#asoiaf x reader

[sparrowwithaquill]

And if I imply that the how to train your dragons, dragons existed in my Elf!Reader x A knight of the seven kingdoms universe existed but are now extinct what then who will judge me

[yonaona]

can you do a sunshine reader w like grumpy book jon snow? thanks

ᥫ᭡ˑ𓂃ᵃ ˡᵉᵐᵒⁿ ᶜᵘᵖᶜᵃᵏᵉ

𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗃𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋.

cw: femreader,it's rlly short lmao,it takes place during got.

The cold of Winterfell had never felt as heavy to you as that afternoon, but the atmosphere in the great hall was a thousand times worse. The servants ran from one side to the other preparing everything for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon, and the other important lords strutted about showing off their fine furs and their grand stories of exploits. Overwhelmed by all the bustle, you decided to escape to the armory, seeking a bit of peace.

As you entered, the golden light of dusk barely illuminated the practice swords. And there he was.Jon was sitting on a wooden bench, furiously cleaning the blade of a greatsword with an oiled rag. His brow was so furrowed it seemed as though the steel had personally offended him.

"If you keep rubbing it with that much rage, you're going to wear down the metal before the king sets foot in the yard," you said, leaning against the doorframe with a playful smile.

Jon didn't even look up, though the muscle in his jaw tightened.

"It's a steel greatsword, not a lace jewel. It's not going to break," he replied, his voice laced with that dry sarcasm that characterized him so well.

"Shouldn't you be in the hall learning to embroider or listening to the exaggerated stories of the southern knights?"

"How kind of you to worry about my education, Lord Snow," you laughed, taking a few steps toward him without letting his gruff tone intimidate you. "But the hall smells of sour wine and men's vanity. I prefer the scent of pine... and a grumpy bastard."

Jon stopped the rag. He lifted his grey eyes —those Stark eyes so dark they almost looked like shadows— and stared at you. Inside, his mind was chaos: Why does she have to smile like that? Doesn't she see that I have no place at this feast, that to everyone here I'm just a nuisance? But on the outside, he only managed a snort.

"I'm not a lord. And I'm not in the mood for your games," he spoke.

"I noticed that as soon as I walked through the door," you said lightly. You reached into the pocket of your dress and pulled out a small cloth bundle. "I brought you a prize for your hard work of frowning."

You walked over and sat right next to him on the wooden bench. Without asking permission, you took the rag from his hand and placed in his palm a warm lemon tart, freshly stolen from the kitchens.

"Sansa helped me steal it, though she took most of it," you spoke, almost whispering — it was better that no one heard about the altercation you'd caused alongside the sweet Stark

.Jon looked at the tart as if it were a dangerous artifact.

"Maester Luwin would say you're encouraging indiscipline in the castle."

"And I say Maester Luwin doesn't know what's good," you spoke, your voice soft but without losing its spirit. "Eat, Jon. Or I'll have to eat it myself, and I swear I fought three cooks to get it," you added.

Jon let out a tired sigh, but for the first time all day, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. He brought the tart to his mouth and took a bite. The sweet and tangy flavor broke through the bitterness he'd been chewing on all afternoon.

"It's good," he admitted reluctantly, glancing sideways at how you smiled victoriously.

"I knew it. See? It doesn't hurt to stop being a bitter crow for five minutes."

"I'm not a crow," he murmured, though a small curve, almost invisible, threatened to appear at the corner of his lips.

"Not yet."

"But you smile like one," you teased, giving him a gentle nudge with your shoulder.Jon shook his head, but the stiffness in his posture finally gave way.

He looked at the empty cloth in his hand and then at you, with that deep gaze that seemed to measure every one of your gestures. "Thank you," he murmured. The word came out clumsy, almost rusty, but for the first time all day, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift.

.˚೯a/n:helloo friends, ty for the request and sry I answered so late, my brain was empty but I didn't wanna ignore it jks, hope you enjoy, it's short and basic but I did what I could,might make a part 2 to this, longer and better hopefully 😞

me writing this rn

[yonaona]

◟˚𖥻 ๑ ‧. ᴀsᴏɪᴀғ ᴍásᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ.

๑ ‧˚ ◟¡!𝐵𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝐽𝑜𝑛 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤.

◟𝘔á𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵.

๑ ‧˚ ◟¡! 𝐶𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑘.

◟𝘔á𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 .

๑ ‧˚ ◟¡!𝐵𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑏 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑘.

◟𝘔á𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 .

[yonaona]

𐔌 ⠀ 𓂃 ࣪ ִ. ¡! 𝐵𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝐽𝑜𝑛 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑚á𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

୨୧￤A little help.

You help Jon with an injury, plus you're a girl in the Night's Watch passing yourself off as a boy.

୨୧￤Goodbyes and promises.

the night's watch leaves for the expedition, but you stay behind, and you have one last conversation with jon before he leaves. (this is part 2 of the first one)

୨୧￤Jon braiding your hair.

Jon braids your hair bc you have to hide it, this one's also part of the same series as the ones above.

୨୧￤You teach him how to dance.

You teach him how to dance, plus Robb's there too jsks.

୨୧￤You hid in the armory to play with swords and someone finds you

You're the daughter of Stannis Baratheon.

୨୧￤A lemon cupcake

[lionsandlilies]

℘ Sansa Stark ℘

“A lady may bend without breaking. Even the strongest trees bow when the winter winds come.”

── .✦ Sansa Stark (285 AC–?), eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully, was the second child of Winterfell and the sister of Robb Stark. Raised among songs, courtesy, and the old tales of knights, she dreamed of a life of courtly splendor before learning that pretty songs seldom tell the whole truth. Though gentle by nature, Sansa possessed a quiet strength and a keen understanding of people, learned through years spent among enemies. Those who mistook her courtesy for weakness often lived to regret it.

[coreofgenesis]

'The knight, faceless, nameless . . .'

- pairing; ser duncan the tall x fem!knight!reader

- A/N; I'm NOT an ASOIAF writer. I just... I'm really fond of Dunk, okay? and the idea of being one of the knights to fight with him during his trial... it's not a hesr me out. it's a HOLD ME BACK. I do not know anything about AKOTSK, I just liked the show. forgive me for inaccuracies, I am but a loser :,)

Duncan is short one knight in the Trial of Seven. Prince Baelor Targaryen and ser Lyonel Baratheon were most honorable and quickly took his side, as did ser Fossoway (who was knighted by the Laughing Storm right in the mud) and the Humfreys. But this is a Trial of Seven - and they were only six.

Until a knight clad in light armor riding a mare dark as coal entered the scene. He was intimidating, borderline terrifying; the soldier was no taller than Aerion, perhaps even shorter, but his commanding aura straightened the backs of all who witnessed. His armor wasn't meant for tanking heavy blows, more built to allow for speed and agility. The metal wasn't pristine, darkened and sullied by time and what was probably remnants of his past victims. The knight wore a helm with a thin slit at the sockets so that only his eyes were visible, darkned by the black of ashes. He spoke not, barely offered a glance at Duncan and his men. Simply strode on his steed at their side, as silent display of loyalty.

The battle goes as well as you'd expect - which is not very good. There is blood, screams from both the crowd and the warriors they were cheering for, the wails of horses being battered and swords making contact with shields and breastplates.

Duncan may be 'as thick as a castle wall', but he is not blind; the faceless knight is a capable fighter. His movements are not those of a man built with brute strength in mind. He is swift, dodging blades and sticking weaks points from within his enemy's blind spots. A skilled, smart warrior.

The turning point in the battle is whenever the nameless one is ambushed by the opposing Fossoway. A hand clamps around the edge of his helm, tugging until it falls from his head and right into the mud below. Just as it does, Steffon attempts to land a direct hit to his jaw, but stops midway.

Underneath the helm is no knight, no warrior, no soldier. Not the face of a young squire nor a rugged, bearded man...

It is a woman.

A woman who's hair is neatly braided into a hairstyle one might see on a northern Shield Maiden. Her eyes are painted black with ash, and her gaze is set into a frightening glare at the man who revealed her identity. She isn't pretty like the ladies of court, no. She is undoubtedly human. There are no earrings on her lobes and her face is dirtied and bruised from combat, yet she looks like a dream. A very angry, very agitated dream. In his bewilderment, Steffon freezes at an unfortunate time, and it gives the woman time to violently smash her forehead into his nose. It immediately pours blood from both nostrils, and he falls to the ground, wailing.

Gods be good. Duncan has never seen a creature so beautiful, surrounded by the grime and dirt and gore. The sky's dimmed light frames her body like it would an angel coming to cross him over. She is ethereal. He could stare at her picturesque features for moons.

Until Duncan is knocked back to his sense by prince Aerion Targaryen tackling him.

Ah, right.

Defeat Aerion Targaryen, first. Kiss the hand of the stunning goddess warrior woman, second.

But... now that a beautiful lady is watching him and expecting him to win, Duncan feels a newfound spark in his chest ignite. Do right by her. Prove that you are strong. (and also that you'd make a great husband.)

I promise I'm still working on my main projects I just had this on my mind and I needed to let it out. Thank you for indulging me.

[yonaona]

𐔌 . ՞ You hid in the armory to play with swords and someone finds you.

cw: fem Baratheon reader!,book version Jon Snow!, Jon is a bit insufferable,reader is arrogant and kind of spoiled jsks, kinda short, Jon is a bit OOC but idk, it's a fic.

a/n: first time writing something from Jon's perspective, hope you like it, this was one of those other silly and childish ideas I had jssk, don't forget you can send in your requests jsjks, for whatever characters you want by the way

Jon Snow had seen many strange things since he arrived at the Wall.

He had seen one of those things they call the Others. He had seen the wildlings attack with desperate fury. He had seen Stannis Baratheon, the king who was no king, burn his own men in the name of a fire god.But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared him for this.

What in the seven hells is she doing?

He stopped at the threshold of the armory, his hand still resting on the wooden frame, and blinked twice to make sure what he was seeing was real.

You were in the middle of the room, sword raised high, wearing that luxurious yellow and black dress, with an expression of concentration so intense you looked like you were solving the riddle of the white walkers. But no. You were trying to do something. Something that involved spinning, jumping, and striking all at once.

The first attempt was... pathetic.Pathetic is an understatement, Jon thought, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his arms. Like a fawn trying to dance.You spun, jumped, and the slash went so wide you almost cut your own foot.

The sword got tangled in your dress and you nearly fell flat on your face. You recovered with forced dignity, frowned, and tried again.

Jon stood still.

He didn't even breathe loudly.

If she doesn't notice I'm here, maybe I can see how long it takes her to give up.

But you didn't give up.

He never thought he'd see the future possible heir to the Seven Kingdoms doing that kind of thing.

The second attempt was worse than the first. The third, a disaster. On the fourth, you almost hit a lantern hanging from the ceiling. On the fifth, you got tangled in your own cloak and had to stop to untangle yourself.

Jon sat down on an empty beer barrel. He didn't know why he was staying. He should have grabbed the sharpening stone and left. There were things to do. Reports to read. Problems to solve. He was the Lord Commander; he couldn't afford to waste time like this.

But he didn't move.

She's Stannis's daughter, he reminded himself. The princess who looks down on everyone. The one always trailing after the red woman like a little puppy. The one who made a scene last week because the blue dress didn't fit right.

And yet, there you were. Spinning. Falling. Cursing under your breath.

Trying the same move over and over, as if your life depended on it.The sixth attempt. The seventh. The eighth.

Jon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. She's not bad. He didn't want to admit it, but it was true. You were clumsy, yes. Uncoordinated, too. But there was something in the way you didn't give up, in the way you clenched your jaw and tried again no matter how many times you failed, that reminded him of someone.

Of Arya.

His sister used to do the same thing. Fall again and again, get up, and try again. With the same stubbornness. With the same look of "I can do this, and no one's going to stop me."

Jon felt a tug in his chest. Don't think about Arya.

Not here.

Not now.

The ninth attempt. The tenth. The eleventh.

He'd lost count.

Or no, he hadn't lost it. He was keeping it in his head like a soldier counts the days until the end of his service.Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.On the fifteenth, you almost broke your nose with the sword.

Jon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.Fifteen attempts and she still can't get it.

This is ridiculous. She's the most stubborn person I've ever met after... well, after me.

The sixteenth wasn't any better. But something in your posture had changed. You weren't as rigid anymore. Your shoulders had relaxed. The sword moved with a little more fluidity.

She's learning, he caught himself thinking. Damn it, she's learning.

And then came the seventeenth.You stopped for a moment.

Closed your eyes.

Took a breath.

And when you opened them, something in your gaze was different. It wasn't the arrogant princess he always saw in the yard. It was someone who had been falling for an hour and had decided that next time, she wouldn't.

You spun.The movement was clean. Your feet moved with precision, the sword traced a perfect arc through the air, and when the slash struck the straw dummy, the fabric tore with a clean, sharp sound.Straw exploded into the air like golden snow under the sun.

Silence filled the armory.

And then you let out a victory cry so genuine, so free, that Jon felt something crack in his chest.

"YES! I DID IT!"

You spun around triumphantly, arms raised high and a smile so wide it lit up your whole face. Your coat swayed with the momentum, straw falling slowly around you like a golden snowfall, and your eyes shone with such pure joy that Jon lost his breath.

Seven hells.

And then your eyes met his.The smile froze on your face. Your arms lowered slowly, as if the weight of what you'd just done had suddenly come crashing down on you. You stood paralyzed, mouth slightly open, cheeks beginning to redden.

Jon didn't move. He didn't say anything. He just watched you, arms crossed, sitting on his beer barrel, having counted your seventeen failed attempts until, finally, you'd achieved what you set out to do.The silence stretched. You still hadn't moved, and the color of your face went from pink to deep red in a matter of seconds.

She's embarrassed. I should say something. I should leave. I should...

"Pretty good," Jon said, and his voice came out drier than he intended. "But it took you seventeen tries. I counted."

The color on your face intensified to a shade Jon had only seen in Melisandre's flames. Your hands, still gripping the sword, began to tremble slightly.

"You... you saw everything?" you managed to articulate, though your voice was barely a whisper.

Jon rose slowly from the barrel. He wasn't in a hurry. He took a few steps toward you, hands still crossed, and stopped close enough to see the gleam of humiliation in your eyes.

"The first one was the best," he said, and couldn't help a small smile from creeping onto his lips. "You almost killed yourself with your own sword."

"That's not true!" you protested, but your voice trembled so much that the denial sounded more like a plea than anger.

"You're trembling," he pointed out, and it was true. Your hands wouldn't stop shaking, the sword moving in your fingers like a leaf in the wind.

You fell silent.

The straw was still floating around you, and the afternoon light streaming through the window bathed you in a golden glow that made your burning cheeks look even redder.

Jon took another step. Now he was close enough to see your chest rise and fall with your agitated breathing."But the seventeenth was good," he said, and his voice softened without him being able to help it. "Really. Stannis's princess just killed a straw dummy. Who would have thought?"

You looked up at him. Your eyes met his, and Jon saw something in them he hadn't expected. It wasn't just shame. It was something more. Something he didn't know how to name, but that made his chest tighten.

"Don't tell anyone," you whispered.

"Me?" He stepped back, picking up his sword from the floor as if nothing had happened. "I didn't see anything. I just came in to get a sharpening stone."

He turned toward the door. His footsteps echoed on the wood as he walked, but when he reached the threshold, he stopped. He didn't know why. He should have left. He should have forgotten everything he'd seen.But he couldn't.

"Princess."

Your voice came from behind, still trembling:"What?"

Jon didn't turn around. But his voice came through clearly to you, with a warmth he hadn't planned:"If you want, tomorrow I'll teach you a better move. I got mine on the third try. That's the difference between a bastard and a princess."

He didn't wait for your answer. He walked out of the armory and into the yard, the cold northern wind hitting his face.

But he couldn't get the image out of his head. You, with golden straw falling around you.

You, with your arms raised and the brightest smile he'd seen in months. You, with red cheeks, trembling with embarrassment, whispering for him not to tell anyone.

"Damn it," Jon thought, and the smile that formed on his lips was so genuine it almost hurt. "This is a problem. A very big problem."

That was all that went through his head.Because he knew that tomorrow he would be there. In the armory. At the same hour.

Sam saw him cross the yard with a strange expression on his face, something that didn't resemble his usual grim look at all.

"Jon, are you all right? You look... happy."

Jon stopped. Blinked. And for a moment, he didn't know what to answer.

"I'm fine, Sam." He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I just found something I wasn't expecting."

"A sharpening stone?"

Jon let out a low laugh.

"Something better."

And he kept walking, with the image of a straw-covered princess burned into his memory, wondering when he'd become stupid enough to start feeling something for Stannis Baratheon's daughter.

the obligatory wolf pic

[ablaoublaki]

The Mystery Of Winter

Or; in which Jon encounters a winter nymph banished from her frozen lake due to "family complications" and begrudgingly he offers to help her.

Based on this request by the lovely anon <3 hope you enjoy

Plot Point; since the request didn't specify the timing, I decided to make the story take place during Jon's life at Winterfell, however, the characters are aged up and let's say it's a no war au. Also, mix of his book and show counterpart.

Warnings; partial nudity, slight angst, but it's mostly fluff.

One-shot; 4.7k words.

A/N; it's not my best piece of art, but it'll have to do. I hope this is what the anon what in mind, I added a little too much plot and maybe missed some small points. Also, sorry for being so late, I was a bit busy :)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

From the dawn of ages, from the line of the First Men, nymphs inhabited the world. Nymphs of water, of earth, of ether. Their solemn duty was to protect their realm, and all the beings contained therein.

You were a nymph of winter. And that was a blessing, for you dwelt in the land where winter was the very wellspring of life. Winterfell was your home. Well, not quite so literally, but the pool you inhabited lay at the heart of the forest surrounding the seat of the Old Winter Kings of the North.

From the very moment of your creation, your father, Pagos, ever ensured that you remained within the lake decreed as his domain.

"We are nymphs of winter, Y/N, yet we are not the only ones. My jurisdiction, and by extension your own, lies within this pool. Our sacred duty is to safeguard its fauna and flora. Whatever transpires beyond our watery domain is of no concern of ours."

And you strove to heed his counsel. Truly.

You devoted yourself to aiding the fish of the pool to swim with ease, you untangled the water snakes bound together, you cleansed the depths of filth cast by travelers, you hastened with your tail to sever malicious nets.

Yet from your youth, you always strayed beyond the appointed bounds.

And so, on a day when you slipped away in secret from your cave, you came upon a blackbird. Its wing was twisted, broken, and beyond repair, even with the passage of time.

You knew full well you ought to leave the creature to its fate, you knew there were other nymphs who might tend to the bird's safety.

Yet something within you would not let you abandon it. Emerging from the water, you crept towards it on your hands and took it into your grasp.

With a touch of the powers you inherited from your father, you managed to mend the broken wing.

Smiling, you stroked the blackbird, which nestled gently against your hand.

"Come now." you urged it, having realized that the hour had passed since the sun's descent. "It is time for me to depart."

It seemed to you that the bird showed a slight discontent, yet you chose to pay it no heed.

Once it rose from your hand and took to flight, you turned back and came face to face with Pagos.

"Father." you stammered, left almost speechless at the sight of him, glaring at you with his arms folded.

"I told you. I warned you time and again, Y/N. You are not permitted to meddle in the domain of another."

"But father." you cried out, striving to bring him to reason. "It would have perished. Sooner or later, some beast would have set upon it and it would have met its end."

"Then such would have been the will of nature."

You made to move from your place, to approach him and explain further, yet your father began to sink, not awaiting for you to follow.

"If you desire to dwell upon dry land so fiercely and concern yourself with creatures beyond my domain, then stay. Yet mark my words, it shall not be the creatures you desire."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

And thus you found yourself with legs, burdened with a fur coat and compelled to sit amidst the snow, clutching the cloak tightly around yourself.

Though you were a winter nymph, your father had seen fit to endow you with the senses of mortals, presumably to teach you a stern lesson.

​Furthermore, you were quite unable to walk properly. Unaccustomed to such motion, having possessed a tail until recently, you had no knowledge of how to move upon land.

​The blackbird you healed returned to keep you company, yet its presence only served to sour your mood further. It sought to lift your spirits, but to no avail; the poor creature could do little else than circle above your head, vexing you greatly.

​You sat at the edge of the lake, speaking to the waters and willing your begging to reach your father, when suddenly you heard the snapping of a twig.

​Your eyes widened in an instant.

​You had never lived upon dry land, nor had you ever spoken to any soul save for your sisters, yet you had heard tales of the savagery of men. You had heard how they set upon land nymphs and nereids, seeking to slay them or inflict fates far worse. You knew them to be brutal, longing only for war. They cared naught for the natural world, and the countless times you had gathered their refuse from the lakebed bore silent testament to that truth.

​You moved to dive into the water, but the lake froze over. A cold sweat broke across your skin, and in place of the chill that had stung you until now, you began to burn with fever.

​Crack. Another twig.

​Trembling, you turned your head back, your matted, damp locks falling across your eyes.

​And that was when you beheld him.

​The first thing you marked upon him was a profound sorrow, painted plain upon his face. The rims of his eyes were reddened, yet it was clear he did not weep; he bore his agony deep and in silence.

​He advanced toward the lake, unaware of your presence. At his side was a colossal white wolf, with what seemed like huge, ruby-colored red eyes.

​It was the beast that noticed you first. Catching your scent upon the wind, it padded toward you.

​You raised your hands to ward it off, but it had already deemed you worthy of its notice. Panting with its tongue lolling out, it raced toward you.

​You knew not whether it came to devour you or to settle beside you, but the sight of the great wolf was enough to draw a whimper from your throat.

​That sound impelled his master to turn at last.

​Taking in the scene, the youth, a man grown, yet young, gazed at you in utter astonishment. Realizing you were terrified by the movements of his beast, he opened his mouth.

​"Ghost!" he called out with resolve. The beast froze. "Leave the lady be."

​The white wolf, whose name you now knew to be Ghost, returned to his master.

​"Are you alright, my lady?" the somber youth inquired. His voice was deep and raspy, stirring a strange sensation within you.

​You nodded, yet remained rooted to the spot.

​"Are you in need of assistance?" he offered.

​"I’ll manage," you responded shakingly.

"I think not." he concluded by himself.

This provoked a small flash of annoyance within you. "And who are you to tell me whether I might manage or not?"

​His brows furrowed as he regarded you with suspicion, as though you were mad. "I meant no offense. But clearly, from taking in your…" he coughed "... attire, I can confidently say that maybe you’re not in the best of situations."

​That mortal. Did he know anything at all?

​"I fail to comprehend what precisely my appearance betrays. Know you no better than to make assumptions?"

​It seemed to you that the stranger offered a faint smile, but you ignored him.

​"I’m Jon." he announced to you. "Jon Snow."

​It was your turn to be bewildered. "Snow?"

​At your question, his expression darkened. "Yes, my lady. I am a bastard. Of Eddard Stark."

​You understood nothing of what he spoke. The only thing that piqued your interest was that his name was literally snow. The very snow you held so dear, despite the chill now overwhelming you.

​"I know not what that means, I know not who this man is, nor do I care to find out. I was merely struck by your name." you told him at last.

​This stirred him. He opened his mouth to speak once more, but thought better of it and closed it again.

​At last, he turned back toward you. "Can you walk? Night is upon us, and the cold shall grow far worse in a short while."

​You held your head high in haughtiness, refusing to be beholden to an insolent stranger named Jon Snow.

​"I feel not the slightest chill, Jon. Thus, you had best be on your way."

​Jon let out a dry, ironical laugh. "I can see the snowflakes in your hair."

​You raised your hands and touched them. Before now, you had not even noticed. Jon’s observation forced you to realize just how dire your plight was.

​"You possess keen sight." you remarked.

​For his part, Jon realized something was amiss. He came to the conclusion that you were lost, or perhaps abandoned on account of some physical affliction, and that out of sheer pride, you refused his aid.

​And so, he did the only thing that crossed his mind. He began to stride toward you.

​"What are you doing?" you asked, fearful, though you attempted to mask it. "Stop."

​His father would never forgive him were he to abandon you in the freezing cold to die.

​And so, he reached you and took you into his arms.

​Instantly you began to shriek, attempting to kick him, but your limbs were far too weak for any such exertion.

​"Let me go." you whimpered. "I beg of you."

​"I’m no craven, my lady, I promise," he reassured you. "But I cannot leave you to freeze to death. I am taking you to the castle of Winterfell. There you shall be warm and safe."

​"You are abducting me!" you accused him. "Put me down this instant!"

​And put you down he did.

​Right until you fell face-first into the snow.

​After taking a mouthfull of snow, you turned onto your back and glared up at him.

​He cast a sour look down at you.

​"Shall I lift you now?" he asked with quiet impudence.

​Weighing your choices, you huffed and gave a nod. "Very well."

​He gathered you into his arms once more, and together with the white wolf, you moved back toward the direction whence he came.

​At some point, your cloak shifted, laying bare your naked shoulder.

​You heard a choked gasp escape his throat.

​"Gods damn it woman, you’re naked?"

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Begrudgingly, Jon led you to his family's castle. Throughout the entire journey, he tried to persuade you to wear his cloak or at least his shirt, yet you remained steadfast.

Upon reaching the door, a man, whom Jon greeted by the name 'Jory', rushed to assist Jon in his effort to convey you to a warm place.

You ignored him as best you could, not only to preserve what little of your dignity remained, but also because deep within, you still feared the human race.

You knew not the other man, nor those who stood in the corridors of the keep, and your initial misgivings refused to leave you at peace.

Better vigilant than in oblivion, you thought.

You would not confess it, even were your life threatened, but the only soul with whom you felt peace and safety at this present moment was Jon.

In the forest, he had been granted many an opportunity to dishonour you or harm you in every manner, yet you deemed that, in the end, he was an honourable man, true to the first words he had spoken to you.

Holding your arms tightly around his neck, you clung to him as though he was your lifeline, whilst he proceeded, under the guidance of a handmaiden, to place you in a chamber.

As Jon led you to your chamber, you looked about you, with as much suspicion as wonder. Never before had you stepped inside a castle. Your watery cave bore no comparison to the grandeur that unfolded before you.

Suddenly, you felt Jon come to a halt and you took heart in his arms, making as if to part.

He tightened his palms around your waist, yet not in a manner that would constrain you should you wish to leave.

"We have arrived." He said. "Here is your chamber. I shall summon a handmaiden to assist you in bathing and donning clean, warm attire."

You looked him in the eyes, and for the first time, you observed their azure hue. It put you in mind of your lake at dawn, when it reflected the deep blue of the sky.

He stepped within and gently laid you upon the bed.

He made to leave, but instantly you tensed and caught his hand, bringing him to a sudden stop.

"Do not leave." You whispered.

This struck him with shock. "You desire me here?"

Filled with shame, you nodded in assent. "I trust no other."

A subtle smile touched the corners of his lips. "And so you trust me?"

You glared at him. "No." You said, though you knew you spoke a falsehood. "Yet you have not lied so far. You promised me a place with warmth, and kept your oath. So that impels me to believe you are honourable."

Your answer pleased him, and he puffed out his chest with utter pride.

"Well, my thanks, my lady." he replied with a foolish laugh, as though what you had told him was the finest thing he had heard all day, or perhaps in all his life.

You made to rise when you saw the handmaiden approaching, bearing in her arms garments that closely resembled human attire, specifically that of a woman.

Yet your legs remained feeble, and straightway you felt yourself falling.

​You closed your eyes, knowing you were about to meet the harsh, stone floor of the castle, but it did not come to pass. Instead, you found yourself in Jon's arms, holding you with a firm yet unyielding grasp.

​Your breath caught in your throat. "My thanks." you managed to utter, until once more your coat began to slip beneath your shoulders, and Jon, flushed red like a young maiden on too much wine, aided you to sit back upon the soft bed.

​While the maid helped you don one of the velvet gowns she had brought, which were meant to keep the cold at bay, Jon turned his back, granting you a measure of privacy.

​Clad now in the grey velvet, you addressed him. "You may turn around now."

​The young man did not hesitate to obey. Dismissing your maiden, he turned to you and stared in bewilderment at your sight.

​"It seems comfortable." he remarked, swallowing hard.

​You would have almost offered a smile, were you not so guarded. "It is." you assured him, not missing the way his gaze swept over you from head to toe.

​"I am glad." he replied tersely. It felt as though the rapport you shared moments ago had vanished along with the sunlight. An awkward silence now hung between you both.

​And you could scarcely bear it.

​It was Jon who broke the ice. "I never did learn your name." he said. His tone was abrupt, yet beneath it you could discern a desperate note, longing just as much as you to keep the conversation alive.

​"Y/N." you answered softly.

​"What are you, Y/N?"

​You looked at him in astonishment, not expecting a mortal to have perceived that you did not belong to his kind.

​"I am a nymph." you told him truthfully. "A nymph of winter. And at this present moment, I am an exile."

He remained gazing upon you, yet in the end he seemed to accept it. It was likely he had heard of far worse matters at Winterfell, with the Wall lying so near to the home he inhabited.

"I can offer you shelter." he said to you at last. "I can offer you warmth and a plate of food to nourish yourself. Well…" he paused briefly. "I must consult with my father and gain his approval, but he is a good man. He will agree."

It struck you as strange that a man, a stranger to you until but a moment ago, agreed to host you, expecting naught in return. You were somewhat stern with him, yet it appeared he was not greatly swayed. He was courteous.

"I could never thank you enough." you said to him softly, a tinge of doubt in your voice.

"There is no need."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

In the days that followed, you found yourself drawn ever closer to Jon, a turn of events that took you by surprise, for you were endlessly bickering over trivial matters, such as the precise hue of the sky, or whether blackbirds possessed finer grace than swallows.

You were loath to admit it, yet you were falling in love with him.

When he was absent from your side, you longed for his dark curls and his pale blue eyes. His voice was the only warmth that could thaw the frost threatening to turn you to an ice crystal. His presence brought to mind your true home beneath the surface of the lake.

Ghost, too, had become your protector. When Jon was away, he would slip into the chamber granted to you and keep you company, nestling his warm snout against the folds of your gown.

Stroking his white fur brought you close to the natural realm, to what you were destined to be. A winter nymph.

Unfortunately, you were brought into brief contact with your hosts. Truth be told, you longed for the moment they would depart. They were not unkind to you, their willingness to grant you shelter proved as much, yet they felt distant. You could not bring yourself to open your heart to them.

Surely, all of Jon’s siblings sought to reach out to you, but it was in vain. Fainter still were the efforts of his stepmother, Lady Catelyn, to coax you into speech.

You did not deem her a wicked woman. Quite the contrary. She was warm and gentle, most especially with her own children. But there her affection met its end.

You perceived at once that her relation with her step-son was frigid, all but non-existent. She harbored no such tenderness for him.

And her demeanor sowed a seed of doubt deep within your chest.

For this reason, you politely declined every invitation to break fast with them, remaining instead within your small yet comfortable chamber.

"My stepmother." Jon confessed to you one day, after you threatened to lace his supper with poison ivy should he fail to visit you daily. "Lady Catelyn. She never favored me. I was the bastard of the man she loved, the sole living proof that they once dwelt apart."

"It is ill done of her to treat you harshly for a matter in which you bear no fault." you remarked in turn.

He offered a faint smile and took your hand between his palms. You feigned that your heart did not race a thousand leagues at his touch.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "Yet I have learned to abide it. I love my siblings and my lord father. Together with Ghost, they are the only family I have."

"Now you have me as well." you insisted, tightening your grip on the hand that clasped yours.

At this, he laughed at your innocence and the earnest manner of your words.

"Then I am glad of it." he countered. "She was also the reason of my sorrow, the fateful day we met." He confessed and a silence settled over you.

You resolved to break the silence by sharing a tale of your own. He deserved as much.

"My father and I were never at peace. Save for when I was a tiny thing. Most nymphs have no mother growing up. Alas, I was one of those unfortunate one. The only women in my life were my sisters, who were proper and dutiful daughters. I was ever a curious child, seeking anything that might spark wonder within me. Thus grew my obsession with the realm above. Down beneath the lake, there are few places to roam and play, or to swim far off. While the winter nymphs upon the surface could wander wherever they willed, I was bound to remain idle within my father's domain. My father sought to persuade me that our cave was a paradise, that I possessed everything my heart could ever crave. Yet that was no truth. And I could never find joy in the depths. Thus, for disobeying his commands, he banished me. He bestowed upon me the form of a mortal woman, leaving me with but a mere shadow of my former powers."

You had not realized it, but a tear trickled from your eyes at the thought of recent events. Not for regret over your deeds, but because you wished your bond with your family had not come to such an end.

Jon reached out and wiped it away.

"All is well." he murmured softly. "At the very least, you met me."

And at that, you laughed sweetly, until your tears were no more and the lines formed beneath your eyes vanished.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

And suddenly, the day arrived when Jon offered to aid you in learning to walk.

​At first, you refused. You knew that humans acquired this habit from their earliest years, committing to memory the art of balancing their weight so they might move about.

​Yet, it was necessary. You knew not when the dispute with your father would be resolved, nor when he might accept you back into your lake.

​And despite your initial misgivings regarding this human form you bore, you longed to venture outside, if only to breathe in the watery scent of winter. You yearned to visit the forest, and plunge your hands deep into the snow.

​Jon decided that your first steps ought to be taken near the lands where you were raised.

​"I cannot yet walk." you deadpanned.

​He offered a strained smile. "I am well aware." he countered.

​You glared at him. "How, then, shall I reach that place?"

​"I shall carry you, of course."

​You opened your mouth to protest, but Jon had already bent down and lifted you into his arms, like a princess from the tales of passing minstrels.

​"Set me down!" you gasped, caught off guard by this unexpected turn.

​He laughed at your reaction. "Peace." he tried to reassure you. "I shall hold you only for a short while. Until we reach the lake."

​"I do not wish for you to hold me! I never asked it of you." you crossed your arms and huffed and a strand of your hair that had fallen over your eyes waved in the air.

​He laughed once more. "If you so desire it, I shall do as you ask and let you down. Yet remember the outcome of your request last time."

​You knew he spoke the truth, so you merely rolled your eyes and remained silent for the duration of the journey.

When you arrived at the snow-laden banks of the lake, the air carried that familiar, crisp scent of frozen waters that made your chest ache with a bittersweet longing. Jon gently lowered you until your feet touched the frostbitten earth. Your knees immediately buckled, but his hands were swift, catching you by the waist before you could taste the snow for a second time.

​"I have you." Jon murmured, his breath blooming like white smoke between you. "Do not rush. Balance your weight, as though you were treading water."

​"I am perfectly aware of how to balance myself, Jon Snow." you snapped, frustrated at your inability to complete the task first-try, though your hands clutched tightly at the wool of his doublet. "The earth simply refuses to remain still beneath me."

​A soft, rare chuckle escaped his lips. "The earth is quite stationary, my lady. It is your legs that are trembling."

​"They are not trembling!" you insisted haughtily, taking one deliberate, agonizingly slow step forward. Your ankle wobbled, and you landed heavily against his chest. "See? A flawless execution."

​"Indeed. A triumph of mortal locomotion." Jon replied with quiet dry irony, though he did not release his hold on your waist.

​For the next hour, the forest rang with the quiet rhythm of your bickering and the crunching of fresh snow. You hurled sharp insults at his patience, and he countered with his stubborn, quiet persistence, guiding you step by step along the lake's edge. Ghost padded silently alongside you both, his great crimson eyes shifting between you and his master with an intelligence that seemed far too keen for a mere beast.

​Eventually, as you paused near a wide, snow-dusted rock to catch your breath, Ghost stepped forward. With a deliberate, heavy nudge of his gigantic white head against Jon’s hip, he pushed the youth forward.

Right into you.

​You stumbled back against the stone, and Jon instinctively reached out to steady you, bringing his body flush against yours. His hands rested on the rock on either side of your head, trapping you in a sanctuary of his own heat.

​Ghost let out a low, satisfied huff and trotted off to lie down beneath a nearby weirwood tree, leaving the two of you frozen in place.

​"He did that on purpose." you whispered, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.

​"He is a direwolf, he doesn't know any better." Jon breathed, though he knew that they likely shared a mind. His damn good beast. His dark blue eyes lingered on your lips. The distance between you felt agonizingly small, charged with everything you had left unsaid in the quiet confines of your chamber.

​"He knows. you murmured, looking up into his eyes, seeing the reflection of the pale winter sky within them. "He knows what you feel. And what I feel."

Being a nymph, you had a better understanding of animals than others. Though you couldn't be in Jon's or Ghost's head, you had learned the behavior of creatures by hand. That wolf had meant to push you two together.

​Jon’s breath caught in his throat. "And what do you feel, my lady?"

​"That you are an insolent, brooding bastard." you whispered softly, reaching up to lay your palm against his chilled cheek. "And that I have no wish to ever be parted from you."

​A breath of relief parted Jon’s lips, and then he leaned down, bridging the tiny space remaining between you. His lips met yours, warm, gentle, and carrying the faint taste of winter air. It was a promise made in silence, a thaw against the eternal frost of your banishment. You melted into his embrace, your fingers twisting into his dark curls, forgetting the chill, the snow, and the legs that had burdened you only moments before.

​Suddenly, the waters of the lake began to churn violently.

​The ice fractured with the roar of thunder, and a towering figure rose from the deep, veiled in mist and frost. It was Pagos. His majestic, watery beard dripped with icicles, and his pale eyes burned with ancient authority.

​Jon instantly shifted, drawing his sword with a metallic whisper and placing himself between you and the ancient spirit.

​"Stand down, mortal!" Pagos’s voice boomed through the trees, making the snow fall from the high branches. He turned his stern gaze upon you. "Y/N. You have endured the plight of mortals. You have felt their cold, their frailty, and their sorrow. You now know why you shouldn't try to immerse yourself in another realm, foreign to your own. So, your punishment is at an end. Return to the depths, take back your tail, and fulfill your duty."

​The lake opened before you, its depths glowing with the soothing, familiar light of your home. A single step into its waters would restore your true form and free you from the burdens of mortality.

​Yet, you did not move. You looked at Jon’s broad back, at the sword he held ready to defend you against a god, at the man who had carried you, fed you, and held your hand when the darkness felt absolute.

​"No, Father." you unexpectedly said, your voice trembling but unwavering.

Jon turned to look at you, surprised by your response.

​Pagos frowned, the air growing colder. "You refuse your domain? For a fleeting creature of dust and bone?"

​"I refuse to abandon him." you declared, taking a tentative, clumsy step to stand beside Jon, taking his free hand in yours. "When you exiled me from the depth that is our home, you forced me to live as a human, learn their ways and behaviors. It was something I did not want to do, but I did it, nonetheless. And Jon was there every step of the way. Now, you speak of duty, Father, but you never spoke of love. Down in the dark, I was safe, but I was alone. With Jon, I have found a warmth that even your deepest winters cannot extinguish. We are both outcasts, unbound by the grand designs of our fathers. My heart belongs upon the dry land now."

​Jon tightened his grip on your hand, looking at you with a profound, quiet wonder that made your chest swell.

​Silence hung heavy over the forest. Pagos regarded the two of you; the bastard son of a lord and the rebellious nymph of winter, bound together by a shared warmth. The anger in the old nymph’s face slowly began to soften, replaced by a deep, ancient sadness.

​"I sought to protect you from the cruelty of men." Pagos spoke softly, his voice now resembling the quiet rustle of falling snow. "I believed their hearts to be as cold and unyielding as iron. Yet... I see that this one carries the winter in his name, and true honor in his blood."

​Pagos raised his staff, and a shimmering, azure light enveloped you.

​"I shall not tear you from that which your heart craves." our father announced. And in truth, you had not expected him to give in so easily. He surprised you pleasantly. "From this day forth, the waters shall ever answer your call, and the earth shall yield to your stride. Whenever you touch the lake, your tail shall return; whenever you step upon the shore, legs shall bear you. You are a nymph of both wave and land."

​With a final, gentle nod to you, Pagos sank beneath the surface, leaving the lake serene and smooth as glass once more.

​You stood upon the snow, feeling the ancient power coursing through your veins alongside the steady, beating heart of a mortal. Jon sheathed his sword and turned to you, a rare, radiant smile breaking across his face.

​"A nymph of the land, then?" Jon asked, pulling you close against his chest.

​"It appears so, Jon Snow." you replied softly, resting your head against his shoulder as Ghost trotted over to rest his head against your knees. "Which means you are stuck with my insolence for a very long time."

​"There is nothing in this world..." Jon whispered into your hair, "...that I would desire more."

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Once again, ending was lowkey rubbish, but i hope you enjoyyy

Requests are open