"ADMIT IT ALL YOU WANT THE TRUTH SHALL NEVER SET YOU FREE."

A GAME OF THRONES
black maw — an asoiaf fanfiction.
© omenic 2025.

SO LONG, THROW ME TO THE WOLVES,

I'm a lost cause drowning in the weight I pull.

I'M WAY TOO DEEP IN THE THOUGHT OF MAKING MY LIFE MISERABLE.

Don't dwell on a worthless life, we exist in a different light.

THE ANCIENT BLOOD CALLS
OUT MY NAME.
to the wolves

Hear me.

The night Asarra Snow prayed for a friend was a cold one. The gale barreled through her chambers with strong gusts and shrieking winds, blowing back her nightdress and curtains and extinguishing the scarce light of a few candles. It bit through her body with a pain akin to stabbing, and it froze her tears to her cheeks, but she did not close the window. Her lips parted and she whimpered out her plea, begging the gods—any god—to answer her call and ease her suffering, to mend the loneliness that encapsulated her aching heart. Would her voice even be worthy of a god's ear? It was a fickle thing that left her throat hoarse and sore, barely above any whisper that carried through the vicious winds across the north's barren lands.

The scar on her throat itched behind the high cotton collar of her nightdress. It stung with every pitiful whine that left her trembling lips.

Hear me. Please.

Was she even worthy of a friend? Even one sent from the gods? The more she thought the less she could answer, and another unattractive sob left her. No. She was unclean: ugly, tainted, and the gods disliked ugly, tainted things. They would laugh at her desperation, surely, for they were cruel and enjoyed her torment as they let it go on for so long; especially the ones that lurked in the weirwood. She prayed to them first, and they killed her. Slit her throat and laughed when she choked on her own blood. They were cruel, she decided, for every time she entered the godswood their thousand eyes watched her, burned through her clothes and left her feeling violated and raw. She was unwelcome in that place, and she feared it. It was dark and primal with fat oaks and tall sentinels that loomed over her head. Evilness lurked there, high in the trees, and she was reminded of it each morning with every cawing crow. It was no place for peace and prayer like her father said. It was no place for good worship.

Please.

And then the winds stopped.

No wolves howled that night, and nothing moved. The world seemed to still, and it made Asarra's hackles rise. She felt suffocated as she reached to her throat, gasping, though all she felt was the jagged scar and marred flesh. No blood coated her fingertips despite the taste of it that filled her mouth, and she felt dread form in her chest and her insides turn to water. The night changed, and the wind—or lack of it—felt different.

The silence was overbearing and uncomfortable, and Asarra did not dare breathe. Something was wrong, something was not right.

The air felt wrong. Thick. It clung to her skin, sank into her lungs, and carried the sharp tang of iron. It was suffocating, and the putrid scent of metal burned her throat and made her eyes water. She almost gagged, the smell of it filling her room and exuding off of every wall. With a shaky breath Asarra turned, giving her back to the window. She wrapped her arms around herself for some sense of comfort, eyes stuck to her feet as she faced the dark.

The silence wasn't empty, or at least it felt like it. It had a presence, and it filled her chambers with a constricting weight—one that sank into her bones and gnawed at her gut. Asarra shut her eyes tight and shook her head.

"Nothing is here," she whispered. "Only me." It was a poor attempt to rid her mind of the anxieties that riddled it. She shouldn't fear the dark—it was a childish fear, one that Theon would've made fun of her for, and yet still, the darkness loomed and it scared her. Her heartbeat was a pounding rhythm in her ears, hammering loud with desperation.

"Nothing is here." Asarra said again, but couldn't help the tears slip from her eyes and couldn't stop her whole body from shaking. They were watching her, like they did in the godswood. Her skin prickled with goosebumps and she strained a cry, her legs shaking beneath her as they threatened to give way.

Her lips parted to speak but nothing came out, and she clenched her jaw and pulled her arms closer. It was cold, still no wind—her shaky breaths came in tufts of fog, another thing that seemed to mock her. And the silence, god, it somehow got worse. It grew heavier and pressed against her eardrums, chest, her thoughts—until it was unbearable. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing—

SLAM!

The window rattled in its frame, the panes threatening to shatter. It was a violent bang in the stillness that made her gasp and spin around. She stumbled back, feet tangling beneath her before she could catch herself. Her right wrist hit the ground first and let out a sickening crack, and she could feel the bone split. Asarra cried—loud and pained, her breath gone, torn from her lungs as the pain shot up her arm, sharp and hot.

The door burst open, flickering torchlight parting the shadows and finally letting in light. One of the guards must have heard, but Asarra didn't pay much attention to what had happened afterwards. Soon enough, however, a warm, large hand rest on her back and her father knelt before her.

"Asarra," he said, surveying the sobbing form of his daughter and her swollen, broken wrist. "What did you do?"

Her lips parted to speak but all that came out was a strangled sob. Each one sent a jolt of searing pain down to her wrist, where it hovered in the air, avoiding any and all touch. Ned sighed, carefully pulling her into his arms to avoid angering the injury. She buried her face into the crook of his neck to hide her tears from those who lingered in the door. Lady Catelyn was probably among them, likely irritated by the disturbance that had been caused, but Asarra didn't care to look. Was Jon there?

"Maester Luwin is waiting." Her father whispered, rubbing her back even though it did nothing to ease the pain.

"Jon-" Asarra started, but she was only shushed.

"He'll come see you." Ned muttered, and lifted her. She let out a cry of protest but it quickly faded as he walked out, the torchlight a welcomed thing. The thought of Jon being in the tower was a small comfort, but it did nothing to rid the pooling dread of Maester Luwin. The last time she saw him he had to restitch her throat, and the prick of the needle and feel of thread going through her flesh was an unwelcome memory.

Asarra peered up to him. "Will there be needles?" Ned shook his head, and pressed his lips to the crown of her head.

"No." He promised, and she felt better.

She thought back to her room, though, and the shadows that would fall and wait for her again. Asarra whimpered, wanting to forget it all and never step foot in her chambers again. Maybe she could ask to sleep with Robb and Jon—they'd protect her. If not, then... then she didn't know. She felt anxious again, the fear gnawing at her gut growing stronger with each step. Almost there, and when they made it to the winding staircase, her tears came again, and her wrist throbbed. There were shadows there, but they weren't like the ones in her room.

Old Nan was right—the thing that came in the night was real, she swore it. She felt it. She hated it. And she dreaded when she'd have to go back there, alone again. Maybe it'd kill her like it did to those boys in the Nights Watch, but she had cheated death once, and had woken from its cold embrace. No, she wouldn't die—she'd suffer a fate worse than that, and those haunting shadows confirmed it.

ASARRA SNOW

lady snow / runt of winterfell
lady of bones / bruxa

bastard of winterfell / zealot
snow of winterfell

"INSIDE ME, SOME FERAL ANIMAL CLAWS AT MY RIBCAGE, TRAPPED."

RAVUS BOLTON

leechson / red herring
bolton of barrowton / godless

bone lord / lightless
dreadfort's heir / sycophant

"EATEN OR ROTTEN. I AM ALL MOUTH."

playlist

to the wolves, whitechapel
where the devil waits, darkher
sour switchblade, elita
twilight, bôa
derealization, bambi baker
moths, datkher
i'm your man, mitski
yen, slipknot
winterfell, ramin djawadi
who is she?, i monster
sacrifice, london after midnight
angel, massive attack
pain, boy harsher
ptolemea, ethel cain
goodbye brother, ramin djawadi
black star, radiohead
sea, swallow me, cocteau twins
when the sun hits, slowdive
please, please please, let me get what i want, the smiths
black milk, massive attack
once more to see you, mitski
rose blood, mazzy star
i want you to love me, fiona apple
i know it's over, the smiths
prophecy, bobby krlic
loose change, brent faiyaz
end a war before it begins, ramin djawadi
gassed, bobby krlic
everything in its right place, radiohead
hickory creek, whitechapel
dog years, halsey
les filles désir, vendredi sur mer
all is full of love, björk
pagan poetry, björk
quiet, the winter harbour, mazzy star
dog days are over, florence + the machine
what the water gave me, florence + the machine
televangelism, ethel cain
may you never forget me, temachii
edge of seventeen, stevie nicks
dreams, fleetewood mac
like him, tyler the creator ft. lola young
one's for sorrow, two's for joy, trëi
sour times, portishead
let's go to bed, the cure
abracadabra, lebanon hanover
pretty when you cry, lana del rey
sally's song, catherine o'hara
sirens nocturne, darkher
lowly weep, darkher
kiss me until my lips fall off, lebanon hanover
tear you apart, she wants revenge
lust, boy harsher
monolith, twin tribes
all we ever wanted was everything, bauhaus
onanist, ethel cain
houseofpsychoticwomn, ethel cain
pulldrone, ethel cain
lovelace, whitechapel
serpentskirt, cocteau twins
spectre, radiohead
be my angel, mazzy star
pretty girls make graves, the smiths
frou-frou foxes in midsummer fires, cocteau twins
no. 1 party anthem, arctic monkeys
wuthering heights, kate bush
the passion of lovers, bauhaus
i want you, mitski
lullaby for mergo, sie sound team
curses, the crane wives
the hand that feeds, the crane wives
once upon a time, robin carolan
cemetery girl, insane clown posse
spiders seek, mayflower madame
texas reznikoff, mitski
he's my man, luvcat
love's sudden death, darkher
daffodil, florence + the machine
can you hear them sing?, cemeteries
ballad of sister sue, slowdive

dedications.
aveism__ Iadymisery lovequinns strvkovz lightnaturewp argellass -undomiels blessedhqrts valyrianrose velaryqns mooncalfshines discipleofthemoon eveningstqr

WARNINGS
.00 - this book will contain...
.01 - themes of violence, blood, murder, gore.
.02 - mentions of incest, misogyny, animal violence, child death, human sacrifice, torture, the boltons, and whatever else is expected within asoiaf.

CLARIFICATIONS
.00 - some of which are...
    .01 - i do not own (or claim) any part of a song of ice and fire as my own. all rights go to grrm. i only own asarra and any other non-canon characters shown in this book.

    .02 - this has slow updates. do not expect anything fast. i take my time to write, and go through many drafts and edits. i have no reason to write a shitty, unplanned fanfiction for something that i genuinely love. asarra is my favourite oc i have probably ever created. i'm saying this a lot but i will not rush her fic or give what i think, would be a half-assed, barely thought out fanfic. this is also based off of the books, not the show. i'm currently reading them for the first time whilst writing this and am a slow reader (plus having a life outside), so this will unfortunately take forever lmfao. either way, this will be ongoing for a while.

    .03 - asarra's weird. like incredibly. shes just incredibly traumatized but still a weirdo. truly a freak. we love her tho!! she's the goth girl the north needs. aside from that for a quick note—she's somewhat of a delve into the horror aspect of the universe. i wanted to explore it a bit, and then came asarra.

    .05 - layout/formatting credits (and inspo) go to Iadymisery and sayyadiina

© | 2025
OMENIC