King's Landing
The first stop for all tributes when entering King's Landing was the Great Sept, an old building that was said once to be a place of worship.
Perhaps it still is a place of worship, Jon thought. Now it's just a different type of worship – the worship of the Hunger Games that King's Landing loves so much.
Jon had been there for three hours already and his body was tingling and sore by the time his prep team had finally finished with him. They had scraped his skin red raw, thinned out the hair across his body (to something manageable, Guyard had whispered conspiratorially to him, a silly vacuous smile on his face) and buffed his nails until they shined.
The only thing the team had left untouched was Jon's beard, which he had grown two years earlier and always kept trimmed close to his cheeks in the style of his father. He was surprised that he hadn't been completely waxed until not a single hair remained except that which resided on his head. Tributes were usually presented as squeaky clean.
Parman, whose body appeared to have been dyed a pale purple, nodded his approval as they circled Jon like vultures once they seemed to have finished with him. "Good, good," he said before adding, "You actually look presentable now."
Jon felt the resentment begin to rise. There was nothing wrong with how he had looked before. In fact, if you had given Jon the choice of looking like a citizen of King's Landing, with all the cosmetic surgery enhancements, ridiculous implants and silly clothes, or how he usually looked hunting in the woods, Jon would choose his Northern garments every time. They might have been shoddy and worn but at least he didn't feel like a fool in them.
But Jon said nothing, just nodding a little at his prep team and expressing his gratitude for their help. They were all smiles now and he wasn't sure if it was because of his words or a job well done.
"We'll get Renly," Emmon said as the three of them back out of the room, still smiling widely.
Jon remained standing in the room, unsure of what to do next. He hadn't laid eyes on his stylist yet which he put down to his stylist being completely uninterested in a tribute from the North. He debated on whether he should put on the robe that remained, flung over the back of a chair. It would make him feel less like a piece of meat if he had some clothes on but he decided against it. No doubt his stylist would just make him remove it again.
The door opened once more and Jon found himself encountering the most normal person he had laid eyes on since leaving the North. The stylist was nothing like his prep team, who all seemed to have some kind of colour code. Parman had dyed his skin purple, Guyard had hair which was the most startling shade of green, and Emmon had dressed himself head to foot in brilliant yellow. Renly appeared very ordinary in comparison. He wore simple but stylish clothes of green and wore his black hair long but neatly combed. There was nothing overly flamboyant about him – certainly not by King's Landing standards – except for the line of green eyeliner which made his brilliant blue eyes stand out even more.
"Hello, Jon," he said in a friendly manner. "I'm your stylist Renly."
Jon didn't say anything as Renly circled around him, looking at him from all angles. "Good," he said. "Please don your robe once more and we'll have lunch and talk."
Jon did as he was asked and followed Renly out into another room that was empty except for a pair of sofas that faced each other across a low coffee table. There was a remote placed on the arm of one sofa and Renly pressed a button and a few seconds later, food had been placed on the table. There was a large steaming bowl of mutton stewed in almond milk with carrots, raisins and onions and a bowl of fluffy white rice next to it. Jon's mouth began to water at the delicious smell and he heaped a serving on plate and began to eat.
"Nice, huh?" Renly asked.
He nodded, his cheeks bulging like some small rodent as he crammed as much as he could into his mouth. His mother would be horrified, but even if he did return to the North victorious, he would never eat food like this there.
Finally satiated, Jon leaned back against the sofa and eyed Renly curiously and wondered just what kind of stylist they had been landed with this year. Jon had never seen Renly before. The majority of the stylists stayed with the Hunger Games for a long time and some had been around for as long as Jon could remember.
"Is this your first Games?" he asked.
"Yes," Renly said.
"And you got landed with the North," Jon stated, knowing that newbies were generally forced to do a couple of years dressing Northern tributes.
"I asked for the North."
Renly's response took Jon aback. No one asked for the North. It was deemed even more backwards than Dorne. A land filled with barbaric people who didn't know how to behave properly. Usually anyone assigned to the North couldn't wait to move on to a region with a lot more potential – where they could really show off their talents.
It was the stylists' job to create a memorable look for the tributes for their presentation to King's Landing and the President that evening. The tributes were dressed to represent something from their region and the North always suffered because they exported nothing glamorous nor had an interesting enough culture for the rest of Westeros. Mining was the North's main contribution to Westeros and, because of this, its tributes were usually dressed in some form of miner's outfit. Boring and totally unremarkable, except for the one year that the stylists had decided that the North's tributes should be completely naked and covered in coal dust. Jon prayed this wouldn't happen this year.
"Now, usually those from your region are dressed in some form of miner's outfit but this year I have no plans to go down that route. It's tired and it's boring. No instead I plan to emphasise a different aspect of the North."
Great, Jon thought. Its coal and I am going to be naked in front of the whole country.
Almost as if Renly could read his mind, he shook his head slightly with a smug little smile. "Not what you are thinking. I want to emphasise the history of the North. It is why I decided to keep your beard against usual Games protocol. It keeps you recognisable from the reaping but also gives you a distinct Northern look. It's very nicely trimmed by the way."
"My father taught me," Jon murmured distractedly. He was puzzled by what Renly meant. The history of the North. But surely that would not be allowed especially when a Stark had been reaped. The Starks pretty much were the history of the North.
"I hope you don't mind a little ice," Renly said.
Jon's stomach dropped. Was he going to be encased in ice or something?
Thankfully Renly's words turned out to be a little misleading. Whilst the prep team had prepared him for the presentation, Jon had worried that he was going to be going into the arena with some form of frostbite, but it turned out that Renly – and Sansa's stylist, Arianne – had developed some sort of crystal ice substitute. When applied it looked just like ice.
Jon jolted when he saw himself in the mirror that Renly unveiled. He was dressed in vaguely historical Northern clothes of all black including a thick black cloak which had all been sprayed with this fake ice, making it look as if he had just stepped out of a freezer. His face hadn't gotten off lightly either. Small icicles hung from his beard, and his skin glistened in the lights as if there was a thin layer of ice over him. A headdress glinted on top of his curls and as Jon looked more closely he could see that it resembled a simple crown, a circlet of bronze coloured metal with black spikes that resembled swords.
It was startling and would garner him much more attention than some skimpy version of miner's overalls and a hat with a headlamp attached.
Renly nodded his head and looked pleased at his achievement before he led Jon down to the basement of the Great Sept where the chariots would leave to drive through King's Landing before finishing at the Red Keep.
He stepped onto the chariot as Sansa arrived and Jon blinked at the vision she made. Whilst he was dressed in black, she was a vision in white – like ice itself except for her eyes which were an even more piercing blue than usual as her skin had been leeched of any colour, appearing impossibly white, and he wondered if she would be cold to touch. Her copper coloured hair shone under the lights and had a fine sheen of the false ice sprayed over it making it seem as if she had just risen from a snow drift.
Winter is coming, Jon thought.
Sansa, too, wore a small crown that matched his own, and despite their contrasting clothes, it was obvious they were together.
Arianne helped her up onto the chariot and Renly looked proud at the end result.
"Behold the King and Queen of Winter!" he exclaimed.
Their chariot then began to move out, the last, as usual, in the procession. Renly shouted something to them that got lost in the noise of the wheels and horse's hooves.
"What did he say?" Jon asked.
"I think he told us to hold hands," Sansa replied, holding hers out for him to clasp.
He wasn't sure that it was a good idea. Sansa was sweet and kind and he was meant to be keeping his distance because they would be going into the arena in less than a week where they would be enemies. However, she gave him a speculative look and he found himself clutching her hand and finding himself relieved that it wasn't as cold as it looked.
As soon as the crowds lining the streets of King's Landing got a glimpse of them there were shouts of "The North! The North!" and suddenly all attention was on them.
The scrutiny of so many people had Jon's eyes widening and his hand tightened on Sansa's, gripping it as if it were a lifeline.
He could see her in the periphery of his vision and she was lapping up the attention, smiling and blowing kisses to the crowd with a wide breath-taking smile on face. Someone threw a red rose towards her which she caught deftly with one hand and sniffed at. Jon, aware that he must appear stiff and awkward next to her, curled his lips up into a small smile and lifted a hand to wave.
Aware of just how much he must be crushing Sansa's small hand, he went to release it.
"Don't you dare let go," she whispered out the side of her mouth. "I am afraid I will fall out of this thing if you do."
That made a more natural smile appear on his face as he looked down at her before he quickly turned his attention back to the crowds.
The procession passed in a blur of warm sweaty hands, camera flashes and blurry faces and it wasn't long before they were lined up in a semi-circle in the outer yard of the Red Keep. The President stood on a large balcony that jutted out from the Throne Room of the old kings of yore.
President Aerys Targaryen cut a vivid figure on the balcony. He was incredibly gaunt and dressed in black and red. He had long silvery blond hair and beard and he watched the chariots roll in with an intense gaze that made Jon shiver.
As the president began his speech about the glory of the Games, Jon allowed his eyes to wander. The large screens that beamed the live coverage of the parade throughout Westeros used this part of the procession to show close ups of the all the tributes, but Jon noticed that he and Sansa had gained rather more airtime than any of the other tributes. They really stood out with how they glinted magically under the lights of the King's Landing.
The camera also kept flashing to where Jon and Sansa's hands were linked and as he observed the other tributes he could see how different this act of unity was. The other tributes stood uneasily next to each other on the chariots. They ignored the presence of their regional partner because that's what the Hunger Games were designed to do – make you think as an individual rather than collaboratively. Unity in the regions was dangerous for King's Landing after all.
Once the parade had finished, the chariots took the tributes away to the Dragonpit, which sat atop Rhaenys' Hill. It would be their home/training centre/prison for the next few days. They drew up in the cavernous remnants of the historic old building and dismounted. A state of the art modern tower sprung up in the middle of complex and was known in the city as the Tower of the Tributes.
Jorah and Myranda were waiting for them and Jon could see the smile that spread across Myranda's face from quite a distance away.
"There they are, there they are!" she gushed as they stopped next to them.
They must have made quite an impression because even Jorah had lost the disinterest that habitually resided on his face. There was a gleam in his eyes and he gave Jon a small nod before he helped Sansa down.
The other tributes sent angry glares their way. Not even the Westerlands tributes decked out in gold and emeralds or the pair from the Reach who appeared to be wearing clothes made solely from rose petals could compete.
Jon could not help the proud feeling he developed. Renly and Arianne had found a way for him and Sansa to stand out and he became even more determined to follow Jorah's advice and place himself in the hands of his stylist. Renly obviously knew what he was doing.
However, there was no stopping to reflect more on this as Myranda was leading the way to a bank of lifts that would take them to their living quarters, which were divided geographically. This meant that the North had the top apartment, probably the only time that the North had had anything nicer than the other regions.
Jon could not help but gape as they entered. The living room itself could have held his entire house. It was furnished even more luxuriously than the train had been. Myranda led them through the large room and out to the corridor at the back where they would sleep.
Once in his room, Jon stripped his clothes off and jumped under the shower. He randomly pressed a combination of buttons as the control panel had over hundred and he was not going to waste time working out what they all were. It took some determined scrubbing to get rid of the crystal ice but he finally managed it.
He came out smelling strongly of lemons but clean.
In the dining room, he was glad to see that Renly, Arianne and the prep teams were staying for dinner. Hopefully with their presence, Jorah and Myranda would behave themselves.
Sansa was there, too, and Jon found himself happy to note that her skin was back to a healthier colour. The extreme whiteness of her skin had been unsettling – almost as if she was a corpse already. Now, the soft rose tint was back in her cheeks and he was grateful for it.
As he sat, Jon found a small boy with large ears standing next to him, sliding dishes onto the table. He looked vaguely familiar and Jon struggled to place him.
"I know you!" he blurted out and the boy's eyes widened in alarm.
The table went silent and everyone stared at him.
"Don't be silly, Jon," Myranda scolded. "How could you know him? He's a crow."
"A crow? What's a crow?"
Jorah gave him a calculating look. "A member of the Night's Watch. They are guilty of crimes such as treason. They have their tongues removed and work for King's Landing as punishment."
As soon as Jorah said the word treason, Jon knew where he'd seen the boy before. It was about a year ago, he and Ygritte had been out hunting in the woods when suddenly the animals had fallen silent and from their hiding place, Jon and Ygritte had seen a boy and girl run into the clearing they were observing. They had scratches on their faces, arms and legs, and their clothes were torn. They had looked around anxiously with red-rimmed sleep-deprived eyes but before they could find any cover, a hovercraft with the King's Landing seal was above them. The diminutive boy had been trapped in a net whilst the girl was impaled with a large spear.
Jon and Ygritte had covered their mouths in horror as the couple were beamed up into the hovercraft.
Luckily, Jon and Ygritte had been hidden well within the undergrowth so the hovercraft hadn't spotted them. However, the boy had. Just before the hovercraft had arrived, he had locked eyes with Jon and mouthed for help. Jon hadn't moved and shamed filled him as he looked at the boy now. How he must hate him.
"Smalljon Umber," Sansa said suddenly and Jon stared at her confused. "He looks like Smalljon Umber. I've been trying to place him, too, and he looks like Smalljon. "
She caught his gaze and held it, her eyes boring into him with a warning to go along with her comments.
The crow didn't look anything like Smalljon who was practically a giant, with a loud guffawing laugh and who was larger than life. You couldn't forget Smalljon's presence in a hurry.
"Oh, yeah. Smalljon," Jon muttered quietly, not daring to look back at the undersized boy in case there was reproach in his eyes at how he had let King's Landing take him.
The tension left the room and the meal carried on unabated. Jon put his head down and let the conversation wash over him. He couldn't concentrate on what the others were saying and his stomach rolled unpleasantly with each mouthful he made himself swallow.
When he finally escaped the table and headed back to his room, he found Sansa waiting for him outside of it.
"Uncanny how much that kid looked like Smalljon, wasn't it?" she said.
"Weird," he agreed and looked at her curiously.
He guessed he did owe her an explanation as her interjection had saved himself from having to answer some really uncomfortable questions. He would never have been able to come up with such a lie so quickly or convincingly either.
"Has Renly shown you the roof garden?" she asked.
Jon shook his head.
"C'mon. I'll show you where it is. You'll like it; it's really pretty."
Pretty wasn't something that usually registered on Jon's consciousness but he thought that it would be something that would spike Sansa's interest. She was the kind of person who should be surrounded by pretty things and not stuck in the desolation of the North.
Where did that come from?
He mentally chastised himself. He couldn't afford to get attached to anyone and he could definitely see himself growing fond of Sansa. She had already shown him kindness both here and back in the North and her eyes sparkled beautifully when she genuinely smiled.
"It's pretty windy up here," she said as they walked out on the roof. She let out a little laugh before she said, "So it can be hard to hear each other at times. Renly had to practically shout at me earlier."
He looked over the roof, it was a good place to come to talk if the way the wind howled around the building was anything to go by. There was some kind of garden over to one side, complete with seating area but he didn't walk over to it. Instead, he leaned over the side.
"What's to stop you from jumping off?" he asked.
Sansa stuck her hand out and her arm was flung back. "Force field. You jump and you'll land straight back on the roof. Can't have your tributes dying before they've reached the arena."
He gave a small smile at that even if it wasn't funny.
"So you going to explain how you knew that crow?"
Eyeing her, Jon decided that she deserved to know the truth. "I saw him in the woods in the North just over a year ago. Ygritte and I had jumped the fence to go hunting and we came across him. He was with girl and they were running. To where I don't know. I watched as the King's Landing hovercraft picked them up. He called out for help but I just sat there and watched."
He looked away from her as he said that, the shame of his inaction causing his head to fall down as he kicked at the concrete with his right foot.
The touch of her soft hand on his arm had him raising his head. She squeezed his arm gently and said, "There was nothing you could have done, Jon. If you had tried to help then they would have just caught you too."
There was understanding in her eyes and a small smile on her lips and he knew she was being genuine. He had to fight hard to remind himself that they were enemies and that she was fighting for her life just as much as he was.
He gave her a little nod before he said, "We better get downstairs. We don't want to be tired for Training tomorrow."
A flash of disappointment crossed her face quickly before she removed her hand off his arm and lead the way back downstairs. She waved her hand briefly at him before she disappeared into her room. He suppressed any sadness he felt at her dismissal of him. He couldn't afford to get attached. He had to work to get himself home for Bran.
When Jon got out of the shower the next morning, an outfit had been laid out on his bed for him. It was a pair of black trousers in a lightweight material with a tight burgundy t-shirt. It was probably the most comfortable thing he had worn since he'd been out hunting with Ygritte.
Jorah and Sansa were already at the table when he arrived for breakfast. Jon saw that the together theme was continuing as he and Sansa were dressed in matching outfits. He couldn't understand the point of continuing the tactic past the parade – creating a bond between them was only going to make it harder once they got into the arena.
As Jon slid into his seat, Jorah pushed away the boiled goose eggs and black bread he was eating and poured himself a large cup of coffee.
"I need to know what you're good at, Snow. What skills you have for the arena," he said with no good morning preamble. "Same with you, Sansa."
Sansa's face paled at the question and Jon could have hit Jorah at how blunt he had made that question. Yeah, he probably did need to know he could train them adequately but he could eased them into the question a little more.
At Jorah's questioning look, Jon just shrugged.
"He's good with a bow and arrow," Sansa said softly. "Excellent really. My father always buys game from him because it is so cleanly killed."
Jorah nodded at that, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Pretty handy with a knife from what I remember from the train journey here."
Flushing, Jon said testily, "I can hunt but it's nothing compared to the Careers down there. Besides, I'm not nearly as good as Ygritte is with a bow."
For some reason, Sansa's face dropped at that remark but before Jon could try and figure out why, Jorah was talking again.
"Well, you might use it for hunting animals but it's not that much different out in the arena," he said grimly.
Both Jon and Sansa shivered at that.
It might be Sansa who I have to hunt down, Jon thought before he pushed the thought away. There was plenty of time before he had to think about such morbid things.
"Who's Ygritte," Jorah asked, sipping at his coffee and seemingly unaware of how his previous words had affected his tributes.
"My friend," Jon said. "We go out hunting together."
"Girlfriend?" Jorah asked with an inexplicable frown.
"No, just a friend," he said emphatically fed up of the insinuations that always followed his friendship with Ygritte around. It didn't seem to matter that she was dating Tormund, people always assumed that she and Jon were together.
"Oh," he said before turning his attention to Sansa. "What about you, sweetling? Got any hidden skills?"
Sansa had let a curtain of hair fall between her and Jon and he found himself angry with Jorah for the second time in a short space of time.
"Only if you count sewing," she said dejectedly.
"That's a useful skill," Jon said insistently.
Sansa made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "Yeah, if you need a new dress when in the arena."
"What about if you get hurt. You could sew yourself up or make a tent out of some material."
"Because sewing kits are going to be all the rage in the cornucopia," she said dismissively.
"She's selling herself short," Jon said addressing himself to Jorah. "She's resourceful according the merchants of Winter Town and diplomatic. I once heard her brother say that no one could manipulate a situation like Sansa can."
She turned on him then. "Oh, I'm the one selling myself short. You're some survival and hunting expert who could live in the wilderness with ease, but apparently my ability to stretch a household budget and sweet-talk some merchants into discounting their wares is going to be super handy when facing a bunch of careers who want to gut me with a sword."
Jon's stomach sank at the thought of anyone harming Sansa and he found himself wishing that he'd been reaped with anyone other than Sansa.
Jorah held up a hand then and said, "Whilst I hate to interrupt this, we need to get to the training centre. Now, I want you two to stay with each other at all times. No wandering off or splitting up. Stay away from any archery stations, Snow, and you, sweetling, you keep that persuasive mouth closed for the time being."
Turning his head away from where he was still glaring at Sansa, Jon gave a brief nod of understanding before stalking from the table and making his way over to the bank of lifts.
Outside of the clothes that Renly had designed so cleverly, Jon did not look nearly as imposing as he had the evening before during the procession and he could see that reflected in the Careers' eyes as they analysed him in the harsh lights of the training centre and dismissed him as a threat.
Mindful of Jorah's instructions, Jon listened as the head trainer, Brienne, went through the stations available for them to sample. She was a hulking lady with homely features that were somehow lifted by her bright blue eyes. When she released them into the large room, Jon and Sansa both avoided the large weapons station which was immediately taken over by the rowdy pack of careers. Jon watched them out of the corner of his eye as they expertly handled the weapons. The girl from the Reach was flinging sharp little throwing knives into dummies with a precision that was scary. The boy from the Westerlands was fondling a crossbow lovingly.
"Where do you want to go first?" Sansa asked him in a quiet voice.
"How about the snares station?"
She shrugged her shoulders seemingly content to go along with his plans.
They went from station to station, avoiding anything combative. Sansa had fun at the camouflage table, manipulating all and any of the materials laid out into realistic disguises. However, Jon grew restless and gazed around the room. He elbowed Sansa sharply as he saw the boy from the Westerlands watching her with interest.
"Come on," he said, not liking the way the obnoxious blond eyed her up. "Let's go and try something else."
By the time lunchtime drew around, Jon and Sansa had visited all the lesser stations, where the instructors' eyes lit up at actually having something to do.
Whilst breakfast and dinner was served in each regions' apartments, lunch was served in a dining hall next door to the training room. Buffets carts were positioned carefully around the room, not allowing the tributes to queue up altogether which would probably have led to blood being spilt. There was one large table in the middle and a series of much smaller tables dotted around the periphery. The Careers migrated to large table, talking loudly as if determined to intimidate everyone else in the room with their confidence. The rest of the tributes sat alone and didn't make eye contact with anyone else.
"Over here," Sansa said, pointing to a table with two chairs.
They made desultory conversation with each other, keen to be seen as united as Jorah wanted them to appear.
It was not until the next day after lunch when they were both at the edible plants table that Sansa leaned over to whisper in his ear, "It appears you have a stalker."
Jon turned his head slightly to see the little girl from the Stormlands watching him. She was peeking out from behind a pillar, her eyes interested in how quickly he was identifying the edible from inedible plants.
She looked even tinier in the training centre and he found himself contrasting her to Bran once more. It wasn't fair. She looked far too young to be going into the arena and he wanted to shout and rail against those were sending her in to die. She gave him a brief wave which he responded to with an upturn of his lips before she flittered off to the insect station. His gaze followed her unhappily for a couple more seconds.
Training lasted for three days – just three days to try the impossible and bring any skills you may have up to the lifetime training of the Careers. Of course, no region was meant to professionally train children to go into the arena to fight, but this did not stop the Westerlands and the Reach from doing so. They would take the most promising children and train them in combat skills and feed them the best food so they had a large advantage over the semi-starved tributes from poorer regions, who carried the look of malnutrition and stunted growth. Jon was lucky in that his hunting meant that he ate a healthier and more varied diet than many others in the regions, supplementing the poor quality grain from King's Landing with foraged greens and fresh meat. Most of the tributes with him in the training centre had a hollow look about them.
After the three days of group training under the watchful eye of Brienne, her team and the Gamesmakers, who sat in a balcony above the centre, feasting and drinking as they kept their eye on the tributes below, there was the private training session with only the Gamesmakers present. Each tribute was scored on this session from 1 to 12, and that scored was revealed to the public later that evening in a broadcast. Sponsors could then see who had the potential to go on to do well in the Games. Of course having a high score did not necessarily mean that you went on to win, it usually led to you having a target on your back.
The order of these private training sessions followed Westeros' geography so once again the North was the last to go in and Jon saw immediately the disadvantage that gave him. The Gamesmakers' were bored having watched the previous thirteen tributes and were more interested in the food that was lavishly set out in front of them.
He found himself infuriated when he looked up after putting himself through his paces and expertly shooting several dummies, that the Gamesmakers weren't even paying attention to him. No, they were too busy cooing over a suckling pig that had just been brought in. Losing his temper, Jon nocked a bow and let it fly straight through the Gamesmakers where it imbedded itself in the apple that rested in the pig's mouth.
Bowing deeply, Jon sarcastically said, "I thank you for your consideration."
He flung the bow aside and then stalked out of the room, not even bothering to wait to be dismissed.
It was not until he was halfway up the tower in a lift that he realised just what he had done. The adrenalin gave away to scared shock. He had just attacked the Gamesmakers. Of course, he'd had no intention of harming any of them. If he had wanted to do that then the arrows would've ended up in their soft flesh and not an apple, but they didn't know that.
As he entered the North's apartment, he didn't bother to stop in the living room, where Sansa sat with Jorah and Myranda Royce. Instead, he dashed headlong into his bedroom, desperately wiping away at the tears that had fallen unbidden down his cheeks. He flung himself onto the bed, face down, and waited for the Peacekeepers to come and arrest him.
However, no-one other than Myranda came. She knocked on the door but promptly went away again after Jon shouted at her. He did nothing but stare out of the window for a good few hours, his mind a maelstrom of conflicting and anxious thoughts.
When he heard the dinner table being laid, he came to the conclusion that nobody was coming to cart him away tonight and so he might as well go out and eat.
He crept out of his room and trod silently into the dining room. Jorah spotted him first and said, "Oh, I see you've finally decided to join us, Snow."
The other heads turned towards him and Sansa gave him a small smile as pulled out the chair opposite to her and sat down.
"Well, I don't know why you couldn't come and tell us how your training session went earlier," Myranda Royce said, pique in her voice at his behaviour.
"Just how badly did it go?" Jorah asked him.
Jon shrugged, trying to put a disinterested air on, and said, "They weren't interested. I shot some arrows around but they barely even noticed I was in the room. Then I shot an arrow at them."
Myranda gave a horrified shriek. "You did what?"
"I shot an arrow at them," Jon obediently repeated.
His escort looked scandalised but Jorah burst into laughter. "I bet that gained their attention."
He couldn't help the smile that broke out. "It did, yeah."
"I should think it did," Myranda scolded. "What were you thinking? You are bound to get a terrible mark now. It's hard enough to try and sell Northern tributes to sponsors as it is, but with a low score, you can forget about gaining any sponsors at all."
Jorah rolled his eyes and gave Jon his first approving smile. "You gave them something to think about, anyway."
"How about you?" he asked Sansa.
"I had the same problem you did. By the time I got in there, they were more interested in eating and drinking than watch me run the assault course or camouflage the room."
However, they must have been paying some attention to Sansa, because she managed to get a seven when the scores were released that evening. Much to Jon's shock, he received an eleven. Higher than any other tribute – even the Careers. Jorah smacked him on the back and Myranda wrapped him in a tight hug, any harsh words she had for him earlier than evening forgotten as she murmured that he was a 'clever, clever boy' over and over again.
Training for the arena may have finished with the private sessions, but that didn't mean that training per se had finished. The next day was dedicated to prepping for the interviews that were the last pre-Games programming before they were all thrown into the arena and forced to kill each other. It also wasn't a surprise that it was the event Jon had been dreading the most (other than the actual Games).
He had woken just before dawn and been incapable of going back to sleep despite how important it was this close to the Games. It was Sunday today, usually his favourite day of the week, but now it was tinged with sadness. Ygritte would most likely be out in the woods, hunting not only for her family but also his. His mother and Bran would be waking up soon to share breakfast. Jon wanted nothing more than to be there with them.
Once the sun had started to peek over the horizon, Jon stripped his covers back and jumped in the shower. Breakfast was probably being served even if it was still early. However, the dining room wasn't as deserted as he thought it would be. Sansa, Jorah and Myranda were all already there and huddled together, whispering about something. His eyebrows rose at the sight but he did nothing more than sit down and drain a glass of orange juice as a crow came in and laid a platter of honey glazed sausages, soft boiled eggs, crisp fried fish and bowls of steaming porridge in front of him. Ignoring the other three people, Jon dug into the food and waited for their secret meeting to finish.
A few moments later, Jorah sat at the head of the table and made a grab for the pot of coffee. "There's been a change of plan," he said looking at Jon. "You're going to split up today."
"I thought you were training us together?"
"Sansa has asked to be trained separately."
Jon's head swung around to where Sansa sat quietly, eating her way through a bowl of porridge. Had she changed her mind because of his score yesterday? He had significantly out scored her and he knew that she hadn't given up fighting for her life just yet. Maybe she preferred to try and put some distance between them now. After all, they'd be enemies this time tomorrow.
He shrugged his shoulders and said, "So what's the new plan?"
"You are going to spend the morning with Myranda and then you'll be with me after lunch."
Nodding his head in agreement, Jon turned his attention back to the food. He couldn't imagine his session with Myranda lasting too long.
Of course he was wrong.
He didn't know how long he'd been trapped in here with Myranda, but it felt as if he was never going to leave. She insisted on making him walk with books on his head and to sit with his back dead straight with shoulders pushed back and down.
"Your posture is terrible!" she exclaimed for the fifth time. "You absolutely cannot go out walking with your hands in your pockets and your shoulders hunched up. You need to woo the crowd, Jon."
He muttered uncomplimentary words under his breath as she made him walk with a teetering book on his head once more.
He didn't think that anything could be worse than his session with Myranda but that was before Jorah got hold of him.
"Do you possess any charm, Snow?" he snapped as yet another angle for the interview failed. "Renly and his team have managed to build excitement around you, but this interview is going to destroy all of that!"
Jon glowered at the other man, his cheeks tinged red with anger and embarrassment at just how bad he was at this.
"Okay, let's go again. This time try and appear mysterious. That might work in your favour."
It didn't.
Jon was straight forward. He took after his mother in this aspect. He wasn't good at trying to project a different persona.
"The Stark in you is really showing through," Jorah growled.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jon asked, irritated.
"Just try and do something other than look unfailingly honest and superior to the rest of us. It's not going to win you any friends in King's Landing."
However, there wasn't much that Jon could do about that. He did detest King's Landing and those that lived there. They revelled in death and destruction and he could not pretend to admire that.
"Thank goodness Sansa carries the surname only and has all the grace of her mother," Jorah continued.
Jon was thoroughly dejected by the time Renly came to dress him.
"What's wrong?" Renly asked.
"I'm going to do really badly in this interview."
"Why?"
"Because I have zero charm and Jorah says I'm hopeless."
"Well, Jorah should certainly recognise that when he sees it," Renly said with a small smile.
Renly's words failed to cheer him up and he continued to mope as Renly prepared whatever outfit he was due to wear tonight.
"Listen, Jon," Renly said, sitting next to him and patting his knee. "You dislike King's Landing and its people. I understand. We must appear disgusting to you, but instead of talking to the audience, how about talking to a friend?"
"I could do that, but who?" He asked. He couldn't imagine that it would help to pretend he was talking to Bran or Ygritte. That would just make this whole experience even more painful.
"How about me?" Renly said with a smile. "I'll be in the audience. How about you find me when you are answering a question and pretend that I'm the only one you are talking to."
That was definitely doable. Renly was probably his favourite person in King's Landing.
"I can try," he said.
Renly patted his knee once more before he started the long preparation to get Jon ready for his interview.
Once more, Renly worked his magic on Jon. When he was allowed to look in the mirror, he was amazed at what he saw. He was wearing a wintery grey suit that was all sharp lines and severe tailoring. Along with his beard and long hair it made him look dangerous and somehow wolfish.
Jon stared at Renly with wonder in his eyes, who just nodded his satisfaction at his appearance before he ushered him out to the backstage area where the tributes briefly milled before being led onto the studio set.
Sansa wore a dress the same colour as Jon's suit. It dripped down her form like a frozen glacier and he was taken aback by how stunning she looked. In his eyes, she overshadowed all the other tributes, including the gorgeous brunette from the Reach.
Once the tributes where on Stage, the host Varys joined them. Varys had been hosting the interviews for the Games for as long as Jon could remember and in all those times, he had not changed his appearance very much which was an anomaly for citizens of King's Landing. He was bald and effeminate looking and did not appear to age. The only way you could tell he was hosting a different Games each year was by the colour of silk robes he wore because he chose a new colour each year. This year he had chosen a powder blue robe of heavy silk.
It was much nicer than the previous year's floaty crimson robe, Jon thought as he walked onto the stage.
Varys was renowned for getting the best of out of the tributes. He could draw the shiest tribute out of their shell, laughed at all the terrible jokes as if they were genuinely funny and managed to make the dullest tributes seem fascinating. He was an excellent mummer and if he made you shine then you would have sponsors lining up.
The other regions' interviews seemed indeterminable for Jon as each passing minute caused his anxiety to escalate further. The boy from the Westerlands was just as arrogant and obnoxious as he'd been during the group training sessions, but the King's Landing audience seemed entertained by it. The girl from the Reach, Margaery, was charming and delightful, playing up her pretty looks. The intimidating boy from the Stormlands who was well over 6ft with huge powerful shoulders was both sullen and angry but would still get sponsors purely for his muscled size. If Jon now went up and was as sullen then he would look small and harmless in comparison. Jon could barely watch as little Shireen danced up to the front. She wore a cheerful yellow tulle dress with a delicate tiara in her hair and looked like a little princess. She had Varys smiling a lot and told everyone not to discount her.
Then it was Jon's turn and he strode down to the front with his heart pounding in his ears and feeling sick with nerves. There was a little frown in between his eyebrows that he could somehow not straighten out no matter how hard he tried.
"Jon Snow," Varys said in way of a greeting. "You have taken these Games by storm. Just how did you manage that high training score?"
Jon's mind goes blank for a horrible moment, but then he is seeking out Renly's face in the crowd and the stylist nods at him and a detached calmness descends.
"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to disclose what happens in those training sessions," he said honestly.
And he really doesn't want to tell. If he revealed how much of a fool he made of the Gamesmakers' then they would make sure he came to a very gruesome end in the arena.
"Oh, come on. You're amongst friends here," Varys said with a sly smile towards to the audience who tittered.
"Ah, but then I would be breaking the Games oath to keep those sessions secret and I take oaths very seriously."
"He would," One of the Gamesmakers called out.
"Well, we wouldn't want you to do that," Varys said. "You come across as a man of your word."
Jon nodded and then said, "But I can tell you that it was something I'm sure they had never seen before."
He sent a smile Renly's way and hoped that it had the desired effect of creating some of kind of rapport with the audience. They chuckled.
Varys gave him some fairly soft questions about his impressions of King's Landing and Jon managed to keep eye contact with Renly and fixate on some minor aspect of life here and talk about that. It probably wasn't riveting viewing but it was better than railing at the audience about how awful they were.
"Now, you are the North's first volunteer for decades and it was your brother you volunteered for. Can you tell us a little about Bran? He was hurt in an accident a few years ago was he not?"
Jon's face grew serious at the question and instead of focusing on Renly, he let his mind wander to back to the North and his brother. He didn't want to tell King's Landing anything about his brother but he didn't have a choice.
"Yes," he said seriously. "He was walking to school past by a building that collapsed on top of him. He was paralysed."
The crowd made a sickeningly sympathetic sound that Jon shut out. His brother was not someone for them to pity. It was their fault he was in such a condition. They left the regions to rot so that buildings could collapse on small kids and then reaped them a couple of years later.
"What did he say to you after you volunteered?"
Jon's face shuttered as he thought of Bran's words: Promise me, Jon.
"He made me promise to win."
Varys leaned forward then and the audience appeared to move with him. "And what did you say to that?"
He could feel his face morphing into the expression that Ygritte always laughingly called his 'direwolf snarl' and he said fiercely, "I told him I would."
Varys startled back at the strength in Jon's words, his smile gone as he said, "I believe you have every chance."
Then the smarmy smile came back and out he turned to the audience and said, "Jon Snow, everybody, the Winter Wolf!"
Jon was shaking as he returned to his seat. He had got through it. Oh, not with the same panache as the others but he hadn't done as badly as he feared he might. Sansa was the last interview and he watched, almost detached as she charmed both Varys and the audience. She had such poise and elegance that was matched with an innate ability to make people fall in love with her. She was managing well.
"Now, tell me Sansa, a beautiful and charming girl like you must have a special someone waiting for you back home."
Sansa coloured up at that letting the audience know that was more to her denial of 'no'.
"There's no one you want to go back home for?"
Jon watched mesmerised as she peeped shyly up at Varys and said, "It's complicated you see."
"Oh ho! Complicated. We like complicated, don't we?" he said archly to the audience who shouted their agreement and sat on the edge of their seats.
"Th…there is someone," she said hesitantly. "But he didn't know I existed. Not until I was reaped any way."
"I'll bet he knows who you are now and is desperate for you to come home."
"Well, that's the complicated part be-" Sansa broke off, looked down at her hands before she took a deep breath and gave a sad smile before she continued, "Because he came here with me."
There was a second of shocked pause before the audience broke out into delighted whispering and Varys swung his head around to look at Jon, who sat there frozen in shock.
Did Sansa mean him? He was the person she was referring too? The cameras zoomed in on his confused face and he could see that there was a tint of colour in his cheeks as he stared towards Sansa who could not look at him.
"Well, well," he said delightedly. "That is complicated."
Sansa didn't look at him as she returned to her seat but his gaze never left her. Her face was suffused in colour and she sat with her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers around. All that was left for the evening was the national anthem and Jon barely stood up in time as it started to play. Then he finally managed to tear his eyes away from her and was off the stage and towards the bank of lifts as quickly as he could. He needed to get away, needed some time to think.
He didn't bother to slow down or go to change out of his clothes, but went straight up the roof. Was this some kind of strategy of hers? A way to for her to win the crowds over and make herself more interesting. His hand angrily smashed against the arm of the wooden seat he was sat on. Was he just some ploy she'd used to get herself sponsors for the arena?
The door to the roof slammed open and Sansa stood there, looking like an ice queen in her stunning dress. Beautiful and unattainable for people like him and yet she'd said that she loved him in her interview.
"Jon-" she started to say as she made her way over.
The soft way in which she spoke his name tipped his anger over into rage and he stomped his way over to her, looming into her space as he spat, "How dare you? How dare you do that?"
"Listen, it's not what you think."
I know that," he hissed. "Why would Sansa Stark even look my way? But you just made me look like an utter fool in front of the whole country."
Her face paled at his words and she opened her mouth to speak but he jumped in before she could say anything else. "Just go," he snapped. "I don't want to hear it."
She looked up at him for a long moment and there was something in her eyes that he couldn't quite place. It looked almost like sadness but why would she be feeling sad? She'd just won the hearts of King's Landing with some ridiculous tale of pining away for him.
Once she had gone, he sat down again, feeling drained and somehow disappointed. He had never been comfortable with the united theme that Jorah and the team had pushed on him and Sansa. He had come to be more attached to her that he liked. How was he go into the arena with these fond feelings and then be expected to kill her? She apparently had no problems there as she'd played the game perfectly.
The door to the roof opened again and Renly made his way over. "There you are," he said as he sat a piled plate down on the table in front of Jon. "You missed dinner. You need to eat something."
"Why did she do that?" he asked with no preamble. "She used me to give herself an angle."
Renly sighed and shook his head. He shot Jon an almost disappointed glance. "Sansa's a clever girl. She knows how this world works better than you and she just made you even more interesting."
"But how?" Jon asked nonplussed.
"She made you desirable as well as fierce. Now every girl in King's Landing is swooning after you."
"But-," Jon started to say before he tailed off. He didn't know what to say to this and stared off over King's Landing to the Red Keep.
Eventually he picked his fork up and began to eat the lukewarm food. Renly had left at some point but Jon didn't know when.