A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed/favorited/followed my first chapter. I really appreciate it. I've been playing around with a lot of different ways this story can go, and I feel like I've landed on something that feels right. Jonsa is endgame, but there will other storylines as well. I intend to update every other day or so, depending. The next chapter should be Sansa's.
Please review! I'd love to receive feedback from you guys!
Jon
Jon avoids the tall woman and her news from the South for the better part of the next day. Likely Tormund kept Brienne preoccupied with whisperings of sweet nothings and proposals of queendom. "I can make ye my queen-of all this!"
Tormund had been nursing tender feelings for the lady-knight for many years, nearly as long as Jon knew him. When he returned to Castle Black for the last time, Jon chose to abandon his orders and followed Tormund beyond the ruins of the wall into the wilderness. It was a long journey, and Tormund liked to talk. A lot.
Tormund regaled the tale of his broken heart at the hands of Ser Brienne and the Kingslayer, and although he always put a mirthful spin on it, Jon could see that it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Jon himself never spoke of his own heart; its yearnings or otherwise. For too long it felt like he'd been a victim of Ramsay Bolton: flayed alive and raw, his insides bared for everyone to see. Tormund was observant enough not to ask questions.
At mid-day, he pulls out his makeshift map of The Land of Always Winter and sets to adding his new discoveries. Jon had become quite the cartographer over the years. With quill and ink in hand, he transferred images from the rough sketches he made periodically during his scouting trip.
As he sits back and surveys his work, Jon is pleased. This was something he could do; it was honest, hard work. The land was just what it was, and no amount of manipulation or calculation would ever change it.
As the sun begins to sink below the horizon, Jon hears voices approaching his tent. Tormund and Bran's Kingsguard. Jon steels himself.
"Come out, ye quivering crow!" Tormund booms, then his head suddenly appears in the flap of Jon's tent. "I've kept the tall woman busy all day for ye," he says quietly. "She really seemed to enjoy the way I milk a goat-" His head disappears again, with a loud thud and a guffaw of laughter. Jon can hear a scuffle outside the tent.
"Jon Snow," Brienne begins, fighting hard to keep a serious tone in her voice over Tormund's boisterous laughter. "Please grant me entrance into your home. I think you'll find that what I have to say is of great interest to you."
Jon sighs. "Please enter, my lady. It wouldn't do for me to have you standing outside my tent all evening. I hear there are creatures with red fur poking about these parts!" Jon raises his voice at the end, a clear jab at his friend. Jon hears him laugh loudly and walk away.
Brienne enters. She no longer has the stiff, metal armor and is now wearing several layers of fur. She notices Jon's glance at her new attire. "Your king was kind enough to loan me the proper garments for this weather. I forgot how cold it can be up here in the North."
Jon gestures for Brienne to sit in a wooden chair wrapped sparsely with furs. He sits in a similar chair, and she follows suit. At this level, Jon can see that Brienne's gold hair is lightly dusted with grey just at her temples, but she hasn't spent her time serving under King Bran unhappily. The creases at her eyes and on the side of her mouth tell Jon she has had plenty of laughter over the years.
"Jon," she begins, her tone less stoic than before. "Your brother...I'm sorry, your cousin sent me here to tell you this in person because he was afraid you may ignore a raven. It seems he was likely right." Brienne is looking at Jon imploringly, but not unkindly.
He looks down, abashed. "I can't be part of that anymore. When I left Castle Black for the last time, I did so knowing that it would mean a separation between myself and everything I was before."
"Hear me out, Jon. King Bran and the small council have been discussing this matter at length for some time. When the request was received, we began weighing our options. The Unsullied have settled in Naath, and have no immediate plans to leave. They have no interest in the comings and goings of the people of Westeros. Grey Worm-" Jon grimances at this name.
"Grey Worm," Brienne continues, "died several years ago. Few are left who are concerned with the bastard Jon Snow. Drogon has not been seen since…well, in a very long time."
Jon can't look at her face. He knows what she's going to say, but he doesn't know how to respond. He's staring blankly at the compass sitting on the table beside him. He half expects to see it spinning wildly, but it still points north. True north.
He finally turns and looks at Brienne, and she takes this as a gesture to continue. "King Bran has decreed that you shall be pardoned. Of all your crimes against the crown and the Mad Queen."
Jon closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, but Brienne isn't done. "However…"
Jon opens his eyes again.
"...as the rightful heir to the Six Kingdoms and a pardoned war criminal, you cannot live in Westeros. King Bran was appointed by a council, but some the people of Westeros still cling to the old ways. If you accept your pardon, you must never return South. You may take a wife and bare children. A Northern wife."
Jon feels his chest constrict suddenly, and he stands up quickly. It feels as if his heart is going to burst from its cage. Brienne stands suddenly as well, her eyes sorrowful. "I know this is a lot for you. I know you love Daenerys, and you don't want-"
"STOP." Jon puts his hand up, breathing heavily. "Stop. I don't...I didn't…"
Brienne is searching his eyes again, her own seeming very confused. "You didn't? I mean, I thought...well, we all thought…"
"I believed I loved her, because I was a fool. Daenerys had great passions, great ideas for the Seven Kingdoms. I followed her because I believed in those things, and she made me believe in her. I was an idiot. I allowed her to…"
Jon stops, remembering something Brienne said before.
"Who made the request?" He asks quietly.
"I'm sorry?" The abrupt change in the conversation takes Brienne a moment to adjust to.
"Before. You said that someone made the request. I assume you meant they requested my pardon. Who was it?"
Brienne's voice lowers and her tone is hushed.
"It was the Queen, Jon..." She pauses and looks at him, her eyes thoughtful.
"Queen Sansa Stark of Winterfell."
