After parting ways with the others, Jon wandered around Winterfell aimlessly, unsure what to do with himself. Out of habit, his legs carried him to the courtyard. Perhaps he'd get lucky and glean a few more details about Renly's visit. Once making his way there, he'd immediately regretted his decision. He'd caught the attention of Loras Tyrell, who had begun wandering over to him, smiling ear to ear. Instinctively, Jon looked around, expecting that someone else had been the target of his approach.

"You must be Jon Snow," the golden-haired knight held his hand out to shake Jon's, eyeing him up and down in a way not much different from how his sister, Margaery, might have done. He'd had the same seductive quality in his eyes, his voice. The knight's gaze lingered a bit too long over Jon's body, which made him feel as though he were being appraised like livestock.

"Ser Loras," Jon responded a bit too eagerly, in a deeper voice than he'd usually manage, trying to sound gruffer, more intimidating. Squaring his shoulders, he grabbed Loras' hand with a tight grip, holding onto it a bit too long as if driving some sort of point home. None of his efforts had fazed the knight.

"Strong handshake," Loras smiled, almost flirtatiously. Though his tone didn't sound mocking, Jon couldn't help but take it that way. "I've been told by your Master-at-Arms that you're the one to go to if I'm looking for a good fight."

And so it begins, Jon thought to himself. Loras spoke with the same cadence as his movements; moving as if he were dancing, speaking as if he were singing. Every word more perfectly pronounced than the last. A sick feeling began to churn in the pit of Jon's stomach, compliments of his jealousy.

"I don't know about that," he grumbled, grimacing.

"Don't be so modest. Mind showing me your moves?"

Jon glanced around the courtyard, watching a crowd forming around them. His heart began to race as he noticed too many important faces peering at them. Lady Olenna stood nearby with Randyll Tarly. Dickon and Sam stood not far from them, moving in closer for a better look. Margaery and Daenerys had even appeared above them, perched not far from Ned and Catelyn. Everyone seemingly waiting to see what he'd do. Jon may be able to best the other boys around Winterfell, but a proper knight? This is madness, he thought.

Taking a moment to mull it over in his mind, he'd noticed Loras had been looking right through him, in the direction of Robb and Renly, who'd come from out of nowhere to watch the match. Jon redirected his gaze up to Dany. Once the knight followed suit, flashing his flawless smile as he waved to his sister and Daenerys, that had been enough.

"Alright," Jon finally agreed as he handed the lemon cakes off to Theon, who'd been standing with Jeyne not far from the display of training swords.

Loras stroked his chin as he browsed the selection. Jon chose the same modest one-handed sword he'd always used. As the knight selected a larger greatsword, Jon winced. It was the same one that had worn Jon out from simply holding onto it for too long. He couldn't help but feel emasculated as Loras brandished his heavy weapon with ease, displaying all the grace one might expect of the Knight of Flowers. The only tactic he could think to use was to wear Loras out as he dodged each blow to the best of his ability. Maybe he'll wear out first, Jon hoped.

He'd held his sword limply at his side, preserving his energy, never once raising it to strike Loras. Perplexed, the knight simply paced around Jon, who'd eagerly matched each of his steps. If you're waiting on me to make the first move, Jon thought, you'll be waiting a while. He feigned a distraction by briefly turning his head and diverting his eyes, which is when Loras decided to rush him. But Jon had been ready. Bending his knees hard, he wrenched his torso out of the way of the wooden blade. Loras smiled.

By the time he'd returned back to his stance, Jon had also recovered. Adrenaline had begun coursing through him in a way that made it seem as though time had slowed. Using the illusion of extra time to his advantage, Jon studied Loras' pupils for hints at which direction the next blow would come. So far, he'd seen each one coming, and he'd ducked from them all. Though, the effort he put into dodging the blows began taking its toll on him, as well. Fighting against his lungs, he expelled the air quicker than it could come back to him. The sounds of their footfalls faded as the whirring kicked in. His head began to spin.

Loras thrust his greatsword forward, causing Jon to stumble backward just out of the way. Without hesitation, he brought the sword up before swinging it downward, hoping to catch him in the shoulder. Jon lithely twisted out of the way as beads of sweat began stinging his eyes. Though, he could no longer afford the luxury of blinking, as Loras had quickly repositioned his greatsword. This time, he'd swung it upward hoping to catch Jon off guard. Just in time, he managed to dodge the blade.

Inevitably, the knight bluffed the direction of his next swing, catching Jon off guard. He managed to avoid the blow as he fumbled to the ground. Steadying his legs, he clutched his small sword with both hands, thrusting it upward to parry the next attack so that it didn't crush him right in the back. With a wolflike howl and all the force he could muster, he thrust Loras' sword straight up into the air, sliding out of the way just before it came crashing back into the ground with a dull thud that echoed through the courtyard. Loras let out a fevered grunt as he missed his target.

Jon tumbled across the ground before landing on his feet, raising himself back up to meet Loras on wobbling legs, sweat still stinging his eyes. The knight looked aggravated with all of his dodging, and never once trying to strike him back, save for the well-timed parry. They encircled each other again, unflinching. A low growl began rattling his diaphragm, as the memory of Daenerys chuckling along with Loras flashed in his mind. Scanning his head for options, Jon found only an utterly absurd tactic, but he'd had nothing else to try in his exhausted state. He had to show Loras he wasn't afraid. Give him a taste of what might be in store for him if he'd tried advancing on his soon-to-be wife...

Giving the knight a show of preamble, Jon finally flourished his sword as if to ready it. Loras didn't even blink as he stared on, amused. Raising the sword high with both hands, the tired boy willed his lungs into taking deeper breaths, stalling as he convinced himself to make the risky move.

Drawing his sword backward for the extra force, Jon then heaved his right hand forward, letting go of the hilt. The wooden weapon went hurtling toward Loras. The knight had managed to duck, confusion clear on his face as the sword clanged against the ground behind him, unsure whether or not Jon had actually meant to let go. Jon's wager had proved to be just the right amount of distraction. Charging him with his full weight, Jon threw his forearm forward, hoping to catch the knight's chest to finally knock him down. Unfortunately, an exhausted Loras staggered a bit as he tried to dodge, catching Jon's arm right in the neck.

Loras fell to the ground, his hands abandoning his greatsword. He clutched his neck, coughing. "Shit," Jon spat, crashing back down to reality, realizing whatever show it was he just put on had been a far cry from a typical sparring match. A look of horror had overcome Loras as he struggled to draw enough breath to recover.

Jon fell to the ground with Loras, attempting to hold him up as he coughed. The only thing that had been on his mind was bringing the knight down and defeating him, though once he finally had, it felt like some gross form of posturing. His jealousy had gotten the better of him. The onlookers started to move toward them. Suddenly, all the consequences of his poor decision started flooding into his mind. His hands began to shake. This time, not from exhaustion. Jon fumbled over his words, "Are you alright? I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking..."

Loras finally stopped coughing long enough to manage to speak, "Is that what you lot consider sparring in the North?" Jon felt singed by the words as if Loras had just spit venom. Deciding it might be in his best interest, he let go of the knight, looking up to see Margaery and Daenerys rushing toward them. Margaery took over cradling her brother after shaking her head at Jon with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment.

"Please tell me he didn't see?" Loras asked Margaery, with a distinct rasp to his dulcet voice.

"I can't say for certain," his sister said, stroking his hair to soothe him. She helped him to his feet, and they walked off toward the guest house together.

Daenerys stood before Jon, arms folded. Hair still wet from washing the stain from it, she'd weaved it into an intricate braid behind her head. Jon admired her a moment, waiting to see if she'd offer him her hand to help him up. When he realized it wasn't coming, he awkwardly raised himself to his feet on shaking legs, meeting a few icy gazes from around the courtyard, as well as some snickering.

"What was that, Jon?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered his apology, "It felt personal. Like it was about you." Dany looked at him expectantly, likely hoping for a better explanation that he didn't have to offer. He kept his voice low, "I had to defeat him," he said meekly, each word sounding more senseless than the last. Her anger with him hadn't waned at all.

"I'm going to go and attempt to explain your behavior to him and Margaery. You'd better hope your tricks here haven't deeply offended one of the most powerful houses in all the kingdoms. Though it's clear we need to talk through this fixation you have with Loras," she spat before turning toward the guest house. Jon's stomach dropped as he watched her leave him behind.

Before he could dwell any further on it, Sansa's familiar sobbing sounded in the distance. The red-haired girl had broken into a run toward the great keep, away from a guilty looking Theon. Jon sprinted over to the ward, grabbing the package of lemon cakes, angrily asking, "What did you say to her?"

"I didn't," Theon threw his hand up as if to protect his neck, mocking Jon as he laughed.

"Don't test me, Greyjoy," Jon grumbled. "What happened?"

"Apparently whenever Renly departs, he's taking the Tarlys with him."

"Why?"

"Somethin' to do with Stannis, or the Lannisters, it's unclear. We don't have all the details," he said, motioning between himself and Jeyne, who'd been close at his side.

Realizing no one else had bothered chasing after the poor girl, he sighed. Jon decided to go check on her, himself. First, he'd make a stop by the kennels for a little bit of help.

Though he'd regularly frequent the rooms of all of his other siblings, he couldn't recall the last time he'd been to Sansa's. Her cries could be heard from the hallway as he approached. The door had been left ajar. Jon knocked on the wood before Lady wandered in, nudging the door open further with her snout. She jumped onto Sansa's bed and snuggled in beside her. Though Sansa's head had been buried in her pillows, she lazily raised an arm to wrap around her direwolf as she wept.

"Sansa?" Jon asked nervously, unsure what to expect. He hadn't really dealt with her hormonal outbursts, that had been Dany's job thus far.

Sansa lifted her head, realizing it had been Jon at her door, "What are you doing here?"

"Daenerys and Jeyne were busy," he explained. "I brought Lady, though. I know she's the best at cheering you up."

Sansa didn't respond, she only settled back into her bed, stroking Lady's soft grey and white fur as she sniffled.

"Did... you want to talk about it?" Jon stammered.

"No," she pouted.

Jon looked down at the package of lemon cakes in his hands, sighing. He'd gotten them for Dany, but felt as though Sansa might need them more in this moment.

"What if I bribed you with lemon cakes?"

"Lemon cakes?" Sansa perked up. They were her favorite.

Taking one last look at the neatly wrapped package of sweets, he walked it over to Sansa as she sat up. Dany would understand, he thought. Ripping into them without delay, Sansa stuffed a small round cake into her mouth.

"What happened, Sansa?"

"My life is over," she bemoaned in dramatic fashion, her mouth still full of unchewed bits of cake.

"Is this because Dickon is leaving with Renly soon?"

"Yes, it's because Dickon is leaving with Renly," she spat, "First Stannis Baratheon takes Joffrey away from me. I finally feel as though I have another chance at a future, and then he takes Dickon away from me, too," she turned to stare into her brother's eyes, "Jon, if he leaves me, I'll die."

"You won't die," he tried to soothe her, unsure exactly what to say other than the truth. "Sansa, you're hardly out of girlhood, and you're worried your future is already over?"

With a tear-stained face, Sansa looked at Jon expectantly. He moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "He's not your only shot at happiness, you know."

"What do you know about happiness?" the girl asked in a tone that affected Jon on levels he didn't care to revisit. He knew what she'd meant. They weren't close. As far as she had been concerned, Jon was just a sullen and depressed oaf, always pouting about his bastardy.

"A lot, actually."

"Is this about Daenerys?"

"In a way."

"Well, that doesn't help me. You two have each other. What do I have?"

He sighed, "I know what it feels like to have nothing."

"But-"

"Let me finish," he reminded her. "Maybe all you needed was to know that the world has more to offer you than arrogant little weasel princes like Joffrey. My future felt pretty bleak, too, not long ago. I had almost pledged my future to the Night's Watch, and then-"

"And then Daenerys," she finished the thought for him.

"Yes, Daenerys," he said. "But more than that, I had no clue that option had even been available to me. Fate has a way of surprising you when you'd least expect it. My life is different in every way today than it had been only a month ago. You're too young to think it's all over for you. I can't have you thinkin' that, or being so sad all the time."

Sansa took another lemon cake into her mouth, considering her brother's words. After having swallowed it down, she changed the subject, "Mother's been a lot nicer to you."

"Yes," Jon agreed, hoping not to have to explain it any further.

"I'm glad you've been allowed at the feasts," she said, taking a third lemon cake into her mouth. Jon fought the urge to take them away from her before she'd finished them off. They seemed to be helping, after all.

"Me, too," he smiled. "You can sit with us, you know."

"I'd like that," the girl said, still chewing her food, already grabbing for a fourth lemon cake.

Jon decided it had been time to hold his hand out to stop her, "Maybe we should wait on the rest until after supper, so you don't spoil your appetite."

Begrudgingly, Sansa took her hands away from the package, as Jon carefully wrapped them back up and set them on small table in the center of her room. Lady rose, spinning in several circles before settling back into Sansa's bed.

"I think this is the most we've ever said to each other," Sansa pointed out.

"You may be right. But, if anyone 'round here knows a thing or two about being upset, it'd be the bastard, wouldn't it?"

Sansa winced a bit as her brother said the word, sensing she'd been a contributing factor in his self-loathing. Though once she noticed the smirk on his face, she felt free to share a chuckle with him, "You're right."

"We should get back, we'll be feasting soon."

Sighing, the girl raised herself off of her bed. Rubbing her hands against her cheeks, she attempted to wipe away the streaks her tears had left. Jon held out his arm to escort her, "My lady."

At that, Lady's ears perked up, tilting her head at the recognition of her name. She leapt from the bed, pads thumping against the tiled floor as she made her way past the door. The direwolf trotted gracefully ahead of the pair, escorting them out of the great keep and back to the kennels.

As Jon and Sansa made their way toward the dining hall, he cheered her up with stories of their daytime adventure into town, trusting that Sansa wouldn't dare snitch on her dear friend. She had been particularly amused with Dany's disguise of hair the color of tea grounds.

Loras had been waiting just outside the hall as guests wandered in, arms folded as he leaned against the stone wall. Jon let go of Sansa's arm, gesturing for her to go in before him.

The men stood there for a moment, neither making the effort to speak up first.

Jon had been the first to relent, still unsure what to say for himself, "Ser Loras, please forgive me-"

Much to his surprise, the knight began to laugh, "Daenerys explained that you thought she and I..." he paused, cringing a bit at the mere notion, "She... isn't my type. Honestly, I had been trying to impress someone else. I assumed you'd be an easy target, but good enough to make me look better. Turns out, I'd made the wrong person jealous."

"It wasn't an honorable move on my part," Jon awkwardly interjected.

"Eh," Loras shrugged, "Honor's not always all its cracked up to be. Sounds great in theory, but sometimes in practice, you've got to get creative," he offered, thinking back to the Hand's tournament for Stannis Baratheon. He'd chosen to use a mare who'd been in heat in order to best Gregor Clegane. Loras was no stranger to using dirty tricks to take advantage of King Robert's generous tourney rewards, and he'd had his own wealth of golden dragons to prove it.

"There's nothing quite like it, is there?" Loras asked, his gaze shifting to the pair of men fastly approaching, "Having something you'd risk all honor to defend."

As Loras' voice trailed off, Jon followed his gaze to see what had distracted him. Renly Baratheon had been personally escorted by Ned this evening. The Stag's pace slowed as he passed the knight. Jon couldn't see Renly's expression, only the back of his head. What he could see, however, was the longing in Loras' blue eyes as they followed him. Once Renly rounded the corner into the hall, Loras let go of a deep sigh, looking a bit dejected in his wake.

"Ser Loras, if you'd be up for another match, I'd love if you could show me a thing or two, there's a lot I could stand to learn from you."

"Sure," he smiled, "Just... keep a firm grip on the hilt next time."

Jon flushed with embarrassment, "Sure thing," he said.

Loras slipped inside. Jon turned around slowly, hoping to confront the sudden feeling that he'd been being watched. There stood Lady Olenna, hands clasped before her. Jon wondered how long she'd been there, or how much she'd heard. Hanging his head, he slipped into an awkward, shaky bow on a pair of sore legs. Olenna wore an inquisitive smirk, eerily similar to Margaery's.

"That was quite the show you put on with my grandson."

"My lady," he began as he rose from his bow, "I... don't know what came over me."

"That's not a very good lie, is it?"

Jon cringed as she called him out. Olenna moved closer to him, appraising him similarly to the way Loras had done. Sensing his anxiety stirring, she continued, "Oh, it's alright, boy. In fact, it's a bit of a relief to me, you should be so worried that Loras would tempt your girl. Though, perhaps you shouldn't underestimate her."

"What do you mean?"

"What was it she said? We have an understanding that goes beyond titles or banners or politics, I believe it was," she said, moving out of the way to reveal Daenerys as she made her way toward them. Olenna took one last knowing look at Jon before wandering inside for the feast.

As he watched her approach, Jon found himself wondering when his luck would run out. He'd managed to skirt around offending the Tyrells, in fact, they seemed almost amused by his behavior in the courtyard. Daenerys. She didn't look upset anymore as she stood before him, hands at her sides, a cool breeze gently caressing the folds of her skirts. Beyond titles or banners or politics, the words echoed in his mind. As they stood there silently, Jon's eyes began to transform as they skimmed her body slowly, alight with a sudden feral vigor.

Pushing his luck further, he took Dany by the hand, whisking her around the side of the building, just out of eyesight from anyone who might approach the hall. The fever overtook him as he coiled his fingers through her hair, loosening her dampened braid as a result. Pressing her into the hard stone wall as they kissed, he pulled her face closer to his with both hands. He'd half-expected her to fight him off. Instead, she tugged at his doublet, willing him closer yet, increasing the heat of their kiss by several degrees.

Jon broke away first, "I love you," he managed, between breaths.

Dany pulled him back into her kiss for a moment before breaking away, herself, "And I love you."

"We should get back before this gets out of control," he breathed. "I think Sansa's waiting for us."

Suddenly, the damned lemon cakes flashed into his mind. Oh, no, he thought. Dany immediately noticed the sheepish look on his face.

"What is it?"

"I gave her your lemon cakes," he admitted, his expression not far off from that of a guilty direwolf looking to get out of trouble.

In truth, she'd wanted the treats for her red-haired friend in the first place, knowing nothing would make the girl happier—but Jon didn't need to know. Dany feigned a look of shock. A strange blend of lust and sarcasm weaved its way through her words, "However will you make it up to me?"

The unmistakable heat of her hand found him as it grazed his trembling thigh. He jumped backward before she'd gotten too far, "Oh, I'll make it up to you. Later," he promised, before taking her by the hand and leading her back to the front of the great hall.