Previously on PotG: Jon finds out his parentage and Sansa packs for her journey to Winterfell.
Chapter 33: I Don't Want to Marry my Aunt!
*Jon*
They have been on their journey for more than a week and only then did Jon feel the need to discuss his parentage. He had been avoiding Nathalia ever since she revealed her secret. No, she had not betrayed him. It's simple. Avoiding her would be avoiding the conversation about his future. All his life, he'd been known and judged as Ned Stark's bastard. Catelyn Stark had hated him for that very reason prompting Jon to understand that the former Lord of Winterfell had kept the secret to his grave.
"She's going to think that you want the throne," Steffon, who had been let in on the secret—along with various fucks and exclaims of surprise—mutters as he leans quietly against the wall of the rocking ship. The seas have been calm throughout the journey. Perhaps, they all had the guardians to thank for that.
"How could I want the throne?" He scoffs from his place sitting on one of the chairs of the round table. They were given ships by Walder Frey's son. One contains an area to strategize. It has been where Nathalia and the other guardians have been holing themselves the past few weeks. "If you had asked me a year before now, I would have been lucky enough to be given my own land. Now, to dream of a whole kingdom? I don't want the throne."
He sees Nathalia whisper something to Alessandra before both of them tried to smother their laughs.
"What?" He frowns.
Nathalia barely sends him a cool glance—he shudders at what she must think of him about ignoring her for days.
It is Alessandra who answers. "If you had listened to your tutors, Dany is more likely to suggest a marriage,"
"A marriage?" He thinks about it for a second. "But Robb would never—"
He locks eyes with Nathalia. His lover raises an eyebrow as if he was a child who couldn't get a damned concept. Then it dawns on him. "No,"
Steffon guffaws, punching the wooden wall so loudly that it sends a ringing in Jon's ear.
"I don't want to marry my aunt!" He bellows.
This time, Alessandra and Nathalia exchange laughs.
The latter finally addresses him, "The Targaryens are known for inbreeding."
"But—"
"But what?" Her clipped tone is enough to tone down the level of humour inside the room. "You're my lover?"
He winces slightly. Gods. Everybody knows not to mess with Nathalia, especially if she is in a difficult mood. Her dark eyes peruse him as she takes a sip of the wine provided for them by the servants who had been allowed to travel with them. "Nathalia—"
"May we please have the room?" She doesn't take her eyes off of him but both other guardians know better than to dissuade Nathalia from her current predicament. She locks eyes with him until the door had been safely closed and they're left alone inside. "You've not spoken to me since you found out the truth. Why?"
He takes his own cup from the table and down the wine in one go. "I'm sorry,"
"You're sorry?" She says disbelievingly. "Is that all you have to say? We don't sleep in the same room anymore, you barely glance at me, you don't talk to me at all. Are you still my lover, Jon Snow?"
"Of course!" His tone rises. Nathalia is his as he is hers. How could she ever think that he'd let that go? "Nathalia, I was confused."
"Then you should have let me explain!"
"I needed to understand!"
"Well that would be difficult without some explanation." Gods his woman is difficult.
"I grew up believing I was a bastard—proof of the honorable Ned Stark's sins." He buries his face on his hands, finding it difficult to explain how he felt. "Then to find out that I'm a Targaryen, the son of Lyanna Stark from some love affair with who was supposed to be on the iron throne…I don't know who I am anymore,"
He feels her cool hands before he hears her soft tones. Her footsteps guide her towards him as she kneels in front of him and force him to look at her eyes. Nathalia's beautiful face is framed by her long locks flowing freely. Her soft hands continue to caress his as one travels towards his face. Only then does he notice that a tear had escaped his eye.
"You are Jon Snow. Born and bred a Stark of Winterfell. A brother to Robb Stark. My lover." Their foreheads connect as they both savour the first contact since finding out the truth. "I'm sorry for hiding the truth."
"I'm sorry for ignoring you,"
"Hmm you should be."
They both chuckle at her quip.
Jon Snow takes his lover's lips, letting his own sensually move along hers. A sigh escapes from Nathalia as she runs her hand through his thick locks, gripping them a little bit tighter when Jon begins to explore her mouth with his tongue. His hands travel from her waist, to her stomach, and finally they begin to cup her breasts through the layer of clothing between them. Slowly, he lowers his lips to her jaw, her neck, worshipping her body as an apology for the many days of silence.
"Jon," She sighs, her fingers gripping his locks as she moans in pleasure. Her neck has always been her weak spot. Jon had taken time to learn what would make her breath hitch, her body tremble. Nathalia is not a meek lover. She is passionate, all-consuming, and perfectly delicious.
Her dainty hands begin to lift his tunic from his trousers. He obliges, of course, and pulls away from her long enough to remove the offensive piece of material from his body. The weather—despite the looming winter—is hotter than he is used to in Westeros. Now, he thanks the gods because one pull from Nathalia's thin scrap of a gown is enough for it to pool on the floor. His fingers continue their assault against her skin until they find the apex of her thighs, then her center.
"Fuck,"
"What?" Nathalia's eyes flutter open to lock against his stormy ones. The look in his eyes is almost feral, as if all he wants is to fill her with his seed. "What is it?"
"Are you always this wet, love?" He grins roguishly before swooping to claim her lips as he backs her on the table, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist as she struggles to remove him from the confines of his breeches.
"Take me, Jon." She gasps as his clothing drops to the floor and he pins her hands behind her, taking one of her puckered nipples into his mouth. "It's been too long,"
With one carefully maneuvered thrust, he is inside her. Jon is unrelenting in his pursuit, not letting Nathalia touch him as he feels her wet channel clamp him to such pleasurable death.
"Let me touch you," She shrieks when he hits a particular spot.
"No," He growls, sucking greedily on her breasts when he feels her fluttering against him—a sure sign of her release. Sure enough, Nathalia wails in pleasure as she finishes. Soon, Jon follows her and spills his seed inside her as he groans his release.
"Jon," She whispers.
"Yes?" He lifts his head, locking his eyes with hers as they both try to gasp for breath from their rather quick fuck.
"Never ignore me again," Though her eyes are hard, her voice is enough to convey how desperate she had been to earn back his good graces.
"Never hide anything like this from me again,"
The sounds of their breath are the only thing occupying the room as Nathalia ponders over his request. Sometimes, mortals are better off not knowing some secrets.
"I can't promise you that,"
"But you can try,"
"Yes."
He presses a soft kiss on her forehead, "That's enough for now."
The next several days are spent preparing for their arrival. The winds have been good enough to make their journey fast and soon enough, Cersei's spies would be reporting of the King in the North's alliance with the Targaryen his family had helped dethrone. Jon had been given the task to prepare his brother with this change of plans.
Robb had been quiet and neutral about everything. He merely nodded in response to Nathalia's reports and assurance that this Daenerys Targaryen would accept him. Apparently, the girl had endeared herself in the helper's heart and made her confident enough to accept that she was not cut from the same cloth as her mad father. Jon could tell that his brother was unsure despite of the helpers' convictions but chooses not to say anything. It is almost as if he would gladly welcome being fed to Daenerys' dragons if she chose that as his fate. His brother had noticeably given up.
"Nathalia says it will only take a week before we finally arrive at the harbor," He approaches the former proud king.
Today had been one of those days, days where his older brother—ehm cousin—does not eat, does not speak, and does not even attempt to command anything of his men. Since dawn, Jon had watched his brother stand on the ship's deck, leaning against the railings. He had not moved since, content to watch the waves splash against each other. Even Alessandra had worried enough to try and bring him food for sustenance. His brother pretended to take the bowl of broth but Jon was sure he'd thrown it to the sea when he thought nobody was looking.
Jon reaches his side, mimicking his position. Maybe sharing a secret might cheer his brother. "I'm not Ned Stark's son."
A small frown takes over Robb's face as if the very sentence offends him. "Don't be stupid, Jon."
"But I'm really not,"
"Father would never lie,"
"He would if it meant protecting me,"
That gets his brother's attention. Robb's blue eyes study Jon's face for any trace of deceit. When he finds none, he scoffs in surprise. "What do you mean, Jon?"
Finally getting some sort of emotion from his brother, Jon shrugs. "Nathalia knew this whole time—that's why we weren't speaking for a while. Rhaegar Targaryen had run away with our aunt, Lyanna."
"If this is your idea of a jest, let me assure you that I'm not amused." Robb's knuckles are white as he grips the ship tightly.
"I'm a Targaryen bastard, brother." He chuckles good-naturedly. It had been weeks before he had come to terms with his birth. Even saying it out loud feels a bit strange, as if he is taking on a new identity. "Well, not a bastard apparently. They married, you see? Had a whole secret wedding and all."
"Seven hells," Robb's eyes are wide with surprise. "Seven hells," He repeats. "And I thought my life was difficult."
That gives Jon a pause. Maybe it's time to talk some sense back to his brother. He places a hand on Robb's shoulders, feeling how bony it had become from lack of nutrition. Sometimes, the bad days become bad weeks. "Father would never want you to waste away, Robb."
His brother falls silent. A soft shake overtakes his body as if only now had he been realizing that he was standing the whole day. They are silent for a moment before Robb releases a soft bark of laughter surprising Jon. "Don't you mean 'uncle'?"
"Uncle Ned," Jon tries.
They both laugh at the absurdity.
"Nevertheless, brother, you're still alive."
"What do you mean?"
Jon squeezes his brother's shoulder. "You cannot live this way. You're not even alive in the way you're behaving. "Live, Robb, live."
*Sansa*
"Natasha, Winterfell has fallen." She says hastily as the guardian rummages through their belongings and throws everything into their small sack. Shae had been ordered to the kitchens to gather food and Tyrion had been ordered to appeal to his father that Sansa should be moved to Casterly Rock. Jaime had backed his little brother with promises to escort them both to the family's seat. They had debated that it would do no good not to have a Lannister in their own home.
"And we'll take it back, Sansa."
"You talk as if it's easy," Sansa almost rolls her eyes at the helper's confidence. After the supposed demise of their brother, Lord Bolton had ransacked Winterfell and burned her two younger brothers—or so he thinks. Natasha had told her that Nathalia had ordered five of her guardians to save the two boys and bring them to safety in the wall. Roose Bolton had been deceived, believing the dead children's body they burned had been from the Starks. Robb's bannermen had also been ordered to let the vengeful lord take the castle, all the while welcoming the former inhabitants of Winterfell. Every servant and every nurse had taken asylum and are currently waiting for orders from the king in the north.
Roose Bolton had taken an empty Winterfell, much to his chagrin. He told the crown otherwise due to his inability to accept his failure. Nathalia had bested them once again.
"It is. Jaime is coming with us. He may be a bastard but he is quite mighty with a sword."
Sansa, once again, rolls her eyes at the helper's description of her lover. They are like brother and sister, always having something to annoy each other about. It drives Sansa crazy. It became even worse when Natasha had found them in bed together. The thought still gives both of them an uncomfortable feeling. While resigned to accept that the young Stark and the kingslayer had fallen in love, it is quite another to see her ruination. Sansa cringes at the thought of begging her brother to let her marry Jaime after her annulment with Tyrion.
"And you suppose that Cersei will just let us escape?"
"Of course not,"
"Then this plan is futile!"
"Not if we escape through the tunnels, Lady Lannister."
"And when Cersei figures out how we've slipped away?"
"Well she won't because we'd already be in Winterfell," Her friend grins.
Sansa gapes at the proclamation. Surely Natasha didn't think it'd be that easy going to Winterfell. "Have you forgotten how far Winterfell is from the south?"
An eyebrow raised in mock offense makes the guardian look exactly like her tenacious sister. "And you've underestimated us again!" With a loud sigh, "We have more power than you think, Sansa. If sacrificing all of my energy is what it takes to take you back home safely and create a strong army for Thalia, then I'd gladly do so."
"Shae and Tyrion?"
"They'll be coming with us. Tyrion's wits are indepensible. Shae's loyal to you."
"Only the four of us?"
"Why? Do you have someone else in mind? That old bird from House Tyrell possibly?" Finally, she manages to close the lump of clothing she'd managed to gather for Sansa and herself. It's not like they'll be travelling far and the young Stark had not felt the need for frivolities recently.
Sansa rolls her eyes at the helper's audacity. Often does it frustrate her that she is treated as a child by the people surrounding her. Then she realizes how much each of them are sacrificing because of her selfishness to insist on waiting for Arya to come back. Moons later did she only feel the finality of never seeing her sister again. Even Natasha's spies could not find the young Stark girl. One can only hope that the reason why is she's found people willing to protect her similar to the ones Sansa has now.
The bed creaks as she puts all her weight into it. Ladylike sensibilities can fuck itself. She doesn't know how to feel about returning to Winterfell in the dead of the night and letting two helpers risk their lives to take back an empty castle on her behalf. "I was so excited to leave Winterfell, Natasha."
"Sansa…"
"I thought I was to be queen. I thought Joffrey would be a great king. I thought my mother and father would see me at my wedding." Salty tears fall from her blue irises. "Coming home…without them to welcome me…it scares me."
A weight settles beside her and a warm had clasps her cold ones. "I'm so sorry, Sansa."
"I know."
The helper balances herself to hover above her. Her curly dark hair creates a capsule for them to look directly into the other's eyes. Immediately, Sansa is flooded with a sense of comfort. "But Winterfell is your home, Sansa. It is yours for the taking. Don't let them forget who you are: a princess of the north."
Author's Notes:
Wow. It's been 3 years since I updated this story. To be honest, I lost my interest in Game of Thrones when I watched the last season. I hated how everybody's character development was pushed to the side and how Dany's madness was handled.
But House of the Dragon came and wow. Guys, I'm loving it! What do you guys think about it? I can't believe I'm shipping incest tbh lol.
Anyway, I'll try to update this story as much as I can. I already have everything mapped out. Thank you for sticking around with me!
