violently struck their wives and children without proper justification had their hands chopped off. Those who starved their families were thrown into the dungeons without food or comfort for varying periods of time. And vile rapists had public castrations, and were also faced with beheadings. The lords ceaselessly hired the best spies and sellswords to find Ned Stark’s eyes and ears, but nothing came out of it. Soon enough, crimes of not only this offense, but other unrelated offences started to cease. Time continued forward, and the number of reports continuously dwindled until women felt it safe to walk at night without the need of a dagger, children felt it safe to play with outside after dark, and those with wickedness in their hearts learned what it meant to act properly without needing intervention of a higher power.

Smallfolk across the North sung praises to Ned Stark, for his kind and noble heart, for his true sense of justice, for being a man with true honor and knew the meaning of a lord’s duty of his people. But the women and children of Winterfell knew the truth, and it was you they silently revered. After all, only you listened to their cries, to their pain and anguish. You who searched for proof and evidence until the amount grew so great that you knew it could no longer be ignored. Things were not perfect, no far from it, but they were better. They were so much better, and they had you to thank for that. You were their paragon of justice and truth, someone who pushed for action in their lord’s idleness. One young man came up to you in privacy, and cried his thanks. He revealed to you that he and his brother were raped by their mother since their father’s death, but he could not tell anyone the truth, he could not bear the shame. But thanks to you, that wretched cunt was beheaded, and he could finally take his siblings far down south, where they would hopefully find better work and start a better life. You were silent until you carefully asked the young man if you could have his permission to hug him. When he granted it, you carefully and slowly placed your arms around him before both of you were sobbing and wishing good fortune to one another.

“No,” Robb thought as he almost reached Theon’s tent, “Talisa would never be accepted as his queen, not when you had taken the hearts of Winterfell’s inhabitants.” And as much as he felt guilty for her death and how he wouldn’t truly love her, he knew that this was for the best in the long run. Talisa was intelligent, and kind; but the coming winter would be ruthless, and her warmth would be swept out long before spring would arrive. He did mourn for his child, but he knew that with you by his side, there would be plenty of opportunities to create new heirs, and soon enough Winterfell will be run amok by little wolf pups and laughter once more. “Even if you do not understand it now, you cannot hide your feelings from your mate, little dragon.” As furious as Robb still was by you running from him, he knew that sooner or later that the two of you would find each other once more, and in finding each other, you would rule by his side as his queen and the North would only prosper in your reign together. A reign that would come a lot sooner than later, if he knew where in the seven hells you were off to.

“THEON!” Robb shouted before he stormed into Theon’s tent, he watched with furious eyes at his oldest friend and greatest enemy when it comes to you as Ari off his shoulder and perched on top of Grey Wind’s head. His chest was heaving, his nostrils flared in barely veiled anger, as he vented out the words, “Where is she?”

“With all due respect, your grace,” Theon quipped out as he began to pour himself some water, inhaling it in a few gulps before continuing, “you’ll have to be more specific. I don’t have the faintest idea of who this ‘she’ would be?”

“Oh, so that’s how he wants to play this out,” Robb thought out as he took a deep breath. He should have known better than to expect Theon Greyjoy of all people to give a straightforward answer. He quickly sent Grey Wind out to guard the tent, and not anyone in before curtly replying, “Don’t act dull. You know exactly whom I am referring to.”

Theon sat at his desk before pretended to ponder with his chin in one hand, and elbow in another, before continuing, “No, no, I’m afraid not, your grace. ‘She’ could really be anyone, would ‘she’ happen to be your mother? No, no, no…how about Arya, or perhaps Sansa? No, Arya just got here, and Sansa’s still not here, no thanks to you…Oh! Might ‘she’ be your late wife? The one who you fucked, then married and got killed- “Robb grabbed his throat before he could continue on, fury finally getting the better of him, and slammed the back of Theon’s head on top of the desk.

“Don’t you start with me Greyjoy,” Robb could barely contain himself, but he knew he had to, if only to get the information of where you were heading. He swallowed his pride before loosening his grip, and spoke his next words through clenched teeth, “Where is Long Li going? Don’t even think of lying to me!”

Theon’s eyes softened at the mention of your name, before whispering out, “Are you demanding an answer as my king?” His eyes and voice hardened to prepare saying the next words without spitting at the man above him, “Or as my brother?”

“Aye, I am your brother, now and always, but right now, I come to demand you answer me,” Robb’s voice grew stronger as he stated his next words, “as the man who intends to take her as my future wife and mother of my children and future heirs.” As he finished speaking, Theon felt anger surge throughout his body, and he gripped Robb’s doublet with both hands and flipped him onto his back.

“What makes you think I know?” Theon venomously spat out with a bit of condescension, “And for that matter, what makes you think that I would ever tell you? The boy who threw duty for love, that’s what everyone’s calling you. And for good reason too. Robb Stark, King in the North, the Young Wolf that never lost a battle, almost got 3000 men killed for love, and did get his wife gutted for it.” Theon let out a mocking laugh Robb, who struggled to get out of his grip, only to remain pinned on the desk. “If it weren’t for Li, we’d all be dead, bodies thrown into the river, rotting at the bottom. And because of you, she’s gone, gone with some mad man who could do anything to her.” Theon could feel his throat constricting, but didn’t bother to restrain his worst fears. He wanted Robb to bleed out more than when Roose Bolton shoved an arrow to his chest, “She could be gutted, maimed, or raped by now, and it’d be all your fault.” Theon released his grip and quickly turned away as he wiped the tears running down his cheeks at the thought of you getting hurt, and him not being there to protect you. Recalling your tearful goodbye, filled with gripping hugs and sweet words, and refusal to acknowledge the fear of never seeing each other again. The thought of you, the only person he truly, completely, and unconditionally loved, gone forever killed him. He tried to not completely fall apart as he remembered the final look you gave him before urging your horse into a gallop to put as much distance between you and the camp on your way to Seagard.

“I begged her to not go. I told her that no duty was worth her, that she’s done enough for others and that she should just stay here, where she could be safe.” He let out a bitter laugh before persisting while pacing around his tent, “But she wouldn’t hear of it, said that she had to go, and worst of all, I couldn’t go with her. She said that she needed me here, to make sure that you had your head an’ wits still with you after you wake up. She told me, ‘Robb’s lost too much already, and you’re his best friend. He just lost the woman he loves and their child, he’s going to need you to keep him grounded more than ever now.’” He poured more water, and swung it back before continuing, “‘Keep you grounded’, yea’ fat load of grounding I did before, eh? No matter what me, your mother, or Li told you…you still married your pretty healer queen, because you thought you were entitled to more happiness than the rest of us. Some king you are, you fuckin’ piece of shit.”

Theon finally stopped before sitting on his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, sounding so tired and small that Robb wouldn’t have believe it was him if he weren’t right in front of him, “My sister is gone and might turn up dead and it’s all your fault, Robb Stark. And even if she’s alive, she can’t come back. You’re a shit king for making her doing this, for everything she did so that you’d and your family be safe.” Theon looked up, tears still streaming down his eyes, and stared directly at Robb as he scoffed out the next words, “She left feeling guilty, for so many things, all out of her control. First, for being too weak and injured to outfight the Tarth bitch; second, for not guarding those Lannister boys well enough, and the final part? The last’s the worst ten times over, because she thinks it’s her fault that Talisa and your child got murdered, that if she were just a little quicker and a little smarter and a little better, she’d get there earlier and both of them would make it out breathing. She almost went mad over it you know. I almost had to talk her out of throwing herself off the fucking Frey bridge, as if she hadn’t lost enough of her sanity already.” Both of them went silent after that, only until Robb walked over and sat by Theon and broke the tense silence.

“I didn’t love Talisa,” he rasped out, “I thought I did, I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” He looked at his feet, shame overtaking him as he only just realizes what Theon had lost as a result of his selfishness. “I cared for her, I loved our child, but I didn’t love her. I couldn’t, not when I already love Li, not how I will always love Li.”

“I know,” Theon responded, “I know.” Because while he was still angry, he knew Robb was genuinely sorry, even if he was an entitled prick.

“So,” Robb looked over to ask his old friend, “what happens now?”

Theon took in a deep breath, eyes closed in careful thought before answering, “We get out of this tent, execute some Bolton’s and Frey’s, meet with the bannermen, and make the preparations to Maidenpool to meet with Stannis to bend the knee or some shit.” He then turned his head to look at Robb with his trademark smirk and quipped out, “But before that last part, we’re going to find the biggest barrel of ale we got, and then drain the whole damned thing.”

Robb barks out a quick laugh, and tries to grip himself together in saying, “Perfect, what comes after the ale and before Maidenpool?”

“After the ale, we fight some more, drink some more, and then probably piss ourselves in our sleep.” Theon lists off before the two young men erupt in laughter, both tired of being mad at their best friend. “And before you ask, we’re meeting Stannis at Maidenpool because we got no bloody ships, and it’s going to be you, me, Arya, and Blackfish.” He saw the confused look in Robb’s eyes before going on, “The note asked for me specifically, probably to call me out for treason in being a Greyjoy or something. You’re coming because you’re the King in the North, Arya because two Starks are better than one in this case and your mother is in no state to continue on, my guess is that the bannermen probably want to send her back to Winterfell. And Blackfish is going because he’s a Tully of Riverrun, but he’s not your fuckup Uncle Edmure Tully of Riverrun.”

Robb chuckled out, “Aye, at least he’s not Edmure. And it’d be good for my mother to return to Winterfell, she likely wants to see Bran and Rickon more than she wants to see Sansa.” Satisfied with everything out in the open, the two men got up and called for their animal companions who guarded the tent from onlookers as they had their squabble.

“Come on now,” Theon slapped his king’s back as Ari flew to his right shoulder, “let’s spill some traitor blood and finish this meeting quick. Ale waits for no one.” And Robb laughed and smiled, remembering how good it felt to be laughing with Theon like he had in Winterfell. When everything was alright, his father alive and well, his sisters bickering but together, his mother with all her children, him with Jon and Theon in the training yard teaching Bran and Rickon how to shoot. No war to fight, no battles to be won, and most importantly, you were still by his side.

Please like, reblog, or comment your opinions if you want to, but please remain respectful. If I missed any warnings, let me know.

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what-do-1000-swords-look-like · 1 year

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So I keep rewatching that Tyrion and Sansa scene in the crypts before they go to save the others, over and over again. It's such an emotionally intimate moment between them but I for the life of me could never figure out why they cut the Tyrion and Sansa fight scene (while keeping Emilia's requested Dany fighting scene in) even though they shot it. Perhaps it was due to time constraints as some had suggested when the episode aired but if that's the case then why did they keep Arya's line of "Stick 'em with the pointy end" to Sansa in? Why did they not cut out the part of the Sansa and Tyrion scene where she's the first to draw out her weapon? That plot point for Sansa's story in this episode (as well as Tyrion's), especially when connected with "None of us can do anything, that's why we're down here. It's the truth. The bravest thing we can do now is look the truth in the face", literally leads to nowhere without that fight scene (meaning in connection to her fighting for her people & to save them). "I'm not abandoning my people." But looking at it in a big picture and semi-abstract way, I do wonder if perhaps it was cut because it was done to be one of the many things they decided to hide for Dany's eventual dark turn. Hear me out.

The reason I say that is because right before we see this scene with Sansa and Tyrion (hiding behind the tomb), we see Jon's run through Winterfell to get to Bran. And what do we see?

We see Gendry and Tormund fighting together. We see Sam in trouble as he's fighting that Jon makes the decision to continue no matter how much you can see he hates to do it. We see Grey Worm fighting (alone). We then see Jaime and Brienne fighting together (and even though we don't see it in this shot, we know from a later shot that Podrick is with them fighting as well). The only enemy at that point is the WW.

Not to mention, before Jon's run, we see Dany alone, by herself, saved in the nick of time by Jorah (from her retinue). They are cut off from everyone else and both fight, but Jorah eventually dies.

In the scene after Jon's run, we see Theon fighting alongside Alys Karstark (though we don't see her in a shot, we know she's there from an earlier shot) and their soldiers to protect Bran.

Then we come to the Tyrion and Sansa scene.

So you have Dany (South-Targaryen) and Jorah (North-Mormont but also South because he is part of Dany's retinue & goes where she goes). Then a Baratheon (even though he's not legitimized yet he's still a Baratheon) and a Widling fighting together (aka South and North). Then Sam (North-The Wall and South-Tarly). Then Grey Worm by himself (not of Westeros; part of Dany's retinue). Then Jaime (South-Lannister), Brienne (South but also North because she's protecting Sansa or more appropriately, going from South to North), and Podrick (same). Theon (both South and North-both Greyjoy and Stark -> ends as a Stark-North) and Alys (North) protecting Bran (who ends up as the 6K King in the end). Then Sansa (North-Stark) and Tyrion (South-Lannister).

You literally have the house names we recognize in Westeros that are left at this point in time being represented (as well as the Wildlings) and they are all fighting up North, alongside everyone else, and fighting for survival against this terrifyingly dangerous enemy. The only houses that are cut off from everyone else are Targaryen and Mormont (the same house that gets ended this episode), and is it any wonder they have Jon running by himself (when he doesn't know who he is yet)? Not being completely cut off but also not fighting alongside anyone else though he wants to but only has one mission in mind aka protecting Bran/killing the NK?

Put all of that together plus this scene:

youtube

(there is so much going on in this scene but the part I'm talking about is where Missandei has her reaction to what Sansa says & then walks away, alone -> we know Varys wasn't blindly devoted to Dany despite being part of her retinue & after Jorah is gone, Varys is the one to start voicing his doubts to Tyrion & the audience)

And then I remembered this scene from 8x04:

youtube

Dany is not happy overhearing Tormund praising Jon for not only something she herself has done but she's also feeling threatened now that she knows who Jon is (which is confirmed by the dialogue in the bedroom scene after this). But Jon (regardless of his dual heritage) is sitting with the Wildlings and previously Sansa was there as well (Stark). Then Dany sees Tyrion laughing and enjoying himself with Brienne, Podrick, and Jaime. We know that Dany views Jaime as an enemy and that had Jon (and Sansa) not decided to recruit Jaime rather than execute him, he would be Dracarys'd already. Brienne is the one who spoke up in defense of Jaime (plus remember that whole line from Dany to Tyrion back in 8x02 of "Perhaps because he knows his brother will defend him right up to the moment he slits my throat"?) that led to Sansa's decision that then led to Jon's. Pod is with Brienne. Sure enough, Dany then looks back at Jon and Tormund/the Wildlings again before getting up to leave. We also see Varys notice not all is well.

And then:

youtube

This is not the first time Cersei has been unable to have Tyrion killed after she is Queen. They make sure to show us Dany's reaction to this (and even Euron's). They even made sure to show us how intent Dany is while waiting to see what happens (and to show us Grey Worm looking over at her briefly so the audience will make sure to focus on her if they're not already). Dany is initially not pleased and looks almost angry but also not surprised or relieved. A small glimmer of hope (maybe for Missandei's release?) mixed with confusion (maybe because she's wondering what Cersei is up to?) follows after. But the anger was already shown. Even Euron is surprised and appears unsure why Cersei spared Tyrion. (Euron, the lone Greyjoy in contrast to Theon being with the Starks, who is only with Cersei for a certain reason; Cersei being the lone Lannister; Dany being the lone Targaryen because Jon has the Starks in the first half of the season & Dany never truly trusts him after she finds out the truth about him)

The thing is, while Cersei and Dany share many parallels (and I would even argue that certain aspects of the Mad Queen narrative are split between them leading up to their endgames which proves they are anything but mad), in the end, Cersei did not give up on her family. "Everyone who isn't us is an enemy." No matter how much she hated Tyrion or felt betrayed by Jaime, they were there for her in the end (in their own ways) and she couldn't swing the sword on either of them so to speak. Which is interesting given that she did not fight with the others at Winterfell (or send her army to fight) and didn't care about the one thing that mattered: survival. She had no issue with others killing Tyrion or Jaime (for example, the trial of Joffrey's murder; sending Bronn up North with a crossbow with their names on it - though for this one I'd argue she knew that Bronn would most likely be talked out of it since Jaime met with Tyrion in secret; Jaime choosing to go North to fight which he very well might not have come back from & she knew it since she saw the WW threat was real, etc.), but when it was at her command, in front of her, she never took the opportunity. And Jaime you could understand as her twin, her lover, but there was no reason for Tyrion. Except that they were family, no matter how much she may have despised him, or he her. Even when he killed Tywin; even when he joined Dany and came with her to Westeros; even when Cersei makes it clear that she knows exactly what Dany is to Tyrion.

So even though Cersei didn't care about anyone else and she didn't fight for anyone else (and she certainly wasn't a benevolent queen), she still cared for her brothers on some small level because they were the Lannister trio (as well as being in love with Jaime for many years and only trusting him). So not fighting with them but still...a part of them. Especially when you compare it to the Starks and Jon, and then Jon and Dany as the Last Two Targaryens.

So my whole long point is I wonder why if they cut that scene out not just for possible time constraints but also to help contribute to keeping the point of Dany's dark turn hidden.

Because you have a Stark and a Lannister working together to save people as well as each of their lives (and families by extension).

Which very well echoes the ending episode in where Bran becomes King and he makes Tyrion his Hand. "He's going to fix what he broke." And there are no Targaryens left alive (minus Jon who is banished/exiled, not an accident btw) or in power. The Targaryens have been removed completely from the map as well as from any kind of power in the world.

So I wonder if in a roundabout way, that's why this particular scene was removed. I could be completely wrong and I'm just thinking out loud here, but given the scene's removal after it was filmed when there were other gratuitous shots from that episode that could have been removed to help those time constraints, something just isn't jiving if that's the actual reason. Especially since they introduced that plot point for Sansa in the episode and it never came to fruition. (knowing D&D, I think they thought that scene between Sansa and Tyrion was enough, as well as showing us the moment the Crypt Wights were destroyed by the NK's death and us seeing Sansa and Tyrion right there in front of anyone else, knives in hand - sigh)

#sansa stark #got 8x03 #got #game of thrones #sansa stark meta #metaposts #gotposts #sansaposts #the long night #i'm thinking got thoughts in this chili's tonite #mention of dark!dany #mention of cersei

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florentium · 2 years

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🥺 🤡 ❌ 🎨 🤯 🤲

Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

I'm a sucker for codependency, characters being unhealthily attached, because they find solace in one another. Even when it inevitably results in conflict, the idea of two imperfect people trying to comfort one another is touching.

Specifically for Jon and Theon, anything to do with their individual anxieties about social status in their respective cultures. It's such a unique connection that unites them, and I love to explore it over and over.

What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Okay I sat for like five minutes trying to think of something and honestly I just don't think I'm all that funny and cannot recall anything I've written that's made me laugh.

What's a trope you will never write?

I honestly don't think I've encountered a trope that I would flat-out refuse to ever write. There's a lot of things that don't interest me or that I possibly wouldn't write well, but if I had the motivation, I would still give it a shot.

How do you feel about fan art of your stories?

This has never happened to me but I would be absolutely honoured.

What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Combat and action, definitely. It's so difficult to make tense and readable, for me. I find the pace of my writing to be plodding at the best of times, so when things call for a fast, tight action scene, I struggle.

Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

King Stannis affixes his judgmental gaze upon Theon. “I will send word to your lord sister about the victory, and you have leave to do the same, lest she disbelieve me. You are dismissed, Lord Greyjoy.”

“Your Grace,” he pleads, “before I am sent away might I beg a favour of you?”

Stannis scowls. “What further reward could a man want for nobility in battle?”

“A chance at vengeance. Let me have Bolton.”

“No.”

“Your Grace—”

“Bolton is my prisoner. The northern lords want vengeance of their own. Each one of them hate Bolton every bit as much as you, have no doubt. Their men perished by the score in this battle as well. They too lost men at the Red Wedding. They each want their pound of flesh from the bastard now that his lord father is dead. And you ask me for the whole sum yourself? What makes your vengeance more worthy than theirs?”

“My loss was greater.”

The king’s face darkens. “You mean Snow.”

“I do.”

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jackoshadows · 2 years

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Because I see this fundamental misunderstanding so often on the Arya Stark tag...

In the world of ASoIaF, Lady is not defined as someone wearing dresses, singing songs or wanting romance, marriage and children. Considering how wives are often treated and that marital rape is a thing, I doubt many of the Ladies of Westeros are that desirous of marriage and children. Even Sansa realizes that all this marriage for love/romance is a whole lot of bs and that other houses/characters are after her for her claim.

GRRM has the titles rather simple and in some instances it’s not very clear, but this is what I understand it to be. Please do correct me on this, if I am wrong.

Lady is a title for noble/high born women/girls in Westeros, just like Lord is a title for noble/high born men. Apart from Dorne of course, where we get prince/princesses. We don’t have Dukes or Dauphins or Earls or Viscounts. It’s Lord Stark and Lord Manderly despite Ned being from a Great House.

The highborn girls, irrespective of age, are addressed as Lady. So it’s Lady Sansa Stark and Lady Arya Stark even when Catelyn was still alive. Highborn boys before taking over from their fathers seem to be addressed as Master. Waymar Royce is referred to as a Lordling once - this could be derogatory.

In the books, Catelyn chastises Edmure being called ‘Lord’ when Hoster Tully is still alive and Theon Greyjoy says that he can be Lord only after his father dies.

In the books, Roose Bolton is Warden of the North, Lord of the Dreadfort and Ramsay Bolton is Lord of Winterfell, - marrying Arya Stark to legitimize this claim/title - Lord of Hornwood and Castellan of the Dreadfort.

Jon Snow refers to Shireen Baratheon as ‘Princess’ because he considers Stannis Baratheon to be the One True King of the 7 Kingdoms.

As per the Worldbook asoiaf app, Arya is labelled princess and Bran and Rickon are princes now that the North (Apart from the Boltons and supporting houses) have declared they no longer hold fealty to the Iron Throne. Sansa did not get this title probably because of her marriage to Tyrion Lannister and Robb Stark’s decree.

That’s why Jon Snow is mocked as ‘Lord Snow’ - because he’s low born.

“That is a longsword, not an old man’s cane,” Ser Alliser said sharply. “Are your legs hurting, Lord Snow?”

Jon hated that name, a mockery that Ser Alliser had hung on him the first day he came to practice

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

“And the grumkins and the snarks,” Tyrion said. “Let us not forget them, Lord Snow, or else what’s that big thing for?”

“Don’t call me Lord Snow.”

The dwarf lifted an eyebrow. “Would you rather be called the Imp? Let them see that their words can cut you, and you’ll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own. Then they can’t hurt you with it anymore.

And my personal favorite:

“Lord Snow, he likes to call himself.” Ser Alliser was a spare, slim man, compact and sinewy, and just now his flinty eyes were dark with amusement.

“You’re the one who named me Lord Snow,” said Jon.

Lord/Lady is not about the characteristics/personality of a character. There is no right or wrong way to be a Lady. There’s no rule that says that Ladies should wear dresses and play the harp and be good at sewing. No single character owns the word ‘Lady’.

This holds true for Northern Ladies as well. Catelyn Stark was a good Lady of Winterfell, not because she sang and played the harp or fought with a sword, but because she was a very capable, strong and intelligent leader whom Ned trusted enough to take over when he left for the south as Hand of the King.

Again, this is Maege Mormont, Lady of Bear Island in the North:

Maege is a short, stout, grey-haired woman, and a fierce warrior. She dresses in patched ringmail, and her favored weapon is a spiked mace.[3][4] She is dedicated to the old gods, and loyal to House Stark. According to her brother, Jeor, she is stubborn, short-tempered, and willful.

Remind us of anyone in house Stark?

Maybe an older Arya will even grow up to like dresses once she is confident enough in her appearance to know that she looks good in them. But a lot of her dislike for dresses also stems from it not being an easy or practical attire to do activities she likes - running around chasing cats or being able to fight.

What Jon Snow admires in Lady Alys Karstark is her bravery in getting all the way to the wall and agreeing to a marriage with the Magnar of the Thenns - he compares the Lady to Arya Stark and calls her ‘Winter’s Lady’.

Arya is brought up to believe that there is only one type of Lady and that she does not fit there because she’s not like Sansa. Hence her dislike specifically for things she is told she’s not good at and therefore not being as good as Sansa according to Septa Mordane, her mother, her sister and her sister’s friends. She does not want to be a Lady as defined by the Septa.

Arya loves flowers, likes purple and green and playing with babies, is good at managing a household, can clean and cook and even sewed her own clothes, is kind and compassionate, cares for people, sees the good in everyone even in the lowest of the low often shunned by Westerosi society.

The patriarchal, male dominated Westerosi society does not like women wielding swords or fighting. The text demands that we critique this considering we have characters like Arya and Brienne calling out the double standards and wanting to not be put into boxes based on their genders.

With characters like Daenerys Targaryen and Arya Stark most assuredly having active, leading roles in the next two books, I think the status quo will change or begin to change by the end of the books.

The current, new generation of main characters think differently to the status quo - Jon Snow, Arya Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, Bran Stark, Tyrion Lannister - are all characters who straight off admire proactive female leaders, war commanders, fighters and in the case of Jon Snow puts them in positions of power. Some of our central protagonists - Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen - as leaders are involved in reform and changing how things are usually done. Other protagonists - Arya, Brienne - have shown a desire and a need for things to change. Bran and Tyrion admire characters like Meera Reed/Arya stark and Daenerys Targaryen respectively.

One of the things Jon Snow wants to do is integrate the Freefolk into the North and eventually Westeros. Considering the women of the Freefolk, why wouldn’t there be a gradual and eventual change in how Westeros sees the role of women in society?

Note, because I just know some folks are going to make strawman arguments about why this is Sansa hate because she’s a ‘girly girl’ or a character who likes singing, dancing and all that. This post is not saying that Sansa is the wrong kind of Lady or that those qualities are wrong or that Sansa is not a Lady because she likes singing or dancing or that Sansa does not want to be a Lady because she will have to marry and it will make her unhappy or that Sansa cannot be a Lady because she loves to sing and dance or that Sansa is the wrong kind of woman to be a lady etc - things that are often written about Arya on the character tag.

My post is saying that maybe in the Westeros that our heroes/heroines leave behind in this coming of age tale, all types of Ladies can co-exist in positions of power - a Lady Arya Stark, a Lady Sansa Stark, a Lady Daenerys Targaryen, a Lady Meera Reed, a Lady Arianne Martell, a Lady Margaery Tyrell and so on and so forth. GRRM has given us a variety of female characters and we all have our individual faves and who we would like to succeed at the end.

PS: No need to love all the female characters the same - they are all very different, flawed, complex characters and to each their own. Proclaiming loudly and repeatedly that one like all these very different female characters the same because they are female does not make one a feminist. Quite the opposite.

tl;dr - Essentially, according to the world and characters GRRM has written, Arya Stark, as Ned and Catelyn’s trueborn daughter, is Lady Arya Stark - that’s a honorific applied to all highborn girls. She has qualities that fit a Lady of house Stark and there is every chance that by the end of the book, the current patriarchal Westerosi status quo will begin to change to normalize girls like Arya, Asha, Daenerys, Brienne etc. as leaders or otherwise

GRRM has always said that it’s a coming of age tale for our protagonists and I think that changing societal status quo norms are part of that.

Edited: Edited to change and provide the right links/description of Maege Mormont as kindly pointed out by @patate-i-et-patate-a

#Arya Stark #Jon Snow #Sansa Stark #Daenerys Targaryen #Bran Stark #House Stark #Westeros #Titles #asoiaf #GRRM

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lunnybunny12 · 3 years

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Sandor Clegane X Reader (Your secret sworn shield)

Thank you to @1ofjokersgoons for the request

A/N: here you go hope you enjoy it. This my mind to all kinds of places so sorry if it's not exactly what you wanted.

Master list

Word count: 1,787

Warnings: Swearing, fighting

Your nose burned in the frigid air, and you squinted against the sun reflecting off of the armed men around you.

The cold wasn't something you were used to. Hells, you'd only ever seen snow twice in your life and you weren't exactly fond of it then either. Thankfully It was the summer when your father roped your family into his campaign across Westeros.

"You can always ride with your Mother of you're cold, princess, " Your father said in a mocking tone as he rode beside you.

"I'd rather lose a hand to frostbite," You chuckled, adjusting your position on the saddle.

You were the eldest of the Baratheon brood and the jewel of Roberts eye. Unlike your siblings, there was no mistaking you were your fathers daughter. You had the looks and grace of your mother, yes, but you also had the attitude, appetite for fighting and signature brown/black hair of a Baratheon.

" And father please don't call me princess. You know how much I hate it,"

"Ah but that's the issue young lady, you ARE a princess and I want you to act like one. When we're at home you can come on hunts and roam about all you like, but not here. At Winterfell you need to put on those dresses you hate so much and you will watch your tongue in front of the Starks. Am I clear?"

Your jaw clenched in frustration. Your father had been saying this for the past week in not no nice ways but you understood full well why. One reason being that he was the only one you'd listen to. The second was that since you were born a girl, the Iron throne could never be yours. Your place as the eldest princess was to be wedded off to whomever your father deemed worthy of you, and thankfully (since the king held you in such high regard) that day was long overdue.

"Fine... But I want Clegane."

"The Hound? What need do you have of him?"

"If you want me to be a lady I will, but if I get attacked I can't protect myself properly while wearing heels and a bloody corset. I need a shield."

Another chuckle left your father. This time it wasn't out of cheer it was more in amusement.

"Ay you have the mind of a Lannister"

"One of the few good things that family gave me," you smiled.

When you got to Winterfell later that day it was a relief, to say the least. As much as you enjoyed the outdoors and hunting around the red keep, the warmth the castle provided was a godsend. It seemed like everyone from the north had arrived to catch a glimpse of your family but it's not like it was hard to miss. Your mother and siblings wore the bold Lannister red and their heir shone as brightly as the gold they mined. Your uncle Jamie in the white armour of the kings guard and you in the Baratheon colours, sat on your horse, taking it all in.

As you were getting ready for the feast a knock was heard on your chamber door. An audible gasp was heard from your chamber made then they saw the hound lumber into the room and holt at seeing you.

You were stood there in a long, (Favourite colour) dress with long sleeves and a matching cloak. Your hair had been styled the northern way, simple yet elegant. The southern styles were too fiddly for your taste.

"Ladies, you are dismissed" you said.

The women immediately scurried out of the door and shut it behind them with a heavy thunk. You smiled as you watched the man search the room for any threats or anyone that could eavesdrop. When he deemed it safe he was the one that spoke first.

"You wanted me, you got me. For the whole week"

"You're making it sound like a bad thing, my love"

"It is if I can't keep my hands off of you" he growled and pulled your hips to kiss you roughly.

You were 10 when Joffrey was born and he was more of a disappointment to you than anything else. He was brash, rude, inconsiderate, boorish, egotistical and above all a coward. If someone. When he was younger hed always be at your heels, annoying you to no end and constantly tried to get you in trouble (The keyword being tried) and since Sandor's purpose was to protect the future king, he was with you too. You ended up becoming his babysitter and whenever you were training the boy would shout and say nasty thing to make you lose your concentration. One day you had, had enough of his heckles and asked him to spar with you. However, instead of being a man and doing it himself, he sent his dog to do it for him.

"Clegane isn't always going to be with you little brother and neither will anyone else if you don't lose that sour attitude. So be a man, and spar with me yourself."

It was the way you said it that shook Clegane. He expected you to lose your rag or just leave the training area all together but instead, you talked like you would a scared child. Calm and collected yet firm. As expected Joffery took the challenge, lost and then whined about it like the boy he was.

You parted from the kiss with a cheeky grin as you held his neck in your hands, making him shiver.

"You've controlled yourself before Sandor, and you can do it again,"

"You put far too much trust in me Princess"

"No Sandor I put all of my trust in you. and don't call me princess."

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

Two days had passed since the feast and you didn't like who you pretended to be. You didn't like the dress or hair or corset but it kept your parents off of your scent for a while. A couple of times you were able to sneak off with Sandor and do your own thing and since you were there to keep up appearances, you weren't missed.

One evening as you were walking across the courtyard, you heard a scuffle coming from behind the stables. You were met with a fully stocked armoury and training area. The walls were lined with a variety of weapons, from knives and slingshots to swards and axes. You reached your gloved hand towards a sword a sudden voice made you jump.

"Be careful, your grace. They're sharp"

It was one of the Stark boys. He was on the older side, about the same age as you may be a tad bit younger. Admittedly you'd been too caught up in being with Sandor that you hadn't taken the time to know your hosts.

"Sorry I didn't mean to scare you, your grace,"

"Don't worry about it... um... sorry I'm so bad with names" You said to the black-haired boy.

"Robb Stark, your grace," He answered kissing your hand.

A deep growl came from behind you, and an amused smile crossed your face. Sandor knew full well the boy was just being polite but he felt protective of you regardless.

"and please be careful around the swords they are sharp. We can't have a lady hurting her self,"

The tone Robb used was like he was talking to a child that couldn't tell the difference between a knife and a toothpick. Sandor picked up on it too. He knew what you were going to do before you did.

From what the boy had said he wasn't aware of your training, nor your personality in general and a fake, sheepish, smile spread across your face.

"Well I have had a little bit of training in how to fight but since I came to Winterfell I've forgotten most of it... you look like you know a few things do you mind catching me up?" You said, acting naive and from the look Robb gave you, it worked like a charm.

Robb agreed to "help" you and took you into the training area. He introduced you to Theon Greyjoy and his half brother Jon Snow.

Sandor watched as you continued your act with an almost invisible smile. Whenever you were in the Red Keep you were a completely different person, you were you but god's did he find that facade entertaining.

By that point, Rob had shown you how to hold a sword, jab and do a couple of swings and before you knew it you were going to spar.

"Are you ready, your grace?"

"I'm a little scared" you answered in fake concern.

"Don't worry your highness, I'll take it easy on you"

You could hear the boys chuckle in the corner of the arena and you knew they were laughing at you... or at least Greyjoy was. Sandor had taken it upon himself to stand by the pair and tell them to hush and watch the show.

The second Robb called "go" you swiped his legs out from under him, knocking him flat on his ass.

"Oh sorry," you snickered "I did tell you I had some training didn't I?"

The Stark stood up and brushed himself off. "Its alright princess, let's go again shall we?"

Almost immediately he lunged at you again, that time you blocked his sword with yours and then knocked him down.

Round after round Robb lost and each time your smile grew. By the tenth round, Robb had finished "Taking it easy" on you and you were completely fine with that, If he wanted to hurt you he would have done it already. It was all in good fun and after one more knockdown, Robb yielded.

"Nice skills Stark, your father should be proud" You said as you walked up to him and extended your hand to pull him up.

With a smirk, he grabbed your hand. "Likewise your majesty. Although you could have told me before I made a fool of myself"

"Aww and wheres the fun in that?" You said handing the boy the practice sword. "Its been a pleasure Lord Stark that was quite entertaining, but I must bid you good night."

As you walked to the exit of the arena you saw Theon and Jon looking at you gobsmacked.

"Have a good evening Gentlemen." you bowed to the 3 of them and they bowed back.

Many, hot, steamy, lustful kisses were exchanged that night. Not out of jealousy or anger or hatred, but out of pure infatuation. After a particularly long kiss, he rested his forehead against yours.

"Do you know what you did today?"

"No."

"You made me fall in love with you,"

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane #sandor x reader #sandor clegane x you #sandor the hound clegane #sandor clegane deserves the world #the hound x reader

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onlyafanofthrobb · 2 years

Text

House Stark

It's happening! The thing you didn't know you wanted way too late and in rough draft form! I give you, House Stark - to the tune of the Family Madrigal song. And also Belle's song from Beauty and the Beast and Where We Are from Moana. I'm not very musical at all and far from an expert at Thrones. Feel free to edit. Please share. I think it would be best animated.

EXT Winterfell Day. The main area.

A group of children from that orphanage that Bran and co go to is touring Winterfell. Theon approaches on his horse ready for a hunt. The orphans mob him. Theon, of course, wants nothin to do with them.

Orphans: All the Starks have wolves! What are their names Where's yours? What do they do?

Theon: I am not a nurse for children.

Ned: Theon!

Ned is on a balcony engaged in some business.

Ned: Show the children around Winterfell.

Theon (sighs): Alright, let's go:

Smiths! Weirwood tree! Maester! Let's go!

This is our home We've got every generation Down here buried in the crypts Our birth rate is high but the death rate is higher

This is the Stark family The lone wolf dies but the pack survives

Let's be clear Lord Stark runs this show He fought in Robert's Rebellion so many years ago If you ask me they were dating but what do I know.

Children: Oh my gods it's them! Where are the wolves? (I want to see the wolves) But I don't know who is who

Theon (muttering): it's not that great

Children: Of course it is! It's Winterfell! It's the biggest house I've ever seen! Tell us everything! Who's your wolf? Where is it?

Theon: You know they're wild animals and spend a lot of time hunting . . .

Children: Just tell us who everyone is!

Theon: Lady Stark She's actually from the Riverlands She loves her firstborn Robb And hates Jon Snow, a

Everyone as Jon Snow enters: BASTARD!

Jon Snow (in his dramatic way, perhaps spolighted): It's true, Lord Stark is my father but Lady Stark is not my mother. It's a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone.

So I took a vow of celibacy and focus on my sword skills-(Theon pushes him out of the way)

Theon: Ugh, he's a mopey bastard, you get the idea.

Anyway his wolf is Ghost he never makes a sound.

This is my brother Bran He loves to climb around It's pretty much all he does His wolf is Summer who's very protective (Summer growls at Theon)

My only sisters Arya and Sansa One's fierce, one's graceful perfect in every way Sansa can't wait to get married but Arya's a better archer than Bran!

Children: No way!

Theon: Their wolves are Lady and Nymeria both with a touch of gray. Rickon's the youngest so he named his Shaggydog-

Children: BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR WOLF?

Theon (now trying to get away): Anyway that's House Stark at Winterfell

Children: What about Theon?

Theon: They rule over the whole North

Children: What about Theon?

Theon: Not the brightest but honor-bound

Children: Theon!

Theon: Winter is coming!

Children: Theon!

Maester: Theon! Your father has a message for you.

Child: What's Theon's magic wolf?

Maester: Theon did not recieve a direwolf because he is not a Stark. He is a Greyjoy of the Iron Islands.

Child: Um, then why isn't he in the Iron Islands?

Maester: To prevent a war, Theon has been a host- age here since he was eight.

A gasp from the crowd as the Maester exits.

Children: You're not a Stark! You're a hostage? Are you a slave?

Theon: I am Lord Theon Greyjoy only heir to the Iron Islands! What are you lot going to inherit? Nothing, cause you're orphans.

Child: Yeah, but you don't get a magic wolf.

Theon: They aren't magic, they're direwolves! Besides, I don't need a smelly wolf. I have the greatest gift in all of Winterfell.

Child: What's that?

Theon: Lord Robb Stark Brave, strong, kind and true *A perfect golden child* Could have anyone for a friend but chose me for his retinue

Of course who wouldn't want me for a friend!? With my looks and my prowess with . . . (a group of women walk by, Theon looks at them then at the children) archery!

Robb enters, also ready for a hunt.

Theon: It's true I'm not a Stark And sometimes I struggle to remember what a Greyjoy is. But I'm Robb's brother and he is mine Now and always.

Children: Awwwh

Theon: Now off with yah! We're hunting.

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

Note

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring?#probably #jonsa fic

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istumpysk · 2 years

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Cat of the Canals (Arya III) [Chapter 34]

She woke before the sun came up, in the little room beneath the eaves that she shared with Brusco's daughters.

Cat was always the first to awaken.

New name, who dis?

Some of the title changes make sense to me (Sansa, Arya, Theon, Arys, JonCon), while others do not (the Greyjoys, Barristan). Like, is Areo Hotah having an identity crisis or something?

+.+.+

As she was slipping her tunic over her head, Talea opened her eyes and called out, "Cat, be a sweet and bring my clothes for me." She was a gawky girl, all skin and bones and elbows, always complaining she was cold.

So she's you?

Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows - Jon VI, ADWD

+.+.+

The day looked to be a rare one, crisp and clear and bright. Braavos only had three kinds of weather; fog was bad, rain was worse, and freezing rain was worst. But every so often would come a morning when the dawn broke pink and blue and the air was sharp and salty.

But the lemon tree!

Please don't make me look stupid.

+.+.+

Cat sat with her legs crossed, fighting a yawn and trying to recall the details of her dream. I dreamed I was a wolf again. She could remember the smells best of all: trees and earth, her pack brothers, the scents of horse and deer and man, each different from the others, and the sharp acrid tang of fear, always the same. Some nights the wolf dreams were so vivid that she could hear her brothers howling even as she woke, and once Brea had claimed that she was growling in her sleep as she thrashed beneath the covers. She thought that was some stupid lie till Talea said it too.

I should not be dreaming wolf dreams, the girl told herself. I am a cat now, not a wolf. I am Cat of the Canals. The wolf dreams belonged to Arya of House Stark. Try as she might, though, she could not rid herself of Arya.

+.+.+

The wolf dreams were the good ones. In the wolf dreams she was swift and strong, running down her prey with her pack at her heels. It was the other dream she hated, the one where she had two feet instead of four. In that one she was always looking for her mother, stumbling through a wasted land of mud and blood and fire. It was always raining in that dream, and she could hear her mother screaming, but a monster with a dog's head would not let her go save her. In that dream she was always weeping, like a frightened little girl. Cats never weep, she told herself, no more than wolves do. It's just a stupid dream.

Imagine thinking Arya never returns to the riverlands or comes face-to-face with her mother. Can't relate.

+.+.+

"Learn three new things before you come back to us," the kindly man had commanded Cat, when he sent her forth into the city. She always did. Sometimes it was no more than three new words of the Braavosi tongue. Sometimes she brought back sailor's tales, of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide wet world beyond the isles of Braavos, wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching.

Pardon?

+.+.+

"Him of Many Faces."

"And many names," the kindly man had said. "In Qohor he is the Black Goat, in Yi Ti the Lion of Night, in Westeros the Stranger. All men must bow to him in the end, no matter if they worship the Seven or the Lord of Light, the Moon Mother or the Drowned God or the Great Shepherd. All mankind belongs to him . . . else somewhere in the world would be a folk who lived forever. Do you know of any folk who live forever?"

"No," she would answer. "All men must die."

Kind of wild there isn't a Daenerys fan on earth who is worried about this constantly appearing in Arya's chapters.

+.+.+

"You lie. You are Cat of the canals, I know you well. Go and sleep, child. On the morrow you must serve."

"All men must serve." And so she did, three days of every thirty. When the moon was black she was no one, a servant of the Many-Faced God in a robe of black and white.

I'm slow, I'm only now noticing she's no one when the moon disappears. Heh.

+.+.+

"Learn three new things before you come back to us," the kindly man had commanded Cat, when he sent her forth into the city. She always did.

[...]

"What do you know that you did not know when you left us?" the kindly man would ask as soon as he saw her. I know that Brusco's daughter Brea meets a boy on the roof when her father is asleep, she thought. Brea lets him touch her, Talea says, even though he's just a roof rat and all the roof rats are supposed to be thieves.

What about harbor rats? Are they thieves?

I can't tell if all this Brea, Talea, roof rat business is important, so I'm being safe.

+.+.+

Only Braavosi were permitted use of the Purple Harbor, from the Drowned Town and the Sealord's Palace; ships from her sister cities and the rest of the wide world had to use the Ragman's Harbor, a poorer, rougher, dirtier port than the Purple. It was noisier as well, as sailors and traders from half a hundred lands crowded its wharves and alleys, mingling with those who served and preyed on them. Cat liked it best of any place in Braavos. She liked the noise and the strange smells, and seeing what ships had come in on the evening tide and what ships had departed. She liked the sailors too; the boisterous Tyroshi with their booming voices and dyed whiskers; the fair-haired Lyseni, always trying to niggle down her prices; the squat, hairy sailors from the Port of Ibben, growling curses in low, raspy voices. Her favorites were the Summer Islanders, with their skins as smooth and dark as teak. They wore feathered cloaks of red and green and yellow, and the tall masts and white sails of their swan ships were magnificent.

+.+.+

Once in a great while that would make somebody angry, but when it did she had her finger knife. She kept it very sharp, and knew how to use it too. Red Roggo showed her one afternoon at the Happy Port, while he was waiting for Lanna to come free. He taught her how to hide it up her sleeve and slip it out when she had need of it, and how to slice a purse so smooth and quick the coins would all be spent before their owner ever missed them. That was good to know, even the kindly man agreed; especially at night, when the bravos and roof rats were abroad.

Excellent. Please continue your small knife training.

+.+.+

Some days she rolled her barrow past the towers of the mighty to offer baked clams to the guardsmen at their gates. Once she cried her catch on the steps of the Palace of Truth

[...]

Customs officers from the Chequy Port would buy from her, and paddlers from the Drowned Town

[...]

One time, when Brea took to her bed with her moon blood, Cat had pushed her barrow to the Purple Harbor

[...]

Other days she followed the sweetwater river to the Moon Pool.

[...]

But she always returned to the Ragman's Harbor.

Because. . . it's your home?

+.+.+

A dirty orange cat came padding after her, drawn by the sound of her call. Farther on, a second cat appeared, a sad, bedraggled grey thing with a stub tail. Cats liked the smell of Cat.

Is the dirty orange cat the sad grey cat's mother?

+.+.+

Her favorite was a scrawny old tom with a chewed ear who reminded her of a cat that she'd once chased all around the Red Keep. No, that was some other girl, not me.

+.+.+

A mate on the green galley wolfed half a dozen oysters and told her how his captain had been killed by the Lysene pirates who had tried to board them near the Stepstones. "That bastard Saan it was, with Old Mother's Son and his big Valyrian. We got away, but just."

Whaaatt? What just happened to the timeline? Salladhor Saan spends the majority of ADWD in the north.

Arya is a mile ahead of everyone.

+.+.+

The little Brazen Monkey proved to be from Gulltown, with a Westerosi crew who were glad to talk to someone in the Common Tongue.

I instantly become obsessed with any ship from Gulltown. Guaranteed you'll see one of them again.

+.+.+

The courtesans of Braavos were famed across the world. Singers sang of them, goldsmiths and jewelers showered them with gifts, craftsmen begged for the honor of their custom, merchant princes paid royal ransoms to have them on their arms at balls and feasts and mummer shows, and bravos slew each other in their names.

[...]

Each courtesan was more beautiful than the last. Even the Veiled Lady was beautiful, though only those she took as lovers ever saw her face.

Congratulations, you just found out why they're so desperate for her to be a courtesan.

+.+.+

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

"She said 'I'll take three cockles,' and 'Do you have some hot sauce, little one?'" the girl had answered.

"And what did you say?"

"I said, 'No, my lady,' and, 'Don't call me little one. My name is Cat.'

M'lady, Arya.

The first Black Pearl was a pirate queen? I stand corrected, this is totally Arya's endgame.

Anyway, I'm too lazy to look into any of this dragon descendent stuff. I'm going to assume I don't need to know it. Tell me if I do.

One thing I've noticed in this book, is that unlike her older sister who is fast-tracking physical development, Arya is still considered a child in the eyes of other characters.

"He is not a lord," a child's voice put in. "He's in the Night's Watch, stupid. From Westeros." A girl edged into the light, pushing a barrow full of seaweed; a scruffy, skinny creature in big boots, with ragged unwashed hair. - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

"War?" laughed one of them. "What war? There is no war."

"Not in Gulltown," said another. "Not in the Vale. The little lord's kept us out of it, same as his mother did."

Same as his mother did. The lady of the Vale was her own mother's sister. "Lady Lysa," she said, "is she . . . ?"

". . . dead?" finished the freckled boy whose head was full of courtesans. "Aye. Murdered by her own singer."

"Oh." It's nought to me. Cat of the Canals never had an aunt. She never did.

+.+.+

"You come work with me, Cat," urged Tagganaro as he was sucking mussels from their shells. He had been looking for a new partner ever since the Drunken Daughter put her knife through Little Narbo's hand. "I give you more than Brusco, and you would not smell like fish."

"Casso likes the way I smell," she said. The King of Seals barked, as if to agree. "Is Narbo's hand no better?"

"Three fingers do not bend," complained Tagganaro, between mussels. "What good is a cutpurse who cannot use his fingers? Narbo was good at picking pockets, not so good at picking whores."

"Merry says the same." Cat was sad. She liked Little Narbo, even if he was a thief. "What will he do?"

"Pull an oar, he says. Two fingers are enough for that, he thinks, and the Sealord's always looking for more oarsmen. I tell him, 'Narbo, no. That sea is colder than a maiden and crueler than a whore. Better you should cut off the hand, and beg.' Casso knows I am right. Don't you, Casso?"

The seal barked, and Cat had to smile.

What an amusing exchange.

I'll say no more. If you know, you know.

+.+.+

When Cat slipped inside the brothel, though, she found Merry sitting in the common room with her eyes shut, listening to Dareon play his woodharp. Yna was there too, braiding Lanna's fine long golden hair. Another stupid love song. Lanna was always begging the singer to play her stupid love songs. She was the youngest of the whores, only ten-and-four. Merry asked three times as much for her as for any of the other girls, Cat knew.

[...]

Dareon had once wed the Sailor's Wife, who would only bed with men who married her.

[...]

The weddings were loud and jolly, with a lot of drinking. Whenever Cat happened by with her barrow, the Sailor's Wife would insist that her new husband buy some oysters, to stiffen him for the consummation. She was good that way, and quick to laugh as well, but Cat thought there was something sad about her too.

The other whores said that the Sailor's Wife visited the Isle of the Gods on the days when her flower was in bloom, and knew all the gods who lived there, even the ones that Braavos had forgotten. They said she went to pray for her first husband, her true husband, who had been lost at sea when she was a girl no older than Lanna. "She thinks that if she finds the right god, maybe he will send the winds and blow her old love back to her," said one-eyed Yna, who had known her longest, "but I pray it never happens. Her love is dead, I could taste that in her blood. If he ever should come back to her, it will be a corpse."

It's tinfoil time, but it's not my tinfoil. Consider me the messenger.

Tyrion was born in 273. He married when he was 13. If he had a child with Tysha, the child would be 14.

Lanna is the 14-year-old daughter of the Sailor's Wife.

Lanna has fine long golden hair.

Similar to the name Barra (Robert Baratheon's bastard), you might consider the name Lanna an acknowledgement of House Lannister.

In fact, that very idea will appear in this same book.

Lady Graceford, who was large with child, asked the queen's leave to name it Tywin if it were a boy, or Lanna if it were a girl. - Cersei II, AFFC

Between Samwell and Arya, we never get a physical description of the Sailor's Wife. Many consider that suspicious, and unlike George R. R. Martin.

The Sailor's Wife speaks the Common Tongue of Westeros, and loves Dareon's voice. Tysha was born in the westerlands, and loved to sing.

Remembered notes filled his head, and for a moment he could almost hear Tysha as she'd sung to him half a lifetime ago. - Tyrion VII, ACOK

the Sailor's Wife appeared beside her. "He sings a pretty song," she murmured softly, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "The gods must have loved him to give him such a voice, and that fair face as well." - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

When the Sailor's Wife was a girl no older than Lanna (14 years old), she lost her husband.

My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was - Tyrion VI, AGOT

I was only thirteen, and the wine went to my head, I fear. The next thing I knew, I was sharing her bed. If she was shy, I was shyer. I'll never know where I found the courage. When I broke her maidenhead, she wept, but afterward she kissed me and sang her little song, and by morning I was in love. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

The Sailor's Wife only beds those who marry her.

There's lots of drinking when the Sailor's Wife marries. A wine-soaked red priest often performs the ceremony.

Tyrion and Tysha were married by a drunken septon.

The Happy Port sometimes had three or four weddings a night. Often the cheerful wine-soaked red priest Ezzelyno performed the rites. Elsewise it was Eustace, who had once been a septon at the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

Oh, you'd be astonished at what a boy can make of a few lies, fifty pieces of silver, and a drunken septon. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

Arya thinks there's something sad about the Sailor's Wife. She doesn't feel this way about any other sex worker she encounters.

She was good that way, and quick to laugh as well, but Cat thought there was something sad about her too. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

The Sailor's Wife's husband was lost to the sea. Tyrion almost drown in ACOK. He'll almost drown again in ADWD.

Despite losing her true husband, the Sailor's Wife continues to pray for his return.

Yna, a sex worker who is also a maegi, tells Arya that the Sailor's Wife's husband is dead, and would only return as a corpse. She prays it never happens. You often have to read between the lines when it comes to a maegi.

Finally,

And the whores were out. River or sea, a port was a port, and wherever you found sailors, you'd find whores. Is that what my father meant? Is that where whores go, to the sea? - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Do whatever you want with this.

+.+.+

It made her angry to see Dareon sitting there so brazen, making eyes at Lanna as his fingers danced across the harp strings. The whores called him the black singer, but there was hardly any black about him now.

[...]

The only black about him was his boots. Cat had heard him tell Lanna that he'd thrown all the rest in a canal. "I am done with darkness," he had announced.

He is a man of the Night's Watch, she thought, as he sang about some stupid lady throwing herself off some stupid tower because her stupid prince was dead. The lady should go kill the ones who killed her prince. And the singer should be on the Wall.

Tsk, tsk.

Arya, you're not the Justice League. Settle down.

+.+.+

"There's oysters, if anyone is wanting some," and Merry's eyes popped open. "Good," the woman said. "Bring them in, child. Yna, fetch some bread and vinegar."

Another one.

And it will continue into TWOW.

"Might be, but this one is a child."

"I am not," lied Mercy. "I'm a maiden now." - Mercy, TWOW

Maybe courtesan lessons will have to wait.

+.+.+

Cat took her leave of the Happy Port, with a plump purse of coins and a barrow empty but for salt and seaweed. Dareon was leaving too.

[...]

"What happened to your brother?" Cat asked. "The fat one. Did he ever find a ship to Oldtown? He said he was supposed to sail on the Lady Ushanora."

"We all were. Lord Snow's command. I told Sam, leave the old man, but the fat fool would not listen." The last light of the setting sun shone in his hair. "Well, it's too late now."

No reaction. Add this to the list of things that fly right over her head, lol.

He liked to boast how he was the son of the Lord of the Crossing, not a nephew or a bastard or a grandson but a trueborn son, and on account of that he was going to marry a princess. - Arya X, ACOK

Who is Queen Jeyne? Arya wondered briefly. The only queen she knew was Cersei. - Arya X, ASOS

"They found her too," said Polliver. "The sister. She's for Bolton's bastard, I hear."

Arya sipped her wine so they could not see her mouth. She didn't understand what Polliver was talking about. Sansa has no other sister. Sandor Clegane laughed aloud. - Arya XIII, ASOS

Less time seeing, more time listening, eh?

+.+.+

"Just so," said Cat as they stepped into the gloom of a twisty little alley.

Arya. Arya.

He probably shouldn't even be in the Night's Watch!

+.+.+

By the time Cat returned to Brusco's house, an evening fog was gathering above the small canal. She put away her barrow, found Brusco in his counting room, and thumped her purse down on the table in front of him. She thumped the boots down too.

Brusco gave the purse a pat. "Good. But what's this?"

"Boots."

"Good boots are hard to find," said Brusco, "but these are too small for my feet."

Bad, bad Arya!

I don't care how hard you try, you can't defend this.

+.+.+

The priests and acolytes had already eaten, but the cook had saved a piece of nice fried cod for her, and some mashed yellow turnips. She wolfed it down, washed the dish, then went to help the waif prepare her potions.

Her part was mostly fetching, scrambling up ladders to find the herbs and leaves the waif required. "Sweetsleep is the gentlest of poisons," the waif told her, as she was grinding some with a mortar and pestle. "A few grains will slow a pounding heart and stop a hand from shaking, and make a man feel calm and strong. A pinch will grant a night of deep and dreamless sleep. Three pinches will produce that sleep that does not end. The taste is very sweet, so it is best used in cakes and pies and honeyed wines. Here, you can smell the sweetness." She let her have a whiff, then sent her up the ladders to find a red glass bottle. "This is a crueler poison, but tasteless and odorless, hence easier to hide. The tears of Lys, men call it. Dissolved in wine or water, it eats at a man's bowels and belly, and kills as a sickness of those parts. Smell." Arya sniffed, and smelled nothing. The waif put the tears to one side and opened a fat stone jar. "This paste is spiced with basilisk blood. It will give cooked flesh a savory smell, but if eaten it produces violent madness, in beasts as well as men. A mouse will attack a lion after a taste of basilisk blood."

Arya chewed her lip. "Would it work on dogs?"

"On any animal with warm blood." The waif slapped her.

Did the waif say that all in the Common Tongue? Wow, Arya's getting her ass kicked by a Millennial in the language learning race.

Jon Arryn died from Tears of Lys, and Weese was killed by his dog who was fed basilisk blood. Let's hope Robert Arryn doesn't make it three for three.

+.+.+

"It is Arya of House Stark who chews on her lip whenever she is thinking. Are you Arya of House Stark?"

"I am no one." She was angry. "Who are you?"

She did not expect the waif to answer, but she did. "I was born the only child of an ancient House, my noble father's heir," the waif replied. "My mother died when I was little, I have no memory of her. When I was six my father wed again. His new wife treated me kindly until she gave birth to a daughter of her own. Then it was her wish that I should die, so her own blood might inherit my father's wealth. She should have sought the favor of the Many-Faced God, but she could not bear the sacrifice he would ask of her. Instead, she thought to poison me herself. It left me as you see me now, but I did not die. When the healers in the House of the Red Hands told my father what she had done, he came here and made sacrifice, offering up all his wealth and me. Him of Many Faces heard his prayer. I was brought to the temple to serve, and my father's wife received the gift."

Arya considered her warily. "Is that true?"

"There is truth in it."

"And lies as well?"

"There is an untruth, and an exaggeration."

She had been watching the waif's face the whole time she told her story, but the other girl had shown her no signs. "The Many-Faced God took two-thirds of your father's wealth, not all."

"Just so. That was my exaggeration."

Arya grinned, realized she was grinning, and gave her cheek a pinch. Rule your face, she told herself. My smile is my servant, he should come at my command. "What part was the lie?"

"No part. I lied about the lie."

"Did you? Or are you lying now?"

But before the waif could answer, the kindly man stepped into the chamber, smiling. "You have returned to us."

I apologize, I considered skipping this, but paranoia got the best of me.

Any thoughts? My gut tells me she's the one who killed her step-mother.

+.+.+

"Just so," said the kindly man. "And the third thing?"

This time she did not hesitate. "Dareon is dead. The black singer who was sleeping at the Happy Port. He was really a deserter from the Night's Watch. Someone slit his throat and pushed him into a canal, but they kept his boots."

"Good boots are hard to find."

"Just so." She tried to keep her face still.

He says the same thing as Brusco, the fishmonger.

"Good boots are hard to find," said Brusco

Is Brusco the kindly man?

+.+.+

"Who could have done this thing, I wonder?"

"Arya of House Stark." She watched his eyes, his mouth, the muscles of his jaw.

"That girl? I thought she had left Braavos. Who are you?"

"No one."

"You lie." He turned to the waif. "My throat is dry. Do me a kindness and bring a cup of wine for me and warm milk for our friend Arya, who has returned to us so unexpectedly."

Don't drink it!

+.+.+

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking shadows through the fog.

When she woke the next morning, she was blind.

Not a wolf dream. That's a cat dream, Arya.

And I told you not to drink it.

Final thoughts:

No more ship girl until ADWD.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #affc #cat of the canals #arya iii

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kellyvela · 3 years

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Hi! I wanted to ask you something. Jon and Sansa thinking about having children and having domestic life with their respective partners is a strong foreshadowing for jonsa. Then there was Jeyne W who also told Cat that Robb was going to name their firstborn after Ned. While Robb is dead, it's not sure if jeyne is pregnant. Sansa didn't married to Willas and Jon will not gonna steal Val. Do you think it's foreshadowing something?

Before actually answering your question, I think we can't compare Robb and Jeyne, who willingly married, actively tried to have a baby, and were arguably in love, to Sansa and Willas (they never met, they never married, they weren't in love), and Jon and Val (they never had sex, they never married, they weren't in love).

Also, while having the wish to name their children after their late father and siblings, Sansa couldn't stop thinking about Loras, not Willas; and Jon wished Ygritte were alive so he could marry her instead of Val.

And Loras is a stand in for Jon the same way Ygritte is an stand in for Sansa.

. . .

"A king must have an heir."

Jeyne Westerling told Catelyn that Robb was going to name their firstborn after Ned???

Are you talking about this passage???

"Jeyne," she called after, "there's one more thing Robb needs from you, though he may not know it yet himself. A king must have an heir."

The girl smiled at that. "My mother says the same. She makes a posset for me, herbs and milk and ale, to help make me fertile. I drink it every morning. I told Robb I'm sure to give him twins. An Eddard and a Brandon. He liked that, I think. We . . . we try most every day, my lady. Sometimes twice or more." The girl blushed very prettily. "I'll be with child soon, I promise. I pray to our Mother Above, every night."

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn III

Because it was Jeyne who told Catelyn that she (Jeyne) was sure to give Robb twins to be named Eddard and Brandon, and that she thought Robb liked her idea (Jeyne's idea).

We don't know if Jeyne Westerling was, at some point, pregnant or not.

With all the Tully super fertility references, Jeyne could have been pregnant, but, as you can read in the quote above, her mother Sybell Spicer was giving her an abortifacient all the time, and sadly, that's what happened to Lysa Tully in the past... That's why a guilty Hoster Tully repeats "Tansy" in his sickbed several times, since "Tansy" was an ingredient of the abortifacient that Lysa took all those years ago...

The Lannister not only plotted to kill the King in the North, but also to prevent that said king have an heir... Sybell Spicer and the abortifacient were part of the plot.

And if there was still the slightest chance that Jeyne was pregnant with Robb Stark's heir, the Lannister would not hesitate to kill the unborn child and the mother, if necessary.

Actually, I'm afraid that in the next Book Jeyne Westerling will die anyway...

Now, Robb also used the same phrase "A king must have an heir." while later talking with Catelyn about the North's Succession, and guess who were the ones actively mentioned during that conversation? Any thoughts?

The answering is, a "Lady Lannister" (lol) and a "bastard Snow". Let's see:

"I had hoped to leave Jeyne with child . . . we tried often enough, but I'm not certain . . ."

"It does not always happen the first time." Though it did with you. "Nor even the hundredth. You are very young."

"Young, and a king," he said. "A king must have an heir. If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her." His mouth tightened. "To her, and her lord husband. Tyrion Lannister. I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. That dwarf must never have the north."

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest . . . it might have been a Templeton, but . . ."

“Mother.” There was a sharpness in Robb’s tone. “You forget. My father had four sons.”

She had not forgotten; she had not wanted to look at it, yet there it was. “A Snow is not a Stark.”

“Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.”

“Jon is a brother of the Night’s Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands. Those who take the black serve for life.”

“So do the knights of the Kingsguard. That did not stop the Lannisters from stripping the white cloaks from Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Boros Blount when they had no more use for them. If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon’s place, I’ll wager they find some way to release him from his vows.”

He is set on this. Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. “A bastard cannot inherit.”

“Not unless he’s legitimized by a royal decree,” said Robb. “There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath.”

“Precedent,” she said bitterly. “Yes, Aegon the Fourth legitimized all his bastards on his deathbed. And how much pain, grief, war, and murder grew from that? I know you trust Jon. But can you trust his sons? Or their sons? The Blackfyre pretenders troubled the Targaryens for five generations, until Barristan the Bold slew the last of them on the Stepstones. If you make Jon legitimate, there is no way to turn him bastard again. Should he wed and breed, any sons you may have by Jeyne will never be safe.”

“Jon would never harm a son of mine.”

“No more than Theon Greyjoy would harm Bran or Rickon?”

Grey Wind leapt up atop King Tristifer’s crypt, his teeth bared. Robb’s own face was cold. “That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon.”

“So you pray. Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north must not be permitted to pass to the Imp, but what of Arya? By law, she comes after Sansa … your own sister, trueborn …”

“… and dead. No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father’s head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya’s gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they’ll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice.”

“I cannot,” she said. “In all else, Robb. In everything. But not in this … this folly. Do not ask it.”

“I don’t have to. I’m the king.” Robb turned and walked off, Grey Wind bounding down from the tomb and loping after him.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

As you can see from the quote above, Robb and Catelyn were pushing to prevent Sansa or Jon from inheriting Winterfell and the North after Robb. For Robb, the problem was that Sansa was "Lady Lannister," and for Catelyn, the problem was that Jon was a bastard "Snow," and a brother of the Night's Watch.

Ironically, Robb ended up losing Winterfell and the North, and it will be precisely Sansa (the Lannister by marriage) and Jon (the bastard Snow) the ones retaking the ancestral seat and all the lands of House Stark, and I suspect they will do it together.

Indeed, Robb and Catelyn's conversation is also very telling because Robb said: "By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her". But since Sansa was married to Tyrion Lannister, Robb had to name another heir, Jon.

Robb's reasoning is a contrast to Jon's reaction to the offer of getting Winterfell and the North. Stannis Baratheon used the same argument (Sansa's marriage to Tyrion Lannister) to convince Jon to accept his offer to become a legitimized Stark and Lord of Winterfell, Stannis even called Sansa “Lady Lannister”, but no matter what, Jon didn’t accept Stannis's offer.

And what was Jon's answer?

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

Beautiful, isn't it?

And Jon and Sansa could also produce a new generation of Starks, honoring their late relatives by naming their children Eddard, Robb and Catelyn, the ones that are actually dead, because fortunately Arya, Bran and Rickon are still alive, even if Jon and Sansa believe they are all dead.

She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Be still my beating heart!

. . .

So if you're wondering if the sad fate of Jeyne Westerling and Robb, who had a similar wish to Sansa and Jon's wishes, to name their children after their late father and siblings, could mean something negative for Jon and Sansa in the future. The answer is no.

#anon asks #jonsa

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