AN: Long chapter time! Betcha didn't think I'd actually update this soon, huh? I hope you enjoy the little twists and turns I've got for ya here. There's just one more chapter to go!
Every Loyalty
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Chapter XXI:
What Was, and What Shall Never Be
Larisa next woke with a fierce, radiating pain beneath her ribs. She didn't recognize her own groaning voice. A soft hand brushed away sweat from her face, though it was difficult to see in the dim light. She thought she recognized Sansa by her red hair, sitting beside her on the bed.
"It's all right," she said, a gentleness in her voice that Larisa had never quite heard before. "They gave you poppy seeds for the pain, though you may not remember…when you wake properly, I'll wake him as well. And your mother. She's finally resting now too."
Him? Larisa wondered. And…my mother's here? Her mind was still too slow. Sansa applied a new cool cloth to her forehead.
"Just sleep," she said. "The next time you open your eyes, it will be better."
Larisa very much doubted it, but she gave into the allure of sleep.
What seemed to be the next instant, or perhaps much longer than that, she woke again to a dimly lit room. This time she noticed the window to her right, as it was letting in some early morning sunlight just over the horizon. She could feel its warmth, despite the light winter breeze that hit her face. Though she shuddered a bit, it was still surprising to see a hand appear and pull a fur blanket up closer to her chin. Her body was mostly numb, save for the dull pulsing pain in her left side. But she was able to turn her head over to the left, just enough to see him.
Jon Snow, sitting in a rickety wooden chair at her bedside with his bedraggled hair pulled back and dark circles beneath his deep brown eyes. With eyes that tired and red, she half-expected him to wear a dour frown, as per usual. Not just now; he smiled like he couldn't yet believe what he was seeing. As if this small castle room was the world, and she the sun after the Long Night.
Her guilt ate at her, once she remembered everything that had come to pass after the battle for King's Landing began. She remembered the choice she made, going after Cersei instead of trying to be safe. She'd chosen her chance at revenge.
"I'm sorry," Larisa said at last, her voice cracking with disuse. Jon's hand gripped hers with a familiar warmth. His smile quirked at the edges, but she could see in those eyes, he wasn't happy with her.
"Is this how it's gunna be for the rest of our days?" he asked, only half-joking as he looked down on their joined hands. "We can't both be the reckless one."
She couldn't entirely regret what she did, but she couldn't be more sorry for the worry she'd caused him. "It was selfish to go after Cersei," she admitted.
"It was selfish of me to pull my men out from King's Landing and have them join me against Daenerys without a real plan," Jon replied. "Selfish of me to ignore every warning you, and everyone else ever gave me about her."
That didn't stop him from feeling remorse, and even guilt over her death, it seemed. It had been Arya with the real plan in the end, but without Jon's remaining men and the remains of the Golden Company, combined with the allied forced Larisa and Sansa had formed with the Prince of Dorne, they may not have stood a chance against Daenerys's more unified, if wilder army.
Larisa managed a small smile. "I assume we won."
Jon laughed, heartily as he lifted her hand to his lips. Larisa blinked through the burn of tears in her eyes, but it was no good. She had never been more grateful to be alive than in this moment. Her fingers curled desperately around his.
Perhaps sensing her need, Jon's mirth fell away to a softer look. He got up from his chair and leaned over, pressing his lips to hers. Her eyes closed at the feel of him, his closeness a balm to her frayed body and mind. She could tell he was holding himself back, taking pains to treat her gently and with care as he held the side of her face. She gripped his hand to keep it there, and it did well to steady her, even when he pulled away to sit back down.
"How long have I been like this?" she asked.
"A few days."
She should've expected that, but it was still strange to hear that she'd been incapacitated for so long, likely on the brink of death. Now she understood what Sansa had said before; her mother must have been with her for most of that time, perhaps along with Jon, when his duties didn't claim him.
Speaking of, she then asked him, "What of Daenerys's army? Are we in King's Landing, or Dragonstone?"
Jon took in her questions with patience. "What's left of the Unsullied agreed to leave Westeros, going to Naath I think. The Dothraki, few of them still standin', will return to Vas Dothrak," he said. "As for where we are, you're right. We hold King's Landing, what's left of the palace."
Larisa studied his face, found that there was something he didn't yet want to say. She could hazard one guess.
"And who will rule the Seven Kingdoms?" she said. His dark eyes turned grim.
"There will be a council to decide."
The door then creaked open, revealing Willem's unruly blonde head as he backed into the room with a tray of food and medical supplies. At once, the sight of her brother alive displaced most apprehensive thoughts about the Iron Throne, and just who would sit upon it.
Will's face slackened with shock once he saw her awake, and he nearly dropped the tray and all its contents.
"Careful dear," Dorna said, as she appeared in the doorway hurrying after him. She laid a supportive hand on his shoulder, but seeing his wide smile, she too noticed her daughter was awake.
Jon stepped away, taking the tray from Will so the boy could go to his sister. Dorna passed by him with a grateful look sent his way, and a tearful gaze that matched Larisa's when she embraced Will as tightly as her weakened arms could manage. Dorna settled on the other side, determined to check Larisa's wound to make sure it was clean and healing, while Will regaled her with the full story of the battle.
Jon watched it all from a respectful distance. He was grateful to finally witness the day Larisa could be reunited with the family she had left, just as he had. For her sake, he hoped it would last.
Larisa was forced to hold on tightly to Sansa's arm. After the morning's visit from the maester to redress Larisa's wound, Sansa had volunteered herself to escort her while Dorna was in preparations with Prince Aldemar, and Jon with Davos. Even Willem was busy, running messages and other errands for Davos throughout the castle. And while Larisa understood all that, she still couldn't quite fathom what was in Sansa's head.
Why was Sansa helping her at all? What did she have to gain, besides the eventual right to hold it over Larisa in some way. Though she could admit, only privately to herself, that this sort of scheme didn't seem to be Sansa's goal. Her actions so far in helping Larisa heal had been done dutifully, without complaint or any sharp words.
Whatever her aim, Larisa didn't buy it. Not yet, at least. They walked together now down the long hall. Though much the Red Keep was destroyed, there were some smaller towers that till remained. Their path would lead them soon to a large enough room where the council would be held. The council that would decide the next ruler of Westeros and sit upon the Iron Throne.
Larisa felt an uneasy churning in her stomach, a further manifestation of her anxiety that started the night before. Really though, this day had been turning around in her mind for far longer.
She glanced over at Sansa, who appeared more or less calm, other than the tense set of her shoulders. Larisa let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and said, "It will be Jon, won't it?"
Sansa met her gaze, if only briefly. "I wouldn't bet against it. He is…a good man. A good leader."
Larisa thought she detected something there, just beneath the surface of Sansa's words. Instinctively, Larisa knew she meant them. But there was more.
"Being a good man makes him a good leader?" Larisa posed. She didn't disagree with Sansa, but she was testing the waters, trying to suss out exactly what it was the other woman meant to say.
"Not every man, but Jon will do right by the people," Sansa acknowledged. She looked over at Larisa then, with a sharp honesty in her pale blue eyes. "I've come to realize that it'll be good for him to have someone at his side. When he is truly named king, and those shameless rats stumble over themselves to serve him. People who will take advantage of his tendencies."
They came to a narrow flight of stairs that made Larisa's stomach lurch for a different reason; she could already feel her aching side flinch with apprehension. She hid it well though, and turned to Sansa with an arched brow. "Which tendencies are those?"
Sansa smiled grimly, supporting Larisa carefully as they started slowly down the steps. "Whenever he tries to think of what my father would do, you will think of what they will do."
Larisa didn't have to ask who they would be, though nothing in this world had quite managed to surprise her more than finally earning Sansa Stark's approval. Larisa had never sought it, and hadn't begrudged Sansa for her mistrust and hatred of Lannisters—not even of Larisa in particular. She understood well what Sansa had seen when she found a woman like her in Winterfell, and more so after Sansa knew the truth about her and Jon. More that a simple threat, Sansa had seen the South chasing her into the North. But it was clear now that Sansa no longer feared the South.
With a small, tremulous sigh, Larisa released the question she'd been pondering for months. "Do you think it would be difficult for Jon if I stayed with him? Politically, I mean."
Once Sansa had safely helped her down the last step, they left the stairs to find the right chamber where the council was meant to gather. She sent Larisa a slightly narrowed look.
"To make a widowed Lannister his queen?" Sansa's lips curved into a smirk. "It's not the most tactful choice he could make, but Jon's never much cared about that."
It was a fair point. Somehow though, Larisa didn't feel much better. "Would you marry again?"
Sansa snorted in response. "What for?"
Larisa couldn't help a smile. She seemed to remember a few shared glances between Sansa and the Dornish Prince, but she didn't care to voice those observations. Just now, she didn't have the energy for the verbal sparring that would be sure to follow. Still, she couldn't help a little jab.
"Fair point, I suppose," said Larisa. "Anyway, there should be some kind of law against how many marriages you've accrued."
Before Sansa could utter a retort, Jon caught up with them in the hall, just paces behind. He greeted his sister warmly, then reached for Larisa's hand as he offered Sansa a smile.
"Mind if I speak with her a moment?"
Sansa only rolled her eyes, though a slight smile tugged at her lips. She continued on her way without them, leaving Larisa to stare up into Jon's warm gaze. It warmed her in turn, despite herself.
"I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you lately," he said, but Larisa was already shaking her head.
"Not at all. You're sister has actually been…downright tolerable company," she said with a smirk. Jon's face lit up with surprise, and he chuckled.
"Stranger things have happened, I guess," he said, though when his eyes looked down on her with affection, it only worsened her uneasiness, even as her heart grew at the mere sight of him, and his hands holding tightly onto hers.
"No matter what happens this day," Jon said, "my intentions here haven't changed."
Larisa knew this all too well. If she just remained quiet, then all would be well for her, regardless if Jon became King of the Seven Kingdoms or not. Though she was not the same woman that had left Casterly Rock for the North all that time ago; she had been changed.
Perhaps not seeing the conflict within Larisa's eyes, Jon held the side of her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek. She allowed him to bring her close, press a gentle kiss to her forehead as her eyes closed at the tender feeling.
"We'll speak more after this," he said. Not trusting her voice to speak, Larisa offered him a small smile, and she simply nodded in response. He led her to the chamber door at the end of the hall, and they stepped into the makeshift council room together.
Many had already gathered, having received missives via raven. Of course, there was Sansa, seated beside Davos, Brienne, Jaime Lannister and Theon Greyjoy, with Yara Greyjoy representing the Iron Islands and Gendry representing Storm's End. There was Prince Aldemar and Lady Dorna, with Lord Baelish seated beside the prince. Bran Stark and Samwell Tarley had journeyed down from Winterfell, with Arya beside her brother. There was even Robin Arryn and the Captain of the Vale. What surprised Larisa most was that Tyrion was still alive, if still in chains from his prior alliance with Daenerys Targaryen. This, and that Varys the Spider had found his way back from wherever he had managed to escape from the Dragon Queen.
Larisa took her seat alongside Sansa, while Jon was left at nearly the middle of the strange circle of Westeros's remaining powerful individuals. The last of great houses and clans and regions. And as expected, it all began rather poorly.
There were those that still bore a grudge for the slain Dragon Queen, like Yara Greyjoy. Though the majority were in support of what had come to pass in the wake of the battle for King's Landing. Jon's voice managed to cut through the rabble.
"Yara, I understand your views," he said. Larisa could see the regret is his eyes, the weight of guilt on his shoulders. But he met Yara's gaze directly. "You fought for Daenerys because you believed she was better than Cersei. I did too. I chose to fight against her because I saw that she was more of the same. Now I can only speak for myself, but even so, we're all here to move forward in peace."
"But we can't have peace," Tyrion spoke, earning the attention of the entire room. He stared at the ground, and Larisa's heart ached for him; even though he had served Daenerys, he had always treated her kindly and with respect. His clothes were dusty and tattered, his beard was overgrown, but when he raised his head, his eyes were clear. "Not until you choose a new ruler. You all must choose."
The room was heavy with silence, until Varys stood.
"If I may," he began, in that smooth, lilting voice of his. Larisa took notice, and she could see Lord Baelish watching the man closely. "I have served many powerful people, and served against them just as often. I doubt my presence here will garner much respect, considering my last parting with the queen I served. However, it is only because I hadn't yet found an individual who cares less about their own personal quests for power, and more about serving their country well."
Varys turned his stare onto Jon. Their eyes met with a familiarity Larisa found strange, but Jon looked distinctly uncomfortable, if resigned.
"I cannot claim to be certain, but I would follow such a man as Jon Snow," Varys said. "His true heritage aside, both Targaryen and Stark, he holds the ideals of his noble blood before him, Ned Stark…does anyone disagree?"
No one did. Even Yara, though she still looked displeased, didn't utter a sound. Larisa held her breath until her lungs ached, watching the rest of the room fall into agreement. Before Davos could utter a supportive movement, Jon's voice rang out.
"No," he said. Larisa's nails bit into the palm of her hands in an effort to hold in her shocked gasp. Jon shook his head. "I didn't fight to be King of Westeros."
"You fought so that we could all be free," Sansa said. She seemed just as shocked as everyone else.
"I did, as every one of you did," he replied. "And I fought for the North. My people named me King in the North. That's the only title I'll accept, from that day until my last day."
"Then what are we to do?" said Prince Aldemar.
"We have to choose someone who has proven themselves capable," Sansa said. "A leader who will rule the southern kingdoms, and ally with Jon and the North instead of trying to cripple it."
"Someone who understands both regions," Baelish remarked. Larisa mused that his familiar smarmy smirk was more restrained, just as much as his comment. Though she wasn't the only one to notice the small glance he offered Sansa.
It was then that Larisa realized where this was headed, and she found she quite agreed with the idea.
"Perhaps we do need a queen after all," Tyrion said. Smiling, he looked up at Sansa. "A Queen of the South."
There were a certain few things Larisa had missed about the south. The feeling of home, the familiar roving hills and plains in the Westerlands, but most of all, the setting sun at dusk. Light played through the columns in the castle courtyard Jon supported her through, as they walked together. Mostly in silence, as the weight of what had happened settled over them.
Sansa would be Queen in the South, while Jon remained King in the North.
"You're unusually quiet," Jon joked as they stopped on the ledge of a small garden bench, so Larisa could rest a moment. She looked up at him with a frown.
"Why the hell did you do that?" she asked. When Jon only scoffed in amusement, she gripped his arm tightly. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm sure Sansa will make for a great queen, but so too would you for a king, not only for the North."
"If you remember, I didn't wanna be king of anything," he said. "If there's one thing that's my choice, just one thing, it will be this."
Jon grasped both of her hands in his, peering deeply into her eyes. He was serious, and Larisa calmed herself enough to listen to him.
"I know you've just reunited with your mother. I don't know what ties she keeps to the Prince of Dorne, but I'm asking you now," he said. "Will you come back with me to the North, and be my queen?"
For a moment, Larisa was actually speechless. He had never asked outright to marry her, but now that the day had come, she wasn't altogether sure what to do. Her heart was overwhelmed and overflowing with joy, but there was one final wall around it that made her hesitate to speak. Jon's thumb soothing over the back of her hand brought her back to his impossible dark eyes.
"I love you," he confessed. "I know it, in my bones. I know that you love me too…even if there's somethin' holding you back."
Neither of them had ever allowed that particular confession to escape—not in so many words. Yet hearing him say it now threatened to make Larisa feel unequivocally whole. The only problem was, she couldn't allow it, no matter how much self-loathing it caused her. Staring up at him, her first instinct, as always, was to lie. The difference this time was, it wasn't for her own sake.
"I'm sorry," she managed to say, hating herself for the way Jon's expression gradually fell. To hide her own desperate pain, she allowed her voice to grow regretful. "I cannot leave the south any longer. I won't be trapped in the North again, among people who'd rather see me hang than sit at their table, let alone stand beside their king."
Unfortunately, Jon didn't react with the incredulous anger she'd expected. Actually, he seemed to have become more perceptive even in their short time together. His eyes told her but one thing: he didn't believe her.
"That's not an answer," he said in exasperation. He shook his head. "It's an excuse, and you know it. There's something else."
His hand tightened on hers, anticipating the way she tried to slip away and create distance between them. He propped a curled finger under her chin and raised her fallen gaze to meet his. "You can lie to everyone else, Larisa, but you can't lie to me."
She pulled her head out of his grip, a flash of irritation making her frown tightly. "What? What am I hiding, since you know me so well, your grace."
"I do know you, Lara," Jon said, following her retreating steps. Her hand was still trapped in his. "You're the one who said I shouldn't fear being who I am. So tell me, what are you afraid of now?"
Larisa's gaze roamed over his face, despite her instinct to hide, to flee from him. But she knew then that it was impossible. If she was truly changed, then he deserved to know the truth. This one last secret, which would more than succeed in ending whatever fantasy this had been.
"Yes, you are a king," she said. Her eyes stung familiarly, a tear that drew a long path down her cheek. "A king needs heirs, a legacy...and I can't give them to you."
Jon's face slackened with shock. Even his hold on her slowly loosened the more her confession weighed between them, like a fallen stone. Larisa felt paralyzed, her chance to run stripped away as she rested her back against an unforgiving column.
Just when she thought the stress of silence would make her mad, Jon finally asked, "How the hell do you know that?"
She didn't know if she could bear recounting the story in all its shameful glory. Though when she saw the sadness instead of anger in his eyes, his honest desire to know and understand, she relented.
"When I was married to Harden Lefford, I became pregnant early on," she began, her voice trembling as more tears fell. Her deeper embarrassment and shame made her lower her gaze to the floor, so she wouldn't have to see Jon's sadness turn to disgust. "The last thing that man should ever have done was father children. I knew...I knew what would become of them, and of me. And I was naive. I thought, if I were to fail as a wife, he would send me back to Casterly Rock. Back to my family, and my troubles would be over."
Jon's voice reached her, gently enough that she chanced looking up at him. He asked, "What happened then?"
"I wrote to Elinor," she confessed. "My sister at King's Landing since childhood. Her father is a noble scholar, and she has studied the alchemy of herbs since before we met…she sent me a draught."
To this day, Larisa still didn't know what sort of potion or poison she had taken, only that it had been exceedingly effective. For how deathly ill she became for three long weeks, it had nearly taken her with it, long after the effects had run their course.
She had not carried a child to term since that day her first was pulled from her, dead before it even came into the world.
Jon's frown was deep, his face pale by the time she finished recounting the events of years passed. He wasn't yet as disgusted or angry as she expected him to be, but given time to process, she knew it would soon arrive. Just in time for the sun to set behind them.
"I still don't know if what I did was right," she said, "but it's the decision I made. In the end, it was more selfish than I meant it to be."
She didn't know if she would ever bear a child, but if she did not, she could only blame herself.
"I may regret that day until my last, but now you understand," she said, offering Jon a sad sort of smile. "I'm not the woman to stand beside you as queen. Not in the north, or the south, or anywhere at all."
Larisa could tell he meant to argue with her, but it was too much for her heart to take. Despite Jon calling for her in protest, she left him behind in the courtyard, quickly slipping away through the complex stretch of columns and garden sculptures that hadn't been touched by dragon fire. Forcefully wiping at the tears streaming down her face, she stopped at a fountain and sat on its ledge. She needed desperately to rest, as her wound was aching fiercely.
Her shaking fingers found the edge of the chain around her neck, pulled the pendant out from under her collar and found herself opening it up, considering the vile inside. It had been meant for her enemies, for herself, for Cersei. Larisa had a sudden urge then to chuck it into the fountain, or crush it on the ground beneath her heel; it had done nothing to aid her. Her life had been a series of foolish choices, yet she could no longer blame her husband, or her father. Not even Cersei. Today had been her own doing, and all she could do from here on was to move forward, whatever that meant.
Perhaps I will go with Mother to Dorne, she thought, her lips pulling into a frown. But what about Willem? Perhaps Davos will release him, if I ask it of Jon…one last favor for my family's sake, to let us stay together.
"Why would you spurn the man who loves you?" said Martha.
Larisa's head snapped up as her body unconsciously bristled. She hadn't noticed the other woman, sitting at a nearby bench. She seemed genuinely curious, and concerned. Larisa wondered why Martha's doe eyes and youthfully pretty face annoyed her on sight.
"Why are you alone here, like some errant child?" Larisa snapped. She knew it wasn't kind, but her own pain, not only physical, called on her reflex to lash out.
"Lady Sansa," Martha said, though she looked troubled as she gazed down at the ground. "She has released me from her service. Or at least, she had offered me the choice."
"Oh?" Larisa almost found that amusing, if not for her own roiling emotions, and her prickling temper held just under the surface. "How unusually kind of her."
"Lady Sansa has always been kind to me," Martha replied.
"Then why do you look as if someone spat in your eye?" Larisa asked. "If you're free of Sansa, then you could return home. Your cousin Addam Marbrand would receive you well, I'm sure."
The grim look on Martha's face told Larisa what she thought of that idea.
Unless," Larisa posed knowingly, "you would prefer to stay in close proximity to Theon Greyjoy."
Martha sent her a dour glare. If Larisa had to guess, the former Ironborn would stay to serve Sansa in some capacity, but from what she'd witnessed on the journey to Dorne, he was probably unwilling, as of yet, to return Martha's obvious affections.
Yet, being the operative word, Larisa mused. Inwardly, she smiled. What an opportunity it was, to repay a debt.
"But does he want you in return?" Larisa wondered aloud. "You are a respectable lady of the Westerlands. I can only expect you would respect his wishes, resigning yourself to pine at a safe, respectable distance, if only to maintain some kind of proximity."
Martha didn't speak, but she turned her face away. Larisa spotted the glassiness of the girl's eyes, and she knew her path was sure.
"But this would be fine, as long as he's alive and well," Larisa continued. "You can be content with it, you'll tell yourself. You must, for propriety's sake. Any kind of life you might have shared would be difficult, anyway. You wouldn't be able to create a family together, let alone achieve true intimacy. In fact, he'll be sure to resent you for the last bit, and more than likely the entire marriage. It really seems hardly worth the effort—"
Suddenly Martha stood, her eyes blazing furiously. Her voice rang out through the garden as she shouted, "Enough."
Larisa feigned surprise as the young woman trampled off towards the castle, passing a newly freed Tyrion down the cobblestone path. Touchy, Larisa thought with a small smirk. Tyrion raised a brow at her as he approached. Sansa surely had pardoned him, and freedom looked well on him with new fine clothing and a trimmed beard. He joined her on the bench and tutted with reproach.
"That was cruel," he said, though he still looked amused, in a resigned sort of way.
Larisa scoffed lightly, glancing back up at the courtyard's entrance. Martha had already discovered Theon in the corridor. It was more than entertaining to watch her small frame bluster towards him, his eyes widening in surprise when she grabbed his collar and pulled him with her down the hall.
Larisa allowed herself a reserved, secretive smile as she returned her attention to present company, bringing her shawl closer to her body.
"We'll see."
The ships were ready to set sail from the shores of Blackwater Bay. The Northerners would return back to Winterfell, while Prince Aldemar would return to Dorne. However, the parting was weighing on Jon more than he'd expected.
"I should've known you weren't coming," Jon said, smiling ruefully down at Arya. Beside him stood the rest of the Starks; Bran, and Sansa, not yet with her new crown. "Fighting the Night King and helping to end the long war wasn't enough for you?"
The young woman smirked back at him. "What's west of Westeros?"
"I don't know," Jon admitted, though his smile grew.
"No one does," Arya said, a sort of wonder in her eyes, though they were red and brimming with tears. "It's where all the maps stop."
Jon nodded in understanding, even though a part of his heart was breaking off. "You got your needle?"
"Right here," Arya said, her voice beginning to shake. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, and Jon caught it with his thumb. He brought her in a tight embrace and offered a crying Sansa his comforting look. When he spied between her and Bran, a small ship preparing to leave the shore, his gaze focused with interest on the tall dark-haired man lugging cargo and supplies onto the deck. He shared a raised brow with Sansa. In his wheelchair, Bran simply looked content, as always.
"At least I know you won't be going alone," Jon remarked. Once Arya pulled away, she noticed where he was looking and became somewhat sheepish. Gendry was going with her, it seemed, instead of taking up his newfound titles and ruling over Storm's End.
"I take it he didn't fancy himself a lord?" Jon guessed. Arya's lips curved with a grin.
"It wasn't him," she said. Then, her gaze drifted behind Jon. "But actually…there's one more coming with."
"Who?" Sansa asked. She was forced to turn and step away from Bran when a familiar blonde-headed boy stumbled through, panting for breath even though his face was lit up with a bright smile.
"Sorry, am I late?" Willen said.
"For what?" Jon asked incredulously. Will looked confused, then distinctly nervous as his eyes shifted to Arya.
"I thought you said you cleared it with him!"
"I said he wouldn't mind," Arya reminded him. "He knows now, anyway."
"This better not be how it's gunna go the whole time," Will griped. "You saying clever things to get around saying what you actually mean."
Arya rolled her eyes. "Maybe you'll just have to get clever then."
The more the two bickered, with Sansa throwing her two cents in and Bran blissfully quiet, Jon tuned out their increasingly loud conversation to scan the long path up the beach, where a lone figure stood just before the steps leading up to the castle. Larisa stood there, leaning heavily on the wall as her heavy gaze followed her younger brother. She held a wool shawl close to her as the wind threatened to batter her, looking pale and grieving.
He'd let her walk away from him the day of the council meeting. The shock of her story had stunned him, long enough for her to slip through his fingers. But he realized now, that was just another excuse. If he remained indecisive, as he'd nearly done with facing against Daenerys, then he would likely never see Larisa Lannister again. And he would never be whole.
Larisa had been chasing after him the best she could, but with her wound, she was starting to wane. Dorna had warned her against going down to the beach, but once the older woman had gone off to attend to one of Aldemar's errands, Larisa took full advantage of being out of her watchful eye to escape her room. There was no way in hell that she would let her brother leave this continent without her.
"You shouldn't be here," Will said, hot with irritation even though he was looking back at her in worry every so often, to make sure she didn't lose her balance on the irregular steps.
"You shouldn't either!" Larisa countered. "Just because Davos agreed to relieve you of being his squire, doesn't mean you have to run to your death."
Her breaths were starting to become labored, but despite the warning signals her body (and particularly her wound) was radiating, she summoned enough energy to push forward and grab Will's shoulder. Not willing to injure her further, he finally stopped and faced her.
"I'm not running off anywhere," Will said. "I want to see more of what this world holds."
"I thought you wanted to be a knight," Larisa quipped dryly.
"Because I thought that's what Father wanted for Martyn. I wanted to be that, for both of them," Will replied. "But now, I want to figure out who I wanna be. I can't do that while serving someone else."
He looked earnest, and much calmer than Larisa was. The more she stared at him, the more she came to understand just what had happened, without her realizing it. If she had changed, then so too had her brother. Her heart felt squeezed into a vice, thumping hard in her chest. Blinking past the burning in her eyes, she let him take her hand in both of his hands, which, like the rest of him, had lost much of their baby fat.
"Thanks for looking after me all this time," he said. She couldn't speak, for if she did, the dam holding back the well of her emotions would crumble. When he hugged her, she held him as tight as her meager strength would allow.
"It won't be forever," Will whispered. Her hold on him tightened marginally, and she kissed his cheek.
"It'd better not be," she managed to reply.
All too soon, he slipped away from her embrace and continued his path down the shore. She watched as he joined the gathering of Starks, almost knocking into Sansa as he went. Larisa could see Jon's surprise, the way he hugged Will afterwards. But she focused on her brother, even when he went up with Arya onto the ship.
She remembered how her mother had stood and watched Larisa and Will depart from Casterly Rock, until she could no longer see the horses. Larisa wasn't sure she was strong enough to watch that long—until the ship disappeared onto the horizon.
She started back of the stairs, using the wall as a support. But for every step that struck pain beneath her still healing stitches, she sucked in a gasping breath. Though it wasn't long before she realized she was crying.
She didn't even notice Jon until it was too late to escape him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders before she could buckle, and gently rested her against the wall. His touch, his warmth, his support was exactly the comfort she craved, but she couldn't help a lance of irritation. After a parting like theirs, it was typically an unspoken agreement to never speak to each other again if propriety didn't demand it of them.
Maybe Northerners lacked this sort of subtlety.
"Why are you here?" she said coldly, though her treacherous hands refused to let go of the leather armor at his chest. "What could you possibly want from me now—"
"Enough," Jon said. The terseness of his tone surprised her, enough for her to chance looking up at him. His expression held the same pain she felt cutting into her heart. She still didn't see his disgust. He didn't even seem angry with her, after what she'd told him. He only looked sad, with a small gleam of hope behind his eyes.
"Tell me the truth," he said. His fingers strengthened their grip on her upper arms, and she knew it wasn't just to steady her. "What do you want? From this life, I mean."
Nothing from you, a dark thought in her mind hissed. But she could no longer direct any spite at him, because she no longer found it within herself to lie. At least, not to Jon. Tears flooded her eyes then. Now with Will gone, and Dorna departing soon for Dorne, Larisa would truly be alone. She wouldn't be able to know with any certainty that Will was safe, or even if he was alive.
"I wanted to protect him," she confessed, her voice hitching. Jon smiled a little.
"You can hardly blame him for following your example," he teased.
Larisa's eyes flashed with anger, and she attempted vainly to push away from him. "So it's my fault then? Even while joking, it hardly helps right now—"
"You did well, Larisa," he said, more gently as he relented. "He'll become a good man yet."
She stared back at him, her anger ebbing away as soon as it had sparked. It left her exhausted. "To the last, you really are insufferable, Jon Snow."
He smiled genuinely now. His hands moved to hold her waist, bringing her body closer to his.
"What're you thinking?" he asked. Larisa didn't need to contemplate her answer this time.
"Why have the gods allowed me to love a man like you?" she said. Tears continued to escape her eyes, though he brushed them away. He was a foolish man. So wretchedly foolish. She looked up at him closely, trying to read exactly what he was trying to say. Did he not care about his legacy? Did he not care that she wasn't the right choice for a king?
"Why do you hold onto me when I'll never be enough?" she asked. Jon's brows furrowed in anger then; not so much at her, she thought, but at her self-disparaging words.
"I know if I leave you here, it'll never be right again," he said. Something lighter entered his eyes as he neared her face, his lips brushing her cheek. "What're your thoughts on the issue?"
Larisa grasped his arms, which held her against him. "I fear I won't be much better off," she admitted. Her gaze focused on his lips.
He kissed her then, plying her lips with the passion that had always existed between them. Her fingers delved into his thick hair, welcoming his body against her and his kiss devouring her.
She was confused when he eventually pulled away, though his hand running soothingly over her back made her realize she was trembling. She allowed herself to relax, and he pulled an errant strand of hair behind her ear, brushing his thumb against her reddened cheeks. He smiled.
"Let's go home."