A/N WARNING THERE IS SENSITIVE AND TRIGGERING MATERIAL IN THIS CHAPTER! I own nothing expect the original characters.
Chapter 34
When Robb woke he did not remember where he was and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust. He was wrapped in furs and sheets, his body relaxed and content from the warmth of the furs and fire. Robb suddenly remembered where he was— who he was with— and was suddenly aware of his nakedness.
Robb found that he could not quite move just yet— too relaxed and content to simply lay there than to actually get out. He peered at the window and saw that the sun had not yet risen and let out a breath he did not realise he had been holding.
He shifted in the furs and his arm patted the space beside him, expecting to find her lying there next to him.
She wasn't.
Alarm spread through Robb as his arm travelled further to his side in search of her but to no avail. The bed was still warm beside him however, her indent still visible.
"Your awake," she commented and Robb snapped his head in her direction.
She was wearing a thin black robe that tied at her waist and was casually sipping at something in her chalice. She was standing near the foot of the bed, towering over him from where she stood.
"I am," Robb replied stupidly, instantly cursing himself for his statement.
He rose into a sitting position, positioning himself so that he supported himself up with his elbows. The furs slipped off his chest as he did so, exposing his bare chest to her eyes.
She had seen far more he thought and felt a twinge of shame in his stomach at the thought of what they did. He could see the bruises from his kisses all across her exposed chest, could see how her hair was tangled together in a way that could only suggest one thing. Heck, Robb could even feel the delicious soreness in his body, could feel his messy curls lay atop of his forehead from where she had tugged at them.
It was hard to be ashamed when he thought of it like that but when the larger implications of their actions crept into his mind, the fear Robb felt in his stomach was greater than he had ever felt before.
"No," she said sharply, placing down her chalice on a table and crawled on top of her side of the bed.
Robb frowned at her but did not move away.
"No what?" he jested, trying to lighten the air. She ignored his attempt with a blink of an eye and shifted even closer towards him, so that he had no where else to look but in her eyes.
"You know what," she told him— he did— "Do not feel guilty."
Robb gulped loudly and looked at anything but her— the ceiling, the furs, his hands, her chin, anything but her eyes for he knew that if he did she would know what he was thinking.
"I gave myself to you willingly," she told him harshly, "Knowing full well the potential consequences of our actions but I did it anyway. We are both to be married to our respective partners—"
"He has not said yes yet," Robb interrupted.
She paused for a moment before continuing, "No," she acknowledged, "He hasn't agreed to the match yet. Regardless, you will marry the Frey girl."
Robb felt his insides bristle at her words and he snapped back, "I have dishonoured you."
He could practically feel her roll her eyes at him.
"You Starks and your honour," she said, as though it amused her, "I swear, you love it more than a fish loves water."
Robb's blue eyes narrowed at her as he responded, "I hardly think that you could call me honourable after all I've done."
"It is not our actions that make us honourable," she told him, her voice unusually gentle, "It is our intentions."
He felt her finger under his chin and allowed her to nudge his head in her direction, so that he met her gaze.
"I am attracted too you," she told him bluntly, "Physically. Obviously, you return the same sentiment. We are two adults who made a conscious decision to meet our needs in order to work together as best we can in order to win."
Robb let out a small chuckle at that and said, "You make it sound as though what we did was merely having a glass of water in order to stop being thirsty."
There was silence for a few moments before he said quietly, "What if someone finds out?"
He leaned back against the wooden headboard and was startled to the feeling of her swinging a leg over his hips so that either one was on each side as she straddled him.
She cupped his face in her hands and tilted up to face her, a worried blue meeting a sharp green.
"I'll take care of it," she whispered and pressed a kiss to his mouth.
Robb responded slowly to her touch, something in his chest sinking at the implications of her 'suggestion'. Yet that feeling was quickly overcome by the sensation of her touch and her kisses that it slipped from his mind, replaced with the sensation of her body on top of his.
Everra broke her fast with Lord Yullian and Maester Liwin that same morning, slowly eating her food.
The only sound in her solar was that of their knives and forks scratching against the plates. She wiped her mouth with the napkin beside her plate and carefully laid down her utensils, eyeing them both closely.
"What is it?" she demanded.
They both jumped at the sound of her voice, each of them sending a wary glance each others way.
"Something is bothering the both of you," she said, her eyes flicking between them, "What is it?"
Maester Liwin swallowed loudly before his eyes met hers and Everra saw the sudden strength that had formed in them.
"My lady the Bloodlands have been ruled by your family since the beginning of its formation," Maester Liwin started, "And always it has had the support of three other noble houses. Now, in the War, you only have one noble house left. One house you murdered—"
"Murdered?" she challenged, her eyes growing colder, "I don't consider it murder when I kill those who were planning on doing the same to me."
"Forgive me my lady," he said, his old voice tired and drained, "Perhaps I should say, one house you dealt with and the other remaining member of the last house was killed by the King you decided to follow."
Everra noticed the emphasis on it being her decision.
"Yes," she said, "I chose to follow the King in the North because I believed it would be the better option."
"Better option?" Lord Yullian burst out, his cheeks flushed, "The Lannister's offered you gold—"
"We have gold," she snapped, her glare deadly.
"My lady what I think Lord Yullian is trying to say is that on the whole, we do not understand why you thought siding with the Starks would be the better option," Maester Liwin interjected smoothly, "They are not as rich as the Lannister's or as powerful, in many ways siding with them would have furthered improved your lands prospects, my lady."
"I made a decision based on who I thought would be the better leader," she stated, her voice hard and unwavering, "Once Tywin Lannister is dead, the Lannister's will crumble and it's oh-so-precious legacy will be left in the hands of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. The incestuous twins who brought about a war because Cersei couldn't control their vicious bastard son."
"Lord Tyrion—"
"If you really think that Tywin Lannister would leave this earth in the hands of his deformed son you are a greater fool than I thought, Lord Yullian," she snapped, watching as he fell silent.
Silence followed for a few moments before she rose from her chair and addressed them both, "I understand that I threw you both into a war blindly and that I made decisions without your council or any regard for either of you. But make no mistake, this is my home and I haven't forgotten that. I was born to lead this land and I will continue to do so until the day I die. For now, however, I have to help win a war. Until either of you are on that battlefield or in the camps counselling every day then I suggest you keep your complaints to yourselves.
She left the room without another word from either of them.
"All the Lannister forces have fled into King's Landing," Lord Flint said, tracing the map, "They know that is where we are going to strike."
Robb nodded in agreement and asked, "The Tyrells? Have they officially declared for the Lannister's?"
"No, your grace," someone else replied.
A flash of relief shot through Robb at the words and he closed his eyes for a moment before gazing down at the map in front of him.
"Any word from Dorne?"
"No, your grace," Everra said from across the table, "But bear in mind that the raven was only sent a few days ago, your grace, the raven will only arrive by tomorrow at the utmost earliest and I suspect it will take them a few weeks to deliberate on their answer."
"Aye, your grace," Roose Bolton agreed, "But keep in mind that while Prince Oberyn craves for vengeance for his sister and her children, Prince Doran is a far more cautious man. It will take a great deal of convincing for him to side with us, especially given the delicate. . .history between your two houses."
There was a beat before Everra spoke, "Lord Bolton raises a valuable point," it sounded as though it were hard for her to admit, "You have a choice your grace, stay here and wait for their reply or we leave."
"And go where?" he asked, not looking up from the map, his voice strained.
"Back to the Westerlands and lay siege on Casterly Rock," she suggested and Robb could see some Lord's nod at the thought.
It didn't seem right to leave now. Robb frowned and grabbed a hold of a landmark, twirling it in his fingers as he thought.
"No," he declared, placing it back on the map, "We stay until we hear a reply from Dorne."
Everra nodded at him and said, "As you wish, your grace."
He turned towards Roose Bolton, who was looking at him blankly, his usual aloofness in his blue eyes.
"Lord Bolton," Robb addressed him, "What do you think?"
He blinked at Robb for a few short moments, his eyes unreadable. "I think that is a wise choice, your grace."
Robb did not forget how the words echoed in his head all those weeks ago, he did not forget the feeling of a knife slipping into his chest as the man beside him whispered, The Lannister's send their regards.
He did not forget, nor would he ever. Yet until he found a sliver of proof that indicate him of treason, Robb could do nothing.
"Have we heard word from Dragonstone?" he asked.
"Dragonstone?" Marge Mormormont asked, surprised, "From Selyse Baratheon? Your grace I suspect she and the child must have fled to the other side of the world by now. The Baratheon line is dead now and will be until the end of times."
"What about Stannis's daughter? Have we heard from her?"
"Your grace why would you want to hear from the daughter of a man who wanted you dead?" Everra asked.
Robb glanced at her, his blue eyes lingering on her face, "She didn't. It seems a pity to leave her with her mother. I have heard terrible rumours of her mistreatment."
Silence followed shortly after before Robb commanded the cupbearer, "Send a raven to dragonstone asking of Princess Shireen's whereabouts and offer her safe passage onto the mainland—"
"Your grace," Everra protested, her green eyes narrowed.
Robb ignored her for a moment before commanding once more, "The Baratheons and Starks used to be firm allies," he pointed out, "Why not keep the last true Baratheon as our friend rather than our enemy, my lady?"
She didn't answer him and instead stayed quiet, as did many others.
"This council has ended," Robb said, "We will meet again tomorrow."
The Lords and Ladies left the room slowly or at least it felt slow until the only people left in the room was Robb, Everra and Greywind. The door was firmly shut, looking far more formidable than a door ever should.
"Is keeping the Baratheon close the wisest decision your grace?" she asked, staring at him.
Robb's back was too her as he poured himself a glass of wine, the cupbearer having left to send the raven.
"What's the saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"
"Wise words, your grace."
Robb snorted at her words and turned to look at her, his gaze softening.
"The girl could garner sympathy in the future and rally people to her cause," he pointed out, "Besides, I've heard her mother is vicious and bitter towards her over her being unable to give him a son."
"And you think she would willingly hand you her only child when one of your banner men killed her husband?"
"No," Robb admitted, taking a sip, "But I'm not asking her, I'm asking the child."
She walked towards him then and gently took the cup out of his hands and placed it on the table he was leaning against.
She stared at him for a long while, unblinking.
"Everra what is it?" he asked, his voice harder than he intended.
"You're feeling guilty," she commented, her sharp stare softening slightly, "Why?"
Damn he thought, scowling.
"No I'm not," he snapped.
She placed her hands on both sides of his face, forcing him to meet her eyes, "You are. Don't lie to me Robb, I can tell when your lying."
"I'm not lying," he said and even to himself he sounded like a child.
"I know you," she told him.
Robb let out a loud sigh and his gaze flickered down for a moment, before looking resigned.
"You do," he admitted, "Perhaps better than anyone."
Her hands slowly left his face as she asked, "What's wrong?"
Robb couldn't tell what she was thinking, her green eyes detached and sharp.
"I could have wed you back in Winterfell, you know," he told her, "That was once a serious consideration. The King had asked my father to propose the marriage to you but he said no. I said no—"
"I know," she said.
Robb stopped his words, floored by her words, "What?"
"I know," she admitted, "The King would not have asked me to go all the way to Winterfell if he had not planned on me staying there, Robb."
He let out a defeated sigh and gazed at her, to find her already looking at him.
He leaned forward and kissed her softly, not to initiate any lovemaking or what not but simply because it felt right.
The kiss lasted a few mere seconds before she pulled away from him and leaned her forehead against his. Their faces were so close together the bridge of their noses touched and their breaths mingled together as one.
Her soft fingers were on his wrist, gently stroking him there and Robb relaxed at the feeling, a sense of peace filling him.
"I should have said yes," he told her, meaning it with all his being.
She didn't answer though Robb noticed she never stopped stroking his hand.
Everra left the room first a few short minutes after and Robb watched her as she did, the door closing softly behind her. Him and Greywind shared a look and Robb tilted his head as he looked at his loyal friend and smiled at him. Grey wind let out a small sound at that and nudged his head by Robb's hip.
He was nearly fully grown and Robb could see the wary glances people still sent their way, he had heard the tales of how he rode into battle on the back of direwolf and it made him laugh. He patted his head with his gloved hand and looked down at him, his chest heavy.
"Lets go Greywind."
Robb is in the back gardens near the lavender tree when he hears a large gasp of surprise from behind him and turns around to see Talisa a few meters behind him, her brown eyes wide as she stared at Greywind.
"Grey wind," Robb said sharply, "To me."
Grey wind bounded towards him, breathing loudly and settled himself at Robb's side. Robb had just finished writing letters to Winterfell and sorting out guard schedules and scouts. The air inside the castle had grown too suffocating for him to handle and he had fled to the gardens in the hopes of a much needed break.
"Apologies, my lady," he told her, "He will not harm you."
She nodded at him, though she still looked uneasy. Robb then noticed the large bag slung over one of her shoulders. Her hair was still in the same messy braid and the sleeves of her dress were stained with blood and dirt. She held a wet cloth in her long hands and she was absentmindedly wiping her dirty hands with it.
"Apologies, your grace," she said, diverting her eyes from his, "I interrupted you, I shall leave you in peace—"
"No," Robb said softly, "Stay, some company would be nice."
He sat back down on the stone bench. From his view he could see the back of the lavender tree and from behind it looked larger than it did from the front, surprisingly. Robb's heart twisted at the thought of the last time he'd been there and it took him a few moments to realise that she had sat down beside him on the bench, though not directly next to him.
"Do you come here often, your grace?" she asked softly, her gaze landing on the beautiful purple.
Robb shook his head and muttered, "No. Just once before when the battle was won."
Talisa nodded awkwardly and fiddled with her hands. Robb cast her a glance and was suddenly reminded once more of her beauty by the way the sun hit her through the tree, making her skin seem to glow. Yet, he didn't feel attracted to her. He recognised that she was beautiful and yet he felt nothing of it.
"Your grace, may I ask you something?"
Robb frowned slightly as a cool breeze swept over them but he nodded nonetheless.
"Did you ever want to be king?" she asked quietly.
Robb looked at her then, his gaze observant.
"I. . ." he hesitated, not sure of what to say, "I thought of being King when I was very young, especially when I learned of the previous King's in the north but I never thought it was a possibility." His mouth twisted at the irony and he muttered, "Obviously I was wrong."
She let out a breathy laugh at that and Robb found himself smiling at the sound.
"My apologies, your grace," she said, blushing slightly.
"Where are you from?" Robb asked her, curious.
"Volantis," she admitted, sheepish.
"Volantis!" he exclaimed, surprised. "You're far from home."
She shrugged at him and closed her eyes as a breeze swept over them once more, rustling her hair and Robb's curls.
"I must leave, my lady," he said, rising.
She opened her eyes at that, startled and nodded, "I understand, your grace. It was a pleasure speaking with you."
"And I with you," he said and nodded at her, "Have a pleasant evening."
"Likewise, your grace."
They smiled at each other briefly before Robb turned on his heel and walked back to the front of the castle, the walk relaxing. Construction had begun and though the change was not that evident yet, Robb suspected that if they stayed as long as he thought they would, the castle would be fully repaired.
The thought made the heavy lump in his chest lighten a little but his heart still tightened at the thought of his men going into battle without him because of his mother and his—
Banner man? Advisor? Friend? Lover?
Robb did not know anymore.
He wasn't sure he wanted to. Grey wind ran off in front of him, his tail wagging and Robb almost smiled at the sight.
When he reached the front of the castle he climbed up the stairs, Grey wind following him at his heels. It occurred to Robb that he had not seen his mother all day nor the blonde woman who was her guard. Robb was not quite sure whether or not he had completely forgiven either of them for their actions but he knew he would one day.
He entered the castle and wondered around it for a while, the sun beginning to set. He went to his chambers and found his squire, Olyvar there and it suddenly occurred to Robb that this man was his betrothed brother, whomever that woman may be.
"Olyvar?" he asked carefully, "Are you particularly close to any of your sisters?"
His squire looked rather confused as to what he was getting at before his tense features smoothened and he replied, "No, your grace. I'm afraid there was so many of us over the years, bastards and true born and so many different mothers we did not. . .we could not be close with any of them."
Robb felt slightly disappointed at the thought as he had hoped his squire knew someone. Robb liked Olyvar more than he had expected he would and the lad was loyal to him and honest. Robb appreciated that.
"May I ask why the sudden interest, your grace?" Olyvar asked him.
Robb's mind flashed to Everra and her deadly green eyes and passionate touches and he found he could not answer.
Robb is walking down a lone hallway when he see's Everra for the first time since the afternoon and his stomach tightens as he looks at her.
"Your grace," she says from across the hallway, walking towards him, "I have been looking for you."
Robb tries to stop his eyebrows from raising in question. It takes a lot more effort than he thought.
"Your lady mother asked me to search for you," she continues, glancing back at Olyvar and the guard behind him, "She said it was quite urgent."
Robb frowned at that and nodded saying, "Take me to her."
He glanced back at Olyvar and the guard and said to them, "You both may go, I will return as soon as I can."
"As you command, your grace," they tell him and turn on their heels to walk away.
Everra is already striding down the hallway in the other direction and Robb catches up to her in a few quick steps, his heart pounding.
"Is she alright?" he asks her as they take a sharp turn down a narrow corridor and she does not answer as she yanks open a door and strides into the room.
The door has barely shut behind them before Robb finds himself slammed against it, her mouth on his.
A first he is to shocked to respond before his lips quickly begin to return her movements and he is overcome by the warm, fiery feeling within him spreading around his body. They fight each other furiously for a few moments, the only sound in the room being that of their lips smashing together before she tugs at his lower lip and Robb lets out a small groan at the sensation.
"I thought you said my mother needed me," he tells her in between kisses, his hands reaching for the back of her dress.
She draws away from him for a moment, one eyebrow raising, "Does it look like your mother is in here?"
Robb lets out a small amused chuckle at that before her lips crash against him once more and they both work to rip each others clothes off before eventually giving up, too unwilling to move away from each other to fully undress the other.
Robb manages to flip them so that she is pressed against the door instead of him. By this point her dress has began to sag as he managed to undo the back of her laces and he tugs at it so that he can press open-mouthed kisses down her neck.
They finish quickly and Everra looks down at him from where she is top of him and watches his chest rise from exertion. Sweat glistens both of their chest and Everra feels more tired than she would expect. Their eyes meet each other as Robb runs a hand through his hair and gives her a small smile. Everra did not return it as she shifted off his hips with a small wet sound and stood on her shaky legs.
Her anger with him was gone now, the furious feeling having dulled in her chest as she thought of the two of them smiling at each other and laughing.
She hadn't seen them but she had been told of their meeting once more by the 'little birds' she had placed throughout the castle, watching Talisa's movements. She heard him behind her and she reached for her small clothes and began dressing once more. When she was nearly dressed, only the laces of her dress needing to be done, Robb wrapped a arm around her waist and pulled her towards his chest, so that he was hugging her from behind. She stiffened at the action, yet made no move to stop him.
"We must go," she told him stiffly, the kisses on the side of her neck stopping.
She could practically feel him frown as he pointed out, "You dragged me in here."
Everra did not respond to his words or his actions and she heard him sigh from behind her, though he did not let her go.
"How did you know?" he asked her after a few moments, his voice light.
"How did I know what?" she asked, perhaps too sharply.
"That Jon was your brother?"
Everra swallowed loudly as her hands clasped together, "My mother used to keep a journal," she admitted, "I read it shortly after my father died."
"Did your father know?"
Everra turned in his arms slightly to look at him, green catching blue, "I'm not sure he knew Jon was her's but he knew that they had once been lovers. That is why we have no godswood, he burnt it down."
Robb looked shocked at her words before he let her go, "What did you do with it?" he asked, tugging on his tunic.
"I hid the journal," she told him, struggling to reach the back of her dress.
"You didn't burn it?" he questioned, surprised.
"I planned to," she admitted with a sigh, "But I could not bring myself too."
Robb sighed at her as he watched her struggle to do her laces and so he walked behind her, fully clothes and grasped the laces, his fingers brushing against the skin of her back.
"Let me," he whispered and Everra nodded, allowing him.
There was silence for a while before he asked her one last question.
"Are you doing this because you want a man to warm your bed or because you want me?"
Green eyes met a vulnerable blue as she turned to look at him, her stomach clenching in her stomach.
She merely gave him a brief kiss in response.
The room was a small one, cluttered with all the things a healer would have in their chambers.
Everra did not knock and merely entered the chamber, her coldness set in stone on her face.
Tailsa jumped at the sight of her and pressed a hand to her chest, "My lady I—"
"I want you to leave by first light." Everra cut her off sharply, her voice firm and unwavering.
Talisa's hand dropped to her side, a flush rising to her cheeks. The expression on her face was one of discomfort and unease, as though she did not know what to do with herself.
Good.
"Pack your things, your belongings and go." Everra stressed out the last word, her voice venomous, "No goodbyes, no explanations, nothing."
"Why?" Talisa asked brazenly.
"Why what?" Everra retorted, observing her with cold eyes.
"Why must I go?" the girl asked simply, her brown eyes latched onto her green ones.
"Because I say so," Everra snapped and turned on her heel.
"Is it because of him?" she called after her, her voice light.
Everra froze in her steps, her back stiffening and the anger lingering beneath the surface began to grow.
"Excuse me?" she asked coldly.
Talisa was nervous—rightfully so— her hands shaking at her sides but her brown eyes held their own against her vicious green.
"Is it because of my relationship with the King—"
"There is no relationship," Everra interrupted smoothly.
"Then why are you sending me away?"
The girl was perceptive, Everra would give her that and brave but ultimately foolish.
"Because I want too," she replied flippantly.
"The King told me of his betrothal to the Frey girl," Talisa cried out.
Everra raised a thin eyebrow at her, "Is that so?"
Talisa shifted uncomfortably, her hands clasping together in front of her.
"He deserves to be loved and—"
"He is not your's too love," Everra hissed, taking a few threatening steps forward towards her.
"Neither is he yours."
The anger in Everra's eyes grew colder and more deadly as she stared the Volantene down. Talisa sensed the dangerous change in her and seemed to take a few wary steps back, her brown eyes wide and fearful though she did not look break their gaze.
"I beg your pardon?' Everra asked, abnormally sweetly.
Talisa swallowed uncomfortably, her voice small, "I said, neither is he yours."
"I heard what you said," Everra snapped, her false sweetness gone with a blink of an eye, "What I am asking, is whether or not you have any idea what your talking about?"
Talisa flinched at her tone and looked down at the floor, her hands grasping onto her dress.
"Do you?" Everra grounded out.
Talisa shook her head limply and did not look up from the ground.
"Let me make myself abundantly clear," Everra said coldheartedly, "I know where you come from. I know about your dear, darling younger brother and I know all about your little sob story." She stepped closer to her, her green eyes filled with cold fury, "I can have your families head sent to you within a month if you do not leave my home before sun rise. Do I make myself clear?"
Talisa flinched and folded her arms over her chest and nodded, a tear escaping her eye.
"Good."
Some of the furiousness left her eyes then and she smoothed the skirts of her dress and walked towards the door. She paused as she stepped into the doorway and said surprisingly softly, "Believe it or not I'm actually doing you a favour."
Then she left the room but before she did she heard the healer let out a gasp of relief.
Everra never saw her again.
When Everra wakes one morning a few weeks after Talisa left with a burning sensation rushing up her throat she knows the truth.
She knows it as she doubles over on the side of the bed, puking loudly and violently, her eyes burning and her fingers reaching up to hold her hair back. Robb has long since returned to his chambers and she is glad for it now.
She takes a loud gulp of breath when she finishes and she wrinkles her nose at the stench and clutches a hand to her stomach, a lump forming in her throat.
She slips out of the bed—on the other side— and slips on one of her water robes, feeling cold for the first time in a long time. Her limbs felt as though they were lagging at her side, her muscles felt as hard and as heavy as stone and she struggled to move to the door, her legs wobbly.
She opened the door slowly and stuck her head out of it and called to the guard nearby, "Summon a servant to clean a mess in my room and Maester Liwin, instruct him to bring mint leaves as well. No one is to disturb me for the rest of the day, is that clear? Send the King my apologies."
The guard nodded at her and left the hall and Everra swallowed loudly, her fingers beginning to twitch at her sides.
Jon had never particularly enjoyed going to the library at Winterfell, preferring to spar with his brothers or go riding than read a book about the history of Westeros or the tale of some great lord. Books were partly a reminder of everything that he was not; a Lord, a true born son and the reminder hurt more than he cared to admit.
Yet, the library at RedRun serves as an escape for him in the early hours of the morning while the castle and its inhabitants still sleep. Jon did not know why the large, airy room comforted him but he did not question it and instead accepted it as the safe haven it was.
Sometimes he merely gazed at the large glass window for hours on end until he knew he had to leave and other times he fishes out a small thin book to keep his mind occupied. The night was no longer something he welcomed, night terrors and ghosts haunted his dreams no matter what he did.
Sometimes it was his father, staring at him sadly his arms open as if he were to embrace him before his skin quickly rotted, his eyes turning lifeless and cold. Jon would wake with a shout on those nights, sweat seeped through his tunic. But the worst were those dreams of Anna. The ones where just for a brief moment she was alive and happy in his arms once more before he wakes and it is all ripped away from him again and again.
It was a torture Jon was not sure he could handle and so he sought for a place where he could feel at peace and the library in RedRun happened to be it.
On that morning Jon was standing in front of a dusty bookshelf at the very back of the long rows of books and he squinted as he tried to read their titles. None caught his eye, either they were too thick or the kinds of stories Sansa would have read back in Winterfell, about knights and princes. The thought made him wince.
Though Jon could not deny that he was surprised at the state of these books. The rest had been in pristine shape, all of them clean and free of dust. Here the books looked as though they had not been touched in many, many years and Jon had the sudden feeling that maybe he was not supposed to be looking in this section.
His hand traced the side of each book, his fingers covered with a thick layer of dust as he did so, His fingers stopped in front of a small, thin black book with no lettering on its side and he pulled it out and was surprised when another thinner book fell from behind it and landed at his feet.
Jon cast a suspicious look towards the black book in his hands and put it back on the shelf, leaning down to pick up the small book that had fallen out. He dusted the front and back of the book slowly and wiped his hands on his pants in order to get rid of the dust.
He flipped through the pages, frowning at the lettering. He checked the front cover of the book and his frown deepened at the blank cover. He opened the book to its first page and read the neat writing.
This journal is private and belongs to Lady Talia Legrath of the Bloodlands. Anyone who is found reading this journal will be punished. If lost and found and is returned, the person who found it will be rewarded.
Jon's head snapped up to make sure the coast was clear before he closed the book shut and walked towards his usual seat by the window and opened it. Curiosity was a dangerous thing.
He flipped the page carefully—knowing full well if he was caught he would be punished by her daughter instead— and read.
And read.
And though he was enraptured by her writing and her details of the new world she had travelled to in order to escape slavery he felt as though something were wrong. As though he shouldn't be reading it not only because it was impolite but because he was scared of what he would discover.
He brushed the feeling aside and carried on.
Today was a bad day. All of them have been bad but this signifies the worst injuries I have ever come across in my limited time in this country. The War has been going on for only a short time now but I have lost count of all the men I have nursed back to health. Or the men that I have failed to save.
They all whimper and cry for their mothers both Stag's, Starks, Tyrells, Targareyn's. It does not matter which side they fight for; they are still boys not yet grown. Or men with families to go home too. Some of them never do.
War, I've come to discover, is nothing like it is in the stories or songs. War is misery and death and all the darkness in between. It scares me, sometimes, how dark the world is. I'll never forget any of their faces. I don't think I ever can and the thought. . . simply makes me fear for the future.
These Westerosi are peculiar in some ways and I nearly miss home. Do not misunderstand me, I miss mother and father and my siblings. Especially my little brother. Oh well, I made my choices and now I have to live with them.
Love,
Talia.
Jon traced the words with his fingers and flipped the page gently, careful not to rip the paper. The next entry was a few weeks later and Jon eagerly began reading it but his eagerness began to diminish as he read the passage.
Noble house. . .Stark. . . Winter fell. . . marriage. . .
A coldness like nothing he had ever felt before entered his body and his fingers grew numb and limp, his hold on the book lessening.
He flipped through the next few passages, his eyes scanning through the page as his heart began to race faster and faster in his chest.
No no no no
His eyes scanned the page— disbelief turing into his veins as he read. He read about his father's love affair, read about how much they loved each other. He reached the part where she came with child and by then his hands were shaking. He had to blink rapidly in order to fully comprehend what he was reading. He felt a whirlwind of emotions form inside of him and at the same time both a huge weight had lifted off his chest.
He had a mother now. He could place a name to a face. All of these years of tortured thoughts and jealousy had finally come to an end. Yet, as quick as his happiness came, it disappeared just as fast.
His mother was dead. Gone. He had never met her or at least did not remember meeting her, as he was only a babe the last time she saw him. He would never be able to ask her any questions about her life or feel her stroke her fingers through his curls and grief for the chances he would never have formed in his stomach.
He closed the book softly and stood from where he sat, his frame hunched and his skin pale. His brown eyes were wide with realisation and he felt as though he had left himself on the chair. As though he were new person. No longer a bastard with one parent he knew of but a bastard with two parents to name.
And a new sister.
A lumped formed in his throat at the thought as he rubbed his eyes and let out a sigh.
She knew. She had to have known.
Everything started to fall into place around him, as he thought of his journey over the past few months. The questions that had always been at the back go his mind were suddenly answered.
Why had she chosen to bring him here in the first place?
She had done it because she was his younger sister.
His mind flashed to Sansa and Arya and even though he and Sansa had never been close, he at least felt some sort of brotherly affection towards her. When he thought of Lady Everra. . .
She knew, he thought, she knew all this time and she never told me.
Anger now boiled in his veins as he stormed out of the room, his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened.
When he reaches the outside of her chambers he ignores Andromache by the door, ignores her warning growl as he pushed the door open, clutching the journal tightly in his hand.
Whatever Jon had thought he would walk into it wasn't this. He had imagined her sitting by her desk, writing something when he stormed into the room, looking startled at the sight of her older half-brother snarling venomous words at her.
But Jon should have known that nothing he thought would happen ever actually happened as he planned.
Instead of sitting on her chair behind her grand desk, she was sitting in a chair by the fire, Andromache lying at her feet. She seemed not to notice his presence or if she did, she did not show it. Her face was pale and her eyes unfocused as she gazed into the fire. She was wrapped in a warm blanket and it was only then that Jon noticed the cup in her hands. Jon could not see what liquid it was from where he stood but he could tell that it was recently brewed, if the steam rising from it was any indication.
He took another staggering step into the room and closed the door behind him, his consuming rage dulling into a burning sensation in his heart.
She took notice of him then and Jon was taken aback by the indifference in her usually sharp green eyes. Her gaze flickered up and down his body and Jon saw it linger on the journal in his hands.
"You know," she said numbly, turning back to gaze into the fire.
"I do."
The longer he looked at her face the less angry he became until the burning sensation turned into a barely noticeable ache as he walked towards her. She made no attempt to shield the cup from his view and it was then that Jon was hit with the stench.
He wrinkled his nose at the smell and though she was not looking at him she told him, "I was sick earlier I'm afraid."
Jon frowned at her, his brown eyes narrowing as he spoke, "I'm sorry to hear that, sister."
He made no attempt to hide how much he emphasised the word. She did not flinch at his tone or offer him an apology she merely looked into the fire and was silent.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice soft and full of hurt which had been hiding beneath all the rage, "Why didn't you tell me about any of this? We could have been brother and sister—"
"We are brother and sister," she snapped, "Regardless of whether or not you knew the truth I have always been your sister. The same as Arya and Sansa. Half siblings. Half brother and sister. Choose whichever name you wish, it will not change the truth."
Jon swallowed loudly and fiddled with the journal with his hands, "I could have been your proper brother. We could have given each other advice as brothers and sisters do—"
"Advice?" she asked, scoffing loudly.
Jon grew frustrated at her tone and placed the journal on top of a nearby table, his hands then twitching at his sides.
She noticed as well and turned her gaze towards him, still grasping onto the cup in her hands, "Then tell me, dear older brother," her voice was filled with bitterness as she spoke, "What do I do with this?" She gestured with one hand at the cup in her lap, the steam still rising.
Jon frowned at her, confused at her words.
"Come on," she spat at him venomously, "Tell me what I should do." At his confused expression she grew more aggravated, "Come on Jon, you said you wanted to be like brother and sister and give each other council and whatnot. I asked you a question and I want you to answer it."
"I don't understand what your asking of me—"
"I'm asking you whether or not I should kill my unborn child."
His body grew cold with shock, a shiver overcoming him and goosebumps formed all over his body. It was as though he were suddenly drenched with water and then shoved out beyond the wall with nothing but a tunic. Words did not come to him for several moments and he stared at her, unblinking.
"What—"
"You heard me," she said, her green eyes growing more and more resigned with every passing moment, "You have ears that work perfectly well as far as I know."
"How?" He gaped at her, his brown eyes wide and doe like.
"Well when two people love each other very, very much they—"
"Thats not what I meant," he snapped sharply, running a hand over his face.
A moment of silence passed before she spoke, "I know, Jon."
He folded his arms in front of his chest as he also gazed into the fire, finding comfort in the orange flames.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
Silence.
"I don't know," she confessed her voice soft, "I didn't let the Maester tell me."
He gulped.
"Is it Robb's?"
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn her head to look at him contemplatively. Please say no, please say no—
"Yes."
Another gulp.
"Is there a possibility it could be anyone—"
"No," she snapped at him loudly, scowling, "No, no there's not."
Jon flushed under her angry gaze and said weakly, "I had too—"
"Stop."
She let out a short, breathy sigh and she sounded so tired Jon was tempted to pull her into his arms and hug her.
"So?" she asked him, her voice a mere whisper, "What do you think?"
Jon turned his head to look at her and as his eyes met hers, he knew instantly that she had already made her choice.
"Will you tell him?" he asked.
She shrugged slightly and gulped, "Not now. Not for a long, long time."
Jon nodded and though he felt uncomfortable with the notion of lying to his brother about something as huge as this, he knew it was not his choice.
"Well then," she said weakly, clasping the cup in her hand and raising it to her lips, "A toast would be too inappropriate at a time like this, wouldn't it?"
He nodded at her and watched her, his brown eyes gentle.
She raised the steaming cup of liquid to her mouth and did not hesitate as she gulped it down in a few large gulps.
The deed was done.
There was no going back.
The cup fell to the fall with a loud clatter as it slipped from her limp hands and Jon saw the aloofness in her eyes and knew that despite what she might say she needed someone.
He walked over towards her and kneeled in front of her, grasping her hands in his. They were surprisingly soft and smooth, unlike his rough ones and as he looked into the pools of her eyes Jon saw no mighty warrior or cold woman, he saw his sister. The sister he had never known. His vulnerable sister whom needed him right now more than anyone ever had before, not even Anna.
He pulled her up gently and quickly scooped her in his arms as she staggered over, her legs to weak to stand upright. He carried her over to the bed and placed her on it gently, her back upright against the pillows. He pulled the furs over her and felt Andromache leap onto the foot of the bed, curling into herself.
He slipped in beside her and tugged her close to his chest, his chin resting upon the top of her raven head. Her hands were curled into fists as she clutched at his chest. She made no sound as he stayed with her, unlike so many others.
Unlike Daavos, unlike her mother, unlike her father, he stayed.
He stayed with her when pain came and when the blood trickled down her legs.
He stayed when her hold on his shirt turned into one of pain.
He stayed with her through it all and comforted her as she had never let anyone do so before, not even Daavos.
She didn't speak throughout any of it, even when he whispered words of comfort into her hair or when he asked her whether or not she was alright. It was only when night had passed and first light began to creep through did she whisper into his chest.
"Thank you."
A/N Thanks for the response to last chapter you guys, it means a lot. Remember to tell me your thoughts in a PM or a review. Just a warning, I have exams coming up so I will not be updating for a long while and after exams I'm travelling for a few weeks so don't expect another update until late july :( Sorry guys! Still waiting for some more recommendations for the drabbles/one shots!
Until next time,
Fionakevin073