#clippedwingsx

“ are you flirting or starting a fight ? ”

         @clippedwingsx​      ☆    PINTEREST SENTENCE STARTERS

           𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒, the lord of the vale’s question makes her head pull back   —   the image of surprise clear on her expression.   is that what they were doing?   flirting...?   their wedding is not for two moons, still.   but why would he ask for something he does not want?   when he looks at her like that, when there is this darkness in his eyes which she has not yet seen, it is difficult to tell.   

               she’s  never  met  robin  arryn  personally,  after  all,  travelling  took  a  toll  on  her,  so  while  occasionally  her  mother  and  cousin  would  attend  tourneys  and  political  events  with  her  father,  she  herself   has  never  attended  an  event  when  she  encountered  the  lord  of  the  vale,  but  she  has  heard  stories,  after  all,  her  uncle  marwyn  had  served  as  captain  of  the  guards  for  a  time.      but  she  prefers  to  judge  people  in  person,  after  all,  stories  can  be  twisted.      people  referred  to  her  as  a  frail  yet  kind  songbird,  and  little  more,  but  she  likes  to  think  there  is  much  more  to  her  story,  so  while  she  has  seen  some  within  castle  strongsong  offer  no  more  than  the  required  politeness,  she  offers  a  warm  smile  as  she  takes  a  seat  opposite  the  lord.

Interrogate Arya about things- 

She almost snaps a no, before the image of a drunken night with Sansa fills her head. Long before Jon returned home. Shansa, chaosh Ish a ladda.

               The flight on Drogon had left a chill in Sansa’s bones, but it wouldn’t go away so soon. The Eerie was cold and she doubted her absence had warmed it any. Motioning for Daenerys and Greyworm to stay back, Sansa walked forward to speak with the Knights of the Vale. She had sent a raven that they would be arriving soon, but she didn’t want to have the dragon queen killed before the war even started.

Petyr Baelish was no friend of Harrold or any side of his family but when Littlefinger died, the Vale seemed to mourn him in some ways. There was no doubt he did good things for the Vale and the Eyrie but the cost was something not known to them all. Harry did not know that cost but he did know that he as now the advisor to Robin Arryn at request by the lords. It was not something that the heir was particularly fond of and not something that he thought Robin would be. It would a partnership that would be challenging for them both. Harry wanted to succeed to show others just how good of a lord and ruler he could be.

           “Lord Robert,” he said as a greeting, “I thought it best for us to talk and                 discuss the Eyrie and our partnership with the North now that I am                  you new adviser. I hope we can make a good partnership.”  

PERHAPS IT ISN’T THEIR BEST PLAN, but it’s the only that will suffice. The Lord of the Vale firmly stays in the heights of his nests throughout the beginning of a war that he’ll inevitably be part of, and despite most of his armies remaining North, there’s not enough when they know there’s more to be given. And so despite the warnings of her Hand – who himself still had nightmares for his time in the sky cells – and who had almost been tossed through the skies to land on the valley below, the Targaryen found herself clutching firmly to the dragon beneath her. Arms cling tight to her waist, and only a brief turn of amethyst hues behind her saw the streak of crimson locks, the shock and fright beneath. Behind her clings a taller woman, much more sturdy in frame – and finally behind them an unflinching member of her own Queensguard.

Sansa. Brienne. Grey Worm. And all of them clinging for dear life, on the wings of a dragon.

It occurs to her, even as her son finally begins his descent, that there was once a time she might have clung so desperately to him. Now, calloused hands are used to the way his scales eventually tear through all of her gloves, and her inner thighs bear the remnants of those scars from first flight. Her son lands with his brother in quick succession, and hands gently ease that iron grip her waist – from porcelain, to ivory, to steel – and begin to slip down from his side. They meet not within the walls of the Eyrie itself, but the road that leads there at the base of the mountain, as negotiated in advance. Perhaps they’re walking into the hornet’s nest, or perhaps this is a friendly meet; either way, she is not so foolish.

It’s only when her party stand by her sides, flanked by two large dragons, that her gaze falls on the male not so distantly standing across from her, with a soft bow of her chin in acknowledgement.