A/N: Hello my faithful readers. Second chapter, getting a look at who Destiny is. Talks a little bit of her past, past self harm, and how Jon is coping. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own HBO, A Song of Ice and Fire Series, or anything that resembles content from the book or show.
Destiny wasn't like the girls of Westeros I had met. Even if I never travelled further south than White Harbor, I knew most women wore dresses. Unless you were Arya. She wore tight blue pants, a short green tunic, and her hair was worn down, a mesmerizing dark brown, curling softly down her back. Her blue eyes shone in the light from the roof, contrasting with her olive toned skin and the soft pink of her lips.
"So, basically, your parents aren't who you think they are." She said, bringing me a plate with food on it. I looked at the main course and didn't know how to eat it. She coughed lightly, and took her own food in her hands, showing me how it was done.
"It's called a sandwich. Meat, cheese, and veggies all between two pieces of bread. Or three if you're feeling particularly hungry."
"It's… different. But, if I'm not the bastard of Eddard Stark, who am I?" I asked, feeling small suddenly.
"You are the trueborn son of Rhagear Targaryen and Lyanna Stark," She said, making me choke. I took a sip of the water she had poured into my glass and coughed, "It can't be true."
"Oh but it is. The High Septon at that time was Maynard. He recorded everything. How many steps were in the Sept of Baelor, to how many times he used the pot. He recorded that Rhagear asked him to annul his marriage to Ellia Martell, only to marry Lyanna Stark the same day. She wasn't kidnapped by him, they ran away together."
"Wait, were? What happened to the Sept?"
"That's what you focus on? Cersei is going to blow it up. That woman is beyond tapped."
"Tapped?" I asked, unsure of the definition.
"She's crazy, psychotic. Like Mad King crazy. Sorry, too soon. He was your grandfather after all."
"So, I'm a trueborn? Not a bastard?" I said, feeling a strange emotion welling up inside.
"Even better, you are the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne."
"I may be ill," I whispered.
"Bathroom, down the hall and first door on your right. Use that white bowl!" She said as I got up. Running to the room she specified, I located the bowl she spoke of and emptied my stomach into it. Her soft voice came at the door's opening, "There is a little level on the side when you are done. Just press down on it once."
I groaned in response as my stomach heaved again. There wasn't much this time but there was a sudden chill that came over me.
"Jon? Jon, are you okay?" She asked from outside the door. But her voice was sounding further and further away with each word. And as I fell, I watched my world grow fuzzy. In the haze I watched her form coming towards me. Her lips moved, but I heard no sound. And the last thing I saw were her blue eyes, thinking how beautiful they were.
Destiny's POV
After the pain of getting Jon comfortable on the futon in the second bedroom, I cleaned up our food, and proceeded to clean the kitchen. Humming lightly to myself, I was thinking of all the things I had to explain to him. The Night King plan to attack Eastwatch, Cersei's plans, Ramsey's battle plans and strategies. Perhaps helping Jon understand all of this could save Rickon's life.
But it would all be for nothing, if she didn't help him gain back his confidence. Learning your parents were the reason the Seven Kingdoms fell into Rebellion and war was not great to the ego. And he still needed to get back to his world to be ready to receive Sansa. Poor Sansa, who would become a badass Lady in her own right. He needed to trust her, but to remain wary of Littlefinger.
"When he trusts himself again," I whispered, repeating back the words I heard Bran speak to me.
"Destiny, help Jon. Teach him what is to come. His death is not in vain. The Red Woman will bring him back, and he must know everything."
"What can I do? I'm not even from your world."
"You are the key to Jon's fate," The Three-Eyed-Raven's voice echoed in my head.
"He won't be himself when he returns."
"And when will that be? How much time do I have to make him see?"
"When he trusts himself again, that is when he will return. Do not worry about how long it is in your world. He will be brought back at the right time."
"If you have faith that I can do this, I will try."
"Your heart will lead you," The Three-Eyed Raven said cryptically.
I was shaken from my thoughts as I dropped a fork in the sink. Shaking my head, I thought about Jon. I pulled out a small basin from under the sink, filled it with cool water and grabbed a facecloth from the hall closet, and went to lay it over his head.
"Jon?" I asked softly walking into the room. He still had not woke up, so I kneeled next to the futon, getting the cloth damp and gently dabbing his forehead. I had to push back his hair from his face, and I took a moment to memorize the feeling of his silky black curls. The hair millions of girls swooned over, and I was touching it. I hardly noticed him stir, which made me drop his locks and continue cooling off his face.
"Destiny," He said, brow furrowing, to that I hummed in response.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because your cousin Bran thinks I'm the only one that can actually do the job," I sighed.
"The job?" He asked, studying my face.
"There are a few things we need to teach you. First and most importantly, how to trust yourself again. Secondly, every enemies battle plans from now until the Night King comes past the wall."
"He makes it past?" Jon says, paling.
"Hey, you will be ready," I said, smiling at him.
"How are you so sure?"
"Because I know you. I know you just as well as you know yourself. And I know your plan. This way, you can execute it earlier," I said, before pulling out a box from the closet. I was secretly glad I hadn't gotten rid of my ex's clothes yet. He was a similar stature to Jon, so I hoped everything fit.
"Just get your bearings, and then take a look through this box for clothes. It's going to be a lot different to what you are used to. For instance, this is underwear. And the pants have a funny way of doing up. It pulls together as you slide this bit of metal up, and a button at the top," I said, trying my best to not blush. I pulled out a shirt and a hoodie to keep warm. He thanked me, before I ducked out of the room with the basin.
I put on some soft music as I grabbed my laundry from the dryer. Folding everything, I was able to get my things back to my room by the time Jon emerged.
"So, what do I need to know?" He asked.
Jon was slowly learning how to live in my world. He was a little freaked out by the shower, and preferred to take baths, but I understood. He liked the music I would play, not always catching the words, but liked the beat. Only 2 weeks had gone by, and we were still going through Ramsay's battle strategy. He knew that he would need to get Rickon before Ramsay could, to ensure a Lord for Winterfell. I explained that the Umber's were going to be a problem at first, but the Lord's from the Vale would ensure high numbers and victory.
He was excited to hear that he would be reunited with Sansa. Bran and Arya would come with time. I was quick to realize how often I was staring at him in amazement, before he could tell I was watching him. The show didn't really do hi justice for how handsome he was, and I was quickly beginning to lose focus of my mission. So instead of staring at him in longing, I would use my heavy bag in the basement.
While I had work, he would read, and learn about all the adventures and trials his cousins had over the Seven Kingdoms. Once he was finished those, I gave him a run down on how to use the TV, because the show was still helpful. So, one night, he was watching, and I was working out my sexual frustrations on the heavy bag in the basement, when he came down.
"What is that?" He asked, as I brushed a hair off my forehead.
"A punching bag. It helps me concentrate my anger on something, rather than punching people in the face. Plus, it helps me practice for when I do have to punch people in the face."
"I've thrown a punch before, but I'm better with a blade," He said solemnly.
"A blade is not always a practical offense. Defense, yes, but when you are trying to really hurt someone, or knock them unconscious, I prefer a swift right hook," I smiled, wiping my face down with a towel.
Jon's face grew concerned; as he pushed off of the railing he leaned against and approached me. I froze, not knowing why he was doing this.
"What happened?" He asked, fingers brushing up against a scar of the many that littered my wrists.
"That's…. a long story."
"I seem to have all the time in the world," He said, looking into my eyes. I looked down, because I didn't want to swoon from gazing to deep into his grey eyes.
"My parents died when I was young. Mom first at 8 years old, and then Dad at 10. I had no other family. Grandparents are dead on both sides, no uncles and aunts. So I was put into a foster home. But the father beat the children, molested the girls. I was able to leave at 18, finally getting revenge by speaking of it to the authorities. He's currently serving time, and won't be coming out. He will die in prison."
"But these were my escape during the time I was there. I wasn't sure what was real anymore, the stress got to me. I needed to control something, so I chose my pain."
"Why?"
"It's the only thing I could think of, and then it became a habit."
"But you stopped."
"Only when I found another outlet. This bag," I said, accentuating my point with a punch to the heavy bag.
"But why harm yourself?"
"Because I won't harm anyone by harming myself. There's no one to be worried about me. I'm on my own," I said, as I noticed Jon's eyes hardening at the scars.
"Hey, I'm okay. I survived," I said, getting his attention. He nodded, before stepping back slightly and saying, "I was wondering if there was anything I could eat. I've been a bit hungry for the past hour."
"Well, I was going to shower before I made food. I can point out some snacks, and then I can make us some dinner," I suggested.
"Sounds fair," He said, giving a small smile.
"I just got some steaks I can grill up. Today is mild so using the grill won't be so bad," I chuckled. Toweling off my face again, I started up the stairs, before I noticed Jon wasn't following. I turned to see he had been staring at me, but turned as I caught him.
"The kitchen is this way," I smirked.
"Lead the way," He said, blushing slightly. I remembered exactly what pants I was wearing and smiled to myself. I just caught Jon Snow staring at my butt. Today was a good day.