I'm back! And let me just say that my 'absence' was no choice of mine. To cut a long story short, I woke up one morning to find myself being taken into detention by the U.S. immigration despite committing no crime. I've lived in the States for 22 years, and have done my best to become a citizen (legally!). Unfortunately, that was not enough.
Bottom line, thanks to the new laws, everyone gets the boot, and I found myself three weeks later on a plane with no belongings and not even getting a chance to say 'goodbye' to my friends and family. It's been a rough month, and this chapter was already half-way written before I was taken away.
Luckily, my family in the States, have been sending over my things, and I finally got my laptop and writings earlier this week.
So, here's the long-awaited chapter, dear Readers, and please know that each single feedback, comment of encouragement and support, I've received so far, really means a lot. *bows gratefully*
Dany tried.
She really did try not to regress to acting like a giddy child, but ended up failing woefully. The snow-capped landscape had her glued to the window; all eyes and mouth wide in silent awe. Jon just had to record her reactions for posterity…or perhaps to tease her mercilessly later. However, she wasn't the only one all agog, for Monterys – who was the most vocal with his 'ooohs' and 'aaahs' – Missandei and the Unsullied (despite their attempts to look stoic) were just as impressed. Even Septa Oleanna, whose features were prone to being grim most of the time, was not immune to the magic of a true winter.
The only ones not as enamored were Davos, who had been up North in his many travels over the years, and of course, Jorah, who looked more pensive as their destination approached. Jon had to wonder what those guarded blue eyes were really seeing. Was Jorah regretting the way he had left his home all those years ago? Or was he wondering if he'd even be accepted again?
Jon could almost relate. Not that Jorah had been a bastard, but being shunned by one's family was a burden too much to bear. He could only hope that the current head of House Mormont would be kind enough to give their prodigal son another chance. The gods knew he had more than earned it. Perhaps sensing he was being watched, Jorah turned away from the window to lock gazes with Jon. A silent understanding passed between them, which was simply acknowledged with brief nods.
"So white…" Dany whispered beside him; her attention still trained on the outside. "It's so beautiful, Jon."
Why her simple assessment of his home would make his heart swell with emotion, he had no idea. He settled for leaning closer to place a kiss on her shoulder while squeezing her hand gently. She was in considerably better spirits after their phone call to Tyrion to verify the text he had sent earlier. Yes, Tywin did want to see them, and yes, the Lannister patriarch did know they were going to Winterfell. He was smart enough to know that Dany would want to shore up the Northern votes, but it didn't mean he was willing to sit back and let it be an easy task (Tyrion's assessment). The only three houses they had to worry about was Karstark, Bolton, and Glover. Everyone else was likely to be convinced if they played their cards right.
Dany had fallen into glum silence after the call, and Jon - determined to cheer her up and keep her mind off the goddamn Red Keep for a while - had facetimed Arya as a distraction. Arya and Rickon – for he had joined in the conversation, were just the pick-me-up Dany needed. Dany, who had wondered if Jon's family would be that receptive to her visit, had her fears appeased almost immediately. Arya's enthusiasm was infectious, and she had barely let Jon get a word in; content to pester Dany with as many questions as she could get in before Monterys grabbed her attention. Jon had a feeling Arya was going to be doing babysitting duties since they got off quite well; a perfect solution to his concerns that he and Dany would never get enough alone-time with the kid hanging around them so much. When he could finally butt into their weird conversation (mostly revolving around one of the more popular cartoon shows on television), Arya was able to give them a brief update. As things stood, Sansa was still busy getting the castle ready, while Robb and Bran were waiting at White Harbor as promised. It had the only major airport, in addition to its bustling port, and it was considered the hive of industry and commerce of the North.
Lord Wyman Manderly, who just about controlled everything in White Harbor, was no doubt going to be an ally they'd hope to rely on when the time came.
"We should be there soon," he murmured as white cotton candy clouds dispersed to reveal miniature houses of white stone with gray roofs below. Though Jon had tried to describe the North as best he could to Dany, nothing compared to seeing it in person. After the 'clutter' of places like King's Landing, Water Gardens, Pentos, and even Vaes Dothrak (despite its expanse of grasslands), the 'emptiness' of northern Westeros could be slightly jarring to a first-time visitor. White Harbor was going to be as close to a proper city as they were going to get.
Unfortunately, as the plane began its descent, Jon could feel the nerves he had managed to control during the three-hour flight, settle in the pit of his stomach with a vengeance. The last time he had been at White Harbor it was with his Uncle Benjen, most of his personal belongings, and a huge chip on his shoulder. The thought of living in the South had enraged him back then, especially knowing it was all Catelyn's doing, but here he was; almost two years later returning with a whole new family.
And what an eclectic family it was.
If anyone had told him he'd be coming back to Winterfell with Daenerys Targaryen by his side, Jon might have thought them soft in the head. Perhaps his Uncle Benjen might not have thought it too odd, after all his cryptic words of "you never know what the future has in store for you, Jon," now made more sense than ever.
Dany, who had finally torn her attention away from the landscape, must have sensed his tumultuous thoughts for she squeezed his hand in return just as the flight attendant announced they all had to strap in for the landing.
"Relax, Jon," Dany murmured.
"What? I'm relaxed."
"Your left leg is bouncing up and down again," she replied with a small smile.
Jon stared at said leg and cursed softly. With a deep breath, he forced himself to stop fidgeting and closed his eyes. He was now so close to knowing a whole lot more about his birth and still unsure of how to really react to two people he had always considered 'brothers'…who were now mere cousins. Perhaps he should have taken solace in Arya and Rickon not treating him any differently, but Jon's go-to disposition in matters like these was always one of cautious pessimism. Talking on the phone was one thing; seeing them in person was a whole other matter.
Fortunately, all his fears were eradicated once they stepped onto the tarmac. The first thing to hit him was the cold; a drastic departure from the warmth of the South and Essos. Once upon a time, this might have been considered summer to him, but after being away for so long, it was all he could do to control his teeth from chattering, and they weren't even at Winterfell yet!
"Holy shit, Jon!" came the exuberant cry from an all too familiar voice, and before Jon could gather himself, he was engulfed in a bear hug and nearly lifted off his feet. Helpless laughter burst out of him, his good arm encircling his big brother- screw what a piece of paper declared – and returning the hug in kind.
"I've missed you, man," Robb whispered thickly into his ear; his eyes stinging with tears that were matched in Jon's when they finally pulled apart, but just far enough for their foreheads to meet. He ruffled Jon's hair; taking him back to their days as boys, and if Jon had tried to keep his emotions in check, it failed miserably as the tears escaped to wet his cheeks.
"Welcome home," Robb added with a hard kiss to his forehead before motioning for Bran to get in on the action.
"Holy cow, Bran," Jon sniffled as he hugged the slender bespectacled young man. "You've grown taller! Look at you!"
Bran, who was hard pressed to get emotional for anything, did look like he was holding back his tears as well. "And you look different too, Jon. It's good to see you again. I've missed you."
"Same here," Jon admitted as he gave him a kiss on the forehead. He pulled away to study his brothers; his heart full of words he could not express. However, as Robb coughed and nodded to something behind him with a cheeky smirk, Jon almost smacked himself for forgetting his entourage. Blushing in embarrassment, he turned to face the silent crew, who had been watching the proceedings with varying degrees of amusement on their features.
Dany, who was doing her best not to shiver despite the blue wool hat, matching scarf that was just about covering her nose and mouth, and probably two jackets beneath the already layered clothing; raised a gloved hand to wave shyly. Jon chuckled at the sight and reached for her hand to tug her closer.
"Robb, Bran…this is actually Daenerys Targaryen. She's hiding in there somewhere. Dany? My brothers, Robb and Bran… Stark."
He was rewarded with a playful jab to his side as Robb moved forward to accept her hand; though instead of a handshake, he bowed and kissed the back of it as a true gentleman.
"It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Daenerys. We've heard so much about you," he greeted with a warm smile; his handsome features lit with unabashed curiosity and interest.
"The pleasure's all mine," Dany replied; before lowering the scarf so her voice wouldn't sound so muffled.
Bran repeated his older brother's gesture and introduced himself albeit shyly. Jon introduced everyone else and was quite pleased to see Monterys behaving himself…or maybe the boy was just getting tired. The past twenty-four hours had been an exciting one for the little tyke; though Robb had made a mock show of wiping his brow when Jon introduced him as Monterys Velaryon.
"Was worried for a minute there, buddy," Robb taunted. "Thought you and the girlfriend already had a head start without letting anyone know."
Jon turned a million shades of red at the insinuation; glad that Dany was now helping to haul the luggage into the waiting trucks and had not heard the joke. Great. He had almost forgotten how Robb was bound to tease him whenever possible. This was going to be a long fortnight.
"Still can't believe you ended up meeting the prodigal son, Jorah Mormont," Robb observed as they loaded up his truck. He was unable to mask his surprise when the older man was introduced earlier.
"Think they'll welcome him back to Bear Island?" Jon asked, while they studied him talking to Davos.
"They better," Robb replied with a snort. "Though Lyanna's in charge now, she's just a kid and she's going to need someone stronger and older to help run the place. Anyway, she's attending the dinner party we're hosting for you guys this weekend, so you can all talk to her then."
"Wha…? Dinner party?" Jon asked with panic. "Why?"
"Why the fuck not?" came the incredulous reply. "You're our guests for fuck's sake, and this is a homecoming, Jon." He pulled Jon into another warm hug. "Besides, this was an excuse for Sansa to show off her hostess skills. I couldn't say 'no' to her offer to run the whole thing."
Once the two trucks were filled, Robb clapped his hands together to get their attention. "All right, folks! We've got about a two-hour drive to Winterfell, but first…a picture, eh?"
"Gotta update my Illustrogram page," Robb added with a smirk as he noticed Jon roll his eyes.
Still, everyone obeyed and posed for an 'official' portrait taken by one of the airport staffers. It turned out to be a pretty cool shot, and Missandei urged Dany to post it on her Illustrogram page as well; something Dany vowed to consider as she hadn't exactly planned to make this trip public knowledge.
Since the two trucks could only hold so many people, an extra van was available for the rest of the crew. Jon, Dany, and Monterys rode with Robb, and though they had expected the boy to be as energetic as ever, he fell asleep the moment they were on the road.
"Cute kid," Robb observed as he led them past the towering stone buildings of White Harbor. He glanced at Dany. "Are you related? He looks like you."
"Distant relatives I think," Dany replied with a small smile as she stroked Montery's hair gently. "The Targaryens and Velaryons came from the same Valyrian Freehold."
"Oooh. Well, Bran would know all that shit," Robb agreed with a nod. "He's into history and all that."
If the proverbial elephant in the room was going to be addressed anytime soon, this was not the time to do it. Jon, who was sitting close to the window, stared at familiar sites especially as they sped past the intimidating White Knife river. Unlike the South, this region was not that populous, and as they went further north, towns became mere spatters of huddled homes interspersed with farmlands blanketed in snow.
Robb, ever the consummate host, was doing his best to describe various landmarks to an interested Dany. At some point, she giggled over something he said, which had Jon finally tuning into their conversation. He knew he didn't have a need to feel worried when it came to their relationship, but this was Robb, and Robb's ability to charm the pants off anyone was something Jon had silently envied. If he was already weaving his spell over Dany, what stopped her from second guessing her decision to be with him?
Okay, hold the brakes right there, Jon Snow, he thought with an inner kick to himself. This isn't the time to worry about Robb putting the moves on Dany. Besides, didn't Arya say he already had some girlfriend…Jeyne or whatever…back in Winterfell?
"…undefeated season!" Robb bragged loudly to jar into Jon's conflicted thoughts.
"Oh?" Dany answered politely. She really had no interest in sports, but at Robb's incredulous look, she blushed and looked to Jon for help.
"You mean to tell me you haven't told your girlfriend about our undefeated football team?" Robb accused Jon; actually looking offended about this. "The Winter Wolves are this close to claiming the world championship again."
"That's true," Jon agreed with a sheepish smile. "The game is next week, isn't it?"
Robb nodded vigorously. "We take our sports seriously here," he huffed. "Between our football, hockey, and basketball teams, we've won a shit ton of championships. Lemme guess, Jon never told you he was actually on the football team, did he?"
Dany shook her head. "It never came up in conversation-"
"Didn't think it was that important-" Jon began, but was interrupted by an indignant Robb.
"Not important? Pfft! This guy led our high school to two championships in a row!" Robb pounded the steering wheel; his features animated with his enthusiasm. "Don't worry. When we get to Winterfell, I'll show you all the awards he won."
Jon's face was a permanent shade of red. "That's not really necessary…"
But Robb was not listening. Dany had to hide a snicker as Robb seemed determined to tout his baby brother's achievements. She thought it was endearing how proud Robb was of Jon and wasn't ashamed to show it. In no time, both were arguing over something about a baseball game's scores, and Dany, who was stuck in the middle, had to slink a lower down her seat not to get in the way of the passionate young men. Sheesh. Would Viserys and Rhaegar have acted like this if they had lived? Somehow, she doubted it. Viserys had never really been interested in sports either, and from all she had heard of Rhaegar, he seemed more of the scholarly type.
She might have dozed off in the middle of Jon's vehement argument that someone named Bob Gerwin was the best pitcher of all time, when she was jarred awake by a particularly bumpy patch on the road.
"Sorry about that," Robb apologized with a smile tossed her way. "We're almost home. Roads get a little trickier."
Dany sat up, being careful not to awaken the still sleeping Monterys. She looked ahead, not sure of what she had been expecting. Jon had told her Winterfell was pretty much a big castle surrounded by a smattering of homes that made up its main town, but that was about it. He hadn't been kidding. Thanks to how fast darkness fell around here, what should have been a beautiful sunny afternoon, was now cloudy, gray, and almost bleak. It wasn't snowing yet, but the skies looked like the promise of some tonight. The houses they passed were small and neat; made of logs and undressed stone. Many had warm lights and smoke pouring of their windows and chimneys, and due to their environs, most seemed to favor the 4-wheelers as their mode of transportation.
Dany could make out the basic town essentials; a bank, an urgent care center, post office, fire station, police station, and a couple of shops here and there. There wasn't much else in the form of entertainment, and Robb would explain that all the 'good stuff' was actually in White Harbor.
"All the way there?" Dany asked incredulously.
Jon chuckled. "Yeah. If you wanted to really party, go to the clubs and all that stuff, it was in White Harbor. Sorry…Winterfell's not really that exciting if you really think about it."
"We make do with what we've got," Robb added with a laugh. "We might be country bumpkins, but we do know how to have fun every now and then. Ah, here we are."
He needn't have announced it, for Winterfell loomed before them like a silent hulking sentry of mortar and stone. Though not as massive or intimidating as Dragonstone, it was still an impressive piece of real estate. With two large walls protecting it, as they drove past the North Gate, Dany marveled at the architectural ingenuity Jon's ancestors employed to make this such a fortified castle.
She gasped at the sight of the low glass buildings, which Jon explained were greenhouses to grow vegetables especially beneficial during bitter winters.
"And over there is the…eh…crypts," Jon explained with a slight lump in his throat, as he pointed toward what appeared to be a large ironwood door. "It goes underground, and I think it's even larger than Winterfell."
"Goes way deep," Robb agreed as he maneuvered his way past seemingly a maze of narrow cobbled roads and curved walls. Those wandering around the grounds would stop what they were doing to observe the entourage of vehicles arriving, and Dany might have felt weird about the whole thing when something else got her attention. She leaned forward; forcing Monterys to grumble and rub his eyes as he finally awakened. It did nothing to deter her fascination with what appeared to be a towering bush of crimson leaves attached to skeletal white branches. It was a stark contrast to their surroundings, and Jon, noticing her expression smiled at the sight.
"Pretty, isn't it?" he said quietly. "That's the weirwood heart tree that's part of the godswood. I'll show you the whole thing later. You can't really see it from here, but it's pretty large."
"The whole castle was built around it," Robb explained as he finally pulled up to the main building. "Our ancestors didn't believe in destroying something that belonged to the gods. Speaking of destruction…look who's ready to see you, Jon."
Jon's grin couldn't be contained, and Arya, who had just about been bouncing on her heels in anticipation, barely waited for the truck to stop before racing toward it with arms outstretched and Jon's name like a joyous song on her lips.
Jon threw the door open; nearly stumbling to the ground in his haste. His laughter and tears were soon muffled in Arya's hair as he engulfed her in a tight hug and spun her around in excitement. She clung to him just as tight; both speaking at the same time and not giving each other a chance to finish a sentence.
Dany observed the reunion with that same pang of envy and happiness in her heart. So much for all his concerns about not being welcome home. It didn't look like any of his cousins had missed a step. When they finally pulled apart, Jon showered the same affection for the tall, sheepish-looking curly-haired young man called Rickon.
"Arya and Jon were close," Robb said quietly with a shake of his head at their antics. "They had a language all of their own, and I don't even bother trying to figure it out."
He helped her out of the truck, and as Dany allowed her gaze to drift over the rest of her surroundings, there was an odd sense of stepping back in time. She couldn't explain it. As grand as the castle was, there was a simplicity about it. Old stones spoke of a clan that was used to hard work and grit. There was nothing ostentatious about Winterfell, neither did it reek of excessive wealth. The 'barbaric' North had no use for such pretentiousness, and it was clear with her unassuming arrival. No wonder they couldn't handle the Southerners and their delusions of grandeur.
"Ooooh! A wolf!" Monterys suddenly cried out, causing Dany to blink in surprise at the declaration. Sure enough, slowly approaching them was the largest direwolf Dany had ever seen. She had thought the pictures of Ghost had been amazing, but seeing the majestic creature with its thick smoky grey fur staring at them with golden eyes, took her breath away. It was as large as a pony, and at Robb's sharp whistle, it trotted toward them before sitting on its haunches obediently beside his master.
"Grey Wind, Daenerys Targaryen. Daenerys…Grey Wind…say hi, buddy."
To her amusement, the direwolf lifted a paw as if waiting for a handshake, and despite her heart racing with slight trepidation (those jaws looked like they could swallow her in one bite), she took the large appendage in her hand and shook it gently. Despite the cold, it felt warm and she was sure the beast was studying her with such a critical eye; she suddenly felt inadequate in its presence.
Monterys, however, showed no such fear. The boy was already enamored with the creature, and much to their chagrin, he tried to wrap his tiny arms around Grey Wind, who snarled and backed up until his master tried to reassure him that the kid meant no harm. She would later come to learn that only Grey Wind was still alive. Every other Stark kid's direwolf had met an unfortunate demise or simply vanished (Arya's Nymeria).
"So, we finally meet face-to-face," Arya declared as she marched up to Dany to examine her with that same level of curiosity and interest her other siblings had exhibited. Dany was beginning to feel like an oddity in a curio shop. All the same, compared to the photos she had seen of the young woman and their facetime chatter, Arya looked much different in person. For starters, she was androgynous with her crew cut and choice of clothing; not that wearing jeans and sweaters counted as being masculine. However, there was no mistaking the athleticism in that slender build or the boundless energy barely restrained within. Her grey eyes sparkled with a wisdom that was beyond her years, and unlike her siblings with their telltale hair of red, hers was as dark as Jon's. In fact, it could be said she looked more like Jon than the rest; no wonder they were that close.
"Valar morghulis," she suddenly greeted with a bow; catching Dany by surprise at how good her Valyrian was. She stole a quick look at Jon, who was just as surprised at his sister's linguistic skills, and unable to control her smile, Dany nodded and responded effortlessly.
"Valar dohaeris."
"I'm still learning," Arya confessed. "I figured I have to learn the language since I'm going to Braavos soon."
"Well, you already sound like a pro," Dany praised earning a blush from the girl. "But if you like I'm sure Missandei will be glad to teach you. She was my teacher as well."
"Oh yeah? Cool!" Arya grinned at the girl from Naath before turning her attention back to Dany. "Jon says you're good with weapons and hand-to-hand combat?" came the blunt query while deliberately ignoring the wince from her brother at her nosey queries.
Dany nodded warily; not sure if this was a side of her she was willing to reveal so early. "Ah…well…"
"Great! Then maybe you can train with me tomorrow?" Arya pounced with eyes glowing with anticipation and an unmistakable glint of primal excitement that spoke of the girl's fighting spirit. "No one else around here's brave enough to challenge me…"
"That's enough talk about weapons and fighting," Jon began with a glower at his sister. "We just arrived for fuck's sake, Arya-"
"Ah, there she is," Robb interrupted loudly; forcing everyone to follow his gaze as he looked up. Standing on one of the many winding balconies was a striking stately redhead, with features that could have been chiseled from polished marble. Unlike her siblings, clad in more casual wear, Sansa Stark seemed more content in a heavy black wool gown, cinched at the waist with a sterling silver belt depicting the Stark sigil. Her piercing blue eyes held no real warmth, but were not unwelcoming either. There might have been a hint of a smile for her now cousin, but it was barely perceptible. If she was just as intrigued as the others about the newcomers, her features revealed nothing.
"The gang's all here, Sansa."
Sansa might have rolled her eyes at her brother's enthusiasm, but it was hard to tell with the casual dip of her head in salutation. She did, however, raise her voice to greet them. "Welcome to Winterfell. You must all be tired from your long journey. We have rooms, warm baths, and meals ready for you. If you'll all follow Jeyne and I."
No one had even noticed the quiet woman standing beside Sansa until she was introduced. With hair of chestnut and doe-like brown eyes, Jeyne Westerling, bowed politely and blushed as she met Robb's loving gaze. She allowed Sansa to lead the way while everyone else followed.
Dany, who had subconsciously reached for Jon's hand – which was squeezed in quiet reassurance as his warm gaze met hers for the briefest of moments – was yet to really get a feel of the oldest Stark daughter. She did not give off any air of hostility, but if she had been expecting the exuberance exhibited by Arya, that notion was completely wiped out. Sansa's attitude aside, Dany allowed her gaze to drift over the gray stone walls aged with Time.
Despite the presence of modern lighting, there was still that dark ambience that was pervasive in old castles (Dragonstone was a prime example). There were no grand balustrades of gold like Robert Baratheon's abode in King's Landing, however there were tricky and, sometimes, uneven steps of heavy stone which gave off haunting echoes as they walked.
There was also something quite distinct about the walls as she touched them. It could be her imagination, but they seemed to thrum with palpable heat beneath her fingers; as if there was some unseen energy vibrating behind them. She imagined it to be the ghosts of Starks past; men and women who had once traipsed this same path over the centuries whispering their stories to those who cared to listen. She almost shared her theory with Jon, who on closer inspection, seemed tense despite his assurances earlier of being 'okay'. She might have queried him about his concerns now, but they were now on a landing and the rest of their party was being ushered into their private quarters.
Grey Worm and the rest of the Unsullied had been taken to an adjunct building, where the rest of the guards stayed. Davos, Jorah, and Missandei all had rooms next to each other, while Septa Oleanna and Monterys had a room of their own across the hall despite Monterys protesting at not being made to sleep with his Aunt Dany. However, a sharp reprimand from his nanny about his manners, had the young Lord finally muttering his apologies and slinking into his room to prepare for dinner.
Jeyne tried to stifle her chuckle at the boy's antics, while Sansa seemed to shake her head before muttering something that sounded like 'just like Rickon' beneath her breath. With most of their party no longer with them (Robb had excused himself earlier, as had Arya, Bran, and Rickon), it was just the four of them. Jeyne tried to make small talk with Dany, and as they climbed yet another set of narrow winding steps, Dany found herself responding to the other woman's polite though earnest queries about what King's Landing was really like.
It was amid trying to explain how most of the streets looked, that Sansa gave a light cough to interrupt them. They had come to a stop before a door of thick oak, so aged it shone beneath the gleam of the lamps.
"I figured you'd want your old room back, Jon," Sansa stated as she gripped the brass doorknob and turned it firmly. "We did make it cozy enough for two now."
Jon might have given a slightly choked sound of embarrassment at that statement, but Dany was already stepping into the room; eager to see where Jon had spent most of his life. She wasn't sure of what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't to be assailed by the slightly stronger smell of –
Aha! Sulphur! That's what it is, came the flash of thought, which almost had her yelping in relief. It was a smell that was almost choking around Dragonstone and its many volcanoes, and it had been driving Dany crazy in her quest to figure out what was so familiar about the air in Winterfell…at least within the castle. Jon mentioned something about Winterfell being built on an existing hot spring, hadn't he? Or had she imagined that?
Sulphuric stench aside, Jon's room was almost as she might have pictured a man of his disposition to be. Keeping with his spartan upbringing, and despite the pale gleam of light filtering through the windows, there was a running theme of deep, rich, and dark colors in the furnishings. There was a crude, almost 'uncivilized' ambience about it, but there was no denying the careful choice of each item within.
For a supposed 'bastard', he definitely hadn't slept in pitiful conditions. The bed was large enough for two; its heavy wooden frame of black cedar adorned with a headboard upon which carvings of direwolves and weirwood trees wound around each other in a rather pleasing design. It was impossible, however, to miss the odd scratches upon it though, and Jon would later explain it was all thanks to Ghost, who had a terrible habit of waking him up in that manner.
Looking past the poignant memento of his late direwolf, the plain grey cotton sheets were covered with two layers of such heavy, thick fur; its supple texture begged for Dany's fingers (or naked flesh) to rub upon them. In fact, it wasn't really that difficult to picture she and Jon both nak –
Ah…
The heat crept up her neck slowly; her skin breaking out in goosebumps of delightful awareness. She could sense and feel the weight of his gaze on her, and she was sure if she turned to look at him now, Sansa and Jeyne might just have to be kicked out of the room this instant. She settled for taking a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and pacing toward the fireplace where several framed photographs of Jon, Ghost, and his family, sat upon the mantelpiece. Most were taken as a boy, and one in particular – where he was sitting on Ned Stark's lap – was naturally the centerpiece of the display. Dany studied Ned's smiling features, and not for the first time, wondered what he must have been thinking holding onto a son that wasn't really his. Had he been burdened with that knowledge? How many times had he considered revealing the truth to the boy who stared at him with all the love and adoration reserved for a man who hadn't really fathered him? She tried to imagine Rhaeger in that position…and just couldn't manage it. For all she had seen and heard about her brother, being a 'father-figure' just didn't seem to fit.
There was also a small collection of trophies flanking the photos. Absently, she picked up a miniature gold trophy, on which the words 'First Place – Archery Junior League' were etched upon it. Archery? Jon hadn't mentioned he had done that. Another trophy; this one slightly smaller, but golden all the same, had the words 'Winner – Spelling Bee Regionals Class AA'. Now she really gawked in surprise. Jon? A spelling bee champion? This Jon who would scrunch up his face, at their King's Landing home, desperately trying to remember how to spell something as simple as 'dissected'?
"Seriously, Dany," he'd whine while shaking her shoulder when all she was trying to do was get some goddamn sleep. "Is it two esses or two ees?"
That Jon was a spelling bee champion? Impossible.
She turned to him then, her brow raised with a smirk forming on her lips. Jon – his features flushed with embarrassment – hastened to her side to snatch the trophy away.
"That was years ago," he mumbled and tried to shove it behind the large photo of he and his cousins at a circus or something of the sort.
"The winning word was 'sanctimonious'," Sansa offered with a rare teasing smile, which had Jon huffing and glaring at her, while Jeyne laughed in glee. "I should know. Dad made us watch the whoooole thing, and I swear that shit went on forever. We sat in that damn hall for almost six hours. Seven hells."
Dany's jaw almost dropped at Sansa's language, for she had assumed she was all too prim and proper for such talk. However, as she folded her arms across her chest, her nose turned up as Jon retorted to her remarks, Dany could almost picture the two as children bickering in the same manner. It was a painful reminder of a sibling rivalry she wished she could have had with Viserys. She would have done anything to be able to tease him without fear of being punched, slapped, or simply ignored.
Smiling to herself, she surveyed the rest of the room with unfeigned interest. Along one side of a room was a shelf – about chest high – with several books ranging from required school reading to bestsellers she hadn't imagined Jon being interested in. At least his apartment in King's Landing hadn't revealed that side of him. There were, of course, piles of video games, auto-geared magazines and a couple of brochures belonging to several military academies across the globe. Had Jon been interested in joining the army at some point? Dear gods, there was still so much to know about this man.
A simple desk, made of sturdy oak – faced a window with a rather pleasant view of those rustling red leaves in the godswood and a sea of white fields leading to distant mountains in the horizon. The desk was clean except for the etchings on it, which on closer inspection showed that Jon might have channeled most of his anger and frustration into the ancient wood.
I hate studying! / Reading Sucks! / I Win! / I Hate Her! / Freedom! / Class of '12 RULZ
Or the most poignant of all…
Who is my mom?
That had been written in small letters – almost hidden within the mish-mash of scribbles and scratch marks (probably from trying to scrub them off) over the years. Dany ran her fingers over the words and took a deep breath. That little boy's answer had finally been answered, though in the most unexpected of ways.
At the other side of the room was his recreation center; made up of a worn leather sofa, a matching ottoman, and a side stool. The flat screen T.V was propped on a low cabinet, in which a gaming console and several more video games sat waiting patiently for their owner to return. There were no portraits on the wall, but there were two rather interesting framed images positioned above the television. One had the silhouette image of the members of 'The Crows' – a rock band Jon had gotten her interested in despite how 'loud' their music was. This was a classic vintage poster that signaled an era of peace, love, and a shit ton of psychedelic grooving. The second image was yet another classic poster, this time displaying the names of all the bands that had attended one of the most famous rock concerts Westeros had ever hosted. Jon hadn't even been born then, but it was clear he was appreciative of good music, and Dany had to wonder if that was the Rhaeger side of him manifesting. After all, her brother had formed a band of his own, so perhaps Jon was musically inclined after all.
That theory was proven when she noticed the dusty black guitar case propped – almost forgotten it seemed – in a corner of the room. Jon had never mentioned he played an instrument, let alone a guitar. However, it wouldn't have been surprising for him to splurge on something he felt he might be good at. In addition to the guitar, the 'cluttered' corner also had a pair of bongo drums, several music sheets for the piano, a book – with tattered ears – of classic rock songs to jam to, several 'how to play a guitar' guides, a couple of stuffed backpacks, an old record player and, of course, several classic vinyls which had Dany shifting through them with increased awe. Jon's taste in music was eclectic to say the least but –
"Seven hells, Dany, didn't take you long to go diving into my stash, hmm?" came the tease as he plopped to the floor beside her. She hadn't even realized she sat down to continue her exploration; watching as he plucked the record from her unresisting fingers to study the artist on the cover with an inscrutable expression on his visage.
"Winston Byrne," he finally murmured in quiet reverence. "Greatest jazz pianist in history. Did you know he was blind from birth? And yet he churned out twenty of the greatest classical jazz albums ever created?"
Dany shook her head. "No…I've never heard of him."
Jon made a mock sound of shock. "Then we have to rectify that, don't we? Gimme a sec…I gotta plug this back up and hope it still works."
He got onto his hands and knees; giving Dany a wonderful view of his ass trapped in those jeans she longed to rip off…eventually. Right now, she felt warm and cocooned in his haven; her eyes darting around the room – which wasn't even as large as her bedroom at Dragonstone – but just perfect enough for a boy/young man who must have felt more secure in this place than being thrust to an unforgiving outside. They were alone now, and Dany felt she ought to probably apologize to Sansa and Jeyne for not saying a proper farewell.
"It's cool," Jon said aloud causing Dany to blink in confusion, until she realized she must have spoken her concern out loud. "You were so busy looking at stuff here, you didn't even hear us calling you. But they'll see us at dinner anyway…ah, here's the goddamn wire…almost there, babe. One more second."
The equipment came on with a loud popping burst of static which had them both yelping in surprise until they giggled at their jittery reactions. She helped to wipe away the layer of dust on the player's cover, before settling back as Jon began rattling off information about the LP he was about to play and its significance in music lore.
She watched and listened in rapturous attention as he spoke; his voice low and soothing as he carefully placed the needle upon the vinyl and returned to her side. Together they watched the almost hypnotic rotation of the black plastic, and with another stutter of static, the first soothing notes of Mr. Winston Byrne filled the air like a lover's caress.
She couldn't remember leaning her head upon his shoulder, or closing her eyes, or feeling his good arm wrapped around her waist to pull her closer still until they seemed to want to merge into one. She might have dozed off to the rhythm of track #2 – Solstice – when Jon's quiet question clawed her back to reality.
"So…what's your verdict on home sweet home?"
"Hmm…so far so good," she crooned; raising her head a little to smile at him. "I haven't been eaten alive yet, so that's a plus."
Unable to hide the mild concern in his eyes in his initial query, his relief was almost palpable with the breathless sigh to escape his lips. She was given a little squeeze of gratitude around her waist and he was rewarded with her tender kiss at his neck, which had him shuddering with helpless desire. He would have moved in to claim her lips then, but she lowered her head to his shoulder again and closed her eyes; denying him the pleasure.
"It's got a rustic feel to it," she continued. He raised a brow at this.
"Rustic? All this…rustic?" He chuckled at the term. "Doubt the architect was going for 'rustic' when he created this."
"By rustic, genius," she scoffed with a pout. "I meant the whole countryside, non-pretentious design. I mean compared to Robert's place, this is…"
"Yeah…I see what you mean…and Dragonstone? Is that place…eh…rustic?"
Dany laughed. "Eh…our ancestors weren't quite as humble. They were determined to show the 'savages' of Westeros what real living was like." She fell silent for a moment as her mind drifted to the many empty halls and rooms at the place she called home. "I'm sure once upon a time it was even more of a real palace…with gold, silver, and everything else they could have taken from Valyria with them. I'm sure there were grand parties with crystal chandeliers and polished floors that shone like diamonds as men and women in their finest livery came gliding down those massive steps like ethereal beings from heaven…"
"…while the Northerners toiled and growled from their trenches and walls of snow and ice at the foolishness of the foreign invaders who knew nothing about rustic living," Jon finished with a smirk she reciprocated.
"Speaking of walls… Sansa…she wasn't as bad as you painted her to be."
"She's not shown her claws yet," Jon muttered. "Wait 'til she's had a couple of beers in her."
"What?"
Jon chuckled. "She can be a bitch, and yes, there were times when she seemed determined to be a mini-Catelyn, so I wouldn't get too comfortable yet. I'm not saying you should treat her any differently, but just…you know…be careful. She'll want to get under your skin eventually."
"It's natural," Dany mused. "I mean if some girl came along to try to get into my brother's pants, I'd be wary of her motives as well."
"Oh?" Jon sneered as he pulled away a little to eye her with amusement. "So, you do admit to only wanting to get into my pants. For shame, Daenerys Targaryen."
She raised her brow; her lips curling into a wicked smile to match the glint in her eye. "Why of course, Mr. Snow, because goodness knows it wasn't all about your spelling skills. Seriously though…spelling bee champion?"
"Could we please just drop that?" he groaned and made to playfully cuff her, but she ducked from the incoming attack, laughing as he fell onto his stomach with a low grunt. She nudged his side with her boot.
"And what's all that about anyway?" she pointed at the guitar case. "You didn't tell me you played the guitar."
"Played being the operative word," Jon admitted with a grumble without making any effort to lift himself off the floor. He eyed the equipment and sighed in weary resignation. "I sucked at it to be honest. See all those books? I really tried to get the hang of it, but it wasn't right. I was a little better at the piano, but that's only because Catelyn made us all take classes – to gain some culture or whatever she said it was. Sansa and Bran were the best at it. Robb hated it, but stuck with the classes despite bitching to me about it all the time. Arya…bleh, she was even worse than I was, and Rickon tolerated it as best he could. Well after a couple of months of torture, I had enough. I stopped going as in when we were dropped off at Septa Mordane's house, I'd run off and do whatever I wanted for those two hours, only to return home for a spanking or having no dinner. I didn't care, seeing as it was only once a week, but Dad…I mean when Ned finally got word of my truancy, he really laid it on me. Got me off the football team that year for punishment. Sheesh."
He finally sat up with a light grunt and crossed his legs. "And that, my dearest is about as far as my musical talents go. You already know about my singing…oh fuck you," he added when she winced and put her fingers in her ears in jest. "You're just as bad as I am."
"Really? Weren't you the one who said I had the voice of an angel a couple of nights ago…"
"Only when you scream out my name," he taunted as he rose to his feet; eyes darkening with quiet but blatant intent. "Besides, I noticed you appraising the fur on the bed earlier. If there's one thing we northerners are known for…it's for making excellent bed covers. Warm, soft…like silk against your body…"
"Hmph." She was rising to her feet as well; an expression of feigned indifference on her features despite her obvious movement in direction of said bed. "Words, Jon Snow. Mere words. As your guest, it's only right that one has to…evaluate said furs to make sure they're up to standard, yes?"
"Why indeed, my Queen," came the exaggerated expression of compromise as he began kicking off his boots; his right hand tugging restlessly at the strap of the sling around his left arm. "We are indeed inclined to provide demonstrations of just how effective said furs can be at any given time."
"Fascinating," she replied as she tugged off the scarf around her neck; dropping it deliberately to the ground to join the boots she had kicked off as well. She yanked off her wool hat; licking her lips slowly in appreciation as he began to shrug out of his jacket with an impatience that roiled off in waves to match hers. He had already taken off his hat earlier, causing those thick curls – which had been slightly damp earlier from the cold outdoors – to frame his handsome features like Grey Wind's shaggy fur.
Dear gods, she hoped the door was locked and the walls were thick enough. It wouldn't do for their wonderful hosts to assume that their guests were horny, impulsive beings who just had to fuck each other senseless before dinner…would it?
Unfortunately, if that oh-so-brief-thought of getting Jon to see reason had crossed her mind, it was immediately erased at the knee-weakening sight and sound of him tugging off his belt and unzipping his pants.
…ah fuck it.
"Shall we go ahead and begin the demonstration, my Queen?" came the raspy invitation she could only respond to with the unclasping of her jacket and a breathy sigh of resignation.
Just an hour should be enough.
Except for them arriving late to dinner and having everyone staring at them as they shuffled sheepishly into the private dining room with features that seemed to scream 'yes, we had sex and nearly broke his bed in the process, but it passed the test all the same…our sincerest apologies'.
"And this is the part where we thank the old gods for Brandon Stark having the foresight to build walls so thick and strong…we are spared the sounds of what we do behind closed doors," Robb toasted with a smirk at his red-faced brother, though the same expression was evident on Jeyne's face as she shared a shy look at Robb.
Arya mock gagged and called them all heathens, causing the slight tension to be broken with laughter even as Sansa continued to sip her lentil soup in silence. She had sent one of the handmaidens to get the couple down earlier, and it was safe to say that her embarrassed whisper to the lady of the castle on her return was more than enough to let the others know why their honored guests would be joining them much later.
All around, dinner was a light affair as Robb engaged everyone in conversation, and even managed to get Missandei to speak more of her native country despite her apprehension to do so in the past. Arya, and even Rickon, expressed desires to visit Naath one day; a motion that was seconded by Dany who had always been intrigued by her best friend's hometown. Jorah, who was usually quiet during meals, seemed much more comfortable after a few cups of ale had been consumed. He appeared eager to return to his birth place, and though wary of speaking to his young cousin, Robb reassured him Lyanna Mormont's bark was worse than her bite.
"Trust me, she'll welcome you with open arms…after threatening to cut your balls off for leaving her alone for so long," Robb stated bluntly.
"Language, Robb," Sansa hissed with a nod toward Monterys who was gnawing on a chicken leg and looking wide-eyed at Robb before asking innocently.
"Why would she want to cut his balls? Doesn't she like playing with them?"
Jon was the first to burst into laughter; unable to control himself despite Dany kicking him under the table while trying to control her amusement as well. Robb, as well as Jorah, choked on their drinks, while Davos pretended his mashed potatoes were extra interesting. Rickon and Bran exchanged knowing looks and snickered, while Arya guffawed in mirth. Jeyne was blushing up a storm, and Sansa seemed torn between smiling and looking exasperated. It was only Septa Oleanna who wasn't that amused, despite her flushed features, for she cleared her throat and mentioned (much too loudly) that it was time for young master Monterys to be in bed.
"Aww, but it's too early," Monterys complained; oblivious to why his earlier statement had everyone in hysterics. "I don't want to go to sleep now."
Jon sobered up quickly and leaned across the table to ruffle the boy's hair with a big smile. "How about me reading you a bedtime story later, hmm? If you do as your nanny says and be a good big boy, I'll come tuck you in later. All right?"
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Jon held out his pinky finger, which Monterys accepted with a hook of his around it. They grinned at each other before Monterys bounded to his feet and all but darted out of the room in excitement; not before remembering his manners and giving them all polite 'goodnights' with a special hug reserved for Dany.
"Aww, too sweet," Arya crooned playfully once he was gone. "You used to read bedtime stories to Rickon and me too."
"Yeah, because Robb never wanted to do it."
"Hey now," Robb protested. "That was actually Sansa's job, but…"
"And since when was it my job to read you all bedtime stories?" Sansa interrupted as she savored the rest of her ale. Dany wondered if she was on her second or third cup. If so, things could really get interesting fast.
All the same, watching the siblings…cousins…interact was actually fun. No one had thought of bringing up the subject of Jon's real parentage – not that it would have been the appropriate time anyway - but from the way they ribbed each other, interrupted sentences, reached out to jab ribs or swat arms, ruffle heads, or make faces at one another, it was clear that their bond went beyond mere names on pieces of paper. Just when Dany was beginning to feel a little left out, Robb suddenly rose to his feet and left the room with no explanation; not that any of his siblings were paying much attention. Jon and the rest were currently arguing over who had really set Ned's favorite boots on fire several goddamn years ago, when Robb returned with what seemed to be the largest book Dany had ever seen.
"Shut up, you morons!" Robb cut in forcing them all to stop their bickering.
"What are you doing with that?" Bran asked.
Robb placed the book before Dany; a weathered leather-bound object that spoke of its age and importance. All that was upon it was a fading silver snarling direwolf, and as Robb carefully opened its yellowed pages, the overwhelming smell of dust, faded ink, and Time, overwhelmed her.
"All guests to Winterfell have to sign this," Robb explained as the others fell silent as if about to partake in a solemn ceremony. "As you can see, there's already tons of signatures, and rumor has it…even your ancestor signed it…but I doubt it. You can check later if you like."
Bran, who must have left the room as well, returned with an old-fashioned quill and ink for her to do the honors. The last time Dany had written anything with a quill, it had been at the signing with the Great Masters at Slavers Bay. However, unlike the gravity of that ceremony, there were nothing that dire or burdensome about adding her name to an already impressive list of visitors to this wonderful castle.
She studied the last name before hers; a certain Lady Donella Hornwood. She had a nice cursive handwriting that was befitting of the use of a quill. Dany was sure her signature would look pathetic in comparison, but with a deep breath, she dipped the equipment (with its rather plain though slightly tattered red feathered tip) into the ink-stained bottle and scrawled out "Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen" upon it. She winced at the lingering blot of ink that remained, but it didn't seem to bother the others as they all applauded. Blushing in embarrassment at the extra attention, she met Jon's eyes and then lowered them quickly at the pride within his gaze. She hated how he was able to reduce her to mush with just a look and was extremely grateful when Arya suggested they go look around the rest of the castle before calling it a night.
She might have politely declined; for the events of the day were finally catching up to her, but she noticed that Robb was already tugging Jon away for a no doubt important one-on-one conversation.
Not yet, she thought with a nod to Jorah and Davos who were saying their goodnights. He'll show me everything in due time. I just have to be patient.
They would have all the time in the world to share those intimate details, she was sure. And goodness knew she couldn't wait.
"Seven hells," Jon muttered as he paced his father's (uncle's) former office after about an hour of banter where more alcohol was consumed, and their adventures of the past year were exchanged. It turned out to be Jon doing most of the talking, for his life seemed to be more of a fantasy by the time he was through regaling his brother with everything. He went as far as removing the sling to show off his battle scars with that inherent pride all males seemed to possess.
"You weren't kidding when you said you had to clean up the place a little. I barely recognize it," he added; wincing at the slight slur in his voice. Shit. He must have had one too many of that 'special' brew Robb had bragged about.
"Had to do it. Dad wasn't exactly a neat-freak and besides, it was the way we found…everything," Robb was saying; though Jon was too busy staring at the photographs on the wall to notice the cautious tone in his brother's voice. If he had been more attentive, he would have noticed his brother still staring at the visitor log book, before digging into the desk's drawers to pull out the leather-bound dossier he was sure he was never going to open again.
"So? Where is it?" Jon asked with a shuddering breath, for he had done his pacing more to control the jackhammering of his heartbeat and to control his nerves. This would have to be done quickly because he was just about ready to call it a day. After reading to Monterys, which hadn't taken too long for the kid passed out half-way through the story of some golden-haired girl and three bears - all he wanted to do was cuddle up to Dany – maybe sneak in one last quickie, if she was up to it – before sleeping for the rest of the week.
He sat on one of the chairs facing the desk; a desk he had once thought so huge especially when Ned sat behind it with that grim expression of displeasure on his features. Anyone being called to Ned's office, especially during his work hours, was almost always in trouble. It was safe to say Jon had found himself on the receiving end of such calls one too many times. Seeing Robb in that position now was too weird.
"Right," Robb forced himself out of his musing to focus on Jon's strained and pallid features. His heart stirred at the sight, and he resisted the urge to pull his baby brother into his arms and hug the living shit out of him. Why the hell did he have to have that puppy lost look on his face at times like these?
"Kept it in the safe just in case," Robb said aloud as he opened said safe which was hidden behind a rather lovely portrait of Winterfell, to withdraw the small, and rather plain, wooden box containing the final pieces to the jigsaw puzzle that was his life.
Robb placed it on the desk before Jon and stepped back, a small smile on his face as he watched Jon study the object for a long while as if afraid to touch it. Jon shifted restlessly on his seat, wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, and then looked up with clear panic in his eyes.
"I know what it contains," he began in a small voice that was barely audible. "I mean…I've already dug a little into their past and can put the pieces together but…I mean…"
"Her diary probably has more information in it," Robb stated quietly as he stooped to his haunches beside him. He pushed the box a little closer to Jon. "None of us have really read it, so you'll officially know all the secrets Aunt Lyanna held near and dear to her chest all those years ago. You get to find out how you really came to be and what went wrong. You don't have to read it right away, Jon…take as much time as you need. This is all yours to keep anyway."
"Ah…"
Jon's breath hitched and for a second, he almost felt like blurting out how sorry he was for not being a real half-sibling to him. That there were mere cousins was a travesty, but at the familiar sensation of Robb's arms encircling him in that warm embrace that never failed to get him emotional, Jon closed his eyes and settled for keeping his mouth shut. It was obvious they did not care about that, and they would not hold his parentage against him. If they were wary of his taboo relationship with Dany, no one had acted any differently about it; not even Sansa…which was still a miracle in itself.
"You okay?" Robb asked when he finally pulled away. "You're not going to start bawling all over me, are you?"
"Says the asshole leaking tears already," Jon scoffed as he playfully poked Robb's wet cheeks. "You're worse than I am."
"Fuck you," came the jab even as Robb bound to his feet and shook his head as if in awe of the entire situation. "And I really should throttle you considering how well you lied about the whole thing. Fuck. I really do have to cry now because of it."
Jon was bemused. "Lied about what? I didn't know about any of this…" He tapped the box. "Until you called-"
"Not that," Robb interrupted. "This."
He reached across the desk for the black leather dossier which had the engraving of the Iron Bank's sigil, to toss it onto Jon's lap.
"Did you two plan this or what?" Robb asked as he leaned against the desk, arms crossed upon his chest, with that awe-stricken expression still on his visage.
Jon looked blank. "Robb…I'm not sure what you're talking about…what is this?"
He opened the dossier to see what it contained. It was only a single page of fine parchment with elegant calligraphy all garnished by stamps and sigils of the Iron Bank. The words read that all the Stark debts had been paid off, and they were simply under no obligation to the Iron Bank or their debtors. The Stark holdings and estate were now completely under Robb's control and indeed for future Stark generations to come. There were three signatures at the bottom. Tycho Nestoris – the head of the Iron Bank, Robb Stark – obviously, and the third…a mere scratch of a name, though it wasn't difficult to make out what looked like a looping oversized D …and was that a T or a slanting S?
"This is what you talked about in your email," Jon said slowly. "You said someone had helped with our debt, but you didn't know who it was. I'm guessing it's this third person, right? How come no name was written under it like yours and Nestoris's?"
Robb opened his mouth to retort, but must have seen something in Jon's face for his brows furrowed in thought. "…are you being serious, Jon?"
Jon sighed and looked up with impatience. "If I knew what the fuck you're going on about, then this would be such a-"
With a growl of frustration, Robb grabbed the large visitor log book and nearly slammed it on the desk before Jon. He pointed at Dany's signature and then at the dossier. "Something look familiar to you?"
Jon stared at both signatures for a moment; a part of him still unsure of what Robb was getting at. However, if the oddly-shaped slopping D was any indication…
Wait a minute…how…what…it's probably just a coincidence. That's all it is. Just…just a coincidence.
"…just a coincidence," he began, despite his mind screaming at what his heart was really beginning to tell him. "They just probably sign the same way."
"And the T?" Robb insisted. "Don't those two look familiar? Seven hells, Jon! She could have tried forging her signature for the bank, so it wouldn't be too recognizable. And you're sure she never told you about this?"
"I never even told her we were in debt!" Jon cried out in disbelief. "I skipped over that side of things because I didn't want to get her involved, and I have no idea how she knew…"
He hadn't told her about it, but he had shared the good news after reading Rob's email when they were at Pentos. So excited had he been to let her know everything would be all right, although he was still concerned about who had actually done the bailing, he was almost hurt at her somewhat dismissive statement:
"This person wanted no thanks or recognition, right? I think you should just respect their wishes, and don't dig too much into it, Jon. Miracles happen for a reason."
Miracles my ass, he thought with a clench of his jaw.
"…just how fucking rich is she to be able to buy us out like that?" Robb was still musing despite the throbbing headache Jon was beginning to experience.
She lied to me.
"…I mean, dear gods, she must be loaded…not surprising since she's a queen…"
She fucking lied to me.
"I'll bet those sneaky Targaryens had shit ton of property stored up in the Iron Bank. You got to believe they do…"
She…lied to…me. Fuck!
"Jon?" Robb blinked and stopped long enough with his rambling as his brother had suddenly risen to his feet; wooden box forgotten though he still clutched the dossier as he stormed out of the office. "Jon? Where the fuck are you going?!"
Unfortunately, by the time he reached the door and looked out the hallway, there was nothing left of his brother but the lingering scent of persimmon and the stench of simmering fury.
She was fast asleep.
All the accusatory words he had prepared to hurl in her direction, as he burst into their bedroom like a one-man hurricane, faltered at the sight of her curled beneath the furs they had used for their torrid consummation just hours earlier. Her porcelain features were soft and almost childish in repose; those pink-tinted lips still slightly swollen from their passionate kisses. Damn. Even as he swallowed, he was sure he could still taste her…every fucking inch of that body he still craved like a drug. To make matters worse, her hair was unraveled from the girly ponytails, and that familiar cloak of spun silver seemed to beckon his fingers to sink into them and to erode away the feelings of hurt and betrayal at her lack of trust in him.
Why? His heart screamed as he sat heavily on the bed with a low moan wrenched from his throat. Why couldn't you share something that important with me? Did you think I would stop you? Or not approve? Do you really think me that unapproachable when it comes to my family matters? And how on earth did you even know about it? I was sure I never told you; not because I didn't trust you, but I just didn't want to burden you with that as well. So how did you know, Dany? Did you have spies working around the clock keeping tabs on me? Did you have Varys digging into my family's sordid history to realize we needed your imperial help, Your Grace? Did you take pity on us? Feel sorry for the poor bastard and his pathetic family who can't get their shit together? And speaking of knowing our secrets…did you know about my real father as well? Have you just been acting all this time? I mean, I knew I considered the Martells great actors, but I'm beginning to think you're in their league as well. Seven hells! You all probably planned this from the beginning, didn't you? You all probably knew damn well Rhaegar was my father, and this…this… was all just a grand ploy to get me on your side to conquer the North, wasn't it?
"Fuck," he hissed and rose to his feet; pacing away from how dark and dangerous his thoughts were becoming. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck!"
He wanted to shake her awake; to make her answer all his burning questions, to make her feel as much pain as he felt at this moment. He wanted to strip her raw and to make her as vulnerable as he had become.
What other lies? Huh? What other lies have you hidden from me, Daenerys Targaryen? Why should I trust a single thing you do from now on? Why?!
He strode to the fireplace; the dossier trembling in his clenched fist. He wanted to burn it all; the damning document, even that goddamn wooden box his mother had left behind. Nothing fucking mattered. Bringing Dany here had been a mistake, and in his tortured mind, he could almost hear Catelyn's cynical laughter.
What more do you expect, Jon Snow? Even if she never actually called you that name, she still treated you like one, didn't she? Look now. You can't even trust her.
Stop it, he pleaded as he squeezed his eyes shut to drown out the voice. Please…please…you win. You fucking win goddamn it. Just…make it stop.
A pained sob of distress would echo around the room, causing Dany to stir restlessly. His name might have escaped her lips in a breathless whisper, however, it would end up being a troubled sound of yearning at the crack of dawn when the pillow beside her was yet untouched.