Well, this fic was supposed to be posted in January, but it took quite a bit of work to sort out some loose ends, and I’m sure that as I keep writing, I’ll find even more things to fix 😅
Buuut, it’s finally published, and I hope you enjoy it. Chapter 1 is HERE!
Imagine a world in which Ned Stark never discovered the truth about Robert Baratheon’s children. A world in which Bran never saw Cersei and Jaime together, was never pushed from a tower, and the Starks were able to live for years in something close to a fairy tale in King’s Landing.
Meanwhile, in the North, Jon Snow’s story followed the same path it always had.
While his family flourished in the South, Jon died at the Wall — and came back. Resurrected, he finally learns the truth about his parentage and decides to claim everything that was denied to him, everything that is his by right.
Now, Ned Stark may choose honesty and offer his support to the son he kept at a distance for so long. But Jon is not willing to trust those he once called family so easily. To believe in them again, he will demand a high price.
A trope that involves the classic narrative of a foretold saviour, one that has been singled out by prophecy or destiny, with the intention to bring peace and liberation, but the very forces that elevate them also isolate and distort them. Whether it's overwhelming power, deep personal loss, or the desire for freedom, they fulfil their role in a way that becomes catastrophic. This trope is marked by the character often believing they are still saving the world.
Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars) / Paul Atreides (Dune) / Eren Yeager (Attack on Titan) / Daenerys Targaryen (A Song of Ice and Fire)
tumblr seriously needs to stop fucking changing things all the time. if we wanted a modern site we'd go literally anywhere else. we are here because we hate change and live in the past and that should be respected.
“I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell.”
“You are the blood of Winterfell and a man of the Night's Watch."
I was surprised when I discovered how popular Sansa was on Ao3 and Tumbrl, but it makes perfect sense. Young women who enjoy fantasy identify with a young woman who enjoys fantasy. She's just like us fr
1. from the Sanskrit word "shansa" (pronounced Shun-sa) - meaning Praise or Glory
2. from "sansone", the Italian variation of the Hebrew Samson (pronounced San-Soh-ne) - meaning Sun or Sun-like or Child of the Sun, which is very interesting to me given
+ how she's linked to the Sun in the sun-moon allegory for the stark sisters
+ how her alias "Alayne" is a variation of Elaine/Helene which means "shining light" or "bright one" or "radiant" related to the root word "elē" meaning "sun ray"
Down South the leaves would have barely begun to brown, but here in the North they’re red, golden, falling by the hundreds. When he’d awakened that morning there was frost on the grass.
He’d expected a few more weeks to find a job. Now, he wasn’t entirely certain what he’d be doing or how’d he survive. There was a field of pumpkins he passed yesterday, and he was so dadgum hungry, he’d nearly tried to eat one, only he figured it might be worse to be sick than hungry.
He ducked between some barbed wire fencing to step onto the road. He’d try to find a town and see if there was an odd job or two he could take. He’d just reached a field of shriveled corn stalks when a raven caw-cawed from a tree, startling a flock of crows form the fields to the skies. Their wings beating against it as if they’d like to tear it down around his ears.
He lifted his worn cowboy hat and tried to see the danged bird, and could only blame himself when it swooped down at him. Flapping his hat at it didn’t dissuade it none. It kept squabbling even as Jon trudged on. Never particularly cared for birds. He scratched at the thick scars slashed through his eyebrow. Nope, hadn’t any use for ‘em at all. His eye caught a flash of red, auburn hair, on a boy sitting in a motionless rocking chair.
He’d assumed the dilapidated house was abandoned, but there was the boy, eyes intently watching him. By the looks of it, they had nothing to spare themselves, who ever lived there, but it had beens days since he’d eaten and who knew how long ‘til he found a town.
“Hiya!” He shouted more friendly than he felt.
The boy did not speak, merely sat somber and still as a judge.
Suddenly, from around the corner of the house a little girl ran to stand between him and the porch, her small hands on her hips. “We don’t take to strangers, you can go on and git!”
There was motion in the house too, a woman just behind the dented screen on the door. “Go back to the chickens, Arya. Collect the eggs for breakfast.”
Arya must be the girl, the girl who obviously never did anything she didn’t want as she stomped up the steps and plopped herself down. No intention of heeding a command.
He hesitated, the mention of breakfast couldn’t be ignored. “Ma’m, ain’t want no trouble, but I thought you might have a chore I could handle for ya. In exchange for an egg or two.”
“You didn’t come because of the advertisement?”
“No’m, can’t say as I’ve seen a paper anytime recent.”
The woman stepped out onto the porch, and if he wasn’t so preoccupied with the sick sensation in his stomach and his aching, cold feet, he might have been a little lost in the brilliant blue of her eyes. Kind eyes. She looked at him as if he weren’t no trouble, when for as long as he could recall, that’s all he’d ever been.
He fumbled quickly for his hat and clasped it to his chest, waited. He could smell something awful good coming from the kitchen, coffee too.
“As it happens,” the beauty said after one long moment of silent consideration, “I do have something you could help me with.”
“I killed a man” the little girl blurted out. She had pulled a knife from the pocket of her overalls and instead of whittling, she balanced it perfectly on her finger. “Didn’t like the way he looked at my sister.”
“You hush. Don’t mind her. She’s just a child. You know how they can be.”
“Can’t say I do.“
“What’s your name?” Asked Arya.
“Jon.”
“What’s the whole name?” She insisted, now tossing her knife between her hands.
“Ain’t got another. Only the one.” He shifted his feet.
“In the North we call bastards Snow.” She offered helpfully.
“You can call me that iffen you want.”
At last he was rescued by the lady with the kind eyes and gentle voice.
“We’ll call you Jon. No need to stand on formalities. Bran,” she indicated the boy. Must be her brother he figured, she wasn’t old enough to be his mother.
“Arya.”
The small girl, well, it may have been a smile, but he rather thought it resembled a grimace, no, ain’t that neither. An animal bearing his fangs, a dog, no, a wolf.
“—and I’m Sansa.”
“That’s a pretty name,” Jon blurted out without thinking. Then blushed. He never complimented a girl in his life before. Bein’ ‘lone in the woods had him acting peculiar ‘round folks. Must be that.
Arya guffawed, went off in over exaggerated whoops, and left him to his recriminations. Making a fool of himself had one benefit then. The little one no longer thought him a threat.
Sansa blushed prettily at his words. He bet she did just about everything pretty. His heart beat rapidly against his chest. Must be not havin’ eaten fer so long.
“Come and have breakfast. Eat first, then I’ll—well, I’ll explain.”
She disappeared into the house, and Jon aimed to follow, took the steps in one long stride, but the boy, Bran, silently proffered a newspaper. Jon hesitated then took it, thinking to find the ad Sansa had mentioned.
As he scanned the inked pages, wings beat the air and his raven friend from the road abruptly settled on the back of Bran’s chair, rocking it to and fro in a slow, ominous rhythm.
The bird made a low trill deep in his throat.
Bran never took his eyes off him.
Jon traced his finger down the print searching for anything that might possibly be what Sansa had referred to, until there, buried deep in the wanted section in tiny type, it said, clear as day, although he blinked a few times to make sure he didn’t imagine the words:
jbbartram-illu
blakekathryn
2087
origamiaround
vaporwave
andulkaphoto
