#northeir

[northmother]

THERE IS NOT A CRUELER FATE THAN MOTHERHOOD.     to have borne such doe - natured,   pleading eyes into this world.     of which you are expected to deny their heart's greatest desire.     hidden under the guise that it is for their own good.     from the first gasp of life,   followed by the shrill cry that echoed her chambers,   rickon stark has had his mother wound tightly 'round his dainty little finger.

“     oh,   sweetling   -   we’ve been over this before,   the great hall is no place for a wolf.     ”

PAD OF THUMB IS QUICK TO CATCH A FALLEN TEAR,     while she might have been able to brush that away,   she cannot rid of the of sorrow quite so easily.     not with his rosy cheeks and eyelashes that are slick with tears.     the mother swiftly swings the small frame into her tender embrace,   raising him up to her hip.

“     what if we compromise ?     i’ll make you a deal,   if shaggywolf can stay put in the stables until you’ve finished your supper,   i’ll allow him to accompany you to your chambers tonight.     ”

CORNER OF LIP CURLS HOPEFULLY.     perhaps,   for once,   her little pup would choose to comply.     how unlikely it is.     @northeir​   ›   sc.

[stagnot]

‘     ye’ should come.       ’        gendry’s never       -       he’s never really done this before.     what,    he isn’t quite sure:     has he never really had t’ talk with children this nicely b’fore ?     s’ rickon stark ‘ven considered a child with what he’s been through,    wit’ what they all ‘ave ?      or s’ it the idea o’ a home,   really,   that gendry still isn’t used t’ havin’ just yet     -     let alone the idea o’ invitin’ others to come.     but     ...      he thinks o’ stormlands.     o’ this whole other kingdom he’s yet t’ see and                       n’ how ser davos isn’t comin’ along,    he wasn’t,    or arya,    even if he’d asked,    even if he’d been on his knees beggin’ her t’ stay.     gendry thinks he shouldn’t mind this.    he’s always on his own besides,    and     ...     he’ll say no,   surely,   he thinks sombrely,   but tries his best t’ reel the emotions inside.     the starks ‘ave been without their winterfell fer’ so long.   stupid.   stupid bull.   ‘course he’ll say—      ‘     i heard the stormlands ‘ave miles o’ forest.    ye’ could come,   wit’ yer wolves,   and we could run right through all o’ them.    not    -    not now,   aye,   but.     ’     a swallow.      ‘     soon,   maybe.   n’ i could find the time,   i would,   t’ mend any weapons ye might bring along,    yeah ?       ’

    @northeir     /     season eight finale re-write.

[fightsbck]

         ‘      yer’ one wit’ your pack now,     wild wolf.     th’ north s’ yours again.      ’      though it’ll be ripped soon.     the dead s’ coming,    and they’re coming quick,    they say.    osha tries not t’ shiver at the thought,     but she thinks of bruni    -    of her sweet husband whose laughter she cannot remember for all that she tries,    but she remembers his scream.    wretched and horrible and frightenin’,   and it’d kept her up for hours,   they did,   for days t’ come after she ran,   until it didn’t no more.   not when she met the little lord.   and then    -    then,    she had other things t’ fight for.    other people.    monsters t’ brave through,   and men t’ deceive.    shaggydog s’ by her feet as she says ‘em,   as she thinks this,   and she bends down:    the wolf is large and consuming.    any other time,   osha can imagine being scared,   but her hands is in the fur instead,   threading it behind,   caressing.   she would want t’ do the same at the littlest of lord like she did,    time n’ time again on their journey through the woods,   fingers firm and solid in his hair fer’ comfort     -      but kneelers’ customs r’ confusing t’ her.    should she kneel ‘stead?   should she have begged for mercy fer’ bein’ bold t’ a small lord?

              she doesn’t know.    but osha couldn’t risk a hand,   she couldn’t    -    so she lets go of the direwolf,   and stare at the boy grown.     her little man.    though not so little no more.    she did that,   osha thinks as she puffs out her chest just a tiny bit higher,    she got him safe and grown and healthy as any boy could in this war.    but the dead is marching.    and she can fight men and women alike,   she could,    they are easier to slay;    but not that.   the non-living.    the wild wolf knows this.      ‘     once i see th’ little lord,   i can’t be here with you no more,   m’little wolf.   i am not strong for what’s t’ come,   m’ not.     ’      she’s lyin’,    she thinks.    she would die for the boys now,   bleedin’ and kickin’,   without battin’ an eye    -      but maybe if she pretends for a few seconds longer,    she can change her bloody mind ‘bout it.        ‘     and yer’ safe.   safe as safe can be,   i was made t’ believe.    i —-     ’      but she couldn’t finish what she’s got to say.   she couldn’t even remember what she’s got to say.    /   from osha for @northeir !

[northwarg]

          “ you were so brave, little brother. ”     you can’t help but smile, ever-so-softly, press your fingers against the top of shaggydog’s head, brushing the wild fur fondly as you whisper a ‘good boy’ to the beast, and it dances on the wind and into the night sky. the night king is in pieces on the frozen terrain of the godswood, at your sister’s hands no-less, and your little brother is still with you, breathing, alive, and you could not be more grateful for this luck. you want to lie down forever now, to rest, with your family. your arms open, inviting your little brother to embrace you if he so wishes -- though there may be a likelihood that he won’t have a choice, either way.     “ i’m so proud of you. ”

@northeir liked for post-battle.

[joffraey]

     ❛   attempt to bite me again   &   i’ll have your teeth pulled out.   ❜

* 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋, featuring: @northeir

[lvanna]

        @northeir  ♡   FOR   A   STARTER

         ‘  r   —   rickon?  ’     fingers tremble beneath THE WEIGHT OF DEATH, a pulsating rhythm drumming through her bones.    it is there where the hand that clasps around her waist tightens in its grasp, the breaths within her doubling in size as they course through trodden lungs.   giantslayer   —   it prevails as the one word persistent in her mind, even as she scrambles beneath a heavy clutch.   had she hit a second later, she too would have fallen on the battlefield, alike the dozens of bear islanders she had commanded here.

          a cough reverberates as calloused hands rise to her forehead, her palm bathing in crimson as she reaches it.   and there her friend stands, the light of a bow grasped in front of him.     ‘  don’t just stand there.   help me up, the battle is NOT WON YET.  ’     though, maybe hers is.

[killthebxy]

" Up! " (throws baby pre-got/asoiaf at jon to make up for sansa! he just wants 2 be picked up i cry ;____;)

//@northeir

          the happy squeal has Jon immediately looking away from the heavy lather-bound volume he’s been struggling with for the past hour; anything in this world is more interesting than the life of the distant relatives of Wyman Manderly, and only the gods know WHY maester Luwin is so keen on torturing Robb and Jon himself with such lessons. finding the baby’s bright blue eyes therefore, shining with so much enthusiasm that it immediately makes everything right in one’s life, he doesn’t even try to stop that wide smile from taking over his expression. is there anything at all better than little siblings? he hardly thinks so, even if he’ll admittedly leave Sansa out of this equation; every rule has an exception to confirm it. with a gentle coo, he reaches over and firmly but carefully grabs under Rickon’s arms, easily bringing the small frame over to now stand on his lap — book completely forgotten, and HOPEFULLY he wont have to return to the dreadful thing any time soon.

‘ what are you doing here on your own, my little man? Lady Stark will bring the castle down with her wails if you hurt yourself. ‘

[needlcd]

she’s  being  followed.  the  streets  of  braavos  are  a  lot  different  than  the  wild,  northern  woods  but  she  knows  these  woods  like  a  map  of  her  own  body.  she  grew  up  in  these  woods;  this  soil  was  her  soil,  and  she  knows  when  she’s  being  followed.  then  all  at  once,  nymeria  darts  from  her  side,  ears  upright  and  eyes  focused.    ❝   nym!   ❞   arya  calls,  but  the  wolf  is  gone  within  a  moment,  bolting  for  something  that  seems  familiar,  the  scent  of  her  brother:  not  that  arya  could  tell. 

arya  follows,  freeing  needle  from  it’s  scabbard  as  she  moves  silently,  like  a  ghost  through  the  trees.  she  hears  a  scuffling  in  the  roots,  and  pauses,  needle  slides  forward,  moving  foliage  aside  gently  as  the  girl  leans  forward.  she  see’s  a  flash  of  flesh   ------   human,  not  animal?   arya  squints.  she  waits  for  the  attack:  but  none  comes.

❝   ...y’can  come  out,  ‘m  not  going  to  hurt  you.   ❞

starter call   ------   @northeir.