on stood before his aunt's tomb, lost in thought. The Army of the Dead had breached the Wall, at Last Hearth, and would be with them in days. Could they win? His Queen and lover had brought the largest army the world had ever seen, and two dragons, to the fight. The soldiers' encampments sprawled for miles around Winterfell. Inwardly, he raged at the cold welcome his people had given them. Why couldn't these fools see that it didn't matter if the ruler of Winterfell was called a king or a warden? A title made little difference, if they were all conscripted into the Night King's forces for eternity.
His sister, Sansa, was the worst of the lot. A year previously, after he had been made king, she had sniped at him in front of his vassals, constantly questioning his decisions, and, he strongly suspected, bad-mouthing him behind his back. He had his suspicions too, about her role in the Battle for Winterfell. What reason had she not to tell him that two thousand Vale knights were in the vicinity? Hundreds of lives might have been saved had he known of this. Had she wanted to steal the credit for victory? Sacrifice him even, and become the North's queen? He had let it pass at the time, but he realised that was a mistake. Now, she was back to her old tricks, sneering at Daenerys in public, and speaking against her in private. Sooner or later, she would have to be dealt with. He heard a soft shuffle behind him, and turned. His heart sank. The last person he wanted to see. Fucking Sam Tarly. He had thought him a friend once; now he saw him for what he was, a parasitic worm.
The man was plainly upset, a plaintive whine in his voice.
"Have you heard Jon, she killed them? She burned my father and brother alive." As a matter of fact, she had told him about her meeting with Sam in the library.
"Aye, I've heard", he replied, blandly.
Sam sobbed, then "They were her prisoners, and she killed them, just because they refused to bend the knee."
Jon felt a gradual pain build up behind his eyes, as his anger began to mount. "They were traitors, Sam, I've executed men for treason." He heard Sam give a shocked gasp, trying to manipulate him, as he had spent years manipulating him at the Wall. He wished Sam would have the sense to drop the subject, but no.
"You've spared men too, The wildlings who refused to kneel. And, it's not as if she's the rightful queen anyway. You're the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, Jon. " Anger turned now to cold rage.
" What are you talking about Sam? She's the daughter of a king. I'm Ned Stark's bastard son."
"But, you're not, Jon. I found out the truth, in the Citadel. In Septon Maynard's diary. The High Septon annulled Prince Rhaegar's marriage to Princess Elia, and married him to Lyanna Stark. And, you're their son. Ned Stark brought you back from Dorne, and raised you as a bastard, to protect you from King Robert. Robert's rebellion was based on a lie. Ask Bran, he'll tell you about it. You should now be the king. Daenerys has no claim at all. You're the rightful king. You've given up your crown for your people, but would she give it up for hers?" He'd had enough. He sprang on Sam like a tiger, gripping his throat tight, and slamming him against the wall of the crypt. The cowardly swab tried to break free, so Jon kneed him hard between his legs, twice. At the first kick, Sam screamed shrilly, turning into a choked gasp at the second. Sam's private parts must have felt as if they'd been struck by a battering ram.
"Now listen to me, and listen to me well, you fat fucker!" snarled Jon, as Sam alternately gasped and whimpered. "I know what you're trying to do. You're not doing this for me. Oh no, you want revenge for your vile father, and your worthless brother. I remember all the dreadful things you told me about your father. I hated him on your behalf. Well, he was a hateful man, but he was right about one thing, you. You're a craven and a cur! A self-promoting coward, who latched on to the one man who could protect him up at the Wall. I pity Gilly, truly I do, tied to a creature like you! But, I suppose even you look good by comparison to her father, the man who raped a child into her belly. I'll bet you just lie on your back like a beached walrus, and make her do all the work. You ask, would the Queen's Grace give up her crown for her people? She's spent her whole fucking life risking her neck for her people. If I hear you've breathed one word, just one word about this to anyone in Winterfell, I'll make you beg for the death she gave to your father and brother! You want me to feel pity for them do you? Men who turned on the family they were sworn to, who pillaged the Reach, who sacked Highgarden, and forced the mother of their liege lord to drink poison. She was right to burn them. I'd have burned them!"
"Do you know how the kings of winter dealt with traitors, Sam?" He shook his head, eyes shining with tears. There was a sudden, sharp, stench in the air, as Sam's bowels voided themselves. "They ripped out their entrails. Let me promise you Sam, if you tell a soul, I'll drag you out into the Godswood, and there I'll cut the bloody cross in you! I'll hang your entrails up in the Heart Tree, and I'll feed what's left of you to Ghost! Do you understand, you vile cunt?" He knocked Sam to the ground, giving him another shattering kick, as he lay writhing, like a maggot, on the stone flags.
"Now get up!" he commanded, gripping him by the collar and dragging him up. "Leave me, worm, and thank the Old Gods and the New, that I'm letting you leave here alive. Because the next time you threaten my Queen, I'll be spoiling a lot more than just your marriage prospects!" The craven staggered away, hands clutched between his legs, gasping and sobbing. Was it wise to spare him, he wondered? Perhaps not. Well, there were many ways the creature could meet with an accident.