#gotimagines

Through the sweet English fields.

Thought river and brook.

Though the bunkered-down cities.

Through the madness of the royal mail postal service.

Through the miles of vast green fields.

Through the dusty roads and paths.

Though the knee-high snow.

Through the intensely cold blizzard.

Through the air raids.

Through the mines.

Thought the bullets.

Thought miles of cold, wet trenches.

Though many men are in various states of wellness and mental stability. 

Though dirt and damp.

All to finally reach the little quarters they were addressed to. 

"Timothy Latimer!"

"Hum?" I asked poking my head out of the little bunker 

"Mail," he says 

"Ohh thanks" I smiled, taking the box inside and sitting on my little green bed, box in hand. I noticed immediately the sweet handwriting on the box I happily got my knife opened it up and revealed the sweet contents immediately I took the sweet hand knitted red scarf in hand long enough to wrap around me twice and still have space to snuggle with the wool so soft and cosy against my face with all her cute extra little stitches that always make everything so beautiful. I grabbed the little flowery tin and opened it up immediately and I was hit by the smell of her fruit cake. I stuffed one into my mouth, overwhelming my senses after months of porridge, crackers and dirt. I stopped myself as if not I would have eaten the whole cake. I dug deeper into the box and saw the little letter that I happily opened up

'Dear Timothy, 

I miss you terribly, I had hoped you'd be home by now but I know the struggle goes on. Even if I desperately wish to see you again. The only time I ever get to see you anymore is in my dreams and I savour every single second of it. I wish you hope and joy, and I wish you health and safety. I hope you enjoy the cake I baked for you, The wool was from Lilli on the farm as I know she has the softest wool and I spun it all special for you before I knitted it. And I added a sweet extra gift for you.

Love Y/n’

I smiled as at the bottom of the letter was a sweet picture of her in her adorable nightie I wrapped my new scarf around me tightly and took the tin of cake out to the other boys so everyone in the trenches got a taste of her sweet cake too, and when I headed back in I laid on my bed and looked at the sweet picture of her on our bed in her adorable nightie with her signature a kiss and the sweet words

In truth, you didn’t know where Jon had planned to house her. There was a room very near to yours, you supposed, that she could have. You would have offered her your own bed–it was grander, and you had little use for it. But appearances had to be maintained, and no information should be offered unasked.

Higher and higher you climb into the keep, up the spiralling stairwell that–as you now notice–brush the sides of your grandmother’s bulk as she walks. Would this hindrance keep her above stairs or below, you wondered?

Her flinty eyes glance about the corridor; even here she was vigilant, even when there was nowt here but ageless grey brick.

“And where do you sleep, Y/n?” she asks, with all the subtlety of a woman known for carrying a mace.

“I sleep there, grandmother–just at the opposite end of the hall.”

“By the other stairwell?”

“Yes.”

Her brows narrow into a knowing scowl. “And where do those stairs lead?”

“To–” you catch yourself before you can say Jon “–Lord Stark’s solar. And Lady Sansa’s.”

“You’re at first names with Lady Bolton, are you?”

“Many here at Winterfell–at least, those who weathered the Boltons– have known her since she was a girl. She is still very much Lady Sansa in their eyes.” You throw a glance around the parameter. “It’s not my place to say, but...for reasons very dear to Lady Sansa, she prefers to dispense with the name Bolton.”

“I don’t blame her. When I heard she’d been yoked to Ramsay Bolton I shuddered.” She does so again, at the thought. “Having to bed that repugnant dog’s pizzle of a man...” She shakes her head. “Though I suppose the gods are good after all–she bore him no children and kept her fingers.”

You make a sound of weak agreement, though your mind is full of objections. You know that Lady Sansa’s stories are not yours to tell.

“They seem to have smiled on Lord Stark as well,” she continues, “collecting so many titles so soon. King in the North. The White Wolf. Now Jon Stark, heir to Winterfell.”

You nod. “I think he will do well by his name,” you offer, as you both approach her room. You’re exhausted physically as well as emotionally: the fear, the surprise, the general disquiet of the whole night has taken its toll.

You open wide the door, giving place a quick inspection before allowing your grandmother inside. There is a cold hearth, piled with tinder and straw; the bed is half pelts, and looks as if it could stand up, shake, and walk away; a small chamber pot is visible underneath. Yes, you think, this will do fine.

“I hope this suits you, Grandmother.”

She takes a sweeping glance in the near-darkness. “It will serve.”

Good enough. “I’ll leave you this candle, then, so you may light a fire if you wish.”

She turns to you with eyebrow cocked. “And what sort of thankless child are you, that you would not kneel to light a fire for an old crone? Come inside, come inside!”

She kicks at a pile of logs with a leather boot, stuffed with hides and bound around her leg in leather scrap. When no mice or rats escaped, she seized a cask-sized log in both hands and slammed it into the grate, snapping the twigs underneath.

“Close the door, girl–you’ll let the draft in!”

You do so, and cross the room to offer her the candle’s flame. She nearly snatches it from your hand, and sets the straw and kindling alight.

She clearly hasn’t lost an ounce of strength since last you saw her, you think, so why does she play the crone now?

When at last she has the log set to burning, she stands–with not a groan nor a creak–and sits at the foot of the bed.

“Come, Y/n, and give me a hand with these boots. My old fingers are still-half frozen.”

On your haunches, you kneel before her; she sets a boot onto your thigh. You see now that the scraps and cords of leather are not one piece, but several pieces tied end to end. You recognize the hides inside as squirrel and mink. It is less a boot than a paw–tough and furry, more animal than human. What’s more, the smell of feet and old fur and rotting leather turns your nose. Still, you resolve to be Good, and begin to pull at a knot.

She leans in closer to you. “I’ve heard it said that you are serving here as Lyanna’s consul.” Her voice is flat and soft now.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“And Lyanna bid it so?”

“Yes, Grandmother.” You’re unsure which is more bothersome, the knotted leather or the prying questions.

“Did Lord Stark have any say in this appointment?”

“I don’t know, Grandmother,” you say, sure of your honesty in at least that answer. “I was only asked, not consulted.”

“I’m surprised. It’s said you have Lord Stark’s ear and more.”

So that had left the castle’s gates. How far had it flown, you wonder. Your cheeks can’t help but flush a little–the thought of the whole of Westeros knowing how you spent your nights. What else had passed through these broken walls? Did all of Planetos know he had taken your maidenhead?

“If I remember right, you took to each other as children,” she continues.

“Aye, we did,” you answer through gritted teeth, unwinding the wet leather from around her calf.

“Did you ever wonder why you were never betrothed?”

The question takes you off guard. You had wondered, so very long ago; but that was before you were a woman flowered, and many young men had caught your eye since.

“I suppose Lord Eddard had planned on urging him into the Night’s Watch?”

“No, child.” She lay a hand on your shoulder. You look up to meet her eyes. “Eddard Stark knew Robert Baratheon from boyhood. He served as Robert’s Hand. Do you believe that the king would hesitate to grant him any favor he wished?”

You shake your head No.

“Lord Eddard could have had Jon made legitimate with a stroke of the king’s quill. He’d be the second son, yes, but a full and trueborn son all the same, with the rights to name and title... Many men would offer up their maiden daughters for a chance at even that glass jewel of a Stark.”

You blink your confusion. You cannot say where this is going, but an uncomfortable churning begins in your belly all the same.

“Don’t you see, girl? Jon was their lord-under-glass. Should any ambitious match be found, a new heir could be made as quick as a raven flies. A lord with too many daughters could yet earn himself a new son–a Stark son–in return for his loyalty. Such ambitions aren’t served by marrying one of their own vassals.”

You nod slowly. “But why tell me this now? Jon is a lord in his own right. He won’t need to be married off now. And Lady Sansa could still marry well...”

“Sansa is twice married and only once widowed. As both a Bolton and a Lannister, she is cursed twofold. The whole of the North is cursed if she should let herself be taken in by Littlefinger.” A small sigh deflates her. “And for all the glory of this place, and all the lustre of the Stark name, there is very little substance to either now. The castle is half a ruin, and there are precious few men left to fight for it.”

You don’t notice, but your hands are beginning to shake. You only feel the tightness in your throat. “But the Manderleys...the Glovers...they’ve promised their swords to Jon. Surely their support...” Your voice falls away, strangled.

“And when he tells them about these White Walkers–will they follow their ‘king’ then? They dare not turn tail again, but they may march ever slower behind him. And what shall he do when no one is sworn to him but green boys and wildlings? Jon cannot make them an army–but he can marry into one.”

The air disappears from the room.

“There may be a lesser Redwyne who’ll give him men enough to march against the Lannisters–in return for a Northern ladyship, of course. Perhaps one of Mallister’s granddaughters, once she comes of age.” She efflares a laugh. “He may even make a good match for the little Dragon Queen, if she’ll have him...”

“Stop!” you cry. You’re panting hard now, struggling to breathe. You blink and find tears wetting your cheeks.

“Y/n...”

“No...” The word comes out in a mewling little whine, but you can’t stop from saying it over and over again.

“I’m sorry, Y/n...”

She kept talking after she spoke your name; you did not hardly hear it. Your mind is a thousand places at once, your thoughts running about in a panic. That all those nights should mean nothing. That the battle scars you still bore–that he had kissed half a hundred times–should mean so little...

“...leave Winterfell at the next clear day...”

Leave? But why? There was work to be done here, and there were aunts and cousins aplenty to secure the lodge for winter.

Were plans being laid even now? Surely Jon would not keep you in his bed whilst his marriage was being arranged. Then again, you think, if you’ve already given him your maidenhead, and can offer no more than the sworn swords of a treen and craggy island, you worth may be only as a bedwarmer now. You were not privvy to the talks that made you consul–why should you be present for the machinations of a marriage alliance?

“You may take a part of him, if you must...”

This only starts your tears afresh. “I...there was...I couldn’t...”

Your grandmother nods knowingly. “Moon tea.”

It was not moon tea, but it was close enough. And you haven’t the will or the words to explain otherwise. You simply nod your agreement.

“There is time, if you wanted–”

“NO!” You howl, another sob lurching through you. You, yelling at the grandmother you thought was dead. You could be no more ashamed of yourself.

“I couldn’t...I couldn’t do that to Jon,” you finally say. “His great fear is that he’d father a bastard himself. It’s no life for a child here...” If only she knew how different Bear Island was from the rest of Westeros...

She seizes your chin her still-powerful grip and lifts it so you meet her eyes.

“He is the son of a Lord and you are the daughter of a Lady. Bastards or no, you are equals. It cannot–it will not–be said that any child that comes of your bodies shall be any less.” You nod into her hand.

With a surprising tenderness, she wipes away your tears with her thumb. “You are his equal, sweetling. And he is no king–not yet.” She pulls her hand back. “But a man’s title is bought, sold, and traded as much as any maidenhead. Just know that he may yet be too costly for you.”

You nod again, and force a weak smile. You hope that it is enough to mask the heartbreak that twists like a knife in your chest. More tears are welling behind your eyes; a full cup threatening to run over. And for a moment, you wonder if throwing yourself off the battlements would break your neck, or if you’d only freeze to death in chest-high snow.

You stand–slowly, as not to spill the overflowing cup–and give her a little curtsy. “Can I do anything more for you, Grandmother?” You suck in a sob. “I should like to go to bed now.”

“No, child,” she says softly. “I should like to sleep myself.” She pulls at the heel of her boot before adding “I’ve not slept safely in many moons. Remind me to thank Lord Stark for his hospitality in the morning.”

“I will.” You back out of the room, barely holding your composure. “Goodnight Grandmother.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

You close her door behind you and have a quick glance around the hall: there is no one to see or hear you. Still, the few steps to your room feel like leagues of swamp, weighing down every footfall.

The very minute you close your door, you throw yourself onto your bed and sob into your feather pillow. Your whole body cramps with the heave of it.

Could you have been so foolish as to think that you could keep him? The White Wolf, the King in the North? That your sword, your maidenhead, your willing ears and loving arms could somehow be enough to overcome your inferior name? The accusations ring in your head: all Mormont women are skin changers and she-bears, populating an island with their bastards.

If Jon’s seed planted a son in you, you think, he’d be a prince on Bear Island. He would be adored. He could have a good maester, and a horseman, and half a dozen masters-at-arms. He could be just the warrior his father was, if not more...

But there’d be no question he was a Stark. Not if you whelped a boy after a stay at Winterfell. Not if he had Jon’s dark eyes. Or his raven curls, or his solemn mouth. And if Jon had boys of his own... Too many had died in the Blackfyre rebellions to allow it. And you don’t think you could bear the look in Jon’s eyes, if he found out he’d left a son unloved.

No. You couldn’t.

You sob harder. You do so over and over until, finally, there is nothing left. Defeated and drained, you curl in on yourself, falling asleep on your bear pelt blanket.

I hummed my little tune giving the horses brushes and apples in the winterfell courtyard  when I heard the noise now so familiar to me of wheels rolling from the castle doors making me turn to see bran his chair being pushed by Arya "Brandon!" I giggled running over to him and jumping on him sitting in his lap and pressing little kisses all over his face and neck "Awe hello" he smiled holding me close "Ugh, you two are awful" Arya yelled "No worse then you and gendry" bran laughed giving my nose a kiss "I don't go around jumping in gendrys lap' she sighs "Yes you do, just when he's done in the forge" bran smirked "I missed you" I smile nuzzling into his neck "I missed you too pretty girl" he smiles kissing my head "come along its getting late, you can finish up with them tomorrow" he says "Alright" I smile sorting the horses for the night and taking bran back to our room and helping into the bed I smiled throwing a couple logs in the fire "Umm you look so beautiful," he smiles "Thank you bran" I smile blowing him a kiss he smirked looking at my body as I got things arranged pouring the water into the bath tub and going over to where he sat on his bed "time to get undressed my lord stark" I tell him making him smirk more slipping his shirt off and undoing his pants so I tugged them off him averting my eyes from his cock he noticed me not looking and pulled me up to meet his eyes I smiled caressing his cheek lightly before stripping him completly and going to check if the water is cool enough for bran as he always hated his baths red hot even when he was young "You don't have to look away when I'm naked y/n," he smirked "I know I don't my lord but it's polite" I smirk taking the bath over to him pushing it with its little wheels "are you ready for your bath lord stark" I ask Turning him so his legs fell off the bed sitting perched on the edge of the bed "Yes miss Y/n," he smirked "are you ready for yours?" He asks grabbing my waist and pulling me to stand between his legs cuddling me tight and slowly pulling on the ties on my little purple dress tugging it off me leaving me naked against his skin and I moved my eyes away but he smirked pulling me to look at him "Bran I-" I began "Shhh, let me look" he says looking at every inch of my body "As the three eyes raven? And can see everything...do you go looking at lots of naked people?" I ask him letting his soft hair "Only you beautiful girl" he smiles "a raven has no time for naked folks only you" he smirked kissing my lips softly I smirked and moved away so he could see all of me in one glance "Uhhhhhh y/n, chin up it makes you stand taller" he says so I did it "arms at your sides... behind you pushed your chest to far makes them look smaller" he says so I did it too "uhh your legs... Further apart, just a little" he begs so I did that too "Enough Brandon says, bath time" I tell him helping him where I could into the water "Aren't you going to join me?" He asks "When your clean my lord stark" I tell him starting to help him to wash for a while till he took my hand "Come here, that's an order little girl" he said "Yes my lord" I smirk stepping into his bath and straddling him I could feel his rock hard cock under me "ummm lord stark... It's bigger then I expected" I blushed resting my hands on his chest "The three eyed raven once told me it was the biggest in westeros history" he smirked "When did he say that?" I ask "When we where in the past" he says "I thought where the three eyed raven?" I ask "Exactly" he smirked grabbing my waist "y/n...kiss me my sweet angel" be begs so I smiled kissing his soft lips gently he pulled me closer pulling me tight against him I moaned uncontrollably into the kiss feeling him under me "Uhh Brandon!" I moaned lightly grinding on him "Ummm...stop I'll cum if you don't" he moaned "I thought that is what you wanted lord stark" I smirked kissing down his neck "I do, umm Don't stop those heavenly kisses y/n, more more" he groans "More?" I smirk sitting up letting his head slip inside me "this enough?" I ask and he nodded quickly "More then enough" he smirked

"The Raven doesn't want" I smirked sitting up more and gently slipping down his cock "The Raven doesn't beg" I smirk "The Raven has no matter with the affairs of-" I began as I hit his base "Uhh... Bran" I moan softly holding him tightly "Uhhhh!" I moan

"Umm you're so tight... you feel amazing." He moaned "I never want to stop, ever the rest of all time I want to be inside you," he says

"Ummm I would like that Brandon" I smirk "But I'm sure the stark lord has other things to do then fuck his whore" I smirk

"You're not my whore, you're my lover soon to be my wife," he says "And I would think when Lord stark asked for her pussy she would give it" he growled kissing me deeply so I smirked starting to bounce on him "Uhh uhhhh! ohh my god..." he moans leaning his head on his bath "more...faster please" He begs to move my hips to make me go faster

"Uhhh uuuuhhh Brandon!" I scream bouncing on him faster and harder

"Uuuhhhhh Y/n" he moans "your getting close aren't you angel?" he asks and I nod "You've never cum before, relax it's going to explode out of you darling" He smirked  

"Uhh uuuuuhhhh Uh Uhhhh!" I moan feeling so good boucning on bran's cock "why weren't we doing this the second we came of age?" I ask him

"I don't know! one word I'll go back in time and fuck you every day since we met" he smirked

"No, just promise you will from now on" I smirk

"Ohh Every night my angel" He moans "I promise" he smirks

"Every night?" I smirk

"Night, Morning, Afternoon, evening, Lunchtime anytime you want me too" he groaned "Kiss me Please," he asks so I giggled kissing him deeply as I got faster and faster

"Uhhh uuuhhh Brandon... uuuuuhhh uhh!" I scream "Uhh uuuuhhh Ahhhh!" I scream bitting on his mouth as I rocketed into my orgasm "Umm uhhh Bran..." I moan collapsing on his chest

"Ummm Y/n, I always wanted to do that" he smirked

"Didn't you want to-" I began

"I already did, while you were screaming" he smirks

"I didn't hear you" I giggled

"I'm quiet, how do you think I did it without waking you, or rickon, or Meera or jojen or even hodor" He smirked

"Umm, Bran" I smile getting out of bed and getting my nightie on

"Yes my beautiful girl" He smirked as I helped him out onto the bed as soon as he was tucked in the bed I sat on his lap

"When can we go again?" I ask kissing all over his bare skin

"Hummm ? already?" he asked

"When?" I ask

"Give me a little time until I can-" he began

"Soon? or are you going to keep your angel waiting Lord stark" I smirk