Growing Strong series: Growing Strong Married Life Clandestine Meetings Deep in the Meadow Growing Familiar Dragon Dreams Perzys ānogār Awakening Aegarax In the name of the Father Valyria's Legacy What good is a throne?
Modern AU: The Family Brand Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Headcanons Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 The Wedding
Baby Come Home Part 2
Oneshots: Road Trip White Tee
Ghost AU: The Prince in the Candleflame Part 2 Part 3
Ongoing series: Dragon Dreamer and Greenseer part 2 part 3 Part4 Part 5 Part 6
On the Road to Summerhall
Valarr Targaryen:
Oneshots: A Really Good Friend (Modern AU) A Really Good Boyfriend (Modern AU) Bedtime
Finished series: Dragons Caught in the Storm Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Preview, Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
"Say it again," he said. His voice was barely a whisper. "Please. Say it again."
She looked at him. Her eyes were searching his face, her gaze moving between his
eyes, his lips, his eyes again. He could see the love in them, raw and unguarded.
"I love you," she said slowly. "Aerion Targaryen. More than I know what to do with."
He exhaled. A shaky, unsteady breath that seemed to carry the weight of everything he had been holding in.
"I'm trying so damn hard to be patient," he said, his voice cracking. "To go slow with you. But you- " He shook his head. " The way you look at me. It makes it so hard to be patient."
He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against hers. His grip on her face was tight, almost desperate.
"You have to stop testing me like this," he whispered.
Warnings: ANGST, criminal! Aerion x peoples princess!Reader, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic relationship, Fake dating, Modern AU, Violence, suggestiveness, political corruption, Manipulation, semi-slow burn, cheating (not Aerion or reader dw), infidelity accusations, insecurity, Aerion Targaryen (he’s his own warning), Streamer!Raymund
Modern Aerion! x Celebrity! Reader
WC: 6K
"What are you doing here?" she said. Her voice was flat. Tired. The words of someone who had already said goodbye.
"I needed to see you."
She rolled her eyes. A small, dismissive movement that said more than words ever could. "That's not an answer."
She started to close the door.
He moved before he could think. His foot slipped between the door and the frame, stopping it just before it could close completely. The wood pressed against his shoe, and he felt the pressure of her trying to push it shut. She was strong, but he was stronger.
She looked at him. Her eyes were hard.
"Aerion-"
"Forgive me for this."
He pushed the door open. It swung wide, and he stepped inside. She stumbled back, caught off guard, her eyes wide with shock. He closed the door behind him.
The click of the lock echoed in the silence.
She stared at him. He stared back. The only sound was the rain against the windows and the steady drip of water from his jacket onto the floor.
He was soaked. His hair was plastered to his forehead, dark strands clinging to his skin. His shirt was translucent with water, pressing against the hard lines of his chest, the curve of his shoulders, the defined planes of his stomach. His jacket was heavy, dripping water that pooled at his feet. His jaw was sharp, his eyes burning, his lips slightly parted.
She tried to keep her focus. She tried to remember why she was angry, why she had pushed him away, why she had tried to close the door in his face.
She tried to forget the way the rain made him look untouchable. The way the water traced the lines of his arms, the way his breath came steady and deep despite everything. The way he filled her doorway, her apartment, her entire field of vision.
She forced herself to look away. She forced herself to remember why she couldn't let him in.
"Don't do anything you can't undo," she said. Her voice was steadier than she expected. But her hands were trembling. She tucked them into the sleeves of her sweater to hide it.
He held her gaze. His eyes were dark, his face pale. He was dripping water onto her floor, and he didn't seem to care.
"I don't think things can get any worse than they are now," he said.
He stepped closer. The water from his jacket pooled on the floor between them. He didn't notice. He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room.
She could see the exhaustion in his face now. The dark circles under his eyes. The tight set of his jaw. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. He looked like he had been running for hours.
And still, he was looking at her.
"I came here to tell you the truth," he said. His voice was rough, scraped raw. "So let me tell it."
She opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to stop him. She wanted to tell him to leave. She wanted to protect him from what was coming.
But he had locked the door. And she was tired. And she didn't want to fight anymore.
She nodded. Just once. A small, almost imperceptible movement.
She turned away from him, her shoulders hunched, her hand coming up to brush at her face as if she could hide it. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, her nose slightly pink. She had been crying for a long time. Maybe all night.
The sight of it hit him like a physical blow.
He stepped closer. She stepped back, instinctively, her back hitting the wall behind her. She didn't have anywhere else to go.
He raised his hand to her face. His palm was cold from the rain, but his touch was gentle. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped before she could stop it. She flinched at the contact, but she didn't pull away.
"You've been crying." he said. His voice was rough, barely above a whisper.
She looked away. "It's nothing."
He opened his mouth to respond. Closed it. His hand was still on her face, and she could feel the slight tremor in his fingers. He was struggling. She could see it in the way his jaw worked, the way his eyes searched her face for something, permission maybe. Or forgiveness.
"I don't-" He stopped. His throat moved as he swallowed. "I don't know how to do this."
She blinked. "Do what?"
"This." He gestured vaguely between them with his free hand.
"Talk. Explain. Say the things I should have said weeks ago." He laughed, short and sharp, but there was no humor in it.
"I've never been good at this. I've never had to be. I just-" He stopped again. His jaw tightened. "I've spent my whole life making sure no one got close enough to need explanations. And now I'm standing here, dripping water on your floor, trying to find words I don't have."
She stared at him. She had never seen him like this. She had seen him angry, cold, dismissive. She had seen him vulnerable in flashes, brief moments that he quickly covered up. But this, this was different. This was him fighting through it. Him forcing himself to stay in the room, even when every instinct was telling him to run.
"Aerion," she said softly.
He shook his head. "I need to say this. I need to-" He stopped. His hand dropped from her face, and he turned away from her. He stood there for a moment, his shoulders tense, his hands clenched at his sides. The water was still dripping from his jacket, pooling at his feet. He didn't seem to notice.
She watched him. She didn't speak. She didn't move.
When he turned back to her, his face was raw in a way she had rarely seen. He looked tired. Exhausted. Like he had been fighting this battle for longer than he wanted to admit.
"I don't know what you're thinking," he said. His voice was quieter now, rougher. "I don't know if you hate me or if you're just- " He stopped. His jaw worked.
"I don't know if there's anything left to save. But I need you to know that I'm sorry. For everything I did. For everything I didn't do. For the way I made you feel like you were the problem when the problem was always me."
She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand.
"Let me finish." His voice cracked, just slightly, on the last word. He cleared his throat. "I let you walk away because I was scared. I let you push me away because I thought you were better off without me. And maybe you are. Maybe I'm not the person you deserve. Maybe I'll never be that person." He paused.
His eyes met hers. "But I can't pretend I don't care about you. I can't pretend this doesn't matter. I can't-" He stopped again. His jaw was so tight she could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. "I can't let you go without telling you the truth. All of it."
He dropped his gaze. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. The only sound was the rain against the windows and the steady drip of water from his jacket.
She looked at him. At the effort it was taking him to stay in this room. At the way he was forcing himself to speak even when every instinct was telling him to shut down. At the rawness of his face, the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his hands were still trembling at his sides.
Something in her chest shifted.
"Okay," she said softly. "Say whatever you need to say."
He looked up. His eyes met hers, and she saw the relief in them. The gratitude. The fear.
Three years ago.
The car moved through the city like a shadow, sleek and silent, its black exterior absorbing the streetlights rather than reflecting them. The interior was a study in quiet luxury; rich wood paneling inlaid along the doors, soft leather seats that seemed to cradle whoever sat in them, polished chrome accents catching the faint glow of the dashboard lights. The air smelled of expensive cologne and the faint, clean scent of money.
A man sat in the back seat, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. His suit was immaculate: dark, tailored, the kind that cost more than most people made in a year.
His hair was perfectly styled, his jaw clean-shaven, his hands resting loosely on the tablet in his lap. He looked like a man who had everything he wanted and was bored by the fact.
Across from him sat his secretary. His suit was also expensive, though slightly less flashy, a subtle distinction that spoke volumes about the hierarchy between them. He held a leather portfolio in his lap, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on his employer with the careful attention of someone who knew better than to look away.
The man scrolled through his tablet with lazy, unhurried movements. The glow of the screen illuminated his face as he read, his thumb flicking across the glass with practiced ease.
He stopped on a headline.
"UNIDENTIFIED MAN KILLED IN SUMMERHALL SECURITY INCIDENT."
The article beneath it was brief but damning:
"A man, whose identity has not yet been released, was shot and killed late last night at Summerhall, the ancestral estate of House Targaryen. Sources confirm the man was not a member of the household staff nor a known associate of the family. He was discovered in a restricted area of the estate and shot by security personnel. The investigation is ongoing, and the Targaryens security detail, The King's Guard, has declined to comment on the specifics of the incident. Questions are already being raised about the nature of the man's presence at Summerhall and the circumstances surrounding his death."
He scrolled to the next article.
"AERION TARGARYEN SENT TO LYS AMID SUMMERHALL MYSTERY."
The article detailed Aerion's sudden departure:
"Aerion Targaryen, the second son of Prince Maekar, has been sent to Lys on what sources describe as 'an extended business trip.' The timing of his departure, coming just hours after the Summerhall security incident, has raised eyebrows across the realm. Aerion has long been a controversial figure; known for his explosive temper, his history of violent outbursts, and his open contempt for the press. Critics have pointed to Incident 203, as well as incidents in which Aerion was accused of assaulting a reporter, as evidence of pattern behavior. The family has remained silent on the matter, and speculation is mounting that Aerion may have been involved in the Summerhall shooting. Neither the Targaryen family nor the King's Guard has issued a formal statement regarding his departure or the incident itself, which has left many to question his involvement in the shooting."
The man read both articles slowly, his lips curving into a smile. He set the tablet down and looked out the window.
"Fools," he murmured. "They have no idea."
Tymond,the secretary, glanced up from the leather portfolio in his lap.
"Sir?"
The man gestured at the tablet. "The Targaryens. They think they've buried the Summerhall incident. They think sending Aerion to Lys will make it all go away." He laughed softly. "They have no idea who they're dealing with."
Tymond hesitated. His grip on the portfolio tightened slightly. "It's a shame about the journalist," he said carefully. "He had a wife. Children, I believe."
The man's smile did not fade. If anything, it sharpened.
"He was a loose end," he said. "Loose ends need to be cut off."
Tymond's expression flickered in a brief, barely perceptible shift that suggested he was not entirely comfortable with the sentiment. He knew better than to argue. He nodded once and looked down at his portfolio.
The man's smile faded, replaced by something more contemplative. He picked up his tablet again, scrolling back to the first article.
"Tymond," he said.
"Sir?"
"Does it not strike you as curious...how a journalist with no known connection to House Targaryen ended up at Summerhall?"
Tymond hesitated. "I assumed he was investigating them."
"He was," the man said. "But he wasn't investigating the Targaryens. Not at first."
Tymond looked up. "Sir?"
The man's smile returned. It was not a warm smile.
"He was investigating us."
Tymond's face went pale. "The journalist-"
"Ethan Storm." The man said the name slowly, as if tasting it. "He was getting close. Too close. I needed to eliminate him, and I needed to do it without leaving a trail."
Tymond swallowed. "How did he end up at Summerhall?"
The man's smile widened. "I sent him."
Tymond stared at him.
"I tipped him off," the man continued, his voice smooth and unhurried. "An anonymous message, carefully crafted. I told him there was something hidden at Summerhall...something the Targaryens didn't want anyone to find. I knew he would follow the lead. I knew he would walk straight into their trap."
"And the Targaryens, they-" Tymond was interrupted before he could finish:
"Did exactly what I expected." The man's eyes glittered with satisfaction. "They killed him. Aerion Targaryen, I assume, pulled the trigger and they buried the story. Now Aerion is in Lys, the Targaryens are scrambling, and no one is looking at us."
Tymond was silent for a long moment. His face was carefully neutral, but his hands were gripping the portfolio a little too tightly.
"You planned this," he said quietly.
The man leaned back in his seat, his expression calm. "I orchestrated it."
Tymond nodded slowly. He understood now. This was not just a man, this was a predator. And the Targaryens had been used as pawns in a game they didn't even know they were playing.
The man's smile faded, replaced by something more businesslike.
"And what about that Lysene fool, Lysandro Pendaerys?"
Tymond straightened. "The Magistor has collected the funds, sir. The full amount has been transferred to the accounts you designated."
"How much?"
"Eighteen million Golden Dragons. As you requested."
The man leaned back in his seat, a look of satisfaction settling across his features. "Excellent. The things people do for their children."
Tymond's jaw tightened. He knew what that meant. He knew the Magistor was being blackmailed; threats had been made against his family, against his children. He knew the man across from him had planned it all. He also knew better than to comment.
He kept his face neutral and said nothing.
The man returned to his tablet, his expression shifting from satisfaction to something more calculating. "And the charity event?"
"It's all arranged, sir. The press will be there. The mayor has confirmed attendance. Your speech has been prepared."
"Good." He set the tablet aside and adjusted his cuff. "I want the world to see how much I care about the orphans of Lys."
A pause.
"Of course, sir."
The car slowed. The man looked out the window and saw the lights of the venue ahead: a grand building, its entrance flanked by reporters and photographers. The flashes of cameras reflected off the wet pavement like scattered stars.
His demeanor shifted instantly. The cold, calculating expression melted away, replaced by a warm, charming smile. His shoulders relaxed. His eyes softened. He became someone else entirely, a public figure, a philanthropist, a prince of the people.
The car stopped.
The door opened.
He stepped out into the glare of the cameras, his smile wide, his posture open and inviting. A reporter called out to him.
"Prince Trystane! Prince Trystane, over here!"
He turned toward the voice, his smile unwavering.
"Prince Trystane, how are you feeling about tonight's event? You've done so much for the orphans of Lys. What inspired you to get involved?"
He paused, letting the moment stretch. The cameras flashed. The crowd waited.
He smiled, warm and genuine, and began to speak.
"Thank you. I've always believed that those of us who have been blessed with privilege have a responsibility to give back. The children of Lys deserve a future. They deserve hope. And I am honored to play a small part in giving that to them."
The reporter nodded eagerly, scribbling notes. The cameras flashed again.
Trystane Martell smiled for the cameras, his eyes bright, his expression unreadable.
And somewhere in the shadows, Tymond watched, his face carefully neutral.
He had learned a long time ago not to let his discomfort show.
The Present
"Three years ago," he began, "a journalist died at Summerhall."
She didn't move. She just watched him, her eyes fixed on his face.
He paused. His jaw tightened. He was already struggling, already fighting through the words.
"He wasn't supposed to die," he said. "I didn't mean to kill him."
She blinked. "Then what happened?"
He dragged a hand through his wet hair, water dripping from his fingers. "He was investigating something. I don't know what. He got too close to a restricted area. I confronted him. There was a struggle." He paused. His voice dropped lower. "I aimed for his leg. I wanted to stop him, not kill him. But he tripped. The shot hit something vital. He bled out before anyone could help him."
She was quiet for a moment. Her eyes were searching his face, looking for the lie. He let her look. He had nothing left to hide.
"Did anyone else know?" she asked.
"My father. Baelor. A few others." He laughed, a hollow sound. "They buried it. Made it look like an accident. Sent me to Lys to hide from the scandal."
She processed that. Her fingers were still wrapped around her own arms, her posture still guarded.
"Who was he?" she asked. "The journalist."
"I don't know his name. I never knew his name. He was just a man who got too close to something he shouldn't have."
She nodded slowly. "And you've carried that guilt for three years."
He didn't answer. Instead, he looked away, his jaw tight.
"I found out something else while I was in Lys," he said. "About the Magistor. Lysandro Pendaerys."
She tilted her head. "The Magistor?"
"He was embezzling funds. Millions of Golden Dragons, funneled into private accounts. I discovered it while I was there."
He continued. "I was sent there to negotiate an oil deal. My father wanted me to make myself useful while the scandal died down. I found out about the embezzlement. I thought- " He stopped momentarily as is weighing the words he was about to say next.
"I thought I could use it. I thought I could prove myself."
She blinked. "And how did you find out about the embezzled funds?"
"His daughter," he said. "Her name was Lysara." he turned away from her.
She blinked. "The Magistors daughter?"
"She discovered her father was embezzling funds," he said. "She was trying to expose him. She came to me, trusted me, confided in me." He paused. "I used her. I used her trust to get the documents I needed. I let her believe I cared about her."
She was quiet for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
"Did you?" she asked hesitant, clearly fearing his reply. "Care about her?"
"No." He said it immediately, without hesitation. "I used her. I'm not proud of it. But I did what I had to do to survive."
She studied his face. "And the oil deal?"
"I used the documents to negotiate with the governor. I reduced the tax from twenty-two percent to four percent. I got what I needed, and I left as soon as it was over."
His tongue moved over is dry lips.
"I'm not proud of what I did," he said. "I know it was wrong. I know I used her. I know I manipulated her. But I was desperate. I was trapped. I needed that deal to secure my family's future,"
He looked at her now, his eyes locked with hers as he continued "and I before you ask.... no I don't regret it, I did what I had to in order to survive, and I'd do it again."
She was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she stepped closer.
"Aerion," she said.
He looked up.
"I believe you."
He stared at her. His lips parted. He looked like he was trying to process what she had just said.
"You believe me?" he repeated.
"Yes." She held his gaze. "I believe you."
He exhaled. It was shaky, unsteady, like he had been holding his breath for three years and was only now allowing himself to let it go.
"I knew you would," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "You knew?"
"You lied at the dinner," he said. "When you said the rumours about me were true. I knew you were lying."
She paused, slightly amused. "How could you possibly know that?"
He smiled. It was a small, almost shy smile, the kind she had never seen on his face before.
"You have a habit," he said. "When you lie-" He reached out and touched the tip of her nose gently. "Your nose scrunches. Just slightly. It's barely noticeable. But I noticed."
She stared at him. Her cheeks flushed. "You noticed that?"
He nodded. "I notice everything about you."
She was quiet for a moment. Her heart was pounding. He noticed. He noticed things about her that no one else noticed. He paid attention to her in a way that made her feel seen.
"You're the only one who's ever noticed that," she said softly.
He didn't answer. He just looked at her, his eyes dark, his gaze steady.
She looked at him. Her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. Something shifted in her expression.
"I think I might love you," she said. "Aerion Targaryen."
The words hung in the air.
He stared at her. His lips parted. His heart was beating so fast he could hear it in his ears.
"Say it again," he said. His voice was barely a whisper. "Please. Say it again."
She looked at him. Her eyes were searching his face, her gaze moving between his eyes, his lips, his eyes again. He could see the love in them, raw and unguarded.
"I love you," she said slowly. "Aerion Targaryen. More than I know what to do with."
He exhaled. A shaky, unsteady breath that seemed to carry the weight of everything he had been holding in.
"I'm trying so damn hard to be patient," he said, his voice cracking. "To go slow with you. But you- " He shook his head. "The way you look at me. It makes it so hard to be patient."
He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against hers. His grip on her face was tight, almost desperate.
"You have to stop testing me like this," he whispered.
She reached up and grabbed his collar. Her grip was firm, her eyes fierce.
"The least you can do after everything you've done to me," she said, "is kiss me."
He stared at her. His jaw tightened. He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her she deserved better than a frantic moment in her apartment. He wanted to be the man who could give her the romance she deserved.
She didn't give him a chance.
She pulled him down and kissed him.
It was fierce and desperate, a kiss that said more than words ever could. He was so shocked by her directness, he was so used to being the one in control, the one who made the first move, that he didn't react for a moment. He just stood there, frozen, his lips against hers.
Then he kissed her back.
She pushed him back onto the sofa. He fell onto the cushions, surprised, and she was on top of him, straddling his lap, her hands in his hair, her lips against his. He reached for her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.
She broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Her face was flushed, her eyes dark.
"Don't you ever keep anything from me again," she said. "Do you understand?"
He nodded. "I understand."
"Good." She leaned in and kissed him again, softer this time. "Good."
"Fuck," he breathed against her lips. "I love you. You're so fucking perfect."
She smiled, a real smile, the first one he had seen all night and then he flipped them over, pressing her into the cushions.
"My turn," he said.
He kissed her. Hard. Passionate. The kind of kiss that felt like they were trying to press their very souls into each other. Their lips moved together like they were trying to fuse into one person, like they were terrified that if they stopped, the moment would shatter.
Clothes began to fall away in the heat of the moment. A jacket. A sweater. The world narrowed to just the two of them, the heat of their bodies, the urgency of their touch.
Then he stopped.
He pulled back, breathing heavily, his forehead pressed against hers.
"Wait," he said. His voice was rough, barely controlled. "We need to sort everything out first. Then we'll do this."
She blinked. Her eyes were still dark, still hungry. "Do you not want me?"
"Only the Seven know how badly I want you," his hoarse with the barely held back desire. "But I want to do this properly. I want to do this right."
She stared at him. She was still breathing heavily, her body still pressed against his.
"I've never met a woman like you," he said softly. "I've met plenty of women. Trust me, plenty. But none like you. None who looked at me like I was worth saving. None who saw me and didn't flinch."
She reached up and touched his face. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said. "I've never been afraid of you."
"I know," he said. "That's why I love you."
The apartment was quiet now, the only sounds the soft patter of rain against the windows and the distant hum of the city beyond. The intensity of the confession had faded into something softer, something more fragile. They had moved from the sofa to her bedroom, the weight of the evening pressing down on both of them.
She led the way, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. He followed, his wet jacket discarded somewhere in the living room, his shirt still damp and clinging to his skin. He paused in the doorway, taking in the space.
Her room was warm, intimate in a way he hadn't expected. The walls were painted a soft cream, the furniture simple and elegant. A large bed dominated the centre of the room, its sheets rumpled from the night before.
There were books stacked on the nightstand, a half-empty glass of water, a small vase with a single dried flower. A delicate silver frame sat on her dresser, holding a photograph of a younger her, maybe sixteen or seventeen, her hair loose and her smile wide and unguarded, arms wrapped around a man who must have been her father. Lyonel looked younger too, his arm around her shoulders, both of them laughing at something off-camera.
Aerion's eyes lingered on the photograph for a moment longer than necessary. He had never seen her like that; so free, so unburdened. It made his chest ache.
She noticed him looking. "I was sixteen," she said softly. "Before everything got complicated."
He didn't respond. He just looked at her, his eyes dark.
She moved to her wardrobe and pulled out a blanket and a spare pillow, tossing them onto the floor beside her bed. "You can sleep here," she said. "The floor's not as comfortable as the bed, but it's better than the sofa."
He looked at the makeshift bed, then at her. "I'll take the floor."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're being a gentleman."
"I'm being practical. You need the bed more than I do."
She smiled. It was a small, tired smile, but it was real. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"Neither did I."
She climbed into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. He lowered himself onto the floor, the blanket rough against his palms, the pillow thin beneath his head. The ceiling was unfamiliar, the room unfamiliar, but the sound of her breathing was grounding.
The minutes stretched. The rain continued to fall. He stared at the ceiling, his body tense, his mind racing. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about everything she had said, everything he had revealed.
"You're like a restless dog down there," she said, her voice cutting through the silence. "What's wrong with you?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "Are you still going to marry Trystane?"
She sat up, leaning over the edge of the bed to look at him. Her hair fell forward, framing her face. "Aerion, I just kissed you. What makes you think I'm still marrying Trystane?"
"I don't know." He rolled onto his side to face her. "I just needed to be sure."
She studied his face. "Why wouldn't you be sure?"
He hesitated. He had already said too much. But he couldn't stop himself. "Because you had a history. Before me."
She blinked. "How do you know about that?"
He didn't answer. His jaw was tight.
"You've been doing research on me," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I wanted to know who I was dealing with," he said finally. "I needed to understand what I was walking into."
She stared at him. Her expression was unreadable. Then, slowly, she laughed.
"You're impossible," she said.
"I know."
She lay back down, her head still hanging over the edge of the bed, her eyes still fixed on him. "I used to think Trystane and I were aligned," she said. "We both cared about charity work. We both wanted to make a difference. He seemed genuine at first. Like he actually cared about the causes he supported."
He listened. He didn't interrupt.
"But then something happened," she continued. "I can't even tell you what it was. A moment where the mask slipped. A comment he made. A look in his eyes that didn't match the words coming out of his mouth."
She paused. Her voice dropped lower.
"After that, I couldn't unsee it. He felt hollow. Like everything he did was for show. Like he was performing, and I was just part of the audience."
He was quiet for a moment. He thought about himself; about all the things he had done, all the ways he had failed. He wasn't like Trystane. He was the opposite of the man she had described. He wasn't good. He wasn't kind. He wasn't genuine.
He didn't know why she was choosing him.
"I'm not the man you want," he said quietly. "I'm not the person you thought Trystane was."
She looked at him. Her eyes were soft, unflinching.
"I know," she said. "You're not him. And that's why I trust you."
He stared at her. Something in his chest shifted. He didn't know how to respond.
"I can tell by the way your eyes crinkle when you see your siblings laugh," she continued. "I can tell by the way you hesitated before kissing me...like you were afraid you'd hurt me. I can tell by the fact that you're sleeping on my floor instead of in my bed, even though I know you want to be there."
She paused. Her voice was softer now.
"You're not the same kind of good as Trystane. You're better."
He was quiet. He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe.
"About the earrings," she said softly, changing the subject. "I know they were your mother's."
He sat up slightly, turning to look at her. "How did you know?"
"The portrait," she said. "At Summerhall. She was wearing them in the painting."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and took her hand. She let him. He pressed a kiss to the back of it, his lips lingering against her skin.
"They were hers," he said. "She wore them every day. I took them after she died. I couldn't bear to look at them for years."
She watched him. She didn't interrupt.
"There's a tradition in my family," he continued, his voice rough. "The earrings are passed down. They're meant to be given to someone you want to marry."
Her eyes widened. "Aerion-"
"I didn't mean to give them to you the way I did," he said quickly. "I wasn't thinking. I just; I saw you in them, and I knew they belonged with you."
He laughed, a hollow sound. "I didn't even tell you what they meant. I just handed them to you like they were nothing. Like they were just a prop."
She stared at him. Her heart was pounding.
"Have you ever given them to anyone else?" she asked.
"No. Never. I've never even wanted to."
She was quiet for a long moment. Her fingers were still interlaced with his.
"Aerion," she said softly. "How long have you liked me?"
He stiffened. "That's-"
"Be honest."
He was quiet for a moment. His thumb traced absent patterns on the back of her hand.
"Do you want me to be honest?" he asked.
"Always."
"Ever since our first dinner," he said quietly. "When you called me out for being late. When you smiled at me like you already saw through everything I was trying to hide. I knew then. I knew you were the one."
She stared at him. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. "You've liked me this whole time?"
"Every single moment," he said. "Every single day."
He looked at her, his eyes dark, his jaw tight. "Now it's your turn. When did you start liking me?"
She blinked. "That's not fair."
"I just told you everything."
"I didn't ask you to."
He let out an exasperated laugh. "That's not an answer."
She smiled, a slow, teasing smile. "That's a secret."
"Seriously?"
"I'm not ready to tell you yet."
He stared at her. "You're impossible."
"I know." She pulled her hand back and settled deeper into her pillows. "It's late. We should sleep."
Aerion layed back down on the floor, staring at the ceiling. He could still feel the warmth of her hand in his, the ghost of her touch. He could still hear the echo of her voice saying you're better.
"Don't think I'll forget about this," he said quietly. "I'll ask you again in the morning."
She didn't answer. But he heard the soft, muffled sound of her smiling.
The rain continued to fall outside. The city hummed in the distance. And in her bedroom, on the floor beside her bed, Aerion Targaryen finally allowed himself to close his eyes.
For the first time in three years, he felt like he was home.
Notes:
GUYS PLEASE TELL ME YOU UNDERSTAND THE PLOT 😭😭😭
like Trystane set up the whole incident at summerhall with the journalist (which got Aerion banished) and he was also involved with the magister who Aerion caught embezzling funds (which Aerion used to negotiate the Lys Oil Trades from the OG 22% down to 4% which happens in the first scene of part 1).
Also I think this ending sets up well for the next pt which will probably be the ending
AN: My fics are meant to be x-readers, friendly to all skin colors. So, if I accidentally describe something that can only be applied to one race, DM me or inbox me so I can edit and fix it.
When I write that the reader blushes, it's not because the characters can see her blush; it's because she is biologically, physically blushing. All skin colors can "blush"; it's just more/less noticeable in some skin colors.
Blushing=blood+rushing NOT cheeks/face reddening
DARK FICS ONLY
Fandoms:
AKOTSK: Valarr, Aerion, Daeron, Baelor
HOTD: Gwayne, Ormund, Jacaerys, Cregan, Rhaenyra
If requested on Kofi i'll write for other characters too
GOT: Robb
Commissions
A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
Check out the tag "Dark *insert character*" for drabbles
Valarr Targaryen
The Blackfyre whore part one
The Blackfyre whore part two
The Blackfyre whore part three Feat. Baelor
The Blackfyre Whore part four
Choices, Consequences (ft. Aerion)
Memories
Popstar (tba)
The prince and the childhood friend (tba)
Aerion Targaryen
The prince's whore
Baelor Targaryen
Prima nocta
The Prince and The Septa (tba)
The prince and the childhood friend (tba)
Daeron Targaryen
Love at first dream
Love at first dream: Ashford part 2
Love at first dream: The Life (tba)
Ser Duncan The Tall
The Princess And The Knight (tba)
Ormund Hightower
The whore au:
The hair
The marriage debt
Education
Whore sex positions kinks
forgiveness
you get me so high
sin
Faults
The Ick
As My Lady Commands
The Letter
Switchin for you (team black ending)
Tags • love at first sight, loss of virginity, sex outside of marriage, accidental pregnancy, third person narrative
Summary • Upon getting his brothers to safety in the Vale, Jacaerys finds a kindred spirit in Lady Jeyne’s sister. They share a night before he leaves for war, that bears unexpected fruit.
Jacaerys Masterlist
Chapter 1 • The Eyrie
Chapter 2 • The Gates of the Moon
Chapter 3 • My Sun and Stars
Chapters • 3/3
Total wordcount • 11,350
Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, this is how we keep stories alive on this platform. Likes and comments are equally appreciated.
a priest doing his duty and listening to his parishoners' confessions on the other side of the confessional while he cockwarms a dildo in the shape of a demon cock, the knot of it slipping inside of him as he grinds down against it while listening to an unholy confession about thoughts of infidelity by one of his closest parishoners, taking a cock inside of him while his parishoner talks about how disgusting and depraved his dreams about being fucked by a man are.
"what should i do, father? i need your guidance."
he pushes him down on the dildo again at the desperate emotion in his voice.
"perhaps, my child, it is our lord's way of punishing you for your...fornications with Mrs. Maya. a punishment for being with a woman other than your wife."
"oh, father. dear father, what should i do to redeem myself in the eyes of our lord?"
"i can only make suggestions, you must choose in the end." he fought to keep his voice steady at the knot of it stretched his rim further than he ever thought possible, his eyes rolling in his head.
"what do you suggest then, father? whatever it is i am sure it is for the best."
"i would advise that you do not reject god's punishment. for only with punishment will you be cleansed. i suggest you act on these dreams. i suggest you allow another man into yourself to fulfil the lord's plan."
"and then i will be forgiven?"
"and then the lord will see you are his most willing servant."
"yes," the man sounded excited. "yes, i mean-- if that is what i must do then of course."
"come back to confess your sins to me when it is done. leave no detail unsaid to ensure you are properly forgiven."
"yes, father. of course, father, thank you."
the door to the confessional closes and another does not take his place. bracing a hand on either side of the booth, the priest fucks himself on the demon cock, the knot squelching in and out of him as he moans like a wanton whore for his lord before he cums in his cassock, clenching around the knot as though it has swelled, like he was a bitch in heat to be knotted and bred.
˚.⋆꒰ genre. soulmate au, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst.
˚.⋆꒰ summary. you always knew soulmates were real, but you never thought you would find yours. travelling to the north with your father to learn about the berries you loved so much led you to a man you felt an undeniable connection with. but was he a true gentleman . . or were you being fooled by the heir to the north?
˚.⋆꒰ word count. 10.1k
˚.⋆꒰ warnings. happy ending, canon compliant-ish but if i do continue this universe i will be changing big things about the plot, everyone lives au, pre s1 ish timeline wise, aged up stark siblings (but also aged down in rickon's case?), lots of yearning from robb, just a lot of stark family dynamics and loverboy robb.. what more could a girl want??
You always had an affinity for plants.
Growing up behind the tall walls of The Eyrie, you had to find some way to entertain yourself. Perhaps if you had been allowed to play with your younger half brother Robin, you would have found some other way to occupy your mind.
But your stepmother would never have allowed it, always coddling her Sweetrobin.
With your father always lost in his work or away as the hand of the king, you found yourself sneaking into the Maesters rooms of the castle, reading notes and observing the plants. It didn’t take long for the old man to catch you and, taking pity on the poor young lady of the house, sit you down and teach you about the different herbs.
You had your fair share of learning from your Septas, of course. As a girl born into nobility, into House Arryn no less, you knew everything a proper lady should know. How to sew, how to plan a dinner, how to speak quietly, how to care for your children. But plants? Herbs? These things were so new to you, and you found yourself infatuated with their properties.
In fact, you were so obsessed, you begged the Maester to allow you a few seeds, so that you could start a garden beside the fountain in the castle. He allowed you, of course, even checking in on your garden and explaining the different conditions each plant needed. You ate up all the knowledge you could behind the walls of the castle, and the fauna was no different.
One topic your stepmother forbade you from learning about though, was soulmates.
You asked the Maester about his soulmate once, back when you were only 10 namedays along. You remember the way his hand twitched, a soft, faraway look in his eye. He was forbidden to tell you anything, but you knew from the look on his face, the question must have brought happy thoughts to his mind.
Even at only 10 namedays, you knew the reason your stepmother didn’t want you learning about soulmates. She planned to marry you off as soon as you were old enough, and she couldn’t have you fantasising about the follies of love and faith in the old Gods when she needed you to marry whoever would be a convenient ally.
The thought wasn’t something you would ever admit upset you. Taking your education into your own hands, you found a book detailing the history of soulmates in the library, where you found that:
‘Not all folk are destined to find their soulmates in this life, but if not in this one, they will be together in another. The soulmate bond signifies more than just a perfect match between two, it is a mark of one soul split directly into two. This is no pairing of hearts, it is one heart beating in two bodies.
Once a soul becomes whole, it is painful and difficult for this to be undone. It can lead to violence, insanity and even death. This is why many do not search for their soulmates and marry whomever they so choose.’
But there was a bright side to having a soulmate, you knew that.
You thought about the look on the Maesters face when he thought about his soulmate. The way your handmaiden, Ellie, spoke of her husband Edin. There was a beauty to having a person completely understand you, having a complete soul.
“Y/N!”
You stopped in your tracks, surprised at the sight before you.
Your father was home.
Your father, Lord Jon Arryn, was home with his good friend, Lord Ned Stark. His was a face you had been very familiar with from a young age. He worked closely with your father, so he never missed a family gathering or ball. Even now, when you were a lot older than only 10 namedays, you couldn’t help but smile at the familiar man.
“Father. Lord Stark,” you curtsied politely, watching as Ned rolled his eyes.
“Every time . .” he mumbled under his breath. “Call me Ned,” he told you, the same way he always did when you reverted back to calling him by his formal titles.
“Are you going somewhere?” Your father asked, noticing the small basket you were carrying.
You quickly pushed the basket behind your back, making both of the men grin in amusement.
“No . . no! I was just–”
“Tending to her garden, my lord,” one of the maids said as she began to lay out breakfast for the two men. “She’s a good green hand too, you should see how well everything's bloomed. We’re using her spices in the kitchen, and I know the Maesters glad she’s growing healing herbs.”
You winced.
Gardening was not ladylike, according to your stepmother.
But she was never around, always fussing over Robin somewhere far away, so she wasn’t actually aware of what you had been doing the last few years. And your father? He was always away in Kingslanding, not a care in the world about what you were getting up to at The Eyrie.
The servants, maids, chefs– anyone who worked in the castle knew what you were doing in your spare time. It was hard not to notice your overgrowing gardens when they blocked the pathway to the kitchens, but all of the staff assured you that they didn’t mind. You were always sharing your crops with them, offering to help with anything you could, so they treated you like the sunshine of the household.
They had taken to calling you ‘Sunshine’ even when you weren’t around, partially because of your kind nature (in comparison to what they experience from your stepmother) but partially because of how well the plants grew with your care. You were like the sun, with plants stretching out to reach your light.
You knew the maid meant well, answering your father, but you couldn’t help the fear that overtook you. Would you be in trouble? Would your stepmother find out? While your father wasn’t around much to punish you, his wife often took it upon herself to discipline you whenever she felt it necessary.
Thankfully though, your father didn’t seem annoyed at this revelation.
In fact, both he and Ned seemed intrigued, the latter inviting you to come sit beside him.
“Plants, aye? Don’t see much of that up at Winterfell,” he says, a hint of sadness in his voice.
Ned Stark was the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North.
You had never been, but you knew the climate was very different to that of the Vale. A lot of snow, and a coldness you wouldn’t even be able to imagine.
“Actually, there are a lot of herbs that can only grow in the cold,” you said, excitedly. “And almost everything can still grow in the snow, as long as you’re taking care to cover the crops to avoid any snowfall.”
“Only grow in the cold? You’re talking nonsense, girl,” your father took a bite of his food. Despite his words, his tone was casual. Conversational. You rarely got to speak with your father, so it surprised you, but you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“I– I have a list here. I’ve never been able to test it – you know it doesn’t snow here – but I’m sure you can grow all of these things in the North,” you showed Ned your little book, filled with notes and findings that you had made over the last decade.
“Gods . . the girls a scholar, Jon,” Ned laughed, squinting at the book. “Ye should get her sent off to some institution or something!”
Your father chuckled lightly, but it wasn’t cruel.
“I always knew she would be a smart one,” his eyes were on you now, a small amount of pride in them.
And you couldn’t help but smile back.
It was reassuring to know that your father wasn’t going to punish you for your gardening, and even moreso calming that Ned also approved. You just hoped no one would mention it to your stepmother.
The meal continued, with the men discussing something about an unrest in the West, and the Lannisters while you ate your food and sipped your tea. Inside, all you could think about was going to check if your poppies had blossomed, and if Ned Stark knew anything about Winterberries and Baby’s breath, two plants you knew could only grow in the Northern climate.
As if they could read your mind, the conversation turned back to you and Winterfell.
“Perhaps we should take Y/N with us,” your father’s suggestion seemed playful as he took a swig of his wine.
“Take me where?”
“Up North,” it was Ned who answered you. “Your father’s accompanying me home, we have an important meeting at Winterfell. Would you like to join us, Lady Y/N?”
Would you like to join them? Would you like to visit a beautiful, snowy castle and try to find Winterberries? Would you like to escape from your stepmother and spend time with your father?
You jumped up from your seat faster than ever, clutching your basket.
“Really? May I, father? Please, may I?”
“Cease your whining, girl,” your father groaned, shooting Ned a glare. “Of course you may. What’s all the fuss about, have you not been before?”
You knew you couldn’t blame him. He was, of course, a busy man. But your father was always so . . unaware, when it came to your upbringing. Here you were, nearing 10 and 9 namedays and he didn’t know that the only place you had ever visited outside of the Vale was Kingslanding.
“No, father. I’ve never been to Winterfell,” you said quietly, looking down at the ground.
To his credit, he seemed surprised.
His white eyebrows shot up, and the man nodded once.
“Then it’s settled. You shall join us in the North–” he looks to Ned, tone teasing as he adds. “If that is okay with his Lordship?”
“It would be my absolute honour, Lady Y/N.”
It was cold.
You knew it would be, but you had no idea how the cold would sit with you. It felt like a sheet of ice had wrapped itself around your bones, enclosing you tighter and tighter in its grasp.
The thick, velvet gloves in House Arryn's signature sky blue colour helped to shield your fingers from the snow as you stepped out of the carriage and looked around.
Winterfell was . . beautiful.
Despite the cold, despite the snow, despite all you had heard and read about the horrors of the North . . all you could see was the beauty of the castle. And if your heart wasn't warm enough at your surroundings, it softened even more when you watched Ned Stark run over to his wife and hold her in his arms.
Everyone knew Ned and Catelyn Stark were true soulmates.
It wasn't completely rare to find your soulmate, you knew that. But for a nobleman and a noblewoman to be soulmates? To find each other and be eternally happy? To not have to sacrifice love or status or family in this life?
Yes, the Starks were a blessed family. You could only hope to find a fraction of that love with the man you were to end up wedding.
A soft, white glow surrounded the couple in their embrace, evidence of their soulmate bond being at peace.
"Lady Y/N!"
You were broken out of your thoughts by a vaguely familiar voice . . that belonged to . .
"Lady Sansa," you breathed out a smile, nodding to the girl you remember meeting at a ball last Spring.
She seemed to be excited, as did the rest of her family.
Ned was the one to make your introductions.
"You all know Lord Arryn, this is his daughter, Lady Y/N Arryn," he nodded to where you were standing next to your father, dressed in a cloak that was nowhere near thick enough to shield you from the weather.
"It's a pleasure to meet you all," you offered all of the Stark siblings a smile.
You didn't know exactly how many kids Ned and Catelyn had, but as well as Sansa there was a younger girl and two younger boys who all shared similar dark hair and strong features. The youngest couldn’t have seen more than 3 namedays, a tiny toddler clinging to his mothers skirts.
"This is my good lady wife–" Ned was still holding Catelyn's shoulder. "My daughter Sansa you already know, this is Arya, Brandon and Rickon–"
"Father!"
Everyone's attention turned to the drawbridge, where two men on horseback arrived.
They were both dark haired, that you noticed, but the first one . . the one with hair that was more of a dark auburn . . there was something about his eyes . .
They came to a stop in front of the Stark family, Arya rushing over to hug the one that caught your attention.
"Robb!"
Robb.
Robb Stark, Ned and Catelyn's firstborn and heir to the North.
Robb Stark was tall, with curly dark hair and a beautiful face to match. You didn't know much about the Stark family, only things you had heard from the household at Arryn or from Ned himself, but you didn't know the Stark children were all so beautiful. You almost couldn't stop staring as he spun his younger sister around, laughing as she squealed–
"Robb! Y/N, this is my son Robb, and my other boy Jon," Ned's voice was filled with more pride than you'd heard in all the weeks you had been travelling together, and that made you smile again. “This is Lady Y/N.”
And then Robb's eyes landed on you.
And time seemed to slow down. It didn't completely stop, not in the way Ellie described it to you, but it was as if the flakes of snow that were falling around you were moving 100 times slower. It was like every voice and noise around you settled to a dim hum. Everyone's faces blurred around you and the only other person that you could see as clear as crystal . . was Robb Stark.
"Lady Y/N," he whispered, his words a soft breath. It was like he was tasting your name. And then he finally noticed your father beside you. "Lady Y/N Arryn?"
You fought a smile.
Was it possible? Was it truly possible that Robb Stark was your soulmate?
A man of nobility, a man from a good family, with good ties to your father, was to be your destiny.
Were the Gods truly this kind? Would you be allowed to marry him? Would your stepmother allow it? Could she overrule or convince your father? And what if Robb was already married? Or betrothed?
An overwhelming stress suddenly clouded your mind, and you knew you wouldn't be able to logically think about all of this with all these new people around, in an unfamiliar place.
"I . ." You broke his steel gaze, looking away and to your father. "I'm sorry, father. I don't know what– I'm dreadfully cold all of a sudden–"
"I can show you to your rooms!" Arya jumped up, proudly volunteering herself to help you inside.
You gave her a half hearted smile, still looking down to avoid Robb's stare.
But someone else had picked up on the Stark boy's odd behaviour.
"No. I will take Lady Y/N," Catelyn announced. She held an arm out for you to take, and you did so gratefully.
Your father didn't seem too disturbed by your quiet outburst, only nodding at you once.
"It has been a long journey for you, rest well."
"I will," you promised, letting the lady of Winterfell guide you into the castle. "Thank you, Lady Stark," you added, quieter.
There was a brief period of silence between the two of you as Catelyn led you around the giant castle.
"I haven't seen you since you were a babe. You have grown into a beautiful young lady, Y/N," she finally said.
"Thank you, my Lady."
"And how are your studies? My husband wrote to me while he was at the Eyrie, he mentioned you are interested in plants."
You felt some of your tension melt away at her kind words.
"Yes, it was my intention behind joining my father here. I was hoping to find Winterberries, they're a healing fruit that only grows in the North," you rambled, not noticing the way Catelyn smiled at you.
“Winterberries . . from the children’s tales?”
Winterberries were thought to be a myth in the North, originating from old tales and apparently being able to cure any ailment. They haven’t been seen for centuries, so you understood why people thought them to be unreal, but you had faith.
“They’re real, and I intend to find them,” you said determinedly.
Catelyn nodded once, not wanting to argue with you on this.
"And how is my sister? Does she treat you well?"
Her sister?
And then you remembered.
Your stepmother was once a Tully, just like the current Lady Stark. They were sisters, even if your stepmother rarely spoke of it. In fact, you had only ever heard her mention Catelyn out of bitterness, which explained a lot to you.
Catelyn married her soulmate, while your stepmother was your fathers fourth wife.
"She . . she treats me well," you lied smoothly. It wasn't your place to gossip or speak ill of your stepmother, especially not to her sister.
Catelyn frowned.
"I know my sister can be difficult--"
"No, no! I assure you, she . ."
"You do not have to hide the truth from me, Y/N."
By now, the two of you were entering a guest room. There was a large bed, covered in furs and silks of the Stark house colours, as well as a fireplace that was already lit, for which you were thankful. Catelyn nodded at a window and a servant boy immediately rushed over to close it. The room instantly warmed, and you breathed out a sigh.
"She treats me as well as she is able," you finally settled on, staring across at Catelyn.
She smiled.
"You have a good heart, Lady Y/N."
"Thank you, Lady Stark. And thank you for your hospitality, I'm sorry for leaving so quickly–"
"Not at all, my dear," she cut you off. "I know better than anyone how much of a shock the cold here can be when you come from the south . .” she trailed off, making you wonder what she was reminiscing on. Was she thinking about her life before moving to the North and becoming the lady of Winterfell?
“Do you ever miss it?” You asked carefully.
She looked down at you, her smile bittersweet.
“I can always travel there, but it will never feel the way it did when I was a girl,” she confessed. “Besides, my children are here. My husband is here, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”
Her voice was so firm, you couldn’t help but be convinced by her words.
“The snow is beautiful here, I don’t think I ever want to leave,” you joked.
Catelyn gave you a look that said more than words could, and you couldn't help but wonder if she knew.
Did she know about the moment you had shared with her son? That odd pull you could feel right now, urging you to run back to him in the courtyard? Did she know that he was possibly . . maybe . . your . .
"I . ."
"Shall I send for a maid to draw you a bath? Or help you out of your garments?" She quickly changed the topic.
"No, I– I will manage," you told her.
"I will send someone later to collect you for supper then," she nodded, going to stand in the doorway. "Rest well, Lady Y/N."
You bowed your head as she left.
"Thank you, Lady Stark."
You did not rest well.
As soon as Lady Stark left the room, you threw off your gloves and fell in front of the hearth, seeking warmth. You pulled off your uncomfortable cloak and took one of the furs from the bed, making a sort of faux bed by the fire.
It worked. Partially.
You still shivered after every other breath, but the flames were warm enough to heat up your cheeks as you curled up and tried to close your eyes, thinking out everything that had happened since your arrival in the North.
Ned and Catelyn, soulmates.
All the Stark children, dark haired aside from Sansa. She took after her mother.
Robb and Jon.
Robb. Robb. Robb. Robb--
You squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring the tingling feeling in your palms. That was just your freezing fingertips, right? Not the soulmate bond that you had read about . .
You couldn't know for sure. Not until the two of you touched skin. Which, for some reason, you weren't desperate to do. No, you were scared to know. What if Robb Stark was your soulmate? As the heir to Winterfell, surely he has a wife? Or is promised to someone?
The door to your room opened, but no one was there.
You looked around in confusion, before noticing the small animal crawling towards you.
A small grey hound– no, a wolf pup, was approaching you, slow and careful. You had never seen such an animal before, a slight feeling of fear growing inside you as you shuffled back against the wall.
"Hello there," you said quietly, cautious. You didn't want to startle him. "Where did you come from?"
Of course, the pup didn't answer you.
Instead, he crawled to the edge of your garments, making your breath hitch in your throat. You had heard tales about wolves in the North. They were vicious, merciless. Would he tear your heart out with his claws? Chew it with his . .
Only he wasn't violent.
He whined softly as he climbed up into your lap, making you let out a puff of air. You laughed once, slowly reaching down to pet the wolf. His fur was soft, and the low rumbling sound he let out at your petting made you smile wider.
"You're quite cute . . little pup."
He wasn't a rabid, vicious animal, like all the stories about the North paint wolves out to be.
"Perhaps we will be friends."
And it was then that you realised how warm you were. The pup was radiating heat across your lap and to your body, making you melt into your furs and close your eyes as you finally relaxed and fell asleep.
It must have been hours later when you awoke to the sound of a soft knocking on your door.
The pup was still sleeping soundly across your torso, making you smile absent mindedly, before you remembered the knock.
"Yes?"
The door opened, and a man stood in the entrance to your room.
A familiar man.
Jon.
"Lady Y/N," he bowed slightly, a smirk on his lips when he noticed the wolf pup in your lap. "Your father is requesting your presence in the hall."
Supper. Right. Catelyn said you would join them for dinner.
"Thank you," you pulled the furs closer, over your shoulders, not missing the way he was still staring at the animal. "Is– do you know this pup?"
Jon instantly straightened up, shaking his head.
"I do not. But he seems to know you."
You stroked his fur, staring down at the wolf in awe.
"He's so beautiful . . and he kept me warm while I slept," you told him as you continued to pet him.
"I'm sure his owner will be glad to hear that," Jon's voice still had a teasing lilt to it, and you couldn't shake the thought that maybe Jon knew more than he was letting on.
Before you could ask him about it, he spun on his heel and began to make his way towards the dining hall.
Jon sat at the far end of the table, which you couldn't help but find odd.
You were sat beside your father, with Sansa on your other side. She was lovely to talk to, complimenting your dress and asking about life in the vale. She even explained why Jon was sitting separately.
It was because he wasn't Catelyn's son.
Jon Snow was a bastard, which surprised you. Not only because he looked like the rest of the Stark siblings to his core, but because Ned and Catelyn were soulmates. Had Ned lain with another woman, after finding his soulmate?
"Do you prefer roses or lilies?" Sansa's question pulled you out of your thoughts.
"Lilies," you answered immediately.
"Your mother had a fondness for flowers, it follows that you do too," your father said.
"She did?"
You didn't know much about your birth mother. You never met her. She died giving birth to you and only a year later, right after Robert's Rebellion, your father remarried Lady Lysa Tully, your stepmother.
"Aye, that she did," Ned confirmed. "Not a green thumb like you though, Y/N."
You smiled warmly at the new information, not noticing the hard stare Robb was fixing you with from across the table.
Thick gloves covered your hands as you ate, and no one questioned it.
In truth, you were coping a lot better with the temperatures around you, but the gloves were for your own safety. You knew Robb would be at Supper and you couldn't risk any skin on skin contact with the man you suspected was your soulmate.
Robb himself was torn.
He noticed the way you were staring at Jon, not knowing that it was out of pure curiosity, not romantic interest. He couldn't understand why you wouldn't look at him, when you were all he could think about all day.
Why did you not take his hand outside to confirm that you were soulmates? Why won't you take it now? Why were you avoiding his stare? Had he done something to offend you?
It was driving him crazy, knowing you were his soulmate but you wouldn't even speak to him.
Because Robb knew, for certain.
He felt his half a soul pulling towards yours outside the castle today, and now again over the table of food. It was reaching out, desperately trying to hook itself onto yours and embed its deep claws there. It wanted to make a home in your heart, but you wouldn't open the door.
You wouldn't even look at him.
Robb tried to respect your wishes, not barging up to your rooms while you rested.
But this? This meal where he was being tortured by your beauty, your words of grace and thanks towards his parents, your attentiveness to his sister, your praise of his beautiful home–
This already felt like his end.
Desperately, his eyes met his mothers, and he knew she knew.
She looked between you and Robb, a hint of amusement on her face as she continued to eat and pretended she was none the wiser.
He looked at Jon next, unsure if his brother would be any help.
Jon just smirked, winking at Robb.
Ass, Robb thought to himself.
Just as Robb mustered up the courage to speak to you, someone else would ask you a question.
First it was Arya, then Bran, then his father.
Even his mother asked you something about plants, which made you light up. Robb couldn't help but smile and listen as you explained the properties of some rare poppy.
"I really hope to find some Winterberries while I'm here. I know they're rare, or extinct, according to my book, but if they are real, they only grow in this region–"
"I can help you," Robb blurted out.
Everyone at the table stopped eating. And talking.
Robb, stupidly, realised that these were the first words he had spoken all evening.
Usually, he would be more talkative than even Arya, but tonight, he had spent the better part of the meal just staring at you in a mixture of fascination and distress. And now he was randomly volunteering himself to go on a quest for some mythical berries?
You looked across at Robb, unsure.
"I mean, no one knows these lands better than I," he corrected himself, trying to emphasise his importance. Which was difficult, when you were finally looking at him. Everyone else melted into a puddle of blurred faces. Everyone but you. "I can help you find the berries you seek."
It wasn't you that answered him, but your father.
"Well that settles it," he was slightly drunk now, nudging Ned. "Your boy can show her the plants tomorrow. What do you say, Ned?"
Robb glanced at his father, trying not to let his worry show.
"You keep her safe," Ned's tone was warning as he stared at his son.
"I promise, father," Robb rushed out.
Finally, you spoke.
"Thank you."
You were looking at him.
You were looking at him and you were smiling.
Robb may have stopped breathing.
"My pleasure, Lady Y/N."
Sansa stole you away after supper, a fact that made Robb's face pull into a scowl as he joined Theon and Jon for a late night drink.
"Who pissed in your ale?"
"Robb has a crush," Jon teased, making Theon's eyes widen.
"What? On a real girl?"
Robb glared at them both.
"She's my soulmate," his words were firm, making Jon's eyes widen.
He had noticed the way his brother was staring at you, mooning over your arrival. It was interesting to him; women always fell over their feet in front of Robb, but you had run away from him after taking one look at his face.
Even at supper, you didn’t stare at him like some lost princess, which amused Jon. But finding out that you were his soulmate . . that changed things.
"Soulmate . . bloody hell. I thought you just fancied her," he winced. "That's . . why did she run away then?"
At this, Theon lit up.
"She ran away? Oh, this is brilliant. Lord Robb Stark, the mighty wolf of the North, rejected by his soulmate!"
"She didn't– we haven't spoken about it," Robb defended weakly. "I think she . . she needed space?"
"Maybe she doesn't like the cold? Doesn't want to spend the rest of her life up here," Theon suggested, making Jon roll his eyes.
He remembered the way you were perfectly fine with the temperatures in your chambers, not even needing your cloak to sleep.
"She's fine in the cold, caught her with the furs in front of the hearth in her room," he told the pair, not even considering the implication in his words.
But Robb did.
"And why the fuck were you in her room?"
Jon winced again.
Theon burst out laughing.
"Your mother sent me to fetch her for dinner," Jon said bluntly.
"Oh."
"Yes, oh."
All three of them shared a look, before laughing.
"Speaking of wolves," Jon began playfully. "Where's Grey Wind? Haven't seen him in a while."
He was right.
Robb hadn't seen his direwolf all day, and seeing Jon with Ghost was making him realise that. Had he been so occupied with thoughts of you that he had forgotten about his own wolf?
He stood up, drinking the last of his ale and heading out to gardens where he assumed Grey Wind would be resting with Lady.
"You should check the East Wing!" Jon called after him, holding back a laugh.
You were enjoying the North even more than you expected, which was surprising, because you already expected to enjoy it a lot.
But you had only been here a day and you were already sitting with a girl close to your own age, Lady Sansa Stark, and listening to her explain her braid to you. Sansa was even helping you to create a traditional pattern in your own hair, saying that you would fit in perfectly in the North.
“It’s been lovely having you here, Y/N. I do hope you’ll stay for the Winter, Arya never wants to braid hair with me . . we can practice together!”
Sansa was only a few namedays younger than you, so you could understand her frustration at her younger, more combative sister.
“You’re lucky to have so many siblings,” you said comfortingly. “Perhaps you could try doing something she is interested in?”
Sansa scoffed.
“Something such as archery? I would rather be shot from the battlements in my undergarments.”
You choked on a laugh.
“Sansa! Do not– do not say such things!”
You both shared a look, before laughing in unison.
It took a while for it to die down, but when it did, you took the ribbons from Sansa and closed your braid.
You stared at it in the mirror, an odd feeling overcoming you. You had never had your hair done by anyone other than a handmaiden, never playfully talked with a friend.
Sansa felt like a friend. For the first time in all your years of talking to plants or reading away your sorrows in an empty, neglected castle with only your stepmother to punish you, you were laughing with a friend.
But beneath that, there was something else.
Simmering, just below your skin, your body was pulling you out of this moment. It wanted you to leave, to run towards wherever Robb was. Acknowledging the soulmate bond was the only thing that would calm your restless heart, you knew that.
For now though, you would discuss Sansa’s plans to create a new dress in the sky blue Arryn colours that you had inspired her with.
With every step Robb took towards the East Wing, he felt his heart tighten.
He was almost becoming familiar with the feeling he had been grappling with all day, the sharp ache in his chest dulling to a longing that made him wish he was near you. Just being close to you. Observing you. Listening to you speak. Whatever he could get from you.
"Grey Wind!" He called out, searching the castle for his wolf.
Finally, he heard a howl.
Up the stairs.
“Grey Wind!”
A whine this time, quieter than before.
Why would the damn dog not heed his call? Why did Robb have to hunt him down? Shouldn’t he come to his master when he calls?
Robb's head snapped to the right, opening the door to the room and finding . . you.
You, with an elegant, Northern braid curling around your hair. You were curled up in front of the fire with Grey Wind in your lap, a heavy Stark cloak covering your shoulders, your eyes wide in surprise.
Robb's sudden entrance had clearly startled you, and he made a mental note to kick Jon in the teeth for this.
Jon knew.
Jon knew that you had apparently befriended Grey Wind, the traitorous beast cuddling against you with not a care in the world.
"Lord Stark," you seemed surprised. "I . ."
"Lady Y/N," he bowed his head immediately, out of embarrassment. "Forgive me for intruding."
You fought a grin.
Despite your surprise at his entrance, the feeling of being so close to him again calmed your restless body. You felt a wash of peacefulness, making you smile up at the young lord.
“This is your home, can you truly be intruding?"
Robb lifted his head, realising that you were joking with him.
"Aye, that is true. But even so, I am a gentleman. I cannot be barging into ladies rooms like some kind of . ." his thoughts trailed off, watching you petting Grey Wind and noticing how the wolf didn't protest.
Robb knew his wolf to be aggressive, and untrusting of every human he met. How had you managed to tame the beast in less than a day?
"Animal? Wolf?" You finished his sentence for him, noticing his stare at the wolf in your lap. A thought occurred to you. "Do you know this pup?"
Robb smirked.
"This pup is supposed to be my most formidable ally . . yet you have him as guardless as a newborn babe," he rolled his eyes at Grey Wind’s surprisingly cuddly behaviour.
You blushed, looking down.
"He belongs to you? I apologise, he came in earlier while I was resting–"
"There's no need to apologise, Lady Y/N," Robb couldn't help but smile at the sheepish look on your face. You were apologising for taking care of Grey Wind? Gods, you were as sweet and kind as you were beautiful. "I don't doubt that he trapped you, not the other way round."
You looked back up at Robb, meeting his eyes.
The soulmate bond between you hummed.
"Is he similar to his owner in that respect?"
You both knew what you were really asking. What you were skirting around.
Robb made sure to be as honest as possible when he answered you.
"I would never do anything to deceive you," he spoke slowly, with intent.
You swallowed.
Robb's words were so firm, so certain.
You knew what he was saying, the underlying promise in his words.
He wanted to touch you. He wanted you to know that you were soulmates. He wanted you to acknowledge the bond between you.
If you were being honest, the bond was the only thing you could feel all day.
You knew it was the reason you couldn't rest when you first arrived, your mind and body pulling you away from your room and desperately trying to drag you to him. Fate didn't want you to be apart, even if just to rest and think over your thoughts.
"You think he is deceiving me?" You looked back down at the wolf, who was now sleeping soundly.
Robb shook his head.
"I'll skin him if he hurts you, my lady."
At this, your arms immediately tightened around the animal.
Robb noticed.
He already thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world, but he now knew that his feelings extended beyond the soulmate bond. The way you were so polite to his mother, the way you respected and cared for his siblings, and now the way you angled yourself to protect Grey Wind in this moment made his heart soar.
You were more than any eligible, powerful lady he would be expected to marry for a political alliance. You were kind, considerate, and you were definitely smarter than anyone he had ever met, judging by the way you discussed your studies at supper.
And he knew Sansa was responsible for the braid in your hair, the one that claimed you as a Northern girl. It warmed his heart to see you, his soulmate, as one of his people. Perhaps you didn’t even know it yourself, but that braid . . it awoke something inside the mighty wolf of the North.
"That is a horrible thing to say," you whispered, so quietly Robb wasn't sure he was meant to hear it.
He shrugged once.
"I meant it," he stood his ground, softening slightly as he turned to leave. He gave Grey Wind a small nod, smiling as the wolf lolled his head to the side in acknowledgement. "But I know I can trust him with you. Goodnight, Lady Y/N."
"Can you grow carrots?"
"Yes."
"Potatoes?"
"Yes."
"Even here?" Rickon pressed.
He was right in thinking that it was too cold for potatoes to grow in the North. Under normal conditions, potatoes couldn't grow in freezing temperatures . . but you knew you could work around that.
"I can use a chamber," you told him, leaning closer to the boy at the breakfast table. "To protect the potatoes, and make them grow."
Rickon seemed to like that idea.
You both shared a conspiratory smile, which made you think of Robin. You had barely spent any time with your younger half brother, due to his mothers rules, but you liked to think he would ask you questions and look at you excitedly, the way Rickon was doing.
Robb was watching you from across the table again, and his mother was watching him again.
Ned and your father were holed up in Ned's rooms, discussing some political business, so they would not be joining the rest of you for breakfast.
"You make yourself too obvious, my son."
Robb didn't even look away from you when he replied to his mother.
"Why does she avoid me? Isn't she supposed to . . fall into my arms and we live happily ever after?" He huffed.
The noise Catelyn made was something between a laugh and a cry.
Even your infectious happiness as you discussed fruits with Rickon, the happiness that he could feel through your soulmate bond, wasn't enough to calm his anxious worries.
"I believe she is scared."
At this, Robb's head snapped to face his mother.
"Of me? I would never do anything–"
"Not of you," Catelyn laid a hand over Robb's to calm him. "I know my sister, her stepmother. And growing up with her can't have been kind."
Robb mulled over her words, turning back to watch you laughing with Rickon and Arya.
You looked so carefree, so happy. It was hard to picture you as anything but the sunshine in every room you walked into.
Catelyn followed her son's gaze, speaking again.
"You should use today as an opportunity. Show her that she can trust you. Show her that you are a gentleman, then she will have no choice but to . . how did you put it? Fall into your arms and live happily ever after?"
Robb groaned at her teasing words.
"Mother! I want to grow strawberries with Lady Y/N!" Rickon shouted, stumbling over to Catelyn with half a bowl of porridge. “Strawberries! Strawberries! Strawberries–!” Needless to say, the boy ended up tripping on his own toes. His porridge ended up falling on himself, making Arya laugh loudly and Robb hold back a chuckle.
Rickon immediately burst into tears.
Catelyn frowned, about to scold the boy when you rushed over, crouching in front of him.
“Oh, Rickon, it’s okay.”
You took the empty dish from him, cooing words of reassurance that it was 'all going to be well', and he had 'done nothing wrong'.
Rickon's sobs slowed, his sniffs and cries muffled by your skirts. The boys grubby porridge hands had ruined your garments, Robb noticed, but you didn't seem upset by this.
"I am so sorry," you looked over at Catelyn in fear. "I only meant to discuss crops, I didn't mean for him to get over excited."
The servants had already cleaned away the mess, but you were bowing your head to the lady of the house as though she was going to execute you over a toddler spilling a bowl of oats.
Robb frowned when he realised that you were holding Rickon to the side, as if you were protecting him. As if you were expecting a blow to come and were prepared to take it for the boy. Your fear stretched from you to him through your bond, making his heart skip a beat.
He could feel what you were feeling, and it made him sick.
Was this what his mother meant when she said that you were used to a different way of life? He would not allow you to ever feel scared in this house– or anywhere, for that matter.
"It is no matter, he spills his porridge every day," Robb lied carefully.
Catelyn, quick to catch on, nodded in agreement.
"There's no need to apologise, Lady Y/N. This wasn't your fault."
Your shoulders relaxed slightly, and so did Robb's tense heart.
"Did you ever meet your soulmate?"
It took you all day and all night to gather the courage to ask him that question.
You and your father weren't close by any means, you only spoke to him at mealtimes or at formal gatherings, when introductions were being made. Your stepmother took control of your lifestyle and education whenever the man was away, which was often, as the King's hand.
But you liked to think he still cared about you, deep down. You may not be his heir, but you were his only other child.
He was out by the stables, talking to Ned when you approached him. The Stark Lord excused himself when he saw you, and you took the opportunity to ask your father a question you never thought you would be confident enough to speak.
He looked at you, confusion obvious on his face.
And then it twisted into a bittersweet smile.
"She was . . a beautiful girl," he began.
"A noble lady?"
"No," he shook his head. "She wasn't. And I could not shame my father or my house by marrying her . ." he reminisced, a melancholy, faraway look in his eyes. "This would have been . . a long time before you were born. 30 years or so."
So he would have been extremely young . .
"I can only hope you never have to go through that, my girl," his words were simple, but you knew he meant them. You could feel that he meant them. "Meeting your soulmate but not being able to marry them . . I can think of no worse fate."
You frowned.
"If I did meet my soulmate . . if he were a nobleman . ."
He tilted his head to the side.
"Do you have something to tell me, girl?"
You froze.
"I just wonder . . would I be able to marry him? I know stepmother worries about political alliances, and I know she discusses my marriage with other houses," you voiced your concerns.
Surprisingly, your father didn't look at you the way your stepmother looked at you when you asked her about soulmates when you were only a little girl, like you were a stupid girl with no idea how love worked.
He looked at you with respect and admiration.
"If you had met your soulmate . . and he was a good man . . from a good family–"
"You would consider the Starks a good family, would you not? You and Lord Stark are good friends," you pointed out.
Your father seemed to put the pieces together, smiling proudly at you.
"I could not think of a more perfect match, Y/N."
You smiled back at him.
"And your stepmother has no say in your marriage, I can assure you of that."
"I know you lied to me."
Robb's head snapped towards you worriedly.
"I did?"
You nodded, lifting your skirts and climbing onto your horse. Her name was Sunflower, and she had travelled up with you. After the servants at the castle named you Sunshine, you found it appropriate to name your horse after the flower that grew towards the sun.
Robb held his hand out to help you onto the mare but, despite the fact that you still had your gloves on, you didn't take it.
His lips pressed into a thin line at the rejection.
"I could feel it. You lied to me when you said Rickon spills his porridge every day," you told him pointedly.
"You could feel it?" Robb repeated. "And how is it that you could feel it, my lady? Do you possess magical abilities?"
You stared down at him.
Robb smirked, going over to mount his own horse.
"You know how I felt it."
Robb chuckled, knowing that you were trying not to acknowledge your soulmate bond.
"Do I?"
"And in any case, no boy who spills his breakfast every day would cry that much," you defended. "If he were so accustomed to it, he wouldn't have been so upset."
The man, now on his horse, considered your words.
"Are you always this smart? I may find it hard to keep up."
It was your turn to smirk.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Lord Stark."
Robb took you around the outside of Winterfell, showing you where deliveries of food come in and where the people lived. He took you past the woods and towards the Wolfswoods, where he knew wild fruits and other things grew.
You looked around at the snowy landscape, in awe that the trees could grow so tall.
Robb helped you down from your horse, gripping your gloves so tightly you almost thought he was trying to touch your skin beneath them. When soulmates first touched, their skin would burn permanently.
There would be a mark on your fingertips, or your palms, forever reminding the pair of you of your love.
You knew Ellie's mark was on her palm, from when she high fived her soulmate as a child. The Maester back at the Eyrie must have had it on his forearm, something you suspected because he often held his arm whenever you pestered him about his soulmate.
Robb stared down at you as you regained your footing on the ground, and you knew he was thinking similar thoughts.
So you looked away, dropping his hand and opening your satchel.
You needed to focus on foraging today.
Your father had given you his blessing, but the final decision still lay with you.
Robb might have been a perfect gentleman to you so far, but you had to consider so many things before you gave in to the soulmate bond. And today was about finding Winterberries, completing the task that you had travelled so far for.
"Hold the basket," you pushed the small wicker object at him, far too busy reading your notes to worry about pleasantries.
"Of course, my lady," Robb's tone was sarcastic. "Is there anything else her majesty desires?"
You winced, realising how rude you had been.
"I apologise, I was just making sure we're in the right place–"
Robb stood in front of you, lifting the small book from your hands and staring directly down into your eyes.
"We are in the right place, trust me."
You shivered.
He frowned.
"Are you cold?"
He immediately began to pull off his cloak, making you shake your head.
"No, no, I am–"
It was too late.
Robb had already laid his heavy, dark fur cloak over your pretty blue and pink one.
You were silenced by the weight and warmth of the furs, looking up at him as he stared down at you hungrily. You could feel the soulmate bond, the way he felt proud at being able to help you. You wondered if he could feel your worries, or the way that his cloak made you feel safer than ever.
Neither of you said anything for a moment, just your eyes meeting in a silent peacefulness, until a howl tore through the woods behind you.
Your eyes widened, and Robb grinned, his soft curls blowing in the breeze.
"They won't hurt you, Lady Y/N."
"Are you sure?"
"The North is not as frightening when you're from here."
"But I'm not ‘from here’," you retorted.
"Aye, you're not," he held up the basket cheekily, going into the Wolfswoods. "Best if you stick with me then, don't you think?"
You rolled your eyes, but still followed him.
"These look like . ."
"Devil's gloom," Robb finished your sentence, staring at the berries between your gloved fingertips. "One bite is enough to kill a grown man within the hour. And no antidote."
"That you know of," you said pointedly. "Winterberries can cure any poison." You swung your basket as you left the bush, continuing your journey through the woods.
"Winterberries are a myth, no one alive's seen them!" He called after you. "Oi! What are you doing with that poison? Put those back."
You ignored him, continuing to venture deeper.
There were a few flowers you hadn't seen before, so you crouched down to draw a sketch in your notebook. They were red and yellow, with large petals . . you would have to look them up once you were back in your library. Unless . .
"Does Winterfell have a library?" You stood up, almost crashing into Robb who had finally caught up with you.
He seemed startled.
"Yes, yes we do. Do you want to go now . . ?"
You scrunched your face up.
"Now? Are we not having fun?"
Robb tried not to laugh.
He had spent the last 2 hours chasing after you as you danced around the Wolfswoods, a new plant catching your attention every few seconds. If he weren't such a good hunter, he would never have been able to keep up.
"If we head towards Winterfell, I could show you the Godswoods. There's a big heart tree there, you may enjoy that," he offered.
You considered his suggestion.
"Is this your way of telling me you are tired of showing me the berries?"
Robb looked insulted.
"Lady Y/N . . I am anything but tired of you. In truth, I would rather keep you here with me for eternity. I know once we return to the castle, my family will steal you away from me again," he said these words bitterly.
"But it is past noon, and I worry one of us may end up eating the wrong berries in our hunger–" he pauses, thinking about it. "Perhaps that is a kinder fate than having to watch Sansa and Jon take my soulmate from me."
You giggled at that.
"You would rather eat Devil's Gloom than take me back to spend time with your kind siblings?"
"So you admit you are my soulmate?"
Neither of you had said those words out loud, not since your first meeting yesterday.
You were avoiding it out of your own reservations and Robb was trying to respect your wishes, no matter how much it frustrated him. But it seemed that even his patience had its limits.
He was staring down at you, eyes burning with . . well, you weren't sure what this expression was. It was like that tug in your soul, the one that was distantly pulling you towards him, was snapping. You could feel how his frustration was overflowing, and it made you frown in sympathy.
Robb Stark didn’t deserve the way you had been treating him.
Just because you were unsure, careful, scared . . he shouldn’t have to feel so rejected. Hurt. Confused.
You looked up into his sharp blue eyes, finally deciding to speak the words you had been afraid to say out loud.
"I would be a difficult wife. I would spend all day in the gardens."
Robb didn't hesitate.
"Then I would join you in the dirt, or the snow."
He took a step towards you.
"I wouldn't be a good lady like your mother, I have no experience with running a household, or taking care of children."
"I don't want you to be like her, I just want you to be you," he pauses, staring down at you. "Besides, you did perfectly well with Rickon this morning."
You stared up at him.
“You only met me yesterday, you cannot say with certainty that I am what you want.”
Robb raised an eyebrow.
“You think my soulmate wasn’t made for me? You think I haven’t been watching you take care of the children . . how you patiently wait for your father . . how you selflessly put others first . . or how even Grey Wind chose to protect you.”
He had been watching you?
You hadn’t noticed until now, but it seemed like he was . . obsessed with you.
"Are you not promised to another woman, a proper lady?" You had one last, weak, argument.
Instead of mocking your insecurities, Robb simply shook his head, taking another step closer to you.
"No."
"And do you intend to be?"
Robb took a final step towards you.
There was now less than half a step between you, the tall lord in front of you invading your space like it was his own.
Which, perhaps, in a way, it was.
Now that he was so close to you, you could feel a glow beginning to form around you.
The soulmate bond in you was reaching out to him, the same way he was reaching out to you. It was starting to build, waiting for the two of you to touch so that it could explode in a burst of light.
"Let me make myself clear, Lady Y/N, since you seem to have misunderstood me," his words were low, serious. "I am not betrothed to another. I never plan to be betrothed to another. I never want to look at, to speak to, or to lay with another woman that isn't you. The only woman I wish to love, to wed, to warm my bed, to carry my children, to be the lady of Winterfell, is you."
He was so close now, you knew the bond was about to reach its peak. The glow emanating from his hand as he reached forward to touch your cheek was brighter than before. The pull between your chest and his was stronger than before.
You made a decision.
And then you let out the breath you had been holding in, taking a step back.
Robb looked at you like you had struck him with a blade.
The heartbreak on his face was as clear as day, a mixture of confused and forlorn.
Before he could say anything though, you began to make your way back in the direction you had come from.
"We should go to the Godswoods. To see the tree," you called over your shoulder, a new determination in your words.
How could you be so cruel?
How could the kindest lady he had ever met, also be the most heartless?
How could you sit there on your horse, avoiding his gaze and stare straight ahead as the two of you rode back towards the castle?
On the way to the Wolfswoods this morning, you had spoken to each other endlessly.
He told you stories of his siblings, his military training and how he and Theon would avoid classes as children, while Jon would dutifully attend every one.
You told him about the Eyrie, how you had befriended the household and learnt about horticulture from the Maester.
You both shared that your fathers were away a lot, but Ned was much more present than your father. You knew your father wasn't a bad man, you just . . didn't know him as a father.
Robb thought about this, racking his brain trying to defend your ruthless rejection of his affections.
Was it perhaps because you grew up alone? Or because you didn't want to live in the Northern Winter? Were you unsure of how to respond to him?
Or perhaps . . did you truly not feel the soulmate bond the way he did? Did you doubt his promises?
What had he done to make you so mistrustful of him?
"This is . . beautiful."
You hadn't spoken to each other the entire journey, Robb too occupied with being completely baffled and offended by your betrayal and you too determined to see your plan through to the end.
Sunflower came to a stop under the giant heart tree, allowing you to climb down and stare up at the red leaves in wonder. Robb watched as you spun under the Weirwood, fighting a smile at how happy you looked.
He was supposed to be angry with you.
With your actions, your cruel dismissal of his feelings.
But when you finally looked at him, meeting his eyes with the strongest stare he had ever seen from you, his anger melted away.
He could feel your resolve through the bond between you, and it settled something in his chest. All he had done was worry you were going to reject him, but he couldn't sense any of that from you. You were radiating a calmness that washed over him when you spoke.
"Robb," you said evenly. "Come closer."
Robb.
You called him by his name, not by some title.
He was now even more confused than before, taking a step in your direction.
"Y/N," he said simply, mirroring your usage of his given name. "What are you doing?"
He watched as you grinned wolfishly, pulling off one of your gloves.
His eyes widened.
"I . . Lady Y/N, the cold–"
You ignored his protests, rolling your eyes. Of course he was worried about your body temperature at a time like this.
You wanted to complete your soulmate bond and he was worried about some snow in the Godswoods?
"Give me your hand, Robb Stark."
What? You wanted his hand?
Robb would easily give you his hand, his arm, his leg– anything you asked him for, so he wasn't at all surprised by his actions when he reached his hand out for you to take.
Which you did.
“Sansa told me that this place is sacred for your people,” you said quietly. “For your family.”
Robb was still in shock from your odd behaviour.
“That it is . .”
And so there, under the heart tree, grinning up at him with a white glow cocooning you both, you took his hand and laid his palm against yours.
He felt the pain before he realised what it was.
A burning sensation, emanating from where your skin touched his, white light spreading from the both of you as your soulmate bond finally– finally completed itself.
Your heart settled in your chest. And so did his.
But neither of them would ever beat the same single drum again, now hitting a double beat with every second as you stared at each other with matching smiles.
⭒ TV Shows Directory ⭒ Books Directory ⭒ A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
⭒ House of the Dragon
GOT Masterlist | @thenoblehouseofdayne
Game Of Thrones Masterlist | @blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms
Game of Thrones - Recommendations | @taereaderwriter
GoT/HotD Masterlist | @entitled-fangirl
Masterlist | @jetblack4real
Masterlist | @fallatyourfeet
Rec list | @maryleclerc
asoiaf masterlist!! | @finchytv
𐙚 Robb Stark
NOTICE ME | @finchytv
you’re his mothers ward who won’t give him the time of day and he hates it.
GIVE ME MY WIFE BACK | @/finchytv
robbs family are obsessed with his wife to the point he can’t get a moment alone with her
OF ROSES AND WOLVES | @eviesaurusrex
After agreeing upon a marriage proposal, both Stark and Tyrell agree upon a meeting so Robb and his future wife can be properly introduced to one another.
"Lady Stark" | @/eviesaurusrex
The Lion and the Wolf | @iydiamartinx
In the cold of Winterfell, a southern princess learns that duty is not always a cage—and that sometimes, the heart’s desires align with the good of the realm.
Frey Girl | @axelsagewrites
When the war is done Robb can finally enjoy alone time with his queen
Dream, part 2 | @/axelsagewrites
Robb questions reader on the dream they had not relaising it had been about him.
Arranged | @/axelsagewrites
Goodnight Dear Husband | @/axelsagewrites
Snowfall | @little-spicy
an alliance of house Baratheon and house Stark was going to set place in Winterfell. Y/N Baratheon and Robb Stark were to be wed and be man and wife.
Entangled Fates | @luvinescent
The Targaryen name has brought nothing but misery to Y/N— her half-blood placing a curse upon her. She’s observed the toll her presence takes on the people she loves; no longer wanting to form a close tie with anyone. Nevertheless, her heart steered its own course. And it steered towards a certain man.
Mismatched Hearts, part 2 | @/luvinescent
Y/N and Robb have been friends since childhood; the two harboring feelings for one another without the others’ knowledge. When Robb’s mother makes the choice to meddle in his love life by constructing an engagement between the two—Robb is left with guilt at the belief that he has trapped her in an unwanted marriage with him because of his status. Neither one choosing to confess their feelings or address the situation; they do more harm than good towards their friendship and future marriage.
Give Them A Chance | @chloe-skywalker
Robb and Y/n don’t know that their fathers plan to betroth them. But Ned has a reason for not telling. Will his reason work?
For You | @/chloe-skywalker
Y/n’s uncle has been captured in the war between her blood family and her family by law. The one person that really cared about her growing up. Will her husband kill the one person closest to his wife?
everyone adores you (at least i do) | @raven-dor
in which robb stark and his new bride get aquainted
A change of sigil. | @entitled-fangirl
After wedding Robb Stark and becoming the Lady of Winterfell, the reader learns about the king’s death and the treason of Ned.
Duty Masterlist | @asongofmarvelanddc
Y/N Myrrton is set to marry the King in the North, Robb Stark. Unfortunately, they’re both in love with other people.
The Northern Heart, part 2 | @novaursa
Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.
dry hands | @talesof-old
make his queen smile | @daenysx
king robb and you have a night filled with your slow tears for him and his comfort.
And My King | @justauthoring
being a secret Lannister and wife would include | @witchthewriter
Betrayal | @fearlessmercenaryimagines-blog
Be With Me | @intoxicated-chan
When Robb over hears of your potential marriage, he cannot stand the idea of loosing you to some random lord.
𐙚 Jaime Lannister
Vows, part 2, part 3, part 4 | @reader-imagines-blog
Corruption of Innocence, Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 | @/justauthoring
The Capital was cruel. The people there even more so. If this arrangement truly was meant to follow through, Jaime knew you would be corrupted by Kings Landing. But staring at you now, with bright doe eyes and a soft smile on your lips as you engaged in a conversation with your brother, hushed so as not to be disrespectful, Jaime knew he would put all his focus and strength into making sure that never happened.
Our Cages | @/justauthoring
“That’s the difference between us. I’ve been in my cage for ten minutes. You’re been in your cage your entire life.”
You’ll Never Know | @/justauthoring
Fate sometimes just brings people together, time and time again.
Night | @hirethia
The Golden Oath | @/novaursa
The lion falls in love with the daughter of the Mad King, which starts a domino effect that eventually collapses the realm onto itself.
Remnants | @/novaursa
At Harrenhal, Jaime Lannister reunites with his lost love.
Golden | @kitkatkitzune
Children always like to mimic their parents.
i’m not made by design, part 2, part 3 | @ichorai
wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.
river of gold | @heavensfiction
the game of thrones wasn't just a fight between kings and aspiring lords. all of westeros was pulled into this sanguinary conquest in some way, and you came to learn sooner than later that you were no exception. and with a jest from the seven, all your paths led to jaime lannister, but surely you wouldn't associate yourself with a known oathbreaker...
𐙚 Gendry Waters
For A Moment | @justauthoring
Rough and Tough | @/justauthoring
Reunited | @thecometseries
Escapees | @wonwoosthetic
All That Rowing | @archieimagines
Imagine constantly making jokes about Gendry rowing to Kings Landing until he gets so angry he explodes and backs you against a wall.
What Happens on the Road | @beautifultypewriter
Reader finds themselves on the road with Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie. When Gendry gets injured, he’s only a little reluctant to let Reader help him.
I’ll Teach You | @/beautifultypewriter
It’s time for the first feast of Storm’s End since Gendry has become the Lord. All the preparations are running smoothly, except for one; Gendry doesn’t know how to dance. Luckily for him, Reader does.
Lady Baratheon | @/beautifultypewriter
When the reader had to say goodbye to Gendry after aiding her father with his escape, she never imagined that she would see him again. Fate is funny though as it brought them back together, then threatened to rip them apart again with the Great War, and then gave them another chance. There’s no way to tell how much time they have left in this world, but Gendry knows one thing; he’s not going to waste another moment without the reader.
Dating Gendry Waters Would Include | @tessimagines
The calm before the storm, part 2 | @fluorescentbalaclava
After taking the lead of your house, you have to face your first battle.
A Change of Fate | @megsironthrone
Caught in the Act | @/megsironthrone
OBSIDIAN | @konigslittleliebling
Perfect World | @plus-size-reader
Having to keep your relationship with Gendry a secret because you’re highborn and he isn’t.
He’s Only Here for the Cake | @crowkingwrites
Gendry Waters is a regular at your bakery. Every day he orders the same thing. Bertha, a family friend, thinks that Gendry isn’t just here for the sweets.
𐙚 Sandor Clegane
The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog | @catsteeth
You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King’s Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won’t admit it.
Listen to me | @myfictionaldreams
Sandor Clegane x Reader Insert Fics | @pinkykats-place
She Hates Yellow | @darkdevasofdestruction
Sandor Clegane masterlist | @thebookbutterfly
𐙚 Jon Snow
Trueborn - Masterlist | @fallatyourfeet
(YN) is the only trueborn daughter of King Robert and Cersei. Growing up she spent a lot of time at Winterfell, falling for a particular curly dark-haired boy. When responsibilities and circumstance separate them they think its forever, but little did they know after a string of tragic events their lives would once again come together for a reason which they are still to understand.
Unbroken | @/fallatyourfeet
Shortly after the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa discovers some unexpected news regarding YN. Jon is thrilled to hear you’re alive, but unfortunately, the news is bitter sweet.
your words mean something to jon snow | @dipperscavern
You Are Not Happy? | @/justauthoring
The Bastard of Winterfell | @onceuponaoneshotfanfic
Jon Snow is nervous to meet his future wife- and even more nervous to prove himself in front of her.
I Told You I’d See You Again | @tismfanatic
When you left with Sansa to Kings Landing, you and Jon made a promise full of whispered confessions and kisses that you’d see eachother again. Now, after four years of physical and psychological trauma, you and Sansa were brought to the wall where you reunited with a lost love.
Bastards of the North I | @motherofdogs1010
Born as the bastard to the mysterious Lord Bloodwright, Y/N Snow finds herself as the bride to be to House Stark's own bastard, Jon Snow as a means to strengthen the North's power. Unfortunately for these Snows, they soon find that being bastards are not the only awful thing that can happen when Y/N catches the eye of the Baratheon heir to the Iron Throne, Joffery.
Northbound | @cherryofthenorth
As the daughter of a Northern Lady, you spent a lot of time in Winterfell growing up. Fate rips you out of the North, but 13 years later you receive a raven. The King is looking to marry, and he has had you on his mind for a while.
To Have and To Hold | @maybestrid33
Jon returns from battle, bloodied and victorious. But all you care about is the fact that he came home to you.
The North Remembers, Part 2, Part 3 | @delicrieux
My Lady | @daniellewritesfr
You arrive in Winterfell lending aid to House Stark but seeing Jon brings back lost feelings you both share.
The Dreadful Need in the Devotee Masterlist | @feyhunter78
During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together.
jon snow fic recs | @skzyeri
𐙚 Jorah Mormont
Show Me Love | @springdandelixn
Jorah ends up failing his quest to search for the princess and take her back to the feast in the Red Keep.
Imagine | @/cas-kingdom
"You're not contagious, are you?" "Do you feel better?"
𐙚 Robb Stark / Jon Snow
of storm and snow - masterlist | @jetblack4real
robert baratheon’s only true heir, a dark-haired girl like your father in many ways including your inability to fall out of love with bright-eyed starks.
The journey north had been long and tiring, and the wind was colder than you’d imagined. Winterfell loomed ahead, dark stone against an overcast sky, its towers casting jagged shadows. The North was starkly beautiful in a way the warm halls of the Red Keep could never match. You adjusted the fur-lined cloak clasped at your neck, the black of House Baratheon contrasting with the lion clasp, a quiet nod to the Lannister blood that ran through you, though it was not yours to display openly.
Your mother, Cersei, rode beside you, her green eyes scanning Winterfell with an air of disdain barely hidden beneath her serene mask. She sat tall, ever the queen, her golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. Your brothers, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, rode behind, their bright golden heads standing out against the muted grays of Winterfell’s walls. And your father—no, King Robert—was ahead, already bellowing greetings at the sight of the Stark family awaiting them in the courtyard.
As the procession slowed to a halt, you dismounted gracefully, though your legs ached from days of riding. Your mother’s eyes swept over you, a flicker of approval in them as you adjusted your cloak, falling in line with her and your siblings. As Robert strode forward, eager to greet his old friend Eddard Stark, you remained back, your place clear beside Cersei. You caught her eye, and she offered a subtle nod, a reminder to stay poised, as she always did.
Ahead, Robert greeted Eddard with a boisterous hug, their laughter carrying through the courtyard. Your gaze wandered to the family gathered at Lord Stark’s side. Lady Stark, her auburn hair swept back, her expression cool but welcoming. The young ones were gathered around her, curiosity and interest clear in their eyes. But it was the young man at Eddard Stark’s side, tall and broad-shouldered, that drew your attention.
Robb Stark.
His auburn hair matched his mother’s, and his face, though youthful, already held the strength and quiet intensity of his father. He was watching you—or rather, he’d been looking toward your family in general, but now his gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes tracing your features with a kind of hesitant awe. He was handsome, undeniably so, and the confidence you’d honed over years of court life faltered, just slightly, under the weight of that gaze.
You looked away, hoping the color rising in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joffrey watching the Starks with open disdain, but you ignored him. Instead, you found yourself glancing back at Robb, curious despite yourself, and caught him still looking at you.
“What do you think of the Starks, sister?” Myrcella asked beside you, her sweet voice barely above a whisper.
You leaned closer to her, eyes flickering toward Cersei before answering. “They seem… honorable,” you murmured, struggling for a word that felt right. The North was a world apart from King’s Landing, and the weight of the Northern air, the forthright gazes, all of it felt different—real.
Meanwhile, Robert’s booming laughter filled the air as he clapped Eddard on the back. “It’s been too damn long, Ned!” he declared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “Seven hells, I’ve missed this place. And your family—look at them, already grown!”
Lord Stark’s smile was reserved, but you could see warmth in his eyes. “The years have been kind to us both, Robert. And you’ve brought your own family north. It’s an honor to welcome them here.”
Robert looked back over his shoulder, waving an arm toward you, Cersei, and the children. “Aye, they’re a fine brood, aren’t they?” His gaze settled on you briefly, pride flickering there. “My eldest,” he said, his tone softening. “She takes after her mother in beauty, but she’s got her father’s spirit, I’d say.”
Your mother’s lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile at his words, though you could sense the strain in her. She inclined her head gracefully, accepting the compliment on your behalf.
“Princess Y/N,” Eddard said, nodding in your direction, “Winterfell welcomes you.”
“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, keeping your tone formal, though your voice was soft. Cersei’s fingers brushed your arm briefly, a reminder not to be too bold or warm. “The honor is ours.”
But it was not Eddard’s gaze you felt lingering on you. Robb stood a step behind his father, his blue eyes keen and watchful. There was something gentle, almost reverent in the way he looked at you, and for reasons you couldn’t quite place, that small expression made your heart race.
“Robb,” Eddard said, his voice low but carrying the authority of a father and lord, “come and meet the king’s family.”
Robb stepped forward, his movements steady, though he appeared young and nervous beneath his composure. He nodded to Robert first and then looked back at you with an intensity that seemed almost out of place in the quiet courtyard. “Princess,” he said, his voice steady though softer than you’d expected. “It’s an honor.”
The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you fought it back, simply inclining your head. “The honor is shared, Lord Robb,” you replied.
It was a simple exchange, but in that moment, it felt like more.
The air in the crypts was cold and heavy with the scent of stone and earth, the silence settling thickly around Eddard and Robert as they descended the worn steps into the shadows. Torches flickered in their iron brackets, casting long, twisting shadows over the figures immortalized in stone, ancient Stark kings and lords gazing solemnly from their resting places.
Robert paused in front of a statue, his face softened by the flickering light. His eyes, usually sharp with mirth or tempered with anger, now held something else—a quiet, lingering sadness that Ned hadn’t seen in years. Robert reached out and placed a rough hand against the face of the woman immortalized there in cold stone: Lyanna Stark, her face carved with a gentle beauty that no craftsman’s hands could ever fully capture. Flowers lay scattered at the base of her statue, their colors muted in the dim torchlight. Ned had left them there just the day before, a gesture of memory and honor.
“She was always so damn beautiful, wasn’t she?” Robert’s voice was low, almost reverent. “And all of this, everything, might have been different if she’d been mine. If Rhaegar hadn’t…” He trailed off, bitterness tightening his jaw.
“Aye,” Eddard replied, his voice as soft as the stillness around them. “The gods saw fit to tear us all down that day.”
Robert nodded slowly, lost in thought, his fingers brushing over the stone flowers woven into Lyanna’s statue. “I asked you here for more than just memories, Ned.” He turned, his gaze sharpening. “The realm is… not as it should be. I am surrounded by vipers and whisperers. I need someone I can trust.” His voice lowered, taking on a familiar intensity. “I need you, Ned. I want you to be my Hand.”
Eddard met Robert’s gaze, his heart heavy. “Robert… I’m no statesman. The North is my place. I don’t belong in the South, nor do my children.”
“That’s exactly why I need you.” Robert stepped closer, his face earnest, imploring. “You’re honest, Ned. You’ll do what’s right, even if it’s hard, even if it costs you. The realm needs someone like you. I need someone like you.”
Ned sighed, his eyes drifting back to Lyanna’s statue, the ache of old wounds stirring within him. “And what of the North? My children… they need me too.”
Robert nodded, understanding yet unyielding. “Bring them with you,” he said, voice steady. “Let them know the court. Let them see the world beyond the walls of Winterfell.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting, something almost hesitant in his expression. “In fact… I have an idea. A way to unite our Houses, as we should have done, as Lyanna and I would have done.”
Eddard turned back to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”
Robert’s eyes gleamed, a spark of hope breaking through the sorrow that lingered in them. “A marriage pact, Ned. We unite our bloodlines, our families.” He straightened, his voice taking on the tone of a king. “My son, Joffrey, and your daughter, Sansa. And…” He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. “My eldest daughter, Y/N, to your son, Robb.”
Eddard’s expression tightened, surprise flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, hesitating, his mind racing with the implications of Robert’s proposal. “A match between our children…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You truly wish this, Robert?”
Robert nodded, his voice softening. “It’s what I always wanted, Ned. To be part of your family, for our blood to be bound together.” He glanced back at Lyanna’s statue, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “I wanted your sister… and though the gods were cruel enough to take that from me, this… this could be a way to bring our houses together, as it should have been.”
Ned felt the weight of the proposal settling on him, his mind turning over the idea of Sansa with Joffrey and Robb with Y/N. “Sansa is still a child,” he began carefully, “and Robb… he’s young yet. I’d want to speak with them both. And Catelyn.”
Robert nodded. “Of course. But think of it, Ned. You have a son and a daughter, and I have a son and a daughter of age.” He straightened, the gleam of determination in his eyes returning. “Sansa would be queen one day. And your son… Robb would be heir to the North, united to the blood of both Baratheon and Lannister.”
Ned frowned. “The girl… Y/N,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “She has Lannister blood, Robert. I know how you feel about her mother’s family.”
Robert’s face darkened briefly, his gaze hardening. “Aye, Cersei is a Lannister. But Y/N is my daughter too. She carries the blood of my House, and though she bears the lion on her face, there’s stag in her heart.” His tone softened, almost pleading. “Ned, she’s not her mother. She’s…” He paused, searching for words, “She’s got fire, spirit, and I want her to know a man like your son. One of true honor, not some… viper of the South.”
Eddard considered this, his mind drifting to Robb. His son, dutiful, strong, and honorable—a match for any in the realm. And Y/N… she’d seemed poised, striking in the courtyard, with that quiet grace he’d seen in only a few women. He thought of Sansa, who had dreamed of becoming queen since she was a little girl, and his heart ached.
“Let me speak with Catelyn,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And with my children.”
Robert clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin breaking through his somber expression. “I knew I could count on you, Ned. Together, our families could be what the realm needs. Strong, united.”
They turned to leave, but Robert lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Lyanna’s stone face, his eyes shadowed with memories.
“Tell me, Ned,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “do you think she would have loved me?”
Eddard’s heart ached, the answer lodged somewhere deep, known only to him. “She was her own woman, Robert,” he replied softly. “And the gods alone know what lies in the hearts of the dead.”
Robert nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, tinged with sorrow. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his voice growing firmer. He tore his gaze away from Lyanna’s statue, focusing on the path ahead.
“Come then,” he said, his tone lightening as he turned to face the stairs. “Let us speak of the future and leave the past to rest.”
And together, they left the crypts, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the silent halls where shadows lingered, bearing witness to the choices that would shape their families and the realm.
Here, by the fire’s light of private chambers, shadows softened, and the familiar scents of woodsmoke and winter roses made the space feel like a retreat. Catelyn sat across from Eddard, her brow furrowed as she listened to his words, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Nearby, Robb and Sansa sat side by side, both listening intently. Bran, Arya, and Rickon were sprawled around the room, though Arya’s restless gaze and occasional sharp glances made it clear she was as engaged as her older siblings.
Eddard took a breath, letting his gaze move from his wife to each of his children in turn. “King Robert has suggested a marriage pact to unite our families,” he began, his voice steady, though he felt the weight of the decision pressing down. “He has offered Joffrey’s hand to Sansa… and Y/N’s hand to Robb.”
Sansa’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile breaking across her features. “I would be honored, Father,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “To be Queen someday, to be married to Joffrey… it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”
Catelyn’s face softened as she looked at her daughter. “Are you certain, Sansa? It is a serious decision, one that would take you far from home, to the capital.”
Sansa nodded, almost eagerly. “I understand, Mother. But I’ve dreamed of King’s Landing—the court, the feasts, the tournaments.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement. “And Joffrey… he’s handsome, and he’s a prince.”
Ned exchanged a glance with Catelyn, her expression mirroring the concern he felt. Sansa’s eagerness was not unexpected, but it still struck a chord. He was about to speak when Robb cleared his throat, drawing their attention.
“I would accept the match as well,” Robb said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet intensity to his gaze. “To join our Houses… it would be an honor.” He hesitated, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. “And… I saw her today. Y/N. She seems… dignified.” His cheeks colored slightly, a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a match with her, Father. I think I could be happy.”
Eddard raised an eyebrow, surprised by Robb’s swift acceptance. Robb was young, and Ned had half-expected resistance or at least more hesitation. Catelyn, too, looked taken aback, her mouth parting slightly as she considered her son.
“It’s a big decision,” Catelyn said gently, her voice measured. “You would be bound to her for life, Robb. Have you truly thought about this?”
Robb nodded, his gaze meeting hers with quiet conviction. “I have, Mother. She seems strong, and I would welcome the chance to learn more about her. If it’s what the realm and our House needs, I am willing.”
“Robb, you’re not actually thinking of marrying her, are you?” Arya’s voice broke through the quiet, incredulous and disapproving. She scrunched her face, her expression mirroring her distaste. “And Sansa, Joffrey’s awful. He’s arrogant and cruel.”
“Arya!” Catelyn chided, though her tone was soft, almost indulgent.
But Arya only shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s true. I’ve seen him, Mother. He’s unkind to everyone around him just because he’s a prince. I’d never want a marriage like that.”
Sansa’s expression tightened, her smile fading as she glanced at her sister. “You don’t know him, Arya. Joffrey is a prince. He’s noble and brave. You just don’t understand.”
Arya rolled her eyes, but her expression softened slightly as she turned her attention to Robb. “But… I like Y/N. She doesn’t act like the rest of them. I saw her today, and she didn’t look down on anyone.” She looked at her father, her gaze challenging but hopeful. “If Robb has to marry someone, I’d rather it be her.”
Rickon, sitting on the floor beside Bran, looked up, his young face alight with curiosity. “What’s she like?” he asked, his voice filled with innocent wonder.
Bran shrugged, glancing at Arya. “She looked quiet, I guess,” he said, thoughtful. “Not like Joffrey, anyway.”
Ned sighed, feeling the weight of his children’s varied reactions. He’d expected Sansa’s enthusiasm and Arya’s protests, but Robb’s quiet acceptance had caught him off guard. The North had always been his family’s home; the thought of binding them so closely to the South troubled him.
He looked at Catelyn, catching her eye. She nodded, understanding his silent request, and rose from her seat, placing a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Robb, Sansa,” she said softly, “this is a decision that will shape your futures. We don’t take this lightly.”
Sansa nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation, while Robb simply inclined his head, calm and steady. Arya huffed, but Catelyn silenced her with a look, and Arya fell back, though her gaze remained defiant.
As the children continued to murmur among themselves, Ned took Catelyn’s arm and led her a little way from them, lowering his voice. “There’s something more,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting back to his children, his heart heavy. “Robert asked me to be his Hand.”
Catelyn’s face tightened, her concern immediate and clear. “Ned… the Hand? I thought you’d never return to court.”
He nodded, his voice low. “Neither did I. But Robert… he says he needs me. And with Jon Arryn gone…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “The realm is troubled, Cat. If I can help Robert, I feel I must. But I would bring all of you, as Robert suggested.”
Her hand tightened in his, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. “You know what lies in the South, Ned,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Whispers, plots. I fear for you—and for our children. They’d be far from the safety of the North.”
“Aye, I know,” he replied, his heart heavy. “But if I refuse him… Robert will be left to those who would only drag him down further. I owe him my loyalty, Cat.”
Catelyn studied his face, her eyes searching. She knew his sense of duty ran deep, and she understood the bonds that held him to Robert, the memories of war and brotherhood that could not be so easily dismissed. “Then let us think on it,” she said finally, her voice steady. “We’ll decide together, Ned. For our family.”
He nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand grounding him amid the storm of decisions and uncertainties. For now, they would hold to each other and to the North.
The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with music and laughter, the warm glow of firelight casting rich hues across the long tables laden with food and drink. The Northern lords and ladies feasted heartily, their voices mingling in a cheerful cacophony. At the high table, you sat beside your mother, your attire shining like a jewel against the muted, sturdy colors of Winterfell.
You sat poised, your gaze serene yet attentive as you watched the revelry unfold around you. From time to time, you’d lean in to speak to your mother, Cersei, your smile soft but polite. You laughed at something your younger sister Myrcella said, the sound gentle, like a secret shared with the night. Across the hall, Robb Stark found himself wondering what it would be like to be the one to make you smile, to hear your laughter up close.
“You’re staring, Robb,” Theon Greyjoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, a teasing grin on his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? The lady staring at the lord?”
Robb gave him a playful shove but felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m not staring.”
“Oh, but you are,” piped up one of his other friends, a grinning Northern lad named Domeric Bolton. “She’s certainly caught your eye.”
Robb sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. “She’s… well, she’s different,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not like the Northern girls.”
“Then go speak to her,” Theon urged, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Ask her for a dance.”
Robb hesitated, glancing back at you. Your presence was poised and refined in a way that made him suddenly feel rough and unpolished. But then he met your eyes, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the noise of the hall faded away. You gave him a shy smile, your eyes meeting his across the distance with a glimmer of interest.
Taking a deep breath, Robb rose from his seat, ignoring Theon and Domeric’s encouraging grins. He made his way through the hall toward the high table, his heart pounding with each step. When he reached you, he bowed slightly, his gaze meeting yours.
“Princess,” he said, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”
You looked up at him, your expression one of mild surprise before your lips curved into a soft smile. You glanced at your mother, who gave a curt nod, her gaze unreadable, before you turned back to Robb and inclined your head. “I’d be delighted, my lord.”
He offered his hand, and as you took it, the warmth of his touch sent a thrill through you. Together, you stepped onto the floor as the musicians struck up a new tune, a melody both gentle and lively, and Robb led you into the first steps of the dance.
“You seem well-versed in Northern customs, my lady,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as you moved through the steps. “I hadn’t expected a girl from the South to dance so well to Northern music.”
You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze. “It seems the North is full of surprises. But I’ve had a lifetime of lessons in court dances. I only hope my dancing is… acceptable.”
“More than acceptable,” he replied, his own voice softening as he looked at you. “I’d wager even the most graceful Northern ladies would be envious.”
You lowered your gaze, a light blush coloring your cheeks. “You flatter me, my lord.”
He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from you. “No, I speak the truth.” He hesitated, then leaned in slightly, his voice lowered. “I hope you’re finding Winterfell… welcoming. I know it must be different from King’s Landing.”
You looked up at him, your expression thoughtful. “It is different,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I find I like it here. There’s… a warmth here that I hadn’t expected.”
“That pleases me to hear,” he said, his tone earnest. “This is my home, and one day… well, I hope to make it a place that someone like you could be happy in.”
Your gaze softened, and you felt the connection between you both grow as you moved through the steps, as if the hall and the people around you had faded into the background. “I believe I could be happy here,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s… quieter than I’m used to, yes, but there’s something about Winterfell. A sense of peace.”
Robb looked at you, his expression earnest as he gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind since he’d learned of Robert’s proposal. “And… do you think you could see yourself here one day, as the Lady of Winterfell?”
For a heartbeat, you felt surprise flicker in your gaze. But then you smiled, a shy, genuine smile that made his heart race. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice as soft as snowfall. “If the North would have me.”
You shared a quiet, lingering look, the unspoken promise between you both as delicate as the touch of his hand in yours. For a moment, Robb could imagine a future where you walked these halls as his wife, where your laughter and warmth brought light to Winterfell even in the deepest winter.
Robb led you through the steps of the dance, his touch gentle yet firm, his eyes locked on yours with a sincerity that warmed you even amidst Winterfell’s drafty stone walls. Around you, lords and ladies cheered and clapped, voices blending into the joyous hum that filled the hall.
But just beyond the laughter, at the high table where the royal family sat, an animosity simmered.
Cersei sat rigid, her fingers clenched around her goblet as she watched you move across the hall in Robb’s arms. Her green eyes were sharp, like cold emeralds, and her displeasure was barely hidden behind her carefully composed mask. Robert, beside her, laughed heartily with Eddard Stark, his voice booming over the din as he recounted tales from their youth. But Cersei’s simmering anger finally spilled over, and she leaned toward him, her voice low and venomous.
“So, this is your grand plan?” she hissed, her eyes never leaving you. “To bind our daughter to this… Northern boy without so much as a word to me?”
Robert’s laughter cut short, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her, irritation flaring in his gaze. “What are you going on about, woman?”
She turned to him fully, her voice barely louder than a whisper, though her anger crackled beneath each word. “You’ve condemned her to this cold, dark place. My daughter, Robert. You would give her to a Stark—to live in this fortress far from court, from her family, from me. And you did this without consulting me?”
Robert took a long drink from his goblet, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep his voice steady, though a vein ticked at his temple. “Our daughter is old enough to wed, Cersei. And a match with the Starks would make her the future Lady of Winterfell. She’ll have a strong husband, and her place will be secure. What more do you want?”
“What more?” Cersei’s voice tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “She is my daughter, Robert. Do you understand that? My blood. And you’d give her away as if she were some toy in your games with Eddard. She was supposed to be in King’s Landing, to be part of the court, to learn her place. But here…” Her gaze flicked toward you with something like desperation. “You’ve taken her from me.”
Robert’s face grew dark, his patience wearing thin. “Taken her from you?” he muttered, shaking his head. “She is my daughter, too, Cersei. Or have you forgotten that? I’m doing what’s best for her.”
“Best for her,” Cersei repeated, bitterness coating her words. “And you think binding her to the North is what’s best? To send her to this frozen wasteland, where she will be as isolated as I am?”
Robert’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “Enough,” he growled, his voice low. “This is not the time or place.”
Cersei’s lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes blazing. “Oh, so now you find restraint? Now, when it suits you to ignore the voices that oppose you?”
His gaze flicked back to you and Robb, who were laughing softly as you spun in perfect rhythm to the music, the two of you oblivious to the conflict boiling at the high table. Robert’s irritation softened slightly, replaced by a look of contemplation. “Look at her,” he muttered. “She’s happy, Cersei. You would deny her that because you think this match is beneath her?”
“Beneath her?” Cersei scoffed, her gaze icy. “I would deny her nothing, Robert. I would give her everything. A place in court, a life of comfort, of power.” She turned back to him, her voice low and scathing. “But you would cast her away to the ends of the realm, to live out her days as some Stark’s quiet wife in the cold.”
“Enough, Cersei,” he said again, this time more forcefully. “Our daughter is a Baratheon, and this is what I’ve chosen for her. The North is good for her. It’ll give her strength, and a place to call her own.”
Cersei’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression tight with fury barely held in check. “You would know little of what’s good for her,” she spat. “When have you ever thought of what’s best for her? For any of us?” She cast a sharp glance toward the hall, where Robb was speaking softly to you, your face illuminated by a soft smile that made you appear every inch the regal lady Cersei had trained you to be. “That smile,” she murmured bitterly, “is what you think will last here?”
Robert’s expression shifted, his face darkening as he met her gaze. “Do not presume to lecture me on what’s best for our daughter, Cersei,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve let you have your way with her long enough. This match is good for her and good for the realm.”
Cersei leaned back, her gaze hard and unyielding, her lips pressed into a grim line. “And when she comes to hate you for this—when she realizes you tore her from her family, her home—don’t expect me to soften her heart toward you.”
Robert’s patience snapped, his voice rising just enough for a few heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll come to understand, and she’ll thank me. You may not see it, but I know what I’m doing.”
At that, Cersei gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “If only you ever knew what you were doing, Robert.”
With that, she turned away, her gaze icy as she stared out over the hall, the tension between them leaving a chill in the air despite the warmth of the feast. Robert returned to his drink, the brief flash of guilt in his eyes fading as he watched you dance with Robb, your smile and laughter filling the hall as you swayed together in time to the music.
Though a bitter silence now lay between Robert and Cersei, neither could deny the spark that lit up the hall as you danced.
The early morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground as you walked beside Robb through the godswood, surrounded by towering trees that stretched their branches skyward. Robb had invited you out for a quiet walk, promising you a glimpse of the heart of Winterfell, where even the lords and ladies came to find peace. In the early light, the godswood was serene, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the soft murmur of the nearby stream.
You found yourself laughing easily with him as he recounted tales of his childhood in Winterfell, his face lighting up as he described the antics he and his brothers would get into. There was a warmth in his smile, a genuine ease that seemed to set you at ease in return.
“And then,” he was saying, barely containing his laughter, “Theon got the idea to sneak into the kitchens at midnight for pies, but Jon and I told him we had to outsmart Old Nan first. Well, we barely made it through the kitchen door before she caught us. Sent us all back to our beds with an earful.” Robb chuckled, shaking his head. “Theon tried to blame me, of course.”
You laughed, covering your mouth to stifle the sound, imagining a young Robb caught in the act, eyes wide with guilt. “And what about you? What did you do to make up for it?”
He grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “What every good brother would do—I blamed Jon.” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He took it rather well, actually.”
The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet as you walked side by side. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you’d find yourself caught in his gaze a moment longer than expected. There was an openness in Robb that felt… different from the formality of the court and the rigid politeness you were used to in King’s Landing. Here, it felt easy to just be yourself.
“So,” Robb said, his voice softer, “are you finding Winterfell to your liking?”
You hesitated, feeling his gaze on you, before nodding. “I am. It’s… quiet. Peaceful. I think I could grow to love it here.”
Robb’s smile softened. “I hope you do.” He looked out over the godswood, as if envisioning a future that included you here, walking these paths together in the years to come. “I’ve spent my whole life here, you know. These woods, this castle… it’s in my blood. I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.”
You glanced at him, feeling a strange tug in your heart as he spoke. “You speak of Winterfell the way a poet would speak of his muse.”
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile. “I suppose I do. I never thought of it that way.” He paused, turning to look at you, his expression growing serious. “But I think, perhaps, if you were here… Winterfell would be all the more beautiful.”
Your breath caught, and you felt your cheeks flush as his words hung in the air between you. You opened your mouth to reply, but just as you were about to speak, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the quiet.
A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, came rushing toward you. “My lord!” he gasped, his face pale. “My lord Robb—it’s your brother. It’s Bran.”
Robb’s smile vanished instantly, his expression tightening as he turned to the servant. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, tinged with fear.
The servant swallowed hard, catching his breath. “Young Bran… he fell from the tower, my lord. The Maester… they’re with him now.”
Robb’s face went pale, and his hand dropped from where it had been resting near yours. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his eyes wide as he processed the words. But then, as if a switch had flipped, he straightened, his features hardening with determination.
“Take me to him,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency.
The servant nodded, glancing between you both before hurrying back toward the keep. Robb took a shaky breath, looking at you, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heart ache.
“I’m sorry… I have to—”
“Go,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Your brother needs you.”
He nodded, his jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and strode quickly in the direction of the tower. You watched him go, feeling a pang of worry settle in your chest as you thought of young Bran, whom you’d only just met, a lively boy with a boundless curiosity.
Left alone in the godswood, the peace and warmth of your morning with Robb faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press down on you. You glanced back in the direction of the keep, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you considered what had happened.
After a moment, you began to make your way back toward the castle, hoping, praying, that the news awaiting you would be better than what you feared.
Can I request something with Robb stark x shy reader. She is very quiet and a good wife too rob, but she loves seeing him be a true king to his people so when someone comes along and tries to knock him down a few pegs she speaks up and reminds said person of who they are speaking to leaving Robb speechless and a little turned on. You can end it there or add in a little smut if you want. Thank youuu
A/N requests open! Hope you enjoy, anon! There is just a sprinkle of nsfw at the end, but I tagged it with smut just to be safe ;) i think i used the word shy like a million times. Reblog/Comment if you want more!
You and your husband, Robb, were touring the North and providing supplies to the smallfolk to support them through the Winter. There were many grievances to address and you held court at all the small towns.
You hated the attention, and it was a small mercy that you rarely had to speak. Even when Robb needed your counsel, he asked for it in private so you weren’t embarrassed. The eyes of the people on you were enough to mortify you, yet you bore your discomfort silently and stood by his side.
At one such hearing, Robb ordered the Lords of the lesser Northern houses to visit. You were seated next to him on your throne, Greywind sleeping on the raised floor at your feet.
“The old ways have served the North fruitfully for years. Listen carefully, one war does not make a boy a man and you are yet to know the ways of the world.” Lord Karstark said, wagging a wrinkled finger at Robb.
It was the third time he had questioned your husband in front of his Council. You were furious.
All Robb had suggested was reducing the great burden of supporting lesser houses with tithes from the peasants. Many smallfolks families were missing men and weapons due to the war, and winter was coming. It would be his first Winter as King of the North and he wanted all his subjects to survive, not just the noblemen.
You thought it was admirable. You also knew how hard he worked, spending almost all nights this week pouring over papers and accounts.
“Don’t forget yourself, I am the King,” Robb chided him. Greywind woke up and went to him, a silent threat.
“No man that calls himself King is a true-“ Lord Karstark began in his crotchety old voice. Anger coursed through your veins. How dare this senile old man try to insult your husband.
You cleared your throat. The hall fell silent. Robb frowned and turned to look at you. His wife was a woman of few words but they were all worth hearing.
“My King husband would have no need of repeating his station if you would remember it, my Lord. And if you cannot, then perhaps in the evening of one’s life we must accept our limitations and resign to things we are capable of.” You said calmly, yet sharply. Robb’s jaw dropped in awe.
It took Karstark’s slow mind a moment longer to process.
“Control your tongue, woman,” he said said, eyes wild, pointing to you.
“Disrespect the Queen and you will feel my blade,” Robb yelled, stepping down from the throne and pulling out Ice, just as the direwolf by his side leapt into action.
Karstark did not know when to keep hush. He retorted back sarcastically, and the altercation ended with him being dragged to the dungeons for his impunity. The other lords were also greatly displeased with him, for now they had no chance of changing the King’s mind about restoring their allowances.
You were glad to see the end of the day, and walked into the chambers of your current abode with Robb trailing behind you.
“Lord Karstark demands hot oil for his feet, did you hear it, darling?” Robb said, crushing the piece of correspondence he read. “To send his demands with servants even when imprisoned. The gall of him.” He chuckled.
“I’ve had it up to here with that old bastard,” you said angrily. You let your hair down and started running your fingers through it roughly. The more you thought of it, the more your anger flared.
“How dare he set foot in your court, dine and dwell in our hospitality, and feel entitled to disrespect you like that? I will not stand for it, Robb.” You said, tugging at the lacing and stepping out of your gray court dress.
“Age does not guarantee wisdom, darling. Experience does. And the old fool has none.” Robb said, walking up to you and resting his hands on your shoulders. He pushed your hair to the side and kissed up your neck from your shoulders to your ear.
You tilted your head to give him more access. After a while he turned you around and kissed your mouth. You savored his languid kisses. His hands slowly pushed your chemise over your shoulders till it hung just above your breasts.
You pulled away, and leaned back, his strong arms holding you up.
“I’m sorry for speaking out of turn, love” you said shyly. You were bold in your anger but the shyness was starting to creep in now. “I love you, and I cannot bear to see you insulted after you pour your soul into this Kingdom.”
“Don’t be sorry, you were fantastic,” Robb said, apparently unable to keep his lips off of you. You gasped as he nipped at the bottom of your throat. “I would like to see the wolf in my little wife more often.”
You giggled at his words, and he walked you backwards till your calves hit the bed. Your chemise dropped to your hips and his hands made quick work of finding your breasts.
Your hands came up to cover yourself.
“Robb, the candles,” you said, eyes wide. His own blue ones lit up with mirth.
“I know now that you are not shy, let me see what is mine, darling.” He whispered, pushing your chemise to the floor. You stepped out of it, naked as the day you were born. Your skin felt hot under his hungry gaze.
“Lie back, Y/N,” he said, licking his lips and pushing you down on the bed. “I wish to show you some of my appreciation.” He knelt before you with a wink.
Robbs hands found your knees and he spread them apart. Your hands twisted into his auburn hair in surprise.
And there was nothing shy about the sounds you made that night.
Summary: When one spoke of the Lannisters, the last thing that came to the mind of anyone was familial love.
A/N: I apologize to everyone still waiting on pt 5 of Loving Arms, a lot has been going on in my personal life and I only had the energy to finish this one up. Hopefully this sort of makes up for it.
It had been a long journey for the pair, almost 5 months since the day that Jaime’s younger sister had turned five and ten name days old. The longest journey that the young girl had ever experienced in her life, spending much of it behind the walls of the Red Keep.
Despite the opposition from Cersei and Tywin, King Robert had a grand celebration done to celebrate the girl as he held a fondness for his slightly strange and quiet sister by law. It should have been a time of merriment, but only a Lannister like Tywin could find a way to bring the mood down when he had both Jaime and (Y/N) brought to his study to tell them that he intended on marrying his youngest daughter to the Mountain, Gregor Clegane.
Immediately both Jaime and (Y/N) were opposed to the idea of the girl marrying the man, it was an inconceivable thought. But there was little love from Tywin for his youngest daughter, born from a brief marriage, who only served as a reminder of being the wrong sex and cause of him losing another wife. It was a mere miracle that their pleading seemed to do anything and the Lannister patriarch agreed that if they could somehow convince the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell to agree to a match, then he would leave the girl be.
As they ride towards Winterfell with the cold air biting at their faces, Jaime can't help but feel a sense of unease the closer they get to it. In his mind, he is already planning out how to make this proposal of having young Robb Stark and his younger sister marry, sound as appealing as possible to Ned Stark. The man has always been a man of honor, but his disdain for Lannisters runs deep.
Jaime can't help but glance at his sister, her small frame huddled against the cold and heavily bundled with her cloak and furs. His protective instincts kick in, and he can't help but feel a pang of worry for her safety. There was a part of him that wished he had tried harder to have her stay behind, but another part of him knew that leaving her in the care of either of Cersei or his Father was out of the question. He figured it would be better to keep a closer eye on her as they approach Winterfell, his hand always ready to reach for his sword in case of danger and awareness that should she feel any colder, that he was sure that he had an additional cloak.
The snow begins to fall softly and (Y/N) looks up at the sky in childish wonder, so accustomed to the warm weather and heat, it wasn’t a surprise that she stopped her horse to stare. And Jaime can't help but smile at her awe, her expression filled with a wonder at seeing snow for the first time was one that he had missed. It filled him with regret that he had not been able to ensure that it was a constant for her and he watches her for a moment, the snowflakes catching in her hair and on her eyelashes.
"Pretty, isn't it?" he mutters, his voice affectionate.
“Very pretty!” she says as snowflakes fall on her hair.
He chuckles at her excitement, her childlike wonder making him smile.
"Careful, sweetling. You'll get covered in snow and we don’t want to risk you falling ill,” he mutters, reaching out to brush some snowflakes from her hair.
“But it's so nice Jaime!” she giggles but ultimately listened to her brother and put up the hood of her cloak.
Jaime grins at her words, her laughter filling the air. It's refreshing to see her so happy, so carefree, despite the daunting task that awaits them at Winterfell.
"Just be careful not to catch a cold," he mutters, his tone affectionate as he watches her put up her hood. "We don't need you sniffling and sneezing all the way to Winterfell."
But as they draw closer to Winterfell, Jaime can feel his nerves starting to fray as the anxious thoughts swirl in his mind. He reaches down to grip the pommel of his sword, his heartbeat picking up speed. He glances at his sister, who is looking up at Winterfell with wide eyes.
"Almost there, sweetling. Just stick close to me, alright?"
She nods but her excitement doesn’t fade.
Jaime leads her closer to the gates of Winterfell, his eyes sweeping the surrounding area for any sign of trouble as the horses trundle through. It is obvious to everyone that the Lannister siblings aren’t from there and the guards look at them with a mixture of suspicion and disdain, more so when they recognize the Lannister sigil on their cloaks. Jamie can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing as the guards call out for them to halt.
He reins in his horse as they approach the guards at the gate, his voice firm and commanding.
"We seek an audience with Lord Stark. Tell him Jaime Lannister wishes to speak with him."
One of the guards goes inside, and the remaining guard keeps a watchful eye on them, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Jaime tries to ignore the man's watchful gaze, his mind racing as he waits for Ned Stark's response. After some time had passes that felt like an eternity, the guard returns, a serious expression on his face.
"Lord Stark will see you," he says gruffly, his eyes flickering over Jaime and his sister.
The guard leads the way through the gates, and Jaime follows suite with his sister close behind him. The castle of Winterfell looms above them, its massive stones casting a massive shadow. The elder Lannister glances towards his sister, seeing the nervous look on her face and reaches back to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Do you think it’s warmer than it looks?” she asks.
Jaime can't help but chuckle at her question, the innocence in her voice making his heart ache. He glances up at the imposing structure of Winterfell, the stone walls and turrets seeming to reach up to the very clouds themselves.
"Trust me, sweetling. Nothing can keep out the cold in the North. It's as cold as a witch's teat in there."
Jaime can't help but smile at her giggle, her laughter like a balm against his nerves.
“That’s not a proper joke to be making, Jaime” she laughs while trying to draw closer to her older brother.
"Just keep your cloak on tight, alright? We don't want you freezing to death before we even get inside."
She nods and tightens her cloak. Not far off they can see Ned Stark waiting for them. As they approach Lord Stark, Jaime can feel his heart hammering in his chest, the man's stern expression and steely gaze making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His sister shrinks back a little, her small frame dwarfed beneath her cloak.
"Lord Stark," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "I appreciate you taking the time to see us."
Ned Stark nods at Jaime but looks at the girl curiously, “This is no place for such a young girl, why did you bring the little lion cub along?”
Jaime takes a deep breath, his mind racing as he tries to come up with a convincing explanation. He can feel his sister's small hand gripping his, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a sword.
"She insisted on coming, Stark,” he replies, trying to keep his voice calm. "She's... she's always had a stubborn streak. There was no talking her out of it."
The young girl jumps down from her horse before anyone can help her down and curtsies in front of Ned Stark, “It's very nice to meet you ser.”
Ned Stark glances down at her, his stern expression softening a little at the sight of her curtsy. He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her small form and wide eyes.
"And what is your name, child?" he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.
“(Y/N), ser” she says softly.
Ned Stark raises an eyebrow at her response, clearly taken aback by the name. He glances at Jaime, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “(Y/N)? That’s quite a different name, isn’t it? Doesn’t sound very Lannister” he repeats, his voice tinged with curiosity now.
Jaime nods, “Her mother wanted something different than the usual Lannister names”
Ned Stark's expression softens a little more at the mention of her late mother, his voice taking on a slightly warmer tone. "I see. And how old are you, Little Lioness?"
She brightens, “I had my five and tenth birthday not that long ago ser”
Ned Stark's eyebrows raise at her response, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Five and tenth? You're nearly a woman grown then, Little Lioness," he says, his voice slightly amused.
“Yes ser, and that's a little of why my brother and I are here.”
Ned Stark glances at Jamie, his expression becoming serious again. "Is that so?" he says, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What is it then that brings the two of you all the way to Winterfell?"
Before either of the siblings can respond, she lets out a small high pitched sneeze and sniffles. Ned Stark looks down at her, his expression softening at the sight of her sneezing and sniffling. He glances at Jaime, a knowing look in his eyes.
"It's cold out here, Little Lioness. Perhaps it's best we go inside and speak in the warmth."
“Yes, please!” she thanks.
Ned Stark nods and leads the way towards the entrance of Winterfell, the massive doors opening to let them in. The heat of the castle envelops them, and Jaime can feel his sister relaxing as the cold air is left behind. The Lord of Winterfell leads them into what must have been his private study, a fire burning in the massive fireplace. He gestures for them to take a seat at a table, and takes a seat across from them, his expression betraying nothing. The man says nothing as he watches Jaime pulls out a chair and helps his sister sit, his expression softening again at the gesture. He watches the two of them for a moment before speaking.
"So," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "What is it you wish to speak about?"
She looks nervously at her older brother and Jaime can feel the tension in the air, his sister's small form fidgeting nervously. He takes a deep breath, his mind racing as he tries to come up with the right words.
"We have a proposition to make, my lord," he says, his voice steady but his heart hammering in his chest.
Ned Stark leans back in his seat, his expression guarded. He folds his arms across his broad chest and regards them both with a serious gaze.
"Go on, then," he says gruffly.
Jaime takes another deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears as he knows there is no going back if they were to make their proposition. But with a glance at his sister, her eyes wide and nervous, and his protectiveness towards her only strengthens his resolve. He looks back at Ned Stark, bracing himself.
"We wish to propose a marriage."
An expression of surprise washes over Ned Stark, “For whom?”
Jaime swallows hard, his heart feeling like it's stuck in his throat. He knew this was the difficult part, the part that would decide it all. "For my sister," he says, his voice steady but firm. "With your son."
Ned Stark's expression darkens at the mention of his son, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and perhaps anger.
“With my son? Robb?”
Seeming to notice the man’s anger, (Y/N) interjects quietly, “Yes ser! But it was my idea, so please don't be angry with my brother.”
Ned Stark's expression softens somewhat at her words, his stern gaze shifting to regard her instead of Jaime. "It was your idea, you say?" he says, his voice still gruff but lacking some of the anger it had before.
“Yes, ser. I heard Starks were honorable.”
Ned Stark's expression softens further at her words, his voice taking on a slight hint of warmth. He looks at her for a moment, his eyes taking in her small form and earnest expression.
"And what led you to this conclusion, Little Lioness?"
“Very little ser, all my knowledge comes from books of history and rumors,” she says, “I hoped that the stories were true.”
Ned Stark's expression softens even more at her honesty, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're a well-read young lady, it seems," he says, his voice carrying a hint of approval. "But what makes you think I would even consider this proposal, let alone to a Lannister?"
Jaime looks at his sister, and feels a pang of sympathy for her. Her wide eyes are pleading him to reassure her, and he can feel the weight of Ned Stark's gaze on him. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself to defend her proposal.
"Please, he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hear her out before you make a decision."
Ned Stark glances back and forth between them, his expression still stern but now tinged with a hint of curiosity. He leans back in his seat, signaling that he is willing to listen.
“Our houses have had animosity for a long time, but I know we could accomplish much together” she says with as much confidence as she can muster, “and I also have a slight selfish reason for this betrothal as well.”
Ned Stark raises an eyebrow at her words, his expression betraying a hint of curiosity. He gestures for her to continue, clearly intrigued by her statement.
She fidgets with her skirt and shrinks in her seat, “Um.... before we came here, my father hoped to marry me off to the Mountain.”
Ned Stark's expression darkens immediately at her words, his eyes narrowing in anger.
"The Mountain? You mean Gregor Clegane?" he growls, disbelief and anger clear in his voice.
“Yes ser, to thank him for his service to our family.”
Ned Stark's expression is now one of absolute disgust, his hands balled into fists of outrage."You cannot be serious," he snaps. "To betroth a young girl to a man like Clegane... it's monstrous."
“It's why I then suggested your son, I thought if he was raised by a man like you, perhaps I could find some happiness” she murmurs. “And my father said if you somehow accepted, then he would not intervene.”
Ned Stark's expression softens, his anger subsiding a little at the girl's words. He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her small form and now the hint of desperation in her voice. "You wish to escape a marriage with the Mountain, and see my son as a suitable alternative," he says, his voice quiet but still firm.
“Yes ser.”
Ned Stark considers her for a long moment, his expression betraying a hint of sympathy now. He glances at Jaime for a moment, clearly weighing the situation in his mind.
"I see," he says slowly. "You understand this is a very serious proposal, don't you? Do you understand what it would mean if I agreed?"
“If I said yes, I would be lying” she says. “One thing is reading about such things and it's another to truly do them.”
Ned Stark nods, a hint of respect in his eyes. "I appreciate your honesty, Little Lioness," he says, his voice gruff but kind. "It takes a lot to admit such things, and it's a better quality than most people have."
He leans back in his seat, resting his chin on his fist as he contemplates the girl in front of him. He glances back and forth between the two Lannister siblings for a long moment, his mind clearly searching for a way forward. Finally, he speaks.
"I will give you an answer by the start of the new year," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "In the meantime, you will be welcome here at Winterfell as my guests."
She lets out a small sigh of relief and looks to Jaime.
Jaime feels a weight lift off his shoulders at Ned Stark's answer. He smiles back at his sister, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude to the Northern lord. "Thank you, Stark,” he says, his voice firm but honest. "We are most grateful for your hospitality."
“Thank you! thank you!” She says gratefully.
The Lord of Winterfell nods at her, a slight smile flickering across his lips. "You're very welcome, Little Lioness," he says, his voice taking on a hint of gentleness. "But now, perhaps you should rest from your journey. You look quite exhausted."
But in that moment a knock comes at the door. All three of them turn their heads at the knock, and Jaime feels a flicker of curiosity.
"Who is it?" Lord Stark calls out.
“Father, may I come in?” calls out a voice belonging to a young man.
Ned Stark looks at the door, a flicker of surprise across his face. He looks at Jaime and the girl for a moment before answering. "Come in," he calls out gruffly.
Jaime watches as none other than Robb Stark enters the room, his eyes taking in the Stark heir. The young man looks a lot like his father, with the same stern expression and strong stature, but of course must take some after his mother judging by the boy’s auburn curls.
Surprise is etched on Robb’s face, “Oh, I apologize Father. I had no idea that we had guests.”
Ned Stark shakes his head, a slight smile on his face at his son's trepidation. "No need to apologize, Robb," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "These are two of our guests from King's Landing, Ser Jaime Lannister and his sister, (Y/N).”
Robb's eyes widen in surprise at the mention of their names, his gaze flitting between Jaime and the girl. He glances at his father, a hundred questions clearly running through his mind.
Ned Stark gestures for his son to come closer, "Why did you need to talk to me, son?" he asks, his eyes watching Robb carefully.
“We can discuss it later,” he says, his gaze on the Lannister girl making her blush.
Jaime notices right away as Robb's gaze has fixed on the girl, and he feels a flare of protectiveness towards her. He glances towards his sister, and notices the blush creeping into her cheeks under the Stark boy's gaze. Ned Stark notices the interaction between them as well, his eyes flicker between Robb and the girl for a moment. A slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but he remains silent, his gaze watchful.
“Hello, it's nice to meet you” Robb tells her as he offers a polite bow.
The girl looks up as Robb speaks, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She blushes deeper under his gaze, but manages to speak quietly. "It's nice to meet you too," she says, her voice soft and shy.
Jaime watches as they speak, his eyes flickering between them. He can sense the interest in Robb's gaze, and the shy reaction from his sister. His protective instincts flare up within him, but he holds his tongue for now.
“Could I perhaps escort you to supper?” Robb asks her.
The girl looks up at Robb, surprise and excitement in her eyes. She turns to her older brother, clearly seeking his approval. Jaime would have preferred to escort her himself but nods slightly, silently giving his consent. He watches as she turns back to Robb, her voice still very slightly nervous.
"I... yes, I would like that," she says, a small smile on her lips.
Robb and the girl bow and curtsy respectively to the adults in the room then head towards the dining hall, arm in arm with bashful smiles on their faces.
Ned Stark watches as the two young people leave the room, his expression a mix of contemplation and slight amusement. He turns to Jaime, the slight smile still present on his face. "He's taken a shine to her, it seems," he notes, his voice gruff but not unkind.
“Yes,” Jaimes says. “I suppose that's a good thing.”
Ned Stark nods slowly, his eyes still contemplating the doorway where the youngsters had just exited. He turns back to Jaime, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
"Do you approve, Ser?" he asks, a hint of a challenge in his words.
“Of all of this?”
“As my sister said before, if I'm honest, I don't know” Jaime says as he attempts to keep the worry from his tone.
Ned Stark's expression softens slightly at Jaime's words, sensing the worry in his voice. He takes a deep breath and looks at him with a steady gaze.
"I understand your concerns," he says. "But I assure you, I would never allow your sister to be mistreated or unhappy. I have no love for your family, but she seems an innocent in all of this. And my son is a good, honorable man."
“I have no doubts that your son could come to love her, my sweet sister isn't hard to love,” Jaime says softly. “I just wish that I had more time.”
Ned Stark's expression falters at Jaime's words, the hint of a smile touching his lips. "Time is a luxury we don't always have in life," he says, his voice quieter now. "Sometimes we have to make the best decisions with the information and time we have. It's clear you care for your sister's happiness. But you also need to trust her, and in this instance my family. Do you think you can do that?"
“I have no choice but to do so,” Jaime says honestly. “She's been through much at the hands of family and I would hope this is better for her.”
Ned Stark nods slowly in understanding, his expression solemn but sympathetic. "I know you want what's best for her," he says, his voice carrying a hint of compassion. "And I assure you, I will do everything in my power to ensure she is treated fairly and with respect."
“Thank you.” He says sincerely, “Now, should we follow the youngsters and make sure they behave?”
Ned Stark lets out a soft chuckle at Jaime's words, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I think that would be wise," he says, standing up from his seat. "They are young and full of excitement, after all. Let us see how they are getting along."
Together, Ned Stark and Jaime exit the private study and walk towards the dining hall, their footsteps echoing in the corridor. They can hear the distant sound of laughter and chatter coming from the hall as they approach, indicating that the youngsters are already well into their supper. The two men step into the hall and are met with the sight of Robb and the girl sitting beside each other at one of the tables. They are deep in conversation, the girl occasionally laughing at something Robb says. They are clearly enjoying each other's company, their faces lit up with smiles.
There is a slight dreamy look on Robb's face when the girl speaks and Jaime is quick to notice expression on the young Stark’s face as his sister speaks, a hint of surprise registering on his face. He watches the young couple for a few moments longer, a mixture of emotions warring within him.
But in a brief moment, she notices her brother. “Jaime, Robb was just telling me of how his sword training is going.”
Jaime turns his attention to the young couple as the girl speaks, hiseyes flickering between them. He forces a faint smile onto his face, masking his internal conflict.
"Ah, yes," he says, a hint of forced cheerfulness in his voice. "I had my own share of sword training in my youth. I trust Robb is doing well?"
“Yes! In fact with more practice he could be as good as you” (Y/N) says with a bright smile.
Jaime raises an eyebrow at the compliment, a mixture of surprise and amusement crossing his face. "Is that so?" he says, a hint of a smile curling on his lips. "Quite a high praise, to be compared to a knight of the Kingsguard."
She blushes and smiles at Robb once more. While Robb doesn’t hesitate to grin back at the girl, clearly enjoying the attention. He casts a quick look at Jaime, a hint of respect in his eyes, before returning his gaze to the girl.
Ned clasps a hand on his son's shoulder, “You both seem to be getting along well.”
Robb looks up at his father, a hint of embarrassment on his face at being interrupted. "Yes, Father," he says, his voice slightly sheepish. "We were just discussing our love of swordplay."
Ned smiles at his son, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I see," he says. "And have you been able to impress the lady with your skills?"
Robb blushes, a hint of bashfulness creeping across his face. He glances at the girl before turning back to his father. "I've certainly been trying," he says, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "She seems to be enjoying it, though."
She giggles shyly, while her brother can’t help but roll his eyes at the twitter patted boys attempts at smooth talking.
Ned chuckles softly at the reaction of the girl and her brother. He glances at Jaime, a knowing look in his eyes. "It seems the young lovebirds are getting along splendidly," he says, his voice laced with gentle teasing.
The two youngsters are all bashful smiles and clearly in the beginnings of perhaps something more.And Jaime watches the two youngsters for a moment longer, a slight smile on his face at their bashful reaction. He steals a glance at Ned, silently expressing his understanding and resignation to the situation.
Time passes by and as the new year approaches, Winterfell becomes alive with preparations for the celebrations. The atmosphere is one of excitement and anticipation, the snow falling outside adding a soft, magical touch to the castle. Ned Stark seems more lighthearted than usual, clearly anticipating the festivities to come. The evening of the New Year's Eve, the great hall of Winterfell is buzzing with activity. Servants hurry back and forth, ensuring everything is in order for the celebration that will soon begin. A sense of excitement and anticipation hangs in the air, making it almost electric.
But for the Lannister siblings, their time in Winterfell had been a combination of a well deserved respite from their family and a mounting hope that their proposal would be accepted. The number of ravens that they had received from both Cersei and Tywin were far too many, and it only served to further increase their worry in the midst of their interactions with the Starks. As much as (Y/N) had enjoyed her time with Robb, speaking with Jon and the Stark children, and even interacting some with Catelyn and Ned, there was always that worry in her mind that it could all be pulled away should Lord Stark not agree to a marriage between her and Robb. While Jaime did his best to stall his sister and father for a response as best he could, because the last thing he wanted for his young sister carted off and married to a beast like Gregor Clegane.
But they would soon know that particular evening if all of their effort would bear fruition.
That evening Jaime helps his sister with her dress, adjusting it carefully. He casts a glance at the window, seeing the snow falling gently outside. The sound of chatter and laughter in the great hall can be faintly heard, adding to the atmosphere of festivity and celebration.
“Jaime?”
He turns his attention to his sister as she speaks, noting the slight hesitation in her voice. "Yes, dear sister?" he says, his voice soft and patient.
“Do you think this is what it will be like, if Ned Stark accepts the betrothal?”
Jaime sighs slightly, his expression turning pensive as he considers her question. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with the answer. "It's hard to say, sweetling, he says after a moment. "Ned Stark is a man of honor and duty. I don't doubt he'll live up to his word and treat you well. But the north is a cold and hard place, and life here will be much different than you're used to in the south."
She blushes, “Robb has been very kind in the time that we have been here.”
Jaime nods, a hint of resignation in his expression. "Yes, Robb seems to be a good young man," he says. "He's clearly smitten with you, it seems."
“Jaime!” She says shyly, embarrassed with her brother’s teasing.
Jaime can't help but let a slight smile slip across his face at his sister's bashful reaction. He reaches out to squeeze her shoulder gently. "It's alright, sweetling,” he says, his voice softening. "I'm just teasing you."
Her face scrunched a little in thought, “Would you be able to stay, even if I was to marry Robb?”
Jaime's expression turns serious at the question, his eyes meeting his sister's. He hesitates for a moment, clearly torn by the emotions the question brings up. "I... I can't say," he says after a moment. "My place is with the Kingsguard, as you know. I have taken vows to the King, and my duty to protect him comes first."
“Oh…”
His heart sinks as he sees the disappointment on his sister's face. He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice thick with sincere apology. "I understand if that's not the answer you wanted to hear."
“I would miss you,” she whispers.
Jaime feels a pang of guilt at his sister's words, but he knows he cannot promise her a different future. He takes her hand in his, his fingers gently gripping hers. "I would miss you too," he says sincerely. "And I will always be here for you, no matter what. I promise you that."
“Even if I stay with Robb?” Her eyes wide and pleading.
Jaime nods, his expression firm but sincere. "Even if you stay with Robb," he says, his voice steady. "I promise to always be there for you, no matter what. You are my sister, and I will always love and protect you."
She smiles tearfully and hugs him tightly.Jaime hugs her back just as fiercely, his strong arms encircling her and holding her closely. He gently rests his chin on top of her head, his expression a mix of protectiveness and melancholy. He felt a little sentimental holding her in his arms, remembering a time when she used to fit in his hold, a small babe that sought him out even back then.
He closes his eyes for a moment, his grip on his sister tightening ever so slightly in a mixture of loving protectiveness and reluctant resignation. He struggles to reconcile his dual role as a Kingsguard and protector, and that of a brother who loves his sister dearly. He knows that she would be safe and taken care of with the Starks, but the thought of her being so far from him is bittersweet.
Finally, he draws back from the hug, his expression composed but betraying a hint of melancholy. "Come now, we should head to the feast," he says, his voice slightly rough. "We wouldn't want to be late to the celebration."
She twirls in her dress and smiles, “Do you think he will like it?”
Jaime gives his sister a look that is part playful and part sincere. He runs his gaze over her figure, taking in the way the dress only serves to accentuate her beauty. "If he doesn't, he's a bigger fool than I thought," he says with a faint smirk.
She's bashful at his compliment, “Thank you Jaime, you're a really good brother”
Jaime's smirk softens into a fond smile at his sister’s kind words. He reaches out to pat her head gently, an affectionate gesture. "You're an irritating, yet lovable, little sister," he teases, his tone warm and affectionate. "Of course I'm going to be a good brother to you." He stands up and offers his arm to his sister. "Are you ready to join the celebration now?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes betraying the hint of melancholy that still lingers within him.
“Ready as I can be,” she says nervously. “But you will be with me, so I know that I will be okay.”
Jaime offers his sister a reassuring smile as he takes her arm. "I'll be here with you every step of the way," he says, his voice firm and comforting. "You won't be alone, I promise."
With that, the Lannister siblings make their way to the festivities where they can hear the music, laughter and more. Jaime leads his sister into the great hall, his steps confident and measured. The atmosphere inside the hall is one of gaiety and celebration, with musicians playing lively tunes, servants hurrying back and forth, and the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air. The elder of the siblings spots Ned Stark across the room and gives him a nod of greeting before turning his attention back to his sister. But her eyes are on Robb as he talks to his own brother, flustered as she looks to the younger Stark.
Jaime follows his sister's gaze and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, amused by the sight. "Looks like someone has caught your eye, sister," he says, his voice laced with gentle teasing.
“When we arrived, I didn't think I would fall for him as quick as I did,” her gaze never moves “but I'm glad it was him.”
Jaime glances between his sister and Robb, his expression softening slightly as he sees the smitten look on her face. "He seems a good-natured enough lad," he says, a hint of approval in his voice. "And he clearly has eyes for you as well. I can tell by the way he looks at you."
As he says that Robb turns in their direction when Jon points in their direction, and the boy has an awe struck look.Jaime can't help but chuckle slightly as Robb looks in their direction, the young man's smitten expression clear on his face.
"See what I mean?" he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "He's utterly taken with you, sister. It's almost embarrassing to see."
She fidgets a little beside him, “Should I ask him to dance or wait until he asks me?”
Jaime considers the question for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "If I know anything about young men like Robb Stark, he's likely too bashful to gather up the courage to ask you to dance on his own," he says with a smirk. "So if you truly want to dance, you'll have to take the initiative and ask him yourself."
She looks unsure of herself and turns to him; seeing the uncertainty on his sister's face, Jaime gently takes the lead, guiding her through the crowd and towards where Robb Stark is standing. He gives her a reassuring smile and squeezes her arm gently, his tone reassuring.
"Don't be nervous," he murmurs to her. "You look beautiful, and he's clearly smitten with you. Just ask him to dance, and he will be too stunned to say no."
The brother and sister approach Robb and Jon. Jaime gives a nod to both of them in greeting, while his sister blushes faintly and averts her eyes, clearly a little timid. As the two of them stand there, Robb looks at her with a smitten, yet slightly abashed expression, his eyes drinking in her appearance.
“I... I apologize for the interruption Robb, but... would you like to dance?” She asks timidly.
Robb's face brightens at the question, a boyish smile on his lips. He glances at his brother for a moment before nodding eagerly. "I'd be honored to dance with you," he says, his voice slightly nervous but undeniably eager.
Jaime watches as his sister and Robb make their way to the dance floor, and as the two of them begin to dance, he watches his sister's expression, noting the way her eyes sparkle in the light and the way her cheeks flush with embarrassment and blossoming affection.
“They are quite the smitten pair, aren't they?” Ned Stark says catching the elder Lannister off guard and offering a glass of wine.
Jaime takes the offered glass of wine, nodding in agreement as he glances at Robb and his sister on the dance floor. "Yes, they certainly are," he says, his tone a mixture of resigned acceptance and reluctant approval.
He takes a sip of the wine, turning to face Ned Stark more directly. "You must be proud of your boy,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. "I know my sister is quite taken with Robb, and... he seems to care for her as well."
“I will be blunt Lannister,” says Ned. “When you're sister made the offer of a betrothal between the two of them, I wasn't sure what to think.”
Jaime raises an eyebrow at Ned Stark's bluntness, his demeanor calm but betraying a hint of wariness. He takes another sip of wine, his gaze steady as he regards the Lord of Winterfell. "I see," he says, his tone cool and guarded. "And why is that, if I may ask?"
“As she said, our houses have hated one another for so long. To think that in a single generation that could be mended, seemed unlikely and it still does.”
Jaime nods, understanding the sentiment behind Ned Stark's skepticism. He sets his wine glass down and laces his fingers together, his expression contemplative.
"I can understand your doubt," he says. "Our houses have a long and bloody history, and it's understandable that you would hesitate to consider an alliance between us."
The Lord of Winterfell looks at his son and Jaime’s sister as they dance, “But seeing these two, despite that animosity, growing to care for each other. I see hope.”
Jaime follows Ned Stark's gaze to the dance floor, where his sister and Robb are still dancing. The two of them are engaged in a seemingly effortless conversation, their eyes locked on each other and their faces flushed with affection.
As he watches them, that sense of resignation tugs at his heart once more, but he cannot deny the hope and potential that this pairing represents.
"Yes," he says, his tone soft. "I see what you mean. They do make quite a picture, don't they?"
He takes another drink of wine, his gaze lingering on his sister and Robb for a few moments more before turning back to Ned Stark.
"But you must also understand," he says, his tone laced with caution. "Our houses have always been enemies, and the shadow of our past will always linger. Even if our families are joined through marriage, it does not erase our history."
“No it does not,” says Ned. “But I believe these two will surprise all of us with what they could accomplish. Which is why I made my decision”
Jaime raises an eyebrow at Ned's words, his curiosity piqued. "And what decision is that, may I ask?" he inquires, his tone cautious.
“I accept betrothing your sister to my son Robb.”
Jaime is somewhat taken aback by Ned's straightforward declaration, his eyes widening fractionally as he processes the words. He hadn't expected the Lord of Winterfell to agree to the betrothal so readily. But a weight does lift from the Lannister’s shoulders that his sister wouldn’t have to return to a doomed marriage.
"I see," he says, his voice betraying a hint of surprise. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to accept so quickly." He leans forward slightly, peering at Ned Stark, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. "May I ask what changed your mind?"
“Speaking with your sister and watching the interactions with my family made me realize. That surely if such a sweet and intelligent girl like that can come from your house, then there must be some good.”
Jaime is taken aback by Ned's words, a strange mixture of offense and understanding coursing through him. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before responding, his tone measured and guarded. "I... see," he says, his voice low. "You believe that my sister represents the good in our house. Is that what you're saying?"
“In sum, yes.”
Jaime lets out a scoff, a mix of annoyance and resignation in his voice. "And I suppose you believe that I and the rest of my family represent the opposite, then? The bad in our house?"
“I believe that you and only you, represent what a man who loves his family enough will do, even setting aside his hate for another, just to see his sisters happiness”
Jaime's expression softens at Ned's words, a small flicker of surprise in his eyes. He looks down at his hands, his thoughts swirling within him.
After a moment, he speaks, his voice quieter than before. "You're right," he says grudgingly. "I would do anything for my sister, even set aside my hate. I suppose... that makes me less of a monster than you believe me to be."
“Not a monster Jaime, a flawed man like the rest of us because a monster would never have done what you have for that girl.”
Jaime pauses at Ned's words, his jaw clenching slightly as he grapples with the mixed emotions coursing through him. For a moment, he looks like he's about to say something snarky in response, but instead, he lets out a mirthless chuckle.
"Flawed indeed," he mutters to himself. "You have no idea how flawed I am, Stark."
In that moment the elder Lannister glances up as his sister and Robb return to them, both of them breathing heavily and flushed with the exertion of dancing. He can see the happiness and excitement in his sister's eyes, and the adoration in Robb's gaze as he looks at her. He watches the two of them closely, his expression betraying some of his internal turmoil.
“I haven't had this much fun in a long time,” she says with excitement. “Are you enjoying yourself Jaime? Lord Stark?”
Jaime glances at her, his expression still a bit guarded, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips at her excitement.
"I suppose I am," he replies, his tone light. "The festivities are... lively."
Ned Stark nods in agreement, a warm smile on his face as he regards both Jaime and his sister. “I am glad to hear you're enjoying yourself," he says, his voice warm. "It's been a long time since we've had such a joyous occasion here in Winterfell."
Jaime takes another sip of his wine, his gaze shifting between his sister and Robb, who are still standing side by side, their happiness almost palpable. "Indeed," he says, his tone dry. "It seems love is in the air tonight."
The youngsters glance at the other and laugh shyly, Jaime watches the interaction between the two. Ned Stark chuckles softly at the sight, his eyes crinkling in amusement.
"Ah, to be young and in love," he says, his voice laced with nostalgia. "It's truly a beautiful thing."
“Father?” Robb asks bashfully. “Did you come to an agreement with ser Jaime?”
Jaime turns his gaze to Robb, his expression schooled into a cool neutrality. He glances at Ned Stark, who nods slightly before speaking.
"Yes, we have reached an agreement," Ned says, his tone matter-of-fact. "Your betrothal to his sister is approved."
The older Lannister sees as both his sister and Robb light up in joy, their happiness and excitement almost tangible in the air. He can't help but feel a bittersweet pang. Marriage is a serious matter, and he knows all too well the weight of responsibility that comes with it. But seeing the joy on his sister's face, he can't help but feel a hint of relief that she's found someone who loves her and cares for her.
“Then Lord Stark, may I have this next dance with you as my future father in law?” (Y/N) asks nervously.
Ned Stark chuckles at her request and nods graciously. "Of course, my dear," he says, offering her a hand. "It would be my honor to dance with the woman who will be my future daughter in law."
Jaime stands beside Robb, his gaze following his sister and Ned Stark as they begin to dance. He takes a sip of his wine, his expression contemplative as he glances at the young Stark man beside him.
“Ser Jaime?” The younger Stark says hesitantly.
Jaime turns his gaze to Robb, his expression faintly curious. “Yes, Stark?" he responds, his tone guarded yet curious.
“Um... I know you have already agreed with my father, but I was hoping to have your blessing to marry your sister.”
Jaime raises an eyebrow at the young Stark's request, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He studies the earnestness in Robb's expression for a moment, weighing his response. He lets out a small sigh, his expression stern yet contemplative.
"You care for her, don't you?" he asks, his tone not confrontational, but measured.
“Yes, I do. She's like the moon and stars, lighting up my world that I didn't realize was so dark before her.”
Jaime's expression softens slightly at Robb's words, a hint of understanding in his eyes. He studies the young Stark man for another moment before speaking, his voice lower now, more serious.
"And what assurance do I have that you won't hurt her? That you won't break her heart?"
“I don't have much, I can only give my word and this,” he holds out a dagger to Jaime.
Jaime's eyes flicker down to the dagger that Robb is holding out, his expression unreadable. He glances back up at the young Stark man, his gaze searching and intense.
"And what is this, Stark? Some sort of token of your dedication to my sister?"
“For you to use,” Robb says matter of fact. “If you ever think I have hurt her or broken her heart, use this on me. Because I won't deserve to breathe if that ever happens.”
Jaime's eyes widen slightly at Robb's words, his expression a mix of surprise and respect. He gazes at the dagger in Robb's hand, his mind contemplating the weight of the young man's words. He reaches out and takes the dagger, turning it over in his hand for a moment before speaking his voice solemn and measured.
"This is an unusual request, Stark," he says, his tone not hostile, but wary. "You're asking me to condemn you to death if you ever betray my sister."
“Yes,” Robb says with a shrug. “Because nothing could be worse than betraying her and it seems like a fitting punishment.”
Jaime studies Robb for a moment, his gaze appraising and contemplating. He can see the sincerity and determination in the young man's eyes, and can't help but feel a small amount of respect for the boy’s dedication to his sister.
"You're a foolish, idealistic young man," he mutters, his tone more resigned than scolding. "But perhaps there's honor in foolishness." He glances down at the dagger in his hand, then back up at Robb.
“So would you, give me your blessing? (Y/N) loves you dearly and sees you not just as her brother but a father as well, so nothing would make her happier than knowing you approve.”
Jaime let out a small sigh, his expression shifting from stern to contemplative. He studies Robb for a moment, the young man's words sinking into his thoughts.
"You speak as if you know my sister better than myself, Stark," he says, his tone a mix of surprise and grudging respect. "But I suppose... that's not entirely inaccurate." He pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering to his sister, who is still dancing with Ned Stark on the dance floor, her expression radiant with happiness.
“No, I could never think to know her more than you,” Robb says. “You have been her protector through the worst of her days, I could only hope to be half that kind of protector for her.”
Jaime nods slowly, his expression thoughtful as he regards Robb. He can see the genuine admiration and respect in the young man's eyes, and can't help but feel a grudging trust.
"You speak with a level of confidence that's both admirable and irritating," he mutters, his tone gruff yet contemplative. "You make me almost believe that you're sincere in your devotion to her."
“No man could ever be good enough for her,” Robb says with a shake of his head, “but I would like to try.”
Jaime lets out a small scoff, "You have a talent for flattery, Stark," he mutters, his tone dry yet somewhat softened. "You're almost making me want to like you."
Robb laughs, “I believe the day that happens, Kings Landing will have frozen over.”
Jaime smirks at Robb's words, his expression amused despite himself. He can't help but acknowledge the young man's humor and confidence. "Truly, a cold day in hell," he responds, his tone now slightly playful. "But let's not get too ahead of ourselves, Stark. Just because I don't loathe you doesn't mean I necessarily like you either."
He glances out towards the dance floor, his gaze finding his sister as she continues to dance with Lord Stark. He watches her with a mix of caution and protectiveness. "My sister is fiercely intelligent, and possesses a strong will," he says, his tone more serious now. "You'd do well to remember that."
The younger Stark nods and a comfortable silence settles between the two.
Eventually the Lord Stark and (Y/N) return, both with jovial spirits. The younger Lannister reaches for her older brother’s hands.
“Come on Jaime, I waited best for last” she giggles. “Dance with me!”
Jaime lets himself be dragged by his younger sister, carefully leading her in a slow dance. “Here I thought that you would want to dance the night away with Robb,” he teases. “But you have only danced with the poor boy once.”
“I will have many more chances to dance with him, Jaime” she laughs. “I just want to enjoy the time I still have with you. Does that suit you? Or would you rather have the evening with many of the beautiful ladies here?”
“I am dancing with the most beautiful one tonight” Jaime says softly, “I think that there is no need to trouble anyone else.”
She smiles bashfully, “Thank you Jaime. For everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yes Jaime, everything” she explains. “You were always there. You saw to my needs, you explained things I never understood, you were patient with my eccentricities. You fought for my happiness and have done so for the majority of my life. I know that I was sired by Tywin Lannister, but in my heart, it is you.”
They stop in the middle of the crowd and she hugs him tightly, “My wonderful and loving older brother. It is you Jaime Lannister, that I see as a father, and I hope that you will do me the honor of giving me away.”
A knot gets stuck in his throat as Jaime holds onto his younger sister, “There is nothing I would love more” he whispers quietly.
He holds onto her tightly.
Just as he tries to hold onto the memory just as much a year later, when he is given the news of what becomes of his sweet beloved sister and her husband in the Riverlands in the midst of the War of the Five Kings.
Warnings: Incestuous themes, Attempted sexual assault, Emotional abuse, Obsessive behavior, Gaslighting, Trauma/PTSD, Familial conflict, Mentions of suicidal ideation, Power imbalance
Summary ~ The North rode to war. But not only for vengeance. For love. For a queen once sent away like a pawn, now a wolf in lion’s skin. At her side, a husband who would tear the world apart to protect her. Before her, a brother who would burn it all just to drag her home. The game of thrones had never seen such a reckoning.
Cersei Lannister had never known fear.
Not as a girl. Not as queen.
But the fear in her daughter’s eyes made something cold settle in her bones.
She had watched it build for years, subtly at first, too subtle to name. A stiffness in your shoulders when her son Joffrey entered the room. A flicker of dread when his voice rose. The way you flinched when his hand lingered too long on your wrist.
Joffrey adored you the way wildfire adored air, greedy, volatile, all-consuming. He followed you like a shadow, lashing out at anyone who dared steal your attention. Once, he threatened to have a maid whipped for gifting you a necklace he hadn’t chosen himself.
The day you were born, screaming beside him in the birthing bed, he’d reached for you with blood-slicked fingers and wrapped them tight around your wrist. Even then, especially then, he refused to let you go.
The maesters cooed. Inseparable already, they said. He’ll protect her.
Cersei had believed them. She’d thought it was beautiful.
Twins, just like her and Jaime , golden, perfect, entwined. She imagined you growing into mirrors of herself and her brother: two halves of a single will. Consuming, yes, but in a way that made you strong.
But Jaime’s love had steadied her.
Joffrey’s love unmade you.
Where Jaime made her feel chosen, Joffrey made you feel trapped.
As the children grew, so did the darkness in Joffrey’s gaze. He was a boy-king in waiting, and cruelty became his favorite toy. With you, his obsession sharpened, possessive, paranoid, unrelenting.
You tried to hide it. The fear, the discomfort, the quiet desperation. But you were your mother’s daughter. And Cersei had worn masks long enough to know when one was cracking.
One evening, she found you alone on the balcony of Maegor’s Holdfast, staring down at the jagged rocks below. You weren’t crying. You didn’t cry anymore.
She stepped beside you in silence.
“You fear him,” she said at last, barely above a whisper.
You didn’t answer. But your fingers tightened around the railing like it was the only thing anchoring you to the world.
Later that week, she hadn't meant to pass through the eastern corridor but something in her blood pulled her there. Near the old library, where the guards had grown sparse, she heard it.
“No. Joffrey, no please, I don’t want—”
Your voice muffled, breathless. Pleading.
Cersei’s blood froze.
She turned the corner and saw him.
Joffrey had you pinned against a stone pillar, one arm braced on either side of your head, his face far too close to yours. Your hands pressed weakly against his chest. The top of your dress was torn. He had begun unlacing his breeches.
His voice was low and vicious. “Stop pretending you don’t feel it too. We were born together. You’re mine. You always have been.”
“Joffrey, don’t—” Your voice cracked.
He grabbed your wrist.
Cersei moved. Instinct. Rage. Love.
“Let. Her. Go.”
It wasn’t a queens’s voice. It wasn’t even a mother's.
It was a lioness’s snarl.
Joffrey turned, startled, a boy caught with blood on his hands.
“She’s mine,” he said, almost bewildered. “She’s my twin—”
Cersei strode forward, seized his arm, and tore it from yours. Her other hand struck his face , sharp, fast, final.
He staggered back, more from shock than pain.
“You are her brother,” she hissed. “Act like it , or I will see you caged before your crown ever touches your brow.”
Cersei didn’t look at him again.
She took your hand and led you away.
When Robert summoned her days later, she didn’t send a servant in her place. She listened.
He was drunk, as always, slouched in his chair with wine in his beard. But there was clarity beneath the bloat, old ghosts stirring.
“I’ve been speaking with Ned,” he slurred. “He has a boy. Robb. Good lad. Strong. Quiet. Reminds me of Ned… back when we still had dreams.”
He drained his cup. “We should send our girl north. Make a match. Stark and Baratheon, bound just like we were supposed to just like Lyanna and i were spupposed to .”
Cersei said nothing.
Later, Jaime found her in her solar, standing at the window, Robert’s letter limp in her hand like venom.
“She’s not going,” she said before he could speak.
Jaime leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You haven’t told him that yet.”
Cersei turned, eyes sharp. “Told who?”
She played dumb. But they both knew who he meant.
Joffrey.
And the storm his fury would bring.
Jaime didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Cersei set the letter down like it might bite her.
“I think you should say yes,” Jaime said softly.
Silence.
The kind that cracked porcelain.
“You’d send her to wolves?” she hissed. “To snow and cold and Stark sons?”
“She won’t survive here,” Jaime said. Quiet. Steady. “Not if you keep pretending you don’t see it.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I see it,” she rasped.
“Then stop lying to yourself.”
She turned away. “She’s my daughter.”
“She’s our daughter.”
“And he’s our son!”
The words were louder than she meant. Louder than she could bear.
Jaime stepped toward her.
“I know he is.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if to keep something from spilling out.
“She was always his,” she whispered. “Even in the cradle. He’d reach for her first. Say her name before ‘mama’ or ‘papa.’ I thought it was sweet. I thought he’d protect her.”
“So did I.”
“I love him.”
“I know.”
“I love her.”
“I know that too.”
“He’ll hate me.”
“Let him.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Twins, like us. That’s what I told myself. I thought they’d be like us.”
Jaime’s expression darkened. “They aren’t like us.”
“No,” she said quietly. “We chose each other. Whatever else the world says, it was a choice. But he… he would’ve swallowed her whole.”
And it hurt.
Gods, it hurt.
To love two children born holding hands, and to tear them apart.
But what Joffrey felt wasn’t love.
It was hunger. Obsession.
And if left unchecked, it would devour you whole.
So Cersei said yes.
Tywin’s response was cold steel. The court whispered. But Cersei ignored them.
Only one voice mattered.
And it howled.
“She’s mine!” Joffrey shrieked. Eyes wide. Gleaming. Frantic. “You can’t send her away! She belongs here!”
“No,” Cersei said. “She belongs to herself.”
“She’s my twin!”
“She’s not your possession.”
“She needs me—”
“She needs to be free.” Her voice didn’t waver.
He looked at her like she’d stabbed him.
Maybe she had.
But she would not lose both her children to the sickness growing inside one.
The morning you left, the sky was steel-grey. You didn’t cry. You didn’t look back.
Cersei stood in the courtyard, her fingers white around her cloak.
Joffrey didn’t come down. But she knew where he was, behind a curtain, high in a tower, watching you disappear.
His face was pale.
His eyes were furious.
And something in him, deep, twisted, began to rot.
Cersei loves her son.
But she also loves you.
And she would not let her son destroy her daughter.
Pre-Season 1: Shame | Kingslayer | Balerion | Dreamer | Dorne | Tourney | The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships
Prologue
Season 1: Barbarians | An Hour or Two | Winterfell | Feasts | Proposal | Weirwoods | Labours | Aemon | Welcome | Secret Kiss | Two Weddings | Fall | Somber Goodbyes | Assassins | Broken Things | Anger | With Child | Allegiance | Kidnapping | March | The Twins | The King in the North | Dragons Reborn | Cross the Sea
Season 2: Jaime’s Silence | Renly | Another way | Parlay | Heir
ꫂ ၴႅၴ A story of gold, ghosts, and the lives she never got to keep
The Silvers Chronicles I - “a bride in silver chains”
A bride in silver chains description y/n Intro A Marriage of Silk, Duty and Slow Becoming, Jace x Y/n Variants Ser Caelan Rivers Y/n The Dreamer Who Remembers
The Golden Chronicles II - “a song of gold and grief”
A Song of Gold and Grief introduction Y/n’s Introduction Y/n and Mycrella Book! Robb x Book ! Y/n Character Inspo Elenya Waters Robb x Y/n Variants Alternate Face Claims The Twin Paradox Y/n & suitors Elenya Waters pt2 The sun and the tide Her Motifs The Young Wolf’s Blessing The Weight of Gentle Hands Haunting the Narrative
The Winter Chronicles III - “of winter roses and lions gold”
Of winter roses and lions gold description The Glass Garden Their Children The Pact of Winter and Gold Of wolves, lions, and little shadows
The Dynasty Chronicles IV - “dynasty of us”
The Starks The Lannisters The Scandal Her bag Y/n Baratheon Robb Stark Robb Stark x Y/n Baratheon
The ladies’s folly, the servants called it at first. Robb Stark called it a gift. Y/N simply called it hers.
Hidden behind frost-silvered hedges near the old godswood, the Glass Garden stood like something dreamed rather than built — a warm southern miracle tucked into the frozen heart of the North. From the outside, its curved panes shimmered beneath drifting snow, the glass forever misted with heat, glowing softly at dusk like a lantern buried in ice.
The northern lords thought it extravagant. The smallfolk thought it magical. Robb thought Y/N deserved every impossible thing the world could offer .And so he built it for her. Built for her during her first pregnancy when it started to become a bit difficult as Robb wanted something to cheer her up and see the smile he fell for.
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° Outside the Garden
› The path leading to it wound through the quieter side of Winterfell, past ancient stone walls dusted in snow and dark red weirwood roots twisting beneath the earth. In winter, the entrance looked almost abandoned: Frost climbed the iron arches like silver veins, Icicles hung from the roof edges like crystal daggers, Snow gathered thickly against the warm glass, melting slowly in glittering rivulets.
The wolves carved beside the doorway wore crowns of snow
At night, golden candlelight glowed through the frosted panes, making the entire structure appear enchanted — like some southern palace trapped inside a snowstorm.
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° Inside the Garden
› The moment the doors opened, warmth rushed forward like a sigh. The air smelled of: roses, damp earth, citrus, honeyed jasmine, faint perfume lingering on silk cushions
Snow fell silently beyond the glass ceiling while inside everything remained alive, blooming, impossibly soft.
The contrast was breathtaking.
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° The Roses
› The roses climbed pale stone walls in wild abundance: ivory roses from the Reach, deep crimson Dornish roses, soft pink varieties Y/N claimed “looked romantic enough for songs”, golden Lannister roses cultivated specially for her
They tangled around white trellises and curled across archways overhead, petals occasionally drifting down onto the pathways like colored snow.
Robb once joked:
“I think the flowers love you more than they love the sun.”
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° Jasmine and Lilies
› Near the eastern wall grew thick jasmine vines imported from the south at ridiculous expense.
The maester said they would never survive northern winters. Y/N stared at Robb until he bought heated pipes from Braavos anyway.
Now the jasmine bloomed year-round, climbing marble columns and filling the air with sweet fragrance.
White lilies floated in shallow pools nearby: moon lilies. tiger lilies, pale blue winter lilies specially bred for her
Their reflections shimmered in candlelight like stars trapped in water.
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° The Lemon Tress
› Perhaps the most ridiculous part of all.
Tiny lemon trees grew in enormous painted pots near the warmest side of the garden, stubbornly surviving against every natural law of the North.
The servants were deeply offended by them.
“Lemons. In Winterfell. Gods help us.”
But Y/N adored them.
In the dead of winter, she’d sit beneath their branches in silk gowns while snowstorms raged outside the glass. Sometimes she’d pluck lemons herself just to prove she could.
Robb watched her like she was the eighth wonder of the world every single time.
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° The Fountain
› At the heart of the garden stood the fountain.
White marble, carved with direwolves and climbing roses intertwined together. Water flowed constantly, warmed beneath the stone so it never froze.
Coins glittered at the bottom — wishes tossed in by servants and visiting ladies.
Y/N loved sitting there most: silk cushions piled around her, a book in her lap, Mittens curled beside her, candlelight reflecting gold against the water
Sometimes Robb would find her asleep there beneath the lantern glow, snow falling softly beyond the glass ceiling.
Those were his favorite moments.
Not court. Not victory. Not lordship. Just her.
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° The Butterflies
› Imported from the Free Cities.
Because apparently flowers alone were not enough insanity for the King and Queen of the North.
Delicate butterflies drifted lazily through the warm air: sapphire blue, gold-speckled white, black-winged velvet varieties from Lys
Sometimes they landed in Y/N’s hair while she read. The northern servants became convinced she was secretly part fae.
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° Strwaberries in Winterfell
› The greatest scandal in the North.
A heated stone bed near the fountain grew strawberries year-round: tiny wild northern berries, larger sweet southern strawberries, cream-colored alpine varieties
The cooks nearly fainted the first time Y/N requested:
“Fresh strawberries and sweet cream. It’s snowing today, and I’m feeling melancholy.”
Robb made it happen within the hour. Because of course he did.
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° Robb’s and Y/n’s Favorite place
› Robb Stark had imported half the realm to make it happen. Gardeners from Highgarden. Glassworkers from Myr. Seeds from Dorne. Soil warmed by redirected hot spring channels beneath the stone.
All for her. Because once, not long after their marriage, Y/N had stood beside a frosted Winterfell window and whispered softly:
“It’s beautiful here. But I miss flowers.” That was all it took. And so Robb built her spring.
It became his greatest pride — though he’d shrug awkwardly when praised for it, ears reddening while Y/N laughed beside him. But everyone knew. Lords knew. Servants knew. Even old Nan knew.
The Young Wolf loved his lady so fiercely he bent winter itself for her.
Most mornings, Y/N could be found there long before court began, seated among silk cushions with her skirts spilling around her like poured cream. Sometimes she read while little hands tugged at her sleeves, their children chasing butterflies between rose bushes. Other days she tended the flowers herself despite the gardeners’ protests, fingertips stained faintly green, smiling softly as she trimmed dying petals.
She said touching living things calmed her.
And Robb? Gods, Robb was always looking for her there. After council meetings. After training. After long rides. He’d step through the glass doors still smelling of snow and leather, only to stop the moment he saw her.
Sometimes she’d be kneeling beside the fountain, sunlight spilling across her golden hair while one of the children sat in her lap. Sometimes she’d simply be resting beneath the lemon trees with her eyes half closed, peaceful in a way she rarely was anywhere else.
That sight alone could undo him. There were days when he said nothing at all — only crossed the garden quietly and kissed the top of her head before sitting beside her.
And the children learned quickly:
when Father came looking for Mother, he would always find her among the flowers. 🌹
──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ────
⋆˚✿˖° At Night
› At night, the entire garden transformed.
Tiny lanterns suspended from iron hooks glowed warm gold above the pathways, reflecting endlessly in the glass ceiling. The roses cast long shadows across pale stone while outside the snowstorm raged in silence.
It felt less like Winterfell and more like stepping into someone’s dream.
Couples whispered there. Children played there. Songs were written there.
And sometimes, very late at night, the warden of winterfell would sit with his wife beside the fountain while the world beyond the glass froze solid — holding her hand like he still could not believe she was truly his.
Marriage was often used as a tool of convenience - be it to upgrade one's own social status, get some much needed silver and gold, or to just get one leg up over your enemies, it really did not matter in the end.
Like it or not, you were tied to that person till death did you part.
That was a chant that has been sung to you ever since you came out of your weeping mother's womb. As the daughter of the household, it was natural for you to wed one day. However, the family was one of average standing, it had no special titles tacked onto it nor did it have any grotesque reputation which could sully it to the darkness and back. In its own way, it was oddly blissful, being invisible like that. No one expected you to act like a stuck up lady who would be locked away deep in a tower and you were also safe from becoming a measley wench who would be forced to spend the rest of her miserable days stuck rolling around in the mud, selling her body to all sorts of horrific strangers just in order to eat for a day.
You had the privilege of being born into a happy life. Perhaps a slightly dull one sometimes but regardless, a good one at that. You were content with everything which was given to you, perhaps even happy.
However, all things come to an end, and your end came in the form of a man riding on horseback.
He was strong, capable, handsome... But you kept that thought to yourself as you helped the wounded stranger get back on his feet, his midnight black steed happily trotting away somewhere as it accidentally shook the rider off its back once it locked eyes on you, a stranger in the woods.
"And who might you be?" asked the dark haired man, his curly hair framing his pale face so wonderfully that it took the breath from your lungs away.
You held onto him tightly and pressed him close to your body, the odor of blood and sweat covering him from top to bottom but you couldn't be bothered to care. He wore simple clothing which made you think that he was in a similar position like yourself in terms of finance, which gave you a slight glimmer of hope.
It was embarrassing how much you were swooning over the stranger.
Taking him back to your hut took longer than expected but all was well in the end. The handsome stranger had a name, Robb he said it was, and you couldn't hide the adoration in your voice whenever he would speak to you. The night flew by like a summer breeze - too fast and too sweet. Come first daylight he had to leave, which you understood.
That didn't stop you from feeling a little blue.
He mounted his horse like a knight in shining armor, its mane tussling proudly in the bitter north wind as Robb looked down at you, his warm blue eyes desperate to tell you many stories and secrets, but time was cruel and scarce.
He would come back to you, he promised.
And you gave him a smile sweeter than any juicy fruit, telling him that you would gladly wait for him.
He rode away all the while looking back at you, sending you a heart stopping smile which could make anyone weak in the knees. The horse left large hoofprints in the snow and you focused your attention on that, rather than the bitter stabs of pain in your heart.
There would never be a day when you'd see Robb ever again.
You were due to leave for the South in a few weeks time, in order to finally be wed off. The fantasy of Robb was saccharine and enchanting, many hours of sleep were lost due to him. Even if you barely knew him, the matters of the heart were reckless and stupid.
The heart wants what it wants and your heart ached for Robb.
All the while, you hadn't a clue of him and his plans. The men in Winterfell grew tired of his constant ramblings of this lovely woman he met, this sweet little thing which made his heart sing like no one else. He would walk in the corridors with a pep in his step as he thought of all the ways he could take you back to his home and give you the life you deserved.
His candied tirade quickly came to an abrupt halt once his mother had informed him of the grave news, that you had been promised to another man.
Robb was furious.
Who was this man?! Who did he think he is?! Ever the meticulous man, he got to work immediately. In less than a few days he had managed to gather all the information he could on this mystery fiance of yours, all the papers sprawled across his massive table. The candles in his chambers glimmered gently, the shimmering light a stark contrast to the raging flames in his heart.
If he could have his way, he'd be out for blood. Robb was too much of a jealous man for his own good but he needed to think, he needed to prepare if he wanted to do this right.
In less than a day, he had everything set up. If the man wasn't willing to take the gold he was offering him, he was not above using any scare tactics. His anger ended up getting the better of him though, so a bizarre combination of both was used.
The way in which your fiance left you made your heart sink. How were you going to break the news to your parents? Whatever could you have done so wrong to earn the ire of this lord whom you haven't even met yet...
You weep in your room, staining the mattress with your salty tears, completely oblivious to the small cavalry with House Stark banners raging on your front door.
Robb Stark had come for his bride. And she had no idea what sort of future awaited her...
robb stark being rumored to turn into a giant wolf at will. words go far and wide about his fierceness in battle that even the woman he's going to be betrothed to starts believing them to be true.
it's an arranged affair, of course, right after the war is won and the king in the north needs to take a wife to settle down in his new role.
you're apprehensive of him.
it's been a few moons, and not once have you seen your husband take the shape of a wolf, even if, in your heart, you fiercely believe it to be so.
you ask him one night, brows furrowed and hands clasped in your lap, if the rumors are to be believed, if the small folk speak truth when they talk of his legends.
he only laughs quietly, head tilting in a way that makes the hairs at your nape rise, prickling your skin.
"you should not believe every little tale the small folk are spewing, my lady," he placates you softly afterwards, the same roguish smile onto his lips, one warm hand patting yours for a few moments as if to seal the truth in his words and put an end to the conversation.
you chose to believe him.
after all, there has never been a man who could turn into an animal at will. it must all be legends and fairy tales that the people have warmed themselves with as the war waged on for so long.
for a little while, it escapes your mind altogether. you have other things that demand your attention, such as getting used to the cold of the north, to married life, and to new traditions and laws of the new place you have been chosen to rule alongside robb.
but one night, when the moon is full in the dark sky, and you're by yourself wandering near the gods wood, in need of air and a bit of solitude, you feel... unnerved.
like an itch under your skin that you cannot scratch, a warmth blooming in the pit of your stomach that makes you shuffle onto your feet as you stay near the weirwood tree, looking around for... something.
a twig snaps in the distance, and you feel your heart in your throat, hands pressed to your chest, over your beating heart.
thump, thump, thump.
loud and almost deafening in your ears as you look around, trying to calm your breaths, frantic and misty in the cold northern air.
there is nothing amiss... until a pair of bright, piercing blue eyes blink slowly from between the bushes.
you gasp loudly, one foot already stepping back, before you come to your senses, letting out a soft, relieved breath.
what has gotten into you? that must be grey wind, still prowling around the woods, even in the dead of night.
───────────────────────────────────
a/n: i've wanted to write a wolf robb piece for SO LONG and never had the guts to sit down and write it. this is just a small little snippet to see if people fw it!! it's vague and short since im still dabbling with the idea
will robb eat his newly betrothed wife if i decide to go along with it? yes! but not in the literal way
it's been so long since ive wrote something im rusty but asoiaf captivated me enough to let my freak run free
saw your request were open so here i go!
okay how about a tyrell!reader complaining about not being wear any of her clothes from highgarden(i guess like whatever margery wears in the show) with any of the northern men
SILKS, SATIN, AND MORE SILKS
— ROBB STARK ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
summary: it’s way too cold for you to wear your clothes from home at winterfell
content: fluff, Tyrell!reader
notes: finally answering asoiaf requests… it’s been a minute lads.
Robb should have known something was wrong the moment Grey Wind refused to enter the room.
The direwolf had followed him all the way through the corridor, only to stop abruptly at the doorway, ears flattening as he peered inside.
Robb frowned. “What are you..?”
Then he stepped into the chambers himself and understood immediately.
The room looked less like Winterfell and more like someone had stolen a piece of summer and scattered it across the bed.
Silks overflowed in soft rivers over heavy Northern furs. Gold jewelry glittered beside candles. Thin fabrics in rose pinks and pale greens lay carefully unfolded as though they had been handled a hundred times already tonight.
And there you sat in the middle of it all looking deeply, deeply miserable.
Robb closed the door quietly behind him.
“You’ve been hiding all this?”
You glanced up briefly before looking back down at the dress in your hands. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“No.”
“Wise.”
He crossed the room slowly, undoing his gloves. Snow melted from his boots onto the stone floor as he approached the bed.
“I thought those trunks only held books.”
“I wanted them to hold books.” You sighed dramatically.
Robb snorted softly despite himself.
Then he picked up the nearest dress.
Or tried to.
The thing nearly slipped straight through his fingers.
“What is this made from?” he asked suspiciously.
“Silk.”
“It’s practically see through, that can’t be right.”
“It is right, you’re just northern.”
“It feels like one sharp branch would destroy it.”
“That is because you live surrounded by sharp branches.”
You finally smiled a little at your own joke, and Robb relaxed slightly at the sight of it.
Still, he could tell something sat heavy beneath the teasing.
He sat beside you, carefully moving aside a pale gold gown. “Tell me.”
You were quiet for a moment.
“I miss home.”
The words came so softly he almost missed them beneath the crackling fire.
You swallowed once before continuing.
“I miss the heat. I miss open windows and flowers everywhere and not feeling cold every second of every day.” Your fingers traced absentmindedly over embroidered roses stitched into one of the sleeves. “I miss colour.”
Robb blinked.
“There is colour here.”
“There are three colours here, Robb. White snow. Grey stone. Brown fur.”
“We also have navy blues.”
“How generous.”
That earned a laugh from him.
But your eyes were still sad.
“I know it sounds ridiculous,” you murmured. “They’re only dresses.”
“They’re not only dresses to you.”
You looked at him then, surprised by how quickly he understood.
“In Highgarden…” you hesitated, searching for the words. “Everything was beautiful all the time. Music during supper. Roses climbing walls. Gold banners in the wind. We dressed for celebrations even when there was no celebration at all.” You gave a small smile. “Margaery used to say beauty itself was a kind of power.”
Robb glanced down at the gowns spread around you.
And suddenly he understood why these mattered.
Before he could say anything else, you stood abruptly with a dress gathered in your arms.
“You know what the true tragedy is?”
“What?”
“You have never seen any of these on.”
Something about your tone made him wary immediately.
“Should I be concerned?”
“Maybeee.”
Then you vanished behind the privacy screen.
Robb leaned back against the bedpost slowly.
“I’m beginning to dislike that answer.”
“You’ll survive.”
There was rustling fabric behind the screen.
Then silence.
“You truly thought Northern dresses were fashionable?”
“They are warm.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I think it should count for something.”
“It counts for nothing.”
Robb grinned despite himself.
Then you stepped out from behind the screen and every thought in his head vanished.
The gown was deep green silk that clung softly at the waist before flowing down in layered skirts. Gold threading curled along the fabric like vines. The neckline dipped low enough that Robb immediately looked away,
and then immediately looked back.
You noticed at once.
“Oh?” you said innocently. “Your opinion seems to have changed.”
Robb cleared his throat. “It is…different.”
“Different good or different bad?”
“…oh you know, different.”
Your grin widened.
And that was only the beginning.
The next dress was pale blue with sheer sleeves and an open back tied together with ribbons.
The one after that had tiny pearls stitched into the bodice.
The dress that followed was practically see through.
And every single one seemed designed specifically to torture Northern men.
By the fifth gown Robb had abandoned all attempts at dignity.
You stepped out wearing soft cream silk, the fabric wrapped elegantly around your body with golden straps crossing your waist.
Almost all of your sides were bare.
The only “real” coverage sitting atop your breasts.
Robb stared.
Actually stared.
You tilted your head. “Well?”
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
“That,” he finally managed weakly, “cannot possibly be all of the dress.”
You burst into laughter.
“It is absolutely all of the dress.”
“There are holes in it.”
“They are cut-outs.”
“It looks unfinished.”
“It is fashion.”
“You are barely wearing anything.”
You spun once slowly just to make matters infinitely worse.
The gold chains at your waist glimmered in the firelight.
Robb looked genuinely distressed now.
“People saw you in this?”
“Yes.”
“Outside?”
“Yes.”
“In public?”
You laughed harder. “Robb, you look horrified.”
“I am horrified.”
“You’re blushing.”
“It is warm in here.”
“You live in the North. You don’t know what warm is.”
Gods, you were enjoying this now.
The earlier sadness had melted completely into amusement as you walked closer, watching him struggle.
“You know,” you said thoughtfully, “my cousins used to complain this one was too modest.”
Robb made a noise somewhere between disbelief and suffering.
“Too modest?”
“Yes.”
“Your family allowed this?”
“My grandmother encouraged it.”
“That explains quite a lot about the South.”
You were close enough now that he could see the tiny gold flowers woven into the straps around your waist.
And Robb suddenly realised something deeply unfair.
You were completely unaware of what you were doing to him.
To you, these dresses were normal.
To Robb Stark, who had spent most of his life surrounded by wool and fur and practical Northern modesty, this felt like warfare.
You touched one of the embroidered straps lightly. “This one was for summer feasts.”
“Mm.”
“You’re not listening anymore.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’ve failed.”
Completely.
You laughed again and turned to grab another gown, only for Robb’s hand to catch lightly around your wrist before you could disappear behind the screen again.
You glanced back at him.
His eyes flicked over the dress once more before settling reluctantly on your face.
“I think,” he said carefully, “that perhaps the North has been depriving me.”
Your smile turned softer at the edges.
“Oh?”
“I did not realise Southern fashion involved so little actual fabric.”
“It involves confidence.”
“It involves distraction.”
“You dislike it, then?”
Robb looked at you for a long moment.
“I think if you walked into court wearing that, none of my bannermen would hear a single word I said ever again.”
You laughed so suddenly you nearly doubled over.
And Robb found himself laughing too, mostly because he loved hearing that sound from you again.
The room no longer felt sad now.
It felt warm.
Like maybe a little piece of Highgarden had finally reached Winterfell after all.
You squeezed his hand lightly. “Perhaps we should take a trip South someday.”
Robb’s eyes drifted once more to the silk wrapped around your waist.
“Yes,” he said immediately.
Far too quickly.
Your eyebrows lifted knowingly.
And for the first time all evening, Robb Stark looked genuinely embarrassed.
