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Rickard Karstark had a hard gaunt face yet he would often spoil her silly. But like many lords and fathers, she knew that her father desperately wanted (and needed) a male heir to secure Karhold. It wasn’t with a lack of trying though. Her mother would have given her brothers but one had died while still in her belly while the other two died in the cradle.

Her uncle Arnolf had first made the suggestion to her father to wed her to her to her cousin Arthor’s son Harald. So that the Karstark name and line be kept intact. But she and her father quickly declined. Her father stated that if he finds no other suitors. She did not want to wed Harald, not because of him being ten years her senior but also there were rumours going around that he’s a pillow biter.

She travelled with her father to find strong prospective northern suitors.
The first place they went to was Last Hearth. Lord Umber seemed an amiable man. But calmly told them that he could not allow his second son Benjen Umber to wed her. No more than he can allow his heir Jon to marry her. Both men were tall in stature, Lord Umber’s heir seemed to still be growing taller for a man of seven-and-ten years. Last Hearth is closer to the Wall than any other Northern castle; so he could not in good consciousness allow him to wed her, in case something were to happen to his eldest. ‘Twas a shame.
The next place was Oldcastle. Lord Mallador Locke had proposed that she wed a nephew of his; Donnel or Ryam. Both of whom were noted and proud warriors. She had to admit that Ryam is handsome. But his slender figure, smooth skin, and relatively boyish looks makes her doubt whether he is truly a warrior or trying to play a mummer’s farce. Nonetheless, he is able to prove himself as he faced off against her father for her hand. But soon he can a bit too concerned for any marks her father left on him. The dandy.

After consulting what felt like nearly every house in the North from the Umbers to the Liddles, they went off to Winterfell to take part in the harvest feast. But if she knew her father like she did, he would likely be inquiring about Lord Eddard’s youngest children. She remembered him talking about renewing the ties between the Starks and the Karstarks. Meaning she would likely have to wait until she is a wrinkly old maid with sunken teats for either little Bran or Rickon to wed her.

As she made her way around, she suddenly heard the strong hard clashing of blades. The older one looked rather plain-faced and a part of the household guard. It was the boy fighting him she took notice of. He has a lean build, with dark brown hair and grey eyes so dark they border on black. He is graceful and quick; his fighting is almost like a dance taunting his opponent. His face like Lord Eddard’s; long, solemn and guarded—a face that gives nothing away.
“Keep up your footwork, Jon!! Keep practicing and you might end up garbed with a white cloak of the Kingsguard!”
“It’ll be the black cloak of the Night’s Watch for me, Jory!”

Suddenly, they both took note of her. Both of them then bowing; muttering “my lady”. The lithe youth named Jon still bowed. Jory Cassel – she now remembered as the Captain of Guards – helped up the boy. “You lost your senses, Jon? Or trying to hide your blushing face?” he jested.

He did look like he was blushing or on the verge to. He then took her hand and kissed it. “My lady, please excuse my discourtesy”

“It is nothing of note. And please, call me Alys. No Lady Alys Karstark. And you are ... Jon …”

“Jon Snow, my lady”

Jon Snow. She remembered how her father once talked about him. The bastard son of Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall. Supposedly, he was the absolute pride of the North; his sword skills comparable to his famous uncle Ser Arthur Dayne. Many northern lowborn and highborn had come to call him the Sword of the North.

He’s beautiful. Now she feels her face going flush with red. He could easily be her husband. An impeccable bloodline, he wouldn’t have his own land, he could take my name and my lands would be ours.

It seemed almost like magic had come back into the world when her father had told her that was the match he made for her. “Seems a good sober lad. He’s undoubtedly Ned’s boy. He’ll treat you right” Harald will likely be miffed.

In a short matter, they began to spend time together. While uncomfortable at first, he gradually began to open up to her. His smile could cut like a dagger if he wanted it to. Those hard grey eyes were now as soft as fog. She would tell tales on her trickeries and mummeries in Karhold and he told her of his adventures in Winterfell and the number of people he had to kick in the dirt when they challenged him. SmallJon Umber, Ryam and Donnel Locke, Black Donnel Flint, Morgan Liddle.

When they tried to talk, she quickly took note of a messy-looking brown-haired girl with the same grey eyes as Jon looking at them behind a crate or something. At first she ignored her, but it quickly grew irritating. When she told Jon, he wryly chuckled. “My little sister must be worried for me.” She never had a sibling before but she can clearly see the love between the two was stronger than an ironwood shield.

There is nothing she had ever wanted ‘til then. That is until he showed up with his strong lord father, Bronze Yohn Royce. Ser Waymar is handsome, graceful and slender, with grey eyes. He quickly looked at her like she was prey. “My lady, you may be the loveliest maiden in the north”

Waymar quickly tried to move in on her; practically cornering her. She had heard that he was to be sent to the Night’s Watch. A third son wanting glory of his own. He’s found something else in place of glory it seems. Why win glory when he could get his hands on my lands?

His breath felt hot on her neck. “I heard that you’re to be married to a bastard. No lady lovely as you should be wasted on a bastard! It’s inconceivable!”

“I’m not sure who’s the real bastard, Ser Waymar. You or Jon!”

She quickly took notice of Jon who had been walking by. Did he hear me? Did he believe I insulted him?

“Ser Waymar! Your lord father is looking for you!”

“Oh, so you’re the Stark bastard who’s to marry this beauty? Still a waste. You’re an ugly little thing. I still can’t believe that my father wants me to rut about with your kind”

“Funny. I thought of saying the same to you. The Black Brothers of the Wall may not be so lucky to have you”

Ser Waymar might be stupider than Lord Stark’s ward; Theon Greyjoy. And thrice as arrogant. Nearly everyone in Winterfell and the Royce’s party came to look see the fight between them. A Bronze Bastard in her eyes and the Sword of the North.

Lord Eddard looked pensive whereas Lord Yohn Royce looked embarrassed to say the least. Robb and Arya Stark looked worried for Jon. Sansa looked conflicted but was likely rooting for handsome Ser Waymar.

All of them rather worried. Waymar in his arrogance pronounced at the end of the duel, only one would go to the Wall and the winner would get her hand in marriage. Like I’d marry that arse.
Please, please win Jon!

“This ought to be interesting. Let’s see how the famed Sword of the North fares against a true knight!”

"I'd rather name you Ser Waymar Stone if this is how a knight is to behave. You couldn't be any truer than if it begins to snow in Dorne"

Suddenly, Waymar Royce pursed his lips together. “You think you're better than me, Snow? How about you prove yourself? Royce's always remember. And I'll certainly remember crushing Snow underneath my boots”

Both readily got into a steady position; staring each other down.

"Won’t matter who’s going to the Wall. You’ll still be the Snow of Winterfell!"

“I’m no less a bastard than you are, Ser Stone!”

Waymar charged in head first. He moves quite gracefully but his swings are heavy. Jon is quicker though. Their swords begin to clash furiously. Neither one of them wanted to back down. Jon pressed his blade down, tightening his grip. Waymar pushed back and tried to give him a backhanded strike but Jon easily parried it. Waymar suddenly tried to cut his face but only cut the air

This is no longer a matter of pride; he's trying to Jon! Jon then aimed for his swordhand, slicing around it and cut at it. Waymar quickly kicked him in the knee and tried to hack off Jon’s head but he quickly rolled away. Jon quickly struck Waymar’s face with the flat of his blade, sending him back a foot. Ser Waymar quickly began to hack at Jon wildly but he kept parrying blow for blow.

Jon then struck at his arm hard enough for Waymar to wince in pain that he easily knocked off his sword. Jon then knocked him to the ground and placed the sword by his neck

“Do you yield?"
Waymar said nothing but simply breathed as heavy as a snow bear.
"Do you yield?"
"... Yes"

She quickly rushed out to Jon’s aide. Before she could help clean him, Lord Royce approached him. “It’s quite surprising someone as strong and true as you, my boy, hadn’t had the chance to be knighted. Hopefully, you’ve knocked some sense into that foolhardy boy of mine. I do ask for your forgiveness for his foolishness”

“There’s nothing to forgive my lord”

“Why’d you go and fight him, stupid?! He would’ve killed you!” Arya nearly shouted as she helped her clean his face; which was marred with dirt and grime.

“He insulted my honour and nearly disgraced Alys.” Jon then turned to her. “Are you alright, my lady?”

Silly boy, you’re the one who’s hurt yet you worry for me. “Of course I’m alright. As will you be” She then quickly gave him a peck on the cheek which made him go red.

“UGH!! YUCK!!”

It was strange. The sound of it on his tongue was still strange after all this time.
Jon Karstark. He knew he could never truly be a Stark. But this had been unexpected.

Alys was undeniably beautiful. Neat brown hair woven into a braid. Her blue-grey eyes the colour of the bay of the Frozen Shore. And he knew that he would love her with all his heart. Fight for her if need be.

When he heard the news that she was with child, he couldn’t bear it. His children would not be Snows; they would be strong and brave and beautiful.

Maester Tybald finally came out of the chambers. “Lord Jon. Lady Alys has requested your presence.”

He quickly entered her chambers. She still managed to look strong and beautiful despite having given birth to his child. But he quickly takes note of two bundles in her arms.

“I had thought to surprise you my lord”

As he tried to hold on to one, Alys somehow knew what he was thinking. “The one on my left is our heir, my lord”

The eyes that stared back at him were as grey as his own. A small squeal then filled the room with such a happiness he could never have felt in a long time. “Hello, Eddard”

“It’s a good name.  A strong northern name. Then I’ll name this one Harrion. For the brother, I would have had.”

Eddard and Harrion Karstark will be as strong as the man who raised him. They will be the sons of winter.

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It still hurt.

He could feel every inch of it. Even while he lay down on the cold ground, his mind would go back to that day. 

I should have died. Arch and Drink told me it was folly. 

Yet, twas a miracle that he did not die. But burnt badly. His short legs, his midriff, his arm. The flames had spread almost everywhere, killing several Brazen Beasts and a few Windblown.

It must have been luck. 

Or something else. That Tattered Rogue seemed to want it and had been more than eager to accompany them. Twas his own crossbow bolt that shot at the dragon. His own folly lead to his own death,

By Drink's quick thinking and his own, he had been able to take off the rogue's multi-coloured cloak. When he had said that his own appearance was unremarkable, he found it hard to believe. He likely hid a still handsome but lined face yet his face was quite like his own. Ordinary. Unremarkable. 

As the dragon's made their escape, he quickly managed to grip on the white dragon's leg and leave. 

Father and Lord Anders oft tried to teach him the ways of honourable men and live like one.

But there is no honour in this world. 

His father told him that fire and blood will be brought to Westeros. Justice. 

But there is no justice in this world. I cannot bring justice. 

I will make justice. 

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"Alright, alright. It's the birthday girl's turn now!!" her brother Loras shouted. 

This is nerve-racking. It could land on anyone. Just spin the bottle and hope. 

So, she gripped it and then spun. 

Please, not Lancel Lannister. He's become such a septon lately. Or maybe he's praying to kiss me? He'll probably start a seven-minute lecture on propriety. 

Gods above, please land on Robb or Jon Stark. If she lands on Robb, she knows that Sansa, who's her best mate will start writing RobbxMargie on her notebook. Not that she wouldn't mind. 
Though, Robb does seem like a bit of an obvious choice, she had to admit that Jon Stark is a rather handsome lad. 

If it lands on cousin Desmera, she knows that everyone is gonna beg for more. Probably start shouting "LESBOS! LESBOS! LESBOS!"

DEFINITELY not Joffrey Baratheon or Ramsay Bolton. Both of them have creep etched into their faces. So hard to believe how the lively handsome Domeric could have such a ... grotesque for a brother. 

Finally, the bottle stopped spinning, and landed on Gendry fucking Massey. Very tall and very muscled, the pride and joy of the King's Landing rugby and lacrosse team. Armed with bright blue eyes and thick, black hair, he almost looks like the man of her dreams she often envisioned when she was a girl. Like a knight in shining armour. 

The next thing she knows is everyone clamoring around them and practically shoving her and Gendry to the life-sized closet. As she inched herself closer to him, she noticed him back away a bit. That's a bit annoying.

"Well?" Margaery asked him with her hands on her hips.

"Well, what?" Gendry asked.

"This is seven minutes in heaven. Are you going to kiss me or not?" She prompted. Those were the rules after all. And she honestly wouldn't mind kissing Gendry. Mayhaps he minded? Does he swing the other way like Loras does? He could literally be in the closet.

"Do you ... want me to kiss you?" He asked hesitantly.

"Well, yes! Maybe.  ... Not exactly, but those are the rules. We're supposed to kiss." She explained.

"I'm not gonna go and just kiss a girl if she doesn't really want me to." He replied.

For a guy who looked to have more muscle than brains, she never would have thought him to be a gentleman. "Aren't you worried about being teased?" Margaery inquired. She had to admit that it was quite sweet that he wouldn't kiss her unless she told him yes, but most boys liked to brag about who they'd kissed as soon as they came out. And anything else they might've done. If they didn't say anything, they got ragged on.

"No, not really. I'd rather be teased for doing the right thing, than celebrate doing something wrong."

Margaery had played this game plenty of times before, and no one, not one boy, had ever asked her if she wanted to kiss them. They all just jumped on her the minute they were inside a dark empty closet. Desperately shoving their tongues down her throat. But the sheer fact that he asked was undeniably the sweetest thing she'd ever heard.

"Gendry. Could you close your eyes for me?" She told him, and he did.

When she leaned in and gently kissed his lips, he startled and opened his eyes.

"You're sweet." She told him. "Like, undeniably sweet"

"Yeah, um, thanks I guess." He said, a smile tugging at his mouth. Margaery smiled back and grabbed his hand.

He then used his other hand to gently cup her chin. Instinctively, she leaned into him for another kiss. 

This time, it was more heated. She grabbed his face and practically started to shove her tongue down his throat. 

She practically leapt and held on to his neck for support while he placed his hands on her hips. Sweetly moving his lips from her lips to the nape of her neck. 

"Hey, Margie. Time's up!" someone shouted. 

Damnit! Has it really been seven minutes?! 

Chapter Text

This was weird. Like undeniably weird. 

She had known Arianne since she was a girl of five years old. That adorable girl who got into trouble with her innocent-looking cousin Tyene. 
Back when she was actually innocent and couldn't hide behind a feint of innocence. 

Arianne always tended to attract the wrong type of people. Andrey Dalt was a fairly nice boy and one that they all would approve of.
Her distant cousin Gerrold had bad news written all over his face, even without that cheesy nickname he gave himself. 
Everyone knew the actual reason why she and Cletus Yronwood were dating. If anyone could call it that really. 
Garin was nothing more than a childhood fancy. 
Daemon and her together seemed to cause more destruction than happiness. 
Arys was a gentleman and they likely would have married ... had his name not been Oakheart. 

But this was her boy. Her little boy. 

What was more troubling? The fact that her son is dating someone who is just about seven-years older than him and even babysat him a couple of times? Or the fact that she caught them having sex on the living room couch?

Gods, I want to put salt in my eyes right now so I could try to burn away that mental image. How she was straddling him like a ... no, can't think of that. Need to douse my eyes with drainage cleaner. 

Why couldn't he just stick with any of the other girls he dated before?

Ygritte was a pretty wild girl. Despite not being conventionally pretty, she and Jon were quite taken with each other. Sweet, young, first loves. 
Val was a little more tame than Ygritte but still an adventurous spirit. 
There was no way she wanted Doreah Rogare anywhere near Jon. 
Alys was a very nice girl if not a bit cheeky from time to time. 
Asha Greyjoy was so abrasive she thought that there would be a DV call one day in the future.
A part of her actually missed him dating Tyene ... no, wait a minute, no. 
Daenerys was undeniably lovely in looks and personality.
Talla Tarly was a pretty girl and his best friend's sister. That's every man's dream!

Why? Why on earth did Arianne friggin Martell have to go after Jon?

As she laid on the couch, tired from her day at the office, she heard the doorbell ring. 

Who could it be? Jon would have likely sent a text that he forgot his keys. Her nephew Edrick would not be coming back home so early. And Arthur and Allyria wouldn't come back from work, not in two more ours at least.

"Ashara? May I please come in?" 

Arianne. 

She slowly opens the door, eyeing her as she does. "Please, come in, sweetheart," she says plastering possibly the most fake smile on her face. 

Arianne awkwardly placed herself on the couch. 

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's never a bad time, sweetheart? Something on your mind? Penny for your thoughts?"

"Is, um, is Jon here by any chance?"

"No. He's still on campus. Hard to believe he's just started college"

"Right."

"And you're so close to graduating!"

Suddenly, she feels stupid for being so undeniably petty and annoying. The look on Arianne's face is etched with something she hasn't seen in a long time.

Guilt. She hasn't seen that look since the day she totaled her family's limo in a drunken attempt to go to the MacDonald's drive-thru. 

"Look, I know what you're thinking."

"Please, Arianne, please tell me what I'm thinking"

"You think I'm just gonna sleep with him and be done with him. A-A hit it and quit it situation. But it's not, honest. D-Did Jon even tell you how we met ... again and officially?"

"... Not really. I had told him to go to his room and stay there until he graduates from college."

"Jon was studying and taking up books from the campus library while I was busy writing my doctoral dissertation. It had been a really long time that I had a meaningful conversation with a guy that wasn't followed by "Wanna do it in the parking lot?". It was nice."

Now, she paused a bit feeling a bit more like an idiot. 

"We've actually been going out for about two months. And I was the one who told him not to tell you. You, Dad and everyone else knows who I've dated and the end result.
But the thing is I ... I really like Jon. I like him and I honestly think I can see a future with him"

Now, Arianne just reminded herself of the time she was imagining all those things with Ned. Oh, Ned. Where did the time go? When and how did things fuck up so badly?

"Arianne. It's not just your ... history with men. Yo-Your future is in front of you! You're getting your PhD and Jon's just started to get his bachelor's degree. Not to mention you're seven years older than him an - "

"So, it's more about the age difference between us?"

"No, that's not it" But it did bother her a bit. But Ashara was no different. She was five years older than Ned when they had first met. 

"Then what is it, Ashara?"

"I don't want him getting hurt!!" she practically shouts that it scares even her. 

"Arianne. I have known you since you were a girl. I've watched you do numerous dumb things, dumber than I have done in my life. Now, I've come to watch you blossom into a beautiful headstrong woman with a bright future.
I've raised Jon with Arthur and Ned's help. I've sung him to sleep, kissed his bruises, rocked him in my arms whenever he got upset. And his love life kinda sucks. His first girlfriend died in a car accident. One was what I believe to be a mutual break-up, one that was absolutely necessary, and another one go away to parts unknown for a better life. I've seen his heart broken so much. And a little part of me breaks when I see tears staining his beautiful eyes"

I'm crying. Damn it, I'm actually crying. 

"You'll understand when you're a mother one day."

"Take it from someone who's actually had her heart broken a couple of times too, I wouldn't dare dream of breaking Jon's heart"

She then feels strong arms embracing her. 

"I just have one more thing to tell you, Ari"

"What's that?"

"If I catch you fucking on the couch or anywhere else, I'll gut you"

Chapter Text

He dreamt an old dream, clear and vivid as things once were.

It was the year of false spring, and he was eighteen again. Down from the Eyrie to the tourney at Harrenhal. 

He remembered the laughter of his wild elder brother Brandon and Robert's berserk valor in the melee, how he laughed as he unhorsed men left and right.

He remembered Jaime Lannister, a golden youth in scaled white armour, kneeling on the grass of the king's pavillion and making his vows to protect and defend King Aerys. 

The sudden burst of another memory came forth. A woman most lovely with raven-haired tresses and enchanting purple eyes. 

Even with the years, leeching at his memory, he could never rid himself of an image of beauty like hers. 

The dancing between them was sweet if not a bit awkward and clumsy on his part. Her bright laughter still rang loud in his head after all this time. 

Everything then changed to the sounds of a small river and the smell of pines. 

Ashara's lithe form looming over him. Her soft lips placing a small kiss on his shoulder blade. Her small deft and delicate hands gently nuzzling on his broadening chest. Their clothes nearly gone. 

Suddenly, the movements between them becoming more and more frenzied. Her neat locks now in wild disarray. Her nipples now pert in the passing chill. The slapping sounds of their flesh becoming louder and the only sound filling the godswood. 

"Ned. Ned. Ned" she whispered like a prayer. His hands gripping her hips as tightly as possible. 

A small but loud moan came out of her mouth. 

"Ned. Ned. Lord Ned. Eddard"

Suddenly, the image and memory of Ashara was replaced with one he was all to familiar with. Her coppery-red tresses looking as if kissed by fire. Bright blue eyes staring back at him with lust.

"Eddard. Eddard."

Her hips moving more frantically and her hands moved to his chest to steady herself. 

The voice then changed from his lover, to his wife's than to a man's voice. "Lord Eddard", a man echoed from the dark. 

Groaning, Eddard Stark opened his eyes. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows of the Tower of the Hand. 

"Lord Eddard?" A shadow stood over his bed. 

Gods be good, allow me to enter the realm of dreams again.

"Your pardon, Your Grace"

Chapter Text

All of this was so, so strange. 

Once upon a time, he had simply been a Prince. Then, he had become a king and married to the most beautiful woman in the world;

Then everything went to hell. For his mother at least, who had become the Mad Queen. Threatening the burn anyone she didn't like and anyone who disagreed with her. 

Now, he was the Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the East by decree of Queen Daenerys; at the behest of his uncle Tyrion. 

And he was no longer Tommen Baratheon. No, now he is Tommen Lannister. 

He often left his duties to his cousins. Uncle Tyrion certainly had more of mind for lordly duties, but he was doing his duty to the Queen and her King as Hand. 

Whenever he would go off to train with cousin Devan, he always mentioned how he's moving like his Uncle Jaime. 

Uncle Jaime. It made him sad to think of him. Had it not been for his quick thinking, he may not have survived. 

Yet, he hadn't spent much of his time in Casterly Rock. The Red Keep did not feel like home yet he seldom felt like calling the Rock his home. 

Storm's End was where he had spent most of his time; visiting the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. 

Gendry and he had met when they swore their allegiance to Queen Daenerys. He seldom heard about the famed Outlaw Lord, who became the leader of the Brotherhood without Banners. Barely a man, and he had gone on and taken the Crossing; rallying help from the smallfolk and the neighboring lords. 

He remembered having met him once long ago, when he asked for a small dagger. Father - their father - wouldn't take him himself and he had been brought to the Street of Steel with Ser Arys Oakheart. He asked why he would a boy his age need a dagger for. "F-For protection," he said. He didn't know why he told him, he never met him but something about him seemed comforting. 

"I wish to learn to fight. To protect myself. ... I don't want Joffrey to hurt me"
"Prince Joffrey?"
"Um, ... yes"
"Well, Prince Joffrey does seem like a rightful shit to me"

"You are speaking to the Prince's brother, good man!" Ser Arys chastised him. But he had laughed. 

The Stormlands had not been his home but it felt more comforting. The sound of the rain pelting the ground. Even the crackling thunder which once scared him as a child. 

Gendry would never turn him away. He always seemed to have a welcome smile when he came, even when it was abrupt. They often trained with each other. The captain of guards would show them proper archery. The lord of Starfall and his wife would often spar with them as well. Lady Elia Dayne was just as fierce as Lady Arya Stark. Never truly Baratheon; she did not like being called that and Gendry was fine with it. 

Both of them were almost of the same cloth; now lords of lands that were thrust upon them. 

Whenever he left, he always felt a small void where his heart is. The only good thing waiting for him at the Rock was Margaery, who was now swelling with his child.

Myrcella would often visit whenever she could. 

But he would always feel emptier whenever he left Storm's End.

Sometimes, his mind would wander to Gendry. Wondering why he was not his older brother. The older brother he wanted; the one thing he would ask the Seven but never got. 

He should have been my family, not Joffrey.

Chapter Text

She felt more horrified than the time Ashara once tried to goad her into jumping into the waters from the top of the Palestone Sword. 

A giant mountain of a man and a portly pig-man coming into her chambers. 

One can only hope that they are reinforcements. But that is foolish. She knows why they are here. 

Please, Old Gods and New, please protect my children.

"NONONONONONONO!!!!!!!"

Rhaenys is dragged out from underneath Rhaegar's bed. Her tiny arms and legs flailing about. 

"PAPA, PAPA HELP! PAPA PLEASE HELP!!" 

"Your daddy ain't here, little dragonspawn. Your daddy's dead!!" the pig-faced man practically sneers at us both. Coupled with his high-pitched voice, it makes him sound like a demon of the Seven Hells. 

With one swift motion, he grabbed her by her leg. He took out the dirk so fast, she barely even saw it. 

The hall was now filled with the pain-filled screams of her little girl. The screaming had instantly woke Aegon. 

"Stupid babe," the mountainous man said. Suddenly, inching toward her. 

"No. No, please. Please, please don't do this. Please don't harm my son!!"

He quickly took him from her arms, surprisingly holding him with such gentleness. 

"Seems to be a good boy." 

With another swift motion, he quickly puts his large gnarled hand on his head and slams him onto the wall. 

She can't do anything but scream from the shock and horror of it all. 

"Was a good boy"

Not my boy. Not my son!!

All of a sudden, a rage she had never felt before courses through her blood. She begins to hit him with all of her might. Hoping and praying that he would feel the level of hurt she is feeling right now. 

But he looks at her with those cold cruel eyes, like nothing had ever hurt him and could never hurt him. 

Suddenly, she feels a hot slap across her cheek and then those same gnarled hands, still full with the blood of her babe, throw her to the floor. Just as she tried to get back up, she feels those same hands, pushing up her skirt and gripping her by her hips. 

The very feel of him inside her is absolutely disgusting. Frenzied as he forced himself deep into her. 

Someone help!!

Uncle Lewyn first came to mind. Tall as a tower, with a sweet-soft voice and kind weathered face. He even tried to teach her to wield a spear until her mother caught wind of it. 

Oberyn was the second person to come. Her valiant foolhardy brother who vowed to be by her side. His eyes gleaming with such mischievousness.

The last person who came to mind that would help was certainly not her husband. She knew why he did what he did but she did not want his help.

Arthur. Arthur, who had been her friend long before he had been Rhaegar's confidante. Who squired under her uncle. The bright-eyed squire who vowed before them all that he would be the truest knight of all. Whose lips were the first one's she had kissed, and he in turn. Who vowed to always protect her and be her knight no matter the odds. 

Where are you, Arthur?!

"ARTHUR!!!!!"

Suddenly, she felt her head slam into the cold marble, and the whole world turning as black as pitch

Chapter Text

He had almost wanted to laugh. Gods, the entire situation was fairly laughable. 

Robert always had a penchant for slighting him in any way he could.
His constant teasing that he would never be as strong as him. How he would never gain any glory, but he did not truly care for it. How he denied him Storm's End and granted the lands and titles to his prancing brother Renly. 

Stannis should feel slighted to say the least but he doesn't really. He had always done his duty whereas Robert had often done his best to ignore it. The one bit of work he had always done. 

Lady Selyse had initially been promised to Lord Leyton Hightower, and instead Robert and Jon Arryn stated that he should wed her. While he is not one for vanity, he had to admit that she was not a particularly attractive woman. She is as tall as him, thin, and has the Florent trait of too-large ears. Selyse has pale eyes, a sharp nose, and a growth of hair on her upper lip.

He knows that he is not the most handsome man in the world, but he had to admit that someone would have to be a fool to want to bed Selyse Florent.

Had it not been for Robert being in his cups and bedding her, he'd be stuck with her. Mayhaps she was in her cups as well to have willingly gone into bed with Robert. She did not strike him as one to have do anything willingly with her whip-like voice. 

"By the Gods, Stannis! How in the Seven Hells did I bed her?!" Robert said, miffed and horrified by the sheer fact of having bedded her. 

While he did say words to pledge his love for her, he probably wouldn't love her. He was nowhere near as miffed or horrified that his bride had gone off with his brother while he acted courteous enough to invite her cousin for a dance. He did feel a small ounce of betrayal but nothing more. 

Lord Leyton was kind enough to take Lady Selyse in spite of the debacle. He had been promised a Florent wife before, but Lady Rhea had been married off to Ser Talbert Serry.

Lady Delena was more than kind enough to accept the newly formed proposal. And arguably, more attractive than Selyse. A head or two shorter than him, kind pale eyes, round-faced and well-rounded figure. It was only the day after for his original wedding yet a part of him so wanted to grin and laugh at Robert's face for the first time in his life. Gloat that he had not done such a stupid thing as Robert had done. 

But as always, he had done his duty. And he stood at the sept and said the words to his new wife. 

Chapter Text

She had often wondered what on earth it was supposed to be like; to lay with someone. 

Mother and Septa Mordane had often told her that it is to occur only between a husband and wife. But she knows now that there are vile men who would have their way with women, no matter what. 

Septa Mordane once told her that if anyone other than your lord husband was to take her maidenhead, than it means that the woman is ruined. That the woman has brought shame and dishonour to her family and her house. 

They lied, they must have. After a weary day, her husband would often kiss her sweetly and chastely as possible. Her new husband. 

Sansa Stark had wed Lord Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock against her wishes in the Sept of Baelor. Alayne Stone had wed Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill within the safety of Ser Brynden Blackwood's godswood. Although dead, the weirwood is colossal and can be seen from leagues away. 

Nothing that feels so good could possibly ruin you, she thought as Gendry sheathed himself in her to the hilt. His hands at her hips, shamelessly grinding against his own, her breasts falling up and down as she moved against him. The sound of their flesh slapping together and the rhythm of their movements together was a far more beautiful song than the ones she fell in love with. 

Her husband was not a lord, but he was undoubtedly one of the most truest knights she had ever known. Unlike the upjumped cutthroats that made up Joffrey's Kingsguard, he at least tried to live up to his knightly vows. Lem trained with him day in and day out when he wasn't tending to her and the young orphaned boys and girls. Often making sure that she was okay and that no one had harmed her when he would go out patrolling the Riverlands with Anguy, Lem, Tom and the others. 

Oldstones was a little more hospitable with the help of the remnants of the Brotherhood without Banners. The stone that surrounded the keep was now mostly made of strong pale-coloured stones. Not much of a home but it is a start. Their own chambers are small but quaint and cozy. And they could keep each other warm at night. She loved the feel of his large hands holding her close to his person. 

Kind, gentle and undeniably good. She should have listened to her father long ago. But that was when she was a stupid girl by the name of Sansa Stark. She was still Sansa Stark when she left the Vale when learning that the person who had protected her so far aimed to kill her sickly cousin. Sansa was gone and only Alayne remained. 

Every time they would lay together, Gendry would make sure to touch her everywhere. Every piece of exposed skin, how good it felt as he roamed his hands all along her body. Or his lips kissing and licking her pert nipples. 

It's beyond aggravating. She never had trouble saying Gendry's name any other time; it's not even a particularly complicated name! But somehow when he's touching her like this - when his fingers skim the seam of her smallclothes and his nose finds the sensitive hollow behind her ear - she can't seem to manage it. She'll start out reasonably well, but then it will trail off into high, strained sound, Gendr-ohhh. Sometimes she won't even get that far, emitting only a strained Guh before she loses her power of speech entirely and can only clutch at his shoulders as he strokes over her, circling and teasing, stoking her like his forge and making her blood burn just as hot.

"GOOD GODS, GENDR-AAHH!!" 

"ALAYNE!!" 

Absentmindedly, she stroked his now sweaty back while he gently breathed against her neck. The sweat from their coupling now strangely mingling and trickling down her thigh which was getting sticky from his seed. He then gently stroked the underside of her left breast and kissed her.

"Alayne. Oh, Gods Alayne. I love you. I love you so much."
"I love you too, Gendry. My love"

That always seemed to stab at her heart. How she was still Alayne, and how that was the name he called her and the name he howled when he spilled his seed inside her.  

She wants to tell him that Sansa is the one he loves, for that is her true name. But that would make everything they have built together a lie. And he had been nothing but truthful with her. She oft imagines how sweet her name would sound from his lips. But she can't for she must be Alayne. She must be this stranger.

Chapter Text

The Brotherhood had actually done it. They had taken the Twins with the help of a skeleton crew in Riverrun that had remained loyal to the Tullys. Once that had been done, they had gone on to liberate Seagard from the remaining control of the Freys. 

Everyone had been cheering on as the Brotherhood had proven themselves. Now the other houses of the riverlands had come to rally their forces around them. The Mallisters were quick to join them for the debt of life they now owe. The Blackwoods quickly followed suit, and the other houses gradually came to their side offering whatever support they could muster. 

But there was only one member of the Brotherhood she cared for. The tall dark-haired, blue-eyed smith who aspired to be the bravest and truest knight since Ser Duncan the Tall. "He and I have much in common. Both of us runts of Flea Bottom. If someone from there could earn a knighthood, and be a true knight and eventually become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Then, I dunno, I could be something close to that." That was what he told her when she asked about the sword he was making for himself. 

"Here, you should take this then. Every true knight needs a helm." She handed him a helm with a likeness of a scaled demon atop it, slavering. It had belonged to one of her ancestors, Black Tom Heddle. "I-I can't take this, Jeyne." Yet she persisted and insisted. 
"There you are now, you look like a ... Demon of the Trident!"

Jeyne then heard the thundering sound of hoof-beats. Lem was leading them, still bearing the infamous helm of the Hound, making him just as terrifying as him. Beside him was Anguy, who was bearing a strange helm he found at Harrenhal; bearing the likeness of a goat. Lord Edrick, whom her sister Willow was fond of but would never say, was by the side of the archer. Tom, Jack O'Nutten, Dennett, The Mad Huntsman. Where is he?

Suddenly, the burst through the door. "Someone. Anyone a maester? A healer? Anybody?! We need help!!" Lord Edrick screeched out. Please, Gods, no. But it was true to say the least. In one arm, Gendry was desperately clutching on to the helm she given him while he had a deep gash on his chest; bleeding onto the floor. Meribald, the hunched maester, then came to his side. He then called for some turpentine, egg yolks and a bottle of wine to help treat his wounds. She quickly followed suit with him to help. 

"Are you his lady love, my dear?" he said kindly but a smirk soon followed. Did he suspect something?

"Um, no, Not his lady love. But I care for him deeply and my sister loves him like a brother". Much of that had been true. Willow positively adored Gendry, and whenever he was not within earshot, she would goad her to kiss him and confess her feelings. 

Jeyne took the wine, a candle, a needle and tread and a dagger given to her (by Gendry) and sat down facing him. Meribald used the candle to heat up one side of the dagger; as the blade heated up, she soaked a cloth in wine and used it to clean the area around. Once the blade was red, Meribald had gone on and pressed it against the wound. Gendry let out a guttural howl of pain as the blade cauterized the injury. Once that was done, Jeyne wiped the area again and put the needle and thread in the wine as well; carefully sewing up the gash.

"This boy may be the most truest knight or the most foolish. Either way, he showed tremendous bravery." Meribald said. 
"Yes, yes he has" she said with a faint smile on her lips. 

The windburnt-faced septon then gave her that same smirk from before. Am I that obvious? "I'll just leave you two to be". She sat by his side waiting for him to wake or stir at the very least for what felt like hours. His eyes suddenly woke and moved, looking around. 

"Wh-Wha's happened? Where am I?"
"Gendry? Gendry, you're OK!!"

Suddenly, his face looked a bit sullen. Disappointed almost. Is he not happy to see me? Why would he be anyways?

"I-I'm sorry. I ruined the helm. It got a bit dented" he said. That's what he's worried about? She barely even noticed the dent when he had it in his arms. 

"I-I can fix it. I ca-"
"You stupid silly boy. I'm just glad you're safe."

He then flashed her a smile. He hadn't done that since he came to the inn. She fell in love with his eyes first, then his conviction in being a true knight. His smile is so dazzling she nearly lost herself in it.

"The others. Lem. Anguy, Tom and ... Ned. They okay?"
"Yes. They're fine and worrying about you. Tom promised to sing a song about you and Anguy's moaning that he's missing his best mate"
"Willow was screeching before, for you not to die"
"I wanted to but she kept screaming so damn loud. Damn woman wouldn't leave me in peace"

She giggled at that. Why was she seeing this whole new side of him just now? Mayhaps, he had been like this once before. Before the war had swooped in and took everything from everyone. Even if he grew up in Flea Bottom, Gendry must have had a happy life before.  

Jeyne smiled and kissed the sewed up wound. The stitches were aligned nearly perfectly. Unaware, her fingers had began running down his chest and she began to absent mindedly caress Gendry's bare upper body. His muscled form was firm and solid, not a soft spot to be found. As her fingers reached the lowest rib Gendry jerked slightly.

Did I hurt you?" Jeyne exclaimed coming out of her trance. Rather than reprimand her, Gendry gave her a small grin and shook his head. "No it just tickled a little."
"I-I-I'm sorry," Jeyne said hurriedly. "I should not of been doing that."
"No you're quite alright." Gendry reassured her.

Almost by sheer instinct, she leaned over and started to kiss him. She feels his lips kiss hers back and briefly jerks away from her, then looking at her as if he had struck a nerve or something. Am I not pretty enough for you, Gendry? Is your heart tethered to someone else? 

Just as she backs way herself, she feels his hands caress the back of her head then capture her lips. She nuzzled his nose and deepened the kiss, wanting more of him. Before long they were in each other's arms, kissing, caressing, groping. Quickly and frantically, they shuck most off their clothes. She was now bare and she didn't know what to think, for Jeyne had never bore herself like this to any man at all. Does he think my teats too small? 

She quickly lay on top of him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her tongue rolling around his and her mound pressing down on his loins. He had her wrapped in his arms, one hand stroking her spine to the small of her back over the smooth cheeks of her arse and groped for it to press her onto his hardening cock. He lifted his head and reached for her breast with the other hand to suckle it, until she moaned with desire. She pressed him back down and he let her, his hands on her hips, while she remained seated and she looked down at him with hooded eyelids.

She bent lower to lean on her arm, while she lifted her hips and reached for his cock to guide herself down on him. She gasped as she slowly slid over him and finally took all of him in. She did not move at first. Needing time to adjust herself to this sensation. She never felt so whole; so complete. The pain was fairly minuscule from what her Aunt Masha told her. At this point, she expected her maidenhead to have been taken by brigands or rapists. No, she willingly gave it away. Please Gods, grant me a babe from this. A baby boy with all his father's beauty.

And then she started to rock her hips, slowly, forth and back, left and right, up and down, testing him and herself, how much she could embrace, how deep he could sheath himself in her, how far back she could lean without him slipping away. He watched her in mesmerization, unable to tear his eyes off of her, as her nipples stiffened and she swayed her head with eyes closed and half open lips. She leaned forward, leaning on her hands next to his shoulders, arching her back, her lips not far from his. He wrapped one arm around her head, lifted his head to kiss her mouth, and used his other hand to support her as she lifted her hips and came down on him again. Gendry started to follow her rhythm by thrusting his hips upwards to maximize their pleasure. It was torturous slow and straining.

She wanted to allow him all the time and thrusts she needed to come. She began to feel her muscles of her thighs tighten and clench around his cock. She gently placed her hands on his chest, curling her fingers  and clenching at it in pure ecstasy. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open, her eyes closed, and her back arched. Ultimately, Gendry began to thrust and jerk upwards harder, grabbed her hips and guided her to him.  Jeyne moaned and yelped and cried out, "Yes!" repeatedly. Her small gasps evolved into whimpers, and she lunged for his mouth, swirling their tongues around, biting his lip and then cried out.

"BY THE OLD GODS AND NEW!!"
"OH FUCK!!"

She felt exhausted and her thighs were covered in a stickiness mixed with her maiden's blood and his seed. Quickly falling upon his chest and leaving open-mouthed kisses all over while he aptly fondled her arse.

This was also she could ask for. All that she wanted. Nothing could ruin this for her. 

Chapter Text

"Lady Stark, I didn't think I'd find you hear in the Stormlands" Stannis said.
"I had not thought to be here" Lady Catelyn replied.
"Is that really you?" Renly inquired.
"Who else would it be?" Stannis replied.
"When I saw you standing there, I couldn't be sure. Just whose banner is that?" Renly asked, pointing at the burning stag.
"My own."
"I suppose if we use the same one, the battle will be terribly confusing. Why is it that your stag's on fire?" Renly asked.
"The king has taken for his sigil the fiery heart of the Lord of Light" said the strange woman beside him.
"Ahh. Must be that fire priestess I've heard so much about. Now I understand why you found religion in your old age."
"Watch yourself, Renly!" Stannis cried out.
"No, no, I'm relieved really. Never believed you were a fanatic. Charmless and rigid, for sure. But not a godly man." Renly said.
"You ought to kneel before your brother. He is the Lord's chosen champion. Born amidst salt and smoke." the Red Woman said.

"Born amidst salt and smoke. Is he a ham then?" Renly jested.
"That's twice I've warned you!" Stannis said.
"Listen to you all. If you were sons of mine, I'd knock your heads together and lock you in a bed chamber until you remember you were brothers" Lady Catelyn replied.
"It's rather strange to find you right beside my brother, Lady Stark. Your husband sent a raven to me supporting my claim and his integrity cost him his head. Yet, you sit beside this pretender and chastise me." Stannis said.
"We all share a common enemy. The Lannist - "
"I will slay every Lannister and take the Iron Throne. It is mine by right, and all those who deny me are my enemies!" Stannis said angrily.

"All the realm denies it from Dorne to the Wall. Old men deny it with a death rattle and unborn children deny it in their mother's womb. No one wants you for their king. You never wanted any friends, brother. And a man without friends is a man without power" Renly said. There was some truth to the words of the King of Highgarden; to forge friendships with people was just the same as making an alliance with them.
"For the sake of the mother who bore us, I'll give you this one night to reconsider. Strike your banners and come to me before dawn. I'll grant you your old seat in the counsel, and name you my heir until a son is born to me. Or I'll make an example of you as I will to the Lannisters." Stannis said, booming with anger on the last part.
"Look across those fields, brother. See all those banners?"
"Do you think a few bolts of cloth will make you king?" Stannis mocked.
"No, those men holding those bolts of cloth will make me king. Tyrell swords will make me king. Rowan and Tarly and Penrose will make me king, with axe, mace, warhammer, arrows and lances. Fossoway, Cuy, Mullendore, Selmy, Hightower, Oakheart, Crane, Caswell,Blackbar, Beesbury, Shermer, Dunn, Footly. All the chivalry of the south rides with me, and that is the least part of my power. My foot is coming behind, a hundred thousand swords and spears and pikes. And you will destroy me? With what, pray? That paltry rabble I see there huddled under the castle walls? I'll call them five thousand and be generous, codfish lords and onion knights and sellswords. Half of them are like to come over to me before the battle starts. You have fewer than four hundred horse, my scouts tell me-freeriders in boiled leather who will not stand an instant against armored lances. I do not care how seasoned a warrior you think you are, Stannis, that host of yours won't survive the first charge of my vanguard. Loras will surely make sure your brought to your knees" Renly said.

"Do you recall the Siege of Storm's End after all these years brother? I know I do. I still remember how you whined about the pinching crabs in your tummy. How you oft looked to the Tyrell blockade up until Ser Davos came with his onions and foodstuffs. I boiled soup for you from books; the binding glue was made from horses. When I shot down those incessant seagulls that oft circled Storm's Point, and grilled them up nicely, you went on prattling on to the men that it was better than the rats we had feasted on for the past days.
Yet, you have been nothing but grow into a bold impetuous child of one-and-twenty. At the end, this is nothing but one of your stupid little games. I made sure that you would live so that you could live to another tomorrow; a brighter day. I ensured that you would not be seeing our Mother and Father so soon! Gods be damned, I should have let you die! Come to dawn. We shall see" Stannis gritted.
"Look to your sins, Lord Renly. The night is dark and filled with terrors." the red woman said.

"Gods be damned, I should have let you die!!"

Those words kept ringing through his mind. Rattling through the head of the King of Highgarden. 

Neither his new wife Margaery or his sweet lover Loras could soothe the feelings of unease. 

He hated him. Hated. He found it almost hard to believe that he once loved his brother Stannis. 

No, that was a lie. In spite of everything, he had loved Stannis. He was his constant. More so than Robert. 

Renly had never met his father. He tried several times to imagine him. Yet, every time he tried, it was Stannis' face that came to mind. 

Cressen and Stannis had always took care of him. But it was often Stannis. Mayhaps it was do to his sense of duty and righteousness or sense of kinship, he could not say.

"Stanny, could you read me a story? Plleeeeaaaaaaassse??"
"It's Stannis. And you're getting to old for stories. 
"Pleeeaassse??"
"Alright enough with the doe eyes. 'The prince stood tall and proud as he faced the dragon. "I needn't fear you", he sai-"
"Wrong!!"
"What am I doing wrong?"
"You're not doing the voices. Brella always does voices for the characters. The prince should sound like a true brave knight. A hero!!"
"This is simply a tale if fantasy for errant boys and girls, like you, who can't go to sleep faster. And how am I to sound like a hero?!"
"I dunno. Make your voice a bit deeper?"
"Alright then. '" I shall slay you, you vile creature!" the prince crie - "
"Stannis?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know how to be a hero?"
"I've never truly been a hero."
"You'd be a great hero"

Mayhaps, you can still be a hero, brother. 

Chapter Text

Quent stared up at the ceiling lamenting, then looking over his shoulder. She neatly tucked herself into his chest. 

He found it so hard to believe that the beautiful dark-haired buxom woman in front of him is that scrawny girl from before

He had gone up to the Yronwood estate to pick up a couple of things that Cletus left behind for his cousin Archibald's surprise party. 

Being there had stirred so much memories. How Anders Yronwood was almost like a father to him. And how he had a massive crush on Cletus' older sister Ynys.

As he pulled up to the curb, he took note of a dark-haired and fairly buxom young woman in front of the house. She then eyed him strangely before bearing a friendly smirk.

"OMG, Quentyn Martell is that you?"
He kept staring at her trying to place her but found himself unable to.

"It's me, Gwyneth Yronwood!! You used to babysit me when I was like nine"

It was then he recognized her. She was no longer the annoying scrawny girl from before. 
"Gwyneth Yronwood?! Wow, you have grown!"

"Yea. W-What're you doing here?"

"Um, Cletus, your brother sent me to pick up a crate of beers he had stashed around somewhere"
"Oh, yea. They're in the kitchen. Must be some hell of a party, huh?"

"Well, its a big surprise party for Arch"
"Good for Arch. I love my cuz but he needs some life into him."

"Yeah, well, that's the main agenda. That and it is his birthday."
"Of course. So, Quent, how's college life for you now? Gettin' busy with the ladies?"

As much as he would like to be "busy with the ladies" as much as Cletus and the countless other guys at K.L.U., he's not. There were more girls whom he had crushed on let alone dated. The first of which being Gwyneth's older sister Ynys. But that was the past, and last he checked, she was a mother now to a little boy and girl. Later, his sister's friends, Sylva Santagar and Taena. 

"Ughh, not as much as I would like to be. I just started this pharmacology internship."
"Ohh. That sounds pretty cool. Hey, isn't that what your sister is studying?"
"No, not really. Ari's studying pharmaceutical sciences. Dad's hoping that we combine our efforts together."

As they put in the crates of beers into the car, they just kept on talking. 

"So, you all set for college?"
"Yup. Me, Ned, Lhara and your brother Trys. You all set for the real world?"
"I've only got one year left, then I'm gonna go for my masters"

"Mind if I tell you something kinda embarrassing?"
"Uh, sure. If you feel like it."
"I had a massive crush on you when I was younger."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah. You're even cuter now than you were then."

He felt like that was a lie. Quentyn knew that he's not much of a looker compared to the rest of his friends. Even with his lazy eye, Cletus caught the attention of the ladies and almost every one drooled over Gerris. And yet, he couldn't help but feel flattered by Gwyneth's confession. 

It wasn't long and beyond his power that they began to kiss. Touch. Grope. Their hands roaming around each other's bodies. A part of his head told him just how wrong this is; she's your best friend's sister. Yet the rest of him did not care to say the least. 

Not having tremendous experience in kissing let alone being with girls, he wondered how he'd do. The first time had been with his sister's close friend Taena Something. She had done more of the work while he had mostly fumbled. 

Yet all of it felt so right. She was suddenly writhing underneath him.

Everything became a blur as they both drowned in such a hazy pleasure. Her legs around his neck. Her shapely breasts bouncing. Fondling her arse. All of it glorious.

Not once did her ever think that he would have a beautiful woman by his side. Yet, here was one by his side. One who actually liked him and he wasn't dreaming. 

It was definitely more than he deserved and much more than he could ask for. What on earth could be better?

I hope she would like to be Gwyneth Mattell.

Chapter Text

She couldn't believe it herself. The sheer fact that she is attending the wedding of her ex-boyfriend. And plastering the most fake-looking smile on the planet. 

I fucked up so badly. 

It started in the name of a good cause. Messing with Brandon Stark. 

Gods, even now her hatred of him is boiling like a dormant volcano. She wanted him to hurt the way he hurt her. Catelyn had never been more pissed off in her entire life when she had caught him and Barbrey "Bitch" Ryswell fucking and holding each other during one of Robert Baratheon's infamous keggers. 

She was supposed to go to a gala held by her father and Tywin Lannister; with Brandon by her side and announce their engagement. But that was no longer the case. Brandon will still go, as his family are one of the most prominent families in attendance. 

He had noticed her crying and gave her a tissue. He then offered to taker her in his brother's place. "You are expected to go with a Stark. So ... may I take you to the ball, Lady Catelyn?" She giggled at that and accepted his kind "chivalrous" gesture. 

As predicted, Brandon seemed annoyed by the fact Ned brought her to the gala. Rickard Stark seemed rather bemused by the notion. His sister and younger brother bore their father's expression as well. Her father was not amused by this and neither was Uncle Brynden. Lysa harshly whispered in her ear, "You really downgraded, haven't you, Cat?" Edmure was apprehensive, due to Brandon's actions; even threatening to kick Ned in the balls if he hurt her. 

But soon, the week to mess with Brandon turned into a month. And in that month, she was already starting to fall in love with Ned Stark. Everything was just so easier with Ned. So different. She could actually be herself around him. See a future with him. He is so undeniably kind and gentle, with the sweetest heart she had ever known. His lips even tasted sweet whenever they kissed. 

"You're unreal, y'know?"
"Whaddya mean, Ned?"
"I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to sound insulting, but you are just so undeniably perfect Cat!"
"Ned, stop. I'm nowhere near perfect."
"I am! Sometimes, I think I'll wake up and realize it was all just a dream"
"No. Because sometimes, I'm afraid that it will all just be a dream. And if it is, I have no intention on waking up soon"

Falling in love was not part of the plan. "Love can blossom over time just as it can capture you in a single breathe," her mother once told her. And it did. She could feel an actual ache in her chest whenever she was away from Ned. And when they decided to become intimate for the first time, there was never a time she felt more whole and complete. In a matter of time, they had been dating for four months. Compared to the longer time of the year and a half she'd spent dating Brandon, it felt almost romantically bewitching that she was falling for him in months. 

And the cause for such bliss, became the downfall. Brandon had had enough of it all. Around Thanksgiving dinner, with all the Starks gathered, Brandon cornered her as she tried to find the bathroom. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Cat?"
"I think I wanted to tinkle but I can see there are more important matters here"
"Stop messing with me and stop messing with Ned!"
"Messing with Ned? What do you mean, mess with Ned?"
"You goddamn know what I'm talking about. The fact being you're using my brother to piss me off!"
"Last I checked, pissed off is your default attitude"
"I mean it, Cat. Don't go breaking his heart!"
"Like you broke mine? How is Barbrey by the way? Last I checked, she dumped your ass after you tried hitting on her sister."
"Do not break his heart, Cat. I am begging you. Hate me all you want just don't hurt my brother"
"You're forgetting something Bran. I'm not you. As much as I enjoy you writhing like a worm, I wouldn't dare break his heart."

But that was over in an instant. Ned had been right behind them and had listened to everything. She never saw him angry, and it scared the crap out of her. He reminded her of an alpha wolf asserting his dominance. 

"Ned. Ned, please let me explain!"
"I don't want an explanation. I don't want to hear a thing from you!"
"Ned. Please. What we have i- "
"A lie. A freaking lie!"
"Ned, I love you! Not Brandon, you!!"
"I should've realized it sooner. Why else would you actually go out with me?"
"Ned, please I, I "
"Just ... get the hell out, Catelyn!"

Catelyn. Not Cat. She would never be Cat to him ever again. 

Things had also soured between Ned and his brother Brandon. Both of them weren't exactly on speaking terms. Not until Brandon had set him up with his future bride-to-be; Ashara Dayne. From what she had heard, Ned was reasonably apprehensive toward him and her. 

And yet, the fair and lovely Ashara Dayne fell in love with him. And he fell in love with her. And he asked her to marry him, in which she clearly said yes. The biggest smile etched on her face. Right now, she was really grateful that Lyanna had thought to invite her to the wedding. 

We shouldn't have broken up. I love you. And I know in your heart of hearts you love me too. 

She then had the idea of stopping the wedding. Just blurt out her feelings the moment the septon said; "Should anyone have any objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace"

"I love you more than she ever will, Ned!!"

"Our two hearts beat as one!" 

"I'm your maiden in the tree!!"

The first one that came to mind seemed more real and natural. The other two just sounded cheesy and he probably wouldn't even understand those references. But she then saw a look from Lyanna's face that seemed to read into her mind; anticipating what she was about to say. Something that told her how wrong it would be. 

Lyanna is likely right. It would be the most selfish and stupid thing to do. Would Ned even take her back? Would he actually leave Ashara at the altar for her? 

Instead, she choked it all back. Felt an ache in her heart as they said the words; "I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day until my last day", and gently cup her face and kiss her. 

At least, I'll always have a part of you with me Ned. A little you.

Chapter Text

The one thing she loves about the Eyrie is just how high up on the mountains it is. At times, she feels as if she could touch the clouds and sky.

“Oy. Something wrong, luv?” her husband called out from their bed. Elbert Arryn is still as handsome as she first saw him. Windswept honey-blonde hair, deep bright blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and dimples when he smiles. He still looks like the young lord-in-waiting she saw all those years ago: straight as a lance, clean-limbed, and hard with muscle.

She had been so happy to meet him as her father and Lord Arryn came to discuss the possibility of a betrothal between the two. At first, she had thought that it was another suitor for Cat. Cat, who always got everything and anything she'd want and barely had to do anything. It wasn't until he came to talk to her did she put two and two together. He was undoubtedly more handsome than Jaime Lannister; if not of equal handsomeness. She had hugged her father so tight upon her discovery.

“Tis nothing my lord husband. Simply enjoying the view from our castle”

“I’m certainly enjoying the view,” he said while slapping then firmly cupping her arse. His hands then came to cup her breasts while his hard cock seem to press against her arse. His hot breath down her neck and sweetly kissing it.

“E-Elbie …”

“By the Gods, Lysa …”

His hands then came to her hips, bringing them close to his own; his cock pressing inside her now. She let out a small squeal of delight. Mayhaps, we will bring another child into the world. Another babe to hold and cherish.
But he had already given her seven babes, and that was more than enough. A time before that, it likely would have been only and simply one. The babe she knew, the babe she would love but never got to.
Her thoughts then went to the back of her head as soon as she felt her husband’s seed fill her.

She then goes to the training yard to see her boys.
Robin, ever a tenacious fighter, showed no mercy to her husband’s captain of guard, Harlan Hunter. Recently knighted by her uncle Blackfish, her son was more than eager to prove his worth. It is almost painful to see her Sweetrobin as a near grown man rather than the sweet babe who wailed when not in sight of her. Then the sweet child who would clutch tightly to her while she sang him to sleep.
“I’ll be the Darkrobin soon enough. Ser Sweetrobin sounds stupid.”

Seeing him fight mercilessly reminded her of the pain of having to send her daughter off. Minisa was ever a willful girl. No one could rein her in. Not the maester, not her septa, not even her father or mother. Twas the notion of her good-father Jon Arryn that they send her to Dorne. Such willfulness will be appreciated there. And help mend ties with the Martells. She would likely be back soon. She had been a scrawny girl of nine when she last saw her. The Flower of the Vale, most called her. How she must have blossomed into a young woman now. It's almost fitting considering that her father was and is still considered the Darling of the Vale. But from what she heard from her last letter; she's been getting along well with Prince Oberyn's daughters; even if they were bastards.

Osbert, who decided to dub himself the Falcon Knight, was breaking even with her husband’s squires Lucas Corbray and Wallace Waynwood. Of all her boys, he surely looked more like a Tully. Her eldest and her youngest had some semblance their father yet Osbert had strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes. As they sparred, the Royce cousins; Albar and Waymar were as well. She found it so hard to believe just how different the two are: Albar is broad-shouldered and barrel-chested whrereas Waymar is graceful and slender. Yet, in spite of his somewhat distant familial relationship betwixt them, Albar was more humble and down-to-earth and Waymar exhibited arrogance and vanity.

Gwyneth, Lorra and her twin Edwell, along with their baby sister Eleyna had been watching them. No one could doubt that either Gwyneth or Eleyna were Tully's with their luscious auburn locks and bright blue eyes. The second set of twins are the true Arryns amongst her nest of falcon chicks. Lorra has the Arryn look of bright honey-blonde hair yet armed with pretty forest green eyes rather than sky blue. Elbert claims that they likely came from his mother; Lady Bellena Belmore. Edwell is undoubtedly a bright boy; as shrewd as his grandfather (according to her husband) for a boy of seven; according to her husband. But what worried her the most was his health. 

He cannot play with the other boys as much as he wants to. Prone to shaking fits because of his sickness. And even when he does get a small window of play with his brother's, who love him so, he is often crippled with short raspy breaths. Lysa had often woken from nightmares that her little Edwell will no longer be with him. 
"I named our son for one of the strongest men I know, and one of my best friends. Edwell will find his own path, as Ned had," her husband said to her. 

From what she could tell about Ned Stark is how honourable he is. As dishonourable as it is to bring a bastard into his home, what other man would do that? Cat has no true right to moan about it being dishonouable. In a different life, when she still thought herself in love with Petyr Baelish; she would have bore the dishonour of bearing his bastard with her head held high. And, not to mention, she was half in love with his brute of a brother Brandon. That's all she ever heard of when news came of her betrothal; waking up to the sound of "Brandon" on her lips in the morn, then throughout the day and the day would end with a breathy "Brandon". If she was in love with her husband as she claimed in her last letter, than she shouldn't be so offended. And from what she had heard, and from what Elbert had told her, "Brave" Brandon Stark bedded nearly half of the women in the Tourney of Harrenhal. Would she be more offended if half the riverlands was filled with his ilk, or if her good honourable husband brought home the one?

Yet, that train of thought brought her back to that letter. It had been sent years ago, just after Lorra and Edwell's birth yet she had never opened it. She had barely recognized the sigil. A grey stone head with fiery eyes on a light green field. She tore at the seal and pulled out the folded parchment. As she unfolded it, she discovered the letter's lengthy contents.

Dearest Lysa, it read.

I hope that you are well. I congratulate you on your marriage to Ser Arryn.

Although it pained me when your father forced me out of Riverrun, it has since provided me the strength to rise among the ranks. I have since established several businesses, all of which have been highly successful.

I have written to ask you if The Eyrie has any need of a collector. I can assure you that I have a talent when it comes to finances. In terms of coin, I can bring the Vale twice as much as any other collector you may encounter. Even if there are no positions, I implore you to tell Lord Arryn of my achievements, for I will be successful and it will bring me closer to you.

I have thought about you ever since I left. You have been the one who has loved me and encouraged me, unlike the many who have belittled me. You are the one who has driven me to become the man I am today. Perhaps, one day, House Baelish will rise even higher. The Baelishes and the Arryns could unite one day and become an unstoppable force.

Sweet Lysa, nothing would please me more than to see your lovely face again. I hope that you have missed me as much as I have missed you. Please write back as soon as you can. I would be excited to hear from you.

Yours sincerely,

Petyr Baelish.

Lysa leapt up and down, holding his words to her chest. 

But that was only the first. The second one was a year after that one. 

Dearest Lysa, 

I do hope that you are well. 

I am deeply surprised and hurt that you have not written back to me. Had I done something wrong to offend you?

Should you do me the honour of showing your lovely face to me again, I would be ever so grateful. I have only wished to see you again. 

That has been my only wish this past year. I had been plagued with the memories of you and I throughout our childish fancies. I do hope you will have the grace and courtesy to invite me into your home. 

Yours sincerely,

Petyr Baelish.

There had been more letters like that up until Eleyna's birth. Elbert had gotten word of Petyr's accomplishments in Gulltown, during his service to Lord Grafton and the young Arryn heir of Gulltown. We should invite him over again sometime. He was still kin after all, thru his father's marriage to one of Jon Arryn's nieces. And now, Petyr is the Master of Coin in King's Landing. 

He's pleaded to see me. Pleading; he must miss me so. 

But that was another life. A different time when she thought the world of him. When she was a naive girl who believed the romantic notions of the songs she loved so. She would have named one of her sons after him. And yet, a part of her is still tethered to him.

Lysa Tully would have done anything for Petyr Baelish. Lysa Tully, a stupid foolhardy girl who was enthralled by how intelligent and clever he was. Who tried to make him notice her in spite of him obviously loving Cat.

Lysa Arryn would do no such thing. Lysa Arryn is a devoted and loving mother of seven babes whom she would do anything for. A wife to a good and honourable man of a proud and prominent house. Who is as devoted to her as she is to him. 

The letters were promptly tossed into the flames. Petyr Baelish is nothing but ashes. For she followed the mottos of her families houses stronger than before. 

Family, Duty, And As High as Honour.

Chapter Text

She’s graduating this year, four years of torment finally over, and she feels that she deserves to enjoy life. She isn't going to spend her last semester cooped up in a dorm room. Sansa Minisa Stark, she deserves a fucking break. 

The Reed siblings, Meera and Jojen decide to throw a ostentatious Halloween party. For someone who was a bit of an introvert, Jojen can definitely throw a party. Everyone fist bumping in the air as the deejay started playing the music. 

Its then and there that she sees him. It was not possible. This was the little boy she once knew that is her brother Rickon's best friend. The slightly pudgy rambunctious boy who loved to play with his adorably-named kittens. Tommen Baratheon could not be looking so damn good. He had more of those legendary golden curls arming his head, neatly parting to his left. His shoulders broader and bulging from the Hell's Hounds Jersey he was wearing. And those beautiful emerald green eyes gleaming with a certain mischievousness. 

He could not be looking so damn fine. She watches as he's engaged in a arm-wrestling match with Samwell Tarly's little brother; Mathis or Dickon, she can't recall his name. His muscles practically rippling and bulging as he puts Tarly in his place. 

His tongue then appreciatively licking off the sauce of the boneless chicken wings ordered. His lips then suddenly engaged with a bottle of beer, tiny droplets of the liquid decorating those cute dimples of his. 

She feels positively perverted checking him out like this. The moment he eyed her, those springy curls of his practically bounced as he got out of his seat. 

"Sansa? Sansa Stark, is that you?"

"Tommen? Ohmygod!! Tom, that is you. It is so good to see you!!"

"It's good to see you too. You're looking pretty good, Sans!"

"Ohh, thanks. You're looking pretty sharp yourself, Tom!"

"How are things lately?"

"Pretty great actually. This party reminds me of that time me and Margaery ha ..."

The sound of her alarm clock wakes her up. But it sounds like a car horn. 

As she stretches her body, she finds herself being weighed down by something. It is then that she opens her eyes and she sees who it is. 

Tommen freaking Baratheon, laying in between her breasts. 

It is then she vaguely remembers what had happened. The night had ended with their lips hot on each other, his mouth on her cunt and her hands digging into his curls. 

Trying to get up, she found her legs feeling soar. Everything she tried to remember was a blank space. 

Looking at the clock does she realize that she had missed at least two of her classes. But that was the last thing on her mind. 

Myrcella's going to kill me. Oh god, Cella is so going to kill me. 

Chapter Text

He was going to rescue his father from those stupid lions no matter the cost. 

Not once did he liked that wormy-lipped blond-haired shit. Joffrey Baratheon, the boy who called himself a king who imprisoned his father. This would mean war either way. 

He looked at the camp; every able warrior preparing for what is to come. He quickly joined up with the group by the fire. 

Theon was already there, conversing with the heir of the Last Hearth, as they are of an age to each other. Even without a sword or battle-axe by his side, SmallJon Umber makes quite a formidable presence. Dacey Mormont, heiress to Bear Island was already having a laugh with Ser Perwyn Frey; the elder brother to his squire Olvyar, who is already by his side. The slight sly-eyed Owen Norrey; who looked something of a fox, was talking with the heir to the Hornwood; Daryn. The younger Karstark brothers were already drunk as is. 

"Looks like our boy wolf is here!" SmallJon said with a small laugh. 

Theon laughed as well and handed him a mug filled to the brim with ale. "How do you fare, o fearless leader?"

Just as he was about to say something, Dacey cut in. "Oh, and you think you can do better Ser Squid?" 

"Alright. That's enough, Lady She-Bear", he said to calm and irritate the ever-proud Mormont woman. The Mormont woman were skilled and proud warriors, yet he knew that it irritated Dacey to no end being addressed per her proper title. It reminded him of his sister Arya. Her voice sounds almost distant. 

"If you need me to defend your honour, I'd gladly engage in a wrestling match with Theon."

"And what honour would a lovely maiden of Bear Island have?" SmallJon cackled. Dacey responded with a bemused look on her face and a shove. 

The Karstarks laughed even more and harder. The Frey brothers seemed confused to say the least. 

"We breed our woman good and strong in the North, lads. Best not mess with this one, boys!!" SmallJon cackled. The Frey's looked a little more eased and gave a small chuckle. Dacey then gave one of them a look which left him blushing. 

"Ohh, look. I've found myself a sweet and shy southron boy!!" Dacey cooed at him. But that left him blushing even more. 

"So, honestly, how you feeling Robb?" Theon asked with a slight grimace on his face. 

"Alright. ... Scared to say the least. I've only played at war, never had I thought I'd be in one."

"That's good."

"How is that good?"

"It means you're not stupid"

"It also means you're thinking. That's good thing to do, my lord" Owen Norrey piped up.  He then looked ashamed, "Please forgive me, my lord"

"There's nothing to forgive, Owen" 

Soon, he felt himself more at ease as he talked with his compatriots. 

Harrion, the heir to Karhold suddenly came by. "Alright, idjits. Time to head back to our encampment. Apologies if my brother's had done anything to offend you, my lord"

"Oh, come off it, Harry. We're just having a laugh with the boy wolf. Weren't we Torr?"
"We certainly are, Edd"

"Harry, come on and sit down. Have some ale!!" SmallJon and Dacey said, raising up their mugs. 

"I'm quite fine, thank you"
"Oh, sure. Honest Harry is fine!! Whaddya think Torr?"
"Oh, surely sweet Humble Harry never partakes in drink."
"SHUT IT!!"

The elder Karstark then pulled the younger by the ears; both screeching in pain. 

"Brothers. I'm certain you know how its like to live with them, my lord," Harrion said with a smile. 

That he did. While Bran and Rickon were not of an age to annoy him in that extent, he could imagine them doing that. Mayhaps in time, and hopefully they would never learn the effects of drink. Rambunctious and bold they may be, but he could not picture them doing that. 

Actually, it would likely be the reverse. Robb was not a wild child by any means, but he had done some foolish things with Jon, and he was the one to rein him in. Like the time they had thrown snow onto Fat Tom's head. Or scaring the others by pretending to be ghosts in the crypts. 

"Yes, I do."

The Kingslayer fell for the trap. 

As much of a boy he felt, he looked every inch of a proud northern warrior. He felt a true Stark of old with Greywind by his side. 

"I wish my brother were here," Daryn Hornwood muttered. He then looked at the youth with his cedar-coloured mane of curls and the beginnings of a beard; in spite of being of an age with Olyvar. 

"You have a brother, Daryn?"

"I do, my lord. Larrence. He's a good sweet lad."

"How is it that your lord father had never brought him with you during your visits at Winterfell?"

"Well, my lord. It's just that, my father did not wish to offend your lady mother. And he believed he would be doing a great disservice to Lord Stark in bringing in another Snow"

Snow? "Another Snow?"

"Yes, my lord. Larrence Snow, Bastard of Hornwood," Daryn said, cringing his face. "I had thought to bring him with me and my father, but he's still a boy. Meaning no offence to Olyvar, but I thought that he could be a better squire to you"

"I am certain he would be. But we cannot lament on what could've been, we have a war to fight"

"Of course. And we can also think on what to come back to. Hell, if this war had not been started, I'd be wedding Alys Karstark by now."

Alys Karstark. Robb vaguely remembered the girl. She had come with her father to Winterfell when she was about six years old and they had danced. She also danced with Jon, who had been left with a bright-red blush shortly after. 

Upon seeing Daryn Hornwood die in front of him, a giant red slash across his chest having pulled his guts out, he wondered of his brother, Larence Snow. 
"Your brother will hear of how valiantly you fought Daryn"

Yet that stirred feelings of his own. Jon, have you been hearing tales of me? I will avenge Father and get our sisters back, I swear. 

King in the North. 

King in the North. Such a ridiculous thing. 

He could still hear the GreatJon's roaring. 

I've never been raised to be King!

"King in the North. This is ridiculous. What do you think Jon?" he asked. 

But there was no reply. Only the wind. In his dumbfoundedness did he truly realize his brother was not by his side, as he always had been. 

They would not be fighting together. No glory to bring to the Stark name. They would not be going down in history together as great warriors of repute. 

Now, Robb Stark truly felt alone.

He woke up feeling dazed. Whether it was because of his lady wife Jeyne, who curled her body close to his or being in the unfamiliar castle of Riverrun, he could not say. 

As he got up to wash his face, he took note of his reflection. His auburn curls now reached down to his shoulders, the beginnings of a beard covering his jaw, and his blue eyes becoming as hard as ice. I truly am no longer a boy anymore.

His eyes then went to the iron and bronze sword crown that had been bequeathed to him by northmen and riverman alike. Along with the titles; King in the North and King of the Trident. 

When did all of this become so out of hand and confusing? King in the North. 

Gods be good, why would any man ever want to be king? When everyone was shouting King in the North, King in the North, I told myself ... swore to myself ... that I would be a good king, as honorable as Father, strong, just, loyal to my friends and brave when I faced my enemies. But this had taught him something.

While he may not have been raised to be a king, he realized that kingship was a duty to shoulder, not a right to bare. Joffrey so-called Baratheon probably paraded himself like he was meant for the world. This had all started because his father was unjustly executed. Family, Duty and Honour had all brought him to this war. A war he never wanted. 

Family. Gods had no mercy for them all. Father executed by a incestuous bastard if Stannis Baratheon is to be believed. Sansa, does she think that I have forgotten about her? Is she suffering? Arya, where was she? He could only hope that she was safe and had not forgotten about them. Bran and Rickon. Had he not put his trust in Theon Greyjoy, someone who he thought of as a brother, they would still be alive. Would they have forgotten Father; forgotten me?

Jon. ... Jon was his constant. His shadow, his best friend, his rival; his brother. He was more like a twin rather than a half-brother. They've trained together since they could carry sticks in hands. Shouting echoing war cries; But that stirred the worst memory ever: a day when they were still boys. Jon had shouted like many times before how he was "lord of Winterfell", and for the first time his mother's voice came out of his lips, telling him that he could not be Lord of Winterfell. And in that instant, the smile that plastered his face was gone like the morning mist. 

Now Jon was all he had left. The only one who was not victim to his follies. 

He needed him. He needed his sword; his counsel. Had Jon been here, I would surely put in his counsel above all else. Would you?, said a voice that sounded like his mother. And within a flash, a burst of memories flooded him like the crashing waves of the stormlands.

"Once I'm Lord of Witnerfell, I'll ask the king to legitimize you, Jon. I promise!!"

A promise he made when they were still boys as green as summer grass. Something to assure his brother that he would always have a place by his side. He would always need and want Jon by his side. For now until the end of time, Jon would first and foremost be his brother. 

His father had always said that a true Lord of Winterfell, a true Stark, puts the good of the North before everything else. Before family, friends, or personal desires. 

But what if your personal desires match what is best for the North, he wondered silently. What if, I could get what I want and do what was best for my House's subjects too?'

"Once I'm Lord of Witnerfell, I'll ask the king to legitimize you, Jon. I promise!!"

Jon. I'm keeping my promise. But I am the king now.

Chapter Text

"Alright then. I'll count and you guys go on and hide." 

He, Sam and Gendry had been invited to their friend Quentyn to play. And he had to admit that his place was pretty swanky. The walls were an unusual orange-yellow colour and there were banners depicting their proud history and the famed sigil of theirs; the spear piercing the sun. 

"Alright then. One ... Two ..."

Damnit, Gendry and the others already went off to find a hiding place. I need to find one and fast. 

While running, he had realized that Quent's place was pretty big. Almost as big as Winterfell. 

Crap! He's almost at ten, and I'm still running to look for the perfect spot. 

Uh, um, this room! Looks good enough. Under the bed? Closet! Perfect. 

Jon felt himself sigh contently and then smirk. Quent's never going to find me in here. 

Suddenly, he heard the door of the room open. Damnit, did Quent find me already?!

"... swear to God Tyene. He'll flip out, Dad always does."

"Well, he's bound to do so Ari, Depending ..."

"Depending on what?"

"On wheter or not you actually fucked Daemon?"

"No more than you have with Garin!"

"Not with a lack of trying to. I feel sorry for the poor boy"

Jon had no idea what they were talking about, only that they were really pretty. The one talking about Daemon looked to be Quentyn's sister; olive-skinned, large dark eyes, and long black hair in ringlets. The blond girl by her side is just as pretty with her fair skin and hair and bright blue eyes. He then remembered Quent mentioning that he had a lot of cousins that were girls; that must be one of them.

Kinda hard to believe that Quent is related to them.

Suddenly, they started to take off their clothes. Don't look, don't look, don't look. 

"Volleyball practice was pretty rough today."

"Yup. Did you see Edmure Tully checking you out?"

"He's always checking me out. Especially with these babies growing," she said, pointing and shaking her boobs. 

Damnit Quentyn! I can't believe you're actually related to them!! And now they are down to wearing their underwear. Quentyn's sister's wearing some lacy-looking black bra while his cousin is wearing a pink bra and ... a thong?

"Wow, Tyene. That thong looks really good on you!"

"Thanks, Ari. Did you see the rhinestone?"

"No, where is it?"

"Right here!" she said, lightly smacking her butt. Wow, that's pretty hot.

"Ohh, it matches your earrings!"

Earrings? Really?

Suddenly, both of them took off their bras. Tyene's nipples are bright red almost like strawberries. And Arianne has really large dark nipples. 

"Ohh, damn. My back is killing me!! Why is it I can't find a bra to support these puppies?" Arianne said, pointing to her bare chest. 

Please, please don't. 

He was really hoping that Quent and Sam don't find him. Or Jon either. Gendry likes the guy as a brother yet he'd probably kill his fun right now. 

I just meant to hide, yet I feel like a pirate finding buried treasure. 

The girl in front of him is slim and slender as a willow tree, with straight black hair worn in a long braid and unblemished olive-coloured skin. And right by her side was a girl with wispy blonde hair. She almost reminded him of Aunt Genna. 

"Oh, c'mon, Jennelyn. Gerrold can go fuck himself."

"That'd be a sight."

"You know that you're my one and only."

"You're my one and only too, Nym"

Suddenly, they put their lips together. Moving about. Holy shit, they're making out!!

This is better than that time I found one of Uncle Tyrion's "special" magazines. 

"Nym, wait. I don't want to got that far, yet."

"Relax, Jenn, we can still have some fun," she said while taking off her shirt and slowly unbuttoning the other girl's shirt. 

Quentyn. Sam. Jon. Please, don't ever find me.

"I can't believe you guys were in my sister and cousin's rooms!"

"Quent, I still can't believe it took you and Sam over two hours to find us"

"Is that why you guys were asleep in their closests?"

"Of course, Sam. We got bored waiting for you guys to find us"

"I figured a little nap wouldn't hurt. I didn't know that it was Jon's idea too"

A car quickly pulled up by the curb. 

"I think that's our moms, Jon."

"Yup. Looks like it. Well, see ya Sam. See ya Quent!"

The two boys went up to their mothers, who were very clearly civil with each other at least. 

"Hello, boys."

"Hi, mom!

As they got in the car, Cersei and Lyanna noticed their two boys whispering something in each other's ear. 

"Boys, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing."

"Just ... nothing."

"Yup!"

"So, did you have fun at your friend's house?"

"Yup, we sure did. Hey, mom. Can we go and play at Quentyn's house again?"

Chapter Text

He always thought Winterfell to be so grand that nothing could destroy it. Yet, here he was, restoring Winterfell to the glory it once held. 

Much of it was a ruin. Yet, he oversaw to its restoration. Much of the materials used to restore the castle he grown up in had been taken from the place that he and many of his brothers had called home. 

Castle Black. The Shadow Tower. Greyguard. Greenguard. Oakenshield. The Nightfort. 

The Dreadfort. The accursed legacy of the Boltons extinguished and the cursed remains of their castle came to use. 

Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill had oversaw much of the reconstruction. He had come just in time as the Second War of the Dawn had come to swallow them all in the darkness. 

Had it not been for his bravery, mayhaps he would not be here. Much of his friends and allies would not be here if not for his stellar commanding and booming battlefield voice.

His own ragtag group of ruffians were quite impressive. The Lord of Starfall, now the Sword of the Morning was quite impressive. Even without the famed greatsword of his family, he had tremendous skill. How strange and ironic that one of the most skilled knights does not like fighting nor violence. Anguy the Archer's skill were on par with Theon's when he was still in his prime; mayhaps even better. Hard Harwin, who had been the son of the master of horse of Winterfell. The elder Tyroshi Pello Greenbeard, who ultimately perished. Thoros of Myr, their Red Priest, who had his flames lit ablaze, which helped repel the wights. 

Wun Wun had helped in turning over and placing the stones together. Yet Gendry had supervised over much of the reconstruction. He would have been a great addition to the Night's Watch had Yoren's party had come to the Wall rather than be ambushed. When Donal Noye perished, he could have made a great substitute for the man. Othell Yarwyck seemed to be annoyed that a boy was doing his job. But Gendry may be better than him. And Albett, Halder, Alf, Oafish Owen and Hareth take better instruction to him. 

He and Grenn would train on end. Both of them, brawling in the end. Pyp stated it's a sight to behold when they face off against one another: The Aurochs and the Bull. Iron Emmett and Ser Arnell seemed fond of him and training him as well. He would often train with Satin, Arron and Emrick. Three-Fingered Hobb liked the fact that Gendry did not complain about his cooking. Pyp and Donnel Hill often traded jests with him. Todder had taught him much of his bawdy songs and he often drank with Morgan Liddle, Ronnel Harclay and Jarman Bolling. 

It was clear why his sister was quite taken with him. Tall, broad of shoulder and build, that glossy hair and deep blue eyes; any girl would fawn over him. But that was not it. Brash as he can be at times, Gendry is a natural leader and a warrior in the making. His towering height, bull-shaped helm and a warhammer in hand made him someone to be feared. He is true steel; the thing that his father was. 

There had been tales about the Baratheons and the Starks since the Age of Heroes. Of course, during those days, they had simply been the Durrandons. Durran Godsgrief, the ancestor to the Durrandons and the present-day Baratheons, persisted building larger and more powerful fortifications since he declared war on the Gods of the Skies and the Waves, until finally, the seventh castle stayed in place and resisted the storms of Shipbreaker Bay. Some believe this is because the children of the forest took a hand in its construction; others believe that a young boy who grew up to be Bran the Builder, advised Durran on its construction. Seemed almost fitting that the descendant's of Godsgrief would return the favour. 

The two of them were definitely quite the pair. He and Gendry would train against each other. The Bull, as he liked to be called, was a fairly quick study; learning to use a mace, pike and his proficiency with a sword improved. The would have been true Black Knights of the Wall, as he once promised Sansa. He and Gendry were alike in several ways and so unalike in many different ways. Yet, they were able to understand and respect each other. Mayhaps, that is why their father's got along so well. And even thought of each other as brothers. No one and nothing could truly replace the brother he loved and lost but he would not mind naming Gendry his brother. For they truly are birds of a feather.

Chapter Text

The first time he speaks with the Lady of Winterfell she comes to him in his forge carrying to longswords in her arms.

"These were once my father’s Greatsword, and the sword of house Stark. Do you think you can repair it?" She holds out the two swords to him and he takes them carefully from her hands.

"Anything you wish my lady."

After nearly a moon's worth of labour, does he tell her that he had finished the work she gave him. She found herself oddly excited. When she sees a greatsword in front of her on the slab, she feels her heart flutter a bit. 

"I tried to make it as much as you told me, milady. I hope it is to your liking"

The blade is as wide across as a man's hand and taller than Rickon. The pommel now has a snarling wolf's head of pale stone with sapphire eyes that make it shine like two bright blue stars. The blade no longer held its dark and smokey appearance, instead the black and red ripples through the steel remained. The two colors lapped over one another without ever touching, each ripple distinct, like waves of night and blood upon some steely shore. The new scabbard was made of dark grey metal and boiled leather, engraved all over with snarling direwolves

It is not the same as it was. But neither was she. Her skin has gone from porcelain, to ivory, to steel. Almost like ice. Ice isn't simply the name of a sword. Ice itself can be a weapon. Sharp and hard and cold and strong. But it is also beautiful; reflecting the light. It's made of water which gives us life. And when you melt it, it simply becomes water. It can't be destroyed. Only changed. As much as she has as well.

"It's perfect. Thank you, Gendry"

"Twasn't a problem, milady"

"Sansa. Please, Gendry. Call me Sansa"

"Alright then, Lady Sansa"

Sansa. She liked the way it sounded of his voice.

She finds herself spending much of her time in the forge and its smith. It started as a comfort, her trips to the forge. Winterfell was empty, hauntingly so. Her family was a memory to the walls just like the Starks of old, when she walked the halls she felt as much a ghost as the rest of them. She spent most of her days surrounded by others and tending to her little lordling brother, but yet she felt so alone.

He spoke of Arya, the girl he once knew, in the hall where she offered him wine and a meager ration of food. It was enough. When she looked at him she knew he was like her. He clearly had his ghosts as much as she did. 

The visits were innocent at first, she liked the warmth of the hearth, and his quiet presence. She liked how easy he made the work look, lifting the heavy hammer and striking, shaping the metal into something true. Soon after she started to notice the way sweat rolled in beads down his back, the heat in his gaze when she stood close to admire his work.

Gendry never seemed to mind. Even if he misplaced or lost a blade or two. He never voiced or seemed disconcerted by her prescience. He was never surprised when she arrived, though he never turned from his work to greet her. 

For the first time in moons, she thanks him for allowing her to simply stand by and watch. His face is not as serious as she had first seen and offers a friendly smile. 

It almost happened out of nowhere; the kiss. He is hesitant to continue it; making the kiss between them stiff and chaste. It is not until his eyes stare back at her own; dazed and confused. But soon after she gives him a meaningful look, there is no longer a space between them. With a turn of her head she caught his mouth with hers, hot and needy, bruising in its attempt to close the distance between them. When he fell against the straw bed he pulled her with him, rucking her skirts to her waist and tugging her small clothes aside.

Sansa had kissed boys growing up, but this, this was far different; Gendry kissed her like a man grown. Sansa’s heart beat faster when his kiss grew heated and her mouth opened to welcome his tongue. She pressed her small frame against his, he held her tight to him with his other hand cradling the back of her head. The neckline of her dress was lower but that was because it was meant to never leave her chamber. The way he held her, she felt the warm air against her bodice, he dipped his head down and placed a kiss there. She let out a soft moan when she felt the sweep of his tongue that left a trail of where he had been. Her breathing was heavy now when he returned to look into her eyes. She pulled him in for another kiss and dropped her hands down to the edge of his leather vest, it was fit to him but there was an escape of his toned torso that she toyed with. Gendry let out a groan, the lower half of his body pressed against her. 

Strong, calloused hands began touching her with the same hesitant delicacy one might show fine glass, caressing the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, sliding upward to tentatively cup her breasts. She purred appreciatively and pushed further into his touch. She reveled in the sweet, altruistic pleasure Gendry had offered, her body continuing its slow, sensuous rocking as she gently rode him. She straddles his lap, guiding him into her as he kisses her, his lips hot and salty with sweat, but surprisingly tender.

Her breath started to come in staccato gasps. She feels herself losing her power of speech entirely and can only clutch at his shoulders as he strokes over her, circling and teasing, stoking her like his forge and making her blood burn just as hot.

She never thought this would be her favorite part, but it was the closeness, the feeling of his neck against her cheek, the low heady groan he gave when she bit into the skin there to keep herself from crying out too loud. Maybe it was the feeling of his hands tugging the neckline of her dress so low, mouthing at her breasts in an achingly familiar way; the way he eased her hips into a slow drag over his own.

And gods be good, she never wanted to leave that moment; the knowledge that when he looked at her he saw Sansa, and only her. She never wanted to go back to a time where she felt so alone, and though she would never marry she would have him as long as he stayed. Afterward, they lie on his cot, her head tucked under his chin. Her body still hums pleasantly, and she knows she will never look at Gendry's hands again without feeling a flutter in her stomach. She then saw and felt inexplicable pricking of tears at his eyes as she kissed his brow in return, her hands coming up to cradle his head and stroke his hair.

When had they ever experienced something so sweet and slow, with gentleness to inspire tears? For the first time in a very long time, the heaviness in his heart, and the ghosts in hers, were eased. And she realizes that he has mended her heart as he had mended her family's blade. 

Chapter Text

He did not understand in the slightest. Not a damn bit. 

If there was one thing that Tywin Lannister understood is that his son was about as attractive as the stone dragons and gargoyles that adorned the isle of Dragonstone. Many women ranging from daughters of high lords to washerwoman and peasants would swoon over Jaime. Even after he had traded what little honour he had for the chance to don the white cloak of the Kingsguard, they would practically drop their skirts before him. 

And yet, here was a girl who would much rather be with the bane of his existence. An ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. Men's laws give him the right to bear my name and display my colors, as I cannot prove that you are not mine. To teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch him waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. 

Tywin Lannister had offered his "heir" to many noble woman. The first being the Tully girl that Jaime would have married; strengthening the ties between the riverlands and the west. Yet, Lord Hoster stated that he was promised a "whole man". He inquired the hands of the daughters of Bronze Yohn Royce of the Vale and Lord Leyton Hightower of the Reach. Even those proud men rejected him. Even after he had heard of Lord Leyton's daughter Lynesse had become nothing more than a harlot raising her portcullis for a Lyseni whoremonger, he thought that they would have made a reasonably good match. A whore for a whoremonger.

One thing he could not believe was that this girl was the sister to his most valuable and cruelest bannerman. He even had to admit that she was rather pretty having come from the Clegane's stock. Lady Tysha is slender of figure with dark hair and grey-eyes that shined like a sharpened blade. She was almost always having her arms around his neck; holding and kissing him with a fondness that disgusted him.

From what he gathered, they had met on a lonely road near Lannisport, where she was being accosted by some men. The men of her knightly elder brother. Jaime had driven the men off while Tyrion took care of her. At first, he had thought and willed himself to believe that Jaime had gotten some common woman or a whore for his impish brother to make him a man. Apparently, the men had come to bring her back to Clegane's Keep because The Mountain was angered by a pheasant she had over-roasted. Surely, having come from such humble beginnings, she had thought to seduce his foolish misshapen son. That seemed the only logical explanation. 

But that did not turn out to be that way either. Much of his own family had begun to adore her with the exception of his daughter. Kevan and Dorna thought her a sweet girl and a delight to have in the household. Gerion was immensely happy for Tyrion and even went as far as to jape that he did not need to look to his nephews for heirs; in private anyways. Tygett would likely be fond of the girl as well had the pox not taken him. 

She even glowed with her belly so heavily swollen with child. A part of him hoped that she would die giving birth to her own misshapen children. Yet her children; his grandchildren lived and are bright and healthy. Leona is a rather lively and rambunctious girl armed with the golden Lannister curls yet bearing her mother's sharp eyes. The boy Tyus is a different matter. He bore his mother's litheness and dark hair, and the bright Lannister emerald eye to his left and the cool steel-grey eye of his mother on his right. If Gerion and his father were the Laughing and Toothless Lions, then Tyus is the Silent Lion. The boy makes very little sound; rarely speaking unless necessary. Yet, in spite of that, he was quire clever and cunning when it came to his training at arms. Already beginning to master weapons such as pikes, maces, lances, axes and having a near equivalent level with a blade as Jaime has. 

Yet, even now, with the war staring, his grandson acting as his personal squire, he cannot fathom as to why she looked at him with awe. It became evident that it was not for Lannister gold, as even now she dressed modestly. What is it?

Chapter Text

Daddy said that he would come back with a present for my birthday. But Daddy left with her new mommy on her birthday. Daddy better have gotten me a pony! 

She doesn't like being stuck with Uncle Ren and Uncle Stanny. Uncle Stanny's face is like stone and Uncle Ren is stupid.

The door opened and Daddy and her new mommy came. 

"DADDY!!"

"Oh-ho, hullo sweetheart! Sorry about your birthday!"

"Its okay. Did you get my present?"

"But of course! So, did you behave with your uncles?"

"Yes. Uncle Stanny's mean though!"

"I bet he is. Well, c'mon. Cersei's got your present"

She missed Mommy at times, but new mommy Cersei wasn't so bad. And she could still see Mommy at weekends. 

Mommy Cersei then came carrying a bundle of blankets. I don't want blankets. 

"Mya, meet Gendry; your baby brother!" Daddy said, laughing. 

She looked at the blankets and saw the baby. His eyes are blue and his hair black like hers. He stared all around the house. 

It's all new to him. It's still petty new to me. 

Suddenly, Gendry started crying like heck!

"I didn't do anything!!"

"Oh, its fine dear. That just means that he's hungry. Let's go, Gendry!"

I don't like my present.

Stupid Gendry. I hate him. 

Always crying. 

He's been here two months and that's all he does. Eat, Poop and Cry. Mostly crying.

Daddy already loves him more than me. Keeps talking to him; talking about him. 

"Oh, your daddy's little boy, aren't you?"
"Oh, gonna be a strong little man!"
"Ladies are gonna drool themselves silly around you!"

New mommy keeps making stupid baby noises at him. 

And right now, he won't stop crying. Crying all night. Can't stand it. 

The sky was crying too. Rain; Uncle Stanny said it was rain. The thunder and lightaning were loud and cracking. 

Normally, she would go to Daddy's room and he's let her sleep with him. But now, she's too old for it. 
"You're a big girl now, Mya. You need to learn to sleep on your own"

She gets up to the stupid baby's room where he won't stop his stupid crying. Wants to shout at it to stop crying; it could work. 

But as she come close, she sees just how red his face is. His arms moving up and down. 

Is he scared of the thunder and lightaning? 

Rather than shout at him, she instead looks. He's new to this too. 

"Shhh, Gendry. Shhh, it's okay"

Gendry quiets a little bit. His eyes opening and looking at her. 

On instinct, she takes him from his cradle; holding him like Mommy Cersei showed her. 

"Its okay. It's okay, Gendry. Don't be scared."

He then whimpers like a dog, almost. 

"You don't need to be scared. Not while I'm here. I-I'll protect you!"

Gendry then looks at her. Then, he giggles, trying to grab her nose. But then he puts his head on her shoulder. 

"I'm your big sister. You're my little brother. I'll always be here for you"

"Mya. Mya"

"Nnnghh, Gendry. What is it?"

"Sorry. I can't sleep. Can I stay with you? Please?"

"OK. But you're getting old for it."

"So, I'd let Tom and Cella sleep with me."

She should've expected that answer from Gendry. He's a good brother. And its clear just how much he loves the twins. 

"Alright then."

Gendry quickly snuggles close to her. She likes it, but nothing lasts forever. 

Mya once thought the world of her dad; Robert Baratheon. Now, she doesn't want to do anything with him. And she knows that he doesn't want to do anything with her, or any of his kids. Even the new baby Joffrey. 

"Mya, you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Gendry. I'm sure."

It shouldn't hut her. She shouldn't think it. Yet she ends up saying it;

"Am I your favorite sister, Gendry?"

He doesn't even scrunch his face in making a decision. He just hugs her saying, "You're my best and favorite sister!"

"I love you, Gendry"

"I love you too. Mya"

"C'mon, Gen! Just two more!!"

"Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!!"

Working out really does give a person a rush. 

Even if she had to deal with the girls ogling her little brother.

Dad was right. Girls practically drooled all over him.

He's gotten so big and tall, he's like a hulking. Only an inch shorter from Dad, and far more muscular than Dad could ever be. Even though, he had let much of himself go.

Hell, half the time, she still thinks that his muscles grow like trees. Or could look like them with the way he works out and eats.

And now, some guy is giving him the wrong kind of attention.

"I knew this would happen"

"Knew what would happen?"

"Some guy's checking you out, little bro!"

"Uh, yea. He's checking someone out. And its not me"

Quickly, she realized her mistake. And felt herself blushing.

"Y'know what? I'm gonna chat him up, and partner you up!!"

"No, no. Gendry. Do not set me up with anyone!"

"Why not? You've set me up with girls before. You've been my best wing man! Let me return the favor!!"

But as she tries to protest, he got up and went to him.

Nonononononon-

"Hi, I'm Guyard Morrigen."

"Hi, I'm Mya."

"Are you serious?"

They all look at her; gaping. 

Myrcella squealed out in excitement within a second. 

"Can I be your maid of honour? PLLLEEEEEAAAAAASESSSSSEEE???!!"

"Hold it, hold it. Mychel and I haven't worked out the details."

"If she gets to be your made of honour, I get to be a bridesmaid then!"

"I can be one of the groomsmen, right?"

"Guys, guys calm down!"

Gendry hasn't said anything. Figures, Mychel's the captain of his rugby team and a good mate of his. He likely feels betrayed. 

"Gendry. You're not going to say anything?"

He then looks at her with a slight grimace. 

Both of them had been thru much. Gendry had been with her during her best and worst moments.
Surviving the pest they called their younger brother. 
Losing her mom to cancer and staying by her side until she passed away. 
Staying by his side when that thug Rorge had nearly killed him. 
Getting him away from that crazy (yet hot) redheaded teacher/priest.
Supporting him when he decided to form a band. 
Look at Myrcella's boyfriends with the same disapproving face. 

As much as the thought scares her, she can't bear the thought of her brother's disapproval. Even if he is her little brother.

"Gendry, can you please be happy for me?"

"Mya, I am happy. But also a bit disappointed"

"Disappointed?"

"Yeah. It's gonna be hard not to hit my team captain!"

"Please tell me you're not serious?"

"I am"

This could not be happening. Cersei would probably flip. Cella and Tom would yell in happiness and surprise. 

Gendry was grinning like the biggest loon ever, holding that ring. 

"Why?"

"Because I love her"

"No, I mean, why her? Honestly Gendry!"

"Because I love her. I-I feel like I've just been awakened from this long sleep. A-And she gets me, Mya"

"Why couldn't you have just stayed with Randa? Or the other one?"

"There's a reason why I didn't. And I'm not going to say. You'll think differently of her"

"I know she has enough standards to be dating local fuckboy Harry Hardyng. I have a pretty vivid idea"

"I never disapproved of any of your boyfriends!"

"Of course you did!"

"OK. Maybe I did, but that old guy deserved my fist in his face!"

"You leave Lothor out of this! ... He was sweet."

"I even helped fix you up with Guyard and my mate Jon"

"There was little relationship with Guyard. And it was weird dating with Jon"

"So, it wasn't weird when I dated Myranda?"

"That's not the point"

"And if I did propose to "the other one", it'd certainly be better for you as you're best mates!"

"Gendry ..."

"So, why the disappointment?"

"I don't want you getting hurt!!"

He then looks at her, clearly shocked by the outburst. 

"Gendry, I'm your big sister. No matter how big you get, I'm always gonna be your big sister. I'm saying this for your own good. I don't want you getting your hopes up and getting your heart broken. Please"

"Mya. I love her. I love her more than anything. I know just how stupid it seems. She might say no, I know. But I know tha-that I've gotta ask. I'm not asking your approval. But I would like your support and be by my side"

She thought about it. It would be ... pretty weird if he were to marry Randa. And she knows what kind of a person she can be at times. Jeyne was certainly nice company and easy to talk to. Saint Margaery was great to hang around with, even though she tried and failed miserably acting like Uncle Renly's beard. Honestly, Gendry and Sansa would look like a power couple out of some cheesy high school-themed movie. And make some fantastic looking babies. 

But she did have to admit that Arya Stark had some good qualities. Kind, witty, funny, spirited if not a bit wild and a tad unpredictable. And pretty. 

She then pulled her brother into a bear-hug. 

"Y'know I love you. Right?"

"I know, and thanks for looking out for me. I love you too, Mya"

Chapter Text

OK. OK. Just calm down. 

You're just buying condoms. Plenty of guys buy condoms. 

But the anxiety of it all is killing me. 

Dany had been dropping hints for some time. 

Now this is so confusing. I thought that buying a condom would be easy!

Trojan? Fire/Ice? Durex? What the hell does "Ribbed for her pleasure" mean?

"Next in line please?" the cashier calls out. 

He quickly took a note on her. She's pretty cute. Fair hair, bright blue eyes and a plain white shirt showing her blue bra in the light. She looks fairly close to his age. 

Yet she looked somewhat bored. Well, this is just her day job. If she were excited, that would be a problem.

"That'll be $24.99"

$24.99? Whoa. Didn't think that getting laid would have to cost so much. I might not even use the entire pack!

Quickly, he just took out his money and paid. 

"First time? This night the night you've been waiting for?"

"Well, hopefully. I mean, I,I, ... how did you figure it out?'

"Well, I didn't know jack until you told me," she said with a teasing smile. 

Damn. I need to work on my poker face.

"That, and you walk as if you had a "Hi, My Name is Virgin" t-shirt!"

"Well, my name's Jon. Jon Stark, not Virgin. Even though I am one"

"OK, Jon. Nice to meet you. I'm Doreah"

"Oh. Well, if you must know, yeah. Well, tonight is not the night, but my girlfriend has been dropping hints lately."

"Ahh. Took health class? Know a thing or too about using one of these?" she said, taking one out of the pack. 

"I know how to do it. I ... tried one on ... a banana"

"Hehehe! Well, unless your schlong is as big as that banana, it's not the same"

Doreah then unwrapped the package, took it out and slipped it over her thumb. "You want to make sure that its secure. And that it's nice and tight enough that it doesn't slip off during the middle of it all"

She then took a look around for something. Quickly looking in the same direction as she, he saw that the pharmacy was practically empty. 

"Y'know what? Why don't you come with me? I think I have something that might help you," she said, exiting from the counter and grabbing his hand.

Her skin is really soft. And he quickly saw that she had a plain grey skirt. 

Now, they were in the storage room in the back. What could be in here that can help me? An actual instruction manual?

A click rings somewhat loud. She locked the door.

Or maybe she's gonna kill me? I'm in a fairly dark room with a stranger. Yup. I'm gonna die. And a virgin no less. 

Doreah had quickly taken off her shirt, fully showing the lacy blue bra that the light had shone on. 

"You need a full hands-on lesson, Jonny boy!"

Uh, Um. Uh. This is something out of a dream. I'm gonna wake up now. 

Ow. I pinched myself and I felt it. This is real. This is so fucking real. 

No. No, wait. I shouldn't do this. Dany is my girlfriend. This is cheating.

But she'd want to do it with someone who has experience. Do it for her and you, said some creepy voice in his head that sounded like Theon Greyjoy's.

Doreah then took off her bra. Her boobs are so round and perfect. Her nipples a bright shade of pink and standing on end. 

"This exciting for you, huh, Jonny boy?"

Having his mouth opened in surprise like an idiot, all I can do was nod like a bobble-head doll. 

"Prepare for the lesson, then. Put it on"

Quickly getting the message, he put on the condom while she quickly dropped her skirt and removed her panties in one movement. She's as quick as a gazelle. 

She quickly laid them on a nearby desk while she gently splayed herself onto the cold floor, looking almost like an angel. 

"Well, c'mon," she said, "we don['t have much time."

Nearly marching toward her, he climbed on top of her and felt such a powerful feeling of euphoria. No wonder people talk about it. It feels amazing!

Doreah put her hands around his back while he all but clutched at her hips. What made his blood rush was the raw moan she released when his thumb brushed against a small nub. His hands skimmed her body, squeezing her breasts softly and stroking her skin.

Oh, crap. He realized he wad coming undone. No, no, not yet.

But it was too late. Both of them groaning loudly. 

Goddamn! Goddamn, that was awesome. 

All of a sudden, Doreah has a strange look in here eyes and a slight frown. 

"D-Did you put the condom on?"

"O-Oh, yeah," Jon said, holding up his thumb to show her.

She then let out another groan. 

"You know nothing, Jon Stark"

Chapter Text

He should not have been blessed with such great fortune. 

But she would not have been happy with Emmon Frey. What woman could truly be happy with a Frey for a husband? Or wife really? Though they do have a healthy stock. 

Luckily enough for him, his father and Hos had convinced the Toothless Lion that a marriage between the Tullys and Lannisters would be more beneficial. 

And so, he became betrothed to Genna Lannister of the Rock. Frankly, all those years ago, during the days of youth where the dew covered the summer grass, he did not want to do it. Even suggested to his brother that he marry the girl instead of him. But Hos had already been married to Minisa Whent and he reminded him of their words. Family, Duty, Honour. Family comes first and always. 

Brynden Tully had been so uncertain about much. Upon seeing her, he had to admit that she was beautiful. Only three years younger than him and he had never seen such a beauty. A rather shapely figure, enchanting emerald green eyes and beautiful sun-kissed curls. Her face angular and smooth and her skin beautifully pale and unblemished. 

Not one to have had bedded many woman, he tried to be careful as possible. As sweet as it felt, she was barely a woman grown. She had begun to swell with child almost immediately and soon gave birth to a babe. His babe.

Little Lyman Tully had brought such a joy in him that he never thought he could experience. A small shock of reddish-orange hair atop his head. His eyes a perfect mix of their own; blue-green with small flecks of gold in them. Now a man grown, his hair is more alive like a fire. A skilled horseman and swordsman; a natural leader that many would eagerly follow. Now his own boy will be marrying. And Mariya Darry was quite a lovely lady to enchant him so. 

Not long after, he had been called to arms as the War of the Ninepenny Kings had commenced. Mayhaps marriage does change a man. Through out the entire time in the fray, as he fought alongside a legend such as Barristan the Bold, fighting Derrick Fossoway the Bad Apple, he wondered about her. Did she wonder about him too? Will she tell our son tales of his father's bravery and heroics. Will he grow into a good man should I die? Mayhaps that was what had motivated him more to fight more tenaciously; to come back home to his wife and child. 

Within two years, he and Genna had a girl. Lelia. Lelia Tully bearing a slim figure, and strawberry-blond red hair and green eyes. Armed with a dimpled chin, a snub nose, and freckles. Such ferocity and willfulness! Always running about with a smile that could cut like a knife. Many lords and smallfolk clamored around her like a hounds in heat. Already many young lords were inquiring for her hand. 

Jon Tully came after her. Tall broad with the Lannister's golden curls adorning his head but armed with the rich bright blue eyes of the Tully. And undoubtedly more Tully than the rest of his siblings. And just so, having been named after a good honourable lord like Jon Arryn. Already being mocked as Jon Justman by his siblings and his friends. Eager to please, always doing his best. While his sword skills are lacking a bit, his archery is superb. 

Tion Tully had surprised them all. Chestnut brown curls neatly framing his angular face with showcased his emerald green eyes. Sharply featured, and always a smirk playing on his lips. Quite a witty boy. Genna claims that their youngest is very much like her younger brother Gerion. Quick to laugh and smile, yet also quick to anger. He had lion's blood in him alright. He has much of Tygett in him. Barely a man grown and already mastering weapons at a faster pace than Lyman. He suspected it was because of his status as a third son. 

With his family have grown so fast, Hoster had given him Fairmarket as his own formal seat. The river kings of old refused charters which would have allowed towns like Lord Harroway's Town, Saltpans, and Fairmarket to expand and potentially become cities. Now under his rule, it bristled with liveliness that it had lacked. His banner, a black trout leaping on a blue and red striped field, swaying proudly against the wind. 

His household was as lively as his seat. Tygett took his duties as his master-at-arms very seriously. Whereas his captain of guard Gerion did anything but. And has become more of a nuisance with his randy and more bawdier jests. He had taken Emmon Frey as his steward to appease any slights he may have caused Old Walder Frey. Yet, he couldn't help himself from touching Genna a certain way in front of him; either gently caressing her arse or lightly fondling her breast. His squires, Lucas Blackwood and Jeffory Mallister, were good and able lads who had dared to make an occasional glance on his daughter. 

How is that he did not ask for it yet he became so fortunate and blessed? Yet his brother seemed to be afflicted with such tragedy. He liked Minisa Whent well enough. He could and would never wish such strife on anyone. To have died in the birthing bed like that. He knows that Hos loves Catelyn, Lysa and Edmure, he knew that a part of him is swallowed with grief that he lost his wife. Frankly, he would consider Hos's children his own as well whenever he often called him to Riverrun. For every child Hoster had lost, he seemed to have been blessed with.

But I would not trade it for anything in the world. 

Chapter Text

Crying had become to ring around the castle. 

"Hmm. Let the wet nurse tend to her"

"No. S'Alright. I got it"

He walked around the halls of the castle. His castle now. It still felt strange to him. 

As soon as he got to her, she somehow sounded more louder. He cries reverberating through the walls. 

Gently, he towered over the crib and picked her up.

"Hey. Hey. What's wrong, little one? What's wrong?"

She was so tiny. She recognizes him with one look, he sees her eyes and knows who she is. 

His child. His daughter. 

Her crying dies down a bit. Going down to a whimper. 

She just wanted attention, is all. Arya could tend to her but lately, Nymella's crying has her nearing the edge. 

Not to say that Arya is not a fit mother. She loves Melly with all her heart. But there are some things that he can handle better that she can't. 

"Just wanted your Pa to hold you? That it Melly? Just wanted Papa?"

Quickly looking up at him, she lets out a small squeal. It's such a sweet sound. 

"Y'know, you're the best thing to come into my life, Melly. After your mother. 

Want to know a secret?" he said, gently whispering to her. 

"I've made swords. Armour. Axes. Small knives. I've made anything and everything that men need for war. But I never made anything like you before. So sweet, innocent, pure. You look a bit like me. 'Sept the eyes. That's your mum right there. 

I wish I didn't have to give you a husband, no one will ever be good for you. You're the best thing I have ever made.  And the one thing I'll love more than your mother. You are everything to me. 

I love you with all my heart, Nymella Baratheon. And nothing can ever change that," he said, gently kissing her brow. 

Chapter Text

Honour and duty are easy things when you say that you will do it. But no one had truly taught him just how much harder it is to abide by them.

Father had tried to taught and told him that he must be honourable and just. And how duty, no matter how small or large, is something we must all abide by. 

All of it went away when she was beside him.  Jeyne with her chestnut curls, heart-shaped face, bright brown eyes and slender posture. And her breasts shapely and the size of apples. 

When the GreatJon and Maege Mormont had found him in her bed, they tried to dissuade him from marrying her. They understood but could not allow their king to fall from grace by marrying a bannerman of his enemy. But Jeyne is not his enemy; the Lannister's are. 

Instead, they told him to keep her around. Bed her but not to wed her. It was more of practice to the people of Dorne; something that none of his bannerman would really want him to abide by. But if it meant keeping his crown and the Frey's satisfied and sparing Jeyne some dishonour, then he would do so. He knew his mother was disappointed in him; he was disappointed in himself as well. But his men had tried to get her to see the bigger picture in it all. 

Constantly being in the field of battle, there is always a chance that he could die. Be it by a sword in his belly, a morningstar to his head or felled by arrows. Any child borne from their couplings would be granted land and titles. That placated the Westerlings and gave them more than enough cause to add them to his army. Wasn't much but more than enough. 

Eventually, he had been called back to the riverlands for his grandfather's funeral. And to fulfill his promise to the Freys. To ensure their loyalty, the Blackfish had negotiated a double wedding; a Lady Roslin Frey for him and a Lady "Fair" Walda Frey for his uncle Edmure.

The sept at the Twins was surprisingly extravagant for the ugly squat castles. He had to admit that Fair Walda was a pretty sight. Long-necked and slender with wavy flaxen hair. She had a pointed nose, strong cheeks and a small mouth that now bore a playful smirk.  Roslin is small. She has very white skin, a pretty face with a small chin, delicate nose, and big brown eyes. Her hair brown and long that it reaches her waist. 

By the time it is time for the bedding, Roslin lets out a small squeal. As they are thrown into their own chambers, naked as their namedays, they quickly hear moans and groans coming from a nearby chamber. 

"At least Lore Edmure is not with my cousin Ami. Not even marriage had stopped her from ... raising her ... portcullis for any man that comes her way," she said with a dry chuckle. "Even if she had lain with Black Walder, I know that she'll stay faithful to him"

She likely heard of his situation. Wondering if he will stay faithful to her. He would do his duty by her but he also had to honour Jeyne in some way. He could not marry her but their children would be Starks. But she will be your Queen, a voice in his head told him. He would have to tell her about Jeyne and the Westerlings soon enough. 

Upon promising that she will be his only queen, it seemed to placate her enough. They then began kissing. Her lips tasting like strawberries and her tongue still bearing faint traces of Dornish Red. Soon enough, his hands began roaming all around her body. Pinching and weighing her breasts. Robb's mind went almost blank as he entered her, only aware of how good she felt around him. Roslin seemed to like it as well, moaning softly in his ear in response to his thrusts. The walls around her cunt beginning to tighten as he began to thrust more and harder into her. 

"OH, ROBB!!!" 

Her legs had tightened around his waist, hitting the small of his own back. He then began to fondle her breast as he gently kissed her neck. It only made him harder then spill his seed into her faster than anticipated. 

There was little enmity between them both. Roslin and Jeyne reached a mutual understanding. Any child had with Jeyne would not displace any child had by him and Roslin. Starks borne of her line would be the Starks of Moat Cailin once the ward was over and properly restored. 

And they seemed more endearing when they were both together in his bed. 

Both of their bodies were equally enticing and tasted sweeter together. Jeyne's breasts were more shapelier but Roslin's were more pert and her nipples were brighter and pinker. 

That was something he could barely fathom whenever. A part of him wondered if Theon ever had two women at the same time. 

Jeyne would often pin Roslin down and lick her. Other times, Roslin would be behind Jeyne, placing her forefinger and thumb in and out of her cunt while she was on top of him, riding him like a horse. It'd be the other way around at times. 

Roslin and Jeyne had even made a contest of sucking and licking his cock. Milking him for all he was worth. 

Had Aegon the Conqueror experienced this with his own sister-wives? Did one compete with the other to see which he liked better? 

Everything else seemed to melt away when he had them both in his bed. The plans for battle. What tomorrow may bring him in the morn. Any chastisements.

He could not concentrate on anything else when both of them slept soundly on his chest. Roslin would often leave a small amount of drool on it, clouding his nipple with it. Jeyne would move in closer as if to mark her territory. 

Honour and Duty can go and fuck themselves. 

Chapter Text

With a heavy heart, Robb Stark recalled the last memory and words his father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell had bequeathed him.

"Nothing will be the same anymore. But there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. You know that."

"Yes," he nodded. It was something drilled into him and his siblings since childhood. "I promise you, father. I will protect the North."

They had a similar conversation only a few days ago. But it seemed his father needed a repeat.

"You have a good half-and-half sword," said Eddard. "I should know, that blade had been mine once."

Robb still had it belted at his hip. He unbuckled it and passed it over to his father. It was almost four-and half a foot long and heavy. His father reached for it and took it in his hands, studying the blade closely as Mikken would. There were some nicks along the edge from that day's practise but, otherwise, still in good shape.

"I'll have to run it over a whetstone," Ned observed, almost to himself.

"I-I will take care of it."

Shouldn't he have done it the moment practise ended? How he worried that Father would be disapointed for not keeping the blade in good shape and form. As he was about to explain himself, his father paid him no mind, his eyes looking to it with awe and fondness. Not even the faintest trace of attention.

"I'm sorry, father," he said, uncertainly.

Eddard Stark then jolted as if in shock. "What?" he asked, looking back up at him. "What for? Tis nothing. I'll have the blade honed again in the morning; It's an easy fix. We won't be leaving til the morn" 

Quickly he let the matter drop. If his father wanted to fix his sword like the old days, he would let him. But his father did not hand it back, instead he weighed it up in his hands, getting a feel for it again and looking down the length of the steel blade. When he did finally put it down again, he reached for Ice and held it out to Robb.

"Take it," he said, nodding to the Valyrian steel blade.

It was the most beautiful weapon Robb had ever seen. A blade of the rarest, dragon forged steel. Carefully, he lifted it up. Still sheathed in its scabbard, it weighed twice as much as any other blade and as wide across as a man's hand. Meanwhile, Fatgher placed a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with almost a glistening tear in his old, grey eyes.

"There you go son," he said. "This is yours now."

Dumbstruck, he almost dropped it. "What?" he spluttered, steadying his grip just in time.

Lord Stark sat back down again. "It is our ancestral greatsword. It is meant for the defence of Winterfell and of the North. And that is what you'll do now, son. So take it and use it wisely, at least until I return."

Robb felt as if someone had struck him dumb. He shook his head, even though merely holding such a sacred blade in his hands made him feel twenty foot tall. But, his father waved his protestations away and picked up Robb's sword again.

"It'll be good to have this back," said Eddard. "This got me through much of Robert's Rebellion and should serve just as well in the south." He paused and looked at him again. "Now, no more protests. Run along now: tomorrow will be a long day."

He looked back to that day while he looking at the blade in his hand. My enemies will meet the cold end of this blade. I will defend and uphold the honour of the North and Starks. Raising his blade to the air, then lowered it; signaling his men to charge. Winter will surely come for these accursed Lannisters.

"They have my son," Tywin Lannister uttered in a less-than-pleased tone

"The Stark boy appears to be less green than we hoped," Tyrion Lannister remarked

"Green? He could have cut down Ser Jaime with that blade of his!" Addam Marbrand exclaimed. 

From the look he saw from his father's face; he could tell that it was a mix of his wounded pride and envy. Much of his army decimated by the Starks, yet envy and prideful about the fact that much of it was not only do to his skill with a blade; but a blade of Valyrian steel. That was also evident in the grimace his uncle Kevan had marred his face with as well. 

His father likely wants to take it as a trophy to present to his kingly grandson when they win the war. Should they win the war, is a more precise thing to say.

He could also see the pain in Addam's eyes. He was lucky to have made a rather hasty retreat. From what he had heard, Lord Damon Marbrand of Ashemark had been taken down by a cut from his collar bone to his navel along with his horse. Must have been a rather pretty sight. 

"Forget about the boy's pretty blade. His wolf is the thing to fear! I heard it killed over a dozen men and as many horses," Lord Leo Lefford exclaimed as well. 

"Is it true what they're saying about Stannis and Renly?" said the small-chinned Harys Swyft. 

"Both Baratheon brothers have taken up arms against us. Jaime captured, his army scattered, the Mountain slain. It's a catastrophe! Mayhaps we should sue for peace," Kevan suggested. 

That may had been the most grievous thing about it all. Word had it that the Young Wolf had used his family's ancestral valyrian blade like a lance; driving straight into the Mountain's head. And peace? A poor man's suggestion, Tyrion thought, prompting him to flick his wineglass to the floor. 

"There's your peace. Joffrey saw to that the moment he removed Ned Stark's head. You'll have an easier time drinking from that cup than bringing Robb Stark to the table now. He's winning, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I'm told that we still have his sisters"

"First order of business is ransoming Ser Jaime!"

"No, no truces. We can't afford to look weak. We should march on them at once!'

"First, we need to return to Casterly Rock and rai - "

"THEY HAVE MY SON!" Tywin roared like the mighty lion that he is, cowing the rest into silence. "Get out, all of you. ... Not you. You were right about Eddard Stark; if he were alive, we could've used him to broker a peace with Winterfell and Riverrun, ... which would have given us more time to deal with Robert's brothers, but now? Madness, madness and stupidity! ... I always thought you were a stunted fool. Perhaps I was wrong."

"Half wrong." Tyrion said, surprised by his father's "kind words" whilst taking a sip of wine. "I'm new to strategy, but unless we want to be surrounded by three armies, it appears we can't stay here."

"No one will stay here. Kevan will head out with five hundred riders and set the riverlands on fire from Gods' Eye to the Red Fork. The rest of us will regroup at Harrenhal, and you will go to King's Landing."

"And do what?!" Tyrion exclaimed in bewilderment and confusion as Tywin peered at his father. "Rule. You will serve as Hand of the King in my stead; you'll bring that boy-king to heel and his mother too, if needs be. And if you get so much as a whiff of treason from any of the rest- Baelish, Varys, Pycelle-"

"Heads, spikes, walls." Tyrion said realizing where his father was going with all of this as he nodded. "Why not my uncle? Or Addam Marbrand? Flement Brax? Why not anyone?! Why me?"

"You're my son." Was all that Tywin Lannister answered with.

"He's little more than a child!! A-a boy playing at war!"

"Yet this boy, as you call him Mace, has brought Tywin Lannister to shame. Ended the terror of Tywin's Mad Dog. And captured the Kingslayer himself!"

"Yes, bu - "

"And what is it exactly that you and Renly have done? Other than play at court and hosting incessant tourneys?"

"I must admit, it would be more prudent to ally ourselves with this Boy Wolf, as Father calls him. Allying with Renly will not bring us a thing," her not-so-oafish grandson Willas said, chiming in. 

"What exactly was Renly thinking in the first place? He's a handsome man, no one can deny that, but he's fourth in line for the throne. And if he does mean to wage war on Stannis, no one will look to him kindly either. The Kinslayer King. He may have our numbers but Stannis Baratheon does have experience," Margaery said. Clever little rose she is. 

"Loras is what got Renly here in the first place," Garlan grumbled. He may be more suited to the field of battle, but his mind is just as sharp as his blade. 

"Admirable as ambition may be at times, Margaery would not truly be queen if we continue this alliance with Renly. Mayhaps ... we can continue toward something else"

"All of our men are mostly green boys seeking a taste of battle and glory. What better way to do that than creating an alliance with the North and the riverlands?"

"B-B-But Margaery wil - "

"She could displace the stoat bride that Walder Frey had forced on the Young Wolf. After all, what are weasels to roses"?

"I must admit that the boy is admirable to say the least," Oberyn said with a chuckle. 

The one thing he did not like was that the boy had taken the Mountain away from him. He wanted the satisfaction of slaying the monster that took his sister away from him. 

"The Young Wolf. He sounds impressive as he is handsome," his fair-haired daughter Tyene uttered with an air of dreaminess. 

"They say that his eyes are as hard as ice. Mayhaps his prick is as well," said his daughter, the every witty Nymeria. 

He and the boy do share one thing in common though; a mutual hatred and desire to slay some lions. 

"I know what you will do, Oberyn," said his brother Prince Doran, looking at him placidly. 

"Dorne must not ally with the wolves."

"Exactly. Dorne will not ally with them. I will," he said, grabbing at his spear. 

"If I may speak so boldly, Your Grace, it would be more prudent to ally with the Young Wolf"

"He made some small feats. Impressive in their right but small all the same."

"You do not need him my king," the Red Priestess all but purred to Stannis. 

"The feats the boy has done are impressive nonetheless. Not to mention, he has the entirety of the North and now the riverlands supporting him"

"Why ally with him when he means to crown himself?"

"Mine own sources, while not as impressive as the Spider's, Your Grace, heard that the northmen and rivermen had crowned him," the handsomely vain Lord Waters stated. 

"Sounds like they want him to be king more so than the Young Wolf himself!"

"King Stannis doesn't need the Young Wolf when he has his own kin in the Florents to back him!" said the homely and stout Axell Florent. 

"Brightwater alone will not stand a chance against the might of all his army," the elderly Lord Estermont said. 

"Stannis. I urge you to take this alliance. While Robb Stark cannot, you can arrange a betrothal for Lady Shireen to one of his brothers. Stark and Baratheon united as Robert wanted, and provide the crown with better ties to the North," the wise old maester Cressen said. 

"From what I've heard, the boy has already begun to raid and plunder the westerlands of its wealth. Lord Monford, Lord Celtigar and Lord Sunglass, you shall come with me bringing your strongest ships to meet with this Boy Wolf. The Lannisters have been making my realm bleed. I cannot forget that, nor will I forgive that. Send a raven. We make for the battlefield"

Robb felt ... stronger somehow with Ice in his hands. 

He looked and felt like a Stark of old. He didn't need a crown. 

Nor do I want one. I did not ask for it. 

Yet, he looked and felt impressive more in his right with his boiled leather and bronze-scaled amour, greaves and helm. And the direwolf's head etched on his thick oaken shield. 

Already, he had recieved ravens from both Stannis Baratheon and the Tyrells. 

From what he could make of it, the Tyrells (actually Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns) would be more than willing to ally with him, if he agreed to marry her granddaughter, Margaery. 
Stannis Baratheon's letter stated that he acknowledge him as his rightful king and that their houses be properly bound in marriage, offering his daughter's hand in marriage to either Bran or Rickon. 

But right now was not the time to make such decisions. There is a war to be fought. He'll have to bring it to his council, and deliberate it with them. 

I will take everything you have taken and more Lannisters. 

Winter will come for you all.

Chapter Text

She had been so stupid.

When the heir to Winterfell, Brandon Stark, had come to ask a dance of her, she nearly in such haste said yes. She found herself a tad disappointed that he had asked in the stead of his younger brother, Eddard. 

He was leaner and nowhere nearly muscled as his brother. But he is rather kind and gentle. While lacking the mischievous glint, they were (to her surprise) quite beautiful. How and why did she think them dull?

And due to her her own drunkenness and the "charming" words of the Wild Wolf of the North, she found herself into his bed. Yet, she was little more than a whore to him. Quickly sticking his prick in her; the only courtesy having done to her was trying and failing to spill his seed across her belly instead of inside of her. 

He thought her a maiden and it’s not the first time she’s played the part to make these northerners (really, anyone born north of the Dornish Marches is a northerner to her) feel anything but special, but at the end of the night she feels rather disappointed and regrets not having danced at least once more with sweet Ned Stark, who had smiled shyly at her, all awkward in his manners, and had blushed a deep red as he said her hands were gracious. 

She'd always been beautiful, and everyone said that if ever there had been someone likely to make a good marriage it had been her. These compliments had always pleased her mother and father. Ashara herself had always been less concerned with title than winning herself a rugged, handsome Ser. With a wan smile as she wrapped her lavender cloak around her, Ashara regretted her naivety and misguided actions. She'd listened to so many protestations of her beauty down the years that she'd thought that, once she'd decided who she wanted, that person would fall at her feet immediately.

No, she was older and wiser now.

For a second she wondered if, knowing how things had turned out, she would have acted any differently? Did she miss her position at court? Her marriage prospects? No, not at all. Maybe she missed Elia's company and the other ladies-in-waiting, but position had never been at the forefront of Ashara's mind. She'd wanted love. And once she'd found love she wanted a family.

Fate had put both in her lap, and then snatched them away.

Looking over the sea in her chambers, Ashara found herself thinking of Eddard Stark.

If she had gone for the tamer wolf in a more sober state, maybe she could have had the family life she wanted. He would have been a good father, Ashara told herself. She might not have been inspired to the heights of passion, but one day he would make someone an ideal husband. He would be steady, faithful, and adore that woman. His eyes would never wander to another.That woman could have been her.

But no longer, as he had talked to her more coolly and dignified like a proud lord. No longer stuttering like a squire-turned-knight but now telling her he will make amends for what his brother had done. His eyes hard and cold like ice rather than soft as fog. No longer praising her beauty, making purely honest comments on how the commonfolk had not made songs of it.

And he was Lord of Winterfell now that Brandon had been murdered. Eddard would take her in, she was sure. He might not be her towering, powerful knight but he would ensure she was safe and protected. But more out of common courtesy and duty. 

Laying on the sick bed and hearing the coaxing words of her mother, she felt more disheartened. If it was his bastard, would he immediately come forth and marry her? Would he have married her to save her the dishonour of bearing the Wild Wolf's bastard? He likely would have loved her with all his heart, and she practically spat in his face. 

As she felt the pain of bringing her child to the world, she thought of the Starks. Mayhaps they're will be nothing of Brandon in this child. Mayhaps she will see the kind eyes of Ned Stark in her child. And she will love it just for that.

Chapter Text

She finds it diverting to take Theon Greyjoy into her bed. Lord Eddard’s ward is proud in many ways, but not too proud to stick his cock in her. She’s proud enough too, when his seed quickens inside her. Her own boy will have a Lord’s blood in him, though the boy will never know it, and he won’t ever know either.

Frankly, its not the first time. Only her mother knows just who Berena's father is. But putting them both together, one could easily argue that a Greyjoy sired them both. 

At least Lyanna had a playmate or two in them both. 

She remembered with a certain fondness when they had encountered one another nearly six years ago. Her own family had come to Winterfell regarding the matter of wildlings coming to the shores of Bear Island. Alysane had been training with some of the men as she the spotted the arrogant heir of the Iron Islands. Tall, lean, well-muscled and grinning as if someone had told him the grandest jest in the world.

It wasn't long until she had been in his chambers. In a short manner of time, he had her making a strange squealing noise. 

"The mating call of the North? Well, I haven't a good fuck in weeks, I'm ready for one!"

"You want to stick that iron cock in my arse, Ser Squid?"

'Twas a good night, and that night had gave her her son, Barthogan. He'll surely grow into a strong man. 

And it made it all the more strange when she saw him again before Stannis Baratheon. Haggard, and hobbling like an old man. A small fringe of black hair handing loosely by the crown of his head while the rest of it is as white as the winter snows. 

The boy's been through the seven hells and back. As much a turncloak and traitor he is, he should know some sort of happiness. 

Mayhaps, Bartie can put a true smile on his face before he meets his god. 

Meet his Drowned God and rest as a honest man.

Chapter Text

"Tom. you sure this will work?"

"Positive! Every girl likes and wants a bad boy!" Tom said, eyeing himself in the mirror. He had to admit that he looked good. 

"Wouldn't it be easier to just ... I don't know, act like bad boys?"

"Nah, mate. We gotta look the part too. And besides, you were do for a haircut"

"I like my hair long. I feel ... violated. I look like ..."

"Justin Bieber"

"You take that back now!!"

"Just relax."

"Do we ... have to act like your brother?"

"Which one? The one that is universally hated or the one that is universally loved?"

"Y'know. Joff"

"Joff is evil. We're not evil. We're just ... selling ourselves"

"Do we need the sunglasses?"

"Nahh. But we look cooler with them. Black leather jacket. Tight dark-coloured pants. We're golden"

Robin then pushed Tom toward the corridor. 

"Look. Right there. Black Aly Bulwer."

"C'mon, Robin. Time to work the bad boy magic!"

Robin slowly strutted toward toward her. Even from a distant, she bore the aroma of sweet honey and the dark eye-liner around her eyelid, made her hazel eyes all the more alluring. 

Just say something. Say anything. Don't gawk around like an idiot. 

Crap. She's already staring.

"Hey, Robin"

Say something, say something idiot!!

"'Sup, bitch? Wanna take a ride?" He said, while pointing to his crotch.

Within a second, he felt a hand strike him across the face, his sunglasses dropping to the floor. 

As he went to pick them up, he saw that she had left in a huff. 

Damn, even from a distance, her ass is great.

"WHOA! Dude, you got BURNED!!"

"OH, YEAH? Let's see you do better?"

Quickly scouting the area, he quickly set his sights on Lyanna Mormont. 

Alright. Just be cool. Shoulders up, chin high. 

"Yo!"

"Uh, Yo? Tommen ... right? Sorry bad with names"

"That's cool."

"OK, then. Then, its a pleasure to meet you again!"

"I think it can be a real pleasure if you play your cards right!"

Quickly, he felt a powerful fist meeting his nose. 

"Tom! Robin! What happened?" his sister and cousin called out. 

Both boys quickly looked at each other. Robin with his slightly swollen cheek and Tom with his broken nose. 

"Please, don't ask"

Chapter Text

She never thought that this would actually happen. 

Dorne, while accepting of the children made of love and passion rather than simply ones by duty, would never openly marry a bastard. 

Yet, this is what she is bearing witness to. 

Both of them young. The young lord of Starfall grinning like a loon and her sweet cousin, now bearing a shy smile. 

It made her wonder of another pair of dornishmen long ago. Only one was a knight sworn to honour and duty and a mad king. The other was a sweet and gentle princess of her kingdom. 

She had once asked her uncle Lewyn,who was tall as a tower, if there were anyone that her aunt wanted to love. 

First, he had told her of the misadventures she and her uncle Oberyn had gotten into upon her venture for potential suitors. 

The names that were given to them were quite funny, such as Lord Lazyeye, Squire Squishlips and The Whale that Walks. Even Baelor Breakwind had brought a giggle out of her mouth. 

Although, she might've been happy with him. Now that he is Baelor Brightsmile. 

"But those were the people she wanted to marry. Didn't Elia want to love someone?"

"Ha ha ha. Clever girl. She did, sweet one. My squire, Arthur. She loved him so, and had he not been such a shy lad, she would've accepted his love"

The entire war may not have been thrown into chaos then. 

Dorne would not has lost its Princess. Dorne would not have lost its legendary swordsman. Nor would it want to seek out justice with Fire and Blood. 

But it was naught to think of the past now. 

And with the future looking so bright. 

She should not be thinking on what could've been. 

Yet, she ponders it all the same when she sees Elia draped in a Dayne cloak of lavender and white. 

Elia Martell would have looked lovely in that cloak.

But they were gone, their ghosts no longer. 

Now, two children were in front of her, smiling and kissing and giggling to their hearts content. 

It is time to look to the future.

Chapter Text

She was panting. Hard and hoarse. 

Gods! He may be little more than a child yet he and his ... magic cock has the strength and stamina of a god.

Four times. Four fucking times! 

Damn, my legs. He has definitely milked me for all I'm worth. And I certainly must have done the same for him. 

His breathing is as hard and nearly as hoarse as her own. 

All of a sudden, she felt a tugging on her bare breast. 

"Darling, surely four times is enough. Are you trying to break some kind of record?"

Tommen's hand then slowly dragging itself to her other breast, palming it. 

"Well, what is the record? I'm sure we can break it"

My legs are so fucking sore. 

"Perhaps, in the morn"

Yet, that doesn't deter the young king. Her young king. 

His body arched closer to hers, cupping both of her breasts. His mouth on them and tongue swirling around her nipples. 

"T-T-Tommen! A-AH!"

Now, his hands gently sliding to cup her arse cheeks. The tingling sensation from her cunt and clit were slowly but surely returning again. 

"Seven fucking Hells, Tom! Just ... get back in there!"

Quick as a cat, he slid back inside her. Gods, it feels good!

Mayhaps my husband is right. We should just do this; all day and every day for the rest of our lives. 

Chapter Text

One

From what she understood, Daddy had another loved someone else other than Mommy at some point. And they had a baby. 

Daddy said that their little brother would be coming by sometimes to visit. Mommy doesn't seem to like it. Egg doesn't either and Dany says she wouldn't mind having more family. Uncle Viserys doesn't like it one bit. 

When Daddy brings him by, she quickly saw that her new brother doesn't look like Daddy. His eyes are grey-almost-black. His hair is dark like hers but more curly. In fact, he almost looks like a lost puppy. 

"Rhae, Egg, this is your brother Ja - Jon. Can you say hello to your brother and sister, Jon?"

Jon. She likes that name. 

"H-Hi"

Egg just shakes his hand and doesn't say anything. 

"Hi! I'm Rhaenys, your new big sister!"

Jon looks to Daddy and then smiled a bit. 

I'mma be the best big sister.

Two

"Hey, Jon, can you play against me?"

"Why aren't you playing with Aegon? You always play ping-pong with him"

"Aegon left to hang out with Dany's weird boyfriend. And I'm not playing with Viserys after last time."

"Which boyfriend? The insanely buff one with the long ponytail or the one with the blue hair?"

"Blue haired dude"

"He looks like he belongs in a circus rather than a international band!"

"Yeah. Let's continue this while I whoop your ass, baby brother!"

"Not if I beat yours first!" Jon then handed her the other paddle while he served. 

Fuck! He is pretty good. 

"So ... what about ... you?"

"What ... about me?"

"Why ... are you ... here?"

"I need ... Dad's help ... on a ... school thing"

"What ... school thing?"

"Genealogy ... report. Yeah! Point!"

"Damn!"

Three

"Please?"

"No"

"Please?"

"No!"

"C'mon, Jon. I've never asked anything from you before! It's just one date!"

"Its kinda weird considering the situation. She's your cousin. Not to mention that your family practically hates me!"

"My family does not hate you! ... Okay, well, Uncle Oberyn doesn't ... dislike you as much as before! And Quentyn likes you!
Besides, she's been in kind of a funk lately, and I want to cheer her up. We could all double date, you with her and me with Bryce!"

"Rhae ..." 

"Please, please, please. You'll be the bestest brother in the whole wide world to me if you did your adorably cute big sis a solid!"

"Alright, alright. Just ... turn off the puppy dog eyes. That's my thing!"

Four

"Hey, Jon. Can I ask you a question?"

"Just did. What is it?"

"Its about that friend of yours. Gery? Henrik? The one with all the muscles?"

"Gendry?"

"Yeah! Uh, um, by any chance is h- "

"No, and no"

"Oh, please Jonny!"

"No! It was weird enough when I took your cousin out on a date. It was weirder when Aegon took my cousin out on a date. It's gonna get more weirder if you start dating my best friend!"

"It won't be weird. And I can't get him out of my mind lately. He's ... hunkalicious"

"Please. Never say that again,"

"PPPPPPLLLLEEEEAAAASSSE!! 

"Not gonna happen, Rhae!"

"I'll tell you what. You set me up with your friend, and I'll set you up with one of my friends! ... Friend, not cousin!
You remember my friend, Val? I'm pretty sure that she thinks your cute"

"Alright, alright!"

Five

"I can't believe its happening!"

"Seriously, Rhae? I can't believe it hadn't happened sooner!"

"True, but still ..."

"Hard to believe? Yeah ..."

"So, who gets to be the cool one then?"

"What do you mean, who gets to be the cool one? Obviously, I get to be the cool uncle!"

"Oh, c'mon, Jonny! Y'know it's my destiny to be the cool fun aunt!"

"And I can't be the cool fun uncle? Every kid needs a cool fun uncle!"

"Which obviously can't be you! Hehehe!"

"Would you rather have Viserys be that 'cool uncle' to our nephew or niece?"

"Good point. Alright, I'll continue to be the responsible one and you be the cool fun uncle!"

"Thanks Rhae!"

And One

"Jonny, I can't believe it! Congrats!!"

"I know. I can't believe I did it either!"

"So, when have you guys set the date?"

"That's the thing really. Val doesn't really want to make a big deal out of it."

"Not make a big deal? Of course its a big deal! My baby brother's getting married!"

"Can you keep it down? We haven't exactly told anybody except maybe some close friends and family"

"I'm just so excited and happy for you!"

"Could you be this excited all the way to King's Landing Courthouse? We do need a witness. 
And considering you were the one who set us up together, I want you there. Please?"

"... OK. OK! I'm gonna be my baby brother's best man!"

"Witness, not best man."

"I'm your best man and you know it!"

"Nah, you're the best sister"

Chapter Text

The first thing he took notice of at the Baratheon mansion was his cousin Shireen crying at the front of the entrance. 

"Shireen? Shiree? You okay?"

"Oh. Hey, Tom. It's nothing"

"I know you too well. You never cry for no reason.
What is it?" he said, sitting down and inching himself closer to her. 

"Looks like I'm not going to prom after all"

"I ... don't understand. When the Academy announced it, you said that you couldn't care less. Now you have a date?"

"Had. Had a date Tommen"

"Oh. So, ... what happened. But first, tell me who's the tall dark handsome dude in your life?"

"Rickon Stark."

"Rickon? My team captain Rickon?"

"Yeah. I'm surprised that Ric didn't tell you. I thought you're best mates"

"Well, not every best mate tells the other best mate every little thing. We don't gossip like you girls!"

"Ha ha, very funny!"

"So, what exactly happened. Considering that he didn't tell me obviously" Tommen grumbled. "Did he ditch you for someone else?"

"No. He got himself suspended and banned from going."

"Ahh. Knowing Ric better than you do, he likely gave someone a fight."

"Figures. Now, I don't have a date. And I was really excited Tom. He didn't even care about the ..."

"The burn marks." It was hard to truly look at his cousin without first noticing the burn marks on the left side of her cheek and down a little bit of her neck. 

That had been Joffrey's work when he was little and when Shireen was little more than a toddler. Dad can't even look Uncle Stannis in the face since, and can only do it when drunk.

"Yeah. So, now what?"

"What do you mean, now what? I can't go alone!"

"Plenty of guys and girls go to dances alone"

"This is prom, Tommen. You can't just go to prom alone!"

"What about your friend Devan? Or Robin?"

"Devan's going with Eleyna Westerling. And Robin is going with Myrcella"

"Damnit! What's with my mates not telling me anything?"

"Like that matters"

Suddenly, a thought came to him. "You ... could always go with a family member ..."

"If you think I'm taking Dad, than no way"

"I wasn't taking about Uncle Stannis ..."

"You mean go with one of my cousins? No way. Anyway, Dickon and Sam both have dates anyway."

"Now how about you take the hint, Sweet Shireen?" he said in a suave yet slightly sarcastic manner. I gotta stop hanging around with Uncle Jaime.

Shireen then gave him a strange look. 

"I know it might be weird, stupid and such a cliche but would you do me the honour of taking you to prom sweet cousin?"

"Wait. But what abou - "

"Broke up. Doesn't matter. So, how bout it?"

"... OK"

Chapter Text

Gods, he irritated her to know end. 

Almost everything about "The Bull" irritated her. From the way he seemed to swagger, to that strange lopsided smirk he bore on his face, and those insanely intense deep ocean blue eyes. 

It also surprised her that he hadn't broke his guitar with those annoyingly large bulging muscles of his. And just how good he is playing it. He's more suited to play drums. 

The majority of his band, the Brotherhood without Banners, irritated her to no end. Bold Beric with his suave nice-guy attitude, Arrogant Anguy swaggering all the way on stage, Little Ned Dayne with his "gentleman" attitude, but mostly HIM. 

What irritated her more were the "groupies". Massey claimed that they weren't and that they're just "good friends" yet she saw just how they fawned over them. Slobbering and drooling like idiots, hoping that they would "give them a bone". Carellen Smallwood; their "occasional" singer, Long Jeyne Heddle (more like Plain Jeyne Heddle) nearly swooning toward Gendry fucking Massey. Hildy the Whore and Big Boobed Bess Bracken practically pressing themselves toward them. 

Being the older sister and lead guitarist of the Sand Snakes gave her a sense of responsibility not only to herself but her sister. Especially the fact that her sister Elia seemed to crushing on Ned Fucking Dayne and vice versa. I'm that that friggin blind; I can see them giving each other fuck-me eyes; mentally undressing each other. 

It's also downright irritating that much of her sisters were interested in the Brotherhood; and their friends too. Sarella with the fat cow that often hung around, Tyene with that somber emo-looking dude. There is no way that she was going to fall for any tricks. 

"YO, NYM!"

Aand right on target. Massey. Gods, I fucking hate him. His ... dorky smile. Those ... perfect muscles. And those ... stupid eyes that look to be undressing me. Pervert.

"What do you want, Massey?"

"I just want to wish you good luck in the Battle of the Bands"

"Really? Good luck?"

"Yeah. May the best man ... or woman, win"

"I'm not falling for your crap Massey"

"What crap?"

"Don't you play your stupid nice guy routine, Massey! I know what you're up to?"

"I don't know what I'm up to, but please, tell me."

"Listen closely Massey. I wanna make sure this gets through your thick head: I'm my own woman, I will never, and I mean NEVER, be your groupie"

"So, tell me. what am I up to?"

"S-S-Shut up and fuck me! HARDER!!"

"As you command, Lady Nym"

"OH GODS!!"

Yeah, hit that sweet spot, Massey. She could already feel it. 

"I-I'mm, I'm, I'm mmmmmmhhhhhhaaa!!"

"So, wha-what wa-was it, you wanted t-t-to t-tell me?"

"I hate you. I fucking hate you Gendry," she practically crooned to him. And, did I just call him Gendry?

"Hate you too, Nymeria"

Chapter Text

This could not be fucking happening. 

Nothing about this made any fucking sense. 

For weeks, Ned would pathetically stare off into space. In the morning at breakfast, at dinner, even at school. More so in school. 

It was then he realized just what it was. My brother was crushing on someone and very, very hard. 

Gods, he still remembered the time when he said that, Ned almost immediately looked down to his pants. What a loser. 

He did have to admit that his brother did have class in his taste in woman. 

Ashara Dayne, or as he personally called her, Ass-hara Dayne, is a fine lady. A godsend really. 

With those haunting violet eyes, an ass that was undoubtedly carved by the Gods themselves, and a rather impressive rack, there was not a single doubt that she was the hottest girl in school. Well, right after Janna "Jugs" Tyrell. 

Ned would just stare at her from afar then bow his head down like a beaten dog if she caught wind that he was staring at her. So, he decided to do his brother a favor. He freaking needs help if he was looking to get laid. 

Or maybe he did and just hadn't told him? No, Ned likely would have told him if he got a pity lay. 

"I-I don't know what to say, Bran! I keep thinking of what to say and do, but the moment I look at her, it's like my tongue gets tied!!"

"You just go up and say 'Hi! I like you, hope you like me, wanna go out sometime, maybe?' Simple and easy as that!"

In all honesty, he was hoping that Ned would fail. It was a guarantee really. Why would Ashara fucking Dayne actually say yes to him? 

With a little bit of stubble, Ned looks a bit wolfish, which could do him good with the ladies. Without it, he looks like a horse that needs to be put down. 

I would be a good brother for about two weeks or so, give him time to grieve, then ask her out myself. After all, no chick had ever said no to me before. 

Hell, I never even told Barbrey that I got into Bethany's pants first. ... And she showed me a thing or two. Which I kinda showed to Barb. Hehehe. 

Seeing Ned stutter in front of Ashara had brought him some joy. And that giggle of hers too. 

The biggest surprise came when she kissed his cheek and said, "What took you so long, Ned?"

Before he knew it, she was around the house. 

Lyanna adored her and Benjen loved playing Gears of War with her. Even Dad actually liked her. 

It was a trick. Pity date. It had to have been out of pity. She was clearly looking at me, I was practically behind Ned when he asked her out. 

"Actually, Brandon, I kinda crushed on your brother since the beginning of the year. 
And, uh, you're not really worth my time"

That had broke him more than he could admit. Not worth my time. Not ... worth ... my time. It kept ringing in his ears whenever she would come by to study with Ned. And she's almost always here. 

Now, the worst part was ... hearing them. Seeing them together almost made him retch. The chaste kiss, the Eskimo kiss; so damn irritating. Now, he could hear them loudly kissing each other in his room. What. The Hell. 

Right now, it is definitely worse. 

"I-I don't think anyone's around."
"Good, Cuz that means ... I get to do this?"
"Ash, I, I, w-we shou- "
"I want your lips all over me Ned!"

Godfuckingdamnit!! Now I gotta listen to them bump uglies too?

"OH! OH, NED!"
"ASH!!"
"THAT'S IT, NED! CA-CAN YOU LICK IT AGAIN?"

Lick it? Lick what? What the hell did she want licked? I gotta get out of here!

She should've been mine. Gods, she should've been mine. 

Janna "Jugs" Tyrell; with her thick, softly curling brown hair, big brown eyes. And those massive tits. I could die happy motor-boating her tits. Her figure was pretty slender yet shapely and curvy in all the right places. 

And yet, she's with Stannis. Stannis. 

Stannis has all the charm of a lobster!! It's the main reason why Renly often calls him "Sea Monster Stanny"! That and, Stannis still made sure that he bathes properly. 

Whenever she came up to him, he almost always blocked out whatever she was saying; his eyes eyeing that impressively ginormous rack of hers. 

"Robert. Robert!"
"What?"
"I said, can you give Stannis back his notes? I forgot I still had them. Oh, and tell him thanks"

She always seemed to borrow his notes. But she was one of the smartest girls in the school. 

And Stannis was, still somehow, a dunce when it came to the ladies. 

"Damnit"
"What's wrong?"
"I lent Janna my notes on our Chemistry class and she did this to them," he said, holding up a lip stain filled with Arbor red lip gloss.

Idiot. 

He knew that Stannis was painfully shy and uncomfortable around girls. So, he had taken it upon himself to alleviate him of any uncomfortableness. 

"Hey, Janna. I know that he won't do it himself, so I'm doing this on his behalf. My brother Stannis would like to ask you out."

Stannis' face had turned even more like a stone than before. His stuttering was priceless! 

"I, uh, hu, that is, I,"
"You need to work on your flirting, Stannis. We'll do that on our date!"

The hell was going on with the world?!!

Janna and those beautiful jugs of hers should be right in front of me and my bed. 

The worse thing was that the walls that separated their rooms are really thin. 

"Yeah. That's it Stannis."
"I can't believe this is real"
"Trust me, it's real. And so are these!"
"J-Janna, I, uhh"
"Go ahead, Stannis. Touch them."

That lucky bastard!!

"Hey Robert," Brandon said, taking notice of the broad Baratheon sitting next to him at the bar. 

"Hey Brandon"

"So, your brother's with Janna?"

"Probably burying his face in her tits right now"

"Nice. Lucky bastard."

"Ned with Ashara?"

"Fucking her as we speak."

"Nice!"

"Yup"

"Yup"

Chapter Text

It was beyond strange. A moment ago, he barely knew this boy. Now, here he is, trying to ... take the basketball hoop off the top of the garage. 

"Gendry. Gendry, what do you think you're doing, lad?"

"This is mine!" he said almost possessively. 

"I-I don't understand"

"Tommen gets a childhood, a dad, a family, and a basketball hoop? No. No, I should at least get the damn hoop! I'm taking it with me!"

"Alright, ju-just calm down"

"W-Why should I? You suck. You're lame! Yo-You're just some ... lame suburban dad!!"

He knew that much was certain. He was no longer the wild inconsiderate nineteen-year-old jack-ass. How and why Ned tolerated me I will never know. 

"Why does that make you so mad?!"

"Because if you were going to be some lame suburban dad, why couldn't you have become mine?!!" 

He already had tears fighting to stay in. 

I haven't changed. Marriage didn't completely change me. I'm still the same jack-ass from before. Gods know I suck worse than the Seven Hells. I failed with Mya. Edric managed to finally hate my guts. Now him; the spitting image of his youthful self minus all the jackassery. I screwed more people than I known. 

"Gendry ... I, I know that I've screwed up ..."

"Screwed up? Screwed up doesn't begin t- "

"I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW!! 
I want to fix this and I don't know how!! Please, just tell me what I can do?! I'll do anything!!"

He just glares at him for a while. Then turning back to the hoop, still angrily trying to remove it, with his hands now. Quickly, he goes to his shed and got out his toolbox. 

"You're never gonna get it out like that," he said as he handed his son a screwdriver. He quickly took it, only to slam it on the hoop instead.

"Gendry! Calm down, and put the pointy end into the grooves," he instructed as he calmed down some listened. He might be the first Baratheon to do so. "Good, now turn it. Righty-tighty, lefty loosey, you got it," he said, trying to encourage him. 

He the slumped closer to his car. "I have no excuse Gendry. It took me years before I could look myself in the mirror the way I let you down. And others beyond count.
It took a great amount of courage to send me that letter. ... More courage than I ever had...
I owe you a lifetime of apologies and I just ... I have no idea where to begin"

His son then handed him the screwdriver quietly. " Can ... you help me with this?"

With relative ease, he got it out and he just picked it up as it nearly fell on the ground. 

"... If you ... ever feel like you're ready ... I'd love nothing more than to be a part of your life," he said with the"I' most sincerity he could muster. 

Gendry slumped his shoulders, reminding him so much of himself and Stannis in a way he never thought possible. He then looked him in the eye, before turning his face and slightly pouted his lip. A part of him hoped that he would say "Yes". But reality's a bitch, as Gendry took the board under his arm and said, "Bye".

"You sure you don't want to talk about it, Gendry?" Gilly asked him.

"I'm fine," he said, while then looking to the backyard of his friend's future home. 

"Oy, Jon"

"Yea, mate?"

"You, uh, still want that basketball hoop?"

"Uh, actually, I was beginning to consider your stripper pole idea ..." he said trying to cheer me up, obviously. 

"In all honesty, Gendry. It sounds pretty awesome," Sam said, also trying to cheer him up.

"No. You were right Jon," he said looking to the backyard again. 

"A kid needs a hoop"

Chapter Text

He had to admit that she was a pretty young thing, about the same age as his nephew; his king.

Lady Jeyne Westerling is slender of posture, armed with chestnut curls, a heart-shaped face, and brown eyes

In that moment, he hated his nephew. Hated him for having bedded this ... Whore of the Westerlands. 

The stupid boy had gone on and bedded her. In grief and duress of kingship. Stupid, stupid boy. 

The GreatJon of House Umber and the Lady Maege Mormont had found out quickly as he tried to marry her. To protect her honour. 

Honour! Did he find it honourable to bed the wench? When did he have the time to believe that he should wed the girl; to protect her honour?

Old Walder Frey would not have liked it if one of his stoat daughter, granddaughter or great-granddaughter were rejected in place of her. 

Uncle Blackfish and Cat had all but coerced him to wed her. The Westerlings are certainly happy to say the least; having their daughter wed to a Lord Paramount. And they managed to bring about what little men they had. 

He almost wanted to say "no", and let her continue bedding Robb for all he cared. For all he knows, Robb and his sister Sansa are the last Starks alive. If what he heard about Sansa is true, then it would be better that he bed her and declare any child borne a Stark. It'd certainly help him and give the North another Stark to rally behind. 

And she was already swelling with child. His own grandniece or grandnephew. That was the one thing that they could not get the girl to do. But he would have to claim the child as his own. 

"Do you remember our words, Edmure?"

"Family, Duty, Honour"

"Exactly. I know we've put you in such a ... precarious position. But the girl you will wed will be a part of this family; your family"

So, with some unneeded haste, her maiden cloak of seashells was replaced with one of the Tully trout. 

Yet, as she swells with his nephew's child, it begins to eat at him. 

The one ting that his father taught him was that marriages were made to build alliances. To bring peace. If a man and woman are lucky, as Cat and her husband came to be, it will turn into something filled to the brim with love. 

Everything he thought went out the back of his mind. 

Mayhaps, she'll see something of Robb in me? Is that why she smiled so? Do Robb and I look enough alike to appease her? Will she be happier upon giving birth to her babe; Robb's babe?

No, it's best not to dwell on that. For Edmure Tully must do his duty. As his father once said, great or small, we must do our duties. And duty is a cruel mistress. 

The only times she sees him is in their son. Little Gawen, who looks enough as a Tully as his father yet bears the Tully name. The Stark wearing a Tully skin, who was once King in the North. 

That time had long since passed when the dragons finally came to bring about Fire and Blood to Westeros. She had heard that Robb was willing to relinquish his crown if it meant aiding the dragons in taking down the Lannisters which had been done. 

When the Long Night had supposedly come, she had feared for her family. Her little Gawen, her new husband and the babe beginning to swell inside her. She held such a great fear that all of them and her would die. 

Jeyne had once heard stories about the Long Night; the Eternal Winter, on how mothers would smother their babes so that they wouldn't see them die in the cold. With the snows coming in harder and stronger every passing day, she feared that it would come to that. She dare not watch Gawen or any other babe die at her hand or their mother's hand, but it was something that could happen. Yet, she could not even imagine that that would happen. 

I'd rather die than kill mine or any other babe.

Edmure had reassured her, as they found themselves stuck in Riverrun, that they would survive this ordeal. 

"Do you know my ... our house's words?"

"Family, Duty, Honour?"

"Family, Duty, Honour. In that order, and always in that order. And you are my family Jeyne. I-I would give my life for yours if need be."

Shortly after that, her husband had told her the one thing she never thought he'd ever say, "I love you, Lady Jeyne Tully"

Admittedly, she had wanted to be Robb's bride at first. He had taken her maidenhead, and she felt as if her heart was tethered to his. Mayhaps it had just been a passing fancy. Yet, something in the depths of her heart stirred when she saw Gawen in the training yard. He looked so much like the man willing to marry her and forsake his promise to the Freys. 

But she loves her husband more than she expected. She had thought that he simply thought of her as his nephew's "leavings" yet she wasn't that to him. She was more than that; she is his wife and love. 

Torrence Tully, her son and heir apparent to Riverrun, had a good and true heart. Every effort he made was an effort of note. His twin brother Tristifer may be more adequate at playing a maester than a swordsman. He is certainly more skilled than his brothers in martial pursuits but would prefer to place a book in his hands rather than a blade. 

She cannot say that she would be happy with Robb. It bodes ill to think of such matters, when watching her husband play with all the children; all three of them tackling him down while he laughs with such glee. 

With faint recollection, she recalls her family's words. Honour, Not Honours. Her mother would likely have sold her maidenhead to gain numerous honours from powerful lords.

It truly is an honour watching your babes grow with the man you love the most. 

Chapter Text

"Oh, c'mon, Ned!"

"Robert, you're too obvious!"

"No one can deny the rich enticing beauty of summer!"

"True. But predictable"

"I know you'd probably stay in doors, or just stay under an umbrella while drinking a slurpee!!"

"So, would you be drinking hot chocolate on the hottest day of summer?"

"... Fair point. But all the more saying, summer is the best season of all seasons!!"

"Again, Robert. Predictable."

"Alright then, why is winter better than summer? Please, tell me o' Lord of the Far Frozen!!"

"Do you know what my favorite temperature is Robert?"

"Favorite temperature? I thought we were talking about girls, not science class!"

"Just indulge me a moment. Thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit"

"... Might I ask why?"

"Of course. You can’t pick a favorite anything without a “why.” That would be irresponsible."

"O' Wise Sage of Frost, please grant me thy wisdom!!"

"Thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit is my favorite temperature because it has been statistically proven as the point where most people consider themselves “cold”… and begin putting on more of their clothes. Tightly, showing and leaving much to our imagination, young Padawan."

"Wow. I think I like thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Leave it to you to make science dirty. Waitaminute, you're actually talking about sweater pu - "

"Yup"

"Ned, you saucy dog!!"

"Y'know what Cersei needs? A tighter sweater"

"H-Have you actually checking out my girl?"

"... Maybe. I think Catelyn might need a new sweater ..."

Chapter Text

It never occurred to him. Sure enough, the two got along well. Yet, here was Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell ranting like a madman or whining about it like a girl.

"... Always, always been this way!"

"Would you just calm down, Robb! What's the bastard done now?"

"Nothing. ... Nothing really. He ... kicked me into the dirt. Made me look like a ... a babe swinging a stick"

"So?" he said. Twas fairly obvious that the ever grim Snow was possibly the best fighter in Winterfell. "He beats you into dirt nearly all the time. ... Except when your lady mother's around"

"H-He ... he does that?"

"It's not like she announces herself every time she watches your skills"

Robb then sighed. "He's the best of all of us. Truly the best"

"You make him seem like he's the High Septon!"

"Because he truly is better than me. I heard Rodrik mention that he's the better sword than me"

"So? You're the better lancer!"

"Aye. When's a lance going to help me if we go to war? And there aren't many tourneys in the North."

"You and I could adventure south one day and show all those prissy highborn knights what stuff the north and Iron Islands are made of. What about girls? The girls of the North adore you. They'd drop their smallclothes and give you their maidenheads just to have one night with you"

"That hasn't stopped them from looking at him too. He may be shy but I don't think he's that stupid. Remember the last time the Karstarks came? One of the first times they did, Alys Karstark had danced with him, and his face was beet red right after. Just before her betrothal to Daryn Hornwood was announced, I caught them kissing each other in the godswood."

"Hmm," Theon hummed in amusement. Perhaps Snow doesn't have ice in his veins.

Robb then looked as solemn as Lord Stark. "Father ... The way my father looks at him? I want that. He is better than me at everything. Fighting, and hunting, and riding. And girls. Gods, the girls adore him. I want to hate him, but I never could."

Jon was his brother, as much as Bran and Rickon. But he could not help but feel a little bit jealous. He was the heir to the Winterfell and the North.

He is a Stark yet he looks nothing like one. He could act like one all he likes but he could never look like one. It was the one thing he ever remembered asking the Seven one day when he was eight years old. But neither the Seven or the Old Gods answered. They saw fit for him to inherit his mother's looks. Her fiery-red hair and crystal blue eyes.

He remembered crying to his father once and hung his head in shame that he didn't look like him. But he assured him that that his grandmother; Arya's namesake, bore the same kind of hair. Many of the mountain clans called it "kissed by fire" because it is considered lucky.

Yet, he could not help but feel pangs of jealousy. Jealous that Jon immediately had their father's graces. Jealous that he looks like their father. Jealous that he was and had more of their father in him than Robb could ever hope to be. And then he felt himself hating himself for wanting nothing more than to name him the Bastard of Winterfell under his breath like his mother would do when she was in her chamber. Yet, he could never bring himself to do that; for he is and would always be his brother. 

"Well, I wish I could tell you the same, but my brother's are dead. And they were the most insufferable pricks as well. C'mon, let's go to a tavern and put those thoughts away with some ale" 

Chapter Text

Larence 

The Hornwood is as expected to be; filled to the brim with tall strong sentinels, oaks elms, birch, and a giant weirwood within the godswood of its castle; bearing an angry look by it. She knew that her grandfather had contested a claim to it, and she became the bargaining tool for it. Frankly, she didn't mind all too much. 

Her new husband had fought bravely, fought truly and as fierce and proud as any northman would. Fairly handsome to look at with his dirty-blonde hair, hazel eyes with flecks of grey and a scar on his cheek which extended close to his ear.

No longer was he the Bastard of the Hornwood. Yet, even as Larence Hornwood, he felt burdened and shamed. Burdened by the duties that plagued him as Lord of the Hornwood. Shamed for the position that he still believes that he should not be Lord. Even guilt as the elder brother he loved and adored perished in the war brought about by the lions of Lannister and their greed. 

"There are times when I don't even believe that I'm worthy of you. When I fall asleep in my furs, I fear that once I wake up, it will have been a dream"

"I'm not a dream, Larrence. I'm here," she tells him. Wylla then reached for his hands and placed them onto the swell of her belly. "We're both here"

Quickly, he begins to stammer like a fool, and she shuts him up with a kiss. 

"You'll have another duty soon enough!" she giggled. 

By the time her babe is coming to this world, he looks as if he's aged about a thousand years. Yet, when she's presented with her baby boy, covered in red and screeching at the top of his little lungs, she looks to him. The biggest smile in the world etched into his face; grinning like a loon. 

For once in his life, he is not thinking about laws, honour nor duty. But simply holding his son like he's the most precious thing in the world. 

The septas oft talk about the duties and labours woman must endure. And she knows in her heart of hearts that she would do anything to see her husband smile like that. 

Wex

He's actually quite handsome with his tangle of dark brown hair with an almost feral face. He has a wide mouth, a sharp nose and a pointed chin. A truly fierce ironborn warrior. The Bastard of Lordsport. 

Normally, she would have objected to such a union; especially after learning that he was the squire to Theon Turncloak. But he proved to be valorous in his efforts; and had even safely led the wildlings to safe passage to the Wolf's Den; being the shipmate of Captain Cotter Pyke. The ironborn were always distasteful and dishonourable cunts, but he proved himself a warrior; having been knighted by Ser Bartimos of the Wolf's Den, and a marriage to him would be better than marrying a Frey. In spite of Lord Perwyn doing all he can to bring his family's name from the disgrace and dishonour. And with Wynafryd having married Patrek Mallister of Seagard, leaving Wylla and any children of hers as heirs to White Harbour due to the new Queen's laws concerning the importance of women. 

Their marriage was as prosperous as could be yet filled to the brim with laughter (for her anyway) and fun. When he smiled, he slightly reminded her of a shark. Her father Lord Wylis even had to admit that Wex is a rather intelligent young man. Caring even, as he held her hand as she was giving birth to their children. When she was growing as big as a damn whale, he held her tenderly and kissed her brow. Somehow "telling" her that he loved her. 

After one final push and being cleaned, she had been allowed to hold her sons. The elder of the two reminder her of her Uncle Wendel. They then discussed with some mild discomfort and distaste as to what to name them. The elder they agreed to name Bartimos for the now deceased knight who was part of their retinue. After pondering, she finally agreed and relented about their second son. 

Mayhaps their Theon will be more honourable than the man he was named for. 

Jon

She remembered him from all those years ago. Back when there were days of peace, and Eddard Stark was still Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He had come with his two eldest sons; Robb the heir and Jon his shadow. Her lord grandfather had invited Lord Eddard to discuss a trade of some sort while Robb and Jon had explored much of White Harbour. 

They had even trained under her Uncle Wendel and his cousin Marlon. Both of them proving themselves skilled and having promising futures as knights. It was almost disheartening when she and Wynafryd heard that that Jon Snow would be joining the Night's Watch one day. Wendel and Marlon were practically appalled by it. She knew her sister was more disheartened by it; as she kept hearing her whispering "Jon Stark" oh so sweetly and dreamily in her chambers. 

Now, here she was in Winterfell as the bride to Jon Stark; Lord of Winterfell, High Marshal of the Gift, and Warden of the North. Wynafryd practically seethed as she was to marry her Jon Stark while she would be sent to the Riverlands and wed Patrek Mallister the heir to Seagard. "Do treat him well, sister dear," Winnie had told her just before her ship and escort set off. 

Yet, he seemed apprehensive at best. Even more so when his baby brother Rickon had returned properly with his fierce black wolf. The two Starks held each other so tightly; that the boy had called Jon "Father". Despite mistaking his brother for Lord Eddard, Jon didn't care, simply whispering sweet words that he will never leave the boy. 

With the help of her house, she and Jon are slowly rebuilding Winterfell along with the many wildlings he came to befriend. The giant known as Wun-Wun thought her to be some kind of Merling Queen; nearly grabbing and dangling her as if she were a toy. Yet, her new husband had calmed the giant down and whispered in her ear, "He's not completely out of the wrong, you do look like the Queen of Merlings." 

Winterfell became more larger and well-fortified. Taller and stronger walls. As it nears completion, she gives birth to their son. A beautiful babe with sun-kissed hair and shining grey eyes. When it finally is complete, she finds him right by the ramparts. 

"... It doesn't feel like Winterfell anymore. Not the one I remembered and grew up in. It ... It almost feels more like ... a h- "
"A home?"

Jon then took her hands and kissed them, then kissed her brow. She liked that; how he could look the cold and proud warrior in front of his men men yet he was as warm as the hot springs in Winterfell whenever in her company. She was certainly glad she had him for a husband. 

"Our home"

Chapter Text

One

Rhaegar brought home another babe. She wants to rave at him. For having started this tragedy. But he looks as broken as he never seen him. 

Instead, he tells her that he won't blame her for hating the child; his child. 

Rhaenys is all but ecstatic; cooing at the baby that is her brother. 

Aegon who is nearly two years older than him; cannot comprehend the existence of his brother. Gazing at him with amazement. 

Even Ashara looked at him with such wonder and amazement in her eyes. She had been so silent since her return to Starfall. 

She herself finds herself drawn to the babes room as well. His features are all his mother; all Stark. Soft curling dark brown hair and beautifully dark grey eyes that look almost black that stare about her with such a wonder. But upon closer inspection, she truly sees his eyes. With the sunlight hitting his eyes just right, she could see that his eyes are his father's: dark indigo. 

In a different life, he could have been the child that she could not give Rhaegar. But that could not be now. For he was Rhaegar's son; not hers. 

Two

Elia watches them all; Aegon and his brother trying to chase after Daenerys and Rhaenys and her cat. Faintly remembering her mother's words. How it is always the children who suffer the most; during and after the war. All of them innocent, all vulnerable, and all deserving of a long life, protection and love. 

While just passing his fifth nameday, it seemed that he did not respond to being called the name Rhaegar gave him. Instead, he took more to being called Jon. Though, no one knew where exactly it came from; Lord Jon Arryn, Rhaegar's new Hand or Jon Connington of the Kingsguard; the Dancing Griffin. It seemed to boggle the minds of many, yet there was always a faint smile on the lips of the Hand or the Griffin Knight's. 

Suddenly, she hears a small thud. Aegon suddenly runs up to her, screeching "MAMA! MAMA! JON'S HURT!! PLEASE, HELP HIM, MAMA!!"

Immediately, she runs up to him, seeing how hurt he is. Rhaenys tries to sooth her baby brother while he is clutching on his bloodied knee. 

"Alright, sweetheart. Calm down, don't cry. Show me where you hurt"

Jon then shows her crying on how much it hurts. "Alright, tis probably nothing but let's go to the maester just to be sure, okay? Now, just take my hand. D'you think you can walk, Jon?"

Somehow, he smiles and nods through his pain. She takes him to the newly-brought Maester Aemon from the Night's Watch. She had forgotten that he was a rather skilled maester in spite of his blindness. Though he needed an assistant, better him than the grey rat of the Lannister's Pycelle. He tells Jon that it'd be best to simply lie down for the rest of the day. 

Just as she leaves, Jon calls out to her in his sweet childish voice, "Thank you!" She wants to reach out to him, but instead she gives the boy a touching smile to say the least. 

Three 

It had been quite a while since she had seen Robert Baratheon.  Robert's visits were often rare; often welcomed by Stannis and his pretty Tyrell bride in the Dun Fort. That was quite a compromise that Rhaegar had made to placate the Baratheons. Robert was granted a new pretty bride, Stannis granted his own land and incomes along with a wealthy enough bride. Tywin Lannister's son Jaime was back in his "rightful" place as the Lord of the Rock, at the steep cost of Tywin Lannister himself being sent to the Wall due to his involvement in an attempted sack of King's Landing. Mace Tyrell had joined him as well, though that would not do any good to anyone truly. Young Benjen Stark had taken Jaime Lannister's place after the Young Lion had been able to tell Rhaegar of his father's attempted misdeeds. 

He was still as handsome as ever; in spite of the scar across his face that Rhaegar had given him. His bright blue eyes now glowed with hatred. His own Lannister bride seemed to eye her with disdain. But their son Gendry had surprised her. Eager to please, courteous in a rather roguish and brusque manner. 

While just a year younger than the now seven-year-old Jon, they immediately take to each other. Jon Arryn looks at them with fondness; seeing the ghosts of the two wards he loved as sons. His own grandnieces and grandnephews would come to the capital sometime soon to visit, along with his good-daughter Lysa Tully. 

The both of them screeching at the top of their lungs. Shouting war cries; Jon claiming he is Aemon the Dragonknight while Gendry proclaims himself to be the Laughing Storm. Jon swinging his wooden sword while Gendry swung around a miniature warhammer. 

By the time Robert comes to the training yard and sees the boy, he stops frozen in tracks. 

"Jon, that's my father! Father, this is my new friend, Jon!!"
"... H-H-Hello" Jon shy said, clearly intimidated by his towering stature.

Robert just stood still until he bent down and took Jon's hand and smiled. "Gendry, why don't you and your friend go on and play some more. It'll be some time til we leave anyways."

The boys nodded and looked ecstatic. Proceeding to raise their weapons high and playfully spar. 

"He looks like Ned. A bit like Lyanna too," Robert muttered. She understood then and why Rhaegar was more distant to Jon then the rest of the children; did he truly remind him of his lost northern maiden?

"Still hard to believe that he's Rhaegar's bastard get though"

"He is Rhaegar's trueborn son, Lord Robert! And surely you would know about bastards, don't you?!" Robert Baratheon had not changed since she saw the callow youth of eighteen at Harrenhal. Still a mighty warrior as she had seen him with his warhammer after the Greyjoy's disastrous rebellion. Yet, even at seven-and-twenty was still the boy who thought himself a man with a cask of ale in one hand and a "willing wench" in the other. And to make matters worse, he had deflowered a Florent maiden while Cersei Lannister was still heavy with their twin children. She did try to hide her glee upon finding out that he was so inebriated that he fucked the "wrong one". 

"Why the hell do you care, my queen?"

"He's just a child! What's he done to you?"

Robert's eyes become like ice. And her heart sank. 

Jon had done nothing to her. She bore him no ill will and had come to think of Jon as one of her own brood. 

But he is not. 

Four 

Tis a strange thing as they grow. 

Aegon growing to look more and more like Rhaegar; silver-blonde hair and deep violet eyes rather than indigo. His fair complexion often becoming dusky after days spent in the sun. Rhaenys looking like a proper dornishwoman; dusky skin with dark blue eyes that often look pitch black and a slim figure. Jon looking like a proper northman and Stark; long face, a lean build, dark brown hair and dark grey eyes. 

Though part of his face is reminiscent to Rhaegar's in a fashion. His face is almost as angular as his. He's nearly as tall as him, reaching his shoulders. Quick with a blade and quick of wit as well. Arthur has taken a great amount of pride in training him as does Jon Connington in his own way. Ashara absolutely adores him, along with a number of Rhaenys' ladies. Talla Tarly in particular would practically faint whenever he passed by her. And she's almost certain that Lynesse Hightower would take him, in spite being eleven years his senior; and married to Viserys. Though, she is almost certain that her babe Aethon may actually be sired by Aegon himself. He's too much like Oberyn in that regard.

Now as he reached the age of eight, Jon would be sent to his Stark kin. His uncle Benjen and the Blackfish would be accompanying him, and Ashara would be too. Is she planning on enticing Lord Eddard? I do hope not. Rhaenys would soon be going to Dorne to her own Martell kin then time in the Reach to get to know her betrothed; Willas Tyrell.

The royal party prepared to leave. Rhaenys came first to hug her brother fiercely and wished him good luck. Aegon then did so as well, whispering something to his brother. Rhaegar then came and hugged Jon tightly; whispering sweet words of love and affection. Something he may not have done since he was a babe. 

Just as he was about to leave, Jon ran up to her and hugged her tightly. "Bye, Queen Elia. Please, take care of Rhae and Egg. Oh, and Dany too."

She then smiled and hugged him back, all while her heart panged a bit from being addressed in such a formal manner.

"I will"

Five

Rhaegar had acted so anxiously; riding furiously as if his life depended on it. Arthur hot on his heel. Aegon, Daenerys and Rhaenys on their stallions, making a game as to who can go faster. All of them ecstatic to see Jon again. Not Viserys though; the "true dragon prince" as he called himself belittled Jon whenever he could, calling him a bastard and a half-bred ingrate. She hopes he has found some sort of happiness in his exile amongst the Second Sons. Though, Lynesse had been a tad miserable without him. 

They were close; one more hill and they would be closer to Winterfell. And it was just as ancient and strong as she thought. It looked as if it had been in the land for thousands of years and would stay for a thousand more. All of them greeted warmly. 

Eddard Stark greeted them formally, though his eyes betrayed his face as he looked at Rhaegar. Catelyn Tully now Stark, was quite formal in greeting them as befitting a lady of her station. Robb Stark the heir to Winterfell, who looked more Tully than Stark, bowed sternly. Sansa Stark had done a perfect curtsy for a girl of twelve. Rhaegar was initially taken back by their second youngest daughter Arya. Following them were Young Bran Stark at the age of seven and Rickon Stark, mustering as much courtesy as a boy of five could. 

Soon came forth the wards of Witnerfell. Theon Greyjoy, who had been under Lord Eddard's watchful eye since his father's failed rebellion and death. Now his elder brother ruled the Iron Islands. Gendry Baratheon had sprouted a couple of feet since she last saw him, and clearly thrived in the North. His cousin Gormon as tall as he is, but leaner and looks more like a scribe then a warrior, but presumably clever with a blade. Edmure Whent, once the Bastard of Harrenhal, looked as tall as his half-brother and cousin and in a similar fashion to Robert Baratheon with the exception of his sharper nose. Robin Arryn looked every inch like a young lord in waiting with his strawberry-blonde curls and sky blue eyes, and as many vale lords in her party had told her, bore a likeness to the Hand in his youth. Wallace Waynwood and Waymar Royce look like two promising knights. Domeric Bolton the heir to the Dreadfort is a rather pretty lad of seven-and-ten with dark brown curls neatly falling to his pale blue eyes. 

Finally came the Prince of the Blackwater, Jon Targaryen. Lean and lithe of form, a broadening chest, a light amount of stubble on his chin, and a certain sadness in his eyes akin to her husbands. He has certainly grown into a very handsome lad. 

Before he can even attempt a bow, Daenerys came close and caught Jon by surprise with a strong embrace. Just as he released her from the embrace, Rhaenys and Aegon quickly followed suit; Aegon laughing merrily while Rhaenys swept away the curls that wonderfully covered his eye that surely enticed many northwomen to his bed; if he were that sort. Jon soon laughed with them. Rhaegar then made his way to greet his son. Jon attempted to bow before him and address him as "Your Grace" but Rhaegar quickly put an end to that; holding his youngest son as tightly she had ever seen him do. "You are my son first and foremost," she heard him say. 

Suddenly, he turns to her. His body wobbles somewhat from all the tremendous affection bestowed upon him by his father, brother, sister and aunt. His eyes seem uncertain, almost cold as the land of his mother. He gives a stern bow and looks to her and utters, "My Queen". 

She wants to tell him that there is no need for such formalities. "You can call me Mother, if you wish," is on the tip of her tongue. She has loved him as much as any mother can. But the deepest part of her heart warns her not to do so. As much as she would like to be, she is not his mother. Instead, she places her hand on his shoulder and tells him, "It's wonderful to see you again, my prince," bearing as much courtesy as possible and the most sincerity through her smile. 

And One

Viserys. You stupid boy. 

She always knew that he was getting more and more jealous and envious of the others, but now he took it to new levels. Nothing would ever be enough for a true son and scion of the Mad King. The Sellsword King, many of the smallfolk called him. To have recruited the Second Sons, the Brave Companions, the Windblown, the Stormcrows, and the Golden Company was quite a feat. Yet, he could not be content in conquering much of Slaver's Bay to sate his notions of glory. He decided to bring his vile men and actions westward. The worst of it was that the Golden Company was being lead by the last living scion of House Blackfyre. Viserys may be the greatest fool if he thinks this Blackfyre boy will be content to allow him the Iron Throne. 

She knew the moment she began to lay on the sickbed that she was dying. There was no escaping it. Her dusky Dornish skin now pale and sallow, her hair falling looser and sticking to her head due to the sweat pouring out of her limp body. 

Oberyn is the first to visit; taking her by the hand and pleading that she stay. Arthur comes shortly after, telling her of his regret in not asking her for her hand when they were little. Mayhaps in a different time if she weren't so frail, and he more bolder, that may have come to pass. Aegon then comes, bowing his head so low that she can barely hear his stiffed cries. Rhaenys had rode her sand steed all the way from Highgarden just to see her. Crying so openly and unashamed, her tears streaming from her face like a roaring waterfall. Rhaegar soon comes, offering words of sympathy and kindness. She briefly takes his hand, as she already knows what he is going to say and she forgives him. 

It's quite the surprise when she sees Jon by the door. He comes to her side quite uncomfortably, his expression as sour as a rotten blood orange. "Y-You have been a good, kind and gracious queen. And you ... have done me a great kindness in letting me know my brother and sister. A-And you ... you never treated me as if I were nothing. You've been good to me as you could have been. I-I thank you, my Queen. I will always be indebted to you"

Her heart hurts more from the words of her stepson than her illness. She never truly bore him any ill will. If she could, he would be the son she could have given Rhaegar. But now, she loves him with whatever strength her heart has left. He may not have been borne from her womb but Jon is just as much her child as Rhaenys and Aegon. 

"Having you here has been quite an adventure, and quite an honour, Jon. You have given your brother and sister as much happiness as you can. Even your Father, in spite of his melancholy. And even I, my boy. Now, please listen to me. Aegon will need you now more than ever, be by his side and guide him to be the king that he can be. This task I pass onto you, sweet child" 

Jon then takes her arm and gently kisses her hand. "I won't fail you in this task"

"I know you won't," she says, smiling as she can see the ghosts of her own mother and uncle Lewyn welcoming her.

Chapter Text

It was good to see his face. It was the face of her lord husband whom she loved and cherished so. 

With nearly everyone she loved and held dear gone, she found it oddly comforting. 

Yet the words he had told her burned into her heart and echoed throughout her head. 

"The only reason you are here and not the rest is because Aegon and Daenerys need the loyalty of the North and the riverlands, and I was not willing to bring Arya, Rickon or Sansa back here. Do you know what it's like to be plucked from obscurity; and being told just who and what you are? How Father - Lord Stark - ... the ache I felt when I heard he was gone? A part of him in my head; telling me 'You are a Stark', and the most shrill thing sounding like you telling me I'm anything but; lower than the dirt I stood on? Yet, you could never leave well enough alone. You all but ran me away from Winterfell! Did you honestly think that you could say and do all of that, and there would be nothing of consequence?"

The face she had come to love and cherish now marred with anger and scars. Inward and outward. That steely gaze baring into her soul. And he was right. A part of her ached; he was a boy. A little boy who wanted and needed a mother. And she could never have been that to him. Her husband had taken her family's words more truer than she or any Tully ever did. Family, Duty, Honour; how she made an absolute mockery of them all. 

And what he had told her was not lost. Sansa had suffered enough of this place. Arya never wanted to set foot in King's Landing in the first place. And Rickon simply glowered more at her than Jon; calling her "Bad Mama!!" She was a hostage here; a well-treated hostage but a hostage all the same. Was this how Theon Greyjoy felt all those years in Winterfell? Fear had oft taken her body more than ever now that she resided in the Red Keep. Even when she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, chills would go down her spine. Looking over her shoulder if someone were watching her.

Ned. Oh, my sweet noble Ned. She wanted to scream at the air, anyone, as to why he could not tell her such a secret. Yet, she also understands as to why he could not. Those million questions that likely riddled her husband with such guilt now riddled her mind. They were strangers. And she thought herself so in love with his brother. 

Yet, that was a lie as well. Ned's words now felt all the more false about him. Ned had been the better lord of Winterfell than him; and mayhaps the more deserving. And all her fears were right as well. Her lord husband had actually loved someone and held someone very close to his heart. The woman she thought to be Jon's mother. He grew to know and love her within the span of ten days; whereas she thought and believed herself to be in love with Brandon; yet knowing very little of him within the span of the five years they had been betrothed. And if what was true, a man who had bedded over a hundred women at the Tourney at Harrenhal alone. 

Lady Ashara, still as lovely as she was known, quickly took place in Jon and Aegon's council. Barely a week together, and she already treated him like a son as she did with the boy who would become king. She has likely seen what she has lost in him as well; the man she loved so. Whenever she would pass by her, those lovely violet eyes that were the wonder of the realm; darkened like the night sky when they were close. Does she truly hate me so? I would not have taken Ned away; but she cannot imagine a life without him as well. 

While the Kingsguard were sworn to protect their king, Jon had his on personal guard from what remained of the Night's Watch. Many of them diligently doing their duty by their friend and lord. Grenn Greyguard; the Dark Aurochs, Pypar the Mummer, Ser Arnell Greenguard, Dareon Mandrake; the Dornish-Hightower bastard and "heir apparent" to Lord Marq of Mandrake Hall, Ser Jeren the Loon, Halder the Stone-Head, Ser Alton Wynch the Bloodless, Sweet Donnel Hill; the Imp's exiled bastard, Ser Iron Emmett, and Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. All of them staunchly loyal and willing to serve him. 

Many highborn and lowborn had called the new regime the Court of Cripples and Bastards. Twas fitting in a fashion; Jon had lived his life believing he was the living shame of her husband. Aegon lived amongst the poor; amongst crofters and fishwives, doing things that would never be considered "kingly". Daenerys had lived half of her life in fear and feeling impoverished; watching her brother Viserys slowly lose his mind and happiness. And the moment one of them had dared to address the court in front of their rulers; that man was quickly eaten by one of the dragons. No one called it that again. 

Well within the year, Arya had come to King's Landing. She looked as beautiful, wild and untamable as she remembered. But when she calls out to her, she does not answer. Instead, her daughter gives her the same steely gaze as Jon had done. They are truly northerners; neither forgetting nor forgiving. She had once thought of herself as a proper northwoman, but that had been a lie. Now, her heart was as frozen as the place she once considered home. At the end of the council meeting, it was announced Jon's sworn shield Ser Gendry is to legitimized as Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Arya to be his bride. She immediately wants to rave at them for betrothing her daughter to a baseborn bastard; even if he is Robert's baseborn bastard.

Her father had told her to be weary of bastards. "They are evil men and women; filled to the brim with sins of their forefathers for not being born true. They are sinful, lustful and envious beings whom would take all that their trueborn brothers and sisters have. Never trust a bastard, little Cat!" Yet, nothing is ever as it seems as Ser Gendry and Arya share a smile and embrace each other. They love each other. Arya looks at him so lovingly in the same manner she had looked at Ned; bringing a pang to her heart. 

What surprises her the most is how truly caring Jon is. He undoubtedly loved and oft took care of the two children first produced by Daenerys. Little Rhaego; the White Stallion as he was called by his mother and dothraki handmaiden, is a rambunctious boy who would run about all over the Red Keep shouting he was "khal of khals". Aenar Greyjoy; the Sea-Dragon, was a tad shier than his elder brother. Often spending time with his own sworn-shield Cotter Pyke. Both of those two boys would fight to crawl onto his back; shouting that he was either a horse or a boat. Yet, naturally, Jon adored his own boys Aemon. 

Aemon Targaryen reminded her so much of him when he was young. Bright, wide-eyed, wary of others. His eyes are the brightest blue; filled with so much laughter and innocence. When she sees him trying to reach for his wooden sword by the tree branch, she daintily reached up to get it. But as she bent down to give it back to the little boy; he hesitated and stopped back. 

"It's alright. Don't you want your sword, my prince?"
He takes large slow steps toward her before taking the sword and muttering "Thank you". And he then runs off. 

It all but reminded her of his father. Who would run off in tears the moment she stared at him. Quickly, she sees Aemon running toward his father, who was busy conversing with Lord Gendry. The boy jumped happily into his father. All she can hear from him is an apparent warning that he "stay away from that woman"

Something akin to Petyr's voice comes its way to hear head. "Were you expecting a boon? He hates you as you hate him! Don't fret sweet Cat, he and his brood don't deserve your sympathies. They never did" It frightens her more than the real dangers lurking about in King's Landing. It gets stronger and raspier; like a demon from the Seven Hells speaking in her head whenever she sees him pass by. "He's still a bastard. Nothing has changed. Now he's an ujumped bastard." "The King of Bastards!" But when it has been more than two years at the Red Keep, the voice sounds like a strange mix of not only the boy she once called a brother but also like her father's. 

More things have changed then. Sansa had finally married to Lord Willas Tyrell of the Reach and given him a heir named Brandon, Arya had given birth to a boy as well named Duncan, the Mormonts were given lordship over Sea Dragon Point, the newly made House Frost had been formally granted the title of Defender of the Gift, Jon's guardsman Dareon had been ascended to Lord Dareon of Mandrake Hall after the death of Lord Marq, and a celebration tourney was to be done in honour of the new princess and prince of the realm, Princess Adara Targaryen and Prince Aethan Targaryen; Queen Daenerys' own child and Jon's second son. Though, looking at Princess Adara's dark brown eyes, she did wonder if Jon himself may have fathered her instead of Aegon, but it was not her place to give counsel or raise suspicions. 

The tourney is a grand a lavish affair. And for the first time in a long time, she has been able to see her daughters grown so beautifully. Sansa looks more beautiful than her than she could have ever imagined. Arya, who she had called a wild and willful thing, has undoubtedly blossomed into a great beauty that she could never imagine. If Arya truly looked like Lyanna in her prime, then Lyanna would certainly had been a great beauty to fight for. 

First, the young squires compete in a joust. Prince Rhaego, armed with his own makeshift armor that barely covered his dothraki-copper skin, had made quick work of them. And naturally won the horse race, beating grown men and shaming them. Prince Aenar had come in second in the archery event but excelled in the ax throwing. Then came the melee, which Ser Iron Emmett had won with ease. 

Finally came the melee. Loras Tyrell was no longer the vain pretty thing that longed for glory. No, now he was as broken as many had been; armed with a burned portion of his face equivalent to the Hound. Yet, as fierce and proud as he still is, he somehow manages to lose to Grenn Greyguard, who had never even held a lance. But that doesn't last as Lord Justin Massey of Wolfscreek Castle in the North had quickly beaten him. The young Onion Knight of the Kingsguard proves his salt unseating many including his own Kingsguard brothers, but ultimately loses to Lord Gendry Baratheon. Her good-son then turned to his wife and proclaimed her his Queen of Love and Beauty, gently placing the wreath of blue winter roses on her head. Long loving looks between them. 

It brought about a faint memory and promise that Ned once made to her. Although, she knew that he was by no means a tourney champion, he once stated that he would crown her his Queen of Love and Beauty. And the following day, he had made a small wreath of blue winter roses and placed it on the crown of her head. "It may not be much, but you are my Queen of Love and Beauty". She could barely bare it and left. 

As she made her way to her chambers, she saw young Lady Elia Sand chase after little Prince Aemon, running like the wind. Suddenly, he bumps into her. "I am very sorry, my lady. My Prince, your mama should have words with you about you acting like a ruffian!" Elia apologized and playfully chastised the young prince. 
"Its' quite alright. Surely, you're okay, my prince?" she asked, kneeling closer to the boy. Instead of looking at her, he seemed to turn away from her. 
"Aemon, you ought to address her. Lady Catelyn is a proper southron lady," Elia said, though she didn't miss how she muttered southron in such a disdainful manner. 

"NO! No, she's not. She's an evil lady! She makes Papa angry!" he practically screams at her before running off. Seeing him run reminded her again of the times she had seen Jon run away from her during the days at Winterfell. And hearing him say those words hurt her more than it should have. And it reminded her so much of Sansa in a way. When they were younger, Sansa adored Jon as much as she adored Robb, then she made mention how proper ladies do not associate themselves with bastards, and before long Sansa didn't care for him and called him her half-brother. What more did she have to do to pay for her sins?

Within a moon, Prince Aemon fell prey to the pox. His tiny whimpering and coughing echoed throughout the Red Keep. Many prayed that the young prince make it through. Rhaego and Aenar crying for their cousin and playmate. The Big Man and the Burnt Flower of the Kingsguard stood vigil over him. Ashara trying to comfort Jon as he paces himself to death. Aegon and Daenerys tried to comfort Jon as well, but to no avail. The fat grand maester mentioned that Aemon will likely survive, but it will be a very long night to endure. 

With a tiny bit of luck, and the lack of wit from Ser Lancel, she managed to sneak into the young prince's chambers. Why Lancel Lannister was a part of their guard, she would never understand. Almost everyone beats that boy silly and he raves more of the Seven than the High Septon. Mayhaps that is what he should be. But she pushed those thoughts aside when she saw and heard the coughing and whimpering of the prince. His ragged little breaths, how his tiny chest moved with each cough. It reminded her so much of that day, when she promised to love a boy her eldest son lovingly called "brother", when she promised to give him the name of her husband. And never did. 

She then began to make a prayer wheel for the boy, as she had done once before with his father. "Mother Above, please have mercy on the boy. Father, judge me all you want but do not carrying out your justice on this sweet innocent child. Warrior, lend your strength to him. Maiden Above, please keep him loved forever and always. Smith, lend him your protection. Crone, shine your light to him and guide him away from the darkness, and to a true and righteous path. Stranger, I beg you not to take the prince away. Take me if I must pay for all my foolishness and folly. I vow to be as much of a mother to Prince Aemon as I vowed to be to his father all those years ago. If he and his father both would let me."

The stream of tears now flowed more freely than she ever thought they would and dripped to her skirts. Upon finishing the prayer wheel, she watched him. His coughing had lessened but he wheezed slightly through his nose. The children always pay the price in the end. 

"... doing here?" She woke to a start. Jon stood over the bed and startled her. The crown of black iron points and red gold made him look more fierce with the sunlight beating on it.

"I asked you a question. What are you doing here?"

Before she could answer, a small voice was heard. " ... pa? Papa?" Prince Aemon woke, his eyes bursting at the sight of his father. Already aiming to leap and crush him as much as he could with a hug. Jon returned it with such love and affection; ruffling his hair. Just as he saw her, he put his face in his father's shoulder. 

"It's alright, Aemon. It's alright."

The prince than gave a wary stare but then his disapproving face transformed into a smile. The prince then took note of the prayer wheel at his bedside, taking it in hand. 

"The lady isn't so bad, Papa"

Jon then stared at her with Ned's eyes, and turned back to his son. 

"Yes, Aemon. The lady ... is not so bad. C'mon, let's go find your mama!" he said, taking him back onto his shoulder. And for a moment, she saw a smile on Jon's face and uttered something she thought she would never hear from him. 

"Thank you"

Chapter Text

"Alright class. Settle down. Settle down. Please, take out your notebook and binders, and let's briefly review from last week's lesson"

God freaking damn! Miss Ashai is undoubtedly the hottest teacher in the Academy. Her long hair the color of burnished copper and pale, unblemished skin. She is slender and surprisingly graceful with that perfectly-shaped ass, and almost as tall as him. Her voice is sonorous, with an exotic accent. A surprisingly narrow waist, a heart-shaped face, and possibly the biggest rack ever created. 

If she gave me the chance, I would so motorboat tho - 

"Mister Massey!"

"Huh?!"

"Don't think I haven't noticed you staring at my tits, Gendry Massey"

Suddenly, she got rid of that white lab coat, and slowly took off her tight red top, revealing a orange-reddish coloured bra which she was undoing. 

"I want your hands all over me Gendry! Plleeasse!"

"... Gendry? Gendry? Gendry Massey!"

Damn, just a dream. 

"Please read from your notes and explain to the class what stoichiometry is"

Oh, damnit. Did she notice that I was practically staring at her boobs? Make it up, Massey! And look at your boobs, - notes, damnit notes!! Look at your notes!!
"Stoichiometry is the calculation of relative quantities of reactants and products in chemical reactions. Stoichiometry measures these quantitative relationships, and is used to determine the amount of products/reactants that are produced/needed in a given reaction."

"Very good. Now, let's see ... Devan. Can you tell us what stoichiometry is based or founded upon?"

"Stoichiometry is founded on the law of conservation of mass where the total mass of the reactants equals the total mass of the products leading to the insight that the relations among quantities of reactants and products typically form a ratio of positive integers."

Devan Seaworth. Like a little worm having gotten into this class. Particularly a suck-up, especially since that he gave a speech how Miss Ashai inspired him to be a chemist. Kiss-ass. He didn't miss how his hazel eyes were trying not to look at her boobs too. Then again, how could you not! They are clearly the sixth and seventh wonders of the world. "Meaning that if the amounts of the separate reactants are known, then the amount of the product can be calculated. Conversely, if one reactant has a known quantity and the quantity of product can be empirically determined, then the amount of the other reactants can also be calculated." 

"Very good. Now, let's delve into the lesson. Before the bell rang, we were discussing reaction stoichiometry. Do take notes, this will surely be on your midterms. Reaction stoichiometry is ..."

The class slowly but eventually ended. Suddenly, Grenn and Jon practically pounded him to the ground. 

"Oy, mate. C'mon, you're gonna be late for practice. We can't have it without the star of the show!" Jon said. 

"Y-Yea. C'mon, lets go practice"

"Y'know it ain't ever gonna happen, Massey"

"Please, do enlighten me Greygard. What's never gonna happen?"

"You. Her. Alone. Fucking. It's just a fantasy"

"Grenn's right mate. I can't even imagine how many times I woke up to you moaning her name and saw your hand rig - "

"Shuddup, Jon!"

Rugby practice had done him some good though. It definitely helped distract him from thinking of her. Her beautiful heart-shaped face. Her stunning blue eyes that almost looked red in a certain light. Her - 

"Ughh!!"

He fell down hard, clutching his stomach then his rib. Coach Donal then helped him up asking if he was alright. "Alright then. THEN GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ARSEHOLE AND IN THE GAME, LAD!!"

Class had gone by the same as always. Yet, chemistry seemed to be going slower. In spite of the fact that it was his last class of the day. 

"Gendry Massey, can you stay after class. I need to talk to you concerning your last test"

Oh, great. I know that I'm not exactly the best student in the class like Devan but I'm not the worst either. Lommy got his green hands for a reason.

"is there a problem? I've been studying really hard, I swear"

"Oh, that's pretty evident. But I need to talk to you about it nonetheless." She then sat down by one of the lab tables to show him to his grade. 79 percent, not bad. 

"Gendry, you actually would have gotten around 85 to 88 percent. You have improved, but I had to deduct points due to some ... technical difficulties"

Technical difficulties? "T-Technical difficulties? Wha-Whaddya mean by that?"

"Well, like this one here. You drew a water molecule perfectly, although a bit large, even the shared protons but you forgot to label the molecules themselves. Here, 1, 1, then 8" Frankly, the only reason I'd been able to draw it so well was because I imagined her bare chest. 

"And this one. This question about the chemicals making up perspiration. You would have gotten the full four points but on the periodic table Potassium is K, not P. P is phosphorous, one of the most hottest elements of the planet" 

Yup, I'm feeling pretty hot right now ...

"Gendry? Is something wrong? You seem to be perspirating quite a lot right now"

"Uh nothing. Ju-Just a ... a tiny bit frustrated."

"You also made some minor grammatical errors concerning the naming of the elements too, which cost some points. I'm not a grammar Nazi, or whatever you kids say, but I don't make the rules for that."

Seven fucking hells. Her top is cut so damn low I can almost see her nips. 

"So, just study a bit harder. And you can keep playing rugby. I've seen you guys play, and I've got to say, you got raw talent on your hands"

"R-R-Really?"

"Of course. You're bound to get a scholarship which will be great help in getting you in college. I was definitely mad for it back in my college days, and dated quite a few rugby players"

"Really? I didn't think you'd go for the brawny kinda people. You just seem so damn ... sophisticated."

"Well, I had a lot of growing up to do to become the woman I am now. And I had already sown much of my "wild oates" in my day," she laughed and smiled a bit. Both those things made her even more beautiful. 

"'Tis a shame really. If I were a couple years younger, or if you were a couple years older, I would have totally dated you back in my college days," she said almost wistfully. She seemed to be looking away into some distant space. Instead she leant in and kissed him.

Gendry's eyes widened and opened his mouth to object. Waitaminute, why the hell am I saying no? Instead he let her tongue into her mouth. She tasted so damn hot, he thought. Her breath is sweet and equally spicy.

One of her hand’s griped his head firmly holding it in place while her tongue delved into his mouth. The other went exploring, tracing the lines of his chest lower and lower. Excitement rushed through Gendry, barely understanding why Ms. Ashai was doing this and at that second he couldn’t much care. This felt natural and right and good. So very good. 

"M-M-Miss Ashai ..."
"Melony. Please, call me Melony"
"Melony ..."

Melony quickly stripped him of his clothes, as easily as she stepped out her lab-coat and bright red top and out of the exotically enticing heart-shaped bra, which had clearly covered her boobs and much of her taut stomach. Everything about her is so undeniably breathtaking, from her lips to her curves. Everything was moving so fast yet it strangely felt like time was slowing down for them. Gendry then placed her on top of the table and he quickly kissed her navel, making her moan a bit.  Melony didn't waste a minute in getting on top of him, and he could only let out a ragged gasp of pleasure as she sank herself down on him.

She rode him, rolling her hips so the friction sent sparks of pleasure through him, further tightening his already tight stomach with tension. Her hands roved his chest and arms and her touch spread warmth throughout his body. The look she was giving him is filled with intensity, determination and passion. Yet, she would make small noises that sounded like she was a mix of a moan of pleasure and a yawn from the stress of the day. 

The noises she made completely fascinated him. Ms. Ashai always seemed so controlled and calm enough that she could brave a storm. One of the things that made her look almost otherworldly. The noises that Melony made told another story. They spurred him into action; reaching to squeeze those boobs of hers as imagined. They were full and soft and were capped with bright pink nipples hardened into peaks.

Melony groaned again, her hands found his head and pulled it towards her, moving Gendry to a more upright position. His arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her movements balanced on him while his face ended up buried in her tits. Kissing and sucking at them eagerly. Melony's grip tightened on his head and she threw her head back and half-screamed as she tightened and clenched around him in pleasure.

The scream was like setting a flint to kindling or witness a campfire made and burst forth; setting his desire ablaze. She collapsed weakly into his arms and he turned, pushing her down onto the lab-table so their positions were reversed.

Her legs were spread and hooked over his hips as he drove into her. He could hardly help himself now. His mouth closed down over hers, and his hips working like pistons thrusting into her. Her flesh was hot beneath him and releasing her lips he buried his head in her fiery copper hair.

“Gendry. Gendry. GENDRY!” He could hear her moan, almost out of control as he was now.

“M-Melony!” He moaned her name as he came, shooting a hot spurt of cum into her a few last hard thrusts.

"Melony. Miss Ashai..."

"Gendry. Gendry. Gendry ..."

"GENDRY, WAKE THE FUCK UP MAN!!"

Suddenly, he felt himself awake. Damnit all. Just a dream. But a sweet dream. ... And why's my hand a ...

"Dude. You were skinning your sausage ... in your sleep. You need to get laid my friend. Maybe Margaery Tyrell will let you into her pants?"

"Huh. Maybe. If Margaery Tyrell were haunting my dreams," he muttered under his breath

She found herself waking up to a mess of her own making. Her own damn cum. 

Damn. Why did that boy have to be do damn fine? 

Maybe they could actually do the dirty once he was no longer in her class.

Gods, I want those hands on my tits.

Chapter Text

He honestly couldn't believe that it was happening. Not just the fact that he was in a strangely unique double wedding, but the fact that part of the wedding belongs to his daughter. Not his ever sweet and beautiful daughter Sansa, but the wild and untamable Arya.

The girl who found anything remotely feminine to be disgusting. Who would make faces, sticking out her tongue and pretend to retch, and mock Sansa and Robb when they went out on dates. Not once did he imagine it would be her, and so soon. When he first heard that her boyfriend proposed to her, and that she said yes, he immediately feared the worse and thought that Gendry proposed because she was pregnant. 

It was still strange that Gendry was actually the son of his old college roommate Robert Baratheon and his college "sweetheart" Cersei Lannister. He looked so much like Robert yet was nothing like him. He had Robert's coal-dark hair and resplendent blue eyes, if not just an inch shorter than him. Polite, mild-mannered if not a bit brash and a penchant for rather sarcastic humour and dry wit. Looking at them and looking at him, he wondered if he truly got the best of the Baratheons and the Lannisters?

The bigger surprise was the fact that his eldest son had also announced himself to be engaged as well. He knew Jon all too well, yet that took him completely off guard. Jon reminded him so much of himself during his youth. Lean, long-faced, rather solemn, and almost rarely smiling. When he brought home his fiance, he was surprised that it was Meera Reed. He hadn't seen her since she was little more than six-years-old, trying to catch frogs and dragonflies. He and Howland, his old neighbor hadn't hung around after college, making it all the more surprising. Meera's hair is long and brown and she clearly got her eyes from Howland; moss green. 

When they had announced their wedding dates, rather than argue about it, they agreed to have them both on that date. Meera and Arya immediately clicked and Jon and Gendry had already been best mates. It was almost like seeing him and Robert again, except that Jon was a bit more of a troublemaker and Gendry the more steady and cautious one. Jon clearly got his more adventurous side from Ashara.

It was apparent as to why they loved each other. Gendry helped keep Arya a bit tame, and could easily keep up with her on any topic to debate. Hard to believe that he wasn't the debate team captain. Jon and Meera both had a love for adventure and the outdoors. Hiking, fishing, running. Yet, both immensely traditional to the ways of the North. 

Robert decided to spare no expense. As extravagant as he tried to make it, Gendry respectfully pleaded for his father to take it down a notch. Soon enough, everything started to seem so real. Jon asked Robb to be his best man, as Gendry and he were getting married at the same time. Arya actually asking Sansa to be her maid of honour. Rickon acting ecstatic about being a groomsmen. Catelyn gushing over Arya and practically crying upon seeing her. He and Howland reminiscing and reconnecting as friends. 

All of it made his heart swell. 

Now, here he was, escorting his daughter down the aisle as Howland was doing the same. Both of the boys looked nervous. He quickly saw Ashara in one of the seats, wiping a tear away. Catelyn doing the same. Rickon trying to adjust his collar a bit as it apparently itched. 

"Can I say something, Dad?"

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"As nerve-wracking as this is, I-I'm pretty ... happy"

"So am I, luv"

His heart began to ache as he watched them say the words, and all of them take their respective spouses hands. His children would be having children of their own. 

They're no longer the babes I knew and cherished.

Chapter Text

He always knew that Tywin was capable of doing disasterous deeds but he had taken it too far. To have done what he did to his own son ... He could never understand him. From what he had seen, Tywin detested the boy for being a dwarf and taking Joanna from him. He needs to remove the stick up his arse. Gerion Lannister may have been the japist of the family, but even he knew that the birthing bed was a battlefield all the same; even though it was more for the woman. 

Gerion had found the girl badly bruised in mind and spirit; she flinched from sunlight and new faces. Gerion’s eyes widened and blazed forth, like those of a lion. The girl seemed to revive a little, the farther away they got from the Rock. The girl spoke, in whispers, of how she and Tyrion had met and married; that she had only planned to come to Lannisport to work as a maid or serving-girl at an inn; that she had been followed by brigands, who would have harmed her, if the two lordlings had not rescued her; that Tyrion had been kind and gentle to her, before…

It was a few months after, when Gerion went to check on the girl, was when she informed him that she was with child. She was more horrified then him; it could not be certain whose child it was—that of some guardsman who had raped the poor girl or of Tyrion, who had been forced to watch and participate by his father. By the time he found a maester in Lannisport, it was too late, the grey rat said, to rid the girl of the child. Of course, he would care for the girl, but they would have to arrange for the fostering of the child.

Being the younger, unmarried brother, the logical course of action were to claim the child as his bastard and have it brought up at the Rock. Both he and the girl, Tysha, hoped it would be a boy; it would only be correct to bring him up at the Rock. After all, Tywin was, in one way or another, responsible for his conception.

As she came to term with her child, she became more wary. Millions of questions marring her head. Would the child look like her? Like Tyrion, the boy they both adored? Or take after one of the many men who brought this misfortune upon this poor girl?

"I am certain that, no matter what, this child would bring about tremendous joy to you. It's no sin to bring about a child."

"Joy. I think I like that for the babe. If it were a girl. If it's a boy, I would name it Ty."

Ty was a simple name. But the boy would have to endure a simple life if likely. If his plans go through, then a bastard's life. A Lannister bastard.

As the babe decided to come, she had a hard time of it; she was only a girl of five-and-ten. She laboured hard and brought forth her child—a girl. She did not thrive after the birth, —she was ill with fever, unable to feed the child and unlikely to live. 

"Tysha. Tysha, please wake up. Look, look at your sweet Joy…”

She looked at the girl, a smile plastered on her face from the look of the girl. She was the child she had hoped for; a child with the boy she called husband. She was all Lannister with her light blonde fuzz on her head and bright green eyes. “Joy. Hello, sweet Joy” Tysha said faintly as she caressed her. “You look like your papa. And your mama … Mama loves you very, very much. Very, very much ...”

Her eyes grew more heavy by the second. As he tried to keep her awake, it was to no avail in the end. Her grey eyes shut forever, and her daughter roared with anguish, almost knowing that her mother was gone. 

All that was left was the wetnruse he brought for her, ... and his promise. It won't be much, but he promised the girl that her child would have a life. Much like Tywin, I keep my promises as well. 

Let this girl have all the joy that she was promised and more.

Chapter Text

She felt nothing but pain and agony trying to birth her firstborn. The birth was painful, perhaps the only part of having children she disliked. Making the child was fun, carrying the child within her was something akin to a religious experience for her, but the birth was hell. In the thirteen hours she was in labour, Cersei came to the conclusion, that the ultimate torture was childbirth. She vowed during the eighth hour to never have children again. By the tenth she was begging for death. 

He was silent, which worried her, but he was lively. Little pink arms flailing and grabbing hold of her hair, legs kicking out as they had whilst he was inside her. Blue eyes bright and wide, taking her in, and the little tuft of already think black hair was slicked close to his head

"Push harder Your Grace. The babe is almost here!" said Maester Pycelle.

You said that nearly an hour ago, you grey-sunken cunt! With one final push of pain and hope she let out. But then it was over. 

"Congratulations Your Grace. A healthy baby boy, a-and heir t-to th-the throne."

"Hand him here Maester I want to see my son." The maester placed her perfect little boy in her arms, and Cersei cried tears of pure joy. She'd thought carrying the child inside her was amazing, but holding him in her arms was life affirming. As she looked down at his face, she saw Robert Baratheon in his face. He was silent, which worried her, but he was lively. Little pink arms flailing and grabbing hold of her hair, legs kicking out as they had whilst he was inside her. Blue eyes bright and wide, taking her in, and the little tuft of already thick black hair was slicked close to his head. He'll be like Robert in some regard. Grabbing my teats when he needs them. But he won't be him, I know it.

Jaime looked at him with such curious eyes. "He looks light Robert alright," he said, stating the obvious like a fool. 

"But he does have some of the Lannister look within him." he said. At first, she thought that he was speaking madly as the Mad King had raved. But looking into the babe's pudgy face, she saw that he had her nose and possibly her father's jaw. And looking closer into his eyes, she could see tiny specks of the Lannister emerald green eyes within the Baratheon ocean blue eyes.

As Robert came into the chambers, he presented her with both a stag and lion pelt. He laughed loudly at the sight of his son, taking him in such wonderment that she didn't think possible. Soon, they came into blows as to what to name his heir. The elderly Hand and Lord of the Eyrie had taken the suggestion to name Robert's heir after him kindly, but stated that they both choose another name. Lyonel was a good Baratheon name with the sound of a lion's roar in it but they went against it. Not Tywin, even though she knew that her father would like the sound of that. Damon made it seem as if she were trying to bring life back into the Targaryens. 

It was not until Jaime made a suggestion that they accepted the name. Aunt Genna is a honest and headstrong woman, Uncle Gery always filled with smiles even underneath the breath of her father and if Grandfather Gerold were alive, he would certainly take pride in the name. Gendry. A name that radiated power and ability to lead. A name that would bring about a new era; an age of peace and prosperity.

Years would pass until she allowed herself to bare children with the one person who made her feel whole. Yet, there was a certain pride in having bore Robert a child; if only one. 

Two years after Gendry's birth, she had given life to a pair of golden haired twins much like her mother did to her and Jaime. Both Tommen and Myrcella were their reflections in some ways. Myrcella was as beautiful as she was with a wit equal to that of her father's. Tommen was as skilled with a blade as Jaime had been at the young age of five yet also giving his attention to his lessons with Pycelle. He also bore a love of animals that allowed him to bear the moniker of "Tommen the Tamer". 

Joffrey though. There was something about him that frightened her. The youngest of her brood, so prideful and willful for a child of eight. There is a certain comfort in knowing that she is the only one who can calm and control him. While Robert enjoyed the fact that his eldest sons were natural warriors in their own right, he had been disturbed and troubled by Joffrey. Especially since that business with the cat. 

The only person other than her who seemed to see and somehow tolerate the dark notions and inclinations that her youngest son bore was his own sworn shield; Sandor Clegane. Mayhaps that was the reason why Gendry, Tommen and Myrcella surrounded themselves with each other and people of their own age. Robin and Edmyn Arryn; the twin heirs of the Eyrie were often close with them and close to an age with them. 

Yet, as far as they were in age, Gendry did in fact try to be a brother to Joffrey. Yet, every time he would try to approach him, Joffrey would throw his arms up about and state that "A prince does not need pity!!" 

"You're also my brother, so stop being such a bother. Don't you want to play?"

"Playing is for children!!"

"Oh, and what are you then? A man grown?"

Bu that did not stop at Gendry either. Tommen would try to engage with his younger brother, which in turn involved the both of them being red in the face. It tore at her heart seeing Joffrey reject his elder brother. Could this be the price for Gendry being her first-born? Would Joffrey be any different if he were Robert's heir instead? 

One thing that gave her comfort is that Gendry would protect Joffrey, no matter what. He may not like his brother, or he may never love him but he would protect him all the same. He would not do it for any great love he may bear for Joff, but for the love he bares for me. 

Chapter Text

As much as she loved her boyfriend. it was time for a nice change of pace. Sure, he was pretty damn built but the same-old same old is getting tiresome.

So, she went out shopping and put on the sexiest piece of lingerie she had found. A diaphanous piece of pure white silk that was mostly pieces of string that just barely held up her breasts and left her back bare.

"You ready for me baby?" she said as she stepped into the bedroom

Stannis' hard jaw practically dropped at the moment he saw her. "W-w-whoa. Ju-Just ... w-wow!"

"Thanks. Stannis, I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"Ok..."

Maybe I should have started with that first? "I uh, I want to do something else actually"

"Other than what we're about to do right now?"

"Actually, what we can do now could lead up to the good stuff we do." He then looked at her pensively.

"I want to do some role-playing. So, things can be ... spiced up!"

Stannis' eyes widened a bit. Either from shock or surprise. Both maybe? She knew that this may be out of his comfort zone, but they ought to try something. 

"Uh, okay. ... Let's try that. So, ... how do we start?"

"OK. How about ... this?" she said, leaning closer to the archway of the door. Striking a sexy and enticing pose. 

"Oh, Ser Stannis, save me! A great beast has held me captive!! Please, storm the castle and rescue such a fair maiden!"

"What kind of beast has held you captive?"

"Wha- what are you talking about? A great big beast has captured me and is holding me captive."

"Yeah, but ... am I getting rid of a giant wolfish beast? A dragon? I hope not a dragon because that's rather cliche"

"Alright, fine. It's a ... chimera. Save me, save me Ser Stannis!"

"Does it have to be a chimera?" 

"Stannis, why do you think I said beast before? It could've been any beast you'd imagine saving me from. Uh, you know what? Let's forget that and try ... something else" Cersei then came closer to the bed, aching her back a bit. 

"A fire! Ahhh! Someone save me!!" 

"Why don't you call a fireman to help you?"

Wow, for a smart guy he's pretty slow. "Stannis. You're the fireman. I'm calling you to my rescue."

"Oh. OK," he said, awkwardly striding toward her closer to the bed. "... Now what?"

"Rescue me. Carry me in your arms!"

He then perched closer to her so that he could carry her. OK, this is a better position. Cersei then nudged herself closer to his muscles; inhaling the musky scent by his neck. 

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Fireman. How can I ever repay you?" she said, sending him very clear signals on just how much this was turning her on. 

"Don't worry, ma'am. I'm simply doing my job," he said as a stoic solider would. 

"Oh, but I insist, Mr Fireman. Please. There has to be something?" Cersei said as she gently rubbed the muscles on his left arm. 

"It's fine ma'am. I was simply doing my job"

"Perhaps you can extinguish my flame with that hose of yours?" 

"Ma'am, I see no other cinders, and I'm afraid the hose we have is much too powerful for any normal everyday use" 

Oh, for fuck's sake. "Stannis. Just ... forget it. Just ... put me on the bed and let's do what we do best"

In spite of that evident failure, that might've been one of the best fucks we ever had. 

Chapter Text

It was meant to create and mend ties between their Houses. The more noble one had recieved the seat of Storm's End while the more warrior like of them took a place by her side. 

Ser Barristan had made note that he was a true Baratheon in all but name. Tall and towering over most, a strong square jawline and a skilled warrior. He was not like most who had received their training at arms as most nobles do, as he was not noble. No, Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill had trained amongst a band of brigands by the name of the Brotherhood withou Banners; ranging from archery to swordplay. His "low-born" voice was rougher and huskier than the high-brow Westerosi of Ser Barristan, Lord Tyrion or even Jorah's. It had hit her, making her stomach flip unexpectedly whenever she had heard him talk. 

When she’d first seen him training in the training yard, her first thought had been that she hadn’t seen anyone so overwhelmingly masculine since she’d lost Drogo. The sun had made his skin so perfectly tan  and drops of sweat neatly moving about his muscles that he almost could have looked Darthraki – if it weren’t for his eyes.

Daenarys knew her eyes were beautiful, but his might just put hers to shame. The blue was a different kind of blue than seen in the eyes of most people – it was too dark a blue, too rich. Closer to the color of Aegon’s ridiculous hair than to the sky blue or the icy paleness she’d seen on the faces of others. She could spend a lifetime staring into the depths of those particular eyes.

But there were matters to attend to. Not many were taken by the newly legitimized Ser Edric. He may have been the Usurper's son but only in looks for the most part. He had a nobleman's education but lacked everything else from all the time he spent in Lys with his protectors. Seven Hells, even most of his protectors, one of which was a kinsmen wished to follow Ser Gendry as their lord. 

Ser Barristan had made mention how he wished he had knighted the lad and have him join the Kingsguard and lead as it's commander. Better him than the Burnt Flower, she thought. Ser Gendry had come to lead the band of brigands that had trained him after their previous leaders had perished. 

He is a true Baratheon. Tall, strong, a true leader amongst men. And if he looks anything like the Usurper once did, then it was quite easy as to why maidens high and low alike would drop their smallclothes for him. He is not one for conversation but was often seen in the company of her loyal retainers and Queensguard. Tum and Larraq had often traded and made japes with the young hedge knight. Jhogo and Rakharo had often raced with him; japing he was more fit to ride a mammoth into battle rather than a horse. And even how his moniker "The Bull" was quite apt. He is certainly strong and stubborn as one. 

Now, he had been given the task of guarding her day and night. Which had given her more than ample enough time to practically ogle him; imagining him without the grey-coloured armour that covered his highly-muscled form. 

In the months that he had spent guarding her, he had come to speak more with her. About the life he had led in Flea Bottom, how he wanted nothing more than to simply spend the rest of his days learning and mastering the trade and art of smithing, the boyhood dream he once held of becoming the next Ser Duncan the Tall; the famed hedge knight and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. In turn, she had told him of all the strife she had gone through living her life in poverty in Essos. 

Her heart beat as hard as his warhammer did knowing that he was guarding her chambers. In a moment of boldness, she told him that he would be standing guard inside her chambers to further ensure her safety. Surprisingly, he blindly agreed with that assessment; presumably seeing some sense of logic within her words. Feeling more bold, she’d thrown caution to the winds, stepped up on her toes, and kissed him. 

The very feel of him indescribable. His lips though chapped felt as smooth as the peach that had once been gifted to her. The feel of his hands on her body made her ache for more. They were quite calloused yet as soft as old leather. Soon enough, she placed his hand by the strings that held up her robe.

"W-W-what are you doing?!" he said, startled by her now naked form.

"Do you not find me beautiful, ser knight?"

"Gods, I do. You know I do. But we cannot. I am of your Queensguard. We swear to serve and obey the queen a-"

"Ser Gendry, as I firmly recollect, you are not part of my Queensguard. Your Queen is giving you a command. She commands you to fuck her."

"I wish I could but -"

"No more buts Ser." She had him now, she knew it. She began to undo his swordbelt, before his strong arms embraced her and she'd found herself lifted off her feet and pressed against his rock hard chest. Rather than protest as she should have done, she'd wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning softly into his kiss as his hands move to her arse and thighs, holding her up and pressing her against him.

She'd ended up splayed out on her bed completely naked, fingers laced in his dark hair as his head moved down her body, kissing and licking his way to her core. She'd exploded in ecstasy as he tongued and kissed her clit, spiraling over the edge when he'd fixed her with his beautiful blue eyes to watch the effect his intimate efforts were having on her. When the pulses of pleasure had finished wracking her body she'd reached for him, eager to free his visibly hard cock from its restraint inside his breeches. She felt nothing but pure bliss and ecstasy as he entered her. He didn't simply jam it inside of her, he was careful and gentle. It was sweet.

He moved again then, faster and harder than before, making sure he buried himself as deep as he could got each time he rocked back into her perfect warmth. Her hips moved up to meet his pace, a cry leaving her mouth each time he hit hard inside her and her hands gripping at his shoulders, her nails digging in but it was a good pain. When she began to reach her end he growled out, he felt so damn good that she wanted to hold on long enough to be pushed right to the edge. Somehow he managed it, feeling her muscles clench around him and hearing her breathless voice mumbling his name over and over as he continued his thrusts a moment longer before reaching his own end deep inside her.

The breath was knocked from Daenerys then as he collapsed against her, breathing hard in her ear as she fought to get her own breath back, her hands unclenching from his shoulders, softly tracing over them and feeling the small crescents she had left in his skin. He kissed her neck then, finally sliding from her warmth and moving his hand to cup her cheek, the other trailing her side lightly as he lifted his head to look at her. Her own hands came up to cup his face then and they gazed at one another for what felt like an eternity. It didn't feel awkward though, it just felt right as their eyes held one another's, neither set looking away.

This felt so right. This was where she belonged; safe in the arms of her beloved knight.

Chapter Text

One

Papa brought a new baby. YAY!!

Now I won't be the baby! 

The baby didn't do anything. Right now it was just sleeping. 

Don't all babies look the same as Mommy's and Daddy's do? 

I look like Daddy and Rhae looks Mommy. But the baby doesn't look like us. 

No, the baby has brown hair and his eyes are closed. 

Did Daddy trick them when he said that he brought home a new baby brother?

Two

Half-brother. That word sounded strange. 

It wasn't like Jon was half of anyone. They shared the same Father didn't they? And he felt more like a real true brother than a half-brother. 

It wasn't until Mommy explained it to him. Yes, he and Jon have the same father but his mother isn't Jon's Mother. 

That much was evident as they began to grow. Jon's hair was a dark brown that almost looked black but his eyes were dark grey that almost looked black. 

But close enough, it looked like they had the same eyes as their father. Yet, they would always look grey; Stark grey. 

Three 

As much as he dislikes Viserys, he did have some points. Jon was not one of them, not truly. No, Jon was not a dragon that breathed fire; he breathed ice. 

Jon did not like going to brothels like Viserys. He was always calm in such an amazingly scary way. 

But he is as warm as a summer day, when he wanted to be. 

He absolutely loved riding and was never seen without their sister Rhaenys shouting and hooting in excitement. He often practiced with the valyrian steel dagger that Ser Arthur, their favourite Kingsguard, gave him. And they always loved training with each other. He and Jon would always make a game out of it. 

The gift his Lord uncle Eddard made him seem all the more like a knight of the North; an intricately made bow made of enameled bronze and weirwood. 

Yet, his strikes in his sword fighting are as ferocious as a dragon, his movements are as quick as the wolf he is. 

Four 

It was time for him to leave. He always knew that was going to happen from what he heard from Mother and Father, but he didn't think it'd happen soon. Boys were fostered, but he knew he wouldn't be. Being the crown prince, he needed to know and learn about being a king. 

Rhae would have to go too. Only Dany would stay, and Viserys. But that maybe because he's too old to be fostered anywhere at this point. And no one would want to foster him. If anything he heard about his grandfather was true, then Viserys was him come again. 

He overheard Father mention that he would foster some boys in the Red Keep to help keep him company but it won't be the same. 

Just as Rhaenys hugged Jon tightly and fiercely, Aegon came from behind her and hugged his little brother with all his might. "Remember that you are a dragon first, little brother."

"Of course, brother," he said as he returned the hug with a smile. 

You're a dragon first and foremost, not a wolf.

Five

They all decided to make a game out of who could get to Winterfell faster. Aegon knew that Dany missed Jon as much as he did. And Rhae had only come back to King's Landing two moons ago after spending time with her betrothed Willas Tyrell. 

The void left behind by his brother couldn't be filled by the young men fostered to be his companions. Lancel Lannister surely resembled his lord cousin Jaime yet practically presented himself as if he were the next heir of Casterly Rock. He's met with Lord Jaime several times, the skilled swordsman and proud lord who had done the Kingdoms a great service in slaying the Mad King. Yet Lancel thought himself to be the "Kingslayer" himself.
Loras Tyrell was certainly as pretty as Lancel is but just as if not more self-assured. But at the very least, he could back his claims in being a good swordsman. Women and men both would likely to bed him because of his beauty. And most men would surely want his natural skill at arms. At the very least he is a good sparring partner, when he wasn't trying to curry favour with him. Wasn't it enough that his brother was marrying my sister?
Renly Baratheon may be the worst of all the boys sent to foster in the Red Keep. He knew that he was sent by Lord Robert in another attempt to curry favour with his father. He was definitely more of a boy then a man grown as he was. The Scaled Stag, he was called due to contracting greyscale as a child a year after the Siege of Storm's End; leaving much of his neck and part of his right cheek cracked and flaking, stony to the touch. Yet, Loras was the only one to touch it. That may have been the worse kept secret in all the Red Keep. Yet, from what he could tell the love between the two was genuine. Even with his greyscale, he was pretty to an extent but not worthy much at the end of the day. 

But it was better to have them around then Viserys. The idiot had it coming; his exile was imminent. It wasn't enough for him to belittle Jon but he had to try to lord over whatever rights he had over me as well. Makes me glad that I fucked his wife more times than he ever did. Lynesse for all her beauty did look like Dany in some regard. Did Viserys try to imagine that he was fucking her instead?

As they all got closer, he could see the great castle of Winterfell. It was certainly smaller than the Red Keep but looked powerful as it did ancient. Lord Eddard Stark greeted them formally, though his eyes betrayed his face as he looked at his father. Catelyn Tully now Stark, was quite formal in greeting them as befitting a lady of her station. Robb Stark the heir to Winterfell, who looked more Tully than Stark, bowed sternly with his bright Tully blue eyes looking at them with wary eyes of ice. Sansa Stark who is quite a beauty for a girl of twelve, mustered the perfect curtsy. Her sister Arya soon followed suit then the younger boys by the name of Brandon and Rickon. 

The wards of Winterfell soon introduced themselves. First came Theon Greyjoy, the heir apparent of the Iron Islands; a lithe youth black of hair and eye armed with a smirk plastered on his face. Renly's Baratheon kin soon followed; Lord Robert's son Gendry who looked more like a true warrior and Lord Stannis' son Gormon who looked more like a scribe. Then was Robert's eldest male bastard Edmure Rivers now Whent. Robin Arryn looked every inch like a young lord in waiting with his strawberry-blonde curls and sky blue eyes. Wallace Waynwood and Waymar Royce look like two promising knights. Domeric Bolton the heir to the Dreadfort is a rather pretty lad of seven-and-ten with dark brown curls neatly falling to his pale blue eyes. 

Last but not least was Jon; his brother. Just before he could go and hug him, Dany held a similar idea and all but crashed into him.  The moment she let go, he and Rhae practically charged into him; laughing with glee. 

Just after everything, he and Jon came to train in the Winterfell training yard. It had been so long since he had truly trained and fought his hardest. Though it felt as if he had gotten sloppy with Jon managing to get a strike in almost every time. Robb Stark then came about making a jape which immediately made him smile. 

Jon rarely smiled like that back at the Red Keep. I truly have lost him to the wolves. 

And One

Viserys the fool. How he hated him. For all the times, he mocked them all, Aegon knew deep inside that he was just a fool. A drunkard trying to play the game of thrones. 

To have recruited the Second Sons, the Brave Companions, the Windblown, the Stormcrows, and the Golden Company was quite a feat. Yet, he could not be content in conquering much of Slaver's Bay to sate his notions of glory and turning it into the Bay of Dragons. He decided to bring his vile men and actions westward. The worst of it was that the Golden Company was being lead by the last living scion of House Blackfyre. Viserys may be the greatest fool if he thinks this Blackfyre boy will be content to allow him the Iron Throne. 

He had been taught to fight during his training sessions as if war was on the horizon. Now it was near the doorstep of every common man. 

Renly was a greater fool to think that he could actually treat with Viserys. The Baratheons had been sent back their youngest brother's head with his eyes gouged out and his tongue ripped out of the mouth. Loras Tyrell fought more like a madman after Renly's death. 

Now he was bringing the fight to him. This was no longer about his boyhood dreams of earning glory, but removing the stain of dishonour he had put on their house. He is nothing but a blight to remove. I will slay this new King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea in his home. Seeing the Targaryen banners on the isle of Bloodstone was enough to make his blood boil. 

He had managed to cut down several soldiers before seeing him. He has the audacity to not only style himself a king but also dress like one himself; a rather ornate looking thing equivalent to the crown of Mad King Aerys. That same madness now covered his eyes.

He then raised and pointed his sword at the blustering idiot. "Y-You dare?! You dare challenge the dragon?!" Viserys raged as he took out a Dothraki arakh and began to swing violently. 

For all the time he had ignored his training, Viserys had gotten good. Damn his exile. Skilled but pure aggression. He thought that he would tire but Viserys only became more and more angrier with each swing. 

"I should have been crowned. I should have been the heir. None of you are worthy. None of you are true blood of the dragon! Ill-born and ill-bred. The whole lot of you born from whores!!" 

It was one thing to be a blight on their own house, but he will not tolerate a slight toward his mother. Mustering whatever strength he had and delivering a hard swing at him; scarring his cheek. 

"YOU DARE BLEED THE DRAGON?!!"

"YOU'RE NO DRAGON!!" 

With surprising swiftness, Viserys delivered a hard stroke on his sword arm. Blood gushing out of him. 

"I'll be sure to send you to Rhaegar. As a mercy, ... before I slay him and take what's rightfully mine."

Viserys then raised the arakh over his head and stab him. This is it. I'm done for. I'm sorry Father. 

Suddenly, he heard a loud slash. Viserys screaming in pain as his sword arm was completely severed from his body; his hand still firmly gripping the blade. 

"You won't be doing anything of the like, Uncle," said Jon, creeping up on him. The long lost blade Dark Sister in hand. He quickly took note of the boy by his side; the Blackfyre. It was almost like looking at a reflection. Except that Aegor Blacfyre was closer to Jon in age and lankier than him. He looks almost shy now. 

"N-N-No. J-Jon. Jacaerys, sweet nephew. Y-You wouldn't dare harm me ... You're no kinslayer"

Jon then took another heavy slash at Viserys, slicking off his other arm. 

"What was it you told me, uncle? I'm a ... half-bred ingrate. Jon Snow the bastard cur of the North," Jon said as his steely grey eyes bore into him. He then nodded to Aegor, who took out Blackfyre from it's scabbard. Both of them then stabbed Viserys in the chest; a small gasp of air let out. 

"And you are no kin of mine," he said. With all the ferocity a dragon had offered. 

Chapter Text

It was all strange to him. 

When his father told him that he would not be joining the Night's Watch, he felt disheartened to say the least. 

"You're still little more than a boy, Jon. Travel and see the world"

He was a little excited when Father had told him that Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne had agreed to his request to take him as his personal squire. 

Yet, most if not all the Stark household seemed to be upset. 

Rodrik and Jory Cassel told him to remember his swordplay. Maester Luwin had told him to remember his lessons, and tell him what Dawn looks like should he get the chance to gaze upon it. Farlen told him to remember to take care of the wolf he had now. Hullen and Harwin told him to gain a dornish sand steed as a prize and to treat the animal well.

Surprisingly enough, Jeyne Poole whispered into his ear to "kiss me like a proper dornishmen" when he returns to Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy had told him to "get a nice dornish cunny" on his trip down south. Ass.

Father had held tightly and to remember that he was a Stark, if not by his name than by his blood. Robb held him tightly and told him not to melt in the hot Dornish sun. Bran held him tightly while asking to squire for him once he had been properly knighted, to which he promised. Rickon wailed furiously, extracting a promise that he would bring him back a present when he returns. Sansa all but instructed him to return a brave and true knight. Arya furiously clutched on to him, nearly crying, begging for him not to go. It wasn't until he promised to not only bring her back a present as well but write to her everyday (which he already planned to do) that she let go.

Upon arriving at White Harbour, he had wondered about Dorne itself. Would his direwolf Ghost find the climate favourable? How the land itself fared; as it had defied the Young Dragon.

The Dornish party had greeted him quite favourably. Prince Oberyn Martell, the famed Red Viper of Dorne, had looked initially skeptical of him but quickly turned into a more jovial attitude. The rest of the party treated him no different but curious to see a northman so far from the North itself. He wore the only think that marked him as a Stark; a pure grey doublet his father gave him. 

The Red Viper had a lined face with thin eyebrows, black "viper" eyes and a sharp nose. His hair quite lustrous and dark with only a few silver streaks and recedes from his brow into a widow's peak. Right beside him are his infamous daughters. The eldest a big-boned woman near to thirty, long-legged, with close-set eyes and rat-brown hair. The second eldest is slim and slender as a willow, with straight black hair worn in a long braid which pulls back from a widow's peak. She has the beauty her elder sister lacks; dark eyes, high cheekbones, unblemished olive skin and full lips. Surprisingly, the third eldest is fair, with golden hair, blue eyes and an almost otherworldly innocence about her; looking as sweet as summer strawberries. The youngest of them that came to greet him amused him; her hair worn in a long braid, smelt something like a horse and she had her father's eyes fiercely and inquisitively staring at him. The woman beside her doing the same; she looked to be of an age with the blonde woman. She is buxom and beautiful, with olive skin, large dark eyes and long, thick black hair that falls in ringlets to the middle of her back if not a bit short.

"Jon Snow of Winterfell. On the behalf of my brother, Prince Doran Martell, I welcome you to Dorne. These are my daughters; my eldest Obara Sand, Lady Nymeria Sand, Tyene Sand, and my youngest Elia Sand. And the lovely young lady beside her is my niece, Princess Arianne.
And I look forward to see how a Northman fight in battle. We will train in the morn in two days time. Make yourself comfortable."

The feast thrown, apparently in his honour, was unexpected to say the least. And the strangest feast he may ever attended: the Dornish women were more openly lewd with the men who offered to dance with them, Dornish wine was certainly more sour, and Dornish food was full of queer hot spices. 

"Is this not to your liking, Jon Snow?" said Princess Arianne said as she came to his side strutting. 

"It's certainly not what I'm used to," he admitted. One thing undoubtedly different, he was placed in a seat of honour. In Winterfell, he would often be seated by the servants and the like. Not that he minded much really. Jory and Harwin would often jest with him and at him; in a less brash manner than Theon anyway. Ser Rodrik kindly telling him not to drink so much and stating that a drunken man makes for an easier target. Mikken would chide him to not swing his sword so wildly and forcefully; as he would often fix the nicks in it. Septon Chayle kindly telling him what makes him more a knight than any others he had seen. 

"Mayhaps, I can help you feel more comfortable during your time in Dorne, my good ser?" Princess Arianne said, while gently placing her hand on his thigh. "After all, we wouldn't want you to melt onto the hot Dornish sand," she said with a lovely enticing smile marring her face.

He is handsome, Jon Snow, in his grey doublet and the wolf at his side. Admittedly, he is quite young, five-and-ten to her being two-and-twenty. Even a fool could see why she would want him in her bed. So she showed him much of Sunspear then showed him her chambers last, pulling him into them late that night.

"P-Princess? W-Wha  - ?" he says before she cuts him off, grabbing him by the neck and entangling his lips with her own. He had been resisting at first, but soon gave into it more; his body feeling more lax. His lips tasting as sweet as the Dornish Red remained on his tongue as well.Then, all at once, he becomes as stiff as a board. 

"I-I can't. I can't do this. It's not honourable t- "

She laughs. He's a pretty boy, but still a boy nonetheless. "Honour? That poxy bitch? I know her. Dry as dust between the legs, and her kisses leave you bleeding," she said, pressing another kiss onto him. 

She proceeding to undo the ties of her nightgown when he stopped her. "Is this about my honor?" She whispered mockingly.

He still laid his hands onto her shoulders, until he pulled her nightgown back up and redid the ties to her gown. "No." She tried to kiss him but he stopped her again with a hand cupping her chin.

"I do not enjoy being played with like a toy my lady."

She smacked his hand away, "Do you what any man would give just to have a single night in my bed?" She spat out.

"Then perhaps you should get one of them to warm your bed tonight." He then swept out of the room, closing her chamber door behind him.

Where does that boy go off practically acting as if she was some harlot?! Ever since that night, he had gone to great pains to avoid her. And should they actually cross paths, it would be so much formal to her liking.

She wants to hate the boy. Yet, she can't help but admire his tenacity. He is quick and savvier with a blade then better expected.

Obara and Nymeria are great fighters. Both of them admiring his prowess as a warrior and how quick he's becoming with a Dornish spear in such a short amount of time. Elia and Trystane becoming quite fond of him as well. 

"How is it that no Northern fool has properly knighted you, boy?" Her uncle Oberyn said in a jest. But Jon Snow said nothing about this and instead, gave off a strong aura of intensity and all but begged for another sparring match. Even Daemon Sand seemed rather fond of the young Northman. She found herself amazed in watching him fight; such speed and grace like a dancer yet taunting as well. Yet there is something akin to her uncle's fighting style; watching and waiting to strike at the right moment. 

Yet, there was something about him that reminded her of her brother Quentyn. So solemn, quiet as a mouse, rarely saying a word. But mayhaps that is just the way he is. Not all bastards grow up the same. And yet, she and Oberyn agreed that Ned Stark bringing his bastard to Winterfell may have been the most Dornish thing to do.

Ultimately, she grew tired of watching them play at being trim and proper knights and made her way to her chambers. As she entered , she found Tyene and Nymeria whispering together before shaking hands.  “What schemes did I miss?” She asked when she entered the tent.

“Oh nothing of import, my princess.” Tyene answered in a mocking tone and smile that made her know that it definitely not nothing.

“Oh, truly? Nothing of ... import?” Arianne said, raising her eyebrows at her.  Tyene was the prettiest one of the Sand Snakes. Not as big and bulky like Obara or slim and quick like her other cousin, Lady Nym but by no means was she a weak woman. Armed with beautiful golden hair, light pale skin as soft as silk and eyes as blue as the sea, and a sweet and innocent look about her. She could act like a sweet and pious girl, but she knew that she was the deadliest of them all; sharing her fathers knowledge of poisons and venoms. The most poisonous flowers always are the prettiest ones.

“Just a little wager we decided on.” Nymeria replied. 

“A wager?”

Tyene smiled. “A simple wager, you wouldn’t be interested.”

"Oh, I wouldn’t?” Arianne asked. “Try me.”

“Well it’s about Father's newest squire.” Nymeria started. Arianne didn’t know why but she felt herself blush. She had felt a seething rage toward him, yet now she could not stop blushing as if he were the first one to look at her and admire her beauty.

“Jon Snow. What about him?” The Sand Snakes had taken a liking to Jon. Obara had admitted that he was a "pretty lad" and "fair to look at". Elia absolutely adored Jon, showing him her skills with a lance and horse-racing with him. Trystane now began to follow him around much like a lost puppy. 

“Well from what I've gathered, he’s never lain with a woman. Quite scandalous, don't you think so, coz?” Tyene explained. “I mean a handsome boy like him. So we decided that we could have a little bet. The first one of us to change that wins.”

Arianne found herself blushing even more at that. I would be interested in that wager, had he not shamed me so easily. Mayhaps I could still take part. Yet, something about that seemed to bring about an ire within. She didn’t want to see Nymeria’s full lips pressed against Jon Snow’s. Or Tyene’s soft hands interlocked with his. 

“You two are fools if you think either of you can win.” Arianne said. “That boy is much too damn honorable to have engage in a good fuck. For all I know, he might look and question what our cunts are like a maester would. He may be likely enough to send one of you to tears.”

“Well,” Nymeria said with a sly smile. “He wouldn’t be the first honorable man I’ve managed to seduce." It then came apparent to her that Obara was not here, mayhaps she would like to know and take part in this wager as well? Or is she planning to be the first female Kingsguard?

" Oh and Tyene.” Nymeria said suddenly. “No potions or poisons. You have to seduce him without help.”

Tyene pretended to pout before she smiled. “I guess that will make it more fun when I win.” She admitted.

He had to admit that Dorne was growing on him. Except for maybe the hot sun. It just made him yearn for the summer snows of the North. 

Prince Oberyn was always genial with a smile on his face and a infectious laugh as they trained together. Often jesting, acting without a care in the world. Which so reminded him of what his Father wanted of him and Prince Oberyn's offer as well. To see more of the world. Mayhaps it was a good thing for Father to have sent him here. 

Yet, somehow, his being in Dorne made him yearn for the answer that often plagued his mind. His mother. For reasons unknown to him, these thoughts plagued him more in Dorne than in the North. 

But now is not the time to be thinking such things. Ser Daemon and Lady Nym were showing him how to utilize a Dornish spear in conjunction with a whip. Princess Arianne watching them all with a curiosity. 

"It's quite easy Jon Snow. It's not just in the wrist; you use your arm the way you use a sword. Observe" Lady Nym said, as she preferred to be called. She quickly demonstrated as she used her whip to wrap around Daemon's legs and yanking him off his feet.

"Now, you try" she said, gently handing him her eight-foot long bullwhip. In an attempt to perform the same technique as her, he swung over his head and instead, struck Daemon across the head. The sudden shock and force, coupled with a large thwack had caused the Dornish bastard to fall flat to the ground. 

Lady Nym and Princess Arianne then let out melodic giggles. "While that was ... skillful, that is not what you want to do. You want to subdue your opponent." She then leaned closer, smelling heavenly – of orange blossoms, jasmine and spice – and when she did he had seen quite deeply into her silk gown, to the crevasse between her modest, orb-like breasts.

"Think of the whip much like you would a sword. You must make the sword a part of your arm. You cannot drop your arm now, can you my Lord Snow? Think of the fall of the whip as your hand and the rest your arm. From there, it is about the movement," she said as she gently rubbed his arm to show the direction and manner as to how to do it. The feel of her dainty fingers moving alongside the faint growing muscles of his arms made him feel flush. He couldn't tell if he was blushing heavily or if the hot Dornish sun was scorching his skin. Instead, he focused what she told him and managed to successfully wrap the whip around Daemon's ankles and swept him off his feet. 

"That was very good, Ser Snow. Very good indeed." Lady Nym said. Yet he found his attention focused on the now intense gaze of the Dornish Princess. 

"Well, that seemed to be a waste!" Nym said in a uproar, throwing her arms in the air before plummeting to her bed. 

"My, my, sweet sister. What ever seems to be the problem?" Tyene said, in an inquisitively tone. 

"Jon Snow. He's proven himself to be a challenge. Mayhaps, I need to conduct a more ... private lesson"

Arianne laughed at this. While Jon Snow had become more friendlier and no longer seemed as cold as he was before, he would not break as her sweet cousins thought he would. Or at the very least, had a stronger resolve that most grown men would like to claim they have. Yet, she could not help but be a bit peeved at her cousin's notions of bedding him. 

"It is true what they say about the men of the North. They are true men of honour," she said to her cousins in a somewhat mocking tone. "He won't break anytime soon"

"A true challenge indeed. Tis a shame Obara wouldn't partake in such fun." Tyene said, gently rubbing her dainty fingers across the hem of her dress. "It'll be quite fun seeing him break before my eyes"

Things had become less awkward in the time that had passed. Jon Snow now bore lighter garb which showcased his lithe form and lean muscles. His skin darkened only a tiny bit. No longer was he as icy as before. 

And it turned out that he had quite a silver tongue and wit. Though they were more amiable towards each other, he still maintained a certain distance between them. It was more an annoyance than something she detested. 

He began to talk of the progress he'd been making with Oberyn, and the offer Oberyn had made to take him to see the Free Cities. But first, they would head to the Water Gardens. Yet, there was something of note that he had told her which she had once heard about. 

"Lady Allyria Dayne of Starfall has cordially invited me to Starfall. She says that ... she may know something about my mother. Her sister ... Lady Ashara Dayne"

She faintly recalled Lady Ashara. Arguably one of the most beautiful women in the world during her time. Almost everyone had fallen in love with her and her haunting eyes. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell among them. If Ashara Dayne is truly Jon Snow's mother, then she has left very little of herself in her son. 

Part of her wants and should tell her about the bet that her cousins have going on. But instead, she chooses to not do so. Whom he beds does not matter and is a moot point. 

Splash! Splash!

The sounds of it had stirred him awoke. It had only been a week since they came to the Water Gardens and he came to love it. He felt as if he could stay in the palace forever. 

Yet, he found himself drawn to the sound of the splashing. As he came closer, he found himself staring at the now nude body of Lady Tyene Sand. The moonlight gently kissing her fair hair and pale skin. Her nipples looked as bright and red as ripe strawberries. 

Just as he began to avert his eyes and move away, she had caught notice of him. 

"Have you been enjoying the spectacle, Ser Snow?"

"I-I am so-sorry. P-Please, f-forgive me, my lady"

"I am no more a lady then you are a lord, my sweet Lord Snow"

She then began to saunter toward him, gently swaying them as she moved. Every step a seduction. As she came close to him, he could feel the swell of her breasts pressing against his chest. Her fingers gently curling around the nape of his neck. 

"W-We shouldn't."

"Yet, we should. You know you want it," she said, nibbling at his ear. Her innocent-looking blue eyes then took in his grey ones before placing her lips onto his. 

She tastes wonderful. Like a myriad of fresh fruits. As she continued to kiss him, he found her hands tracing down her body. Slowly but surely meeting the lovely curves of her arse. As she removed her lips from his, she gave him a look that reminded him of Princess Arianne. As she began to kiss him again, he found himself feeling more withdrawn. 

Thoughts of the Dornish Princess began to flood his mind. He had tried to push those thoughts away since that night. Even if Dorne was more accepting of bastards, she was still a Princess and he was still a bastard. Yet, as the thoughts began to flood his mind as the feel of Tyene's tongue began to flood his mouth, it was not what he wanted. 

Seven Hells! I was just supposed to squire for the Red Viper of Dorne, not fall in love with its Princess! She was as fiery as her homeland. A great beauty to behold. A fierceness he admired. Suddenly, he let go of his grip on Tyene. 

"I-I am very sorry, my lady. I can't go through with this."

"There is nothing wrong with it, Jon Snow. Neither my Seven Gods, nor your Older Gods would condemn two people for wanting to give in to such ... pure desires." 

The way she said those words struck something within him. Like she was not truly sincere. He then gave her a hard stare. What resolve she may have had had begun to falter. 

"My sister was right. Your own will is like iron. My Princess was right not to engage in such matters."

Tyene was then met with another hard stare. Suddenly, she explained how she and her sister Lady Nym had made a bet to bed him. And how Princess Arianne all but told them not to do make such gambles. He then grabbed her clothes, which were by the fountain's edge and gave them to her and left her there.

She was not expecting any visitors during the middle of the night. And she was certainly not expecting Jon Snow by her door.  

"Jon? What is going on? Why have you woken me?" 

"Did you know?" 

"Know what? Please, explain." 

"About this ... bet your cousins had going on." 

Oh, fuck. Did Tyene state something about achieving victory? ... Did she accomplish the bet? Why was she bothered by that?

"Yes, I did. It was not my place to judge them or order them to stop. And besides, what does it matter? From the looks of things, you seem fine with it. Did she accomplish her quest in bedding you?" she said rather snidely. 

He then looked to his boots and sullenly shook his head. "She came close to. But I couldn't do it."

This was interesting. "Did you not find my cousin enticing enough? I'm told that she is a rather beautiful woman, and the most fair of my cousins"

"Even if I willed myself to bed her, I wouldn't. I wouldn't bed someone I don't love"

Her own eyes met his dark grey ones, taking him in. He may be from the land of ice, yet he bore the soul of summer.

"I-I wouldn't have ... liked it if you gone off bedding my cousins," she said, inching herself closer than before. 

With the speed of a shadowcat, she cupped his jaw to bring him close. Meeting her fervor, he fiercely kissed her; his tongue darting in her mouth like a striking serpent. In the blink of an eye, he had her over the mattress, kissing his way down her body. He lingered a bit to wrap his tongue around her round ripe breasts with their huge dark nipples. The way she moaned made her sound more wanton then expected; was there ever a woman with nipples so large or so responsive?

Just as she began to question just what he was doing, she suddenly grasped at his hair; keeping him by her cunt. Mayhaps Tyene had shown him such things? Or mayhaps he had bedded a girl back in the North? No, now was not time for such thoughts. For now, Jon Snow was right where she had wanted him. It wasn't long before she was whimpering and trembling due to his caresses. They shared a gasp as she guided him inside of her, using her legs to keep him in place. 

The moans and groaning coming from both of their mouths would be enough to stir awake the guards. She could tell that he was coming close, trying to leave. Instead, she grabbed him by his hips; wanting every bit of him. 

As he was done, he collapsed into her breasts; faintly kissing them just before his body fell to sleep. Such a sweet summer boy. A sweet boy who all but told her that he loves her. He could be a worthy enough consort. He could be. 

Chapter Text

It was nothing but a sham. What were either of them thinking? It was quite known amongst her family, with possibly her father being oblivious to it, that Renly did not hold any interest in woman. He acknowledged them at least; telling them the sweet words they'd like to hear of their beauty. But even the most blind man could see how her brother and the King in the South would stare at each other longingly. 

One thing that is known is that a king needs an heir. And Renly would not be doing her or her family a great disservice in his unwillingness to bed her. She had told him that he could turn her over and pretend that he was bedding Loras. Supposedly, she and her brother have the same arse shape, it would be no trouble for him to use his imagination. 

The men would surely begin to whisper on how their beloved king would dare not bed his wife. Likely to make rumours on what he is trying to keep secret. Get close to the truth as well; that their king is a "sword-swallower" and a "pillow-biter". Or that he may enjoy the company of men and women. That would not be much of a stretch, if he were King of Dorne. 

If I am to be queen, then I need to secure his reign. And in order to secure her husband's reign, then she would need to bear him a son. But it was not as if there were an abundance of Baratheon's. She had heard that Cersei Lannister had eliminated numerous dark-haired boys in King's Landing that either bore the Baratheon look, or had been of bad luck to have tried to cross against the apparent rampaging City Watch. Unless and if she were so bold to sneak into Stannis Baratheon's encampment and somehow successfully seduce him. From what she heard about Stannis from Renly, was how Stannis Baratheon had a will of iron and an aura surrounding him akin to steel. I may have a better chance in seducing his horse. 

And she could not bed someone in a similar appearance to Renly. Or ... mayhaps she can. Renly had all but made young Edric Storm his heir; the late and only publicly acknowledged bastard of the late King Robert Baratheon. Edric had come from Storm's End to serve as Renly's squire and had kept him close by at all times. And he had also been by her side as of late, keeping her company with his seemingly stalwart devotion to his uncle. 

From what she had heard and seen, Edric bore a striking likeness to Robert and Renly. He had a surprisingly strong jaw for all his youth. His neat coal-dark hair gently fell to his neck. His Baratheon blue eyes are quite lovely; truly lovelier than Renly's. 

He may not be a true Baratheon, but he does bear Baratheon blood. Renly would not object to it; especially since if he is not willing to do the deed himself. Seducing him would not be a problem. The only problem would be to get Edric on board with her plan. 

"Edric! Could you come here please?" she said, calling to him as he stood diligently and stalwartly by her side. He suddenly burst in alarm, having been busy admiring Renly's ornate green armour. His hands had nearly dropped the golden-horned helm. 

"Is there something the matter, my queen?" he asked; sounding more like a devoted Kingsguard. 

"Nothing is wrong, my sweet young ser. I simply wish to talk to you for a moment," she said as sweetly as honey, placing her most endearing smile upon her face and highlighting her dimpled cheeks. 

"Oh, ok," he said easing up a bit. "Wh-What about?"

"About you really, Edric. You and your station in life. What do you think about being heir to Renly?" she said, gauging at his reaction.

"I never thought of it really. Truly and selfishly, I once hoped that my father would make me his heir and replace the children he had with Queen Cersei. Although, it seems that dream is dead."

Dead? He had just told her that he wished for Cersei's children to be seceded from the line on the Iron Throne. But that's when she realized it. It was not a matter of taking upon the title of Prince and Heir to the Iron Throne. It was a matter of truly being recognized by his father. His father, the king, who likely didn't give two shits about the supposed children he sired with the Queen, or the actual children he did sire. 

"You would love nothing more than to be recognized. Not just as a true highborn, but also as a Baratheon. Edric Florent doesn't sound powerful, nor a name to rally around to," she said giving a wry chuckle. Edric in turn had a bit of a laugh. 

"It does have a certain ring to it, my Queen"

"Please, I'm yet to be a Queen. But mayhaps, you could be a Baratheon," she said eyeing him. 

"Renly had already told me of his offer, my Queen"

"No, not just in name. But in everything. Ser Bryce and Ser Guyard have told us both on your progress, and that knighthood is imminent," she said, daintily removing her shift as slowly as possible. "The Baratheon's are well-known to be quite virile. Now, it's time that you truly feel like a Baratheon". Margaery then gently placed the helm onto his head, then placed his slowly-callousing hands on her hips. 

Before he could even protest, she had already guided and placed him inside her. Gently rolling her hips, ensuring that the rhythm of their bodies matched one another's and that he was deeply sheathed inside her. 

Slowly, Margaery began to lift herself off of his cock, and then she fell again on him, and he felt his cock surge in rapture. Margaery then began to ride him over and over in increasing tempo.It continued that way for some time. Margaery's leg muscles worked continuously, driving her weight up and down onto his cock. Her small breasts jiggled with each shuddering sheathing. 

Margaery did not stop her efforts, continuing in her same pace she had slowly increased to. She then gauged at Edric's face who was looking at every part of her as if it were the most wondrous thing ever; like Father like son. He then slowly moved his hands from her hips to her breasts, lightly squeezing them which elicited a moan out of her. She then began to increase her pace as best she could, their flesh slapping loudly, her legs working, her brown hair shaking and tumbling. Margaery could feel these first, powerful spurts of his seed inside her, a lewd and delightful sensation. 

She could feel herself coming undone and she could tell that he was as well. "You want it, don't you?" she cooed at Edric. "You want to keep doing this with me. You want watch me swell with child. Your child; our child," she cooed at him. He was completely at her mercy. 

"M-M-My Queen ..."

"Margaery. I'm your sweet maid Margaery"

Edric nearly cried out her name until she hastily covered his mouth and all but bit the insides of her mouth to hold back a moan. 

She rocked on him as she did, squeezing herself on his length, milking him for all he was worth; feeling a hazy warmth growing within her, the burgeoning fill of his load settling inside her grasping cunt. Both of them breathing heavily and she neatly collapsed onto his broadening chest. 

She felt victorious in such an accomplishment. And as promised, she would be queen.

Chapter Text

He's not him. No matter how much he looks like him, or reminds you of him, he's anything but. 

That was the mantra he had to live by and words he had to remind himself whenever he saw the boy. The roguish knight turned lordling; Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. Though now, he is Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End. 

Loras had thought that his days of honour and glory were done for when the Dragon Queen finally made her descent into Westeros. Yet, she allowed him to stay all the same. Had Father lived, he likely would have commanded Margaery to set little Tommen aside for either one of her nephews. Much to their surprise, Margaery decided that she no longer desired to be queen and decided to go to her new home with her husband. Her husband who was only eleven years of age and not likely to bed her until he's three or four-and-ten. Yet, that seemed to suit her fine. 

What took him more by surprise was the young Ser and leader of brigands in the riverlands. Ser Gendry was more broadly built than Renly; his heir messier and untamed and his skin dirtier than his. And his eyes were bright as could be but lacked the warmth that Renly's had. No, they were as cold as ice. His voice and greetings were courser than his; lacking refinement that Renly radiated. 

Yet, all these judgments he made in silence. For it was his duty to defend and protect the Queen, not to judge her or her subjects. He fondly remembered Edric Storm; the lithe lively youth who once offered to be his own squire shortly after earning his own spurs. He could have made a claim for him for rights of Storm's End, but instead he had been formally given the home of his mother's; Brightwater Keep. Garlan had been given Dunstonbury as his own new keep for a secondary Tyrell branch. 

Ser Gendry had often been with the rest of the Queensguard and the rest of the Queen's retainers. The aging but legendary Lord Commander Ser Barristan has become quite fond of him and has made it his mission to properly train him. The Summer Islander Tum and the Lhazarene Knight the Red Lamb are very friendly with him; telling and trading japes with one another. The Dothraki Jhogo and Rakharo also find him funny; and tried to braid his long hair in an attempt to make him look like a Dothraki. Though that had made them fill the air with their laughter. 
His laugh ... it's almost like Renly's. Though louder and more booming; like his Father in a way.

When Ser Barristan states that they train together, he feels himself hesitant. The young Ser, or the Bull as many have called him, seems to sense it and all but refused to strike him. 

"What's the matter? Afraid of losing to a true and proper knight?" he says, taunting the boy. 

"Oh, yes. Afraid. Truly, madly afraid. Of losing to you, Lord o' Daisies!" he said, taunting him.

Although, he had heard it all before, the insult had gotten into his skin. And with that, he raised his sword and began to attack. 

"You think you're better than me? You commanded brigands, outlaws and rogues!"

"At least I actually fought in a war instead of trying to play at one!!"

How ... dare he?! This stupid, impudent ... "I have fought in war, boy!"

They both swung hard and true. He was surprised that in spite of his large frame, Ser Gendry is quite quick on his feet. 

"You've played at one. You've played at being a knight and you played at war," he said nearly slamming himself into the blade, leaning his body toward him. 

"You think you're some kinda god? You're more a boy than I am," he snarled and knocked him down on his arse as the Beauty once did back at Bitterbridge. He had never felt more like a boy than ever. He then placed the blade near his neck. "Now yield, boy." 

" ... I yield"

He had stayed in his chambers for quite some time. For much of it, he had stared at the armour of his beloved. The enameled and intricately made green armour and golden-armoured helm. Tracing his fingers along it. Suddenly, he had heard a knock on his door. "Come in"

Ser Barristan then came. "Ser Loras. I hope that you are alright," said the truest knight alive. 

"I'm fine. The only real thing that was hurt other than my arm hath been my pride," he said sullenly. 

"Good. I do hope you have seen some sense in Ser Gendry's words"

Sense? In his words? "Forgive me, Ser Barristan but I even doubt that he is even a knight? He commanded brigands, born the lowest of the low and he chastises me?!"

"A man's birth does not determine his worth. Look to the king and prince you serve, Ser Loras. And he has the right of it. He has much of his father and his uncle's. He does have a certain easiness and charm that belong to Renly. Yet, he has also known poverty, hunger and fear. Much like Stannis, he knows the true worth of a person. And has his innate stubbornness and tenacity and has not truly craved glory for war. Yet, like his father, he had proved himself to be quite skilled in that as well as being able to command and lead men. Brigands may have trained him but they trained him well enough to have kept him alive all this time. And if I may speak frankly, he may be as true a knight as I am. And if he hadn't been, I would have been honoured to have knighted the boy. Remember the vows you made before you donned your cloak, Ser Loras."

That did make sense. A true knight must be brave and just, defend the defenseless, and act with courtesy. He could work on being more cleanly but other than that, Ser Gendry is indeed a true knight. Yet, the young knight's armour was far too dinged up and near rusted. 

As he made his way to the training yard, he finds him there with Ser Archibald Yronwood, both of them swinging their warhammers about. Gendry quickly took note of him and signaled the broad Dornish knight to halt and stop. 

"What is it you want?"

With his eyes on him, he found himself nervous to say the least. "I, uh, I came to apologize. ... You were right. I don't know about war; not in the way you do. ... So, I brought you a gift," he said as he caled for one of the young squires in the Red Keep to help bring it. 

"Every knight needs good and proper armour. No offense but you'll need it. And your armour is not ... exactly ... up to standards," he said feeling awkward and flush. The Bull eyed the armour warily. "My armour just needs to protect me, doesn't need to look pretty. ... But thank you."

Loras then motioned for the squire to remove his armour. As he did so and place the bright green armour on him, he couldn't help himself from taking note of his body. Rippling corded muscles had covered his arms and his strong broad barrel-chest. As the armour and helm was placed on him, his heart panged as that was how he imagined Renly looking like; a true king and conqueror. 

He then placed his hand on the armour, gently and neatly tracing his fingers along it, faintly whispering something. 

"I knew your family. ... For the most part," he blurted out. Gendry then gave him another wary look; disbelieving him. " ... Is that so?" 

"Right now, you look every inch like them. A true Baratheon. If you'd like to know about them, anyone of them, ... I'd be glad to tell you."

"It's strange. I barely knew my mother. I never knew my father, yet I hear people say that I'm like him. I'd like to know ... just how much."

He sense there was a sense of fear in his voice. Does he fear becoming like King Robert? The boy lived in King's Landing all his life and likely had seen Robert at his "finest". 

"Well, you are certainly as strong as he was in his youth. From what I've heard. But you have a stubbornness that reminds me of your Uncle Stannis. I had met him once or twice when he came by Storm's End to visit your uncle Renly. He was ... something of a protective sort, often visiting when he could to check up on him." 

It had felt like days as he kept talking about the Baratheons as a whole. Telling Gendry of what he knew of King Robert, what little he knew about Stannis, and what he had known about Renly. The young knight's eyes growing wide with awe as he kept telling him about them. By the end of their talk, Gendry held himself in a slightly high-born manner; standing straighter than a freshly forged blade. Likely feeling more like a true Baratheon. 

As he came to his chambers, it somehow felt lighter. Not because the armour Renly once decided to wear no longer adorned his chambers like a trophy. No, the pains and ghosts of his heart were still there but no longer hurt him as strong as before. 

Chapter Text

The fool. That sweet adorable fool. 

What in the name of the Seven had he been thinking? But then again, that holier than thou High Sparrow likely put those thoughts in his head. 

Tommen had stated that he had wanted to be a just and wise king. She had been raised to be not simply a queen under her father's blind ambitions, but to also be a good and fair queen that the people would have adored. She could have helpled him.

So unlike that tyrannical beastly brother of his. Tommen is - was - sweet as a honeyed cake and yet he was as soft as the kittens he adored and played with when he did not attend to his kingly duties. Was there ever a sweeter person? Compassionate, kind and so sweet to a fault. 

Now, like her father and brother, he was gone. Burnt away to cinders by the mania of his own mother. What kind of monster could do that to their own blood? Her own son? Is Cersei so hungry for power that she would so cruelly take her own husband away from her?

What would happen now? Thrice wedded and once bedded. Her first husband preferred the company of her brother. Her second husband preferred to torture and maim animals to sate his innate cruelty. The third was her greatest companion and friend. 

If her grandmother comes up with some grand plot to still somehow make her queen, I don't want it. How many men must I wed just to lay a crown on her head? The crown that was on her head right now felt heavy. Heavy with burdens, shame, guilt. 

It should have been me. I should have perished. Or at the very least, we could have perished together. 

Queens, crowns, legitimacy. All of it be damned. I feel so numb in my body and heart. Is this what winter would feel like? Chilling into the bones itself? 

Her hands then went to her belly. Almost protective. Cersei Lannister took away her husband, she will not take her child away. No one will. 

She then looked to the window again. Looking at the smoldering building once known as the Great Sept of Baelor. The place she had wed the last time. 

Her crown all but tossed aside with her deft hands, her feet by the sill of the window ...

And she flew. 

Chapter Text

It all felt a dream as the royal procession came closer to Winterfell. So many knights came to accompany the king. As he came closer though, she found him disappointing. 

This was the man that Father had described. King Robert Baratheon does indeed have dark hair and rather striking blue eyes but now he seems to be a decrepit fat man with a large black beard hiding numerous chins. The queen certainly looked as expected to be; so amazingly and strikingly beautiful with her golden hair, emerald green eyes, fair skin and surprisingly slim figure.

Once the greetings were done, she had seen him clearly. The crown prince and heir the Iron Throne; Tommen Baratheon. He takes after his mother; having golden curls adorn the crown of his head, emerald green eyes that gleamed even under the pale and dull Northern sky. He stood tall and proud on horseback next to his equally beautiful golden-haired twin sister, Myrcella Baratheon. 

Suddenly, she became aware that Prince Tommen was staring at her; giving the most pleasant smile. He's staring right at me! He's staring right at me!! She wants to faint and could feel the massive blush of red creeping upon her face. He's so handsome!!

"Do you think Prince Tommen likes me?" Sansa asked her mother. "What if he thinks I'm ugly?"

"Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived" her mother replied.

"He's so handsome ... When do you think we would be married? Soon or do we have to wait?" she said a bit impatiently

"Hush now, Sansa. Your father hasn't even said yes yet"

"Why would he say no? He'd be the second most powerful man in the kingdoms"

"He would have to leave home. He would have to leave me ... And so would you" her mother said forlornly. 

"But you left your home to come here. And I'd be queen one day. Please make Father say yes"

"Sansa - " her mother said beginning to chastise her

"Please, it's the only thing I've ever wanted!" she all but pleaded. 

Even as she lays herself to sleep, she found herself dreaming of Prince Tommen. His easy and dazzling smile, his glistening eyes, his broadening shoulders. 

Almost everyone was his friend and he was not without his Kingsguard and sworn shield, Ser Arys Oakheart. Robb, Jon and Theon liked his company well enough as he is rather skilled and quick with a blade. A downright natural with a sword. He even offered to bring Jon as a part of his entourage and have him squire under Ser Barristan.

His sister Princess Myrcella had taken to warning her on not breaking her brother's heart. She sounded sweet yet frightening, but she is simply looking out for her brother. She would never dream of breaking the her sweet prince's heart. So sweet that he even offered words of condolences when Bran had fallen from the Broken Tower. 

"It's a shame. I had heard from your maester that even if your brother wakes, he may never walk again. I can't imagine anything like that happening to anyone; especially to someone so lively and young. I am sorry, my lady"

"Thank you for your kind words, my prince."

"Tommen. It's my name Sansa, you have my permission to use it"

He is everything she had imagined. Honourable, brave, gentle and strong. 

She honestly thought that he would have Lady killed for having assaulted his horrible little brother Joffrey. Yet, he appealed to his mother about her and the other direwolves on the account. 

He'll be the greatest king that ever will be and I'll be by his side as his queen. I'll bare him strong noble sons and all the realm will love me. He then took her by the hand as they came to the Red Keep. 

"Shall I show you the castle my lady?"

"Of course my prince" For this will be our castle; our home.

Chapter Text

Keeping Rickon Stark occupied was a easy task. He could find joy in almost anything.

"I wanna watch the Power Rangers!" 

The one thing she had not been expecting was to see her boyfriend Jon Stark already. 

"Meera? Hey, what are you doing?"

"Just taking care of your baby brother? And you? I thought you were going to have a guy's night with the lacrosse guys?"

"Eh, Sammy wanted to hang around with Gilly. Grenn's on a date with Ygritte. Pyp's got a acting gig to attend to. And Satin just told me that he and Loras had plans. So, here I am":

"Waitaminute, waitaminute? Grenn? And Ygritte? Ygrinn? Ygrenn? You okay with that?"

"Let bygones be bygones. Besides, she ... is not my girlfriend anymore. Last time I checked, you are," Jon said, leaning into the couch to kiss her. 

He still tasted the same as he always did. Strangely like the type of sport's drink people would dump on the winner of the big game. Invigorating. Just as he came closer, Rickon jumped in between them. 

"Hi, Jon! Want to watch Power Rangers with Meera and me?"

Jon quickly ruffled his hair and sat down with them. 

"Rickon, which one do you like best?" Jon asked while giving her a somewhat strange look. 

"RED RANGER!!" 

"I like the White Ranger; even before when he was still the Green Ranger," Jon said eyeing her and making note of the green sweatshirt Meera was wearing. 

And the White Ranger gets the girl ... almost. Jon then yawned and snaked his arm around her. Until Rickon's extremely loud voice interrupted him. 

"The Red Ranger's still better!"

Jon then gave a wry look at Rickon's red curls and muttered, "Yeah, so he is ..."

"Hey, Rickon, want to go to the kitchen and get us all snacks?" she suggested to the small boy. He looked a bit dejected before muttering "OK!"

She then wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she pulled him closer; aching for his lips. 

"JON!! I CAN'T FIND THE COOKIES!!" 

He then gently removed himself from her and yelled out, "ITS ON THE CUPBOARD!"

"I CAN'T REACH IT!"

"YES YOU CAN RICKON! YOU'RE A BIG BOY!" she yelled out, wanting to pay more attention to Jon. 

Suddenly, they heard a crash. "JON, I BROKE THE COOKIE JAR!!'

"I'll be right back!" he sighed. Just as she turned her attention away to the TV screen, she then heard yells. 

"RICKON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? PUT THOSE IN THE TRASH!"

"THREE-SECOND RULE!!"

Boys. 

Both of them then came by back to the couch with a plate filled with chocolate chip and oatmeal-raisin cookies. Her favorite. 

"Well, it's not popcorn, but it'll do" Jon said. 

"Its fine, Jon" she said. 

All of them proceeded to watch the marathon-thing that Rickon was watching. Suddenly, their hands touched as they reached to get the same cookie. Just as Jon gave her a knowing grin, Rickon quickly snatched it away from them. 

"The chocolate chip ones are mine!!" Rickon said almost possessively. 

"Rickon. Didn't your mom, dad or even your brothers and sisters teach you about sharing?" she asked, chastising him a bit. 

"Yeah! And it sucks!", Rickon said, shoving the cookie in his mouth. 

As they tried to resume their kissing, suddenly they heard a strangling sound. Choking. Rickon's choking!!

Jon suddenly pulled his baby brother close to him and furiously pressed his stomach until he spit out a giant piece of a chocolate chip. 

"See, Rickon? This is why we share," Jon said, playfully chastising his red-faced baby brother. 

"Uh huh" Rickon said breathlessly. 

He then sat him and himself back to the couch to continue watching the TV. 

"Meera, Rickon, we're back!" said the voices of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. 

"MOMMY, DADDY!!" 

"Oooh, hello sweet boy. Jon? What are you doing here back so soon?" Catelyn asked.

"Plans changed, so I decided to kickback with Ric and Meera."

"You didn't do any naughty business by any chance?" Catelyn said teasing her stepson. 

"No, no, we didn't" Jon said. Though she heard him mutter lowly, "We never got the chance too"

"Ok then, I best be going off then." Meera said. 

"You want me to drive you back home?" Jon said, his eyes filled with hope. But Eddard quickly caught wind of that and offered to drop her off instead. "It's no trouble at all, Meera"

"Thank you, Mr. Stark. I'll see you tomorrow, okay, Jon?" she said giving him a kiss. 

"UGH! YUCK!" Rickon said, making them laugh. 

Maybe we'll have a better opportunity. 

Chapter Text

The wolfswood is vast. The trees reached high and far almost touching the clouds. 

I hate Theon and Robb. No not Robb, I could never hate Robb. Jon thought as he looked up to the skies. Theon had all but challenged them to a race around the wolfswood to see who was the better horseman. Theon was barely made for a horse; barely winning. Robb narrowly came in first. Jon had won but his horse had not stopped and had taken him deep within the woflswood. 

No signs of Deepwood Motte, or Sea Dragon's Point or Torrhen's Square. Not the kingsroad; not even Winterfell. 

"Where are you taking me, you great fumbling beast you?" he said chastising his horse. Suddenly, he spots an ancient watchtower up ahead. The stones that make the tower have fallen from their places and are overgrown with moss and ivy. The vault still stands, and there are no villages nearby

It'd might be best to make use of it and find Winterfell in the morn. The sun had begun to set. So, he had set his horse close by and made himself as comfortable as possible. 

As he woke up, he then saw a small group of people in front of him. A small man wearing armour made of loosely-tied bones and wearing a giant skull as a helm. A tall, lean man, with no ears;  clean shaven and bald, with grey eyes and a straight nose and bronze scale armor and a helm and wields a weirwood spear with an ornate bronze head. Beside him was a man not almost as tall with a broad chest, a massive belly, and a beard white as snow yet small flicks of fiery red still adorned it. On his massive arms are golden bands engraved with ancient runes. Next to the man with bones and skull was a slender man of middling height, but broader in the chest and shoulders and taller than him. He has long brown hair that has mostly gone gray, and laughter lines appear at the corners of his mouth, as well as a sharp face with shrewd brown eyes. 

"Well, well, look what we got here. Tis be a baby crow?" the man with bones said with a cruel voice. 

"How daft are you, Bag O' Bones? The boy's not even a crow!" said the snow-bearded man. 

"No. We've got ourselves a baby wolf instead, lads," said the slender and plain-looking man. "Last I saw you, you were still a little lad. No more than seven or eight namedays."

That's when he recognized him. He and Robb were building a great mountain of snow above the Hunter's Gate, planning to dump it on one of the passing guardsmen. He had promised not to tell anyone and they had dumped it on Fat Tom. Last he heard of him, Father and Uncle Benjen mentioned how he is the bane of the Night's Watch. 

"Y-You're Mance Rayder. The King-Beyond-the-Wall."

"Come with us, lad. No harm will come to you"

They had all come back looking haggard. Her husband looked so heartbroken and his eyes more sadder than she could have imagined. 

Jory, Rodrik, and Hal were all huffing and puffing heavily. 

Robb. Her sweet Robb. His bright blue eyes were now a sea of misery. He's trying so desperate to look like a man in front of Ned and the other men. So hard to not cry. 

The Greyjoy boy looked immensely guilty. 

Arya, Rickon and Bran wailed loudly and horribly all through the night. Robb all but shut himself in his room. Sansa remained quiet. 

Surprisingly enough, much of the household had become quiet in the past two weeks since Jon Snow had left their lives. Almost for all of his three-and ten years, she had wanted him gone. Gone from the moment he saw him. 

This is all your fault, a voice hissed at her. The voice sounded so much like an ancient Stark king; akin to crackling ice. 

Ned had all but ignored her. Not even coming to her chambers. Looking all the more haggard. 

"My love. Please, come to bed. Our bed."

"No"

"Please, my love," she pleaded taking him by the hand. Ned looked at her startled, almost wanting to smack her hand off her shoulder. 

"Is this what you wanted, my lady?" he said coldly. Rather than approach the subject, it's best to leave. 

Just as she left her husband's chambers, she overheard him mutter something. 

"I ... so ...ry ... Lya"

Gods, forgive me.

The boy seemed happier than he had seen. Already making friends with many such as horsey-faced Del to the fiery-haired Ygritte. Even the small thick-headed boy they picked up at a farm near Queenscrown by the name of Grenn. 

Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell. We're going to need him. He can help those southron fuckers understand. All the men around him had made him their king. His father was no king nor was his father. Hell, he didn't even know his father or mother for that matter. That boy probably doesn't even know his mother. 

But almost ev'ryone in the North knows his father. Everyone in the North always rallied to the Starks whenever a King-Beyond-the-Wall. Now, we have one of our own. 

They don't know what's going on beyond the Wall. 

Winter will come for those fuckers. 

Chapter Text

"Jonny!"

"Uncle Jon!!" he called out. Jon Arryn was closer to being a grandfather or a great-granduncle but he had called his godfather and namesake for as long as he could remember. 

"You look so much like your uncle Ned. And you'll be a college man soon enough. How's life treated you, Jonny boy?" Old Jon said as he lightly tapped Young Jon on the knees. 

"Pretty well actually. I've been getting top marks in most of my classes and I've become captain of the lacrosse team."

"I also heard that you inherited your Uncle Brandon's propensity for rugby as well. Anyways, Jon, I actually have need of you. I'm afraid I need to ask a favour of you"

Favour? Uncle Jon never asked me for a favour before. It must be something really important. "What is it?"

"Well, it turns out that one of my nieces Nysterica, Gods bless her, had left behind a child. She had been well-taken care of, and I've gotten to know my great-grandniece in some regard. I'd like to show her more of King's Landing but I've got to prepare for a conference about the effectiveness of crime deterrence. Anyways, my boy, I was wondering if perhaps you cou - "

"It would be an honour and pleasure to show her around, Uncle Jon. So, where is she?" 

"Close by actually. Oh, wait, there she is," he said pointing to her. She was not what he expected. For one thing, she was clearly older than him. She is fair, with golden hair, blue eyes and an almost otherworldly innocence about her. Along with the with pale white and blue shirt and cream and green-coloured skirt, it made her look all the more pure and innocent. 

"I'm Tyene. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jon Stark. Or from what my uncle says, I should be calling you Jon Jr." she said with a bright smile, showcasing her dimples. Her voice sounds like the gentle strum of a lute. 

"Just Jon is fine, Tyene, was it?"

"Yes. And I'm certain we will have the best of times," she said with a smile. 

How stupid I was. It'd be easy, I thought. She may have looked and gave the impression of an innocent maiden, but she was anything but. 

No, Tyene was as wild and unpredictable as a desert storm. Almost immediately, she went from being a seemingly innocent good girl to the ever-wild and unpredictable bad girl. 

"Oh, c'mon, Jonny. You promised Uncle Jon that you'd show me a good time. Please, don't upset me," she said with a mockingly pouting face. She looks so damn cute doing it. 

They quickly went to a club where she looked and danced like some enchanting siren. And for a moment, Jon had lost her. But quickly found her the bar, holding a cig and beautifully exhaling smoke; blowing a perfect smoke circle right at him.

"GODS! I hand't had a fag in my hand and mouth in ages!!"

"Where did you get that?"

"I had it hidden in the lining of my skirt. I just asked that guy over there for a light. Although, he did try to have me blow him for it"

Jon then found himself angry and his fist tightening. Tyene then placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's just a joke. Calm down, Punisher!" she said in a calming manner. 

They then headed to a local sept which Tyene decided to deface some of the effigies with a marker. Suddenly, a weasel-faced septon took notice of them and all but chased them out. 

"Aww, I didn't even get to finish. Had I done more work, The Mother would have looked like my mother!" she mischievously giggled. 

"Alright, I gotta ask. Why are you doing these things?"

"Because as nice as peace is, its just as good to bring about a little chaos! And what's life without a little bit of chaos in it?"

She does bring up a fair point. Life can be messy. 

"C'mon, Jonny. You can't honestly tell me that there wasn't something ... wild you have always wanted to do?"

"Well ... There is one thing I've ... kinda wanted to do"

"Oooh. Do tell!"

"HAHAHA! WHOO-HOOO!!"

"YOU'RE RIGHT!"

It was not exactly right. But if felt pretty good trashing Pycelle's lab. That'll teach that tattered old cunt!

"So, what exactly did the old geezer do tick you off? Other than deliberately fail you?"

"Deliberately pass "Golden Boy" Joffrey Baratheon while he didn't do jack but sit and fall asleep."

"Well, trust me when I say this; I've had experience with old grey-sunken cunts. I used to attend the School of the Sorrowful Sisters until I was ten. They nearly expelled me for simply kissing a boy. That and they've always had a problem with the length of my skirt. Luckily for me, my Dad took in the reins from there. I'm lucky to have him, how bout you? Your family?"

"I never really knew my dad. My uncle Ned, had taken care of me for most of my life, me and my mom. My mom's pretty great but whoever my dad was ... it messed her up in a way. Whenever I asked her about him, she would stay silent for days. Once, I thought that my uncle Ned was my dad when I was little, because we look so much alike."

"So, you thought that your mom and uncle ..."

"NO! Nonono. I wondered if I was actually his son with some other woman and it was when I was little!"

Why am I telling this girl all of this? 

"Y'know ... we haven't really messed up this place."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this is a chem lab. Maybe we should leave behind some ... explosive, questionable fluids?"

She then strutted closer to him. Her hips gently swaying left and right; each movement an ardent seduction. "You know what they taught me at the Sorrowful Sisters? They taught me earlier on about the ... importance of womanhood. The Book of the Maiden was very enlightening. One of the first and prominent messages stuck with me. 'As for you, be fruitful and increase in number; multiply on the earth and increase upon it.' So, care to multiply with me, Jonny Boy?"

Her shirt and skirt were on the floor, and she completely nude. Her breasts round and ripe and her nipples bright and rosy. Before he could say anything, she cupped him through his pants and began to rub slowly and steadily. She then unzipped his pants and gently kissed his hardening cock. In a swift motion, she removed his shirt and gently guided him to the floor; placing her hands on his hips. 

Tyene then rubbed her hands all around his thighs, causing his hardened cock to lunge at her face. She then moved to align their hips together, gently placing her dainty hands on his chest. She then dropped herself onto his cock; moaning placidly. His hands then reached up to cup her breasts; making her moan more. "That's it. Ooh, that's good. Had a lot of experience with girls, haven't you, Jonny boy?", she cooed at him while she kept riding him like a pommel horse. Tyene suddenly started to move faster, and Jon then moved his hands from her breasts to her thighs, to her arse while giving it a light squeeze. 

"Oooh, you soo know what I like, Jonny boy!" she moaned. She then kept moving faster; the sounds of their flesh slapping together echoed in the empty classroom. She then moaned so loudly; he realized that she had reached her climax as he did. She then giggled and stared at something. "Look at that. Explosive, questionable fluids!" she giggled, taking note of the mess they created together. "Whoo-hoo. That was fun! We should do that again. Maybe ... in a different room. There any other teachers that ticked you off?"

"Thank you very much for taking care of Tyene for me, Jonny! 

"It wasn't a problem, Uncle Jon," he said. Mostly because she had taken care of me. A lot.

And it didn't help that Tyene kept making hand-shaking movements toward her face, while Jon Arryn wasn't looking. 

"We actually had a lot of fun, Uncle Jon. I might just make another visit."

"'Tis a shame that you must leave so soon."

"I know but I have to. I spent a week away from university, and I have to get back. Plus, I miss my family in Dorne, and I know they miss me."

"You remind me so much of Nys. Except you don't have that wild streak about her"

Oh, Uncle Jon. If only you knew.

"Bye, Uncle Jon," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Bye Jonny Boy," she said, also giving him a kiss on the cheek. She then whispered in his ear, "Next time I come, use your tongue"

Please come back soon then, he thought as she turned and went to the airport gate.

Chapter Text

When the Long Night had come, he did not think that he would live. 

Yet, a few of them did. Many of the more untrained; haggard old men and boys greener than him, had been sent to the slaughter. 

It seemed so long ago. The Wall no longer there; and the Land of Always Winter pushed further back into the sea. 

Pyp, Sam, Satin, Emmett, Arron and Emrick, Hareth, Arnell, Halder, Jeren. Whatever was left of the Night's Watch, was no more. 

Many who had perished had been good friends of his. Todder. Mully, Bedwyck, Garth Greyfeather, Ulmer. They will be missed. 

Others not so much. Men the likes of Rast or Karl Tanner of Gin Alley. No one would miss Thorne. That old cunt would have likely sold them all for the "good of the Watch"

I wonder if he's ruefully laughing, and regretting that he ever called Jon "Lord Snow". He'd likely be mocking him still; calling him the King of Bastards. 

The one thing that remained of the Night's Watch were some of the castles that didn't perish; the ones given to the wildlings. Stonedoor, Hoarforst Hill, Queensgate, Deep Lake, Sablehall, Woodswatch, Long Barrow, Sentinel Stand, and Icemark. The ones that did perish had been used to rebuild the place Jon had called home. 

The only other thing that remained of the Watch, were their now tattered black cloaks. Those who remained became the Raven's Teeth; Jon's own personal guard.

He never believed that he would ever see that capital in all of it's glory. From what he had heard from Todder; King's Landing smelled as bad as whore after being spent and filled with a man's seed. That must have been the old King's Landing. Even as the streets were being rebuilt, it stank of something burnt. 

Jon then called him forward. Right by his side was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Even after all this time, it still perplexed him. Jon; a prince now a king. He was no longer Jon Snow; no, now he's Jon Targaryen, King of the First Men, the Andals and the Rhoynar. No, but he had always been Jon to him. 

We've both grown since then. Jon now a lean and fierce leader in battle, a skilled and hardened commander, and an honourable and just king. He was no longer the bumbling clumsy oaf who could barely swing a sword. Grenn stood tall and proud at nearly seven feet. A head taller than the knight of the Hollow Hill. 

At first, he felt nervous. But then things became clear as he saw the Lord Commander hold out a bright white cloak. He barely heard the words coming out of his mouth. All of it felt like a dream. 

"I-I_I do so solemnly swear"

"Then arise. Ser Grenn the White Aurochs!"

He'll swear anything. But mostly importantly, I swear to never let anyone harm Jon. My king, my brother, and my friend.

Chapter Text

He was pounding into her like crazy. She was certainly tanner than most girls he had seen, yet that made her all the more enticing. He didn't bother being gentle. She was by no means a blushing maiden, so he figured she could take him full-on and without restraint. With every thrust, he could hear moans and groans, sounds loud and desperate enough to be embarrassing. It took him a moment to realize that half of those sounds were coming from himself, which made him buck his hips with more force. 

"Oh gods, yes! Fuck me like the wolf you are!" The girl screamed out in a husky way that Rickon couldn't help but find sexy and endearing.

Rickon responded with a growl and an increase in the rhythm of his hips. He himself let out another loud groan of pleasure, his nails digging into the hips of .... whatever-her-name-is, leaving half-moon pink marks all over her flesh. Every so often he'd lean over and lightly nibble on her neck and back; lingering and faintly teasing that he could break into the skin. There were no chaste kisses, no professions of love, and it was awesome.

Until his sister opened the door. There was a beat of awkward silence as Arya took in the scene.  "Rickon, OMG?!" Arya exclaimed, throwing her hands out in frustration.

"I-Is that ... Dorea??!"

Oh, that's right. Dorea was her name. One of the famed Sand Snakes. No wonder she kept chanting "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken" when he all but slammed into her. 

"Ugh ... Hi, Arya ..."

"H-Hey, big sis. Uh, how you doing?"

"Feeling mortified at the sight of my baby brother fucking one of my best friends!!"

Both of them kept moaning and groaning like pained animals. He had to admit that she was pretty, just about a year older than her. 

"You like it like that?" he crooned at her. 

"Hmmm. I LOVE it like that Rickon! But ... "

But? But what? "But ... what?"

"Ever fucked a girl while slamming her almost into the wall?"

I like where this is going. So, he then removed himself from her, then picked her up and neatly pressed her up against the wall. 

She then pinched him on the shoulder. "I said slam"

"As mi'lady commands!!" 

He then slammed her to the wall as hard as he could muster. She was not sweet blushing maid like Dorea, and liked it all the same. 

"H-Harder!!"

She then wrapped her legs around his hips, while he grabbed on to hers. Trying to be careful with his thrusts due to the angle, yet she didn't care in the least. She wanted his cock inside her and she wanted it pounding into her tight wet folds. 

"Here I Stand, Here I Stand, Here ... I ... STAND!!" she screamed out in ecstasy. 

"Oy, Rickon. Did you take my _ OHMYGOD!!"

"Christ, Arya! Ever hear of knocking?"

"Lyanna? What the hell are you doing?"

"Apparently your brother!" Lyanna said with a cheeky grin. How could I forget? Rumour had it that all the Mormont girls were wildlings in the streets and in the sheets!

She is truly an enticing beauty. Her skin as dusky as the night sky beginning its arrival. Her eyes practically piercing into his soul and looked like molten gold. Her face is round and flat and her body firm yet still somewhat doughy. 

When she began to climax, she sounded almost like she was about to burst into song. She woke up to the sight of him; glaring at his form and a wry smile adorning her lips.

"You were very good to this one"

"This one? Sorry if your cunt got all the attention. I'll pay more attention to your tight little arsehole. I just need to rest my little soldier before he heads first into the battlefield."

His jest earned a giggle from her. She then gazed at his crotch. "It appears your soldier is standing at attention!"

Rickon then flipped her to her belly, and then pointed her lovely arse toward him, gently guiding himself into her slick and tight hole. 

"Enjoying the attention now, aren't we?"

"Y-Y-YEESSSSSS!!"

Both of them beginning to pant quite heavily. 

Suddenly, he heard a knock at his door. "Rickon! Open up, we're going to be late for school!"

Fuck! He had completely forgotten that today was a school day. He had been excited to have her for the night. Deceiving his parents in the night was one thing. How was he going to get out of this one?

"I'll, uh, I'll be out in a second!"

"You better not be!" she harshly whispered at him. 

Arya then began to pound at his door. "Open up, you wanker! Don't make me tear down this fucking door!!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

He should not have tested Arya's patience. She kicked the door and gave a horrified gasp. 

"Missandei?"

"uh, Hi, Arya!"

"Ugghh. I can't even  - Just get out of your room and out of my friend!!"

"Arya, gross!"

"You know what I mean!"

She kept masterfully teasing him; soft gentle strokes on his manhood until it was a hard as a rock. "Ooohh. Sweet, sweet Cella," he moaned her name shortly after. Her hands and fingers are quite dainty and deft. 

The other one kept letting out adorable little squeaks and noises as her cousin kept moving her other hand around her; traveling along her body and pushing the boundaries she placed on herself. He doubted that she felt any sort of pleasure like that in a lifetime. The idea of being celibate practically made him shiver with dread. 

He had to admit that they complimented each other well enough. One blonde of hair, one dark of hair. Both looked innocent enough, yet the blond could play at it more than the dark-haired beauty. The blonde girl was ever a classic beauty with ample-sized breasts and hips while the black-haired girl had small but shapely breasts and a relatively slim figure. The burns on her face did not make her any less beautiful. 

Alas, this night was certainly not without its surprises. Cella had placed her hand close to Shiree's cunt; her deft dainty fingers pushing in and out of her cunt. Her moans coming all the more faster. She was climaxing and didn't even know it. I might have fucked a septa for all I knew, if it meant she was going to squeal so beautifully, if not in such a short time. How long had it been? Seven, ten minutes, maybe? Cella didn't seem to mind at all, and all but pushed her closer to the edge of his bed. 

Just as he began to put his own fingers in her cunt, she started to cry out. "Ohh, Myr-Myrce-Myrcella!" Shiree cried out between soft huffs of pleasure muffled by Cella's alluring purs. It was then that he realized they had forgotten all about him. He scowled, though more confused than anything else. Forget him? No, no, it surely couldn't... Have I lost my magic touch?

"Er- hey, la-ladies-" He reached out a hand between them, in hopes of worming himself in somewhere. They hadn't even noticed, so caught up in their own fun. He then took drastic measures, practically throwing himself on top of them. Cella rolled her and Shiree out from under him, giving Shireen her turn on top.

Yet again ignored. Rickon was starting to feel a bit cheated about now. This was supposed to be a threesome, so why wasn't he getting any attention? Seven Hells, he was the only one in the room with a cock for Gods' sake! Just how many things could two women do alone for pleasure?

"Oh, feeling left out, our little wild and wanton wolf?" Cella said, with a teasing smile. She then whispered something to Shiree that caused her to blush madly. Just as he began to ponder what it was, he figured it out. Cella turned his attention to his cock again; teasing him this time with her beautiful and talented tongue and mouth. Shiree then came closer to his chest, gently hovering her cunt close to his face. He let out a devilish grin as he began to take her with his mouth. 

It was an orgasmic symphony. Something he did not wish to stop. 

"Rickon! Rickon, open up. Jon said he was going to take us to Long Lake today."

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck! How is it Arya always interrupts me when I'm having a great time?

"Rickon! C'mon! I know you're not sleeping"

No, but I am in heaven. So, quite close to it. 

"Please tell me your just skinning your sausage or something. Just hurry up and come out!"

Skinning my sausage, no. More like moistening it. And I wish I could hurry. 

"I sweat to the fucking Gods Rickon, I will kick the door down again!"

Shiree then let out a loud moan that she couldn't suppress any longer. 

Arya then kicked the door down as promised. "Seriously?! Myrcella? Shireen?!"

"H-Hi, Arya" Shireen said shyly whereas Myrcella barely said a thing. Her cheeks to full of ... She then let out a small gulp. 

Arya then looked back at him, deadpan. "Rickon. Please, get off and out of my friends. Let's go to Long Lake, and then I'll rip your guts and wring your neck with them. Jon and I will bury your body and hold a small service. Your tombstone will read 'Here lies Rickon Stark, Biggest Wanker Whom Ever Lived', Now, if you may ..."

Now, he felt scared. "Alright, ladies. If you could just ...?" Both of them got the message, getting off his bed and combing the corners for their clothes. 

I need to re-evaluate my choices. First being, hang out with Arya more. She has some pretty hot friends!

Chapter Text

She couldn't stop herself. It almost hurt her ribs to be crying so long and hard. Her cries muffled by the crook of Jon's neck. 

Chapter Text

I regret everything. 

Not once did I think that Stannis of all people, would get more action then me. But stranger things have happened. My best friend Ned Stark is dating the most hottest girl in the Academy. 

"Where are you taking me this time Robert? It'd better not be another whorehouse!"

"Some place that will help you."

Stannis then looked up at the sign. 

"Dating? Speed dating? No. Nonononono. I'm out of here!"

"C'mon, Stannis!"

"Is this some half-assed attempt to apologize for the whorehouse incident?"

"Part of it. But I also want you to have some fun. You ... need a girl. I mean, I have girls out the wazoo and even Ned has a girl. An amazingly hot girl!"

"Robert ..."

"Look, if you don't like it, you can leave. But at the very least try your hand at it. C'mon, Stanny. Whaddya say?"

He then sighed. "Alright, alright. But you're buying me steak dinner afterwards"

I am honestly surprised on how many dates Stannis has gone on. I'm more surprised that he even managed to convince a girl to go out with him.

What was more surprising was how many of those dates were ending. 

Shortly after his date with debate team captain Mariya Darry, he clearly heard them suck face. Surprisingly enough, he began to hear something else entirely. 

"OOOH!! YOU FEEL SO GOOD STANNIS! YOU FEEL SO GOOD!!"

As they came out of the room, both of them looked very, very ... spent. 

"I had a great time! Maybe ... we can do this another time?"

"Maybe. ... Thank you for the intercourse?"

"You ... are very welcome!"

And that wasn't the worst of it.

No, not a damn chance. The worst part was the girls came flowing. And none of them for me.

Shortly after came doe-eyed Mylenda Caron and then short-and-sweet Jeyne Swann, and the ever-delightful Gwyneth Morrigen. All of them had delightfully sucked on Stannis' sour stony face. 

More even hotter girls the came by. 
Lysa Tully's practically pressed those delicate-looking tits at Stannis' face. The next thing he knew was hearing the both of them going at it in Stannis' room; with a lot of enthusiasm. "OH, STAAANNISS!" she heard her cry out. 
Shy and lovely Lia Serry eagerly and loudly made out with Stannis. Taking his hands and putting them all over her willowy body; from her small boobs to her shapely ass.
The hottest freshman Delena Florent and Lynesse Hightower eagerly came to him. Delena with her ample-sized boobs for a fourteen-year-old, and Lynesse with her golden-blonde hair and cream-coloured skin and her surprisingly big boobs. 
Janna Tyrell and her massive jugs. That should be me! I should be the one eagerly being motor-boated by those massive tits! Not ... Stannis. 

Even Cersei Lannister, my recent ex-girlfriend came by. At first he could tell that it was mostly to make him jealous. That was until he heard moans of pure pleasure, and gleefully shouting "OHH, STANNIS! YOU'RE SO MUCH BETTER THAN ROBERT!!"

And surprisingly enough, in spite of repeatedly chastising me for my "proclivities", Stannis actually seems ... happier. Stannis has never been the "smiley" sort of person, but his stony face now bears something akin to a lopsided smirk. 

"So, you decided on any of these lovely ladies to be your official girlfriend yet, Stanny?"

"Ugh, no, not really. I'm still dating them, actually."

"And ... do they know?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Even after you ..."

"Surprisingly enough, yeah. I'm not exactly ... exclusive with any one of them. But it's not like I went all the way if everyone of them too. Oh, and just so you know: Janna's breasts; very and immensely real"

Lucky bastard.

"Anyway, I'm taking Lysa out today at that nice little Braavosi place; the Titan's Cafe. Could I get fifty bucks extra? Besides, I figure you owe me for all those times you asked me to spring you whatever I had in my wallet"

"Yeah, sure, man." Robert said, reluctantly handing Stannis a fifty-dollar bill. "Just, ugh, don't get too crazy."

"I won't. I, ugh, can't exactly say the same for them. Oh, and can you make sure that Renly doesn't eat too many sweets? He gets nightmares right after and an occasional tummy ache. Cressen's phone number is on the fridge. Gotta go, I'll see you later"

Dear Gods, I've created a monster!

Chapter Text

Cold.

If Sansa were honest, she was actually surprised that the biting cold was what she felt the most. Actually, it was probably a wonder that she was still able to feel at all, for after what she'd both seen and endured, it would well have been within her rights to believe that she was no longer capable of experiencing any hint of emotion at all anymore.

Her skin twitched at the thought, flinching backwards slightly as if Joffrey's words, so cruel and taunting and unable to feel the slightest hint of compassion towards those he so easily hurt, had hit her once again. As if the long and bony hand of her Aunt Lysa had snuck up her back and her cold fingers had latched onto her neck, sharp nails biting into her flesh as the older woman would hiss sniveling lies into her ears while daring her to look out of her prized Moon Door. The way Lord Littlefinger had tried to ease his way into her skirts until she all but cleaved off his little fingers off his delicate little hands.

Her anxious disposition must have crept into her mount also, for her white mare tossed it's head back-and-forward as it whinnied in anticipation, stomping it's hoofs in the frozen ground beneath them, and the eldest Stark daughter felt a tendril of pure and utter dread settle deep in her stomach as they waited, and waited, and waited. Oh by the Old gods and the New, it felt like an eternity!

But whatever halt in time their initial arrival had caused, it went as soon as it came, and slowly –oh so slowly- did the two gigantic gates grind open in a deafening noise, and Sansa barely had the leisure of taking one long shaking breath and let it out in a trebling exhale before the gentle beast beneath her took a step forward. It was too late to turn back now, and she could only pray that she had not just escaped one Hell to enter another. She had experienced at firsthand how men could so easily prance upon the occasion to commit the vilest and cruelest deeds to those incapable of defending themselves. And Sansa wasn't in a any position to do as such. And the stares the men (and boys) were offering her as the white mare slowly made it's way to the main court sent her skin crawling.

Once, long ago, Sansa might not have come to expect the worst of men, but that girl had long since burnt out, the cruelty of the real world she had endured in King's Landing had taught her to think otherwise.Her hands clutched the reigns now, desperate for some form of anchor as she cast a fearful glance around Castle Black, a place she had only previously heard of through songs and her Uncle Benjen, and the reality of it was a lot bleaker than the tales of old.

Eventually coming to a halt in the middle of the courtyard, and the suffocating feeling of being trapped was quick to surface, as, turning her horse around on itself Sansa realized with dread that there was nowhere for her to run. She was suddenly grateful for the fact that heartbeats did not emit a very perceivable sound, for if it had, there was no doubt that her own could probably be heard from the far-likes of Winterfell and other places of the same distance. A shaking hand came to her horse's neck, and Sansa tried to steady her limb as it went up and down, up and down, up and down in what was a vain attempt at a soothing motion (whether for herself or the horse, she still wasn't too sure yet), anything to take her mind off the fact that there was nowhere to escape to and that the mare beneath her was still very real, and a very possible means for a flight if the need arose.

That hope didn't last long though, for soon enough with sickening dread that Sansa realized she has no other choice but to set foot aground. Her hand lingered on the soft white fur once she had found her balance, desperate to still preserve her one saving grace and when it touched thin air when the horse was lead away, Ned Stark's eldest daughter could swear she might have lost her balance and tripped forward, her anchor to safety now gone, vanishing into thin air.

She bit her lip and upon realizing her hands were trembling, Sansa shoved them under her cloak any hint of weakness and they would use it to their advantage. Much like Walder Frey when her Mother and brother had been massacred at the Twins, he had done nothing but watched in sickening glee as the life was wrenched out of her family. And as heiress to Winterfell, she couldn't let such a thing happen again: the Starks were strong, Starks endured, Starks were survivors, and as far as she was aware, she was the last of them.

It was with a pang that she realize dhow dearly she missed those she had once deemed but annoying siblings –Robb's calm and aspiring demeanor, Arya's ever incessant wishes to be anything but ladylike, Bran's reserve and placidity, Rickon's eagerness and infectious smile. And then there was-

Jon.

Turning around to the wooden stairwell leading into Castle Black itself, Sansa didn't dare to believe it at first. (She'd let wishful thinking and childish beliefs hurt her too much already to let herself sink into them again). But after a moment of silence and the vision still had not vanished, the young man –tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, and so very like Father- could only be one person. Jon.

And the bubble of warmth that bloomed in her chest at the sight of him had never been something Sansa would have thought she'd experience at the sight of her half-brother, the bastard she had always tried to push away and mock for his possibly less-than-noble parentage. But he was whole and he was there and he was real –and still very much alive, and she kept her eyes on him the whole time he descended the few steps separating him from the ground, a gait so similar to the once Lord of Winterfell, afraid that if she averted her gaze for but a second, it would turn into a faded vision and disappear forever, like the rest of her family had.

She felt herself twitch in anticipation again, but unlike a moment ago, where dread and fear had coursed through her body, now it was impatience and eagerness, it was trying to imagine what the next five seconds might be like and wishing Jon were already down there over and over again, yet when he finally reached the battered grounds of Castle Black, she dared not move, not even when he took a few steps towards her, the look of disbelief still clearly painted on his face.

He was but a few feet away now, having come to a halt in front of her, not daring to invade her personal space, and the thought that Jon might actually be afraid of her rejecting him (which, if Sansa were honest, he was well within his rights to believe given how little she had had to do with him when they had still been a family in Winterfell, back when things had seemed so easy and bright) broke her heart. Did he really believe her to hate him still, after having being separated for so long? Did he really believe her words to him all those years ago still rung true?

In that moment, she began to recall their memories together. Any memory. But there were none. Just the ones she had prided herself in when she took pride in being the eldest daughter of Lady Catelyn Tully and Lord Eddard Stark. How she thought numerous times that he didn't deserve to be at Winterfell. How he shouldn't have been born, if it was just meant to cause her mother strife. Telling him along with Jeyne Poole how no one would dare kiss his bastard lips. Why can't I remember the good ones? I know that they're some, I know it!!

It would seem so, for as a few moments past, moments in which nobody dared utter a word, Jon had yet to move, and to see him like that, gaunt, exhausted and almost apprehensive of how she might react urged Sansa into proving him wrong, and for once, just once, she let go of any lady like advice her Mother had once taught her, breaking into a run to cover that short distance separating them as quickly as possible before jumping into her brother's arms and wrapping her own behind his back, hoping it would convey how much it meant to her that, after everything, he was still there for her.

Head buried in his shoulder, Sansa wished she could utter the words that she so badly needed to say to him I missed you so much, or I'm so sorry for how I treated you, or even yet I still want you to be my brother, but her throat felt suddenly unable to give a voice to what she wanted to tell him so badly, and the feeling of strong arms coming to wrap themselves around her back and hugging her close (like Father's would once upon a time) urged her to bury her face in his shoulder, the feeling warmth, of Winterfell, family and Jon bringing tears to her eyes.

And maybe to the outer world, it would just be seen as a sister's delight at being reunited with a long lost family member, but for Sansa, it was more than that: Jon was the only thing she had left, he was her brother, he was home.

And right now, that would be enough.

Chapter Text

He could feel it. His life ... slowly slipping away. 

The monstrous champion that the vile queen had selected to defend her defeated. Thick black ooze tainting his pristinely coloured armour. Making him more like the monster he was. \

But then again, what made up the creature was a truly monstrous sight. The body of Ser Gregor Clegane the Mountain that Rides, and the head of the former king Joffrey atop. 

Aerys the III, many had called this boy. Yet, the highborn and smallfolk were right. He was much like Aerys; rarely giving and only taking. 

Like he had taken Rhaella. 

His mind had wandered back to her. How beautiful she was; her beautiful pale unblemished skin, those lovely lilac eyes that looked as if they had freshly bloomed, and her beautiful pale blond hair. How it felt to hold her close to his body as they sweetly kissed one another. 

I can still see that bright smile etched onto her face, as I proclaimed her my Queen of Love and Beauty. The love she had for him had given him strength. The sweet and fervent touches and kisses that lead to after. 

Yet that would be no more as she was bound by duty, and him to low to be a fit enough consort. 

The Maiden was the only thing that could try to fill the void left in his heart by her. Had he been more high-born or she not as bound by duty, they would have been happy together. If only. 

Now the Stranger calls for me; reaching out his hand for him. And he would accept it.

Yet, as the figure comes closer, he could see that the Stranger was not as faceless as the Seven. For the Stranger was not truly a stranger. It was someone so ... familiar. 

"Bonifer," a voice called out. A woman's voice. No, it can't be...

"R-R-Rhae-Rhaella?" his voice faintly croaked out. His heart skipped a beat. 

It was her; really and truly her. Looking as beautiful as he remembered her. 

"You have fought hard for so long, my love. Come to me. No one can keep us apart now"

She was right. He won't be long for this world anymore. 

"Just take my hand, Bonifer. Take my hand" she said so sweetly, stretching out her arm. He began to do the same as well. 

But as he had, he found himself beside her; in front of her. That smile ... the same smile from before. 

"No one can keep us apart from where we're going, my love," she said, giving him a sweet kiss on his cheek. 

"Not my father or mother. And certainly not Aerys. He's where he deserves to be" she said, darker than intended. But he had never lived with and endured everything Aerys II Targaryen had thrown at people as he did to her. What he did to her was an affront to all gods or knights who dare strike a maiden as pure, kind-hearted and noble as her. 

Aerys cannot haunt her or get in his way. Not this time. And he will not let anyone else harm her, no matter what.

For wherever they would go, they would be together. Always and forever. 

Chapter Text

Mace, you stupid oaf. 

What on earth were you thinking? Rhaegar had already lost one queen, and had gained another in that wolf-girl of the North. 

Mina had already wed Lord Arryn's nephew and become the new head of the new House Arryn of Gulltown. A betrothal then marriage to a Baratheon of Storm's End would be prudent to us!

"Tut, tut, Mother. Janna will be a queen!"

How on earth could I have birthed such an oaf for a son? I should have taken more time to strike some sense into that thick head of yours. Many times in many generations, while sparse, House Targaryen has looked to their kin in the Stormlands for a bride. Through this boy, their own child could be that bride. And if not, a good alliance nonetheless. 

She could have told him that or to wait until Alerie births a girl so that she could be the bride to Rhaegar's heir. But that would take too long. 

Stannis Baratheon was quite the impressive specimen in his own right. While he was not as tall or handsome as his lordly elder brother, Robert, he was quite handsome nonetheless. His coal dark hair short, neat and trim, his jaw clean, even if it made him look a bit grim. His blue eyes were so intense and dark that they nearly looked black. 

He certainly lacks his brother's charms, but he has a good head on his shoulders. Actually quite witty as well. It's no wonder why her daughter was quite taken with him. He had been supposedly sent as his brother's behest to try to court a "lovely maiden from the Reach". But from Janna had told me, she had done most of the courting. And unlike his brother, he's nowhere near as oafish and stupid. A bit too serious mayhaps.

Mayhaps Cassana and Steffon should have beat more sense into their boy before their untimely demise? From what she had heard, he rarely did the ruling of his homelands, leaving it to his uncle or maester but more often his brother. And Stannis is to be granted the Rainwood; a good powerful seat that we could do trade with. 

But no. The Dunderhead of the Reach can't tell his head from his arsehole. Now, he has the audacity to tell Stannis that he is unfit for his sister and made it worse by challenging him. 

Both of them made it to the courtyard fully armoured. Mace looks like a bigger idiot with that beautifully ornate armour of his. Vines-and-leaves and roses decorated all around the breastplate and greaves. He looks more a fool with that giant blue feather atop his helm. He must be the biggest fool to try to look like a perfect true knight. 

Stannis Baratheon on the other hand did not armour himself in that same manner. No, his armour was not overly ornate but simple grey plate armour adorned with the sigil of his house. It showcased his broad shoulders and strong sinewy muscles. 

Janna quickly came to Stannis, wrapping a small ribbon around his arm. She's granting him her favour. She must actually like him, or really wants to see her oafish brother beaten to a pulp. ... Or mayhaps both. She then whispered something to the young Baratheon and them gave him a small kiss on the cheek, making the already stoic young man go as red as a beet. 

His mildly love-struck look was quickly replaced with one of determination as she eyed Mace. 

"I am sorry, Ser Stannis. But you are simply not fit for my fair maiden sister. She is made for those with the blood of the dragon!" Mace declared while aiming his sword at him. 

"You forget yourself, Lord Tyrell. I am of the dragon's blood. Mayhaps I should show you the fury of the house so desperately seek along with my own?"

And like the fool he is, Mace charged heads toward Stannis. Stannis moved away quickly, and just as quickly blocked his oncoming strike. Mace continued his assault with numerous powerful blows and Stannis blocked and parried each one until he managed to strike at Mace's side which he left completely unprotected. Mace took a quick note of that, changing his stance ... poorly. Stannis took note of that and had been able to trip him by swinging his sword at his feet. Just as Mace tried to get up, in a swift, fluid motion, Stannis brought his blade close to Mace's neck. 

"I ask that you yield, Lord Tyrell"

"NO. NEVER! I WILL GROW STRONG!"

"I think you've done enough growing" Stannis said, pointing his sword to Mace's growing belly. 

HA! I like this boy!

" ... Alright then. I ... yield," Mace said sulkily. 

Janna then went to Stannis, giving him another kiss which turned him a red as a Dornish pepper. At least he's not an oaf.

Chapter Text

She had ran. Ran so fast and hard that she felt as if her feet would fall off. 

I never wanted this. I was just a girl in love. I never asked for this. 

The image of her husband still burned in her mind. His broad shoulders and chest, dark brown hair, and shrewd black eyes. His easy smile. Them his screeches of pain began to echo in her head. 

When she had first met him, her heart had stopped and skipped a beat. He had only meant to find someone to help mend his horse's shoe. She had only meant to find some prettier flowers to weave into her hair. Her mother often told her not to wander to far from the Neck. 

Duncan. My Duncan. Mayhaps it would have been better if you had not met me. You would have succeed your father, and married to a far prettier lady as your wife who would bare you good strong sons. As much as she could try to will it out, she can't imagine her life without him. 

Love is not only blinding but it is foolish. What is a crown of gold or iron compared to the crowns fo flowers we gave one another? 

"If I married to you, you'll be my family. I will think of you, and love only you" Those words brought a pang to her heart. 

But now, she is almost back to her home. She just needed to rest ... in the place where her Prince of Dragonflies had found her. The ruin for which she was found around. She then put a hand around her belly. She should have told them, and she never got a chance to tell him but it wouldn't matter. They would find some way to blame me for the fire. 

Home. My old home. But neither luck nor the gods were on her side. As she made it to the swamps, bogs and crannogs, she had felt pains in her belly. No, not now. But she could not will the babe to stop coming. The pain began to overwhelm her that she screamed. 

Someone took note of her, quickly putting her into the nearest crannog. She could barely tell who he was. She knew that it was a man, that much she knew. But she was to blinded by pain to take note of anything else. All she took note of was that it was a man with a heavy black cloak held up by a pin of some kind and that he was of average height. She then heard a woman's voice. When did she get here?

"You have to push my lady! The baby's head is crowning!"

Would I be able to see Duncan again through my baby's face? She then began to push with all her might. If she were considered more of a noble, mayhaps their children would be princes and princesses. 

Just then, she began to hear the wails of a babe. "A boy, milady!" she heard the man say. She wishes her friend could be here. But she felt herself begin to drift away. A lone dragonfly buzzing lazily around her. Why do people call it that? It looks nothing like a dragon. But neither did Duncan. She then began to see a myriad of images and hear a myriad of voices. 

For a moment, she thought she saw Duncan again. Except that the face was sharper. Her son, mayhaps? She then saw what appeared to be an army of people wearing furs scattered across lands of ice. She then saw men dressed in black, echoing words that evoked some sense of purpose and trust. Gentle strings of a lute strummed together. A clanging of blades. A gust of cold winds blowing past them. 

"Wall ... Watcher ... Crow ... Beyond ... King"

And then everything went to black. To darkness.

Chapter Text

Things had been so much simpler. When he wasn't Satin of Oldtown; the Whore of the Hightower. No, his mother had the honour of bearing that title. 

As he stared at the lands beyond the Wall, he found himself thinking back. Thinking back to the days of simplicity; the days when he bore his true name. 

"Mallor! Mallor!"

Both of them had screeched loudly till he caught up to them. For singers, they had looked ridiculous. Mostly Wat due to being dipped head to toe in blue; including his hair. As ridiculous as he looked, Wat the "Blue Bard", as he came to call himself, was quire a handsome lad. But he was more a musician than a singer. 

Dareon on the other hand, still had a rather boyish look and a slender figure for nineteen years. Smooth skinned, and sandy haired, and a fairly dazzling smile. He is an aspiring songwriter, and plays both the fiddle and woodharp. The others in their troupe claimed that his voice was like "honey poured over thunder." Dareon has a looser tongue than most singers should and quick temper. 

Lord Mathis Rowan's feast was quite the spectacle as expected. Jugglers, dancers, and most importantly, themselves the singers. Many had asked for "A Cask of Ale", "The Bear and the Maiden Fair", yet he all but bellowed out his favourite song; "The Dornishmen's Wife"

His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,

and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,

"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,

the Dornishman's taken my life,

But what does it matter, for all men must die,

and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!

I ha-a-a-ve,

I have tasted the Dornishmen's wife!

"You sing quite well, good ser!" said a rather comely fair-haired maiden. She had a dimpled chin and cheeks. He then looked closely at her dress. The golden tree of House Rowan; Lord Mathis's fair daughter Rhea. 

"Thank you, my lady. But I'm no ser. Just a singer with a love for adventure!" he said, earning a giggle out of her. 

"Mayhaps, you could teach me how to sing as well as you do?" she said, gently caressing her fingers around his arm. It certainly felt nice, but I do not want to be gelded than shipped off to the Wall. Even if he was a bastard, he would not be headed there. And he knew for a fact that there were people he should not crowd around to: nobleman's daughters especially.

"I'm afraid I'm just an apprentice singer, my lady. Mayhaps you should ask one of them?" 

Rhea looked miffed at first, but then turned her eye to Dareon; smiling devilishly. Suddenly, he takes note of two knights coming closer to him. One of them has neatly kept dirty-blonde curls and the other ash-blonde hair. Both of them of equal height but only one he recognized by his black silk half-cape pinned with a ermine tower. 

"Coz! It's been quite too long!" Humfrey said. 

"Yeah. Far too long, coz. Who's your friend?" he asked inquisitively.

"Ser Arnell. And you ...?"

No surname, strange. But he quickly took note of his silk half-cloak striped with yellow and green. His hazel eyes were beautiful that they almost bore close to pools of amber if not for the small flecks of grey. Upon closer inspection, he saw a jade-coloured half-apple. 

"Not hungry for a taste of glory like you surely are, Ser Arnell," he said with a small smirk on his face. Humfrey looked amused while Arnell quite befuddled. 

"Glory does not come easy for us. From what your cousin has told me, we are of the same cloth," Arnell said smoothly. 

Of course we are. Does Humfrey think all bastards know each other? Or want to?

"So, do you want to join the string of Flowers who have failed to bloom at the Wall?"

"I will. But it's as much my choice as it is my mother's as well."

"Oh, you the shame of your House?"

"Something like that. My mother is a Fossoway of New Barrel. My father was a meagre knight of humble beginnings"

"A hedge knight, that's what your father was, don't mince words." he said, seeing a feel of anger flare up in Arnell's pretty eyes. "My mother is - or rather was - a mad maid. And my father was quite the knight; serving under a king"

"I assume the wrong king at the time. So, why is it that the Wall seems to be right for me but not for you?"

"Easy. There's no glory for you at the Wall. Whatever you think you're gonna get there, you won't. No one sings of the tales of the men of the Citadel, who become grey rats serving under lords who couldn't give a wet shit about people like you and me. Me? I want to have glory of my own, and I want to be among the people who sings about it. There is a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don't want to be most of us. Which is also why I don't want to go to the Wall. I wouldn't go even if the king himself paid or ordered me to. I would like to see it one day, but see. Never stay."

Arnell seemed to take his words to heart from the look on his face. But the somber look quickly turned into a grin. "Bastards can rise high anywhere. Mayhaps I will rise, or rather bloom sweetly there. Until we meet again, Mallor Flowers"

That made him think deeply though. There were things he still wanted to do and things he wanted to see. He could have easily become a knight with his mother's kin, but that would feel akin to charity and pity; things he did not like or want. But for now, he would like his fill of drink and a more than willing wench if he could. He then eyed a pretty young lady with resplendent dark brown curls little older than him with a buxom chest. Men of his station should not be sticking their prick into noble ladies, but bastard ladies were a different matter entirely. Especially pretty bastard ladies like her.

Oldtown is not the world, someone told him once. That very saying was all he needed to hear. What sane person would want to stay at home all their lives? Oh, I've heard how "home is where your heart is" but Oldtown rarely felt like home. 

As he now had enough coin to pay for passage, he headed to the first ship that went out; out to Gulltown. I've had enough of the Reach and their preaching on how they're the most beautiful and chivalrous region of the Seven Kingdoms. And from what I heard, the Vale is just as chivalrous as the Reach. Maybe I can find a knight who'd be willing to take me as a squire? I'd be a great knight one day.

Gulltown is beautiful. The captain of the ship had made a  claim that he could tell one port from another just by the way they smelled. Cities were like women, he insisted; each one had its own unique scent. Oldtown was as flowery as a perfumed dowager. Lannisport was a milkmaid, fresh and earthy, with woodsmoke in her hair. King’s Landing reeked like some unwashed whore. But Gulltown's "scent" was sharp and salty, and a little strange from all the strange and exotic spices being traded by Essosi merchants. 

"BOY!" someone called out to him. Confused, he looked at the person who had called out to him. He was a tall thin man with long brown hair reaching down to his shoulders and grey eyes that looked fierce and dangerous. Those eyes unnerved him. "Who are you? What do you think you're doing?"

"My name is Mallor Flowers, kind ser. I am simply seeking a skilled and humble knight to squire for and learn how to be a proper knight," he said nervously. 

"Well, you're in luck. I have need of a squire seeing as I recently knighted my last one. He showed promise, and I see you have promise as well. I am Ser Lyn Corbray of Heart's Home"

What a fool I had been. 

Ser Lyn had shown him a thing or two about fighting. He had me polish his shield, sword and armour as any squire would. He then showed me how to handle a sword, praising me all the while and even showed m the Valyrian steel blade of his house Lady Forlorn. The dark smoky look of its steel and the heart-shaped pommel made it look beautiful as it did deadly. 

Within a while, Ser Lyn told him to properly "service" him as a good squire should do. The moment he began to inch closer to him, he should have ran. Instead, he felt his lips and tongue pushing onto his own. Him trying to remove his britches and nearly pinning his body against his chamber doors. Acting quickly, he had punched him, and in turn, had been given a great punch back to his head. 

Upon waking up, he had found himself in a cell. The smell was somewhat familiar. Gulltown, I'm in Gulltown. 

"The boy whore awakes!" the gaoler said. Whore? I'm no more a whore than I was a squire. As he got up, he noticed that the satin cloak his cousin gave him was now tattered and messy. 

"You're quite lucky. Had Ser Lyn really had his way, he would have fed you to his lady, but his lord brother had you put here for your crime for trying to steal it" the gaoler mocked. 

I never stole anything really. He wants to scream that he's not a brigand or whore or anything they call him. But what was the point? 

Days had gone by. Maybe weeks. Mayhaps a month. There was little food to be spared for brigands and thieves.

"Oy, you all right?" a blonde boy in the cell across him asked. I could retort with anything remotely witty if I were still Mallor Flowers, the adventurous bastard of Oldtown, who had a smile on his face and a song in his heart. But now, he was Satin, the boy whore of Oldtown, the other prisoners took to calling him. 

"Leave him be, Emrick."

"He looks so sad and downcast"

"Shouldn't we all be? We're all "guests" here until some lord decides what to do with us"

It's only a matter of time until my head would be called for. Might as well try to breathe some life while I still had it. "So, what are you here for?"

"Well, me and my brother came from Fair Isle hoping to do some trade in Gulltown. Our mother was a cobbler so we tried to do that here. But we needed coin to make our own place, and we gotten the stupid idea to try to rob some men of it. We're not exactly good thieves. Oh, where are my manners? I'm Emrick and this is my brother Arron. What's your name?"

"... Satin"

"Satin. That's strange. It sounds like a whore's name really"

There was no point in clarifying it to anyone. Most of the other prisoners thought him to be a whore. I might as well give them what they want. And after all, mummeries were like a song as well; often repeated and heard until it was like music to the ears. "Because I am. My mother gave me that name from the brothel I was born in ..."

How long has it been now? Another day? Another week? Today seems like another day to live on or die. 

Suddenly, a man with thinning hair and stooped shoulders bearing a black cloak came in. He seemed to have a nice smile. "Names Conwy lads. I'm looking for boys and men alike to come and take the black. You'll never be without wanting a roof over your heads and food in your bellies. So, any one of you care to take the black, or keep rotting down here?"

Arnell had once mentioned that even bastards can rise high in the Wall. And it would be better than to rot and die in this dungeon. I couldn't be worse off? What else is there to do? 

"I'll take the black" he said. 

The other prisoners began to laugh. "You plan on spreading your legs for the Lord Commander?", "The Black Whore of the Wall!", "The Prettiest Maiden the Wall has ever seen!"

"Shut it, all of you! All crimes are forgiven once you take the black. And don't matter who or what you were."

"We'll take the black too then!" Arron and Emrick said. A club-footed man then proclaimed he would take the black as well.

"Alright then lads. We'll be off. But you mind telling me your name, lad?" 

"Satin. I'm no one special"

Things were so very different then. All his life he had wanted adventure. Someone should have told him that adventure stank. 

Yet, in this adventure, he had found good and trusted friends. 

There was Halder, who had been a stonemason's son. Oafish Owen, who had limp blond hair and happily told anyone that he had lost his wits after his mother had dropped him on the head. Ulmer of the Kingswoood, who had been part of the infamous Kingswood Brotherhood who had been teaching him the finer points of archery. Commander Bedwyck, whom many called "Giant" due to his rather small stature of being only five feet. "Sweet" Donnel Hill, a self-proclaimed Lannister bastard who often made japes with his loose tongue. Todder, who had been teaching him the many bawdy songs that he learned in the winesink where he worked. Jeren, often called Ser Loon by the Night's Watch brothers, whom was a bastard from a wandering septon. 

Then there was him. Jon Snow, the infamous bastard of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He was little older than him, and he had seen Jon Snow before, walking around. But it wasn't until that day where they fought side-by-side that they had become friends. He'd liked Jon Snow right away, mostly because he didn't laugh at him and call him 'arse-boy' or 'cocksucker' like some of the other boys had, nor did he ridiculed him for the fact that he looked more like a girl than some girls did, nor had he asked him humiliating and degrading questions about how he liked to be fucked. Jon Snow did none of those things, and he was grateful to him for that. During the battle, it felt as though all their past history had been erased. Jon Snow was no longer a high-born bastard, just as he was no longer a low-born whore that many of the brothers thought him to be. They were Jon and Satin, brothers, bound by the black of their cloaks to watch out for each other and the rest of the Watch.

For the first time in his life, he felt like an equal, rather than someone less. Then Jon Snow became Lord Commander, which he was pleased about, and had congratulated Jon whole-heartedly when he learned of the position, though he felt as though a massive divide had appeared between him and the only person he counted as a friend. It was not as though he was despised- he had been, and he had won most of his brothers over, but that didn't stop the whispers, the comments behind his back, the japes at his expense. At times when he left the kitchen, he would pass a man who snorted in his direction and said, none to quietly, “There goes Lord Snow's personal whore.” It was better to ignore it.

He had been delighted when he was informed he was to be the Lord Commander's squire. It was an honour he hadn't even dreamt of. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why Jon Snow would have wanted him as his steward, but he had been chosen nonetheless. For all he knew, I am just a whore from Oldtown. I once said that I had not been born to serve anyone, and it had shown. He wasn't particularly good at it- he let the fire burn out, and was slow saddling Jon's horse sometimes, but he enjoyed working for someone he liked.

The Wall itself was quite a sight to behold; surely a wonder of the world. Three hundred feet wide and seven hundred feet high. Made up of nothing but ice, stone and the earth, and if any of the legends about the Night's Watch were true, spells woven in by the Old Gods and the Children of the Forest. Depending on the weather and the time of the day, the Wall often looked blue or grey. It almost reminded him of Jon Snow's cool steely gaze. 

Under his tutelage, he'd become a more adequate warrior. To truly fight a good fight as if today would be the day he may die. And tomorrow would bring a new day. He felt almost fearless with a sword in hand now. It was during these times that he had felt like Mallor Flowers again instead of Satin of Oldtown. Yet, he found himself growing oddly comfortable with that as his name. Jon's Old Gods were certainly more kinder to him than the Seven had ever been to him. 

A part of him almost wants to tell him the truth, but that may cause more harm than good. There were still so many things he wanted to do and see, but right now he would have to serve, so that every man, woman and child would live to see another day.He knew that he would never serve anyone. No one except Jon Snow, whom had treated him like a person and equal. The one person in this world whom he could call and could call him ... a friend. There was no better feeling in the world than being called a friend.

Look at me now, Arnell. I have risen high and bloomed at the Wall.

Chapter Text

She could barely believe it. It seemed almost romantic and like the stories that Lysa enjoyed. She could barely understand what had happened. 

For one moment, the two brothers seems to be having a genial conversation and then they snapped at each other like the wolves they were deep inside. She didn't know or hear what they had been talking about. Her father had boisterously announced that she and Brandon were to wed in three moons time; a happy occasion. She had known Ned almost all her life; not once did she ever expect that he would fight for her honour and hand. 

Her father Lord Hoster Tully did not take this in such stride; seeing the foolishness and folly in this. "I don't know what's gotten in those two. They're brothers! I have had my tiffs with your uncle but ..."

Lysa kept gushing on how romantic it was. "Two brothers fighting for you and your hand, Cat! How would you not like that?" How could anyone? She had learned from her lessons from Maester Kym and her father about the place and duties of women. Brandon and her had been betrothed for nearly five years, and she had known Ned nearly all her life. She would marry Brandon and be his lady of Winterfell and do her duty by him. Ned would be there, but he would not be there with her. 

Both of them showed up at the lower bailey of Riverrun. Brandon and Ned both fully armoured; looking like the knights she dreamed of in her girlhood. But neither of them asked for her favour, nor did she felt like giving one to either. She would be expected to give it to Brandon yet she also wanted to give it to Ned. But ladies do not willingly give their favors to any knight less it makes them look wild and wanton.

"C'mon, Neddy? Do you really want to do this?" Brandon called out to his brother; smiling as if it meant nothing to him. Rather than say anything, Ned simply stared at him with his cool steely daze. His eyes as hard as stone, whereas Brandon's shined with such easiness and mischievousness.

"How 'bout I make this easier for both us?" Brandon said, stripping himself of much of his armour. Ned still looked at him coldly, but had in turn removed the equivalent amount of armour. Both of them simply down to simple boiled leather armour; allowing them to move freely. 

"Y'know what? I'll even let you get the first strike in." Brandon said, sounding almost giddy about it. He quickly took back his words as Ned swung at his shoulder, cutting him. Brandon looked almost awestruck. Whether it was because Ned had actually got in a strike or the fact that it was his own brother who had done it, she could not tell. Brandon's smiling face quickly turned into a malicious scowl. 

"Alright then ..." Brandon grimaced and moved as quick as a wolf. But Ned moved just as quick. Both of their blades kept clashing steadily; Brandon kept swinging furiously. Acting out of pride. Ned's movements were steady and fluid, blocking and parrying every strike while trying to get one in as well. 

Ned then struck at Brandon's sword arm; causing him to wince in pain. Brandon then tried to swing his sword arm at him but the movement was clumsy to say the least. He then furiously punched Ned in the face; knocking him back.  

Brandon swung more quickly, more powerfully and more furiously. Ned briefly held a small grimace then gave another hard stare filled with determination. His training with Ser Desmond had paid off. 

That immediately led to different thoughts. I had been blind, stupid and foolish. All those times we had raced and then kissed after. Those sweet touches. How much she had wanted him to take her after the feast with Lords Bracken and Blackwood. How she nearly allowed Ned to take her maidenhead upon his return from Harrenhal. 

I love him. She was supposed to give everything of her to Brandon yet his brother had all but stolen her heart. Just how stupid have I been? She then remembered how after Brandon's visit how she pressed him with so many questions on what Brandon would like and gushed on just how gallant Brandon seemed. Ned had shortly after made his words brusque and all but avoided her. Did you love me all this time, Ned? Did you resent me, hate me for being so foolish?

Suddenly, her mind had been brought back to reality. Watching them furiously clash against each other. How could anyone enjoy such a spectacle? I could be the reason for a division between family. Two brothers who were as different as night and day, but brothers all the same. 

"STOP IT! STOP IT BOTH OF YOU! STOP, STOP, STOP IT!!!"

Ned stopped moving and came to a halt while Brandon did not appear to heed or hear her. Not even stopping his blade as it came down in an angrily misguided backhanded slash down Ned's chest; throwing him at the edge of the Tumblestone. A small pool of blood beginning to surround him; becoming larger by the second. Brandon dropped his blade and began to shake Ned furiously; all but screaming at him.

"Ned? Ned? C'mon, Neddy, wake up! Wake up!"

She then called for help, and all but ran to Ned. He looked deathly pale by the second. No. Nonononono. 

"Ned? Ned? Ned, please wake up! Please, wake up Ned!" she screeched; her tears being added to the Tumblestone. As Brandon reached a hand, she smacked it away from him. "Get away from him, you brute!"

Please, wake up Ned. Ned, please be alright.

Of all the selfish and foolhardy things that he had done, this may have been the worst. But then again, he should have expected it. 

He didn't think much of his betrothed. He barely even thought of her after the first visit. The only thing that had stood out about her was her bright red hair. Everything else about her just ... bored him.

The only thing he wanted to do was have his fill of drinking, fighting and women. Let Ned have the bitch for all he cared.

If he could, he would have let Ned take it all. As much as he's been groomed for it, Ned will likely be a better lord than I ever will. Even with pretty southrons, Ned still had the heart of a northman. 

All this foolishness caused by a couple of bawdy jests and suggestions. I all but let Ned have his way with the fairest cunt of all of Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms. He could have had her but he chose not to. From what he had seen, they seemed to have a good time with one another. Ned had been smiling and Lady Dayne seemed to be close by. Beside that, it'd be far too risky to have bedded her within the vicinity of his betrothed, and with Ned close by no less. He's grown up with them, what would stop him from telling Lord Hoster of his actions?

His stupidity and foolishness on how tight southron cunts are and questioning if Lady Catelyn had a pretty thatch of hair above her cunt that matched that bright hair of hers. ... Among other things he kept saying to Ned. 

The maester then came out of his chambers. He looked quite grim. 

Gods, please, no. "M-My brother ...?"

"Will live, thank the gods. The cut was rather deep, my lord. I had to give him milk of the poppy to ease much of his pain. If you would like to see him my lord ..."

Thank the gods. No man is as cursed as a kinslayer. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself, let alone the gods. "Yes. May I please?"

"Of course, my lord"

He then came into the chambers and already there was his betrothed, furiously clutching Ned's hand and clearly not wanting to let go of it. Ned looked deathly pale. More pale than that time he put flour all over himself and try to make little Ben believe that he was the ghost of an ancient Stark king. 

"uh, um, H-How, how is he?" he said, fumbling his words like a babe learning to speak. 

"Fine. I've been by his side, praying for his health."

"Good. That's, um, that's good."

"What did you do?"

That took him off guard. "Beg pardon, my lady?"

"What did you say and do to garner such foolishness? To fight and nearly kill your own blood?"

Alright, Bran. Just use your good ol' Northern charm. It worked on the girls in the North, and once before on her. It can surely save your skin this time around. "I had ... sort of ... said some rather unsavory things ... "

"About me?"

His face then felt flush with red. "M-More or less, so to speak."

"I ask that you leave, Lord Brandon"

She didn't sound like a giddy girl this time. No, she sounded as cold as the strong winds beyond the Wall. "Ned's my brother. I ..."

"Eddard Stark has also been a ward and honoured guest of House Tully. I will not ask again, Lord Brandon. I bid you to leave"

That'd be for the best. She doesn't want to see me, I doubt that Ned would either. 

In spite of his protests, she insisted to her father that she visit Ned until he recovers. Foolhardy it may have been, yet Ned still defended her honour, in spite of not being asked.

Lysa had visited only briefly and then muttered how lucky I had been. Yes, Lysa. Brandon nearly killed his own brother, I should be radiating with happiness. 

Edmure came to visit as well, looking confused as to why Ned was in bed. He often helped Edmure with his archery and swordplay at times. And he surely took better to Ned's instruction better than anyone else's. 

Just as she entered Ned's chambers, her Uncle Brynden was right in front, blocking the entrance. 

"It's a dangerous game you're playing, Little Cat"

Game? What was he talking about? Ned's in no state to play games, nor has he since his sixth-and-tenth nameday had passed. 

"I don't know what you're talking about Uncle."

"Don't be coy, little Cat. You love the boy. More than you ever would your betrothed"

Did Uncle Brynden learn to read my mind? "Y-You're speaking nonsense, uncle. Ned has been a ward of House Tully for years. I-It's my du-duty as a lady of R-Riverrun t -"

"I've known you long enough to know when you're lying to me, Catelyn. You and Ned have always been close. Do you remember what you did when we went to Seagard? After what Ned had done?"

She remembered it well. Lord Mallister had hosted a small tourney and her father all but goaded Ned to partake in the melee. Ned had smiled brightly upon winning; having faced the likes of both Ser Jeffory Mallister and Ser Damon Vypren. Jeffory's sister Johanna had personally congratulated and rewarded Ned for beating her brother into the ground with a kiss on the cheek. Just before they left, she gave Johanna a large rousing speech how such proclivities were unbecoming of a lady of her station.

"Y-You heard that?" Catelyn said sheepishly, a blush of red marring her cheeks. 

"All of Seagard had heard it," Brynden said with a faint smile on his face. 

Protest it, You don't love Ned. You just hold him in ... high affection and esteem. But that would be a lie. A very poor lie. 

"I ... I ... I shouldn't ..."

"I know, little Cat. The heart ... such a strong part of the body yet weak at times to the wills of love. Men and women are given women and men that we are told to love, and in time, in some cases, love is forged. Others, they just ... acknowledge one another. That ... was one of the reasons why I didn't marry the lass your father told me to."

That was when she realized what Uncle Brynden was talking about. "Y-You loved someone dearly, Uncle Brynden?"

"Yes, but I had the grace and the ... freedom to tell your father that I did not want to do so. We do not choose who we love, little Cat."

No, no we don't. How could she give her heart to someone who had already taken it?

Ned had begun to rouse a little bit. His skin no longer pale and sallow. 

"Nnggh, mrmph, Ca-Cat?"

She then lunged at him; hugging him tightly until Ned had yelped out in pain. "Ned, are you alright?"

"It's fine, my lady. I shouldn't have ... underestimated Brandon. He always was the ... larger of the family. I'm starting to believe that he might have giant's blood, or he's secretly an Umber"

Catelyn found herself giggling at his joke. Northern humor. She did not fully understand but found herself laughing nonetheless. 

"Ned. ... I need to know, ju-just ... what were you thinking? Brandon is ..." she was saying but the words soon stopped. What was she to say? That she loved Brandon with all her heart? No, if anything, she barely knows him. Her betrothed? But Ned would easily counter that he is his brother. What was Brandon to her? 

The more she thought about it, the more she realized just what Brandon meant to her. Nothing. Nothing truly. Just a contract of marriage between their two families. She didn't love Brandon, she didn't know Brandon and she didn't truly hold him dear to her heart. Thinking of him now just made her feel empty, and a little guilty since Ned was in front of her. That was more apparent as Ned reached a hand to hold hers. 

"Brandon ... he said some rather ... dishonourable things about your family. I ... I could not simply allow him to ... insult ..." He was lying, or at the very least try to to spare her any pain as to what Brandon may have said or done. She then pressed her fingers to his lips to quiet him. 

"It's alright Ned. It's alright" she said, coaxing him, wanting to make sure he doesn't do anything foolhardy; even if it wasn't truly in his nature. She then leaned her body closer to his, reaching his lips and kissing him. She feels him resist at first but slowly give in. Nothing, Brandon is nothing to me. And Ned is everything to me. 

Inching closer to his body, she faintly feels his hands gently place themselves on her waist. Their kissing becoming deeper, their tongues swirling around each other almost like a dance. His calloused hands gently placing themselves around her hips. 

Something inside her seems to be set ablaze. I always thought that Ned was becoming more and more cold like the lands he came from. I was wrong, he was hiding all the warmth he had. The love he has for me. 

Slowly but surely, she begins to remove her smallclothes and steadies herself on Ned's broad chest. The kisses between them are deeper and frenzied than before. She feels a part of him still resisting somewhat, as to say that he is dishonouring her. And a part of her agrees with that notion, but the rest of her wants the rest of him. Now the both of them are as naked as their namedays. She finds herself moaning with absolute pleasure as he begins to cup and mouth her breasts; his lips licking and teasing her nipples. Ned's cock was now as hard as stone, nearly poking her sex. 

Daintily steadying herself, she then sheathes Ned's cock deep within her. The septas often say that a woman shouldn't give her maidenhead to anyone that is not her husband or betrothed. It is sinful. How is it sinful to give it to the person you love? The septa even said that anyone other than your lord husband was to take your maidenhead, than it means that the woman is ruined. That the woman has brought shame and dishonour to her family and her house. Nothing that feels so good could possibly ruin you. 

She then begins to roll her hips in a somewhat unsteady movement, but Ned helps her steady as he grabs her by the hips in order to do so. She tries to stifle the moans of pleasure as they come in, but it made her sound as if she were in pain, which caused Ned to turn to her with alarm in his eyes. Before he could say anything, she puts her fingers over his lips again. "It's alright, Ned. It's alright."

Feeling and coming undone, she then leaned and lowered closer to Ned so that she may stifle her own cries of pleasure into the crook of his neck. She then feels a hot burst within, a small amount dripping out of her sex. Catelyn then eases herself into him, placing her head over his chest, listening to the rapid sounds of his heartbeat. Such a lovely sound. Ned then places an uncertain hand on her shoulder, slowly stroking her hair in a surprisingly gentle way. 

For the first time in her life, Catelyn Tully had disregarded duty. And it felt good, and worth anything she could endure. There's nothing I can't endure without Ned. My love. My Ned.

Chapter Text

His sweet nephew could bring greatness to the Lannister and Baratheon names: as he has the best of his houses.

The boy was clearly a Baratheon with his looks; hair as dark as a raven's wing and blue eyes that reflected the resplendent blue of both the Sunset and Narrow Seas alike. But there are certain Lannister traits in him as well. He had small flecks of the fabled Lannister emerald green eyes within those blue orbs of his. He has Cersei's cheekbones as much as Myrcella does and his lord father's perfectly-etched nose.

Much like King Robert and every past Baratheon before, Gendry has a fierce love of fighting. Having nearly mastered all range of heavy weaponry from lances, mace, pikes to being able to wield his father's massively ugly warhammer; the very same used to slay Rhaegar Targaryen and place himself on the Iron Throne. And like any good warrior, he loved to practice and lived for it. More often training with Ser Barristan the Bold or on occasion his uncle Jaime. Jaime had gotten enough his high horse to admit that his nephew is a natural-born warrior, although he knows that he set aside a great amount of pride to admit it. 

Chapter Text

Jaime Lannister

She had to admit that he was handsome with his golden curls and his flashing cat-green eyes. Still a fierce and proud warrior for his age, but that's all he is. No one could get him away from his sword. The one person who actually does rule the Westerlands his his brother Tyrion. whom many have called the Imp. 

Tywin should have realized much sooner that his son is not what he wants. But he would not want to hear anything coming out of her "deceitful dornish tongue". Jaime was born and bred a warrior meant for battle. He'd be better off in a sellsword company. He would do better in anyone's company except her own. 

It's often the sword or his sister that has his attention. And half the time, she thinks that they maybe bedding one another. But that's not possible. 

They're not Targaryens. ... Or are they?

Robert Baratheon

Handsome he is. Coal dark hair, resplendent blue eyes, muscled like a maiden's dream. And he knows it. Handsome men who know that they're handsome may be the worst of all men. Worst than the men who believe themselves witty when they lack it. 

If she could, she would make a contest that they are actually brother and sister, so that they faith may absolve their marriage. But the only thing disputing that would be their different colour eyes. She can't stand him. Robert Baratheon, the Whoremonger Lord, his people call him. A cask of ale in one hand and a "willing woman" in the arm. She had actually one upped once but only once.

He had been a simple stable boy with a somewhat gangly look and a stutter. He was comely enough, which was enough for her to take him into her bed. Yet, Robert roared like a storm for her betrayal. How is it that he can whore all day and long, then expect to come back to a willing pair of legs back home, yet she cannot do the same?

Yet, this is not Dorne. Gods, I miss Dorne. 

Oberyn Martell

Everyone had kept saying that they should be married. "You get along so well" "Why isn't you haven't married the boy?"

Now, they have their answer. She couldn't hate Oberyn. She knew just whom he was and he knew her. But it did irritate her from time to time that he bedded anything with a pair of legs. But she could do that as well and it would not irk him. But what does irk her is his paramour, Ellaria Sand of Hellholt. Ellaria Sand who had borne Oberyn over three daughters and one son. 

No children came from them. At first, she did not mind or care. I am not the mothering type. But the years gone by. No daughter or son with her dazzling eyes. Only Oberyn got those. And his paramour seemed to act more like a wife; somehow knowing more about her husband than her. 

She shouldn't be jealous. Jealousy looks terrible and unbecoming of a lady of her station. Yet, she cannot help but feel so. 

Brandon Stark

Handsome he is. Shaggy dark brown hair, resplendent mischievous steely grey eyes, muscled like a maiden's dream. And he knows it. Handsome men who know that they're handsome may be the worst of all men. Worst than the men who believe themselves witty when they lack it. 

He's certainly passionate, yet like a fire, passion can only burn so bright. The only reason they had married was because of the scandal of it all. And the insult he gave to the Tullys; how he had fucked her at the Tourney of Harrenhal; on Tully land and under the nose of Lord Hoster. 

Now, it is his younger brother Eddard who is lord instead of Brandon. Initially, Brandon waved it off like it was nothing. But it then hit him all too fast. He received the freedom he longed for yet lost what mattered most: status. With status comes power, which is something he lacks. He hates it because no one focuses their attention to him. His name now said in scorn. His squire Ethan Glover, now in service to Lord Eddard. Catelyn Tully, the lady he was meant to marry, now married to Lord Eddard, and actually all the more happier from it reportedly. Eddard, Ned as he preferred to be called, who never asked for such prestige and got it anyways. 

The way he kept looking at her was no longer filled with mirth. His eyes are rheumy due to drink and angry. As if all of this were her fault. Yes, Brandon, it is your fault. You and your stupid wolf blood. 

But I'm no better. I chose to be bedded by you. And I'm stuck with you as you are with me. 

Howland Reed

Her new home still surprised her after all these years. There are days when she still can't believe that she is a Northwoman. Mayhaps not a true woman of the north, but one all the same. The Neck still a wonder to behold after all these years. 

At times, she still remembered how they met. She had mistook him for a squire to the Starks because of his small stature. He then talked of his home while she then talked of her own. It was there she realized that they had talked from dusk til dawn. She had never felt anything like it. 

In haste and glee, they had decided to marry underneath the nasty-looking heart-tree of Harrenhal, with Eddard Stark as their witness. 

The name is no longer bitter in her tongue. She had raged at him when he had brought back Dawn, but she knew that they didn't have much choice. Arthur would always do his duty and would never back down from a fight. 

The children were growing up so fast. Meera, their heir, had been training with one of Howland's distant relatives in how to fight with their spears and nets. Jojen, her little solemn boy, spent much time learning about the Old Gods. If there were such a thing as a septon for the Old Gods, Jojen would likely join in an instant. 

When they had heard word of Ned Stark's death, it broke Howland's heart. For the first time in her life, she had seen him cry. Such a sad sight. 

Though she has never prayed to the Old Gods before, she prays and hopes that the gods keep Ned's children safe, and her own.

Ned Stark

Tears. Endless tears dripping down her face. 

Was it supposed to be some sort of comfort? She found herself crying as her mother and brother presented her with that letter. It was in Ned's writing; apologizing how he can no longer marry her and needed to honour the original arrangement between House Stark and House Tully.

Every fat tear kept hitting the letter, messing the ink, few words becoming readable. 

Dearest Ashara ... eepest apolo ... honour ... se Tully ... P ...se for ... me ... Al ...s yo... Ned

She should have thrown the letter away, should have burned it, yet something kept drawing her to it. Some wounded part of her wanted to re-live the pain and she was constantly reading it, etching the words on her heart.

Her rage had been quelled by the hope that he would come for her but she knew now that she would never be his Lady of Winterfell, never rule beside him, never feel his strong arms envelop her or feel him between her thighs or hear his words of love. Those would be saved for the Tully girl now, the one who had dreamed of dashing charming Brandon Stark but had gotten his little brother instead. A true uppity southron who could never understand that underneath his somberness was the kindest and possibly the most beautiful man Ashara had ever known and met, a man who she would pick above all others, whom she loved and taken for her own even as the rest of the men at court would be crawling over each other for her hand.

She would have lost herself in her grief had it not been for the babe in her belly. Half of the babe was Ned after all, she would be bringing into the world his first-born, a feat that not even Catelyn Tully could boast of. A part of her was anxious to see the child so she could see Ned again, perhaps look into his grey eyes once again or see a hint of his beautiful smile in the curve of their babe's lips.

But after three moons, all went dark around her and she awoke to a searing pain pulsating through her lower body, the sight of the maester scurrying around the room, and the sound of screams (her own, she realized, and she screamed louder). There was the smell of iron and a wetness all around her thighs, as though she were drowning in blood. Suddenly the maester was standing over her, pleading that she remain awake but her eyes closed once again and the pain was gone.

It was all gone. She briefly saw Ned in their babe. Their babe. Their babe who didn't even breathe her first breath or scream her piercing wails. She holds their babe for what feels like forever until the maester insists that they bury it. It. My babe, not ... it.

Two moons later, she sees men coming to the gates of Starfall. She immediately recognized one of them: Ned. He is larger than before, and more bearded, looking quite fierce than before. Before she can say or do anything, he is talking with her elder brother Arron. She knows that she shouldn't eavesdrop, her mother often complaining that its not ladylike. She can only hear a couple of words. Something about where Arthur had been, a babe and pact between Houses Dayne and Stark.

She all but bursts into the room. "Ned" she breathed out. "Ashara" he breathed out in turn. It is then she understands. She understands the moment she sees Dawn across the desk; marred with dried blood. First my babe, then my brother. Arron simply leaves and breathes out that he will grant them a moment.

"I'm ... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all that has happened" She walked to him and touched his cheek gently, as she had so long ago at Harrenhal. "When last I saw you, nothing in the world that could sadden me. Now... When I heard that you married Catelyn Tully, my heart ... shattered. Now you return my brother's sword and tell me ... that you are sorry."

"Did you kill him?" she questioned quietly. After a long silence, he eventually said yes. Most men would be gleeful in slaying the Sword of the Morning, but Ned is not most men. She could hear the pain in his voice. Did he have a right to pain? Yes, she knew he did, he too had lost much. His father, his wretched foolish elder brother, now his sister. "It was never supposed to be like this. He had been guarding my sister. I would never ... have let harm come to her. They raised up their swords and we ... we fought back."

She suddenly felt more despair descending upon her heart. She began to slump and weep, and she began to feel Ned's warm arms holding her. "I'm sorry Ashara. I'm so sorry. I loved you. I still love you. I would have married you," he murmured into her hair as he held her.

She pulled back and stared at him with her beautiful violet eyes. "Would you leave her for me?" She wants him to say yes. Yes, I'll leave that Tully girl, I never wanted her. I know you don't want her Ned, how could you want her?

"I can't." he whispers huskily. She suddenly crashes her lips onto his own. "Ashara ..."

"You were mine first" she groans into his mouth.

"Ash ..."

"Mine!"

She began to feel every inch of his body as she begins to disrobe him. His back has scars now, a thin dribbling line at the small of his back with a thicker, more gnarled scar cutting across his shoulder; she traces a shining scar curved over his hip, feeling the warmth of his skin. He makes a noise in his throat as her tongue slides across his skin, gathering the taste of salt, tracing the bumps of his spine. As she lies atop him, kissing the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder, she slips her hand beneath his body, over the softness of his stomach to where his cock grows hard.

He tries to mutter in protest but that doesn't matter. She takes him in and begins to mutter his name like before. Bur this is different from last time. Last time, they made love which was sweet and tender. This was desperate, enchanting, wanting to remember him one last time. The last time he would be hers and the last time she would be his. 

It would and could never be enough, but to have at least one more moment with her Ned ...

Chapter Text

No more. 

I've had enough of crowns and kings. What was the point of it all?

Her first husband preferred the company of her brother. Her second husband preferred to mutilate little animals. Her last husband was little more than a child who loved animals. All of them taken away. Renly dying at the hands of his brother dabbling in sorcery. Joffrey died at their wedding by her grandmother's protective leathery hands. Tommen died at the hands of his own mother in her twisted way of "protecting" him. 

And now, from what her Father is telling her, she is to be married to the new King Aegon VI. Handsome as he is, it's not worth it. She once thought of herself as being able to be a Queen; much like Good Queen Alysanne. But there is no point of it. I had nearly died because Cersei had tried to kill me in her madness and nearly succeeded. And now, Father wants to send me off like I am a broodmare. 

What was the point of it? How many much more am I to endure just to lay a crown upon my head? 

She had entered the service of the Queen at her father's behest to see just how Aegon was overall. A good man, a wonderful king but that dream had died. It made her think of Sansa in a way. Not a day had gone by that she regretted leaving her once her family had told her to all but abandon her as she had married the Imp. It would be nice to see her again. 

As Father had began to make preparations for her to wed King Aegon VI, she had decided to take matters into her own hands. I'd marry anyone else rather than become Queen. She had come to like Queen Daenerys, and Prince Jon seemed to be an amiable man. And it is because of Prince Jon that she was able to make her choice. 

Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill was not like any other knight she had met. Stern, dutiful and steadfast, Ser Gendry is quite an impressive knight with his own right: a natural with axes, pikes, warhammers and surprisingly quick with a sword in spite of his size. She had often met and smiled at him whenever they passed by, and he would awkwardly return it. The conversations between them were often sparse ranging from simple polite conversations to their duties to those they served. Her own service to Queen Daenerys and his to Prince Jon's.

With a great amount of courage and a small amount of drink, she had asked Daenerys that she be married to Ser Gendry. He is very handsome with his coal-dark hair and piercing blue eyes. And it would help Loras remove any notions that he is Renly reborn. Daenerys and Jon had willingly gave her their blessing while Gendry himself seemed to be reluctant to say the least. It had taken some prodding on Jon's part to all but cow Gendry into marrying her. I'll finally wed a Baratheon as you wanted me too Father. 

Their marriage was in the godswood and small, not as she imagined when she was a girl but quite quaint. The Old Gods seemed to be more content and peaceful than the Seven. As a gift to them, Jon and Daenerys named them and any children they have Lord of Whitegrove and to be granted the name of Belgrave; a house long gone and dead in the Reach. The sigil of their new house was quite fearsome as well: a rampant white bull on a chequy field of green-and-gold. Normally, a bedding would be called but Gendry said that their would be no need for one. 

Once the news was dispensed that she was now a married woman, her father all but roared that he had no daughter. As strong as she stared him down, telling him that she's no one's pawn, it had still hurt that her father thought less of her because she was not a queen. Her mother offered her sympathies, while WIllas and Garlan told her husband to treat her with the utmost respect as a lady of her station should be. Loras would normally be chastising him as well, but he is a member of the Kingsguard bound by his duty and too broken to do anything even if he wanted to. The sun had set on her old life, and would begin soon.

Their new home felt strange. It all felt strange; being cut off her family, no longer being able to call herself a Tyrell. 

But now is not the time to lament my decision for I have made it. And right now, she felt grateful to Daenerys and Jon, and even Aegon for granting them such a wondrous castle. Whitegrove is so beautiful with walls and towers made of white stone. Its floors and pillars were crafted from white marble veined with gold. The rafters were carved from the trunks of weirwoods. A true sign from the power that the Peake's had. 

The servants that had been assigned to them were quite amiable and friendly. Several men who had been in Stannis' service, Timon the Scrapesword and Dermot of the Rainwood, and his own companion from his brigand days, Anguy the Archer from the Dornish marches. And surprisingly enough, some men who had been accused of being her lovers had sworn themselves into their service such as Ser Tallad the Tall, Ser Bayard Norcross, and Ser Humfrey Clifton. Even several maids who were once in Cersei's service such as her attendant Jocelyn Swyft, Serena Stackspear, and Cyrelle Serrett. Her lovely cousins had been removed from her retinue as she was no longer a Tyrell.

As she looked to Gendry, her husband, she noticed just how out of place he looked and must have felt. He had been raised among the smallfolk of King's Landing, learned smithing as his trade. He had not asked for this life nor had he expected it. He had lead his band of brigands, the Brotherhood without Banners, and had taken the Crossing with less than fifty men; slaughtering the weasels of the riverlands. He was a leader amongst men, but not a lord. But I can help him with that.

When he came to their chambers, she felt her throat tighten and her heart pang. She had seen and felt faint glimpses underneath his clothes, yet here is her husband in only his small clothes. The candlelight seemingly bouncing off of his hard muscles. Not a single soft spot. 

"G'night ... Margaery" he said in a rumbling low voice. he then goes to the left side of their featherbed and simply falls asleep. As much as she can respect that he would not force her to bed him, she can't help but feel a bit disappointed. Three husbands and still a maiden still. And here is her husband by her side, muscled like a maiden's dream, and not bedding her. She then daintily placed her hand on her shoulder, and gently kissed him by the juncture of his neck. "Good night, my lord husband"

"So, ya married 'er, and you haven't fucked 'er?" Anguy said, cocking his head. 

"Whaddya want me to do, Anguy? Tell her to go on and suck my cock when I want?"  

"That is what you lords do now, don't ya? And it's not like you have no experience with girls. You do remember Long Jeyne Heddle, don't cha?"

He recalled all too well. He hadn't taken Jeyne's maidenhead because he wanted to or desired her. He had cared for her greatly, and she had feared some raper taking it. A favour it was, just a favour, he kept saying to himself. Yet, it continued all throughout whenever they got the chance. After the orphans and Willow were asleep, she would come to the forge, her skinny fingers wrapping around his cock. He hadn't been sure what it was. Love, lust, affection, he couldn't tell. All that he knew was that he would protect her no matter what. 

But Jeyne had not been his first truly. Lem had gotten him a woman to make a man out of him and Tom insisted on it to prove himself, whatever that meant. Though, they either didn't know Jeyne or wanted him to try bedding other woman as well. Her name was Hildy; she had a a pug nose and a shaggy mane of hair, and her nipples were as large as map markers. Though she wasn't a whore, she had been paid well enough to "do the deed". It felt uncomfortable to say the least but she had shown him just how to touch and please a woman. It was only once, and he had apologized heavily to Jeyne. And she had quickly forgiven him once he had shown her what HIldy had taught him. 

The last girl that he had bedded prior to his wife was Bess Bracken. Fair of hair, fleshy and buxom. He felt guilty by her, she had been raped by the Mountain during his pillage of the riverlands. While it had not been his fault, he felt it all the same. Yet, surprisingly enough, she had managed to assuage him of any guilt he had felt for something the Brotherhood could not have prevented. Eventually, they came to bed one another. He had felt a bit apprehensive about bedding her, but she quickly flashed a smile and assuaged him of any and all guilt. She made more noise than Hildy, that was certain. And she was sneaky as Jeyne, often sneaking to his small chambers so that they may bed one another. 

All that had to end. And from what he had heard, Bess and Jeyne were both pregnant with his child. Jon had told him that they would be very well compensated; Bess's child would be an heir apparent to House Bracken and Jeyne's family have been elevated to lordship and her child heir. 

None of it felt right. Jon had understood, and Dany as well. But Margaery Tyrell had apparently asked that he marry her. He didn't understand why she did. All that they said was that she was a fair maiden in need of his protection. After Daenerys herself, she may be the most beautiful maiden in Westeros. Margaery, with her thick, softly curling brown hair, large brown eyes, pale, smooth unblemished skin, and a slender, but womanly figure. Margaery, fair and lively, with a shy and sweet smile was now his wife. His wife. She'd be more befitting as a wife to a king, not him. I should have married Jeyne when I had the chance, and done right by her properly. Or offered that to Bess. 

But now was not the time to lament on such things. Margaery is his wife now. Someone to be treated with the utmost care and respect. And never dishonour her. Any conversations between them were no longer as brisk as before but still felt awkward, at least to him. 

She was made for all this; the duties of a lady of her station. She often jested with Anguy and inquired about her own ladies. It made her a bit different than most noble ladies he had seen and known, and he didn't know many. She was always interested not only in the comings and goings of their new castle but also talked to any smallfolk whom suffered a grievance in theri lands. I'm truly not worthy of her. Why did she want me for her husband?

"My lord, I was wondering as to wh - "

"Gendry. I'm not your lord, I'm your husband. You can call me by my name, my lady"

"If that is the case, then I insist you call me Margaery"

"Of course, Margaery. Uh, just what is it you wish to ask?"

"I was simply wondering as to why you have not done your duty by me, Gendry?"

He could feel his blood turn warm. "M-M-My du-duty? I have done my duty by you, my la- Margaery."

"Yes, you have been a good and true husband who hasn't strayed from my bed. Yet, you haven't been in my bed. Are you as much a maiden as I supposedly am?" she said, staring at him intensely. Ferocity and curiosity melded into her flashing golden brown doe eyes. 

"I am not!" he retorts loudly, his pride having got in the way. "I-It's just that ... I'm not ... well, I mean I am but ... I ... Do you want me to bed you?" he said awkwardly.

She looked at him surprised. "You are my lord husband. It's to be expected. It's my duty by you to be bedded by you, and grant you many sons and daughters trueborn and healthy"

But I'm not trueborn, not truly, he nearly says. But his throat holds back the words. "Are you certain that it is what you want?"

She then leans her body close to his. Her dainty fingers faintly stroking the muscles on his arms. "Yes. I ... I have dreamed of you, you know. Desired you. Had you not desired me?"

"It's hard not to. If you want to be ... bedded ... by me, would you actually ..."

Margaery cut him off with a kiss. She tasted wonderful. Like a myriad of every sweet thing had come to life and bloomed on those sweet lips of hers. 

"You are most welcome to my, I mean, our chambers, Lord Gendry," she said with a smile.

He does not know why he thrums with anxiety as he enters Margaery's (our) chambers; gods know he no longer a green boy. But has not truly shared a woman's bed with such intimacy. The last thing he wants to do is make the bedding unpleasant for her. And they had barely touched one another since their wedding day, nearly two moons ago.

Gendry's breath catches as Margaery comes into view. She sits in the center of the large featherbed, her legs folded beneath her; her soft curls cascade over her shoulders, which are all but bare in the silk night dress she wears, the material so delicate Gendry can see every inch of her in the candlelight. Desire warms his blood as Margaery rises up on her knees, her eyes darkened with passion as he climbs onto the bed.

Her mouth tastes like honeyed wine, and her skin smells of roses.

The night they were wedded, he had not taken the time to truly look upon her; he feels drunk on her now, running calloused hands over the length of her. She inhales deeply through her nose as he touches her breasts, and, as he captures a nipple between his lips, he practically feels her heart speed up beneath his face. As Margaery breathes his name, her fingers sinking into his hair, Gendry wishes to show Margaery the pleasures which can be found together.

She cries out in surprise as he drags his tongue up the length of her cunt, her fingers biting painfully in his hair; Gendry sees she is trying to rise on her elbows, lower body moving as if she is not certain whether she is trying to move away or move closer, and he gently pushes her hips against the mattress, lifting his head to meet her gaze.

“Trust me,” he requests huskily, and Margaery's eyes widen before nodding, settling back against the pillows, her breathing hitched with arousal and nervousness.

It takes mere minutes to make her peak, two fingers crooked inside of her, his tongue gathering her wetness; when he suckles at her nub, Margaery shouts as her body tenses in pleasure before every muscle relaxes. She whimpers as he withdraws, peppering kisses up her body as she comes down, and, as he carefully eases himself inside of her, Gendry groans as she spasms around him. The faint feel of her maiden's blood trickling down his cock. 

Initially, he is a bit shocked that she had still been a maiden after all this time. But then he realizes that she had been a maiden all this time. Women always dream of losing their maidenhead to some gallant and brave lord. Something he could never truly be. Margaery then looks at him, those brown pools of hers bearing into his soul; understanding just what he is thinking in a way. She nods, urging him to carry on with it. 

Margaery catches his rhythm easily, raising her hips to meet his thrusts, and he realizes he won't last long. He slips an arm beneath her thigh, hitching her leg higher, and Margaery moans loudly as he sinks deeper into her, tossing her head back with the sensation.

“Genndrrry, Gendry,” she begins to chant, and it is hearing her voice – raw and desperate – saying his name which tips him over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside of her.

They lay joined for several moments, both trying to catch their breaths, before he moved off of her; to his surprise, Margaery follows, settling into the crook of his arm, resting her head against his broad chest. She kisses the patch of skin in front of her before sighing, “I quite liked that.”

The bark of laughter catches them both by surprise, but it immediately sends Margaery into a peal of giggles. Gendry rises from the bed to throw open the windows, Margaery pulls back the bedclothes, motioning for him to join her. As he slips into unconsciousness with the taste of Margaery still on his tongue, Gendry thinks this is the first time she has truly felt like his wife.

In the morning he wakes to someone tracing the scars on his chest. Gendry opens his eyes to see Margaery sitting up beside him, unconcerned with her nudity, fingertips gliding across the puckered skin; if she is embarrassed at being caught, she doesn't show it. Instead she just smiles and greets, “Good morning, Lord Gendry.”

“Come here,” he orders in a sleep-roughened voice, pulling her down for a kiss.

It is the first – but, by no means, the last – morning that Gendry urges Margaery atop him, watching as she gracefully rises and falls upon his cock.

He is not good with words. Though their conversations come easier, especially in regards to the running of Whitegrove, Gendry  finds himself struggling with intimate discussions. Margaery often leads the conversations, and he truly appreciates it; he has always found out more by listening, and what he quickly learns about his wife is that Margaery is shrewdly intelligent, bitingly funny, and, beneath all her maidenly beauty, has a spine of Valyrian steel.

It is not long that she had begun to swell with his child; their child. Her skin softer, her breasts larger and a bit more fiercer than before. Margaery had also wanted to be fucked raw, before she had begun to truly swell with their child. She was more wild and wanton in bed; almost like a beast in heat. They fucked for what would seem and feel the entire day. She would often be on her hands and knees, demanding to be fucked like bitch. Sometimes, she would place her mouth on his cock, her lips and tongue teasing until his seed bursts in her mouth. Other times, she would daintily place herself on his cock; sheathing herself down to the hilt and slowly moving around his cock. 
Always shouting like a madwoman, "YES, YES, GENDRY! IT'S SO GOOD!! FASTER, HARDER!! KEEP FUCKING ME!! OH, BY THE GODS! BY THE GODS, YES!!" By the end of it, they would be completely sated. Margaery would curl up by his shoulder while he would absentmindedly stroke her sweaty back. Always wondering how an oaf like him ended up with such a beauty like her,

By the end of the year, he hears screams of pain and anguish. He thinks to himself that he should not have done such a thing. The Gods have made it fit to take my wife from me. Maybe even our babe. But all those fears were set aside once he heard the shrill wails of a babe. Her babe. My babe. Our babe. He enters the room so uncertainly. As he takes in the sight of Margaery and their babe, he found himself unable to breathe. Margaery's hair is wild and untangled. In her arms, a pair of lively arms reaching up at the air. 

"Meet your son, my lord," Margaery said in a low rumble. Their son is a tiny thing with a pouty mouth and a mop of black hair. His eyes are a mix of his and Margaery's: resplendently blue yet with small flecks of amber in them as well. 

"What do you want to name him?" she asks. There were some names he had thought of, but they probably wouldn't suit their babe. The name suddenly came to him. "How 'bout ... Watkyn?" She then looks at him then at their babe. "Watkyn. Watkyn Belgrave. I like it. Hello, Watkyn" she said, cooing at their babe. Nothing could ever make him happier. 

It had almost been five years since she had any contact with her family; her old family. 

Though she was now part of a good noble house of the Reach, she did not always keep a steady hand in what was happening in the Reach. What she did hear about the Tyrells had not been good. Lord Mace Tyrell had been executed on the grounds of being a turncloak; once for Renly, twice for Joffrey, thrice for Tommen then attempting to gain sway in the new Targaryen court. She did feel a small pang in her heart, but he decided that she was not worthy to be his daughter, so he was not worthy to spill tears for. 

Her sweet cousins Megga and Elinor had died in the birthing bed. Their husbands Arthur Ambrose and Mark Mullendore swallowed in grief. After much waiting, Willas had finally married; to Sansa Stark no less. Garlan had been named Lord of Dunstonbury and Leonette had granted him a little girl and is hopefully expecting a boy. Last she heard of Aunt Janna, she had passed after the birth of her son, which had followed after the death of her husband Ser Jon Fossoway of New Barrel. Her grandmother Olenna had finally and peacefully passed in her bed. 

She had received letters from both Loras and her mother. Both pleading that she come. A part of her does yearn to see her brother's sweet handsome face, and feel the warm tender embrace of her mother's arms. But the her attention had gone to other matters. 

Gendry still had trouble in completing lordly matters and duties but was slowly growing into a genial and amiable lord that the people loved. Watkyn growing tall and strong like his father. Lia still a babe, crawling all over the keep. And they were already expecting another child, hopefully another boy. 

No, Margaery Tyrell was stupidly ambitious girl with notions of grandeur. Margaery Belgrave is a lady, wife and mother to a growing brood of children. Her old life was gone, and nothing and no one could ever take it away. This is her home.

Chapter Text

He should not be doing this; he knows that, somewhere in the sane part of his mind. But he cannot help himself...so he slipped away to conceal himself. He was compelled to do so; he could not stop himself even if he had wanted to. And now he has none but himself to blame, if he lies there, hiding behind the tapestries, nearly weeping with jealousy.  Cat...his Cat, always his. I should have challenged this Stark, if he were promised to Cat. I could have taken him in his prime. That hadn't been part of his plan. He'd hoped that the wedding would be postponed at the very least, he never expected the Wild Wolf of the North to die. He did not expect a war to arise. Yet, he did feel a certain amount of glee whenever he passed by the throne room. 

He knew Lysa wanted to marry him. But Lysa was a drunk, middle-aged maniac now. Her best years had withered away. She could be a useful puppet; she still had much to offer him.

He'd expected Stark to still be clumsy, not knowing what to do with a beauty like Cat; pushing her on her back and recklessly shoving himself into her, as if he were shoving a lance into a quintain. Instead, he seemed like a maiden, blushing over the fact that he was in a chamber belonging to one of my establishments. Both of them looked to be more and more comfortable in their nakedness. They sat by the bed, talking and laughing about everything and nothing. Finally, Stark turned to her and kissed her. At first slowly and gently, and then harder. She seemed to enjoy his kisses, drawing closer to him, so that their arms were wrapped around each other. And then, he'd gently kissed her face, her forehead, her cheeks, returning to her mouth. They'd been sitting on the bed while they kissed, as their bodies drew closer. He gently drew her down to the bed, so that she lay on it, and he lay down beside her.

And then he began to touch and kiss her body--her neck, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, returning to her mouth again and again, telling her, in a husky, hoarse voice how he delighted in her. She moaned as he kissed her, touching him, his back, his arms, his shoulders, even his arse. So that when he gently pried her legs apart, to get to her sex, she let him; her legs fell apart and her portcullis was down and bare for him to see. And then he knelt down between her thighs and kiss her lower lips. He not only kissed them, he seemed to be licking and sucking at them. And she threw back her head when he did so, clenching the bed sheet in her hands. Howling like a wolf, as if she was not such a lady.

She pulled him to her, when he sat up, and pulled his body down on hers, wrapping him in her arms and rubbing herself against him like a harlot, even as she kissed him deeply, tasting herself in his mouth. He groaned deeply and began to gently squeeze and knead her breasts, rubbing her nipples with his fingers, suckling at each in turn, causing her to writhe in pleasure. Fervently, she began to whisper his name like a prayer.

That was when he slid himself into her, and she cried out in pleasure as they thrust at each other. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him on with her moans and cries. 

"OH, GODS, NED!!"

"CAT!!"

"I'M SOO GLAD YOU TOOK MY MAIDENHEAD!! 

What? No. Why are you lying to him, Cat? You know you gave it to me! You sweetly gave it to me. Don't lie to him, Cat! 

I can still remember it. Your bright auburn hair swaying in the air. Reaching that it just barely and sweetly covered your nipples. How your breasts, so full with youth, had fallen onto my chest. 

"Your cock ... my maiden's blood ... it looked like a bloody sword!"

"A bloody sword can be a beautiful thing, my lady!" 

Cat then squealed with a giggle and in ecstasy. 

He wants to tell her to stop it: stop acting like the wolf in heat she is claiming to be. To stop her lies to him. But that would mean revealing just where he was, and what he was doing. Watching him, her, them. Would Stark strike him down? Would Cat let him? Would she lick off his blood from her beloved's fingers?

Stark even managed to get her to ride him, her breasts bobbing into his face, all the better for him to touch, squeeze and knead and roll her nipples between his callused fingers. She enjoyed that; enjoying every bit of him, writhing in pleasure. He liked her touching him and he let her know it. He liked her hair tickling him. And suddenly, they groaned loudly and crudely, as it had finally come to an end. 

They looked at each other and they kissed, as though sealing a pact. And he watched the two of them, feeling jealous, angry and an immense hatred. He could have prevented this, he thought. I could have prevented all of this, and made you mine Cat, as you should have been. As it should have been. I could have prevented all of it. 

Ned. You granted me a gift. A special gift.

Like all our children. Like our fist child, who is now a king, our last child is born in Riverrun, in the midst of a war.

And this time, she had gotten what she once dreamt of. A child who looked like a Stark. 

Surely, their new babe had her eyes, but he has tiny flecks of grey as your eyes were. Were. 

I can see your smile on his lips Ned. 

Edmyn. Our little Edmyn. I wish you had gone to know your father Edmyn. Mayhaps you will be like him.

Chapter Text

The Imp

He had told her. First the witch, then him. I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid. I should have been more vigilant. More prudent. 

I should hve done what the Gods failed to do and slain you in the cradle. Twist off your cock, and show it to Father, so that he may display it as a trophy of sorts. Yet, he could not do that. For he deemed you a son for some reason. 

Kinslayer and Queenslayer is all you are. And yet, a Lannister as well. As only a Lannister would repay their debts. 

The Flame

Ashes. She could see and taste it. Ashes, ashes in her mouth. 

Tyrion's stupid wildfire plot failed. Lancel dying like a cheap mockery of Jaime, as he had always been. Tommen and Myrcella safe, for all she knew. Joffrey, however, was decimated in front of her. The wildfire burst and consumed him. It almost looked like a dragon swallowing him whole. 

Now, here she is, by the side of that accursed red witch as she recites some prayer to her red god. Stannis staring at her coldly as he stared at everyone. 

The flames. Consuming her as they did her son. They feel almost warm. 

The Night Wolf

She had always haunted her. Always. She hung over her and her husband always. But now it was not her ghost. 

No, Lyanna Stark was as real as the wine in her blood. Always as she imagined. A wild beauty with a tangled mess of dark brown curls, a long face and a cool steely gaze. She almost looks like her beloved brother Lord Eddard, with some mighty small teats. 

But she could not made her silver-tongue snide. instead, she felt the words being pushed back into her throat. 

Each and every snide she wants to make about her and the Starks being shoved back down her throat, as the ghost of Lyanna Stark had wrapped her skinny pale hands around it. Choking the life from her. 

The Wild Wolf

Ice. Icy his eyes and stare is. Wild auburn curls reaching down to her shoulders. His fingernails long and passed their digits. 

She can feel it, stabbing and burning her skin. His nails pressed to her neck as his teeth sink into her breasts. Blood pooling out of her. 

They had promised that they would take it all from her and bring what was known to them. The untamed wildness of the North. 

The Queen of the North

She had been given everything back. Mostly everything. 

The Westerling girl that the King who Lost the North had given his kingdom for. She was by no means pretty. Certainly not worth losing a kingdom for. Slender of posture with chestnut curls, a heart-shaped face, and brown eyes. A plain girl for the plainest kingdom. 

Yet, all the northern banners flocked to her. Her own banner of nine shells adjacent to the direwolf of House Stark. 

Winter is finally coming to her. Winter has wrapped the cold all around her. 

The Kingslayer

Why? Jaime, why?

I love you. We are meant to be together. Die together. 

I'm sorry. I never meant for it to happen. Please. I just want you. 

We can make a new child. One that is the best of me and the best of you!

But the words cannot come out of her mouth fast enough. She can't let them out. 

The golden hand of his nearly breaking her neck as he coldly presses against her throat. 

Please, Jaime. Please .... Jaime ...

Don't.

Chapter Text

He knew that it was his time. Already at the age of one-and twenty, it was about time that he gained a bride to further the Targaryen dynasty. Rhaegar said that he would look to the great houses for brides and grooms for his niece and nephews, to further cement their rule and create a new and better regime. Daenerys as well. Dany deserves someone as good and as strong as the dragon. Not someone low that he'd be close to common born. 

Arianne Martell

He found it a bit insulting to say the least. We already tied to Dorne through Rhaegar's first marriage to Elia, why must I marry to Dorne as well. But then he realizes that it's not that bad. The Princess of Dorne is a lovely sight. OF an age to him, Princess Arianne is buxom and beautiful, with her olive skin, large dark eyes and long, thick black hair that falls in ringlets to the middle of her back. She has full lips and round ripe breasts with huge dark nipples that are clearly visible through that diaphanous silk dress she wears.

She then curtsied and introduced herself. What a lovely sound. She talks quite fervently of Dorne and the infamous Water Gardens. Quite prideful to be a woman of Dorne. It is then his attention is turned elsewhere. He takes witness to his nephew in the training yard; facing off against a dornishmen on accounts of his garb. 

"Who is that?":he asks Arianne

"You lived and known him all your life, my prince. I'm quite surprised you fail to recognize your own nephew!" she said, clearly japing. 

"No, not my nephew. The man he's striking at."

"Oh, that would be my brother Quentyn. But I'm afraid his visit will be quite brief. He'll be headed back to Yronwood soon enough."

That was her brother? The gods had been good then; for Arianne at least. Prince Quentyn seems to be a sensible and dutiful lad like his nephew, if not more somber, but not the stuff that princes are made of. Prince Quentyn is short-legged and stocky, thickly built, with a plain face, brown hair and eyes like mud. He has a high forehead, broad nose, and square jaw. Just how on this earth could he be related to Princess Arianne? 

As he came to her chambers later that day, he thought of what to say to her. By all means, he was no poet. But suddenly, he heard a moan coming out of her chambers. It piqued his curiosity. Did she hurt herself?

"Ohh. My prince!!"

Her prince? I'm just outside your chamber door! Which wasn't completely locked, open just a smidgen. As he opened the door enough, not to warrant attention to him. he saw that she was with someone. He could see most of her nude curvaceous body in all its glory. She was straddling someone so beautifully. 

"Ohh. And here I thought the fabled Winter Prince had a cock made of ice!" she melodiously giggled. 

It was then that he realized in the mess of black curls draping underneath the man, that the man in question is his nephew Prince Jon, as he now dubbed himself as.

Fucking harlot. That's all a Dornish cunt is good for. A good fuck and nothing more.

Talla Tarly

A servant. That's what this girl was, in spite of her obvious noble heritage. 

Talla Tarly is a rather kind and courteous girl of an age to his youngest nephew. Mousy brown hair, pale eyes and a round face. She keeps looking at me as if I were to strike her. She's so undeniably fidgety. Yet, there is a certain beauty in her rather plain features. 

She kept turning as red as a beet when near him. In spite of everything. She would blush when they would spend time together and blush when she had to go back to Rhaenys' service. What more can I do? I'm a gentle dragon, I need to show her that. So, he goes to Rhaenys' chambers to see if he can ask Talla to walk in the godswood with him. 

"Viserys? What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean what am I doing here? I came to ask something of Talla. Where is she by the way?"

"She said that she was off in the godswood with you. At least ... I think so."

He then went off to the godswood. He feels so out of place here. It was no place for the dragon. 

Suddenly, he heard a highly girlish giggle. He then came close to the heart tree and saw Jon and Tall, by the trunk of the heart tree. Talla was nearly bare before him as she sat comfortably in his lap. Her mousy brown hair looking messy as he kissed the nape of her neck, down to her bosom. 

"Oooh, my prince. My sweet, sweet Jon!" 

Jon then silenced her with a kiss to the lips before hungrily mouthing her now bare breasts. Licking at them like some mongrel. Talla moaning more and more like a wanton woman. 

She can serve her cunt to anyone she likes. The dragon has no need of it.

Myrcella Baratheon

In spite of being a traitor's daughter, he has to admit that she is pretty. Lady Myrcella seems to favour her mother's side with her golden curls, emerald eyes, and full lips. She's as delicate as a porcelain doll, beautiful, and courteous for her age. 

Is this what I'm to be reduced to? Wedding a traitor's daughter? Lord Robert seemed to have the same idea as he practically glowered at them both as he proceeded to show her the Red Keep. Even though she favours her mother, there is something of that innate Baratheon valour so often boasted of. A fire underneath her delicate features. She may be a worthy bride of the dragon.

But then his ire is drawn out once he sees Myrcella talking to Aegon. Both of them are giggling themselves quite silly. But Aegon is not like Jon, the wanton wolf he is. No, Aegon is a good lad, he would never do anything to gain my ire. 

Yet, I stand corrected. As he later bore a witness to the traitor's daughter's hands cupping Aegon by his groin. The both of them all too eager.

"You like my hands, my Prince? So delicate and deft?"

"Gods, swift as a stag you are!"

Figures. The traitor's daughter was a whore anyway.

Daenerys Targaryen

She is truly worthy of the dragon. She is a dragon's daughter. A true daughter of Valyria; violet eyes, pale skin, and long, pale silver-gold hair. While she is slender of frame, she is bearing more of a woman's body. 

Rhaegar would surely grant her to him as a worthy enough bride and he knows that Dany would never object. She does love me so. She would never betray me. I should show her just pleasing it is that she is marrying to someone truly worthy of her station. A daughter and son of Valyria, joined together as done in the days of old. It's not like Rhaegar would award her to the traitor's heir, Gendry. And why would he? But he did not tell her of what that traitor's daughter had done. No, Lord Robert was much too displeased by wedding his daughter to dragonspawn as he called him.

I should show Dany just how worthy of the dragon she is. She is a dragon as well. What better to have as a husband than a dragon?

But suddenly, he hears a familiar sound. A moan coming from her chamber doors. No, Dany. You have not betrayed me, have you, sweet sister? Nonononono. 

He then saw her straddling Jon. His hands on her hips, her hands on his chest, her silver-gold hair wild and unkempt. I have never heard of a wanton dragon before. 

"Jon, Jon. I'm riding a dragon. Just like a dreamed," she said breathlessly. Both of them giggled at that. Dany suddenly arched herself to Jon to grant him a kiss. 

Wanton bitch! Slut! Whore! She is no true dragon!!

Lynesse Hightower

Beautiful she is. Lynesse is very beautiful with her golden hair, skin the color of cream, and soft pale hands. Though, she is older than him. That does not matter though. She is a fourth daughter and he is third in line for the throne. A pity, is all it is. I am heir to nothing, and my children - our children, true blood of the dragon - will inherit nothing. 

The more he looks at her, the more she reminds him of Dany. They do look strikingly similar. With the exception of their bodies. Lynesse actually has a woman's body and frame; larger teats as well. Yet, that also reminds him of her. That Lynesse will betray him as Dany betrayed him. 

And at instant, he was right. They tried to be sneaky about it but failed. He could see them just behind the column. He could see her head by Aegon's crotch as he curled his hand into her hair. She could hear her gargle and spit on Aegon's cock while he delightfully moaned.

She's as wanton and traitorous as any other whore. 

Margaery Tyrell

A true beauty, the little rose of Highgarden. She has thick, softly curling brown hair, large brown eyes, pale smooth unblemished skin, and a slender but womanly figure.Fair and lively with a shy and sweet smile. Everything about her is perfect. So perfect that either one of his nephews would entice her. Rhaenys to wed her lord brother Willas. What would stop them from bedding her? Or anything to get her lips around either part of their body? 

Or Dany for that matter? She's already proved herself unworthy of the dragon with her wantonness. What would stop her from taking his bride from him?

He did all he could. Show her around the Red Keep. Introduce her to the Kingsguard, whom she behaved courteously to. He even took her to the accursed godswood. He's even met her handmaidens, which included many young cousins and the ever-sultry Taena Merryweather. She thanked him with a sweet smile. 

"Viserys. How are you liking your potential suitor?" Rhaenys asks him one day. 

"Margaery is a very lovely girl, sweet coz."

"I'm glad for that. Though pointless to say the least"

"Why do you say that?" Is she not worthy of being the dragon's bride? Is he not worthy of being her husband?

"Because through my marriage to Lord Willas, the crown will have better ties to the Reach. The Tyrell's are an ambitious sort. Me married to Willas, Lady Janna married to Ser Stannis, Loras coming close to donning a white cloak. There's no point to it," she says tautly. 

A pawn. That's all I am. And the Tyrells ... upjumped gits. But ... why would Rhaenys tell him this? 

As he heads off to ask her, he hears something from Rhaenys' chambers. Something all too familiar. The door open just a smidgen. 

Rhaenys on top of Margaery. Both of their upper bodies bare, their breasts nearly pressing each other. 

"You truly are a Tyell, aren't you luv? Do you want to know how I really know?" Rhaenys said as she begins to place her fingers by Margaery's cunt.

"H-H-How do you know?" Margaery gasps. 

"You're practically squirting rosewater. Sweet, lovely, tasty rosewater!"

Upjumped gits and harlots. Borne and bred. That's all they are. 

In the end, Rhaegar had decreed that he and Lady Lynesse marry. My ever lovely wife. My lovely traitorous wife. Though she did come to him a maiden, that did not last long. I know it is Aegon's bed she seeks. Aegon's cock squirting his seed into his traitorous whore of a wife. Mayhaps, Jon would like a turn? Or had already done so?

No, they have earned the ire of the dragon. It's only fitting that they should die at the hands of one!!

Chapter Text

He doesn't know what to make of it. For the longest time, he had considered Winterfell his home. For it was the only home he had known. 

But once he had slipped into the bearskin furs for warmth, it felt more comforting than anything he had known. Eventually, he would have to leave. Lady Catelyn made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him, and would likely want him dead. 

Growing up in Winterfell, he didn't have a lot of friends. Robb was his friend. Robb was his best friend, rival, and first and foremost his brother. Robb would never have hurt him, but he did once. It was just a childhood fancy, nothing more. He tried to cheer him up but he failed. A part of him now wonders if Robb truly meant it, but it's best not to ponder it. 

There was Arya and Rickon. Arya was the only person who could seem to understand him and he her. Rickon, though he was only about four namedays old, brought him a great deal of comfort. Rickon, though to young to understand why he is named Snow, like Arya, didn't seem to care. Whenever he would run off from his mother or the servants, he would jump to his arms. At times, screeching at the top of his lungs whenever someone tried to remove him from him; perplexing many even his lady mother. But Robb, Arya, and Rickon are not here beyond the Wall with him. They are not his siblings, and should not be on his mind at the moment. 

He had been training with many of the wildling chieftains and befriended many of their sons. There was Tormund Giantsbane with his snow-white beard and broad chest, who often told many tall stories and often ruddy in the face due to drink. His eldest son Toregg is a foot taller than Tormund, with a voice as deep as his as well if not slightly leaner and bearing cascading fiery red hair. Torwynd the Tame was by no means a great warrior but a kind and caring lad to his younger brother Dryn, who's the same age as Bran and looked like his father in miniature. Styr had put him at arm's length, his son Sigorn was quite friendly to him. He too looked like his father in miniature, but slightly shorter and leaner. Although fierce, like all Thenns are, Sigorn bore a gentleness that was never seen. Gerrick Kingsblood and his brood are amiable if not a bit proud. His daughter Gylda constantly claimed that she would steal him for himself, and his son Gunthor claimed that he and his father would allow it.

Grenn was also his friend; his best friend and trusted compatriot after Robb. About a year older than him, thick of neck and head taller than him, Grenn was as loyal for a friend that anyone could ask for. He was a bit jealous that he already found himself a woman, in spite of Longspear Ryk's protests and attempts to ward him off. Ygritte, though short for her age, skinny but well-muscled, with a round face, small hands, a pug nose, crooked white teeth, and blue-grey eyes that are too far apart. Her most distinctive feature was her fiery red hair. The wildlings consider red hair to be lucky and describe those with it as having been "kissed by fire". Both of them are quite loud in bedding one another in the night quite loudly. 

If there was a truly lovely wildling, that would be Val. The wildling princess, as she was called due to her elder sister Dalla being wed to their king Mance. Val is such a beautiful woman with blonde hair the color of dark honey which she sometimes wears in a golden braid across one shoulder. She has pale grey eyes with flecks of blue, high sharp cheekbones and slender with a full bosom. About the same age as Ygritte, Val had often teased him since Mance had brought him beyond the Wall. Often calling him "The Wayward Wolf" , and at times "her wolf" whenever she decided to kiss him. 

Mance would keep encouraging him to kiss her and "steal" her when the time came. Val seemed to make it clear that she had no intention to be "stolen", even if Jarl had made numerous attempts to do so. Though he had been a raider for nearly eight years, showing a great amount of strength that men twice his age could boast of, Val oft seemed disinterested in him. At times, Val treated with a certain indifference, in account to being three years older than him. Yet, there were the days when she made him feel as warm as a summer's day. Her lips always warm and tasted like freshly picked berries. 

"Val will make an honest man of you, Jon." Mance would often say. That would seem strange even now. Jon. Not Jon Snow; just Jon. The wildlings didn't care that he was a Snow. For no Snows existed beyond the Wall. Everyone lived by the name they earned. Giantsbane, Lord o' Bones, Dogshead, Crowkiller. 

That could not be said the same for Dom. Domeric Bolton; whose surname still struck fear into the hearts of many wildlings, in spite of being witness to his innate kindness. He had been grateful to have been given the mission to scout on Bolton territory, he probably wouldn't have met Dom if he hadn't. Although, he had wished that they met under different circumstances. It had been Grenn's idea to take the heir to the Dreadfort; weaken one of the most powerful houses in the North. Dom was a skilled fighter, as quick and graceful as him, but Jon had been quicker that day. And Grenn delivered quite a punch to his head. "You guys were fighting forever?!" Grenn exclaimed, explaining his reasoning. 

Dom had some trouble at first, being part of wildlings and their culture but surely grew accustomed to it. He and Mance would often be singing and playing their instruments; Mance on his lute, and Dom on his harp. Both of them good singers as well; Mance's voice passable yet Dom's was as soft as the wind. 

But now was not the time to think on such things. Now, he felt anxious and nervous. Dom as well as he stood beside him. Rattleshirt and the Weeper had been making trouble for them both as of late. Rattleshirt with his numerous comments on how he doesn't belong here and mockingly calling him "Prince-Beyond-the-Wall" and Dom a "perfumed cocksucker". The Weeper's threats to gouge out their eyes had become more frequent. Things finally came to blow when both of them tried to stab them in the night but Mance had put a stop to it. 

Both of them called for a showdown. Tormund and Mance had given them black ringmail and plate which they had taken from dead rangers from the Night's Watch. Even adorning himself in black, it made him think of the Night's Watch which he had longed to join when he was a foolish boy with foolish dreams. The Night's Watch is not truly honourable. The only crime the wildlings have truly done was being born on the wrong side of the Wall. And much of what they do is to survive. 

His mind was then brought back to the present, as the Weeper brandished his long curved scythe and Rattleshirt honing his vicious ax. He had barely mastered being able to wield two blades yet Mance had taught him well. Mance taught me much yet he knew there were things he kept. He looked at that mended cloak of his over and over, that couldn't be the sole reason for deserting the Watch. There must be something more to it. 

This would be his first true fight; the first time he will have to kill someone. But Mance said that it would prepare him for the wars that have yet to come. Grenn came to him with Ygritte at his tail, wishing him good luck. Sigorn claimed that if he survived, then he would be presented with a gift. Val had granted him a long warm hug then kissed him deeper than ever. 

"Does this mean that you want me to ... steal you?"

"Oh, Jon Snow. You know nothing. You stole me long ago," she said, giving him another kiss. "And I can't wait for us to bed one another. I am yours and you are mine!" she answered with another kiss.

"Are you ready, Jon?" Dom asked as he pulled out his longsword, pointing it to Rattleshirt. 

"Ready as I'll ever be," Jon answered, The Weeper stared at him furiously with those rheumy eyes of his. 

Rattleshirt and the Weeper charged forward fast. Dom agilely dodged as did he; swift as the wind. Dom quickly managed to get several strikes in, while Jon was quite surprised by how the Weeper had been able dodge him in spite of his large scythe. Dodging and parrying it as long as he can until he left his body open for a strike. Suddenly, the voice of Eddard Stark rung loud in his head, "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword". Facing it with certainty, he knocked out the vicious scythe out of his hand and stabbed him right where the heart is. The Weeper's eyes looked rheumier than ever, before his mouth gushed with blood and Jon all but yanked the blade out of his body. Jon then bore witness to Dom hack off Rattleshirt's head from his body, with his giants skull helm still on it. 

Mance then approached them both. "You were boys green as grass when we found a brought you here. Now, you are men. Men strong enough and brave enough to endure what winter will throw at you." Sigorn then came up to him, bearing something hidden in a cloth. "Gift. For you, Jon the Wolf" he said. He had learnt much Common Tongue from him, and Jon had learned much of the Old Tongue from him in turn. 

It was the most beautiful things he had ever seen. First, was a bow made of weirwood and bronze enameled into it. The second gift was just as. A bronze helm in the shape of a wolf bearing its fangs. 

"You'll be ready for the wars to come now, boy," Mance said with a smile on his face. All the wildlings that had been under the leadership of Rattleshirt and the Weeper came flocking to him and Dom. Yet, all the wildlings seemed to be looking at him. 

"ALL HAIL JON SNOW!! MY PRINCE-BEYOND-THE WALL!!" Mance bellowed out. 

Suddenly, all of them were shouting "PRINCE!" Jon then raised his sword skyward, making them cheer louder. 

Chapter Text

She remembers a child, hiding under a bed with a kitten. She had been that child once. 

Rhaenys Targaryen, a child beloved by her parents and the realm, scared and lonely, had been hiding underneath the bed of her father, Rhaegar Targaryen. 

Rhaenys Targaryem, a lost dragon, believed to have been dead. A girl had died that day, when the mighty Lion of Lannister had decided to take the city. While his son had taken the life of her mad grandfather. But that girl was not her, it was not Rhaenys Targaryen. No, it had been a simple girl from Dorne, who had been her playmate who had died. 

I don't even remember her name after all these years. On the days she can scarcely remember her face, she calls her Nymeria, after the Rhyonish warrior princess. Nymeria, who was presented to the usurper, as a gift. As proof that Rhaenys Targaryen no longer lived to see another day. 

She had run off, leaving much of her old life behind. For nearly a year, Rhaenys had been an orphan girl. She had been a simple dirty girl by the name of Rhae, with no money and no people to love or care for her. Not until she was found. Found by a man she vaguely remembered. 

A man who reminded her of her mother. The famed Red Viper of Dorne; Prince Oberyn Martell. He had come to make some sort of peace to the Iron Throne in his elder brother's place. He had meant to find a brothel, but found another girl instead. A girl who had bore such a resemblance to his sister, her mother that it brought a tear to his eye. 

But she then played another role, once he had been brought to Dorne. Rhaenys Targaryen was no longer Rhae the poor orphan girl but was then Rhaena Sand; a bastard daughter of the famed Red Viper. She explained that it was to protect her, and that's what mattered. At least, I had someone to call a parent. And new siblings to replace the one I had lost. But that did not last long as well. 

When she was one-and-ten, after a brief trip to Braavos, she had went to Pentos with her uncle. From there, she had been reunited with the shade of her father. But she had to leave him, much to their own chagrin. They had to continue being people that they were not. She continued her masquerade of Rhaena Sand, and he continued his of Griff the Younger. 

While she continued, she learned from the other Sand Snakes. Obara teaching her to fight back to never be weak again. Nymeria taught her to tactful yet deadly. Tyene to ensnare a person with beauty. Sarella to keep an open mind and expand her knowledge. 

Once the time had come, there were little allies to rely on. Dorne had rallied to their side easily, as they were kin. The Tyrells had been swayed to their side on the premise that she'd be wed to their heir.  With great reluctance, the Baratheons had joined the Targaryens as they once did in days of old. The Iron Islands had remained where they were, and had made but failed in an attempt to conquer the North. Only one Greyjoy had joined the dragons. The Arryn had reluctantly followed his kin in the Tullys and the Starks. The Tullys, had followed the Starks. The Starks, like the days of old, had relinquished their crown, so that the Lannister's would be removed from the power they had stolen; no better than the Usurper like before. 

The Lannister's had been removed from their power. The Maniacal Lion who had called for the head of Lord Eddard, who had only wanted his family back throughout the Usurper's War, the very same lord who spoke for the dead girl he believed that was her, the baby boy who's head was mashed in believed to be her brother, and her very real mother. His head had been removed, in front of his accursed mother. The proud Old Lion of the West made to watch as his accursed legacy crumbled into ashes, before his head had been taken to. The Young Lion, now the Kingslayer, had been sent to live out his days in the accursed Wall, as it should have been. The Imp of House Lannister, now the ruling head , had bent his knee to House Targaryen. Though, he had lost an uncle and a nephew. 

Now, here was the youngest lion, brought to them all. Looking so scared, trembling, quaking in his soft supple slippers. Clutching on to his furry companion as if his life depended on it. A sweet little boy of nearly ten namedays, who had not thought of war. An innocent, as she once was. 

She could see the fear in his pretty green eyes. He knows what many of the nobles on their side are thinking. That he should be slain. His head adorning the walls of the Red Keep alongside his crazed cowardly brother, and his power-hungry mother and grandfather. His sister remained, and would continue to remain in Dorne. Trystane believes himself in love and pledged his heart and soul to young Myrcella Baratheon. 

They had killed many who had fought to keep the Lannister's on the throne. What is the life of one more innocent? But it's because he's an innocent - a child - that this ways heavily more on her mind than it could on Dany and Aegon's. Though the Baratheon was near adamant in his refusal, he eventually bent: agreeing that his heiress marry her once-cousin. Help mend the ties between the lands of the storm and the lands of the golden hills. Also, as the Kingslayer had been sent to the frozen Wall, another would leave his stead to make room for him. A wolf.

Chapter Text

Mormont 

Bear Island was quite impressive. The island contains old gnarled oaks, tall pines, flowering thornbushes, moss-covered grey stones, and steep hills with streams. Aside from a few crofters, the inhabitants of Bear Island live along the coasts and fish the seas. It was quite peaceful, especially considering that there were very little ironborn raiders. 

Father had thought it to be in his best interest to see much of the North, and Lord Jorah Mormont had been suggested to take on a squire. Jon knows that most boys; especially bastard boys would not be fostered anywhere, but Lord Jorah did not seem to mind. It was strange at first but he had gotten used to it. 

Every day, Lord Jorah would make him do any tasks that a squire would do: sharpen his sword, polish his armour and shield and train from dawn to dusk. He had felt a bit uncomfortable having Lyra as his sparring partner, until Lyra had kept goading him. "Mayhaps, you are a more southron wolf, Jon Snow?" 

Lyra had been a surprisingly good swordsman, and not just because she was a girl. Her movements as fluid as the crashing waves on the shores of Bear Island. Little Lyanna Mormont had often tagged along their sparring sessions; watching them with such eagerness. Her round face and sparkling brown eyes reminded him so much of Arya. They might just be the best of friends. 

He couldn't help but note the differences between all the Mormont sisters. Dacey, the eldest, is tall and lanky, abrasive yet elegant. Alysanne, short, chunky yet strong looking woman. Jorelle, was just a head taller and had curves which would make any woman jealous. Lyra still had a wiry body but was coming to develop a woman's body and her hands and fingers are nimble. Lyanna had a round face and sparkling brown eyes and bright smile. 

Yet, Lord Jorah's wife, Lady Lynesse of House Hightower had made him feel uncomfortable to say the least. Not in the same way that Lady Catelyn did with hers. But they seemed to unnerve him a bit, to say the least. She is very beautiful with her golden hair, and skin the color of cream. The way she stared at him made him feel utmost strange. She did seem miserable at Bear Island. Lyra says its because she misses home and is too much of a southron for Bear Island. 

That Jon understood. One needed to be tough to reside in Bear Island; there were more woman warriors than male, and Lord Jorah seemed to be the only knight. He could feel his own hands become more rough and calloused with each passing day. I'l be a true knight of the north soon enough. That is if Lyra stops goading him to kiss her, and repeatedly press her lips together in that mocking way. And in an attempt to stop it, he had accidentally kissed her. It was surprisingly rough and innately clumsy; their teeth clashing a bit when he realized that she wasn't pulling away. 

Things had been somewhat awkward around her, until he woke to her slipping underneath his furs. 

"Lyra, what are you doing?"
"Stealing you, as the wildlings have done to many women and men on our little island!"

Mayhaps we can find our own place together. 

Manderly 

White Harbor may truly be the jewel of the North. If Winterfell is the heart of the North, then White Harbor is it's mouth. It is clean and well-ordered, with wide straight cobbled streets that make it easy to walk around. The houses are built of whitewashed stone, with steeply-pitched roofs of dark grey slate. But more often than not, Jon would often be off in the Wolf's Den; admiring its history Though Ser Bartimus now held it, he can't help but think of it as the powerful fortress it once was and still can be. Though now a prison, it could still be more fortified.

Marlon Manderly had trained him day in and day out along with the heir to White Harbor; Wyllard Manderly. Unlike the other male Manderlys, Wyllard seemed to be the anomaly. Rather than being broad and large, he is lean and lithe of form and graceful in his movements, making his wavy blonde hair look like golden cascading waves. They had become good friends and rivals, constantly competing with one another. Be it archery, sword-fighting or horse-riding. And from what Ser Marlon had said about is progress as of late, he'll be on his way to being Ser Snow.

The Manderly ladies are quite lovely too. His eldest sister Wynafryd a classic beauty in the bloom of womanhood; just about a head shorter than him, long brown hair neatly tied in a braid that fell over one shoulder, laying across her dress, thus immediately drawing attention to her rather large bust. Wyllard's twin Wylla is as tall as her brother. Though her hair is the same light blonde like her brother, she dyes it a rather garish green and wears it in a braid. Taller than Wynafryd and more lithe of form. Wyllard oft "insisted" that he kiss his sisters, but he could hear the veiled threat betwixt his japes concerning his sisters. 

Yet, that made it all the more compromising. It had first started as a game of sorts, Wynafryd and Wylla both interested if he had kissed a girl before or had even been kissed. Wylla had started fist, grabbing him by the nape of his neck and placing her lips on his. She had tasted surprisingly salty, like the sea almost. Wynafryd had kissed him then; tasting of blackberry tarts. Even though he had enjoyed those brief moments, it only continued with one of them. 

Wynafryd inviting him more and more to her chambers at the brisk of night when no one was around. Her hands so deft and delicate, roaming all around his back, gently meshing the dark curls on his head. His hands gingerly placed just on her hips. At times, they had come close to nearly bedding one another, stripping one another of their smallclothes. Her hands moving all across his muscles, while his hands palmed her large bosom.

"Oh, Jon. My sweet, sweet Jon. Why couldn't you have been Jon Stark?" she would often whine while cupping his face. 

Every time she mentions that, it makes him regret that he had not been a Stark. If he were a Stark, he would ask for her hand. If he were a Stark, she would not be betrothed to Ser Patrek Mallister of Seagard. But for now, she and I will enjoy whatever time we have together. The kisses, the touches until they fade away from existence like the morning dew. 

Reed

The Neck is rather impressive. Covered in swamp and bog, it divides the north from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. The murky lands of the Neck are the key to any assault on the north. The castle of Greywater Watch never ceased to amaze him. The castle was built on and around a massive weirwood tree. Its roots had been twisted and formed around the pillars, columns, and walls of stone. Over the many long ages since the weirwood was planted and formed into the island, smaller trees of various varieties, as well as grass and vines, had taken root there as well.

Lord Howland had always been kind to him. While there are no maesters at Greywater, Lord Reed had taught him much histories of the Neck and the North, what he had known of it. He even taught him how to fight like a crannogman. While their tactics are certainly effective, Jon still found it dishonourable to say the least. "Not all men fight nobly, Jon. In the battlefield, men will do whatever they can to kill you". Though he had been right about that. 

Yet, he would always notice that Howland had sadness in his eyes. Etched into his very being. He wanted to ask him, but whenever he braved to ask, Howland would give him a smile. A false smile that looked happy yet he could almost see the sadness and pain within it as well. 

He had been surprised by Lady Jyana. Though she was of House Mallister, she had treated him rather amiably. Surprisingly enough, she had taught him much about swordsmanship and some finer points of archery. When he asked how she knew all this, she had simply told him "I grew up with an army of brothers and cousins who knew and learned to fight. I all but begged my father to teach me as well." Because of that, she had told him and her children, Jojen and Meera, of the day she had met her husband. How after the Starks of Winterfell had cleaned him up, he had fallen for her upon attending the Tourney at Harrenhal. She had admitted that because of his rather small stature, as all crannogmen are, that she had mistaken him for a squire to the Starks. Though it seemed quite clear that she had initial interest in someone in the Stark family, she never told them who it was.
Mayhaps it was Uncle Brandon? From what he had heard about his uncle, the man who was "destined" for the North, he was quite a charmer and possibly not the most honourable of the Starks. With the way she looked guilty, he thought that it might've been his father. 

It is also because of how adventurous Lord Howland was and at times, still is, along with his wife, they would take their small boats down the Green Fork and see much of the Riverlands as they rowed from the Green Fork to the other converging rivers. On occasion, they had seen the Mallisters of Seagard. Because of her relation to him, Lord Jason behaved quite amiably toward them all. Though younger, Lady Jyana bore a certain resemblance to Lord Jason; handsome with high cheekbones and a chiseled face. On those rare visitrs, Lord Jason and Ser Patrek would test his martial prowess. 

Meera had been his sparring partner on occasion. At times, she has bested him with her net and three-pronged spear. At times, he would best her but he could never use the net like she did. Though he had begun to tower over her, Meera could easily use her short and slim figure to her advantage.They would even hunt together; frogs, rabbits, etc. Having hunted and sparred together, played together. Jon could easily have claimed Meera as a best friend. 

But he knew he was lying to himself that all his feelings toward her were just friendly. Their kiss was rather unexpected. They had decided to go further down the Green Fork to head down to the ruby ford to try and find Rhegar Targaryen's rubies. In their foolishness, they nearly fell in, giggling with such glee as they did. The moment they got up, Meera had kissed him. She likely meant to kiss my cheek, but failed. Meera had kissed Jon by the lips; short, sweet, innocent yet full with affection. 

They had dared not to such a thing like that again. After that, things had been somewhat awkward between them. The hunts they had taken part in were not as cordial as before. It seemed that the only person who had taken notice of the distance between them. Though sullen for his age, Jojen had always been an observant lad. He didn't have to say much; his deep moss-green eyes coupled with a hard stare had confirmed what he had known about he and his sister. 

"It's something you want, and something you need Jon Snow. Go on, and tell her. I know that she feels the same way."

Jon knew where she would be at this time of day; at the mouth of the Green Fork. He can only hope that Jojen is right in what Meera feels about him,

Martell 

Dorne was much hotter than expected. The Dornish party had greeted him quite favourably. Prince Oberyn Martell, the famed Red Viper of Dorne, had looked initially skeptical of him but quickly turned into a more jovial attitude. The rest of the party treated him no different but curious to see a northman so far from the North itself. Dornish women were more openly and at times lewd, Dornish wine was certainly more sour, and Dornish food was full of queer hot spices that he still had not accustomed to. 

He was a little excited when Father had told him that Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne had agreed to his request to take him as his personal squire. Even though he was a bit old to be squiring, nonetheless, he did everything Prince Oberyn asked of him. He come to like and even respect the man. He has such zest for live that no one could rival. 

Jon no longer felt like the "frozen boy" that came to them. His blood would always be of the North though, no matter what. Yet, that didn't stop the transgressions that he committed. The promise he kept.

The Princess of Dorne, Arianne, is such a wicked woman with her devilishly teasing smile. Jon had practically vowed to never dishonour a lady. Yet, he would always find himself at her bed. Not even his own ironclad will could wane for such an enticing woman. Her large breasts often pressed on his own chest. Her wavy dark cascading hair mixed with his own as she would tuck herself onto his shoulder. But she was not the only woman that he had come to bed. 

He had no intention in doing so, yet he and Nymeria would often sneak off into Sandship, where they had their first tryst. He still faintly recalled the first time he had seen the Sandship; the squat ugly keep that looked like a dun-colored dromond that had washed ashore and turned to stone. Nym's modest, orb-like breasts so firm yet yielding as he oft caressed and wrapped his hands on them. Her full lips kissing down his chest. At times, he thought that the first Nymeria had all the beauty Nym had. It was no wonder why she would be named after the legendary warrior princess of the Rhoyne.

Tyene, like Arianne, seemed to want to bed him. It had been recent, as she had personally brought him to the Water Gardens. The palace amazed him; as children from all stations and areas of Dorne are sent to the Water Gardens to foster, where they play together at the beach, pools and fountains, and in the water. Though her eyes are deep blue pools like the ones in the Water Gardens, yet they somehow they reminded him of her father's eyes. Her lips so much softer and yielding. The gentle waters would kiss her skin so beautifully.At night, her delicate hands would wrap around his waist and would giggle into his ear how he was still a boy. He could talk on hours end with her; telling her of his life at Winterfell and she in told told him of her septa mother formerly of House Arryn after Prince Oberyn had "disgraced" her, and in a sept no less.

Jon had a notion that Oberyn had known of the trysts he had with Nym and Tyene, and even Arianne. But whether he knew it or not, it didn't seem to matter. Oberyn still treated him with the same light-hearted and jovial manner. Even told him with a slyness to his voice that he would be knighted within a moon. He had spent more time with the Dornish princess, yet even Jon knew that she could not marry a bastard, whether she wanted to or not. 

Nym and Tyene though ... He could build a life with them possibly. If they would even let him. Though, he could only see and imagine Arianne by his side. This felt wrong. 

Stark

It is no longer the same as before. Much of the materials used to restore the castle he grown up in had been taken from the place that he and many of his brothers had called home. 

Castle Black. The Shadow Tower. Greyguard. Greenguard. Oakenshield. The Nightfort and the Dreadfort. The accursed legacy of the Night's Watch and the Boltons extinguished and the cursed remains of their castle came to use. 

It was now larger and stronger than he could have possibly imagined. 

"Y'know, Arya always talked about this place like nothing and no one could ever touch it. Now, I think nothing and no one can't ever!" Gendry said with pride in his voice that he took part in the castle's restoration. 

"So, this was your home?" Dany asked as she wrapped her arm around his own. No, this was not Winterfell. Not the one he knew. The old Winterfell with Old Ser Rodrik and Jory, Gage the cook who would let him take sweets from the kitchens, Septon Chayle who had granted him some comfort when he had gone to the library to cry his eyes out, Maester Luwin who taught him so much. 

Eddard Stark, who would always be his father, no matter what. Even if they stamped Targaryen across his forehead. Robb, who would always be his brother. His father's smile and his brother's laughter gone from this world along with the old Winterfell. 

"Not was. Always. Winterfell will always be my home. No matter what," he said, looking at the walls somberly. 

"We can't take the wolf out of the dragon," Aegon japed but a small sad smile was across his cherub-like face. 

Ghost then came to his side, his hand naturally mussing his fur. I was a wolf long before I was a dragon.

Chapter Text

It was strange looking at the lady before him. Once, he had heard that her famed sister, the Lady Ashara Dayne, might've been his mother. As he dreamed once; highborn, beautiful and kind. And Allyria was said to have inherited the late Lady Ashara's beauty. 

But as he stared at her, he noted that as much as she inherited of Ashara, there was much she inherited from her father. The man he called Father. The Stark within her. Allyria bears dark brown hair that looks black by lamplight, and grey-violet eyes - the kind of purplish grey of a storm about to rumble and release lightning - and a rather long face. Adorned with pale skin, strong cheekbones, relatively clear complexion, and perfectly round almond-shaped eyes in an oval face If anything, Jon thought that Allyria looked like a strange mix of Arya and the boy lord of Starfall. 

With the War for the Dawn done, he had thought it fitting that he return the Lord of Starfall and their ancestral blade back to their home. Lady Allyria was a bit apprehensive at first, but almost immediately behaved cordially upon seeing Lord Edrick. Even far south, the name Stark holds strong and true. 

Edrick had told him much of Wylla, who had been their wetnurse. Though now a man grown and having seen the perils of war, Edrick still had a innocence about him. It reminded him so much of Bran, wherever he may be. He had been the one to insist that he and Allyria talk. Especially upon clarifying the information he had heard. Though, Edrick was a bit sad that they were not more than simple "milk brothers". 

He had found Lady Allyria by the Palestone Sword, the same place where her mother had supposedly thrown herself. She looked so crestfallen and her face downcast. "They had tried to hide it, my mother and father. Or rather, the people I believed were my mother and father." Of course, she's disappointed. Her lady mother resurfaced alive and well, and a part of the new king's court. My brother's court. That's still rather strange. In spite of uncovering his heritage, he couldn't help but think of Robb as his brother. The brother he knew, the brother he loved, the brother he chose. 

"I always heard tales of her. And Lord Eddard. How though Lord Eddard was not as fair and charming as his late brother, yet Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall, had truly saw and fell in love with him, and he in turn. I wished for that kind of love. My own husband didn't even matter, as long as he was kind, brave, gentle and strong. He needn't be the most handsome man in the world." She was likely talking not only of marriage prospects, but her own betrothed as well, Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven. Jon didn't know the man personally, only by his fierce reputation. How his red-gold mane of hair flowed like furnished copper, how he moved at the speed of his sigil, the fearlessness in battle. 

"I didn't know Lord Beric personally, but he seems like the kind of person who would have done right by you, and been a good husband."

"He would have. I know it. A bit vainglorious, but what man of one-and-twenty isn't? He talked of naming me his Queen of Love and Beauty in the next tourney he and I would attend. Now, it may be some other man. A complete stranger. A Lannister for all I know," she said with a bit of scorn. 

Jon would not be surprised. There are still an abundance of Lannisters. Mayhaps Devan Lannister. He truly is a lion at heart and not a snake in the grass. 

"My lady, I ... I "

"Tell me of my father, Jon"

That completely shocked him. She wanted to hear of Eddard Stark ... from him? In that moment, she reminded him of Arya; willful and straight to the point.

"I ... uh ... um ... What is it that you'd like to know, Lady Allyria?"

"Anything. And everything. I only know that he loved my ... mother greatly and dearly."

"While I cannot say of his past loves, Lord Eddard was very much a good man my lady," he started. It felt strange to talk about him now in such a way. He had all but said his name in scorn upon uncovering his lineage. But he could never truly hate him. "He was the greatest man I ever knew. The kind of man you described my lady. Brave when he needed to be brave, strong when he needed to be, kind. Eddard Stark was a great and wonderful father. And I think if he had met you, or if none of this had ever occurred, he would have loved you like his own."

A hiccup of sorts emerged from her. Big fat tears welled deep from within her eyes, began to pool out of them. The sight of her silent crying reminded him so much of how Arya cried her eyes out upon seeing him. He didn't think that he would ever see her again and all the pain and sorrow that he had buried came out as she loudly cried into the crook of his neck. It was instinct that drove him to do the same thing to Allyria. 

She is family. Kin. She almost sounded like a wolf, crying out for her pack. And at long last, she had found it. 

Chapter Text

He hates them both. Stupid Sansa, stupid Lannister baby man. 

I don't want to marry, especially the yellow-haired shit they picked. Doesn't matter if she's pretty as Sansa's southron gods. He half expected the northern lords to revolt in anger at Sansa's decision, yet they seem hopeful almost. Traitors!

He wants to curse his loyal bannersmen for all but dragging him to the godswood to marry her. Wants to curse the Greatjon for hefting him up like a babe and bringing him there. I'd thought he would be on my side at least.

Janei, he learns her name. The Imp's niece or cousin or something. She looks nice enough with her sun-kissed hair and pale grey-green eyes. But it doesn't matter how pretty she is. Her family took Father away. Then Mother and Robb. How can Sansa do this to me?

"It's for the good of everyone. The ties between the Starks and the Lannsiter's truly mended." Stupid Sansa. 

Even when they are dragged to the bed, he doesn't want to do it. Almost. Until he sees her pale unblemished skin and bright pink nipples so erect in the cold, cold north. He has the idea to take her like Morgan Magnar told him how most Skagosi and wildlings took their woman. But she's sees her skin become more pale, as if she knew what he was thinking. 

She probably didn't want to marry me either. So, he does his duty by her as gently as he possibly can. He wants to hate her even after he beds her, wants to hate her as she smiles to him and her smile is so full of love.

Each moon passes and her belly gets bigger and bigger. The talks between them are few and scarce like the few scraps he ate during the Second War for the Dawn. Things are still strange after all this time. 

He headed off to see how the Mormonts were faring in their new keep of Queenscrown. They now ruled as lords and ladies of Queencrown, Defender of the Gift. It must be strange calling this new place home. It is then that he hears that she has gone into labor, and he all but gallops his way back home. 

All the wishes of wanting to hate her leave him as he hears her shouts of pain. He paces the hall and finds he cannot talk when Sansa tries to soothe his worries. It's when the shouting turns to sobbing, begging, and bloodied sheets are rushed out to be replaced that his panic reaches a high.

Chapter Text

They walked down the corridor and Margaery led them into a room with a bed laid out with wine and fruit on a small platter on the bedside table. Robb turned to lock the door behind them and cleared his throat awkwardly. "So..."

Margaery stood in the middle of the room with her back to him. The dim light hid the fact that she was flushing as much as he was. She reached behind her and placed his hand on her hip.  Robb's breath felt hot on her neck and she felt something sharp nick at her skin. He bit down gently on her neck. Margaery mewled and convulsed, as Robb began ripping her gown off, leaving her bare from the waist upwards. Fire spread through her flesh, her skin suddenly almost scalding to the touch.

Margaery arched her back and backed into him, her bare back pressed against Robb's chest. His other hand slid around to her stomach, his fingers passing over her navel. Through the layers of fabric around her hips, she ground her arse slowly against him. Robb growled and the hand on her stomach immediately moved up and grasped her breast roughly. He squeezed and kneaded, it was harsh and painful and primal and she loved it. She gasped and panted and grunted, mouth opening and closing. His other hand slipped into her smallclothes and his fingers began to move, just as harsh and unrelenting. Maragery's vision had spots and she immediately felt like she would collapse. He rubbed at her slit and probed briefly with a finger.

She cried out and came hard around his hand, her form slumping against him for a moment. Margaery turned around and stuck her chest out, showing him her full, firm breasts, one still red from his grip. She bit her lip and looked at him with her golden-brown eyes.

"Ohh, Ohhh!!" he heard his daughter moan. What does this wanton wolf think he's doing to my daughter?! 

Alerie seemed to sense his anger somehow. "Calm yourself, love. This is a wedding. This is supposed to happen, even though you and your son by law called for no bedding," she reasoned. She's right. Though I don't like the idea she is still my beloved daugh - 

"Ohhh, yes, Robb!! S-Slap my teats!!"

Slap? Her teats? By the gods!

Robb's throat went completely dry, his hand still moist. He reached out with his other hand and she slapped it away. Sucking on his neck, she whispered in his ear. "Good things come to those who wait. First, I want you out of these clothes so I can suck your cock and then I want you to fuck me like your little wolf bitch." She looked up at his clear glinting eyes like ice, wolfish eyes. After staring at her for a moment, he relaxed and his hands dropped to his sides.

"Good boy." Margaery pecked his lips, her tongue brushing against them. She pushed him into a chair and straddled him, shifting her weight directly onto Robb's arousal, earning a grunt of discomfort. She arched her back and he bit one of her breasts gently. Her hands began to unbutton his shirt, running fingers down his muscles approvingly. Eventually, she twisted the tunic off of his arms and rested her hands on his chest, admiring him. She looked up at his eyes and the look he gave her made her want to finish again right there and then. She grinned and pulled his breeches and smallclothes off his legs. His hardness sprang out and into her hand. Robb's breathing hitched at the contact. She climbed off him and turned around, bending over and pushing her skirt down her legs, exposing her arse to him. Margaery stood and leaned over him, kissing him gently, while her hand reached down and wrapped around his cock.

"Ohhh, there's a lad. Such a good boy!!" She heard her daughter say. By the Gods, just what has the septa been teaching her? Or did Olenna say some ... unsavory things about the marriage bed? Oh, dear gods ...

Robb growled as she began to pump her hand along him. His fingers twitched, yearning to reach out and touch her again. Margaery tugged at him, pulling him to his feet. She looked up at his face, her eyes glowing with mischief, before kissing him harshly on the mouth one more time before she moved down.

Margaery opened her eyes, blinking against the dawn light. Perfect.

She looked down at Robb, as his body suddenly slacked. Her gaze drifted from his handsome features to his broad shoulders to his big hands and muscled stomach. Further still, his lower half covered by the blankets. The bed was in disarray, sheets practically crushed and clothes strewn in a pile before the foot. Margaery brushed the covers aside and leaned up onto her elbow. He was still hard.

Just as she was about to take him in her mouth, she gasped as Robb's hand moved down and grabbed her arse, sliding a finger into her cunt. Her mouth fell open and she immediately felt another tongue rubbing against hers. She opened her eyes and gazed into his smiling blue ones.

"Do I need to get used to having the most beautiful woman in the world in my bed every morning?" Robb murmured huskily.

"Fuck me again and you'll find out." She breathed in response. Robb nodded and bit her breast (making her scream in the process) before letting go and shifting position. Margaery waited until he had turned and his hands were on her hips before slipping from his grasp and standing from the bed.

She moved to the wall, rested her palms against the stone and arched her back so that her arse stuck out. She looked back over her shoulder seductively with her golden eyes and wiggled her hips.

That was all the encouragement Robb needed. "Using the wall now, my sweet rose?"

"We've used the floor, the chair and the bed already, lover. I wanted to give the wall a go. Plus," she backed onto him and felt his hardness between her buttocks. "I can show you where I want you."

Robb was clearly taken aback by what she was demanding. "Margaery, I've heard that it can hurt, a lot. And it won't help get an heir."

"You've fucked my mouth and my cunt, Robb, and I loved it all, this shouldn't be different. Besides, you pumped enough seed into me to field a small army. I promise to stop you if it hurts too much."

Just how long can they go on? They should have stopped an hour ago at least!! Mayhaps that is the true power of youth? Being able to fuck all day and all night? Not even Renly and I can do that for that long!!

He shouldn't be hearing such things. The both of them ... moaning and groaning in pleasure and possibly pain. He wants to get in there and stop them in all that is sacred and holy. Yet, he also kept hearing her say "By the Gods!" 

Mayhaps it'd be rude to interrupt ...

Robb didn't seen convinced. "I think we should try and get--" Margaery turned around and dropped to her knees. She applied a few layers of saliva to his cock, feeling him get even harder on her tongue. Robb hissed and unconsciously thrust into her mouth a few times.

By the time she and the vine came away, Robb's cock was glistening. Margaery rubbed him against her cunt for added measure and guided his head into her arse. "Ah." She sighed as she sank slowly down.

"Gods." Robb whispered behind her. His fingers were like a vice, digging into her hips.

"Does it feel good, my sweet lord?" Margaery teased, "Do I please you?"

Robb grunted. "It would be so easy..." He muttered in her ear, thrusting gently but firmly.

"More." She whispered. "More, more. Oh, shit." Her cursing only turned Robb on more and he obliged. One hand drifted down to her cunt and rubbed vigorously, the other flat against the stone wall as she backed into him.

Robb picked up the pace and slapped her arse, jolting her into submission like he was the one who suggested this. He bit her earlobe gently and kissed her neck.

"Am I your whore, Stark?" Margaery managed through the moans. "Am I your little bitch? Your mate?"

At least the Stark boy is quite virile. Most men would just stick their prick in and out until they were done. Almost nothing of satisfaction for the woman. And my sweet rose is certainly enjoying herself very much. 

"Y'know, this reminds me of mine own wedding knight. Luthor looked even more handsome without his doublet. Even at the end, when he told me how my teats are 'Ripe for Victory'. Mayhaps our sweet Margaery will 'Grow Strong' with this experience?"

"M-M-Mother!! Stop that this instant?!!"

"Ohh, hush now, Mace! And how do you think you and your sisters came to be?"

"Am I your whore, Stark?" Margaery managed through the moans. "Am I your little bitch? Your mate?" With the way you're going, you are most certainly a bitch by the end of the night. Or birthing out a vast litter of them.

"Of course not." Robb responded. "You are my lady." He gave a final, brutal thrust and came in her arse. The feeling and his words sent Margaery over the edge with a loud scream, her legs buckling, and she collapsed to the ground. Robb stayed inside her and held her up until he was on his knees with her. He stroked her stomach gently. She lifted herself off of him with a moan and rolled onto her back, still fondling her own chest.

"Was that to your liking, my lady?" Margaery chuckled breathlessly, sweat pouring down her body, giving her skin a bewitching shine.

"Gods, yes." She clasped his face, kissing him gently as though he hadn't just pounded her against a wall.

"Good." Robb licked her sensitive nipple. "Now I know how to keep you on a leash." 

Chapter Text

He reminds her so much of the people she lost. 

The epitome of Valyrian looks from the king who could have been; Rhaegar. 

Sweet and gentle as Elia. The woman she thought of as a sister. 

Glib and sneering like Oberyn, who she loved as dearly as a brother. 

Honourable and compassionate, like the man she loved; his father. 

At times, she can see that stupid grin that once belonged to his wild uncle adorning his sweet cherub like face. There are times, when Aegon is practicing his swordplay with Rolly, she is seeing Arthur again. His silvery hair flowing in the wind like his.

It felt strange calling her son that name. Aegon. But it was Aegon he needed to be. The Spider said that the kingdoms needed to rally behind a king; a true king who knew and realized that kingship was a duty and not a lordly and god-given right. And his wit is becoming as sharp as his blade with each passing day under Haldon's tutelage. 

Aegon. I wonder what happened to that boy. The Spider claimed that he managed to replace him with a boy procured from Flea Bottom in exchange for a cask of Arbor Gold. But where had he gone? He claimed that he had been lost en route to Starfall. But now, her child was Aegon instead of the name that she gave him. 

Yet, he has been Aegon for so long that she doesn't remember the name she gave him. Jon? Arthur? Edrick? Willem? It was a good Northern name, that much she knew. 

He trains every day and night, looking every inch of a warrior. Becoming more and more the king that is needed. At times, she sees Ned in his eyes. Black by lamplight, purple  in the light of dusk but truly blue. A dark blue bearing semblance to the cold fury of the North and the man she loved.

When she had heard that some ill-begotten Lannister bastard claimed himself King and slain Ned Stark ... she didn't think her heart could break again. It was hard the first time. It broke all over again. She knows that Ned would never approve of what she had been doing. But we both lost much in the war; the people we loved the most. 

Griff views him as the man he loved and lost. It may have been a secret to him, but it was painfully obvious to everyone within the keep. Mayhaps Rhaegar himself had known ... Still, it would be painful to watch knowing that the boy he believes is Rhaegar's child, a child who he likely sees as his own son, is anything but. 

Everything is coming together. The Cheesemonger and the Spider's plans coming into play. Those greedy Lannister's will be removed from the power they have ever so desperately sought for. Tywin and his ever mighty legacy will come crumbling down. 

Winter will come for them all ... with Fire and Blood.

Chapter Text

A large shrieking wail had suddenly pierced into the night. 

On instinct, he had walked into the room where it came from. A baby boy, just barely six months old, waving his tiny fists around. 

I know why your crying. 

"Shhh-shhh, it's okay. It's okay. Calm down, Jonny. It's okay," Arthur said, soothing his nephew to sleep as he gently rubbed small circles on his back while bouncing him on his knee.

He then looked at his nephew. There was little that his sister left in him. Like her, his hair was undeniably black. He does have his nose and maybe Ash's small mouth and lips. The one thing that undeniably marked him from his dad were his eyes; Stark grey. But Jon is still a cute baby.  

It wasn't in him to hold grudges, but he still felt a pang of anger to Ned. It's not his fault, the rational part of his head knows, but he can't help but want to blame him. It was easier. Ash had experienced a blood clot that had gone unnoticed upon an emergency c-section. Ultimately, she bled out and died.

She was everything to him. Ashara always knew how to make him laugh and put a smile on "that stony-face of yours", she'd always explain. "You have a nice smile, Arthur! Show it for once!" Always chastising him in that playful manner. That smile oft plastered on her face, often meaning "I know something you don't". That grin of hers which meant "You don't know me and never will".

Yet, Ned Stark somehow managed to understand her. That grin of hers flashed into his head again; the same grin of amusement or taunting; telling him and their parents that they didn't know her and never did. Ash freely admitted that she was always attracted to the "prettier things in life". If anyone of the Starks seemed to fit the bill, that'd be Brandon Stark, with that swaggering strut of his. It would be so much easier if he was Jon's father, he could more than easily hate that guy. That kind of guy who practically expects to be handed the world on silver platter. But it was Ned Stark that his sister was in love with. Ned, who didn't have such easy confidence but the "sweetest smile" and the "most gentle heart". 
"I honestly think you might like him, Arthur"

Both of them fought long and hard for custody of Jon. Considering that Jon is indeed Ned's son, he received custody while Arthur had gotten Jon on the weekends and holidays with the sole exception of Christmas. Better than nothing. 

Arthur then looked at his nephew, who was now being lulled into sleep. Just before his tiny little body went limp, he bore a small smile on his perfectly small lips. Ashara's smile; that same smile that always said that she knew something that he didn't. Arthur Dayne had never been more lost and befuddled in his life. He's the last good thing my sister left behind. I'll love him as much as I loved her.

He had run out of baby formula and baby food, so he had to go to the supermarket to get some among other things. Numerous women kept eyeing him. 

Women really do go nuts for babies. Yet, he had a feeling they were also staring at him to an extent as well. Arthur never considered himself to be "the most beautiful man on the planet" but he also knew that he certainly wasn't the ugliest either. 

"Arthur?" he heard a familiar voice. "Dayne, that you?" another familiar voice called out. 

It was none other than the infamous Red Viper and his sweet gentle sister; Oberyn and Elia. A little girl who looked much like Elia was holding on to Oberyn's hand while Elia had her own bundle of joy stretching his arms at her. 

"So, you finally popped your cherry, or did you suddenly decide to kidnap a kid to start your own perverse family?"

"Oberyn!!" Elia said in a chastising manner while punching him on the shoulder. She then eyed him, and pointed to her daughter. Clearly, she didn't want her child to have her uncle's infamous silver tongue. Oberyn then gave a rather sheepish nod. 

Elia then inched herself closer to his cart. "So, who is this little cutie pie you've got? Hi, there!" she said cooing at Jon. Jon looked a little overwhelmed, starting to look at him and close to crying. 

"It's okay, Jonny. Elia's a friend," he said to calm him down. "He's painfully shy round others," he offered as an explanation. Elia clearly knew what she was doing, as she gently touched the soft curls on his head gently, then cooing at him. In turn, Jon gave a happy squeal of delight. 

"Ohh-ho, he's adorable! So, did you finally start a family Arthur? Who's the lucky girl?"

"Jon's not mine, exactly. He's ... Ashara's," he explained. The uneasiness in his voice caused the Martells to look a bit downcast. Reasonable, Ash and El had been B.F.F's and Oberyn and Ashara were partners in crime. 

"He certainly looks a bit like her. He's got her hair, and maybe the shape of her eyes too." Elia said taking note of Jon. 

"He's got Ash's pretty lips too," Oberyn quipped. Once again, Elia smacked him on the arm, like he were an impudent child who had been caught stealing sweets. 

"I think he's got something of you too, Arthur. He's definitely got your nose. You got Arthur's nosey, don't you, Jonny?"

Jon merrily giggled as Elia gently and playfully poked at his nose, trying to catch her waving finger. Arthur then noticed Elia's son waving his arms at her from the shopping cart where he was seated. he was clearly jealous of the attention his mom was giving Jon. 

"Ohh-ho-ho, like I could ever forget you, my sweet baby boy!!" Elia cooed at her son, who happily squealed at his mother's attention. "So, maybe we can have a play-date for the boys? I gotta feeling that they'll become the best of friends!"

"Yeah, I-I'd like that for him. But I'd also need to put this through Jon's dad," Arthur said with a slight grimace. Elia quickly picked up on it, while Oberyn suddenly flashed a smirk. 

"I still can't believe that that frozen fool managed to charm the pants off of Ash. Hell, I still can't believe that she managed t - " Oberyn began to say until he and Elia both smacked him across the face. 

Elia's daughter then began to laugh merrily. "Uncle Obe's so stupid, mama!" Elia then bent down to her daughter and said, "Yes, Uncle Obe's very, very stupid!" Giving a small laugh. 

"I'm certain Ned would understand, but it's reasonable that you should tell him about it. See you around, Arthur. Bye-bye, Jonny!" Elia said with a tittering giggle. Jon then gave him a small look, which seemed to border on something akin to "I like her". "It's hard not to like her, jonny. Elia's the best person to have around," he softly muttered in Jon's ear. 

I'ts hard not to look at him and be reminded of his sister somehow. 

He and Aegon seemed to merrily crawl around everywhere, while Rhaenys tried to catch them. Those two already seemed to be becoming good friends, and hopefully it would continue that way. 

"They look adorable together, don't they?" Elia said, breaking him out of the spell that was under him. "Um, uh, yeah, th-they do."

"I miss her too, y'know," she said somewhat somberly. That was always like Elia, trying to understand the situation. But she couldn't understand, not truly. She didn't see her own brother or sister bleed out in front of them. She never felt that irrational part that wanted to hate his nephew. She could never understa - 

"I know that I can't possibly understand what you went through Arthur, but you're not the only one who misses her. I miss her. Oberyn misses her. Sometimes, Rhae asks for her "Aunty Ash" and I have to remind her that she's gone. And I know for a fact that Ned misses her too. I would go ballistic if anything happened to Doran or Arthur. Ju -  Just know that you're not alone in this. Jon's going to want to know about his mom, and I'll be there to tell him all the funny stuff we got into. Like that time we put laxatives in Eri - OK, maybe not that story but you get the gist." Elia said. 

Arthur felt tears but he choked them back in. On some sort of primal instinct, Jon came toddling to him, raising his arms up high. As if he knew that he needed a hug and comfort more than Jon ever did. So, he hugged him more deeply and lovingly than he ever did. 

The bell rang. He knew what it meant. 

"C'mon, Jonny. Daddy's here," he said as he gently put him on his shoulder. 

As he came to the door, he saw Ned Stark looking as formal as before. It reminded him of the first time he came to his house. When he carefully, and playfully told him that he would chop off his dick if he did anything to Ash. Leave him be, Arthur. It's not him you should be worried about, his sister's voice rang aloud. 

"Stark," he said. "Arthur," he replied in the same stoic tone. His face then cracked as he saw Jon, who in turn, stretched out his arms and squealed at his father. 

"Jon didn't give you too much trouble, did he?" Ned asked. He knows that he already has another kid on the way, if he heard correctly. 

"Nah. He's impossibly quiet half the time. But when he does cry, ... "

"I know. Like a banshee or something"

"Right!" he said, finding it strange that he was chuckling. Really strange. "OK. So, here's his diaper bag. His little wolf is in there too. Make sure he's got his pacifier, he's teething."

"I got it. Wanna say bye-bye to Uncle Arthur?" Ned lovingly cooed at Jon. Jon seemed to understand, as he waved his impossibly tiny hand at him. 

Ned then put him in his car seat and put his diaper bag by the side of it. Just before he got into the driver's seat, he then took a hard look at Arthur. It was what Elia was talking about. He understands; he misses her too. 

"I know. Take care now"

Chapter Text

The boy had only come to Winterfell a moon ago. Yet, he found it hard to believe that this boy was a Targaryen. He looked more like a Stark. Like me. Like Lya. And all the rest. 

Rickard

He has the very same quiet dignity that his own father had. But Jon was always quiet, rarely speaking a word at times. All of it still quite new. Yet, that seemed to make it all exciting. Which made it all the more harder to find Jon at times. Often running around and exploring every bit of Winterfell.

Much like his father, the boy has an inquisitive mind. While he does not like sums like Bran did, he does love the histories of Westeros, much like his father. The way he takes to Luwin's lessons was like a fish taking to water. His nose stuffed in a book concerning the North. 

"Uncle Ned! Uncle Ned!"

"What is it, my boy?"

"Is this true? Supposedly, Bran the Builder's father was Brandon of the Bloody Blade. But Brandon of the Bloody Blade was from the Reach. Does that mean we have reachmen blood in our veins? Am I not a northman then?"

Ned couldn't help but chuckle at his inquisitiveness and worrisome expression. "Those are just tales. Mayhaps, it's possible. Whether Brandon of the Bloody Blade did sire Bran the Builder is true or not, The Builder became part of the north. He has the North within him. Do you understand?"

"I think so ... Can we visit the Wall one day? If Brandon of the Bloody Blade did chase the giants away, maybe Bran the Builder used them to build the Wall?"

So inquisitive and burying his nose in histories of the North. He even remembered how his father would tell him and Brandon tales of the return of the Children when they were boys. 

Benjen

It was strange watching him with all those boys. Some of them had come with him as a nature of goodwill. Others he had truly been friends with. Young Humfrey Waters, who is eight years Jon's senior, was always within arm's reach. The young man seemed determined to act as Jon's kingsguard. For such a young age, he had no problem making such friends. 

Along with the two other boys: Grenn, who for some reason, reminded him of Hodor, before he lost his wits; a simple farm boy from the Gift. And Arnell, a young bastard boy from a Fossoway woman. While playful, they also seemed quite protective. It reminded him of his youngest brother, who was now all dressed in white instead of black. 

Benjen always had that innate gift. Bran knew which men to know and be friendly with while Ben never really cared about such things. Ben was always friendly to anyone and everyone who came his way. It was what made he and Lya inseparable. Jon had that easiness about him too, not even caring that Humfrey and Arnell are bastards; even after being explained what a bastard was. "Why does that matter?" So unrelenting in care, and enthusiastic as a boy can be.

The heir to Storm's End, Gendry, seemed to have that easiness as well. That was surprising as well. Here before him are the sons of both Rhaegar and Robert, yet they are as inseparable as Robert and him, when they were still boys.

Brandon

They share a common love; his nephew and his brother. Warriors to their core. The one thing that always held his interest was not just histories of old, but also battle tactics and strategies. Jon had beamed and smiled brightly when he learned that he could now use a blunted tourney blade. 

Robb and Jon always tested their mettle. While Robb is strong and fast, Jon is graceful and quick. Robb has a somewhat stocky frame whereas Jon is slender as his blade. Both of them seemed to fight like Bran as well. Robb trying to get a strike in at every chance, and Jon moving as quick as wolf in each of his movements. Watching and waiting for the right time to strike. That was something that Bran did not do. 

Had he learned like their nephew; to watch, to wait, to listen, mayhaps he would still be here. Mayhaps he would be Lord of Winterfell and wed to Catelyn, who she had wanted and had deemed him a gallant knight of those sweet southron songs and dreams. Though, he cannot imagine a life without Cat now. Even now, he knew that his brother would not keep to Catelyn, and his gleaming grey eyes would look to something else. As always.

Yet, like his brother, he had dreams of glory. Not of tourneys, but to lead men into war. Bring honour and glory to the houses Stark and Targaryen. Honour most of all, a concept that was lost on his brother for the most part. Until his final foolhardy days. 

Lyanna

If there was one thing he loved and admired about his sister, it was her wild cackling laughter. That teasing grin on her lips. 

Robb had much of him, but also had much of Brandon in him. He had his easy smile and his booming laugh. It is nice to see his sister - his mother - in his nephew. How he tosses his head back as he laughs or how he puts his hands through his hair in frustration. And there is much of her within him. A love for horses and a innately natural talent for horse-riding. Even her sense of justice. 

Theon had been, at times, quarrelsome and troublesome. He and several others had decided to try to "beat some shape" into the shy and soft Samwell Tarly. Jon, normally calm and composed, displayed an uncharacteristic rage much like Lya. He imagined what Howland told him, when she saved his life from those squires. 

Jon had whacked the harassing party across the face with nothing but a stick. "They kept picking on Sam and he's my friend. What was I supposed to do? Just let them?"

Wolf's blood is as strong in him as it was in Lya. But just barely a touch of it addled him. 

Ned

His nephew reminded Ned not a great deal of himself but there were times where it happened. He noticed how Jon would always be off to the side at feasts. Jon was sitting at the side looking so very distant and unwanted.

Whenever he saw his nephew like this he would feel like a veil of sorts was put over him, of sadness and loss. And he could tell half the time what he was thinking of, what he was feeling. It was what he had felt with Brandon at times. The envy, the worship, the pity, the comparisons, the annoyance. 

Robb had always been a loved child from birth, and from what he had heard, Prince Aegon is growing to be an accomplished young man. It was easy to love them as everyone wanted to be around them. Everything always at face value. 

There were few people that Ned Stark could deem as true friends. As his father once said, "we make our true friends on the battlefield". Mark Ryswell, had been his captain of guards for nearly five-and-ten years. Theo Wull making visits to Winterfell on occasion, even after donning a black cloak. Willam Dustin often jested when he came to visit with Ethan in tow. Though Howland rarely left Greywater, it made the scarce and rare visits all the more welcoming. Martyn Cassel had passed of old age nearly five years ago. 

Such an easiness that he didn't have the way Bran did. The easiness in being admired and adored as if he were sent by the gods. He was loved, of course, but he could and would never be Brandon and that was something he had cried himself to sleep thinking about, how his older brother would always come first and would always be the one everyone loved first - even by his wife, he had thought, too many times - and even when he was a man, it was always Brandon.

It wasn't Brandon's fault, not directly, but just his presence and existence and ability to be the best at everything. Brandon would always be first and Brandon was always there, hiding in the shadows of the conversations and it was always Brandon Ned thought of when he considered being better. As if Brandon was a God on earth and Ned was just his servant and right-hand commanded to do everything he said and do everything he did but worse.

Yet, somehow, he managed to earn his brother's ire at Harrenhal. For all his cockiness, he became irked when a pretty maiden had shown interest in him instead of Brandon. That woman with her haunting eyes, who told him that she liked him for the way he is and not for what he can be. And thus, he vowed that Lya's boy will never feel like that ever. Never feel as if he was an unwanted and unloved child, believing he should be like anybody else. How can he be when he is so easy to love?

Rhaegar

It was almost minuscule.

Thinking of Rhaegar made Ned feel odd and made his think a thousand things and him being Jon's father was probably the thousandth. Because Jon just wasn't at all like Rhaegar (it was every single day that Ned was thankful Jon had dark hair and eyes that were nothing near purple).

It felt almost laughable that he only inherited one skill that his father was noted for, and it surely wasn't his skill as a harpist. Gendry seemingly inherited the skill as well. The men and boys hung around them, listening to the sound of their voices. Soft as the wind and gentle as a light rain. 

Oooooooh, I am the LAST of the giants, 

so learn well the words of my song.

For when I am gone the singing will fade, 

and the silence shall last long and long

For a brief moment, he had seen Rhaegar singing back at Harrenhal, driving Lya to tears with Jenny of Oldstones. Several maidens had tears streaming down their face, such as Sansa and Jeyne Poole and little Beth Cassel. Even Arya, who was nearly Lya reborn. There are times when he thought him like Rhaegar. He could faintly see the faint lines of dark indigo around his eyes, and his voice is akin to him with iron tones. But no, Jon would be Lya's boy. Only Lya.

Chapter Text

One

She kept looking at the baby boy. It almost brought about the pain of her lost babe. But there was a sadness within her that couldn't be helped. 

The babe's eyes looked so much like him. The babe she lost, and the man she loved. This babe could just have easily been our babe. 

He then opened his eyes - those shining Stark grey eyes - that bore into her. The baby boy did nothing but simply stare, unperturbed. 

Such a quiet little wolf. 

Two

It's strange watching him grow alongside his siblings. Surprisingly enough, Rhaenys takes to being his big sister at heart. They are the anomalies of Rhaegar's children: his eldest taking after her mother and his youngest taking after his mother. 

Most strangest thing was when the young prince decided he wanted to be called Jon. No one seemed to know just where he got this notion from. Yet, he always seemed to smile around Connington and the Lord Hand Jon Arryn. Who did he decide to take it from; his father's friend and confidante, or his father's trusted ally at this time. 

As of late, she felt herself grow more and more fonder of the boy. And Prince Jon returned that affection; often calling her "Auntie Ash". Elia had giggled when she heard the boy call her that. But she didn't mind in the least. 

Jon kept whooping loudly as his pony kept galloping practicing at the quintains. "Auntie Ash, Auntie Ash! Look at me!!"

Even though she did not mind the apparent nickname, it tore at her heart a bit. "Yes, I am. You're looking like a proper knight!"

Hopefully, you'll be the truest knight that ever lived, little wolf.

Three

"You're only hurting yourself, you know," Elia says chastising her with her sweet and gentle voice like honey. 

"What do you mean?"

"I know you better than Arthur, and mayhaps even Oberyn. I know that you have suffered, and I know what you have lost. But Jon is not and cannot be your son," Elia said. But she felt a fire in the pits of her belly that she couldn't ignore. 

"That's easy for you to say, El. You have children of your own, and a husband. Even if he doesn't invite you to his bed, you still have someone. I'm still courted as if I were some jewel or prize to be attained. I know since his last visit that Robert Baratheon is likely thinking of sticking his cock in the crevices of my arsehole or sire his own bastard onto me. 
Yet, for a moment ... I could just picture ... envision ..."

Elia then gave her a tight hug, like a sister would. Or someone who knew, felt and understood the kind of pain and sadness she had experienced. 

"I hate myself and I hate Catelyn Tully. Gods, I want to hate that uppity whore so, so much El. With every fiber of my being," she said slumping. 

"I know. but we can't always get what we want. We must deal with the hand we are dealt with," Elia said curtly before leaving her chambers. 

Just as she was about to wander into the realm of dreams, she heard small scuffling. The guards had told her about it before and warned her. That someone had been wandering the corridors late at night. She opened the door and saw just who it was. The Winter Prince, Jon Targaryen. 

"Jon? Jon, what are you doing?"

"Auntie Ash? I-I can't sleep." 

"Tell you what. How bout I walk you back to your chambers and read you a story and took you into your furs?" Jon nodded and took her hand as she lead him back to his chambers. 

As they came to his chambers, Jon quickly jumped onto his bed while she grabbed a nearby book and started to read the princeling the tales of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. "You'll grow and become just like the Dragonknight, sweet prince. Just, righteous, and valorous. Though, you might be the Direknight rather than the Dragonknight."

She then saw that Jon was fast asleep, neatly snuggled into his furs. They should have told her long ago not to look at a Stark in the moonlight. Wolves are truly beautiful creatures. On some sort of instinct, she gently caressed his full cheek with her finger. 

In a different time, you could have been my child. And I would have loved you so just for being mine. 

Four

It felt strange to be here in Winterfell. The place that she envisioned herself as its lady, when things were not brought in tragedy, grief and strife. It was certainly smaller than the Red Keep and undoubtedly bigger than Starfall, but looked powerful as it did ancient. She was brought with Prince Jon's party alongside his Kingsguard uncle Benjen and the Blackfish; though mayhaps he should be the Whitefish instead. 

Ned greeted them all formally and quite warmly. Jon all but cowered behind her leg as he tried to present himself. Such a shy boy, but sweet. "C'mon, Jon. It's alright. That's your uncle, Lord Eddard. Your Uncle Benjen told you of him," she said softly to him. 

Jon then puffed up his little chest and said, "Greetings, Lord Eddard. Lady Catelyn," He then gave a stern bow. Ned gave a wry chuckle to his nephew. "We all welcome you, my prince," Ned said while then charging forward and giving his nephew a massive bear-hug. 

She felt herself glower at her. Lady Catelyn Tully; practically glowing with her Stark livery. Stark grey dress. Grey-lined furs. The fiery-haired blue-eyed bitch then stared back at her; almost cowering at the sight. Let that be a reminder, Whore of Winterfell. Ashara understood politics enough, it was the drive and foundation of Westeros. And a large part of her wants to mock and taunt Catelyn Tully that was the only reason she ever married Ned; the earnest quiet wolf who wanted to earn his place in the world with her by his side. A man who may never have felt feelings of envy or bore ill-will toward his disgustingly stupid elder brother. 

But she was not here to mock and taunt Catelyn Tully. She was here for Jon. And not Ned, in spite of Elia's claims to not charm him. Though, it was a bit hard too. No longer was he the awkward youth of eight-and-ten who acted as he was not worthy to walk with her. Now, he was a stern lord in his own right, a fierce beard adorning his cheeks and jaw. Ruling the North efficiently, little lingering doubt armed or ailed him.

Yet, another pain was brought to her again. Seeing Ned and Jon grow close as a father and son rather than a uncle and nephew made her heart ache. Did Ned think him more a son than nephew? Did he wish that Jon was his son? 

Did he imagine that Jon could have been the son she would have borne for him?

The boy seemed to thrive with the smell and sounds of fresh pines and snow crunching beneath his feet. "SNOW!! Snowsnowsnowsnowsnow ..." Jon gleefully shouted as his boots kept stepping on it, grabbing and throwing it up in the air with the largest grin on his face. He had already befriended his cousin, Robb Stark the heir to WInterfell. At least she knew that he had some true friends rather than lickspittles looking to curry favour with him. But why would anyone want to curry favour with the spare heir? Because they can, because he's easier to get to. 

And she would not let anyone harm him. And she knew instinctively that Ned would not allow that to happen either. 

Five

"You look like a proper little princeling now," she said as cheerily as she could. 

"A Targaryen princeling. I can't believe they're coming," Jon said a bit somberly. He had grown into quite a handsome lad. The youthful chubbiness of his face beginning to fade away. His chin more defined, his cheeks slightly narrowed. It was almost looking liked Ned. But Ned had said that Jon looks so much like his late sister. He must see something that I don't. 

"Jon, what were you expecting? That your father simply abandon you to the North?" Though from what she had seen before, Rhaegar did not spend a lot of time with his children. Especially Jon. Mayhaps he was seeing the ghost of his son's mother looming over him?

But she and Ned had ensured that Jon was not unloved. And Jon Arryn and even Robert Baratheon to an extent seemed to ensure that as well. Jon Arryn insisted to his lord nephew that his grandnephew Robin be sent to Winterfell and Robert and Stannis Baratheon had sent over their sons as well. And others had become his friends in sending their children to foster with Ned. Nearly all of them true and loyal companions. 

Robin Arryn supposedly took after his elderly lord granduncle. But his head was adorned with strawberry-blonde curls rather than simple straight blond hair. The boy even tried to model himself from what he knew about Jon Arryn. Prudent and quite clever for a boy his age and a calming presence to him with his easy dimpled smile and sky blue eyes.
Gendry Baratheon was the very image of his father Robert yet was nothing like him. He had his father's looks, strength and charm but he held his head high with a true sense of confidence rather than the strutting swagger his father had. He also had a sense of focus and determination that was apparently like his uncle Stannis. 
His bastard brother Edmure Whent was more prone to scowling and smirking than smiling and looked quite sinister with his narrow cheeks and hooked nose. Cruel with a blade yet gentle of heart. The only way anyone could determine he was Robert's was by the same deep belly laugh he also shared with Gendry. 
Their cousin Gormon seemed to be a rarity among the Baratheons. Often placing his nose in a book alongside the sweet Samwell Tarly. Smart as a maester and looks more like a scribe rather than a proud warrior that the Baratheon's are famed for. But that did not mean he was to be trifled with; for the lad was quick and clever with a blade in hand. He was just not so enthused by combat like most boys his age or family are. 
Dareon Flowers, the infamous bastard of Prince Lewyn Martell. Fearless in the training yard, quick with a blade with a wit equally swift and sharp. 
Wallace Waynwood was shy with a stutter that made him more like a boy than a newly minted knight.
Domeric Bolton soft of speech and gentle of heart. Born in the saddle with a song in his heart. Whenever he wasn't riding, hunting or fighting, the lad was off playing his harp as beautifully as Rhaegar would. 
Then there was Waymar Royce and Theon Greyjoy, the warded hostage. It was clear since his stupid father rebelled that he was a hostage, yet Ned treated him more like a ward than a hostage, even though that is what he is. Those two were a pair: slender, dark-haired and acting with a sense of entitlement and arrogance. Theon more than him; walking with a strut in his walk and smirk adorning his lips, as if there were a grand jape that only he knew. He seemed to think himself to be Robert Baratheon come again with the way he approached woman. He quickly learned his lesson after a failed attempt at propositioning her. A red hand across his face as well as a broken nose always allows a lesson to sink into the head. Yet, somehow, he came to view both Jon and Robb Stark as younger siblings and something of kindred spirits. 

Yet, Jon still bore a sense of sadness in his eyes. Does he truly believe that Rhaegar did not love him? King be damned, I'll smack him across his fool head. 

"Come and look at the mirror. I remember when you first came here. You were a shy little boy who quaked in his boots at the sight of his uncle. Remember how you thought him a giant?"

"Yes, I remember, Auntie Ash!" he said with a small giggle and smile. He looks better when he smiles. 

"It's been years since you called me that! Now look at yourself. You are not the same boy you were. You are still a boy, but look closely and you'll see the man your lord uncle and everyone else in Winterfell sees. You have grown so, so much. And I know that your father will be proud of you. And if your mother were here, I know that she would be most proud of you too," she said, gently cupping his cheek. 

"Thank you, Lady Ashara"

"Oh, please. I sound so old when you call me that! Go back to calling me Auntie Ash!" she laughed. I wish I could call you son and for you to call me mother. But that will not ever happen. 

And One

She couldn't believe that war was on the horizon. A number of sellsword and sellsword companies flocked to Viserys' promise of lands, titles and riches beyond their wildest dreams. That daft boy. He truly was Aerys' get, more daft and foolish and mayhaps twice as crazed with his delusions of grandeur. 

Both the princes were more than prepared to take down their uncle. Though she could tell what was on both their minds. No man is as cursed as a kinslayer. But Viserys betrayed his kin, and was nothing to Rhaegar at this point. He was no longer the boy who begged Rhaegar to play with him, but the foolish deranged man-child who had clearly broken his elder brother's heart and threatened to bring despair to the kingdoms. 

Jon had come before the throne room, sternly bowing and vowing to bring Viserys to his knees alongside Aegon. He looked rather splendid in his armour. He bore night black plate armour with a white wolf with rubies in its eyes decorating the breastplate. He wore black ringmail underneath and his helm was decorated with pale white streamers reminiscent to a coming chilly winter breeze. 

Rhaenys had come to bid both her brothers good luck. She then came forward to Jon, making sure that he stood proud and straight. Old habits die hard. 

"Y-You come back now, you hear me? Don-Don't go off doing something stupid. You don't have to prove yourself to anything o-or anyone. You have already proven yourself to be a sple-splendid young warrior and m-m-man," she said, her throat choking back tears. 

"I won't. I promise," he smiled. It was calm and assuring. Suddenly, she found the courage to say what had been on her mind all these years. 

"Your mother would be so proud of you. And I know I am proud of you. I would have been very proud to have a son like you!"

"You do. No son has ever felt more love from a mother."

"And no mother had ever been more proud of a son!" she cried out, gripping him into the fiercest hug she had ever given him. "Stay safe, stay alive, you hear me?" she hoarsely whispered into his ear. 

"I will. I will, mother"

Chapter Text

She kept hearing it all through the night. The moans and groans of pleasure coming from the chambers of Lord Eddard and Lady Ashara. As it much as it annoyed her, it made her quite curious and envious as well. 

She knew what she would have to endure upon marriage, but she didn't think that Brandon would all but abandon their bed after two months of marriage. His gleaming grey eyes wandering about everywhere. At one point he seemed to display an interest in his brother's wife until Lord Eddard's eyes glared right at him and enduring a loud and public smack from Lady Ashara as well. It made her feel all the more unwanted. 

And for that alone, made it all the more easier to be envious of Eddard and Ashara. She wishes that she did not so easily dismiss Eddard - Ned, he insisted he be called - upon seeing him and Winterfell. She had been so stupid to have fallen for Brandon. It was there after she began to truly notice just how different and similar the two brother's are. Brandon is lantern-jawed and a broad muscular frame, whereas Ned's jaw is slightly more narrow and bearing a more leaner frame. She thought Brandon to be as noble as the knight in her dreams though he was little more than a roguish hedge knight. Ned Stark dutiful and honourable and more noble than his brother, and did not stray from his wife in any manner. 

As elegant as she thought Brandon was, he is rather rough-hewn than she judged Ned to be. He was certainly plainer compared to Brandon, but she had to admit that he is quite handsome. Brandon looked quite worse for wear when he did mar his face with a beard, and Ned looked a bit better clean-shaven, making his somewhat stern face look all the more youthful whenever he decided to rid himself of it. Which was a rather rare occasion. It was also evident in the company they kept. Everyone seemed to adore Brandon, sharing his jests and his smiles but that was as far as it would go. They tolerated him at best, making him think that he was the most loved man in all the North. Ned, however, seemed to have true companions in the latest man-arms Mark Ryswell, the uncouth yet cunning Theo Wull, the new lord Willam Dustin who had grown up with Brandon, even Brandon's squire Ethan Glover seemed to prefer Ned's companionship rather than his lord. 

"OOHHH, NEEEDD!!" she heard Ashara cry out. It used to fathom her just how or why Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall, the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros, would agree to marry Ned Stark who she deemed so plain of face in an instant. A woman who had countless, thousands of suitors, chose a man, who according to Brandon, fumbled his words at the mere sight of a woman. Her reasoning echoed in her head even now; "His face may look to be made of stone to you, but it hides just how sweet and kind his heart and soul are". 

"DON'T STOP, MY SWEET WOLF LORD!!" Now, if only they, or at the very least she, could quiet whenever they decided to ... fuck. 

It seemed that everyone else in Winterfell shared her thoughts and sentiments regarding Lady Ashara Dayne. 

"She sounds as if Lord Ned was stabbing her to death the other night?!"
"I didn't think she was the screaming type!"
"Ya think she's alrigh' with the way she likely been ridin' Lord Eddard like a sand steed?"

What seemed to pain her the most was how Ashara seemed to take it in stride. Like she did not care for their quibbling and squabbling; she stood high and proud above it all. That somehow, she had easily won over the entire household whereas they continued to treat her as if she was still a pampered sot. While she was still not used to the North, she had been trying to understand and become more of a northwoman. It seemed so miraculously easy for the dornishwoman. But then again, Ned had been actively helping her, whereas Brandon paid her little to no mind unless there were no other woman who would raise her portcullis for him. The dutiful pair of legs he could crawl back into whenever he was bored. And the only times he would try to seek her pleasure was in trying to get a strong heir in her. 

It hadn't been long when Ashara had announced her own pregnancy. While Brandon had publicly congratulated his brother, in private he had been seething in jealousy and awe of his brother. Going as far to blame her for not being filled with a litter of babes. Granted, it had been only two months but the fact that he blamed her made her so wroth with anger that she shocked him and herself.

"Oh, yes, Brandon. It's all my fault. It's my fault that you don't have a wife glowing with child for not getting down on my knees to suck your cock like all the whores in Wintertown do. Or plead for you to shove it in my arsehole. Yes, Brandon, it's all my fault because I barely give you ample time to fuck me whenever you see fit. Or mayhaps, if you stopped spreading your seed throughout every woman who is willing to spread their legs WIDE OPEN for you! I am so, so sorry!"

She had been so wroth that night she needed to calm herself down. As she headed to the kitchens, she heard something. As she then looked, she saw the most unusual thing ever. Ned having Ashara over a kitchen counter, her legs curling around his neck. Catelyn quickly took note that Ashara's breasts and chest had been trailed with some sort of cream. Ashara kept moaning and hooking her legs around Ned, bringing him more closer to her. 

"My lady. I'm not sure which creme is sweeter," Ned said as he gave a rather large and long lick off her cunt. 

"O-o-ohhh. Don't, don't stop, Ned!!"

Do they have any decency?! And in the kitchens, seriously?! Yet, she couldn't help but take not on not only Ned's but Ashara's eagerness as well. Both of them panting like animals in heat. Suddenly, Ashara seemed to take note that she was there, watching them. She stared at her, her eyes almost mocking her. But she quickly paid her no mind and closed her eyes and continued to moan in pleasure. 

A week had passed since she saw them in the kitchens. And she couldn't get that image out of her head. Was that what actual pleasure was like? Brandon never pleasured her like that once. Not even when he had delightfully taken her maidenhead and addressed his cock as a "bloody sword" as it was doused in her maiden's blood.
"O-OH, YES! LI-LI-LICK IT AGAIN, NED!!'
What on earth could he be licking now? 

She's jealous. She knows it to be true. The way that she stared at them. She wants what she can't have. 

Dornishwoman maybe considered lewd but they were not stupid. Not like all these northerners. Everyone above the Dornish marches were all northerners to her. Easy words and smiles from anyone and they would drop their smallclothes for any knight or lord that came their way. Heirs to houses large and small were very much the same. And Catelyn Tully and Brandon Stark were no different. 

Ashara still recalled how Brandon all but offered himself at the Tourney at Harrenhal, and again once she came to Winterfell as Ned's wife. Is he the heir of Winterfell, or the Dunderhead of the North? She's seen men like him numerous times, bragging about themselves as if they were the most important person in the world. That made it all the more easier to accept Ned's proposal of marriage, in front of Harrenhal's rather scary-looking weirwood tree. 

Ned didn't need any sort of "charm" that Brandon oozed out. She loved everything about him. But the things that enchanted her the most were his smile and his eyes. Beautiful stormy grey eyes that could turn soft as fog or hard as stone. He is so gentle and honest and with the sweetest heart she has ever known, beneath his stoic quietude. And she will love whatever children they have, for they will have a part of their father in them. She almost feels sorry for Catelyn Tully for bearing any child of Brandon's. 

Yet, that also made her feel strangely jealous as well. She was certainly a pretty young lass. Closer of an age to her husband, neatly flowing auburn hair and a very ample chest. What would stop her from using her own feminine wiles to seduce her own husband? She and Ned seem to get along now, for all she knew, she could end up taking her husband for one night and passing off any child she has as Brandon's, with both of them none the wiser. So, she boldly decides to tell him.

"You want what?" Ned asks, and Ashara hides her smile.

"Ned, you know perfectly well what I said," Ashara says, making her voice teasing.

Her husband looks quite uncomfortable, especially since they had just finished their own adventure in their bedchamber. "You want to take someone into your bed," he replies, voice even.

"Our bed, Ned. I want to take someone into our bed."

His face drains immediately, and this time, Ashara cannot stop the giggle that rises in her throat. "Why?" he finally asks. She notices that he hasn't said no yet.

"Ash, you're going to have a child. W-We've had quite adventurous times if I do say so myself. And now it is not enough? Am I not good enough? Why do you need to seek your pleasure elsewhere?"

Suddenly, she knows why he looks so upset. "Oh, Ned," she says, and she lays a hand on his arm, "I'm not dissatisfied with you. Especially with that silver tongue of yours. On the contrary, I find that this can be pleasurable for the both of us. Many dornishmen swore that the experience made them more passionate lovers."

Ned makes a choking noise, "I don't even want to think on that, Ash."

She pulls him closer until he sits next to her on the cushions. "Ned ," she croons, and moves so quickly that he doesn't even have time to blink. Within a moment, Ashara's lips are on his and she is straddling him against the pillows on the featherbed.

When they break apart, Ned is breathing hard, and Ashara can feel his hardness pressed into her.

"Imagine," Ashara says, her breath hot in his ear, "two women, standing over you, touching you, kissing you," and she trails her hand down to undo his tunic. "Fucking you," she whispers, and finally, Ned relents under her.

"All right then. But who are you going to get to join us both in this venture? You're bound to get more looks from the the maids and guards."

It was sweet that he was concerned for her and the apparent reputation they had been getting as "deviants", but she didn't mind. They were no different than anyone at court aching for a morsel of gossip.

The truth is, Ashara doesn't know if she really should. The thought of someone in her bed does excite her, but she knows her reasons. She wants to present another beautiful woman before her husband and say, See? You've shared yourself with another woman, and you are still in love with your wife.

She wants to know if he can be with her, and with someone else, yet stay devoted. Stay true to his wife Ashara Dayne, and not his brother's wife Catelyn Tully. It is a test, and she does hate testing her husband without his knowledge. But she needs to know if he loves her truly, or if his love is a product of their physicality, their intimacy in and out of the bedchambers.

"I can handle the guards and maids. Let them go on prattling like fishwives. As for who ... I already have an inkling of an idea as to who will join us."

She found it strange that Ashara Dayne invited her for a chat. She was not exactly cordial with her, but she had easily dismissed her when she came to Winterfell. And I do so need a friend. Brandon's constant coming and goings had made her feel so lonely as of late. 

"So, Catelyn. How are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you for asking. Might I ask, how is it that you do not miss your home?"

"And what makes you think I don't? I do miss the heat of the Dornish sun but the hot springs in the castle have become my favourite place as of late. Even the godswood."

"The godswood?"

"Yes. Starfall actually has a small one, and it's weirwood heart tree is nowhere near as large or haunting as Winterfell's. I'm certain Riverrun's heart tree is impressive in its own right"

Clever, she is. "Yes, it's quite impressive. But more saddening then melancholic than the one in Winterfell." 

"I'll cut to the chase Lady Tully. I know what you want. And don't you lie to me, my lady. I've seen the way you have been looking at my husband." 

Catelyn felt a massive blush come to her face. Had she been painfully obvious about her growing attraction to Ned? 

"I think I have a way to relieve you of your affliction," she said with a smirk adorning her lips. I don't like the look of it. 

The moment that Ashara brought in Brandon's wife Catelyn, he felt everything in his body tighten. Ash, just what are you thinking?!

"Worry not, lord husband. Lady Catelyn has actually had such an idea in her head for quite some time." Ashara said, flashing a rather devious smile. 

Even if Catelyn somehow agreed to this, there was one thing on his mind. 

"But what abou - "

"Lord Brandon went off hunting and from what the guards had told me, he won't be back for quite some time. He'd never have to know. And why should he get all the fun, Ned?"

Catelyn looked somewhat uncomfortable to say the least. 

"My lady, if yo - "

"It's quite alright, my lord. Lady Ashara had in no way coerced me. And ... the idea does ... excite me a bit" Catelyn said with a faint smile upon her lips. 

Ash then came to him and kissed him sweetly on the lips then peppering his neck with them. She then whispered something to Catelyn, causing her to briefly walk toward him and place a somewhat clumsy kiss to his lips. Their teeth had clashed a bit, likely due to nervousness, but it was sweet nonetheless. Her mouth tasted oddly enough like mint. As Catelyn continued the kiss, deepening it, Ashara stood behind her undressing herself; ridding herself from her dress to her smallclothes, leaving herself completely bare. She then approached Catelyn from behind, slowly undressing her. Catelyn's already blushing face turned a thousand shades of red as she realized what Ashara was doing. 

Catelyn uneasily removed her smallclothes, and gave him a look that spoke of a mischievousness she kept hidden. A faint spark in those bright blue eyes of hers. Ned couldn't help but admire their bodies as Ashara wrapped her arms around his neck and Catelyn came following her lead. Both of them soft and supple as he felt someone's hands loosening his britches. Ash then pushed him to their bed and began to pepper him with kisses once again, then grabbed Catelyn by her hand to drag her along as well. 

Ashara then gently rubbed Catelyn's breasts, kneading them while she kissed by her lips then her neck; whispering something to her ear again. Catelyn then looked as docile as a kitten as she began to kiss him; having her tongue dance all around his mouth. She then placed herself atop of his chest, looking a bit unsteady until he placed her his hands on her hips. 

"You know just where she goes. Come now, Ned, show her!" Ashara teased. Ned gently rested Catelyn on his cock, to which she let out a small whimper. The pace started slow and became a bit faster as she steadied herself on his chest. Suddenly, Ashara placed her pink buds by his mouth, leaving him little time to comprehend the situation. Ashara steadied herself by grabbing the bedpost as he begin to swirl and move his tongue all around her sex. Both of their moans were like a cacophonous melody. 

Just as he felt himself come close to release, Ashara removed herself from him. "Wait, don't you think she ought to have a taste of your magnificent tongue, husband?" she said deviously. Catelyn no longer seemed demure but boldly removed herself from him and seemed to falter diligently at being bedded properly by him. He wasted little time as he entered her sex; Catelyn released yet another melodious moan. Ashara then placed herself above Catelyn's mouth, to which Catelyn seemed to comply eagerly. 

"Haha - aahh. All you trouts are so tricky. Making me as moist as the rivers you roam!!" Ashara groaned, as Catelyn licked her cunt. He then felt Catelyn's nails scraping along his backside, urging him to move inside her faster. Suddenly, Ashara removed herself once again, whispering something to Catelyn. 

"It's time you ravage our sweet southron maiden, my love. Take her. Take her like you took me the other night. Take her like a wolf takes a bitch!" Ashara said deviously. Ashara laid down on the bed gently, as she coaxed Catelyn to come back and keep licking her. Just as she did, Ashara gave him a wink to signal him. He then stood behind Catelyn, grabbing her by her hips and placed himself inside her once again. Catelyn's moan was now wild. "OHH!! OOOH!! THAT FEELS GOOD!!"

He paced himself slowly as Catelyn began to arch her back a bit as he plunged her tongue in Ashara. As he thrust into her, he then placed his fingers by her sex and began to rub around it, making her whimper even more. Though barely audible, he could feel her chest rumbling. Suddenly, he felt her body completely spasm as he spilt his seed inside of her. He then removed himself from her and Ashara did as well. All of them sweaty and smelt of sex. 

Once again, Ashara whispered something to Catelyn. Suddenly, she got up from the bed and took her clothes and proceeded to redress herself. But just before, she quickly gave him a small kiss. It left him wondering a bit. Just a bit ...

Chapter Text

"So, tell me about this King-Beyond-the-Wall, Ned"

"He was once a wildling before joining the Watch. A Night's Watchman had found him as a babe, and from then on, the Night's Watch had raised and cared for him. Ser Denys Mallister had sent him on a ranging and shortly after returning, he defected and betrayed them"

"Now, the traitorous whoreson now leads an army of wildlings?" 

"Aye. And the Night's Watch won't be enough to hold them back now." The Night's Watch is now a shadow of its former self. Brigands, rapers, and anyone who felt like an outsider had joined the fleeting army of black brothers. 

It suddenly made him think of Jon. Where could he have gone? Did he join the Golden Company with the other exiled lords hoping to earn glory? Is he roaming the Seven Kingdoms as a hedge knight of sorts? He refused to believe that he was dead and gone from the world. 

"Just how many savages is he leading?"

"From what my brother Ben told me, over a hundred thousand at last count"

"A hundred thousand savages? How the hell did that happen?"

"Mance Rayder had always been a cunning man. And that makes him all the more dangerous for being a deserter. He abandoned the men he called brothers who cared for him and told the wildlings every thing he knows of the Watch. And the Night's Watch is nothing but a shade for what it once was. Robert, I know you want and need me down in the south, but my people need me more than ever now."

There was one thing he could surely count on in getting Robert's support for all this; his innate love of battle. He may no longer be as fit as he was during his rebellion but he could still fight as well as any man. 

"If I get the chance to crush some skulls like I used to, then I'll help you with this Ned!" Robert said with that booming laugh of his. 

"Good. Because winter is coming"

"So, whatcha think? We have a chance, my wolf?" Val said as she snuggled herself closer in their furs. He never knew such warmth and closeness. 

"We certainly have the numbers and are more disciplined than before ... but I can't say for certain" he said. There had been wildling kings before who had been slain by either the Night's Watch or the Stark of Winterfell. 

"And why not, Jon?" Val asked with an impertinent look on her face. 

"We may not be enough. The people of the North have heard of our movements, from what Del and Orell had told me. If my father is successful in convincing the king, he might have more forces from the south."

"You southrons and your titles! "Ooh, save me my good Ser Jon Snow! And let me shower you with many, many kisses!"" Val said mockingly. 

"I'd like to take you up on that offer. If you are actually offering?" 

Val then gave him a rather cheeky grin and gave him a chaste kiss which he wanted to last forever. But winter is coming. Winter will come for them all. 

The Wall was a magnificent sight. Mayhaps the Black Brothers enjoy this sight as some sort of comfort? 

But right now was not time to dwell on that. Right now, he needed to focus on the wildlings. 

He was not expecting a lot of support but Robert managed to bring in some fairly interested individuals. He brought the Kingsguard, and some rather young knights interested in gaining glory in this endeavor. Thought it was probably best that Robert not bring them. These knights, the whole lot of them smelled of summer, and this is the land of winter that they were going to fight in. 

Robert's brother Renly seemed to treat the endeavor like a jape, even though he was clearly no warrior. He seemed to think he was like Robert reborn; but just because he looked like him when he was a lad didn't mean that he was like him exactly. Loras Tyrell was more or less the same, thinking it some kind of game. Lancel Lannister desperately tried to act like a man. Guyard Morrigen fancied himself singing of the great battle to come alongside Ser Parmen Crane and Ser Emmon Rhysling. Imry Florent was worse than his more knightly cousin Erren but their uncle Axell was the worst of the foxes. Waymar Royce behaved with a sense of entitlement because his brother Robar joined the Night's Watch a year past. 

Worst of all had been Robert's son Joffrey. Robert had insisted on bringing him along to turn him into more of a man. He certainly thought himself as a man grown for a boy of barely two-and-ten namedays. Swinging his new pretty blade and prattling on and on about his prowess, as if he were the Kingslayer reborn. The Kingslayer himself actually makes better company. And to think he all but agreed to betroth Sansa to him!

He had talked strategy with Robert along with the Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and the commanders of the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea: Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke. Robb and Theon had taken an instant liking to them. He had been apprehensive about bringing them, but Robb insisted as he was his heir and that the concerns of the Night's Watch were also his concern. Theon, like many of the southron knights, had wanted glory but also wanted to prove himself as well. 

The squires that Jeor had appointed for him were slightly better company, and it did them all well to learn how to fight properly. Pypar, or Pyp as he preferred to be called, had been a mummer prior to joining the Watch. He likely angered someone with all the japes he makes. Halder had been a simple stonemason's apprentice before coming to the Wall. Jeren was a bastard son of a wandering septon. Halder was quite tall, strong and muscular for a boy his age, if not easy to anticipate his movements. Jeren's skill was steadily improving and not as weak as before. Pyp's sword skills were definitely improving as he no longer held the blade like he would a dagger. He was quicker than before, but still afraid of being hit. 

The Wall was no place for a lad like Samwell Tarly. He was surely a child of summer. He's more suited to be a maester than a black brother. The Wall was no place for a lady like Brienne of Tarth as well, but not for the reasons she may think. While she was a skilled warrior in her own right and held an earnestness to prove herself, she lacks experience. The boy was far too craven to be a warrior. Though Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard seemed to like him. He did wonder just how men like Meryn Trant and Boros Blout ended up in the Kingsguard. 

GreatJon Umber seemed to approach this quite enthusiastically alongside his son SmallJon and his own uncle, Mors. Maege and her two eldest daughters, Dacey and Alysane looked fearsome in their boiled leather armour. Rickard Karstark's young sons Torr and Edd seemed ecstatic to fight. The Manderly brothers approached this matter as cautiously as he did. He felt all the more apprehensive toward Roose and his bastard son. The both of them unnerved him, he couldn't tell just what it was about them. 

"The wildlings no nothing of strategy. They'll just charge at us like they've always done!" Wendel Manderly exclaimed. 

"Mance Rayder was wildling-born and the Watch taught him much, my lord. That includes strategy. A crow is a rather tricky bird," Roose Bolton calmly exclaimed. 

"Call him what you want. Mance Rayder's a traitor. No matter what pretty cloak he decides to put on!" GreatJon said. 

"The rangers have naught to tell us other than the wildlings growth in number. We haven't an idea as to when they'll strike!" Maege exclaimed. 

"Those goatfuckers could strike the Wall at any time. And what is that stupid southron think he calls training? I could show him my chamberpot and call it training! I could train a horse better than he does!" GreatJon bellowed. 

Suddenly, they heard a great burst of something. They then left the chambers and headed off to the top of the Wall. A great big flame had suddenly burst forth. Suddenly, yells had followed the roaring blaze. A massive horde of men began to move around them. 

It was perfect. Though, they hadn't received Mance's signal. He knew that he had snuck into the Wall itself. I wonder just where he could be? 

"These people truly have become our people, haven't they?" Dom said. 

"That they have Dom. That they have," Jon said as he then put his helm on. He felt not only like a true warrior but a real man. Grenn then approached him along with Del, Grigg the Goat, Toregg the Tall, Longspear Ryk, and Quort.

"It's time we show these southron fuckers what for!" they shouted. 

Jon then faced the wildlings. "These are our lands as much as theirs. Now, why don't we show them?" he shouted. They shouted back in reply. 

"WHO OWNS THE NORTH?! WHO OWNS THE NORTH?!"

"WE DO!!"

"THEN LETS SHOW THEM!!"

How in the hell had Mance Rayder gather all these wildlings together? 

Good men were dying left to right. Well, most of the men he lead into battle were not exactly good but fighting for a good cause. Renly Baratheon's japes had earned him nothing and Lancel Lannister's failed bravado had done the same. Not only had many able-bodied young men died but also several kingsguard members. Boros Blout's belly was split open by a wildling's sword and an axe had been buried deep into Meryn Trant's head. Preston Greenfield had been torn apart limb by limb and Mandon Moore had a spear shoved from the back of his head. The Boltons were lost in the mess. Rickard and Torrhen Karstark lost within seconds of each other's deaths. 

As much as Robert proved himself a warrior again and Ser Barristan had cut down many, he knew that they couldn't handle that many wildlings. He had forced them all to make a hasty retreat back to Castle Black. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Ned! I could have killed all those goat fuckers all the livelong day!":

"That doesn't matter, Robert! We lead unarmed boys into a battle. We need more men, Robert. Actual men who know of battles and war other than tourneys. We need aid from Stannis, or the Royces or so - "

"Hold on, my lord! Where are the boys? And Jaime? The prince?" Ser Barristan said. 

They had retreated quickly that they hadn't even noticed if the others had kept up with them. Robb? Theon? No. No, not again. Nonononono ... 

"MY LORD! Please, calm down!" Mormont and Mallister said as they held him down. How was Robert so calm? His son was nowhere in sight either. Does he hate his own blood so? 

"Yes, please calm down, my lords" said the ... bard ... that had ... accompanied them. 

"You traitorous son of a whore!" Denys Mallister growled. It was then he remembered. He had come to his home once with the previous Lord Commander Petyr Qorgyle. 

"Some might take offend to that, good ser. Plenty of your crows were likely sons of whores and the like," Mance Rayder said with a smile. He then eyed the knights who had been left behind. Samwell Tarly and Arys Oakheart had been bound and gagged along with several young Night's Watch recruits. There were plenty of corpses of Night's Watch recruits and men alike.

Robert senselessly charged only for a stocky man with a snow-white beard to knock him down with a quarterstaff no less. 

"So, this is your southron king? He's as soft as that baby crow we captured! HAR!" 

"Shut your mouth you fucking shit!" Robert roared. 

"Best be careful now, my king. I have my prince holding your own captive." Mance said. 

"Prince? Since when did you grant any man a title? Let alone your own child?" Denys questioned while Jeor leered at him. 

"I said that he was my prince. I never said that he was mine own. But in truth, I'd love him as he were mine own. And speaking of kin, he has yours as well, Stark. Best not cut me throat unless you want you and yours to be buried in the snow."

He had never felt such a cold fury in his life. But if Robb and Theon's lives were in peril ... 

"We ... surrender ..." 

Just then, a loud horn had been sounded. Mance then shouted a command for the gate to be opened and the sound of the gates hinges brought him a sense of despair. A small group of riders had entered along with a small party of men that had been bound. One of the riders seemed to bear a certain familiarity with his bronzed wolf-shaped helm as he brought in Theon and Robb, gently nudging them aside. 

"Father!"
"Lord Stark!" 

"Are you two alright?" he said as he approached them. The rider with the wolf's helm then seemed to look at him. Judging him. Suddenly, he took note of one of the captives who was suddenly tossed on the floor. The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister. He looked ... defeated as if it had been for the first time. But the sight he saw after explained it away; his swordhand worn around his neck like some sort of charm. He was muttering nonsense. 

"You seriously maimed the Kingslayer now, haven't you?" Robert said somewhat darkly. With the way he spoke of the Lannisters, it almost made him sound like he cared for him. 

"We were told to keep him alive. But if ya get yer hand cut off, yer still alive then aren't ya?" said one of the riders, who was thick of neck with mousy-brown hair. He almost reminded him of Hodor. 

Robert then laughed quite heartily but his face then turned serious again. "Where's my son?" All of them looked around each other. One of the riders - who he realized was a woman - then tossed out a bag. Within it, fell out the head of Prince Joffrey Baratheon. The boy was clearly frightened in his last moments. A different rider with a long blond braid then smiled as he held up the prince's ornate crossbow. 

"H-H-How?" Robert choked out. He almost looked saddened by it. Almost. 

"Little shit kept whining and screaming his arse off for us to stand still for he ... was ... the prince!!" the man roared out mockingly then laughed. 

Just as Robert seemed like he was going to do something, Mance Rayder approached the helmed rider. "My prince" he said. 

Suddenly, the rider leapt off his horse and removed his helm. He ... couldn't believe it. His dark curls had grown longer. He was still rather skinny - no, not skinny, lithe. And his grey pools shimmered like molten silver. Like Lya's. Like mine. 

"Lord Stark. We have much to discuss."

Chapter Text

She is so undeniably hot. This could not be better. Not only fucking an insanely beautiful woman, but Joffrey's mom to boot. 

This may have been the greatest and ultimate revenge on that blonde-haired fuck. He couldn't believe that such a beauty created that blonde abomination. 

Gods, she is really milking me for all I'm worth! Sex in a car was always hot. If there was anything he loved, it was a hot chick riding on his dick. And she's riding me as if she were born in the saddle. God!! Ride me like a pommel horse!!

"Ooohhh. Cersei. Cersei."

The way her golden locks drop down and practically cover her round perky tits ... it truly makes her look like a goddess. God, those tits!! Still so firm after all this time. The epitome of a MILF!!

"Call me Joffrey's mom!!" she groaned. Suddenly, she grabbed onto that handle of the passenger door and began to rid ... oh dear fucking god ...

Faster and faster. Gods, she's insatiable!! 

Her face suddenly looks determined. She wants this! She wants me to ... oh, no. Oh, by every god in every heaven! Oh ...

"OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH, JOOOOFFFRRREEEEYYY'S MMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!"

Chapter Text

Dany and Sansa giggled together as they sat in at the benches. The two girls had been talking about boys and clothing all day. "What do you think about Gendry?" Dany asked the young red haired girl.

"He's oh so very handsome and so fit" She replied with a sigh. Dany knew that Sansa had a major crush on Gendry, but she was afraid his feelings weren't the same way. Gendry was always sweet and caring but he never showed any romantic emotions to any one girl in King's Landing Academy. "What about Jojen?" Sansa asked.

"I just see him as my little brother, y'know what I mean?" She said.

"I understand" Sansa said with a smile. "But he is cute" The girls giggled. 

Suddenly, they took note of Alys sighing forlornly and watching at something which made her look all the more sadder.

"Alys, what's wrong?" Sansa asked. 

"Huh? Oh, it's uh, it's nothing," she sighed, looking dreary. Like someone had kicked her dog to death in front of her. 

"That's not nothing. That's the power of love written all over your face!!" Dany exclaimed. Sansa then took note how Alys's cheeks now began to be faint with a blush of red. 

"N-N-No i-it's not!!"

"OMG!! You're in love with someone, aren't you?? Who is it??" Sansa said with her eyes gleaming. 

"I-It's no one. And ... not possible ..." Alys said. 

"It's not Loras Tyrell now, is it? Cuz everyone, including the teachers, know about his sexuality. His clothes are as bright as Christmas!" Dany said. 

"He wouldn't notice me. Maybe if I joined a sports team ... or put on a skimpy cheerleader outfit like you guys" Alys said dejectedly. 

"Well, it certainly helps. But c'mon now, who is it??" Dany asked. 

"I'm a bit embarrassed to say." Alys said. 

"Why? Is it someone we know? Is it some ... relative of ours?" Dany asked, now noticing that Alys was trying not to look at Sansa. 

"O-Oh. OH! Alys, sorry but Robb and Marg are my OTP! I cannot allow you to break them up!" 

"IT'S JON!" Alys nearly screamed out. She quickly covered her mouth. 

"Jon? Jon as in my brother Jon?" Sansa asked all hushed up. 

"Uhh, um, yeah. I've been crushing on him since we both started high school. ... He's so dreamy ..." Alys said, the blush returning to her cheeks. It made her look all the more sweet. 

"Oooh, Alys in love! Waitaminute, why do you think that love between you and my brother is impossible?" Sansa asked. It wasn't anything against Jon, but she was curious nonetheless as he was her brother; Robb's younger twin by a minute. Jon was always a bit more serious than Robb and at times, came across as cold, but he was the warmest person she knew after her own father. 

"He wouldn't notice me even if I got a really pimped out dress. He likes sporty athletic girls," Alys sighed. 

"Hold on now, that's not true." Dany said. "He and I went out a couple of times"

"Cheerleader." Alys pointed out. 

"OK. I guess that's a tiny bit true. But what abou - "

"He went out with Ygritte; she's on the cross country team."

"Alright. But there's als - "

"Val. She's the cross country team captain."

"If you could stop interrupti - "

"Dacey Mormont. And her sister Lyra. Both of them on the wrestling team! Wylla Manderly; rowing team. Her sister Wynafryd, on the cheerleading squad with you. Arianne Martell was the cheerleading captain before she graduated. Nymeria Sand was on the fencing team. Let's face it; we're not destined for one another ..."

"Maybe you could join the cheerleading squad with us? There is a spot open up and you can fill it?" Dany said. 

"I'm not cut out for it. I'm not exactly a bombshell like you and Sans. And I'm as coordinated as horse on roids" 

"Alys ..." 

"Just look at him there. Lacrosse team captain. Fencing. Track and field. I'm nothing ..."

"Well, maybe you can learn a sport or two ..." Dany suggested. 

"Thinking about her again Jon?" Robb said, as they continued with their laps. 

"It's hard not to. She's beautiful ..."

"Then ask her out, man!"

"Have you seen the guys she went out with?"

"Ohh, c'mon, man. You've got a shot! What do they have that you don't?" Gendry asked. 

"Bigger muscles. And all the charm in the world."

"Come off it now!" Grenn exclaimed. 

"Daryn Hornwood- the somewhat cheap version of Professor Lannister's distinguished military brother. Then there was SmallJon Umber, who let's face it, could squash me like a grape. And, Satin, didn't she go out with you out of pity or something?"

"OY! That was before my coming out party, and you know it!" 'Satin' exclaimed. 

"And didn't she go out with Theon at one point?"

"It was a pity date. I didn't even get a blowjob or anything!" Theon said before getting shot with Jon's infamous "Death Glare"

"C'mon, Jon. It's not like you're Prince Charmless. You had girlfriends before. How did you get them anyways?" Theon asked, seemingly perplexed. 

"Strangely enough, honesty and dumb luck. Hell, that was the reason Val and Ygritte liked me so much. I need to up my game!"

"Well, maybe you can ask Edd for points in charming the ladies?" Grenn jokingly asked. Suddenly, Jon's downtrodden face changed and he ran off. 

"Did he know that you were joking?" Robb asked. 

Alright then, don't act like an idiot. Just remember what Edd told you. 

"Ladies love flowers. Roses 'specially."
"Stand straight and tall, less she mistake you for stone"
"Always think on what you wanna say. But don't always."

The last part didn't make much sense to him. But that doesn't matter right now. 

Sansa had told him that Alys was hanging around the school's gymnasium. OK. Don't screw this up, Jon. You're wearing your best suit. You've neatened your hair for possibly the first time in your life. And spent $38.50 on the biggest bouquet of roses. I probably shouldn't have worn my suit then if I'm going to meet a girl at a gym. 

He then saw her. Alys had her curly tumbling brown hair tied into a somewhat messy bun, wearing an all white tennis outfit. Her form was alright but her swings were a bit wild and uncoordinated, focusing more on power rather than accuracy. Don't think sports, think about Alys: think romantic. 

"Alys?"

"Jon? OW!" she cried out as the tennis ball came back and struck her in the face. 

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Sansa told me that the tennis team has an open spot and I've been practicing. Which is a good thing, because I've been outta practice since I was seven. I didn't even know we had a tennis team!" 

"Yeah, not the most popular sport lately. And you're not so out of practice. Your strikes are as swift as a stag."

"Um, thanks?  Anyways, what are you doing in a suit?" 

Don't answer that. Divert it. "First off, these are for you!" he said ceremoniously giving her the flowers. 

"Ohh, thank you Jon," Alys said as she then took a whiff of them. "They're absolutely lovely"

"Also, I'd like to say that your beauty holds no bounds. Your beauty is nothing compared to the flowers you now bear in your hand"

"Oh. Uh, um, thanks, I guess? Still, you hadn't really answered my question."

"Right. I'm here to take you out on a rather lovely dinner date, if you please?"

"Oh, Jon ... Thank you, but I'm way too under-dressed for that sort of occasion. Right now, I'm more suited for ... McDonalds or something like that. Actually, I do have a rather large hankering for fries right about now!" 

"Oh, OK. Mind if I ask you something? Why are you trying out for tennis anyways?" 

"Don't think I'm the sporty type now?"

"No, not at all. Just that I know that you're in Yearbook, A/V, and Jazz Club. You didn't seem to take an interest in the "sporty" clubs."

"Honestly, I was never all that good at most sports. Swimming; I could totally do that. Not sure about the synchronized part though. Hell, if there was a paintball team, I would dominate everyone around!"

"I'm certain you would!" Jon laughed. "Hold on for a second. I'll be back in like two minutes:"

Jon then went to his locker and got out a plain white shirt and a pair of grey-coloured jeans. "If you'd like, I can show you some pointers in how to handle that racket of yous. And ... maybe ... go to McDonalds right after?" 

Alys then began to blush madly. "O-okay"

The both of them had touched one another rampantly. Their arms and hands almost entwining themselves as they lost themselves in each other's touch and embrace. 

"I got to admit something. I thought that you love sporty athletic girls. That's why I was practicing my swing."

"Alright then, I gotta admit something. All that weirdly intense mushy stuff I said. I thought you'd like some mushy love poems, stuff like that. And I spent half of my day with Edd to learn to ... flirt properly."

"You spent half of an entire day with Dolorous Edd? To learn about flirting?" Alys giggled. 

"I wasn't that bad. ... Was I?"

"Tiny bit over the top. But nice," she said as they resumed their kissing. 

"So, wanna get back to the lesson? Or ... go to McDonalds?"

"The fries can wait"

Chapter Text

Rickard

His first-born son is by no means a wild child. Reckless and far too bold at times for his own sake. Cat claims that Robb seems to resemble her baby brother. He had only met Edmure once just after the Greyjoy Rebellion. Robb did not have his beard but there was no doubt in his Tully looks that they bore a certain semblance to one another. If anything, in his opinion, Robb may resemble a young Hoster or a younger and more impudent Blackfish.

There were times, when he saw the wold's blood about in Robb, that he reminded him of Brandon. In everything else, his boy reminded him so much of his father. Standing tall and proud and straight. A certain dignity carried about him. He had scarcely seen his father raise his voice or fight, but there was some of that in Robb as well. The one thing his father valued above all else was loyalty, something Robb seemed to have inherited. Scarcely fifteen, and he won the loyalty and friendships of many northern heirs, such as GreatJon Umber's son SmallJon and Harrion Karstark.  Robb is a Stark at his core, and will make a great Lord of Winterfell when his time comes.   

Lyarra

Catelyn might call it strange. Sansa was her mother in miniature in looks and personality. But there was something of his mother in his daughter as well. They both share their same love of songs and large dreams for themselves. 

His mother had grand dreams for all of them: for Brandon to grow tall, strong and into a good lord of Winterfell, for Lya to flower into a beautiful and headstrong lady, and for him and Benjen to help the north prosper. She shared her own dreams of the North to Father; for the North to prosper and never be mocked as a land of savages. 

Sansa has her own dreams of prosperity but mostly of herself. Her head filled so with the sweet songs of the south. She had enjoyed several northern songs when she was a child. But soon enough, she deemed herself to no longer be a child the moment she turned seven. 

Lyarra Stark always sang them to sleep and told them all her dreams for them all until she died of a chill a year or so after Benjen was born. Sansa loved to sing and dream big for herself. It almost pains him that she dreams so much of the south. Will she sing our old songs of the north when she begins to miss it? Mayhaps, she can find happiness in the south. 

Brandon

Brandon finally got his wish. He could never imagine what it was like being the heir. Brandon always seemed to act like it was nothing. He certainly took liberties regarding his status, but he remembers how his wild older brother confided in him that he wished he was second or third born. He never thought that his brother was jealous of him and Ben. He didn't give it much thought until Brandon told him. 

"You boys can live. Live however you like until honour and duty calls upon you. I don't like to think on it but the moment father leaves this world, I'll have to take his place. It's ... scary, Ned. I'm a soldier, a fighter, I'm not cut out for all this lordly shite!"

His youngest boy was his older brother - the wildest wolf - reborn. Quick to laugh, eager to please, and already a natural with a sword for a boy his age. His enthusiasm rivaled even Bran's. He all but grabbed his brother's practice sword from his hand, swinging about. At first, his swings looked wild, like a babe clutching onto a rattle. But then he noticed Rickon's footwork. Barely into his sixth nameday, and he held such a natural form. 

As a jape of some sort, Jory and Rodrik pitted the two boys against each other. Much to everyone's surprise, Rickon had all but dominated Bran. Bran held his face to the ground in shame, while Rickon ran about shouting in glee. 

"I'M A BETTER KNIGHT THAN BRAN! I'M A BETTER KNIGHT THAN BRAN!!"

"Yet, you have yet to be a knight, little one!" he said as he scooped up his youngest into a bear hug. 

"Papa, papa! I'll be the bestest knight ever!! A true knight of the North!!" 

"And I have no doubt in my mind, that you could be, my little wolf!" he said as he tickled his boy into submission.

You finally got your wish Bran. Hopefully, you'll have more sense in this life ...

Lyanna

She was always around. Her body and her soul. 

His youngest daughter was undoubtedly Lyanna incarnate. They had the same glint of mischievousness in their steely grey eyes, their lips curl into the same grin. And armed with a touch of the wolf's blood as Lya had. She will surely grow into a wild beauty as she did. 

Naturally, his daughter had doubts about that. It made them all the same. He faintly recalled on one visit when he came to the North from the Eyrie, she had confided in him that she heard some of the serving girls calling her "Longface Lya". Though, if they had a sister who was remotely like Sansa, Lya would not handle it with the "civilities" that Cat tried to instill in their youngest daughter. After hearing that Arya had sheep shifted Sansa's bed, his thoughts went to Lya. She would have done something much worse. 

Already half a horse for her young age and having the same taste for blades that Lya did. Mayhaps if she had even a dirk, it would have given Rhaegar more incentive to leave her be. But the other part of his sister would not be here as well. 

Jon was undoubtedly his mother in looks as much as Arya. Mayhaps Lya had gotten her dream to be born a man? He chuckled to himself. Jon had the same jawline as her and her curling dark brown hair. And like her, he seemed to grow faster. Though, that may be more his fault than anyone else's. Lya was more than painfully aware of the burden that most women bear upon marriage. Even now, her words rang clear in his head; "Love is sweet, dearest Ned. But it cannot change a man's nature."  It upset him a bit that Jon was more of a man than a boy from the moment he reached his eighth nameday.

He made himself jaded to the world.  He could see in his eyes that he would not let anyone to be close to his heart. Yet, he knows that he would forever be in Jon's heart. Not because he cared and raised for him, but because he loves him so. He loves him as much as Robb, if not more. 

The daughter he had by Catelyn, and his sister's son remind him so much of her. True children of winter. Yet it was still summer. Let them enjoy summer. Let them be children a little while longer.

Chapter Text

It was another cold night, as all days and nights on Skagos usually are. Especially with winter finally coming. He often kept himself nice and warm by snuggling by Shaggy's warm fur. 

Osha had went off to talk with the Magnar while he and Shaggy went off to get more wood for the fire. 

He would stare at it until his eyes would be weary with sleep. Just before he would let sleep take him, he would think of them. The people who held his heart tightly, and make it ache when he thought of them. 

Father. Father was tall and strong. He would hug him and hold him close to his chest until he burst free from him, ready to run off and explore Winterfell. His beard often tickled his face. It almost reminded him of Shaggy's furry snout. But then Father had to go, because the fat king asked him to. The last time he had seen him was in a stone. Not his warm face, but a stone statue made for him to be put in the crypts of Winterfell. He wished that he had stayed in Father's arms a little while longer had he known it would be the last. 

Mother. Mother was beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman in the world. She was always kind to him. Singing him songs, telling him stories. She would sooth him to bed by holding him tightly and rubbing small circles on his back. Her voice when she sang was as beautiful as her hair. One part of one song she sang had stuck to him after all this time: 

The Warrior stands before the foe,
protecting us where e'er we go.
With sword and shield and spear and bow

But she left too. She left to get Father back. Father came back to Winterfell, ... sort of. But she didn't. She promised to come back, and she didn't. 

Robb. He always thought that he and Robb looked a bit like each other. The perfect mix of Father and Mother. Both of them having Mother's bright fiery red locks and beautiful blue eyes, yet also having Father's strong jaw. Bloody wolves, red wolves, he thought to himself. Robb often played with him. He would put him on top of a horse, and soon he would be on top of the animal, just behind him. Holding his shoulders strongly as they rid in a small pace. He was his loving older brother ... and he didn't want to say good-bye to him. He knew he wouldn't come back. Mother had promised that too.

Sansa. He often thought that Sansa was stupid. Before, she would often play with her dolls. Then, she would often play with the other girls. She did pay attention to him at times. When she tried being liking Mother. She did look like Mother though. Maybe Sansa would be as beautiful if not more beautiful than Mother. Sansa would often talk about the "tall, strong dashing knights" she heard in some story or song. That's stupid! Then she went south with Father to be married to the "prince of her dreams". Nothing is as ever as we dream though. Though she often acted like mother and annoyed him, he would never wish a nightmare on her. I hope you're alright Sansa. I'm sorry. 

Arya. The south took her, like they always take things. She didn't like the same things that Sansa did. Yet, that's how he decided to name her his favorite sister. Though she tried to hide it, she would often take Bran's things to practice with a sword and a bow. And Arya had shown him the same things, what she knew and learned from the older boys. Arya often took him to play some jokes on the guardsmen. The last time they tried to do one, was when they let one of the hounds loose and watched Fat Tom try to get it back in the kennel. He kept falling down and the hound kept playing, thinking it was a game like they did. I wish I could have played one more game with her. 

Jon. He might just be the best of all his brothers. He looked much like Father, though without his tickly beard. Jon would often sneak him sweets when he could. He knew that applecakes were his favorites. Though, he also liked honeycakes too and Jon would often share with him. When there was a really big one, he would split it with him. He knew which pony would be best suited for him and showed him how to handle a horse properly. When he was upset, and Father and Mother weren't around, he knew he could come to Jon. Jon would muss his hair like he did for Arya. But Jon didn't go south like the others. He went away, far far into the North. He said that he would be a Black Knight of the Wall. He wishes he was here now, telling him a tale like he did once. Of how the men of the Wall defending the realm from what was beyond the Wall. Why did he have to go to the Wall? Why couldn't he just stayed my brother?

Bran. Bran was older than him by three years, yet he took care of him like Robb and Jon had done. He had been Lord of Winterfell until Theon the Traitor took their home from them. Bran made sure he went to Maester Luwin for his lessons. He had asked him if he was eating proper like Mother and Father would. He made sure that someone was watching over him. Often Maester Luwin or Old Nan. And he decided that he that nothing was safe anymore. Like anything was ever safe for them. Bran said that we needed to split up. That he needed to protect me. But I've protected you as much as you've protected me Bran?!! 

Why did we have to go?!! Why did we have to leave?! We could have found Jon! Jon would protect us both! Everyone already left us! ... Why did you have to go too?

In his dreams, he didn't feel so alone. In his dreams, they were all back in Winterfell. All of them happy and smiling and safe. But that's all it would be, and that's where they would stay: in his dreams.  But when he would wake up, he would be right where he was: all by his lonesome. Though he had Shaggy and Osha, it wasn't the same. They can't fill the aching pain where his heart is.

Chapter Text

He never seems to get the message. Even after all this time. It's time I put an end to this; for real this time. 

"So, how have things been Lya?" 

"Things are pretty great Robert. How have things been since the divorce?"

"Alright I guess. I am a bit worried about the kids though. Wondering how they'll take it"

"They're not in their teens anymore. All of them are adults, or rather close to it. How are they anyway? From the last you've seen them? Which was ...?"

"About two months since I've started living the single life again. They seemed alright I guess. Almost looked like robots."

"They were probably expecting it. You and Cersei were not exactly a ... power couple. Even when you were in university"

"Look, I'll cut to the chase Lya"

C'mon and spit it out you great big lunk. 

"I was wondering if we could pick-up where we left off. I mean, especially now, given your situation"

My situation? That fucking ...!

"Robert, I told you once before and I don't plan on repeating it til the end of time, so listen carefully to my answer: NO!"

He looked a bit shocked but quickly turned it around with his trademark smile. "Well, why not? You owe me that much"

"I owe you. I owe you, Robert? Is that right? Alright, I'll tell you why I won't go out with you. 

"I won't ever go out with you because you don't give a shit about me or anyone else. If anything, I was likely on your list of many, many conquests. I still remember how after our third date back in high school, you tried to grope me. Remember what I learned on the fourth date, when I overheard you talk to Lonmouth how I'd "finally put out"? And how you were already a father? Nineteen and already a daddy!"

"Wait, you won't go out with me because of Mya? Her mother and I weren't exactly o - "

"I"m not finished. I didn't mind that. In fact, I admired the fact that you were tackling fatherhood. Until I realized you weren't really. As much as you claim to love and adore your children, you never really raised them at all. You just did the "fun" stuff. Please, tell me and remind yourself just who was the one who actually and actively took care of any of your children? Stannis. And Renly too."

"Well, I - "

"Practically forced them to do your dirty work. You don't even do anything at your company anymore Robert! You're the laziest fuck I've ever met. I'm surprised that you graduated high school in the first place and even got into college. Even if it was on a scholarship. Which you just barely even earned! Actually, going back to your children and your darling wife, I'm surprised that they're quite functional. Your eldest boy is best friends with my own boy and is studying mechanical and electrical engineering! Your youngest son is studying to be a vet. Your daughter is doing her dissertation in business management so that she could lead your company into a new direction. Want to know how and why I know this? I heard it from your son who told my son. Ned and Cat heard it from them. Their professors and random strangers know what's going on in your family more than you!"

"I'M PROUD OF ALL OF MY CHI -"

"Do you even know their names? Mya, Bella, Gendry, Myrcella and Tommen, Edmure, Arwyn, Edric, Leobald, Lynora, Daegon, and I know for a fact that Alysane's daughter Berena is yours. So don't you dare try to deny that! Do you know or bother to know and raise them at all? I know for a fact that Mya is working as a tour guide and animal trainer of sorts at the Moon Mountain Park. Bella is studying to become a beautician. Edmure is on a scholarship same as you but is actually working his butt off to maintain it. Arwyn is teaching troubled youths self-defense. Edric has been under Alester Florent's wing at Brightwater so that he could take control. Leo and Lyn managed to get an internship in Tywin's company. Daegon's going to graduate high school along with my niece. And Berena is just about to go to high school."

"OK ... But it's not like I co - "

"Want to know why your company is losing money, Robert? It's not because of some new lucrative marketing strategy. It's because Stannis had been sending money to your children's mothers so that your children can have a secure future!"

Robert's face became as hard as stone in that instant. Almost like his infamous brother. 

"And let's talk about those mothers actually. One of them happened to be one of my best friends. Sarya Whent; remember? Last time I remember, you had knocked her up on homecoming, when you were trying to convince me that you were going to change for the better. I was going to call you when Sarya came to me crying and begging me to forgive her."

"We were drunk the both of us!"

"You certainly used that to your advantage didn't you?! Then again, I'm pretty sure you weren't drunk cuz I saw you bragging to one of your mates that you "tapped some sweet ass". So, either you weren't drunk or you remembered something from that night?!"

"Why're you still friends with her then?"

"Cuz I was and am still pissed at you. I'm not going to hold that over Sarya or my godchild. In fact, that's one of the worst things about you, which is why I'll never date you. You're dangerous, toxic. You leave behind a trail of destruction and you just don't give a shit!" 

"Oy, I can say the same thing about your brother!"

"Don't you dare drag Brandon into this! He may not have been perfect but once he made a mistake, he at least tried to rectify it! You're nothing but a giant headfuck! All of the guys I ever gone out with before I got married were better than you! Better at everything including being an actual boyfriend!"

"Really now?" He said snidely 

"Want me to start? OK, first off, Jaime Lannister. Sure, he was a bit of an arrogant twat but he was funny, great company to be around and not that bad of a guy. Y'know, when he came back from his tour, depressed over the fact that he lost his hand, I was the one who got him into rehab! Howland Reed; he was painfully shy at first but filled with a lot of adventure. Our first date; we had a picnic and spent the rest of the days catching fireflies like kids. Victarion Greyjoy; gods, was he buff! A bit dull but so surprisingly sweet. Took me out on a boat ride. Arthur Dayne; he was a true gentlemen. Too good for this sinful world if you ask me. Oberyn Martell; he had an insane lust and zest for life that no one else possessed. I admired that about him. Your brother Stannis; he may be as "stiff as a board" and I kinda expected him to be like you. But he was very sweet if not too formal. Y'know, he actually laughed when he found out that you fucked "the ugly bridesmaid" at his wedding. It was nice to see and hear him laugh

Then I met Rhaegar. Sure, the timing was impeccable. Though, in my defense, I did not know that his wife passed away. I loved him because he didn't try to change me or see me as something else or another pair of legs he could get into. He loved everything about me, even the parts that I hated about myself. And that is why I'll never go out with you. You just ruin everything you touch Robert, with no regard as to who you hurt. And I'll tell you one thing; Ned's too good of a person to have in your life. 

Our situations are different too. Rhaegar passed away due to a stress-induced heart attack, Cersei was finally fed up with your shit. You and I, are never going to happen. So, do the world a favour. Stop living in the past and grow the fuck up."

Chapter Text

He would never admit it to himself, but he was often a bit jealous of Jon. He looked more like Father than I ever did. And he was a better swordsman than him. 

But he also needed him. Wanted him by his side. 

In the end, they had been able to fight side by side for the honour and glory for the Starks. The newly reforged Ice in his hands and Longclaw in Jon's. Both of them facing against the army of the dead. 

Jon had left behind such a legacy he could have never thought of. The Last Commander of the Night's Watch to some, the King-Beyond-the-Wall to many of the wildlings, King of the True North to all. With the help of Queen Daenerys, he separated the Land of Always Winter from Westeros so that the White Walkers would leave them be. All of them at peace. 

Ultimately, Jon succumbed to his wounds and died en route to Winterfell. Theon had carried him the rest of the way there before he died as well. He cried himself silly when he heard the massacre at the Crossing. Uncle Brynden told him that it would be best that he lay low until they could raise a new army. He cried himself to sleep believing that he had lost Jeyne. 

When he was brought the body of his brother, he died. It was a nightmare, he led himself to believe for weeks. That Jon would come back with one of his rare heartwarming smiles. It was beyond a nightmare; it was the worst memory he could bare in mind. Sansa had silently cried; her tears nearly freezing as they traveled down her cheeks. Arya, whom surprisingly made it to Winterfell alive, howled in grief at the sight. Screamed at the top of her lungs before slumping to her knees, pleading, begging the Old Gods, to any God that may be listening to give Jon back. Rickon had howled as much as Arya did alongside his wolf. 

He did leave behind quite a legacy in the wildlings, who were now proper Northmen. They now knew and recognized him as Jon the Dragonwolf, the man who saved them. As well as one in the wildling princess Val. And Queen Daenerys. Val claimed that she had "stolen" Jon long before Daenerys acknowledged Jon as a claimant to the throne and as a worthy suitor and husband. My brother managed to earn the love of two of the loveliest ladies in the world. Jon's child with the "wildling princess" would become a lord of the newly-created House Frost of Frostfall; a towering tall keepb and daunting above the cliffs of Cape Kraken. His son by Daenerys would be a prince or princess of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Calling him "cousin" seemed too strange to him. They were raised like brothers, fought and laughed like brothers. Jon would always be his brother. The stonemason, Halder from the Night's Watch, had captured his likeness well. Aunt Lyanna and Father must have been twins or something, for they did alike or at the least had a similar likeness to each other. Jon looked so much like Father. Long-faced, narrow-cheeked and eyes as grey as a misty moor. But like all the effigies in the crypts, it didn't capture the warmth he held. Father looked as if his lord's face had been plastered on since birth. Jon looked about the same; a face devoid of any emotion. 

"Robb," someone called out. It was his mother alongside Jeyne and the baby. His mother looked sad while Jeyne looked quite worried. His mother then approached him, wanting to say something. 

"Don't say anything. I know just what you thought of him. But he's a wolf; a Stark. This is his place. This is where he belongs," he said as his mother then looked downcast.

He was a Stark. Jon was always a Stark. This is where he belongs. With our father. And his mother. 

Robb then inched himself closer to Jeyne. She instinctively knew just what he was going to do; and she willingly gave him their babe. Their son seemed to be the perfect mix of them both. He has Jeyne's pretty chestnut brown hair and his eyes. He'll grow up to be a handsome lad. 

"C'mere. You know who that is? That's your Uncle Jon. He was the best man I knew. Strong, wise, honourable. But more importantly, a good man. That's why I named you after him. Hopefully, you'll be as great a man as he was." he said to his son as he let out a small squeal.

He then looked at the stone effigy once again; sadness thick in his voice. "I love you, Jon. And I miss you every day."

Chapter Text

This wasn't fair. I lose my child and now have to marry an old man. Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East. 

It's a good match her father says. But she knows what he means; that it's the only match he's willing to accept. Though there had been some other suitors. There was Ser Raymun Darry who was the fourth son and youngest brother to Lord Uthor. Jeffory Mallister was a courteous youth if not a bit too bold for her liking. There had been talks of her being betrothed to Robert Baratheon's recently knighted brother Stannis, but that had fallen through. Now, she is to wed a man older than her father and old enough to be her own grandfather. 

I don't want any of them! All I've ever wanted was Petyr but he wanted Cat ... Even after she broke his heart and let that brute cut him down.

Lord Jon Arryn does seem kind though. His head is filled with graying hair but there was still some bright blonde hair around his temples, the shape of his nose made him look like a elegant bird of prey and his blue eyes looked shrewd yet kind. The septa told her to find his beauty, and it's quite apparent that he may have been quite the looker in his younger days. As they approach the sept, he takes her hands into his own. His hands are gnarled and callous yet feel so soft and gentle. With one swift motion, she was no longer a Tully but now an Arryn. 

The feast thrown in their honour is rather quaint and small. Some lords of the riverlands and many Vale lords had come in attendance. Blackwood, Bracken, Ryger, Mooton, Mallister, Darry, Royce, Redfort, Hunter, Waynwood, Grafton, Lynderly. All of them came up to them to offer their congratulations to them. Almost at an instant, the lords called for them to be bedded. She felt terrified as they tore at her shift and carried her to their chambers. 

He is then thrown into their chambers soon after. She sees that he is still quite broad and virile for his age. He looks as uncomfortable as she felt. “I am sorry,” he offers lamely as he sits upon the bed.

I have no right to feel embarrassed by this endeavor. I really am selfish, he feels quite guilty for having to wed someone so young. He probably feels like that old lecher Lord Walder Frey; who's had six wives so far and searching for a new young thing to wed. Instead she rests her hand atop his own and says, “It is a great honor to be your wife, Lord Arryn." 

It is a small comfort that Uncle Brynden is coming to the Eyrie with her. At least I won't be completely alone. 

Edmure was quite saddened until she had told him that he could visit once she was settled in. Father tried to send her off with a hug but she rebuked him. I won't be forgetting or forgiving you anytime soon Father. You can die in all the Seven Hells for what you did to me and my child.

"I hope you'll come to think of the Eyrie and Vale as your home and people in time, my lady," Jon Arryn said kindly. I hope they will think the same of me as well. 

It took nearly a month to go to the Eyrie. Even from a distance, she could tell it was a grand castle. Made of pure white stone, consisting only of a cluster of seven slim, white towers bunched tightly together, it almost looked like as if it were made of snow. Though, it certainly looked smaller than Riverrun. 

As they came close to the castle, she heard the clanging of swords and peels of laughter. Both of them were young men who looked close to Cat's age. One had richly-decorated armour with the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn but also a bright sunburst on grey behind it. An Arryn of Gulltown. The other one's armour was not as richly decorated but more functional and able to move more quickly than the Gulltown Arryn. 

She took note on just how handsome the knight was as he removed his helm. Flaxen windswept hair, sharp-nosed and jawed, piercing blue eyes the colour of the sky with a smile as sharp as his sword...well, hopefully only the one he wore at his side. 

"Uncle Jon! Who is this beauty you've brought before us?" the flaxen-haired man asked as he approached the both of them.

"Lysa, this is my nephew and heir Elbert. Otherwise known as the Darling of the Vale. Elbert, this is my lady wife, Lysa Tully. Though now, she is Lady Lysa Arryn now." Jon said with a chuckle. 

"Uncle, you surely wound me. You've married a lovely young maiden yet you have not made a proper match for me? Do you hate me so?"

He worries that he'll be displaced should I give Lord Jon a son. "I-I'm certain your uncle does not hate you, good ser!" she said sounding apologetic. 

"A jest, my lady. Nothing more. Though, this does make me wonder as why you grace her as your wife and not mine own, uncle?"

"It was a rather ... spur of the moment decision, my boy."

"Well, nonetheless, I welcome you to the Eyrie, my lady."

She seldom spent time with Lord Jon Arryn; her husband. It still perturbed her to call him that, even thought that they had been married for only two moons. He was kind to her if not distant. Though they had slept in the same chambers, they were in no way close. She spent much of her time talking with Elbert; his nephew who kindly showed him around the Eyrie and told her of its history and even the adventures he had gotten into with Robert Baratheon and Catelyn's new husband Eddard Stark. Shame about "sweet Brandon" though. She loved him as much as I loved Petyr.

"Do you truly believe that my sister will be happy with your friend Ned?"

"Yes, certainly. He's one of the best men I've ever known. We've had some grand adventures all of us in the Vale! Hell, I would have loved to call him a brother. Or technically speaking, coz"

"Lord Arryn was serious about betrothing one of his nieces to him? He loved him like a son, didn't he?"

"He loved Robert like one too. Should he have a son by you, he'd surely name him after one of them!"

Even though it is part of her duty, the thought of it perturbed her. Having a child by Jon Arryn, who is so so old. It'd be a pity if I gave birth to a child for him. He would barely have enough time for it or me. He might even pass away before his own child becomes a man or woman. That changed her train of thought. Just having a child again, her own child to have and to hold and cherish til the end of time. But Jon is not a strong and robust young man; not anymore.

And that's when she began to look at Elbert; truly look at him. Strong, robust, kind eyes and fair of hair and heart. If things were different, I could have been married to him. But now's the time to complain. She may not love her husband but she will not betray him either. 

Yet, much of her time is spent with Elbert who tells her more and more of his misadventures with Robert and Ned and what had happened to his own family: how his father perished as he was born, how his mother was taken by a group of mountain clansmen, how one of his cousins was seduced by a "dornish sellsword" and had a bastard as she joined the Faith, how Ned Stark was once quite close to being betrothed to one of his Waynwood cousins but was quickly seduced by Hardyng steward at the time. Their conversations varying to serious topics at hand to idle gossip. 

"I honestly think that the Lannister woman will drive him mad at the very least."

"Well, best he be married to someone! He can't pine after Lord Stark's sister forever!"

"Do you think you'll be married soon?"

"Uncle says by the beginning of the next year. He's been working quite hard to find the right bride for me that would create a beneficial alliance. Hopefully not a Lannister!"

But that does not stop herself or him in the end. Her husband becomes an afterthought as she decides to stop dreading anything and feels Elbert's strong hands all over her body and his lips kissing her own and mouthing her breasts. The very feel of him inside of her, pumping in and out in a steady pace as he firmly grips her hips. This is what it feels like to be loved. 

He seldom comes to Lysa's bed. Though she has never refused his company and never hinted that she finds him repulsive, but Jon is not a stupid man. Lysa is young and one of the most loveliest women at court; Jon does not dare confuse the companionship they have for something more romantic. He has a great deal of affection for Lysa Tully, and she is forever looking after him, urging him to eat better, forcing him to see the maester when he appears ill, but their marriage will never be a passionate one. 

One day, she sporadically asks him to bed her and he queerly complied. She rarely asks him a thing and she has a glare in her eyes that tells him not to refuse her. Suddenly, he had experienced one of the most passionate nights he had ever had. He feels like a callow youth of eight-and-ten, like Robert before he left the Eyrie and fully became the Lord of Storm's End he need be. But he is not and is shortly reminded of that as he wakes up to find her snuggled close to his shoulder. 

He finds himself entranced as she begins to swell with child. And soon, he's enchanted by the children she has borne. A boy and girl. They both have the Tully look, but Jon does not care a lick he cannot see himself in his children's face. Those first few weeks, every chance he has, Jon is carrying little Robin and Minisa around, showing them off with unbridled enthusiasm. Elbert himself now married to Lady Mina Tyrell; a rather warm and caring girl.

The future suddenly seems so much more brighter. 

And so it surprises him when, shortly after the twin's second name day, Lysa appears in his chambers in her night dress, her hair flowing unbound over her shoulders. For a moment, he has a wild hope she desires him, that she wishes for his companionship.

But then she says, “I'd like another child,” and Jon finds reality hitting him squarely in the face.

It is not as if it is unbearable to give Lysa what she wants. She asks for so little as it is, never voicing a single complaint when she is shut away with the other women during the day, never complaining of being homesick; if she wants to keep from his bed, he would not blame her, and if she wants 100 children, he will sire them. Though, he is no Walder Frey by any means.

Jon frets he is the worst kind of man for wanting a girl so young as desperately as he does, but loneliness is a powerful thing. Jon prefers the moments after when Lysa is warm and peaceful in his arms, when they talk and Jon can pretend they have the sort of relationship he once had with either Jeyne or Rowena; his late wives. Some nights Lysa even falls asleep with her head on his chest, and Jon thinks he is a very silly old man to love his wife as much as he does.

Pregnancy makes her positively blossom; everyone comments on it, and it makes Jon swell with a peculiar sense of pride. He catches her embroidering the smallest gown he has ever seen, and Lysa blushes as she confesses how she longs for a daughter. When little Edwell is born, Jon thinks he has never seen Lysa grin so broadly. As he looks upon his wife cradling their newborn son, Minisa and Robin snuggled up beside him touching their sister with amazement on his face, Jon Arryn considers himself the luckiest man in Westeros.

I should not be doing this. She is his wife. I have a wife mine own with a child I adore as much as I do her. Uncle Jon has never wronged me in anyway, yet he feels drawn to her. 

He isn't even sure that what he is feeling is love anymore. There is certainly a sense of affection and he feels his heart flutter a bit when they come to visit at the Gates of the Moon, which is seldom often. He wants to blame this all on her; she was the one who started it all when she first kissed me. But I did not have to kiss her back. I did not have to fill her belly with my seed and allow this farce to pass. 

Uncle Jon looks so happy. And if he was to tell him the truth about what he had done, he doesn't even know just what would happen. Jon's children - his children - would be considered bastards. Lysa could be cast out and sent to the Faith. He himself would likely face some sort of exile. 

Mina looks to me as if I truly am the Darling in the Vale as she begins to swell with child again, and little Androw clings on to me like a soldier desperate for salvation. I have forgotten that. Where was the man who was called the truest knight of his generation? He was gone, consumed by vices like lust and greed. 

He should have stopped the moment he cloaked Mina under his protection and made his vows to her. Mina is a good honest woman and he feels lucky to have her. And that should be - will be - enough to restrain himself from Lysa. But he needs to do something first and foremost. 

“It only happened once, and then once more,” she manages when the children have gone, when it is only the two of them in the chamber which now feels far too small. “There is no excuse. Please...please do not make me send them away - “

Jon holds up a hand, silencing her words. He looks at her then, his Tully wife, and he curses himself for thinking someone so young and so pretty could ever truly love him as a man. His throat is tight as he asks, “Why?”

He then finds himself remembering just what had happened hours ago. Elbert in his chambers confessing what he had done, tears running down in his face and shoulders slumped. Looking so much like the boy he once sent to Strongsong rather than the man he has grown up to be. "I-I'm so, so, so-so-sorry, Uncle J-Jon! I am so ashamed for what I've done!"

Lysa wipes at her face with the back of her hand before lamely offering, “Because it was our choice.”

Twice, he had wed a woman of his choosing; something like pity swells in his chest for Lysa and Elbert and Mina. She was just a girl when he wed her; he cannot curse her for wanting a man her own age, especially when that man is someone Jon has always loved as if he were his own son.

They do not speak of the children's paternity ever again.

He is gone now. The former Arryn's of Gulltown had been decimated by illness and a surprise raid from the Greyjoys. Only the son of Jon Arryn's Waynwood niece and the Gulltown Arryn she wed is left; though little more than a child. He will be granted a new keep in close range of Ninestars and his name now Jon Brightstone coupled with a splendid heraldry echoing his heritage of House Waynwood and Arryn. In the meantime, he is the new Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. 

Elbert now occupies as the new head of House Arryn of Gulltown. From what she had heard, Elbert is running things very efficiently along with his wife Mina. Mina was the real brains behind the customs in Gulltown, having recent increases in incomes tenfold. 

Nothing had ever been the same. When Elbert and Mina do make s visit, they are curt and pleasant but she feels Elbert's eyes almost being icy to the touch. He will ask about the children's well-being but not about her, with little regard. 

Any sense of companionship she remotely had with her husband was now gone. While he is certainly fatherly with the children, he looks at her quite icily. She could almost read his thoughts on his face. I've done this before. Raised children who I loved as mine own, yet were not mine.

The children do matter in this but did it have to be this way in the end? I was a stupid selfish little girl. This was not better than what had happened with Petyr. This was a thousand times worse. Jon and Elbert spoke little with each other; mostly out of politeness. Even Uncle Brynden, who did little to nothing to chastise her after she told him, kept a distance from her. 

Mayhaps I could go to Winterfell to visit Cat and bring the children. They could know their cousins. But that would be running from a problem, and she could not run away from the mess she created.

I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much.

Chapter Text

"You want us to do what now, boy?"

It was so strange looking at him, talking terms with the officers of the Night's Watch. He was not the scared boy who often turned to him whenever he was scared. Jon stood tall and strong and proud. He walked with a true sense of confidence unlike the swagger Theon had. 

"Arm the Wall with the wildlings. They never sought to conquer the North or the rest of the kingdoms. I have seen what's out there. I've seen what's coming along with the rest of them."

"Are they your people now, Lord Snow?" Ser Alliser Thorne sneered at him. Though, he was one to talk. The now one-armed knight also bore a scar that marred both his cheeks which made sinewy man all the more unpleasant and uglier. 

"Aye, they are my people. I've fought with them, hunted with them, lead them. The Blood of the First Men flows in them, same as every man, woman and child in the North. They are no different than any of you. They breathe the same air and bleed the same blood."

"You'd have us destroy every ounce of tradition the Night's Watch ever had, Jon Snow." Jeor Mormont said as he gently tugged on his beard. He could tell that he was clearly thinking on it. 

"You haven't experienced what we have experienced. The Night's Watch has forgotten its true purpose, Lord Mormont. You don't build a wall seven hundred feet high and five hundred miles wide to keep savages in skins from stealing women. The Wall was made to guard the realms of men … and not against other men, which is all the wildlings are when you come right down to it. Too many years, my lord, too many hundreds and thousands of years. We lost sight of the true enemy. And now they're here, but we don't know how to fight them. 

The Night is gathering, my lords. I know it, I've seen it, I feel it." Jon said. Robb looked at him as if a stranger was now before him and Theon looked incredulous. His usual cocky grin returned to his face.

Jon then motioned to the long-lost heir of the Dreadfort; Domeric Bolton. He then brought out a small cage which contained ... a hand. Frozen yet ... moving. 

"The fuck is that?!" The GreatJon roared along with several other black brothers and lords. Robert was so shocked he nearly choked on his wine.

"It's what's coming for us all. And the rapers, thieves and green boys you've sent up north will not be enough. Every one of those savages as you call them, have faced them. They have not sought to conquer but to take shelter in the lands that the Wall protects. They could settle in the Gift. There's good land there, plenty of villages long abandoned ..."

"And why do you think most of them had been abandoned? Because of the wildlings!" the Lord Steward shouted. 

"Right now, they need that land more than the memory of the dead!"

Just before the Lord Steward could say anything else, Domeric Bolton than eyed then with his strangely eerie eyes, so much like his father's. "If I may interject my lords, but may I ask you, what is the vow that all men of the Night's Watch takes?" 

The Lord Steward Bowen Marsh could only stammer at his question. The Lord Builder Othell Yarwyck then responded to his question; "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my lif - "

"That's enough. The shield that guards the realms of men. The realms of men. That means them too."

As he went to his chambers, he saw Robb and Jon hugging each other tightly looking misty-eyed. He felt quite misty-eyed at the sight alone.

"I can't believe it! I thought you were dead!" 

"I nearly did a couple of times. I do hope I wasn't to rough with you. I am sorry about that"

"Nothing I couldn't handle really. Though, I can't say the same for Theon. Did you have to hit him so hard?"

"He's an arse, you can't say that he didn't have it coming! And it's not like I can control Grenn really. He's a mate, not a hound!"

"Hound? You wish! He's as big as an aurochs!"

The both of them turned around and saw him. Robb gently nodded his head while Jon silently lowered his head. He would have none of that. Instead, he went to them and pulled them into a large group hug. "My boys," Ned Stark whispered into their ears. 

He then looked at Jon, truly looked. His shoulders a bit more broader, bearing lean sinewy muscle and his eyes ... he's seen much beyond the Wall. 

"It has been quite an adventure being beyond the Wall. I've made some good friends along the way. And Mance - and you - taught me much on how to be a man"

"Well, I can't exactly speak for his honour given what he's done, but I'm certain he raised you right at the very least!"

Jon just gave him a stern nod. Robb was about to say something but was then interrupted by Theon who came in. 

"OY! JON!" 

He could tell that he intended to hit Jon as part of some sort of retaliation. Before Theon's fist could meet anywhere, Jon took note and quickly launched his own fist into Theon's jaw. 

"Good to see you too, Theon! And you finally remembered that my name isn't Snow!"

Theon then got up, clutching his jaw. He then gave a Jon a look. It wasn't jealousy or arrogance. For once, he saw humility in Theon Greyjoy's dark eyes. 

"I'm glad you're not dead."

"Yeah, me too"

Robert stood before them all at the dais of the Common Hall. All the other Lords looked a bit uneasy with the exception of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. 

"I've talked it through with all the Lords here, Lord Snow. And as much as it grieves me to say it, I accept your request. The mothers, children and greybeards will be allowed to settle on the Gift. The Wall will receive an abundance of men with in a moon's time. First of the men being the goddamn Kingslayer. He's of no use to me anymore. Frankly, you and your lot have proven one thing: I've got shit for Kingsguard!"

"Saying that you had shit for kingsguard is like saying I've got gold in my privy. And last I checked, I'm not a Lannister," Jon said. 

Robert then eyed Jon, looking at him with a certain fierceness. But then it went away as fast as the melting snows as Robert's booming laughter and placed his big beefy hands on Jon's shoulder's to support himself. 

"Are you certain you're Ned's boy? You've got a better sense of humour than he ever did!! HAHAHA!!"

From there on, Jon and Robert openly discussed just what castles will be occupied by the Night's Watch and by whom within the ranks and titles the wildlings seem to hold along with the new inductees and commanders of the Night's Watch.

Westwatch-by-the-Bridge was to be under command by a man called the "Great Walrus", Jon himself to command Sentinel Stand, Stonedoor to be commanded by a man named Shieldbreaker, Hoarfrost Hill by that stout man who knocked out Robert named Giantsbane, Icemark by the Night's Watch Commander Bedwyck, Deep Lake by a man named Sealskinner, Queensgate by a woman by the name of Morna, Woodswatch by a man named Halleck, Sable Hall to be commanded by Mance Rayder himself, Rimegate to be commanded by a wildling named Kingsblood, and Long Barrow to be under the command of Ser Endrew Tarth.

"Looks like you'll be man wrapped in black instead of white, Jon Snow. You'd be a wonderful addition to my Kingsguard."

"I've lived in the lands beyond the Wall with the wildlings for far too long, my king. I can never truly kneel after all that."

He never wanted this for Jon. Had enough time be granted, or all of this had not happened, he would have made Jon Lord Defender of the Gift. But in a way, he had become that. 

He had selected much of his own men to occupy his seat with him. Among them were the squires he had been assigned: Pyp, Halder and Jeren. His large friend Grenn along with several other raw recruits. 

As that was happening, Ser Barristan had personally hand-picked several of the remaining young knights to join the Kingsguard; Loras Tyrell, Waymar Royce, Guyard Morrigen, Richard Horpe, and Donnel Waynwood. Many of them had proven themselves, but they still reeked of summer. 

Just as he was about to go off looking for him, he saw Jon gently nuzzling a young woman with honey-blonde hair. 

"Father. Father, this is Val. Val, this is my father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell." 

"Tis a pleasure to meet you, my lord. I can see where Jon gets his good looks from," Val said as she conducted a perfect curtsy. Is she truly a wildling? Before he could ponder anything, she had went off talking to one of Jon's companions.  

"She made you quite happy, hadn't she?" 

"She certainly has."

"You are aware that wo - "

"Woman are being allowed in the Watch. Well, the ones that can fight anyways."

"Are you sure about this? Joining the Watch?"

"I've seen what's coming. I've been able to live my life freer than I ever thought. And now, I'm ready to swear the oath. Shame about Dom though."

"Dom is now the Lord of the Dreadfort. And from what I heard, his baseborn half-brother will be joining the Wall soon enough."

"Aye, he'll be joining Halleck's brood if I heard right."

"I just want you to know, that I'm proud of you. I'm proud of the man you've become."

He then held him tightly, tightly as he could. He found himself remembering how he held him when he was still a boy. When did he grow up so fast?

Jon then headed toward Robb, both of them hugging each other tightly. He then went to Theon and held him by the arm to which Theon responded with a simple nod. He then headed off to where his group had been waiting for him. And then he rode off, gone with the cold winds and the morning dew. All of it fading.

Chapter Text

One

The boy does have a knack for getting himself into trouble. Though he did not seek it as his brother did. But just like him, he tested the patience of others. Though, Egg behaved as he did: a foolhardy young boy. This boy was not foolhardy to say the least. No, he could hear the iron tones in his voice. 

So serious for a boy of only four-and ten. But no one can be a boy forever. Especially a boy who's stench is not filled with the dreams of summer; of knightly ventures and the like. No, this boy's dreams were for something far different. 

Two

He does have a certain charm to him. Not the obvious charm that every man, woman and child falls for but he has one. Egg was like that too. They also have a knack for befriending anyone and everyone they come across. 

He can still remember the day Egg had come with his friend, who at the time called himself Dunk the Lunk. Egg had met many different people and had been good friends to them all. Yet, Ser Duncan the Tall was his closest compatriot. 

Jon Snow, a highborn boy who grew up in his father's castle, had earned himself some friends. From what Samwell Tarly had told him, the recruits that he had fought with had now become his closest friends and allies. There was Grenn, who was tall and thick as an aurochs. Pyp, who had once been a mummer and frequently told tall tales and japes. Halder, who supposedly is as strong as Grenn if not just as tall. Jeren, a boy of roughly the same cloth as Jon Snow. And even Samwell himself; a meek and shy boy. 

Strangely enough, Sam reminded him much of Duncan when he was that age. So unsure of himself and the sense of wanting to belong somewhere. And both of them in a place where they cannot marry or have children. 

Egg would have loved to meet these boys. 

Three 

Half a wildling, the other officers called him. Many great lords and small oft said that Egg was half a peasant. He roamed the lands of Westeros as no prince of the blood would have done. Jon Snow had roamed the lands that were beyond the Wall. 

The both of them spoke for them, my brother for the smallfolk he loved dearly and Jon for the wildlings he came to care for. He could try to deny it all he likes, he could not hide it in his voice. There is no doubt that the Halfhand told him to do what he'd done, but he found himself unburdened for once. 

Mayhaps, he had felt like a boy once again?

Four

Love. Love can be a folly at times. Love often comes at a cost. And it does for those in hold of great power. 

Egg did not pay that cost. He married his lady love quite young. No one looked twice at it. And no one could see just how much he and Betha were made for one another. 

Jon Snow found love. He could hear that in his voice too. The iron in it was still there, but placed with something as soft as a feather-pillow. 

This girl, whomever she was, was no ordinary girl. She had placed herself deep within his heart and being. He is likely thinking of her with every fleeting moment. 

Mayhaps, you will see your lady love once again, Jon Snow. 

Five

Leaders often lead with a heavy burden to shoulder. Everyone who is not a leader often believes that it is the easiest thing to do. It is not. 

Leadership is the heaviest of burdens to bear. Egg understood that more than any king that came upon the Iron Throne. Being a leader means to care for all those you intend to lead. Knowing the men whom you are leading; whether into battle or simply leading your countrymen into peace rather than war. Diligent, preparing, seeking the grander perspective in things, unyielding in a nature of sorts, demonstrating an undying sense of loyalty in others. 

The boys he befriended would readily die for Jon Snow of Winterfell; now the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The Aurochs, the "Mummer's Monkey", the Stone-Headed, the boy of Oldtwon, the twin boys of Fair Isle, the Horse from Mole's Town, Iron Emmett of Eastwatch. All of them would easily lay down their lives for a man they clearly chose as leader. Much like the Kingsguard Egg chose: his beloved Ser Duncan, the young devout Ser Gerold, the bright Ser Harlan ...

Surely, my brother has been reborn in this boy.

And One

Kill the boy. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. And let the man be born. 

Do what my brother failed to do. Even as he became king, there was still a touch of the boy who had wandered the kingdoms. 

He was three-and-thirty when the Great Council chose him to mount the Iron Throne. A man grown with sons of his own, yet in some ways still a boy. Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved. Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took ship for the Wall.

It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born. You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done.

Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born. I know you will be the man that Egg could have been. The man he needed to be. 

The man to lead the Wall and bring about the light in the darkest of days.

Chapter Text

This was stupid from the beginning. What was Father thinking? And now he was dead; killed by the the knight now called the Kingslayer; Jaime Lannister. 

Now, her elder brother Maron is now the Lord Reaver of Pyke, and had been successful in getting himself a wife in his own-lead raid along the Mander. Though, from the looks the blonde bitch gives him, it looks almost as if she wanted to be taken. She looks as soft as her people with her cream-coloured skin and hands as soft as sinful silk. 

Despite the circumstances, Maron is allowed to have his wife in hopes of siring new Greyjoys that don't have shit for brains. But because of her father's recklessness and stupidity, she and Theon are to foster in the North with Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. And she was to be sent to the riverlands to be fostered with Lord Hoster Tully. So that one day, she may marry his son and heir Edmure. 

I don't want to be wed to some stupidly soft greenlander who thinks of nothing but glory in the battlefield and in the sheets. 

Cousin Quenton would have gone, but King Rhaegar had said it would be taking too much from a family who suffered the follies of one. And he's Uncle Vic's only son, it would destroy him. Even if he won't admit it. 

Just as she and Theon are sent to their boats to bring them to the greenlands, Maron holds and hugs them tightly. He's never done that before. "Remember who you are. You are ironborn: the both of you. What is dead may never die!"

"What is dead may never die!"

Though not an overly large castle, Riverrun is quite impressive and strong-looking with its sandstone walls. Lord Hoster looked quite tall and strong as she remembered her grandfather Quellon. His red-brown hair streaked with threads of grey and his belly was a bit portly. 

Edmure seemed to take after the Tullys; bright auburn-coloured hair and bright blue eyes. He looked close to if not a bit younger than Maron. He seemed uneasy to say the least, but he had a small smile around his face. 

"My lady, I welcome you to Riverrun." Lord Hoster Tully said politely. Of course he would be happy, ambitious flopping trout he is. 

Edmure politely shows her around the castle. Almost everything seemed triangular from the keep to the solar. It bores her til he shows her the training grounds. He goes on bragging that he'll be as great as Barristan the Bold or even the "Kingslayer" one day. That was enough to piss her off and challenge him to a duel.

He looked at her as if it was a jape. And then he began to laugh his arse off, clutching at his sides. "Girls can't fight!!" 

That just made her blood boil even more. "This girl can!!" She then took a blunted training sword and tossed another at his feet. 

"Are you scared to lose to a girl?" she taunted him as she pointed her own blade at him. Edmure's eyes then filled themselves with seriousness instead of laughter. 

"Alright. If you insist. Don't go off crying to your papa when I beat you to the dirt!" he said smugly. 

So then he swung, charging foolhardily. Big mistake. Though not used to the sword, she's able to block each strike he tries to land at her. He's ... quick to say the least, though his movements are uncoordinated. 

"I thought you were to be as great as your greenlander knights. Mayhaps I should call you, Ser Floppyfish! That seems to be a good name for you!"

Edmure's face than began to turn as bright as his hair. And then he charged while practically yelling out some kind of war cry. Or what is supposed to be a war cry. Idiot. 

Rather than use her training blade to subdue him, she gave him a strong solid fist to his nose. She then heard a loud crunching sound. Edmure was then on the ground, clutching his now broken nose. He looked like he was about to cry. Just as she could say anything, he ran off. 

Maybe I should have been easier on him?

I hate sewing. This isn't punishment from the gods for being a girl; it's punishment for kicking Lord Hoster's only boy into the dirt. 

He tells her that she needs to be a "proper lady" and learn proper customs but she knows that that's not the case. Maron's words kept ringing in her head as the stupid septa's wrinkled face and mouth kept moving: Remember who you are. You are ironborn. What is dead may never die! 

What kind of lady finds this shite fun anyway? The only girl here was Rhialta Vance and Myrielle Lannister; who were rather nice and comely girls just a year younger than her. They were good company to say the least, but she would be better off anywhere. 

As the septa looks away, she takes the moment to flee. Just as she comes down the stairs, she sees a man a bit younger than Lord Hoster down the staircase. He's tall as Lord Hoster but leaner, a windburnt face and brighter blue eyes than Lord Hoster. 

"Who are you? And where do you think you're going?" he asks her gently with a hoarse smoky voice. 

She stands tall and proud. "I am Asha Greyjoy, The Kraken's Daughter, sister to Lord Maron Greyjoy of Pyke!"

Rather than look intimidated, the man looked amused and began to laugh. "You remind me of my niece Catelyn. I think she would have liked you. Shame that you're not fostered along with your brother. It's practically a crime to separate the both of you."

She hadn't been expecting for anyone to say anything kind to her. Not about her or her family, really. Rather than looking like a proud ironborn warrior, she slips back into a blushing little girl. "Thank you, my lord:

"Hahaha. I'm no lord of anything really. I am Ser Brynden Tully, though everyone just calls me the Blackfish really. Cuz no one gives a shit about my real name, not even my arse of a brother!"

I like this man. He's fun. Suddenly, she feels herself giggling silly. 

"So, is my nephew treating you kindly?"

"Sort of. I might have said some things, he might have said some things. And then we fought in the training yard. ... And then I broke his nose."

"Ahh. So, that's why Hos is so miffed. Edmure can be quite brash. He's probably a bit more so now that his sisters aren't here to reign him in as they used to. Frankly, that's what most men need in a marriage: a good woman to reign them in!"

"Are you married yet, Ser Blackfish?"

"Nope. But that's because no woman can reign me in! HAHAHA!!" 

Maybe Edmure should be looking to be like his uncle, and he seems like a great man and a great knight. Just as she was about to say that exactly, she saw a mop of auburn streak past her.

She had received letters from both Maron and Theon. 

Maron talks of his southron bride having glowed with her pregnancy and that she'll soon be an aunt within the year. Uncle Aeron had become a Drowned Priest and many have come to call him Damphair. Cousin Quenton is now squiring for his good friend Harras Harlaw. And Uncle Euron has been testing his patience, and has half a mind to exile him. 

Theon had befriended the young heir to Winterfell along with the newly-fostered Jonothor Targaryen; the second son to King Rhaegar. Life in Winterfell is strange but he's proving himself to be a skilled warrior. Well, skilled with a bow so far. Robb Stark and Jon Targaryen are both naturally talented with swords and horses. 

That last part just reminded her of Maron's words. Ironmen don't ride horses, they ride ships. Though, she had been trying to say the least. It just didn't come to her so well. Theon's likely a natural; he'd need to be a proper horseman if he's to stay in the North. 

"Hey. What'cha reading?" a voice props up. Edmure. 

"Something that's none of your business!"

"... Sorry. I'll ... just be on my way then ..."

"W-W-Wait a minute, hold up!" she nearly yelled, gripping his wrist. He then jerked and they looked at each other. Really look each other. He's been getting taller and putting on more muscle; it wasn't a great deal of muscle but he's still growing. The beginnings of a beard neatly marring his jaw with stubble. And his eyes ... have they always been that bright?

"I-I'm sorry. You just snuck up on me. I never did like surprises."

"It's alright. Father would always tell me that a surprise is not always a good thing; especially on the field of battle!" he said, with a mocking impersonation of his father. She laughed at that. He then looked at her strangely. 

"You, You have a nice laugh ..."

"Um, ... thank you?"

"Right. So, what were you reading? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Just my brothers telling me what's going on with them. Apparently, I'm going to be an auntie."

"It's your older one who's going to have the baby, right?"

"Of course, stupid! Theon's only eleven!"

"Alright, alright! Sorry, no need to bite my head off. And congratulations! And this is coming from someone who has experience in that department."

"Edmure ... I didn't know you were a girl. Don't worry, I can keep a secret!"

"Why yo ... o-oh! OK, funny. But I am an uncle.'

"So, what are the duties involved in being an aunt or uncle?"

"Well, I guess it's much like being an father or mother. But mostly doing the fun stuff. I can't really speak from experience anyways. I haven't really met my nieces or nephews. Haven't seen my sisters since they went off and got married."

Suddenly, she felt sad for him. There was no sign that Edmure had a mother. His sisters - Catelyn and Lysa, Blackfish mentioned - had been there by his side and taken care of him. He needed them. 

"Sorry bout that."

"Alright now. We need to stop saying that word or we're going to be saying it all night! But, um, I'm sorry about what I said before. About your ... father. That was unkind."

As angry as she was in that moment, she couldn't really begrudge him. "My father was not a good man. Barely even a kind one. No need for apologies. ... Sorry"

They then giggled, as they had already broken their promise. Well, she did anyway.

"Have you met your good-brothers? Do you know them well?"

"Well, Cat was supposed to marry Lord Eddard's older brother Brandon. But he ran off to join the Kingsguard at that tourney. I heard that Ser Jaime wasn't pleased, as he was supposed to be named but then Brandon impressed the Lord Commander and the King. I never really liked him anyway, but Ned - that's what he likes to be called - he seems like a good bloke. Serious but a good bloke."

"You think my brother Theon will be alright with him?"

"I know he will. Besides, he's got Cat by his side too. They won't steer him wrong. Lysa's husband is the heir to the Vale; Elbert Arryn. He's alright, I guess. Makes a lot of jokes, and he's the best swordsman in the Vale. Petyr didn't like it anymore than he liked Cat marrying Ned. Ned was kind enough to refuse his offer to duel until Petyr forced his hand ... and then lost one. He really shouldn't have tried to do the same thing with Elbert. Lysa's better off without him though. Petyr was fun but ..."

She'll never admit to Patrek or his cousin Androw, but Seagard may be one of her favorite places to be. Even though, it was built to ward off people like her. 

Edmure had a good taste in friends, if not a bit too bold. Patrek treated her rather warmly and even granted her her own ship. On occasion eyeing her her arse. Sorry, Patrek, its not meant for the likes of you. Marq was just if not more hot-headed than Edmure. But he matched it with his skill with sword and lance. Hugo Vance loved a good drink so much that at times, she thought him better with a sword when in his cups. His brother Ellery was better with a sword than him, whether he was in his cups or not. Tristan Ryger reminded her of his uncle Robin; tenacious in anything he set his mind to. Robert Paege was quite interesting to say the least; as his eyes seemed to wander around everywhere.

The whole lot of them and her had been having their fair share of ale at the Lazy Wind. All of them laughing as their wedding approached. Though, they might be in for surprise when the bedding came time. It hadn't been intentional. 

She had been improving on her horsemanship with Edmure's help. They had been racing, and then they found themselves kissing and the fucking on a grassy till. It was quite pleasant to say the least. She was a bit miffed that Edmure admitted that a particular "wench" he enjoyed fucking was "Fair" Walda Frey. That made no matter, if she tried to claim any child she had to be Edmure's bastard, she'll get what's coming to her. Then again, could be worse. He could have been fucking Gatehouse Ami, and she'll raise her portcullis for anyone. I wonder if she'll raise it for me?

The waitress had come and brought them their ale. She drank this drink quite often since Maron and his wife had helped renegotiate trade in many major ports.

"Have you had this mead? They make it on Pyke."

Edmure stroked his red mustache with a finger as she filled a goblet for him.

"Really? Well, then, I suppose I could sample it."

He took the goblet from her, and took a sip. She laughed and waved her hand, urging him on.

"No, don't sip it like an Arbor gold! Chug it! I thought your friends and father taught you to drink like a man as well as fight like one"

Though, his fighting had mostly improved due to their own sparring sessions, which they had in secret. At times, the end of it would result in a kiss or two.

Edmure, smiling, threw back his head and swallowed the whole goblet. He slammed the goblet on the table and took a deep breath.

"Strong stuff! You've been drinking this since it came here?"

Asha nodded, refilling her own goblet. She took a deep drink of mead and watched Edmure. He become very handsome, stocky, with a fierce auburn beard she could barely believe it at times. Though, I am no longer the skinny thing I was before.

He's sweet, and handsome, though not quite bright, she thought, A woman could do worse. But there's definitely something there...

Patrek then raised his goblet and spoke up. "The trout and the kraken united as one! Looks like things will be very sticky come the wedding!" Patrek jested.

All of them cheered and banged their goblets of ale all at once in celebration.

"First of all, I'm no lady. I am as strong as the islands I came from. Though, not nearly as barren!" she and the others than howled with laughter

"Well...you're an Ironborn, that's for sure," he said smiling, "And I can't say it would be unpleasant having you as a wife."

Asha laughed, and clinked her goblet against his. They both drank deeply, then lowered their goblets and looked at each other. Asha reached out and took his hand.

I think I can say the same of having you as a husband, she thought.

Chapter Text

What was there to do now? Robb and Mother are gone. Father gone, because of my stupidity and selfishness. Arya, I wish I could take back everything I ever said to you. I'd give anything for you to call me stupid again. Bran and Rickon, I miss your sweet faces and smiles more than anything. Jon, oh, how I wish I could see you at least once. 

She didn't feel like eating nor did she feel like sleeping either. Every time she closer her eyes, she kept imagining what had happened from what she had heard. How they had cut her mother's throat open. How they felt crossbow bolts through her valiant brother. How they slaughtered his wolf, the ever-fearsome Greywind. How they mutilated their bodies an mockingly placed Greywind's head atop Robb's corpse while chanting "The King in the North". It made her all sick to her stomach. 

The godswood was the only place that gave her any comfort. It was the only place she could be alone with herself and her thoughts. And at times, her Florian would come to bring her comfort, the sweet fool that he was. 

"I had thought to find you here, my lady"

She suddenly turned to face this strange voice. Strange, yet familiar. She then recalled a young, strong, handsome blond-haired youth, who supposedly closely resembled his infamous cousin, the Kingslayer. His eyes a beautiful green but his blonde hair sandy rather than spun gold.  A youth she recalled to be humorless, self-assured, arrogant, and impatient. Ser Lancel Lannister, she remembered who had been knighted by Joffrey himself. 

But he looks so much different now.He is not as comely as before, his long sandy locks had been shortened and the temples of his head are armed with brittle white hairs one would find on a man thrice his age. In fact, he bore a certain look of sadness in his eyes. 

A lady's courtesy is her armour, she recalled. "Ser Lancel. It's wonderful to see you again." Though it begs the question as to why you are here, Lannister.

"It is wonderful to see you again as well. Though, I wish it were under different circumstances. I am sorry for what had happened to your mother, and your brother."

"Are you truly sorry? Last I checked, you despised the Starks. Shouldn't you hate me for having the blood of wargs within me, Ser Lancel?":she spat back with venom. She recalled how he proclaimed Robb's victory at Oxcross; deriding Robb and every other northman as mere savages feasting on the flesh of their wounded soldiers.

Lancel's face then looked heavy with hurt. Did he have a right to it? The only hurt he suffered was the injury he had succumbed to when the Queen jabbed at the arrow wound on his shoulder. And I helped heal him, I really am a stupid girl.

"I am sorry, truly. No one should have to go through that. I can't imagine losing all of my family like that. Though, I did lose my brother Willem in the war. He was only a squire."

He may not fully understand, but she can see he is trying to. "I see that you've healed from your wounds. That's quite the recovery, you must feel like a new man."

"It wasn't just my wounds that needed healing. I'm a different person now. I've found peace in the light of the Seven. My family has greatly grieved you. I have finally seen the lies that they have said against yours. You and your family have suffered and endured much. And I've realized there is only one reason to rectify that." He said. He then took out his sword from his hilt as well as a small dagger. 

I was as good as dead from the moment I entered King's Landing. Just do it. 

But instead of killing her, Lancel had cut his hand with the dagger and laid the sword above his head as he bowed. "Please, allow me to serve you, for now and always. I will shield your back, and give my life for yours should it come to that. I swear this to you, in the light of my Seven Gods and before the Old Gods of your father and all those before him." 

Was this a ploy? Before she can say anything, she saw tears slip from Lancel's green eyes. He truly is repentant. 

" ... And I vow, that you shall always have a place by my hearth. And meat ... and mead at my table. And to ... to pledge that I shall no ask no service of you ... that may bring you dishonour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New" Though, almost nothing brings a Lannister dishonour. 

She thought that Lancel would have abandoned her. Yet, he followed her when Dontos and Petyr whisked her away from his kin. Petyr was apprehensive toward him, naturally. Yet, he managed to appeal to him by dying his coarse sandy hair a dirty brown color. She became Alayne Stone, daughter of Lord Protector of the Vale Petyr Baelish and he had become Ser Tommen Hill, the son of a sellsword and a Lannister of Lannisport. 

She thought that he would strike her at least once. But he never did. Just what had happened to him, exactly? He was certainly as humorless as before but nowhere near as arrogant, impatient or as self-assured as when he was a somewhat comely copy of his Kingsguard cousin. Though, he was still somewhat comely to say the least. He guarded her day in and day out. Somehow, she came to trust that he would be by her side; a stalwart sentinel. 

He even managed to win the loyalty of her spoiled cousin Sweetrobin. Sweetrobin was a bit weary of him but grew to trust him; mostly because she found it in herself to trust Lancel. Lancel had become her constant shadow, watching over her. But it didn't get under her skin like the way Petyr did. It didn't unnerve her. It was quite comforting, like having her own Kingsguard. 

Though, it did unnerve Petyr to say the least. Often vexed as to why she had not killed her "pet rat". 
"If not for that dye in his hair, everything else about him screams Lannister, dearest. His Lannister green eyes, his pretty Lannister blonde locks, his Lannister blood coursing through his body. In the end, he'll be just like them. A snake, pretending to be a lion."

While Lancel is far from the lion his family proudly puts on their breasts, he is no snake either. He is honest, for the most part. She enjoys the simple conversations they have on their new lives masquerading as people they are not as well as the old lives they've held. Though, Lancel still looks uncomfortable when she mentions Winterfell. Though, she does not blame him for her family's destruction, she knows and feels that her words cannot dissuade him over the guilt he bears. 

She's surprised still that he had not abandoned her. Although, his own relation to the Lannisters certainly helped her case in winning the loyalty of the mountain men of the Vale who had helped her bring down Lord Littlefinger and his hold on the Vale. 

Now that they are no longer Tommen Hill and Alayne Stone, she finds more comfort in his presence than before. And it is reassuring when he reassures his own allegiance to her and her alone. No one else. He's as steadfast as Brienne and her "squire" Podrick, who was previously Tyrion's squire.

"I serve Lady Sansa Stark. I do not serve you," he had said to a knight who questioned his allegiance. 

He might just need a new moniker soon. Ser Lancel the Lion seems fitting now more than ever.

Chapter Text

Her son was the perfect mix of her and his father: Drogo's perfectly tanned skin and the shape of his eyes, yet his eye and hair colour came from her: bright violet eyes and curly silver-blonde hair. It's a shame that Drogo was not here with her to watch Rhaego grow. He had been taken away from her all too soon; but she gave him the greatest gift she could ever have. And one that she'll always treasure.

She hadn't been expecting to have any semblance of a love life after Drogo's death, yet somehow she found it. 

Jon Stark seemed a bit stern when she first met him, but what was to be expected from a pediatrician's medical assistant? He was very responsible when he had conducted the check-up with Doctor Selmy. He made it fun for her two-year-old boy by distracting him with silly sounds and giving him a brightly colored lollipop right after. 

She had only meant to call on him if she had any other medical questions. Then out of the blue, after asking if Rhaego was underweight, she ended up asking him out on a date. And that was almost a year ago. Though, what had made her love life a bit easier was that she could call her boyfriend under the premise that her son was a bit under the weather. Though, only at the first few dates, and she did feel a bit difficult using her son as a scapegoat to call him up. But Jon didn't seem to mind. 

He was so good with Rhaego; hoisting him on his shoulders and pretending that he was a horse as Rhaego had whooped loudly. 

"Charge at Mommy, horsey! CHARGE!!"

Jon then playfully tackled at her, making her giggle. But suddenly, Rhaego leaped off Jon's shoulders and all but crashed at her. It was quite lucky that she landed on such soft grass. 

"Rhaego! Don't do that again! You practically scared Momma like that!"

Rhaego then let out a mischievous giggle before looking at her. "I'm sorry Momma."

"I'm sorry too. I should have realized he would do that. My youngest brother Rickon would often dive at my brother Robb like that."

"No, it's my fault as much as yours. I'm usually on top of such things that I could practically predict what sort of mischief he's up to."

"We've had a pretty long day today. How bout we get some ice cream? How do you like the sound of that, Rhaego?"

"Coool!!!" 

All of them had gotten a cone of vanilla soft-serve. After playing roughshod like that, it felt good just sitting on the park bench, enjoying the scenery and their ice cream. 

"This has been such a perfect day!" she said as she lazily stretched her legs, spilling a little bit of ice cream on her thigh. Jon quickly took note and wiped it off. It made her blush a bit. 

"It is. I'm glad you like it. How about you, little buddy?"

"Great day, Papa!!"

Papa? Since when did Rhaego have the courage to call Jon ... Papa?

Jon's skin turned as pale as a ghost. The rest of the day seemed rather bleak to say the least. It's not like they were married or anything. Yet, somehow that made the apparent distance between them all too real. When did her own son become so comfortable with Jon that he decided to call him Papa?

It wouldn't be a bad thing, really. Jon's eyes were often hard and his gaze stern, but they were like clouds that gave way for sunshine. 

Why would it be a bad thing really? He was so good with Rhaego; handling his mischievousness and keeping up with him. The way he hoisted him on his shoulder, soothing him as Rhaego fell asleep. 

He can be such a calming presence. She had spent more time talking about herself and Rhaego and he didn't seem bored at all; listening rather intently. He's good with me and for me as he is for my son. I love him. 

Just after Jon calmed Rhaego into his nap, he went to the door. I need to tell him. 

"Jon. Jon, I know it was a bit weir - "

"This has been a pretty great day."

"Yeah, it has been. But I want to tell yo - "

"It made me realize just how much I love you."

D-Did he just said that he loves me? Jon loves me! And he beat me to the punch.

"I love you too," she said as he leaned his lean body to hers for a kiss. 

Chapter Text

Everyone was staring. She didn't know what to say or do. 

"Go on, Cella. You got this." whispered the voice of her older brother Gendry. 

Gendry. Gendry was always there for her, even now on the most important day of their lives. 

But what to say? Everyone was looking at her expectantly. Even Dad, who never paid attention to a thing in their lives; or his for that matter. 

"Uh, um, Hi! My name is Myrcella Rohanne Baratheon, but to my closest family and friends, I'm Cella. I'm Gendry's sister, but you all know that."

Tommen looked at her, his eyes encouraging and sad. 

Shireen seemed to be the same, gently nodding her head at her. 

Uncle Renly didn't have a joke or a smiled prepared for once in his life; as expected of the situation. And Uncle Stannis seemed as serious and grim as ever. 

Arya. Oh, gods, Arya. Her sister Sansa was holding her hand strongly.

"Gendry was the greatest person that ever lived. He was the best older brother anyone could ever have. And I'm not saying that just because he's my older brother. Gendry often dropped me off and picked me up from my ballet class whenever Mom and Dad were ... busy with work. He even showed up to my rendition of Swan Lake for moral support. When Tommen was being picked on by a couple of older boys, Gendry tracked them down and beat them to a pulp. After that, Gendry taught Tom how to fight back so he would be strong and no one would pick on him." 

She noticed that Tom had smiled at that. She could barely get any other words out until she saw Gendry by her side, looking as handsome as ever. His normally messy jet-black hair neatly combed and his bright blue eyes shining. His lips mouthing "Go on". 

"Surprisingly enough, Gendry did what no older brother would ever do and set me up with a boy: his friend's little brother, Trystane Martell. Though, not without threatening to rip his balls off and feeding them to him personally," she said with a slight chuckle. She noticed Trystane smiling in the crowd. "When I was sent to boarding school, he managed to convince Trys that I was worth fighting for, and we've been together ever since. 

He helped Tom work out; jogging and boxing every other day. Believe it or not ladies, before my brother was the phenom you all know him as now, he was as pudgy as a marshmallow! He even passed on his love and skill of lacrosse and rugby to him. 

Me and Tom could talk to Gendry about everything and anything for ours on end. And he'd be there, listening and smiling. Even when he went off to college of Qohor, he made sure that we talked on Skype every Sunday. And when he came back to for the holidays, he made sure that they were the most fun days ever spent. 

My brother even did some ridiculous things too. To support my good friend Sansa during Fashion Week at our school, he died half of his hair pink. Once, he and his best friend Jon, had ran through a visiting campus screaming and shouting while having wine bottles taped to their hands. He once managed to convince his college adviser, Mr. Dondarrion, to go out and have a drink with him!"

Myrcella looked at the crowd yet again. "My brother had the innate gift of befriending anyone and seeing the good in them. He always brought interesting people into his life. Like our half-siblings we barely knew. Mya is a really cool sister whom I wished I met a long time ago, and Edric is insanely funny." Mya and Edric stood up briefly with slight smiles to their faces. 

"Gendry Harbert Baratheon was the best person to have around. He was a great friend, a good son and more than a beloved brother. He was the best brother anyone could have!" she said as the tears began to run down her cheeks. "A-And it pains my heart, knowing that he won't be around anymore. I-I love you big brother!!" she said, as her shoulders slumped and the tears roamed freely. 

Here lies Gendry Harbert Baratheon

Great Friend, 

Devoted Son, 

Beloved Brother

May he rest in peace

Chapter Text

She is as beautiful as they say his aunt was.

He is as honourable as they say her father was.

Houses Stark and Dayne are joined, and people will say that it was joined in the wrong pair.

Dorne suits her better than she ever thought it would, but it doesn’t come as a surprise.

It has everything to do with Edrick, she knows, and how lovely he is with her all the time.

It has everything to do with the way his tongue collects the beads of sweat on the inside off her thigh and he smiles at her like he knows what she’s thinking.

It was the smell of her that caught him- the warm sand-sea-sunshine scent of her hair, the sweet hint of lavender perfume behind her ear.

Their daughter is born with dusky dark hair and vibrant Tully eyes. Their son born with her vibrant Tully eyes and flaxen nearly silver-gold hair. 

Her eyes are everything Edrick never knew he needed in life, whether they’re bright with laughter when he whispers some terrible, debauched thing he wants to do to her later on at dinner, or shining with pride when little Arra takes her first steps and little Beric calls her “Mama” for the first time, or dark with desire when he does that terrible, debauched thing, or dull and sleepy when she leans her head against his shoulder after a long day of keeping Starfall and the children - he looks at her eyes, huge in her face and the colour of cornflowers and bluebells all at once, and he feels as if he can do anything. 

Seven Hells does she know what she does to him.

In the gown of the darkest purple she glows and she whirls around her head arching back in laughter, her gown slipping slightly off her shoulders. He knows that she had lost much, but to hear her laugh is a godsend. Her laugh, like her hair, is the most beautiful thing in the world. 

He gets under her skin with a simple look. A simple touch. 

She had thought that she would never marry. She did not want to see another knight in her life, for knights, the one's she had held so much stock in, did not exist. Well, mayhaps some existed, trying to uphold their vows. Like Edrick does.

But mayhaps its because of the ghosts that surround them. She supposes they both know about ghosts. Always, over her shoulder is the spirit of her mother; once beautiful and lovely, then wrathful and vengeful; the Mother Merciless, the Hangwoman, Lady Stoneheart.

When they see him they see the sword the milky white that he wields. They see silvery-blonde hair and eyes that are too dark and deep to be truly blue; the Sword of the Morning.

Both are so constricted and broken in their own way; everyday a part of themselves had been chipped away to be replaced by those long dead, that it was natural that they come together; for it was together that their ghosts melted into the walls.  

They are not their ghosts. She is neither the Hangwoman nor is he the Sword of the Morning of past. They are not Lord Eddard and Lady Ashar come again. Mayhaps, it could have been their story, but that is of no consequence. No, this is their story, and they'll make sure that it continues to be like one.

Chapter Text

He often wondered about her. His mother. 

Was she high-born? Was she beautiful? Did my father, Eddard Stark love her? 

The Last Commander of the Nigh'ts Watch had finally gotten his answers. His mother was high-born, a great beauty, and Eddard Stark loved her greatly. 

No man could not love his sister so much that he risk everything for her son. 

The shock was enough for him to be put into a fainting spell. More so when he had ... died and had been brought back to life. Whether by the grace of the Old Gods or Lady Melisandre's Lord of Light, he could not tell. 

When Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch had told him of what had happened at Dorne, he did not want to believe in it. Jon was struck dumb as revelation after revelation hit him. He had oft heard tales of Lady Lyanna Stark, but he never imagined that she was his mother. 

In his wildest imaginations, he often imagined his mother singing to him in his dreams. Songs from the North, a strange song from the south, the songs were all different but the voice was the same. A bit hoarse yet a yielding softness to it. 

He entered the portion of the crypts he was most familiar with, the parts he would visit as a child. Walking past the stone statues of kings and later lords, Jon inspected each of them to insure that the iron swords across their laps were whole and sharp, without a speck of rust.

At the end of the path, the sculptures become more familiar. Rickard Stark, flanked by his two children, was passed over. Jon could not help but continue just a little further in to look at his family.

Eddard Stark sat somber upon his carved throne, the effigy doing a poor job of capturing the kindness that would often linger in his sad eyes. The greatsword across his lap was no Ice, but it was of the kind that his uncle would have preferred.

Jon turned back to the only female statue in the chambers. Only Northern kings and later lords were entombed here, making Lyanna Stark an anomaly. Although, she was for however short a time the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, if Lord Howland's story is to be believed. Never crowned, but wed to a king and mother to a prince.

Unlike the others effigies, Lyanna sat with her hands crossed over her heart instead of braced against her throne. Jon pulled the parcel from his back and unbound a freshly forged blade, much like the one he commissioned for Arya, from its fabric coffin. Depositing the sheath atop the vault itself, Jon took the blade in his hand and laid it across her knees. She wielded a small sword better than Benjen, and unseated knights in a tourney. And from what his Fath- Uncle had told him, she would have likely wielded a sword in hand rather than a pair of needles to pleasantly sew like a "proper lady". Surely she would wish to defend the realm as much as any man down here.

Lady Lyanna Stark. The face he had so often written off as a bygone aunt, long with high cheek bones, stared sightlessly into the abyss.

“The man who raised me never told me about you, but he did keep his promise,” Jon told her. “Your friend the crannogman told me either, how strongly you tried to hold me as you were fading away from this world.”

Lyanna Stark made no response.

“I wish I could have known you, mother. But I know that you loved me, enough to have your brother risk everything for me to have a family and a home,” he said.

He began to recall the brief flurry of images he had seen when he was in his beloved direwolf and such. The sights of Winterfell long ago, with Uncle Benjen and ... his mother sparring in the godswood. Lyanna and Rhaegar's small marriage ceremony in the Isle of Faces. How she promised Lord Eddard to take care of him.

The brief vision he witnessed of her, reaching out to him telling him just how much she was proud of him. He had wondered so much. But he knew even more that he was not unloved; that she cared tremendously. He suddenly felt tears in his eyes, lamenting that he could have stayed a moment longer with her. A moment longer to feel her embrace; whether it was in a dream, vision or some other phenomenon he could not explain. Instead, he looked to her once more with conviction and standing tall and proud; as a Stark he wished to be and the son she wanted him to be.

"And now, your watch has ended ... Mother"

Chapter Text

"Jon Stark."

The name sounded so foreign to Catelyn Stark as she said it, but she read it over and over again with her husband Ned at her side, the two of them feeling different things as they stared down at the proclamation sent by King Robert Baratheon himself. She had hated the boy, she had hated what he was, and she had hated how many times his stranger's eyes had reminded her of her husband's betrayal of her, but she had made a promise to the gods both Old and New, and a promise to the Heavens is something that few seldom turn their backs on. The Stranger had stayed his dark and terrifying hand, and the gods had answered her prayers in saving the life of a little boy named Snow, and so Catelyn now had a price to pay; a price that could only be paid in love.

She stood up from her chair slowly then, never having expected the raven from King's Landing to have come so quickly. She wondered what her family in Riverrun would think when they found out that she planned to raise the still young Jon as her son, that she would be the mother she always should have been to him, and she wondered what the other noblewomen of the other noble Houses would think, and if any of them would be able to look into the eyes of a boy named Snow or Storm or Flowers, and still be able to call them son. She wondered what Ned thought, what he felt in his heart, what he had felt in the deepest pools of his soul, when she had gone to him the morning after that terrifying night where the Stranger had loomed over Jon. Most of all though she wondered about Jon, about that boy who still thought that his name was Snow. Would he believe her when she told him that she loved him? Would he always carry that doubt, or that shame, or that resentment with him to the contrary in the back of his mind? She swallowed hard at the thought, hard truths being called so for a reason.

Catelyn turned to leave, but stopped when she felt Ned gently grab onto her arm. He was looking away from Robert's letter for the first time since they had opened it, and the Lady of Winterfell was surprised for a moment, seeing just the barest hint of a smile on her husband's normally stoic face, with eyes staring back at her that were more misty than she had ever seen on Ned. She could see that he was holding things back, things that she knew that her husband would be able to let go when he was finally alone again. She wasn't sure what these things were, whether it was tears, or smiles, or prayers to the weirwood trees of his ancient gods, perhaps even all of the above, but it was in the next moment that she finally understood that she had done the right thing, Ned's voice cracking for the first time since the night that she had married him.

"Thank you."

All she offered was a smile before she left to go find Jon, no words ever being enough for that moment in time.

She already knew where Jon would be at this time of the day, and Catelyn Stark held her head up high as she exited the castle of Winterfell, heading in the direction of Ser Rodrik and his training ground. The words of her House were 'Family. Duty. Honor.', and now was the first time that Catelyn had ever felt that she was truly living up to them. Jon would be her son, and she would be his mother. By the grace and word of King Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, Jon Snow would become Jon Stark.

Catelyn knew she had been right about Jon's location the moment that the clashing of wooden swords came within her hearing. She walked slowly, her life and the life of her newest son only one conversation away from changing forever, and she felt a lump grow inside her throat, wanting to lodge itself there forever and wanting to forget that she had ever made a promise to the gods in the first place. There was a chill in the air that morning, a cold that seemed appropriate for how Lady Stark had felt the moment that she had read the letter from Robert, and she took a moment to look around at the different people who went about their daily lives at Winterfell, all of them being just as clueless as Jon about what was about to happen.

Robb and Jon stopped fighting as soon as they saw Catelyn approach them, and both Ser Rodrik and Theon Greyjoy looked towards her, the two of them unsure about why the Lady of Winterfell had decided to grace them with a visit. Robb's eyes met her own, obviously curious as to what exactly was the reason for her presence, but the boy said nothing, Catelyn sure that he was simply waiting for his mother to announce it herself. Ser Rodrik and the ward Theon Greyjoy were equally as quiet as was her oldest son, and their eyes rested on her as well, but Catelyn decided to ignore the three of them for the moment, instead deciding to focus on Jon Stark, even if the boy had lowered his head from the moment that she had come to them.

"Jon," she said in a tender voice that surprised all those who heard it, "I would like to have a talk with you."

She could see the fear in the boy's eyes when he looked up at her, and the surprise and worry on the faces of the others, with the exception of Theon giving one of his famous smirks, and it was then that Catelyn decided to do something that was even more surprising than the tenderness she had shown her husband's bastard.

She smiled at him.

For a promise to be kept.

"What is it that you want to do in life, Jon Snow?" Catelyn asked the young boy, and she gave him a curious look as she did so, knowing that her last words were going to be the final time that she would ever call this boy Snow.

She saw the hesitation in his face, and she spoke again with softer words than before. "I promise I won't get mad no matter what you say."

There was still reluctance, that much was easy enough to see, but even so, Catelyn knew that the boy was going to speak his mind. She may have been cold to Jon, she may not have been the mother to him that she swore to Gods both Old and New that she was now going to try to be, but if there was one thing that Jon knew about her, it was that she always told the truth. The boy met eyes with her again, but this time they looked different than before. In a way she had not ever seen, Jon looked proud and fierce. And for a moment little Jon Stark reminded her of Brandon.

"I want to join the Night's Watch."

In another time and place, those would have been words that Catelyn would have rejoiced at. She knew the oath well enough to know that saying them would mean that Jon would relinquish any of his non-existent claim to Winterfell, and that that would also mean that any of her children, or Robb's children, would be safe from any kind of rebellion. After what she had promised however to save Jon from the Stranger's hand, they now sounded hollow to her.

She responded quietly, but she kept her tone stern, preemptively quelling any of the protests she expected. "I won't let you do that."

A mother protects her son.

Catelyn lifted a finger to silence the boy when a flash of contempt came across his face, and she continued on, knowing that her son needed to hear what she had to say. "At least not yet. That was something that you decided as Jon Snow. So tell me, what is it that you want to do in life, Jon Stark?"

Jon did not say anything, but he did something. Something she should have suspected. He ran off. 

"Jon? Jon, where are you going?"

She ran all around the keep, asking Jory Cassel the captain of the guard to find him. Why did she think everything would be different? 

A thought then occurred to her. Jon was very much like Ned in so many ways. There was only one place he could go off to. So, she went off to the godswood. 

Though she had been a wife to Eddard Stark for nearly ten years, she felt strange coming into the godswood. The godswood in Riverrun never haunted her as much as it did Winterfell's; mayhaps the presence of the Old Gods is stronger in this one? 

As she came closer, she could see him by the melancholy face of the weirwood heart tree. Jon's face looked nearly solemn as always, but with a little sense of curiousness. He held up a bright red leaf close to his hand with a small smile on his face. Somehow, he quickly got wind that she was there watching him. His eyes looked at her, his eyes as fierce as the wolf sigil the Starks had taken. 

Just as she could get close to him or even call his name, Jon Stark had run past her with his stubby little legs. 

Why is he running?

She could barely understand now. But she had a promise to uphold, and she was going to uphold it. Jon is her family now. 

She tried to make some idle talk with him in the Great Hall when they all feasted, but he would then move to the servant's tables willingly. In fact, Jon Stark seemed to take great measures in avoiding her altogether. What am I to do?

As she headed toward her chamber's, she heard fairly loud voices talking. Ned. And ... Jon. She knows that she shouldn't eavesdrop but they are discussing things quite loudly. Though, she could only hear a couple of words.

" ... a mother to you, Jon."

" ... so?"

" .... her ... respect." 

"SHE'S NOT MY MOTHER!!"

That she had heard clearly. I ... was never a mother to you before. But I ...

" .... promise ... Gods ... you."

"I DON'T WANT HER!! I WANT MY MOTHER!!"

That had hurt her. And likely hurt Ned too. Even though he never talked about Jon's mother. This nameless beauty he would never speak of. 

“Why can I not know her? Why can I not see her?”

“Jon - “

"WHY IS IT THAT ROBB GETS HIS OWN MOTHER BUT I DON'T? I WANT MY MOTHER!! 

Catelyn felt her heart twist painfully at the anger in the boy's voice, and, for the first time since his birth, she felt truly ashamed at how she had treated Jon. She  could have been kinder to him, could have smiled on that day when he gave her flowers on her name day or offered to sing him to sleep the way she did the others. She could have done better by Jon, even when when he was still a Snow.

The door burst and Jon ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Ned came out of the room, letting out a long and heavy sigh. He then took note that she was close by. 

"Mayhaps ... this was a mistake," he sighed heavily as he rubbed his temples. 

No, it was not your mistake Ned. It was mine. Mine and mine alone. She tentatively held her husband held her husband for what seemed like forever. "I'll go find him," she mumbled at him.

Jon was not in the godswood nor was he in his chambers. What am I thinking? A mother knows her children. I don't know Jon. I never did. I never wanted to. 

It practically pained her, but she asked Robb as to where his brother may be. Though, Robb practically narrowed his eyes in suspicion before telling her. "At the First Keep." The First Keep is a squad and round drum tower taller than it appears, decorated with weatherworn gargoyles. She took note that he seemed more sullen then ever as he was by the gargoyles. 

Almost immediately, Jon took note that she was in his proximity. He glowered at her. He wouldn't do that if he were still Jon Snow, said a voice in her head that sounded so much like Petyr. It unnerved her. As she got closer, he mumbled something. The closer she got, the louder she heard it. "Go. Away."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jon. Not ... not until you talk to me."

"Why? Why does it matter?"

"Because you are my son."

"I don't think so, my lady."

Why did it unnerve her so much that she said it?

"I promised the Old Gods and New, that I would be a mother to you. Now and alw - "

"You promised. Not me."

For a moment, his anger at her reminded her so much of Edmure's innate stubbornness. 

She then got closer to him, and just as he began to glower at her, she did something that she had never done before; she hugged him. She felt him resist her at first until he began to feel rather lax. 

"I am sorry, if I had not been a mother to you. But, promise or not, I am here now. And a mother protects her children, no matter what. For now and always, I will be your mother."

Her son's anger soon faded away, instead being replaced with confusion. He looked at her unsure of what she said or meant, and for the second time that day Catelyn smiled at the boy who was now named Jon Stark. Neither of them had any clue as to what awaited Jon in his life after today, but perhaps they could figure it out together.

Chapter Text

She was just a girl of two-and-ten years old when she had met him. Her betrothed; Beric Dondarrion, the heir to Blackhaven. Though he was a bit older than her by about five years, he was quite handsome. His resplendent red-gold hair practically shimmered and moved like living flames. His eyes, as beautiful and blue as the seas. Captivating.

But her brother Aron said that he could not easily giver her to "a pretty face". He sought out other perspective husbands for her: the Allyrion's, the Manwoody's, the Vaith's, Lord Hightower's youngest son Humfrey, an Estermont, even Lord Tyrell's eldest son and heir Willas. In the end, the young man who captured her heart and invaded her dreams was set to be her husband. She could not wait to marry him. 

Within moons, they begin to write one another. She tells him of the times she has spent with the Princess of Dorne and her cousins in the Water Gardens as well as the coming and goings at Starfall. He tells her of the tourney he attended last with his father, the Dornish marches (which she knows much already), and his plans to be one of the greatest knights in Westeros. And one day crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. 

Since Aron passed shortly after the betrothal was made, she often asked about her nephew Edrick. Beric was a promising knight, and he often told her how he made sure that Edrick was as comfortable as possible. 

When she becomes six-and-ten, that is the day she dreams of. The day of her wedding. Beric looked even more handsome than she first saw him. His hair shinier and his eyes livelier. She feels so giddy when the septon states they are now husband and wife. It's almost everything she has dreamed of. Some Dornish lords and lords from the stormlands attend; lavish but not to large and grand. Lord "Red" Ronnet Connington makes a jape about Dornishwoman and tries to call for the bedding until Beric approached him and jabbed him in the throat, leaving him heaving like a dying frog. 

As much as she fears and expects the bedding to be like, Beric is courteous even then. He is so sweet and gentle all throughout. Often asking if he's being to rough or hurting her, While a bit aggravating, it's sweet nonetheless.

When he decides to prove his worth at the Hand's tourney, she wishes him the best of luck. She didn't expect that he would be leading men into war. He says he's to apprehend the Mountain that Rides, but she knows that it will escalate into war. No one simply apprehends the Mountain, the man every man, woman and babe in Dorne curses with each and every breath they have. She knows it's likely the last time she'll see Beric.   

Her belly had just started to swell when Edric sent her the raven bearing news of Beric’s first death. That had confused her greatly. But what mattered was that he was alive, somehow. And somehow, he will come back to her. 

Months turns into a year. In that year, her head is filled with worries and her belly filled out more and more. She eventually brings forth a son with her dark purple eyes and Beric’s hair into the world. I wish Beric could see you. She chooses a name as strong and honourable as a man she wished she knew. I can only hope Arthor will be as honourable as Arthur. Tall, strong, and honourable as him.

When she hears of Beric's "final" death, everything around her shatters. And her heart breaks. Looking at little Arthor and contemplating raising him without Beric, Allyria can almost understand why Ashara chose to jump. She wishes and yearns for the more simple days when she was still a child of spring dreaming of summer. 

I want to go back to Starfall. I wish I was Queen of Love and Beauty like Beric promised me. Splash in the Water Gardens with no care in the world. Surprise Quentyn Martell with a kiss once again and see him blush madly. Ride, hawk and practice with my bow like I used to before when Aron allowed her. I wish Beric was by my side.

But those are the dreams and wishes of a girl of summer. Though she is in Dorne, winter has claimed her.

Chapter Text

She remembered the last time she had encountered him. Before his hair had gone as white as snow, it had been a bright coppery red. The people of the North often called hair like that to be "kissed by fire". He had come in a small boat to her home. it was not like any songs anyone would sing anywhere. 

He had tried to take her away from the fresh pines and ocean smell that surrounded Bear Island. Nearly hoisting her up on his rather broad shoulders, in spite of his somewhat- less than tall figure. She fought him off hardly. Nearly bit off his ear. She remembered ending up in a hut somewhere near the Frozen Shore. She tried to fight him off there too. 

None of them remember what had happened in between. How they went from fighting each other off to kissing and touching one another. Fucking madly and almost longingly. His large hands touching and groping all around her. Just as she was putting on her furs, he grunted from his sleepy haze and lustfully licked his lips. 

"That might've been one of the greatest fucks I've ever had! Even if you nearly tore my cock off. Though, it's still proud and mighty! HAR!"

It was almost off-putting just how casual he made it seem. But he was a wildling. And strangely enough, she found herself giggling silly because of it. Tormund his name was. One of the strongest wildling chieftain's he's claimed to be. And she found herself to be quite at ease with him. They talked at length for quite some time until she had to leave. 

Before she knew it she was with child. At first, she was fearful of the life the child may have. But the Mormonts were not like most noble families. Her great-grandmother had been an only child and had a child by some unknown man. When she asked her own father about it, he simply told her that many strong she-bears in her house had often looked to find their own mates. It was then she became more familiar and understanding with the lore surrounding the Mormonts. 

Skinchanging is a rare trait. Childhood stories told of the Starks of old, who united the North through conquest not just for the land, but to marry other houses known for skinchanging in order to hoard that ability for themselves. It had been more difficult for House Mormont to sustain their abilities. There were no more Warg Kings to conquer and marry, and Bear Island is small and out of the way, besides. So, many bears are sent across the Bay of Ice when it freezes over each winter and wander until we find a skinchanger amidst the wildlings. And they became the fathers to the cousins and nieces of the primary branch of House Mormont.

A deal had been struck centuries ago with the clans of the Frozen Shore that the girls would belong to House Mormont and on occasion a boy or two should their be a succession crisis, whilst any other boys would be raised amongst their father’s folk. Amongst the free folk, as Tormund preferred to be called rather than just wildlings. 

It was for the practicality of it, she often told herself. Yet, she hadn't been thinking of practicality when they found themselves in each other's embrace. If she could have, she would not have honoured tradition and kept all of her children with her. But to keep the traditions of her house was her duty, and as folly as this was, Maege Mormont was always a woman of duty. 

It is now she wishes that she kept one of the boys and known him. She had given Tormund one of their daughters. Only one though. Though, Munda took more after him than her. It was probably better that way.

Nearly all her family is gone now. Her fierce Dacey, butchered in that monstrous disaster called the Red Wedding. Torwynd, who was supposedly a sweet and unassuming boy, perished at the hands of the denizens of cold and darkness. Dormund, slain at the hands of one of Stannis Baratheon's soldiers. 

All that remained was Alysane and her own cubs. Toregg; tall and strong. Lyra; who had captured the heart of Old Lord Locke's heir. Jorelle; who somehow ended up courted by a brave soliderly crannogman and the tall but scholarly Hoster Blackwood. Munda; who was now expecting a child with her lover "Longspear" Ryk. Dryn; who looked like his father in miniature; a chunky boy, with short legs, thick arms, and a wide red face. And little Lyanna, just as strong and fierce as she remembered her namesake to be, becoming quite friendly with young Rickon Stark.

Tradition, circumstance and distance were the things that kept them apart. She wouldn't admit it before, but time does help in understanding things. I love that bluthering fool. He still had that stupid wide-toothed grin of his. 

Now, they are here together, pledging their fealty to the King and Queen of the True North.

Chapter Text

Rakharo 

She had to admit that they had little things in common at first. 

The first thing they bonded over was their innate love of horses and riding. He had admitted that he liked how spirited and fierce she is. A true warrior woman rather than a pretty blushing maiden, though she knows he'd likely enjoy them too. He has a rather commanding presence that she can respect. Although, she does find the bells in his hair a bit silly.

Rakharo had even granted her dragonbone bow that belonged to one of his fallen companions. He had even taught her to shoot arrows on horseback. 

Their small holdfast in the North was modest. A small amount of servants and plenty of acres to ride along. Riding along the Frostfangs. It was their favorite past time. 

Toregg

After Father, Robb, Jon and the Hound, he might have been the tallest man she'd seen. His voice as deep and strong as a battle commander and taller than any man she'd seen. 

The one thing they had agreed on was their own love and devotion for Jon. Toregg and his father are his most stalwart supporters. 

The first thing he had done when she met him was "steal" her. She had thought him wanting to rape her, and she kicked him everywhere from his face to his balls. At the end of it, his face was practically bloody and he was smiling and laughing. 

In some ways, Toregg reminded her of Jon, the way he inquired about his younger brother Dryn. When he had a chance to see him, he was almost as fierce and protective as an alpha wolf. The pack must survive. He is truly northern. 

Maybe having their own pack would not be so bad.

Wex Pyke

She almost wants to hate him for what he is; ironborn. But that would be wrong. He was ironborn, but he might've been the kindest one she had known and met.

Wex has a tangle of dark brown hair with an almost feral face. His mouth wide, his nose sharp and a pointed chin. It almost makes him look like a feral sea creature; like a shark almost. 

Although he cannot speak, he does learn quickly and is quite adept with daggers. Though, she believes that some of Theon may have rubbed off of him. Wex always has some kind of grin adorning his face. Although, he couldn't tell her what the jape was when it was clear that he wanted to. 

The Bastard of Lordsport is undoubtedly interesting. Not only armed with skills as a scout and a skilled enough fighter, but like many of his people, he loves the open sea. She could understand it as well as see his desire to be a deckhand or even a captain of his own ship. Hell, his fighting skills were becoming stronger as he was training under the watchful eye of Theon's trusted mentor Dagmer Cleftjaw. He almost reminds her of Theon when he notches an arrow. But he doesn't look like a babe swinging a rattle when he swings a blade.

It wouldn't be so bad if they just got on a ship and just left Westeros if they wanted to. There is always the Sea Bitch, Theon's ship which still hung by the Stony Shore. They could do it. 

Devan Seaworth

He reminded him of herself in a way. A boy with great big dreams on being a knight. And now he was one, an Onion Knight. But he took it in stride. 

Skilled with a blade, a lance, small knives and daggers and a mace, he's the picture perfect knight that Sansa once dreamed of. Sansa would likely complain that Devan should be more comelier instead of looking like a commoner. But Devan's father and mother are relatively common folk. She rather liked Devan's plain face. Even his armor and adornments were rather plain as well. 

Knights need to uphold their vows, not just stand around a look pretty, Devan told her. His father and Stannis Baratheon had taught him much on practicality. He had mentioned that he wished to be the first Onion Knight of the Kingsguard, until her new friend Shireen had convinced him otherwise. Shireen all but commanded Devan to "find someone to make you happy".

When she told him that she didn't need some pretty knight like in the stories protecting her and that she could hold her own, she had expected him to reprimand her. Why wouldn't he? His family now ruled over Crackclaw Point in the newly reconstructed castle of the Whispers. Instead, he laughed. My lady, I'd expect no less from a she-wolf. 

We'll protect one another.

Jojen Reed

It had been a gift to be honest, as he had many tales of her brother Bran. And she had always wanted to encounter a crannogman since she made her journey to the south. Jojen is short and slim with unusually deep green eyes, wearing green-colored clothing. She did find it a bit humorous that they are both of relatively matching height. 

He believed that he should have died; that he was fated to die. But he was here now; here and alive. The Gods must have seen it fit for him to live and see and rule over his father's lands. They had told him, "Not today". Mayhaps he didn't listen to them closely. 

Greywater Watch had been fascinating. The castle was built on and around a massive weirwood tree. Its roots had been twisted and formed around the pillars, columns, and walls of stone. Over the many long ages since the weirwood was planted and formed into the island, smaller trees of various varieties, as well as grass and vines, had taken root there as well. She took an instant liking to Meera, and would be saddened to see her go. She claimed that a Liddle had been courting her, but she recalls that she kept blushing around Jon. 

Jojen had not been a warrior in any way. In spite of having traveled so far, and beyond the Wall, he had not picked up any sort of combat skill. She had taken to training him herself. She taught him how to use a spear and even archery. In spite of never having done it before, he had natural skill. 

She vowed that she would never marry and be a lady but it was not like that. Jojen treated her well, courteously even. He not only had the greensight but the true sight; truly seeing things and truly seeing her.

Gendry Baratheon

No matter what, he had haunted her. Even when she was at the House of Black and White, he had invaded her thoughts and dreams. A innately stubborn bull-headed boy with eyes as bright as the sky reflecting into the sea and hair as dark as coal or ink. 

She thought that she would not be Arya Stark again. She had thought that he would not recognize Arya Stark, but she had been wrong. He had recognized Arya Stark; seeing with the true seeing. She had barely recognized him in his new finery and title. 

Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End. It sounded almost foreign on her tongue. The armour that adorned him made him seem stranger too; enameled green armor with a helm adorned with a pair of golden antlers. His speech was still quite rough-hewn but spoke with an clearer air of courtesy and authority. 

He's always been strong but he has grown more than she had last seen him. Almost as tall as his father; King Robert, if not an inch shorter than him. A dark and thick close-cropped beard adorned his jaw. He looked the very inch of a lord; the kind that Sansa would like and deem a knight worthy of her songs and tales. 

But that wasn't him. Gendry knew he was. I'm Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill, that's who I am. Not this Lord Gendry shite they keep spewing. He still knew who he was, and surprisingly knew just who she was. That she was still Arya Stark of Winterfell, no matter what kind of mummery and lies she'd use. 

I've spent so much time running and killing, I feel almost empty. But not when she was with Gendry. For the first time since she left Winterfell as a child, she doesn't feel empty. She feels whol and alive. 

And she'll never say this to Sansa, Rickon or even Jon, but she feels right at home being the Lady of Storm's End, holding her little boy by his tiny hand.

Chapter Text

Westeros. Home. I'm home, she thinks. 

The riverlands seem to be thriving once again. The land is not filled with corpses and fires. It was green again. 

But first, I need to eat. As she makes her way up north of the Trident, she takes note of the ruby ford. She briefly remembers once looking for rubies there once. But she had been a foolish girl. 

It is then she sees an inn at the crossroads. It is three stories tall with turrets and chimneys made of white stone. Its south wing is built upon pilings that rise over a bed of weeds. On the north side there is a stable with a thatch roof and a bell tower. The building is surrounded by a low wall of broken white stones. It smelled of warmth and hearth. And also freshly-cooked rabbit and stew. 

As she took a seat, a girl about her age with loose brown hair approached her. She looked to be her age and her brown eyes looked quite shrewd. 

"Might I help you?" she asked with a voice fit to be a battle commander. She almost frightens me. Almost. 

"I'd just like a hot meal and maybe a room for the night."

"The meal's about 7 silvers. Room's 3 three dragons."

Arya then reached into her pouch and paid the young girl. She still eyed her warily. But then her shrewd brown eyes turned kind. "Welcome. Enjoy your time here. Where you from exactly? You look Westerosi but your accent's a bit strange"

"I am from Westeros, but I spent much time in Braavos. I learned to fight, to be stronger." she said. She seemed like the trustworthy sort. It made no matter if she told her. 

Suddenly, she heard a burst of laughter. A child's laughter. The little boy nearly collided into her chair but managed to stop himself with his small quick feet. 

She knew him. From the moment she saw the boy. His hair was as dark and soft as a crow's wing. His eyes as blue as the Summer Sea. He was his child. 

"Arrec! Don't run away from Momma!" said the boy's mother. Rather than heed her, the boy - Arrec, his name was - simply giggled and put his hands in his mouth. Devious little urchin. 

That devious little boy almost reminded her of herself. How she was constantly underfoot; and earning herself that moniker. 

"I hope that my son didn't cause you any trouble," the young woman said sheepishly. She was clearly a woman; fairly tall, rather plain-faced but pretty, ample curves on her body, a kind smile and the same brown hair and eyes as the girl. They were likely sisters. 

"It's quite alright. So, what's the name of this inn?"

"Many people have thought to give it some new names since it lost it's old one. The Gallows Inn. The Crossbow Inn. Orphan Inn. None of them sound to inviting though ..." she said with a slight chuckle and faltered. She then had her sights on her son, smoothing back his luscious dark hair. 

"You could just call it the Bull's Inn, all things considering," the girl said with a smirk on her mouth. "Oh! Where are my manners? My name's Willow Heddle, this is my sister Jeyne, and this little one is my nephew Arrec," she said as she then picked up her nephew, playfully swinging him around.

"So, I take it you're married?" she bluntly asked Jeyne as she looked worriedly at her son. 

"Yes. He works at the smithy we have. Right now, he's off hunting. Please, allow me to show you to your room," Jeyne said as she reached for Arrec who now waved his arms for his mother. 

He made a life for himself. It's good that he's found some happiness for himself. So, why is that I'm sad? 

The room she's been given is quite comfortable. The bed was fairly large, and she hadn't slept in such a comfy featherbed in so long. 

She found herself curious then. How was he like? How much did he change? Would he notice how much I've changed? Suddenly, she heard a roar of laughter. She then went down to see what it was. 

The tables were filled with several men holding up tankards of ale while laughing. By the side of a skinny freckled man was a helm in the shape of a goat. She would have went for her blade had she not immediately recognized Anguy. He had grown a bit muscular. Right by his side was the person she was looking for. He had reclaimed his bull-shaped helm; she didn't think he'd get it back. A large curved sword like a scythe on his hip and a warhammer by his seat. He was now more taller and more muscular than she could imagine. A dark and thick close-cropped beard adorned his jaw. His face as serious as ever but his eyes remained the same; bright as ever. 

She then felt a blush creep about her cheeks. She then pinched herself; I'm not a stupid little girl or a prim and proper lady. 

Little Arrec came running about again, only this time, he was running toward his father. Gendry scooped up his little boy, threw him in the air like it was nothing and giving him a great big bear hug. He was smiling even more now. 

Jeyne then came to him and he pulled her to him. There lips touching and moving together in tandem. The drunkards roared even more. They talked like it was nothing. Gendry didn't seem uncomfortable with her, or furiously blushing like he did with Bella. 

Everything seemed to disappear all around her. What was I thinking? He has a family now. 

You wouldn't be my family. You'd be mi'lady. 

He can never be my family now. Not ever. It's probably best that he doesn't even see me. 

So, she then left. On her way to the North, but part of her remained south. The south takes too much anyway. 

Chapter Text

"Ahh. Hahaha!"

"No, I-I'm serious. I'm serious. He had it up his butt. And I'm thinking; why did he do that?!"

"So, what happened then?"

"We had to wait for the ambulance. There wasn't much he could do. But! But every time he bent down, it looked like his ass came across a bright idea!" 

Both of them laughed so damn much that they caught some unwanted attention. 

"OY! You're not high now, are you boys?"

"Nope! No, Garrison, me and my boy Jaime here, we're just drrruuuuunnnk!" Addam burped out gleefully. 

"I'm gonna have to cut you two guys off!"

"Nonononono! We'll be good, Gary! I prwomize!" Jaime slurred. 

Addam suddenly tapped him on the shoulder. "Yo, Jamesun! Isn't that Melesa Crakehall?" he said nearly pointing at the girl. 

"Don't point numbnuts! Yeah, I think it is. But I can't tell from this angle!" 

Suddenly, she turned. He might've been too loud. She turned back around but he could see it was. Bright shiny brown hair, piercing hazel eyes, fairly pointy chin. And possibly the biggest chest he had seen, not counting Aunt Genna! Ew, why did I think that?! I must be really, really drunkk! Her shoulder's a bit broad, but everyone in Lyle's family had broad shoulders. 

"Waitwaitwait! Over there! Isn't that your sister's friend, Jeyne? Jeyne Farman?"

He barely remembered her. Cersei often called her fat despite being more shapely than her at the age of eleven. Damn, Cersei has some hot friends. Why didn't I hit on them? Better yet, why didn't they hit on me? I should probably get out more. 

"Jamesun! We need to get a little somethin'-somethin' tonight! So, who gets who?"

"Well, Addam, I know you kinda have a thing for Jeyne. You get the pretty one, and I get the hot mess known as Melesa Crakehall!"

He then got up and walked to her. Either Melesa changed a lot since I left for university or maybe I did. She looked to have dyed her hair blond, and her eyes were more blue. And a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. I like freckles. 

"Hey there, beautiful! How you doin'?" 

She looked a bit angered and surprised. "Are you talking to me?" 

"Who else am I talking about?! When did your eyes get so beautifully blue, beautiful?"

"And that kids, is how I met your mother. Sad to say, but true." 

His son and daughter, Arthur and Serena simply stared at him with their mouths gaping and eyes dropping. 

Chapter Text

I tried to save you. You know I did. 

Her thick auburn hair swayed beautifully and her eyes resplendently blue. 

So much like Cat's. But now, they looked as hard as ice. Icy as those accursed Starks. 

if the world had not been so cruel, you truly would have been my daughter. 

"I love my father. My real father Eddard Stark of Winterfell!"

I had been a fool. Far too entranced by her beauty. The Tullys did breed beautiful women. 

The blade struck hard and swift. In the same spot where Brandon had started; the collarbone. 

"And you will never hurt me. Ever. Again."

But I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted you to be mine, as you should have been.

Yet the Starks took you away from me, as they always have. 

Her eyes are so icy; as pale as a frozen chill. 

She truly is Eddard Stark's daughter. 

Winter has come for me. 

Chapter Text

Lyessa Flint

Lady Lyessa had a round face and a pug’s nose but, as Lord Arthor Flint’s only child, her dowry had been the future Lordship of Widow’s Watch. She was always smiling. Why would she not? She was well-loved. Everyone spoke of her wits and good humor.

And he saw and felt it with his own eyes, along with the warmth of her heart. He often found himself lost in her smile. And he loved having her small frame pressed up by his body. Holding her and never letting go. 

Though he missed Winterfell and could visit it as much as he'd like, he's come to enjoy Widow's Watch. The sound of the roaring waves crashing unto the shores. At times, he finds himself at ease ice-fishing on the northern rivers of the Broken Branch. He had come to teach his young son Robin, though he was often impatient. At times, he rode to White Harbor to discuss matters of trade, and his son and Lord Wylis's daughter would play. Mayhaps they could be betrothed when they're older. 

Lyessa was now swelling with their next child. He would love it no matter what, boy or girl. And he knows he would love the child even more if it has it's mother's smile. 

Barbrey Ryswell

He almost hates Brandon for doing this to him. 

Almost everyone in the North had known of the trysts that occurred between them. Now that Brandon was married to Lady Catelyn, they could not continue. Within an instant, he was married to Lady Barbrey Ryswell. She is quite beautifully and wily with her wildly tangled brown hair. 

But he knows better than to hope that Barbrey would feel something for him. He was nowhere near as tall as Brandon or as handsome as him. Not many men would clamour around a second-born son, they'd want to flock around the heir. That's the way it's always been. 

Should they want to bed one another, he could only hope that they will be discreet. But he dare not treat her discourteously. Even if she was content to be Brandon's mistress, he would never harm her or hate her for wanting Brandon. Who wouldn't want Brandon?

Yet something happens between them. Within the three weeks they have been married, they don't feel like strangers. Whether it was seeing her slap Brandon or truly being allowed to touch her, there is a closeness there now. 

I may not have wanted her, and she may not have wanted me, but hopefully we could want to want each other and love each other, truly.

Lysa Tully

A second-born daughter for a second-born son. It was almost fitting.

He had to admit that he believed that he would have been married to Lady Catelyn Tully; her elder sister. She had been all but trained to be Lady of Winterfell, but she had been wed to Jon Arryn's heir and his good friend Elbert Arryn. 

She looked so demure, and almost scared as if she thought that he would harm her. He had little experience with women, and had been as gentle as could be. He was surprised on how she moaned and all but demanded him to go about it faster and harder. They had lain about four times until they had been laden with sleep. 

He had found it quite surprising that she had been able to overlook his "mistake" and had even come to love Jon as her own. That was more than he could ever want or ask of her. It was almost baffling. Especially when he suddenly questioned as to why she would do that. 

Jon's a good little boy who needs a mother. Even though he's not mine, he's all you. And ... I love you. 

Lysa was far too much that he could ask for. She had given him more than he did her. 

Ashara Dayne

It was nothing he had expected. Being so far away from the North. But he could not wholeheartedly ask her to come North with him. Even though his father had been making arrangements for him to take Moat Cailin as his seat. 

High Hermitage was a beautiful castle. The castle walls made of pale red stone and there were lemon trees in its gardens; giving off a pleasant sweet scent. 

Nor did he expect that their children would be Daynes. The new Daynes of High Hermitage but Daynes nonetheless. Allyria was often whooping as she went riding. She was the perfect mix of Stark and Dayne. Her hair a lusciously beautiful brown hair and almond-shaped violet coloured eyes. Alaric quite surprised him as he seemed to take after his brother Brandon. 

It almost made him think that Ashara had made a mistake. That it would make her want his brother. Why would she want you? She's the loveliest woman in the world, and take a look at yourself! You're nothing! said a voice that sounded so hauntingly like Brandon's, but so distorted. 

Somehow, she managed to know just what he was thinking. "He may look like your brother, but he's all you," she said as she pointed out to him. Alaric had Ashara's dark hair and blue-grey eyes so dark they almost looked black. He looked like Brandon and even fought like him as he was overpowering the master-at-arms. But there was something of him in there. The look of intensity in his eyes. 

He was always lucky to have her. Lucky that she chose to be married to him. Lucky that she made the decision to bear his children because she wanted to. And to love him because she did, and there was no explanation for that. And he didn't need one. 

Catelyn Tully Stark

Even in the days of the most bliss, he still thinks it. I don't deserve her. This beautiful woman who had been promised to his tall and handsome brother; and should have been promised more than just being the Lady of Winterfell. 

They had wed to one another without ever having known one another. Yet, they went from strangers who gawked at one another to two parents devoted to the children that they made and to one another. At times, he still doesn't understand just how that happened. 

Though his heart will hold a place for Ashara, she's nothing but a candle in the wind in his life now. Catelyn was everything expected of a lady: courteous, kind, yet she could be as fiery as her hair. Many northern mountain clansmen and wildlings called it "kissed by fire". 

Even as he was being dragged to the Sept of Baelor, he found himself thinking of her. Of her bright blue eyes. Her pale soft skin. Her fiery auburn hair. How she would snuggle by his side and place her head on his chest. They fit so perfectly. 

As images of his children flowed in his head, the last one was of her. How beautiful and demure she seemed to be on their wedding day. Would she choose me if she was given the choice? Would she have been ecstatic to marry me if I were the heir of Winterfell instead of Brandon? 

No. I should not be thinking such things. I've lived a great life with her. 

And then the blade struck.

Chapter Text

Stannis sighed, feeling exasperated. He watched as she left his doorway. I hate that girl, so soo much!

"Bet you can't wait to get into her knickers, can't you, Stanny?" Robert said snidely. 

"Shut up, Robert!" Stannis said. How and why on Earth would that ever happen?! Mariya Darry was the worst thing that ever happened in the world! Her stupidly snide comments. Her habit of saying just how "intelligent" I am. That stupid way she flicks her pretty chestnut brown hair. 

"It's pretty damn obvious. You could cut that tension with a knife! And I don't blame you, she's pretty hot! Have you seen the ASS on that girl!" Robert exclaimed. 

Robert immediately regretted his decision as Stannis' fist met Robert's face. 

"OWW! You know it's true!" Robert groaned out, clutching his face. 

"Alright then. Remember Stannis, pi is a mathematical constant, the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. That itself would be pi multiplied by the radius squared, but the area of as cylinder would be that but added on pi multiplied by the radius and the cylinder's height. Also remember that they're also multiplied by two as well. I'm certain even you could comprehend that." 

"I can comprehend Pythagorean Theorem, that and more! If you were going to say that to anyone, tell that to my brother!"

"That would be too easy. And it would fly over his head faster than you can say Pythagorean Theorem!" 

By the GODS, she's sooo annoying! ... And kinda pretty. 

"Alright then, want to move on to chemistry? Though, i gotta say, it's pretty easy." 

"You do remember O2, right? It's the thing that humans breathe in."

"Why are you being so damn difficult?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" 

"You are soo ... difficult!"

"That's rich coming from you!"

"Well, maybe I kinda, sorta like you?!"

"Well, maybe I kinda sorta like you too?!"

"Are you saying you like me? Or not?! Because I'm practically telling you I like you!"

"Well then, I'm saying I like you!" 

"Oh, really?!" Mariya said looking incredulous and a bit more composed. 

"Well, maybe I liked you for a really long time but I didn't realize it because I hated you so damn much!" Stannis all but growled out. It seems weird, but now that I think about it, it does make sense! We've been rivals ever since she and I joined the debate team back in junior high school. So presumptuous even then, and ... cute. 

"Fine! I guess we're ... boyfriend and girlfriend then!"

"I guess we are! On ONE condition! I get to be the boyfriend!" What th - why on Earth did I say that?!

"I wouldn't have it any other way. You'd be terrible as a girl!" she giggled. Waitaminute, Mariya Darry ... giggling?

But as soon as her lips began to touch his, Stannis Baratheon quickly forgot what he was thinking about. And they forgot everything else. 

Chapter Text

He had barely understood it all. 

Since he had turned eight years old, things had changed. He was no longer some faceless boy playing with Lemore. No, they both had new names, new true names the moment Jon Connington strode into their lives. 

He was not simply Aegon, but Aegon VI of His Name, Son of Rhaegar Targaryen. And Lemore was the fabled beauty Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall. 

Everything after that came duties that came with being Aegon VI; the lost heir and restorer to the Targaryen dynasty. Jon would teach him about the histories of Westeros, Ashara would teach him about the Gods even though she often made fun of them, and Haldon would teach him languages, sums and other things that ever lord or prince should know. 

Things had changed when Ashara had suggested that he needed a proper master-at-arms, one who wouldn't completely hold back on him. 

Rolly had immediately impressed him with his brawny build and his shock of orange hair, but it was the boy with him who had intrigued him. The Usurpers' son; Gendry. Bastard's son, Jon often corrected. He was about a year-and-a-half younger than him but already developing a man's build for an eight-year-old. Fairly stocky, his dark hair was darker than the night sky and his eyes bluer and richer than the sea. 

Jon didn't like him, and made his dislike apparent when he was briefly charged in training him. All Jon saw was his failure, and immediately suggested that he be executed. Haldon said that Gendry could have a use for them. He just saw a friend. A misfit child who had been cast aside after his mother had died. Jon had stated that he smelled like a common-born whore, and realized he shouldn't have said; as it became apparent that Gendry had inherited the infamous Baratheon strength and had swollen Jon's face from a wallop of his fists.

Gendry and him trained with one another every day and received the same lessons. They learned more about each other each passing day. It turned out that Gendry was not born from a common woman. His mother was noble born and had brought him to the Golden Company; prompted by the Spider. She wasn't a rich Crownlands noble but from a proud one. Gendry could barely remember the sigil of his mother's house until they had their lessons: a Massey of Stone's Dance.  

They had both grown much since they met. Gendry was now tall and strong with his thick mop of coal dark hair nearly covering his eyes and easily rippled muscles that made him look like a maiden's fantasy. Aegon had grown tall as well; lithe and lanky. It was almost strange that they are their father's shadows yet friends instead of bitter enemies. 

As Gendry was knighted, he had now been granted a new name. He would not be Gendry Waters or Massey; but Gendry Baratheon: Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Warden of the Narrow Sea. Though Gendry claimed that his personal sigil should be the new sigil of House Baratheon which made Jon groan in disappointment. 
"Bull's are strong and powerful, but stag's are dainty and graceful. I'm not a stag."

Soon they had met up with the last of his family; the family that he had thought gone. Daenerys looked the very picture of a Valyrian beauty. Viserys had been long dead and gone but Dany - as she preferred to be called - said it was best that way. Though, her son Rhaego is the picture perfect mix of Dothraki and Valyrian beauty with his copper skin and violet-coloured almond-shaped eyes. 

As they reached Westeros, everyone had come to known them. Daenerys the perfect mix of Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen. But him and Gendry? They were like Aegon the Dragon and Orys One-Hand brought from the dead. The Conquerors reborn. But they had come to take their kingdoms back.

Chapter Text

Quentyn Martell was not a failure. Not for the most part. 

While he often looked unsure and uncertain, and plain for the most part, she never saw that. Gwyneth Yronwood always saw the amazing warrior and knight he could be. And now, he looks like the fiercest thing that she never could have imagined. 

Part of his face was now covered in a jagged burn pattern, making it seem as if his face was divided or cracked. His eyes looked darker than ever; as black as pitch instead of brown. And he now wore a cloak made up of numerous different  beautifully coloured ragged raiments. He was now the Tattered Prince of Dorne. 

In spite of all that, in spite of his accomplishments, he was still the shy and nervous boy who had first came to Yronwood; according to her father anyways. And he was right, when he came to see her, he no longer seemed fearsome. He talked to her all nervous and shy, telling her that he was a failure in his effort to bring the now Queen Daenerys into the fold. 

Frankly, she did not care. She wouldn't know what to say or do if Quentyn became Daenerys' consort. Would her father want to wed her to his brother Trystane? They are closer to an age, but Trystane is still in love with his betrothed; the former Princess Myrcella Baratheon now Waters. 
"Names do not matter. What matters is that she is a thief who nearly escaped with my important treasure. My heart."

What Trystane felt for his lady love is what she felt and still feels for Quentyn. This time, it is not light teasing. I have flowered. A part of her suspects that Quentyn will turn down the proposal. In fact, he surprises her when he tells her that he must ask her father's approval. 

Gwyneth Nymeros Martell. I love the sound of it. 

Chapter Text

The Aurochs 

He never thought that he'd survive all of this. Thorne must have been right. I've had cheese for wits and I'm as thick as a castle wall. 

Though, I'm not as slow as a dead snail anymore. Strong and muscled as aurochs but not the speed of one. 

With all the things I'd seen, I'd thought I'd be dead. Course, if I were dead, I'd be fighting on the other side of things. 

But I'd be deader than dead if it hadn't been for Jon. I was definitely strong but nowhere near as skilled as I am now. But then again, Jon could still leave me on my arse. 

Now that the Wall had been gone and most of the Night's Watch dead, those who remained pledged themselves to Jon. We were and still are brothers. But now we have a new name; the Raven's Teeth. Dunno where Jon came up with that name. But I probably shouldn't question the King. 

The Mummer's Monkey

I would have thought that my arse and wits would have been frozen by now. It's good to warm again. 

While it would be great to visit the other kingdoms, it was nice to stay in one place. Especially since that one place is the Red Keep. 

I'm still not sure just how was it that I'm still alive. It certainly was my giant mouth; that's what got me sent to the Wall in the first place. Some lords just don't appreciate a good laugh. 

But then again, I've been japing for as long as I could talk. Where most boys were excited to be knights and trained from the moment they could hold a stick, I japed. It's all I've ever done. I've never thrown a spear before, I've never held a sword with a proper edge, I was certain that I'd be one of the first to die. 

That was til Jon showed me how. I've gotten good with a sword and spear, I'm passable with a crossbow and I know how to sit a horse proper. Now, I'm one of the most deadliest knights ever! Though, Jon could still knock me down on my arse. 

As much as I'm glad that I'm a good fighter and anointed knight, it's good to play the fool again. It's what I do best.

The Sweet Lion

Why would anyone want to trust him? But I didn't exactly make things easier; with all my japes and boasting of my Lannister heritage. Even though my name was Hill and not Lannister.

Folly it was. I like to jape as much as any man, but I don't want to named liar all my life. 

I may be a Hill, but even a bastard can bring glory to a great name. I don't want to be looked at like a snake, but like a true lion. 

Mayhaps, Jon Snow saw that too. "One of the best men I've known was a Lannister. Lord Tyrion; he's a good man. And I think you are too"

He's right. I've been the Black Lion for quire some time. Although, it seems I benefited more in being a Hill instead of a Lannister. Makes me more likable and trustworthy somehow. 

Like how they like and trust their new king. The king that I pledged my service to. And the one person I'll truly serve. 

Boys of Fair

They had not thought to have seen what those have thought as "children's tales" in their lives. They had been wrong. 

We had just been a cobblers like our mum and her father and his father from his and so on. They never really knew their father, and didn't bother to know or care. We just wanted to make something of ourselves and send the money to our family. But we got too careless and greedy. 

No better than the lot that was thrown in with the Night's Watch. Though, we might be better than the rapers even though we acted little more than thieves. Though, we are bastards. 

Although, none of that seemed to matter. Who and what we were was erased. Lord Commander Jon Snow said as much. Even said that we hold promise as warriors. 

We always trained with Horse and Ser Iron Emmett; who always complimented on our growing skills. It made it seem all the more unfair. We could have tried to be knights and live like them. 

But now we can. We can live and be like true knights, just like the stories. 

The Oldtown Whore

They said that King's Landing always smelled like an unwashed whore. Kinda like me, in a way. But it started to have a fresh and warm smell to it now; as many parts of King's Landing and the Red Keep were being fixed. 

No one would come near me once word had gone out that I had been a boy whore from Oldtown; a painted catamite. Not Jon though. He honestly didn't care if that was true or not, and didn't bother to ask. "Like it or not, we're all brothers now"

And that was true. After a while, all these men had felt like brothers, even if they made an occasional snarky comment. Some could say that I was once a boy whore who now grew into a man ... whore. It barely bothered him. 

Nothing like that bothered me. What does bother me is when anyone dare refer to Jon as the Bastard King and his court as the Court of Cripples, Bastards and the Broken. No one will insult my king. 

The Thorn

No one would miss him. Why would anyone miss him? 

He gave everyone an amusing name but did nothing else truly. He didn't make men out of any of them. The Wall had done that. 

Thinking about the sinewy old man left a bitter taste in his mouth somehow. 

Aurochs, Ser Loon, Mummer's Monkey, Stone Head, Sam the Slayer, Lord Snow. 

I thank you for the many names and the false titles, good Ser. 

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark was not one to break a promise or a vow so easily. 

He took to them as he did any duty he was given. 

I've been so weak, he thinks as he looks at her; the Queen. 

Once upon a time, long ago, she would have been my wife. Had it not been for Hoster Tully's sudden ambition to make his daughter a Queen. Would she have wanted me? Been happy in the North? His eldest daughter a Queen and his youngest the wife of the Hand. 

Those thoughts and words leave his mind when she asks him to guard her chambers. But he is supposed to guard the chambers outside of them. She once japed that he would be doing his due diligence by guarding her within them. They always seem more at ease when they are together. 

When they are together, they are not Queen Catelyn Baratheon or Ser Eddard Stark of the Kingsguard. They are just Ned and Cat. The first time they were ever Ned and Cat was during the first time Robert had decided to visit Winterfell, not long after his wedding to her. Robert wanted to pay his respects and Ned had wanted to see just how his brother had been faring with his new wife and Jon. 

They had talked on how she would have been a northern wife and he her northern husband had Hoster Tully not changed his mind. Although, she had done most of the talking and he had listened. 

It felt like a betrayal when she had kissed him. She tried to pass it off as a mummery but she kissed him again. She then grabbed him by the neck and he mirrored the movement. Her beautiful fiery hair was in disarray. One hand still gently caressing her head while the other had its aim around her bum. The feel and taste of her nipple in his mouth. Her staccato gasps as he pumped into her. 

And he had been the one to have given her beautiful children. Not Robert. He almost wanted to punch his friend when he decided to parade Catelyn and her children around when he decided to hold court. As if his chiildren - my children - are porcelain doll to eagerly display and all but marking his territory at Catelyn. Reminding her and the nobles that she is his wife. 

I want to take her away from all this. Most girls would thrive in such things; like Cersei Lannister who was now wed to Benjen. Or his first love Ashara Dayne. She may have the patience for it but he knew that she hated it. 

Take her away from this snake pit. Take the children too and flee to Essos. Or make their way beyond the Wall and live amongst the wildlings. But I can't and won't. 

For there is only duty now. And Eddard Stark always did his duty.

Chapter Text

I should not be doing this. 

Yet, he can't help himself. This is the way men simply are; the way I am. I was made for fighting, drinking and fucking. 

But I was also put on this world to protect Lya, Ned and Ben. That's why I forsook Winterfell. I was never up for all that lordly shite. 

It often amused him whenever Jaime Lannister would come to visit court with his fox of a wife. He had sparred with him on occasion and at times, he narrowly beat him. Brandon was fast but Jaime is quick. Yet, Brandon is older and stronger which gave him an advantage. He would have been a worthy choice for the White Cloak of the Kingsguard. Yet, he remembers how he challenged Jaime Lannister back in Harrenhal for the position and he had landed on his romp for underestimating him. 

At times, he had leered at Lady Delena. Her eyes were pale blue, her fairly-large ears were quite endearing and she had ample curves adorning her body. What would I give to fuck her! But he stopped thinking that once Jaime Lannister and Lya had caught him doing it. He recieved a reprimand from the young Lannister and a smack on the head from Lya.; 

It often perturbed him as to why so many attractive ladies were not wed to men who were, arguably not handsome. Lord Stannis Baratheon of the Rainwood was now married to the very buxom Janna Tyrell. Ned was married to his former betrothed Lady Catelyn Tully and had been courted by Ashara Dayne a bit back at Harrenhal. Though, i did encourage her a bit. She was looking and thinking of me, I know it. 

He couldn't say that about Lord Baratheon and his wife. Robert was quite handsome with his broad features and muscles. And Cersei Lannister. What was there to say? A true lioness. Especially in bed. Fair skinned and golden-haired, emerald cat-green eyes. a slender and graceful figure while armed with one of the biggest chests I've ever seen. 

They had come to court quite often. Though, Cersei would narrowly meet up with her brother. While he likes Robert's company some, he sometimes sees him eyeing Lya still, as if he was still betrothed to her. She belongs to Rhaegar now, and I've made my peace with that. 

Yet, he can't help but often find Cersei Lannister in his chambers. They had shared many dances and a jape or two. She's almost wasted on Robert. Have they ever truly fucked? Because she is an absolute master! Or mayhaps Robert had shown her a thing or two? Best not to think of it or him now. 

Cersei was on her knees, delightfully sucking on his cock. Her lips and tongue almost gracefully wrapped around it like a snake. The way she eyes me as she does it. Enticing.

Robert had drunk himself into a stupor as usual and Barristan Selmy had escorted him back to his chambers but Brandon had offered and Cersei had assisted him. Mayhaps, that is why the situation at hand is quite exciting; as Robert was inches away from the bedpost. 

The best part of it is when he puts her on top of him. She is more eager and wanton; and even smiling pleasantly. She knows that she is in control and loves it. Most of their fucks are quite quick and hard. But this might be the most memorable. Her now erect nipples were as bright and cherry red as her lips. Her blonde curls bouncing along with her perfect teats. Her nails and teeth practically sinking into his skin as he went harder and deeper into her. 

She's such a good fuck. But she may be worth more than that ...

Chapter Text

He could barely believe his eyes. It was hard to think of the kneeling man before him as Theon Greyjoy. 

Last he had seen him, Theon Greyjoy had been a lean and dark handsome youth who managed to find amusement in anything. A smile plastered to his face, as if he were privy to the world's greatest jape and understood and refused to fell anyone. Theon Greyjoy, who immediately and readily called him a bastard with little provocation.  Theon Greyjoy, who often bragged with his numerous escapades and exploits with every woman and whore who was willing to have him.

Now, he was a shell of the arrogant youth he had known throughout their time at Winterfell. Theon's lustrous black hair had now become white and brittle, but a fringe of black hair had begun to form on the crown of his head. The smile he had was crooked and filled with broken teeth. He was missing some of his fingers and toes, as he leaned heavily on a cane made of blackthorn and grey woolen cloak bordered in sable covering him. 

Jeyne Poole, who had been pretending to be his sister was crying and pleading for Theon to be spared. Rickon, who he was grateful that he was alive, had been bellowing for Theon to die. His wildling caretaker Osha, had been trying to soothe him. Though, he could tale from her hard stare that she was thinking the same as Rickon. 

He has half a mind to. He had thought and heard that Stannis Baratheon had him executed, but that had turned out to be an impostor. But then again, Theon had been instrumental in Stannis' plans to take back Winterfell. Theon's knowledge of the castle had been useful to take it back from Lord Ramsay Bolton. 

But it was also that knowledge he used to try to take Winterfell for himself and his insipid family. He used that knowledge to take it from the Starks, who had been kind to him and all but treated him like a son. 

His blood was beginning to boil just from the sight of him. The wolf's blood, Father had once said. I want to do more than just take his head. I want to punch it in. Break every part of him. His hand gripped on Longclaw's pommel and he then raised it out of his scabbard. 

Theon looked at him with such dead eyes. As if he knew. He had thought that Theon would be protesting and crying like a babe. But he wasn't. He muttered something instead. 

"Theon. My name is Theon. Theon. You have to remember your name."

Black of hair, black of eye, black of heart Theon was. But here he was before the eyes of the Gods and the eyes of a few men, he was not. 

We're not the same people we were. We were both stupid boys. Now look at us; men. Men grown ... and as broken as the icy lake that had taken much of the Bolton cavalry. 

Rather than take his head, he had sheathed his blade and he had extended his hand out to him. Theon almost looked at him in surprise, as if he thought he was going to hit him. It made him feel even more sorry for the shell he was and enveloped himself in. 

"C'mon Theon. Let's go home."

Chapter Text

She should not be doing this. It was wrong. 

But its not like she was having such relations with the king. It was only his uncle; Lord Edmure. Yet, that's what had made it so wrong. 

Lord Edmure Tully and her king Robb Stark held similar enough features. Both had blue eyes; yet Robb's head is armed with red-brown curls and Lord Edmure had thick auburn hair and a beard. Edmure bears a stocky build and stood fairly tall. He wears bright mail for battle and owns flowing blue-and-red and mud-and-water cloaks. The crest of his greathelm is adorned with a silver trout. Robb simply wore boiled leather armor alongside a grey fur-lined jerkin. Yet, plainly or ornately dressed, he was quite breath-taking and close of a height to her as well. 

Robb was a boy who had become a man, whereas Edmure was a boy prancing himself around as if he was a man. 

Yet, he is still appealing. But when she takes a good look at him, she finds herself thinking of the man that Robb can still be. It is often at the worst of times, like when she was shamelessly grinding on his hips or when he playfully held her nipple betwixt his teeth. 

He's a boy; he's my king. I shouldn't be having such thoughts! Yet, they were still there, even when she was not around him. Robb didn't even reprimand her, but he did not encourage her either. When SmallJon found out, he laughed himself silly that he squirted out ale from his nose. Patrek Mallister japed about Edmure's "floppy fish", what ever that had meant.

She had made it painfully clear to Edmure that she had no interest in being his wife or bearing his children. He took it in stride. Yet, these feelings of guilt linger. 

I don't love him. I don't. I shouldn't be feeling guilty. So, then why?

Chapter Text

He had no idea just how this had happened. He had only met the wildling princess less than a fortnight ago. 

It brought him shame to say this, but she was more conventionally comelier than Ygritte. She was surely like a princess out of the stories Sansa loved. Beautiful, graceful, yet fierce. Almost as fierce and feisty as Ygritte. 

I made a vow to the Night's Watch. Yet, he could not predicted what had happened. The both of them slipping underneath his furs so late at night. 

"You know nothing, Jon Snow" he heard the both of them said. The two of them together in his furs were like enchanting sirens. 

He could barely comprehend what had happened next. Val's full bosom pressed to his face. Ygritte's small hands wrapping around his cock. Val deftly placing herself on his cock and riding him as well as a mounted horse. His mouth teasing and taunting all throughout both of their bodies. His hand roaming around their bodies and fondly caressing their bums. Their heady groans as he placed his mouth and tongue on their breasts. 

All of it was strange yet enchantingly exciting. I never had a woman before, yet there were two lovely woman snuggled by his chest. Is this what it means to truly be free? 

The both of them sleepily and greedily snuggled closer to him all of sudden. Their breasts pressing up against him. The sensation of it caused his cock to stir. \

Almost as if she had known, Ygritte's deft hand suddenly moved to his cock. The same thing occurred with Val; sleepily nestling his hand on his chest. 

"G'morning, my sweet crow," Ygritte said as her hand wrapped around and began to pump his cock. He then felt Val's leg inching closer to his own. Her rosy lips leaving a trail of kisses on his neck. 

"You sure you are - were - maiden, Lord o' Snow?" Val said with a teasing smile. 

Hell, he found it hard to believe that he knew what he what knew and did. 

"I was," Jon said, as Ygritte kept pumping him. He found it hard to concentrate on either one. 

"We had a good night. Now, how bout we have a good morn too?"

Chapter Text

"Ohh, c'mon, Gendry!"

"Arry, I'm just not sure!"

She had been nagging him for quite some time. His girlfriend, Arya Stark, must really want her parents to like him. But frankly, he's not so sure. Then again, he's never made it this far into a relationship. 

Not to brag, but there were some ladies who caught his interest enough. But Arya was definitely different. She always caught his interest whether it was doing something terribly exciting that made him almost shit his pants, to even the most incredibly mundane things like just watching old and new movies on Netflix or Hulu. 

"C'mon! I know Robb and Jon will love you! Bran and Rickon will adore you! And my Mum and Dad will love you because they love me. Please, Gendry?" she said, playfully pouting her lips. Damn, not the face!

"Alright, Alright! J-just d-don't make the face! Y'know I'm a sucker for the face!"

"I know you are!" she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. 

This was great. This was going good. Now, this was the time for once. 

"Edric. I don't want to scare you off or anything but ... "

"Sansa, y'know, you're already scaring me by saying that!"

"OK, true. My family's having this barbecue and while I invited some friends, Jeyne and Beth among others, I also want you to come!"

"Me? Meeting parents? Are you sure about that?" Edric said with a bit of uneasiness. 

"Of course! Unless you plan on breaking up with me?" Sansa said with a teasing tone but mixed in with a certain degree of curiousness and seriousness. 

"I'd have to be insane to even consider it! It's just that ... well, you told me about that last boyfriend of yours ... and ..."

Of course. Even now, after she kicked his ass to the curb, Joffrey's ghost still haunted her and any relationship where she was happy. Not this time.

"You are not him. In the slightest. And every one will love you. I know it!" 

"You sure about this, Jon? I'm not too big on these kind of events. Not to mention, we've been dating for six months!" Mya coughed out as she practically drowned herself with her water bottle. 

That was one of the things he loved about her. Mya is so lovely, in her wild and adventurous ways. She loved doing anything remotely sporty and staying in shape.

And I certainly love the view from behind. 

"It's just a barbecue. And I really want you to meet my family. My cousins will adore you! You already met my Mum, and get along with her great."

"Alright, alright! Just no puppy-dog eyes. You know I can't resist those beautiful eyes of yours!"

It was strange to see them all here. All these pieces of his friend Robert Baratheon come together. 

His children had been completely surprised as they had introduced their boyfriends and girlfriend. Each and every one of them were dumbfounded. Mya, Gendry and Edric were now deep in conversation while Jon, Arya and Sansa practically gawked at them like vultures. 

He remembered Mya all too well. Robert had been quite excited and scared when he became a father. But that word became as loose as the droplets of beer that hung around his lips. In short time, Mya and her mother had become a boring nuisance to him. Robert was always a man of excitement and passions. 

Gendry he faintly recalled. He remembered a shy boy who had come to befriend Robb and Jon until Cersei Lannister had him sent to boarding school in Qohor for unexplained reasons. It was strange to seem him again. The spitting image of how he had remembered Robert in their days of youth. Tall, strong but having the seriousness that his father had lacked. How is it that such a good lad could have been born from what his friend is now, and his accursed wife Cersei?

It was hard not to recognize Edric. Everyone remembered just how he had been conceived. Loudly, and in the coat room. He had met the Florents once or twice, and Edric and his aunt Delena may be the only kind and relatively good-lucking Florents he had met. Edric was surprisingly enough the best of what he remembered of Robert and his uncle Renly. Charming and courteous yet as fierce and proud as him. He and Gendry had that much in common with each other, and seeing them together was almost like having two clones of his former friend. 

Except that Gendry was more blunt than his brother. Other than their looks, the three had some things in common with one another. They loved any and every form of physical activity. And are just as proud and fierce as the man who had sired them. 

Robert often joked that the Baratheons and the Starks are meant to be side by side. Perhaps he was right and would get his wish. 

"So ... this was weird." Gendry said, as he anxiously stretched his arms. 

"Yeah, it was. But it was rather nice, in a way," Mya said with a faint smile on her lips. 

"In spite of the circumstances, I'm glad we met. I did always want a brother or sister!" Edric said excitedly. 

"Well, now you do!" Mya said, messing up Edric's rather neat hair. 

"So, Gendry, Arya mentioned that you work in a garage or something?" Edric asked. 

"Yup! I'm a regular old greasy monkey mechanic!" Gendry said, beaming with pride. 

"Ever take one of those cars for a spin?"

"I'm not stealing a car for you or with you!"

"Nor should we encourage you!"

"C'mon! I already got my driver's licence!" 

"NO!!"

Chapter Text

He woke in a haze of pain and poppy. His chest felt like it was on fire. The weight of the blanket on it was unbearable, quite aside from the collection of other aches and pains he felt. He couldn’t quite get his eyes to focus on anything, but somewhere in the distance he could hear a woman’s voice.

“Ser? You need to rest, Ser.”

The Crag, he thought. Jeyne. I’m at the Crag. He tried to sit up. Jeyne was his queen, she didn’t want him calling her your grace, not when they were alone. 

“Rest easily,” she said. “You’re injured, and will need all your strength in the days to come. You are safe here.”

It wasn’t Jeyne’s voice, he realised. Nor was it his mother’s, nor even Dacey Mormont’s. He didn’t know this woman at all. Where am I? he tried to ask, but all that came out was a groan.

“You are in Greywater Watch, good ser,” another voice said and continued, as if it knew what he would want to ask. A man's voice. Perhaps it did. It didn’t seem so unreasonable a question. “We have summoned a maester to see to your wounds. Rest. Recover your strength. You will need it later.”

That was right. Something had gone wrong. Something terrible had happened. More than one terrible thing. He just…couldn’t quite recall…

He did not dream.

Raynald woke a second time to more pain, but a clearer head and a feeling of loss as well. His chest was consumed with nothing but pain. He tried to move his it. It moved, but not easily, and not without sending a fresh bolt of agony all the way up his spine. 

He did not know where he was. Last thing he remembered was the Twins. The Freys; their betrayal. Robb's direwolf Greywind, suddenly loose and snapping his jaws at every nearby man. The crossbow bolts. The screams. 

What had happened? Where was everyone? The She-Bear; Dacey Mormont? SmallJon Umber; the great giant of a man? Wendel Manderly; whom he teasingly called Ser Walrus? Bold Ser Patrek Mallister? The sly fox-faced Owen Norrey? Robb? Where was Robb? What happened to Robb? What happened to the king?! He tried to lift himself up again but to no avail.

Whatever noise he’d made in the effort, it attracted whoever was watching over him. “Are you awake again, good ser?” It sounded like the woman from before, but the memory of his first waking was dim.

“Yes,” he said. His mouth was dry. It was impossible to act the king flat on his back and scarcely able to move. He felt as limp as the salad the Freys had served him at Edmure’s wedding. “Yes, I’m awake.” 

“Don’t try to move your leg, good ser,” the unknown woman warned him. “The maester says you must stay still for a while yet. The injury you took is not even close to healed.”

Raynald could just make her out in the corner of his eye, small and slight and clad in green. After some bustling about, she pressed a cup into his left hand. Well-watered wine, it seemed to be. With some awkwardness, he raised his head and managed to drink on his own. Some of the dregs trickled down into his chin. His busy mustachios had now formed a bushy beard. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Asleep? But a day. Delirious? Four days before that, and the day before you reached us here. We are glad to see your fever broken.”

“What happened?” 

“Mischance, good ser. You took deep grievous wounds to your chest, as you no doubt can feel. It nearly reached your heart. Hurt one of your ribs. My men stopped the bleeding by some miracle and carried you from the field, but the Neck is not the best place for convalescence, I fear.” The woman hesitated. “The maester says…I'm sorry, I should leave this to the maester, good ser.”

“Then please send the maester to me, my lady,” he said, “if he is not occupied treating other wounded.” And he would have to hope that he had not been lamed by this mischance. 

" ... even treat him? The Westerlings ... traitorous dogs!" he heard someone say. 

" et he's ere now! Why oud he be ere if ot to defend the ing?" he heard someone else say. A woman; a different woman. Her speech was hoarser than the other ones. 

" ... her brother! She id nothing rong!" he heard another man said with an equal hoarse voice. 

His curiosity finally got the best of him and decided to get up to see what was the source of all this commotion. But as he did, the sharp pain in his chest had become searing that he groaned out loudly. 

Suddenly, he heard a very familiar voice. "RAYNALD!!" At the moment she gently wrapped her arms around him, he recognized her. 

"Jeyne!" he said with a smile, pulling her into a deeper hug, in spite of the pain it brought him. 

"Brother! ... You're hurt!" Jeyne exclaimed. 

"It's alright, I'm alright. It's worth it," he said with a smile. It was then he got a good look at his sister. She looked quite haggard. Her normally straight chestnut-brown hair was now in messy curls and her big brown eyes looked quite weary. And ... her normally slender figure was now more filled ... with a swelling belly. 

"Y-Y-You're ..." 

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm bearing a little wolf. You're going to be an uncle!" Jeyne said with tears in her eyes. 

"And I'd be his great-great granduncle if I get to live another day!" said a rather familiar but hoarse voice. Ser Brynden the Blackfish. His windburnt face and features sported a few more wrinkles and weathered. 

"It's good to see you up and about, Ser Raynald," the hoarse-voiced woman said. She looked rather short and stout but fierce nonetheless with her patched ringmail and mace by her hip. He looked at her surcoat and saw that it was emblazoned with a black bear over a green wood. Oh no. 

"You are Lady Maege Mormont. I had seen your daughter Dacey fight at ... Lord Edmure's wedding. She fought bravely and fought truly. I know it is naught but I offer you my condolences." 

"I thank you for them. Though it makes me wish that it had been I who died in her place. My little she-bear ..." Maege said somberly. 

"Alright. Look's like you're not a traitrous whore-son then. But then again, even traitorous whore-sons can spew out pretty words like that." said a grey-haired stout man with a silver fist on a scarlet surcoat. 

"Watch yourself now, Glover! You're speaking to your Queen and her brother!" the Blackfish growled at him. 

"Our king, your great-nephew, made her a queen the moment he entered her bed!" Glover said. Jeyne then held her head down in shame. 

"Oh! Would you rather have one of Old Walder's numerous daughters in her place now? They're very much the traitorous whoresons you love to talk about!" Blackfish said, raising his fist close to Glover's face. 

Glover's face remained neutral until he shrugged and then darted his eyes at him. It was then he had been told everything. 

The Red Wedding it was called. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms seemed to be applauding the very notion of it. Honour lost on them all. Many northmen who he had come to known died senselessly. Each and every one of their deaths treated as a joke. Roose Bolton revealed himself to be the Lannister's puppet and slew Robb Stark. The Freys had slew Lady Catelyn and mocked the Young Wolf and his mother even after death. What had happened to them was disgusting. The worst of it all? The fact that his mother had helped the Lannisters with it all. And that she had been trying to kill any babe that Jeyne and Robb would have had with her "potions". It brought him sudden shame to be a Westerling. 

"Brother. Brother, it's alright!" Jeyne said, stroking his bearded cheek. He had not noticed the tears streaming down his face. 

He then thought of Robb Stark. His brother by law. He seemed to bare the Tully look, but everything about him was wholly Stark. His figure and face was lean. What ever youthfulness his face had, war had melted all the softness from it and left him hard and lean. His hair a fierce red mane as he rode on his brown courser and with his direwolf Greywind by his side. He seemed more like a wolf with each passing day, with solemness marring his face.

Though, he had known him for short time, he had come to admire him. He took the helm as the head of his house and family as a boy of five-and-ten years. He would wear a face of ice to his soldiers and bannerman, but he could, at times, see the weariness he tried to hide. 

"What's the plan? After Jeyne gives birth to the babe?" he blurted out as he made his way to stand up again, only for the pain to shoot him back down to the floor. 

"From what my people have heard and gathered, young Rickon Stark is very much alive and well. But your nephew has the superior claim. The wolves will come again, good Ser," said a small and solemn-looking man. He seemed to be as small as a child but his eyes gave his age away. Queerly moss-green but they bore a wisdom that not even maesters could have. 

"Are you soft in the head? Do you want to die?" Blackfish said. "Do you need a clout in the ear? There's no need to go about killing yourself for vengeance. We're getting it out from the Boltons, then the Lannisters!"

"It's not just about revenge! It's about honour. I've heard men say that "honour should be bent over and fucked" but I don't believe that. I believed in Robb. He may have been the King Who Lost the North in his death, but in his life, he was always the Young Wolf! The boy who brought Tywin Lannister to heel. I'd fight for his honour and mine own. I'd follow that man to the Seven Hells and back! And as long as I live, Robb Stark is my king!"

Jeyne looked worried, while everyone else now had a look of amusement on their lips. 

"We ought to tell him the plans. It's time we begin!"

Chapter Text

It's for the best, she thinks. 

She told Ned that the baby died, and her mother agreed to keep her safe. After all, there would have already been a new daughter named Allyria of House Dayne, had her mother not lost her babe. The soluton was bare unto her and so obvious.

Allyria deserves better than to be called Sand or Snow.

Though only a babe, she could see the smile she fell in love with on Allyria's faint lips; the smile that made her love for him grow. He said that he fell in love with my eyes, it was that smile that entranced me. 

Her features seemed to be a perfect mix of Houses Dayne and Stark. She had his dark brown hair and his dazzling smile. And Allyria also had her silvery-pale skin and eyes. But they were not as dark as hers. Rather than hauntingly daunting violet eyes, Allyria's eyes looked like fresh lilacs lively blooming on the first morn of spring. 

It is then she finds herself thinking of her brief betrothal to Ned. She japed that if Aron would die without issue, she would take him away from the North and drape in him in her maiden's cloak of violet stars and swords on him. While it was a somewhat terrible joke, they had found themselves laughing nonetheless. 

As much as she would like to be a mother to her, another babe needs her more. The moment he was born, she had promised Elia that she would look after him and protect him. Aegon will have need of a mother, now that his own was gone. 

"When she's old enough, tell her something of me. ... And ... Ned. Tell her something sweet. Even if it has to be a lie," she says and asks her lady mother and father, Aron standing tall and strong in front of them. 

"We will. And she will be loved. I can promise you that much sister," Aron says, gently squeezing her hand. 

And so, Ashara Dayne "flew", knowing that her "sister"’s dark hair will be waved away as coming from "their" mother, like her own, and that nobody would ever suspect Stark blood under Allyria’s silver-pale Dayne skin.

When I return, it would be for the better. For this new world for you to be safe and happy in. 

I promise Allyria. I promise. 

Chapter Text

Cersei

"So, there's this girl I like ..."

"Ooh, what's she like then, my sweet boy?"

"Beth is so smart and funny. And it's so hard not to get lost in that bright curly red hair of hers!" Tommen said with the most love struck face ever borne. 

"Ooh, sounds like you're in love, Tom!"

"Gendry, don't tease him!:"

"Tom know's I'm just messing with him, Cella!"

"Anyway, I really want to ask her out, but I can't find the right words. Every time I come close to asking, I end up saying something stupid!" 

"Like what?" Gendry asked

"Last time, she asked me if I had a spare pencil. And I gave her one. And I went like 'Uh, ... ah'. Like I was Frankenstein or something!"

"You want some advice to win this girl's heart, sweet boy?" Cersei cooed at him. 

"Yes! Yes, I do!" Tommen said, exasperated as he threw his arms up in the air. 

"Just be your usual charming self. Woo her with some romantic words. Make sure to be as romantic as possible with her. Or else, you end up like your father." she sighed the last part as she pointed to their father Robert, who was on the couch in his underwear taking a nap. And a crushed beer can on his gut. 

Uncle Jaime

"Oy, there's my favorite nephew!" 

"Uncle Jaime!!" he said as they both tried to give each other bone-crushing hugs. 

"So, how come you're picking me up from school?"

"Your mum mentioned something about an appointment you needed to go to. I was in the area and offered my services to take you there!"

"Oh, right. Dentist."

"Something on your mind, sport? Copper for your thoughts?"

"Actually, yeah. I'm crushing really hard on this girl, Beth. I asked Mum for advice an - "

"That's a poor choice. No offence to your mum, but she's made some poor choices regarding the men in her life. I mean, before she married Robert, she wo - er, story for another time. Anyways, what'd she tell you?"

"To be as romantic as possible with her. But I can barely spew out two words to her. I tried writing a poem, but then she saw and I ended up saying that it's about Myrcella. She probably thinks that I'm into incest or something!"

"Ooh. That doesn't sound good or pretty. Want some real advice?"

"Yes! Good solid advice that doesn't make me look or sound like some Shakespearean villain or something!"

"Alright kid. Solid advice. Try to find out some of her interests and make them your interests. That'll help get a rapport going on between you two."

That made a lot more sense. Yeah, gain some common ground with her. Brilliant!

"Thanks Uncle Jaime, you're a genius!"

Robert

"He-hey, Tommy Boy! How ya doin'?" Robert said, one of the few days he wasn't drinking and slurring his words. 

Tommen threw his backpack on the couch and quickly threw himself at it, lying there. 

"You okay, kid?"

"Leave me alone, Dad," Tommen said dejectedly. 

"Oh, c'mon, kid! I know the sight of a love-struck moron. I was that moron once!"

Tommen simply responded with a groan into the couch. 

"What's the name of the gal that hath stolen my son's heart?"

"Her name's Beth. Beth Cassel." Tommen mumbled. "Beautiful curly red hair."

"Alright then. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Uncle Jaime's an idiot!" 

"Why's Jaime an idiot? Though, to be honest, he's not the brightest bulb."

Tommen then sprang up from the couch. "Uncle Jaime told me to find out some of her interests and make them my own."

"Sounds like fairly decent advice. How did it suck?"

"I made a comment about tennis and then she asked if I liked it. Next thing I know, I make an ass of myself on the tennis court!"

"Was the interest the first thing you picked up on?"

"... Yes."

"See, Tom. the first thing she mentions can't be the thing you guys 'click' on, y'know. For all you know, she could have said ballet! And you don't have the legs for that, my boy. You might wanna bulk up a bit. Girls love muscular guys! Hell, I could barely keep the girls off of me when I was younger!"

Wow. For once, Dad might have a solid point. I'm nowhere nearly as buff as Gendry is or even Uncle Jaime. Although, looking at Robert Baratheon's large gut did make him think ... just how buff was he back in high school?

Gendry

"Hey, Tom. How's your plan to woo the lovely Miss Cassel?" Gendry teased with his bright smile. 

"Sucking. Horribly." Tommen said. 

"Ok. What happened?" 

"I asked and listened to Dad for advice"

"You asked Dad for dating advice? Asking Dad for dating advice is like asking a volcano to erupt; both things are gonna blow up in your face! ... How did it blow up in your face?"

"Well, Dad said that I should probably get more buff. To ... get her attention. And I ... grabbed some of the biggest ones I could find and ..."

"Oh, Tom!"

"I shouldn't have grabbed the 50s, and I had to be dragged to the nurse's office with Robin's help."

"Well, here's a good firm suggestion from your older brother. You can barely talk to this girl, and so far, you managed to make yourself look worse. Get yourself a wingman!"

"A wingman?"

"Yeah,  a wingman. A good mate of yours to make you sound and look good to her so you don't mess up! I've been a wingman and the one in need of one. And you, baby brother, really need one!"

Someone to make me look good. Perfect!

Myrcella

"I'm guessing Gendry's idea didn't work then, huh?" Myrcella said as she gently mussed her brother's golden curls. 

"No, Cella. It worked so well that I'm on a date with Beth as of this moment!" Tommen mumbled into his pillow. 

"What happened?"

"More like what didn't happen! Robin completely fucked up as my wingman!"

"You asked Robin to be your wingman, Tom? What were you thinking? He's got as much dating knowledge as Benny Blackwood!"

"That was my mistake. Robin started going on about how I like playing with Ser Pounce and Lady Whiskers and that I have a fear of beets! A fear of beets, Cella!"

"Well, at least he tried to make you look good. He mentioned you like animals!"

"Robin mentioned that I like to knit them clothes and dress them up, like I was a lonely old hag!"

"How bout you write her a note? A love note! Write down every thing you feel about her, what you like about her; just write it all down and put it in her locker! You'l get all that pressure off of you!"

"... OK. I'll give it a shot." It's better than nothing.

The Hound

"Oy, Baratheon!"

Oh, crap! One thing was certain in P.E., if you managed to get the attention of the Hound, you are undoubtedly fucked!

"Yeah, what's up Coach?"

"Fuck's wrong with you? Usually, you're my fastest runner!" 

At least I'm not fucked. "Sorry, coach. I've been ... distracted lately." 

"Girl trouble?"

"Yup. I think I made a mistake. There's this girl that I like and my sister gave me the bright idea of writing a love note to her and leaving it in her locker."

"Lemme guess. You put it in the wrong locker?"

"Worse. I did it hastily that I didn't sign my name!"

"You're fucked, kid. But there's one thing you haven't done yet."

"Coach, I fucked up in every conceivable way. There's nothing that I could do that would convince Beth that I'm not a total weirdo psycho loser."

"You could be straight with her. Tell her you like her and want to take her out. Sometimes, honesty's the best policy kid!"

Play straight. Yeah. Alright. That'll work. 

Beth

"So, you went to all that trouble just to ask me out, Tom?"

"Well, yeah. But you're worth it, Miss Cassel!"

"Well, you are certainly worth my time, Mister Baratheon!"

She then pressed her lips on his. It felt heavenly. Like getting hit with a fresh winter breeze carrying the warmth of an apple pie. 

"One question though. Are you really afraid of beets?"

"I'm not afraid of them, I just don't like them. And Robin is not allowed near you, ever again!"

Chapter Text

He had all of them within him. My strength in battle, my sweet Serra's semblance and all of her brother's wit; a man that many called the Spider, but whom I eagerly called brother. 

My boy looks so much like my love; with his big blue eyes. Though sweet Serra's hair was beautifully pale golden streaked with silver, his was the inverse; lustrous silver-blonde hair with small streaks of pale gold woven into it.  Yet, he also reminds him of his youthful days; even as he has my lithe build and handsome looks with his straight hair brushing his shoulders and rather long eyelashes.

It had been a crime to separate me from my boy, but it needed to be done. And he enjoyed showering him with gifts. It brought a smile to his face whenever he gave him his favorite sweet of candied plums. He has his mother's smile. 

He had never met the ever-famed "Silver Prince" but he looks so much like him; according to the Spider. So much so that it has clouded the Griffin's feeble mind. Nearly all of them had been under his employ to help educate him. Lemore, Haldon and the ever-gallant Ser Rolly. Only the Griffin seemed to be fooled. But love does make the heart grow fonder with time. I can almost sympathize with the man. I had made such promises to seat him on the Iron Throne that all the Westerosi cunts want to sit on. A promise that will happen, no matter the cost.

To be a true ruler, as he would be. Trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, studied history and law and poetry. A septa of Westeros instructing him in the mysteries of the Faith of the Seven since he was old enough to understand them. Living with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. The perfect prince but still half a boy for all that, with little and less experience of the world and all its woes. 

Even now, the image of her burned in his head. Time does not heal all wounds. She made me promise. Promise that our son would be meant for great things. To be more than a simple cheesemonger or silk merchant. To be a king. 

The blood of the dragon flowed so much throughout him. Flames bright and dark. Thus, it was only fitting that he name him for his most famous ancestor: Aegor. Twas better than naming him Daemon. All the men who had been granted that name had all failed. Nor would he call him Haegon or Aenys; who had been betrayed by those who granted him mercy. That would surely spell death for my boy. Though, whenever his blood boiled, it reminded him of the tales of the Brightflame's infamous temper. 

A good name; a name to be proud of. But that had to be taken from him too. For he had to play the ultimate form of mummery. That of a long-lost prince; son of another dead prince who would have been as great a king as Aegor would be. Aegon Targaryen VI of His Name. Often the greatest mummery, is the one you don't know you're in. Even though it hurts me that you must call a stranger your father. But Serra and I will truly be at peace and resting in the heavens once it's done.

You will be a king, my boy. You will be all that and more.

Chapter Text

It was seven against one. All of them had grown to be good friends and faithful compatriots. The new Lord Eddard Stark; solemn-faced but fierce as the wolf on his jerkin. Martyn Cassel; the head of the Stark household guard and Ned's closest confidante. Ethan Glover; who was Brandon's squire now serving his brother willingly to help avenge the travesty that had been done to them. Mark Ryswell, soft of speech and gentle of heart. Theo Wull; as fierce as the mountains that bore him. And the crannogman Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch. 

The three in front of them were the most famed, noble and strongest of the Mad King's kingsguard. The Lord Commander Gerold Hightower the White Bull. The snide Ser Oswell Whent; with the black bat of Harrenhal on his helm. And Ser Arthur Dayne; the Sword of the Morning, all the more deadly with the famed sword of Dawn strapped on his back. The blade was resplendent unsheathed as well. 

He and Wull had gone off to face the White Bull in combat. Ryswell and Cassel facing against the White Bat. Howland had already been knocked back by Ser Arthur who now faced Ned and Ethan. He didn't know how long their respective battles went on. It felt like forever; a true fight to the death. The both of them together did nothing in their effort to overwhelm the White Bull; but what was to be expected from the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard? Wull ultimately fell as his ax bit deep into HIghtower's leg, and his head was quickly removed, but not before he urged his own blade into the Lord Commander's throat. 

The valiant barrow lord had felt as if he was on death's door; exhausted from the fighting. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; Gerold Hightower of Oldtown, dead at his hands. One could easily marvel and praise him for his accomplishment. But it did not feel like one. Brandon and I often talked of the glory we'd bring in the coming wars. This is not glorious. 

It was then, he took notice that his lord was gone, and the crannogman. Suddenly making his way into the tower, he saw them. But they were in the company of others. Lyanna Stark; Brandon and Ned's lovely and lively sister, laid dead in a pool of blood and dead blue rose petals. Ned held her dead clammy hand; muttering a prayer of sorts. Howland Reed held a small babe in his arms while a woman by his side was cooing at it. 

On that day, they made a promise. The same that Ned had promised his sister. "My word yet lives, my lord," Willam said, evoking the words of his house. 

He found himself feeling unease. Lord of the Barrowlands, husband to Lady Barbrey Ryswell. I didn't think it would happen so soon; my lordship and a wife. Though he was not stupid regarding his wife. Brandon had repeatedly bragged about bedding her after he came back from the Rills. They had spent quite little time getting to know one another. As much as I can hope, she will always love Brandon more than I. Everyone wanted the man. And how can I compare to a phantom of the past?

His uncle Harlon and great-uncle Jonnel had come to greet him. Barbrey stood in front of them, standing tall and proud. There seemed to be tears in her eyes. 

"I welcome you back to Barrowton, my lord." she said with a smile. 

"I told you I would come back atop my new proud steed!" Willam said with a smile. 

Within the year, he had truly felt blessed. A lord, a husband and now a father. 

Bethany and Medgar are happy and as healthy as can be. They'll both grow to be lively and lovely. As his friend's children would. From what he had heard and gathered about, Howland had a little girl and Ned had a little boy named for their new king. He found himself envisioning Medgar training with his uncle Harlon and becoming as famed an axeman as he is. And Bethnay becoming a great beauty as Lyanna was. But that caused his thoughts to darken. Ned had lost his sister so tragically, he couldn't imagine anyone or anything daring to harm his children.

Yet, they drifted again to Barbrey. As happy as he was with the babes, she barely seemed to acknowledge them. She looked at them as if she had been seeing a ghost. He should have suspected. The maester had said that she had an easy birth. 

It is then he asks her with little tact. "Was it a boy or a girl?"

She stares at him blankly. After what felt like eons, she whispered; "A boy. I named him after my father, Rodrik."

You were always going to haunt me Brandon. Even now. "I'll write to Lord Rodrik. Ask him to bring the boy here. No mother should be separated from her child."

It's strange seeing him grow up alongside his brother and sister. It almost felt like seeing Brandon for the first time when he came to foster in Barrowton. 

I'm surrounded by ghosts. Rodrik Snow; who is the exact image of his father in his youth with shaggy brown hair and grey eyes. And there was his nephew Domeric Bolton; who reminded him so much of his lost companion Mark Ryswell. Dom is as soft-spoken and gentle-hearted as he was; even his semblance to him was quite uncanny. Except the eyes; bright hazel with icy blue flecks. He was already proving himself to be an excellent horseman and as well-versed in history as the maester himself. 

All of the children often played together; Rodrik, Bethany, Medgar, Dom, his ward Edwyle Mormont, and even Duncan, his uncle's bastard son upon a crannogwoman. That had surprised him. His mind then drifted to the boy; Jon Snow. He wondered just what was he like. Is he a good lad as Ned hoped he'd be? As mad as the Targaryens? Or as wild and selfish as his uncle and mother? 

Though, he could not truly blame Lady Lyanna for the war. Not truly. Any man would be foolish to not find her entrancing. His father once wrote to Lord Rickard asking for her hand for him, but Lord Rickard politely rejected it. Wild, willful, lovely and dead before her time. Mayhaps, Rhaegar Targaryen saw that and the iron underneath her pale silky skin?

But Brandon's foolhardiness was more to blame. Though, every one forgets that. Brandon who foolishly and gallantly went off to rescue his sister, thinking his endeavor would be like a song. Rescuing his fair maiden sister from the clutches of the Mad King. Brandon, who he was once willing to call his brother, had tried to steal a maiden from his loving and dutiful brother. Brandon, who throughout any sense of logic out of his giant head and thought more often with his little one. 

He often saw him all over again in his son. But Rodrik was not Brandon. Although he bares his look, Rodrik is far more kinder and considerate than his father. Mischievous but not selfish. And like him, Rodrik is a born warrior; mastering weapons with ease. Everything came easy to him, much like it did with his father. Except, Rodrik might just learn and know what "hard work" means. And he will certainly charm a few ladies once he's older. 

At times, he fears he regrets bringing him to Barrowton. He loves the boy much like his own blood. He often sees Barbrey stare at him longingly. Mayhaps, she's wondering just what kind of life she could have had, if Brandon were still alive. 

I shouldn't think that. I've come to love her after all this time. But I cannot compare to a ghost. And my word yet lives. 

Though he wished to see Howland again, it was nice to see Ned again. They talked for what felt like a lifetime. They talked of their children and their lives. 

He half expected Ned to go to the tourney hosted in Lannisport, celebrating with his old friend the king. Ned had grimaced at that. "Tourney's have left a bad taste in my mouth, old friend," he said. 

Of course. How could I forget? Everything started at that damn tourney in Harrenhal. The ghosts of past making their way into their heads. But there were pleasant things about the past as well as haunting. He recalled how young Benjen had gotten drunk and then attempted to court Lord Whent's fair daughter. The jests he had made with Jeffory Mallister. Elbert Arryn chiding his squire and lack-witted cousin Jasper Waynwood for putting sausage in his scabbard. The way Ned blushed whenever Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall was even mentioned. 

But the past must stay where it is: in the past. Along with the ghosts of it, no matter how many times they irk their way to the present. But they will not stop. 

Once more he had been surprised. He had not expected Ned to visit Barrowton; he would have sent a raven informing him of his impending visit. But it was a welcome one all the same. 

It was a rare sight to have his lord and friend here, happy and smiling as can be. Lady Catelyn looked as beautiful and lovely as he last saw her. Though, he would not see her ample teats like before. Little Robb Stark had taken after his mother with his red-brown hair and blue eyes, but he was all Ned in everything else. Little Sansa Stark was her mother in miniature and would likely be just as, if not more beautiful than her. The babe on Lady Catelyn's chest was Arya. She was undoubtedly Ned's child, with her stringy brown hair and soft grey eyes. And he could tell that they were expecting another little wolf in their pack. 

Then there was the others. Their ward, Theon Greyjoy, a gangly little boy of ten namedays and a mop of messy black hair. He seemed rather uneasy. Then there was the boy; Jon Snow. It was almost like looking at Ned if he were younger. Whatever softness he should have had in his face, it was beginning to leave him. Sharp-featured and a bit gangly with dark grey eyes that bordered on black. He looked as uneasy as the Greyjoy boy. He almost flinched when he came to his level. 

"I remember when your father first brought you to the North. You were a fiercely tiny little thing then, and here you are, still quite small. But you'll grow into a strapping fine lad and a great warrior. Won't you, Jon?" 

Jon Snow then nodded his head vigorously and smiled and giggled quite sheepishly as he tussled the hair on his head. 

Barbrey and Lady Catelyn had rather polite conversation as he and Ned had observed the children at play. His youngest wolf was sleeping at ease in her father's chest. Theon and Edwyle were engaged in a wrestling match. Sansa and Bethany were acting as the captive maidens while the boys were acting as the knights coming to their rescue. The older boys, Rodrik and Duncan were acting as their captors. 

It almost sickened him. If only it were that easy, my boy. 

Both Jon and Rodrik were getting along together. It was almost like seeing the two Stark brothers together. Both of them doing something that they had rarely done: smiling and laughing happily. Ned seemed to see that too, and he saw tears threatening to leave his already saddening eyes. They did not see eye to eye like most brothers do, but they did love each other. 

Mayhaps it would be best if I foster his "bastard". From what he seen and heard, Catelyn did not like him in the slightest. The boy seemed a sober and dutiful lad, not one to garner someone's ire. She just hates that he's a bastard. Southrons. 

Bethany then came to Jon's side, giggling. "My hero!" she cried out, as she then gave Jon a peck on the cheek. The shy boy then turned a bright shade of red. 

"Looks like you have rescued yourself a princess, brother!" Little Robb laughed. Jon was still red and did not say a thing. 

"I am a princess and Jon will be my knight to come to my rescue!" Bethany cried out. 

If only things could be so easy, sweetling. In another time and life, I would be asking a different man to wed you to Jon. But my word will live and my oath will be kept. No matter what.

Chapter Text

They are going to kill her. They are so going to kill her. 

She can barely wrap her head around it. Here she was, with the object of her brother's desires. Ashara Dayne; the most fairest lady in all of the Seven Kingdoms. And she was lying by her side. She can barely comprehend as to how and why this had happened. 

All she can recall is that she came to talk to her regarding Ned. She had seen the both of them eyeing one another like two wolves in heat. Brandon did too, yet Lady Ashara did not seem to acknowledge him. Or mayhaps she did know and simply did not care. She did know that Brandon kept remarking under his breath about "the taste of Dornish cunny". 

They had talked and she faintly recalled a tingle in her eye that reminded her of Brandon a bit. Things felt hazy as she felt Ashara's lips crashing her own. She remembered asking why she was kissing her, and she gave her an interesting response. 

"Everyone is missing half the world's pleasure, then. I look at your rosy lips and they delight me. I look at your hips and curves, and they delight me!" she said as she grabbed them and pulled her closer to her body. 

She then remembers the rest of the night. How Ashara had sweetly kissed her neck til her own lips swelled. How she had done the same, lowering herself to her bosom. Ashara giving her direction in how to lick her breast and how she greedily nipped at her teats with her teeth. Her hands roaming about and lightly squeezing her arse. 

The feeling of ecstasy she felt as Ashara Dayne began to kiss her down below. She bit into her cheeks so hard so she wouldn't scream. That's why I'm tasting blood. But that left some other questions in her head. Should I leave her be? Should I wake her up less Ned and Brandon know?

But ... she was right about one thing. Everyone is missing half the world's pleasure. Why haven't most woman have done this? It felt wonderful and glorious. 

Suddenly, Ashara had awoken. "Good morning, lover!" Ashara whispered into her ear as she nipped at it. It had her rolling her eyes. 

By the Gods, let them kill me. I'll die screaming either way!!

Chapter Text

"OK. So remember, the protons and the electrons can't be touching one another ..."

I wish you'd touch me, Stannis. At least a little bit. Touching my hand wouldn't be so bad. 

"Now photons are different than protons and electrons. For instance ..." 

I've been crushing on Stannis Baratheon so, so hard! That hot mop of black hair that almost covers his smoldering dark-blue eyes!! I know it won't be complete madness if we touch. We're not protons and electrons. 

"You need to remember that the atom ..."

Sexy. It's so sexy the way he talks about physics. If only we were talking about chemistry. Especially ours ...

"Lysa? Lysa? Lysa??"

That wasn't Stannis gruff voice which often made her shiver. Edmure ... 

"Eddie? What is it?" Lysa said trying to sound composed. 

"I need to go to the bathroom!!"

"Eddie! You're a big boy now, you can go by yourself!"

"I can't! The librarian needs a grown-up to come with me. She doesn't trust anyone with the key!"

Damn you, you crotchety old bitch! 

"Go with him. Besides, I'm gonna have to pick up Renly from after-school and we're almost done anyway. I'm sure you'll be fine." he said. 

"OK. Thanks," she said with a smile as she watched him go. I didn't realize that he had a cute butt ... 

"Lysa!! I really have to go!! I need to pee!!"

"Alright, calm down!!"

"So, did you do it Stannis?" 

"Back off, Vic. She had to go anyway. Her little brother was acting up and the tutoring session was nearly over."

"Didn't you also say that you had to pick up your brother?"

"Which brother did he have to pick up? The little one or the one who likes to drink?"

"I'm pretty sure that Renly will pick up on that when he's older," Stannis remarked to his friends, Victarion Greyjoy and Lyanna Stark. 

"Every man drinks," Victarion said bluntly, to which Lyanna elbowed him. 

Not every man drinks like Robert. And I hope that Renly doesn't turn out like him. Though it would have been better if the court had granted custody to me instead of Robert. They don't know how it's like. It's like taken care of a child, and an over-grown one who wouldn't stop crying and whining. 

"Just say something nice about her that you like about her. What do you like about Lysa?" Lyanna asked. 

"I like her hair," Stannis said simply enough. 

"Yeah, Ned said almost the same thing when he was crushing on Lysa's sister Catelyn. I'm pretty sure Brandon said the same thing too ..."

"Catelyn went out with both of your brothers? At the same time?"

"No, you dolt! Vic, sometimes I wonder if you have iron nuts and bolts in your head at times," Lyanna said exasperated as she palmed her face with her hand. "Brandon went out with her once and was bored and disappointed. Ned and Catelyn have been going strong for almost a year."

"You know, I'll just tell Lysa to meet at the library for our next session and then tell her that I like her hair. That's fine, right?" 

"YES! OF COURSE THAT'S FINE!" Lyanna said, raising her arms up with excitement. 

With that in mind, he went to go straight by Lysa's locker. She's usually there around this time. 

And right on cue, there she was talking with Cersei Lannister of all people. Why are they talking? Last he heard, Lysa hated Cersei and Cersei hated her. Wait, why am I thinking of Cersei Lannister? 

Lysa's hair looked even more beautiful tied with hairpins. It made her look even more resplendent ... 

"Stannis! Hi!" 

"I'm just going to leave you be, now. Later, losers!" Cersei said. 

"Nice to see you too," Stannis growled under his breath. 

"So, is there something you wanted to say?" Lysa asked.

"I was just wondering how well you did on the exam?"

"Oh, yeah. It started to come real easy! But I'm still going to need with math. The binomial stuff is mind-boggling!"

"So, let's meet at the library at our usual time?"

"Yeah, alright!"

Now, just compliment her about her hair. Simple yet poignant. 

"Um, Lysa! I'd just like to say th - "

"HEY, STANNY BOY!!"

Oh, no! Robert!! Could there be anything more embarrassing?

"HEY, STANNY! WE NEED TO GO! FIND SOME HIGH-CLASS FINE-ASS GIIRRLSS!!"

"Robert! It's the middle of the day, and in school! You're drunk already?!"

"Stannis, maybe you should take him to the nurse's office? I can help you!"

"YEESSS!! THE NUR - HEELLLLLLOOOO, NURSE!! AWOOOOOOGA!! HONK-HONK!!" Robert said, ogling and air-grabbing at Lysa's chest. 

"I, uh, um, I should probably go. I'll see you around!"

Robert, I sweat I will kill you!!

"It was soo embarassing, Cat! I had my speech completely prepared, and then came Robert. Completely hammered and practically groping me!" Lysa exclaimed. 

"I'll kill that man! Ned be damned, I will literally kill him! And he groped you?!" Cat practically roared. 

"Not exactly. It was more like ..." Lysa said, describing the action with her hands. 

"Still gonna kill him," Catelyn said, comfortingly hugging her. 

"And I had it all prepared and everything. I knew exactly what I was going to say, and Robert ruined it. I'm not sure if I can even say it again!"

"Well, why don't you just write it all down, then hand it to him? It kinda takes the pressure off in saying it!"

"Yeah, yeah, that could work! ... You sure that I shouldn't do what Cersei said? Show a bit more skin? Strut like I own the world?"

"I don't think you want the kind of attention that Cersei Lannister grabs at. Like Roberts, for example."

"You're right. Thanks, Cat!"

"Hi, Lysa."

"Hi, Stannis. Oh, who's this little cutie pie?" she said, cooing at the small boy holding Stannis' hand. 

"This is my little brother, Renly. I'm just going to leave him at the Quiet Area before we study. Renly, this is ... my good friend Lysa Tully."

"Hi, Renly! Your brother's a really good teacher!"

Renly then looked up at his brother. "Stannis, she's pretty!"

"Oh! He's such a charmer! So, we'll drop off our brothers at the Kid's Section and then study?"

"Sounds reasonable enough"

" ... Now you need to remember that the binomials are the sum of two regular monomials. But they're not like any regular algebraic equation, so you can't solve for x ..." 

x + y equals us, I know it!

"... So that's why this equation would be x² − y² ." 

"Alright, I think I'm getting it!" 

Now, get it out of the way and give him the note! 

"Stannis, there's something I wanna give you. So, I'll just give it to you now before I forget."

What the hell am I doing? It's quiet, there's no one else in this part of the library but us! This is the perfect opportunity! Kiss him! No, wait! Just give him the note! No, kiss him!!

"What is it?" 

"Well, it's a - "

"Excuse me! Are these your siblings?" said a librarian. By her hands, was a scowling Edmure and Renly. 

Damnit, Eddie!

"Yes. What is the problem here?" Stannis asked. 

"These two boys were fighting and completely disrupting Reading Time in the Kid's Section!"

"Lysa, I'm really sorry. Let's ... do this again another time." Stannis said, grabbing Renly by the hand. 

"O-oh, OK. S-See you ... around," she said faltering. 

"Lysa! I need to go to th - "

"Shut up, Eddie!"

"So, did Stannis say anything about the note?" Catelyn asked. 

"No! ... Because I'm not even sure that I gave it to him!" 

"Wait. What do you mean by it?"

"Well, we got surprised by the librarian that I know I gave him something! Ohh, I feel like an idiot!" 

"Alright, Lysa. Why don't we just take a breather and just celebrate Edmure's birthday? I'm gonna go and find Ned and his brother."

Lysa sighed. Great, just great. I'm pretty sure that I ruined whatever chance I've got with him. 

She then saw Eddie running around with his best friends; Marq and Patrek. They're lucky; probably not thinking of girls right now. 

"Stannis? Hi, how are you? What are you doing here?" Catelyn asked ... Stannis? Stannis??

"Lysa invited me. Or well, invited Renly, I guess. We're do I put the present?"

Catelyn then led him to the gift area. Crap! I was not prepared for this! What am I gonna do? What am I going to say??

"Um, Lysa? Could I talk to you?" said Stannis. He looks even more hotter than before!! His messy mop of black hair was now neatly combed and really showed just how smoldering his dark-blue eyes really are!!

"Oh, um, yeah, sure!"

Don't freak out! Don't freak out! They then walked to the corridor close to her room. Don't freak out now!!

"I just uh, wow, I don't even know how to say this. But um, I found your note in the, uh, invitation," he said, pulling it out of his pants pocket. 

He did get the note! He got the note!! Oh, wait. He got the note. 

"Um, yeah. It, it's jus - "

"It's very flattering. Especially that you like my, uh, "smoldering eyes like a blue flame"," Stannis said with a small grin. Grin? Stannis grinning? OMG, he looks so cuute!!

"You, you like it?"

"Yes, yes I do. And if you want, I'd really like to take you out sometime."

He's staring right at me! Now's the time to say something! Or better yet ...

"I really would," she said, leaning closer to him, giving him a small kiss on the lips. Wow, they're soft. 

"Th-Tha-That was ... nice. But I thought we're supposed to do that after two dates?"

"Screw the rules this time, Stannis. So ... do you ... wanna try that again?" she said, smiling coquettishly. 

"Y-Ye-Yes. I-I-I'd li-like that." Stannis said, now leaning closer to her. He gently held her by the shoulders, and their lips touched again. 

"Do you want to try that again?" she said, giggling a bit. 

Just as they leaned in close, they then heard yelling. 

"Crap. I think my brother's fighting with your brother again. We shou - "

"They can take care of that themselves. And there are other adults around. Can we kiss again?" Stannis asked. 

"Yes, yes we can!"

Chapter Text

She found herself giggling. She had only meant to tease him a bit, much like the light teasing they had done back at Harrenhal. But this ... this was something else entirely. 

The other letters she had received by his hand were very much like him. Trying to describe her beauty much like a poet or a bard were. But it always ended with the simply sweet sentiment. "I wish I can hold you in my arms and see your smile again, my fallen star". It made her blush, surprisingly. 

When she told him to write something else; be inventive, imaginative. Not once did she expect this. This was only the third letter he had sent her though. Mayhaps, there will be more just like it?

"Ashara? What has gotten you like this? Why are you giggling so?" Elia asked as she approached. 

"Oh, um, nothing! Simply a jape I remembered!" Ashara said in surprise, trying to cover the letter. 

"Really? I haven't seen you this amused since that squire had mixed up Oberyn and Arthur's armour. What is so interesting?"

"Nothing, Elia!" she said as her best friend had eyed her suspiciously. 

I really shouldn't show this to her. This is far too private. Yet, I does feel tempted to show t - 

Suddenly, Elia swiped her arm swiftly taking the letter away from her grasp. Oh, no!

"E-Elia! Give it back!"

"I will. I just want to see what has yo s - Oh, my!"

Suddenly, Ashara found herself going red. 

"'My dearest Ashara, it has been too long. ... Without you by my side, I truly feel like a wolf in heat. It makes me feel tempted to ... take you like the wolf I truly am'? Is this really from your "sweet, noble Ned Stark", Ashara?" Elia said teasing. No fair, you're always the responsible one, El!

"Elia, ju-just give it back please!"

"Lady Ashara Dayne, are you embarrassed? You're redder than a Dornish pepper!"

"'The next time we meet, when we are good and married, I vow that I will ... howl into your mountainous moons'? Oh, my! Now, this is truly scandalous!" Elia giggled. 

"Princess Elia Nymeros Martell, I demand you give me back my letter!"

"This doesn't even sound like it's the first letter Eddard has sent you. Is it, Ash?" Elia said, more teasing than ever. She then went back to the letter. "'As we are wedded and bedded, you will be able to properly feel my flanks as you embark on your ride'? By the Gods, Ashara! A poor sweet northern boy and you have him talking like a heathen!" 

She had promised at Harrenhal that she would make a proper dornishmen out of him. It appears that I have accomplished it all too well ... 

"So, Ash? Is this the first letter the ever-honourable Eddard Stark hath sent you?" 

"If, if I show you the other two letters, will you drop this and never speak of it again?!" 

"I swear on Oberyn's ever-black heart!"

"Alright then, you promised not to tell?"

"I gave you my word. Though, can I say one thing?"

"What?"

"I wish Rhaegar were like Eddard!"

Chapter Text

He looked at the man, aghast. 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. His eyes ... Almost like Lord Ramsey's eyes, but different. Stern, yet bore a sense of warmth. 

The man put a hand on his dagger. “Theon Turncloak. Theon Kinslayer.”

His voice! Much like the Leech Lord. But harsher; not a spidery soft whisper. Iron tones reverberated on his tongue. 

“I’m not. I never … I was ironborn.”

“False is all you were. How is it you still breathe?” he asked, looking at Reek with amazement. Reek, Reek, rhymes with freak!

“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 at the hand, fascinated. He saw the faint curve of his lips turn into a frown. His hands then came to his hood, and he uncovered himself. 

His face looked as soft and pale as porcelain, yet there were faint scars that ran around his left cheek. His hair was long with dark curls nearly framing his face. Something about his face seemed much like Lord Ramsay or even Lord Roose's plain face, but it was kinder. 

"The Boltons won't be done with the North. My family had wanted it for so long since the days of the Red King. My father and brother will do whatever they can to keep Winterfell and the North. But I will not let them be the ruin of it. And I know you won't let them ruin it either. An ironborn, the salvation of the North, it's almost laughable!" the man chuckled. That brought a surprising amount of warmth to the more cold castle of Winterfell. 

"I'll leave you to the rest then, Theon of House Greyjoy," the man said as the man made his leave. 

Chapter Text

She hated her. Just how high and mighty she always seemed to be. Better than her at every thing. 

Best behaved. Best at stitching. Best at swimming. Everything! Cat always gets everything! 

Father loves her best. Uncle Brynden loves her best. Edmure loves her best. And Petyr ... Petyr loves her more than anything! I love you Petyr! I love you more than Cat ever will. 

But her stupid betrothed doesn't. How can Cat be so damn stupid? How does she not see it? He's been eyeing every kitchen wench, busy looking at their posteriors and chests as he's talking to her. He's been undressing them with his gleaming grey eyes and she doesn't know. ... Or maybe she does know?

Stupid, stupid, Cat! Thinks she's so great. So proud, so uppity. 

Brandon Stark, the heir of Winterfell and the North. The wild wolf, they call him. For the first time Lysa realizes how very odd it is that he's been matched with Cat. Because there is nothing wild about Cat, not in the slightest; she is all honour and duty, like their septa taught them. Cat would make herself be happy no matter who they wed her to. Is she truly doing that? Believing that she will be happy once she's wed to him? 

Yet, these thoughts escape her mind as she comes to his chamber door and lets herself in. He looks just as wild with his normally neat hair now in messy tufts. He even smiles in his sleep. She disrobes suddenly, and slides into his bed. Everything about him is broad and muscled. She then presses himself closely to his body. It's almost soothing. Suddenly, her hand moves closer to him. His cock is already up and about; hard as stone. 

It's then the "wild wolf" wakes up. He looks startled at first. His eyes are groggy with sleep. But they soon come alive with light. He really does have pretty eyes. Very pretty eyes. 

She barely even registers his lips on hers. So forceful, so demanding, so filled with want. His tongue darting about her mouth. It makes her moan in ecstasy. His hands are strong, as she feels them touch and grip all around her body. His tongue and teeth move all around her breasts. Is this what it feels like? To be this wanted?

Suddenly, he slips himself into her. It is not gentle. Not in the least. He does it without warning. His hands go to her hips and grips them firmly and hard. More force than she could have imagined. He practically raises her legs up and has his way. In and out, as fast as he can. Faster and harder. It's overwhelming; she can't help but moan. She's not sure whether it is in pain or pleasure. Mayhaps both. 

Her legs hopelessly flail about on his back as he keeps pumping into her. She feels her body spasm. Her small moans from before mean nothing compared to the one that comes out of her mouth. She feels completely weightless and at his mercy. He then looks content as he lays on top of her. A smile of pure bliss etched on his face. 

When she wakes, does she realize just what she's done. She has lain with Cat's betrothed. The one she's stupidly prattled on about since she was two-and-ten. The one that had motivated her to learn and know everything and anything she could about the North, so her betrothed wouldn't think her stupid and foolish. He realizes it too, she thinks, when he wakes up and looks at her with surprise. 

As they go and get their clothes, there is a knock on the door. It's Catelyn. 

"Brandon ... wha-what's goi - L-Lysa?!!" she said with shock. Shock that she had never heard of. 

"Catelyn. Cat. L-Let me explain, luv!" Brandon said, his hand still clutching at his somewhat-undone breaches. 

"Yo-You, Yo-You. You! Ho-How? H-How co-could yo-you do th-this t-t-to me?!!" Cat cried out, as tears streamed down her eyes. 

No, Cat. I didn't want to hurt you like this! "Cat, let me expl - "

Suddenly, she hears then feels a smack across her face. 

"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU BOTH!! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN, EVER!!"

Within the hour, her father Lord Hoster and her uncle Ser Brynden the Blackfish were roaring. Not just at each other, as they usually did, but at the both of them. The both of them are hurriedly married in the godswood of Riverrun. Petyr tried to stop it, only to be told that it was folly. Edmure was likely told not to see her. 

I never wanted to be his bride, Cat. I didn't want to hurt you, not truly. Not like this. The words are on her tongue but she can't bring herself to say anything. Brandon doesn't say anything either. No japes, no smiles adorning his face. For once, he looks serious and somber. 

We will truly be a lord and lady of ice and frost ...

Chapter Text

"There is still much you need to know Brandon Stark," the three-eyed raven said. His voice as somber as ever. "There is much about what you have learned as falsehoods, and so you must learn and know. We must go back, back to where it all started." 

His mind was filled with excitement and also dread. What was here that I need to know? What story of the past will I see? 

All of sudden, he found himself in a lush green pasture. A godswood, he realized, as he saw a small stream running through it. He looked back and saw possibly the largest castle he had ever seen. There were five towers of dizzying size, with equally monstrous curtain walls. The castle was three times bigger than Winterfell. The weirwood heart tree had a terrible visage full of hatred, with a twisted mouth and flaring eyes, and thirteen deep marks carved into it. 

It was then he had taken note of the two people by the bark of the tree. The two of them were giggling to their hearts content without a care in the world. The man holding the woman close to him looked quite familiar. His figure was rather lean and sinewy; rather lanky as well. His eyes were grey, but they had an innocence and dreaminess that reminded him so much of his sister Sansa. He wanted to say Jon, but the young man was far older than his brother when he saw him last. It was ... Father!

Father had never giggled so easily. But here, he was younger and not burdened by duty. 

He then had his attention to the woman by his father. She was certainly not his mother. No, the lady's hair was as dark as the midnight sky that loomed over Winterfell. Her dress was purple with a pattern of stars and swords going down from her shoulder to her hips. Her lips were full and red. He briefly saw her eyes; the colour matching the colour of her dress, but they were darker and hauntingly lively. 

"Ned ... Oh, Ned!" the woman moaned out. 

"Ash ... I love you ..." Father moaned to the woman. As confident as she seemed, she blushed as demurely as a young maid. 

"I love you, Ned. I want you!" she moaned out as she began to loosen the bodice of her dress. Her breasts then hung loosely. 

"Ash ... I ..." 

"I want you, Ned. I need you. Now!" she said as she grabbed his father's hands and placed them on her breasts. He seemed hesitant but then began to knead them like a baker would bread. 

Suddenly, she began to moan more than before. His father began to mouth and kiss all around her body. Her hands moved to remove Eddard Stark's jerkin.

What's the point in all of this? Why was the three-eyed raven showing him this? Did he intend to show me all of this? ... What is that woman doing with her mouth??!

"Father!!"

Their heads then jerked up. 

"What was - Did you hear that?"

"Yes, I did. It was the power of the Old Gods. They command us to fuck!"

"As my lady commands!" Eddard Stark said cheekily.

No, this needs to stop. This needs to stop right now, this instant! Father shouldn't be doing such things! He sho -

Suddenly, he found himself back in the cave filled with weirwood roots. He found himself short of breath. 

"Wh-Wh-Why? Why did you show me that? What was the point of it?" 

"Nothing is ever as they seem"

Chapter Text

He couldn't believe it. Pyke. He was finally back home. Theon had been wondering about it for all this time. But there was no one there to greet him. No grand welcoming party or feast or anything. His uncle Urrigon's great warship, the Silence, wasn't in the ports either. He found himself entering his father's chambers. He fondly began to remember how grand they looked as he was a child. His lord father was just standing there, looking over the fire. "Father" he said. "My son has returned to me" Balon said rather coldly. "Nine years it's been. They took a frightened boy away from me. What have they given back?" Balon said. "A man. Your son. Your blood and your heir" Theon said proudly, holding his chin up high as well.

"We'll see about that. Stark had you longer than I did"
"Lord Stark is gone"
"And how do you feel about that?" Balon said, almost as if he were taunting him. "What's done is done. I've brought you a proposal from Ro - "

"Who gave you those pretty clothes? Did Ned Stark do you the honor of making you his daughter?" Balon said in the same taunting manner. "If my clothes offend you I'll change them" Theon said.

"Damn right you will. That bauble around your neck, did you pay the iron price for it or the gold?" Balon inquired. Theon felt strange, almost scared as Balon was approaching him. "I asked you a question. Did you take it off a corpse you made or buy it to match your fine clothes? Iron or gold?" Balon inquired, more and more aggressively. 

He hadn't changed. Why would he think that Lord Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands would change? The iron islands themselves looked even more dreary since their failed rebellion which was led by Lord Balon, their belovedly stupid Kraken King. Who had gotten his equally stupid brothers Rodrik and Maron killed. Their stupidly wet Iron King who had let his own son be taken away as if he didn't want me anymore. The one who brought and caused all the grief that his mother bears, last he heard. 

"Has the north stilled your tongue, boy? Iron or go - "

“The gold prize naturally. Do I look as if I’m stupid enough to run around and kill people while living directly under Lord Stark’s nose? Or to steal from the dead while riding around with Little Lord Robb? I would have lost my head or my hand immediately. That’s called surviving in enemy territory.”

Suddenly, his father had eyed him. He couldn't tell whether it was resentment, disgust or pride. No, he means to have me cower. But I remember. I know where I came from and I know who I am. Iron and salt flow through my veins. He didn't even mind the people who had come into the room. 

"Watch what you say to me boy. This is not the greenlands that you have come to know and love!" Balon Greyjoy said in a lowered voice. 

It was that voice he had often used to scare him when he was still a boy. It doesn't sound so scary. He sounds like a stupid pathetic little man. It had barely even occurred to Theon that he and his father were now of a matching height. His father, whom he once believed to be gigantic as a lad, was nothing but a stupidly shriveled-up old man. 

"Oh, really? I couldn't tell between the dreary sky and shit-stained rocks. I lived in the north for ten years, Father, of course it's a part of me. You shiver in snows that could never bother me, I ride a horse better than anyone here ever could, and I can learn to captain a ship soon enough. You might think the north weak, but I learned its strength and made it a part of me. I'm iron and winter and I don't care what price I pay, gold or iron, to get what's mine. I know I'll be getting it."

It was then that he took note of the people who had come in. His uncles, Aeron and Victarion. They had remained relatively unchanged as she saw them. Victarion's black hair was now flecked with grey, and Aeron had seaweed woven into his hair and beard. He had all but forgotten that Aeron had found the Drowned God sometime after the Greyjoy Rebellion. Mayhaps some things have changed. He paid no mind to the girl and her wicked smile which had quickly soured. 

Balon Greyjoy's face was now pallid and angry, Angrier than before; angrier than he had ever seen. He barely noticed it but quickly caught his father's fist, and then launched his own. Balon Greyjoy never looked more weak than now. 

He quickly rose up from the floor, glowering at him. "Leave my halls and never return!"

"I'll leave the proposal in case you'd like to look at it, But I know you won't, so I'll just tell you what it is. Add on the ironborn to the northern army, raid the westerlands and you will be allowed to take what is yours. If he hadn't been promised to some Frey girl, I would have proposed that Robb take Asha as a wife.

If you don't want me, fine. I'll be back. You'll die from your own stupidity soon enough and soon enough, you'll only be remembered by history as my father and how I rose above you."

Theon then took his leave. I'm sorry, Robb. Looks like the only ironborn you'll be needing is me.

Chapter Text

She loved the feel of him. His strong broad shoulders. And she loved his strong musky scent he seemed to emit. Robb Stark is undeniably the perfect specimen of man and the perfect boyfriend. Undeniably manly and the perfect gentlemen. Yet, I don't want him doing something so gentle to me right now ... 

"Um, Robb?"

"Yeah, Marg?"

"You wanna take this somewhere else? Maybe your room?"

"Yes, yes I d - No, wait. I can't. I put down Rickon for his nap there. His room needed to be repainted."

I can't believe that I'm going to say this ... "There happens to be a room much closer to us ..." she said eyeing it. 

"Marg, you can't mean ..."

"I want you, Robb. And I want you now!" she said, cupping his face for emphasis. 

"... Alright then!" he said, lifting her up from her hips. Margaery squealed in delight. 

Robb then opened the door and all but pushed her off of him and onto the bed. There were plenty of stuffed animals around and linen pillows. He then dragged her close to him. He's already hard as I am wet ... 

He then took off his shirt, his body on full display. Hello, sailor! With equal swiftness, he took off her jeans along with her panties. I see someone's eager. He then took off his own. Wow, hello and come to mama! 

She thought that he would take more time kissing her, but he was suddenly and swiftly inside of her. She then quickly took off her shirt. Time for the girls to come out anyway!

"Oh, dear God!"

"Like what you see, huh?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Now, c'mon, lover! Give it to me!!"

He then came closer to the bed and went in deeper. Quickly fondling her breasts before coming back to kiss her. His hands gently gripping her hips as he went deeper. 

"Yeah! That's it! Faster! Harder! Deep, deep in there, Robb!!"

"Margaery! O-Oh, dear sweet Gods!"

Both of them were moaning and groaning like animals and heat. Both coming undone. 

"O-o-ohh, Robb! I-i'm close! I'm so close!"

"Really? I got about a couple of seconds then  I'm done!"

Suddenly, they heard the door. 

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF HELL!!"

"OH, SHIT! SANSA!!" they both yelled out. 

"Uh, Hi, Marg ..."

"Hey Sans ..."

"Robb ..."

"How you doin' lil' sis?"

"Uh, when your done ... could you please take me to the mall? I'm gonna have to burn that mattress. And maybe the pillows too."

"You know we might just take them for ourselves. No need to waste perfectly good things!" Margaery said with a smile to lighten the mood. 

"OK. I'm just going to bleach my brain with Drano."

Robb then looked at her a bit miffed. "I do hope that was worth it!"

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you? And yes, it was!"

Chapter Text

" ...Ugh, uhm, no. No. Nononononono ... NOOO!!" the young wolf lord cried out from his sleep

"Rickon? What's wrong?" his wife said, as she came to his side. 

"Nothing. I-It's nothing. Ju-Jus-Just go to s-sleep."

"You've been waking up like this for quite some time, my good husband. Tell me, what's wrong. Let me help you."

He couldn't help but stare at her. He liked the honesty she had always given him. She was as blunt as a practice blade. 

It had been so long since he had anyone. Father was gone. Mother. Robb. Bran had left to protect him. Jon, Sansa and Arya had stayed as long as they could. Sansa stayed longest, where Jon and Arya had found someone to love them. The Dragon Queen and the Bull. But Sansa had to leave too. Her heart still spoke of summer and sweetness, no matter how hard the winter snows had made her pretty skin like fresh steel. She found someone too. 

He found himself thinking of his family. Robb's son would be Lord of Winterfell one day, but he still remained in Winterfell to watch and look after him. And he had his own children to look after. His eldest sons Edwyd and Branston. His middle son Richard, the apple of his mother's eye. His girls, Margaret and Osha. If Richard had caught his mother's eye, Little Osha had caught his heart as much as her mother did. 

It was a true blessing that he had met his wife. Lyanna and he had met when her family had come to pledge their service to House Stark once again. Many of the northern lords had objected to this as the Mormont's had low standing. But they had become the new Lords of Queenscrown and Defenders of the Gift since Jon and Sansa had acted as his Regents. 

They had trained every day, challenging one another. Their strikes at each other often led to them giggling to their hearts content. She made training fun. Fun that was nearly lost to him. Eventually, as they got older, their childish fancies had all but faded. She had looked beautiful when they married beneath the heart tree of Winterfell. 

But everyone leaves. Winterfell will be empty once again. 

"I-I ju-ju-j-just can't help but think of the days from before. W-Wh-When everyone was ... gone. An-And I fear that, you and the children will be too. I'd have no one. I-I ca-can't be a lone wolf anymore, Lya," he said somberly. 

"That's a bit stupid," Lyanna said as blunt as ever. 

"We are not going anywhere. We chose to spend the rest of our lives together. I chose to have your children. I chose to be here with you, always and forever. Our children won't ever be leaving you. They are Starks, and Mormonts. It is here they will stand, no matter what winter will bring. I promise you."

He felt his heart race a bit as she mindless traced the small scars on his chest. As she fell asleep, he found himself staring at her. Tracing the small scars around her waist and belly; where the children had been once. Looking at her, like the wonder his children were when they were still babes. Wondering if they would disappear if he kept his eyes off of them. It was stupid, he knew it, but he did not want her out of her sight. 

She then wrapped her arm around him, and he found himself gently caressing her hand. I won't ever let go.

Chapter Text

One

She loves the way he kisses her. His hands gently cupping her face. His lips so soft and yielding. The kisses at times are almost too chaste to her liking.

She's always been one for excitement and surprises. He almost yelps in surprise when she slips her tongue into his mouth. 

"Wh-Wha-What was ..."

"What? Didn't you like it?" she said innocently. 

"Very much so ..." he said deviously with a grin. 

Suddenly, both of their tongues were fighting each other. Very interesting ... 

Two

His touch had gotten better than before. It was no longer fearful and quivering. It was more firm and assertive. Almost possessive. 

Yet, he would never move past her hips. Touch me, Jon. You know you want to. 

As their mouths and tongue seem to be in battle as always, she reaches out to his hands. 

Wow! They're quite soft! Never mind that now. 

She then gently places them on to her breasts. 

"Uh, um, Arianne, I, uh ..." 

"You can go on and touch them. Squeeze them if you like?" she said suggestively. Instead, he begins to knead them like a baker would dough. 

Oooh. Not so rough. ... Okay, maybe a little rough.

Three

Ahhh. The Tunnel of Love. One of the most cheesiest and yet somehow romantic rides ever. 

Underneath his somewhat solemn face, Jon was surprisingly romantic. 

It was starting to get boring as they came closer to the end. She definitely didn't want to disappoint Jon, he went to all this trouble. But then, she got the most devilish idea ...

"You like the ride?"

"I do like it. It's sweet. But I have an idea that could make the ride even better ..."

Suddenly, she cupped him through his pants. 

"Arianne! Wh-What the hell are you doing?!"

"Just relax! I know you have quite the romantic bone within you!" 

Swiftly and deftly, her hands had gotten him out through his fly. It never failed to impress just how large it was, and would get. 

With small quick strokes, she had him under her heel. He was desperately trying not to groan. 

C'mon, babe. A little bit more ...

"You have the most epic cum face. I can't believe they actually got it on this picture!"

"I can't believe that I managed to zip up my pants so fast!"

Four

This was always quite nice. The cuddling. She never really expected it to be. 

He's surprisingly warm too. His hands are always by her hips as they lie on their sides. 

Suddenly, she feels his hands leaning a bit closer to her ass. I wonder just what is he thinking?