The crisp air of the North hit the back of Jon Snow's throat. The convoy from Dragonstone had been travelling for almost a month, through the rocky waves of the Narrow Sea and the cold terrain of the Northern kingdom of Westeros. Jon nervously sat in a large dark-wood carriage, with plush blood red velvet seats and doors that were engraved with dragons. The shutters to the outside world were open, allowing the sunlight to glare into the dark carriage; thin black netted curtains were in place for privacy. The abhorrent carriage was large enough to be host to four adults but on this occasion, was only available to Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen. They had been sitting in a long and rather heavy silence for quite some time, neither knowing what topic to discuss next.
Daenerys sat opposite Jon for most of the journey, either looking to the outside, beyond the curtain or drinking red wine and having regular small meals. Jon had been taking the time to write down infantry data for his army, overseeing the numbers and statistics for the food rationing that Sansa had sent to White Harbor, ready for him upon their arrival. Jon had been overlooking the numbers again and again and again, it not truly processing through his mind. He was almost sure to have given up with the document when they had passed the White Knife, onto the Kingsroad but it was an easy excuse to avoid conversation. He felt much more at ease with what he was reading when they had arrived at Crewyn. Jon and his guests were hosted by Lord Cley Crewyn himself, only staying a day and a night before setting back onto the Kingsroad, toward Winterfell. Lord Crewyn and his men had joined the convoy on their journey, the sight of it was like an unstoppable snowstorm; tearing its way through the landscape.
The carriage had not been the best environment for writing down important information. It was rather noisy as they were surrounded by thousands of men and horses; the noise was almost deafening, it reminded Jon of the sound of war. The snow and thick mud of the Kingsroad had made the journey very bumpy and rather uncomfortable, causing Jon's handwriting to become almost unreadable. He knew he would have to rewrite all of the notes he had made, so that it was legible for others to read. He had been given a varnished plank of wood that was cushioned underneath to ensure a less hazardous writing experience. He had noticed that he had been staring at Sansa's neat and elegant script on the adjacent piece of parchment; she had taken so much time to ensure that all details were available to him. He traced his thumb over the ink that spelt out his name, she always wrote it in such a delicate way. He stared at the smudge of ink at the bottom of the fifth page of parchment, his eyes going out of focus as he went into his thoughts.
Jon had been restless during the course of this journey, wanting nothing more than to see his family once again. He had missed Sansa's company and her persistent counsel. He was mostly looking forward to greeting his little half-sister and younger half-brother, Arya and Bran. It had been many years since he had seen them. He remembers Arya as a physically very small but tenacious young girl, who never wanted the life that was laid out for her; the life of a Lady. But instead, dreamed of wielding a sword and fighting alongside her brothers in the defence of the North. She was a young wolf in the skin of a Lady. She was more like her Lord father than her Lady mother, both in looks and in temperament. She treated Jon with the same love that she showed to her other siblings, she never treated him differently. He wondered if she was still short and skinny with that cheeky smile that Jon adored.
He also wondered how Bran had survived all those years without the use of his legs. Where has his disabled brother been all of those years? The last time he saw Bran, the young boy was lying in a bed in a coma, helpless and with very little chance of ever waking up. Bran had been a kind but sometimes defiant child, adored by his Lady Mother. Jon had not been given the opportunity to talk to the young man about what happened to him, how he has coped with the loss of his mobility. Jon wanted nothing more than to just sit with them both, besides a roaring fire and hear their stories; no matter how gruesome or dark they were. He just wanted to relearn his siblings, the same way he had relearnt Sansa.
Jon had so many questions that needed answering, so much time that he needed to catch up on. He felt like he needed to replenish his thoughts and his soul with the strength of his Northern family. The Northern people were often misunderstood as foolish; too concerned to do whatever was right, rather than what was in their best interests. Perhaps a part of that was true but Jon knew the North better than he knew himself. He knew his people to be loyal and fiercely protective of their own. They were not the type to lie and cheat their way out of a situation but instead, they tackled it head-on with sheer determination and integrity. They were a pack that stood together and fought together.
Another distinction, that caused the North to be different from other Kingdoms, was that of the new age of the Starks. This had been started by himself and Sansa through their accomplishments at the Battle of the Bastards, as it was commonly known. Unlike Arya's wolf-like temperament and valour, Sansa was not quite like her sister, she was not the usual Northern girl. She had all of the essential qualities, but there something in her that was like her Lady Mother, not just her red hair, but a certain type of strength and a way of thinking that was different to others. Jon felt that he also had this quality; they both thought outside of the norm, pragmatic leaders that often considered situations from different perspectives.
He hoped that she would be able to see this point of view when he sees her next.
Jon Snow sat within the confines of the large carriage, feeling rather claustrophobic. He had wanted to ride back to Winterfell on a horse, that Daenerys Targaryen would have provided, but he knew that it was important to stay by the silver-haired queen's side. It was a testing time for them both but in rather different ways. Daenerys was coming to introduce herself to a people that she does not know but has promised to help in time of warfare. Whereas Jon had to make sure she abides by her promise and convince his people that the allegiance was a good idea. He could tell that she felt uneasy, her brow often frowned, her eyes looking out of the carriage window with a distant look on her face. She was having a hard time taking it all in, as this was not what she had envisaged for her conquest of Westeros to be; playing guest in someone else's house.
Jon drew himself away from his failed attempt at writing and examined her face, the fading daylight flooded the carriage, casting her into a scene fit for a portrait. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen. He was not particularly fond of her silver hair, which was very unlike the blonde heads of the Lannisters, much lighter in colour, almost completely white. Her skin was tanned from a lifetime in the Essos sunlight, she features an almost child-like complexion but were aged prematurely from having to grow up far too early. This was a quality he had seen before from many women in his life, those who are present and those who had passed.
She was undeniably beautiful, the face of a House that had long passed. She looked like she had been touched by winter but did not possess the qualities of a true winter's maiden. Jon did not refuse himself of the truth, he did find her very attractive. Her features were beyond pleasant and her body would be able to please any man. But there was a quality of her nature, an idiosyncrasy, that he found to be very off-putting. She did not hold herself in a manner that he found to be appealing. He had met women like her before; self-assured and driven. A long time ago, he found these qualities to be what he was looking for within a partner. Although it was not unlike anything he had encountered during his younger years, she had an ideology that did not sit well with Jon. It was her way of seeing the world; she presented the idea that her way of ruling and her beliefs were the right and only way. Jon had been brought up with the ideals of his Lord Father and he strongly believed that one must hear his people and do what was right by them. Honour was far too valuable to be dismissed and sometimes you have to bring people together, despite belief. This way of seeing things was sometimes, perhaps, not the ideal solution to every problem but Jon knew it worked far better than her way. These qualms he dared not speak to anyone, as he knew they could alter or ruin the plans he had so desperately worked for.
Daenerys started to pull at the cuff of her thick white coat. Jon saw these administrations as a sign of her anxieties and knew immediately it was best to comfort her. He put aside his feather quill and secured the pot of ink, placing down the documents. He moved to Daenery's side, gaining her attention. She turned away from the window, looking at Jon with her violet eyes, which were so deep and rich in colour, one could almost mistake them for blue. Jon had never seen anyone within Westeros with eyes quite like those, even Maester Aemon's (who was also a member of the Targaryen bloodline) eyes were not violet, as they had turned white from becoming blind in his old age.
He took her hand within his and held it gently, "is everything quite alright?" Jon asked Daenerys softly, stroking her hand with his thumb. She softened into him, a small smile upon her lips as she looked from him to outside of the window.
"It's just… it is not quite what I had imagined," Daenerys explained quietly, her voice gentle, a soft whisper that Jon found charming. He was finding it hard to summon a response due to the great weight he felt upon his chest. "I had thought the North would be filled with many towns or… vast villages occupied with people. No, oh…" She sighed, "I'm not sure what I mean. It's just… I hadn't expected to see so much scenery, miles and miles of woodlands, fields, and snow. Such a little amount of people. You must have felt so isolated." Her last comment surprised Jon, he did not see this land as isolating but rather, as welcoming, comforting, beautiful. It was home.
"That's because you're not from here." Daenerys gave Jon a disapproving look at this. "What I mean to say is that you're not from the North. Anyone else would see it as empty but we Northerners see it as beautiful and free." Jon gave her a quick smile, which she did not acknowledge and instead, she returned to looking back outside the window, taking her hand out of his grasp. She did not take lightly to being reminded of her place; that she was, in many ways, a foreigner to her homeland.
Jon allowed this moment of silence to take him over again. The sound of thousands of horses hooves stomped around them, he felt like an outsider even though he was so close to home. He had pushed himself beyond his boundaries, pulling himself thin and in need of restoring. The year that had past them was one of political importance for the future of the living. Jon felt sick every time he was reminded of the war that was to come. He was the leading force in arranging the defence against of the Army of the Dead. He hadn't expected so much of his time to be spent southward, instead of spending it with his people in their preparations. He couldn't help but wonder what he was going home to. There was sure to be discourse because of his choice to cast down his position as King of the North, he knew he would be arriving back to a people who were at unrest. But if they knew and had seen what he had, his people would have been quick to gain the assistance of a ruler like Daenerys Targaryen, without a doubt.
She had possession of the largest army within Westeros and even though she was not the wealthiest Head of House, she had something worth more than any gold; her dragons and dragon glass. This made her a force to be reckoned with and Jon Snow would rather have her on his side than to be against her. He had heard what she did to her enemies and it was a fate he did not want to face. This meant that he had to make hard choices and sacrifices that made it difficult for him to sleep at night. Despite the fact that she had been enthusiastic to share his bed, keeping it warm for him, giving him the opportunity to release tension that he holding onto. Before he could get lost within his feelings of guilt and worry, Jon and Daenerys were greeted by one of Daenerys' generals on horseback, besides their carriage window.
"We're arriving." He notified them with a shout in his mother tongue of High Valyarian. Daenerys immediately became animated, moving forward to look gain a view of the winter castle. Confused, Jon looked past her to see his home, Winterfell, standing tall upon the top of a hill. It was blanketed with thick snow, surrounded by thousands of huts in the battlements, the fire pits could be seen from this distance. It seemed to be busting with activity, Sansa had definitely undertaken the task he had left to her. Daenerys looked with wide eyes at Jon's home, completely still and obviously filled with nerves. Jon's heart fluttered as he saw it once again, he had finally returned. But he felt a bittersweet sadness cast itself over him quickly, he was home but he was not safe.
"What will happen once we arrive?" Jon heard Daenerys' small voice, she looked at him with a stern look. She clearly was trying to suppress her feeling of anxiety and instead, wanted to convey the air of a fierce leader. He much preferred it when she was genuine with her emotions.
"We will be greeted by the Northern houses, those have sworn their allegiances to House Stark and members of my household. That will include my family, as well as the family representatives from House Mormont of Bear Island, House Cerwyn will also join us, House Glover, the Umbers, the Hornwoods…" Jon could tell that Daenerys that stop listening to him. He took her hand once again to gain back her attention causing her to briefly smile at him.
"We will be greeted. Then you'll be shown to your living quarters, where you can rest before the feast tonight." He moved closer to her, trying to gain some sort of physical contact. He knew that she responded better to his touch than to his words.
"Everything will be okay," Jon lent into her placing a soft kiss upon her lips, of which she responded to positively, kissing him back. She moulded into his chest, placing a hand on his thigh trying to deepen the kiss. He knew that she would want him to have her once again before they were to arrive through the gates. But he couldn't bring himself to smell of her sex and fill her with his seed, just before he was to greet his family. Even though he knew the feeling of spending himself inside of her would bring him great relief, he just couldn't bring himself do it. He felt different now, as he was so close to home. Instead, he released himself from her kiss. She seemed disappointed but unlimitedly, far more relaxed, now smiling with confidence. Jon knew he had managed to calm her nerves, which was a very important task in the hopes of keeping her favour.
They travelled from the Kingsroad by Winter Town into Winterfell through the east gate. The atmosphere was tense, many of the townsfolk stood had watched them pass by. Jon felt a pressure in the back of his throat and tension in his chest that did not seem to want to budge. Only a handful of the carriages followed them into the grounds of Winterfell, as the rest of the soldiers continued travelling toward the Battlements to set up camp. Only Jon and his Northern guests, as well as his personal party, Daenerys and her advisors, entered into Winterfell; alongside their belongings.
The castle was cluttered with people, all of which had stopped their individual tasks to greet the party. They stopped in the courtyard outside of the Guest House and Jon could feel the number of eyes that were upon him. He looked to Daenerys, who was staring ahead, that stern look once again on her face. He took a deep breath, before exiting the carriage. Jon scanned the courtyard, taking it all in. Around him were groups of people all organised into neat lines; the principal workers of Winterfell were in a far corner talking quietly amongst themselves. Members of the Northern households, as well as those from the Erie and the lords of Riverrun, were standing to Jon's right. They were all looking to him with an expression of unease and interest. Jon nodded to Lady Mormont, a small girl perhaps of the age of one and ten, she did not return his nod. But instead, looked past him to the carriage he had just existed.
Jon looked back into the carriage and offered his hand to Daenerys. She took it and followed him into the courtyard, her mouth slightly open as she gazed around her. Clearly, she had not expected Winterfell to be quite so grand. She looked up at the tall towers and down at the people surrounding them. Jon understood the way she felt; she was now the outsider. This moment reminded him of the day King Robert Baratheon had come to Winterfell, casting a shadow onto House Stark and starting the events that changed all their lives in Westeros. Jon had just wished he wasn't the one intruding into Winterfell, but instead, standing beside his House and greeting the guests, much like his father had done that day.
He returned to scanning the courtyard, in the hopes of seeing his family. To his left, beside the Great Keep, there they were all standing in a line. His siblings, Arya and Bran, with Samwell Tarly and Gilly, who was holding baby Sam, alongside them. Brienne of Tarth was positioned behind Arya with her hand upon her the hilt of her sword, looking beyond Jon to the rest of the party. But Jon did not see the rest of them, instead, his eyes were glued to Arya and Bran. His heart flooded with joy and he could not help himself, he left Daenerys standing alone by the carriage and walked enthusiastically towards the pair. A great smile came to his face, he had not felt this way in many moons.
Arya looked nervous to see him, her body tense. She was still short and skinny, but there was a look on her face, she looked craven and hollow. His Lord Father had said that Arya looks and acted like her aunt, Lyanna. Jon wondered if the young woman that stood in front of him was like the aunt he never knew; wild and free. As he neared her, he could see that there was a glint in her eyes that Jon knew she had experienced great pain. She too had grown up before her time. But her tense demeanour soon softened as she saw Jon walking towards her, she opened her arms and collided with him in a tight hug. He held onto her fiercely, not wanting to let go, never wanting to lose her again. He hadn't experienced this type of pure love in many years, to be able to see his dearest sister once again, had brought him joy that he thought unimaginable.
"I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you! I thought you had died, I thought I would never see you again." Jon exclaimed as he let go of her. She smiled sweetly at him, her cheeks flushed from happiness.
"It would be quite hard to get rid of me." She replied, raising an eyebrow, tilting her chin upwards towards him. Jon smiled at her once more, touching her shoulder briefly before turning his attention to his brother.
"Bran, you've grown so much!" Jon heard himself saying and it was true, his younger brother had grown into a man since he had last seen him. Now tall with long limbs, a long face and those dark brown eyes, Jon felt a great sense of accomplishment as he saw him once again. He bent down to his brother, who sat in a wheelchair covered in many layers of furs, and hugged him. Bran seemed excited to see him but there was a sense that something was not quite right with his brother.
"It's good to see you again. I must speak with you about something urgent." Bran spoke to Jon quietly in his ear, his voice far more monotone than it had been in Jon's memory. Jon did not ask for more details, as he could tell that this was not the right place to be drawing attention to a private matter. Instead, he nodded at his brother and looked at him, they smiled at each other.
Jon walked down the line toward Samwell Tarly, his closest friend. Sam looked at Jon with a great sense of relief, they had not seen each other since Sam's departure from the Castle Black. Now they reunited, Sam still a man of the Night's Watch and Jon, the commander of a different castle. So much had changed, they were very different men now. Jon was surprised to see his friend in his home but did not care to ask questions as they embraced in a quick hug, slapping each other on the back and saying their 'hellos'. But Jon felt somewhat uneasy, he had not seen Sansa beside her brother, as she should be as the Lady of Winterfell. Jon's heart raced as he panicked, what if she was so angry with him she did not want to see him?
"Arya, where's Sansa?" He mustered up the courage to ask. Arya looked surprised by the concern and pain in his voice, whereas Bran simply studied Jon with a plain expression.
"She was just looking for Ghost-" Arya stopped talking quickly, her eyes looked past her brother. Jon quickly turned around and saw Sansa walking towards him from the archway that leads from the Goodswood. Besides her was Ghost, gigantic as ever and bounding toward him with enthusiasm.
"Come here, boy!" Jon shouted, causing many people, which included their guests, to jump and stare at him with agitated expressions. Ghost leapt at Jon, landing by his master's feet and sniffing him gladly. Jon scratched his companion's head, looking down at the great dire wolf with a feeling of solace. He continued to look Ghost over as Sansa walked toward him. But he stopped once he felt her presence, as he stood up, he couldn't help but feel in awe of her beauty.
She stood tall in a new dress and style that made her fit as a leader of the North. To his great relief, she did not look at him with any disdain or anger, but instead, she smiled at him. Not the smile that she gave to others, a smile that only went the surface of her lips but instead, the smile that made her eyes twinkle and pierce Jon through the chest. He immediately went to her, causing him to forget about anyone else, forgetting his place and his situation. At that moment, it did not matter to him that they were at war, or that he should restrain himself, or that Daenerys was watching him with Tyrion Lannister and Jorah Mormont by her side. None of that mattered as he brought Sansa into his arms. He held her by the waist, his arms finding their way underneath her cloak, clutching onto her with the fear that she might let go. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent; it sweet and sharp like a lemon mixed the musk of firewood. It enthralled him, consumed him unlike anything else. It made him feel things that he did not quite understand.
Sansa breathed against him, giving him her warmth, her breasts felt soft pressed against his chest. He had missed her in ways that he had not quite realised. He had needed her in ways that were new to him. He held her in a way that he felt were different to his other siblings. That realisation made him uncomfortable but he did not let go, he held onto her with the grasp and tenderness of a lover.
"I've missed you," He rasped into her ear, barely finding the words to articulate what he wanted to say. She moved her head away from the crook of his neck, her eyes explored his eyes before finding his lips. Her pupils were dilated wider than usual, deep dark pools of mystery stared into him, he knew that she could read his will if she only had the coverage to do so. Jon felt unsure by what her eyes were telling him. He has always had a troubling time deciphering the inner workings of her mind, forever finding himself confused and not privy to her thoughts of him. But he could not deny that he felt a sense of understanding in the way she lightly trembled under his touch and how she breathed deeply against him, her tongue wetting her lip as she watched him. He hoped that this meant that he was not completely alone in this feeling and that she too felt the shift and change. He had always appreciated her companionship, even when she tested him and he grew frustrated with her. But now, after many months in the company of others, with the warmth of another in his bed, he found the way her body felt against his to be captivating. There was something new between them. But it was a hollow victory that he did not know if he found any pleasure in.
"We cannot talk here but come to my chambers after your guests are comfortable, there many things we need to discuss. It is crucial that we do." Sansa whispered to Jon, in quickly hushed tones. Her eyes not leaving his. He was surprised that she did not look to him with any sort of indignation but instead, worry. She seemed to be greatly worried for him. This warmed and concerned Jon in equal measures.
Jon replied, agreeing with her, still holding onto her waist by one hand. He had not realised quite how long they had been embracing, staring into each other's eyes and breathing in the other one's air. Now with many eyes upon them, he snapped back out of the high of his jubilation and merriment, back into reality and into who he was meant to be. He felt himself become stern and cold outside of her touch, expressionless once again, back to the task at hand. Sansa went to walk toward her household, before turning back to him, flakes of delicate white snow-crowned her auburn hair like tiny crystals, as pure as her skin. Her eyes found him and with a warm smile, she spoke, "It is good to have you home."
Jon smiled at her, a fluttering feeling filling his chest up like it had when she had gifted him his cloak. He wanted to compliment her on her craftsmanship, as she had once again created another piece of clothing that was truly remarkable. But she left him before he was able, so instead, he watched her leave. Past Sansa, Jon could see Arya examining them with her hard eyes. Looking at every fine detail, not wanting to miss a second. She had an odd expression on her face as if she had just seen something quite strange and unexpected. Jon hoped that no one else shared these thoughts.
He scanned the courtyard once more, surprised and confused not to see Petyr Baelish watching them all from a corner with his small, intrusive eyes. This made Jon feel uneasy but somewhat relieved. He would need to bring that up with Sansa later on, amongst other important topics.
Jon sighed and walked back to Daenerys and their other guests, who were talking between themselves. Jorah Mormont looked at Lady Mormont with a look that signified his nerves, clearly anxious and uncomfortable to see his kin. Tyrion Lannister looked to Sansa with a sense of familiarity, his eyes soft and a small smile upon his face. Jon did not like the way he looked at her. But he put this feeling to the side and went to Daenerys, who was becoming restless from a lack of action, already frustrated from being stared at by the Northerners. Jon went to her side and offered his arm to her with a forced smile on his lips. He hoped that she would not look into his eyes and see what he was feeling at that moment. He guided her to his household, dreading introducing her to them.
What surprised Jon was how gracious Daenerys was during this whole intense process. It was obvious from the atmosphere and a rather unfriendly welcome that Daenerys was not wanted within the walls of Winterfell, especially with her choices of advisors. But she took on this clear sign of unfriendliness in her stride, holding her head high with a pleasant but hallow smile. Jon admired her at this moment, clearly, she was taking this first meeting very seriously, knowing that there was a lot at stake.
Jon leads Daenerys to Sansa first, though his heart pounded in his chest begging for him not to. But it was the procedure that the North adhered to for centuries; the Lord and Lady of Winterfell would be first to receive any guest. Sansa looked at Daenerys with a very guarded and cautious look, there was something in her eyes that Jon could not quite decipher. She watched Daenerys will great intensity, looking over from her clothing to her hair and features, even at the way Daenerys held onto Jon's arm. There was a fierceness to the way she held herself.
"Sansa," Jon's voice was quite weak when he addressed his sister, "I have the pleasure of introducing to you Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen." Sansa stared Daenerys, not quite reacting to Jon's words straight away. Her expression was odd as if she could not quite make up her mind of how she was going to react to meeting Daenerys, so instead, she stared her down. After those gruelling seconds, Sansa's face erupted with a large friendly smile.
"Your Grace, welcome to our home. I am glad to finally meet your acquaintance." She spoke in with a sweet tone, summoning all of the loveliness and politeness of a Lady. She bowed her head and gave a quick courtesy to Daenerys, who smiled back at her.
"Daenerys, this is my half-sister and the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark." Daenerys smiled fondly at Sansa, swallowing her feelings of nerves and looked up at Sansa with a look of relief.
"The pleasure is mine. It is an honour to finally meet the Lady of Winterfell. I hope that our allegiance will continue during this difficult time." Sansa gave another small smile and bow to Daenerys, holding the smile as Jon and Daenerys look down the line to Bran. But Jon could see that Sansa smile dropped as soon as they felt her, her face returning back to a neutral expression as she looked over to the Lord and Ladies of the North. She had always been far too good at pretending.
Jon continued to introduce Daenerys to the rest of his kin, they all reacted in a similar tone to Sansa. Clearly forced smiles and politeness that Daenerys didn't seem to see. As they went toward Sam, Jon gave him a judicious smile but Sam looked at Daenerys with anguish. He looked tormented to see her and before Jon could say his name, Sam stormed off with Gilly right behind him.
"What have I done to cause such offence?" Daenerys asked Jon, she seemed hurt to be treated in such a way.
"That was Samwell Tarly. You burnt his father and brother alive." Jon and Daenerys looked back at Bran, who stared up at Daenerys not faltering his gaze. Daenerys couldn't hold his stare, she looked shocked as she became small in herself, her eyes fixated on the floor. A rage flooded through unlike any he had felt in a long time. He was ashamed to bring a woman to his home, to introduce her to his family and closest friends. Jon felt sick to have her on his arm, to have her around his family and his dearest friend. He wanted nothing more than to leave her there and go after Sam but he knew he couldn't. He wanted to cast her aside as a traitor, reprimand her for her actions. To see her as cruel and evil but there was a bigger picture, so much larger than anyone's feelings, as much as it hurt him so. He hated that he had to ignore the crimes of war in the hopes of obtaining and maintaining a strong wartime ally. It made him sick of himself.
Jon felt ridged and doll-like as he leads Daenerys toward the Northern Lords and Ladies, his heart pounding in his chest and his palms sweaty. Arya pushed Bran's wheelchair, Sansa right by her side and Brienne behind them. They all passed the carriages, toward the other side of the courtyard, when they were stopped in their tracks by a voice behind them.
"So you grew your hair out, my Lady." Jon looked back to see Gendry, standing behind Ayra. Ser Davos looked enraged and went to the boy quickly, ready to reprimand him for speaking out of term. Jon looked to his sister, she was shocked, as if she had heard the voice of a ghost. Sansa looked down at her sister in confusion before looking back at the man behind them. But Arya did not look to her siblings, instead, she slowly turned back to face Gendry. Jon could not see Arya's expression but Gendry smiled at her sweetly. He sighed a deep sigh of relief, his eyes filled with a great amount of emotion. He studied her, taking her into his memory. She walked toward him slowly, clearly uneasy on her feet. Ser Davos stopped walking toward Gendry when he saw the look on Arya's face.
Gendry embraced Arya, holding onto her tightly. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, finally allowing herself to give in. Arya was of the type of girl that easily showed affection, especially in public. So it surprised many that she allowed herself to be captured in a moment that was sweet and full of caring. Gendry was talking into her ear, his hands moving up Arya's back into her hair. Jon looked to Sansa, who shared his expression of shock, she glanced at him so they could share this moment together.
"Arya, who exactly is this?" Sansa called after her sister.
After the somewhat awkward introductions in the courtyard, Jon left Daenerys with her people to undergo settling into her quarters in the Guest House. He felt so relieved to be finally rid of that tension and weight, the moment he had been dreading was finally over and now, he could relax in his chambers before going to Sansa's quarters. But he was not met with Sansa alone; she was joined by Bran, Arya, Sam, and Ser Davos. The knight looked to Jon with confusion on his face, as Jon arrived, taking his place by the fire.
Then they told him. The news that he never thought he would ever hear.
That sense of relief was soon replaced with an overwhelming lump in Jon's throat. He felt as if someone had shot an arrow through his chest and then again into his stomach. He was numb but as if his body was on fire with pain, mouth dry and brow sweating. He couldn't summon the moisture to coat his throat in order to vocalise a response. He sat in front of the fireplace, the flames burning his checks; the fire of a dragon. Dragons. The dragon's blood coursed through his veins and he never knew, never even had an inkling of what the truth might have been. He could register Samwell Tarly's quick and panicked voice but it was just muffled words to him now, he could not bring himself to focus on what he was being said.
Jon Snow had lived his life as Eddard Stark's bastard, a motherless child that was brought back from a war. He had been condemned and humiliated his whole life because of the act of his birth. He had hated living the life of a bastard, he resented never knowing who his mother was. He had lived a life filled with questions that never got answered; until now. Jon's father was never the honourable and loyal Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell but instead, the beloved Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen. The very much dead prince. This shocked Jon, it made his fingers tingle and his knee-jerk. But the thing that gave Jon comfort and relief was finally, after his entire life of not knowing, he could say who his mother was. Lyanna Stark, the Lady Wolf of Winterfell, the aunt that got kidnapped and died. All of this was a part of a story that simply wasn't true. She had never been kidnapped but instead, ran away to be with the man that she loved. Lyanna, a betrothed woman ran away from her home to be with the prince of the seven kingdoms, who was already married and a father to two children. Their love affair had started a war, it had killed thousands, destroyed a dynasty, it had ruined so many lives. All for the sake of Jon Snow and the love his parents shared for each other.
Jon sat in a wooden chair beside the fireplace in Sansa's living quarters. Arya sat opposite him, looking at him but threw him, not truly processing the information she just been given. Bran sat in his wheelchair to Jon's side, examining Jon's face with the look of excitement.
"Do you understand what this means?" Ser Davos' voice broke through the ringing in Jon's ears, "That all of those fucking wars were for nothing. All of those who died during the war of the five kings was for nothing… " He sounded hurt, his voice small, barely a whisper that was said to himself as he stood by the door. Sam stood beside him, watching Jon very nervously, unable to contain himself.
"Men will always go to war. Even if the truth had been known, thousands of men would have fought for the right to sit on that throne. Men's greed for power is far stronger than their rectitude." Sansa replied to Davos from the corner. She sat behind her desk, almost in the shadows and looked to Davos with a very stern expression. She seemed to be upset by the Knight's words, feeling as if he was placing blame onto Jon for what had happened. Jon was thankful but felt somewhat disconcerted by her choice of words about members of his sex. In his vulnerable state, he felt as if they applied to him.
Jon looked back to his younger sister… Well, cousin, Arya. Who sat looking very small and bewildered, in the firelight Jon could see tears flickering on her eyelids. She looked lost and her mind dancing in the flames of truth. "Father lied for all of those years…" Her voice was hoarse, she seemed to be fighting the urge to cry to her father's memory. Jon felt the same, for he too, wanted nothing more than to wallow in his misery.
"He did it to protect Jon," Sam explained in a high- pitched tone, his voice filled with nerves. He still seemed very uncomfortable by what had happened in the courtyard, Jon yearned to explain to him his situation and express his deepest and sincerest apologies. But at that moment, he couldn't even find the words to say his own name.
"But why say that Jon was our brother? Why lie to us? Why not just tell us the truth?!" Arya was starting to become angry, her voice rising. She was asking the questions that Jon felt too numb to ask himself. Why? Why was a very good place to start? Jon was swimming in a world of questions, an unending stream of confusion and uneasiness. He couldn't bring himself to elevate away from this treacherous place. He wanted to be free of his confines and go into the Godswood, where there might be answer underneath the heart tree. A place where he could collect his thoughts and feel as if he belonged where he stood.
"If father had relieved the truth, Robert Baratheon would have murdered Jon without a second thought." Sansa's cold and stern voice hit Jon, causing him to stop spiralling. He turned his face in her direction but didn't lift his eyes to hers, in fear of what he might see there. "He hated every and any Targaryen because he blamed them for the death of his betrothed. He would especially have murdered Jon, not just because of his personal feelings towards him but because… Jon is the heir to the Iron Throne."
Jon snapped his eyes to Sansa, her words hit him like a thousand more arrows into his chest. They pierced his lungs, causing him to be unable to catch his breath, he needed to gasp for air but he couldn't open his mouth. There was a piercing scream was in his ear but no one spoke. His skin was on fire but no flame touched his skin, he felt as if he was out of control. His whole world, his whole life, his whole perspective was shattered. He was the heir to the Iron Throne. In this state, he couldn't fathom how this could be.
"What? I thought that dragon queen was?" Arya asked on Jon's behalf, unbeknownst to her, she was his saviour at that moment. Her words refocused him out of his panic. The whole room felt like it was slowly starting to spin but he could not allow himself to succumb to unconsciousness. So instead, he swallowed the burning bile at the back of his throat and tried to focus on the people around him.
"She never has been. Jon is the legitimate son of the oldest Targaryen prince. Rhaegar annulled his first marriage before marrying our Aunt, meaning that Jon is the legitimate son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. If Rhaegar had lived and become king, Jon would be the second male in line to the throne. That's to say if Rhaegar's first children hadn't been discarded when in consideration for the throne, due to the annulment to their mother. Even though Jon had two older half-siblings, one was female, so, therefore, she would have been queen alongside her brother. Because of the traditions of inter-family marriage in the Targaryen lineage." Everyone in the whole room becomes very uneasy by Bran's words.
"But Jon's brother and sister were murdered by the Mountain, leaving Jon to be the last surviving male heir of Rhaegar Targaryen… Daenerys' older brother." Then it hit Jon, Daenerys was his… his… Aunt. By blood. His throat was coated once again in bile, he felt like he could be sick as images of Daenerys' naked body came flashing into his mind.
Despite this, Bran continued explaining calmly and slowly, his words directed to Jon. "Daenerys Targaryen has no claim to the Iron Throne as long as Jon is alive, for he has the better claim." Bran shared a very meaningful look to Jon, encouraging his cousin to see beyond his words. But Jon couldn't do it, not then, not at that moment.
The atmosphere within the room was changing as others were starting to become frustrated. Most of all was Arya, she seemed to be unable to contain her emotions, rejecting the possibility that Jon might not be the person she had thought him to be. Jon did not blame her, for he too rejected this information.
She was becoming protective over her family as if this information that the ability to rip them all apart. Jon feared that she was right to feel this way because he wondered if this revelation, this unwanted announcement, is the catalyst to change of everything he once knew. His life will never be the same.
"But Jon doesn't want the Iron Throne, so what does it matter?" Arya turned to Ser Davos, her anger starting to seep out of her, beginning to bare her teeth.
"It bloody well does matter!" He moved toward her, talking to her in agitated tones. "Either way, if Jon wants to rule the Iron Throne, he'll have to fight against the whole of Daenerys' bloody army and her dragons! As well Cersei's army. Which is very unlikely he'll do and even if he does, the likelihood of him surviving is slim. But if he is to want a place within Winterfell and not to be seen as an outsider-" He gestured animatedly, his accident thick and his brow raised, "for which, you will be seen as, Jon-" Davos directed this to Jon alone but did not look to him as he said the words.
"He needs to have a better claim than just the son of Lyanna Stark." It was foreign and felt incongruous to be called Lyanna Stark's son, he was not sure if he would ever feel that these words belonged to him. They were still the words that allowed Jon to finally speak.
"What do you mean?" His voice came weaker than he expected. Arya and Davos snapped their heads to Jon as if they forgot that he was not just as much a part of this conversations as they were. The way that this discussion was taking place made Jon assume that he was the outsider to the topics of his life.
"I'm going to speak frankly." Davos seemed to have noticed that Jon was struggling. He softened his tone, now talking in a calm and slower pace. As if he was talking to an ill child that needed their diagnostic explaining to them.
"The northerners already don't like you very much for getting rid of your crown. They don't like you for bringing the dragons and their mother back to their home. They don't care that it's for their best interests because they're too stuck in their pasts and traditions. If they are to find out that the Lord of Winterfell is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the man that many of them and their families went to war against, they will not except you…" Jon knew that he was right, it made so much sense. How could he ask for his people to completely accept him as the son of a Targaryen when he has already done so much to motivate their distrust?
"If those poncey high lords don't accept Jon, after everything he has done for them, then they are a bunch of fucking cowards! That will be an act of treason and betrayal!" Arya shouted.
Jon cloaked himself in the nauseating and suffocating feeling of self-pity. Unable to lift himself out of this depressed state, he felt a slow but powerful bubbling in his chest. He could sense that he was becoming more angry, furious with those around him, despite his connections to them. How dare they discuss his future with so little regard to his opinion? He arose from his chair, trying to navigate his frustration into something other than any potential vocal slander, which he knew would satisfy his outrage. He couldn't stand this conversation anymore. A part of Jon started to twist and churn, he processed the topics in his mind and almost felt in agreement with Arya. This caused his anger to move around his body like thick sludge; coarse and undignified.
"Jon, do you not remember what Lord Royce said to you before you left to go to Dragonstone?" Sansa had arisen from her chair in the corner also, all of her energy was fixated onto Jon. She could sense his anger, she could feel his discomfort and unsettled mixed feelings. She demanded his attention, she beseeched for him to listen to her, and he did, gladly.
"He said that the Targaryens cannot be trusted. Do you really want to risk that being you as well? You need to think of what might make them trust you again, beyond any doubt." She was trying to focus him, out of everyone there, she did not ignore him.
"But first, you need to decide what you want," everyone turned their attention to Sam, at the other side of the room. "If you want the Iron Throne, then go get it. You're more entitled to it than any other Lord or Lady out there. But if you want to stay here, in your home, you'll need to be a Stark, not a Targaryen." He stated the obvious conclusion but there was something in his tone that made Jon feel very uneasy. He stated his last sentence with an incredible amount of weight.
"He's right! You know that the most important name in the North is Stark. Anyone from Bear Island all the way to Widow's Watch will support and follow the Starks. They will never allow a Southern leader to rule them, you will lose any and all respect if that's what you choose to do. You know this. Which means…" Sansa's face started to contort into confusion, panic filled her eyes, and she stared at Sam with a look of anguish.
"Which means… you'll have to marry… a-a Stark." Sam finished Sansa's sentence, looking smaller than ever. Jon snapped his head back to Sansa, suffocating in shock and feeling dizzy from the pain of this situation. She stepped back as if Sam had slapped her. She stared at her desk, her eyes unseeing and swimming in consternation. Jon wanted to go to her but couldn't bring himself to. He wasn't able to find a way to digest what was happening to him.
"What?!" Arya exclaimed loudly, outraged by this suggestion.
"It is the best way to legitimise your place within Winterfell. Because, yes, you won back the castle and your trying to save everyone's lives but that can all be forgotten when pride is in the way. But… if you were to marry a Stark, it is the best way for your claim over Winterfell and your place here to never be questioned." Sam was flustered, his cheeks crimson and his brow sweaty.
He tried to speak to Jon over the sound of Arya's continuous vocalisation of her astonishment and alarm. Arya bickered with the men around her, standing from her chair to voice her disagreements in a very loud fashion. She was unable to comprehend the situation, as she did not feel that Jon would need to stake his place, because, to her, he was already family. He was already deserving of his leadership role and of respect.
"I'm not marrying my brother!" Arya shouted at Davos, causing the two men to stop their arguments with her.
"Well, technically, he's not your brother but instead, your cousin-"
"It wouldn't be you that would need to marry Jon, anyway. It would need to be Sansa." Bran explained to Arya calmly, his voice cutting the tension in the room as if it were his dead Lord Father's longsword.
"You're right." Davos moved passed Bran, cornering Jon beside Sansa. He was almost manic in his intensity. He looked at Jon with wide eyes that did not seem to blink. This did not help Jon's feeling of panic, the room was spinning more than ever. The people was blurs and all he could feel was the warmth of Davos' breath and the cold touch of Sansa's fingers against his.
"Jon, just listen. Sansa is the eldest surviving child of Ned- Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn. She's the heir to Winterfell and first in line to the throne of the North. She is the only person that can give you the marriage required to secure your place in Winterfell. As Bran will not claim the title of Lord of Winterfell, the future of House Stark will be Sansa's children. Not yours and not you."
"What the fuck-?!" That was the last straw for Jon, he stepped to Davos with fury in his body. He could not stand that his and Sansa's futures were being discussed so liberally, it filled him with disgust. The trepidation he was feeling was busting out of him, channelling itself into fits of rage and violent tenderises.
Sansa was quick to see Jon's anger. She chimed in with a soft and polite voice. "I must ask that you all leave. It is nearly time for the feast and we must be getting ready to be in attendance on time." They were not listening to her, but instead, continued to argue. Only Bran looked to his sister with a little but admiring smile on his lips, he watched her and saw his Lady Mother talking.
Arya, Sam, and Ser Davos continued to voice their disapproval and their reasons for continuing this conversation. But Jon could not bear to hear it anymore, he panted and with a mighty roar, he shouted, "Now!" He banished them from the room, they were all quick to leave, looking rather disgruntled. No one knew how to deal with this situation. But once they had left, Jon started to follow, leaving Sansa alone in the room. He got to the door, his hand upon the handle when he heard her quiet voice.
"Please. Stay." She begged him, collapsing into a chair by the fire. He locked the door and joined her, deflating into a smaller version of himself. He had never left this way before. It was not like the feeling he encountered when in battle; as that is far more of a heart-pounding, blood-racing, adrenaline-filled fight to keep some of his strength. But this, this had sucked any energy he might have had right out of him. He did not know how to conduct himself. So he just sat there, slumped in his seat, not caring for formal dignitaries and politeness. He did not care for anything at that moment but to just stop the pounding pain in his head.
"How are you?" Sansa broke the long silence with a shaky voice. She peered at him through her eyelashes, clearly wary of his anger. He swallowed his pride and softened to her, knowing that his anger was not directed to her, so, therefore, he should not show her it.
"In all honesty, completely and utterly overwhelmed." Sansa sighed to this reply, readjusting herself in her seat, now leaning forward to talk to him. She seemed to be flustered as if she did not know how to vocalise her thoughts.
"Go on, just say it, whatever it is. I know you want to," he encouraged her, knowing that little she had to say would affect him right now.
"It's just… I had not expected that to go quite so… badly," She almost laughed in disbelief, "it was so awful." She brought a hand to her auburn hair, which became fiery embers within the light of the day. As the light cast its way into the room, she was completely illuminated into an exquisite picture. He acknowledged it but would allow himself to become lost in her beauty, for it would do him no good to entertain such troublesome thoughts.
"How long have you known?" He heard himself asking, still admiring her from within.
"Bran told me at the hour of the wolf. I must admit that I… cried when he told me," She smiled grimly at him. He wished that she did not look at him with pity in her eyes, he couldn't stand her seeing him that light.
"Why?" He didn't mean to sound hurt, but he could not help but allow the pain he was feeling to edge its way into his tone.
"It wasn't because I was disappointed. You know you are that a Stark to me, the fact that we do not share a father does not change that," there was a strange and heavy feeling between the two, neither of which could pinpoint exactly what it was, "I just… I thought of my father and the secret he had kept, and the way it changed my mother's life, and all of our lives. I just had wished we had known you were our cousin, it might have changed the way I treated you. I was awful… I was…. I am…" Sansa took a very deep sigh, her body deflating, returning to the back of her seat.
Jon felt like he knew what she meant, he wondered if they all known the truth, what his life might have looked like? Would he be there talking to Sansa, so openly? Would he even be within the walls of Winterfell? He might have never gone to the wall. He might have never been alive to see his first name day. All of these possibilities were causing Jon's brain to swim and ache so much that it felt like it could burst. He thought he was going to vomit, he thought he was going to pass out, he thought that he could die. He was unable to control the spinning of the room, the flashing of the lights, he could not control his rapid breathing anymore. But he felt a cold hand touch his cheek, grasping onto him frantically.
"Jon! Jon! Come back to me. Come back to me!" Sansa pleaded with him, standing over his shaking body, blocking the light and filling his senses with the scent of her sweet fragrance. She held onto his hand tightly, looking very panicked, clutching onto him and staring him down until he was calmer. By looking into her eyes, he was able to slow his breathing and tuck himself away from the mines of sheer panic. She looked at him with such great worry that he knew she would not allow him to fester in the depths of despair. He wondered if she placed her lips onto his, would it bring him the strength to continue?
"It's going to be okay." She spoke these words more for herself than for him, returning to her seat. He knew that she did not believe her words, nor did she know of the final outcome. Her attempts to comfort him to almost a point of calm was an example of her great duty and loyalty to him. But the worries that plagued him would not be suppressed.
"You were right about the Northern lords. It's like what Layanna Mormont said; they know of no king in the North unless that name is Stark. I'm not a Stark…" he chuckled dryly to himself, "I knew I never was." He looked into the fire, allowing the warmth to overtake his cold form, engulfing him into a sense of realisation and acceptance. Yes, he was never a Stark, to begin with. But he will always be part Stark.
"You're more Stark than anyone I know… Well, perhaps, apart from Arya." Sansa was quick to reply, she seemed to be offended by his statement.
"They will never accept me now, Sansa." She looked at him with deep pain her eyes, she knew he was right but she seemed defiant to accept this. She wanted to right this wrong for him, to fight for her home, fight for her family, fight for her loved ones.
"You are right. I hate it but…" she sighed again, leaning forward, her expression promised that she was about to lecture him, "the lords of the court are far from happy. I have barely been keeping their trust in you… they've… they've-"
"What is it? What's happened?" He was starting to panic again.
"There was a suggestion that they might want me as their monarch, instead. I've tried to put these ideas out, trying to stop them from developing into action. But be warned, once they've put their mind to it, it is very possible that it could happen… Not that I would want that!" She rambled over her words and Jon felt a sense of betrayal. Not from her but from the men that he was supposed to place his trust in.
"And with the fact that you've abdicated from the throne, and then to bring that dragon q- I mean, Queen Daenerys," It warmed Jon, despite the hint of criticism in her voice and that even though they were in private, Sansa was still courteous. "Here… I… What I am trying to say is, is that I am scared for you."
"I am fucked, basically." Jon smiled grimly to her but she did not find his reply to be satisfactory, looking away to the fire. She brought her fingers to her lips and became deep in thought, clearly thinking over their possibilities and the probability for a positive outcome; trying to muster up a plan. Jon tried to do the same, he wanted to be pragmatic in this situation but found that his mind kept going back to the statue, in the crypts, of the woman who he knows could call his mother. He had visited her many times throughout his life but did not feel a deep sense of connection to her. Was that about to change?
"The only way I can see this ending the way we want it to is that you cut your ties to the Targaryens and that I naturalise you as a Stark," Sansa spoke after a long, heavy silence. Jon found her option to be outrageous and unacceptable. He knew that it would please his people for now but it would not please them when the war finally arrived at their doorstep.
"You know I cannot do that. I have no choice." He muttered back and was surprised to be met with her anger.
"That's what men always say when honour calls." She spat back at him, her eyes filled with an amalgamation of different emotions. He couldn't tell what she was trying to tell him. He was frustrated that she would suggest that it was his pride and honour that was driving his motivations, surely she would know him better by now?
"And what exactly would you have me do? Allow us all to be brutally murdered one by one until we all were to join the Army of the Dead? Sometimes you have to make friends with those you could become your enemies. Surely you know that better than anyone!" He snapped back at her. She walked away from him, toward her vanity, trying to compose herself. He felt sorry for talking to her in that tone but could not allow her to speak to him thus.
"Well, if you will not do as I have suggested and you will not try to claim the Iron Throne for yourself… Do you really wish to say that you want to do as they have suggested?…" She whispered, her back still facing him. He could see the tension she was carrying but felt confused by what she meant.
"What are you talking-"
"I will not allow myself to be sold off to the highest bidder," She whipped around to face him, tears were in her eyes, her hands clutch against her stomach. "Never again. No one has the right to use my family name and titles. I will not allow myself to be used to better advance someone else's status and claim to my home! I will not! I will not!" He arose and went to her as she became frantic. She was starting to become very emotional, he had never seen her that way before. It saddened him deeply, causing him to want to comfort her, to hold her in his arms as hurt together, instead of at a distance.
"I'm trying to use you! I never suggested those things, they did! I do not care for any of that-"
"How can you not care?!" She shouted back at him, her tears sliding down her face. She had become flushed in her anger, unable to see his reasoning, unwilling to hear him out.
"What I mean is-" He tried to explain himself but she was quick to interrupt him, cutting his sentences off before they had fully formed.
"I will never allow myself to be married off again! Not as long as the person in question wants to marry me for my title." She exhaled, "That includes you." This hurt him but he did not know exactly why. He couldn't understand why she thought of him in this way, couldn't she understand that he did not want this? He did not want to force her. He did not want her hand unless she gave it to him willingly. This realisation made his fingers tingle and his heart race. He had never thought of that before, he had not considered a future in which they would marry.
"Sansa…" He approached her, wanting to comfort her. But she stepped away from him, not allowing him to gain access to her personal space. She raises her head to him, tears still upon her skin, her eyes had glossed over but there were still remnants of her pain.
"I know that the only reason that I have been married is that Rob is dead and I'm the oldest daughter to my father." She spoke with her emotion deep in her voice. "I am the key to the North, as I have been told by so many people. No one has ever loved me." This broke Jon's heart, he had never quite realised how her position as a first-born Lady had quite affected her. She was destined to be married for political purposes, for the betterment for the family name, not for personal wants. Arya did not know of the same amount of pressure, for she was a second-born daughter. It was not quite the same destiny that Sansa faced.
"I know that it is a Lady's prerogative to secure the future to her home, to ensure that the name lives on through her sons. I know it is my duty to put my family first. But I have been the pawn of others and have been married twice already. I know what it is like to be in a loveless marriage, I don't want that for myself." She paused and looked at him with regret in her eyes, she went to hold his hand but stopped herself.
"I wouldn't want that for you."
She believed that he did not have feelings for her. She believed of herself as unimportant within his personal life. Jon had no clue of how she could suggest such a thing. She walked away from him and he reached out and held her to him. To feel her so close to him was unbearable, to hold her fragile body was enough to send him chills. He felt so much pain, unlike anything he had experienced before. His situation was unique. As were his relationships. How could he possibly continue a complicated courtship with another woman- a woman who was now a family member to him- whilst trying to arrange some sort of political engagement to another? He was torn, he did not know what it was that he wanted and what was the best thing to do.
Sansa blinked and a few more tears landed on her checks. She was very close to him now, closer than what was proper. He still held onto her, not wanting to let her go, in fear that she might be lost to him forever if he were to. She broadens her chest and with great pain in her eyes, she finally spoke, "I cannot allow you to take my hand if all you want from me is my title."
"I… I… I want…" He spoke without thinking, almost saying words that he did not know if he truly meant. They studied each other's faces, begging the other to take action. Testing the other for signs of fakery but Jon could not fake what he was feeling in that moment. It disgusted him that he wanted to close the gap between them. She had been a sister to him, she had been a… something to him. Now she was his cousin. He knew it far too much to ask her to be his wife. It was selfish to put all of his options onto her, all of his hopes of peace and safety. He wanted to prove to her that he was a man that was just, kind, and proper. He didn't want to, nor did he plan, to use her for his own gain. He just wanted to belong to somewhere, to someone. He feared that he might not gain that reassurance for a very long time, if ever.
She went to move toward him but he pulled away before she made a mistake. He knew that she would regret it as soon as she found out that he was involved with another. That he has given himself to another, that he was currently bedding another. He couldn't allow her to kiss him, as he knew once she did, he would not want her to stop. It was far more decent. He would never allow himself to be so dishonest to her. She was like him, she was his blood, one of his kin. It sickened him to think of her in a different light, in any other light that wasn't platonic.
"I must go." He whispered, his breath hot against her face. She looked disappointed that he suggested leaving. She had a piercing look in her eyes; eyes that wanted more than she was willing to admit. He held onto her tightly, pressing her body hot against his. But he left, feeling most lost than ever, more out of place.
He felt her a broken man, trying to not to indulge in his troublesome thoughts. All of him pleaded to go back to her and set things straight or to give in to his urges. But his decency would never allow him to dishonour her like that. It would ruin her chances of happiness if there were to engage in a relationship of carnal activities. Gossip would rein from every hall. Lips would chatter of the Lady of Winterfell whoring herself to her brother, her paramour, her king. No common man or lord would care for the details. No one would care that she was his cousin, and the encounters would be legitimate, because of this. Any marriage between would be legitimate. But it was far too messy for him to handle. He had too much to process and use her as some sort of tension reliever would be an ignominy. She was better than that.
He felt an abominable and shameful pressure within his breeches. He walked swiftly to his chambers, to relieve himself with his hand and to clean himself from all of this ungodly feeling. He knew that the heart tree would not bring him answers, guaranteed to bring solace and a clear mind. His feelings were not fickle and were as deeply rooted into him, as the roots of the heart tree were into the ground that he walked on. The North will restore the strength that was drained from him, he will have the strength that he needed to continue. As he was now, as he was once before, with his pack.