Gigi

The real issue is that the place is extremely cold at night this time of year, and there’s soooo much fog 🥹 To make things worse, my dad is being stubborn about his pickup truck and wants to take his sports car instead...

Neither Friday nor Saturday, the chapter ended up being posted today, Sunday 😅

“How many are speaking of the succession?” she asked. “Few. For now.” Jon frowned. “No one has cause.” “Causes can be invented,” Robb said. “You presented as an alpha, you have the Stark look, you are a few months older than I am, and you are bonded to Sansa. For certain men, that is enough to begin a story. It is not an organized cause yet. That is precisely the danger. No one knows what shape the division will take.” He knew some of those men. They had taught them both to stand watch, pitch a tent, and hold a shield beneath the rain. When Robb passed, they straightened and called him “my lord.” When Jon passed, the respect came before the title he did not possess. Envy came unbidden. Robb had been prepared for Winterfell since childhood. He had sat beside Ned while stewards recited the costs of grain and horseshoes. He had learned which houses owed men for the patrols, which bridges needed repairs before the thaw, and how long a wall could wait for new stone. He knew levies, harvests, marriages, debts, and the small disputes that could grow until they demanded blood. Jon had trained with the same men and walked the same yards, but had never been summoned to audiences as the heir. Even so, certain soldiers looked at him with a certainty Robb never received without the weight of name and rank. Jon needed no record to look like a Stark. He did not need to sit at Ned's right hand for men to follow him across the yard and listen when he corrected a stance. Robb did not envy his chains, his bastardy, or the wounds still bleeding beneath Luwin's cloths. He envied only that, and felt shame enough to know it was true.

I’ll post chapter 8 tomorrow, chapter 9 on Sunday, and perform some black magic to somehow post chapter 10 before I travel on Monday 🫠

Those of you who have been following me for a long time may remember that the last time I went there was when I disappeared from this social network for the longest time 😂 The signal is terrible, and most of the time I can only use whatsapp.

The pain came so suddenly that Jon looked at the manacle on his left wrist, certain the iron had caught flesh beneath its edge. There was no fresh blood. The pressure came from elsewhere, and yet his body recognized it: fingers closing around a forearm, balance giving way, the ground seeming to shift, too little air entering the lungs. Then came the fear. Jon rose as far as the chains allowed. The scent of pine, iron, and smoke filled the wagon before he realized he was releasing it. The horses whinnied. One of the animals drawing the wagon tried to leave the track, and a wheel struck a stone hard enough to throw him against the wall. There was another alpha. Jon did not know how he knew. Perhaps it was only Sansa’s reaction crossing the bond. Perhaps his own body recognized what his mind could not see. The presence seemed close to her, strong enough to provoke pressure, restraint, and a violent urgency to drive it away. Someone was holding Sansa. Or Jon believed someone was. Perhaps she was trying to pull away. The sensation around her arm tightened again, followed by a surge of panic that hollowed out his chest. Jon yanked the chain without thinking. The eyebolt groaned in the wood. “Stop!” Hallis shouted from outside. The horses slowed in disorder. Boots struck the ground, men spoke over one another, and someone ordered the reins held fast. When the canvas was raised, hard light poured in, making Jon narrow his eyes. Hallis stood before him with his sword still sheathed, while Desmond and Olyvar remained farther back, both armed. “Has any message come from Winterfell?” Jon asked. Hallis studied his face. “No.” “Something happened to Sansa.” None of the men laughed. “What did you feel?” Hallis asked. “Someone held her. She lost her balance. There is an alpha near her.” Jon heard the certainty in his own voice and hated it, because he could support it with nothing another man could see. “Or that is how it seems. I have no way of knowing while you carry me in the opposite direction.”

As I’ve mentioned before, Crown of Lies and Whispers of Obsession were two fics I wrote without any planning whatsoever. I only knew what the main plot of each story would be and how they would end. It was only this year that I finally sat down and planned them out chapter by chapter, and then realized that each one would need around twenty more chapters for me to wrap everything up.

With Winter Is Coming, I had already created a detailed plan covering everything that needed to happen, because it is by far my most demanding fic. Technically, it follows canon — it’s basically The Winds of Winter written from the perspective of someone who ships Jonsa 😂 So I decided everything: what would happen, the characters’ arcs, all of it... buuut I never made a chapter-by-chapter outline.

Today, I had some free time, and what did I decide to do? Let’s plan Winter Is Coming chapter by chapter...

Guys, according to my calculations, Winter Is Coming needs to have AT LEAST F.O.R.T.Y MORE CHAPTERS. And that’s with me thinking I was pretty convenient in certain parts and rushed through some of the plot.

I just realized I hadn’t mentioned here that I posted a new chapter hahahahaha 😂

Jon passed beyond the walls; she could feel it. The bond stretched and began to weaken, not all at once but with every advance, like a voice growing softer as it receded down a corridor. His stupor mingled with Sansa’s own anguish, making it difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. She remained there, following him as best she could, held motionless by the suffering and pain that accompanied him, until the blackness beyond the windows took on its first shade of grey. Catelyn entered shortly afterward. She wore the previous night’s gown beneath a dark cloak, and her hair had been pinned without its usual care. A few red strands had escaped at her temples. Her mother had not slept. Sansa rose. “Where is Jon?” “He was sent to Castle Black, under Benjen’s charge.” There was no lie about consent, no attempt to pretend that Jon had chosen to leave. Even so, the answer was not enough. “My father announced that he would leave before dawn. I want to know why no one told me the hour, why my door was locked, and why they had to sedate him.” Catelyn looked at the maid. “Leave us.” The woman hurried out. Only after the door had closed, this time without the key turning, did Catelyn answer. “Robb, Luwin, and I knew he was leaving. None of us knew that Ned meant to use dreamwine or have him chained. Jory came to find me after the escort had already passed through the gates.” It took Sansa a moment to comprehend the word. Distance had weakened Jon, but she could still feel him, heavy and confused, moving north while iron held him fast. “Chained?” “Shackles on his wrists and ankles.” Something icy opened within her, colder than the floor beneath her feet. She imagined Jon’s injured hands closed around the chains, though she did not know whether he was conscious enough to try to move them.