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Jon
Tommen was no longer the fat prince, as Arya used to think, when she had to be courteous and friendly to him during King Robert's visit. Sansa had been, obviously, tasked to accompany the handsome one. Jon found himself irrationally preferring that his little sister would fancy a timid, kind boy like Tommen, ignoring for a moment that he was a Lannister, rather than a strong, stubborn one like Gendry. What if he turns out to be the same as Joffrey? Well, at least he wasn't blond, nor raised like a spoiled prince.
Jon knew his wish to be in vain. Arya was more stubborn than Jon and Gendry together. She fell for the handsome and Sansa for the ugly one. Who'd ever say so? Life was terribly unpredictable.
Arya, where are you? Won't you be back for my wedding?
He had sentimentally hoped that at least some of his brothers and sisters would be there, though he was a man grown and commander of a large army. Between the Northmen, black brothers, wildlings, Southrons and the outlanders who came North with his parents and Dany, or later, with some of his wedding guests, the number of soldiers he could field had steadily grown to a very respectable size. Probably not enough to meet the Others in the field, but more than sufficient to represent a non-negligible military power…
Towards his enemies in the realm of men.
They would say that I'm just another pretender to the Iron Throne.
Jon didn't feel entitled to it, despite having no more doubts left about his true parentage. Nor did he want it. Not as such. Not the Iron Throne, nor any throne. Yet he'd let Mother write the invitations with all the formality his bloody birth could offer, hoping for more support to defend the Wall. Hoping for a common cause in the Seven Kingdoms. Lyanna had the right of one thing; in this winter, they had to stand together, or they would fall.
Not in his wildest dreams did he dared hope that everyone of any importance in the realm would gather in the castle of his childhood, devour food and firewood, and conspire to take over that throne that almost seemed to be on another continent where Jon was concerned; so far away from his immediate preoccupations.
The Long Night.
The Others.
The Night's King.
He was marching south and he had Sansa, alive and captive. Ghost had seen and lost him when the entire host of white walkers vanished in a blue mist.
Where are you heading? Where will you reappear?
"Rhaegal will watch over the Wall, tonight and tomorrow," Jon told Dany, abruptly reaching his decision on the matter. "I fear that the Others may appear in force. He'll return for me in need."
Aye, Rhaegal's voice rang very quietly. Perched outside, on the walls of Winterfell, he obeyed Jon like a loyal steed, taking off.
"For us," Dany reminded Jon that the blood of the dragon did not stay behind. "Though it might be prudent if he stayed close," she continued shakily.
Jon could see how much the admission cost her. The dragons were her children. She could not imagine any of them not being on her side.
"Because of Lannister's dragon?" Jon commented with scorn. "Rhaegal is smaller, but if I have to, I think that I can-"
"No," Dany interrupted, her violet eyes puffed and... uncommonly pink. "Because of Drogon."
"Have you been crying?" Jon asked gently, cursing himself for being inconsiderate, returning all his attention from his irrational wish to see his siblings reunited on his wedding day to his wife-to-be. She was terrifyingly beautiful in blue and silver. Tears could not ruin this. "You don't know exactly what's on Drogon's mind," Jon tried to console her. "You've told me so yourself."
"It's about time that I acknowledge the truth, don't you think?" Dany retorted angrily. "Why would he fly around with Stannis like a winged horse if he wasn't his now? Why would he have breathed fire on me?"
Jon had no sensible answer to this. He was made acutely aware of the immensity of Drogon's mind only once; when the black dragon was angry and hurt over Rhaegar's death. Father's death. Before and after, Drogon kept himself apart from Jon, like a huge black hole hidden on the margin of this… mental expanse where the minds of the dragons roamed freely. Jon was new to it and probably very unaccomplished in understanding it.
It had always been easier to merge with Ghost, even before Jon grasped he'd been opening his wolf eyes and howling to the moon. Warging came naturally to him, if being a beastling and a skinchanger could be deemed natural. In comparison, the world of the dragons remained exquisitely foreign… And alluring.
Oddly enough, for Jon it was easier to sense Lannister's dragon if he so wished, a foolish and arrogant beast; completely unguarded. He would become easy prey to Jon and Rhaegal, no matter what he believed of himself. Jon wished he was equally certain of victory if he had to face Stannis and Drogon. He could best Stannis, but Drogon was a different story. Dany's renegade dragon was gigantic, looking like a broad, winged hill with legs… Jon and Rhaegal would give as good as they would get, but how would Dany feel if they died? Or if they were successful? Jon prayed to the old gods that it would not come to it. He did not want to cause more pain to his wife-to-be.
Jon and Dany were returning from the feast to their currently separate, though adjoining, chambers; the arrangement which would thankfully end on the morrow. Jon was sick of climbing to Dany's room over the outer walls of Winterfell and entering through her window, only to leave the way he came before a dark-grey morning.
Their guests were nosy and omnipresent. Mother advised that at least a semblance of propriety should be maintained at all times; it was more likely to satisfy different sensibilities.
To the extent that this was at possible at all.
It was easier when Jon and Dany stayed on the Wall in the weeks preceding the wedding. The forts were many and rickety. Jon was never cold and Rhaegal helped with starting fires and making the premises more tolerable for Dany. In the discomfort of Jon's command, they were free to love each other.
Dany was studying him now. Her eyes dried and flashed purple.
"What's wrong, my love?" Dany inquired, holding his burned hand. "You've been lost in thought."
"They don't want me for their king," Jon spat out grumpily.
His final conclusion on the matter.
Why did he ever think they would? Did he think they would? He didn't, did he? Or perhaps he did, for a short while, very innocently. He might have dared hope that the truth about his birth could miraculously create unity in the Seven Kingdoms, for the Long Night. Just like learning the truth about his origin had appeased his gnawing hunger to at least know who his mother was. Lord Stark should have told him before Jon left to the Wall.
And Jon should have known better than to believe in miracles.
"Some of them don't," Dany acquiesced. "But that will always be so. The people will rarely agree about who is to rule them. Especially if they are free to choose and in time of peace."
"We are not at peace," Jon protested. "Can't they see?"
Jon knew what she was going to say next. She had tried to convince him of that before and they always… disagreed.
For the greatest part of the Southrons, the Others were still a myth and not a genuine threat. Even the riverlanders who had seen the white walkers roaming between the sunken fords of the Trident and the High Heart, which somehow defended the rest of the south from their presence, insisted in not believing in them, telling each other that they had seen angry giants or strangely dressed thieves who took their children in the night.
Jon almost wanted the Others to invade Winterfell so that everyone would open their eyes. Not only those newly-arrived men-at-arms who had ventured willingly to the Wall, bored to wait for the wedding with their lords and ladies. Jon wanted to embrace all who had done so, in a very non-kingly and non-lordly gesture. He was grateful to every single one. They helped man the Wall and they proved loyal.
Dany opened her mouth… and closed it.
"Sh!" she hushed Jon as well.
Upset voices could be heard through the walls, probably through the re-established flow of water from the hot springs.
"He said no!" Lord Hightower raged in his normally fatherly, wise voice.
"The Kingslayer has no honour, I told you so," observed a familiar, righteous voice. Jon felt he should recognise it, but could not.
"More the reason for him to support Stannis," Hightower continued, displeased, "Yet he said no. What does he expect from the Starks?"
"It's the boy's mother," the familiar voice outlined his opinion. "The wolf ran away with a dragon instead of marrying a stag. How can you expect honour from a woman who didn't do her duty to her family? Moreover, it would seem that she and her boy have done something so that none among Catelyn's children would be present at the wedding, to better foster the boy's claim. I'm not fooled by them not taking the High Seat of the Starks. North is what they want! Since they obviously can't win the Iron Throne. Why not align with the Kingslayer to ensure this?"
Jon… fumed. "Others take him!" he cursed. "Who's this?" he whispered to Dany. "Can you tell?"
"Sh!" she put a perfect finger on Jon's mouth and listened on, calm and untouched by anger. Eavesdropping was a most dishonourable and yet probably wisest course of action.
"The Kingslayer will bend the knee when he learns that Lady Cersei is alive and your captive, Lord Hightower" Stannis suddenly spoke, blunt and unpolished. "Then we will condemn them both to death when I am crowned king and in position to do proper justice. In war, some compromises have to be made, to my utmost regret."
"I don't know," Hightower was still not convinced. "Perhaps we need to rethink our entire strategy. Lannister was very tender with his wife."
"That cow?" Lord Tarly expressed his opinion. "It must be a passing whim."
Sam's father.
"A law should be introduced, Your Grace," Tarly continued, "condemning women who act with such impropriety."
"Being tall and ugly is not a crime, Tarly," Stannis cut him off. "Nor is training in arms, though it remains uncommon for ladies on the account of their weaker build. Lady Brienne is not an adulteress, nor is she a whore. Those are crimes."
"Yes, Your Grace," Tarly conformed himself.
"What I cannot understand," Stannis lamented with honesty, "is the message of the Martells. Why are they not here in response to my invitation? Surely they can see it wasn't Robert who ordered the murder of Elia and her children. And even if it were, I'm not him. I've always been just."
"But Robert accepted the bodies from Tywin graciously, or have your forgotten? Have you ever spoken against it at court?" Hightower retorted, intelligent and dangerous. "Or perhaps Doran's gout is as bad as his niece has just told us and keeps him in bed. I honestly don't know what to believe. Time will show where he stands."
Jon began to understand this was the most capable one among his enemies. The House Hightower provided brides for Targaryen kings. Didn't they?
"I'm not Robert," Stannis reaffirmed with passion.
"No, you're not," Hightower said, sounding as if he was actually regretting it.
Jon dragged Dany away, unceremoniously. He had heard enough. If he stayed there a moment longer, he risked cutting Sam's father into shreds. They would be one nosy guest short. He would condemn fighting women to what? Jon couldn't help thinking. Death? Torture? The possibilities that came to mind were rather colourful. Jon had never forgotten Sam's story about how he had to choose between joining the Night's Watch or being butchered by his own father in a hunt as a wild animal. Sam's mother would have gotten his fat, dead body to cry over. Only because he was different than what his father wanted in a son. A man afraid to fight. Who nevertheless fought admirably in many different ways. Sam the Slayer.
But Jon had promised to try and keep his wedding a dull affair. Acting in line with his passions had never been the best choice.
If he wanted more men to defend the Wall, and women, he added stubbornly, sincerely shocked by Tarly's propositions, he needed to stay calm.
Cold as ice.
Cold as ice.
Cold as ice.
He had to bury the fire within. Now. As the bastard had done in the past when Lady Catelyn kindly reminded him of who he was at every occasion.
He halted at another, empty, silent wall and leaned his forehead to it, breathing deeply. Dany's small hands tapped his back and shoulders, wishing to offer support that could not reach him now.
He was burning with rage.
"We ought to tell the Lannisters about Cersei-" Dany began.
"Maybe," Jon cut her off. "Alright, probably. Just not tonight please. We can tell Tyrion after the wedding."
The night's discoveries were not yet at the end.
"You and your son should leave the castle tomorrow before the feast," an unknown female voice echoed in the corridor, just around the corner from Jon and Dany. "Or find a seat in the courtyard, I don't care. Just stay out."
"Why, Tyene?" Mance Rayder replied with curiosity and interest, warmly pronouncing the lady's name.
"I can't tell you more, and I hope that I'm wrong in my own assumptions, but if you value your son's life, you will heed to my advice," the lady rattled rapidly, much more upset than Stannis and Hightower. "I don't want to be mistaken again about my uncle's plans. He's prudent, but he's no coward."
"What's my life to you?!" Mance must have been shouting after the lady now. The faint sound of female slippers vanished down the corridor.
"Tyene Sand?" Jon asked Dany. "The niece Prince Doran wanted to see so badly? I thought it was because he loved her. What did she mean by this?"
"I think… I should be able to guess and I can't," Dany looked as helpless as he'd felt listening to the unknown defender of the rights of Lady Catelyn's children, who had spoken so harshly of Jon and his mother to Stannis, Hightower and Tarly.
Mance heard them and walked back. "I was just looking for you," he told Jon with relief. "The Martells are up to something."
"Who isn't?" Jon reacted angrily and exhaled loudly to calm down. "Have you looked at the book the prince sent?" he asked Dany. "He surely went through a lot of trouble to deliver a present to someone he hates. It should better be important."
"I didn't have time," Dany shook her head. "I only asked Ser Barristan to guard it as he would watch over me. With his life. But… I think you should ask your Mother about what Lady Tyene just said. They used to be friends."
Jon found his Mother having tea with Ser Barristan, as if she knew where she should be if her son needed her in the middle of the night.
"Is anyone asleep in Winterfell?" he wondered, barging in.
Mother poured him a cup of hot tea. "What else is wrong?" she asked, cold as ice, calm as Jon wished to be.
Jon sunk on a chair next to her and began telling what they just heard. Daenerys found a warmer place, nearer to the hearth, and started unwrapping Doran's book.
When Jon was done talking, Lyanna's brow wrinkled. "Tyene... she has knowledge of poisons. It comes from her father, Prince Oberyn, but she's developed it beyond his skills. If she counseled Mance to stay out, they must mean to... There are substances which can kill if released into closed spaces, fumes that cause rashes and deadly sicknesses…"
Jon remembered the hollow walls of Winterfell. "Could they channel them through the hot water conduits?"
His mother's face darkened and fell, confirming his assumption. "I hadn't thought of that," she stuttered.
"I'll take it as a yes," Jon said darkly. "What is it?" he almost howled at Dany.
Daenerys showed the first page of the book with fresh tears in her eyes. To Rhaenys, for her name day, lavish letters said in bright orange and red; the colours of Sunspear.
Mother averted her eyes, closing them tightly with pain.
"I suppose that Princess Rhaenys was murdered before that name day," Jon spelled out the cruel truth. "So he's here for revenge. What's the book about?"
Dany opened the next page. "The Signs and Portents by Daenys Targaryen!" she exclaimed. "This work is supposed to be lost and very important," she explained with surprise. "It speaks of the Doom of Valyria," she continued with mounting enthusiasm. "And on the margin it has hand-written notes by the first Daenerys, who married a Martell. It must have been her book. This is a kingly gift, Jon. And a most precious offering to a Targaryen. Almost as unique as a dragon egg. I don't see why Prince Doran would send it to someone he meant to annihilate. I just… don't."
"Maybe he wanted it buried or burned with Father's corpse," Jon said bitterly.
Mother sobbed.
"I'm sorry," Jon said swiftly.
"It's alright, son," Lyanna assured him. "Never fear to speak freely in my presence."
In truth, deep down, Jon didn't know what to think of many his guests. At least he knew clearly what he didn't want. He didn't want to jump to conclusions as men who barely knew him had done about him and his mother.
"Well the book's not lost anymore," he murmured. "Can I ask Sam about it? He knows books."
"I don't see why not," Daenerys replied, leafing the pages. "I most certainly wish to read it."
Sam had been asleep, probably the only one in the bloody castle. When he examined the book, his contribution was disappointing. "I've heard about it, but that's all. It exists only in legends, like the white walkers."
Jon burst into laughter. "Right. The legends," he said.
Suddenly, he recalled his unlikely election to Lord Commander of the Watch and Sam's helping hand in it and… had a very bright or extremely stupid notion as to how to handle his wedding and everyone's wild notions about his person. "Never mind, Sam" he told his friend warmly. "Could you please help me with something else?"
"Always," Sam blinked with small, piggish eyes.
"I want information about the great councils in the realm," Jon demanded, "something you can put on the parchment fast. I would need it for the feast after the wedding. About kings being chosen and important decisions being taken. As short and accurate as you can make it."
"Short and accurate…" Sam peeped, "It may prove too hard-"
"I have faith in you," Jon reassured him.
Mother handed Sam a cup of tea, poured Jon a second one. Daenerys was lost in her book, with her pretty head tilted on one side.
Jon didn't require any sustenance, but he found everyone's presence… nourishing.
"I guess I should start-" Sam scratched his head.
"I can help," Mance said. "I know next to nothing about the Southron decision-making, but a good song can be made out of anything."
"I only want to be informed," Jon cautioned them against flowery language. "I'll make my own song."
Steelshanks interrupted Jon's nightly gathering; Winterfell's captain of the guards and, more often than not, the bringer of bad news.
"Who is it now?" Jon asked impatiently. "I thought that everyone I never wanted to see has arrived."
"You'll want to see them," Steelshanks was out of breath. "You will, my lord! I mean Your Grace… I mean Jon."
Steelshanks was almost family by now, his service to the Boltons buried in memory.
Jon rushed to the courtyard, stepping over drunks who slept in the corridors and never made it to their attributed accommodations.
Auburn hair, brown hair, brown curls, green garments, all hugging each other in fresh snow, fighting for space between the empty benches and tables toppled over after the feast.
"Hodor," the giant said, standing apart.
No one hugged Hodor, so Jon did. "Hodor," he repeated. "Do you remember me?"
"Hodor," Hodor said, tapping Jon's back.
"Jon!" Arya was the first to notice him, scream and run to Jon, leaving the general entanglement of limbs.
Rickon was trying to lift and carry Bran. Gendry and Aegon helped Rickon. Aegon's wife Jeyne dismounted and studied Winterfell with dark, haunted eyes. "This castle is alive," she stated.
For once, Jon agreed.
He closed the distance and took Bran in his arms. "Others take me," he cursed. "Where have you been?"
"In the cave," Bran replied instantly. "Haven't you seen me? You spoke to Bloodraven."
"No, Bran," Jon said truthfully. "Not then, nor the time after when I found Brynden Rivers dead."
"I only saw you once, so the second time you came I must have already left," Bran said, smiling, dreamy, long-haired, handsome, grown.
Jon's arms hurt from holding his not so little brother, but he would not give him to Hodor now.
"I sent you a raven when your brothers arrived at Castle Black," Aegon told Jon.
"The ravens are not flying well of late," Jon replied thoughtfully. This was another reason why Rhaegal was on the Wall now. He would not fail in returning for his rider in time if the Others came. "Nothing's reliable in winter," Jon concluded.
"That might well be," Aegon agreed. "I thought that maybe you were delayed or prevented from flying back. So we rode. We were fortunate to make it in time. It was… It was as if the land changed to help us ride faster."
Lord Reed embraced a girl who was taller than him and had the same curls. He offered an embarrassed look to Jon when Aegon mentioned the land changing.
Can you do it? Jon thought unwillingly. Just like the enemy could … beyond the Wall. That would be incredible. Why are you ashamed of your power?
There would be news, stories to be told. But Jon's wedding was in a few hours and all travellers looked worn, cold, dirty and tired.
Jon decided that the tales would have to wait.
The other members of his great nightly council had made it to the gates by then; Dany and Mother, Mance and Sam, Ser Barristan in imperfectly donned armour. It was a pity they didn't think of bringing a large teapot and a dozen mugs.
"All to bed!" Jon commanded sternly, but his eyes smiled. "Providing we can find some. It's going to be a long day tomorrow." And a long night.
Jon carried Bran to his own bed. Rickon followed suit, sneaking under the blankets.
"We'll take care of the rest," Dany reassured Jon from the door.
Mother was passing by, talking vividly to Arya, Lord Reed and- "Meera!" Bran called after the brown-haired lady.
With more light, Jon noticed that Meera was of an age with him and Dany and had a few years on Bran.
"It's my father," Meera answered Bran's call apologetically.
"Oh," Bran said with his cheeks flushed. "I am-"
"Brandon Stark, I know," Reed said from the door. "I've sent my children to you, remember?"
"Yes," Bran said dreamily. "But Jojen-"
"I know. It's not your fault, my boy," Reed said sadly and disappeared before Bran could finish his sentence.
Lady Meera shrugged in Bran's direction and followed her father.
Bran and Rickon soon snored despite claiming that they would never catch sleep from the excitement of being back to Winterfell together.
The castle was quiet now.
In the hour of the wolf…
Very soon, Jon would break his fast with… with his siblings and not only with Sam as he intended. He'd invited Mance and Aegon as well. And Dany… she'd do the same with Mother who was… her only living family, by marriage… except for Jon. And with the other unmarried ladies of the castle. It was the best that could be thought of, Mother had said.
Mother was… she must have been feeling better. Since the arrival of the Martells, she no longer looked as if she might jump off the battlements if Jon wasn't looking.
With the return of his siblings, the intrigues and the imminent Long Night seemed much less gloomy and life incredibly glorious and bright.
The attire he should wear for his wedding was laid out on a chair. He hadn't tried the doublet since it had been fully finished to show the colours…
Of the House Targaryen.
It was required, to go with the invitations, and his birth.
Yet Jon would have preferred to wear plain black, without the red, three-headed dragon. He kept ignoring it, spending the last hours of the night seated on the floor; lost in thought.
When he thought he saw the dirty grey light of dawn, he changed into clean blacks and put on the bloody doublet, trying to overlook the three-headed dragon on his chest. He nearly forgot the cloak for his bride, in the same colours, and had to return for it.
Maids brought clothing for his brothers. Hodor came for Bran, but it was Jon who carried him to the kitchens. The Great Hall was reserved for ladies this morning.
Breaking fast went by like a dream. Jon thought Mance might sing, but the wildling had no lute. He watched over Sam's shoulder, occasionally making a point about an expression. Sam wrote assiduously, forgetting to eat.
Arya looked teary. Gendry was not there.
"Where's your friend?" Jon had to ask.
"Gendry isn't family. Yet. I told him as much," Arya informed. "But he'll stand next to me in the godswood."
"Not yet?" Jon inquired.
"Yes," Arya said decisively. "You've heard me well."
Jon gave her a wolfish grin. "As you say, little sister." He would have to make an effort to know Gendry better since he was not to be rid of him any time soon.
Rickon ate like a starved bear. Bran turned his food on the platter and took a bite or two. Aegon looked both lost and found, like a newly-adopted brother, smiling at everyone.
"Your wife?" Jon addressed Aegon. All of a sudden, it became much easier to talk to him than to his siblings.
Because… it was his wedding and he was a man grown and on the verge of crying.
He missed Sansa, who should be there as well, if only to call him her half-brother.
"Jeyne is with the ladies," Aegon replied, happy to be included.
Jon wasn't hungry just like he wasn't tired or cold. He ate a bit, not recognising the taste of what he was having.
To appease the sensibilities.
In case his guests had spies behind the kitchen walls, trying to ascertain whether he was a man or a godless wight for their conspiring masters.
When the omnipresent Steelshanks appeared at the door, Jon knew it was time.
He walked to the godswood alone, resisting the temptation to peek into the Great Hall and see his princess. He didn't think she could be more beautiful than the night before. He knew she would try to be. She… She was a queen by nature.
His siblings and other noble guests followed.
There is nothing to be nervous about.
Briefly, he opened his wolf eyes. The Others were marching. Their king was nowhere to be seen. They were not yet near the Wall. Ghost padded after them.
Good.
He was tremendously nervous.
The godswood was becoming crowded. Slowly, the ladies began arriving. Daenerys would not tardy. She would come alone like himself. There was no man with authority over her who should bring her to the godswood. No father… and no king...
Jon looked at the heart tree. Its eyes were somnolent, barely open. Almost asleep. Won't you witness our union? Is it not why we come to you to marry? He asked the gods who, if they were watching, remained silent.
Mother came to the godswood with Lady Dustin, taking a place next to Arya, Bran and Rickon. The Tullys stood next to them. Lady Catelyn's old uncle held a hand of a a little boy who might have had the age of Mance's son and looked like… Robb.
Jon almost cried at the sight.
Dany's arrival saved him.
He expected her to wear silver. Instead, she wore a chaste, but richly red gown, with few black details. The three-headed dragon on her maiden's cloak was made of red rubies, tiny like tears… glittering and mingling in the spectator's eyes, so that the three heads of the dragon looked alive and as if they were spitting fire.
Her hair was up, lifted high like some enchanted tower. Silvery gems and nets competed with the natural glow of her captive tresses. Jon was fairly certain she had spent the rest of the night seated, just like he did, waiting for it to be arranged. She was radiant.
Jon smiled as Dany approached, searching for words to tell her, following her gaze-
-to the mouth of the heart tree, peaceful until that moment, widening and opening now, while its eyes, on the other hand, closed, stubbornly, hurtfully-
Sansa fell out from the mouth of the tree, wrapped in a cocoon of diaphanous ice. Right after her came the Night's King and ten of his Others…
Sansa brought her hand to her mouth, gasping.
And the Night's King spoke. "I expected an invitation. I am almost offended."
"Almost?" Jon asked incredulously against his will, assessing the situation.
Aegon was armed as was Ser Barristan and Mance, and many other guests. At least some of them favoured Jon's claim. Most valued their lives. They would have to be quick in reacting, but they could prevail.
Yet the Others were not attacking. The mouth of the heart tree stretched to a thin, suffering grimace behind them. If anyone looked truly insulted, it was the weirwood; blinded and muted.
"Will you not invite another king of this realm to your wedding?" The Night's King continued provoking him. "Or your sister?" he pointed at Sansa. "Have you forgotten her? I expected a heroic attempt at rescue but it seems that I was gravely mistaken."
Jon immediately stared at Sansa who sank to her knees and looked like a maid in need of saving. Her bloody husband had gone after her, didn't he? Jon instinctively reached for the bubble she was imprisoned in, feeling a sharp pain in his palm from it, as though he had just received a bloodless cut.
Don't mention Sandor to him, Jon. His sister's soft voice made his head hurt. He didn't hear her as he would Rhaegal, but… as a fellow skinchanger, jumping to his mind to take possession of it so that she could speak to him.
The Night's King swatted Jon's hand off the cocoon. "Your lady sister is my prisoner. A hostage. Isn't that normal in war? I heard that you were offering peace to all your enemies for the wedding. Why should I be any different?"
"I didn't think you'd be interested in coming," Jon said acidly.
"And if I was? Very interested?"
One of the Others lashed out and wanted to grab the boy that looked like Robb's son. The Tullys drew their swords as did Jon.
The Night's King was faster than any of them. With a powerful swing of his crystal blade, he beheaded the aggressive Other, who screamed in pain and turned into a blue mist.
"This one forgot himself," the Night's King almost apologised and studied the remainder of his… men… well… Others. "The rest should be able to behave… For a while."
"If you swear that they will," Jon challenged him, "I suppose you can stay. The more, the merrier."
What do you want? Perhaps this was the opportunity to know his enemy.
Jon looked at Sansa for answers. You don't want me to mention your husband. So that… so that the Night's King doesn't know? Did he find you?
Sansa… nodded with her eyes if Jon was not dreaming, as if she could hear his thoughts clearly. He reached for her cage and was thwarted again by the Night's King twisted, ugly arm.
But not before his sister relayed more information to him.
He has a wife Jon. A Mermaid Wife… She looks so foreign, Jon. He loves her. I don't know why he hasn't brought her if he wishes to be at your… is it truly your wedding? But of course it is! Gods! I'm so happy for you…
Sansa's muted, animated speech resounded in Jon's head. His sister beamed at Jon and Dany, rubbed her blue eyes and began to cry from… joy? Jon was flabbergasted. Dany's chin shook from emotion and she gave Sansa her best girlish smile.
My big sister is happy for us. It was the last thing Jon expected from Sansa when he saw her again. More so now that she was hostage of the Others. The Sansa he remembered would be choking from fear when facing far lesser evils. Such as Jon, covered with flour, running at her to scare her in the crypts of Winterfell…
In the corner of his eye, Jon noticed Mother restraining Rickon, who unsheathed his knife with unknown intentions. Arya looked restless. Her hand was on Needle's hilt, but she remained dead still. Bran could not move if he wanted; only his eyes danced with worry. Hodor put his hand on a fancy pommel of a large greatsword.
Jon stared his enemy down, feeling powerful. "So where is your wife?" he challenged him, hoping he finally knew something that the Night's King did not want to be known. "Won't she be jealous that you left her and went to drink mead at another man's wedding?"
The Night's King gave a murderous look to Sansa who never noticed it, mopping tears of joy and smiling right through them.
"We would be happy to invite both you and you lady wife if it is true that you have a spouse," Dany proposed calmly. "In peace. Is it not so, Jon?"
Jon nodded. "By all means," he said. "I'd do anything for my wife-to-be."
At least Daenerys had the good sense not to say they were sorry for not inviting the Others to begin with. That would be too humiliating, like accepting defeat. Jon would never resign himself to it.
"I'm thrilled to hear that you love your future wife so dearly," the Night's King replied sardonically. "And I swear by my wife's sacred name that, until the wedding's over…" he paused to regain his icy breath, giving a long, crystal blue glare to the crowd.
Tall and menacing, he fell briefly silent like a tomb.
Then, in a voice from which the soil under Jon's feet trembled, shook and boomed, bringing fear to faces of many of his noble guests, Stannis included, the Night's King thundered. "Until after the wedding, my lords and ladies…
…we shall have peace."
