THE PUP

He sat at his place in the Great Hall, seething in silence at the spectacle that his King was currently making.

The welcome feast for the Hand of the King should have been a joyous occasion for Jon, a grand feast, abundant in meat and mead and revelry; unfortunately all he could see was the decadence of the Stag's court. Men pawing at serving wenches drunkenly, their wives close by in addition to the sheer amounts of food and drink being wasted by drunken fools; food that could be given to those less fortunate.

Oh yes, the celebration began joyously with the announcement of the Queen carrying the Robert's supposed child. The merriment was abundant, noble Lords and Ladies and Knights stepped forward, all giving their best wishes to the queen on her carrying of the next prince or princess. King Robert sat back, allowing his lady wife to soak in all of the attention, beaming with something akin to joy. He even went so far as to not grope a single passing serving wench. This all lasted for no more time than it took the King and his ilk to drink their fill, so not very long.

The moment the King had taken his fill of wine he began pawing at the closest serving woman to him, a young girl with brown hair and a full bosom. As if Robert's actions were an incantation, the rest of the court began to follow their King en mass; making bawdy lewd jests, fondling serving girls and being loud and rambunctious in general. As this behavior continued, Jon looked to Cersei to see the resigned look upon her face, though he saw the underlying scorn behind he facade.

With this, Jon could no longer spew his venom into his cup; no, instead he raised from the table starling the Northmen to either side of him. He curtly apologized to both men, before walking to the doors of the Great Hall, turning back to look into the emerald orbs that had been studying his back and smiling.

Though he failed to notice was the second pair of emerald lights shining on him, ones belonging to the Slayer of Kings.

Jon made his way through the corridors of the Red Keep, searching for the passage that would lead to the Royal Apartments, and regretting ignoring the short tour he had taken with the rest of the household.

Jon turned a corner, leading him to what he vaguely recalled was a service entrance to the Royal Wing. Looking around, certain that none had followed him, he slipped into a corner, dropping to the floor and resting his back against the wall. He reached out with his mind, barely tapping the mind of the first creature he encountered inside of the corridor.


The mouse darted up and down the passageway, listening for the rustle and clank of the big creatures, the smells they poured on themselves to mask their musk. He ran by cave after cave, looking for something. But what?
A smell, like flowers, but not flowers. Like something playing at being flowers: Roses. The mouse ran past the- fourth cave and the fifth, stopping at the sixth to his- left, smelling the not-roses. And just like that-


Jon returned to his own body, inhaling with great need, having found himself overwhelmed by this journey.

He had been practicing ever since their camp left the lands around Cerwyn, near the end of the White Knife; at first they had just been dreams, dreams of Ghost. More accurately, they were dreams within Ghost, which Jon was content to ignore until Bran confessed to having the same dreams. Though with, Bran the dreams went much further; he showed Jon how he could slip into the minds of animals, something that was supposed to exist only in the stories of Old Nan. Jon comforted the boy and assured him that he was no monster, going so far as to ask the boy to teach him.

Since that day, the two of them trained at it until about midday, barring unforeseen accidents. Jon had become somewhat efficient at using the skins of animals, though it could not hold for long, but it is good for small things like looking for a Queens rooms without being noticed.

Having assured himself that the passage to the Queen's chambers were clear, Jon slipped through the hallway and into Cersei's room, quietly closing the door behind him. Turning to face the inside of Cersei's chambers, he realized that he had never been in her rooms before; he had been inside her tent and her chambers in other holdfasts and castles, but never in the Queen's Chambers.

Against his better judgement, he began to peruse her belongings. Peaking inside of her wardrobe, he found only the maternity clothing she had likely ordered be brought out for the babe growing in her belly, cutting off underneath her bosom with fabric blooming out to accommodate her girth. Patterns of gold and silver and copper adorned the ascending point bodice, stitched in intricate patterns about the bosom; even heavy with child, none could say she was without taste. He smiled. Jon caressed the fabric reminded of what should be his, feeling shame at his resentment of the King and the fact that another would raise his child. He closes the wardrobe, blinking back his unshed tears as he moved about the room, looking upon perfumes and Rose oils neatly gathered upon a shelf.

So caught in his thoughts he lost track of time, though it must have been late, for he heard the sound of shuffling feet in the corridor and the sound of soft feminine voices. Looking about, searching for a place to hide, his eyes settled on the doors leading to the balcony of Cersei's room. He rushed to the doors, shoving them open and darting outside before closing the doors quietly. His timing was nearly perfect, moving aside just as the doors opened, revealing Cersei's handmaidens.

The women went about their duties as Jon sat waiting, hoping that Cersei would be there soon. The ladies brought steaming water, filling a large tub as others pulled out night clothes to dress her in.

Jon could not remember how long he had waited before he drifted to sleep.


He padded lightly through the strange woods, looking upon his prey as he slowly closed in. The stag cocked its head, looking at him in fear before darting deeper into the woods. He followed.
As he ran, the Wild Sister burst from the woods to join him with the Small Brother not far behind. They chased the horned beast, slowly boxing it in. They moved swiftly fanning out, pushing the beast to where the Small Sister waited. Just a bit further. A little more.
Sharp and quick the Small Sister tore from the brush, snapping at the stag's hind leg and dipping away, avoiding the wild kick. The stag hobbled to get away as Ghost pounced on his neck, blood rushing into his mouth as the stag went down, limp in his jaws.
The Small Brother and Wild Sister stepped forward to take their fill, ripping at the carcass of their prey. Ghost urged the Small Sister forward, a silent gesture to take her share. She is too small, too weak. She will drag the pack down if she is not stronger; for the pack to strive she must-


Jon is awoken by a soft hand to his shoulder. He snaps to attention, shaking the hand away until he looks up into the emerald orbs of Cersei Baratheon. "How long have you been out here?" She asks, smiling down on him sadly.

He jumps to his feet, smoothing out his clothing. "Not long I think." He responds, looking within her room, seeing it empty of any others. He steps inside. "I came to see to you Your Grace."

Her smile brightens at this and she giggles. "Have you now?" She asks in a playful tone. "And how will you do that?" She raises a brow, moving toward the bed before sliding onto it, her legs propped on pillows.

He paused at that; how would he tend to her? "I saw how the King was tonight." Cersei grimaced. "We do not have to speak on it if you prefer." He said, looking at her prone form of his Queen, deciding how to continue. "Does it hurt- I mean the babe?"

Cersei looked to him, an inquisitive look upon er face. "It is uncomfortable sometimes. Though it will get worse later on, especially the legs." She yawned out. "Walking around with this extra weight is not very pleasant." She smiles wryly.

"Is there anything I can do to make this better?" He asked looking into her tired green orbs, as he reached out stroking her knee.

She shuddered under his touch. "My legs do ache somewhat. If you could rub them for me that would be wonderful." She said, her tone less weary.

Without question, Jon went about massaging her legs, weary from carrying his child. He continued for much of the evening, taking direction from Cersei from time to time. In the midst of his ministrations, they began to speak about their homes and their hopes and their dreams. Eventually their conversation drifted to the upcoming tourney in honor the Hand of the King.

"He probably hates it." Jon informed her, a rough chuckle leaving his mouth.

Cersei looked at him, a peculiar knit to her brows. "Tourneys are supposed to be fun." She says wistfully. "The pageantry and revelry, the excitement of crowning a victor and the victor crowning his queen." She spoke about it with such wonder.

Jon wanted to say something; anything other than, you would be my Queen of Love and Beauty. "Have you ever been chosen?" He settled for that, though he wanted to know more.

She sighed as his hands moved over her left ankle. "A few times, though always in small tourneys in the Westerlands." She says with a shuddering moan as Jon rubs circles on the skin around her ankle. "My father inspires great respect in the west, making it a taboo to court me." She lets out another moan, pushing him away. "He was saving me for Prince Rhaegar, if King Aerys agreed."

Jon looked into her eyes, holding her attention on him as he moved to grab her hand in his. "You would certainly be my Queen of love and beauty." He places a chaste kiss to her knuckle, then to her palm.

Cersei takes his face in hand, smiling to hold him. "Then the good Ser shall have my favor." She says, reaching out with both hands, gesturing for him to help her up.

Jon carefully raised his Queen from her bed, careful of her belly. She moved through the room to the wardrobe, reaching inside with her back turned to him, searching for something. She turned back to him with a smile on her face, her hands behind her back. "Close your eyes." She insisted and he humored her. Then he felt the soft fabric wrapping around his wrist, weaving around itself several times before Cersei finally tied it on. Her soft finger trailed along his palm as she moved away. "Now open your eyes." She whispers.

Jon looks to his wrist, admiring the green silk wrapped around his forearm, gold embroidery freckled along the creases in the fabric creating a strange and beautiful contrast to his queen. He raises a hand to her face, slow and and tender, stroking her cheek. "Like your eyes?" He caresses her cheekbone, near her ear.

Cersei grabs his hand, bringing it to her lips before laying a chaste kiss there. "You should go." She whispers into his palm. "The Kingsguard is stationed on the door, but you can leave through my solar." She ushers him to the door, dropping his hand as he crosses the threshold and closing the door behind him.

Jon hears her voice through the wall and moments later the sound of a door opening, signaling him to slip through the door of her solar. He hastens through the corridors of the Royal Apartments until he reaches the servants corridors, swiftly descending the steps as he made his way back to the Tower of the Hand. Before each turn, Jon stopped to tap the mind of one of the palace rodents, using them as his temporary eyes. This continued until he came across a strange sensation, his mind reaching out to a cat only to be rebuffed by a presence already ingrained in its mind.

The presence was small and scared, though it held a certain amount of aggression, though toward whom or what he knew not. He turned the corner to see a haggard black cat staring at him, compelled him to move foward as the it mimicked his motions; when Jon took a step the cat followed, putting the same paw forward to mirror his actions, he tilted his head in sync with the cat. They eyed one another cautiously for a moment, before the cat simply turned its head and stalked away into the darkness, leaving Jon to contemplate the strange encounter as he walked towards his quarters in the tower. He passes the guards stationed at the entrance of the tower, breathless and tired, making his excuses as best he could. Fortunately they allowed him to pass without much questioning, leaving him to slip into the tower silent as the night.

After hiking the stairs two-by-two, he slips into his quarters, darkness engulfing his world. He fumbles with his doublet in the darkened room, not noticing the presence of Tully- blue eyes within his space.

"Jon." A voice whispers from the void, causing him to reach for his dirk. He stops when he turns to see a frightened Bran, sitting upon his bed.

Jon stays his hand, moving closer to his little brother. "Brandon Stark!" He hisses, his voice hoarse with surprise. He notes the apprehension in Bran's eyes, calming himself before continuing. "What are you doing here so late?"Bran looked to him, eyeing his elder brother nervously. "I saw something while I was-" he did not have to finish. Jon knew he was within an animal, looking through their eyes.

"What did you see Bran?" He prompted gently, trying to provide an air security and trust for the boy. "You can tell me brother."

Brandon chewed on his lip, his brows scrunched. "I saw you tonight." He said, jarring Jon from sense of security. "I was looking through a bird outside the Queen's Chamber. I didn't mean to I swear, but I saw you there-" Bran paused, shifting on the bed. "With the Queen?" His tone was questioning, as though he were not sure.

Jon scrambled for an explanation, anything that could be seen as reasonable purpose for his visit. His mind settled on a long shot which was not too far from the truth. "I was there begging her favor." He said, the lies flowing from him like water. "I sought her as a sponsor for the upcoming tourney. Her Grace complained of pain in her legs, so I helped her ease the ache."

Bran looked at him for a moment, contemplation plain on his face. After a long pause, Bran seemed to accept his words. "Alright." He grumbled under his voice, shifting to the edge of Jon's bed before hopping off. He began to move towards the door until Jon reached a hand out to grasp him.

"I will need your help in the tourney brother." He said, gripping Brandon by the shoulders. "I shall ask Ser Barristan to lend me a set of armor, though I will need a squire." He raised a brow suggestively.

Bran looked upon him in shock. "You mean for me to squire for you?" He asks, his brows nearly reaching his hair. "In the joust?"

Jon smiled broadly, his lies of Cersei forgotten by the small boy. "Of course, though it must be a secret." He puts a finger to his lips, adding emphasis to his words. "Father would skin us both and make us into soft fuzzy cloaks!" He tickles The boy, making him laugh. "Now run along. We have a long day tomorrow with Ser Barristan."

Bran nodded, the smile still tugging at his lips as he dipped through the doorframe and into the night.

Jon continued to unlace his clothing, preparing for bed.

When he was finally bare, he climbed into his bed without preamble, tossing the sheets aside to absorb the warm night air. As he lie on the featherbed, thinking of the events of the evening, his hand subconsciously traveled to the scar at his neck. "My Queen of Love and Beauty." He sighed into the otherwise empty room.

The events of this very night would set the tone for the rest of his stay in King's Landing. Starting with the tourney.