#hogwesteros

"Your idiot father is afraid that the Starks are going to have you arrested for fiddling with their daughter," Granny says, tapping into his room with a grin. "I think they should be thanking you for giving her an alternative to that loathsome Baratheon boy."

"You're too kind," he says, dry as a bone, and offers her his cheek to kiss - which she does, with relish. "The school hasn't fallen down without Professor Tully, then?"

"And it won't without me, for an afternoon," she promises him. "If it does, I'll scold it right back up again, don't you worry about that."

Sansa’s scars have split, just as his own have - but he doesn’t care about his own, except to want his prosthesis gone, not when Sansa is bloodied and hurt and it’s all his fault.

She looks so desperately young, with the ruins of her glasses half-hanging on still, her face hidden by hair and blood and pain. He wonders how he ever allowed it to come to this, to a point where his regard for Sansa is so obvious that even Rhaenys could see it.

Robb threw open his window when Arya wouldn't stop hammering on the old, bubbled glass. She was still wearing her training robes, knee pads dripping wet from the descending fog, and looked frozen but flushed from wind and exertion.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, motioning for her to come. Arya often came in by the window, reluctant to travel except by broom, and Robb couldn't always stamp his jealousy down properly - he hadn't been able to fly long-distance since that curse had rebounded into his chest and left his lungs only half working. The healers had done all they could, and Sansa had tried a few of what she called "spells who want to take their O.W.L.s," but the air above ground level was just that little bit too thin for him to manage for very long.

"I can't come in," Arya said, "and you need to grab that Cleansweep and a cloak and get out here after me - we haven't got any time to waste."

from A Night With No Moon, part of The Moment You Doubt Whether You Can Fly.

Ah, now, here is the thing: I disagree that she is a Hufflepuff. I think she’s a Slytherdore, both by legacy (Baratheon-Gryffindor/Lannister-Slytherin) and by nature (she is, after all, Cersei’s daughter - but also Tywin’s granddaughter).

I tend to think that she’d sort Gryffindor, sort of by choice? I think that she’d see the potential backlash of sorting Slytherin, esp. if certain other family members had already sorted that way - Joffrey, Lancel, other cousins - and so I think it would be in the back of her mind that Slytherin=Not Fun Right Now. 

(this is all in the context of Hogwesteros, I can’t do ASOIAF/HP without going Hogwesteros, soz not soz)

Speaking personally, I’m a Hufflepuff to the bone - I identify with Hufflepuff house, I form my strongest friendships with other Hufflepuffs as a general rule ( mermaidmanderly and e-ffuh holla), but sometimes, I get sorted Gryffindor for reasons unknown. I think it’s incidental enough that it means basically nothing, and it doesn’t trouble me overmuch, but, there are occasional moments of doubt when I wonder if I ought to maybe be a Ravenclaw. And they worry me, for a while, but I know that I’m a Hufflepuff, in the same way as I imagine that you know that you’re a Gryffindor. 

I think that it’s just one of those things - sortings are so vague, sometimes, so insubstantial in a way, that it can be hard to pin down why you know you belong in any one house, but you just do. And so, because you’ve nothing but a gut feeling, really, doubt is natural. But you always know, in the back of your mind.

Follow up to this.

The first time Wylla goes on a date AR (After Robb, that is, dearest Wynafryd was the one to coin the term and it’s stuck more than Wylla would like), it’s with Quentyn Martell. 

She knew Quent, kind of, at Hogwarts. He was in their year, a friend from Charms Club who shared her then-unpopular Quidditch tastes. He was always nice. Kind of harmless, a little in his sister’s and cousins’ shadows, a little shy and incredibly awkward around girls he liked (oh, Merlin’s pants, remember that time he asked Dany Targaryen out? That had been awful for everyone involved), but nice.

So it didn’t occur to Wylla to say no, when Quentyn very nervously asked her out when he came back to the dock after his initial inspection with a full, detailed, and very pleased report of Manderly Shipping’s customs and excise records. She thought, what the hell, and agreed to let him pick her up at half past seven the following Saturday night, which gave her four days to find something to wear.

Ygritte and Val are Gryffindors, and Dalla’s a Hufflepuff (Mance is a Slytherin, Tormund’s a Gryffindor, I haven’t given the wildlings sorting any thought beyond that).

Dalla and Val are half-bloods, as are Ygritte and Tormund, but Mance is a Sirius-style pureblood. The Thenns are purebloods who can trace their ancestry back to the first Viking landings on the north-east coast.