Got X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Little deer

Tywin Lannister x reader (Baratheon!reader)

Request: Could you possibly do a Tywin Lannister x Baratheon reader where she is the youngest sibling of Robert Baratheon?

“So what then,” you asked your brother. Hip cocking out as you folded your arms, eyes narrowing as you looked at the man who was meant to be the King.

You hadn’t really expected much when Renly told you that Robert wanted to see you. But when you walked into the private meeting room, no servants, no guards inside. That raised your suspensions. But when you saw both Stannis and Robert calmly discussing something - then you got worried.

6 months ago

Keep reading

I’ve got to stop making so many drafts of future ASoIaF stories . . . Seriously, I have over 15 bloody drafts and I’m trying to finish Golden Rose so I can move on to other WIP’s and yet my brain keeps making up more ideas. If you’re curious as to what my WIP’s are they’re xreaders with Jon Snow (Stark, (I’m a N+A=J shipper)), Sandor Clegane, Tywin Lannister (multiple WIP’s with him), Brandon Stark (complete AU), Robb Stark, Ageon Targaryen (Young Griff), and Tyrion Lannister. Why, just why can’t I stop with the drafts and ideas??? And when I am going to write all these ideas? Never! Cause once I start, guess what happens, I get another blasted idea!! I just can’t win. Ughhh 😑😩

Anyways, the next chapter of The Golden Rose should be out next weekend. This weekend I’m going out to a Bday vacation so I won’t be able to write or publish the next chapter. ✨ see ya in the next post!

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

A Robb Stark x Yi Ti fem!OC/Reader & GOT AU Fic

Chapter One: Farewell/Goodbye

Next Chapter

Author's Note: Hello, so I am very new to writing fanfiction, and also I have never read any of the books, but I have done a lot of research. This fic will be mostly based on the show Game of Thrones, but it will take elements from the books (especially for the characters Euron Greyjoy and Stannis Baratheon). Also there is practically no information of the language/culture of Yi Ti according to GRRM. So taking in mind that it is supposed to be inspired by "Imperial China," I used simplified Mandarin because while I do think Cantonese would be better considering how the geography is inspired by southeastern China, I need pinyin and can only speak Mandarin. I will offer translations at the bottom. Also for the names, I am not perfectly clear how they work so I basically tried to make a name using characters that I felt would have a lot of impact together.

Warning(s): This fanfiction will include dark themes of the following: sexual content, sexual abuse, violence and violent themes, child trafficking, depression, angst (so much angst), and dark/yandere attitudes. (Please comment if I had missed anything)

“I made it… I actually made it.” I thought to myself as I slumped onto the deck, relief flooding my body as my legs start to give out in exhaustion. I managed to get onto the ship just before it left the dock. I close my eyes and try to breath as waves rock me back and forth like a never-ending pendulum. The last time I had been on a ship felt like several lifetimes ago, although I supposed that it was true in more ways than one. For as I had so fervently sworn to never step foot onto another ship, I could not deny that a part of my heart was soothed by the familiar cries of gulls, the thundering orders of those and command, and the waves crashing against the wood of a vessel completely at its mercy. Still, I felt myself turning green, and soon 黛玉 (Dài yù) is curling up next to me, offering much needed comfort. I curl myself around her, and breathe in her fur. Her fur, whether dry from a nearby fire or soaked in red life, smells of cypress, smoked sandalwood, and spices. It reminds me of Winterfell, of the North, of my second home. Once again, I thank Lord Stark in allowing me to keep my sweet shadowcat when I found her as an orphaned kitten from a band of poachers that had already killed her family and intended to skin them for profit. As I continued to stroke her luscious black and white striped fur, I felt 黛玉's (Dài yù) deep purrs turn to breathing becoming deeper and more consistent to signal she was about to sleep. And just when I was about to do the same, hoping for sleep to be dreamless, I heard my name being shouted out in pure agony.

“龙力 (Lóng lì)!” My head shot up while 黛玉 (Dài yù) immediately became alert and ready to strike any figures that posed a danger to us. I turned my head to look at the dock we just left, and to my horror I found a figure so far that he might have been a trick of light. But I remember those eyes, those clear blue eyes. Eyes despite their clarity, were filled with more fury than any storm I had witnessed out in the seas. Eyes belonging to a figure that once stood tall looked broken and defeated, as if their shoulders had been burdened by the gods themselves, although I supposed in a way they had. Next to him was direwolf the size of a small horse holding his head high, and howled so forlornly as if the ship was a floating pyre.

“Robb.” I croak out, my voice sounded so unfamiliar to me. I tried to look away, but I knew if I did, I would never forgive myself. So, I gazed into his eyes trying to shout out every apology I could think of, begging for his forgiveness. When his figure disappeared, I turned around and let out a sob I didn’t realize was there. I curled into myself, reach to my necklace and grasp on the black pendant and pray to any god that would listen. 黛玉 (Dài yù) mewled softly before laying her head on top of mine, even wrapping her arms around me, as if she were a mother soothing a weeping child. I could not bear to see her blue eyes, so frozen yet alive with winter fire. I knew that sleep would never come for me tonight. So instead, I prayed that Robb would not let his impulsiveness cloud his judgement, that he will only focus on the war and freeing the North. I prayed that he will forget me and move on to find happiness of his own and to grow old and happy with a good woman by his side and his siblings all together. But above all, I prayed that he would let me go and let me be free. I do this until my mind blacks out, and a memory had played out as if I was a spectator to moment that did not belong to me.

~Flashback of 7 ago~

“龙力 (Lóng lì),” I decided, gazing at the stone turned dragon pendant handed to me, knowing the confusion that must be filling Robb Stark’s eyes, “my family name is 王 (Wáng), but my first name will be 龙力.” My parents’ sweet “小玉 (Xiao Yu)” no longer existed, she her lullabies were gone forever, but she will never forgotten, not her nor her parents, never again. But “龙 (Lóng)” had taken her place, it was born from the anguish of the small jade in order to a dragon that clawed out of anguish.  “龙 (Lóng)” was a dragon, and dragons carried a magic within them that could never die, not even when the world demanded it. My grandmother was partly right, I was not born a dragon, I was but I was made into one. As for “力 (Lì)”, that would be something of my own. “力 (Lì)” was a testament to my strength. Even before being a dragon, I was strong. I had a strength of my own that belonged to no one but me. And although it had been cracked and broken down repeatedly, it remained. The events forced upon me to realize that strength, however unfortunate, will not go unrewarded.  This pendent was evidence of that, that if a piece of jade can transform and be molded into a strong dragon, then so can I.

I turn and face Robb Stark, the boy I thought was a spoiled and obnoxious brat that had everything handed to him while so many others claw for just a scrap of his fortune, and give him the first hug that I have given anyone since my parents died. I hold for so long and tight that he has to push me away for air. I smiled with tears almost spilling from my eyes, happiness overtaking me for the first time in what felt like a lifetime ago. I kissed both his cheeks, and he turned so red that he tried to sputter out a response, but I beat him to do it.

“王龙力 (Wang Long Li),” I beamed so brightly, “that will be my name. I finally have decided on my name, it is the only thing that was not given to me but what I gave to myself. It is important, too important, but you deserve to be the first to know. I will wear this forever, thank you so much. Thank you so much.” I hugged him once more, and felt his arms wrap around me before tightening and even saw the tips of his ears turning bright red before Maester Luwin came upon us and I showed him my pendent and told him my name. I didn’t have to tell him the meaning of a name, his smile told me enough.

~Flashback Ends~

Waking up I realized that I was still grasping on the black pendant as if it was the only thing that kept me from falling completely apart. I should have left it behind, but I knew it wasn’t a possibility. If I had to take only one thing that could possibly link me to my past, from the youthful joy and spilled blood in Yi Ti, to the beautiful hope and horrendous tragedies in Winterfell, I couldn’t leave it. This pendent meant far too much, for it alone was the sole witness to my life (past, present, and soon-to-be future). It had seen every moment in the life of that once naïve and sweet 小玉 (Xiǎoyù) that played along the warm breezes of the Jade Seas, the 小玉 (Xiǎoyù) that laughed to her parent’s singing songs of the Jade Emperor, the same one that witnessed her family’s slaughter and was stolen away until she no longer laughed, no longer smiled, and eventually forgotten her own voice. The precious and rare black jade that was eventually picked from the pockets of tattered rags to be used as a paperweight by Euron Greyjoy, forgotten by the shadow of a girl who was robbed of every joy and security that should have been her right from birth. A girl who became so broken, who’s soul became so lost, she carved through men with her knifes with such masterful and impassioned fervor and searched through the gashes with such sober and languid eyes to see if she could find hers in their bodies.

But it also witnessed the gaining of her strength, starting at the glimmer of remembrance in hearing an old lullaby sung by a mother with features similar to her own. Every time she snuck away to hear the woman sing, her eyes daring to show wistfulness as opposed to chilling apathy, the black jade could feel the little girl that was constantly struck down finally begin to stand and walk again. Every step that the girl took, the black jade that lost its luster from being forgotten had slowly regained its shine. Even when the kind woman that sung so sweetly was broken in, taken by the wicked pirate’s men and himself, her face with warm eyes and tender smiles, was mutilated beyond recognition, the girl did not fall again. Instead, her eyes held righteous fury and body was fueled by liquid lightning. Quick were her hands in drugging those men, meticulous and masterful were her fingers in slicing through their facial nerves, cruel glee dancing in her eyes as they could make no sound but knowing they felt everything, the sheer intensity and determination of her strength in hoisting their bodies underneath the sail’s pole. So easily could the black jade remain forgotten, once more losing its luster and shine, but the girl had decided that she would no longer forget the little girl in Yi Ti. Because although that girl was gone, dying the day she was sold in Qarth, she knew that the girl still deserved to be remembered, as did the people she loved that died with that girl.

With that decision, this new girl took only a blanket and the jade before changing into a pair of breeches and tunic that sagged over her body to prevent any suspicion of her sex, left Euron Greyjoy to venture to a new place. A place where she would meet a kind and good man, one who she would gladly devote her life in serving and protecting. She would meet his family, his wife and children. A wife that would take one look at the girl, and think her too savage and wild. But knowing in her heart that the girl was someone who would torture herself before letting any harm befalling her family. Children, all so different yet each one had a foundation of wildness, and were raised with so much unconditional love and loyalty that witnessing it had quickly thawed the suspicious girl’s icy walls. A place where she would meet another Greyjoy, but a different Greyjoy, a better one. A Greyjoy whose blood was Ironborn, but his heart would be northern. A northern boy whose blood carried the salt of the sea, but whose heart and soul were strengthened and bathed by the snow, the trees, and the winds of northern land. A boy who she distrusted before slowly and surely becoming her found brother, and she becoming his found sister. A place where she who had sea water in her veins, was not born in the biting inland North but the tropical breezes from the Jade Seas, slowly rebuilt herself from the ground up and fortified her soul with new memories, new happiness, and most of all, a new name. A name she gave herself, with the help of a boy with auburn curls and blue crystalline eyes that shimmered with wide smiles as he gave her the greatest gift that she vowed to carry with her so long as she breathed.

I let out a shaky breath as I once more closed my eyes and began to pray. I never prayed so much in my life before now. I was never one to pray, never one to truly believe in higher beings despite the stories of ancient and powerful magic I heard as a girl that I once believed in, the same stories I told to Bran and Rickon when they entered my rooms to protect them from nightmares. But my grandmother told me that there is usually no point in praying to the gods, because the gods never listen, and if they do, they will often do the opposite just to spite you. She said they had already laid out plans, and we were at their mercy without hope to change it. But maybe just this once, she was wrong. But maybe there are gods that listen, that will hear this unworthy girl’s prayer, that might grant her this one thing. I always thought I was a good granddaughter, always following and listening to my grandmother’s words.

I should have listened better.

*Switching POV’s to Robb*

As the Young Wolf stood there on the port, watching as the ship that carried his love farther and farther away from his arms, looking more and more like the broken boy that cried his heart out when his father died and less and less like the shapeshifting King that tore apart his enemies in the battlefield sung amongst smallfolk across Westeros.

“Your grace, do you want us to commandeer that ship in order to search for the fugitive? It isn’t too late; we can still hope to catch up to it if we use a galley with our strongest men.” Smalljon Umber tried listing off other ways to get to the ship, and was more than ready to do it himself. But Robb knew that doing so would be of no help to him. He knew what game his lady was playing, and he will let her think she had the upper hand for now.

“No.” Robb steeled himself into his full height and once more became the Young Wolf feared in the South. His eyes no longer full of sorrow as they just moments before, now they were filled with ice and a cold fire that looked it would burn you as horribly as it would freeze you in an instant should you be so unfortunate as to touch it. “Now we continue with our goal, marching to King’s Landing and littering the South with Lannister dead until they acknowledge the North’s independence and free my sister Sansa.” Gone was the naïve lovestruck boy, and in his place had risen a hardened leader that had a blade hungry for blood and screams. “But first we gather up the Frey’s and Bolton’s and call for their execution immediately. When Walder Frey’s and Roose Bolton’s heads are separated from their necks, I intend to make them gifts to Tywin Lannister.”

“Fly, fly, fly little dragon,” Robb’s mind hiding the dark whispers swirling in his head. “Fly as far as you can, but know that you will never escape the wolf you cheated.” Anger and fury had further cemented in his bones with each step he took to his steed. He realized long ago his feeling for his cruel lady love. He was enchanted by Talisa’s warmth and kindness, believing that she could be enough to thaw away your bitter chill. But it was all for naught, for nothing could replace you. He should have known this the moment he set his eyes on you when his father first brought you to Winterfell all sullen and feral but strong and determined. When bitterness and jealousy filled him as he heard you laughing at Theon’s stories and saw you two sitting together at dinner. When he caught you gazing at your black rock that you protected so fiercely and he longed to have you feel that way towards him.

“Ah yes, her precious stone,” Robb almost smiled as he remembered one of his most treasured memories, as it was the first time you truly smiled and it was the day you decided your name, “how could possibly forget that day?”

~Flashback to 7 years ago~

“My grandmother gave it to me,” your accent still a little thick when talking in Common Tongue, but you were making extremely good progress according to Maester Luwin, “she said that I would need it one day in order to protect me.”

“Why? Father won’t let anything happen to you while in Winterfell.” Robb thought this obvious, for his father was the strongest and most powerful man in all of the North, and it filled him immense pride and joy in being his son. His father was good and honorable man, one who always kept his promises to each and every one of his people as the Lord of Winterfell. “He promised you when you got here that no one would ever harm you so long you lived under the protection of the Starks.”

“I know all that,” you stated as you rolled your eyes. Of course, you knew that Lord Stark would keep his promise in keeping you safe, as Ned Stark was likely the best man in the world. “But I think it’s for something different, something bigger.”

“What do you mean by ‘bigger’?”

“I am not sure, but all I know is that my grandmother said that this stone would protect me when I would need it most. She said that this particular form of jade was only precious for those who needed it for its magic.”

“Magic?” Robb now rolled his eyes; you were trying to trick him. “That’s what old people tell kids in order for them to behave and not run in passageways and not track mud into the keep.”

“She said that it would lead me to my fate, to a place full of snow and ice and water with little green in the North.” Your eyes had a far-off look; your eyes only looked like that when you were remembering something. Robb hoped it was something good. “She told me that there was a role I had to play in this place, and that the jade would lead me to it.”

“But how will it protect you?” Robb was quickly growing irate. How could a measly stone protect you better than his father, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North? A role that he will take over as his heir, making you also under his protection.

“She said that jade protects your spirit and mind from harmful forces, but I must carry it with me and never forget it. Otherwise, it will lose its power.”

“But why does it need to be black? Can’t it do its job if it were white or grey?”

You shook your head. “She told me that it had to be black. In Yi Ti, black is the color of the North, and the North’s element is water, so that means black is the color for water in the North. I think…I’m not sure what she meant, 妈妈爸爸说她喜欢...” you paused as you realized you were speaking in your native tongue; your cheeks grew flushed in embarrassment. Robb pretended that the rosy hue didn’t look the least bit adorable, “I mean, my mama and papa said she liked to…babble I think you call it? But what I do know that it is too important and I need to carry it with me.” Your voice quieted down as faint footsteps crunch the snow behind you only to find Maester Luwin. Deciding that you were done speaking, you stood up and ran to him to see if he could spend some extra time with you how to read and write out Common Tongue.

In that moment, Robb had the most brilliant idea in the world. Truth be told, the preparations alone were remarkably tedious and was probably more trouble than it was worth for a girl Robb had known for a fairly short period of time. It took weeks of searching the castle town to see if any of the jewelers had even heard of “black jade,” let alone worked with it. It was by some miracle only performed by the gods that he half stumbled upon an elderly near blind carver that once apprenticed under a master jeweler who dedicated his life in studying the different practices across the world in the slums. However, Robb was not so young and green to life to expect such luck to spring in his path without something else in demand. But the old man simply asked the chance to meet the wearer of the finished product so that he may see the face of the person who captured the young heir’s heart.

“Though my eyes have almost lost their sight, make no mistake that this old man had lived long enough to know that those in your position would not go so far for someone that did not mean a great deal to you.” He spoke so softly as if witnessing a memory unraveling before him. “And if I had the fortune of my sight, I am sure that your eyes would betray what you deny.”

It took great efforts separating the stone from you, and Robb truly feared for his life if you found out it was him that took it before the product was completed. Thankfully, the old man was a master craftsman, with tools made of bone and fingers so nimble and quick you would never think the man blind at all. When Robb had presented the dragon pendent to you, you first lashed at him something fierce, but in seeing the work had your words failed you. When your eyes lit up and you hugged him so tightly that he thought all the wind had left him, Robb found himself unable to speak. When you had been pushed so that he could breathe, but kissed his cheeks with tears in your eyes, did Robb hear his heart beat at an ungodly pace. Finally, when you had gifted him your name with happiness in your voice, when you chose him to be the first to know your name, did Robb realize that from that day forward, he loved you. He knew you to be the keeper of his heart and soul since he was a lad to when he would become a man.

~End of Flashback~

When he had first awoken from his injuries, barely able to breathe, and you were sitting next to him. Your eyes were filled with glee as you reached for his waterskin and tipped it so gently and carefully to not spill on his wounds. As laid on his cot, cursing himself for falling for such a trap and endangering his men and causing the death of his wife and unborn child. You said no words, only when you so lovingly placed your arms around his neck, allowing his head to rest on your shoulder, did he fall silent. He sat up and held you against him with both arms as you laid tender kisses in his hair. When he looked into your eyes, and begged you to kiss him as he wanted you to for as so long, and though your eyes were uncertain you laid him down on his back, and placed your lips upon his. In that moment Robb’s world felt so whole and happiness had filled so completely that tears escaped and a sob of pure joy was choked out. He knew that he was yours, he always had been, but finally you were his. How happy he was when you pulled away and smiled down at him so sweetly, and you told him to rest so that he can gain strength to fight for his kingdom, his people, his family. How deliriously in love was he in doing exactly as you asked.

And imagine the confusion he felt when he had awoken expecting you by side, only to be met with his lost little sister Arya and his mother. Imagine the fear in hearing how you had left the camp as part of a deal to save him and his men. Imagine the betrayal coursing through him learning that you drugged the water you placed on his lips with a powerful drug that would put him in a heavy sleep that was meant to last a week rather than only 3 days. Imagine the unadulterated fury filling his body as he quickly dressed and called for his steed and Grey Wind to track your scent. And imagine how his heart broke watching the ship being released from its dock, and in a final act of desperation to see your face, he called out your name as Grey Wind let out an ear-shattering howl. Imagine the joy he felt seeing your body turn and your eyes gazed into one another, knowing you hadn’t expected to find you so quickly.

“You will run, you will hide, you can do whatever it takes to be away from me. It will not matter, for in the end I will find you.” Robb’s vow was further his cemented as he rode closer to his camp, ready were the words to carry out the traitors’ executions. “You thought you could escape your wolf, when really all you did was prolong your inevitable fate as his future queen.” Robb’s teeth clenched as he thought this, how stupid you were indeed. To think he would ever let you go now that he tasted your lips, felt your body pressed against his chest, saw your sweet smile as you laid him down to rest. Oh, what he planned to do to you the moment you were in his arms, his cock grew strained and he could feel it leaking at just the thought of him claiming you. He relished at the thought of gazing upon your naked body, laying kisses and bites upon your collarbone and neck for the world to see. He was desperate to suck and nip your breasts as he plays with your soaked cunt with his thick fingers. He could see it so perfectly, you begging for him to mate with you like the bitch in heat you are, begging for his thick cock to ruin you for anyone who even thinks to look at you. How you mewl so obscenely as he slowly slides his throbbing member into your tight heat. Once he is fully sheathed into your wet cunt, and his tip kisses the entrance of your womb, as he intends to go at an ungodly pace with you at his mercy begging to be filled by his pups. How happy you are when he releases load into your womb and praying to the gods old and new that you can be blessed with a child immediately. And how he intends to do so over and over and over until his name is the only thing you can remember.

Translations:

黛玉 (Dài yù): Black Jade

龙力 (Lóng lì): Dragon Force

王 (Wáng): king, but in this context of the story, it just serves as a very common surname

小玉 (Xiǎoyù): Little Jade

妈妈爸爸说她喜欢... (Māmā bàba shuō tā xǐhuān...): Mom and Dad say she likes to...

Please be kind as this is the first fanfic and smut I have even written, but still please like, comment, and reblog!!!

Hope you all have a wonderful day!

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

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

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

A Robb Stark X Yi Tish Reader/OC Story

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

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

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

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

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

Theon’s POV:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, chaos erupts once more.

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

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

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

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

Robb’s POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 3: And So, It Begins

Previous Chapter

A Robb Stark X Yi Tish Reader/OC Story

Author's Note: I do not own Game of Thrones or ASOIAF or any of GRRM works. But please no hate, but feel free to comment, like, or reblog if you liked reading this story and want me to continue! There are some phrases written in Mandarin and some are in Romanization, but the translations are at the bottom of the post, along with pinyin for pronunciation. Ship terms and language is written by someone who has never been on a medieval ship in a storm. Also a surprise character is introduced into the story!

Also, I am so sorry for how long this story took to be updated. Finals and internships have been busting my butt for the past 2 months. But hopefully I'll be more consistent with my updates. I really appreciate everyone who has been following with this story, and I am especially grateful for my beta writer @valeskafics for her very helpful comments and her tips! Please check out her works, she's an insanely brilliant writer!

Warning(s): sexual content, past trauma & abuse, violence and violent themes, depression, symptoms of PTSD & survivor's guilt, asshole bosses, mention of offensive and racist terms, GOT canonical misogyny & sexism, angst (so much angst), references to abusers, and dark/yandere attitudes.

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

“You’re coming because you’re the King in the North, Arya because two Starks are better than one in this case and your mother is in no state to continue on, my guess is that the bannermen probably want to send her back to Winterfell. And Blackfish is going because he’s a Tully of Riverrun, but he’s not your fuckup Uncle Edmure Tully of Riverrun.”

Robb’s POV:

For Robb to say that the meeting with the bannermen was tedious would be an understatement. Theon was right that the meeting was mostly about sending his mother back to Winterfell in order to reunite with Bran and Rickon. His Lady Mother was more than pleased with the decision, although she tried in her best efforts to remain strong for her son, she was at her wits’ end with worry for her two youngest boys. She called for a steward to prepare the trip for her and Arya, when the atmosphere immediately became tense. It seems that his mother was unaware that she would be the only Stark returning to the North. Furthermore, the only one amongst Robb’s council uninformed of the apparent unanimous decision to send Arya to Maidenpool with Robb her Uncle Brydyen as a way to show good will, but still presenting a unified front from both the North and the Riverlands to Stannis and his men. In hearing of this decision, she demanded a moment alone with their king and princess her son and daughter, along with Lord Brydyen.

“You expect me to return to Winterfell,” gritted out his mother, “only to leave my daughter here?” Her crystalline blue eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets, her signature red strands escaped her braid, giving the illusion of fire surrounding her in the tent’s candlelight. A fire that was slowly rising with her increasing anger. “So she can meet with Stannis? And then what? Would she train to be a soldier, to fight, in King’s Landing, just after escaping? Of all the things you have expected from me to allow in you becoming King, this is your truest sign of madness from power.”

“Mother, please- “, Robb started to explain his reasoning, by which he wanted to explain that Arya practically ambushed him after his brawl tiff with Theon, and outright told him that she was going with him to Maidenpool. There was nothing to ask, no permission to grant, she was coming if it meant tailing behind him on foot for weeks in order to meet Stannis Baratheon and plan siege on King’s Landing and rescuing Sansa. She even shoved a dagger near his balls and told him that she’d cut them off if he sent her back home with their mother. She followed by pointing out that he might be better without it, considering he married the first girl it pointed at in this war. He tried his best to ignore Theon’s squawking laughter behind him as he visibly paled.

“NO! No, I won’t hear it,” Lady Catelyn shook her head furiously before pointing a finger at him like she was scolding a small child, rather than a king in war, “I have swayed by you too many times. All of which because I had been thinking of your rights as a king, and your happiness as my son. But in doing so, I have allowed you too much freedom. As a mother, it was my duty to allow you as much happiness afforded to you in this war. But in doing so, I have let you forgotten your duty to your family. No more, I could not stop you from marrying Talisa, from executing Lord Karstark, but I will not let you turn my daughter into a killer-”.

“I already am a killer!” Arya yelled over her, interrupting their mother’s fury-fueled lecture, and bringing both their mother’s and Robb’s eyes on her for the first time since the bannermen left the tent. “I already killed four men! I trained under a killer, a faceless man, I’m not leaving!” Robb was blown away by what he heard, from his youngest sister of all people. Arya turned to him, and he knew that she would not relent. “I’m going with you, I’m going to meet Stannis, and then I’m going to march into King’s Landing and get our sister back.”

This was not his little sister that snuck out of her lessons with her Setpa, the one that would always beg him or Jon to teach her how to fight, the one who would fling food at Sansa and he would send her to her room. That Arya longed for freedom, for glory, but was still green to the world and its cruelty. No, this Arya understood what it meant to take a life, felt the stopping of a man’s heart, saw the light bleed out a man’s eyes before being replaced by dull nothingness. This Arya was a killer.

“I’m the only one out of all of us who knows their way around the Red Keep. Joffery may be stupid enough to not hide, but Cersei will. And where Cersei hides, that’s where I’ll find Sansa. I’m going to make Cersei see a Stark staring down at her before I stick Needle in her head and her children.”

Gods, they turned his baby sister into a killer.

Brother stared at Sister, Tully Blue gazed into Stark Grey, Duty challenging Vengeance, each side daring the other to make a move, to take the bait, to give leeway. The world around them stopped until time finally decided to move forward. Robb looked at his mother, and then at his siter once more, and after a few minutes of extremely careful consideration, he finally relented. To which he heard his mother scream.

“NO! I forbid it!” Lady Stark shoved a finger to her eldest son’s chest, as if her mind imagined it as a blade that could pierce his armor for his insanity. She immediately grabbed Arya’s hand and to make her way out the tent to pack their things, “Come now Arya, we are leaving now. I will no longer pretend to humor your brother’s madness any longer- “

“NO!” Arya pulls her arm away from her mother and immediately stands by her brother’s side. “Look at me, look at ME!” Arya stood her ground, refusing to move away, refusing to let her mother to force her into a role that no longer fit, a role that had never fit in the first place not since she first saw Jon and Robb spar one another with wooden swords, dreaming to hold one in her hands. “I’m not a lady! I’ve never been a lady! I never wanted nor will ever BE a lady!”

Robb glanced between his mother and sister with frantic worry, unsure of where he should intervene. But it seems that his mother did that favor for him.

“Arya, I don’t want to fight with you-”, she started, her eyes filled with stubborn anger and her voice laced with absolute exhaustion. She had hoped that if she pleaded, her youngest daughter would begin to relent. Robb’s mother always seemed to underestimate her northern blood.

“I WANT to fight!” Arya interrupted, her impulsiveness continually shining over her patience. “I want to fight with you! Shout, scream, yell horrible things we both will regret!” Her voice refused to tremble as the pale grey eyes she inherited from their father shimmered with angry tears. “Because it seems only you hating me will make you see me! To HEAR me! To cause you to finally wake up from the fantasy of the fake daughter you made up in your mind over your real one that stands before you!”

For the first time since their reunion, for the first time since she could toddle, Robb saw tears brimming his chaotic sister’s eyes. Not for the first time since war broke out, he wished for his brother Jon’s company, not just only for his comfort, but also to handle Arya. Thick as thieves those two, as Arya always considered Jon to be her favorite brother, never once thinking less of him for his bastard status, or blaming his existence as proof for his father’s infidelity not like his mother, Sansa, or almost everyone did in Winterfell. No, Arya was always proud in knowing the Jon Snow was a Stark, whether he carried the name or not (another trait that he saw in you, his beloved), he was her brother.

Even Robb couldn’t claim that he never used his status as their father’s heir and first true-born son to his advantage at times, whenever he was jealous of how quickly Jon picked up hunting and fighting while he sometimes struggled, or whenever he was reminded that it was his duty as heir that he had to marry a highborn noblewoman and not you, or whenever he saw the two of you sparring together (Jon had the muscle, but you had the speed and agility) with that rare gleam in your eye that could only come from a skilled partner, or whenever he spied saw the two of you walking together in the keep’s town in comfortable silence, or whenever he saw you sitting together at meals at the far end at his mother’s insistence when Theon was making his presence known at the brothels and he heard your laughter oh, how his fists clenched in fury at the sight of your smile not directed at him. But Jon wasn’t here, and Robb wasn’t a boy in Winterfell, not anymore. Now he was the King of the North, and if he could not be king of an independent North, then he was still the Lord of Winterfell and the North’s Warden. That meant that he was head of the Starks, including his own mother should she continue to carry the name “Stark.”

“Mother,” Robb started, the two women in the tent quickly turning their gaze to him, “you are to return to Winterfell to watch over the keep and watch over Bran and Rickon. I’ll send 10 men with you in case of an ambush. The North needs the Starks to watch over her.” His mother’s eyes softened in relief, mistaking his decision as agreement.

“Thank you, my son-”, she started before being cut off.

“But you will be the only Stark returning to the North,” he stated as he saw Arya’s back straighten in shock. “Princess Arya will remain by my side to assist me in negotiating with Stannis. As I am sure that you are the last Stark he wishes to see.” He saw the eyes of his mother widen in fear and desperation.

“Robb, my son, please-”, she pleaded, “listen to reason.”

“No,” he could not risk being soft anymore, not with the North on the line, “Stannis is our only hope in surviving this war. When you came to Renly’s side, you declared the North his enemy. Now it is up to me to fix it, to beg if necessary.” He lowered his eyes to stare his mother down with as much authority his father drilled into him as a youth, “I am your son. But even if I have to give away my crown, I am still Warden of the North and Winterfell’s lord. I am YOUR lord. And as your lord, I proclaim that this decision is final.” He turned to his sister, and clasped his gloved hand on her shoulder, “Get some rest, tomorrow we must prepare. The following day, we leave at first light.”

“Yes,” Arya stared at her brother with determination and gratitude, “my king.” With that being the final word, he left the tent to make way to his own. He quickly removed his outerwear until he was only in his small clothes and didn’t bother to wash himself before collapsing on top of the furs on his cot. Fatigue washed over him as he closed his eyes and slept without any dreams.

Now resting in an inn, Maidenpool being only a few more days away, his ass still sore from the weeks of riding and rising anxiety of meeting Stannis Baratheon, the King and Lord of Dragonstone. He dared not to admit to himself of his worry in fear that his nerves will get the best of him when he finally meets Stannis Baratheon. While he may have been a southerner, born and raised, Robb had only tremendous respect for the man. Moreso, Robb was grateful to have never crossed swords with in the field.

Prince Stannis was hailed a “military genius,” his victory against the Victarion Greyjoy at the Fair Isle during the Greyjoy Rebellion was mythic, even Theon couldn’t help but be in awe whenever Maester Luwin recounted it in their lessons. Stannis, despite having no particular skillset of either sailor or admiral, was set up as Master of Ships against seasoned naval commander who fought in naval battles at the end of Robert’s Rebellion. It was the first naval battle Stannis fought in his life, entering the battle an inexperienced commander and left as the man who gave Victarion Greyjoy his most crushing defeat.

“Truly,” Robb thought, “if the North must bend the knee to another Southerner, by the Gods let it be him.” As he was resolute in his belief that only Stannis Baratheon could manage to rule over the Seven Kingdoms, and lead them into peace and prosperity. His disadvantage in his claim would be that he had no heir, only a sickly daughter who survived a case of Greyscale as a babe, and had to continue to grow with horrifying scars left from the disease on her face. From what he heard; her mother became cold and cruel to the young girl and grew mad under some god named “R'hllor.” Stannis himself converted to the same faith, even allowing a High Red Priestess referred to as “Lady Melissandre” to sit within his council. Robb couldn’t help but pity the poor girl; knowing how cold her father was - not to mention her deranged mother - hardly made for a warm upbringing. Lost in his thoughts, he did not even hear Arya come into the room and sit on the room’s other bed.

“What do think will happen when Stannis sees us?” She asks, her face completely blank as her mind races through the worst scenario. “Do you think he’ll kill us? Like he killed Renly?”

“We don’t know that to be true,” he answers back carefully, “and even if it was, it’s because Renly declared claim to the Iron Throne over him. When you think it like that, he only killed a usurper.”

“Like Joffery?”

“Aye, like Joffery.” After waiting for a few moments for her reply, Robb thought that he settled her nerves, and closed his eyes to begin to sleep. But what Arya asked next was so soft that he almost missed it, but it chilled his blood when his ears caught it.

“…Aren’t we usurpers?” She asked him. “Won’t he see us the same as Joffery?”

“Arya, we aren’t- it’s not-” Robb struggled to find the words to ease his little sister “Stannis wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t he?” Arya interrupted with a dead gaze and flat voice. “If he killed his own brother, what makes you think he won’t kill you?”

“Stannis wouldn’t make the same mistake Tywin Lannister made,” Robb shook his head as he tried to sound as calm and patient to fight off the migraine blooming in his head, “he’s a better man than him.”

“Like how you thought Walder Frey would just let you marry your dead wife? Or like how you thought that you wouldn’t die at a wedding.”

Robb flinched at her biting tone. When he looked to her once more, he first saw how her fists clenching the bed spread so hard he thought it would be torn. He then looked at her face, it was no longer impassive. Her mouth was pursed in anger, her eyes were mad with fury, and he saw her chest falling and rising with her nostril flaring as if she was preparing for a fight.

“Father died because he thought that a Lannister wasn’t as bad as he made her to be. Mother thought that Littlefinger was still someone worth trusting even after betraying father. And then she let go another Lannister, and then you killed Lord Karstark.”

It was hard for Robb to be forced to listen to every horrible decision that his family made that led them to this point, but he was too tired to retort back. So, he just let her continue on with her little rant. He figured that she needed to get it off of her chest.

“You, Theon, Mother, and thousands of men are alive now because of one person; Li.”

Hearing your name hurt more than the arrows to the chest, but he remained quiet as he heard the slight tremble creep through his sister’s voice.

“But Li’s gone now. She’s gone, and she can’t protect us anymore. She saved the North, the Vale, and you repaid her by marrying some pretty little healer who batted her sweet little eyes at you.”

“What does the Vale-”

“I know Mother went to King’s Landing.” This made Robb freeze.

“How the fuck-” but his couldn’t finish his thought as she pressed on.

“I found her while she was packing, she told me that she had to go. She couldn’t let you ruin everything.

“I tried telling her to not to go, that we needed her. I told her that when we get Sansa back and go back to Winterfell – that she’d be welcomed back as a hero of the North, be given a title and land– but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t listen to me. She kept talking about no one would listen to her. Then she started crying, I never ever saw Li cry – not even when Bran fell. Then she told me everything. ‘Bout how she tried to warn everyone: Father, Mother, and even you. She told father to leave, but he wouldn’t listen then either. She said that all of this was her fault, because she didn’t warn them earlier.

“She told Father, ‘Take the girls and go. Go back to Winterfell. Make up any excuse: say you’re sick, say your wife and youngest boys miss you, say that the raids increased and the lords are in need of your command. Say anything and just LEAVE. Don’t tell anyone. Not the Queen, not Varys, not Littlefinger. Not even the King. They will act the friend, smile prettily, look you in the eye and whisper comforting words. Only to stab you in the back unblinkingly with that same pleasing smile as you bleed out at their feet.’

“She even did the same with Mother. She told her that Lord Baelish couldn’t be trusted; that he was lying to her like he did at King’s Landing, but Mother wouldn’t listen. So, when he was far enough from the camp, she ambushed him with a cloth doused with Essence of Nightshade to knock him out, and made sure that she was far enough so that no one would hear killing the knights Tyrion sent him with. She then climbed a tree to tie and gag there for a few days, and left Daiyu there to make sure that he wouldn’t escape.”

This was news to Robb; he was sure he would have heard something from his Aunt Lysa at the news of her missing husband. The woman was deranged with infatuation for him. Fully awake now, he gave Arya his full attention.

“What happened next?”

“She told me that she wanted him weakened before questioning him. She wasn’t worried when he first escaped, it was only when she heard about the Ironborn attacks that she knew she had to make sure Mother wouldn’t do something stupid. If nothing but to knock her out with the nightshade long enough to move him to a secret location. But Mother was already at the cage, along with someone else. Another woman I think – Lady… Lady… Brianna of-” Arya grew perplexed at her memory failing her in a time like this.

“Lady Brienne of Tarth.” Robb remembered for her. “But wait - why would Mother worry about the Ironborn fleet? Even now they made no attempt to seize Winterfell. Plus, we still have his only son.”

“Balon Greyjoy doesn’t give a shit about Theon, only himself and power. What better way to get it than with two little Stark boys? Li noticed Mother was getting scared, making her susceptible to impulsiveness. And she was right. When she heard that Jaime Lannister was brought back, she knew that he would make another attempt, she just didn’t think she would be beaten in getting there.

Anyway, she said that couldn’t allow Her Lady to release Ser Jaime, as doing so would be an act of treason against you. Mother told her that Li had no right to interfere as she couldn’t begin to understand the pain and stress she had been since the war began. She asked Li how could an orphaned whore understand the pain she felt as a mother whose children were all scattered across Westeros. She then ordered Brienne to take her down. It was a close fight for the both of them; the Tarth woman was strong, but Li was quick. She would have won, but she was still injured from fighting the knights. It was ten against one; and while she was fighting one of them, another stabbed her back while another kicked her knee. Before long, she got overpowered and knocked out, and was carried to the healers’ tent.”

Robb couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he had wondered why you blamed yourself for the Kingslayer’s escape, and the deaths of those two Lannister boys. He only assumed that it was your empathy getting the best of you. He intended to question Theon but completely forgotten with Maidenpool as his first priority. He remembered seeing you in the tent; he was shocked at the blood and bruises that bloomed in shades of black, blue, and purple across your body. Already angered by his mother’s betrayal, he demanded to know the men in his camp who had done this so that he could swiftly punish them. You croaked out that it was spar with some of the men at the camp that went too far. When he asked you why Theon and your shadowcat weren’t at your side, you quickly responded that Theon was with him, and that Daiyu was hunting. Scolding you for being so reckless, he insisted that he carry you to your tent.

But you only swatted his hand away as you stood up from the cot while stating that you dealt worse at sea as a child. You must have noticed his temper rising, since it was only then that you lifted your eyes to meet his. And with a single look at your tempestuous gaze, he was both silenced and enraptured. Knowing you had won this battle, you walked wobbled back to your tent.

All while Robb was left standing there like an idiot; his cock already hardening at the thought of your stubborn eyes melted from bliss with each fervid thrust of his hips meeting yours in overwhelming euphoria. The only bruises on your body would be those from his lips and teeth. He didn’t even register Talisa walking up to him as he strode to his tent to quickly give release. He remembered ordering Greywind to stand guard as he closed his eyes and let his imagination run rampant. He thought of punishing you for your impertinence, forcing you to kneel between his legs. He would have ordered you to take out his hardened member as he scolds you for making him so hard in public. He would have ordered you to lightly lick his tip, before carefully taking his thick head into your mouth. He audibly groaned at the thought of your unrelenting gaze being broken as he pushed your head to fully take him. He could see slightly wincing as you gagged at the struggle of taking his length and girth. And when he released his load, your eyes widened in shock at the volume of his cum, knowing it was all for you. He remembered imagining you to swallow it all, and that there would be consequences if you spilled anything. After swallowing his load, you opened your mouth to show nothing was left. He praised you for being such a good girl for him, and he remembered finally spilling into his hand at the thought of you smiling warmly at his praise.

All for his momentary peace to be interrupted by the sound of Greywind’s warning, and for Lord Karstark’s squire to inform Robb that his presence was demanded at the Kingslayer’s cage. Knowing it wouldn’t be good, Robb quickly rid of any evidence of his release and tucked in his flaccid cock into his breeches before making way to the cages that held any enemy prisoners. Only to discover that the Kingslayer had been released by the aid of his mother in attempt to exchange him for Sansa and Arya. That was the morning everything went to hell.

“What happened next?” He was almost terrified to know the answer.

“She told me then that she decided enough was enough. That night, she called Daiyu to let their prisoner down. When she saw him asleep, she stomped on his balls. She said that as a youth, she caught the eye of a certain One-Eyed Crow. He would teach her many things, one of them was how to make men talk. But he was stubborn, even in his current position. Every time he demanded to be released, Daiyu snarled. Every time he mentioned his position as an emissary of King Joffery, Li punched his gut. Every time he called himself Lord of the Vale, she put a hand to his mouth before stabbing his arm. It didn’t take long for him to temper him.”

Robb paled and grew a little green at Arya’s impassioned retelling of Lord Baelish’s “interrogation.” What unnerved him even more was the slight admiration in her eyes toward your actions. Although it shouldn’t have surprised him, Arya had always worshipped the ground you walked on. Next to Jon and Father, you were probably her most favorite person in the world.

While you had a special bond with all of the Stark children, you held the two girls close to your heart. Sansa adored you, as you saw more to her than a pretty face and delicate stitching; reminding her that it was her kind soul and generous heart that you loved the most. Although, Sansa always beamed whenever you asked for her input on stitching and clothes. She stating that it comforted her that she was better than you in at SOMETHING.

Meanwhile, whenever Arya wasn’t sneaking off her lessons to join her brothers, it was to find you. You fascinated her, always begging you to tell her stories of the life you lived before Winterfell. Whenever she was in trouble with Mother, you would tell her that she had a spark within her that was growing rarer in the world around them, and that you hoped it never went out. You would even teach her a few words from the many languages you spoke, telling her that everyone should be fluent in one other language than their Common Tongue.

“She told him that he betrayed our father. He denied it of course, even reminded her of how she witnessed him offering his aid with the dagger. That got him a broken knee. She already knew that Tyrion would never bet against his brother Jaime, Ros told her that they acted close. And that Jaime Lannister had already revealed that it was King Robert that won the dagger from him. King Robert would never make an assassination attempt against Ned’s family, but he was stupid enough to leave it lying around the keep. Making it more than easy for him to get it back.”

Robb was completely dumbfounded, his mind racing as he tried to piece together every new piece of information.

“Wait – so that means-”

“Littlefinger sent the assassin to kill Bran, not the Lannister’s.” Arya started with a somber nod. “The Kingslayer pushed him off the tower, and Bran did almost die. But no one knew that his legs worked. Who’d believe that he’d survive a fall like that?”

“Another advisement from you to Father,” thought Robb, “you really were too smart for your own damn good.”

“She told me how scared he got. How he started to get nervous and stutter. He tried telling her how he tried help Father by telling him to bend the knee to Joffery, saying that he would still remain Hand and run the kingdom in peace with our family safe. But all that earned him was her removing a finger. Li told him that he must have known that Father would never bend the knee to a bastard born of incest and that she cared little for more of his excuses and that he needed to shut up. All she wanted to know, was how he managed to kill Lord Jon Arryn.”

If Robb wasn’t in shock before, he certainly was now.

“She told him how strange she thought it was that she never responded to any of the ravens you and Mother sent to her. Why wouldn’t she send aid to her sister and nephew? After all, they’re fighting against the same people who murdered her husband. She said that while she never personally met Lady Arryn, she remembered Mother talking about how her sister claims that family means everything to her. Meaning that-”

“It wasn’t the Lannister’s that killed Jon Arryn” finished Robb; horror filling him as he realizes that his father, this war, the feud between Lannister and Stark, were all pulled at the strings maneuvered by someone who his mother treasured as a friend. Arya nodded with sober eyes, telling him that her reaction was like his in realizing the truth.

“Li told him that she noticed how similar brothel was that of the brothels in Lys, from the silken textiles to the Lysene women that served as pleasure slaves; even the way he ordered them was identical to that of a brothel’s master. He must have spent a lot of time at Lys to be familiar with their language and mannerisms.”

“Arya, what does any of this have to do with Jon Arryn’s death?” Robb snapped as he was growing impatient, “Southern nobles travel there all the time, not exactly strange behavior.”

“That’s what I said to Li, but do you know what she told me?” Arya smiled as she recounted what you told her next, “She said, ‘Why did Littlefinger survive this long? It wasn’t because he was strong, or rich, or even because he had friends. It’s because he watches everything, he takes in everything. Nothing was unimportant, everything had the potential to serve him in some way. I wanted him to know that no matter how smart he thought he was, I was better.’ She said that isolating and starving him were to just weaken his body, torturing him was to weaken his mind. But to break him, she needed to beat him in his own game, knowledge.”

The silence that followed was deafening to Robb. The only thing he could hear was the increased fervor of his heart pounding against his chest. He waited for his sister to continue, to hear the mastery of your inquisitiveness, to maybe gain your insight. Maybe he will finally begin to see a glimpse of the demonic ingenuity that hid behind your solid gaze; maybe, just maybe, in hearing this from someone else, he would understand you, if only just a little bit more.

But Arya didn’t say anything…her face was blank as the soft hacked tendrils of her hair covered her eyes.

“What next?” Robb whispered, his voice desperately pleading for more.

“…”

“Arya,” he pleaded once more; his voice growing more distraught with each passing second, “please tell me. What else did she say?” He could see his sister’s lips moving, but her voice was so quiet that he had to strain his ears to hear her next words.

“…That was it…,” she conceded, “she said that she had to go, that she stayed for too long already.” Arya kicked off her boots before bringing her knees to her chest, clutching them with her spindly arms. Her face remained blank, but Robb swore he heard her voice cracking.

“That can’t be it…” Robb protested in disbelief. “Arya there had to have been more. Tell me there’s more!” Robb was no longer lying on his bed. Now he stood over his sister, towering her small frame the same as their father once had when he scolded them as children. His voice growing more inflamed in misery. His anger erupted when Arya remained in her silence by lowering her head to her knee tops. If he paid attention, he would have noticed the slight quiver of her bottom lip.

“Arya!” He bellowed, guilt flooding his body as he saw the slight flinch of his baby sister’s body, but he was too blinded in his anger to care about anything other than you in that moment. “Arya, Gods help me if you don’t tell me-”

“I’m not lying!” She wailed; her face finally free of her impassive façade. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her pale eyes were beginning to grow red and puffy, and her face grew pink and splotchy. “I begged her to tell me, but she wouldn’t! I asked her why she didn’t tell all of this to you, to Mother, or even Theon!”

Her chest was heaving with every sharp intake of breath, her entire body was shaking uncontrollably with every gasp. After everything that happened: from Bran falling to Robb almost dying; it took you leaving without the promise of returning that caused the weary dam to be demolished by the overdue flood of her grief and sorrow.

“I tried to make her! But she wouldn’t tell me! All she did was look at me! Looking at me with that stupid smile!” With her flood of sorrow, came the rage that followed; as she roared out her final moments with you before your departure, “The one she makes when she’s in trouble, or scared, or hurt; but she never lets anyone know about it! She just hides it! Hoping it’ll go away and everything will be fine and we’ll be none the wiser! But I knew something was wrong! I knew that she did something important, and I tried to make her tell me!”

She paused to wipe the little dribble of snot running down her nose with her sleeve as little hiccups escaped as a result from her crying.

“But all she did was give me a stupid hug! It was so tight and warm a-a-an-and- it smelled like her and-,” she paused once more to catch her breath, only to begin crying again as she wailed out her next words, “and she said she was sorry ‘cause I needed to stay strong for just a little longer, but everything would be alright! She told me she loved me and kissed my head! And then she grabbed her travel pack, called her shadowcat, and then she LEFT!” She stopped to wipe her tears with her sleeves while also hiding her face from her brother.

Robb could no longer be angry. He couldn’t even pretend to be strong anymore. He collapsed on his bed, its loud creak accompanying Arya’s loud sniffles. It was only when the candle was beginning to flicker out that he noticed enough time passed for Arya to steady her breathing. He let out a weary sigh, before whispering out the question that plagued his mind since Arya began to speak.

“Why didn’t she tell me this from the start?” He croaked out. “Did she think I wouldn’t believe her, or that I wouldn’t trust her? I- I just- I don’t understand-”

“It wasn’t that she couldn’t trust you,” she breathed out, “it was that she couldn’t trust herself.” Seeing how this only muddled her brother even further, she pressed on, “She did say one more thing about Littlefinger though-that she and him…they were alike, just a bit.”

“What? How could they possibly be remotely alike?” Robb questioned, completely baffled by the thought of comparing you to that traitor.

“Before she killed him, he told her that there was no justice in the world. Not unless they made it. Him, the small son of a small house, knew that the only way to rise in the world, was through only himself. Came from nothing, rose to power, and she was exactly the same. He saw it when he first met her in King’s Landing. But he could tell she changed; this war changed her. Because of you, because she followed you. She said that hated his words; but what she hated more was the fact that everything he said was the truth. She became weak; no longer trusted herself to take action, because of you.”

“…Because she followed me into war?” He asked as a bitter laugh escaped his lips, not wanting to feel the guilt growing in his chest at Arya’s recount of your confession.

“Because she fell in love with you.” She stated, praying for your forgiveness for revealing your most shameful truth.

It was as if Robb’s world had crashed down all over again.

“I never knew,” were all that he could choke out.

“It’s ok,” his sister reasoned in attempt to comfort her brother, “I don’t think she knew either.”

And with that being the final word, the candle’s flame died down, and darkness cloaked the two siblings in awkward comfort. Arya laid on her side, wanting to gain at least a few hours of sleep before their continued travels. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep evaded the young king. Anger and bitterness were his constant companions since your departure, he reasoned them with you breaking both his heart and his trust.

Only for shame and self-loathing to overflow within him in learning that he had done the same to you for much longer.

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

龙力 (Lóng lì) POV:

It’s been several weeks since the ship provided by House Mallister had departed from the port of Seagard, but there had been no peace for me to grieve.

“’OY Boy! Get a move on! She’s starting to blow!” “Who is-” “The WIND! Can’t you smell?” “Ser, I-” “THAT’S CAPTAIN TO YOU!”

“哦，仁慈的观音 (oh, merciful Guan Yin),” I thought pleadingly, “我求你饶了我这种折磨.” I should have known better than to hope that Lord Mallister would provide me a ship handled by a proper crew. I leaned back to bear witness at the horror unfolding before my eyes. Tried as I might, I could not hide the grimace etched on my mouth as bitter disappointment roared in my expression.

黛玉 (Dài yù) was faring no better, as the bored expression in her gaze was any indication. She, like me, was not impressed by the pathetic display before her.

I doubt that more than half these “men” had ever been on a ship for longer than a few hours to catch a meal, let alone to make a journey with no promise of definite return.

“WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BOY!” The “captain” shouted, his spit flying through the air, and landing on the poor deckhand he was currently torturing.

My grimace morphed to a scowl; this man was no ship “captain,” he was not even a man meant for the sea. Even before stolen from my home and family, I lived on market near the port. Hundreds of ships would dock at the port, and thousands of men would flock at the market.

Some were handsome and rich; some were ugly and poor.

Maybe they were heroes returning home; maybe they were cowards running from one.

If one’s face was green to the breeze, then another’s soul was battered from the storms.

But each and every one of them had a look in their eye: a look a resolution to witness the sea and all of her horrible glory, let them live or die if she wanted.

As a little girl who dared not dream of a life outside her family, these men fascinated me.

This man disgusted me. His voice boomed with slurred speech, and his face glowed red and his breath smelled putrid from all the ale he ingested. His beard was bushy and untrimmed, flecks of rotting meat made permanent residence there. When he wasn’t sitting on his ominously large ass, his rotund gut sloshed with every step he took to yell at someone else. I’ve seen and met many men who voyaged the sea like him, but he was no sea man. There was no resolution in his eyes, only greed and arrogance. Lord Mallister could not have sent me on a more terrible ship with a worse crew. I wished more than ever to be by my brother’s side.

Ironborn…Mainland… one fact remained: the sea roared within him. Salt ran through his veins, while the wind called his spirit. A kracken, a wolf, it never mattered in the end.

Theon Greyjoy was a man who would have thrived at sea. It called to him, as it did to me. He was the very image of the pirates I made up to tell to Lady Arya and Lady Sansa when they still very small. From the rakish glint in his eyes, to that boyish smirk he flashed to any pretty girl who glanced his way– even the way he spoke just screamed arrogance.

But that merely a mask – a façade to hide his hurt, his insecurities, every vulnerability from the world who decided his place in it since he had no say in that matter.

They saw neither his kindness, nor his empathy. They would not believe the truly caring young man that hid behind years of carefully manufactured egotism.

They didn’t see the boy that would carry his late lord’s eldest daughter after she fell and scraped her knee; ruining her stockings and dress with blood and muddy snow. They never saw how he would gather her in his arms, and whisper words of promises how she was still the prettiest girl in all of the Seven Kingdoms. They failed to see the slight blush on her cheeks that came whenever she saw him alone at the archery range in her family’s keep.

They turned their sights away when he would find an abandoned hawk chick on a morning ride, and raced back to his room to nurture it back to health. They refused to bear witness the determination in his eyes to aid a creature into living rather than to accept pathetic comfort in death. They never saw the sickly little chick grow into the swiftest predator to every fly through the Northern skies.

They didn’t see a young boy flush in shame in learning the meaning to a slur he called a foreign former sex slave. They never saw the change in his behavior when the child awoken, immediately begging for forgiveness. They were blind to the beginning of a family, built on a foundation of both mutual respect and acceptance.

Furthermore, they refused to acknowledge that an ignorant boy could grow into a confident and capable man; if they are given the time and care they are deserved from the beginning.

I was hit by a wave of sorrow in remembering him. Gods, how I missed him.

“I’m so sorry Ser-CAPTAIN! I-I just-um-I just thought-” the unfortunate deckhand sputtered out. His face growing more flustered as he continued to try to sort out his words. He looked not a day past his twelfth name day. He was only a bit older than Bran.

The sight was so pitiful it almost made me want to help…almost. But I couldn’t afford to draw more attention to myself…no matter how much the boy reminded me of Bran.

Gods above, it’s been so long. Did he grow? Was he taller than me? And what of Rickon? Have they been paying attention in their lessons? Have they been eating their greens? They had better not have fed them to Summer and Shaggydog. Were they good to Maester Luwin?

By the Seven, has Maester Luwin been neglectful in taking his medicine since I’ve been gone? Is he still making sure to get proper rest in acting as advising hand while Bran is the Acting Lord of Winterfell? Has he been overworking himself?

…Has Jon been informed since he trekked to Castle Black to take his vows?

My mind began to spiral, and with it so did my heart begin to race. Bran, Rickon, Jon, Maester Luwin…would I ever see them again? Had they been informed of the Frey’s betrayal and the Lannister’s mutiny? Do they know of the deal I needed to take? ... Had they thought I betrayed them?

“别再折磨自己了,” I angrily berated at no one but myself, “你不是这里的受害者."

I needed to snap out of my misery. I made a deal, and I would see it to the end. If never returning was the price to way for the benefit of House Stark, then it was a price more than fair to me. Wallowing in defeatism would do me no good, my childhood was a testament to that truth.

It would not win the war.

It would not bring back my late Lord, Lord Eddard Stark.

And it would not revive Queen Talisa Stark nee Maegyr, and that of her and Robb’s child who bled out on the cold tile floor of the Frey’s Keep as a result of my incompetence.

Thankfully, the bulging pimple of the man opened his mouth, and thus my spiral of self-pity soon distorted to righteous fury.

“SPARE ME THE BLUBBERING AND STARTING CLEANING DAMN IT!” The foul captain turned his foot, and strode back to his quarters. He walked as if he was only doing his job, but I could see his face. The moment he turned; his rotten scowl turned to a repulsive grin that showed his rotten yellow teeth.

Oh, I despised this man. My fingers inched toward for my knifes, and my soul was calling out for his blood. And how I longed to fulfill its wish. 黛玉 (Dài yù) could sense my agitation, and in response her tail started to twitch, indicating her aggression. If she decided to attack, I do not think I would have it in me to stop her.

A gust of wind broke me from my blood lusted trance as a chill ran down my spine. Quickly I turn to face the ocean, gripping the railing as I stare at the horizon. The breeze continued to whip my hair, tangling my raven locks with her invisible grazes; I could tell something was wrong. When the wind blew stronger, I looked up at the sky, forgetting that the stars had not been seen in the night sky for days. But the sun had long set, and so far, there was still no rain so the chances of trouble was likely – a drop of water landed on the back of my hand.

Another on the top of my head.

A third landed on my cheek.

“台风,” I whispered out, fear flooding my body.

“What's that miss?”

I turned around and saw that it was the pitiful deckhand. I look at him with furrowed brows, and was about to repeat what I had just said to warn him – when I realized that I had switched to thinking in my native tongue without realization. I recompose myself in haste and grip the young boy’s shoulders to tell him.

“Typhoon,” I whisper carefully, noting how his eyes soon became wide with fear, “It’s been cloudy for days, the wind is picking up and now there is rain.” Oh gods, I could feel the wind growing. Raising my voice, I tell him, “Warn the crew, secure all the loose gear, make sure all the windows and openings are batten down and latched tight. Are you with me so far?”

He quickly nods, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Good,” I nod in attempt to reassure him before continuing, “Now-what I am going to tell you next is the most important. I want you to tell the men in charge of the masts – that’s the pole that holds the sails – see it?” I quickly point to them, making sure that his eyes follow my finger. “I want you to tell them to strike the royals first – not the mainsail – the smaller ones, got it?”

“But my lady, the-the winds-should we not-” the young man tried to question, before a powerful rumble rolled across the downpour. Followed by a horrifying crack, along with a blinding flash of light. Its shape resembling the dragon of my pendent, a Yi Ti dragon.

“HURRY!” I yell to him before running and pounded on every cabin door “All hands-on deck! TYPHOON COMING!”

The drizzle that came as a warning became a shower; and the shower soon transformed into a downpour. And the downpour went on until it was a fucking monsoon.

The men were scrambling to prepare for the worst; all of them trying to play a part that none were expecting. The damned “ship captain” was nowhere to be found. Probably tucked in poster bed, a fire roaring, sheltered away in his cabin’s warmth– ignorant to his men’s suffering – away from this madness. A truly disgusting man. I sneered under my breath, but I had no time to waste on him.

A few hours have passed, and the men had grown desperate. After the boy relayed my orders, they scoffed at the idea of grown men receiving orders from a woman whose only defense was a few blades and an irritated shadowcat. But as they realized how much danger they were in; they gradually began to accept me as the officer in command. At the very least, they saw that I was a more competent sailor than that of their captain. But in spite of our best efforts, we could not stabilize the ship to escape the storm.

We needed to get to land…fast. There was no chance of this ship, nor the people of this ship surviving if we attempt to drop anchor to ride this storm out.

“REEF THE MAINSAIL! AND ABANDON COURSE!” It was a desperate attempt, but I cannot risk to strike the mainsail. To do so would lose all forward power and abandon all control in the ship direction through the steering wheel. We’d be floating straight downward like floating corpses.

“HELMSMAN!” I called out.

“YES, MY LADY!” He dutifully responded.

“ABANDON COURSE AND POINT! WE NEED TO GET TO LAND AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE!” I directed as clearly as I could in my state. Fatigue would soon get the best of me, but I could not lose my concentration.

“AYE’ MY LADY!” He replied, to which he relayed his message to the men controlling the mast. “REEF THE MAINSAIL!”

A series of “AYE’s” rang through my ears. If I was not so terrified of our current placement, they’re unified front in receiving my order would have brought a great sense of pride to me.

Almost an hour had passed, and the waves were getting less turbulent.

There…LAND! We were saved!

When the navigator spotted the stretch of grey, the ship’s men practically cried in relief. I almost did the same…but something still felt off. It was too early for celebration.

Why did those spots of rocks and sand unsettle me? Twenty lives were saved, we managed to ride out the storm, the Gods had not claimed anyone tonight…so why can’t I feel myself relax?

We were getting closer to the shore; the rocks were becoming larger…my heart was racing.

What am I feeling? It’s as if…my body was warning me about something…something my mind is failing to remember.

The body…the mind…my body…my mind…

It’s one thing if both your mind and body fail to recall something…but for the body to remember what the mind had forgotten…oh Gods, where am I?

I could feel my body growing stiff, but my hands were trembling? Why? What am I forgetting? What is it about this place that is bringing these…reactions? I felt a hand on my shoulder, I took out one of my daggers to find…the young deckhand?

“My lady!” His smile was so wide, his shoulders were sagging in relief, he felt…safe, “WE made it to land! We survived the storm!”

I felt a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding to escape, trying to convince myself to relax.

“Yes,” I smiled, “thank you for relaying my instructions. You were a tremendous help.”

“Oh no, my lady! It was because of your orders that we survived another day! And not a single man was lost!”

His smile was so genuine and sweet…he really did remind me of Bran. I felt myself calm down a bit.

“Even so, I am grateful that you trusted in me. The part you played in our survival should not be ignored. You have my thanks…um…” I tried to recall his name. If I was to thank this brave young man, then I want to do it properly.

“OH! Yes! I never gave my name!”

…Why was the air growing colder? Was it getting darker?

“My name is Eoghan Wright my-”

Blood spattered across my face as his head was bashed in with a club.

Blood…red…iron…oh Gods…are we-

Screams of pain filled my ears, 黛玉 (Dài yù) leapt in front of me. I felt nauseous, I wanted to keel over and never stand again.

I looked behind me…and saw the sight of a massive sigil on a sail.

…Black…gold…Kracken…iron

I knew that smell…HE reeked of it – I would have choked to death on the smell alone when I was with him if I hadn’t felt so dead so young.

A memory is coming to me…from my brother…Theon.

“The ground so full of metal that nothing grows there,” he once told me, “All that iron ore in the ground poisoned it I suppose.”

Iron ore…the Iron Islands…I doomed us all.

A terrifying grin with putrid breath was all I sensed from the world before a cloth was pressed against my face…and my world went dark.

Meanwhile in King’s Landing:

A lone figure stood before a window, facing one of the finest views of the Red Keep. Her figure eluding the serenity of a worldly temptress. Her face and frame emitting only lust and peace, that only meant she was a talented actress. A few weeks ago, she had sent out a piece of a puzzle that would either aid her dearest friend’s latest conspiracy, or send both the Lannister’s and the Eyrie for her head.

Littlefinger’s death caused an uproar within the Red Keep. That…along with the failure of the Red Wedding…the Gods couldn’t save the Stark girl from King Joffery’s wrath.

Never before had she wanted to wring a man by his balls more than that of Robb Stark, Young Wolf and King of the North.

King or not, only the most stupid of boys would lead thousands of men to their death for the company of a plucky foreign chit with a passable smile and round ass.

She prayed that a more worthy suitor caught your eye.

…Maybe she could find a way for you to meet that young Payne squire…at least he’d be a considerably better match in terms of loyalty for someone as preciously deadly as you.

…Not to mention he was surprisingly well-endowed.

She recalled the time you and your brother caught her on the turnip cart for her escape to King’s Landing. Following her everywhere whenever you came to the village town. You would always be more duckling than dragon in her eyes.

“Will I ever see you again?” You looked so heartbroken asking her this question. It broke her own heart to see such round eyes being filled with tears from worry and fear.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” you pleaded. A cruel request from someone such as yourself. You would bleed yourself dry to feed every starving child you came across.

“I love you-”

“My dear Ros,” spoke a bald figure with a slight Lysian accent as he entered the room, “How do you fare on this fine day?”

Banishing her troubled thoughts, she lightly curled the ends of her lips to give one of her famous smiles. As she turned, the sun’s rays danced across her flowing red hair, giving the imagery of a glorious flame. The fine silks from Lys hugged her figure magnificently. She was the very image of temptation.

“Fear not Lord Varys.” She told in a calm tone, giving none of her worried away. “I am well as always.”

“Stay strong little duck,” she pleaded to you, wherever you may be. “You pleaded for my safety, now it is time for me to plead for your’s.”

Translations:

“哦，仁慈的观音...我求你饶了我这种折磨” (Ó, réncí de guānyīn……wǒ qiú nǐ ráole wǒ zhè zhǒng zhémó): Oh merciful Guanyin…I beg you to spare me this torture.

龙力 (Lóng lì): Dragon Strength

黛玉 (Dài yù): Black Jade

“别再折磨自己了...你不是这里的受害者" (Bié zài zhémó zìjǐle... Nǐ bùshì zhèlǐ de shòuhài zhě) : Stop torturing yourself ... you are not the victim here."

台风 (Táifēng): Typhoon

Taglist: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @its-actually-minicika, @arcielee, @axelsagewrites

Bitch how dare you getting me into slasher smut

“La Petite Mort” - Dark Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Pt. 2 of 2)

a/n: read part one HERE! thank you guys so much for the support with this lil story, i had so much fun sharing it with you! ❤️

Summary: You deal with the fallout of Aemond's confession.

TW: DDNE dark content, HEAVY DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, p in v sex, unprotected sex, dark themes, kidnapping, gun violence, knife violence, handcuffs, oral f receiving, oral m receiving, tiddy succin

Word Count: 2,780 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated❤️

“Do you know how much I love you?”

“Do you know that I’ve fucking killed for you?”

You look at Aemond, the intense expression in his eye terrifying you. You stand, frozen in place, as he stays buried inside of you. He’s got to be joking, right? There’s no way he can be serious. You laugh nervously, as he pulls out of you, feeling uncomfortably empty as you feel his seed leaking down your thighs.

“You’re so funny, Aem.”

“I’m not joking,” he murmurs in your ear, nipping at your earlobe before whispering, “I promised you our time was coming soon, didn’t I, pretty agent?”

Pretty agent.

You feel as though your blood turns to ice in your veins at his words. It’s him. It’s Aemond. He’s the killer, the one who’s been stalking you, the one you’ve been trying to hunt down. You barely manage to dodge his kiss, shoving him out of the way and slamming the door to your bedroom shut, locking it. You grab the first shirt you can find, which unsurprisingly, is one of his that you sleep in. The thought makes your skin crawl but you put that aside when you hear Aemond calling to you from the other side of the door.

“Come on, baby, open the door,” he coos, his voice saccharine sweet, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Fuck you,” you spit angrily, grabbing your gun from your nightstand as you hear Aemond begin banging on the door, “What, you want me to let you in so you can fucking kill me?

“We both know if I wanted you dead, you’d have been dead already. Now open the door, love.”

You shake your head, holding back a scream when he manages to kick it open. Aemond’s pulled his clothes back on and has his own gun drawn, both of you standing, staring each other down. Aemond’s lips quirk up into a smirk.

“You’re not going to shoot me and I’m not going to shoot you, love. So put the gun down and let’s talk.”

You cock your gun, finger on the trigger and shake your head, “You killed all those girls, Aemond. You really don’t think I’ll kill you for that?”

Aemond crosses the room in two long steps, his gaze never wavering as he tosses his gun aside, disarming himself. He raises his hands in surrender as he speaks once more.

“Are you going to shoot me, pretty agent? I’m unarmed.”

You feel your eyes water. You have the power to end this here and now. You have the power to put an end to the violence Aemond has been perpetuating for God knows how long. You swore an oath to uphold your duties as a federal agent, to protect the citizens of your country. By all accounts, that means killing Aemond. He brings your gun to his forehead, looking down the barrel of it into your eyes.

“You can’t do it, can you?” he murmurs, “You love me too much to do it.”

You feel the tears finally begin to fall as you look back at him, unable to just pull the trigger. Because even though he’s a murderer and a monster, he’s still your best friend, the man you care so deeply for, the one constant in your life. The one who’s been there for you through it all. And in your moment of hesitation, Aemond grabs your gun from you, pulling you in by your wrists, holding them in one of his large hands. He reaches for something in his pocket, and before you can even say a word, your world fades to black.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you wake up. But your head aches like crazy, your eyes burning slightly as you sit up. That’s when you feel the metal on your wrists. You try to move your arms and find that you’re not able to go very far. You’re handcuffed to the bed you’re lying in. You let out a growl of frustration and futilely tug at your restraints until the doorknob twists, indicating someone is opening the door. You immediately close your eyes and pretend you’re asleep once again.

“I know you’re awake.”

You refuse to open your eyes until you feel Aemond’s finger tracing the shape of your lips. Then, you look up and glare at him.

“Where the fuck am I?”

“Just a guest room in my apartment,” he says, moving a hand to stroke your hair, “You’ll be safe here, with me.”

“Is anyone safe with you?”

Aemond frowns, “You are.”

You scoff, “You are killing women who look like me, Aemond. Leaving your little notes at each crime scene, fucking terrorizing me. Is it so far off base to think that you want me dead?”

“You’re the last fucking person on this planet I want dead,” he snaps at you, gripping your chin in his hands, “Get that through your thick skull. I love you. Everything I’ve ever done is for you, for us.”

“Why kill them?” you demand, “Huh? Explain that to me!”

“Because you were never going to see me,” he says quietly, “So I decided I’d make it impossible for you not to. Those girls, I’d be nice to them, pretend they were you, take them home, fuck them while pretended it was you. And then? I’d make a gift of them to you, showing you just how far I was willing to go for your love.”

“A gift?” you sneer, “You sick fuck-”

“Language, sweetheart,” he tuts, “And you know something? I think it was a bit fucked up of you to go on that date with your precious Cregan when I was right fucking there the entire time.”

The mention of Cregan stings for a moment before you put two and two together and gasp, looking up at him, “He didn’t ghost me, did he? You- you killed him!”

A smile plays on Aemond’s lips, “Do you really think I was ever going to let anyone else have you? Ever? No, love, I’m the only one who deserves you. The only one who can treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Do you understand now?”

“I don’t understand shit, you bastard,” you growl, “And now you have me cuffed to a bed? People are gonna come looking for me-”

“Not for another week,” he taunts, “It was really easy to put in a time off request on your laptop and delete the emails without you even noticing. For a special agent, you are quite bad at choosing passwords, love,” you scowl up at him, making him let out a low chuckle as he murmurs, “You look so fucking cute like this. Tied up. At my mercy.”

“You don’t know the meaning of mercy, considering what you’ve done-”

“Do not,” he cuts you off sharply, pressing a finger to your lips, “Act like you’re not the least bit flattered by what I did. Didn’t you say you wanted a man who was willing to kill for you? To die for you?”

You know what he’s referring to. A late night conversation, back in Quantico, while watching some stupid romcom together. Of course he chooses to twist your words to serve his own sick little agenda. The idea makes you seethe with unadulterated fury as you spit at him. Aemond? He just wipes it off and laughs, telling you that he’ll be right back with some food for you.

When he returns, it’s with a bowl of your favorite cereal. And for a moment, you feel yourself soften at his thoughtfulness, you think of him as your best friend, your Aemond. Then you realize he must’ve been planning this for a long time, abducting you, holding you captive in his home. And your eyes harden toward him again, any hint of affection gone.

“So angry,” he says teasingly, bringing the spoon to your mouth, which you reluctantly eat, your need for food overpowering your anger, “There you are, sweet girl. You know,” he chuckles for a moment, “Sometimes I think about how funny it is that I was able to avoid detection even with the handwritten notes. We truly live in an age of technology. I think the notes may have been your first time even seeing my handwriting.”

“That’s why I couldn’t recognize it,” you grumble, “And you wrote in all capital letters. Made it messier, smudged the ink. You knew exactly what to do, how to get away with it. You used me-”

“Don’t you dare say that,” he snaps at you, his eye narrowing, “I’ve used others. But never you. Don’t you ever say that again.”

“You fucking asshole,” you scoff, “You really think I’m just going to be okay with you being a goddamn serial killer? How fucking delusional-”

He cuts you off with a kiss that’s almost bruising, his hands gripping your hips, and you hate yourself for it, but you kiss him back. A part of you feels like kissing him is the most natural thing in the world, that this is what the two of you were meant to do all this time. But good sense prevails and you bite down hard on his lip, enough to make him bleed. However, Aemond? He merely lets out a low groan, his lips capturing yours again, the copper tang of his blood invading your mouth as he gives you another searing kiss.

You realize that the best way of getting out of this alive is playing into his sick little fantasy. And so, you lose yourself in his kiss, deciding to bide your time and wait for the opportune moment to make your escape. Aemond’s hands travel under the fabric of your shirt, squeezing at your tits, moaning as he feels your nipples harden beneath his fingers, pinching at them, squeezing your soft flesh. He moves to sit on his haunches between your legs, lifting them up over his shoulders as he once again buries his face between your thighs. You remind yourself as he stares up at you that you’re doing this to survive. That you’re not enjoying this. But the truth of the matter is you love how it feels. You love the feeling of the cleft of his nose brushing against your clit, the way he grips your thighs hard enough to bruise, how he laps at your folds like a man starved.

Aemond brings you to the edge not once, but twice before shedding his clothes and fucking you, growling into your ear how he’s going to keep fucking you until you have no desire to fight him anymore, until you surrender completely to your need for him, until your cunt and legs are so sore that you won’t even be able to leave the bed. He pounds into you and you can’t even grab onto his hair or arms for purchase, still handcuffed to the bed, entirely at his mercy. And you hate that you love it. You hate him, but more than that you hate yourself for enjoying what he’s doing to you as he spills himself inside you yet again, pushing his fingers inside you, saying that he doesn’t want you to waste one drop of his cum.

The next few days are spent much the same. Aemond fucks you like his life depends on it, he brings you food, he eventually cuffs your hands together and runs you a bath, washing your hair for you. You hate him, and yet, he’s still your Aemond. He insists to you that he would never hurt you. That all he wants is for you to love him the way he loves you, for you to truly see him in the way he needs you to. That everything he’s ever done is for you.

Every day he asks you if you love him, and every day you give him the same answer. A resounding no. And you know you’re lying. You know a part of you has loved him ever since you met him, a part of you that you simply refused to acknowledge, not wanting to lose your best friend.

And a sick, deplorable part of you, one that you won’t ever admit even to yourself, craves the attention he gives you, is impressed by the fact that he has literally killed for you, wanting to earn your love. But you silence that voice inside of you as best as you can, though it grows louder with every kiss he presses to your lips, every soft smile he gives you as he feeds you.

After four days, you finally get your chance to make your escape. Aemond decides he trusts you enough to uncuff you. You decide not to attack straight away, because you know he’s going to be on guard as he takes the cuffs off. He frowns at the sight of your raw wrists, gently massaging them, apologizing, saying that he had no other choice. You pretend to understand, you smile and tell him that’s okay. He kisses your wrists, his finger moving over your pulse point, smiling to himself.

Aemond allows himself to get comfortable with you, deluded into thinking that you want to be here with him. And maybe you do.

When he sleeps beside you, one arm wrapped around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck, you decide that this is the time to strike. You slide out of his grip, walking toward his kitchen, finding the largest, sharpest knife you can among his belongings. You gaze at your reflection in it for a moment, not recognizing the person staring back at you. You shake your head and return, sliding back into bed, feeling him move to hold you again.

That’s when you strike. You move to straddle him, poising the knife to stab him through the throat. And he just stares up at you, unspeaking, unmoving. Just gazing at you with that one blue eye and one white, almost reverently. You hold the tip of the knife to his throat, though not moving, feeling his hands move to hold your thighs in place.

“You’re beautiful.”

It’s a soft whisper, one that cuts you to the bone. And you know in that moment that you can’t kill him. In spite of everything he’s done, every depraved, awful sin he’s committed, you love him. You’re in love with Aemond, both the man and the monster that lurks within his heart. The monster that sought nothing more than to keep you by his side forever. You toss the knife aside and lean down, pressing your lips to his, tears streaming down your face as you do. You make quick work of Aemond’s pajama pants, sliding them down to reveal his cock to you, moving down to sit between his legs, taking him into your mouth. Aemond lets out a moan of your name as you bob your head up and down on him, hollowing your cheeks as he hits the back of your throat. Aemond resists the urge to buck his hips against your mouth, your plush lips wrapped around the base of his cock looking so goddamn pretty. Instead, he lets you set the pace until he’s nearly at his end, when he pulls you off of him.

“I don’t want to cum anywhere other than inside that perfect cunt,” he growls in your ear.

You move to straddle his waist, sinking down onto his cock with a contented sigh. Aemond sits up, his hands moving to your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside as you begin moving up and down on his length, your breasts bouncing as you do, attracting his attention. Your tits are his weakness, he muses, as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, nipping at it slightly while his hands go to your hips, helping you along.

“I love you,” you admit as you squeeze around his cock, “I don’t care what you’ve done. I hate myself for it, but I love you.”

Aemond groans as your pussy clenches around his cock, impossibly tight, making him feel like he can hardly even move, “Fuck, baby, I love you too. You know I do. I’d kill for you. I’d die for you.”

He spills himself inside you again, making you moan his name as you fall down against him, exhausted. He holds you tightly, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, cupping your face in his hands.

“I’m a monster,” he admits, “But I’m your monster.”

“I know,” you whisper, closing your eyes and allowing sleep to claim you once again.

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

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

HAPPY NEW YEAR

I will list my top 10 favorite pairings I've shipped throughout 2023 for funsies. These aren't in any particular order, I just came up with a list from the top of my head. If anyone wants to join in, please do so!

Snowbaird (this ship has me in a fucking CHOKEHOLD)

Me x Robb Stark (King of the North)

Me x Aemond Targaryen (babygirl war crime)

Me x Druig (one look and he got me)

Me x Ethan Landry (6 ft virgin madman in baby blue)

Me x Ikaris (...my fav hetero to hate but love bc Richard Madden)

Me x Jon Snow ( "i dON't wANt It")

Me x Theon Greyjoy (sea bitch)

Me x Rhaenyra Targaryen (dommy mommy)

Me x Jacaerys Velaryon (prettiest boy with the worst posture)

I won't be judged for self-shipping right?

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @valeskafics, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @faesspace, @marvelescape, @its-actually-minicika, @lady-ashfade, @aphroditesmoon, @mitsuki91, @3vergr3en

PS: Hopefully I will have posted an Aemond x Reader fic by the end of tomorrow, so wish me luck!

Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader

Next Part

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: To my very lovely and wonderful friend and beta reader Bel, aka @valeskafics, I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's! This is the first part of this fic gift I wanted to give you, and I promise the next part will have smut! I hope you like this fic and can feel my love and appreciation for you. Bel, you are one of my favorite writers of all time and a huge reason I began posting fanfics and writing in the first place. I am so grateful that you opened a whole new world for me, and I hope this year gives you lots of happiness.

Warning(s): Slight cursing, Reader's parents were killed, Daemon's an ass, Viserys is a negligent father, Westeros is Westeros, dysfunctional family shenanigans

Prince Aemond Targaryen was known to be many things. Proud. Serious. Studious. All things one should be proud of in a young man’s position. Every single one of his teachers and wet nurses sung praises of the young prince since he began to toddle. And although it might seem cruel to admit it, the second prince was the apple of the Queen’s eye and the clear favorite of her four children.

Her sweet Aemond was a mild, studious young boy who practiced his faith in the Seven despite his blood lineage belonging to the Old Gods of Valryia. Besides Aegon, he had always been respectful to his siblings–especially to his elder sister, Helaena. Aemond would often humor his sister’s strange ramblings and gift her with little creatures he found as he wandered the ancient walls of the Red Keep. Helanea, despite all her reclusiveness, only seemed comfortable enough to be touched with her younger brother and often offered comfort whenever he complained about how unfair it was that he still had no dragon. His sister was as fond of her younger brother as he was of her and would usually humor his requests.

Except now.

“Please?” Aemond had been pleading for over an hour, reaching a point where most would pity him.

“No,” replied his sister sternly, “I’ve already told you my answer won’t change.”

“But why?” he pathetically asked as his voice cracked. It was good that Aegon was still in his room, too drunk to start the day. Aemond would never have lived it down without allowing his brother to see him like this. “I won’t ask for anything else from you, I swear it.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But why?” demanded Aemond. “I would never harm (Y/N). Name one person in the Seven Kingdoms who would treat her better than I?”

Too upset by his sister’s refusal, the prince stormed out of the room in a near-blind rage.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was no noblewoman or someone with any particularly wealthy connections or background. You weren’t even someone born within the Walls in the North.

No, you were from a tribe of wildings that hailed outside the Wall and were brought within the borders after your parents were caught stealing. The Starks decided to spare when they realized their daughter was just a tiny child with an incredible talent for storytelling. Within a year, the tales that Y/N wove with her tongue had reached the ears of Aemond’s father, King Viserys of House Targaryen. The King was fascinated by the young girl beyond the Wall, who spun tales of giants and spirits from the Land of Always Winter. He spared no expense in bringing you to King’s Landing.

Aemond could remember the day so clearly, as you arrived very shortly after his bastard nephew took his eye in Driftmark, and his father did nothing but protect his whore of a half-sister. When brought into the keep, you could hardly present yourself to a room full of nobles, let alone the King. You stood before his father and family barefoot and filthy. Your clothes looked closer to rags and torn cloth, and your (h/c) mane was wild with a few braids and feathers. But that hardly mattered. As soon as you opened your mouth, it was as if everyone in the Great Hall had been transported to another world.

The story you told started with a young princess given a toy soldier named the “Nussknacker.” The young princess loved her little toy soldier so much that her sweet Nussknacker came to life one night. He told the princess a prince to a winter wonderland full of fairies, sugar plums, and magic. His home had been overtaken by a maniacal Rattenkönig, and he turned the prince into his current form. The soldier and princess had to face many trials, but they were successful in defeating the evil Rattenkönig and saving the prince’s kingdom. The Nussknacker turned back into the handsome prince he had always been, and he and the princess married to lead his kingdom into prosperity.

By the time you finished telling your story, the Royal court went ablaze with applause. Your pretty words and skillful tongue enraptured every noble. They longed to hear more of your stories and were starved for entertainment. His father was in an especially jolly mood after hearing your tale. He immediately appointed you as the troubadour of the Royal Court held in protection under the Royal Targaryen House. A proclamation that horrified both the king’s Hand and the Queen, to say the least. It was no secret that Aemond’s mother and grandfather did not look favorably on you. More than once, he heard his mother seethe in anger at the attention her husband gave to you as you sat beside him during his father’s pain flares. In her eyes, you were a savage hellion who likely spread her legs up from the Wall in the North to the Great Hall of the Red Keep in the South.

But in Aemond’s eyes, you were an angel. It was not only his father’s pain you soothed with your stories, but also his own. He tried his best to keep his distance from you, but it wasn’t long until you gained his sister’s favor. From then on, whenever he spotted Helaena, you were by her side. The tall and icy walls he tried to maintain around you came crashing down before he knew it. His mother so loved him because he always did as she instructed, including to remain far away from the new child from beyond the North.

But one night, the scar on his eye had been so painful that he gained a fever that lasted for nearly a week. The maesters weren’t sure if he would survive the sickness, as it was a result of his lost eye being inflamed. His mother had resigned herself to crying by his bedside while his sister would sit with him and talk about her day. But one night, when he was delirious with pain, you somehow managed to sneak in from one of the secret tunnels within the keep’s walls. He couldn’t see you, but he recognized your voice. He wanted to scream for you to leave his room, threatening that he would call over the guards standing outside. But then you spoke, and it seemed as if his world of pain had just washed away. You spoke to him about the history of Old Valyria and the beautiful tales of dragons and knights that were lost in time. This continued on every night during his ailment.

“Do you miss your parents?” Aemond asked you one night. But he immediately regretted his question when he saw how your shoulders tensed.

“Sometimes,” you replied after a few moments of silence, “I understand that they are in a better place, wherever they are. But sometimes I wish they were here so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“But you have Helaena to be with you. Even my father adores your company.”

You only scoffed in response.

“Helaena is wonderful,” you bitterly continued, “I am glad to have a friend as sweet and kind as her in this poisonous hellhole you call home. But your father-” you paused a moment to lick your lips to figure out how to phrase your thoughts – “all he sees me as is a toy. A commodity. A funny little object that he bought to entertain him. He never mistreated me but does not respect me as a person, let alone as a subject.”

The tears in your eyes welled to the point where they almost spilled, and you immediately stopped talking to prevent further incriminating yourself.

“You have no idea what it’s like-” you let out a bitter laugh before continuing to cry – “to have your family taken away from you. To watch your parents be executed before your eyes when you were only a small child. And for what? Stealing a loaf of stale bread? What should that matter to the Starks? They have their pretty castle with warm fires and fur blankets. My mother and father worked for everything they had in order to care for me. Now here I am, away from the silver winter I called home and stuck in the shit-odor that covers precious South.”

“However much you hate your family, at least you still have them. I have no one. No one to share my culture and past with, no one to understand your customs and way of life. Call my parents whatever you want. Savages. Thieves. Scum. But they loved me. However little it was, they taught me to be proud of myself. They were my whole life, and now they’re gone.”

You ran out of his chambers and back into the wall. Aemond didn’t see you for several days, even after his fever broke and the maesters told his mother he would live. Two weeks passed, and Aemond felt as if he were going mad. When he finally spotted you in one of the more secluded areas of the library, he grabbed your arm before you could scurry off.

“Tell me,” he told you. “Tell me everything about your parents, your home. Tell me about how the air was clean and clear. Tell me about how everywhere you looked, you saw white snow and clear ice. Tell me how much you loved your family, pets, friends – if you had any. I don’t care what it is. Tell me everything.”

At first, you only stared. He couldn’t tell if you were furious or in shock. But soon, your eyes lit up as if you had been given five hundred gold dragons.

“Where do you want me to start?” you asked him, eyes wide with joy and a heart finally learning to trust.

Lo and behold, he found his heart beginning to feel the same.

“Wherever you want.”

The smile you gave him was worth more than all the money locked within the Royal Treasury.

So many nights since that day, you would sit by his bedside, speaking so prettily that even the most brutal of their acts and customs fascinated Aemond. You would burn the midnight oil, telling him about the adventures and raids of the Free People beyond the Wall. That’s how you referred to yourself as a “free woman.” While you despised the title “savage,” you did not mind being labeled as “wilding.” You claimed that since you were born outside the Wall, the laws of Westeros did not apply to you. You have been seen as wild, but you knew in your heart that you were born free. And what was more impressive to Aemond was how you honestly and sincerely believed that you were born as a free woman.

He saw it in the way you would make little shadow puppets shows to bring a smile from Daeron after it was announced that he would leave for Oldtown.

He heard it in how you got the cooks to spit on your name after stealing bread from kitchens and then giving it to the small folk children living in impoverished areas of Flea Bottom.

He smelt it in how your hair would always smell like the wind in the Godswood to ride his horse when you were supposed to be learning your letters with the Head Septa.

He tasted it when you let him take a sip of that rotten ale you made in secret when you went through one of your horrible bouts of homesickness.

He felt it in how you raced to his chambers to hug him after he woke up from another nightmare of the memory of that night when he lost his right eye.

You were the strangest mystery Aemond had ever and will ever know. No matter how long he spent searching for answers in his favorite corner of the library, Aemond could never understand how someone with a heart as warm as (Y/N) could come from the frozen wasteland she loved to call home.

With a single but powerful stroke of his blade, Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s upper jaw fell as the rest of his body dropped to the floor. Visenya’s Dark Sister had once more bathed in its victim’s blood. Gasps and shrieks filled the Great Hall at the sight of dark blood oozing from his corpse. The members of the Royal members all had varying reactions. From his mother’s side, Helaena immediately covered her eyes and turned away – utterly horrified by the swift mutilation. Aegon grimaced but was otherwise unaffected. Not surprising. He’d seen similar carnage from the illegal fight rings run in Flea Bottom. Aemond took a slight step back in shock as he gaped at the now-deceased lord in mild admiration.

He had no idea tongues were so long.

Prince Daemon Targaryen stood before his ailing brother, tall and proud. There was not a twinge of remorse or regret on his youthful visage as he towered over the spilled blood soaking his boots. Undoubtedly, this man carried the blood and fire of the proud dragons that graced their house.

“He can keep his tongue.”

Brutish as Daemon was known to be, Aemond respected his uncle’s instinct to remove objects that voiced slander against his wife. However much of a whore his half-sister may be, she was still of royal blood and their father’s firstborn.

However, he wasn’t sure how much that last fact mattered, considering how she spread her legs to swill only to produce bastards as her heirs.

His grandfather ordered the Kingsguards to disarm his uncle, but Daemon only scoffed as he wiped the blood off his ancient blade with an old rag. Moments later, Aemond’s decaying father collapsed on the Iron Throne in exhaustion after over-exerting himself. His mother immediately rushed over to aid him when she heard his pained groans.

“Call the Maesters!” she shouted before reaching him. And when his father fell into her arms, that was the first time Aemond saw you throughout this entire proceeding.

You stood close to the walls, remaining present but unseen. It was not until his father called for you by his side that he removed you from your hiding place. You and an apprentice Maester took Viserys to his chambers, leaving behind his wife, children, grandchildren, and every member of the Royal Court. As Aemond watched you carry his hobbling sire to his chambers – likely to recite to him a passage of the History of Old Valyria or one of the many tales surrounding Queen Visenya’s practice of the dark arts – his blood froze as he noticed Daemon’s gaze was focused not on his brother, but on you.

An hour had passed since Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s unfortunate passing, and Aemond was still no closer to finding you. He felt as if he was going mad in desperation. He checked everywhere. The kitchens, catching you sneak bites of freshly baked honey cakes. The stables, to find you feeding the mares and stallions carrots and apples. Your chambers, spying through the keyhole as you sat at your desk writing new stories. He even went so far as to ride to the dragonpit, hoping that you were reading to Vhagar again. He was close to announcing an order to search for you to the closest Kingsguard when he spotted you standing underneath the Heartstree. When another figure approached you, the one-eyed prince was about to call out your name.

Daemon. And judging by the way his violet eyes leered at your womanly form, it was clear to Aemond that this meeting was no coincidence. Aemond stepped out of view and pressed himself close to the garden’s entrance. The silver-tressed prince cursed himself for not publicly claiming you so everyone knew you were his and his alone. Differences in stations mattered little when you grew up so beautifully.

A fact he was sure that did not go unnoticed by his uncle despite meeting you for the first time.

Not for the first time did Aemond find himself cursing the gods for creating perfection in a single woman. Time had been unkind to many but seemed to spare you of any misfortune. While you were far from the polished and perfect image of a proper lady, you slowly but surely assimilated yourself to life in the South of the Wall. You traded your hides and furs for dresses and trousers. Your wild (h/c) mane became untangled by his sister’s ladies-in-waiting frequent brushings. Regular meals and proper care took a starving child with sharp, bony jabs to a woman with soft, feminine curves and beauty rivaling the Maiden herself.

“How have you found your time so far from the wall, little wilding?”

“I spent every waking second soaked and flushed from sweat and heat. To make it worse, I can’t escape the shit and piss that stains and bathes your pretty keep. Tell me, does that answer your question, my prince?”

Daemon barked a short laugh, amused that his brother took in someone so clearly different from the court’s usual vultures.

“When I heard my brother had taken in a little girl from outside the wall as his little entertainer, I was expecting a hobbled cripple caked in dirt with no sign of grooming. But here you stand, appearing more like a proper lady than a savage wildling.”

“You can take the girl from the North, but you can never take the North from the girl.”

No truer words had ever been spoken.

Aemond smiled at your quick wit and tongue. You were still every bit of the girl dragged before his father when he was only ten name-days old, even if you changed a little bit.

You still styled your hair with the little braids commonly worn in the North, but sometimes, he would catch Helaena tucking feathers in your locks.

You still carried your father’s old hunting knife on your person, but you also kept the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond gave you on Yuletide Eve from three years past.

You still made frequent trips to pass the bread to the small folk in Flea Bottom; you always made sure to help lead Aegon back to his bed after he drank himself stupidly.

It was a challenge, but you’ve adapted and made a life here with the Royal Family, whether you liked it or not.

“Do you ever plan on coming out from behind the wall, my prince? Or do you plan on renouncing your title and becoming Master of Whispers on your father’s small council?”

Realizing that his cover has been blown, Aemond brought himself in view to face the wildling girl who had stolen his heart almost eight years ago. He was relieved that his uncle had left the gardens, probably to inseminate his half-sister once more. It was as if she needed more children to convince all of King’s Landing that her claim on his brother’s throne was legitimate and valid. It did not matter that the evidence of her whorish nature was growing before their eyes.

“Careful, my lady,” replied Aemond, “one might think your words as treason towards the prince.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “the only people who continue to insist on taming my tongue are your mother and grandfather. And we both know my opinions of both parties.” Your cheeks began to flush, and your demeanor grew shy as you whispered your following words. “Besides, why would I need to be afraid of anything when I have you?”

Oh, how his cold, bitter heart grew ten times warmer with your sweet words. He removed his black riding gloves, reached for your hands, and was taken aback by how cold your skin felt against his own.

As if afraid of his voice, he cradled your hands softly as if he were the hunter and you were a little snow rabbit on the edge of running away. Your unblinking observation persisted as you silently watched your silver-haired prince raised both of your hands to his pink lips. He took in a deep breath before exhaling out. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent chills down your back. His mouth was opened just enough for you to see his tongue, bringing a deep sense of shame to wash over you as you dreamed of how good it would feel to have his tongue feast on your cunt.

“What possessed you to come outside without a cloak?” The low timbres of his voice broke you from your lust as you just now realized that you brought yourself into his trap. “It is already winter (Y/n). You could grow sick if you are not careful.”

“You forget yourself, Aemond,” you replied, tearing your hands from his grip. You almost wept at how profoundly you felt the loss of his warmth. When did his hands become so rough and big? “I have the true North in my veins. Such meek and pitiful clouds and winds could never get me ill.”

“Why were you outside at all?” Aemond had hoped to find you in one of the rooms with a fire roaring inside. Even if you were not alone, you would have been warm.

“Thinking about home, I suppose. I was tiny, but I would help gather whatever wood was available and put it in a big pile. We would put on our ceremonial furs and robes, along with masks we painted from the skulls of our kills. After that, the adults would drink themselves stupid on ale and heated yak’s milk as they and the children would gather around the wood pile and then burn it. I remember dancing with my parents around the fire as we sang praises for the old gods and yelled out prayers for the sun. A few boys would probably try to sneak some kisses from the girls with mistletoe.”

The silence that followed only added to the tension.

“I think I would have been stolen by now.”

“Stolen?”

“Your Southerners version of ‘marriage,’ I suppose,” you stated as you lightly shrugged, “at my age, if you weren’t stolen, it meant that something was wrong with you. If I remained with my tribe, some man would have stolen me by now and pumped me full of his babies.”

Aemond saw red. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles further paled to an almost translucent view of his veins as he imagined some savage, wildling man forcing himself on you. He wanted to ride Vhaghar beyond the North, if only reaching beyond the Wall and burning it all to the ground. No man other than him was allowed to touch you. He had only touched your hand and already decided that the rest of you belonged to him and him alone.

Taking a few steps closer to you, he removed his leather patch and lifted your chin between his fingers to force your focus on him. His ears caught a slight intake of breath when you saw his sapphire eye as he was so close that he could practically feel your heart racing in anticipation. He preened in satisfaction when he caught your perfect (e/c) irises dart down to his lips before resting his face again. Aemond didn’t need to look down to know that you were clenching your thighs in an attempt to stop your arousal from leaking.

His sister’s approval be damned.

If your traditions dictated that you must be ‘stolen’ to be a wife, then he would be the one to steal you.

“Sweet (Y/n), you’ve grown so cold.”

Do you wish to go back?

His face was so close to yours that you could feel breaths mix with your own. You could smell the fine leather of his tunic, and the fragrance of spices from his silvery locks wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. His violet eye’s gaze showed a vulnerability lost since that night in Driftmark. The night when he gained a dragon at the cost of becoming a cripple. If Aemond was to risk everything he’s worked for, he had to know.

Would you, a Free Woman, let yourself be called as his?

“No, my Aemond” - you took his hands in yours to tenderly kiss his knuckles- “not anymore.”

I am right where I belong.

And he believed you.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade , @faesspace, @its-actually-minicika, @aphroditesmoon, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @leavemeoutofitlay

Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader Part 2

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: I had to get this out before January ended. This part does have smut! It is the second part of the holiday fic gift I gave to @valeskafics .

Warning(s): MDNI 18+, sex, breeding kink, blowjobs, 69 sex position, clothes ripping, loss of virginity

Usually, when it was late, you would often find Aemond in the library. You and he would swap stories about your day that often resulted in both of you giggling and gossiping like two shopkeepers’ wives. So when you find yourself in your two’s usual section without him, you think it a bit strange but do not enough to leave. You figured he was still enjoying supper with his half-sister and nephews. However, when the grand doors swung open to reveal a raging one-eyed dragon, you deduced that the dinner was less than a success. You were prepared to de-escalate his temper when he grabbed your arm. He then dragged you out of the library and inside his room.

He promptly caged you in his arms when he violently closed the doors shut.

“Aemond, what are you –”

Your outrage was silenced when your prince slammed his mouth against yours as he locked you in a crushing embrace. His lips were moving so feverishly that you could hardly match his pace. You tried your best to remain angry, but you quickly felt your body melted with his and realized that you wanted nothing more than to be devoured by him.

So efficient, your prince, he had managed to both quell your fury while also driving you mad with lust.

So often, you’ve dreamed of kissing Aemond, your sweet silver-haired Southern boy who captured your heart when he asked you about your life in the real North. You never expected to feel these feelings, let alone for a Southern man, let alone for a prince as beautiful as he. So many nights, you brought pleasure from your fingers by just imagining how his lips would feel against your skin. It was by no means as delicate as you imagined, but it was damn satisfying.

As he crowded you against his door, all of your senses felt heightened by his presence. Despite the cold winds blowing in from the window, you remained lost in the heat and haze that came from being loved by Aemond Targaryen. Pulling away for a moment of reprieve, your chest heaved in an attempt to catch your breath as Aemond made no effort to hide the ocean of love and lust in his eye. When enough air finally reached your brain, you could focus your vision enough to see the tips of your prince’s ear turn pink from his actions.

You closed your eyes as you inwardly preened at knowing that you made such a stoic man fluster. However, you may not have hidden your expression as well as you believed, given how Aemond shot his hips forward and let you understand how mad you’ve driven him. Even underneath the layers of fine leather and underclothes, you could feel the outline of his hardened cock press against your stomach. You tried to rub your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to ease away your arousal, but Aemond saw through your scheme. Nudging his knee between your legs, he lifted his leg until your wet center was grazing against his leather-clad thighs. His head dipped, and you wondered if he could feel your breath shaking under his lips as he mouthed along your jaw and down your neck. Meanwhile, his leg remained steady, and you continued to grind against the firm muscles of his thigh.

Riding on Vhagar certainly did wonders for his physique.

Ecstasy overtook you as you pathetically cried out your pleasure as Aemond’s lips continued down your body and lathered the swells of your breasts from your dress with his tongue and kisses. There was a knot inside you that coiled tighter and tighter as you ground your cunt in hopes that it would cause your release.

Aemond raised his head as he felt you ground harder down his thigh. When he saw the state you were in, he damn near tore your dress apart and threw you on the bed. But he refrained from any movement to aid you in your plight, delighted by the sight of you so completely enraptured by his actions as he was from your presence. But when he witnessed you thrusting your hips so pitifully, he couldn’t stop the smirk creeping on his face as he leered down at you. Lowering his head till his lips barely grazed your ear, you could tell how much it pleased him to feel how desperate you were for him.

“A few kisses,” he breathily whispered, “and already you’re thrusting your hips like the whores in Flea Bottom.”

“I ’m-I’m not a-a w-whore,” you whimpered out.

Gods, it mortified you at how pathetic your voice sounded. You tried to steady yourself by placing your hands on the stone walls of his room, but all it achieved was making you appear more vulnerable to your one-eyed dragon.

“Oh really?” Aemond was having so much fun teasing you. “Because only whores would try to reach their peak with such lustful abandon. Is that not your cunt currently soaking my trouser leg? Gods, you’re leaking so much I can practically smell it from here.”

Ever so swiftly, he moved his hand underneath your dress and immediately plunged two of his fingers into your sopping cunt. The knot inside you coiled so tightly that it snapped. Your eyes shot open, but all you could see was white and stars. Your body trembled as you opened your mouth, but no noise was made. The pleasure you just experienced was too great for words to describe it.

Aemond knew that you did not need to be prepped for his fingers, but he did not expect you to peak so quickly.

You felt your face ablaze in embarrassment. Where did your stoic yet kind prince go? Where was this silver-tongued cad come from? You reminded yourself to swap Aegon’s favorite wine with vinegar and beetroot juice. While the concoction would not deter him from drowning in his cups daily, you hoped it was enough to keep him in bed for at least a day.

You wondered if your prince could see you were lost in your thoughts and no longer paying close attention to him. He must have since his eyes showed a new determination. He flipped your position so that your chest was hard-pressed against the walls before firmly grasping the back of your dress. With half-lidded eyes, you opened your mouth to question him.

Rippppp

Immediately, your eyes shot open as you quickly realized that Aemond had ripped a clean tear down your dress and underclothes, leaving you as bare as the day you were born. Not even having enough time to shout your indignation, your prince swung your body onto his shoulder like you were just a flour sack. In a few short strides, he reached his bed and tossed you on top of the covers. Each curve on your body, from your full breasts to your soft thighs, beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Your tresses framed your face like a (h/c) halo, giving you an aura befitting of a divinity. Aemond had dreamed of this sight for as long as he could remember since he met you. It was almost enough to make him kneel before you and weep his praises while begging for your love and devotion to belong to him and him alone. He instead stripped himself of every layer of clothing until he was as exposed as you.

You watched in enraptured adoration as he continued tearing away each layer that hid his beautiful physique. It was torture to wait, but it was more than worth it. You felt your breath hitch as you took in each line and shadow of that creature, this magnificent being. Aemond was by far the most beautiful person you ever had the pleasure of witnessing. To see him with any clothes almost seemed like a crime with how he presented himself to you. The growth spurt from his thirteenth name-day, along with years of training under Ser Criston Cole and riding Vhagar brought forth the Warrior in mortal form. Your Aemond had a likeness that resembled a marble sculpture, with his lean and firm muscles under the unblemished pallor that made up the tall, elegant man standing before you.

But as much as you trusted Aemond, a small part of you was also scared. You were no Southern beauty. For the first ten years of your life, you had to hunt and fight for your right to survive. Such skills were remembered. You have grown beside royalty for eight years, but many would still find you lacking. And the pain - the pain terrified you. The women in your tribe and the small folk maids would warn against noblemen. Such men would often break a young girl’s maidenhood without any regard for her reputation – only to throw her on the streets to fend for herself.

Sensing your discomfort, Aemond realized he had acted too brash. While you would always be a wildling at heart, you spent years hearing horror stories from the maids of what happened behind the chamber doors of the highest nobility. He remembered how much Helanea had cried after her first night with Aegon, and he cursed himself for behaving as brutish as his pathetic brother. Leaning forward until he just barely hovered over you with his arm to keep him steady, Aemond softly dotted kisses across your face – your temple, your cheeks, your eyes, and even your nose – before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

“My sweet, wild girl,” he cooed, “I swear to you that I will make sure that this will be enjoyable for us both. Such love between two equals, such as us, means that we were meant to be each other’s firsts and lasts. But if you do not wish to continue, I swear we will stop and only have each other’s company as proof of our love and devotion to one another. There is nothing but time for us.”

“Aemond,” you whispered, “you would do that? Would you truly wait for me?”

“(Y/N), your love is everything and more. So long as I have that, is there truly a need for anything else?”

Searching in his eyes to see if there was any trickery or deception, you only saw unadulterated and steadfast adoration. If Aemond were true to his heart, so would you. You summoned as much courage as you could and leaned forward from your back to kiss him this time. Relief filled your heart when he kissed you back.

Cupping your beasts with gentle hands, your silver-haired prince broke away for you to catch your breath and for him to look in awe at your naked splendor. The sight of you flushed and gazing at him with lust and reverence, with your breasts perfectly fitting in his hands, made his cock twitch. Pinching one nipple between his two fingers, Aemond watched with enraptured worship at your reactions. Boldness overtaking him, he lowered his mouth on your other breast and sucked hard on your mound’s peak. Breathless gasps and high-pitched sighs played a symphony in his ears. Having his fill of one, he switched his ministrations to the other. Your voice and desperation were growing only stronger.

“Aemond!” you exclaimed. “Something’s coming. It feels – it feels s-so strange!”

Knowing you were reaching your peak, Aemond took his free hand and flicked your clit. When he heard your wails, it pleased him more than any duel won. He began to press more against your soaking button, taking in the song of your lust.

Biting your lip, you squirmed and squealed at the shock of ecstasy coursing through your veins. Why was Aemond touching that place? And why did it feel so good?

“A-Aemond!” you keened as tears trailed down your cheeks. “What’s happening?”

“Let go, my darling,” he purred, “let me give you more pleasure than you have brought for yourself.”

The coil snapped, and your release was so much stronger than anything you have ever done to yourself. The release that Aemond provided for you was so powerful that you soaked the sheets and Aemond’s abdomen when you came. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths, and you swore you saw white at your peak.

“Aemond,” you sighed, “I wish to taste you.”

“(Y/N),” he stated with widened eyes, “there is no need. I do not expect such things from you.”

But you only asserted yourself by raising your torso from your elbows.

“Ameond, I want to taste and please you. Won’t you let me?”

“Alright,” he agreed, “but only I am allowed to do the same for you.”

“How would that be possible?”

His leer brought butterflies fluttering in your heart. “Let me show you.”

“There you go, my love. Spread your legs – let me see you. Gods, you’re perfect. Your cunt is so pretty and pink. Your scent alone is driving me mad with want. Do you not see the evidence of it before you?”

By the Old Gods and New, you have never felt so exposed in your entire life. Even your capture by the Starks and being brought before the King dressed in heavy chains and torn rags was less humiliating than your current position.

“Did he have to be so vocal?” you thought. “Is he trying to make me pass out from his words alone?”

Seeing you tremble from his voice as your arousal further soaked your lower lips brought such perverse fulfillment to the prince underneath you. Taking his hands from your waist, he palmed the cheeks of your ample bottom before spreading them for a better view.

“So nervous, aren’t you? There’s no need to fear my little wildling. There is only us in this room – there will never be another whom I will taste that way I will for you.”

You were only half-listening to your beloved prince – as you were still enraptured by the sight of the stiff, long, hot rod standing upright before you. His tip was pink with a bead of his pearly seed just leaving it. Being so close, you breathed in the scent of its musk of leather, sweat, and dragon’s smoke. Its pungency – although strong – captivated you and made you salivate instead of putting you off. So often, you would sneak into his chambers while he was riding, take any clothes put away for washing by the chambermaids, and breathe them in.

Just last year, your boldness allowed you to steal one of the undershirts he discarded. It was soaked and stained with his sweat from a particularly challenging sparring match with Ser Cole. You knew that he would not miss one out of dozens of similar articles of clothing, so you tucked it under your skirt and hurried away to the secret tunnels before you were caught.

It remains under your pillow, and you wear it to sleep every night.

“Are you going to begin? Or do you need my help?”

“Shut up!” you hissed with flushed cheeks. “Don’t rush me.”

“Just make sure not to use your teeth.”

Leaning forward, you stuck your tongue to kitten-lick the bead of his pre-cum. When you heard his guttural groan, you continued by swirling your tongue over the tip before wrapping your lips around the head. You then lowered your head so that your mouth could try and take as much of his length as possible.

“Oh, fuck!” Aemond gasped at the feeling of your warm, wet throat enveloping his cock. “Gods, you feel so good. Take more. Take my entire length down your throat. Oh, fu– yes, just like that. Now bob your head up and down.”

Doing exactly as he instructed, your eyes watered, and tears spilled as saliva dribbled from your mouth. How was he so big? When you took his entire length in your mouth, the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You nearly gagged, but you fought against the impulse to keep bobbing your head down to take him in your mouth. His scent became only more potent as you continued, and you wanted so badly to taste his essence.

Watching your head moving up and down his cock only strengthened Aemond’s appetite for you. Finally, focusing on your lower lips, he slowly swept his tongue across your cunt. You were still soaked from your previous climax brought from his fingers, so the taste of your body’s nectar was heavy on his tongue.

What use was wine if he could get just as drunk from the ambrosia that came as the evidence of your pleasure from his actions?

Just a taste was enough to make Aemond’s mind rave with lust. Plunging his tongue into your heat, he was eating you out as if he were a peasant man who had been starved for months instead of the prince who lived in comfortable luxury. To Aemond, you tasted beyond exquisite. You were the greatest treasure in the entire keep.

Meanwhile, you were going insane from his tongue as you tried to keep up with pace. Faster and faster, you bobbed your head to quicken his release. You weren’t able to hold out for much longer, and you wanted him to come in your mouth at least once before you came twice from him. But the feel of his velvet tongue was too much to bear, and the coil in your stomach had tightened once more. Before you could even recognize the signs, Aemond’s mouth dragged out your release faster than before. It was not as strong as your first, but it was enough to make you release his cock from your mouth as you cried out your pathetic whines. You had not collapsed from the shock of it, and you maintained your position on your knees.

Fighting back the tears in your eyes, you once more wrapped your lips around his pink head. But this time, you felt a slight twitch in your mouth. Realizing that he would soon spill his release, you took the entire length of his cock in your mouth and stayed there. You only swirled your tongue across the veins on his member. Aemond’s lower muscles tensed as he felt his seed fighting to escape.

“FUCK!” he yelled out – loud enough for the entire castle to know what the two of you were doing.

 Soon, your mouth was filled with his white and thick seed. Aemond slid his limp member, and despite your face hidden from his view, he spied a small stream of white fluid dribbling out of your mouth.

“Turn around,” he ordered, “and face me when you swallow my seed.”

Slowly turning your body, your cheeks bulged from the volume of his release. When you swallowed his cum, he could see it go down your throat. When you felt the last of his spent trickle down your throat, you crawled up to lay your head on his chest. You laid little pecks down his throat and across his collarbone.

Having your body lain on top of his without the barriers of fabric and station blocking their love was heaven. A few minutes had passed before he felt himself harden again, and Aemond had one question left to ask you.

“Are you ready to be stolen?”

Tilting your head up to face him, your (e/c) irises were drowning in your want for the man in front of you.

“Yes.”

“Lay on your back with your head against the headboard.”

Positioning yourselves to be ready for what was to come, Aemond looked at you again for your approval. You slowly nodded, silently informing your royal love that you were prepared to accept all of him and his devotion.

He took his member, leveled it to your center, and slowly pushed the head in. He tilted his head to whimper and gasped at the profound heat surrounding him. When he pushed further, he marveled at how tightly your body gripped him despite him only being halfway inside you. The whimpers that left your lips implied him of your pain. But you dug your nails into his arms when he tried to stop.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you ordered him, “you sweet, wonderful fool.”

When he fully inserted himself inside you, you opened your mouth – but no noise left. There was pain, but you were so aroused that the sting only added to your ardor. Aemond leaned forward and pressed his forward to yours – it did not matter how you would insist he push on. This was your first time – and his too. You both needed a few moments to adjust.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked you when a few minutes had passed. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”

You nodded in confirmation. “Yes, my dragon prince. Please – I think I am ready now.”

Spreading your legs further apart so he could push himself deeper inside you, he thrust into you back and forth just slowly enough for you to feel every inch of him inside you. He prayed to the Seven Gods that you were drowning in the same ocean of desire he was. He listened to each gasp and sigh pass through your lips. If he focused himself enough, he was sure he could recognize the beat of your heart apart from any person in his father’s kingdom.

You wondered if you were in a dream with how much joy overflowed inside you. Cradling his cheek, you brought Aemond down to kiss him to show him the depth of your feelings. You brought him into your arms without breaking the kiss while wrapping your legs around his waist.

You wanted him to devour you.

Breaking the kiss, Aemond was in your arms as both of your chests were pressed against each other in each other’s embrace. Feeling your arousal wetting his cock, he began to quicken his pace.

“A-A-Aemond!–” You were gasping for air, but it would never be enough. “–I feel you! All of you – you’re so big! Oh Gods!”

Aemond bit the inside of his cheek for the pain to distract him from your cervix tightening around him.

“How does it feel to be stolen? Do you feel how tightly you’re gripping me?” he knew he was being cruel in his taunting, but he wanted to show that there was only him for you – not some barbaric hunter who didn’t bathe and likely lost all his teeth.

“You are mine – only mine. You were made for me (Y/N), as I was made for you.”

Placing one elbow on the spot next to your head and pushing himself up, he slid one hand down your body to press against your swollen clit. Your pupils dilated at the additional pleasure your silver-haired dragon knight gifted you. As your cries confirmed him of your satisfaction, he pistoned in and out of you.

“Tell me,” he hissed, “could another man bring you such pleasure – such love and devotion as I have for you? Do you think there would be another man who could provide more than I, the rider of Vhagar? If you must be stolen, it will not be done by anyone but me. Not my father, not my brother, not even by fucking Daemon – only me. Do you understand?”

You could only frantically nod. But it was not enough to satisfy your prince. He gave you a very hard thrust.

“Answer me!” he ordered.

“YES!” you answered. “Only you! There was and will only be you, Aemond! I am yours – please don’t stop! Don’t stop – I want your seed inside me! I want to carry your child!”

Taking a handful of your (h/c) tresses, Aemond pressed his nose to the crook of your neck. His scent was mixed with you – a harmonious combination of the trees in the Godwoods you took from and dragon smoke locked into his skin. He bit your neck before sucking it enough for it to turn into a lovely purple hue by the coming morning.

You only screamed out for more.

“Come for me, (Y/N). Soak my cock with your nectar so that I can implant my seed into your womb. Our child will hold the powers of my Old Valyria and your Old Gods. Can you see it? Do you want to see our beautiful child?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Using his fingers to pinch your clit, he gave you one final order.

“Then come.”

“AEMOND!”

Intense pleasure flooded your entire body as you screamed out his name, and you entirely gave all of yourself to Aemond. The waves of desire crashed and rocked the boat that held whatever was left of your sanity as your vision flashed white. A dull thudding pounded in your head, and your body continued vibrating as a result of your powerful climax.

Gasping at the feel of the vice grip that your cunt had on his cock, Aemond took all of his previous inhibitions and threw them to the wind. Babbling out his declarations of his love to you, he wildly thrust deeper and deeper into your cervix until the tip of his cock hit the entrance to your womb. And spilled everything inside him into you – holding himself there so that his seed would take.

The world around him disappeared. Everything outside of you and him faded into the background as white noise and the sound of your heavy breaths filled his head. He collapsed on top of you, bringing the sheets and blankets to cover your bodies as sweat sheening on your pair’s skin cooled. Aemond shifted his weight to next to you and took you into his arms.

He was exhausted – both of you were – but a feeling of contentment and serenity filled the room as you basked in the love you showed one another.

“Your mother and grandfather,” you whispered, “they will never accept me. They will never accept our child. Our child will be a bastard – the very thing you hate the most in life.”

“My love,” Aemond tried to alleviate your fears, but you only continued.

“It’s true, my dragon.” Your eyes held your strength but also showed your terror of what was coming. “Do not attempt to play me for a fool. Do not dare disrespect me in such a way.”

The prince knew every word you spoke was the truth. On the brink of war, his happiness mattered little to his mother and grandfather. They would tear his child out of your womb with their own two hands if it meant that his hand was free for political alliances.

All to keep Rhaenyra off the Iron Throne.

But there was a solution. It was one he wished wasn’t the only option left – but it was the only one he saw could work and keep you and his child safe. In a solemn voice, he revealed his plan.

“I could swear to Rhaenyra.”

Not believing the words left from his mouth, your jaw dropped as you openly gaped at your lover. But anger replaced shock only seconds later.

“Aemond, that is not funny.”

“It is no joke, my (Y/N). Listen to me.”

He explained that he and you will travel to Dragonstone by daybreak tomorrow. With Vhagar on the Blacks’ side, the threat of her ancient fire burning everything to mountains of ash would stop the war before it could even begin.

“For compensation, I will only request that you and I be wed in the tradition of both of our ancestors.”

“Yours,” you interjected, “just yours.”

You softly giggled at the befuddlement on his face – the sweetness of the picture was such a stark contrast to the events that just transpired.

“You have stolen my heart so long ago already. And now you have stolen my body. Have I not told you that this is my people’s way of marriage?”

“Of course,” Aemond chuckled, “now all that is left is for us to be wed in the traditions of Old Valyria.”

He leaned in close to press a kiss on your forehead. “I hope you are prepared, little wildling. By the latest, at the end of this week, you will no longer be a free woman – but the wife to a prince and the mother of his children.”

“Our children,” you insisted, “the mother of our children.”

“Yes, dearest. Our children.”

Stories were legends, and legends were lessons that ring with truth.

This was the first lesson your mother shared with you.

You learned every story you told in court from your mother. Your favorite story was about how the Children of the Forest sometimes gave that child a rare gem when a free child survived their tenth winter. But to prove themselves worthy, the children needed to endure many trials and meet many new people.

On your tenth winter, you traveled South to Winterfell with your parents to steal a loaf of bread. Your parents were killed, but alone you remained. You cried and cried until your body no longer had any tears left to cry. You cursed the Children of the Forest. You cursed the Old Gods your parents swore would protect you.

You met a boy with only one working eye during your third and tenth winters. His other had been slashed and taken by his nephew. It was replaced by an orb of the prettiest blue stone you had ever seen.

It was your fourth and tenth winter that you learned that his eye of blue stone had a name, “sapphire.”

You were eight and ten winters when your and your dragon’s hearts beat to the same tune, and your bodies joined together as one.

You were still eight and ten winters when you realized that the Children of the Forest kept their word. They had indeed gifted you a rare gem – they just didn’t tell you that gems could be people.

Aemond was your gem, and you were his.

And Aemond and you raised your 12 kids in Westeros peacefully while Rhaenyra reigned as Queen of the Iron Throne and Daemon and Alicent take turns having sex with her!

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @valeskafics , @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade, @faesspace, @aphroditesmoon, @immyowndefender, @katzarantos, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @boxedpandas, @lokiofasgard12, @aemondsbabe, @aemondslove, @axelsagewrites

I am so sorry if I forgot to tag you! It's hard to keep track bc I lost the list

Back in my GOT Era, because my ADHD brain won't shut the fuck up 凸(^-^)凸

Let’s pretend Yi Ti and Westeros have an okay trading relationship with each other, and merchants from Yi Ti are always treated with celebrity status in the Seven Kingdoms. Let's also pretend that the GOT writers haven't completely fucked up all of Stannis' fantastic characterization and complexity.

I love Shireen Baratheon so goddamn much, and the fact she died in the show is such an insult to both her's and Stannis' characters. I decided to blast D & D's canon with a bazooka and make Selyse die when Shireen was a baby. Because Stannis needs to make sure she has a mother figure, he marries a childhood friend, OC, who hails from Yi Ti and owns one of the largest sea merchant companies in the Golden Empire. Oh, and she'll have her own kid, too.

Why am I doing this? Don't I have a shitload of other fanfic ideas to write out? Yes, as a fanfic writer, having incomplete ideas is part of the job.

Do I still have an incomplete Robb Stark x YI Ti!OC story? Also, yes, but I replaced my laptop and forgot to save Chapter 4 in the iCloud Drive. The file is on my old laptop, but that's currently across the Atlantic Ocean in Shanghai while I'm in Boston right now 🤷🏻‍♀️.

🔆Backstory Time🔆

OC’s Name: Xu Mei-Ling & Face Claim: Michelle Yeoh

Mei-Ling's family was on good terms with the Baratheon House, and she was actually staying with Stannis during the Siege of Storms End. She is a few years older than Robert and Ned but is good friends with both boys. Stannis grows a major crush on her because of her support during the siege, and Mei-Ling thinks highly of his stubbornness to hold down Storms End for Robert. After the blockade, she ends up marrying someone in Yi Ti. She ended up giving birth to a daughter in the middle of a major storm.

I'll go into more details when I make the first official post about it, but long story short, Mei's husband dies, and so does Selyse. Mei eventually learns about Stannis' daughter and decides, "Fuck it."

They get married, and Mei moves to Dragonstone. She oversees his daughter's education and prepares her to be an heir worthy of the Baratheon name. She also makes sure Shireen interacts with other kids her age. Shireen gets a badass older sister and a mother who isn't the worst. Hooray!

Also, Mei's daughter will end up knowing Ned's kids and Theon for a good fucking portion of her life. She's Med's and Luwin's favorite because if someone pisses her off, she'll yell out profanities while chasing after them with a broom twice her size. One time, Robb tried to pull her hair, and the next thing he knew, he was pinned face down with his face eating mud and Mei's daughter's knee on his back. Another time, she called Ned a fat idiot for not knowing a basic Yi Tish term, and Ned swore it was being scolded by Mei all over again.

In the end, Stannis and the North will be saved from D&D's shitty writing because two WOC immigrants decided to take matters into their own hands.

I'm still having trouble deciding on a title, so if anyone has any ideas, let me know in the comments!

Tagging: @a-libra-writes, @aphroditesmoon, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @valeskafics, anyone else who is a fan of Stannis the Mannis, Shireen, the North, etc.

When the East Winds Blow

Stannis Baratheon x YiTish Second Wife!OC (who also doubles as a childhood friend)

Aka: A WOC fixes all of Westeros' bullshit with a magic flute and is about to whoop a bunch of old white men's asses with a slipper because they need it ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Next Part

Summary: 美灵 (Měilíng) was a young girl from the port city of Shenlong in Yi Ti when she learns that she is the only living child of 徐浩然 (Xú Hàorán), a cruel and powerful merchant in Wan, and takes her to Westeros to expand his company. Scared in a new land, her only companions are her trusty flute and memories of her mother's stories. But she will have a friend who will change her life forever, and she will do the same for him.

Warning(s): MDNI 18+; Domestic Abuse; Child Abuse; Cersei is the worst; Tywin is the worst; Robert is a pig; Měilíng's dad is like 40 years+ her mom's age, and the worst; the story is going to be written like those Ted Ed mythic videos; Robb and the Northern boys and the other OC don't show up for a lil' bit, but it's coming

Author's Note: Please read this post for reference. Exams and ADHD are kicking my ass, and I need a distraction. Please do not repost without my permission. I did not come up with the names for the Yi Ti regions; that credit belongs to the brilliant @anya-snow. If you are interested in the names' translations, it is at the bottom.

From the Beginning:

“As she entered the world and cried out in victory for her survival – the fearsome, dark clouds parted, and the sun’s feeble rays shone only to pool the delivery room as the gentle breeze brought by the sea welcomed Xīwángmǔ’s new child, and the small wind chimes and bells danced in its embrace.”

In the Shenlong province, a young girl gave birth to a young girl. However, the baby was exceptional. As she grew, she showed to have a very cunning mind. She has met thousands of foreigners daily since being born in a port town. Her proficiency in learning foreign tongues alone caught the attention of one of the oldest and wealthiest merchants in Wan. Měilíng did not have much, but she had her mother and her simple life by the docks, and that was enough for her.

Xu Hàorán, an aging but powerful merchant in Wan, was the most important port city in Yi Ti. The merchant was very old, and his wife had long died without giving him any children. At the news of the child’s birth, he ordered the child and her mother to be brought to his home.

After seeing the child’s face, it was clear that this was his daughter. Recalling the time he spent with a girl from a poor fishing family years ago, he realized that Měilíng was the product of that night. Overridden with joy at the idea of him finally having an heir, he immediately ordered Mei to begin her education as he locked her mother in a small, dark room.

Měilíng despised her father. Soon, it became years since she saw her mother, and she missed the lullabies she would sing to her. She would long to listen to the stories of the great water dragons that controlled the storms and the seas.

But still, she decided to continue her education. She showed much promise at a young age for business and trade. She had a keen eye for craftsmanship and a talent for linguistics. Her proficiency in learning foreign tongues made her a vital tool in expanding her father’s company across the Golden Empire to Essos and eventually to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

In return for how rich his daughter made him, Měilíng’s father granted Měilíng one visit to her mother. When the pair reunited, Měilíng’s mother gifted her beloved child a flute from the bones of a basilisk killed by the great Dragon King, who ruled the sky and its storms from his kingdom in the sea.

Because of how quickly she learned Westerosi’s Common Tongue, her father decided it was best to bring her with him on the voyage to Planky Town in Dorne, where he hoped to expand his trading route to the pockets of the high nobility.

On the seas, a cyclone headed directly to the ship Měilíng and her father were on, but only Měilíng was calm.

Taking out her bone flute, she played a simple but beautiful tune to the sky, and the cyclone disappeared, and the winds brought their ships to Dorne in half the expected time. Although this story was kept secret by the crew under strict oath of Hàorán’s orders, she was soon called “风子” or “Child of the Wind.”

“Bewitched were the Martell’s – for they have never seen such finery in all their years. ‘What luster! What radiance!’ they exclaimed. After rigorous negotiations that resulted in a broken vase and spilled wine by thrown glasses, a trade was brokered, and the Xu’s have planted their first flag in the West.”

After reaching Dorne, the Martells refused to meet with the foreign merchant. They believed that any goods his ships carried had long become spoiled and rotten from the sea voyage. But they were shocked to find the fruits fresh and ripe, the herbs and spices’ scents had not dulled, and the porcelain vases retained their glossiness and shine. But what caught their eye the most was how superior their silks were compared to their own. Their roughest bolt alone was far smoother than the Princesses’ finest dresses.

The silks and fruits caught the eyes of a young Princess, Elia Martell, and her younger brother, Prince Oberyn. Fascinated by the riches, their curiosity was peaked by the olive-skin-toned girl, who wore strange braids and smelled of the ocean and wind.

Elia asked Mei if Yi Ti was anything like Dorne. Měilíng replied that only one region in her country matched Dorne, and it was Ren. She wove tales of how the Renii managed to thrive in the deserts and become masters of magi and developing technology and medicine. Although Mei had never personally visited Ren, she told the Donrish princess and her brother all the stories of the province she could recall from her lessons and her mother.

Měilíng asked Elia if there was any magic or dragons in Dorne. Elia laughed in delight. She told the foreign girl that Dorne did not have dragons, but they had vipers with poison so potent that it would instantly kill a ten-foot man. The Seven Kingdoms' only dragons were underneath the Red Keep in King’s Landing. But they were all dead. But there was no magic. This disappointed Měilíng.

Elia asked if Měilíng knew anyone, and Měilíng replied that Elia was the first person in Westeros she had ever spoken to. Amazed by the girl’s fluency, Elia exclaimed that she and Měilíng would be best friends for the rest of their lives. Měilíng thought the young princess strange but agreed nonetheless.

Seeing her children make friends with the merchant’s daughter, Princess Lorenza was pleased to see the strange girl smile. But Hàorán was furious. Greed from his newly gained wealth made him paranoid, and he thought Měilíng was ridiculing him in the Common Tongue. He faked a smile before hurrying his sale to the mother so that he may properly punish his willful brat.

After purchasing their goods, the sewists in Sunspear immediately went to work producing the finest garments for the upcoming ball hosted in the Red Keep at King’s Landing.

Meanwhile, Hàorán grabbed Měilíng’s arm and dragged her to the ship. He locked her in her room and told her she would not have any food tonight. They would leave for Yi Ti after the Martells returned from King’s Landing.

“Silence swept across the hall when the heralds announced the arrival of House Martell. When Dorne’s ruler and her children arrived, a collective gasp was heard amidst the hushed keep – never had anyone seen such pure, unadulterated beauty before their eyes. Every young girl, hoping to catch the eye of Prince Rhaegar and hold his gaze, felt fury flush their bodies. But no other girl was more envious than the little Lioness of Casterly Rock. Cersei Lannister, daughter of the Hand to the King, had come in complete confidence that she would be the most beautiful girl in the Seven Kingdoms. But after gazing upon the young Elia Martell’s dress with silk-embroidered suns and stars, golden rings, and topaz diadems – she felt utterly and completely humiliated. She turned to her father to demand they go home, but his stern gaze made the spoilt and rotten girl stay silent in flushed shame.

Tywin Lannister was not faring any better. He had paid more than enough gold dragons to order the finest Dornish silks for his daughter’s dress – only to see it as a tacky, cheap counterfeit. But even he had to admit that Princess Elia Martell was the only girl whose beauty was worthy of watching the crown prince’s. Seeing how her father’s eyes were no longer on her, Cersei decided that she would do whatever it took for Elia Martell to die a miserable and painful death.”

Nobles crowded the Martells’ daughters and sons. They were driven mad with envy at their beauty– so rare to find silk so smooth and lustrous while remaining thick enough to keep away the chills in the evening sky as autumn chased summer away and winter was creeping on the Mad King’s doorstep.

One noble lady with embroidered turtles on her dress approached the Martell Princess. She was Lady Cassana Baratheon, nee Estermont. She begged her friend to tell her who gifted the princess with such luxury, and her friend revealed that her husband had brokered a deal with an old, wrinkled merchant from Yi Ti, along with his young daughter, who carried an old flute with her everywhere she went. She shared stories about how her little sun, Elia, was quickly won over by the foreign girl’s charms, and now they acted as close as sisters born from the same womb.

Cassana wished to know if they could invite the merchant to her home. She thought it would be cruel for such a sweet girl to be trapped on a boat with no companions.

“‘Oh, how wonderful it would be to have a girl around,’ thought Lady Cassana. ‘Robert has gotten too used to being so rowdy after being fostered in the Vale, and hopefully, the little merchant girl will straighten him out.’

Robert stood beside the table, its surface heavy with meats and sweet cakes. He was only ten years of age and had already managed to grasp the attention of every young man his age in the room. Her mind wandered off, thinking about her youngest son, Stannis, who locked himself away in the guest chambers after the Martells arrived—always studying, her youngest boy. Lady Baratheon adored her two boys, but she longed for the longest time to be blessed with a daughter. She thought if the Gods had blessed her and Steffon with a girl, she would help bring Stannis out of his walls and help reel Robert in. If what the Princess of Dorne had spoken true of this trader and his daughter, then Cassana had no doubt that she would make a truly excellent companion for her boys.

Back in Dorne, Měilíng scratched her ears. Had someone been talking about her? Was it the Dornish Ruler she met a few weeks ago? Perhaps Elia? Měilíng shook her head. Thinking someone would speak of her so much was a silly thought. She was only the daughter of a merchant who played the flute. Still, her ears burned as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. To forget her hunger, Měilíng brought her prized flute to her lips to ease her worries and blew to create a sweet but sad melody.

Back in the Red Keep, a young Stannis Baratheon had crept away from the banquet in the Great Hall. He despised crowded rooms, and Robert’s boisterous guffaws only added to his irritation. Once he entered his room, he opened the window and took out the book Maester Cressen lent him while packing for this trip. He had not begun reading it. But a stream of calm and soft notes entered his ear before he could read the title.

“A flute?” he thought to himself. He tried to remember the instruments played downstairs.

There were lyres, harps, and lutes. But there were no flutes. Stannis lifted his head and heard the sweet, silvery tune from the window. Book still in his hand, he decided it best to read his new book beside the window, where he could continue listening to the lovely melody. He glanced down at the book, finally reading the title.

The Golden Empire of Yi Ti”

Tagging: @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @a-libra-writes, @aphroditesmoon, @valeskafics, @anya-snow, @dreaming-for-an-escape and anyone who wanted more of the worldbuilding of GOT are welcome!

Translations: Mandarin was used for YiTish bc author is Chinese

美灵 (Měilíng) - "美" means "beauty" and "灵" means "spirit or soul"; it can be translated as "beautiful spirit"

浩然 (Hàorán) - "浩" means "grand or vast" and "然" is a conjunction and the author will look further into it; it can be translated as "vastness or expansive"

徐 (Xú) - a common Chinese surname that became popular in the Zhou Dynasty and has multiple translations, but the author chose the translation of "slowly."

瑶池金母 (Xīwángmǔ) - "Queen Mother of the West"; the wife of the Jade Emperor and mother goddess in Chinese mythology

风子 (Fēng zi) - "风" is "wind" and "子" is for "child"; it can be translated as "child of the wind"

The Careful Fawn & The Curious Wind

Previous Part

Summary: 徐浩然 (Xú Hàorán) plops his daughter to Storm's End as he feels it is an opportunity to gain even more wealth. When 美灵 (Měilíng) first arrives, she feels disgusted by the heir of House Baratheon. However, her intrigue is slightly peaked at the sullen expressions of his younger brother.

Warning(s): MDNI 18+; Domestic Abuse; Child Abuse; Canon-Typical Misogyny, Sexism, Racism; Robert is a pig; Měilíng's dad is still the worst; the story is going to be written like those Ted Ed mythic videos

Author's Note: Please go to the masterlist to read from the beginning. Exams and ADHD are kicking my ass, and I need a distraction. Please do not repost without my permission. I did not come up with the names for the Yi Ti regions; that credit belongs to the brilliant @anya-snow. Mandarin Translations are at the bottom.

“Hàorán could not wait to return to Wan. However much gold he gained, Dorne’s blistering heat rivaled Ren’s. He missed the breezes brought by the Jade Sea. The salty air and the hustle and bustle of his home were music to his ears.

Thinking how his bastard had been instrumental in this trip, he decided to reward her by allowing her to revisit her mother. Her vigor to improve herself grew when he brought up Nan’s name. The flute she gifted Měilíng had provided much aid in their journey. He could only imagine what other gifts she would give this time.”

Hàorán was about to give orders for his ship’s captains to head off for Wan. But he was stopped by a messenger who informed the merchant that Princess Lorenza had requested his presence in the courtyard. Thinking the woman had wished to purchase more of his goods, he was shocked to hear that she wanted to send his daughter to an acquaintance’s home up north in the Stormlands.

Lorenza informed him that her good friend, the Lady Cassana of House Baratheon, wanted to host Měilíng at Storms End for a year. She was so impressed with the quality of the silks and jewels that she begged the Princess of Dorne for the new trader’s identity. When she heard that the old merchant had a young daughter around her eldest son’s age, her tender heart overflowed with pity at the idea of the girl being isolated with no children her age to play with in a strange country.

She understood that the journey between the two countries was long and tiresome. She reasoned that he was welcome to accompany her for the first few weeks to ensure his daughter’s comfort and ease. He would ensure that his precious child be well-fed and taken in good hands as Cassana only had sons and longed for the company of a girl, even one from a faraway land.

But such news could not have come at a better time for Hàorán. He became giddy with the prospect that he could become even richer by gaining the attention of one of the most noble houses in Westeros. His advisors informed him that Lord Steffon of House Baratheon at Storm’s End was close friends with the king. If all went well, he would become the wealthiest man in Yi Ti if his luck continued.

Returning to the ship, he burst into Měilíng’s quarters before ordering her to leave with her things. She was expected at Storms End with a noble family and his two sons. He ordered her handmaidens to prepare her finest garments and warned his daughter that any word of her humiliating him would result in dire punishment when she returned.

“Měilíng felt more akin to a painted peacock than a human girl. Her father had ordered this 汉服(Hànfú) weeks before they departed from Wan. The finest seamstresses in his home stitched the black-dyed-silk 袍服(Páo fú) embroidered with a red and gold dragon flying over blue and white waves. The collar dug into her neck in an attempt to choke her. She wanted so badly to loosen it, but her father would find out and may retaliate such an act with a far harsher punishment than being sent to her room without dinner. The floor-length ivory-silk pleated 裙 (Qún) skirt was so long that she had to take tiny steps to prevent her from falling flat on her face. And each step she took resulted in excruciating pain. Měilíng was most fortunate not to be forced to wear the 莲履 (Lián lǚ) shoes she’d seen so many wives and daughters of high-ranking court officials wear. Hàorán had tried to break her feet to fit the lotus shoes. Luckily, one of Elia’s handmaidens had knocked to ask for Měilíng’s company before she was to depart.

Elia had been so distraught to know that her new friend would leave her so quickly. She had wanted to bring Měilíng with her to the Water Gardens. Oberyn was also upset at his new friend leaving. He loved Sunspear, but dealing with only his parents and older brother was boring. Elia was fun, but she was always busy with her lessons. He wanted someone new to play with.

Měilíng was uncomfortable with the tears of the two young Martells. She had only recently met them but could tell they were good people. They were not cruel like her father, nor did she think they were the kind of people who would turn a blind eye like the many servants employed under Hàorán. Měilíng begrudgingly asked if she could send letters to them as a way to keep in touch.

The princess and her younger brother only blankly stared briefly before cheering and tackling the girl to the ground. The action greatly startled her, but it was better than dealing with crying and tears.

‘It was strange to have friends,’ thought Měilíng, ‘but I think I will miss them.’

The corners of her lips upwardly twitched at the memory of her new friends. Elia was so kind and bright, and Oberyn showed promise to be a great leader and warrior. The night before she and her father left, the princess demanded that she spend the night in her chambers. They laughed and played and gossiped for hours. Elia revealed that she danced with Rhaegar in King’s Landing and gushed about how handsome he looked with his silver hair, chiseled jaw, and deep violet eyes.

Měilíng wrinkled her nose at the image in her head. Targaryens left a bitter taste in her mouth. She disagreed with the idea of them being the only ones deserving to control such magnificent creatures. The idea of being forced to be bred by a brother made her sick. The water dragons that once ruled Shenlong did restrict themselves to the nobility. They chose their riders by judging their souls, and a bond of mutual respect and loyalty would be born.

Elia broke Měilíng from her thoughts by asking her an important question.

‘Do you think he liked me as much?’ she asked with bright and hopeful eyes. ‘Do you think he would like being married to me?’

Měilíng thought carefully about how to answer the young princess’s question. She was not so close to her to respond with her true thoughts. From what Elia told her, Prince Rhaegar’s only noteworthy competencies were playing the lyre and reading books. But she still did not want to lie to the kind girl.

‘I think he would be a fool to dislike you,’ she responded. ‘I think if he ever fell in love with anyone else, he must be the most delusional and stupid person who doesn’t deserve the title ‘Prince.’

The giggles and smiles Elia gifted her made Měilíng feel more confident in her answer. Elia was so sweet and wonderful. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. If the prince thought anyone else was more worthy of love was not fit to rule. This was a fact.”

Storm’s End was a fearsome structure. A massive stone tower stood alone in the center as the keep’s curtain walls surrounded it and barely met half the tower’s height. Judging by the cliff's height drop, it was a one-hundred-fifty-foot drop to sharp and jagged rocks across the beach. Měilíng shuddered at the idea of living her whole life in this place.  But she was curious to learn about the keep’s history and the stories the walls held.

Riding the entrance of the giant keep made Měilíng’s knees buckle. Judging by how the waves crashed onto the rocky shore that entered her ears, the castle's name was fitting. The winds blowing through her hair were angry and fierce, nothing like the breezes in Yi Ti. The sea brought strong and chilling winds to the ports of Wan. In Shenlong, the sea blew warm and mellow breezes to the docks. Měilíng wondered what atrocities were committed for such furious howling.

Outside the doors was a man looking around half her father’s age, his wife, and two boys who seemed to be a younger copy of the grown man. The man wore a black satin tunic with gold embellishments and a cape draped across his chest and down his back. The cape was held by an ornate gold brooch that carried the Baratheon House sigil of a black stag on a gold background. He was a giant towering his wife by almost three heads, had a head full of lush black curls with gray streaks, and a thick black beard. His eyes were a clear crystal blue and shone with confidence and kindness.

His wife was a pretty woman who wore a bright turquoise-green dress with green sea turtles stitched into the frock. Her honey-orange locks were gathered in a single braid over her head, and Měilíng spied a small silver turtle pendant hanging on a simple chain. Her eyes were a warm tone of russet that shone her excitement by how wide her smile grew at the approaching carriage.

The two boys had differing heights. The taller one wore a broad smile, while the other looked like he was here against his will. It would seem that fact was something he and Měilíng had in common.

Exiting the ornate wagon, Měilíng bowed in respect to her hosts. It was a great relief that her father had not accompanied her on this trip. His distaste for his sole offspring served her well in this circumstance. When permitted to rise, she was immediately warmly greeted by the lovely woman.

“Cassana knew it was improper to give such a warm greeting to someone so below her station. But she could not help herself! She could not help but be absolutely besotted by the small child in front of her. She had never seen a YiTish person, and all the stories from the maesters in her childhood home in Greenstone proclaimed that they were short with eyes so small that it looked like they couldn’t open.

But such claims were clearly false! The girl before her was so darling! Her skin had a light and healthy tan, and no blemish was visible. Her almond-shaped eyes almost resembled a doll with how wide and innocent they looked. Her round cheeks seemed so soft, making her more adorable. Apparently, she was supposed to be around Robert’s age, but she only went as much as Stannis’ height.

Her robes were made of the same silk that Lorenza’s daughter and sons wore at the banquet, but they were dyed in black. But even with that dreadful color, she looked like a fairy! Her hair was intricately braided in a style completely unfamiliar to her. It looked like two butterfly loops stood on top while the rest of her hair fell like a dark waterfall.

Lord Steffon chuckled at his wife’s poorly contained excitement. He knew how much she longed for a daughter to dress up and play with. Their two boys were blessings, and they loved them more than anything, but their differences caused more strife than solutions. Robert was rowdy and always itching to fight. He had all the makings of a strong and fine warrior, while Stannis preferred to keep to himself with his books and learn how to fulfill his duties as the second son of House Baratheon.

Robert visibly deflated in disappointment. When Mother and Father informed him they would be expecting a guest from a faraway country, he had hoped they would be a mercenary or a pirate – not some stupid daughter of a trader with more wrinkles than an old bull’s ballsack who only knew how to wear dresses. And her face! Was it so necessary that she have such a blank expression? Why were her eyes so small? His eyes trailed down from her face, and he was further displeased. Why had her tits not developed? This was going to be a boring summer – Robert knew it. But at least he would soon be at the Vale to see Ned again.

He supposed it was amazing that a foreigner from such a savage land could speak Common Tongue. But he can’t imagine it being too difficult to learn from her likely backwater language. But her only saving grace for her looks was her dark almond-shaped eyes and glossy black hair. It made her rather exotic-looking. But that was it.

Stannis only looked at his feet. He did not share the same enthusiasm as Mother and Father for sharing their ancestral home with a foreign stranger. He wasn’t so rude to show his disappointment as vividly as Robert, but he could not deny his irritation at the sight of the girl. Had it been the merchant himself, he could have asked him the questions he had after reading the book Maester Cressen gifted him. But just looking at the blank expression on her face as she stood fully adorned in opulence, he could tell she would know nothing beyond fairy tales and silly songs meant for children. But still, as a son of the ancient House Baratheon, he would maintain his duty to show adequate propriety to his mother’s guests. He respectfully bowed his head as a sign of appreciation for her acknowledgment of the difference in status.”

Měilíng was so far unimpressed with the two boys. Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana have been most gracious hosts, and she was grateful to be so warmly received by the Lady of the Keep herself. But it was clear as day to see how their sense of decorum and graciousness was not passed down to their children.

Lady Cassana was a warm and lovely woman. Her kindness and hospitality reminded Měilíng much of Elia, the bright and excited friend from Dorne that she unexpectedly became very close to while she resided there. She shared the history of Storm’s End and how the name came from the multitude of storms of two gods angered by their mermaid daughter’s marriage to a mortal son.

The elder son, Robert, made no attempt to hide his displeasure of her. He was clearly displeased at the fact that this new girl had stolen his mother’s attention. As a result, he thought of her as ‘boring’ or ‘stupid’ based entirely on her appearance. The entire time their mother led Měilíng to her guest chambers, he loudly whispered in his brother’s ear about missing someone named ‘Ned’ and how he couldn’t wait to go down to the courtyard to spar with their swordmaster.

Měilíng was also getting impatient with her irritation. Was it really so necessary for him to be so loud? Did he really think she wanted to be here? She wanted to go home. She wanted to return to Yi Ti, to Wan, to her mother. Once more, Měilíng cursed her father. Once more, he trapped her in a cage. If she could, she would summon all the winds with her flute and let them carry her and her mother back to their simple home on the docks of Shenlong.

Stannis grew annoyed and exasperated with his brother’s behavior like their guest. Why was he trying so hard to ruin Mother’s mood? She had been excited for weeks at the confirmation of the girl’s arrival. He was no more pleased with her appearance, but he refused to sink so low to show his crossness in such an undignified manner like his brother. He would keep his thoughts to himself and accompany his mother in showing their guest her quarters for the year. Afterward, he would retreat to the library. He had wasted too much time as was.

Měilíng had almost dropped her jaw in complete shock once she entered the room meant to be hers for an entire year. It was absolutely gorgeous. Masters in their craft created the floor tiles. The mosaic in the center was made in the image of water lilies in a serene pool of blue. The swirls of green vines, the white petals' shine, and the yellow dragonflies' brightness created a beautiful picture. The balcony was facing the sea, which calmed after the storm passed. Its serenity under the bright blue sky as the sun’s golden rays twinkled on the surface was more beautiful than she could imagine.

The four-poster bed frame was made of a sturdy dark wood glossy from the stained finish. The canopy draped over the poster top was a flowy green fabric. But the mattress was the most significant difference between this bed and the one she slept in her father’s home. Back in Wan, the bed had a thick blanket over a thick slab of clay above a small oven. In the winter, the stove would be lit to heat the clay for warmth throughout the night. But this bed looked so much softer than that slab of stone. Měilíng wondered if once she laid on it for sleep, she would ever want to wake up again.

“Cassana watched with bated breath for Měilíng’s reaction. So far, the girl had yet to reveal whether she appreciated or disliked the room. She saved this room for the day she would be blessed with a daughter, but for now, it would belong to the YiTish girl who held the Princess and Princes of Dorne’s attention. When the girl turned, her dark eyes were bright in wonder and trepidation.

‘My lady,’ she began, ‘this is far too much for someone like me. I am no one so worthy of such finery. Is there no room more befitting of my station?’

‘Oh no! My dear, you needn’t worry about such things.’ Lady Cassana reassured Měilíng. ‘My husband and I are more than happy to make your stay in our home as pleasant as can be. I am unfamiliar with Yi Ti's homemaking and furnishings, but I hope it can provide you with some comfort.’

Měilíng still felt uncomfortable being permitted to stay in so much luxury as a guest. ‘My lady, I have not brought anything to repay your kindness. I will write to my father immediately to rectify this mistake. After all, it is customary for a guest to provide gifts to the household members that host them. Is there anything at all I can mention? Teas, fruits, silk?’

Stannis was mildly impressed. Not only was the girl fluent in Westerosi Common Tongue, but she also understood her place in Westeros’ society. She showed the proper mannerisms when addressing a high noblewoman following this country’s customs. At the very least, she did show gratitude for his mother’s generosity. Her politeness and offer only furthered his mother’s insistence on refusing. It would have been polite of him to offer his gratitude – to state that such actions were unnecessary. But glancing back at the strange girl silenced him immediately. Her large, dark eyes were unlike any other girl he had ever seen.

Girls liked to flock around Robert. It made sense- he was the eldest, after all. But when they met his gaze, they would either look for an escape or ignore his presence. They did not care for the opinion of Lord Steffon’s second son. It would not be him who would inherit Storm’s End. But this girl…this…strange girl from a land farther than Essos – she only stared at him. She stared at him with eyes that were so dark that they resembled onyx. But it wasn’t just her eyes. It was the way she stared. There was neither judgment nor disappointment– only curiosity. It made his cheeks burn at the attention, and he turned away to return to his quarters.

‘Strange foreign girl,’ he thought, his cheeks still burning in flushed embarrassment.

Měilíng tuned out Lady Cassana’s rambling. While she was most amiable in her position as a hostess, Měilíng just wanted to rest and be left alone for the rest of the day. The bed was looking more like a cloud with each passing minute. When she tried to look past her lady’s person to focus on a spot on the wall, she accidentally stopped to stare at the shorter son. He didn’t seem bored like his brother. He was reticent the entire time, not betraying a single one of his thoughts with his stern expression. She wondered if he would be open to playing 圍棋 (Wéiqí) with her. He certainly seemed he’d have the patience and intellect to learn it.

The nightly game she and Hàorán played after dinner before she prepared for bed was one of the few things Měilíng was grateful to her father for. The game’s objective is for each player to take more territory for their opponent by surrounding their opponent’s tiles with yours. In a game with hundreds of moves for each player, and every move is legal – the path to victory is unclear and requires that perfect balance of strategy and tactics.

You cannot study for improvement – you can only improve through experience.

Měilíng hadn’t realized that she was staring at the boy for so long. It wasn’t until he broke away and retreated wherever he felt he might find peace. His mother called out his name, ‘Stannis,’ to at least offer goodbyes to their guest. When he refused, Lady Cassana returned to Měilíng to apologize for her youngest son’s behavior. She explained that if she would like, he would properly introduce himself when they all joined together for supper. Měilíng replied that such an act was unnecessary, and she would hate to make him more uncomfortable than he was. But she reassured her lady that she took offense and was sure they would soon be friends.

She ignored the mannerless snort from the taller boy, ‘Robert,’ and retreated to bed when Lady Baratheon and her son finally left her alone. As she laid flat on her back on the feather-filled cloud, she fell into a short sleep to the scent of salty sea breeze flowing from the windows – and the image of a boy her height with somber and bright eyes, eyes so blue that it rivaled the seas of Shenlong.

‘Curious boy,’ was her final thought before she drifted off to sleep.

Winds from lands in the Far East whistled in excitement for the events and entertainment sure to come. ”

Translations: Mandarin to English with clues to history background hints

汉服(Hànfú) - they are traditional styles of clothing worn by the Han Chinese, and the basic Hànfú was developed in the Shang Dynasty (1600 BC to 1000 BC)

袍服(Páo fú) - 'robe'; typically worn as an upper garment in a Hànfú for both men and women in China during the Ming Dynasty

裙 (Qún) - 'skirt'; these are skirts used in the Hànfú ensemble

莲履 (Lián lǚ) - 'Lotus Shoes'; footwear that was worn by women in China with bound feet that was banned in 1911 since the cruel practice of bound feet required women to have their feet broken in order to fit their feet inside the shoes

圍棋 (Wéiqí) - 'Go'; 'Go' is an ancient game that originated in China over four thousand years ago and is known to be very difficult to play despite the game's simple rules (the objective is to capture more territory than the opponent by fencing off empty space)

Tagging: @valeskafics, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @writingsofwesteros, @a-libra-writes, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @anya-snow, @strangedragonqueen, @100pureawesomeness

Stannis Baratheon x Second Wife Yi TI!OC ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ - Masterlist

Read for context

Summary: Let’s pretend Yi Ti and Westeros have an okay trading relationship with each other, and merchants from Yi Ti are always treated with celebrity status in the Seven Kingdoms. Let's also pretend that the GOT writers haven't completely fucked up all of Stannis' fantastic characterization and complexity. Let's pretend Selyse bit the dust when Shireen was a baby, and her death fixed all of GOT's shitty endings! Join Xú Měilíng as she and her future daughter (not Shireen) become key players in the Game of Thrones, as House Stark's and House Baratheon's survival is entirely due to them!

Main Pairings(s): Stannis Baratheon x Second Wife!OC (Xú Měilíng); Shireen Baratheon x Rickon Stark; Robb Stark x Yi Tish!OC (Měilíng's daughter from first marriage, name TBD); Margaery Tyrell x Yi Tish!OC (Měilíng's daughter from first marriage, name TBD)

Platonic or Unrequited Love Pairings(s): Jon Snow & Yi Tish!OC (Měilíng's daughter from first marriage, name TBD); Theon Greyjoy & Yi Tish!OC (Měilíng's daughter from first marriage, name TBD); Ned Stark & Stannis' Second Wife!OC (Xú Měilíng); Robert Baratheon & Stannis' Second Wife!OC (Xú Měilíng)

Warning(s): MDNI 18+; Domestic Abuse; Child Abuse; Canon-Typical Misogyny, Sexism, Racism; Future Smut; Rhaegar Targaryen & Lyanna Stark will NOT be portrayed in a flattering light 😬

Chapter 1 - When East Winds Blow

Chapter 2 - The Careful Fawn & The Curious Wind

Chapter 3 - The Eastern Wind & Moon Sail to Winterfell

The Eastern Wind & Moon Sail to Winterfell

READ THIS FOR CONTEXT

Previous Part

Summary: 美灵 (Měilíng) and 明阴 (Míng Yīn) visit House Stark after news of Jon Arryn's death and murder arrives at Winterfell. Ned Stark senses a trouble brewing in the air. Are the vultures from King's Landing circling to soon feast on his family's flesh? Is there any way to stop it? Meanwhile, the Young Wolf begins to battle his desires for the heart and affections of one tempestuous YiTish Sea Captain.

Warning(s): MDNI 18+; Canon doesn't exist here *shhhhhhhh*, Ned is having a crisis, Stannis may be OOC; Robb Stark wants to Dom the hot sea captain when he's clearly a Sub; Catelyn Stark is kind of a bitch; GOT is GOT (shit's gonna go down); Yi Tish dialogue is Bold, Italicized, and Green

Author's Note: Author hasn't seen Game of Thrones in a long-ass time, so if the characters are OOC...my bad 🤷🏻‍♀️. I used Mandarin for YiTish, and translations are at the bottom. Game of Thrones belong to GRR Martin, and the regions of Yi Ti are all credited to @anya-snow. If you liked reading this, please check out the masterlist!

Arya continually stabbed her needle in the fabric as Septa Mordane gushed over Sansa’s pretty embroidery. She looked beside her and met eyes with his youngest brother’s betrothed, Shireen Baratheon. The young girl gave an encouraging smile as she also struggled with stitching and embroidery. The young Baratheon heiress preferred to lose herself in the ancient library in Winterfell or with Maester Luwin as they discussed the history of House Targaryen.

The Stark girl smiled back at the young Baratheon. She liked Shireen very much, and thought her excellent company. At night, she would recount tales and stories her sister, Minna, shared from her travels in letters or from herself. Arya felt her mood drop again as he looked at Sansa. Shireen was so lucky to have an older sister as exciting and fun as Minna—someone who would fight and travel the world. The girls were only sisters through marriage. Shireen was from Stannis Baratheon’s first marriage, as Minna was the daughter of her mother’s first in Yi Ti, but they loved each other so fiercely that blood hardly mattered.

Minna didn’t care that Shireen was scarred from Greyscale, nor did she treat her as a pitiful creature to grow with her face. Minna and her mother, Lady Mei, loved the girl to the seven hells and back. The woman loved Shireen so much that she demanded her new husband swear that Shireen’s place as his heir would not be changed if they ever had a son. Arya still remembered the night she overheard Shireen tell Rickon how Minna told her that the gods gave Shireen her scars to prevent the Maiden from cursing her.

“Minnie told me I have the most beautiful soul,” she whispered just loud enough for Arya to hear her from outside an open door. “If I were beautiful both inside and out, the Gods would have cursed me for having too much, like Aphrodite had done to Marcaria.”

Arya bitterly continued with her stitching as a dull thud entered her ears, and she turned her head in the direction of laughter outside in the courtyard.

Bran struggled as he pulled his arm to draw out the bowstring. His older brothers, Jon and Robb, stood beside him in observation to guide his lessons while his younger brother, Rickon, sat above them on a mounted saddle. When he released the bowstring, the arrow shot up and over the target and outside the wall. He looked down in dejection as his brothers began to laugh even harder.

“And which one of you was a mark smith at ten?” his father, Lord Eddard ‘Ned’ Stark, called out above them. He and Lady Catelyn Stark, nee Tully, watched him practice. Ned Stark looked at his young son and encouraged him. “Keep practicing, Bran. Go on.”

Jon Snow lowered to whisper in Bran’s ear. “Don’t think too much about it, Bran.”

“Relax your bow arm,” remarked Robb.

Just when Bran was about to release his draw, an arrow shot past him and pierced the red center of the target. Whipping his head behind him, Bran saw it was Arya with a bow about twice her height. She curtsied with a smile before Bran went after her. She let him chase after her, and soon, they were running around the courtyard.

“Quick, Bran! Faster!” called out Jon as he and Robb watched their two siblings joyfully play.

Rickon remained seated on the mounted saddle. He looked up at the window where Sansa and Shireen should be. When his mother and father told him he would marry Stannis Baratheon’s daughter last year, his mother was enraged. He overheard Mother plead with his father to reconsider the match. She did not want her youngest boy to be with someone deformed by the gods. But Father dismissed her claims.

“Shireen Baratheon is Mei’s daughter now, and she confirmed that the girl’s illness is no longer contagious.” Ned Stark firmly stated.

“You would risk our family’s health over some foreign woman’s ‘confirmation?’’ Catelyn Stark exclaimed. “How is she to know? How can you possibly trust her words so much? A woman from a land as far as hers has no way of knowing such remedies. What if she and that girl–”

Her husband cut her off. “That’s enough, Cat. I understand your worries. I do. But I will not allow you to besmirch Mei’s and her daughter’s good names. She has been a long friend of Stannis Baratheon, and now she is his wife. She would never harm children. Never.”

He noticed his words frustrated his wife, and he placed a gentle hand on her arm before laying a soft kiss on her brow. “Mei is probably the wisest woman I have ever known. And sending Shireen with her daughter isn’t so much for an engagement – but to make her comfortable around others. The boys are long used to her sister’s presence; they will take up nicely with Shireen’s.”

And the matter was settled. Rickon remembered how Mother and Sansa kept their distance from the girl when she first arrived with Minna. Minna would only stay for the first month before leaving to travel to the Reach and then Dorne. When Shireen first approached him during Luwin’s lessons, he was amazed by the book size she was carrying. The moment she opened her mouth about things like Jin and huakaʻi pō, Rickon decided that it would make him extremely happy if he spent the rest of his life with Shireen. His mother was less than pleased and stormed off to lock herself in Winterfell’s Sept. But Father only gave Rickon a proud smile and gave his hair a good tousle.

As Ned Stark and his wife laughed at the scene, they were interrupted by the small pattering of a child’s footsteps running towards them. They turned and saw Shireen Baratheon escorted by Theon Greyjoy, the Ironborn ward. The odd pair first bowed respectfully and greeted Lord and Lady Stark with their titles before Theon stepped aside for Shireen. The young girl was beaming so widely that it warmed the old Lord’s heart. He couldn’t help but pity the child for the hand life dealt her, but it filled his heart to know that she would at least experience some kindness outside her own family.

“Ah, Lady Shireen,” he greeted the girl. “What brings you here? Come to watch Bran practice?”

Shireen shook her head. “No, my lord. I just received news from Shadow. My sister is currently docked at Dragonstone, and she, Mother, and Steffard will be arriving in White Harbor in a week’s time from tomorrow!”

Ned’s eyebrows shot up in bewilderment. “A week? From Dragonstone to White Harbor? How will they make it so fast with her crew and that giant ship of hers?”

“They won’t be coming with her,” Shireen answered. “She’s traveled to after stopping at King’s Landing. Father is Dragonstone to take care of some things while she sails alone. My sister is a very accomplished sailor blessed with the winds’ favor, my lord. I wouldn’t be surprised if she arrived here in just five days or less.”

Ned gave a loud laugh. “Knowing she’s your mother’s daughter, it wouldn’t surprise me either. Thank you for telling me.”

“I’ll be sure to prepare a guest room for them,” Lady Catelyn informed her husband before turning to Shireen. “Will your sister and Lady Baratheon bring their own handmaidens, or will they need one provided? Will your brother need a wet nurse?”

Shireen shook her head. “Oh no, my lady! My sister greatly dislikes the idea of handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting! But Minnie said that she would be bringing Wu! And my mother prefers to nurse my brother.”

Lady Catelyn Stark’s smile faltered slightly while Ned’s widened at the mention of Lady Minna’s ‘pets.’ The beasts resembled more killers than travel companions. Catelyn Stark almost preferred the ruffians that made up her crew to the animals.

Shireen turned to Theon. “Do you think Ari will enjoy spending time with another bird? I would feel awful if he became lonely from Shadow’s arrival.”

Theon gave a sincere smile to the young girl before tousling her hair. “I think nothing would make him happier, my lady. He was bored out of his mind being alone with the ravens before Baleor’s arrival. What’s one more?”

Rodrick walked up to his lord and lady to inform them that they had captured a deserter of the Wall, and they were ready to give his execution. Ned Stark’s expression became somber hearing the news as his eyes darted to the young Shireen. He ordered Theon to escort her and Rickon to Maester Luwin for their lessons before telling Robb and Jon to saddle their horses. When the Greyjoy ward left, he informed Rodrick that Bran would join them. This gave concern to his wife.

“Ned,” she pleaded. “Ten is too young to see such things.”

“He won’t be a boy forever,” her husband replied. “And winter is coming.”

Bran kept thinking about the words his father had imparted to him after he had taken off the deserter’s head with Ice.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

It still confused him. He wanted to ask Robb when Father stopped in the middle of the road. He made a right turn toward the river. Jon was right behind Father while Bran followed. It was a direwolf! But…it was dead, and it had pups! But as excited as Bran was, he made no sound. Everyone around him was silent as they all stood in awe at the dead symbol of their house.

“It’s a freak,’ remarked Theon.

Father corrected him. ‘It’s a direwolf–” he looked at Rodrick for a moment in shock before grabbing the antler lodged in its throat “–tough old beast.”

“There are no direwolves South of the Wall,” commented Robb.

“Now there are five,” remarked Jon, picking one pup in his arms and handing it to Bran. “You want to hold it?”

The pup’s fur was white with speckles of grey across its body. Its body squirmed as it whined and whimpered at the change of its surroundings – and for the death of its mother.

Bran looked up at his brother. “Where will they go? Their mother’s dead.”

With a heavy heart, Rodrick answered the young lordling’s question. “They don’t belong down here.”

Ned Stark stood with his sword in hand. “Better a quick death. They won’t last without their mother.”

“Right,” Theon unsheathed his blade and reached for the pup in Bran’s arms. “Give it here.”

“No!” Bran cried as Theon looked mildly distressed at the boy’s plea.

“Put away your blade,” Robb commanded his friend. He didn’t like to give Theon orders – especially since the boy was more like a brother to him than just a ward his father brought from the Iron Islands, but he didn’t want to spill the direwolf pup’s blood.

Nonetheless, Robb’s words irked Theon. “I take orders from your father, not you.”

But Bran couldn’t allow the pups to die. He continued to plead with his father. “Please, Father!”

“I’m sorry, Bran.” The lord didn’t like seeing his young so upset, but he needed to understand the way of the world. It would be cruel to let the pups live – only to struggle to live and die before winter comes.

“Lord Stark–” Ned turned around to his son’s voice “–there are five pups—one for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them.”

“And what about you?” thought Ned. “Are you not my child? Why should you be denied the right to wear and own the sigil of my house – your house? Even if you carry neither mine nor your mother’s name- are you still not of my blood?”

 He looked at his son with sad and hurt eyes as if reliving a memory from another lifetime ago. When everyone turned to him, waiting for an answer, he replied sternly and somberly.

“You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves.” And with bitter anger on his tongue, he spat out. “And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.”

As Jon handed two more direwolf pups in Robb’s arms, Bran turned to his brother. “What about you?”

Jon hesitated before answering. “I’m not a Stark. Get on.”

But as they began to leave, Jon heard small and faint whimpers from below. He walked down to try and locate it. Robb and Theon stopped to ask if there was a problem. For his answer. He held up a sixth direwolf pup – one with stark white fur like snow and piercing blood-red eyes.

“Ah, the runt of the litter,” Theon quipped with a smug smirk. “That one’s yours, Snow.”

Jon looked at Greyjoy with exasperation, while Robb looked pleased and grateful for the albino pup’s existence. At the very least, his favorite brother also had a direwolf. He was a Stark – whether his mother liked it or not.

The ride back to Winterfell was quiet in the front, with the grown men still somber and sullen from the execution. But the boys were speaking with one another with great excitement for bringing home new members of their family. Robb and Theon were riding in front of Jon and Bran. Bran was still thinking about what the deserter said about the white walkers. Was he lying? Was Father right about mad men seeing what they want to see? But…he didn’t look mad.

“Quite the day for the lad. Eh, Bran?” Theon called out to him as Bran broke from his thoughts. “First, your first deserter execution. Next, you and your siblings are getting a direwolf each. And to think, I thought Shireen’s sister’s arrival would be the most exciting news of the day.”

“What?” thought Bran. His thoughts about white walkers and deserters were quickly replaced by news of his friend's arrival.

“Minnie’s coming?” he excitedly asked with a broad smile and bright eyes. “Did she say when? Is she bringing Wu with her?”

Theon’s news also caught Jon’s and Robb’s attention. Jon was lost in his thoughts since finding the albino wolf pup. Robb was thinking about Arya’s and Rickon’s reactions to receiving the privilege of caring for their house’s sigil. But now, something of greater import came to their attention.

“Ming’s coming?” asked Jon. “Are you sure?”

Theon smirked at the bastard’s excitement. “I was with her when Shadow flew up to her with a message tied on its leg – escorted the Lady Shireen myself when she told Lord and Lady Stark. Lass was practically jumping off the walls after reading it.”

“Did she say when she would be arriving? Are Lord Stannis and his lady wife coming with her?” asked Robb.

Theon shook his head. “She says she’s in Dragonstone to prepare for her stay. She’ll be at White Harbor in a week. She’s bringing their mother and brother, too. But Lord Stannis won’t be joining them this time.”

This greatly confused Bran and his brothers. Lord Stannis was infamous for his sour expressions and austereness – but anyone who had the privilege of meeting him now would see how much the company of his second wife softened his hard nature. Stannis Baratheon was a man who showed no love for his brothers, but he adored the women and girls in his life. An adoration now extended to his youngest child, his only son.

For such a man to not travel with his wife was a strange and unusual occurrence.

“Why is Lord Stannis not traveling with Minnie and Lady Mei?” asked Bran. His brows furrowed before worry took hold of him. “Did he and Lady Mei fight, and she’s running away with their son?”

“Bran, that’s enough,” ordered Jon. “Everyone knows how much Lord Stannis respects Lady Mei’s advice. I’m sure he's not joining them because there’s too much to do at King’s Landing. Being King Robert’s brother gives him a great number of duties.”

Theon turned to Jon with a wide smirk. “Awfully defensive of Lady Mei’s honor – aren’t you, Snow? Think that’ll grant you any favors from her daughter, ‘Minion’?”

“Don’t call her that!” Bran called out.

Jon sputtered his response with red-tipped ears. “You know how much she hates being called that. Or do you want a repeat of what happened in the courtyard when you and Robb first called her that? And, of course, I care about Minna’s mother – I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t.”

Jon shouldn’t be as excited as he was at that moment. But he couldn’t help himself. Ming – his Ming – was coming to Winterfell. She was everything Jon wanted in an older sibling. She was invincible and told him as such. She and her mother had never once treated him differently from the rest of the Stark Children after learning of his bastard status. Whenever he got in over his head about his birth, she would always manage to ground him in some way. Once, he asked her if she was trying to trick him. She stared at him briefly before rolling up a piece of paper and swatting his head.

He still remembered her scowl with fondness.

“Do I look as stupid as Catelyn Stark to you?” she interrogated. “Who cares if you’re a bastard? You care about your siblings and work hard to be a worthy son despite the world giving you an excuse not to. I’ve given you some of my favorite fruits from my homeland, and you dare ask me if my friendship towards you was a ruse?! Don’t be stupid, Jon.”

He wept like a baby. He had never felt so happy in his life, and all he could do was thank his friend while weeping for joy. And to make him stop crying, she let him cry on her shoulder as she softly stroked his hair.

“Yeah,” snorted Theon. “Friend – sure.”

“That’s enough,” Robb cut in. “All of you. You want Father to scold us?”

Robb could tell his brothers were ecstatic about Ming’s arrival, but he had conflicting emotions about the news. Ming Yin Baratheon was a woman grown who was older than him by two years, the same age as Theon. Ming always had a wicked and brash tongue on her. When they first met, she was his height but so skinny and dressed so plainly with dirt streaks on her face.

Was it really so bad if he assumed she was smallfolk?

Then Theon dared him to tug on her braid while she was reading a book in the courtyard. A stupid dare between stupid boys resulted in them running for their lives with tears down their cheeks as a short and bookish girl chased them with a broom twice her height. She shouted out curses and promises of all the vile things she would do to them as she violently swung the broom through the air with fire in her eyes and poison on her tongue.

It took the combined efforts of Stannis, his father, Rodrick, and Jory to pry her off when she caught up to them. In the end, Robb’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as Luwin treated his bleeding nose, black eye, and bruises across his body while he and Father occasionally snickered to themselves. His mother nearly had a heart attack at the state of her eldest child. When she heard what had happened and tried to scold the girl, Ming only responded by blowing her tongue and spraying her spittle at the Tully woman. Even with more dirt on her cheeks than before and her braid ruined, she carried herself in such an unrelenting dignified manner that Robb couldn’t help but envy it.

At the very least, Theon was in no better state than him.

How in the Seven Hells could a girl of nine years manage to fight off four grown men? The memory stumped Robb then and still stumped him now.

“Scared of meeting the Demoness from Dragonstone?” Theon smugly asked when he saw his friend staring in the distance. “Or are you worried she won’t be impressed with your new height and strength when she sees you haven’t improved your writing?”

Robb scoffed at Theon’s words. “No, don’t be ridiculous.”

He refused to believe that he cared so much for some quick-tempered girl who always teased him– even if she had shiny black hair that ended at her waist and sharp, expressive dark eyes with full lips. It didn’t matter that she haunted his dreams every night since she was in Winterfell when she turned fourteen. It didn’t matter to Robb that Minna was the epitome of an exotic beauty with enough fire in her soul for any Northern winter to freeze her. It didn’t matter to Robb that she was closer to Jon than to him.

“I’ll kiss you when you finally beat me.”

It didn’t matter to Robb – none of it.

“I’m not scared of Minna, Theon – so stop trying to bait me.” Robb let that be the final word before riding ahead just behind his father.

Meanwhile, Ned had heard everything passed between the boys while riding in the front. He chuckled at Bran’s excitement. He was sure he would be climbing the gates of Winterfell every day to wait for Minna’s arrival. It was no secret to anyone in the Stark family or those working in Winterfell that Bran had a bit of a crush on the tempestuous sailor. While his wife disliked the girl, Ned was very fond of her. Her temper and sharp tongue reminded him of Mei when he first met her. Not to mention that she was the spitting image of Mei at that age.

He wasn’t too old to be oblivious to how his sons acted around pretty girls – especially girls like her. Northern women were one thing, but Mei and Minna were an entire league of women. There had never been two women who would turn Westeros upside down and inside out as much as them. Mei had turned the forever stoic Stannis Baratheon into a feeling human, became the most respected woman in the Keep, and opened trade opportunities for Westeros. At the same time, Minna tore down every obstacle in her path to pursue knowledge and made Dragonstone one of the richest keeps in the Seven Kingdoms – not that Robert or his queen will ever get a hold of a single coin from her.

When Ned and his sons returned to Winterfell, he was immediately bombarded with questions from the rest of his children about whether Minnie was really coming to Winterfell. They asked if he knew about whether he knew she was bringing gifts from her travels. Arya wanted to know if she would give her a dagger forged by the Master blacksmiths from Qohor. Rickon hoped she would bring any sweets and candied fruits.

Even Sansa couldn’t hide her excitement. Despite the girls' differences, Minna would bring Sansa the most exquisite fabrics, accessories, and books. The gifts were more often than not used as a way to distract her from any pranks or tricks pulled on her. Thankfully, Mei would be here as well. Sansa held Lady Mei Baratheon on nearly the same high pedestal as her mother. She would tell how beautiful Sansa was growing and how her grace and charm rivaled the most beautiful empresses from her homeland. She would sing praises of how her stitching looked more impressive than the last time she’d seen it while sharing news of the latest trends worn among noble women worldwide.

Excitement filled the halls of Winterfell at the news of their guests. Preparations were underway for their arrival. Ned went to the Godswood and shone his sword under the branches of the Old Weirwood tree for some peace. He was grateful for the life the Old Gods blessed him with. This was not the life he was meant to have. Everything of his should have been Brandon’s – his wife, his title, his responsibilities – but he wouldn’t change any of it, not for all of the power and gold in the world.

But his world would be crashing down around him when his wife arrived with a message from King’s Landing.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Catelyn told him with sympathetic eyes. Then she told him Jon Arryn had died, and Robert and his wife would travel to Winterfell with their children and the Queen’s brothers.

Ned looked down at his feet. “If he’s traveling this far North, it’s for one thing.” He looked at his wife in hidden fear. “He wants to make me his Hand.”

“First Mei, now Robert,” thought Ned when he shared the news to his children. “May the Old Gods and New protect my family for what’s to come.”

Bran watched the road to his father’s keep from the top of the gates. He saw a single dot moving closer and closer until the dot became a wheelhouse. His eyes widened in excitement as his smile broadened in anticipation for his friend in the horse-drawn carriage that carried House Baratheon’s banner. He stood up and ran across the edge or beginning to climb down the tower. He reached the ground to run to his father at the stables.

“They’re here! They’re here!” he exclaimed when he reached him. The boy was practically bouncing on his heels for barely containing his elation.

Ned chuckled at the sight of his son. “Who, Bran?”

“Minnie! There’s a wheelhouse coming! It carries the sigil of House Baratheon!”

“Was anyone carrying the banner?” his father asked with a quizzical brow raised.

Bran shook his head. “No, but I saw it painted on the top of it.”

“Alright, then,” nodded Ned as he gave his son instructions. “Gather your brothers, sisters, and Shireen. I’ll prepare your mother. Tell them to gather in the courtyard to greet them.”

Bran nodded before doing as his father instructed. He swiftly ran through the familiar halls of the Winterfell keep that was his home. He found Sansa, Arya, and Shireen with Septa Morgane. They were learning their sums when Bran burst into the room. Septa Morgane scolded him for acting so brashly, but her words were quickly ignored when Bran told the girls that Minnie and her mother would soon arrive. As soon as the news left his mouth, Shireen dashed right past him, followed by his sisters.

Jon, Robb, and Theon were already in the courtyard, sparring with wooden swords, when Bran found them. They immediately put away their wooden swords and met their father with Rodrick right behind them. Father and Mother stood side-by-side when Robb stood to Father’s left. Rickon stood next to their mother, and Shireen stood next to him with an eager smile beaming on her face. Sansa stood to Robb’s left, Arya on her right, and Bran was on hers. Jon and Theon were behind them – Theon was a Greyjoy, but Ned Stark’s ward. Jon was a Stark by blood…but not by name.

Shireen was bouncing on the tips of her toes in hopes that time would move faster. The days since her sister’s letter of her arrival moved so slowly, and she could hardly sleep a wink last night for this moment.

“Do you think she missed me?” she whispered to Rickon.

“Of course! Minnie loves you more than anything!” Rickon replied. “Even more than her own ship, I think.”

The loud creaks and groans of the aged wood crept closer and closer until the wheelhouse stopped in the courtyard’s center. The driver ensured the horses were calm and stable before leaping from his seat and opening the doors. A vision in a marigold silk tunic with trumpet sleeves and gold floral patterns paired with a gold belt around her waist. It was a shame that such finery was hidden underneath a thick wool cloak with a thick fur mantle. Her lustrous, flowing, jet-black tresses were bound with a green ribbon and golden stitching in a single braid trailing down her back. The pendant of her husband’s sigil hung down from a simple gold chain over her bosom.

Lady Měilíng Baratheon was the second wife of Stannis Baratheon and the mother of his only son. As she stepped down from the wheelhouse, she stepped on the dirt with such grace and poise that it seemed the Mother of the Seven had come instead of a highborn lord’s wife. A woman over forty years of age who still managed to get pregnant and carry a son to term – she looked far too young to be her age.  

A small boy who could not have been taller than Ned Stark’s knee shuffled behind her. It was the little lording, Steffard Baratheon, the only son of his father and second-in-line to inherit Dragonstone after his older sister, Shireen. He wore a fine coat from a stag’s hide and little shoes to protect his feet. Like his mother, he too wore a gold pendant of his father’s sigil hung from a simple chain. Despite being blessed with most of his mother’s soft features, he certainly inherited his father’s bright blue Baratheon eyes and inky-black curls.

Seeing the boy standing next to his mother, Ned felt a hundred years older than he was. Where had the time gone? He, Mei, and Robert were all children once – children involved in a war to decide the fate of a country for its future years. Ned had once pitied the YiTish girl for the hand she was dealt in life. As a foreigner, she should have had no part in Robert’s Rebellion, but she experienced loss and grief like the rest of them nonetheless.

And now, all three of them were leaders with their own children and carrying burdens on their shoulders that their children would inherit – how the years escaped them.

Měilíng searched for her young daughter and beamed when she found her. She nudged her little son and guided his eyes to his sister. His eyes lit up as he toddled to her, warming her heart. “希希 (XīXī)!” he exclaimed as Shireen ran towards him. Her arms were spread open as Steffard leaped into her arms and wrapped his arms around her neck. “I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!”

“I missed you too!” Shireen giggled as her body was flooded with her baby brother’s warmth.

Still locked in their reunion, the two young siblings spun in circles before falling on the ground in laughter. The scene loosened the tension as House Stark looked at the pair warmly.

When they stopped laughing, Shireen helped her brother as she looked at their mother. Mei’s smile shined as she squatted on the ground, balanced her body with her feet, and spread her arms wide open to greet her daughter. Shireen needed no instructions to race into her mother’s arms. A cocoon of love and happiness blanketed the young Baratheon girl as her face was dotted with pecks and kisses. She buried her face in the crook of her mother’s neck and breathed in her scent – her mother always smelled like the salty sea breeze of Dragonstone and peonies. To Shireen, it was as if she was transported home, and if she closed her eyes, she was back on the shores of the Dragonstone beaches, walking alongside Minnie.

“How are you, my little doe?” her mother asked as she tenderly stroked the back of her head. “Did you enjoy the books your sister and I sent you? Did you enjoy your lessons with Maester Luwin and Septa Morgane?”

Shireen answered her mother with a broad smile and starry eyes. “I am well, mother. I loved the books! But–” Shireen looked behind her mother to try to find her sister “–where is Minnie? Was she not in the wheelhouse with you and Steffard?”

Meiling shook her head as she laughed to herself. “Do not worry, little doe, your sister is here. But she is a little worse for wear after days in the wheelhouse.”

Their mother rose from her feet as her hands remained grasped with Shireen’s. She turned to the wheelhouse behind her and called out her daughter in the language of their homeland. “明阴 (Míng Yīn)! How long do you intend to keep your sister waiting?”

A weary and pained groan exited the horse-drawn transport in response. “Would you give me a minute? I’m a little busy trying not to die here!”

“You are not dying!” Měilíng scoffed. “How long do you want to keep Ned and his family waiting?”

“As soon as I’m done making sure I won’t shit or vomit my guts out! I don’t want to have to pay any additional fees for this torture device on wheels!”

“Do you need a brush for your hair?”

“NO!” A few moments passed. “OKAY! I’m good!”

The giant wooden box creaked as Shireen’s sister finally exited the wheelhouse, and she immediately breathed in the fresh air only found in the North. A young woman an entire head taller than Měilíng stepped into the light – despite the bags under her eyes and the slightly tired look on her face, she was every bit as beautiful and poised as her mother.

Míng Yīn was exactly how Ned Stark imagined her mother would have looked if Mei trained herself in combat and fighting as a child. Her dark almond-shaped eyes could either enchant a man enough to willingly give her his life or scare the souls of all her enemies. Her muscles grew and hardened after years of training under her biological father in Yi Ti before traveling around the world on open seas – fighting anyone who dared cross blades with her and leaving a trail of blood and corpses for fish to nibble on. Ned did not doubt that she would bankrupt his boys if they even dared to try and bet against her in combat.

Míng Yīn wore her hair in a half-up-down style with a part of her hair bound in a simple braid on the back of her head. Her outfit was more fitting of a sailor than a highborn noblewoman. She wore a mid-length dark blue wool robe with a silver border stitched on the hem and long sleeves. The robe was wrapped around her body in a way that left her neck, collarbones, and the slightest hint of her cleavage out in the open. The dark linen sash that held her sword and dagger further emphasized the curve of her hips and waist. The black leather breeches hugged her lower body, and the tall black leather boots highlighted the muscles of her calves.

A large black jaguar had quickly come outside the wheelhouse as well. Its pristine and shiny coat shone in the faint sunlight that bathed Winterfell. Without missing a beat, it promptly stood beside its mistress, scanning the new environment for any dangers that would risk his beloved mistress’ safety and well-being.

So, Míng had indeed brought Wu. Robb’s mother wouldn’t like that.

But unlike her mother and brother, Míng Yīn did not wear the sigil of her mother’s second husband’s house. On her neck and sitting on her breasts was a black jade pendant with a small dragon with a white eye carved into it hung from a red string. On each side of the pendant was a tiny Dragon’s Bloodstone bead.

Robb unconsciously straightened his posture at the sight of her. He felt himself release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding until Ming came into view. Years’ worth of memories flooded his mind as she reached for her younger sister.

The young Baratheon girl launched herself in her sister’s arms. “Minnie! You’re here!”

Robb watched on the sidelines as Ming greeted Shireen with a dozen kisses for each month since they last saw one another. He wondered if she still smelled as cool and crisp as the ocean’s wind that blew through her hair. Or if her skin would taste as warm and bright as the sunshine soaking her skin while she stood on her ship’s dock on cloudless days.

He longed for a sample – anything would be enough.

When the two sisters parted, Wu gently lowered himself to nudge his head against Shireen. Loud purrs came from his throat as the young girl scratched that spot under his chin and stroked his back.

“Oh, Wu! You’ve become even more beautiful! Thank you for protecting Minnie!”

The beast preened at the attention. Míng Yīn was his mistress and savior and, therefore, his favorite. His eternal loyalty and love would forever belong to her. But if he had to choose a second favorite, it would belong to Shireen Baratheon – for she had the purest soul and kindest heart in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Rickon could also not contain himself and joined his betrothed to embrace her sister. The sight of two small children clinging to the person who brought fear and awe to every sailor, sea merchant, and trading company from Westeros to Essos was both comical and heartwarming. A scene that became more comical was when Míng Yīn grabbed one child each and flung them on her shoulders as if they were small sacks of flour. Wu jumped on his hind legs to play as he licked their tiny hands.

Finally, Lady Měilíng of House Baratheon and her children brought themselves to stand before the Lord of the Winterfell and knelt with one knee on the ground in a show of respect. Ned told them to raise before bringing his old friend in a tight embrace.

When they parted, he gave her a look-down to take the sight of her in fully. “Gods, look at you. How many years has it been?"

Měilíng gave a kind smile in response. “I’d say almost two years – far shorter compared to when you’ve last seen Robert.”

“How is Robert in King’s Landing? Is he working Stannis to the ground?”

Měilíng huffed in annoyance at the mention of her brother-in-law’s name. “Oh, of course. The man’s too stupid and fat to do anything else but order his brother, my husband, and his Hand to run his kingdom while he eats, drinks, and whores himself to ruin.”

Everyone apart from Ned widened their eyes in shock at the woman’s words. Did she not fear for her head? Was it alright if the wife of the King’s brother said such things of him? But Mei only turned to Ned’s wife as she bowed in respect for Lady Stark.

“Lady Stark,” she spoke in a clear and calm voice. “On behalf of my husband and House Baratheon, I humbly thank you for opening your home to allow my daughter to stay with your children this past year. Your generosity was further extended to allow room for my family’s visit. I cannot imagine the stress my eldest daughter gave you when her letter stated that we would be here in less than two weeks.”

Catelyn bowed her head in response. “Think nothing of it, my lady. Lady Shireen Baratheon had been our home's most polite and wonderful guest. I am grateful you and your husband sent her to my family’s home to host her. She had quickly become my youngest son’s most favorite playmate.”

Měilíng smiled at the woman’s words. She then turned to the Stark children before greeting each and every one of them. She marveled at how tall and handsome Robb had become since childhood. She softly whispered in his ear if he were hopeful that his sparring skills improved enough to beat her daughter. Seeing him sputtering and pale skin blushing made a very amusing scene. When she came across Sansa, she gasped and held the girl’s hands in her own.

“Oh, Sansa!” she exclaimed. “Look at you! You’ve grown so beautiful and tall since I last saw you. I thought you were a princess! And your cloak – tell me, did you do the stitching?”

Sansa softly giggled as she blushed from the praise. “Yes, Lady Baratheon. I’ve improved a lot in my stitching and needlework since you last saw me – I’m sure I could even make you something, if you’d like.”

Měilíng put a gentle palm on the girl’s cheek. “I would love nothing more. Perhaps you would even convince my eldest to practice her needlework. Or even try to persuade her to stop wearing breeches and trousers when she’s not at sea.”

“Never going to happen, Mother,” interjected Míng Yīn, who had finally put Shireen and Rickon on the ground after greeting Lord and Lady Stark. “I do enough needlework on my own. Thank you very much.”

Míng Yīn’s mother turned to her daughter in exasperation. “The only time you practiced as a child for needlework was to sew wounds close after training with your father.”

“…Yeah, exactly,” Míng Yīn nodded with a slight shrug and a blank expression. “What more needlework skills are necessary after that?”

“Minnie!” shouted Arya and Bran as they both made their way to crowd the woman. After exchanging warm greetings and kind words, the most essential questions came from the younger Stark daughter’s mouth.

“Did you bring gifts?” she asked in an eager tone.

“Arya!” exclaimed her sister and mother. Both women’s faces turned red at Arya’s impoliteness as Ned and his friend only laughed at the girl’s bluntness.

Míng Yīn stroked her chin as if deep in thought. “Did I bring gifts? Huh…I wonder…that doesn’t sound like something I’d do. Is it?”

Bran jumped like a child of four after eating too much sugar. “You did! Can we see them? Please?” He turned to his father with pleading eyes.

Ned slightly shook his head. “Come on now, Bran. Let our guests first get settled in their rooms. Judging from Lady Minna’s expression, she could do for a bit of rest.”

“But after they get settled, can they give us the presents?” Rickon sweetly asked while holding Steffard’s hand on one side while Shireen held the other as they placed the baby on Wu’s back.

His mother answered as she softly stroked his head. “After they rest for a bit, then we will have supper. The cooks prepared a feast for our guests’ arrival. There will be plenty of time tomorrow.”

Even Sansa deflated a bit with her younger siblings that they couldn’t receive their presents sooner rather than later.

Míng Yīn grabbed Shireen by the back of her cloak before placing her sister on her back. Shireen was a bit shocked before she giggled at the display of her sister’s open affection and wrapped her arms around her neck as Míng Yīn looped her arms around her little legs.

“Anyone been doing this for you while I’ve been gone?” she smirked.

Shireen responded with glee. “No! I only like you doing these!”

As Robb watched his parents and sister walk off with Lady Meiling and Steffard, he figured now was as good a time as any to approach Ming. Shireen jumped off her back to her mother’s side to try and hold her brother the rest of the way to their rooms.

“Ming!” he called out. He felt his palms grow sweaty when she turned around in his direction.

He walked towards her with long, confident strides. He thought he looked intimidating, but he realized that wasn’t the case when she burst out laughing. The young lord’s ears burned at her reaction, and they only grew hotter when he heard Theon and Jon snickering behind him.

She only stopped laughing long enough to gasp out a response. “What’s with that face? You look like you swallowed a lemon!”

…Fuck, what was Robb to say in response to that? He had to be smart about this. He would not make a fool of himself. He tried his best not to stare at the jaguar staring at him with hollow eyes.

“…I’m finally taller than you,” he dumbly stated.

“Shit,” was the only echoing in Robb’s mind as he heard Jon and Theon loudly guffawed as they heard him.

He didn’t have to look behind him to know that the bastards collapsed on the ground, gasping for air.

But Míng Yīn only walked toward him while Wu did not come any closer before stopping a few feet away as she traced her eyes over his face and down his form. He saw her dark eyes crinkle with appreciation as a sweet smile spread. She snorted out through her nose as she stepped even closer until only a few inches of air were between them. Wu still hadn’t moved, but he was staring more intensely than before, and Robb wondered if his death would be from a jaguar clawing out his throat.

“Yes,” she whispered as her eyes darted to his lips. “You’re much taller now.”

Blue met black as only the noises came from their parents walking farther and farther away. Their growing distance made the space between them seem more like a separate reality. One where it was only the two of them and no one else. Robb’s eyes quickly glanced down to Ming’s lips, and his Adam’s apple bobbed at the thought of them around his cock.

But that bubble burst when Míng Yīn bumped her fist into Robb’s chest and backed away with a cheeky grin and mischievous eyes.

“笨蛋 (Bèndàn), I’m still going to kick your ass in the courtyard, though.” She turned to Wu before walking. “Come on, 无牙 (Wú yá)! Let’s catch up to 小希 (Xiǎo xī )! I want to take a bath before dinner.” She turned to walk back to her family and called out to him without looking back. “You’ll always be a hundred years too early to beat me in a fight!”

Robb only stood in a daze as he watched her walk away. When Theon slapped his back, he finally came to and saw that Jon was beside him.

Theon snickered at the glare his friend gave him. “Stare at her ass any longer, and I’ll think you’ve become more scarecrow than wolf. Plus, I think the cat can sense your eyes.”

Robb only shrugged. “It’s a good ass to stare at.”

“It’s a great ass to stare at. That doesn’t make you look less stupid.”

“Can we stop talking about Ming’s backside?” Jon begged. He didn’t like talking about their friend in such a disrespectful manner, and he liked the idea of Wu tearing out their throats even less. “Let’s get back to sparring with Rodrick before the feast.”

Another reason to adore Míng Yīn – she hated it when Jon wasn’t included in the feasts while she was staying at Winterfell. The feast of her first coming to Winterfell with her mother was marked mainly by how she walked out of the Great Hall and returned with Jon. She dragged him by the wrist before seating him right next to her at the table.

Jon was terrified Lady Stark would berate his new friend for deliberately bringing the bastard to the feast. But all that came was a stare-down between the Lady Stark and Ming Yin. Lady Stark’s face was red with embarrassment, and she stared down at the girl with the most terrifying look Jon had ever seen. Just remembering the expression gave chills down his spine.

But Ming refused to back down. She unblinkingly returned the lady’s stare with her own, and it was as if a silent war had broken out. Ming wasn’t afraid of the red-haired fish with crow’s feet under her eyes. A wolf by marriage was hardly a wolf at all. She wasn’t going to be beaten in a battle of wills – not then, not ever.

Ned sat by his wife, wondering if Mei would bring war to his feet if his wife killed her beloved daughter. Meiling sat beside Lady Stark in rapt interest for the events unfolding. She always loved it when her little goblin decided to enact her idea of justice. She loved it even more when she took charge.

After what seemed like hours, Lady Stark conceded to the girl as she returned to her meal. Ming turned to Jon with bright stars in her clever eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you?” she asked with a broad smile. “I’m invincible.”

Since then, Jon has always included every time a feast was held for the YiTish women. An act of genuine kindness that was appreciated by all of Jon’s siblings and his father.

An act that only deepened the infatuation of a confident young wolf with dark auburn curls and bright blue eyes.

An infatuation that the Gods saw morph into obsession as they felt shivers course through their divine forms in anticipation of the future ahead.

*Additional Notes:

The characters from Yi Ti and other countries in this stories will different ways of how they are referred

Míng Yīn's Nicknames and Who uses them:

Ming - Robb, Theon, Jon, Sansa, and Catelyn Stark

Minna - Ned (he is the only one allowed)

Míng Yīn - Luwin

Minnie - Shireen, Rickon, Arya, Bran

Měilíng's Nicknames and Who uses them:

Mei - Robert, Ned, Renly, and Stannis

Translations:

希希 (XīXī) - Hope Hope; 希 means "hope"; Shireen's name in Chinese is written as 希琳 (Xī lín), in which 希 means "hope," and 琳 means "forest." Because Steffard is a baby who grew up hearing Yi Tish and Westerosi Common, it makes sense he would refer to Shireen with a nickname.

小希 (Xiǎo xī ) - Little Hope; another nickname for Shireen, but specifically from her older sister. Míng Yīn is a girl who is thousands of miles away from her hometown, Wan, in Yi Ti. When her mother married Stannis, she had to leave everyone she ever loved, including her older brother. But seeing baby Shireen have her hope that everything would turn out for the better.

明阴 (Míng Yīn) - 明 means "bright," and 阴 is the character used for "yin" in the Chinese philosophy of "yin and yang". The character's direct translation is "negative," but it is also used to describe "femininity, moon, water, and earth" as it represents the female principle of the universe

笨蛋 (Bèndàn) - Fool or dumbass; 笨 means "fool," while 蛋 means "egg." Technically, the direct translation is "foolish egg," but most people will use it to call someone an idiot.

无牙 (Wú yá) - toothless; 无 means "none," while 牙 means "tooth"; Míng Yīn named him this because when she first found him as a cub, he didn't have any teeth.

杀手 (Shāshǒu) - killer; this is Shadow's actual name; Shadow is a Peregrine Falcon

Tagging: @succnfuccubus, @valeskafics, @arcielee, @anya-snow, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @jamera-ash, @lillian-morningstar, @strangedragonqueen, @writingsofwesteros, @a-libra-writes, @leonkennedyslefthand, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @hd-junglebook, @what-the--curtains, @axelsagewrites

❄️ Imagine Being Luwin's Apprentice & Childhood Friends with Robb, Jon, and Theon ❄️

-> This will include headcanons about all Starks, but focus on these three dorks towards the end.

A/N: There's an utter lack of for our Kings of the North and Kraken, so this is my attempt to add to it. These might be a bit lengthy.

Here's the general dynamic of you, Robb, Jon, and Theon. I put in Hogwarts House Terms, but I in no way support JK Rowling.

Robb - Gryffindor

Jon - Hufflepuff

Theon - Slytherin

You - Ravenclaw

In the simplest terms, you hold the only brain cell.

-> Let's say you were a low-born girl on a trek to Winterfell so you could learn under Maester Luwin. You were a rare kind of low-born who knew how to read, and you wanted to learn more. Your parents didn't approve and tried to sell you off, so you ran away with a small travel sack of your journal, clothes, and some food. You cut your hair and wore breeches to look like a boy.

-> It took many days and nights, but you eventually made it to Winterfell and refused to leave until you met with Lord Eddard Stark. Needless to say, ol' Ned Stark was shocked to find the person demanding his presence was a four-foot-tall dirty child with feet caked in mud and steely eyes. He asked if something happened to your family and you immediately deeply bowed and asked if you could learn under Maester Luwin before fainting from a high fever.

-> While treating you and finding out that you were a girl, Luwin looked through your tiny journal and was shocked to find you knew your letters and could write better than his lord's children and ward. He read the passages you wrote while traveling. You drew pictures of different plants and animals and wrote your observations of them. Luwin decided right then and there that he would take you in as an apprentice. When you woke up, he told you the good news, and you were so happy you jumped in the air with a loud "WHOOP" before tackling the old man down with a hug.

-> Ned was a bit unsure, but he trusted Luwin's judgment. If his oldest advisor told him that he believed that you had great potential as a scholar, he believed him. When you were brought over to meet Lord and Lady Stark, you were shocked at how tall and imposing Ned looked. "ARE YOU A GIANT? DO YOU OWN THIS CASTLE?" were your first words to the man as a huge smile spread across your face. After being shocked for a few moments, Ned threw his head back and laughed harder than he had in ages. He patted your head and ruffled your hair. "No child, I'm no giant. But I am the lord of this castle, and your lord, too."

-> Catelyn was much more skeptical because what kind of low-born child learned how to read? When she led you to your new chambers, she asked you this, and you proudly answered her. "I taught myself! There was a traveler passing through my village one day, and I nicked his books and charcoal!" At her horrified expression, you made sure to clarify that he was already dead and you didn't take his money. That didn't really calm her down, but her husband already decided to let Luwin take you in as an apprentice, so you might as well learn how to dress and speak like a lady.

-> Jon was the first Stark child you befriended. Luwin ordered you to take a break from your lessons since you've been holed up reading and writing nonstop. You found him practicing alone in the courtyard, hitting a training dummy with a wooden sword. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" you shouted to him. Your voice startled him so much that he dropped his sword to the ground and jumped like three feet into the air. "I'm training," he answered, and when you asked if you could stay and watch, he agreed. He was shy at first, but you and he built a quick and strong friendship after a couple more times you watched him train. There would be times you convinced him to take a break from his training, and you two would explore Winterfell's nooks and crannies. Jon didn't expect to like you so quickly, but you made it too easy.

-> Strangely enough, Theon was the second boy of the trio you would meet and befriend. It didn't go as smoothly as you meeting Jon. Theon thought you were one of the new maids-in-training and decided to tease you by tugging your hair and trying to scare you with stories about his Ironborn family coming to raid and burn keeps and steal rude pretty little girls. You just shrugged and told him, "I'll just cut my hair and pretend to be a boy. I'll even not bathe to smell like one - not the first time I did that." You then asked him if he knew more stories about mermaids and if Nagga's bones really made up the Grey King's Hall on Old Wyk. From there on, it became very noticeable to everyone that although Theon was Robb's shadow, he was only really soft with you.

-> Robb was the last to meet you. His mother didn't like the idea of her son meeting and befriending a low-born girl. But one day, he got hurt and went to visit Luwin. Imagine his surprise to see a girl his age sitting with Luwin as she read from books too hard for him to read. Luwin introduced the two of you, and you asked if you could help treat Robb this time since you felt ready. Very quickly, you treated his wounds. From then on, Robb would see you before seeing Luwin. He liked how close you got when you told him what you've learned under Luwin. He liked being close enough to you that he could smell your hair. It upset him to know that Theon and Jon knew about you before he did, but his ire quickly went away when you agreed to be his friend.

-> Ever since you began your lessons under Septa Mordane, you learned the benefits of knowing your stitches since you could use this skill to treat wounds and lower the risk of infection. You didn't care so much as the other stuff, but you quickly learned the most complicated and intricate stitches, which got the septa's approval. Whenever you had time to play with the boys again, you would always carry some needle and thread with you. You'd also carry boiled vinegar if you needed a disinfectant and a balm for wound care. This proved to be EXTREMELY useful as you four continued to play and grow older.

-> Because you were learning lessons under Luwin and the septa, you had to learn how to stitch, dress, act, and talk like a lady. Lady Stark grew very fond of you, as you were surprisingly complacent and took to acting more ladylike very quickly. This was not going unnoticed by the boys, and soon, it was very quickly becoming apparent to everyone but you that the three eldest boys of Winterfell were utterly besotted with you. At this point, Luwin thought you were like a daughter and his family. He loved you very much and warned you to be careful around your friends. He encouraged you to spend more time with Sansa, Arya, and other girls your age.

-> It frustrated you, but you still listened. You didn't know what the fuss was all about. Theon, Robb, Jon, and you were friends. Yep. Just friends. No hormonal teenage feelings emerging.

-> When Bran and Rickon were old enough, you quickly became as involved in their lessons as Luwin had been for the boys. You made their lessons fun and memorable for the young boys. Luwin looks at you with so much love and pride when the boys tell him about your lessons and how happy and excited they always act whenever you teach them something new. You've even made sums and history seem fun! You were also very involved with Sansa and Arya's education. They had Septa Morgane, but they also wanted to learn under you, and before you knew it, you were teaching four children - all younger than you.

-> Rickon and Arya absolutely worshiped you. You always had time to play with Rickon and never sent him away if you were busy like his mother and father had to sometimes. For Arya, she loved how you never thought her strange and weird for being so different from Sansa. These two followed you like ducklings whenever they had free time. The sight greatly amused Ned and Catelyn, as they thought it was the funniest thing to see how two young wolves are so dedicated to following you. And you being close doesn't go unnoticed by the boys.

-> Robb and Jon would stare at you with so much longing whenever you carried Rickon in your arms and sang him lullabies. They'd grow stupidly jealous that you could kiss Rickon and Bran's cheeks and foreheads to wish them goodnight or ease their pains if they tripped or fell. They would fantasize what their lives would be like if they could court you and take you as their wife. But it could never be.

-> Robb must marry a highborn noble lady as his father's heir to continue House Stark's legacy and ensure the North's safety. He knew this fact his whole life, but knowing that you couldn't be the one he took as a wife hurt him so much. To him, you embodied all the necessary qualities to be a Lady Stark: your kindness, beauty, wit, and intellect—just to name a few. Robb would try to impress you by escorting you to feasts held in the Great Hall and remaining by your side to joke and dance with you. After every dance, he'd take your hand and lay a gentle kiss on it as you would laugh and playfully shove him. Sometimes, when the feasts got too noisy and loud, he and you would sneak to just hang out in the kitchens. He would always get a stern talking-to with his mother for not talking with other ladies, but he only wanted you. Besides, how could he regret spending the entire feast beside you with your body pressed so close to his?

-> Growing up with Jon, you obviously knew about his bastard status. But you always told him that his name "Snow" didn't matter because he was among the most wonderful and sweetest people you've ever met. Sometimes, you'd successfully manage to take his mind off it, but there were days when it felt like the entire world was staring at him for it. Either Lady Catelyn said something very cruel and hurtful to him, or Theon poked too much fun at him. On these days, you'd take a few pastries or fruits from the kitchens that you stole, grab his hand, and hide away in the Godswoods. You would share your treats and talk about everything you've learned under Luwin. Sometimes, you'd have a book with you and read him your favorite stories about magic and dragons until the sun goes down. Jon won't really have much to say. He'll nod and smile and laugh, and sometimes he'll sneak glances and wonder how could someone look so beautiful and perfect in the sunset?

-> Theon decided it was better to go about the Ironborn way and "steal" you from whatever you were doing or whomever you were with. He'd go get you whenever you were with Septa Mordane and say that Luwin had called for you or if one of the younger Starks was asking about you. He'd get you out, and two seconds later, he and you were taking walks in Winter Town and goofing off. He'd also pull some dumb teenage boy pranks to get your attention. He'd tease you by asking you questions when you're off guard and make you say embarrassing answers. When you finally realize what you said, you would get insanely flustered and whack him while he laughs. But unlike with others, he'll actually apologize to you and make it up to you by showing you how to shoot an arrow. But honestly, it's just an excuse for him to get close to you. He likes to "help" by positioning your arm and standing extra close.

A/N: I got tons more planned but I didn't want to make it too long! But please comment or reblog to let me know what you think or if you have ideas you want to drop in my ask box!

can we please have more headcanons on being friends with rob, jon and theon plz!!!

A/N: There are no words to describe how sorry I am for how long this took. I had so many incomplete fics on the backburner and finals are the WORST. But I hope this makes up for it!

This takes place in the same universe where the reader is Luwin's apprentice and grew up with the boys!

-> It was a well-known fact to the smallfolk residents of Winter Town that one of their own had managed to rise to the station of being an apprentice for THE Starks' one and only maester. Since then, you became a very popular figure for them.

-> If you weren't at the Winterfell Library or studying with Maester Luwin, you could often be found wandering around WInter Town and getting to know the townsfolk on a more personal level than the Starks. You were especially popular with mothers and children. You took special care to teach them how to gather special herbs for simple home remedies instead of medicine they cannot afford.

-> For the smallfolk children, you were used to them after years of being around the Starks when they were young, so you knew exactly how to handle them. As you became more competent and reliable, Luwin gave you more responsibilities and much more free time than when you first began. As a result, when a child would scrape their knee or get a cold, you were the first person people looked for help.

-> You soon became known as the 'Winter Fairy' to the smallfolk because you were always willing to help them with their troubles.

-> You even got money for your services to the Winter Town brothel. The girls adored you. You had herbs and remedies that made their lives so much easier: herbs to prevent pregnancies, remedies to quickly heal bruises and dark spots from a rough patron, poultices and ointments for rashes and sores, teas to reduce fevers and flush out illness - you were a gem!

-> Luwin didn't love that you were getting money for your help, but he supposed that since you were still just an apprentice, you needed to find a way to get money for more personal reasons. The Starks would pay you a fair wage when you became a full-time healer, and Luwin offered you a few coins as an allowance - but you refused to take his money. THis seemed like a much better manner of business to you.

-> The only ones who didn't seem to know of your services were the Stark Children and Theon. And you preferred it that way. Robb, Jon, and Theon were your best friends, but they could be so possessive of your time.

-> It seemed that the older you all grew, the more they expected that your time and your life be readily available for them and only them.

-> Theon was easily the worst of the three. He would find you wandering Winter Town on your own and would outright demand to know what you were skipping your duties - as if he wasn't doing the same thing. He would grab your arm and drag you all the way back. You could have been screaming, kicking, and throwing the worst tantrum a child could imagine - he would still put you in your place.

-> It was really bad when he found you at the brothel after he had spent some well-spent money on Ros, only to find you at the entrance in a thick cloak. He barked out your name, and you quickly tried to leave with your things before he could catch you. But you were much too slow, and he all-to-easily wrapped his hand around your wrist and led you out of the establishment.

"How can you be so stupid," he barked while dragging you. "You're a girl, alone, walking into a brothel like that? What would've happened if I wasn't there?" You struggled against him. "It's not like I was doin' anything bad or illegal," you snarled. "I was just selling herbs and teas for them! Maester Luwin said I could!" But Theon didn't hear any of it. "What if a man thought you were a new girl, huh? He would've paid for you and took you while you were cryin' and screaming without a care for your tears." "Nothing would've happened," you protested. "The madam of the place likes me! So do the girls - they wouldn't let anything happen to me!" "Stupid girl," Theon muttered while shaking his head. "From now on, you're not allowed to leave without me, Robb, or Jon with you. Gods know you can't be trusted on your own."

-> Robb was almost as bad as Theon. He would've been much, much worse if he hadn't been so busy with his duties as the first son and heir. He does place a great deal of trust in you. After all, you were approved by his father AND Luwin, and you were the smartest person he'd ever met, so he knows he can trust you on your own.

-> That is until when you become more lovely and beautiful as you grow older, and more men begin to notice you. Specifically, men who were allowed to flirt and court you because they were of similar stations to you. Knights, stableboys, stewards, and valets would come to you for the most minor things as an excuse to be near you, and it infuriated Robb to the point where he asked his father to order Luwin to order you to exclusively treat women and children.

-> To say you were furious was an understatement.

"How dare you?!" you demanded. You had returned from treating one of the sick children in Winter Town when you were ordered to meet with your mentor. "You had no right!" "Love," Robb sighed while pinching the bridge between his eyes. "What exactly d'you think I did?" "Do not take me for a fool, Robb Stark!" you snarled. "Asking Lord Stark to tell Luwin that I can only treat women and children is a gross insult to me and my skills!" "You're not qualified to treat knights and men!" Robb protested. "I'm saving you more trouble in the end!" Robb knew what he was saying wasn't true. You were more qualified - years after treating him, Jon, and Theon for their mishaps in the courtyard proved that. But what mattered was him convincing you to think you weren't qualified. It was of the utmost importance that you not be near anyone who could flirt and woo you. It was petty and childish, but Robb didn't care. "How can you be so mean?" you whimpered. You wanted to cry. "I know I'm good enough! You're lucky that Lord Stark laughed it off as a joke when I came to him!" "He what?!" Robb balked. "That's right," you nodded. "And if you ever pull something like this again, I won't ever help you if you get hurt in the courtyard again!"

-> Jon was a different beast altogether. Like the other two, he got unreasonably jealous when men would flirt with you - even if it wasn't serious. But he knew better than to insult your character or question your skills and professionalism. He understood that it was your job to care for those men, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Especially when he sees how oblivious you are to how much those men stare and long for you the same way he does.

-> He hated it because it reminded him how his status as a bastard meant he had nothing to offer you. Those men weren't good enough for you - none of them were. But they could provide for you, unlike him. But instead of pissing you off by getting angry with you, he'd just distance and brood to himself. He wouldn't be near you and instead would order Ghost to follow you around in his stead - which, if anything, pissed you off even more.

"Well?" Jon looked up from his sword to see you standing before him with your hands placed on your hips. You looked absolutely enraged at him, and Jon had a slight inkling why. "Umm," he cleared his throat. "I dunno what you mean, my lady." He stood and tried to walk away. "I think I hear Robb callin' for me, so I best be off." "I didn't hear Robb call your name," you growled. You shifted from your spot to block his path. "I don't hear anyone - everyone's in the Great Hall." "Yes, the Great Hall," Jon murmured. "Which is where I believe you're supposed to be as well." You stomped down your foot in frustration. "Don't act smart with me, Lord Jon," you ordered. "I can see you trying to avoid me. Every time I try to talk to you, you pretend you have something to do, or someone's calling for you when I know you didn't have chores or duties to do at any of those times." Jon looked down at his feet. "I dunno what you're on about," he muttered. "I've been busy, that's all. Even if I'm just a bastard, I still have duties to this house." "UGH! You're so infuriating!" you groaned. "I don't care that you're a bastard, y'hear me? You're my best friend, and that's all that matters to me! Who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks?!" When Jon tried to respond, you cut him off. "And before you try any of that 'it's not good for you to be seen with me' sheep dung, may I remind you that I was a smallfolk girl who ran away from home? If anything, I'm lower than you, and you don't see me caring." You walked closer to him. "And neither should you." Jon couldn't do anything but dumbly nod. His silent response made you smile. "Good," you held out your hand. "C'mon now, I'm starving, and I know you are too. And you should really reward Ghost better. He's been putting in an awful lot of work following me around and scaring my patients - 'specially my male ones." "Attaboy, Ghost," Jon thought to himself.

Let me know what you think in the comments and if you wanna be tagged for more GOT, HOTD, and/or ASOIAF content! If you have any ideas or suggestions, please drop an ask in my ask box!

Has anyone ever thought about yn with dyed hair being transported to a show like for example vikings, game of thrones, and house of the dragon.

How do you think the characters of these shows or any show like them, would react to finding out that the hair color they see on yn isn't real?

Edit: or maybe yn comes from their world, visits a world like ours then comes back with dyed hair.

This is a hair style I imagine, you can change the colors.

You know on how in how to train your dragon hiccup creates these fire proof armer. What if yn does that and show the characters in game of thrones/house of the dragon how they did that.

What if the marvel universe and house of the dragon/game of thrones universe are connected, and yn, daughter of tony stark Aka ironman, somehow got transported to the past.

You can choose when

Just imagine the stark house reaction to their descendant coming from the future and roasting anyone and everyone (with words) no matter who they are but yet gains a herem.