Disclaimer: I won nothing, not the characters, setting, world, emotions or ideas. Like all GoT fans my mind is swirling at the moment waiting for the new and last episode.
A/N: So I am working on my updates to SitD and GB, so watch this space. But this just came out so easily after I finally caught the new GoT episode, so I am slightly obsessed with ASOIAF and am so excited for tomorrow morning (I even took a week off work so I can watch it with the rest of the world, this also means I have a week to catch pon my writing ).
White Wolf
He who passed the sentence shall swing the sword. The words haunted Jon more so than ever as he looked into the eyes of a woman he had once loved, perhaps foolishly, and saw a stranger. Jon Snow had believed in Daenerys Targaryen, blinded by her beauty and the hope she represented, Jon had seen her as a saviour, as everything he needed, from the dragonglass to the fire breathing dragons.
An army and a reputation that would make many tremble. Mother of dragons; breaker of chains. Jon had not been the only man, or even woman, to believe in Daenerys, thousands had followed her.
Thousands more had died for it.
There had been no other way, or so the boy who would always be his brother had reassured him. Bran did not know all facets of the future though he knew enough to promise that Kings Landing would have burned eventually - To one mad queen or another.
It was a bitter medicine and did little to soothe Jon's soul. The terror and chaos would be a nightmare Jon would carry for his lifetime, the smell of charred flesh and death still filled his nostrils, his memories would not let it go.
This was not his queen. This was not the Daenerys Targaryen that the King in the North had knelt too.
After he had learnt the truth of who he was, of the identity of his birth parents, Jon had struggled with his feelings for the woman he had fallen in love with so quickly. It had consumed him, the love and the guilt. For Daenerys was his aunt, his kin, and though he could not give her his body and heart like she had still wanted, he had been willing to give her everything else.
Kinslayer was a cold name that Jon did not wish to wear; Arya would be his sword if he allowed it, though Jon owed Daenerys more. He just did not know what exactly.
They had debated over it, days and nights went by with many words and whispers spoken of what next.
One thing had not changed. It was a truth Jon had told Daenerys time and time again, Jon still did not want the crown that many argued was rightfully his. A crown that others had fought and died for, it meant nothing for Jon, only a tool to help those in need.
The bells had rung, loud and clear, and the bells and screams had been the sound that Jon had heard in those moments when he'd known what he needed to do. He did not want to be king, he needed to be king.
Now he stared at the stranger he had loved, a love she'd destroyed with fire and blood as assuredly as he'd destroyed her trust in him. There was regret, guilt and sadness, still there was anger. Anger at the queen who had destroyed what so many had given their lives to save, anger at all the promise that was lost, anger at the hypocrisy, anger that the love he could give her was not enough.
Tyrion had said it best when Daenerys told him she'd disappointed him for the last time, when the Imp had told her not as much as my queen has disappointed me.
That burned for Jon. The disappointment.
It had been a trap; fate trapped them in this burning mess. Jon had been wrong to trust in Daenerys, to believe in her, yet he had needed to or they would have all died, every single living being in Westeros.
Every one of them had played their part, as pivotal as any other in the fight of the long night, saviours in their own right.
You betrayed me! Jon had wanted to scream but he had never been a man of many words, his anguish was in his eyes.
Jon Snow, for he would never truly be Aegon Targaryen, no longer believed in Daenerys Targaryen, yet he paused at her words unsure whether to believe her.
For a long time he looked at her searching her eyes. He who passed the sentence shall swing the sword.
This sword he could not swing, not yet, not til he knew the truth.
It was another day Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Ashes, would hold off her fate, and she smiled. Jon used to feel pure joy at her smile; this smile though was as different as everything else about the queen turned prisoner.
Jon finally looked away, he felt the others eyes on him, felt their questions of what now.
As he walked away he heard her laughter, mocking yet full of pain. Another sound to haunt him.
-x-
The door was unlocked quickly and as soon as Jon walked into the room it was closed behind him. It was a beautiful prison but a prison none-the-less, with silk pillows and featherbed.
Anything sharp or hard had been removed; Daenerys could not hurt anyone including herself, and despite the sense of physical safety Jon always felt far from safe when he came.
And he would always come back.
Silver hair unbraided, wearing little to cover her body, the imprisoned queen turned her head to look to Jon, a sad smile on her face she still held her chin high and proud. Her knowing eyes stayed on Jon for but a moment before turning back to the barred window.
Jon took in her dishevelled form, far from the regal presence he'd first met on Dragonstone over a year ago, though his eyes trailed to where they always landed.
The swell of her belly was so large she looked as if she could burst, and her nimble fingers stroked her ripe body over and over again, rubbing the space where their child rested.
It would happen any day now, and despite the forthcoming loss of the only thing preventing her execution Daenerys seemed more content than ever. Jon didn't know whether to be comforted by how her upcoming motherhood seemed to soothe her, if it showed her humanity or just how mad she had become.
For Daenerys death seemed so far away, after all she'd been burnt alive, and as she stroked where her unborn child pressed against her she knew true immortality.
Everything had been taken from Dany. They called her mad but none of them knew what she'd been through, every sacrifice and struggle to get to where she was. Daenerys had done everything for the seven kingdoms, given it her all, and all they'd done was take and take and take.
Her children, her dragons, killed one by one. Sweet Jorah and precious Missandei, who wouldn't have hurt anyone, murdered. The grief had overwhelmed Daenerys.
Dany had lost everything and for what? For a people who refused to love her, and who refused to bow and respect her.
Jon had betrayed her, he'd spoken of love yet he'd turned her away, could barely look at her once he knew the truth of what they were.
At first she'd thought it a clever ploy, Jon could not lie though, and his truth destroyed her. With Jon's truth Daenerys had lost hers. Everything she thought she was and what she was fighting for, all of it a lie.
She told herself it did not matter, yet it had, to her it had. Everything she thought of as hers was his and it wasn't fair. She had lost so much.
They took and took and took.
This though, Dany stroked her stomach and hummed, you'll always be mine.
"You must eat more, if not for you do it for the child" his voice was gruff, and Dany wondered if he hated their child too, if he would shy away from their daughter's touch too.
In a way Daenerys had thought she'd won, with her child, the heir, not just her precious heir but Jon's too. Her Aegon, he could have been her King, her consort, they could have rebuilt the Targaryen dynasty together, stronger than ever.
It didn't matter though because even against his will Aegon had done his duty, filling her with his seed before he knew the truth, and it took root and grew, healthy and strong inside her womb. Their daughter would bind them forever and take what was hers; she would rule the seven kingdoms even if her mother could not.
Jon placed the plate by Daenerys, and like always he could not look for long, he turned his eyes away. Daenerys smiled her secret smile, silent and thoughtful, until Jon left the room and she waited before she began the song. If they took her head Daenerys hoped her child would remember her mother's voice and find as much comfort in it as possible.
-x-
The day came closer, and the tears too. Sometimes Daenerys felt regret, even guilt, over her actions. A part of her thought she'd betrayed the girl she had once been.
Then she remembered her dragons and her friends, the cold north men and the southerners who sought shelter with a tyrant.
Daenerys could not see a tyrant in her own reflection even when the others had accused her of being the very thing she'd promised to destroy.
Yet sometime she cried for that girl who'd touched the sands of a strange land and felt at home for the first time in her life.
And when the pains came she cried for her child, her little queen, and felt regret she could not be the mother her child deserved.
"Let me hold her" she begged in exhaustion when it was all over, her face whiter than her hair, "please"
The babe was placed in her weak arms, pink faced, eyes closed in a cry. Dany touched the silver wisps of hair, "you're beautiful"
And then hands took her babe from her and for the first time Dany noticed Jon had entered the room, fear filled her as he turned his gaze from hers, "can you love her?" she cried in anguish.
Jon looked up shocked, the babe now silent in his arms, words lost in his throat. He'd never seen Daenerys look so powerless and weak, yet in her eyes he saw a glimpse of the woman he had fallen in love with.
She sighed, falling back, and her eyes rolled into her head as murmurs went around the room. Jon looked away from Daenerys, not out of shame; his eyes followed the growing trail of red as the floor became a river of blood.
-x-
He loaded his horse, his hands sure, his head lowered. This was the hardest goodbye, and the last, Jon cleared his throat and turned.
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
"I don't belong here, not anymore. As long as I stay the realm will look for a King" Jon stepped forward, "I'm not King Aegon or any other title men wish to lay at my feet. I'm Jon Snow, just Jon Snow"
Arya nodded and then jumped into her brother's arms, for cousin on not he would always be her brother to her, "you always were to me" she whispered.
Sansa shifted, "Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, the Last Targaryen, they'll call you" she held knowing blue eyes, "you'll be a king no matter where you go, north of the wall or here won't change that"
Jon chuckled, giving his other sister a kiss on the forehead, "I will miss you always telling me I'm wrong. Winterfell is yours now, Lady Stark, be content with that" he turned away and sent Davos a look.
The older man nodded, "all is ready, your grace"
"It's Jon. There's no throne in Westeros now"
"As you say, your grace" Davos smirked.
Jon looked from Davos to his youngest sister, "take c-"
"I shall take care of myself" Arya raised her brow as she stopped Jon before he could finish his sentence.
"I don't doubt it." Jon changed his words and hugged Arya again, "Please, stop chasing death, one day it may find you and you have so much to live for now"
"You're as bad as Gendry" she scoffed.
"Perhaps you should listen to your husband" he smiled and then his smile turn sad and he cupped her slightly rounded stomach, "hold onto all the love you can, Arya. Love is better than death"
"I am sorry about your son, Jon, but you still have family"
He who passed the sentence shall swing the sword. Those words still haunted Jon, he hadn't passed a sentence or swung a sword yet he'd killed Daenerys as surely as if he had, and let their child and the Targaryens die with her.
"Things are the way they were meant to be" Jon let go and swung onto his mount, fitting his black cloak back in place, "goodbye, sisters".
Arya gave one last insult before declaring her love and when he trotted off she started to chase after the retreating horse until Sansa stilled her sister with a hand on her shoulder.
Alone Jon rode away from Winterfell, his nightmares a dark companion, he looked back one last time before he knew he would be too far away to do so again.
Every choice had a consequence, Jon knew he had made many mistakes along the way, and no amount of crowns would ever erase them.
Winterfell left his sight and Jon Snow looked north, to where titles, names and blood had little power or meaning.
As snow fell he forced his mount forward, one step at a time.
-x-
Five days the direwolf had not been seen, on the sixth day Tormund heard a distant howl and an hour later a dark figure appeared over the rise. Heads in the camp lifted, the familiar sight came into focus, and the whispers began.
Tormund ran grinning and a leaping Ghost met him half way before running back to Jon and circling him before the slow walk side by side.
When they met Tormund clapped Jon's shoulder, and they shared greetings that seemed more like insults before a cry broke their laughter.
Tormund's blue eyes widened and he looked down, Jon moved his furs out of the way to show the chubby baby, his dark grey eyes looking up, his head covered in wispy silver hair, and Jon smiled "my son".
"A little dragon" Tormund laughed.
Dark thoughts went through Jon's face as he held his son closer, his own demeanour fixed on protecting his child. Jon shook his head as Ghost sniffed at the bundle, "there are no more dragons"
For the first time that Jon could remember Tormund closed his mouth, he gave a strong nod, and quietly reached for a small waving hand, "a wolf then. Hello little wolf, big hands, strong, like your little father"''
Jon covered the bundle and headed for the warmth of the camp, his friend on one side of him and Ghost on the other.
-x-
The winter storms had come quickly, with little warning. The boy had hidden in the caves for shelter, following the warmth further and further into the large caverns, his best friend and fiercest protector like always by his side.
He knew his family would be worried, he'd slept and woken and slept again, hours had crept by, perhaps days. The storm raged on so the warmth had been too much temptation, the boy was amazed at the warmth of the cave walls, he kept his furs on out of habit, the black and brown contrasting against the silver of his long curls, the fire he held out in front of them guiding their way.
The sound of running water could be heard somewhere, yet something else called to him. The boy's eyes widened as he came across a space large enough to host his whole village and some. Like the rest of the cave the walls had a strange look to them, they sparkled slightly reflecting light like no other cave he had explored, the walls looked like they had been melted.
Suddenly the direwolf stopped, Ghost barked and howled, nipping at the boy's arm.
The boy shrugged him off and kept going, he found a body of water and tentatively touched the steaming liquid.
Something caught his dark eyes, eyes like his father's, the boy shifted closer and took off his layers to bare a naked arm. He reached in and grabbed the large scaled object.
It wasn't a rock or any type of egg he had ever seen, it shimmered like polished metal in the fluttering light of the flames. The small scales were a silver grey, with ripples of violet, blue and black.
Ghost's teeth pulled the boy away, he hurriedly buried the egg into his pouch and got back to his feet, replaced his clothes and furs and chased Ghost as the direwolf began to run.
The howls echoed through the cave, and when sunlight could be seen the boy saw the storm had ended sometime during his exploring.
And then a familiar voice was heard.
Ghost reached his father first but as father and son saw each other they bolted into run, Jon falling to one knee as his son jumped into his embrace.
They closed their matching eyes, "Robb Snow, you had us all worried sick!" Jon's voice was filled with love and lingering fear. As they pulled apart he cupped his son's delicate face, "come, boy, we better head home before your mother kills Tormund."
"I'm sorry Father, it was my fault, I wanted to see a giant!"
"Right, we will talk about this later"
"Is everyone angry?" his bottom lip fell.
Jon shook his head, "not angry, nobody is angry with you, we were all just scared especially your mother and I, and your sisters have been crying for their brother." Jon ran his thumb over Robb's pale cheek, "I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you".
Robb lowered his grey eyes ashamed he'd worried the people he loved. His father always had sad eyes but Robb knew he was loved, knew his father would do anything for him. Robb knew that his father had little family and that his mother had died giving birth like his own mother had. Robb Snow had no memories of his first mother, though once or twice Tormund had spoken of her when no one else was listening, spoke of her beauty and her fierceness. Robb had learnt not to ask his father, for talk of the past always seemed to pain him.
Together, hand in hand, father and son walked out of the cave, Ghost at their heels, and as they walked home Robb began to hum a familiar tune, and the raven flying above them flew lower and gave a squawk.