With the first bloom of summer comes a rumor. In the winds of the East that blow West, Arya writes that she hears a dragon.
At the edge of the world, they speak of a dead queen, raised from ashes of fire and blood by the witches of Volantis, the letter says. Sansa decides to throw the scrap of paper in the fire. It is just a rumor after all.
A moon’s turn passes before a raven lands in Winterfell. It’s from the Hand of the King. Sansa’s eyes follow the unmistakable script of Tyrion’s handwriting. The King sent crows across the Narrow Sea. He felt the burn of a thousand suns when they dropped to the water below.
Sansa has a thought to write to Jon, but she thinks better of it. She knows he will spend a lifetime trying to repent for killing the Dragon Queen. To share with him that a silly rumor exists would destroy him.
If such a rumor spreads, it might destroy the realm. She regrets little about retaining the North’s independence. For how hard she fought to uphold the will of the Northerners - how hard she continues to fight as their Queen - Sansa recognizes the tragic end of the Last War.
The end of a dozen noble houses. Millions of innocents used and burned. Two queens dead; one in the arms of a brother and the other stabbed in the back by her lover. These are the thoughts that Sansa has every night before bed, and it is no wonder that only a few sips of milk of the poppy will let her have a peaceful sleep anymore.
It isn’t until word reaches North that Yara Greyjoy has started a voyage East that Sansa spends her nights thinking about it. Surely, if the rumors are true, there would be an army marching to King’s Landing right now to finish what had been started. It’s a thought that keeps her up for weeks, and on a night that she has a wine glass too many, Sansa pulls out parchment and ink.
Winter came and left. The North remembers the Dragon’s sacrifice.
She attaches the scroll to the foot of a raven and sends it off in hopes that it finds a ghost.
A five part tale that centers around the budding relationship between the Queen of Fire and the Lady of Ice. (Pt. 1)
Part 2: The proposal. Valar morghulis.
"They're your people, too," Lady Stark says. Her tone is even, but Daenerys is half-distracted by the brightness of her eyes, lit with a kind of fire that she feels pumping through her own veins. "You're asking them to fight a war that they are not ready for."
Daenerys has a hard time matching the Lady before her now to the girl who brought her Ser Jorah's cloak in the Godswood, wrapping it around her so gently.
Before Daenerys can respond, Jon shoots his sister - his cousin - a look that cuts like knife. "The Northern forces will honor their promises and their allegiance to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," he tells her. Sansa's stare narrows, and Daenerys finds herself fascinated by how quick her eyes change to ice. Jon turns back to her, his face softening. "What you command, we will obey."
Daenerys keeps her gaze forward, even when Tyrion reiterates their plan. Lady Stark pulls her shoulders back and appears composed once more. A pretty face made of sharp glass. I wonder how many men have touched her and found cuts on their palms.
It's when Lady Stark lifts her eyes to meet Daenerys's that Daenerys realizes that she's staring. She focuses her attention to the map, tracing the lines that Jon's fingers follow because it seems like a better idea than staring at the Lady Stark.
"Ser Jaime has chosen to remain here," Tyrion says, "as a guest of the Lady of Winterfell."
If Daenerys hadn't been staring, though, she would miss an exchange between Lady Stark and her sworn shield, Brienne of Tarth, a sly smile on her mouth that makes Ser Brienne blush at the cheeks. It's a look she has shared again and again with Missandei.
The attention is back on her now, and Daenerys takes it as her cue to conclude. "We have won the Great War - now we will win the last war. In all seven kingdoms, men will live without cruelty." She knows Lady Stark is watching her intensely, so she lifts her chin and directs her words more pointedly. "Under their rightful queen."
Daenerys would be a little disappointed if Lady Stark didn't meet her words with such challenge to her pursed lips, an expression that's colder than a woman of 19 years should know.
"Lady Stark, could I have a private word?" Daenerys asks.
Every head turns to her in silence. Jon raises his brows at her, tilting his head as though he's misheard her. He does not trust me with her.
"Yes, Your Grace."
And the heads turn back to face Lady Stark like a pendulum.
There is a moment's pause before the other filter out of the room, with Jon, Tyrion, and Arya Stark hesitating to leave. She nods dismissively to Tyrion, but she feels a stab at her pride when Jon waits for Lady Stark to nod to depart.
And then, they are alone. Lady Stark stands tall, almost intimidatingly. But she is Daenerys Stormborn, First of Her Name, and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She is intimidating to men in her own right.
"I thought we would come to an understanding after the Great War," she starts. "We have lost people that were dear to our hearts. We both love and respect the North's hero. Now, we share a common enemy who is a crowned lion on my throne."
Lady Stark's stare is unnerving, but Daenerys has already faced the dead. Lady Stark's stare is near to nothing.
"Why are we still at odds?" Daenerys needs to know. The key to the North, she has come to realize, is not Jon Snow. The greatest power is the North's daughter. It's Sansa Stark.
"You don't get it," Lady Stark tells her. "You don't care about them. You don't care about any of us. Everyone is a pawn for the fight to your throne. The North has lost great men to uphold the rights of Southern rulers that don't care about them for years."
"And what of my men?" Daenerys asks. For all that the North has claimed the sacrifice of their own, there is a stinging pain to think that the memories of her fallen are already forgotten. "Lady Stark, how do you think I've gathered an army of this size?"
Lady Sansa doesn't answer, but Daenerys steps around the map to help bridge the gap between them. "The same way your brother has amassed his. I have earned their loyalty, their trust. Yet, it seemed easier to break the chains of slaves than it is to see eye-to-eye with you."
She can see Lady Stark scoff to herself, and it irritates her even more.
"The problem, Your Grace, is that your world is black and white. Where there is good, there should be bad. But Westeros is different than where you came from." Daenerys doesn't miss the implication in Lady Stark's words, that she doesn't belong here. "In Westeros, the same lord that puts his sword through a man will listen to the grievances of his people. The same commoner who steals bread from a nobleman will go home to feed his family with it."
"You speak as though you will break the wheel," Lady Stark continues. "But in the week that you have been in the North, you have called the walking dead Jon's problem, you have ignored the the war that the North has fought to claim its independence, and now you overlook the ailments of your officers to find a battle that we are not yet ready for. You are not breaking the wheel, Your Grace. Your only churning it faster because you still don't get it."
The initial anger that began to brew inside of her subsides, Daenerys realizes.
Tyrion might know Westeros, but he does not know the North. He does not understand their customs or the rugged way of life. He doesn't understand their thick accents and their honorable nature to defend their own. Because Westeros has never cared for the North either.
It isn't that Daenerys finds herself agreeing with Lady Stark, but she understands a little bit better.
"I apologize, Your Grace," Lady Stark says, but her tone reflects only a little bit of shame, as Daenerys knows that she is not truly sorry, "for speaking out of line. But my truth had to be said."
"I could have you punished for speaking so brashly," Daenerys tells her. She can see that her silence has Lady Stark on edge, despite how strongly she clenches her jaw in defiance. But Lady Stark would have to be stupid to ignore a queen with two grown dragons.
And Lady Stark has proven to be anything but stupid.
Daenerys takes her moment of silence to look at her, amazed once again by the delicate curves of her face. She has seen beautiful women, especially in the East. Daenerys knows that she is among the world's beauties, knowing that even in the North, eyes follow her everywhere; in ways that she has learned to ignore by men who which to see her riding their cocks instead of on the backs of her dragons.
But Lady Stark is beautiful in a way that children imagine when they're told of bedtime stories. She is the princess that wins the heart of the men and her people, whose beauty matches outwardly as it does in her actions.
In words and mind, however, Daenerys knows she is power of the North's alliance.
"Lady Stark, I'm offering you a proposal. I need an advisor in the North," Daenerys says. She can see very clearly that Lady Starks brows dip low, calculating what she is about to offer. "I'd like you to consider joining my council."
"Jon knows the North," Lady Stark interjects.
Daenerys knows that no one will trust Jon to make objective decisions for the North, not when he bent the knee for a "foreign" queen. "I don't expect Jon to spend much time here. Besides you told me that men do stupid things for women. I want you to be able to trust the decisions that are made for all the kingdoms under my rule, including the North."
Lady Stark's mind is turning, fitting Daenery's words like a puzzle. Daenerys can almost see the pieces fall, and it’s a wonder that she has not yet been rejected.
"I promised myself I would never go South, ever again, especially not to King's Landing," Lady Stark replies.
Daenerys knows that. She remembers when Lady Stark sent Ser Brienne in her place when they were meeting Cersei the first time. "I would not expect you to. Stay in the North, run Winterfell as you have been. Nothing has to change except for when the Crown calls on the North to help."
She takes Lady Stark's silence as a victory.
"I urge you to consider and give me answer before we ride South," Daenerys says. She turns to leave before sharing, "The time has come to choose sides, and I pray that you choose the right one. Valar morghulis, Lady Stark."
"What does that mean?"
"All men must die."
Daenerys sees Lady Stark's throat bob when she swallows, thick like cotton might be stuck in her throat. "But we are not men."
"Exactly," Daenerys agrees. She shares a final look with the Lady before nodding and leaving for her chambers. She feels the hot stare of Lady Stark on her back as she exits the room. The tides are turning.
P.S. Cannot send enough thank yous to the anon who told me about the wayback archive. I was able to find this fic! It was one of my first WA fics. I forgot how much I loved writing it.
Maybe it’s the reality check he needs. Maybe he should let Iris live her life and he can quietly step to the side, as both Barry and the Flash (Caitlin’s advice also lingering in his mind too often). Maybe Iris doesn’t need him around as much anymore.
So he avoids her for a few days, just to see if she notices.
Of course Iris notices. She’s not happy about it, either.
And like that, she draws him back into her life after only a four day separation. There’s a sense of relief that he feels when he concludes they’re two peas in a pod, yin and yang, two sides of the same coin. Practically joined at the hip, and she doesn’t need him around - she wants him around, which is all the more satisfying.
Even if they only remain friends, he’ll love her. Even if she stays with Eddie, he’ll be in love with her. Even if she decides to continue down the dangerous path of being an investigative journalist, he’ll support her. Protect her, though Iris has shown him one too many times during their lives that her left hook is finely tuned (“Don’t let my small arms fool you, Barry. I’ll knock him out cold if he picks on you again!”).
Barry finds himself unable to stay away; he doesn’t want to stay away but Caitlin keeps giving him these knowing yet disapproving looks when he returns to the lab with what she describes as a “dumb, love-struck smile.” He pointedly ignores the rest of her rant about how he’s sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, that, in the end, he’s making it harder for both himself and Iris.
(He also pointedly ignores how right she is, and that sinking feeling he gets every time he’s reminded.)
*
It’s Christmas night when Eddie proposes to Iris, with both Joe and Barry in company.
And between the three of them, Barry can’t tell who is more surprised.
Iris, a hand covering her mouth and her eyes unwavering from Eddie’s.
Joe, speechless and frozen, and maybe even a little confused.
Barry, with the breath knocked out of him and heart breaking loud enough for Joe to hear.
Joe’s hand reaches for his shoulder and gives him a hard squeeze, a gesture that Barry would usually take great comfort in, but now feels like heavy bricks weighing down. Then Joe turns and plays the role of excited father.
"Barry, there’s champagne in the cooler. Do you might grabbing it?" Eddie asks him, a blinding smile on his face that is noticeably missing from Iris’s - maybe still in shock - and Barry does what any best friend would do.
He congratulates her and her fiancé.
*
Barry’s sort of glad Caitlin is refraining from saying “I told you so,” but she’s also been too busy with her own problems to really rub the salt in his wounds.
Like the fact that the man she had been mourning for a year is back from the dead. As some torched resemblance of a human being no less.
All of Central City is shaping up to be a cliché comic book, featuring meta-humans, time traveling, and all-too-complicated love stories.
Figures he’d be the star of it.
But all of what’s happening with Ronnie and his mother’s murderer gives him a decent distraction from Iris. Barry isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or relieved that she hasn’t talked to him about the proposal yet. It seems that they’ve both been keeping their distances from each other.
It’s probably best that way, he tells himself. Because soon she’ll be Mrs. West-Thawne.
*
“I can’t marry him.”
Iris barely steps into his apartment before she’s rambling off.
"I can’t do it! I should have told him the night he gave me the ring. But he looked so happy! What right do I have to take his happiness away like that? And my dad, God, my dad! Barry, did you see his face? He was going to cry from joy! What kind of terrible daughter would I be if I took that from him? He’s probably already named all of the grandchildren he thinks Eddie and I are going to have, but we’re not - “
"Woah, what are - "
" - because I don’t love him." Iris takes a deep breath, and Barry can see the tears brimming in her eyes. He marvels at her ability to have kept everything bottled up for that long.
Then he begins to worry.
"Iris," Barry begins carefully. He’s unsure of where to begin, as his brain is still trying to process her confession, so he says the first thing that comes to mind. "Do you want me to make coffee?"
There’s a stillness, and then Iris laughs, a hiccup getting caught in her throat that makes Barry laugh too, until she’s nodding through her tears and he’s pulling her in his arms.
"My coffee isn’t that bad," he mutters into her hair when she’s quieted down after a few minutes, and he’s fully prepared for the punch she gives his chest.
Iris is smiling at least, so he finds himself smiling back. He cups her cheek and traces the wet trails on her face with his thumb, drying what he can.
"If you don’t want to marry him, then don’t. No one has ever told Iris Ann West what to do," he says, which pleases her plenty if by the way she sighs and leans into his touch is any indication.
"This is why you’re the best man in my life," she tells him. Barry tries not blush or stutter, but he knows he’s failing.
"Because I give good advice or because I’m not even mildly annoyed that you were banging on my door at 5:30 on a Saturday morning?" he teases.
"Oh my god, is it really that early? I am so sorry - "
"It’s okay." He means it. "I’m glad you’re here." So very much means it.
He thinks that when she looks up at him this time, it’s different. He can’t quite place why, but there’s a gleam in her eyes that he’s never seen before.
At least not directed towards him. And he can get lost in that look for days, he knows by the way it fires heat through his body, one nerve at a time.
Barry clears his throat and takes a step back. “Let me get that coffee started.”
"Yeah," Iris blinks up at him, seemingly as unsure about the last few moments as he is. "Good idea."
In the kitchen, during the couple of minutes he had to himself, he wonders if these are the kind of changes Felicity was talking about.
*
Barry decides that these are definitely the changes Felicity was talking about.
They’re subtle changes, but still…changes. Like how Iris looks at him; that same one from the other morning in his hallway, as though with renewed interest. How she acts around him; she’s touching him more, and while Iris has always been one for physical contact, there’s something almost - sensual about it now. Fingers grazing, close personal space shoulder-bumping, her hand lingering in areas he knows defined muscle has formed.
Barry thinks, and he could potentially and disastrously be overthinking it, that Iris is even flirting with him. And to be honest, he’s not sure how to respond to it.
"This is the moment you’ve been waiting for, dude. Super hot girl that you’ve been in love with is acting on mutual attraction! What’s your problem?" Cisco gapes at him during one of their ping pong games.
"My problem," Barry hits the ball back to the other side, "is that I’m not good at these kinds of things. Flirting and being charming and - I’m just not the guy who gets the girl."
Cisco rolls his eyes. “You’ve flirted with her before. Do I need to remind you of your guys’ rooftop days? Please don’t make me remind you of your rooftop days.”
"You’re forgetting that I went to her as the Flash. The Flash is much cooler than I am, trust me."
"The fact that you’re referring to yourself as an alter ego is slightly alarming," Caitlin comments from the corner where she’s piecing together the map of Ronnie’s possible whereabouts. "I’ve told you before, you are incredible and amazing with or without the speed, Barry. And Iris knows that."
Barry puts his paddle down, smirking at Caitlin’s back. “Someone’s changed her tune.”
Caitlin glares over her shoulder and it promptly shuts him up.
*
Any doubts Barry may have had about Iris’s intentions is cleared when Joe approaches him with a smile too giddy and curious for any cop or father to have.
"What’s going on with you two?"
Barry doesn’t know how to best phrase that Iris is seemingly reciprocating the emotional, romantic, and sexual feelings he’s ever had for her so he grins and says, “Progressing one day at a time.”
Joe pats him on the back. “You two were made for each other, Barry.”
Barry is starting to believe it.
*
The words sort of tumble from his mouth by accident.
Iris had tried to surprise him with a homemade birthday dinner, and he was alarmed to find his front door unlocked that he completely startled her when she was lighting the candles on the table.
The table caught on fire…
…and then dinner burned while they were putting the fire out.
That’s when he tells her, in his moment of slight panic. “I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”
Barry’s half-expecting Iris to get mad at him or get away as soon as possible, but she smiles and closes the space between them.
"I know. I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out."
He’s about to tell her that she shouldn’t be sorry for anything, but she presses up on her toes and pulls him down for a kiss.
All else melts from his thoughts when she glides her tongue against his lips.
Barry can’t remember what happens after that, oddly enough, but then Iris tells him the next morning it’s because he passed out and hit his head pretty hard.
Totally worth it.
*
“This came in the mail today,” Thea says, handing Oliver the envelope. “Looks like a wedding invite.”
Oliver pulls the gold trimmed letter open and feels the corners of his mouth spreading into one of his rare smiles.
We are delighted to invite you to the wedding ceremony of Bartholomew Henry Allen and Iris Ann West.
A five part tale that centers around the budding relationship between the Queen of Fire and the Lady of Ice.
Part 1: The ice is broken.
Sansa finds her in the Godswood in the early hours of the morning. There is a terrible quiet in Winterfell. The sound of death and war, Daenerys thinks.
Everyone should be asleep after such an exhausting and long night. It was a fight like none that she had ever been apart of. For all that she took with fire and blood, she has never experienced such physical and emotional defeat.
Aye, they won. The living had won, and humanity withstood the greatest odds.
But Daenerys thinks of everything they have lost, everything she has lost to fight a war that was not hers to begin with.
Her body aches, and she feels the beginnings of an irritable migraine start when the Lady of Winterfell walks towards her in a slow and deliberate strut, thick cloth in her hands. Daenerys is tired, so utterly tired, that she almost gets up from her seat by the frozen lake to avoid the inevitable stand-off with Sansa Stark. It is too soon to bicker over politics. Does she not understand?
"Lady Stark, I thought you would be sleeping along with the rest of the North," Daenerys greets, her face turned away so that she does not have to see cold eyes that bear a striking resemblance to the enemy they just defeated.
She's met by silence. It puts her more on edge, hairs on the back of her neck raising like the scales on her dragons. It is only when she looks up stiffly from under her lashes that Sansa says, "No one is sleeping. Winterfell's ghosts haunt the corridors."
Daenerys meets her eyes, clear blue that's rimmed in red. In the weeks that she has known Lady Stark, this is the first time that she is less than composed. Her bright red hair, usually braided in a Northern fashion, is undone, falling loosely around her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes swollen, and she's slouching in a way that the proper women of Westeros look down upon.
She is but a young girl, stripped of her sharp tongue and lady's armor.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
It takes a moment for Daenerys to register Sansa's words. Which loss, Daenerys wants to ask. I have lost so much. But Sansa brandishes the folded cloth before her, and Daenerys recognizes it immediately as Ser Jorah's cloak.
She can't help the shaking of her fingers when she reaches out to touch it. In the midst of a cool winter, the cloak still carries his warmth. The tears burn at her eyes, a thick knot builds in her throat. She will not cry right now, not in front of Lady Stark. Yet, Daenerys is surprised once again when Sansa reaches around her to pull the cloak over her shoulders.
If Lady Stark is at all made uncomfortable at the sight of her uncontrollable shaking, then she does not comment on it. Daenerys finds no trace of pity in eyes that often look at her with disdain and mistrust.
Sansa affords her a small nod before she turns on her heel, moving back towards the castle but Daenerys wants to know if she sees ghosts too.
"Lady Stark, I'm sorry for your loss, also. Theon Greyjoy seemed like a good man."
Sansa turns to her with an incredible sadness that Daenerys understands well. It's there for a flicker of a second before the Lady's demeanor changes entirely. Her shoulders are suddenly pulled back, chin raised, as though she is picking herself up once more.
"This war was bigger than Theon Greyjoy's death. House Mormont is lost to the world, as are thousands of brave men and women that fought in this war. Many of them died under your command and for your service," Sansa tells her.
Daenerys thinks that she is a vision, a true beauty of the North with hair that matches blood and a face like fine porcelain. And skin made of steel, Jon told her once. Sansa's skin is made of steel.
Daenerys meets Sansa's eyes once more. They do not look back at her with challenge this time. "Thank you, Your Grace."
As Sansa retreats back to the castle, Daenerys can't help but wonder if ice runs through the Lady of Winterfell the same way fire runs in hers.
television meme (3/20 relationships) → Barry & Iris
“The truth is iris, i don’t know what this is between us or where we go from here. all i know is that you’re everything to me and you always have been. and the sound of your voice will always bring me home.”
ladies and gentleman, lets all highlight the fact that Tom sees a ‘’pretty woman involved’’ as a ‘’Pretty Woman TM scenario where a old dude finds your ass and dresses it up’’
oh no you've disappeared again! if you need encouragement to keep writing, this is it! i love your work and hope you continue and post some! hope you're having a good week :)
thank you! i haven’t given up on writing, but i am finding it hard to squeeze in time to even think about anything else other than work. maybe the right inspiration will find me soon.
hi there--was scrolling the westallen fic tag and kept stumbling upon drabbles from your old tumblr handle but can't read them since it's deactivated. they seem so good! do you have them lying around anywhere 👀 the people need them! (maybe put them on ao3!) anyway, love your writing-keep it up!
one of my biggest regrets is definitely not saving the fics somewhere. i feel like the quality of my writing was so inspiring before my blog was deleted ;___;
so no - unfortunately, i don’t have those fics anymore.
