A derelict ship floats in space, its troubled crew awakened from stasis with no memories of who they are or how they got on board. Their search for answers triggers the vessel’s deadly security system: a relentless android bent on their destruction. Facing threats at every turn, they have to work together to survive a voyage charged with vengeance, redemption, betrayals, and hidden secrets best left unknown. Science-fiction veterans Joseph Mallozzi and Paul Mullie, best known for their work on television’s _Stargate_ franchise, create a new and exciting universe! * By _Stargate_ series writers Joseph Mallozzi and Paul Mullie! * Classic science fiction for fans of _Aliens_, _Stargate_, and _2001: A Space Odyssey_. - $1.99
On the run, with no memory of who they are or where they are going, and being pursued by an unknown enemy, the crew unearths a clue buried deep within the ship’s database. Their search for answers leads them to a remote world, an alien threat, and, ultimately, the startling truth about their past! Fresh off their long tenure on _Stargate_, Joseph Mallozzi and Paul Mullie create a thrilling new science-fiction universe with kinetic pencils by exciting newcomer Garry Brown! * By _Stargate_ series writers Joseph Mallozzi and Paul Mullie! * Sci-fi action at its best! - $1.99
On the heels of a shocking revelation about the nature of their mission, the amnesiac crew struggle to come to terms with their roles and each other. Meanwhile, a space ship bristling with weaponry pops up on their radar and it doesn’t seem friendly. Will a reckless response to a perceived threat damn them all? * By _Stargate_ series writers Joseph Mallozzi and Paul Mullie! * Sci-fi action at its best! - $1.99
Abandoned by one of their own, the remaining crew members are trapped planetside as enemies orbit their position. Outnumbered and outgunned, their only hope rests with a suicidal last stand and help from a most unlikely source¦ By _Stargate_ series writers Joseph Mallozzi and Paul Mullie! Mind-bending sci-fi adventure! - $1.99
The six-person crew of a derelict spaceship awakens from stasis in the farthest reaches of space. Their memories wiped clean, they have no recollection of who they are or how they go on board. The only clue to their identities is a cargo bay full of weaponry and a destination – a remote mining colony that is about to become a war zone! With no idea whose side they are on, they face a deadly decision. Will these amnesiacs turn their backs on history, or will their pasts catch up with them? Collects issues #1-#4 of the miniseries. Sci-fi action from the writers of Stargate SG-1! - $8.99
That first snow was always your favorite time of the year, when your whole world seemed to be blanketed in the soft white powder. Nothing filled your heart with wintery cheer more than seeing that first snowflake fall to the ground because you knew many more were following behind it.
You checked the window one more time to make sure it was the right condition before you went to go find Tony. He of course was ticking away in his lab until he saw you come strolling in through the door. He dropped everything and pulled you in for a quick kiss.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked you as he finished putting his trinkets away.
You had been planning this from the moment you heard the weatherman declare it was going to snow. You had seen the carriages around the park and you wanted nothing more than to take one around in the white flurry.
Donning your warmest coat and knitted hat, and Tony doing the same, you were both out the door hand in hand. You suggested you two walk the way there since it wasn’t too far so you could enjoy the weather together. The world always seemed more quiet when it snowed and you were always amazed every single time.
Finally you both could see the outskirts of the park with the carriages out front. The were all dressed up for the holiday season and the drivers were bundled up nice and warm.
“How about this one?” Tony suggested a beautiful red and gold carriage pulled by a handsome dark brown horse.
You agreed and you two sat down and Tony paid the man and you two were off. Tony wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close to keep you warm. Luckily the carriage also had a thick blanket in the back which you two graciously shared.
“I don’t think I will ever get over how beautiful the snow is this time of year,” you said as you looked all about you as the carriage moved along.
You turned to see that Tony was staring straight at you with such a loving look on his face. “It is very beautiful,” he said, but you knew he wasn’t talking about the weather. He pulled you in for a longer kiss this time.
A smile passed over your lips as you broke the kiss. Tony looked as if he was beaming and you could feel yourself getting giddy over the atmosphere of everything. Looking around again though, you noticed that you had gone off the route that the other carriages were taking to a part of the park where there were no other people around.
“Where are we going?” you asked, curiously.
“You’ll see,” Tony said.
You continued on until you came to a large gazebo. The drivers stopped your ride and Tony offered you his hand and you two got out and headed over. It was so beautiful you couldn’t believe it was real; it looked like something out of a Christmas card.
The whole thing was covered in lights and greenery and against the snow it glistened. This had Tony’s handiwork written all over it.
“It’s beautiful,” you exclaimed quietly. You turned and turned around to take it all in. As you turned back to face Tony, you saw that he was down on one knee.
“I wanted something that would hopefully come closer to rivaling your beauty, but I have to say it pales in comparison. Nothing can ever compare to you. Will you make me incredibly happy by marrying me Y/N?” he said as he took out a small ring box and opened it up.
You fell into his arms with a huge kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He never ceased to amaze you at every turn.
“Of course I will,” you said and Tony slipped the engagement ring onto your finger.
So my current obsession is Outlander, so I thought I would try out a ziam outlander AU while I wait for the next episode/next book to come in the mail. I don’t really know where I’m going with it but I wanted to know what you guys thought / suggestions etc. :D
There is a shift in the air, just a moment of something different that he doesn’t even waste a thought on it. Not until later, when he spends too much time thinking about all the little things that led up to his life being turned upside down.
Zayn shivers, a layer of gooseflesh sprouting over his arms as he edges his fingers over the smooth indents of stone. The air is cold and damp, signaling a rain storm soon to come. Not that he is surprised, it has rained more times than he can count since he has came to Scotland.
It reminds him of home, if he chooses England the place he calls home. He has moved around, town to town, country to country, for nearly his whole life. But he has been to England more, and he was born there so -
Zayn stills with his palm flat on the hard, cool surface. A distant buzzing sound hums underneath the sounds of nature around him. It grows louder, but there is no hive or any bees that he can see.
He moves slowly away, his hand trailing over the stone in his wake. The sound only grows louder.
A thought to back away from the stones fills his mind, but before he can even move his hand away a terrible feeling washes over him. Like nausea all over, even in his toes. Malaise, or what he has expected it to feel like since it’s one symptom he thinks no one can understand until they do feel it.
His gasp is strangled. Invisible strings tug him in different directions but he never moves. He feels as if his feet are glued to the ground before the stones.
Zayn heaves at the sudden end to the feeling. His knees hit the hard ground, his fingers fisting into the tall blades of grass.
The grass hadn’t been this tall a moment ago. He slides his hands through them in wonder, breathing heavily through his nose in hopes of calming his erratic heart.
The sound of chaos diverts his attention away from the confusing grass. Distant shouts and a rumble of stomping makes his heart beat faster. He can’t see much from where he is kneeling but something tells him not to stand up.
Zayn scrambles back as the noise grows louder, crouching low behind one of the stones. He is careful not to touch them again, too afraid of that horrible feeling he had felt only moments ago.
“Can ye make it Payno? Ye look as if ye might topple over!”
Zayn hides behind the stone as the rumbling sound stops. The sound of horses he realizes from the grunts of commands that come before the horses stop.
Zayn breath feels just as harsh as the sound a horse lets out as boots land heavy on the ground. He wants to curl into himself but he also wants to sneak a peek around the stone.
There is a loud thud, as if something heavy hits the ground, and the commotion of words he doesn’t understand but he knows are urgent tells him that this Payno has indeed toppled over.
With only a moment of hesitation, attempts at convincing himself that this feeling of dread is just a result of the stone, Zayn stands and peers around the rock.
There are six men all clad in raggedy, dirt covered clothing. Shirts that are maybe white under the grime, tucked into kilts he recognizes from the local Highlander museum. Clothing that is just as old looking as the handles of weapons each man has tucked on their person in various places.
“I dunna need help. I’m just -”
On the ground amongst the men is another, laid flat on his back with his arms curled around his chest. Even from a few yards away, Zayn can see the blossom of red staining the sleeve of his shirt.
Out of instinct, Zayn moves. Panic doesn’t flood him, he is used to this. He has seen many wounded during the war, has tended to worse off men then one before him.
A drawing of weapons stills him, his hands half way into the air. The looks on the men’s faces are a mix of threatening and curious.
“Who are ye?”
“A nurse,” Zayn spits out frantically. He flicks his fingers towards the man squirming on the ground. “I can help.”
A man with reddish brown hair and a face that looks as if it could be as soft as a child’s without the glaring eyes steps forward, a small knife held out tightly in front of him.
“A nurse? I have ne’er heard of a male wet nurse.”
The man’s eyes drop away from Zayn’s face and settle across his torso.
Wet nurse? Zayn freezes, wracking his mind to understand. It could be a role play, given the attire the men wear. But the man on the ground has a true wound, and he can’t imagine people actually taking role playing that far.
“Healer,” Zayn tries. He has done his research on old medicine, always fascinated with the methods people had used in history when they didn’t have the technology and medicine they have today. “Let me take a look at that man’s wound.”
The man in front of him doesn’t lower his weapon, but he cocks a brow. “And why would ye wanna do that? It was one of yer red coats that did this to him.”
“I fight with no army,” Zayn announces, tilting his chin higher to appear confident. He has role played before, though under much different circumstances. “I wear no uniform.”
The man cocks his head and makes a grunting sound. “Aye. What is it you’re wearing then?”
Zayn glances down at his crisp white shirt, tucked into his slacks. He had foregone the tie because he was only going to climb the hills to the stones of Craigh na Dunn, and he is thankful.
“A mix of whatever I could find.”
The man on the ground let’s out a groan of pain as he tries to sit up straight. He falls onto his back, clutching at his elbow with a strained face as if he is trying not to show pain.
“Horan, let the man tend to the boy,” says another man with long, curling brown hair. He steps up to the leader, sending a quick glance to Zayn before whispering something into his ear.
The first man grunts out again, this time one that sounds a bit like an agreement. He finally lowers his weapon, only to point the blade from Zayn to the wounded man.
“Get him back on his horse. And be quick about it, isna safe here.”
Though not feeling any safer, Zayn makes his way to the wounded man with only a few glances at the weapons the other men hold. He falls back into the tall grass, his back prickling because of the inability to see the other men.
The wounded man flicks his eyes open, revealing pools of gold and brown irises. Everything about him is strong, from the sharp of his jaw coated in a brush of blond and red hair, to the expanse of his shoulders. His eyes are surprisingly trusting, though he flinches the moment Zayn touches his arm.
“Let me see then,” Zayn whispers as he tries to coax the man’s fingers away from his arm. “What happened?”
“A bullet,” the man says, his voice strained.
“What is your name?” Zayn continues, remembering to distract the patient with small talk as he does his work. An attempt at keeping them calm, he had been taught.
The man lets out a noise that sounds half painful and half amused. “What is yours?”
“Zayn, uh, Brannan.”
The man tenses as Zayn’s fingers tug at the fabric of his shirt to reveal the wound. “Ye don’t sound sure about that.”
Zayn grimaces. It is his mother’s maiden name. The name of the family he had originally came to Scotland to research. Over the last few years had been tracking both of his parents’ lineage, attempting to know something - anything about them. “What is yours?”
“Liam,” is all the man says before resting his head into the grass.
After some work, and ripping at his own shirt to bandage the wound, Zayn finds himself straddling the wide back of a dark brown horse, with the wide chest of the man he just tended to pressing hard against his back.
They ride in silence mostly, only the other men around them speaking. He picks up the names, Horan, Harold, Rupert, Ned, Paul and Dan, but the rest is spoken in another language. A language he had thought died out in Scotland.
“So,” Liam finally says, the suddenness of his voice in Zayn’s ear nearly making him jump from the horse’s back. His voice is smooth, like honey dribbling from a container and into the warm liquid of tea. “Brannan. O’Braonain or Mac Branan?”
Zayn doesn’t respond. That is what he had been trying to figure out before all of this.
“Ye dunna ken? Just a British man with the first Scot name he can pull out of his arse then?”
With every hoof padding against the ground, Zayn considers he is moving farther and farther away from his idea of this being a role play. And if it is one, the men around him are far too dedicated. He wants home, wherever that may be.
“Talking less might help speed up the healing process,” Zayn says as he runs his fingers over the short fur of the horse.
Behind him, Liam grunts. A noise that sounds amused. Zayn hates the grin it brings to his own face.
A/N: The GIF may or may not be irrelevant, but I couldn’t possibly use a serious GIF for drunk Altair, could I? Of course not! I hope you enjoy, Anon!
It was almost surreal to see Altair, Master Assassin of the Levantine Assassins, so drunk he could only barely stand.
You were watching him from what you deemed to be a “Safe” distance from him, confusion and bubbles of both mild amusement and secondhand embarrassment all floating around inside you. Altair was stumbling around, and even from where you stood, you could hear his incomprehensible murmurs. People were going out of their way to avoid him, shooting strange glances at him. Deciding it was best to get him somewhere he wouldn’t make people associate his current state with the Assassins, you began heading toward him, sighing.
Reaching out, you gently touched Altair’s shoulder. Wrong move. Suddenly you were on your back in a heartbeat.
“Don’t touch me- wait, Y/N?”
You groaned a little, “Well, whoever said you lost the ability to coordinate body movements when you’re drunk clearly hasn’t met you.”
Altair leaned over you, “What? I can’t hear you.”
You stood up, brushing the dust off of your uniform, “Let’s just go back to Masyaf, alright? At least there you can’t create as much of a disturbance.”
You slowly put your arm around Altair’s shoulder, and this time you didn’t end up on your back (Thank goodness). You began trying to lead him to the horse stables, keeping your head down as you did so. Altair hardly walked, and his feet kept dragging in the dirt. It became increasingly more difficult to drag him back home as Altair began shouting meaningless things at passersby.
“The Apple is evil! It corrupted my old Mentor!” He shouted. A man who was coincidentally eating an apple immediately dropped it, his face paling slightly.
“Altair, stop shouting. Just-”
“The world must not suffer ignorance anymore!”
“These people are living lies, Y/N! Lies!”
“Altair, you’re making a scene.”
Altair began rambling on about horses and why they had such long faces.
“And to think you’re a legendary assassin…”
By some miracle, you finally made it to the stables. Horses whinnied quietly as you attempted to put your drunken companion on a dark brown horse. Altair was rambling about Malik and how he was “all right now”. Eventually he was sitting on top of the horse, grumbling incoherently. You climbed on the same horse (You could barely trust him to walk on his own, let alone ride a horse!) and took the reigns. Praying that Altair wouldn’t fall off, you urged the horse to an even walk. Altair jolted forward, thrown off balance by even the slightest change in motion. His arms wrapped around your waist as he told you to slow down. “Altair, if I slow down any more, we will be standing still.” “You call this horse riding? You’re so reckless!” “No, you’re just drunk and unbalanced.” “False!”
You rolled your eyes. Masyaf seemed so far away…
The ride itself was uneventful, although Altair did sometimes murmur strange thoughts every so often. Something about a woman named Maria…
“Ah, Y/N, welcome back- Is that… Mentor?”
A young Assassin looked on with wide eyes as you hopped off your horse. Altair more-or-less slid off, seeing as he was still holding onto you (“Don’t start and stop so quick, Y/N!”). You looked at the apprentice with annoyed but patient eyes, “He’s… had a rough day. Don’t concern yourself.”
The apprentice nodded and quickly left, leaving you to tend to Mr. Clingy McDrunk, who was slowly sliding to the ground, his arms wrapped around your calves.
“Altair, please. Just a few more steps and you can sleep this whole thing off. How did you even get this drunk in the first place?”
Altair looked up at you as if he was going to give you a straight answer, but then just pointed at you with a limp finger and said “Alcohol” before passing out.
Dragging him- literally- all the way back to his quarters was by far one of the most embarrassing things you’ve ever had to do, and you weren’t even the drunk one. Perhaps that was WHY you were so embarrassed. You passed by many assassins who looked at you with such judgmental confusion that you just pulled your hood down further and hoped nobody else would recognize you halfway to his room.
Once you reached Altair’s quarters, you hefted him onto his bed and sat down on the side with a tired huff. “Remind me to never again let you drink. At least, not anywhere far away. I’m not doing that again.”
Altair, in his alcohol-induced sleep, was already snoring softly. He looked like a mess. You decided it was best to just let him lie undisturbed. You pulled the covers over him and left. You just hoped his inevitable hangover in the morning was easier to handle.
Would you pretty pretty please write Dickon courting Sansa and having to face all of her protective male family members (everyone lives because this is Denial Town)
Denial Town AU
Standing in the courtyard once again waiting for their southroun visitors just as they did many moons ago when King Robert came along with Queen Cersei and Prince Joffrey…how Sansa had admired him! She had fancied herself in love with him, had thought he would be her Prince Aemon the Dragonknight or the Florian to her Jonquil, soon enough she started to see that wasn’t the case (Lady) and still she tried so hard to be like all the ladies from the songs, wanted to be as beautiful and just as queen Alyssane…
Lord Baelish had warned her life wasn’t a song, and now she understood, father had explained the Queen’s treachery and Joffrey’s baseborn nature, the Kingslayer incestuous relationship with Queen Cersei… She had been so horrified at first she thought them to be lies, but her father would never say anything but the truth, worst of all had been King Robert’s wrath, she could still hear the screams and the thunderous sound of the warhammer against the bodies of the Queen and her children . Life wasn’t a song alright, life was a horror tale like the ones Old Nan used to tell during the stormy nights.
Truth to be told she wasn’t specially looking forward to meet her possible bethroted, as far as she knew he was the heir and her Lord father said he got the highest praises from his elder brother at the Wall (why would an heir leave his home for the Wall she could not fathom) but then again everyone had said the most wondrous things about Joffrey, and while he showed himself charming and gallant at the start he lied to the King and did nothing when Queen Cersei had Lady killed.
The Tarly’s seat (that Dickon would inherit someday) was Hornhill said to be a beautiful keep in the Reach. The South had always been her dream, and Hornhill was surely lovely, full of flowers and frutal trees of all kinds but, at the same time she felt weary, the South wasn’t kind to the Starks it hadn’t been kind to her gentle and beautiful Lady.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of the horses’ hoots thuding against the fresh summer snow that coated lightly the soil of the King’s Road. Her lady mother instructed Rickon to stand straight and checked once more Arya was in her proper place beside her. Strangely enough her usually unruly sister had dressed without making a fuss and was in her very best behavior.
Two guards entered the courtyard carrying the banner with a red hunter against the green field that was the Tarly’s sigil, right behind him a giant of a man (though definetly shorter than Ser Gregor Clegane) with a balding head, close trimmed beard and stern square face rode a magnificent black stallion, she guessed he was Lord Randyll Tarly.
Beside him a tall and handsome boy of golden hair and blue eyes, a shade or two darker than her own riding a dark brown horse. That was him, her stomach knotted, that was Dickon Tarly.
The golden hair reminded her of Joffrey for a moment, but the two boys had nothing else in common, where Joffrey had been lean and delicate Dickon was broad and strong looking, his face was square like his Lord’s father but without the sterness, he lacked completely the easy charm and authority Joffrey had displayed, Dickon had an aura of awkwardness around him… but he also looked surprisingly gentle.
Her eyes met with his for a moment, and she almost giggles at the expression in his face (mouth agape, blue eyes open wide and color rising in his cheeks) she lowered her eyes to prevent in but still a smile broke into her face.
He, this possible new bethroted of hers, was strangely endearing.
Robb didn’t like this boy, he was blond like a Lannister and that foolish expression he made at the sight of his sister! He was most probably as craven as that bastard prince Joffrey.
His Lord father had told him about Joffrey’s supposed cruelty and how badly he would have treated his sweet sister, and asked him to keep and observant eye on the Tarly boy, his first impression of the blond boy had been completely unflattering, but that didn’t mean he was opposed to a more through inspection in the courtyard, if the boy wasn’t at least passable with the sword then he was not deserving of Sansa, she needed someone strong enough to protect her.
After the small feast his father had thrown in the honor of the Tarlys, during which Robb had to escort Lady Talla Tarly, a sweet little girl as timid as princess Myrcella had been. Robb asked Lord Dickon to spar with him in the courtyard, his mother had shot him a disapproving glare but Lord Tarly had seemed eager for his son to accept, and when Dickon finally did Lord Tarly insisted on watching.
“I’ll fetch the padded armors” Ser Rodrick said.
“There’s no need for that” Lord Tarly stepped out blocking Winterfell’s Maester at Arms way “My heir knows well the blows of the wooden sword, he is a Tarly of Hornhill and needs padded armors as much as Winterfell’s heir”
Robb nodded “We’ll do it the way Lord Tarly desires Ser Rodrick” he took one of the wooden swords in the rack and swung it with ease from side to side “‘Tis are but wooden swords, no real harm can be done with them”
Blond haired Dickon took a sword of his own and they began at Ser Rodrick’s comand. Robb’s first blow was packed with as much strenght as he could muster but the Tarly boy stopped it easily with his own shield and gave his own blow, Robb barely avoided to take it in full force, begrudgingly he admited the hit would have probably made him drop his sword, the boy two years his junior was taller than him and now that he was really looking at him Robb realised he and the bastard Lannister had nothing in common but the hair color, the Tarly had strong arms and broad shoulders.
Both had taken numerous blows, but now the sun was setting and soon they would be called for supper, Robb was sure his Lady mother wouldn’t take kindly to ther future Warden of the North supping with sweat deipping down the table, much less in font of guests. And even if Lord Tarly ad been very insistent, his father had insisted both of them needed food and some rest, at the end he had to admit the boy was very good, Robb had still won most of the matches but in a few years maybe the lad will give him a run for his money.
“Your swordmanship is very good” Robb said while both, he and Dickon put their swords in their rack.
The boy looked surprised and almost bashful before his face split in a grin “Thank you! I– I mean thank you m'lord, it was an honor”
He shook his head “It’s fine you needn’t be so formal, I had a very good time” then feeling mischevious leaned closed so only Dickon could hear “but if you ever harm my sister I’m afraid the next time our swords cross it won’t be fun…well at least for you”
The boy nodded fervently, he wasn’t scared as Robb was aiming, he seemed almost solemn “I would never dare m'lord”
And that’s the moment Robb thought mayhaps the boy would make him a fine goodbrother.
Arya glared at the blond haired prick sitted beside her sister, he was such a ridiculous fool, all stamering and blushing like a maid. Not for the first time she wished Jon was here so they could both laugh at the fool.
Robb seemed to like him well enough, but then again Robb had never dealt with Joffrey, he didn’t know how those kind of monsters would act all sweet and knightly with Sansa and then sent someone to murder common boys like her friend Mycah.
She rememberd how her father had talked with her after she had screamed at Sansa on their way back home because her sister ever the perfect lady had insisted on praying for the souls of the Lannisters.
“He is a liar, and so was the Queen and her brother! Why waste her tears and prayers on them? They also killed Lady!”
Her father had looked her in the eye and said very patiently “That may be so, but Tommen and Myrcella were completely innocent, your sister has a good soul if she can forgive them for the harm they caused her”
“I know she does” she sighed “It’s just irritating how blind she was! Joffrey would have been awful to her and then I would have killed him, I was going to anyway”
“You musn’t speak like that, taking a life is no easy matter and should not be taking lightly. Instead of thinking such a things you should try to help your sister like I told you before you need each other, if your sister is blind to other’s faults then be her eyes”
And that’s what she was doing, Sansa sometimes irritated her to no end, but there were times she was pretty funny, and even if they fought constantly Arya still loved her, and she would ever allow her sister to marry a prick like Joffrey so she was using the abilities Syrio had taught her, she observed and waited, she even dressed in that stupid uncomfortable wool dress she hated and behave the best she could just so she wouldn’t draw attention to herself. She had watched him in the courtyard with Robb, he was awfully clumsy but also strong, nothing impressing for strenght was nothing against tha dance of swords Syrio was teaching her.
So after supper she followed him silent as a cat, like she did back in the Red Keep, and followed the blond Tarly to his chambers.
Swiftly she cornered him agaist the door pressing the tip of Needle to his doublet.
“M'Lady!” he squealed surprised and frightened in equal meassures.
She glared at him “ I just want you to know I’ll be watching you, and if you are anything like Joffrey or make Sansa cry you’ll end up full of holes, I may not be strong like you but I’m quicker”
“I would never do any harm to Lady Sansa” he said “but if I do you have my permission to do as you please m'lady”
She drew back Needle “I don’t need your permission”
“I-I know” and then added with a timid smile “That’s a nice sword, did your Lord father gave it to you?”
She shook her head “My brother Jon, he is at the Wall”
“My older brother Sam– I mean Samwell is at the Wall as well though he didn’t left me such a nice gift, he didn’t even said goodbye”
The sadness in his face and voice made Arya feel uncomfortable, she knew what it was like to miss a brother but if Jon hadn’t even said goodbye… It wasn’t fair! He was supposed to be awful but he was not, he was actually pretty likeable, irritatingly nice just like Sansa.
“I think you should ask my father about him, he went at the Wall to see Jon”
His stupid face cheered up instantly “I will, thank you m'lady”
And with a groan Arya left.
After breaking their fast on the morrow Robb took the Tarly oy to the kennels were their direwolves were kept, their mother had instructed them to leave them there as to not to starttle the Tarlys, but Dickon had showed a lot of interest in seeing them and Robb really enjoyed the boy’s company, besides it would be amusing if he got scared.
Figures Rickon and Bran had beat them there and were feeding their pups.
“Why did you come here?” asked little Rickon as the young Tarly had at least reached out to pet Greywind.
Dickon blushed “ I– w-well, m-my Lord father–”
Taking pity on him Robb answered “Father is seeking to make a match between him and Sansa”
“What does that mean Bran?” he asked turning to his brother who was sitting in a chair beside him.
“Father wants Sansa to marry them when they are older, and Sansa will become the lady of Hornhill.” Bran explained.
“And where is that?”
“In the Reach, very far away in the south”
Rickon furrowed his brow and turned towards Dickon.
“You can’t take my sister to the South!” he threw himself at Dickon and began to hit him where he could reach “she just came back, you can’t!”
Luckily Robb intervened before Shaggydog could involve himself on that fight. But now Rickon was trashing and crying in Robb’s arms.
“I’m afraid I don’t really have a say in that, but if LadySansa goes with me back to Hornhill I promise we’ll come visit as often as possible, and if your Lord father allows it maybe you cam visit as well m'lord, Hornhill has big forests and lots of hills I am sure your direwolves would like them very much.”
Rickon looked at him distrustfully “You would?”
“See Rickon?” said Bran ruffled his little brother’s hair “There’s nothing to worry about, and if there was well even if I can’t promise I could be of any use Summer could”
Even though Bran was smiling Robb shuddered a little, well better for the lad to be warned.
That evening Dickon would spend some time in the company of Lady Sansa, his father had pressed him to behave as the heir of Hornhill would (he still wasn’t really sure what that meant, he knew his obligations and tried his very best to be as strong as his father wanted but what did an heir exactly meant?) and his mother told him to be charming and gallant (he also didn’t know exactly how to be those, specially around pretty Lady Sansa, he could barely speak a word to her without blushing!) she even had him wear his finest doublet the emerald silk one with his house’s huntsman embroidered in small rubies on the left side of his chest.
When he entered Lady Stark’s solar she was already there with her Septa that was to chaperone them, her direwolf the smallest and prettiest of the pack in his opinion at her feet, she was singing and sewing. The song was not familiar to him– but then again he didn’t knew a lot of songs, his father said the heir of Hornhill had no time for songs and stupid stories– but he liked the sound of it.
“Sansa” the Septa called “Lord Tarly has arrived”
The girl raised her beautiful clear blue eyes at him and smiled. Dickon’s cheeks grew warm.
She stood and curtisied prettily at him “Good evening m'lord, you must forgive my rudeness”
He bowed, damning his clumsiness and lack of grace “N-no– I mean it’s fine. You-you did nothing wrong m'lady”
She smiled and prompted him to sit in front of her.
“Er- you have a lovely voice, what song were you singing m'lady?”
“Thank you m'lord, it was “The Winter Maid” is not a very popular song so maybe that is why you didn’t knew of it”
“I really don’t know much about songs”
She stared at him very solemnly “Do they displease you?”
“No” he rushed to say “They please me well enough, it’s just that my Lord father doesn’t think I should spend a lot of time with songs and stories, I liked when my brother read them to me though” he said wistfully.
“If you want I could sing them for you” she offered timidly, her cheeks flushed.
He nodded dumbly, now he understood why the Starks were so protective over Lady Sansa she was so sweet and pretty surely no treasure in the North could compare to her. And really what were a few threats (that he himself would do when the time came for his father to seek matches for his little sisters) if he could have that smile and bright blue eyes?
So basically Ned got out of KL with Arya and Sansa after Robert muredred Cersei and her children, Robb never called the bannerman,Cat is back in WF, Bran and Rickon are alive and well and safe in WF. Ned went to the wall and told Jon about R+L=J but he still decided to stay in the wall, Ned meets Sam who talks great stuff about lil’ bro Dickon, and as Sansa is still sad about all the awful stuff that happened and wants to look for a good match for her as he promised he decides to invite the Tarly to WF. WW are not a thing cuz everyone lives happily ever after, and I know this doesn’t make any political sense and Randyll wouldn’t go all the way to WF (or maybe he would? i mean is a very good match and Sansa is a highborn lady of a very old and respectable house so Idk?) but politics and that stuff don’t matter in Denial Town.
A/N: FINALLYYYYYY Part two is here !! @xo-endlessmayhem-xo this chapter will have quite a few shippy moments , just a heads up
The vast dining hall was in deafening silence as the Princess, her friends and her advisor were having dinner. Aleister was thoughtfully staring at Taylor, his icy blue eyes piercing her. The silence was occasionally broken by the screech of the forks against the plates and Grace dusting the ancient statuettes.
The doors to the kitchen flew open and the Royal chef presented Taylor with an amazing looking dish.
“This looks delicious! Thank you, Raj.” She thanked her chef with a warm smile.
“Only the best for your highness.” He replied with a bow, before leaning to whisper something into the princess’s ear.
“Let’s hope it’ll calm you-know-who down” She barely suppressed a laugh as Raj exited.
She looked down, afraid to catch her advisor’s cold glare again. She heard a cough and looked to the side to see Quinn nodding her head towards Aleister with a smile. When Taylor looked up, his expression has softened, but it wasn’t directed at her, he was looking at Grace carefully cleaning the 12 amber statuettes carefully aligned in the dining room. Taylor couldn’t help but smile.
“Your Highness, if you’ll need me I’ll be in the library.” Grace said, heading for the door.
“Wait, Grace! Can you please refill Aleister’s wine.”
Aleister tensed up when Grace approached him, smiling warmly. But not as warm as his cheeks at that moment. She refilled his glass before leaving.
Taylor winked at Quinn, Diego and Michelle.
She looked to her other staring longingly out the window. She saw her stable with beautiful mares and stallions she has had from childhood, suddenly she saw a figure feeding the horses. The handsome stranger from the town. She felt butterflies in her stomach and almost flew out of her chair.
“What are you looking at..?” Aleister asked.
She quickly looked away. “Oh, it is nothing!”
She cleared her throat.
“I was thinking of expanding the list of guests for the Royal event this week.” Taylor said firmly.
“How exactly?” Aleister asked, taking a long gulp of his wine.
“I want to invite the woman who leaves on the edge of the Kingdom.”
The pale man choked on his beverage.
“Exactly what you heard! I’ll invite her personally!”
Aleister jumped out of his seat.
“You can get lost! Or worse they can kidnap you! I won’t forgive myself if anythi–”
“Awwww, you care about her like a sibling!” Quinn exclaimed
“I–…” He blushed. “Your protection, Taylor… is MY duty…”
“I’ll take my friends!”
“No, I did not sign up for that!” Michelle said in refusal.
“I’ll take guards, Sean–”
“On second thought, I think I’ll join.” Michelle quickly changed her mind.
“…Fine…” Aleister said.
Taylor cheered, running out of the hall. Outside she was greeted by Sean, Craig and some other guards.
“Gentlemen! We’re going to the edge of the kingdom to end the legend of the old witch once and for all!” She said excitedly. That excitement was unrequited as the guards stared at each other hesitantly.
“I don’t know, your highness, I’ve been told some awful things about that witch…” Sean said.
“Yes! She cuts off tongues and glues her victims months shut–”
“I wish she would do that you, Craig.” Sean said jokingly.
“My decision is final! Now, what are you waiting for, get ready!” She ordered.
She made her way towards the stables, where the handsome stranger was now working.
“Good Evening, your highness.” He said without even turning around.
“I never found out your name, stable boy.”
“You can call me whatever you want, Princess.”
“Huh, is ‘court jester’ alright..?”
“Very funny, that role would fit you better.”
She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him.
“I uh–your highness!”
“…Jacob.” He said thoughtfully.
“My name… it’s Jacob.”
“Huh… So Jake.” She said while jumping on a white, beautiful horse.
“Are you up for a ride?”
“Sure am..” he sat on a dark brown horse.
“To the Royal garden and back, ready, set, go!”
They were nose to nose the entire ride laughing as they pushed each other’s horses. She was about to pass him when her mare suddenly stopped and she fell, laughing hysterically. He laughed as well, jumping right off his horse and lying next to Taylor.
“Wow… a ride with Jacob is rough, wild and fun as all hells..?”
“You have no idea, your highness.” He smirked.
They stared at each other before someone coughed and interrupted them.
Taylor looked around to see Sean standing awkwardly.
“We’re, ready to go, Princess.”
“See you later, court jester.” She said.
After some time Taylor, Diego, Michelle and some guards arrived at the old lodge at the end of the town.
“Still not too late to turn back!” Craig said before being elbowed by Michelle.
Taylor’s hand grazed against the wooden door and it screeched open. They all entered to see a hooded figure working on a big machine. She looked at them, her crimson eyes, once again glowing under her dark hood.
“My, it’s been a while since this place has been visited by anyone, let alone royalty.” She said with a low raspy voice. “Why, where are my manners?” She curtsied in front of the princess. After which she walked back to her machine.
“So, are you a witch..?” Diego asked, also getting elbowed by Michelle.
“A witch..? Huh.” She laughed. “Is that what a woman dedicated to science is called among you folk?”
“So you’re not a witch?” Diego asked again.
“Shut. Up. Diego.” Michelle whispered.
“No… but I shouldn’t be underestimated.” She answered, her eyes glowing stronger for a mere second, illuminating her face for a fraction of a second.
“What a freak…” Craig whispered and her attention immediately shifted to him, she quickly made her way towards him and he instinctively pulled up his sword, pressing it against her neck. She stopped, the sword leaving a distance of a big step between them. She stared intently, the sword started glowing red and melted right before their eyes. Craig hissed in pain from the heat, dropping the metal.
She pulled the hood from her head, revealing a young woman with smooth, tan skin and long silky dark hair. Craig stared at her, baffled, firmly holding his burned hand.
“What? What?! Younger than yer ol’ storytellers told yer?” She said with a mocking mercenary accent.
“Give me your hand…” she said angrily. She grabbed his hand and concentrated. When she let go, the burn was gone. She pulled her hood back up and turned to Taylor.
“May I know why I’m so blessed with your presence?” Taylor silently passed her an envelope and motioned her friends to leave the cottage.
“You should stop isolating yourself…” Taylor said before turning around and exiting herself.