Which one of your OC's is the most like you? 🎤 🎤 🎤
@greyjoymaxxing
hmmmm that is a fascinating question bc i think i put something of myself into all of my oc's? that probably sounds really obnoxious but it's what helps me connect to them!
but if i had to choose one oc i think it's constance serrett. quietly sitting in the back of functions with a nose in a book 🙂↕️ we both like being amongst people as long as they leave us be and only ask about our special interests if they talk to us at all
Which of your OC's is the most like you? Just a silly question while I work on those tag games :3
@greyjoymaxxing
I love this question because I try to put a bit of myself in all of my OCs so it really is a fun question.
Short answer: Mercelyn.
Long answer: Mercelyn is like if you take me and make me born in asoiaf.
Vaenya: is like if you take me and my trauma, plus she reminds me more of like younger me on steroids.
Saerys: is like me, but her life gets ruined so she goes full freak... So yeah like me, but I haven't snapped yet. :P
Melaena: is like if you give me all the riches, the dick, and the evil blunt.
Sylvia: is me if you allow me to be a jack ass and it works.
Jaena: is if you give me the responsibilities I wish for and like me be a whore.
Rosyn: is if I get my childhood run away fantasy, but it goes horribly wrong.
Rhaella: is my weird girl / My issue of people taking me responsible and serious.
Look-wise: Mercelyn, I based her look off of me. I gave her my Calico hair, piercings, plus face-shape.
(I put them on a loose order)
I'm so sorry for the late response, I'm free on spring break now, so I'm keeping back up after midterms. <3
I love answering questions so if anyone wants to ask more feel free!
Chapter Two: The Lords of Whitepine
Ser Duncan the Tall x f! chronically ill!OC
ao3
summary: Lyna gets two visitors that make her day even more taxing. Still, she manages to help Dunk with a daring rescue mission.
an: alternative chapter title could be 'a DILF and his annoying son' Dunk will being showing up a lot more in the next chapter, I just wanted to focus on Lyna's relationships. including her current crush.
cw: misogyny, internalized misogyny, angst, Lyna has feelings for a guy who's over 20 years older than her and theres some sexual tension
wc: 2.7k
<- chapter one || you are here || chapter three ->
She had retreated to a far corner of her mind by midday. At some point, Dake had vanished from his chair. Most like he went to visit the brothel. No matter how poor the inn was doing, Dake always had money for whoring. Lyna frowned, scanning the room. It was nearly evenfall now, so all of the patrons were gathered for dinner.
Lyna’s brows furrowed. She should’ve stopped by the market earlier; she would’ve done it if she hadn’t spent the day in such a haze. There was just enough food left to make dinner, albeit with slightly smaller portions than usual. She’d make sure to charge one less copper in recompense.
She carried trencher after trencher of roasted boar to each table. She glanced at Ser Duncan and Egg while making their plates. She pursed her lips. The two of them were clearly wanting in terms of food. She wished she had enough to give them a proper sized meal. Ser Duncan was a big man, and she knew big men needed more food than little men. But still… her eyes flicked to Egg. He was so small, like one of the baby birds in the nest above the inn’s door. The thought of a child not getting enough food made her heart twist into knots. She slipped some extra meat onto Egg’s plate.
By the time Lyna was done serving dinner, some people had already begun to finish. Lyna could have wept. Instead, she gritted her teeth and began to wash the empty dishes. Just one break, that was all she wanted. It didn’t even have to be long! She’d be perfectly happy with just a few minutes. Really—
“Hey, Lyna!” Oh, anything but him right now. Please, gods. She was glad, not for the first time, that Benjicott couldn’t read her mind. He probably just needed something. She turned to face him.
Benjicott Whitepine had eyes the color of emeralds. At least, that’s what he said. Lyna always thought they were more akin to the dark branches of the pines around the village. His messy hair was as dark as a moonless night, like the rest of his siblings. He was the youngest and loudest of the four Whitepine children, always strutting around like he had something to prove. Lyna pitied him.
“Excited for the festival?” There was a smirk plastered onto his face, as usual.
Not particularly, Lyna wanted to answer. She pushed the thought down and smiled at him. “Quite. I have a full day of decorating tomorrow.”
“Right, yeah. That’s… fun. Are you working tomorrow?” He gave her a cheeky smile.
There it was. “Benjicott—”
“Ah-ah.”
“...Benji, I work most every day. You know that.” She bit back her sigh. He didn’t deserve her ire. He only wished to speak with her, yet she was praying to the gods he’d go away.
“Yeah, yeah,” he hummed, “I know. You’re dull.” Benjicott mussed her hair. “Have you seen your father yet?”
Lyna’s heart stopped in her chest. “He’s already here?” She asked, her voice shockingly steady. She wasn’t ready yet. She looked a mess from working all day. She didn’t want Lord Stark to see her like this.
“Why would I know? Not like anyone tells me anything in this godsforsaken place.” Benjicott groused, crossing his arms. “He arrived early last year, though.”
Lyna let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Lord Stark had arrived early last year, but that wasn’t planned. They had left earlier than usual to accommodate for a storm. Except it didn’t end up storming, and the Starks and their retinue arrived two days early. Benjicott had moped, publicly complaining about their accidental extended visit.
When they were young, Benjicott insisted that she learn etiquette with him. All these years later, it seemed as though she retained it far better than he did. The irony wasn’t lost on Lyna. If she were a lady, she never would have shown disappointment to her liege lord.
She took a deep breath. “Benji, if you aren’t going to help me clean, then please go. I’ll never be able to escape from work if you keep distracting me,” she chided. “We can speak some other time.”
Benjicott frowned. “Fine,” he muttered. “Some other time.” He left her to her cleaning, practically storming out of the inn. Lyna bit her tongue. She should have just let him prattle on. Maybe she could have tuned him out. She rubbed at her temple. She didn’t have enough energy to worry about him.
By the time she was done washing dishes, all of the patrons had gone to bed. Lyna rubbed at her eyes. She still had to clean the tables and sweep the floor, even though everything hurt. She’d work better after a break, she told herself. The cold air nipped at her skin as she stepped out the door.
Ser Duncan was standing just outside the inn. He was on the tips of his toes, half concealed by a pine tree. His hands were raised towards the tree, reaching for something that Lyna couldn’t see.
“Ser?” she called. “What are you doing?”
He jumped back from the tree as though he were a naughty child that had been caught stealing the last sweet. There were pine needles in his messy hair. The swelling of his nose had gone down a bit from that morning, and the coloration was nearly back to normal.
“There’s a cat stuck,” he explained, pointing back at the tree. “I was trying to get it down, but it wouldn’t let me grab it.”
Lyna hummed. The village had loads of cats. Everyone pitched in to take care of them, even though they loved to make their own lives more difficult. Lyna preferred them getting stuck in trees to them running around the horses. They were less likely to get hurt in a tree.
“I can help, ser. The cats know me well. You can pick me up so I’ll be able to reach it.” The last thing she wanted to do right now was help a cat, to be honest. Speaking with Benjicott always tired her out.
Before she could blink, Ser Duncan hoisted her up onto one of his shoulders as though she were a small child. She instinctively gripped at his hair, clutching onto him as tightly as she could. She had never been this high off the ground before. The pines almost seemed small from this height. She could feel one of his hands gripping her hip, the warmth from his calloused palm bleeding into her skin. She could feel the strength in him. Her cheeks warmed. He grunted low in the back of his throat, and his big hands gripped her harder, dragging her out of her thoughts.
She loosened her hold on his hair. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Ser Duncan!”
“S’fine. It didn’t hurt.” He took a shaky breath in. “Just get the cat.”
Right, the cat. She was at a height with the cat now that she was on Ser Duncan's shoulder. No wonder he couldn’t reach it, she thought; the poor creature seemed as though it was trying to merge with the trunk of the tree. The cat was sleek and brown, either Pinecone or Acorn.
“Pspsps…” She cooed to the creature, “Come here, sweet one, it’s alright…” The cat padded across the branch as though it wasn’t toying with her heart. She snatched it up the moment it was in arm’s reach, cradling it to her chest. It was Pinecone; he was dark brown all over instead of having a gold patch between his ears like Acorn.
“Oh, Pinecone, you naughty creature!” She pressed a kiss right on his head. “What am I to do with you?”
When Ser Duncan set her on the ground, the pines were large again. He crouched down a bit to see the cat. “Is he hurt?”
Lyna shook her head. “He’s fine, thank goodness. He just has a flair for the dramatics, isn’t that right, Pinecone?” Pinecone gave a self righteous meow, snuggling against her chest. She ran her fingers through his fur, grounding her as she talked. “I’m happy you found him, Ser Duncan.”
“Just Dunk is fine. If you’d like.”
Lyna couldn’t help her smile. The nickname was just too cute, especially for a big man like Ser Duncan. “Alright then, Ser Dunk.” She leaned down, letting Pinecone jump from her arms and run off into the forest.
She could see Ser Dunk’s cheeks flush thanks to the warm light from the inn. “Did you get enough to eat? I’m sorry the portions were small; I have to go to the market tomorrow.”
“Aye, m’lady. It was enough.” Ser Dunk nodded. “Might I come as well?” His question was almost shy. “To the market, that is. I could carry your things for you. Besides, the lad said we should explore some.”
Lyna took a moment to consider. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she didn’t know if she could take entertaining another person while she shopped. When she gazed into his earnest blue eyes, she saw nothing but an honest wish for companionship. She sighed softly. “That would be lovely, ser. I’d love to have you join me.”
The smile he gave her made her glad she said yes. It was as blinding as it was contagious. Ser Dunk followed her back into the inn. “Would you like a drink before you go to bed?” She asked, tilting her head. “I’m just about to sleep myself, but I could get you some more ale before I close down the kitchen.”
He shook his head. “No thank you, m’lady. But— You’re um, very kind.” He headed up the stairs before she could say another word. His steps were heavy and a little off balance. He must’ve been a bit tipsy already.
Lyna finished up her cleaning relatively quickly. She was nearly dead on her feet by the time she was done. Just as she was about to head up, the door opened once more. Her head shot up.
Lord Coren Whitepine walked into the inn. He was in his handsome green doublet, the one that was the same color as his eyes. Along with his tunic, he wore a pair of dark brown breeches and a simple pair of riding boots. He sat down in his usual spot at the bar. Lyna’s heart sped up. She didn’t mind serving him at all.
Lord Coren never acknowledged the grey streaks adorning his dark hair, but Lyna found them rather dashing. The silver strands against his dark hair reminded her of the moon peeking through on a cloudy night. They made him look imposing; regal, even.
“Hello, my lord.” She greeted, her voice quiet and warm. She poured him a glass of ale and leaned on the counter as he drank. He had been a regular for as long as she could remember. Apparently, before his late wife's passing, he would never deign to drink with commoners. Dake had no reason to lie about that, so it must have been true. But still, it was hard to imagine. Lord Coren was so kind now.
“Lyna.” Lord Coren lightly tapped on his cup when it was empty.
Lyna walked around the bar, refilling it dutifully.
“Thank you, sweet girl,” he murmured, lightly patting her hip. Lyna’s heart flipped in her chest. “I have words for you when I’m finished with my drink.” His voice was stern. “I’ll meet you in your room, yes?”
Lyna’s soaring heart dropped, a strong ache settling deep in her chest. She gave him a stiff nod, trying to seem as normal as possible. She could feel her eyes burning as she stumbled up the stairs. Did she do something wrong? She couldn’t think of anything. Maybe Benjicott had told him how she hadn’t given him enough attention earlier; it wouldn’t have been the first time.
She didn’t want Lord Coren to be cross with her. Just the idea of it was enough to make her sick. She gingerly shut her bedroom door before falling into her bed. She tried to sit as tall and proper as she could, her gaze fixed on the door, a hound waiting for her master.
Lord Coren knew where her room was. Once, she had fainted while serving drinks. He had scooped her up and carried her up to her bed. Benjicott told her later that he scolded Dake something fierce and was fuming for the rest of the day. Nothing had really changed after that, but it was nice knowing someone cared at least a bit.
She perked up when the door finally opened. “Did I—“
He held up a hand to silence her. “No. You did nothing wrong. I have good news, actually. Your father won’t be arriving until the first day of the festival. You’ll have all day tomorrow to rest.”
That’s a lovely thought, Lord Coren, but I still have my chores. “Thank you for telling me, my lord. That was very kind.” The words were hollow. It was always harder to hide from Lord Coren than it was to hide from anyone else.
She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. It was later than she usually went to bed, and everything was too much. She had worked so hard all day and had more to do tomorrow. She wouldn’t be able to rest during the festival either; Benjicott would drag her out. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Silly girl…” he murmured, pushing back her hair. “Did I make you cry?”
Lyna sniffled and glanced away. She couldn’t lie at this point; her tears were obvious. Her nod was barely more than a tip of her head.
Lord Coren pulled her up and into his arms, hushing her as one would a fussy babe. Lyna didn’t feel like she was being fussy, but what did she know? She was just a silly little girl. Her heart gradually began to slow as she breathed in the scent of pine needles and parchment. She let herself cry in his arms for a few heartbeats before swallowing up the rest of her tears; Lord Coren was kind, but no one wanted a whimpering woman in their arms for long.
She didn’t want to pull away, though. Not really. She remembered the last time he had hugged her, arms firm around her back. She had been younger then, somehow a woman and a girl at the same time. He had kissed her head and wiped at her tears. She had wanted to keep holding onto him then too.
“You shouldn’t cry so, sweet Lyna. It spoils your lovely face.” He wiped away the last of her tears. His deep eyes gazed into hers, observing. “Might you give me a smile?”
She must’ve smiled, because Lord Coren seemed pleased. Lyna felt very small all of the sudden. She didn’t want to speak with Lord Coren anymore. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed. She was dizzy and tired and didn’t want anyone to see her ever again. His warm hands were still on her shoulders, though, so she couldn’t leave.
She couldn’t discern the look in his eyes. They were narrowed, but there was something almost gentle in his gaze. She was too tired to try and understand.
“Sleepy?”
She nodded, bringing her hands up to rub at her eyes. He sat her down on her bed and made his way to her dresser. He dug through her insignificant collection of clothes quickly, landing on her pale blue nightgown. He stroked the dress with his fingers; it was the softest thing Lyna owned. She had embroidered the hem with little wolves, a feat that had taken her weeks. She felt like a Stark in her pretty blue nightie.
“Go to bed then,” he said as he gave her the gown. He pressed a warm kiss to her forehead and left her alone in her room.
Lyna undid the laces on her boots, then the laces on her dress. She let it fall to the floor, her shift following closely after. She shivered when she finally put on her nightdress; the soft fabric against her skin felt like the softest of kisses. She let herself fall into bed without picking up her work clothes. She buried her face in her pillow, nuzzling into it. She fell asleep with her tears drying on her cheeks.
A knight, a festival, and a woman in a river.
The arrival of the Quince Festival has flooded the usually calm town of Whitepine with visitors, and Lyna Snow is in over her head. The inn where she works is crowded with customers, and Lyna is the only barmaid. Worse yet, her symptoms increased along with her workload.
With the festival comes the arrival of Lord Beron Stark, Lyna’s father. Soon, Lyna finds herself in the middle of her family, Lord Whitepine’s youngest son, and an incredibly tall knight who saw her bathing in a river.
Chapter 1: The Woman in the River
Ser Duncan the Tall x f! chronically ill!OC
ao3
summary: The usualy quiet town of Whitepine had been flooded with visitors for the Quince festival. The last person Lyna Snow expected to see was the giant who stumbled upon her bath.
an: very excited to write this! I have a bunch of ideas in mind for this story. there will(eventually) be smut. I've already started brainstorming an AU series to write when this is done, because I love Lyna so much. lmk if you want to be added to the taglist
cw: allusions to sexual assault(like two lines), canon typical misogyny, and that's all for this chapter I think.
wc: almost 2k
you are here || chapter two ->
The grass was wet with morning dew beneath Lyna's feet. She had to search for a branch tall enough to hang her clothes on in order to keep them dry. Dake had been working her like a dog, day and night. The Sweetsip Inn was rarely crowded, but the Quince Festival had brought many visitors to Whitepine. Things would be easier if she weren’t the only one working there, she thought.
Dake was too cheap to hire anyone else. He scarcely even paid her. Her allowance was a pitiful thing: five copper stars each moon. He did let her stay at the inn, though, so it was better than nothing. Lyna tried not to be too cross with him. Dake was growing old and feeble, and she was all he had left. They were alike in that.
Lyna let out a breath as she stepped into the river. The water lapped at her waist, then at her breasts. The river was cold, but not terribly strong. Even Lyna could stand against the current. The cool water didn’t make her feel faint, unlike the hot water back at the inn. Hot water was better for soothing her aches, though.
She scrubbed at her pale body with her hands, rinsing sweat and dirt from her skin. Eventually, she dunked her head under the water. The cold struck her, making her shiver. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and legs, but Lyna didn’t mind. The cold had always made her feel more awake, less frail.
When Lyna emerged from the river, her teeth were chattering. She sank down on the edge of the river, letting one foot dangle in the water. Her fingers ran through her dark brown hair in an attempt to manage it. Detangling her hair when it was dry only caused a frizzy mess, so she always made sure to take care of it when it was wet. She hummed along to the chirping of the birds as she rested by the river. Lyna had her mother’s voice, Dake told her. Soft and clear, meant for singing.
Her vision began to swim, blurring around the edges a bit. Lyna put a hand to her neck, feeling for her pulse as she had done a thousand times before. She could feel it running like a rabbit beneath her fingers. Lyna’s eyes fluttered close. Her other hand went to her stomach. She could feel it swell as she took a breath in and shrink as she breathed out. In. Out. She stayed like that for what felt like hours. The birds continued their singing, and Lyna’s dizziness melted away.
She was so distracted by her breathing that she didn’t hear the man approaching until it was too late. The largest man Lyna had ever seen emerged from the forest, his blue eyes widening at the sight of her. His cheeks reddened like ripe apples as his eyes dipped down before shooting back up again. A cold bolt of fear shot through her. Lyna quickly drew her arms up around her chest.
Lyna knew all too well what a man could do. She was alone, far from the village. No one would hear her if she screamed, and she had nothing to defend herself with. What was she-?
The man still wasn’t doing anything. He was gaping like a fish, standing perfectly still.
“I’m sorry!” The man yelled as he came back to himself, clapping a large hand over his eyes. “I’ll— I’ll be going now!” He ran face first into a branch, groaning as blood began to drip down his nose. Lyna watched, wide-eyed, as he stumbled away with curses spewing from his lips. She sat in stunned silence for a moment.
She didn’t linger long in the river after that. She quickly dressed and let adrenaline carry her back to the inn. The sun had barely risen yet, so the common room was empty when Lyna arrived. By the time she had put on her apron and coif, the adrenaline had worn off. She sank into a chair, needing to soothe her heart once more.
She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyelids and thought of the man from earlier. He must’ve been part giant, with the way he seemed to tower over everything. She thought of the blood that dripped from his nose. Hopefully it didn’t break. One of the village children broke her nose last spring, and she lamented about how painful it was long after it had healed. She didn’t want the man who left her alone to face much pain. The door creaked.
“Up now, girl,” Dake groused as he hobbled into the room. He was a little old man with fraying white hair. He was perpetually hunched in on himself, as if he were always bracing for some unseen threat. “Time to work instead of lazing about.”
Lyna quickly pushed herself up, ignoring how the edges of her vision darkened. She walked up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. She gave a gentle push, guiding him to the chair she had been sitting in a moment ago. “I thought I told you to rest.” She could barely keep the disappointment out of her voice.
“And I thought I told you to quit with your mothering,” he huffed, though he sank down into the chair anyway. He was too stubborn to say it, but she knew his gout caused him a great deal of pain. She made sure to do his chores as well as her own whenever she could, though he’d never let her help with handling the money. She was just a girl, and handling money was a man's responsibility, he always said. Lyna picked up a rag and began to wipe down the bar.
“My sweet songbird.” Dake seemed to be done playing the tough employer for the day. “What would I do without you? You’ll have no trouble running this place when I’m gone, hm?”
“Please don’t say things like that.” She chided, gentle as she could. She truly hated when he talked like that. He certainly wasn’t as spry as he used to be, but he wasn’t on death's door. Besides, she didn’t much like to think about that.
“Most like you won’t even need to,” he continued, ignoring her, “what with that lordling hounding you and all.”
“He isn’t hounding me. He’s just… bored.”
“Mmm. How many years has he been ‘bored’ now?”
Lyna could feel ghostly hands running down her sides. Benjicott Whitepine had been her admirer for the past six years. The second her breasts had begun to swell, he was on her like a hound on a bone. He would do most anything that he thought would impress her. Once, he had bought out every room in the inn just to have her dote on him. Lord Coren had ripped him a new one for that, dragging him back home in the middle of the night.
It wasn't that she hated Benjicott; he was kind in his own way, mostly when he was too drunk to truly bother her. Besides, Benjicott was the least of her worries. The Quince Festival began the day after the next, and with the Quince Festival would come the Starks. Her father and his pups. His real family.
She managed to avoid him last year and the year before; it was easy to hide from someone who wasn’t looking for you in the first place. He had stopped sending money when she was small, shortly after illness took her mother. It didn’t matter to Lyna. Her father was clearly happy with his other children, and she didn’t wish to intrude. Besides, she was quite happy with her life, even though a small, secret part of her wished she might not have to work so much.
As she finished wiping down the bar, the inn's patrons slowly but surely trickled in. When she glanced at Dake, she found him dozing right where she had left him. She pressed a little kiss to the top of his head as she passed. She made her way to each customer, serving them breakfast and helping with whatever she could.
The man in the corner was kept awake all night by the well-loved-looking fellow in the corner. She gave him a key to a room on the other side of the inn. Two little children were badgering their weary mother. Lyna fixed them each a slice of buttered barley bread and offered the tired young woman a pillow. She had nearly gotten to everyone when the door opened, letting in a cold gust of wind.
“You—“ The tall man spluttered, his ears a fierce shade of crimson.
“Oh.” She forced a smile to her face. Be kinder to the patrons, Lyna. You wouldn’t like to be greeted by a frown after a long day of traveling, would you? “It’s you again.”
“Me.” He agreed. His eyes darted around, looking anywhere except for her. Poor thing.
“I would have your name, as we keep running into each other.” Lyna said, gentling her voice as much as she could. This man wasn’t a threat at all; she could see that now.
“Duncan the tall. Er— Ser Duncan the Tall. I am Ser Duncan the Tall.” The bald child at his hip gave her an awkward smile.
“Lyna Snow, if it pleases you, ser.” Her eyes flicked back to the bald boy. “Is this your son, ser?” He didn’t look much like the large knight. He was minuscule compared to the man, though anyone would be. His eyes were much darker than Ser Duncan’s bright blue ones.
“My son? Oh, no. No. That’s just my squire, Egg.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ser Duncan and Egg. Might I get you anything? A room key, mayhaps? Some food? We have eggs and barley bread with jam to break your fast.”
Ser Duncan looked as if he’d died and gone to heaven. “Aye, a room would serve. We’ll have both eggs and bread.”
Lyna could feel herself beginning to wobble. She discreetly rested against the bar. “I’ll get started on that for you, ser.” She fixed her gaze on his face to fight the wave of dizziness threatening to overtake her. She had to crane her neck, but she could see that his nose was swollen. Lyna felt a pang of guilt.
“I saw you hit your nose when you were running from me. Does it hurt terribly, ser?”
Ser Duncan shook his head so violently she was afraid it might fall off. The flush on his ears had spread to his cheeks now. “Yes— I mean, no.” He glanced at his little bald companion. “I’ve had worse. Thank you for worrying over me, m’lady.”
Lyna felt her cheeks warm as well, though hopefully she wasn’t as red as he was. A flush was charming on Ser Duncan, but it made her look as though she had a fever. The duo made their way to an empty table. Lyna allowed herself to grip the bar a bit tighter, taking a deep breath through her nose. She started on their breakfast.
Summary: Asha Greyjoy was taking a walk along the shore when she met the strangest creature she'd ever seen.
A/N: A tiny drabble on how Asha and Miriam met while I lock down the plot of their main story. Asha has a bit of a gay awakening. Mentions of past character death and allusions to starving. 9 years before A Clash of Kings.
W/C: 985
The full moon lit Asha’s path along the shore. Waves crashed against the sand, lapping at her feet. Asha didn’t care, though. She was a daughter of the Iron Islands; a little water would not faze her. Besides, it had been so long since she last took a walk. Well, a walk without Tris, at least. He was starting to get incredibly clingy.
Asha let out a long sigh, running her fingers through her short hair. The sea breeze felt wonderful against her skin, almost wonderful enough to make her forget about her annoyance. Almost. Why did life have to be so unbearably dull? She trekked further down the beach, her boots leaving a trail in the sand. That was when she saw the girl.
The girl was completely bare in the moonlight, stumbling across the shore like a newborn foal. The poor thing was soaking wet, her hair plastered to her back. Still… Asha couldn’t help but stare. The girl was practically glowing. Her skin was pink and raw, presumably from the crashing waves. Strange…
Swimming in the sea was a common activity for Iron Islanders. Walking along the shore naked was less common. It was especially uncommon for a pretty girl like the one stumbling around. Uncommon and unwise. She was much closer now but still didn’t seem to see Asha standing there. Asha’s eyes narrowed in curiosity.
“Hey,” Asha called, unintentionally softening her voice. The girl looked up, her glazed eyes meeting Asha’s. Asha felt her heart rate pick up. Those swirling sea green eyes were absolutely enchanting. Asha cleared her throat. “Are you alright?”
The girl dropped like a stone, landing on her knees in the sand. She gasped for breath, clawing at her throat. She heaved up saltwater as she convulsed until finally, mercifully, her eyes rolled back and she fell into the sand. Asha could only stand there in shocked silence. Well, that couldn’t be good.
Despite being slippery from the sea, picking up the girl hadn’t been too difficult. Walking up the back path to the keep had been the true challenge. Asha had decided that taking the main path would be too risky, even at this time of night. She didn’t want to risk anyone seeing her strange new friend, especially because she had nothing to cover her with.
Asha readjusted her grip on the girl's thighs. Soft breaths tickled her ear as she walked. Before picking her up, Asha had half a mind to check her for gills. She quickly shook that off, though; she wasn’t dead yet, and mermaids only resided in the Drowned Gods’ watery halls. Besides, this girl had no tail (no gills, either, if the breaths against her neck were anything to go by).
Finally, Asha made it inside the Sea Tower. She tucked her new friend away in her chambers before rushing off to find a maid. A warm bath would help, she reckoned. She could bathe the girl herself, once she had the water. She couldn’t risk a nosy maid seeing her friend and waking her father. No, she thought, let him be well rested for when I tell him in the morning. He’d be much more agreeable then.
By the time Asha had returned with the tub, the strange girl had woken up. She was perched on the bed, her half-lidded gaze fixed on Asha. Her eyes flicked down to the tub, and she seemed to relax. “Where…” her voice was a rasp, “am I?”
“Pyke,” Asha answered. The girl seemed to mull over her answer, her eyes shifting away. “You seem far from home.”
“I am.” The girl stumbled over to the tub, rubbing her throat. Asha wordlessly poured the water into the tub for her. The girl sank into the water with a heavy sigh. Asha watched along curiously as her head dipped beneath the water. Both girls stayed like that for a long while.
“So,” Asha began once her new friend had breached the surface once more, “you are…?”
“Miriam Pyke.”
Asha hummed to herself. A bastard. “I’m Asha Greyjoy.” She watched as Miriam reached for the soap, wincing all the while. “Where’d you come from?”
Miriam stayed quiet. Her hands were shaking a little now, quivering as she tried to scrub her hair. Asha decided not to press, instead taking Miriam's hands in hers. She lowered them and began to scrub at Miriam's hair herself. The would-be mermaid was clearly sore, and the display was starting to get a little pathetic.
Miriam had a lot of hair, Asha quickly discovered. It was tangled, too. Each scrub seemed to take more effort than the last; her fingers worked through the sandy strands. By the time all of the sand was washed away, a dull ache had started in Asha’s arms. After pulling Miriam from the bath, she took a spare cloth to her body. Miriam didn’t protest.
Asha set Miriam down on her bed and gave her a good look. If she focused hard enough, she could see the outline of Miriam’s ribs. Asha frowned; after Rodrik and Maron died, she could see her mother’s ribs as well. Asha lightly tugged on a stray curl. Miriam’s face still held the softness of childhood. There wasn’t a single pimple on that lovely face, Asha noted enviously.
“Why was someone as pretty as you naked on a beach?” Asha murmured to herself, expecting to be ignored again. None of the lords on Pyke resembled Miriam, and she had said she was far from home. Maybe she was from Saltcliffe? That was the closest island, though Miriam didn’t look like a Saltcliffe or a Sunderly. Either she had her mothers coloring, or she was from a different island entirely.
By the time Miriam answered, Asha had nearly forgotten she’d asked anything in the first place. “That’s strange.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I can’t really remember.”
Cerelle: named after the first and only ruling lady of casterly rock; when the name got announced in court, many whispered about the bad history connected to the name, for its previous bearer died young and under suspicious circumstances...
Benjiamin: named after ben solo from star wars
Henrix: named after general hux from star wars
Helena: named after helen of troy (for the stealing away from her home to be forcibly married off & being the most beautiful woman of all time) and helaena targaryen (bc i was pissy about certain showrunners/writers implying a woman could not be pretty and fat at the same time)
Florian: named after prince florian from disney's snow white
Zaicre and Ferczik: my version of the white walker language uses a lot of hard consonants (z, c, k, p, r, t, x) so i invented their names accordingly
Zima: the polish word for winter as she is inspired by milady de winter from the three musketeers
Rania: a name used by the romani people
Constance: inspired by constance from the three musketeers; this has no bearing on her character or fate, i just liked the name
Lucas: his role was originally supposed to be filled by lucas corbray, a canon character; when i changed his house and lore to fit with the story i kept his first name
Lelia: a common name in the westerlands
Jayna: named after jaina solo from the star wars legends; she is the sister of jacen solo, the inspiration for ben solo from the movies
Dahlia: named after the black dahlia peter gifted mj in spider-man far from home (don't ask me why; the name just bounced around in my head when i came up with her story)
Viktor: named after vicrul, a knight of ren from star wars
Cardea: named after cardo, a knight of ren from star wars
Uskar: named after ushar, a knight of ren from star wars
Trajan: named after trudgen, a knight of ren from star wars
Karina: named after kuruk, a knight of ren from star wars
Aleksander: named after ap'lek, a knight of ren from star wars
Benedict: named after ben solo from star wars
Matthew: named to fit with the naming scheme of house mullendore during asoiaf; the other two known members are called martyn and mark
Micea: named after the mouse king from the nutcracker, and to fit with the white walker naming conventions
Edwyn: a common name in the reach; suggested by @goldsnows
Leymond: a variation of leyton, his grandfather whom he was named after
Konrad and Peter (sons of Lanna and Antario): named after characters in princess maleen (2015), the movie that inspired their parents' story
Deria (wife of Gulian), Myria and Sylvanna (daughters of Deria and Gulian): common names in dorne
Gwendolyn (mother of Alyn): named after her face claim gwendolyn sheperd from ruby red
Aurelia: named after aurelia casterly from the cancelled long night prequel show
Alden: named after a character from the cancelled long night prequel show
Loreon (masc!cerelle): named after the first lannister king of casterly rock, to fit with how cerelle was named after the first lady
Lyarra (fem!jon): named after her grandmother
Diana (daughter of florelle): sounds fairytale-esque
Loren (son of cersei and oberyn): the name of the last lannister king
Ilsa: named after elsa from beauty and the beast (germany; 2012) and ilsa from mission: impossible
Roan: inspired by the name roland storm from asoiaf canon
Guinevere (cat of Cerelle): named after guinevere from arthurian legends; relevant in the sense that cerelle names her directly as she looks at balon
Starlight (horse of Cerelle): named after sternenschweif (star tail), the german version of my secret unicorn, a children's book series
Ben (of the Night's Watch): named after ben solo from star wars
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦ ˚ . ★⋆.
. ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚
ty for the tag @sugutoad! i decided to go with my reasons for naming the characters instead of the literal meanings of their names as many characters have just completely made up names i thought sounded pretty <3
tagging: @goldsnows @robnikmeria @gardens-of-babylonn @slumberingbeauty @picatssso @sunraysoverthevalley @snowhasocs @dreamcallers @miseryscrowned @greyjoymaxxing (y'all can either do the literal meanings of their names, why they were named such in-universe, or why you personally named them such <3) (also you don't have to do every oc you have, i just used this opportunity to yap until i can't anymore bc i have A Lot Of Thoughts)
Raella: Little lamb of God
Miriam: Wished for child, sea of bitterness
Lyna: Delicate, tender
Violet: The purple flower
Cassian: Hollow
Estelle: Star
Lenore: Light, torch
Alysanne: Noble, named for a family member
This was fun @siravalondulac! Tagging @anathea-kermes if she hasn't done this and anybody else who wants to join
