A/N: This story is winding down, but there will be a sequel.
This story has reached numbers in followers, favorites, and reviews that I never thought possible when I started this fic. Your feedback has been humbling and has continued to encourage me over the years. So thank you so much.
Our Blades Are Sharp
By Spectre4hire
53: Jon
He found the prisoner in the last cell within the bowels of Riverrun's dungeon.
"I shall watch him," Jon told the two guards who were standing outside the prisoner's cell. "Get some food and rest."
The guards hesitated, looking at one another and then to Jon and Ghost, before they nodded. "Very well, ser," One of them replied, handing him the keys to the cell. "He's chained in there."
Jon waited until he no longer heard their voices before he moved closer. He raised a hand for Ghost to linger behind out of sight. Turning away from his direwolf, Jon looked into the cell for the first time, and to the prized prisoner that Robb had gotten in the Battle of the Whispering Wood.
This was what a king should look like.
That's what he had thought when he saw Ser Jaime Lannister riding into Winterfell atop his horse in his unblemished armor. Now, here he sat in his own filth. His once perfectly brushed hair was dirty and disheveled. He was no longer wearing the colors of either his house or the kingsguard, but was dressed in rags. A dirtied and torn tunic and trousers that were grimy and stained.
He was still a lion, Jon reminded himself, even caged they could be dangerous or possibly more so.
His presence had not gone unnoticed, finding himself being studied by sharp green eyes. The Prisoner's face was caked with dirt, and a beard was starting to show.
In seeing him, Jon understood what his brother meant. Jaime Lannister was in a cell and chained, but he sat there as if he was the host and Jon was his guest. It was as if Jon was here attending him like a servant instead of watching him like a guard.
"Ah, a visitor," He greeted Jon jovially. His white smile shined through unkempt appearance. "And not just any visitor, but the Bastard of Winterfell." The recognition made him chuckle.
"Kingslayer," Jon's grip on the keys tightened.
Jaime's eyes flashed at the title, but his smile remained. "I didn't mean to upset you." He dipped his head in a mocking bow. "Please forgive me, the guards I've had have been awfully dull. All they do is growl and curse at me."
"I wonder why," Jon looked through the bars of the cell at him.
"I must say this is a surprise. Last I saw you, you were determined to freeze your balls off at the Wall."
Jon rested one of his hands on the cell, while keeping the other firmly on the keys. "It's more honorable to serve the Watch than that little shit you call a king."
"Careful bastard," Jaime clicked his tongue. "That would be considered treason by most."
He is trying to cut me with his words, Jon knew it. I must shield myself from it. He nearly smiled as the words of Tyrion Lannister came back to him- Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not… Armor yourself in it and it will never be used to hurt you.
I know who I am, and it shall serve as my shield.
"Are you done talking already?" Jaime called to him in a cruel teasing tone. "Forgive me, where are my manners, you're the most interesting person to have come visit me besides your brother," he paused, "Oh, I'm sorry, your half brother." He took pleasure in his correction, twisting the knife.
Jon ignored his insults despite the growing anger that was starting to simmer in his chest. "It was your brother," he noticed Jaime's face softened at the mention of Tyrion. "He was the one to tell me that my path could lead somewhere else."
"Mayhaps that's why Lady Stark took my brother," Jaime's words were meant to be mirthful, but the tone was deadly. "She wanted to punish him from keeping you away from the Wall."
"I was there when Lady Stark took him." Jon rubbed the part of his head where the sellsword had struck him. "I tried to stop her, but she would not listen."
"Of course she wouldn't," Jaime rolled his eyes. "You're her husband's bastard."
"I had to try."
That amused him. "You're so full of surprises, Snow." His eyes widened as if just remembering something. "I mean Ser Snow if the gossiping guards can be believed."
"I am a knight," Jon confirmed. "Ser Beric knighted me before he died." He bowed his head to pay his respect to the man's memory and his sacrifice.
"You must tell me the tale," Jaime demanded. "I could use a good story."
"I'm not here to entertain you, Lannister."
"Oh?" Jaime pretended to be surprised, "Because I must say you're doing a very good job at it," He smirked. "Mayhaps, its for the best I'm not told, let the north have their lies." He sounded bored. "You beating the Mountain," he scoffed, "horseshit if you ask me."
"I had help," Jon corrected. "And many good men lost their lives to his sword before it was through."
"Still, I'd love to cross blades with someone who could take him down," Jaime's arm twitched. "I was very close to meeting your half-brother in the field." Jaime leaned back, "I had put my sword through one soldier's belly and then into the throat of another and then it got stuck in some fool's chest," he laughed. "I tried to pull it out. He was so close. I could smell his fear," he smiled. "He probably pissed himself because he knew if our swords touched it'd be the end of his little war."
"But yet here you are our prisoner," Jon reminded him.
"For now," Jaime was unbothered at his conditions. He acted as if he could come and go if he so chose. "I will be free from these chains soon. And then I think our paths will cross once again. I will look forward to that."
That was what got Jon to finally open the prisoner's cell. He walked in, and did not bother to close it. He did not miss the prisoner's attention linger on that fact too. Green eyes staring at the open door-his freedom. Jon saw the thoughts flickering behind his gaze as the Kingslayer tried to think and plot of a way to take advantage of Jon's mistake and to free himself.
"You may be right," Jon admitted, "But you should be careful in what you seek." It was then that he gave the mental nudge through his connection with Ghost.
The direwolf appeared and Jon smiled at the Kingslayer's reaction. Relishing how he went pale and his eyes widened at seeing the fierce direwolf standing so close to him. Ghost neared the prisoner. Sniffing the stale air between them. His red eyes were two drops of blood while they studied the prey before them.
Jon brought his fingers through Ghost's pale fur. "If you see our paths looking to cross, Kingslayer," He paused. "I suggest you go the other way. Otherwise, I'll be picking your flesh out of Ghost's teeth."
Jaime pulled his eyes away from the direwolf and onto Jon. He tried to project his former confidence, but it was faltering with Ghost remaining so close. "Is that why you're here, Snow? Are you going to kill me?" He stiffened when Ghost yawned, showing long, sharp teeth.
"That wouldn't be very knightly, Ser," he said mockingly, "but then again you're just a bastard."
Jon remained standing in front of him. He kept his grip on Ghost, feeling his wolf tense, before letting out a silent snarl. I will not be baited. He composed himself, tightening his control with his direwolf. He looked down at the prisoner, knowing how much it bothered him.
"No, I will not." Jon finally answered, "because I do know something of honor, Kingslayer."
Something glinted in the prisoner's eyes. It was dark and angry. It then passed over his face for an instant before his arrogant smile returned. "I disgust you," Jaime laughed at the revelation. It was hoarse and bitter. "A bastard looks down at me." He scoffed at Jon's audacity. He did not seem to care anymore about Ghost's presence. In his ire he ignored the wolf.
"You look just like your father did when he found me. The Mad King was dead. He should've thanked me. The man who killed his father and his brother, but he didn't. He judged me." He growled angrily. The chains rattled behind him. "You wolves and your damn honor."
This was a man who served both his grandfather and father, Jon struggled with the word. With the truth of it, even after all these weeks of it stewing within. It felt unfair to have everything he knew stripped away. Now strangers and ghost were his kin, and Jon hated it.
"You killed Aerys the Second," Jon observed, "But you have no problem serving Aerys the Third."
"You know nothing, Ser Snow," Jaime bristled. "You speak of the Mad King, but what would do you know of him?"
Jon almost smiled despite the seriousness of the subject. The absurdity that the Mad King was his grandfather was not something that Jon wanted to dwell on. This is your chance, a voice said to him. He frowned at it, understanding what it was hinting at, but did he dare ask a question? Do I want to know?
"Only the stories," Those were enough for him to despise the truth when it was told to him. How many times had he heard the horrors that the Mad King committed? The people he burned, the men he killed. Towards the end of his reign, his was one of nothing but terror and dread.
That blood is in me, and it made him despise the dragon. He did not want to embrace it. He did not want to learn of it. He wanted it gone.
I've been damned, he lamented. The old gods gave me what I coveted only for it to poison everything I thought I knew.
"That's right, Aerys' nature was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms and yet I'm still despised for killing him," he smirked, pointing out at what he perceived to be an injustice against him.
The question was on his tongue, but he hesitated. A part of him did not want to know. He is not my father, Lord Stark is. He raised me, He taught me, I am a wolf not a dragon.
"And the Prince?" Jon's fingers held tightly onto Ghost's fur. "Was he as mad as his father?"
"Rhaegar?" Something flickered across the prisoner's eyes at the mention of the dead prince. His expression shifted. There was a wistfulness in his tone. "Rhaegar was many things, but he was not his Father."
The Kingslayer would never know what comfort that brought him.
Riverrun was brimming with activity. The kitchens were always going to accommodate the sheer number of people staying in and around the castle. Lords and knights coming and going as were riders and scouts reporting army movement and relaying messages. Ser Edmure did all he could to ease the burden with the castle's servants. He brought in help from the smallfolk who were fleeing from their homes that had been burned and ravaged.
Jon thought it a wise move from the acting Lord of Riverrun. The Heir to Riverrun was helping his people while also maintaining the castle and keeping it running smoothly. Jon found himself in the Great Hall after his guard duty of the Kingslayer. There were a few people scattered here and there spread out along the dozens of tables. Servants could be seen, coming and cleaning, and a few guards stood relaxed at their posts.
At this hour Jon decided to eat alone. He was not sure where Robb or Sansa would be, and thought it best to get some food first and then try to find them. He had been planning on staying camped outside with the soldiers. Robb and Sansa had dismissed that but it had been Ser Edmure who insisted Jon be given chambers within the castle.
I've heard about you Jon Snow for so many years, and the shame you brought to my sister, Ser Edmure had said. But I would be a fool to turn you away. I am the acting Lord of Riverrun, he had paused then. No doubt thinking about his ailing father, Lord Hoster who was bedridden. And you have proven yourself a friend of the Riverlands. You slayed the Mountain. You helped to liberate my home, and myself, he added with some hesitation. Therefore chambers will be provided for you in this castle. House Tully rewards good service, and you've earned your keep here.
Jon had been so surprised all he could do was nod and say a stilted thank you. He did not think the Heir to Riverrun liked him. Jon assumed Ser Edmure was honoring decorum in allowing Jon to stay in the castle, but act or not, Jon appreciated the gesture.
Ghost had slipped away after the dungeons to the godswood where Jon would retrieve him after his meal. So here he sat in Riverrun's Great Hall. He had taken a table to himself. He was eating a small meal of honeyed chicken, some bread, and vegetables with summerwine to wash it down with. He was thankful at how hot the food was. The bread especially was still very warm. He took a bite of it, while he looked around the Hall.
The high seat of House Tully was empty as was the rest of the table that would've been for family and honored guests. He tried to picture Lady Stark sitting at the table as a girl, but his mind's eye struggled in trying to conjure an image. Settling on a girl who looked more like Sansa with a chilling gaze and pursed smiles that did not seem fit a child.
A clatter got him to look up to see Dacey Mormont standing across from him. She greeted him with a warm smile, "May I join you?"
He looked at her for a long heartbeat. She was a few years older than him, and a little taller. She was slender, but he could see the muscles in her arms. Her skin was glistening with sweat, and she had sounded out of breath which had him suspect that she had come back from the yard. Her dark hair was done in a battle braid. She had vibrant green eyes, and her small mouth seemed made for smiles or smirks.
"Aye," He said, realizing he hadn't answered her, "Aye, you can."
"Thank you," Her smile widened as she took the seat. "My betrothed," she winked at him.
Jon felt flustered at that, but recovered. "My lady," bowing his head in the over the top manner that he had seen the southern knights and soldiers do often when in the presence of servants and other maids.
She laughed. "I was told a few things about you, Jon Snow, but funny wasn't one of them."
"Oh?" He had a growing suspicion that those people who had been talking to her were Robb and Sansa. He didn't know what else to say so settled for nursing his summerwine.
"Yes, Arya spoke of you often."
Jon smiled. "Did she now?" Despite his happiness at being reunited with Robb and Sansa, it was Arya who he still missed terribly. Her messy hair and gray eyes, mischievous smiles, when she'd stick her tongue out at him and call him, stupid.
His stomach twisted at how much he missed her in that moment.
"She talked about all her siblings," Dacey went on. "But it was you who she talked about most. She says you commissioned that sword for her."
"I did." He could tell by her eyes that she was impressed and respected him for the action.
"I must say it gave me some headache," She confessed. "I knew little about Braavosi sword techniques and how to properly teach her with the weapon."
"I'm sorry," Jon apologize even when sensed much of her tone was feigned exasperation mingled with amusement.
"Do not be," She told him. "I gave her an axe, and another sword and though she used them without complaint, she still kept that sword with her-always. I'd see her having snuck out when she was done with her duties or when she was suppose to be doing them," She gave him a pointed look that was belayed by her growing smirk.
Jon sipped his glass. The summerwine was sweet and delicious. At Winterfell, Lord Stark would only let them have a glass during special feasts, but here in Riverrun, he had nothing to stop him from drinking his fill.
"Robb told me in her letters how much she loved it there." Jon had been so happy for his sister when Father had made the announcement that Arya would be going to Bear Island. He knew how much she had struggled in the shadow of Septa Mordane, and her mother's southern expectations. "It meant a lot to her," Jon said, hoping he could properly convey his sincerity.
Dacey looked up from the chicken she had been eating to give him a smile in understanding, but did not have a chance to speak as a servant appeared, pouring them another serving of the summerwine.
Even with chambers given to him by Ser Edmure, Jon wondered how he'd be treated inside the halls of Riverrun. Many who served in this castle were old enough to remember Lady Stark as a girl, and had worked this castle loyally for her family for years. To them, he was Lord Stark's bastard and a mark of dishonor against her.
The truth was much more complicated. Jon now sadly knew, but they were oblivious to that.
To his relief, they treated him well. He'd get some cold looks and a few whispers, but most left him be, and those who approached him were polite.
Jon thanked her when she was finished. She looked to be his age, and she gave him a shy smile. "Are you Ser Snow?" Her voice was soft and timid with her question.
"I am."
Her face brightened. She hastily curtsied, "My thanks, Ser Snow." She said quickly. "You saved Ser Edmure and helped save us from the lions."
He was surprised by the girl's gesture, but he then nodded to her, and smiled. "You are welcome, but I was one of many. Many brave men from the Riverlands and the north played a part."
Jon thought he saw her cheeks were rosy, but she hid them from him when she dipped her head. She slipped away after that.
"Does this happen a lot?"
Jon had momentarily forgotten about Dacey. He glanced over to see she was smiling, and her green eyes were dancing in the candlelight.
"I suppose it should," Dacey went on. "You did slay the Mountain." She was enjoying herself, "And you're now a knight and-"
"Please," Jon interrupted, "Don't list the names."
Dacey laughed. "You looked pained by them."
He had wanted them. Titles, recognition, the approval of Lord Stark most of all for as long as he could remember. Now, that he had his knighthood like the heroes he pretended to be as a boy, it felt more odd than fulfilling. He mulled his feelings over while taking a long sip from his newly filled cup.
"If your fame spreads then my mother may need to hastily act on our betrothal."
Jon nearly coughed up some of his summerwine at the change in topic.
"I can tell you're excited about the possibility between us," Dacey teased, taking his reaction in stride.
"No, it's not that," He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. It wasn't until after the words slipped out did he realize that wasn't the right thing to say either. Jon saw how her eyebrows rose at that, and her mouth parted. But it was her eyes that he truly noticed. They had been bright and teasing, but now looked dimmed and sad. That's what spurred him to recover and try to correct his folly.
"I mean, I never thought about it before," He'd blame the summerwine or his own nerves or not wanting to see her looking so hurt, when he continued. "I did not want to because I did not want to bring a bastard into this world." He finished quietly. He wasn't sure what else to say, so he sipped more of his drink. Hoping the serving girl would return since he could see the bottom of his cup.
Now, how can I marry with what I know? He frowned behind his tankard. Truth that could have them killed. How could I drag someone into that danger? I'll be hunted or cursed because of the blood that flows in me. Blood I never wanted.
If she sensed his embarrassment, she did not comment on it. And for that he was grateful. "You forget, Jon," Her voice had softened. "They will not be bastards. They would be Mormonts."
He found her smile charming, and what she pictured enticing. It is what he wanted. Robb had been right on that. A child, a home, a wife to call my own. He had always been good at pushing it away, but seeing Dacey in front of him. He found it more challenging to get it to disappear in that moment.
"Your brother also speaks of letting you start your own house, your own branch."
Blackfyre, and Greystark, the names were cruelly whispered to him. A dagger thrust to puncture his pensive and hopeful reflection to remind him of the traitorous houses that haunted and betrayed his families. Wolf or Dragon, they both had to fight against the bad blood. The legacy of traitors and bastards.
He pushed the troubling reminder away. "What about you?" He struggled with saying it aloud, because to do that would mean it was real and possible, and that was not something he was not use to. A few months ago he had thought his life and future would be at the Wall. Now, here he sat in Riverrun's great hall, a newly made knight, and the possibility of a betrothal. It felt a strange dream and he was afraid he'd wake up to find himself back at Winterfell or Castle Black.
"What about me?"
"If we were to marry than what of you claim? What of Bear Island?"
"Mother has five strong daughters, and it was not until I was older when I realized Bear Island might be mine." Her face darkened at the circumstances that brought that to bear.
Longclaw was resting on the bench with him. He had been meaning to speak to Dacey about the sword, but had rarely seen her in his brief stay at Riverrun.
Ser Jorah Mormont's shame, it had been so bad that neither Maege nor Jeor wanted the valuable valyrian steel sword within their sight. So it had somehow had come to Jon in a way that he questioned more often than not. He was certain he was not the only one who wondered or was annoyed at why Lord Commander Mormont would let a bastard borrow such a valuable sword. They think he was daft or the cold had addled his mind. The Lord Commander had been gruff and blunt in his reasons which they could accept or not, most did not, but Jon had, and had taken the sword reluctantly.
Dacey took a sip of her tankard as if to wash out the bad taste her cousin left.
"So I learned later about the Keep and the people, but Mother made sure all of us understood the responsibilities and expectations of being the Lady of Bear Island. She had said she did not want vapid fools as daughters, but strong and smart warriors," she smiled at her mother's description. "So if we were to marry." This time it was her that hesitated at something that was more rumor then real.
"I suppose a new house would not be such a bad thing." Her mouth curved into a smirk when she added. "It does not hurt that you are very pretty, Jon Snow."
He flushed at that. He looked away and drained the last few drops from his tankard to try to soothe his suddenly dry throat. I am a newly made knight, he reminded himself, so why did he act like a blushing maid?
Then he felt a calloused finger on his chin, directing him towards her green eyes.
"There is no pressure,"Their faces suddenly inches apart as she had leaned across the table. "I could make you happy," she said, "Very happy," she added confidently. "And if what your sister says of you is true, you could make me happy." Her fingers slipped from his chin, caressing his cheek, for but a heartbeat, but to Jon it felt longer and he found himself disappointed when it was gone. He felt something stir inside him at her touch, at her look, at what she promised.
"I don't mean to startle you, Jon Snow," Her sparkling green eyes and charming smirk returning. "It's just we Mormont women are bold. We take what we like," she winked.
Jon returned her smile. "Thanks for the warning."
Her grin widened at his jape. "Think over what I said, Jon." She then slid out of her seat with the grace of a skilled warrior and excused herself.
It wasn't until he was nearly finished with his food did he realize he had forgotten to mention Longclaw.
I suppose I'll just have to seek her out. He found himself smiling at that.
"Are you praying for Domeric's safe return?"
There would have been a time when Jon would have been surprised to see Sansa in a godswood. Spotting her kneeling before the weirwood tree within Riverrun's.
It was still odd for him at times to see her in the godswood, paying her respects or saying her prayers to the Old Gods. She had spent so much of her youth with her mother and her septa in the sept. Only for her to abandon the faith of her mother to embrace the faith of her father. She turned away from the south to honor the north.
"I am." She did not turn or raise her head, "But I know he's safe."
There it was again, he thought, remembering her confidence when she spoke about her betrothed earlier. "You know?"
"I do," She looked up at the weirwood tree, "The Old Gods have blessed me. I have seen it."
The solemness of her tone was striking to him. She sounded like Lord Stark in that instant. He moved closer to her, thinking on what she had said. Could it be? Could Sansa have seen something? The tales that Old Nan use to tell them, prophetic dreams and green sight. Could Sansa have been given such a gift?
Ghost made his presence known, slipping out of the bushes. His red eyes staring at Jon for a long heartbeat before turning to Sansa, who he then approached.
It was when he saw Ghost did Jon realize there could be another explanation for her visions. "Lady," He watched as Sansa petted Ghost, who appreciated the affection. "You said she is with Domeric."
"She is. Domeric calls her my favor," Sansa answered fondly.
She's one too, Jon understood it now. It was not just him. I'm not the only warg. If she has it, he thought about his siblings and their wolves. We must all have it, he realized. He'd need to speak to Robb, but now he needed Sansa to see it. "In these visions from the Old Gods," he chose his words carefully, "Do you see Lady?"
Sansa stopped petting Ghost. Her eyes looked lost in thought as she pondered his question. "No, she's never there." Ghost nuzzled her to get her attention. She began to ruffle the thick white fur on his neck.
"Sansa," Jon was not sure how she would react to what he needed to say. "Those are not visions from the Old Gods." He saw that she was about to interject so he pressed on. "You're a warg. You're seeing through Lady's eyes."
"A what?" Sansa's eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth turning in confusion, eyes blinking up at him.
Jon smiled. Here he worried how she was going to react to and she did not even know what it was.
"Don't you remember the stories Old Nan use to tell us when we were younger?"
"No," she answered. "I was with the Septa trying to be the perfect southern lady." She made a face at the last words.
Even in her mirth, he could sense regret for what she once was. He moved to sit beside her and Ghost. "Do not worry, none us see you as a gentle southern maiden."
Sansa giggled, "I'm glad, but what was this thing you called me? A Worf?"
"A warg," Jon corrected her. "It means you have the ability to skinchange into your wolf."
Her face scrunched up, "Skinchange?"
"You can enter Lady's mind," Jon thought it better to explain it differently. "These visions you've been getting, do you have them when you're sleeping?"
"They do," A look of realization coming to her. "So my mind is drifting to Lady's?"
"Yes," Jon still had much to learn about it. He was not sure he was the best teacher to have or to explain it. "There's like a," he paused, frowning at trying to find the right word. "A rope that connects you and her, and its easier for you to pull on it when you're sleeping."
Sansa was quiet for a moment, considering his words before she turned to him. "What about you?"
"I'm one too."
"When you sleep?"
"Yes, but I can sometimes do it when I'm not sleeping," He looked over at Ghost who seemed content at Sansa's petting.
"Really?" She looked impressed, before turning from him to Ghost and then back to him. As if trying to see something that was there between them.
"Yes, it helped when I finally knew what it was," He answered. "That way I could embrace it."
Sansa was quiet and pensive for a moment or so. "Do you think you could help me?"
"You want to warg more?" He asked incredulously. Jon had not expected that. He could not help but tease her. "So you'll be doing your needlework and then suddenly decide to slip into Lady?"
Sansa swatted his arm, but she was not insulted by his jape. "No," The mirth shimmered in her eyes, "But I could help. I-I'm not a warrior like any of you." She closed her eyes. "I-I still want to help, and to know I can do it with Lady. To look after him."
Jon knew who the him was.
"You said you heard the stories from Old Nan?"
"Yes, that's right."
"What were they in the stories?"
"It varies on the story," Jon was hesitant to reveal more. He did not want to alarm her or make her worried.
"So they were feared."
"No," He answered quickly, "Some were bad, but some were heroes." He didn't want her to be afraid of what she was. "Besides, I thought you had enough of stories."
That got a small smile out of her. "I do," she agreed. She then looked up at the weirwood tree. It was slim and small compared to the one at Winterfell. "But I want them to fear us." Her voice was firm, blue eyes shining with determination.
"Who?" Jon was surprised by her tone.
"Our enemies." Her mouth was pressed in a thin line. "Will you help me?"
He understood her reasons. For the first time in her life, Sansa Stark could fight. She could prove she was a Wolf of Winterfell.
"I will."
A/N: If you have the time, please don't forget to leave a review. It would mean a lot to me. They make my day when I get the alerts. Every one of them and every time I get the alert, I smile at the thought someone enjoyed my story enough to comment on it.
Thank you for your support.
-Spectre4hire