Hey guys! Sorry for the delay, but I hope this chapter makes up for it.

I already have about half the next chapter written, so hopefully I'll get the next update out faster.

I wish everyone a safe, happy and healthy New Year!

Thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/faves and, most especially, reviews!

Enjoy! Mwah!

Jon

He entered his tent, his feet barely lifting off the floor, his movements painfully slow. He found it hard to breathe, as if an iron fist was clenching around his throat. His vision was blurred as he made his way to the table in the middle of his tent, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He didn't even feel as if he was in his body at all. More as if he was simply watching himself; nothing felt real.

Trembling, he sat down in the chair, and he knew that if it was even a mere step away, his legs would have given way. He reached over and poured himself a goblet of wine- it was the strong Dornish kind Theon had brought him last night. Exactly what Jon needed.

He threw back the wine in one shot, slamming the now-empty cup back onto the table. He felt light-headed and dizzy, his head swimming. The wine burned as it went down his throat into his belly, sickly-sweet and hot. He poured himself another cup, his hands shaking. Some wine spilled on the table- which Theon would surely yell at him for, should he find out, since it was an expensive brew- but Jon didn't care.

If he's feeling this way, he can't even begin to imagine how Robb and Elira must feel. It had only started out as going to war to fight for freedom, yet it had escalated to being crowned the King and Queen in the North. The first we've had in three hundred years. And possibly the last.

"You are my brother- not in name, but in blood." Jon unsheathed his sword and kneeled in between Ryker and Theon. He laid the sword at Robb's feet. "The King in the North!"

Jon pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes, trying to keep his composure in check. He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, ignoring Ghost's nudges and whines. He replayed the scene over and over again in his mind and attempted to wrap his mind around it. It still felt so surreal, and he couldn't help but think that he would never truly believe what had happened that night.

"Jon Snow...I would name you my Hand."

"It is an honor I am not worthy of, Your Grace."

"You are my brother, and a Stark, at that. I should think you very worthy of the honor."

Jon cursed under his breath and sunk back into the chair. If marching to war against the Iron Throne was considered treason, he didn't even want to think about what this was. Everything was happening so fast, so soon, he wished time would just slow down. He often forgot that they were barely eighteen, and none of them had any idea what they were doing. Between this, the war and the death of his lord father, it was almost too much.

"Kneel, Jon Snow." Jon did as he was told, for his brother was now also his king. "Should I die and my son is not of age, I would name you his Regent, until he comes of age and is fit to rule. I trust you to raise him well, guide him, and help him, should he need it." Robb paused, and from underneath his curls, Jon could see his brother looking to his wife, almost as if for permission. "I would also name you a Stark. You are my brother in blood, and now, in name."

"Jon Stark," he tested it, murmuring into the otherwise silent tent. "Prince Jon Stark." He pursed his lips, not certain whether he liked it or not. It would take some getting used to, that was for sure.

"Prince Jon," one of his guards called, poking his head into the tent. It took Jon a moment to realize that he was in fact talking to him. "There's someone here for you. Lady Lyra."

"Send her in," he replied automatically, running his finger over the rim of the wine goblet. In truth, he knew that he shouldn't be admitting her in this late, considering the type of reputation he had to upkeep, now that he was a prince. But frankly, he didn't care about any of that right now; he hadn't spoken to her in days, and, even though he just realized it, he missed her. He would also never see himself as a true prince- or a true Stark- so that helped a little. Or made things worse, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything, now.

Lyra stepped into his tent, and it seemed as if she brought the evening chill with her. Just from the slight crease between her brow and the hint of a frown on her lips, Jon knew something was wrong. "What did I do this time?" he teased, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

She didn't laugh like she normally would have. Instead, she sighed and took off her cloak, draping it over one of the chairs around the table. She wore her old, loose sleeping tunic and breeches, paired with tattered slippers, and Jon couldn't help but wonder if she was intent on staying the night.

"Even if you had, I doubt I could tell you," she responded, taking a seat across from him, "with you being a prince now, and all." He thought he saw a slight smile on her lips, but any hope of that was gone within a moment- she frowned deeply and avoided his gaze, staring off into space.

"Don't start with that shit, please," he groaned, burying his head in his hands.

"Watch your mouth, my prince."

He glared at her. "I don't want this to change anything between us. It shouldn't."

She matched his icy stare, her jaw clenching, and Jon thought back to when King Robert and the rest of the royal party had visited Winterfell. Gods, but she looks like Cersei when she does that. "It seems to slip your mind that you're getting married to one Lady Frey." She rested her ankle on her other knee. "So, yes, I do believe it changes things between us."

He watched her, incredulous. "Are you jealous?"

She barked out a laugh at that, hollow and humorless. "That's a cute one. Really, it warms my heart." She bared her teeth, and for the first time, Jon saw the real lioness in her. "I'm not jealous- that's child's play. I'm hurt, I'm angry, I'm confused." She rested her hand against her forehead. "I should have stayed back at the Wall," she murmured, more to herself than him.

"What if someone would have found you out?" Jon demanded, clenching and unclenching his fists. "What if they killed you? I never would have-"

"Like you could have protected me like that," she snapped. "We fucked before; surely it would have happened again. Think about it- on the harsh, freezing nights, wouldn't a nice cunt be good to warm you up?" Her scowl deepened. He recoiled as if she'd slapped him. "What if I was carrying your child? What then?"

He swallowed thickly and tried to formulate a response. A beat. Nothing. "Are you carrying my child right now?" he asked hoarsely after a few deafening moments of silence.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid, Snow."

"It's Stark now," he said weakly.

She cocked her head to the side, and it took a second for her to process the words. "Right, I'll have to get used to that." That makes two of us.

"Why'd you bring up a baby?" he asked, slightly panicking. If she was pregnant, she would have started to show by now, wouldn't she? Gods, he wished he knew more about women.

"It was an example, stupid," she scoffed, giving a toss of her hair. The muddy brown dye was fading, he noted, the signature Lannister gold beginning to take its place. Her hair was at her shoulders now, and he found that he rather liked it; it gave her a softer quality, somehow, even if she was yelling at him now.

"You think I want to get married?" Jon murmured, tracing random patterns on the table with his fingertip. "Much less to a girl who I don't know?" She didn't respond, since they both already knew the answer. "I don't deserve this. Any of this. I'm a bastard. I should still be at the Wall."

"Jon, your self-pity act is getting a little old now," she told him, her voice softened. The corners of her lips twitched upwards into a tiny smile. She covered his hand with her own and interlaced her fingers with his. "You may be a bastard, but you're my bastard." He half-expected her to reach over and pinch his cheeks, or ruffle his hair, something she knew he hated.

He smiled crookedly. "You're terrible with the sentimental things." He let out a laugh at her exasperated expression.

"You know I'm terrible with those things." She gnawed on her bottom lip, and Jon couldn't help but stare. "You're supposed to be the good one at that." He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his thumbs tracing the veins on her wrist. "See, there's the sentiment I was talking about," she joked, although he could hear the note of breathlessness in her voice. "I can't stay mad at you. You make it so hard."

"My apologies, my lady." He bit back a smirk. Her teeth began working her bottom lip again, and he could practically see the gears grinding and turning in her brain. His eyes were transfixed upon her full lips, and before he knew what he was doing, he stood up, still holding Lyra's hand. Within two strides, he was leaning over her and he captured that pretty mouth with his. She stood up and returned the kiss, her fingers clutching onto his doublet.

He encircled her waist and brought her closer, shifting her so her ass was on the edge of the table, his tongue parting her lips. She greedily accepted and tangled her fingers in his hair. Jon's hands wandered to the hem of her loose tunic and pushed it up, feeling the smooth bare skin of her stomach.

She pushed him away suddenly, her pupils blown wide as she stared at him. "Just because you're a prince doesn't mean you can have your way with me," Lyra panted, fixing her tunic.

"I-I wasn't-"

"And you're getting married," she continued, ignoring him. She paused for a moment, her gaze falling to the floor. "As am I."

"You're what?" he gaped at her.

"I'm to go to King's Landing to broker a marriage agreement," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest. She shrugged a little. "Since I'm on your side now, I can offer to marry one of the Lannister bannermen, and hopefully calm things down a bit. Maybe to the little Lefford lordling I left behind when I came to the Wall."

He sat back down, feeling lightheaded. Lyra Lannister, out of all people…getting married? "But what about-"

"Us?" she suggested. "I think that we were never anything real. Even if we were, your betrothal to the Frey girl ended anything we had." Her ice cold mask was back on, chilling Jon to the bone. "I leave on the morrow. Goodbye, my prince." She bowed dramatically, but he didn't miss the roll of her green eyes. She spun on her heel, grabbing her cloak on the way, and made her way out of the tent.

"They'll never let you leave."

Lyra paused, one foot out the tent. "We'll see about that."