Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF

Okay, so clearly I have some explaining to do... I originally planned a set of 7 prompts. Then I filed the extra two I wrote at that time in a 'safe place' a.k.a, a place I forgot existed. Then, when I got busy and forgot to upload for a week or so, I just saw the number of chapters and totally forgot I meant to upload more! You guys have no idea how hard I've been face-palming! But I'd like to say a big, big thank you to Veronika Daneov for pointing this out to me! I'm going through and checking all of my stories now in case I made this error elsewhere... Thank you!

Anyway, please enjoy!


059. Destiny

As the traders and merchants and salesmen flooded into Wintertown for the rare tourney taking place at the castle, a small tent was set up near the town proper, that caught Sansa's eye one day. 'Fortune Telling', the sign advertised, with a boasting, gloating red paint.

Finally, after much effort of pleading and pleading with mother - for father had agreed almost immediately - Sansa was allowed to go, under the strict instruction that she stay near her guard and Jeyne Poole at all times.

When at last, she pulled back the tan leather exterior of the small tent, a chilling, ominous feeling swept over Sansa's small body. With a quick glance to her friend, she urged Jeyne to go in first.

"Hello, little girl. Come for a fortune telling, have we?" A woman called out, her voice gravelly with the suggestion that there had once been a heavy accent thickening her speech.

Jeyne nodded, and she slunk into the red, puffy stool sitting opposite the woman, with only a low, wooden table to separate them.

The woman looked over the two girls with heavy, exotic, amethyst eyes. And she smirked, letting a clipped breath out her nose. "Royalty, are we? Well, I'll do it for just your blood."

She drew a dagger in her hand, holding her palm out for Jeyne's. "Don't worry, only a prick of the finger." Her voice was almost mocking, but it drew Sansa further into the dank, dark tent instead. Anything and everything seemed to be in this tent, scattered into haphazard towers that were just begging to fall. Sansa assumed she lived here, and alone.

Jeyne finally gave in to the temptation and held out a pale finger. With practised elegance and quicker than a blink of the eye, the woman pricked her finger and placed the blood in her mouth with a hum of approval.

"Well well, what do we have here?" Her voice was ominous, full of dark secrets of the future. "Three questions for you my dear, if you still want them."

Jeyne looked back at Sansa with trepidation, but her mind went to what took up most of their minds: heroic knights and dashing warriors. "Will I marry a brave warrior?"

"Oh aye, you'll marry a warrior, and he'll conquer a kingdom. Some might call him brave, even. You'll marry on a white bed of blood and with a claim to a name you never had before."

"And my children? What will they be like?" Jeyne leant forwards slightly, clearly liking what she was hearing.

"Three and two, and two and three. All will follow you to the earth, but none shall live on to carry your name into false gold. And when the fire seems to come at least, the snow shall rise up to drown you in blood."

Jeyne was leaning back, drawing into herself like a terrified little girl. The gripped Sansa's leg hard. Sansa looked between the top of Jeyne's head and the woman who was still smiling. "I..." Her throat sounded dry, and her hands were trembling. "So I shall die in the winter?"

The woman twisted her full, painted lips into a foul smirk. "In the winter, as winter is coming. But their blades are sharp, little one. And they will drown you away, bit by bit, until you are as your lord hero is - not you, but a fragment of a soul in the winter winds. And as the Raven flies, so shall you die."

Jeyne stood, with shaky legs, and wide, panicked eyes. "I'll wait outside." Her voice was thin like reeds, and she hobbled out of the leather tent, clearly shaken.

"And your hand, pretty princess?" The woman held out her hand, knife glimmering dully in the barely-there candlelight.

Sansa carefully offered a long finger into the woman's gnarled hands and fought the urge to bite her lips hard as the flesh was cut open. Again, the woman tasted the blood that oozed onto her rusting knife.

Her eyes widened, showing the violet irises in splendour, and her gaze briefly lost all focus. "Interesting. Very interesting." Her voice was vague, as she watched something far in the distance; a future only she could see. "I'm feeling generous. Five questions to tease out your future."

Sansa swallowed thickly, aware of how her shoulders ached with her rigid posture. "Will I marry the King's son?" The thought of uttering his name laid butterflies in the pit of her gut, and the taste of his name stewing on her tongue was sweet as honey.

"A king's son you shall have, and he shall be a king in his own right, the king of his discipline and notorious in name and history for his ferocity." The woman grinned in an unsettling way, a way that reminded Sansa of Arya's lies and Rickon's mischief.

"When shall I marry the king's son?" Sansa's voice glowed with excitement and pride - one day, she'd have a beautiful crown atop her head! And she would glisten in the glorious sunlight with her radiant husband, with a name that fell onto the pages of history.

The woman snorted. "Not for a long while yet, my dear. First, you shall have four men to overcome, and the harshest winter yet. Even the maiden may not be able to protect you from what lays ahead. But don't fear; one day you shall find the King, who lies beyond death, and reunite like little doves."

"And... Our children? What shall they be like? What shall they be named?"

"Named for a sister, a father, a brother, and a song. Even in number as in gender, shall be your children. And beautiful, with grey and blue eyes; brown and red hair." Sansa frowned, Joffery didn't have dark hair, did he? But then again - he didn't have the black hair of his Baratheon father; strange things do happen. "Sweet as May will be the girls, and strong as December the boys; each shall rule a castle, but none shall wear the crown of a kingdom."

"Will the pages of history remember me well?"

"Southron pages you may be on, and a Southron name you may be - but not for your wifely virtue. No, a cousin shall dominate over you all, and your husband shall mark you out as different. And your daughter will outshine all but the cousin in her prestige. The dead sister shall live on with a bright, emblazoned name. You, my dear, will be nothing but the consequences of your actions. You may have a famed name, but it will not be for the honour of your father."

She smirked as Sansa sat back, with a dizzied look in her eyes. "Final question now. Pick well."

"My family... My father, my mother, my sister, my brother. Will they live on? Will my family survive the Long Winter?"

A winter that eight shall see, and a winter four shall survive, with a new cousin blooming in the spring like a blue rose in the ice of the North. An honourable man shall fall first, and a cacophonous drum shall silence a lady and a husband. A girl becomes a woman and shall become no one. A little bird shall rot in her cage until a jackdaw brings her to the cusp of the moon. But if she escapes with a dead hound, they will marry under the very next Weirwood tree. A brother will find the final outpost of the earth, and a boy shall dine with flesh eaters. Eight Starks shall enter winter, and four shall exit.

"The family shall grow. Even shall be the sons, and even shall be the daughters. Wolves will spread like little birds in six and ten, running to the shores with dogs and reptiles and squid and blackened stags. But with fire, ice shall spread like wildfire, 20 and 4, in 8 and 4 4s, with the strength of all kingdoms. But, if hearts will close and sacrifices avoided, blue roses will die in ice walls, a face shall lose its body, magic shall pierce the heart of the warrior. And the wolves will shrivel and cower die."

Sansa cowered back from the blonde woman, feeling the palm of her hand ooze a small amount of blood on her fair skin, and a great deal more panic flood through it as the woman grasped her hand tighter. Sansa felt freezing despite the stifling tent.

"Is this what you wanted, my lady?" She mocked, seeing something in Sansa's face that she would have to wait years to see. It wasn't fair. And it scared her.

"No. Daddy said I'd marry the prince. He promised me Joffery- I wanted to be the Queen."

"A queen you shall be. Of love, and beauty, and men's hearts, and of land and people."

"But how can I be the Queen without a King?"

"There are more things to be queen of, than merely sitting in the south on the melting throne of swords. The final queen of House Baratheon shall fall into despair, and cry out with shame in the naked streets."

"And... That shan't be me?"

"Perhaps it shall be. Do you have any sins to confess?" The blonde woman grinned. "You shall be locked up like a little bird in a red, red cage, watched over and protected by Knights, and a Serr kissed by fire, like those beyond the wall claim you are."

"Kissed... By fire?" Her voice tremors with terror, and confusion, and fear of the very near future. "I don't want to marry someone with red hair. I want to marry the prince, and be queen, and have beautiful children."

The woman only laughed again, finding irony in her words as she saw the future. "Beautiful children you shall have, two kissed by fire and two with the airs of the noble hounds. They shall be their own princes, and the man you marry will one day, for a short time, will become a prince."

"Can't you just tell me who it is?"

"That would spoil all the fun. It is only my place to riddle, not to tell."

"And that is all you can say?"

"Yes. Now go, and cheer up your friend. The night may be dark, and full of terrors, but one day you at least shall prevail into a happiness."

Sansa grabbed the money from her bag and laid it on the table, taking a shaky exit from the tent where Jeyne sat on the floor, with tears rolling absently down her still face.

The future could never be as dark as that woman suggested. Sansa refused to believe it. And yet, Sansa never could rid the image of a Serr kissed by fire from her imagination.


Guys, I still can't believe I forgot to upload this for so long! Ugh, I'm face-palming ridiculously high.

So I've always been really intriguied in what other prophecies Maggy the Frogmight've given. Here are my own ideas! Obviously we don't know the ending yet, so these riddles are based on my own headcannon - let me know if you can work it out! Or even, what you think!

Please follow for more and review if you've got time. Thanks!