JON

Jon fell to his arse again.

He swore silently at his failure but arose quickly, his sword raised. His attacker waited impatiently, his armor glimmering in the sunlight, taking a few more swipes in the air with his longsword before waving Jon forward to charge him again. Jon obeyed and rushed forward, this time slashing low. Sweat ran down his face and his body ached with brusies but still he struck against his foe again and again.

"Good boy, good!" The knight smiled as he deflected every blow with an effortless flair.

Ser Robar did not give compliments easily and Jon felt heartened by it. When he struck at Jon's leg, Jon jumped back and returned the attack, slashing downward and throwing his shoulder against the knight's chest, feeling his shoulder jam against the bronze armor there. Jon could only hope that the surprise charge had knocked the knight senseless enough for the pain to be worth it. By the time Jon raised his sword to take advantage of the hit though Robar was already back in his stance and defended easily.

Before Jon knew it, he had been backed against the side of the guardhouse. The knight had Jon's own blade pinned to his chest and the edge of Robar's longsword tapped his neck.

"Not good enough." Robar smiled again as he drew back from Jon.

He walked away and moved to ladle some water from the bucket they'd brought and drank deeply. The old stone guardhouse to the west of Highgarden had been a good place to spar, the training yards being quite full.

"It's that pretty armor of yours ser, it's distracting." Jon rubbed his shoulder, the pain there only adding to his many aches.

Robar's armor gleamed in the light of the sun and Jon took pride in that. It was he, after all, who cleaned and scoured it so often that his hands ached. Yet Robar looked as a knight should and even in a land full of great knights, he stood out. The bronze runes of the first men were borne prominently across his chest plate and it always drew compliments from others. Compliments that Jon quietly agreed with.

Though it wasn't just his bright and shining armor, Robar was also thoughtful, charming, quick with a jest and even quicker with an offer of help to anyone and everyone around him. He fought like a demon and walked like a prince. Jon thought again of his prideful younger brother Waymar, and how Sansa had droned on for days about him being a "true knight," and how Jon had rolled his eyes at the idea of such a thing. Bran too had been similarly mesmerized and spoke about becoming a true knight himself, serving as a member of the Kingsguard when he grew up, though Jon had attributed such naïve ideals to his little brother's age.

In Jon's experience, knights were just men. Men who could fight a little better and rode a horse well, and who treated bastards just the same as everyone else.

Robar Royce though, he was quickly changing Jon's opinion on the matter.

If true knights exist, I believe I've very much met one.

"Feel happy for the distraction, your armor is so dull, I fear I'll fall asleep!" Robar's jest was welcome.

He had equipped Jon himself at Highgarden's armory with his own coin. Jon had tried to argue that his father had given him some coin for such a thing but had been told by Robar that it was a debt he owed his squire. Robar had pointed out a shiny plate of mail that looked to have been worn by many a fine tourney knight and gleamed in the sunlight like a jewel. Jon had asked for a dented suit of dull gray.

"By the seven, do you truly wish your armor to match your personality?" Robar had said but admitted later that Jon had impressed him with his choice. "That armor has seen real battles and I see no holes in it. It will hold."

Jon had been ready to endure a knight much like Yohn Royce's youngest son Waymar when Robar had first collected him from the inn. Though the two shared the look of brothers, the longer Jon rode with the second son of Bronze Yohn, the more Robar appeared to take after his father. He was handsome in a courtly way but also had a tough look to him, especially when he fought. Robar did well with any weapon it seemed, Jon having seen him wield the lance, the flail, and the quarterstaff, all with an impossible ease.

He shined with a longsword though. Robar was easily one of the finest swordsmen Jon had ever met and others who had seen more of the realm had said the same in his hearing. He still couldn't understand how his father had been able to convince such a knight to take Jon as a squire. It was an honor he didn't think he deserved.

"Because you're a bastard?" Robar had asked Jon's question for him on the second week of their ride into the Reach. "Well there are three reasons really. First, my father asked me to and it's a hard thing to refuse Bronze Yohn, even if you are his son. Second, you're not just any bastard, you're the Hand of the King's bastard and don't think that doesn't carry some weight. Third, I was told you and your half-siblings all have direwolves! I thought that unique and fascinating. Show me another knight who has a squire with a pet like yours."

Ghost is more than a pet, he's a part of me, Jon had almost said but he held back.

"Still ser, there must have been squires of higher birth for you to choose from." Jon was not such a fool to think that any number of lesser houses from the Vale didn't have sons that could bring Robar more repute.

"Jon… I'm a second son." Robar answered with a sigh. "My father doted on Waymar as his youngest and last son when our mother died, and of course he gushes over Ysilla as she is his only daughter. All the while he took special care of Andar, raising him up to be his heir, as is only right. I love my father, and he always did right by me, but it has often been left to me to find my own path in the world."

Robar looked off to the horizon then in thought and that was when Jon had begun to understand that the knight he served was more than just his sharp wit and his skills in battle. He was on a journey to become his own man.

Just like me.

"I am a knight… a knight that's sick of tourneys!" Robar snapped out of his thoughts and spoke excitedly then. "I seek a new challenge for myself and deeds worthy of a song. I've never heard of a knight with a squire such as you, a northman's bastard with a direwolf as a pet... and they say Symeon Star-Eyes was blind, putting star-sapphires in his eyes to see. Perhaps you're just the detail I need, to make my song one to remember for the ages."

That had also helped explain why they rode to Highgarden instead of the Vale where House Royce held their lands. Robar had entered the service of Lord Renly Baratheon, King Robert's youngest brother and Lord of the legendary castle Storm's End, who had bid Robar to ride to the seat of House Tyrell. Jon had wondered at the reason but Robar was silent about that.

Robar had been of great comfort to Jon when news had come of the Kingslayer's attack upon his father. According to the knight, the Lannisters were going too far and over-reaching themselves and that soon the decent lords and knights of the realm would put a stop to their power-hungry ways. Jon had hoped that they might return to the capital, to help protect Arya and Sansa but they continued on to Highgarden. Hearing that the Kingslayer had fled the city did not soothe Jon's worries for his family.

Then word had come of King Robert's death and his father's arrest for treason against the king by betraying his son, the new king, Joffrey. Robar broke the news to Jon himself and refused to hear of any talk of Jon riding to King's Landing. The knight swore that they would go eventually, but that they needed to be patient and Jon did as he was commanded to. Yet not a moment passed when he wasn't afraid for his captive father and sisters.

That he was surrounded by such beauty and wealth did little to help Jon's feelings of guilt. When he'd first seen Highgarden, it had astounded him. From what little he had seen of the grounds the white walled castle contained several groves of flowers and fruits, massive stables full of fine horses, and courtyards for comfort and walking rather than for training. It was a place of splendor so unlike Winterfell but a place that Jon thought his siblings would enjoy immensely and thought of them there with him.

He wished they were all there to share in this splendor with him for Jon felt out of place in such richness.

There were training yards too of course, but to have more than one still amazed him. The opulent farmlands he had seen as they travelled there, and the blue, slow moving Mander River beyond the walls, all fed such wealth. Jon couldn't believe such a place ever seeing a true winter as he had.

The lords and knights of the Reach were feasted every night in the halls and everyday it seemed more men of standing came. Robar had also spoken of several lords and knights coming in from the Stormlands as well, sitting alongside him in the great hall, and Jon had thought it queer that they would journey to the Reach but he said nothing.

Jon himself often ate in silence in the common hall among the other squires, just like at Winterfell, he thought strangely. Sometimes he took his meal to visit Ghost in the abandoned kennel they had permitted him to use. According to Robar, the Tyrells had spotted Ghost from their walls and declared him a prize to be sheltered within. Robar had escorted several highborn, including several ladies, to view Ghost within the kennel. That direwolf gave Robar an excuse to spend time befriending such important people of high standing was a debt that Robar felt he owed Jon but he always gave the credit to Ghost. Robar suspected the Tyrells might try and have Ghost mate with one of their hounds and they had laughed at the thought.

Most of the southron lords and ladies treated Ghost better than Jon in a way. He was something from a land they had never seen or had little interest in learning about. He had been asked if he'd paint his face during battle or if he preferred an elm or apple tree to pray to. Jon couldn't tell at times if they were jesting with such questions. It was not lost on him that the Tyrells had asked to view Ghost but never sought him out.

The treatment was worth it though, even if only for what Jon had learned at swords from Robar. Ser Rodrik had trained Jon well but he suspected now that Winterfell's master-at-arms had been holding back because he had watched his students grow from children and couldn't help but think of them as such. Robar did not meet Jon as young boy and treated him as the man was, acting as a harsh and unyielding teacher. Robar had jested that it would reflect terribly on him if the Hand of the King's son died on his watch.

"Riders ser." Jon said as he pointed towards the castle.

A group of horsemen were coming from one of the many gates towards them. As they closed in, Jon saw from their sigils that they were Baratheon men.

"Ser Robar!" One of them hailed. "Lord Renly has arrived from King's Landing and he bids you to join him at the castle."

"As long as he does not mind me smelling like a man who has just come from the yards, I would be happy to oblige." Robar shouted back, looking pleased. They had been waiting for Lord Renly since their arrival and Jon still didn't know why.

"He bid you to bring your squire as well." The rider spurred his mount back to the castle and just as quickly as they came, they were gone. Jon looked to Robar who seemed to look as surprised as Jon felt.

They found Lord Renly in a hall filled with bright tapestries depicting roses, knights, and maidens. King Robert's youngest brother was a tall and handsome man with bright blue eyes and dark hair falling to his shoulders. He looked just as Jon had always pictured the King before Renly's older brother had arrived in Winterfell, fat and disappointing to look upon. He was garbed in green and gold, the colors of House Tyrell, which Jon thought odd. The attending Tyrells matched the lord in his grandeur.

Lord Mace Tyrell had never spoken to Jon, but he had seen the lord ride about the grounds, fat and jovial and always elegantly dressed. He often spoke to the men as being the true pride of Highgarden, but Jon noticed that he never stayed long at the training yards, preferring instead in the gardens.

He may have taken pride in his men, but his daughter, "Maid Margaery" as Jon had heard her called, was clearly the apple of Lord Tyrell's eye and the love of everyone at Highgarden, highborn and low alike.

She rode almost as well as a man, sang beautifully, hawked well, joked with the squires and the men-at-arms, shared pastries with the servants, and had a way of looking at someone that made them want to give her anything she asked, which for Jon had simply been Ghost's name.

Jon still remembered with deep embarrassment when Lady Margery had visited Ghost with some of her cousins. Her cousins dutifully ignored Jon but Lady Margaery curtsied and apologized for bothering his "pet." The cousins were much too bothersome for Ghost, trying to pet and braid his fur, and the direwolf shook them off, pushing fat Megga Tyrell roughly onto her bottom. Lady Margaery had found the exchange entertaining and told the cousins not to both the direwolf so much. Ghost had shown his appreciation and licked at the girl's cheek, jumping and pushing her back so that Jon had to catch her.

Jon was sure that he would be lashed or beaten then, his hands holding onto the smooth, warms arms of the lady, her back pressed against his chest, but again she laughed. Lady Margaery stood with his help and pressed a hand to Jon's own cheek, telling him that Ghost was a fine beast.

"Like his master, I think." She said in a way that made a baser part of Jon thankful for Ghost's careless jostling.

Jon felt almost sure that she had been trying to purposefully make him blush and it worked splendidly. Robar had taunted him viciously about it in their next training session.

Both Lord Tyrell and his daughter were also richly dressed in the green and gold of their house while his youngest son, whom Jon was now just meeting, Ser Loras, wore a suit of gleaming steel-blue armor, flowers knitted tightly and carefully into a chain that ran through the plate in a mesh across the chest that must have taken hours to complete. He was handsome without a doubt, and carried an air of confidence that seemed in contrast with his young age.

These were some of the most important people in the south and Jon felt a beggar in his dented and dull, gray plate yet Robar strode forward proudly and he followed, head held up.

"Ser Robar Royce and his squire, Jon of Winterfell." A steward announced then. Hearing his name said as such seemed foolish but Jon didn't bother trying to correct it. Instead, he tried to walk as straight and proper as Robar had.

"My red knight! I hope my dear friends of House Tyrell have treated you kindly." Lord Renly smiled broadly as Ser Robar and Jon bowed before him.

"I fear that I have gained five stone because of their feasts."

"Perhaps we should change our words to 'Growing Large?'" Lady Margaery quipped and Jon smiled at the girl's wit yet again.

He couldn't help but notice again what a beautiful girl she was with soft brown hair, gently curled at the ends and kind eyes that invited you in to look but Jon sensed that they also seemed to hide a fire. He made sure his eyes did not linger long, though sometimes that was an admitted struggle.

Highborn maidens are not for the eyes of bastard squires.

"You'll have to endure their hospitality a bit longer good ser, there are more due to arrive and I'd not leave without them." Lord Renly stood and walked forward to put his arm upon Robar's shoulder, the knight nodding as if no more explanation was needed.

Then the Lord of Storm's End turned his attention to Jon and his mood seemed to change. Jon worried suddenly that his presence was a mistake and that Lord Renly might be offended by the bastard before him when the lord did something surprising.

He held out his hand.

Jon stared at it, shocked for a moment, before finally reaching out and taking it.

"Cersei's and my nephew's actions against your father have been shameful. Anyone who met the man would know that Ned Stark could no more commit treason than warm a room with his smile." The man squeezed Jon's hand firmly as he said such. "I promise you this, your father will be freed as soon as we mount a force to do so."

The surprising treatment he was receiving and Lord Renly's words lifted Jon's spirits but only a little. Knowing that the Lannisters held his father and sisters tied Jon's stomach in knots.

"Thank you, my lord." Jon finally spoke as Lord Renly released his hand. "When you do so, I'd march with you."

"Tywin Lannister already marches." Ser Loras put in. He was called the Knight of Flowers and the rumors about his beauty seemed true. That he was as great a warrior as well, Jon could not say, but he looked graceful and strong, like a knight should. "The Kingslayer and he are burning their way across the Riverlands."

"And Robb Stark is bringing his bannermen south even as we speak." Lord Renly countered with a wave of his hand. "None of that will compare to the force that your lord father and I intend to raise."

Jon couldn't believe his ears. The Reach and the Stormlands were going to call their banners. They were going to march together. All to save his father, and Jon would be with them.

A northern bastard would be riding with the finest knights and lords of the south.

It made no sense.

"So you seek to become a knight someday? To start squiring at such an age is not strictly common. Most start as a page at eight, then move on to squiring not much later…" Lord Renly's words interrupted Jon's thoughts.

He had walked to a table beside Lord Tyrell and lifted a pastry to his mouth. As he chewed, regarding him curiously, Jon realized that the others were looking upon him too and Jon remembered his courtesies and made sure to say nothing until he was asked.

"What changed for you? You are six and ten?"

"Just turned five and ten, my lord."

"Hmm? Well, happy nameday then. Lady Margery just turned six and ten." Lord Renly said with a warm smile to Jon before he turned to give Lady Margaery a small bow which she returned before he looked back at Jon again. "You neared adulthood and simply sought a different path for yourself?"

"My lord… I never thought myself as worthy enough to be a squire. For anyone, let alone for a knight such as Ser Robar. Unable to think of myself as a squire, I never even gave thought to being a knight. My father only arranged such after he had forbidden me to join…" Jon realized he'd made a mistake then but Lord Renly motioned for him to continue. "When he forbid me to join the Night's Watch."

Ser Loras made a noise of laughter and his sister shot him a cold look which silenced him. While Lord Tyrell had more tact, he still looked at Jon with something akin to pity.

Robar looked uncomfortable and Jon cursed himself for saying such. While Ser Robar and House Royce still remembered the old ways, and the honor that came with serving the realm in the Night's Watch, he had warned that the order was something to be mocked this far south.

Renly had not reacted except to shrug.

"Well, for that I am glad. The Night's Watch still has good men among it, kin to Robar and yourself if I remember correctly. Sadly, like so many other things in the realm, it has faltered over the years, becoming the dumping ground for cutthroats and dungeon dwellers. I could see better for you Jon."

"As could I." Robar added, smiling as he raised an eyebrow at Jon whose face still burned from his foolishness.

"Your father obviously cares for you a great deal. Ser Robar is a knight of renowned skill and to squire for him is of the highest honor." Lord Renly accepted a cup of wine from a servant and sipped, his eyes smiling but his face calm. "Does your brother also hold you so dear?"

"Robb and I grew up together at Winterfell. I love him… as I believe he does the same for me, my lord." Jon said truthfully. Despite what happened at Winterfell, he would die for Robb and thought of him often. He missed his brother greatly.

"Then I was wise to counsel Ser Robar to take you as a squire." Lord Renly took notice of the surprise Jon felt on his face, and how Robar looked to the floor suddenly. "He didn't tell you? Fear not, I'm sure he would have done so anyways without my counsel. I just reminded him of how… beneficial the friendship of House Stark would be."

"I don't understand…"

"I hope to earn your good favor Jon." Lord Renly continued as a servant entered from the other side of the hall carrying something in his hands. "I hope to show you and your family that I am a man worthy of your friendship… and your fealty. A man to whom you would happily bend the knee."

Bend my knee?

With those words, so much began to make sense and Jon started to see it before him. Renly was raising an army to march on King's Landing. He insulted the Queen and the new king Joffrey. He wanted Jon to speak warmly of him to his father, the Warden of the North, and Robb, his heir.

Jon looked to Robar who was smiling widely along with Lord Tyrell who ran his fingers together greedily. The Lady Margaery was more subdued in her joy, giving a polite smile to Jon but seeming in no way surprised while Ser Loras seemed barely able to contain his excitement at what they were about to see.

Robar knew.

That's why we rode for Highgarden and not the Vale.

"My lord..."

"Your grace, soon enough, and if you do well by me, people will soon be calling you Ser Jon as well." Lord Renly said as the servant presented him with a pillow upon which sat something covered with a green cloth. As he pulled the cloth away, a golden grown of roses lay before them. Renly smiled upon it and admired it with his fingers tapping lightly upon his chin. "Yes. That would do nicely."

JON

He rode hard through the fields and orchards of the Reach. The moonlight gave little light to his horse, warning of obstacles and it was a wonder that he had not been thrown yet. He'd left the Roseroad hours ago, and in fact had no idea where he was, simply looking up at the Ice Dragon and following its eyes north.

Nor did he have any idea where Ghost had run off to. The direwolf had left his sight as soon as they'd left the road.

He knew the wolf would find him though. Just as he knew he couldn't stop.

He just knew he had to ride north. He had to get to the Riverlands. He had to get to Robb.

He needs me.

That's where the Lannisters were too. Lord Tywin and the Kingslayer. If he couldn't find Robb, he'd find them. He'd kill them himself.

Father… father… I'm sorry.

The shame Jon felt now, thinking that he been at a feast when the news came, jesting with a Fossoway squire, was indescribable. That he had been sitting amongst knights and lords, raising a cup alongside them, thinking to himself what a beautiful queen Lady Margaery would make when Robar had sought him out.

He had thought Robar simply wanted to clank cups together until he saw his face. His normally pleasant smile was gone, his brow creased with concern.

"Jon, come with me please." Robar had bid him.

It was a strange request. King Renly had only just been crowned and Lord Mace was making a grand speech of how the marriage between his daughter and the king would mark a new age.

"An age of chivalry!" They had cheered.

Cheers and men rose to that while Robar briskly walked from the hall with Jon following soon after. Robar had been seated just below the dais, which held the Tyrells and the newly crowned King Renly as well as some powerful Stormlords. Jon had not been seated anywhere near as close, but that he was even present as a squire felt like an honor.

They had been in the corridors, Robar walking swiftly, passing servants and men carrying food and wine towards the hall. When they had finally exited through a stone doorway, leading out to a courtyard full of lavender and goldenrods, Robar stopped. He seemed to be looking around to see if anyone was nearby. The courtyard was empty but of flowers and trees. The smell of them, combined with the warm air, still made Jon feel as if he was in a different world from the north he'd known.

"Jon…" Robar had said with a hoarse voice and that is when Jon knew something was terribly wrong. His voice was always strong and ready, with a kind word or stern instruction.

"Jon…news has come from King's Landing."

The dread had gripped his heart immediately. As it did any time news came from the capital. He always feared some new treachery befalling his father or sisters. Usually his worries were for not, but the worries came anyway. It was Arya he worried about most, since no word had been spoken of her in some time, and he knew strong and fierce Arya would never have taken to captivity quietly. Jon had begun to fear the worst.

"Of Arya? Is there word of my sister?"

Robar shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

"It's your father, Jon… he confessed to being a traitor and asked to take the black. But Joffrey…" Robar paused then and swallowed. "They killed him Jon. By the warrior, I swear, I am sorry for it. No one believes him actually a traitor. All told he was a good man..."

Robar's hand had reached for his shoulder but Jon had shaken it away. He backed away from Robar, the knight who had taken him away from his father. This knight, who had brought him far away to some strange and foreign land when his father had been surrounded by enemies. This knight, who had made Jon stay at the flowery castle while his father rotted in the black cells.

And was killed.

"Leave me…" Jon had turned away from the man he saw as both a mentor and friend. He stared upwards into the stars, the tears feeling wet upon his face as the truth of his father's death, a traitor's death, ripped through him.

"Jon, I will see him avenged alongside you, but we must not speak of it yet." Robar had not left but made no further moves to console Jon. "The King only told me because to keep such from you would be monstrous, but such news would not be good to announce during his coronation…"

"I won't ruin his party. Leave me ser. Please." Jon felt cold inside. These people only cared for what suited them. They could have their party and feasts. He would have his vengeance.

When Robar left him, Jon found his way to the kennel where they were keeping Ghost. Few men were keeping watch between there and the horse lines by the gates, the makeshift stable used by smallfolk. He could not have risked seeking his own horse at the lord's stables as that gate was heavily guarded. This gate was lightly guarded and used mostly for farmers and merchants bringing goods for the festivities.

So together, Ghost and Jon rode past the guardhouse. He saw one guard fall over drunk at the sight of the direwolf before they were off into the night.

I'll avenge you father. I'll help Robb and free the girls.

I'll kill your killers.

Jon repeated such thoughts to himself over and over again as his horse slowed to an exhausted pace. He'd had to ride it hard, to put distance between him and Highgarden. Leaving the road was the best option after his lead. If anyone were giving chase, they would not know where he had left the road and would hopefully be unable to follow his trail until the morning.

At the end of one of the countless orchards he had ridden through, he saw the glimmer of a pond. Jon directed the horse to it and dismounted. The palfrey drank greedily of the water and he rubbed its back. It was not meant to be ridden as such. It was likely a merchant's horse, rode only between a town and the castle. It didn't belong on a quest for vengeance.

No more than you belonged at Highgarden.

Since the talk with Lord Renly and the Tyrells, wherever Robar had been called Jon had been there beside him. He came on rides alongside the Lord Renly and Ser Loras through the country. He participated in training alongside other knights of the south. Robar had even been proud to see Jon best some of the younger knights and Lord Renly had complimented his sword hand. Jon wasn't a fool though. He knew Lord Renly and the Tyrells didn't really care. They simply needed him. They hoped all their attention would make him bid father to support Renly's claim.

And it may have begun to work. Jon began seeing Lord Renly as how a king should be and often thought that he should sit the throne and not Joffrey. Yet now he saw Renly in a new light. While Ned Stark lay dying, the so-called king had sat around feasting and drinking.

Just as Jon had done.

He prayed Robar would understand. Jon had sworn himself to serve the man and there was no better knight he could not have asked for. But this was his family. Robar would have to understand that.

A noise caught Jon's attention then. He drew his sword and looked back the way he came to the lines of trees silhouetted in the moonlight.

Something was moving between them, towards him. As it closed in, he lowered his sword and sighed in relief. The direwolf paused just at the edge of the trees looking at Jon with those red eyes of his.

"Where have you been?"

Then the wolf turned to look behind him and Jon heard others approaching. The sound of horses grew louder and then he heard men speaking loudly.

Traitor, he led them right to me.

Jon swore and jumped to mount the horse but Ghost had sprung forward towards the beast and startled it. It reared up and knocked Jon aside just as his hand had barely grasped the saddle. The riders galloped through the trees just as Jon had finally gotten a firm enough grip on the reins, simply trying to keep the horse from fleeing.

"Jon! Stop!" Robar's voice called out.

Jon had finally gotten ahorse when another rider was beside him, hands grabbing at his reins. A tall, broad, and bearded man riding a beautiful looking courser, held the reigns firmly and made soothing sounds at Jon's horse.

"I'm sorry boy, it might seem unfair but we cannot let you do this." The man said and Jon recognized the voice now.

"Ser Garlan, my family needs me…" Jon began to yank at the reins but it was futile, the second Tyrell son was older and stronger than he was.

Even to draw a sword against him would be futile. While Ser Loras was lauded as a great warrior by all, Jon thought that the older and broader-shouldered Ser Garlan to be greater than the Knight of Flowers at swords. He'd seen the knight in the practice yard training against multiple opponents at the same time with Ser Garlan often coming out the victor. Ser Garlan had told him once that he shared Jon's feelings of dismissal over tourneys, preferring instead to train for real battle, which was probably why most didn't notice his great skill. More important than his skills at arms though, Ser Garlan possessed a great patience and kindness that younger Loras seemed to lack, and Jon had grown to admire the second son of Mace Tyrell greatly.

"Your family doesn't need you to die." Robar was on Jon's other side while the third rider moved to block his rear. "And I'd have failed a vow to both our fathers if I let such thing happen. I forbade you to return to the capital without-"

"I don't ride for King's Landing! I ride to seek my brother Robb, in the Riverlands! His army is there and-"

"So are his enemies. There are thousands of Lannister swords between here and Riverrun, burning and killing all they see. There'd be little doubt of your identity if they spotted you with Ghost." Ser Garlan did not speak harshly, nor did he try to lecture him. His voice was sad in a way. Jon didn't want his advice or his sadness. He wanted him to release his reins.

They won't see me.

"You'd abandon your oath to me, Jon?" Robar eyes were dark in the moonlight and this was the first time Jon had the courage to look at his face.

"I can't drink and feast while my sisters are held by murderers! While my brother marches to war!" Jon spat the words out. Robar had kept him at Highgarden so Jon aimed his rage at him. "While good men are murdered!"

Robar answered his rage with obvious disappointment.

"I would have thought Starks more honorable than that. Do they only honor their oaths when it is easy for them? I've known knights who didn't deserve the title and I've known knights who were the swords of chivalry itself." Robar paused as Jon looked away from him. "I thought better of you Jon. I truly did."

Reminding Jon of his honor twisted the sword in his gut. His father had bid him to serve Ser Robar and he would never have broken such an oath.

They need you.

"My sisters need me…"

"Your sisters need more than a grief stricken squire. They need a true knight. One who puts his honor and duty ahead of selfish wants, which is what this ride is. Your own selfish desire to ride off and die quickly, rather than march with an army guaranteed to see the vengeance you want done."

Robar began to move his horse away from Jon. He saw the man was not looking back as he did so.

"I'd have you return with me if you are your father's son. A man I respected and will avenge. Return and fulfill your oath to me or leave to sate your own desires. The choice is yours Jon Snow, I will not force you."

Robar's horse cantered back the way it came, the man not once looking back. His turned back shamed Jon greatly.

"Ser Robar speaks truly." Ser Garlan released his reins then and backed his horse away as well, to ride beside the Robar. "There is no shame in what you have done tonight. To love one's family is one thing, but doing the right thing for your family is often very different than what your heart will tell you."

It was then that Jon noticed the third rider, the tall, homely woman watching him silently. He'd only seen Lady Brienne of Tarth a handful of times at Highgarden but he had learned of a bet about her among some of the knights that disgusted him. When he had told Ser Robar of it, he had been wroth and soon after Jon saw the knight speaking with Lord Tarly. Then it was known to all of the men that the bet was off, which Jon was glad for, but that meant the bet itself came to light. He could imagine word had reached her ears as well.

Yet she stayed. Stayed to ride out after him when he fled into the night.

This woman has more honor than you.

She rode to join the knights as they disappeared back into the orchard until only Ghost and his stolen horse were left with him next to the pond.

Jon had never truly believed he would become a knight when he'd travelled to King's Landing. He assumed he'd squire for some hedge knight for some years, see the world a bit, train at arms, then one day he could seek service back in the north at a castle, hopefully Winterfell. Yet when his father had told him he would squire for a son of House Royce, and bid him to serve the knight in all things, that's when Jon had known Lord Stark truly believed his bastard son could become a knight.

If Robar had truly brought Jon to Highgarden as a pawn of Renly then why did he leave now? Why had Ser Garlan, one of the most chivalrous men Jon had ever met, ridden out with him?

Ghost stared at him and Jon could not shake the feeling that the wolf was judging him.

He rode behind the party for some time. In silence, urging his horse forward only to catch up to them. Each step his horse took was another step away from Robb and towards Highgarden. Away from what he wanted and what he had sworn.

Robar's horse eventually slowed until they rode beside one another.

"Your father would be proud of you." Was all Robar said to him. "As am I."

To that Jon said nothing.

The memory of his father forcing him along, no matter what he wanted.

JON

"This will be a slaughter."

Hallis Mollen shook his head as Jon and he watched another group of armored knights riding towards the battlefield. The battle was to start at dawn and was still some time away. Eager knights of the Reach and the Stormlands were already beginning to take the field.

None want to miss this chance for some actual fighting.

The thought still angered him to no end. He had returned with Ser Robar all those moons ago believing they would soon march upon King's Landing to crush the Lannisters. To avenge his father. Instead the time had been spent slowly gathering men and marching from castle to castle, feasting rather than fighting.

Jon had scorned all of it. The lords and knights of the south spoke often about the deeds they would accomplish that would be worthy of a song. Some even wrote the damn songs themselves, to deeds they hadn't yet done. Meanwhile his brother had been crowned the King in the North by his lords, with the Riverlands bowing to him as well. Robb had forged his kingdom by trouncing the Kingslayer in battle and lifting the Siege of Riverrun, feats actually worthy of a song.

Jon's feats included showing off his direwolf to lords and ladies who laughed and danced while northmen fought and died. He had not hid his displeasure and was no longer invited to halls or feasts as he once was, especially after Cider Hall.

"You make me feel as if my kindness and generosity towards you have been for naught." Renly had said from upon his horse as Jon knelt before him.

Ser Garlan, Ser Loras and some Fossoway knight were there as well, all ready to go on a hunt. A hunt Jon had been invited to join, with Ghost of course. Renly had them treat several of his highborn hosts to a hunt with a direwolf during their slow march. This time Jon had scorned the invitation, choosing instead to clean Robar's armor.

"It has not, your grace. I still intend to speak on your behalf to my brother. That is if he ever finds time to feast while fighting the Lannisters." His words had been too bold and Ser Loras had been livid. The Knight of Flowers asked Jon who he thought he was but Renly had just regarded him coolly before riding off.

He trained hard with Robar to get rid of his frustration, and when the knight was called away, he would find any partner he could to replace him. If none could be found, he'd practice his riding at the quintain. His once lean body had become hard and muscular.

Jon no longer trained alongside the other squires and Robar remarked with pride how he was actually hard-pressed to defeat Jon at times, though Jon had still never beaten him in sparring. It was the one of the few things they did not disagree over. Jon would often argue with his mentor over how slow their march to the capital had been.

"Is retaining your northern honor all you seek in my service Jon? You would insult and spurn the chivalry of the south?" Robar had said as he pummeled Jon's shield with blows.

"My honor bid me return to you ser, it is the only thing I have left amongst this foolishness." That Jon had said such in front of others would have been unthinkable when he'd first rode to Highgarden.

That was half a year ago, before he realized that all their courtesies and titles was just a way to mask selfishness and indulgence. Jon had been used to courtly pleasantries, being raised by a lord growing up, but the courtesy and manner here was too much for him. It all felt like lies. Many of the knights watching their sparring had bristled at Jon's words and Robar had sent him hurtling to the ground in an attempt to cover his words up, but Jon cared little what these highborn knights of summer thought of him now.

Such had happened just before Bitterbridge, before Lady Stark had come upon Renly's camp. He had been riding on a patrol of the vast castle grounds during the games. Robar had asked him to watch the melee but that these knights played at war while his brother fought one made Jon's blood run cold.

When he had heard later that a company of the north had ridden into camp, Jon rushed to find them, hoping against hope to Robb again. Seeing Hallis Mollen had been a pleasant surprise and the man had laughed loudly to see him yet learning it was Lady Stark and not his brother who led the party had been a disappointment.

He wasn't a part of whatever discussions Lady Stark and their flowery king had. Apparently Renly knew well enough to keep him far from her sight. Soon after her arrival, word had come down to every man with a horse to prepare for a ride. He'd had hope that somehow Lady Stark had spurned Renly to battle.

Again the knights of summer disappointed.

The king he rode with wasn't taking his cavalry to join the fight in the Riverlands, nor were they attacking King's Landing. Instead of fighting the Lannisters, the king went to challenge his brother Lord Stannis, who for some fool reason was besieging Storm's End.

"He takes half a year to gather an army and march halfway to King's Landing, yet how quickly did his force of thousands move upon Stannis?" Jon's voice had been hard pressed to stay low, the words angering him as he said them and Hal offered a grunt.

"While slowing his march has allowed him to gather a formidably-sized army, he has stretched his supply lines thin in doing so." Hal added. "But fighting his own brother rather than the Lannisters is the bigger folly."

Hal continued on, pointing out that even with the few men Stannis had, they were numbers that would be a welcome addition to Robb's forces, as more men were desperately needed to protect the Riverlands. He reminded Jon that, despite the glorious victories Robb had won, they were still sorely outnumbered and needed allies.

Speak to Robar again.

Maybe he can convince Renly to stop this.

He has to.

The thoughts were practically shouts in his head, much as Robar and his fight had been earlier.

Then the shouts came from the camp and Hal gave him a worried look.

Men were shouting and running around in a panic. They couldn't make out the words but instead moved to return to where the northern party awaited at the king's tent. On the way there, Lady Stark and Lady Brienne almost stumbled into them.

"We are leaving. Now." Lady Stark commanded and some of the men snapped at her command. Hal was one of them and Jon noted how pale and out of sorts Brienne looked.

Then he saw the blood on her.

"What's happened?" Jon asked as they all began mounting. "Lady Brienne, are you well?"

"I would never… I didn't… my vow…" The woman said quietly, staring at him as if she truly didn't seem to know him. Her face was twisted into some horrible grief. Lady Stark regarded Jon coldly for a moment as if in thought.

"Renly is dead." She said quickly before gesturing back to the chaos of the camp. "Murdered, and Brienne held to blame. A charge she is innocent of."

The shouts became clearer and they all confirmed what Lady Stark had just spoken. Renly was dead. Murdered.

"You would do well to be away from here, Jon Snow. Neither Renly nor Stannis sought to help Robb." Lady Stark said as she gained her horse. "And Ser Robar aided our escape. I do not know how it will go for him, or for you, after they see us gone."

Jon's head swam at that. This was it. Lady Stark was asking him to join in service to Robb and fight alongside the North, like he had wanted but something held him back.

She said Robar helped their escape.

"Robar? Where is he?"

"He was at Renly's tent, I warn you Snow I will not wait…"

Jon turned and ran before Lady Stark could continue. He charged into the mass of men panicking about of tents, pushing his way towards Renly's pavilion. He thought he heard Hal shouting after him but his duty was to Ser Robar.

Cries and shouts echoed in his ears.

"The King is dead!"

"Assassins!"

"The Beauty did it!"

He found Renly's pavilion surrounded by men who were shouting even louder. Some were even brandishing swords and threatening each other. And from within the tent, the sounds of battle rang out.

A man thumped another hard enough to send him to the ground and his comrades came to his defense, opening a hole in the ring of men that Jon leapt through.

The first thing he saw was Emmon Cuy's lifeless eyes staring up at him. He'd been a part of Renly's sworn swords, the Rainbow Guard, alongside Ser Loras and Robar. Now he was dead, his body propped against a basin and his armor awash in blood.

As if Emmon too watched the duel unfolding between his two sworn brothers.

Robar and Ser Loras were locked in a brutal fight, swords slashing and cutting in a way Jon knew was not for sport. They were battling hard even though Robar shouted for an end the entire time.

"Loras! This is madness! Stop!"

Ser Loras ignored the Robar's warnings, red faced with tears upon his cheeks, he pressed the attack. Jon caught a glimpse of his eyes and saw them to be full of fury. Despite Robar's shouts, the Knight of Flowers made no effort to stop and it was going poorly for Jon's friend.

Robar wore no gorget or helm and Loras's blade cut again and again near his head and neck.

Jon drew his sword in time to watch Robar's final feint fail and Loras's sword cut under his sword arm. Even as blood stained Robar's armor, his sword arm lying on the ground, Loras's backstroke was in motion, opening Robar's neck in a bloody spray.

"No!"

Sword in hand, he rushed at Loras.

And even though Loras hadn't expected it, the knight showed his skill and met Jon's attack.

With Jon's first slash he saw Robar outside the inn waving at him from a horse. The parry, the first time he offered Jon a skin of wine. As Loras stumbled over Robar's body, Jon stabbed at him, his mentor's smile flashing while he helped Jon up from the ground.

His rage and the surprise of his attack only gave Jon those three acts of superiority over his opponent. Then Loras was on him. The knight was armored and ten times the warrior, while Jon was not dressed for battle and was largely untested. Loras moved faster than he thought possible and there was no attacking now.

Only desperate acts of defense.

The first cut across his chest made him realize he was about to die. Loras kicked out, knocking Jon to one knee and cutting down at his head even as Jon fell. He blocked the blow out of instinct but lost his balance and the second blow met him across the middle.

As the pain of the cut screamed through his body, he saw Loras raising his bloody blade for the final blow and Jon had no strength to stop it.

This is how I die.

I'm sorry Robar…Father…

But the killing stroke never came.

Loras was ready to deliver it before his eyes widened and the man cried out as a blur of white slammed into him. Ghost's jaws just missed getting a grip on the knight's arm yet Loras fell.

Ghost made to charge again but stopped just in time to prevent Loras from skewering the wolf's neck upon his sword. Ghost snapped again and again, pacing back and forth between them. Loras's sword following him the entire time.

More men entered the tent and Jon rose to face them, as weak and bloodied as he as. They were Tyrell men but they made no move to attack him. They were too focused on retrieving Loras, only pointing spears at him and Ghost as they did so. Two grabbed at Loras while others grabbed Renly's body, pulling them backwards out of the tent and into the night.

Jon stood there feebly until they'd gone, then he took shaky steps towards Robar's body. He knelt beside it and Ghost came to join him in his silent vigil over his mentor.

All around them Renly's camp tore itself to pieces.

Yet Jon stayed true to the vows he swore.

And that is where Stannis's men found them.

JON

"It would be a good sign your grace, a direwolf amongst our men."

Jon could have embraced Ser Davos for his words.

Yet the hard looking man who sat in judgement could only grind his teeth at the Onion Knight.

For over a moon now, Jon had been Stannis Baratheon's captive. Weeks he'd spent at the island fortress of Dragonstone and while the realm continued to burn, yet another Baratheon kept Jon from the fight.

He did his best not to seem entirely ungrateful though. That he still had his head upon shoulders was because Stannis wanted it there. The man also seemed intent on bringing battle to the Lannisters, though he had so far refused Jon's sword in the cause.

It was just Jon's luck. He was finally part of a Baratheon army ready to take the fight to the Lannisters and this king wouldn't let him join.

So far his good fortune only extended to Ser Davos arranging for Jon to argue his case before Stannis himself. The Onion Knight had done him a great service in securing this audience in the king's solar but whether it would amount to anything was still far from certain.

He'd been miserable his entire time at Dragonstone, even though he'd been treated fairly well. His wounds from the battle with Ser Loras had been dressed and, despite the reputation of the island, none had tried to burn him.

He was also permitted to leave his chambers and stretch his legs or even attend the yard with the other warriors. Stannis had also spared Ghost, bringing the direwolf to the island, though forcing him into a captivity of his own. The poor beast was confined to the castle's small garden with nothing to hunt and barely any room to run.

Their visits together had been one of the rare things to keep Jon from lashing out. He'd had rare contact with any others, save Ser Davos and Ser Richard Horpe, a pock marked warrior tasked with seeing him from his chambers to the practice yard and back.

It was Ser Richard who had brought him here to find Ser Davos, King Stannis, and his red priestess. Had someone told Jon a year ago that one day he'd be standing in the very room where Aegon the Conqueror had plotted his conquest of the Seven Kingdoms, he would have thought them mad. As he gazed upon the table, carved into the likeness of the realm, he realized just how far he was from Winterfell.

And how close to King's Landing.

"A good sign? Because his half-brother wins some victories?" Stannis ground his teeth and stared upon the table himself. "Fighting for their true king should be all the good omens my men need."

"To fight is all I wish to do, your grace. To help bring justice to those who plotted against my father." Jon laid plain his case to Stannis. "To help free my sister whom they hold captive and to see a just king upon the Iron Throne. If you permit me, I'd fight for all of those things. I'd fight by your side, your grace."

"Fight by my side? Not for me?" Stannis questioned him without warmth. "Be honest Snow, if your usurper brother was here, would you even consider fighting by my side?"

Not for an instant.

"I am a Northman your grace, and the Starks are my liege lords and kin. My loyalty is to them." Jon would not lie, Tyrion had showed him how poorly he did so. "And the Lannisters are my enemy. Same as yours."

Stannis grunted and Jon shot a quick look to Davos, who gave him a reassuring smile. He hoped that meant he'd spoken well.

"My enemies are any who deny the throne that is mine by rights. Whether it be the abomination in King's Landing, the reaver at Pyke or your usurper brother." Stannis crushed his hopes with a flick of his hand. "Do not hide behind your feelings for family, I did not. I took the fight to my own brother because it was right. I did what must be done against usurpers."

"Your grace…"

"You held some esteem in Ned Stark's eyes I'd heard. I'm hoping the same is true for his heir. As a hostage, you may have some value but as a soldier?" Stannis ground his teeth and shook his head. "We have enough squires."

Jon saw it all falling down around him. He'd offered Stannis no guile, meant him no betrayal. His words had been true. All he desired was to get into the fight and do right by the memory of his father. He dreamed of such some nights. Of freeing Sansa, finding Arya, and somehow making his way home to Winterfell with them in tow.

That's when Melisandre stirred, her hands touching the sides of her head before being clasped at her chest.

"My king, I'd speak if you'd allow it." She spoke softly, in that strange and mesmerizing accent of hers, somehow drawing the attention of the entire room.

"Of course… even Lady Melisandre has a view on this…" Stannis shook his head. "Go on then."

Despite how coldly Stannis spoke to her, Melisandre smiled and there was nothing foreign about how enticing she looked. Jon had admired the exotic priestess since he'd first glimpsed her at Storm's End. She garbed herself in deep scarlet robes that slashed across her body like ribbons and was almost sheer in some places. It made Jon felt immodest just looking upon her, which he did his best to avoid whenever they crossed paths.

"I thank you, your grace, and I ask that you reconsider this matter." Melisandre glanced to Jon then and he felt a queer tingle run down his spine.

What was that?

It felt like she looked right through me.

"If you would not have me at your side for this battle, take this youth." Melisandre continued, her eyes swinging back upon the king. "I have seen Jon Snow in the flames. The visions given to me by our Lord of Light show me that his path is beside the future king."

She brought her arms up as if beseeching the king and Jon swore he felt a burst of heat wash over him.

"I've seen Jon Snow fighting alongside the armies of light against the forces of the Great Darkness!" Melisandre cried, her hands closing into fists. "A great white wolf standing before the great pyre of R'hllor, a bright fire burning, serving as a beacon of hope for us all! A vital part of Azor Ahai's glory!"

Jon stood gaping at all this. He had no idea what any of it meant or if it meant anything at all. He knew full well what kind of offerings this red priestess asked of Stannis in return for her god's favor. Ser Davos had told him she'd even suggested burning certain bastards of royal blood since Jon's arrival.

Even those of northern usurpers.

Ser Davos was scowling at the whole spectacle before them but he cared little, his attention focused on Stannis. He searched the man's face for any sign that Melisandre's words had helped him but all he could see was the same hard and impassive expression he'd borne before.

"You've seen him as some kind of warrior... this green boy helping me to my throne?"

"It is why I bid you to spare him when your false brother's army broke." Melisandre clutched at the red ruby at her neck then. "I saw all of these things the night of Renly's death."

Jon thought Stannis looked surprised by that comment.

The king's gaze slowly turned from Melisandre towards him. As his fingers thumped against the arm of his chair, his eyes seemed to take measure of Jon.

"I've seen you in the yard. You do well enough against guardsmen." Stannis turned and waved at the knight standing off to the corner. "You've seen him ser. As a warrior, would you trust him in a fight?"

There was no other way to describe Ser Richard than a warrior. Jon couldn't imagine him among Renly's preferred knights. Pox-scarred and unkempt, Richard's long, greasy hair hung limply from his head and a face that usually held a look of blank indifference. Not exactly a knight to be loved at first glance. Jon thought he would've fit in with Renly's Rainbow guard as well as Brienne of Tarth had.

Considering the knight's skill with a sword and reputation among the men at Dragonstone, Jon didn't think he would've been pleased being a part of Renly's march. He was no master of courtesies or words but what he lacked in grace he made up for in ability. Jon pitied any man that might face Ser Richard in battle.

Whether Ser Richard thought the same of him, he didn't know until the man spoke.

"He swore to attempt no escape and kept that promise. He is well trained, and fights better than his youth and experience should allow." Ser Richard spoke simply, never once looking at Jon. "He'd be a good addition to our forces and I trust the lady's visions. I trust in R'hllor."

Ser Davos made to speak as well but Stannis held up a gloved hand against it.

"Your position has changed, my onion knight, now that the lady has spoken in favor? Don't bother, I'm done with this matter." Stannis walked to Jon and glared long and hard upon his face. "If you fall during the battle, I would still have your sister as a hostage. And if she falls, you had best survive."

Jon dropped to a knee and began to utter his thanks but Stannis had already stridden away to the far end of the table, bellowing for his steward. With their audience apparently at an end, Jon rose and saw Melisandre whispering something to Ser Richard. She broke away quickly and left the room before Jon could thank her.

Instead it would be Ser Richard to thank, as it fell to him to escort Jon back to his chambers.

"You have my thanks ser." Jon said as they made their way through the corridors of the Targaryen castle. "I will do my best to prove myself worthy of…"

"I have no need of your thanks or your promises." Richard cut him off. "The Lord of Light has a purpose for us. If I can help you be of use to R'hllor, I'll do so."

"To finally be able to fight… it's a use I've wanted for some time."

Richard said no more to that so Jon's thoughts turned to the battles that lay ahead of him. He decided he would take Robar's sword into battle himself, to honor his mentor by using the blade in the battles they were supposed to fight together.

One day he would return the blade to Runestone. To hand Robar's sword back to his father was the least he could do. For all that his mentor had done for him.

That and make Loras Tyrell suffer for Robar's murder.

The Lannisters first, he decided, then Loras.

So lost in those thoughts, he didn't realize Ser Richard was leading him to another part of the castle away from his chambers. Jon then realized that they were in a wing he hadn't ever been to before.

He began to ask why they were here when they stopped outside a large, dark, door, guarded by two men he did not know.

Richard held out a hand towards it, beckoning him to enter.

As soon as he did, Jon was blasted by a wave of immense heat within and his back was almost caught by the door as one of the guards pulled it shut.

The room appeared to be someone's chambers, plainly furnished save for a bed that did not look slept in, and a simple trunk at its base. What the room lacked in finery, it made up for with the sheer number of flames within. He counted three burning braziers about the room, six torches along the walls and scores of candles upon every surface that could hold them.

"Welcome, Jon Snow." Melisandre's voice drifted from behind the largest brazier. The tall flames had blocked him from seeing her as she knelt behind it. "I would have you join me… if you are willing."

"Of course, my lady." Jon bowed.

She smiled and beckoned him forward. He made to sit to the other side of the flames but the woman bid that he come to her side. Already he felt the situation somewhat inappropriate, that he was out of place here, yet he would not insult her. Not after she'd helped him.

The heat of the room had already caused sweat to break upon his brow yet Melisandre showed no sign of discomfort. In fact, she seemed much changed from when he'd seen her earlier.

Jon thought she almost glowed in the light of all the flames around her. Her copper eyes appeared to glow as they gazed upon the brazier.

That wasn't all that had changed in her appearance. Melisandre had changed gowns as well. The silk dress she wore made her previous robes look chaste and homely in comparison.

Her shoulders and the top half of breasts were bare to him and the silk was so sheer over the parts she had attempted to cover he wondered if it was worth the effort. The round, fullness of her chest and the dark areas that could only be her nipples drew his eyes.

Yet he pried them away and stared into the brazier as he knelt beside her.

You should be thanking her not ogling her, you fool.

"You did me a great boon saying what you did to the king. You'll never know what it means to finally fight-"

"The battle before you is a doomed one." Melisandre spoke without taking her eyes from the flames. "It is one my king would fight despite my counsel, without me at his side. It is the path R'hllor has set for him and I must accept that, just as you must accept that there is more to your path than fighting beside the king. You're meant to fight for the one true god."

She looked to him then, as if expecting him to speak to that but Jon said nothing.

He had no idea what to say to something like that.

This red god of Ser Richard and Melisandre's was a strange, foreign thing to him. A god that seemed pleased with the burning of men. A god which might be pleased by seeing him burn.

Ser Davos said to be wary of her.

Is she truly mad?

Suddenly being alone in Lady Melisandre's chambers felt more than awkward, it felt almost threatening. He remembered the feeling he'd had when she gazed upon him in Stannis's presence. Now with her speaking so strangely, the urge to leave her side grew stronger and stronger.

Jon glanced to the door for only half a moment before Melisandre's hand cupped his chin and turned his face to regard her fully.

"This battle will end in flames Jon Snow, yet the war will rage on. R'hllor's will must still be done. You shall be set upon a path my lord has set for you. I saw you in need, when a dark fish would wish to be a beast and be welcomed among its kin. When king's blood would be offered to the flames, these bands will burn with R'hllor's favor. His will must be done, and he's shown me your efforts are worth such gifts."

Melisandre reached beside her and pulled a small bag into her lap. From within she took two simple bronze bracelets, each with a ruby upon them, similar to the one on her choker.

"These are his gifts, wrought by his mortal servants, but blessed with his power. When the time comes, you must place one upon each of those you'd change. Their possessions empower the glamor, clothing, jewelry, anything that makes them who they are to the eye."

"My lady, I don't know what you…" Jon protested but Melisandre grasped his wrist, pulling him towards her until her face was a hair from his own.

"When it comes time, let the blood of king fall upon them then into the flames themselves. When the bands are removed, so too is the glamor." Her touch was hot upon his skin, her lips full, and Jon thought of an ale soaked kiss with a serving girl long ago. "Remember that Jon Snow. R'hllor wishes you to."

He knew something was wrong about all of this. The flames around them appeared to pulse with the beating of his heart.

Or was it hers?

For some reason he could not tell the difference now. It was as if her touch was stealing him away. His head felt tired but his breathing quickened in panic.

"Say you understand." Her voice filled his head yet he could not tell if those full, red lips moved to speak. "Say you accept them."

"I understand." His voice sounded queer and he felt as if he'd had too much wine. "I accept your gifts, my lady."

He watched as Melisandre returned the bracelets to the sack and placed it upon his lap. Then she rose and his head began to clear.

His senses returned to him so suddenly that he felt embarrassed to be sitting while the lady stood before him. He rose hurriedly to beg her pardons but she had walked away from him towards the pristine bed.

Jon assumed their audience had come to an end.

"I shall take my leave then." He said, backing away towards the door.

"You would leave without offering a prayer to R'hllor?" Melisandre asked as she undid the bronze chain about her waist and let it fall to the floor. "After the boons he's given you?"

"Forgive me, but my prayers are not one your god would want." Jon stared as Melisandre reached to touch the strings around her neck, binding her grown. "Mine are for the old gods."

"False gods, not worthy of your words." She wrapped her fingers around the laces. "And prayers are merely words Jon Snow. Sacrifice is the only kind of offering R'hllor truly wants of us."

"Your red god takes offerings that I'd prefer not to give. I'm sorry, but I've no desire to burn. I know that much…"

"You know nothing, Jon Snow." Lady Melisandre said as she undid the laces holding the front of her gown together, dropping the dress to the ground, standing bare before him now.

Her actions made his heart beat even harder within his chest, the sweat upon his body becoming but a minor inconvenience. Melisandre was beautiful in her gowns but she was positively awe-inspiring without them. Part of Jon wanted to run but something else pulled him toward her, undeniable in its power.

"My lady…" Jon objected as he gazed at the perfect roundness of her breasts. The dark pink circles around her nipples kept his attention only for so long before his eyes roamed to the dark copper thatch of hair between her legs.

"It would be a pure death, to die in the flames." Melisandre said as she walked towards him, taking his hand in hers. "But there are other offerings you can make. We can join our flames… and hold off the darkness for one night more."

"I have not…" Jon barely resisted her pulling of him towards the bed. "I mean, I haven't ever been with…"

"R'hllor will thank you for that gift." She said as her hands moved over his clothes. The heat of the room, and beauty of the woman, distracted him so much that it seemed only a second before he was completely naked before. He felt himself being pushed back onto the bed as Melisandre moved to straddle him.

"I would father no bastards." He protested as her wetness touched the tip of his cock. "Oh gods…"

"This is for the one god… the true god…" Melisandre's words were almost lost in his own groan as she sank down upon him.

Those were the last words she spoke in the Common Tongue as she drew herself up and down upon him. When she rose up, he almost growled at the prospect of his cock leaving her folds until she fell back upon him and he grunted, arching his back to be even deeper within.

As he grasped her hips and fought against every moment he wasn't in her, Melisandre murmured in a strange foreign tongue. Her hands traced the lines of scars Loras had given him. They'd once stung horribly yet her touch set his skin tingling in pleasure.

As the flames burnt around them, he gave Melisandre all she wanted of him. Even with the fires burning so hot, he felt that being inside her was somehow warmer.

Driving into her again and again, it made no sense how her heat could burn him so much and yet cause him such pleasure all at once.

Yet as he felt his peak coming, his senses began to return.

"I can't…" He tried to stop then, pushing at her hips to lift her body off of his. "I can't have a bastard!"

Melisandre ignored his efforts. In fact, she pinned his arms down from pushing her off and rode him all the harder as if in retaliation.

He wondered if she hadn't heard him until he saw her eyes.

They burned with a terrible fire as she looked down at him, her hips pushing him even further within her and he felt himself boiling over.

"Fear no child…" She gasped at his release. "…for it would be for R'hllor."

And with those words, despite the heat, Jon felt very cold.

"For the flames of R'hllor."

******A_Cold_Wind_Blows betas this work and he's awesome. I usually post snippets or previews on Tumblr. DolorousEdditor is the name so let me have it.******