Chapter 25 – Jon
There were many things in life that got better the more you tried them, Jon decided. And flying on the back of a ten-tonne dragon was definitely one of them. He was sure he would be thankful for the creature's radiating warmth and the vantage point with the altitude in the war to come. He was also currently thankful for his improving skill.
He admired Daenerys' seemingly infinite patience with him. Over the days that had passed since their return to Winterfell, she had gone through the pronunciation of the Valyrian commands until they were both blue in the face and irritable.
"Maybe you should teach me to ride a direwolf next," Daenerys had remarked before they had set off this time. And Jon had blushed at the euphemism.
Now, both of them touched down from nearly an hour of flying laps around the Wolfswood. Jon was comforted at the lack of activity, part of him nearly expecting White Walkers to start bursting through the trees, should the content of his nightmares prove true.
Daenerys' cheeks were flushed with warmth, despite the biting chill. She practically beamed at him when he slid off Rhaegal's back and straightened up.
"You did well," she said proudly, gently patting the green dragon's scales before he took to the skies after his brother. "You're really getting the hang of this. You just need practise."
"Did you fall off Drogon the first time you rode him?" Jon asked.
Daenerys laughed. "No. But the first time I rode Drogon was in very different life-threatening circumstances."
Ghost loped over to them, accompanied by Sansa. Jon tensed a little, knowing that Sansa and Daenerys were not the best of friends. But to his surprise, both women were surprising light and easy-mannered, Sansa inquiring about the day's events and Daenerys running her hands through the direwolf's coat, acknowledging Sansa's conversation with ease.
Today was to be the day of Littlefinger's funeral, and the day that Jaime Lannister was to meet justice. Jon had decreed that Daenerys and Bran had suffered the most due to his actions, therefore they should be the ones to decide his fate. To Jon's knowledge, the two of them had not discussed what should happen to him, but he also knew that Bran probably had an even better idea of Daenerys' views than he did.
"I hear congratulations are in order, for managing to not fall," Sansa smirked as they made their way back to the Winterfell keep.
"Thank you," Jon said quietly as Daenerys laughed. Jon marvelled at the change in the two of them. Before yesterday Sansa hadn't had a nice word to say about the Mother of Dragons. Now they actually appeared to be getting along.
Littlefinger's body had been placed atop a small pyre of wood.
"Best to burn his body as soon as possible," Tyrion had said over dinner, the previous night. "The last thing we all need is for these walking dead men to resurrect him." And everyone had agreed.
Jon noticed that from the neck up, the corpse had been covered in frayed fabric. Suspicious, he glanced over to Arya who was purposely not looking at him, yet wearing the tiniest of smiles. Jon rolled his eyes, knowing that metaphorically they hadn't seen the last of Petyr Baelish.
"Here we say our last farewell to a traitor," Jon said at last, heavily, and trying not to sound too disgusted, once everyone had gathered around the pyre. Arya had since set fire to a large torch, and was hovering in one corner of the pyre with a grim expression.
Jon surveyed the group solemnly. "Does anyone else have any final words?"
Tyrion, to Jon's surprise, stepped forward first. "I wish it had been you that had told Cersei my secrets and plans all those years ago," the dwarf said to the piles of wood. "Perhaps that would have saved us all a great deal of trouble."
Sansa then cleared her throat. "Lord Baelish will be going to the deepest of the seven hells for what he has done, with the old gods and the new tormenting him," she said, so icily that Jon's blood ran cold. "And if he ever manages to get into the seven heaven's, he'll have my mother's wrath waiting for him. As for us, I believe our lives will be far better without him."
Arya was stony too. "I wish it had hurt more," she snapped with a look of contempt. "I wish I had had time to inflict as much pain on you as you did on Sansa. I wish you could feel this torch burning you away." She murmured something else incoherently, which Jon assumed was just as vehement.
"Anyone else?" Jon asked. No one else came forward, not even Varys or Daenerys, so he nodded to Arya, who carelessly threw the fiery torch onto the pyre and stalked off without a second glance. After a few moments, the small crowd that had gathered around the logs began to disperse. The smell of burning wood, smoke and flesh started to make Jon feel sick, so he turned away.
"Let's go back inside," he suggested to the others. After a final glare in the pyre's direction, Daenerys joined him and so did Sansa.
"It's done," Jon said to the latter. "It's all over. He's all over."
"I'm fine," Sansa assured him. "Let's go and eat something before we have to deal with Jaime Lannister." Jon still frowned worriedly.
"Come on," Daenerys said, distracting him by taking his arm. "No use just standing around." He might have imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw his sister give the dragon queen a small smile before following them.
Closer to the Great Hall, a voice made them stop in their tracks.
"Sansa!" it said. "San-saa…"
"What?" Sansa said, irritably, though she looked slightly intimidated.
Just then, a figure with the likeness of Littlefinger burst around the corner. "Sansa… hello Sansa…"
"Seven hells!" she swore out loud. "What? How?" Then she seemed to realise.
"Shan-shaaa… I need to speak with you alone…"
"Arya, stop it!" Sansa said, her eyes still wide, but a small grin had worked its way onto her face.
"But Sansa," the voice continued, "Arya will try to kill you! And Daenerys is going to feed you to her dragons while Jon broods in a corner somewhere!"
Sansa burst out laughing in response.
"Stop yourself," Jon told his youngest sister, but he too was laughing.
After a final, long, "San-saaaaa," Arya finally took off the face and shook her hair free.
Sansa was almost breathless. "Arya!" she said again, shaking her head as she continued to nervously giggle.
"You should see her impression of Cersei," Jon said.
"Cersei was much more convincing than that, too," Daenerys added with a smile.
"Why thank you," Arya acknowledged breezily, then hugged her sister. "I had to do that."
"I know," Sansa laughed. "I'm surprised I didn't already expect it."
"Time for our second problem of the day," Jon said, changing the subject. "Where's Bran?"
"Inside," Bran himself said from the hall. The others went in and sat down.
"All done," Arya said cheerfully to her younger brother. "Were you watching?"
"I was focusing in three places," Bran replied dully. "I was watching what transpired in the courtyard. I was watching the Wall. And I was watching Tormund Giantsbane." He turned his head an inch to look at Jon. "He will probably be here by tomorrow night."
Jon nodded. "That is good to know. In that case we shall hold a meeting to discuss our strategy and the like the morning afterwards." He glanced in Daenerys' direction as he sat down, and saw a pained expression on the queen's face.
Lunch was a hurried affair, since the group wanted to get the encounter with Jaime over and done with. He was brought in alongside Bronn, and some of the other men who had travelled with them. Jon was unsurprised when Arya made a beeline for some of them and engaged them in conversation. What did surprise him was how they seemed to get along so well, seeing as they had been on opposite sides when they met. He watched Arya share a laugh with a short soldier with a round face, a thin one with long dark hair, and a bright-eyed red-haired one, and lingered in a moment of brooding until he felt Daenerys' hand on his arm.
"Ready?" she asked.
He nodded. "Do you and Bran even know what each other are thinking?"
She laughed. "He knows what I'm thinking. As for his own verdict, I honestly don't mind." Jon nodded again in response as Jaime Lannister himself stepped forward. His sisters fixed him with glares, while Jon sat down. Bran wheeled himself forwards to be in line with Daenerys and the room fell silent.
"Another day, another trial," Lannister spoke first. He looked directly at Sansa. "I heard what happened to Baelish and I commend you for it."
"Thank you," Sansa said very thinly.
Bronn cut in. "So what's going to happen to us then?"
Daenerys fixed the sellsword with a steely glare. "You were the one who tried to kill my dragon, if I recall correctly?"
"Aye," Bronn replied with a shrug. "Didn't though, did I? Saw three of the giant things swooping around the castle when we arrived."
Daenerys opened her mouth to retort, but Jaime stepped in.
"My friend is not known for being diplomatic," he said apologetically. "He is a sellsword. He probably thought I would give him a lordship or a castle if we won the battle."
The dragon queen turned to look at Jon. "Are there any castles north of the Wall?"
Jon smirked. "Not yet. Perhaps when the war is won, Ser Bronn can build one there." Luckily, Bronn then decided to keep quiet. Jon turned back to Jaime. "I have left it to Queen Daenerys, and my brother, Brandon Stark, to decide on your fate."
After a nod from Daenerys, Bran wheeled himself gently forward and looked straight at Jaime Lannister.
"When I was younger, I used to love to climb," he began, and Jon could see the discomfort on Lannister's face at Bran's monotonous speech. "I knew the walls of Winterfell better than anyone, and I never fell. Not until the day you pushed me. After that day, I could no longer do what I loved best." He paused. "But you are the same, Ser Jaime Lannister. You used to love to swing a sword, but then you lost your hand and you struggled to do so. Your path has been no easier than mine. Had you not pushed me from that tower, I would not have become the person I have. If you had not lost your hand, you would not be the person you are today either." Bran sat back in his chair. "As far as I am concerned, you have paid for your crimes against me." He wheeled himself backwards and nodded to Daenerys.
The Mother of Dragons stepped forward. "Had I not spoken to you and found out your justification for doing what you did to my father… I think I most likely would have served the injustice of killing him with the justice of your death. But I will also answer justice with justice. You killed my father for a good reason. I will spare your life for a better one."
"And which better reason is that?"
"Fighting with us in the war to come." Jon noticed Daenerys giving Arya a sideways look before continuing. "I know you are commander of the Lannister forces. You have experience in battle, and we need you. Fight with us, and if we survive, you will be pardoned for your crimes."
After a brief hesitation, Lannister nodded in acknowledgment. "Very well."
A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I apologise for the long wait, but I promise I will be uploading more frequently over the coming weeks.
The next chapter will be in Jon's POV and it will be the last for this fic.
Please let me know what you thought of this and I will do my utmost to get the final instalment of this story out very soon.
Until next time.