Chapter 36: Blacksheep

It felt awkward, the little lady was being odd...in a good way. He cocked his head to survey her new habit of swishing that hell of a skirt, with the baiting bustle. "You alright?" It perhaps wasn't a good idea to draw attention to something that would make her second guess herself, he needed to stroke that esteem. His cousin can do what she likes, if it comforts her. Jon supposed she didn't realise the rest of her went with it...and his eyes. He cleared his throat upon them nearing the trinket stand. Thank the old gods they weren't holding hands, he was perspiring. "Sure I can't tempt you with...?" He tried to think outside of what he thought looked good on her, and more on what she would like...hopefully one in the same. Gifting didn't come easy to him, and he sensed gifting her something, would cause her inner turmoil. "A choker broach of green ribbon...or an amethyst drop hairnet?"

Her eyes roved the stall, her head turning to him before her eyes did, it was a game. "No gifts, my lord." It was a drawl, something that he was not used to from her, prior to the festival, but presently all the time. He could have sworn her eyes seared with want...for a necklace...or the hairnet. He wasn't one of those lords to jump to conclusions, he never assumed the pleasantries of every woman was a baiting.

"Damn, and I had money I wished to spend." He rasped. His caution had gone with the wind recently, it was careless and counter-productive of him. "Shame."

"Is it weighing so badly in your pocket?"

Oh he sensed where this was going. "You can't have that-" can you?

"-Save your money, my lord."

Oh, he was wrong? But when she sheepishly walked away, and not skulked, he thought otherwise. "...What if it were a prize?...Say, from a successful round?" He tried.

"I'm not doing archery, I'm going to spectate." Her mind was quick.

"There's nothing to fear, Meera is a great supervisor of the sport." He closed in on her. "Trust me, trust her."

Her eyes were a severe clear this day, and all previous days.

Jon remembered when he was little, young Robb told him 'when a female in the family is approaching 'the age', arm yourself with a stick.' Luckily noble gents in the north were given their first swords at 13. With real steel, not wood. It made perfect sense, because soon as a girl passed the age of 10, she was fair game. Awful. Not just to the other boys her age, but to the men, mainly those of ill repute, aging, with withered loins that got a jolt of excitement upon seeing a youngling.

Gods, he remembered a man arrived in a carriage at Winterfell, wearing blue and grey robes, tailored to him, and long to his ankles. It gave the impression he was religious, but he was anything but. He would remember his face. Child-like eyes, clean shaven, except for the moustache. As he approached to warmly greet the Starks, Jon knew, he just knew, this man was trouble, and soon as he started speaking, he found his tone false, and accent muddled. He couldn't understand why everyone was all smiles, his words were too sweet and he had too many recommendations. This man had to be southern, but from his accent, possibly west-southern. The man liked Lady Catelyn, he spoke to her like they were old friends, in fact, he had a compliment for each member. Uncle Ned; You're taller in person, Lady Catelyn; Radiant beautiful, Robb; Strong as an ox, Bran; He looks artistic, Arya; adorable, Rickon; handsome babe, Sansa;...You look like your mother. The man rocked on the balls of his feet, staring, dithering by his sweet cousin a moment longer than he should, before addressing his hosts again as if he hadn't done something weird. Jon's vision had become red. Where's my sword? At this rate he would have to delay returning to the wall.

He shuddered. Marriage pacts were organized over the heads of small girls. Not if he could help it. Jon at the tender age of 9, noticed that girls didn't beautify at 10, they beautified at 5, and then he understood why the sticks were needed. And not because he himself was a degenerate, but he saw how impressionable the girls were, and delicate... and pretty, and men were fast and cunning. He remembered poor old Meera being chased by a 10 year old farmhand at 6, who'd been dared to kiss her and make her squeak, he had laughed at the pursuit at the time, until the girl in question ran and cowered behind him. She is not having fun. When the farmhand was in reach, he swung his hiking stick at him. "Enough!"

His first act as guardian/ protector of damsels in distress. The bastard guardian. The seemingly harmless wolf. The half wolf. The black half wolf. The Blacksheep. He had read that in one of his mother's books. She read him tales of knights, Dragons, Princesses, loveable rogues, and he had even got hold of the collection of shameless Mistresses' series of books, that had captivated his mother. Not a good start in life for his impressionable young mother, but the adventures were thrilling. He believed his introduction into society and the prospect of courting was through a woman's eyes, and with a woman's voice, if that made any sense? He did not have a father, or a regular man growing up to pull him aside and tell him about the facts of life on a daily basis, chasing skirts, sowing oats, and being mindful of in-laws. Gods, it makes them sound like predators. He had a good parent that told him about men and women, that they were all equals and all animals, but humans had the benefit of selective attraction, a bond to the mate's pack, long term commitment, and heightened prolonged passion. He was sure she read that right out of a book.

He had a memory of Lord Howland Reed talking to his mother over the chicken fence, about Men being less picky about their mates than women, stemming from the animalistic need to plant as many seeds as possible to mass produce descendants. He weren't supposed to hear that, and his beautiful mother shooed him away when she saw he was near.

Lord Reed was a dear friend of his mother, and he was often looked after in their household...Especially when the King was paying his mother a special visit, so he was essentially babysat, while his majesty was getting his jollies off. Another term this Lord Reed used, which he grew to know the meaning of over time. Uncle Benjen would on the rare occasion pass by the cabin, laden with furs to trade, Jon would scurry out to him, in hopes he would take him fur trapping one day, when he was older he obliged. So he had two grown men he could thoroughly rely on to take him out and show him the world, well...the north side of it. Any distraction from the encroaching King.

There was a day when Jon was dropped off a horse at his mother's cabin earlier than he was supposed to, and walked in on the pair of them. "Wait outside, sweetling!" His mother called from her odd position, and he slammed the door, and sulked in the chicken coop, since it had begun to rain. He pretended he hadn't seen anything untoward. Another awkward encounter took place between himself and the King, as he was coaxed out of the coop. Don't look the dragon in the eye.

"So...little lordling...is err...your mother...giving you...proper instruction...on your Valyrian studies?"

For a man that tended to complicated matters of state, and greeted various people from all around the Kingdoms, he seemed to have a hard time making conversation with a small boy. That's because he didn't really want to know you.

"No, your grace." He stared at the shoes of his mother, whom was dithering almost proudly by the door behind them. What pride was there, at being caught by your own son? From what he knew, children shouldn't see things like that, yet.

"No?...No?" He heard his majesty twist and rustle, to look to his mother probably. "Hasn't he begun reading Valyrian texts, my lady?"

"He'd rather read tales, his favourites are the lady and the crow, and the bear and the maiden fair." Lyanna swished and flicked her shawl higher to cover her shoulders, she rarely used this shawl since she normally wore a wolf-skin overcoat over her dress. She wore less when he was coming.

He sensed the king looking down at him, and he glanced up for a second to confirm this.

"There's some good tales written in Valyrian that you're missing out on, my lordling." Rhaegar's hand hovered above his head as if about to pat or run his fingers through his curls, and upon Jon shrewdly acknowledging its hesitant presence, his majesty awkwardly retracted said hand, as if embarrassed by the attempt. "My...little lordling is...erm...how old is he?" Again directing a question at his mother, when he was right there!

"He is 7, your grace."

"-7 and a half." Little Jon rumbled, and he heard the man chuckle above him. Why do people always find that funny?

"Does he live on vegetables alone, he's a little short?"

The little lord very nearly turned and punched his majesty in the testicles.

His mother however scolded his majesty instead. "Don't dare comment on such a thing, that's rather impolite, where did you learn your social etiquette?"

And Jon instead of maintaining his sulk, looked to his mother with a smirk, but wished he hadn't when the King approached her, at first he thought the king was going to strike her, but instead he gave her a searing kiss. At least it wasn't anger...but Nooo. He grimaced and rocked his head to the floor, then away.

There was a pop of mouths separating, then – "Little lordling won't be so bothered once he finds a lady of his own...someone to settle down with." The King was surveying him with his arm wrapped around his mother's waist, he cast his eyes away embarrassed at the casual intimacy of this noblest of lords.

"Leave him be."

Jon glanced up to see his mother caressing the man's cheek, and she gave him a final peck. He wanted to snap at him, he wanted to call him out on his bullshit, the married man that sought the company and virtue of his mother, when he was supposed to be settled down with his Queen back in King's Landing.

"But we shouldn't make a habit of kissing out in the open, your grace." And she playfully shoved him away, and he countered her with a wry smile. He couldn't understand this game.

"My lady is a tease, a man's ruin." The tall gent turned to him then. "Let that be a lesson little lordling-"

"-Don't..." Jon took a breath to gather his wits, he was fuming. "Don't...use my mother as an example, my mother is not a tease, you are just a cheat! You have your pick of all the women, and try to make them your whor-" He stopped himself, he was brought up to respect women, to never judge activities out of their control or circumstance. "-I don't need lessons on how to be decent from the likes of you! You are the worst!" There was venom that he was supposed to have controlled, he knew when he saw the look on his mother's face, she was surprised and dismayed, but she did not scold him, and merely glanced away, as if turning a blind eye on what the King might do next. That or...shame? It made him angrier.

"No." Rhaegar's voice was fairly subdued, he didn't even lift a finger to jab at him. "Careful, my lord, I may be familiar with you, but don't-"

"-Be truthful?!" He sniped. "You are full of shit! I was told to be truthful, loyal...and faithful! Your gracious holiness!"

The King looked as if he was on the verge of smiling. "Don't be careless and overly aggressive with your words, it shows you have no control."

The calm was setting his teeth on edge. "What?!..Like...I'm supposed to insult you politely?!"

"Yes, my lord." The man was deadly serious.

Jon screwed his eyes at him, stunned. "You're...You're a fucking idiot!"

"Jon!" His mother finally spoke. If he had been a wolf his ears would have lowered.

Rhaegar held his hand up as to pardon them both, and his grace approached him as if to console? Fuck that! And Jon swung to target the waist, or at least the legs, but then tried to ram him like a sheep, but the man actually forced his small body against his legs. "My Lord." He chuckled. NO! No no. He kicked against this feeble King. "Gods, he's scrappy." There was laughter in his majesty's voice as he addressed his mother. Don't speak to my mother! "You need to narrow your eyes, and pitch your voice lower, you're starting to sound a little bit crazy, my boy." He hardly raised his voice as Jon fought beneath him, fruitlessly. But he continued, thumping the sides of his lean legs. "Wow, he's not tiring...Ow, he is strong."

"It's best to let it burn itself out, that's why I let him roughhouse with Jojen and Meera. And When he comes back from Winterfell, he's covered in bruises from Robb and Theon." Lyanna strolled over, delicately grabbing the boy's wrist. "Enough now, go inside, or he'll have your head." Jon grudgingly broke free of Rhaegar with a huff, or more so willingly released by the ass- he was laughing at him! Cunt! He swung for the man's genitals, but his mother caught his fist with a wince. "What did I just say?!" She warned, her hand still ringing from the speedy catch.

"The lordling has no fear... or no sense."

"Don't stir the pot, your grace."

Jon backed down then, upon hearing his mother technically tell off the pompous ass, and he stormed back to the cabin. "Stop coming here!" He called back before slamming the door.

It had been immediately after this, Lyanna had told him that the King was his father, to try and soften him towards him, he assumed. It did not change however how he felt, he was angry still...in fact more so, since the man was married to another, and had forced his mother into this life, forced to live as a bastard, because the king wanted two women. He remembered the King would appear twice a year at the cabin, to bed his mother, his kept mistress. And when Jon did come into his home, either after an outing nearby or a stay at Winterfell, he would find the velvet purse on the table filled with gold coins.

"Sweetling, he is paying for your keep...he cares for both of us. He asks after you, yer' know?..Every time." She spoke over his head one night, with his back pressed to her chest. She had just finished reading a story to tire him. He was too old to be read to, but he did it for mother, including letting her coddle him. "He wants to be here for your 10th nameday, isn't that nice?" She kissed him sweetly upon his curls.

"Why do you...service him?" Jon evaded the last question. He would make sure he was at Winterfell for his 10th. "If he loved us, why does he make you do those things?"

"I do those things because I love him, we love each other...when two people love each other they want to be as close as possible...until they are one. It feels... truly unique."

It was only when he grew up, long after the tragic death of his mother, after joining the nightswatch he would find this out. It was in fact after the nightswatch was disbanded, he would feel this 'uniqueness'. Jon and Benjen had split up to help migrate and integrate clans of wildlings to more habitable and fertile lands after the fall of the watch, and Jon had a run in with a 'feisty' and aggressive red-haired wildling woman of 18, he was 15. She was very forward and experienced, and he was shy and reluctant...Anyhow, they did it...thrice. He was no longer a nightwatchman, or virgin to boot. The first time didn't count because he didn't know what he was doing, despite claiming he did. I know where to put it. Jon had fumbled his way to achieve something that looked and felt remotely like...intercourse, she was annoyed, but he was young, so it was uncoordinated rutting, and afterwards he realised his mother was right, it was unique...it felt good at the end, and he could easily see why it would be addictive. But he wouldn't become some crazed fiend.

"Yer' know yer don't have to keep askin' meh' if it feels good?" The girl was very snippy and very broad, the broadest woman he had ever heard. And she dressed like she was in a hurry, as if what they did had been a chore and obstacle, despite her seducing him. Though it was cold, and she was supposed to be hunting for the community.

He had her again after the settlement was laid, under the stars. It would have been romantic, if it weren't for the other wildling beating himself off behind a hedge. Ygritte wasn't really looking for romance, and the wildling community were very keen to catch them at it. It was uncomfortable moments like that, that made him think of settling, for everybody knew. For he had taken her, surely he had to take her for a wife out of decency.

"Have you ever considered...braiding yer' hair?"

"No...don't need nothin' like that."

"What about a quick comb?" For a coppery sheen.

She turned her nose up at him. "The mass keeps meh' warm, the other girls got more meat on them than me."

She was right, she was very scrawny, it frightened him that she wasn't being given enough rations. One night he gave her his share, and she ate heartily, and he noted a single braid in her hair that night.

The longer he spent with this wildling, the more he realised coupling with her wasn't right, it was animal, and didn't have the very thing his mother had described, the intimacy, and warm affection, and the commitment on his part...He wasn't cheating on her, he could never, he just didn't feel love, or want children with her. Gods, was he just like his father and all those careless lusty men?!

Ygritte, though was keen to keep him, she had no desire to wed him, though pomp and ceremony wasn't for him either. She believed his presence alone was their marriage, but there was no privacy and no sweetness, their conversations were either of him being a kneeler, or sex. For the first time he heard the term spear-husband and wife, and he wondered if they were exempt from the normalities of a true relationship. But he could not be open with his love in a wildling community...not that it existed here, if it was... he was still too shy, and Ygritte lacked subtlety and gentle affection.

"Let's go fuck, before the meat's cooked." She said, in front of Tormund and his 5 children. Jon was mortified beyond belief, and he looked apologetically at the other 6. "Up!" She actually clapped him on the side of the head in passing, it was sharp and his head rung like a bell. Tormund seemed to chortle at the stunned look on his face as the young gent staggered up and reluctantly followed her. Perhaps the wildlings saw sex as mundane as eating? Like animals, it wasn't a sacred act between two souls, it was to keep warm and breed more wildlings.

When they were out of sight and earshot- "I'm alright, thanks..."

She stalled in the long grass and turned fully around, her face hard and white. "Ey?!"

Oh fuck, take it back! "It's just...we haven't eaten, and... the sun's still up-"

She came at him with a hard smack of a kiss, it did not sear, but he supposed it was meant to. The lord stumbled as he reached for her fur covered waist. The first thought that crossed his mind was of his father kissing his mother, and he felt that sickening dread pool into his stomach. You never think of parents when you're about to get laid. He withdrew from her with a click.

"What's wrong wi'yer'?!" She exclaimed with an annoyed grunt.

Any other man would've gone crazy with lust, she was wasted on him. "I'm not in the mood." He was trying to make light out of it with a half-chuckle, but inside he was raging. "I'm tired, surely you're aching from that bear earlier?..."

"You're not as fit as me, I hunt twice a day, and forge arrows, you've spent your life in a household, getting fat on buttered potatoes."

Wha- "I hunted every day, I gathered wood, I've lumbered, I've forged arrows, and done my fair share of things, I've never lounged in a castle!" Gods, but he'd love to have a chance, every now and again. He turned from her to storm off.

"Oi!" She pursued and yanked on his arm hard enough to turn him back. "Have me now, while your blood is up!"

He scoffed. "When I'm angry with yer', I'm angry, not randy! If I did fuck yer' while angry, it would mean nothing!"

"Well calm down!"

He didn't remember how it came to be. But he took her one final time in a cave, and it was not bittersweet, and again; not romantic, she had scratched him, and nearly took his eye out. Fuck, he had dodged an arrow. He had reunited with Sam a week later at their makeshift barracks, with a pronounced limp, and a slight scar across his eye.

"What happened to you?"

"A woman."

Sam chuckled. "Ha...me too."

"I think we can imagine all the disbanded men's first act, was to do...that." He sighed as he collapsed onto his cot, and began to remove his boots. "Has Benjen been back?"

His friend was dithering by the drinks they had been trading with. "No, haven't seen him...he must have settled somewhere."

This made Jon feel both sad and warm, but not enough to outweigh the other. "I have just 4 more clans to settle, then I'll head to Winterfell, hopefully he will re-join me there."

Sam poured himself a drink from his skin. "Good good, I'm glad you're not holing yourself up in your cabin."

People kept saying that! "I promised to be at my cousin Robb's 15th nameday, that's all, I normally just pop around for random namedays, Arya's 6th was hectic...Great, but, I don't think I should prolong my stays...it's not like I have a position, I'd just be a squire." He clarified, chucking his fur boots to one side. "The cabin is my home, I can be a ranger of the mountains and the woods."

"But it's sad."

"I can't overstay my welcome at my lord uncle's household, it'll get awfully crowded if Benjen decides to stay. Besides, my mother built that house, I don't want it to go into disrepair." He unfastened his leathers, and allowed them to billow along with his tunic. "It's not the first idea I've had to rebuff..." He reached for the bed clothes under his pillow.

"Are you going to expand upon that?" Sam settled on his cot with a bit more control, for fear of breaking it.

Gods. Jon felt wary of parting with his secret. "My father has been writing to me, he's called by to insist I either come with him, or impose myself upon the Starks." His tunic came off, and he chucked it towards a chair.

Sam appeared elated with this bit of information. "But that's nice...your father wants you. I wish I could say the same for mine."

His annoyance simmered down to uneasiness and guilt. "Sorry Sam, I didn't think."

"Don't fret." His friend put down his drink, he knew that meant he was going to elaborate. "I wasn't trying for sympathy, I was merely giving a commentary on your situation, an invite from a dad, is like being relieved of...bastardy, you'll have a new home and a name, that final piece to the puzzle."

Jon clicked his tongue. "Yeah...he didn't offer his name..."

"Oh."

"-Or his home...he offered me a place to be watched from, probably got me a job lined up...shovelling shit or something?" He slipped into his night shirt, it was cool and crisp. His friend remained quiet and stoic. "And asking me to impose on my other family..." He sighed with a heavy heart, flicking his collar out. "Sure, my uncle Ned loves me there..."

"So..."

"-My cousins like me."

"So?..."

"I don't like being told what to do by my father." He was quite abrupt, he hadn't meant to, it weren't Sam's fault. "Everything is...just for him, just..." He didn't know how to explain without giving the game away. "Do you ever think that... people have other motives, and mask it as...doing a favour for you?" He cringed. "I don't know, something like that."

Sam nodded slowly, with his face contorted into a pensive grimace. "Yeeeaaah, like I scratch your back, you scratch mine?..."

Jon shrugged. "No, but...Yeeaah." He tugged down his breeches, now that he had a long shirt on to cover his parts. "I don't like doing what he wants me to do, I'd rather do the opposite...if he tells me to go fish, I'd go for a swim, if he told me to move south, I'd go as far north as I can."

His friend chortled. "Well that's a common phenomenon, Jon, disobeying parents for kicks. But you can't do the opposite if it effects your life and happiness...it's not teaching anybody a lesson, especially your dad, you're going to let your father drive you into seclusion like a hermit because he missed a few of your namedays?...You gonna be a loner because your daddy didn't marry your mother?"

He grumbled, he didn't like being wrong, but Sam needed to understand he wasn't normal. "My father is respected and...influential, and he never used that in my mother's life time to improve things."

"Gods, who is it?" Sam was enthralled.

"It's my business." He sighed, and raised his legs so he could lie back on his cot. "I wish I still had the nightswatch, I had an excuse and structure...once the clans are sorted, I'll just have the cabin."

"Sounds alright if not dull, I have nowhere, my lord father doesn't want me back...I'll have to fend for myself, I'll have to either live in this empty barracks or see if I can move in with...Gilly."

"Gilly?"

"Yeah, you know...the meek pretty mousy brown-haired girl with the awful father, I migrated her to that abandoned mill."

"Gillyflower?...Crastor, gods, don't move in with him, Sam, I'll never visit yer'." Crastor had said he was prettier than all his daughters.

He heard his friend settle on his own bed, still fully dressed since he was on watch duty. "Crastor's dead." He heard his friend say as normally as a greeting.

"Shit." Jon retorted in surprise. "...Plague?"

"Nope." Sam took a breath. "His family and Gilly took in that cutthroat from the watch, the one with the wormy lips and the husky squeaky voice." Jon looked across at him intrigued. He knew of this man, the creature had spat at him once while training. "He made a play for one of his daughters, and when he tried to send him to the dog house, he cut off Crastor's head."

The leaner gent gasped, he didn't expect that turn of events. "He murdered Gilly's father?!" How was this good news? He sat up on his cot and it creaked like his joints. "How are they all?"

"Luckily the man was alone, but he fared well against them for a time... tried to hold one of them hostage to get safe passage, he had no time to have his way, that is where his weakness lied, he tried to have one of them, but he could not hold his weapon effectively at the same time, and that is where they overcame him. I am told Gilly was the one that dealt the fatal blow, but Gilly says it was a team effort. Modest that girl is."

Jon couldn't exactly part with a smile considering the tale of hardship he had just heard. "And that is what the King has inflicted upon this world, now the men that were sent to serve time at the watch are now free to do harm, instead of being kept busy."

"Yeah, and I'm effectively homeless..." Sam always managed to trump him.

"I give you my cabin, Sam." He said without a thought. "With or without me."

His friend's face slackened, before his cheeks became cherub like as he smiled, his eyes wet with emotion. "I shall hold you to that, but I would like to build a cabin upon your land near to your own...I don't want to impose on your hospitality, your Uncle might decide to live there yet."

"Of course!" He had let that cross his mind, but his quieter uncle was very cagey. "It is not my land, do what you like." They shared a sweet smile. "And with Gilly and her siblings, we would have a village? And maybe Benjen will settle with one of them?"

His friend chuckled. "Yeah maybe..." The smile lingered on his lips. "I think Gilly would like to visit a castle, she is a gentle soul, and has dreamt of serving a household...she could find a profession there."

Jon's mind was quick and full of ideas. "Winterfell is short of women, I'm sure my dear cousin could use the company, she is outnumbered by very boisterous men and women." He had not thought of this particular cousin in weeks, despite the reminders...yeah you shouldn't dwell on that. He could see his friend imagining introducing his lady to his sweet cousin. Well all of them. It was odd thinking of Winterfell now, raw, and odd- "Just imagine, two months before the King's decree, I was at Winterfell, oblivious that the watch would fall, I should have made the most of it...for it has gone now, the place that got me through my grief."

"You regret your family visit? To pine over a regime that was merely a distraction and prolonging your grief? You said Winterfell was fruitful and spiritual?"

"Aye, it was." Jon lay back onto his pillow staring up at the rafters of his tent. "I...just...meant, the administration and closing trade...all the stuff the commander had recently groomed me to prepare for, it was all for nothing."

"Yeah, you might as well have stayed put in Winterfell." Sam offered with a smile. "Save you the aggravation of pleading, and your trial with the King and his council. I can't believe I have met him in the flesh... Long may he reign."

No. He did not offer a contradiction...he always feared it would give the game away. "The King was unintentionally cruel disbanding the watch." Was all he offered, but it said a lot. He knew he would be returning to his mother's birthplace soon, but he shall make it brief. His thoughts wandered, but he reined them in...What gift should I get Robb for his nameday?

They caught up with Sam and Gilly, whom were watching the archery sessions for amateurs. They made him nervous because they assumed they knew everything. Roslin was being goaded by the uncle he never knew into having a go with the bow. Meera looked up, upon seeing them hesitantly approach. She looked ready.

"I see you couldn't resist." She was up and at them, a bow with her, teasing it into Sansa's hand. Whom took it gingerly. 'Atta girl! But he was astonished by his friend's look to him. What 'you staring at? Meera grinned. "I won't allow just spectating, everyone here has to have a go." She caught both their hands and pulled them towards their own target. "You don't mind sharing the equipment, do you?"

"No." He said immediately with no inflection, because he expected Meera thought either would rebuff. "But ladies first." He tittered at Sansa's rather sharp look.

Lady Reed wasn't to be trifled with. "Nevermind that idiot. Once you understand the workings of it, accuracy will follow...but from your piercing eye, I think you will surprise yourself."

How amiable of her to boost Lady Stark's esteem. It was moments like this, that made him realise Meera was his sister by choice. "I would never doubt Sansa for a moment, nor will I mock you...you're very presumptive Lady Reed." He said cooly, and her smile flared again, but he noted his chaperone shoot a look between them. It would be too bold to call it Jealousy.

"Be encouraging, my lord, or I shall bite." She sauntered off, and Sansa looked a dark dangerous shade upon turning to him.

He cocked his head. "This shade looks odd on you." Did he really mean odd? No.

Sansa skewered him with another hard look. "What, my lord?"

A husk of a laugh left him. "Make your shot, my lady." And he manoeuvred her into the right position, on the verge of manipulating her arms and hands. Yeah, don't do that. "You've seen your sister and your brothers do it." He saw her fist tighten on the bow, and her delicate fingers draw back the arrow and string, it was logical she knew what to do, its physics. It was physics right? Sam should know...but don't turn around and ask and make you look like an idiot. At the moment of her lining up the shot, a gust of wind lifted her scent from her hair, or neck, and wafted about him in a haze. Holy hells. He moved further back, in case the wind shook her, or his thoughts became audible, he didn't want her arrow to end up in someone's foot.

She released and it whizzed through the air and hit the very bottom of the board. That's good though for a beginner.

"Done. Your turn, my lord." She turned, seemingly unimpressed with herself, thrusting the bow into his hand.

He made sure his hand caught hers upon accepting the bow. "That was good, Sansa, in fact I have the impression you've had a go at this before."

"Please don't patronize me." Her failure to add 'my lord' made it feel more genuine, there was no witticism at play.

His brows melted, and he could feel his insides weren't intact either. "My lady I wasn't, Arya and Bran didn't hit the board on their first try." His hand hovered over her shoulder. Yeah, do it. He rested it on her shoulder, but refrained from stroking her. "Keep going until you're personally satisfied." And he returned the bow to her. She did so again, lined up her shot and fired, and this time she missed the board completely. He realised his hand had been on her shoulder the entire time. Don't look too much into it, and don't comment. He removed his hand, and briefly checked everybody else, whom were engrossed in their own rounds. "Go on."

"You're not going to have a turn until I hit the centre? No pressure, my lord." She shrugged slightly, and raised her bow and arrow with more poise, and gravitas than the previous times, and he sensed there was something different. She fired, and it hit off centre by a couple of rings. The quiet hum that escaped her, would probably replay over and over in someone's mind all day.

"Better. Satisfied, my lady?" Jon said with no ounce of smug. He tried.

"Shouldn't I be saying that, my lord?" She said partially over her shoulder, but her body had turned, gripping the bow as if she was willing to go again. Someone needed to sketch or paint this quickly, it'll last longer.

"You do what you need." As he said it, he heard it. Less angst next time. "Go on."

She reached for another arrow out of the quiver on the ground, and drew back into the correct stance again. Take all the time you need. She hit the same spot again, off centre. "Damn."

"No, not damn, you hit the same spot twice, good aim, my lady." He ambled forward and reached for the quiver himself to pass to her another arrow, brushing past her skirts. "..." He blinked. Oh yeah the endgame, right. "Get the same spot a third time, you get the necklace."

"I don't need the reward."

You're gonna get one. That was a noteworthy pause, in fact she stared at him as if he had looked crazy. "Hmm."

"I said, I didn't need one, my lord." She said a little more cagily, and for the life of him he got excited.

"Alright, just aim for the sake of aiming." He shrugged. Endgame. "In fact aim, so you don't get anything, my lady."

"You want me to fail?" Sansa looked astonished, she should be. "Is this a trick?"

Jon couldn't contain his smile. "No, not a trick. Are you willing to throw it, to avoid a gift, or are you willing to accept you are pretty good?" Her bow stance was art.

She was slowly starting to tinge at the scrutiny. "I might not throw it...I might just miss for real?" She was obviously trying to gain some control.

"Take your shot, my lady." He said, glancing away, as if he was going to let fate decide. He noted Sam was watching them. Great.

"I don't know if you'll believe me." He heard her say with a lot more need for encouragement, and he looked back round at her with a half smile.

"Don't fret, just go for it..." Gods, the stance! She shifted as if about to try. "-Wait, why don't I... up the stakes?" Sansa didn't sigh at the interruption, she looked relieved. Hm, interesting. She held her bow and arrow downward, but in correct stance again. "You hit the same place for the third time, you get a necklace..." She opened and closed her mouth...That's right he was not done. "-You miss..." She looked scared, he was irked she did. Don't fret, sweetling. "You let down yer' hair."

Any comments?

Edit; To be honest, I was considering having Jon, a virgin in the story. Like someone said, their experience would have been similar, but considering the characters he encounters in the books and him being in close quarters with free entities, and being out of the nightswatch, it made sense he would be goaded into something, like in the books, when Ygritte got a little rapey. I see it as a tiny interlude, because just because he lost his innocence doesn't mean he's lost his integrity as a character, because he going up against a character who is an example of the worst case scenario. And even this character isn't a villain (not yet) because of his sexual choices, they're just free. But let's not forget, he is interacting with a character 'Sansa' who is the exact opposite, and he needs to reassure her that not only are there free men, there are free women, and at the end of the day they are still flawed and very much human beings whom go on to live normal lives despite their choices. Virginity isn't a personality or essence, or quality, it's a stage.