A new chapter for you lovely readers! thanks for sticking with me! I am enjoying the writing i do, and i am glad you do, too. If you want to give me some love, leave a comment! I'd love it :) some notes this time around:

When the soldiers were not fighting, Paris was usually where you would find them when they got a night out on the town.

Marconi was the inventor of the radio. There is a book called Thunderstruck that tells the story is a fantastic way if you are interested in learning more. Radio engineers were indispensable since radio was a new way to communicate. little was known about radio waves. Marconi's radio used Hertzian waves.

Soldiers commonly read books in order to escape. it was one of the few diversions they had. They didn't read non fiction much, but would read more along the lines of classic and popular adventure stories. The more educated soldiers were usually seen reading classic works like Shakespeare, and yes, Jane Austen and other comedies and romance narratives were popular, though not many soldiers would openly admit to reading those books.

At this point in time a bookstore as I described would be a gem to find. In fact, I have found only a handful myself in this day and age.

Hope you enjoy this next installment! - FlamingRose

December 23, 1917, Paris, France

Jon straddled the wall as he sat by the river. It was cold, but it hadn't snowed yet. It was supposed to that night. Judging by the overcast sky and the crisp moisture in the air, Jon was sure it would snow soon. This Christmas, he was lucky he didn't have to be fighting. He was grateful that today he would not be responsible for the loss of someone's son or brother or husband. He blinked away the thought. He had to stop thinking that way or he would never survive the war. He had seven days of reprieve. He'd take it and try his best to enjoy it. He held his hand over his pocket, pressing its content closer to his chest. It had become a habit of his. It was the closest he could be to her for the foreseeable future. She would be going to the Lannister ball tonight. He imagined she'd be wearing dark hues, as close to black as she dared in her own silent protest. He'd received a letter from Sansa via Margery earlier in the day postmarked a week ago where she expressed how upset she was with the Lannister's decision to have a ball despite the war. He'd read it three times already. He understood Sansa's fury, but he wished balls were the height of his worries nowadays. Plus, he would trade places with any of Sansa's dance partners tonight. Only a year ago it was he who had discovered how much he liked dancing when she was who he led around the floor. Even if he only had her for a few seconds, he would still have her at all. He wanted the quiet peace of Winterfell, but if he couldn't have it, the Lannister ball would do, just for an hour or two anyway.

In all honesty, he didn't particularly like the high society—the parties, the balls, the courtesies. He was more afraid he'd start liking his life as a soldier. He didn't want war to become his new normal: the death, sickness, and blood. The loss and grief…The way people reacted when he walked through the streets. On the one hand, he was a sign of hope for French forces, an ally. On the other, he was a reminder of the war, of why sons and husbands, fathers and brothers were gone and away from home...Home. Every day he felt more at home in war torn territories. He struggled to remember the nuances of home: the fields at his old school, Benjen's brownstone house…he was afraid he'd forget home altogether. But he still had Winterfell, always vivid, covered in sparkling snow. At least he still had that.

"Jon?" Sam Tarley interrupted his thoughts. He was not a man fit for war, but he had extensive knowledge of Hertzian waves and the mechanics of Marconi's radio. He was a nervous sort, but he was whip smart and indispensable. As Jon spent more and more time with Sam, he discovered he had extensive knowledge in far more than just radios.

"Sam."

'The other fellas are all going to the café on the corner, Then Theon says he knows a place to go dancing…I think he's missing home—even if he doesn't say so."

'he must be talking about the Lannister ball again," Jon replied, "he always did like that one best. 'The girls are always full of generous Christmas spirit,' he used to say." Jon guessed for a charmer like Theon the girls here in Paris would have a similar Christmas spirit. Theon talked and talked about French girls constantly, and how different they were from girls back home. Jon still rather be home.

'I don't have much of an appetite," Jon answered.

""for food, or women?" sam asked.

"Both," Jon replied. Sam shifted in his spot.

"You know, I was going to skip the café and go to the bookstore on the corner down the way. The old man that runs it is fairly nice. He's got a lot of books on history, military strategy, art, even novels! I mean, if you're interested, you could come with me. If you want." Jon considered the offer in silence.

"It's a quiet shop," Sam continued, "and no one will bother you."

"That sounds great, Sam," Jon answered. Sam exhaled with relief.

"Great. It's just down the road." They walked in silence to the little shop. Jon was greeted by the smell of pipe tobacco and dust when he stepped through the door. Books were crammed into any and all available spaces, and the bookshelves went from floor to ceiling. Jon watched as sam's face completely evolved into a smile that brought the corners of his mouth to his ears.

Jon could see it was shops like these where Sam felt most comfortable. He stood taller, his shoulders held back instead of pitched forward the way Jon usually saw them back at camp. Even his brow was clear of the worry lines he usually sported. War is no place for Sam, Jon thought, even if he is a radio engineer. His place is here, or somewhere like it.

'Ah! Monsieur! You have returned!" Jon turned to see an old gentleman wearing spectacles and holding a pipe approach Sam. He shook Sam's hand with his unoccupied one.

"Yes, I am! And I've brought a friend with me."

'Wonderful!" the man said as he shook Jon's hand, "this man will read anything," he told Jon nodding his head in Sam's direction.

'Are you also a—an—eh, what is the word in English…Vorace…a hungry reader..eh no! Vor-a-cious! Voracious Reader!"

"No," Jon answered, "Not really." Unless it was required for class, Jon was never much of a reader. He spent a lot more time outside or playing on the courts and fields. He read a book here and there, but it always took him so long to finish he didn't always see the point. When he was sixteen, though, he did read Jack London's The Call of the Wild. He tried to impress a girl from the all girl's academy across the street from his and Robb's school. Ygritte loved jack London. She was constantly talking about his work and his life. He tried to impress her with his knowledge of the book, but it all went horribly wrong. He became flustered and couldn't remember the plot for the life of him. He blamed her red hair. The way it seemed to set the air on fire, the way it curled, he couldn't help but get tongue tied and forgetful.

'You know nothing," she had laughed, "but you did take the time to at least try to impress me…and you are rather delicious." She said this last bit with a look that made his ears hot.

"We can go out this Saturday," he decided. They went out for many Saturdays after that, but it didn't last. She'd ended up going west, and then north searching for adventure in the Alaskan tundra. If anyone could survive that, it was Ygritte. He smiled at the memory of her. He hadn't thought of her in so long. He hoped she conquered the tundra. Maybe she'd write about it. Perhaps soon he'd find her name alongside Jack London's on the shelves of a bookstore.

"Well, I'm sure we can find something to inspire you," the old man said bringing jon out of his memories. Jon smiled politely without a word, and the old man smiled back, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.

"Well Monsieurs, I seem to have misplaced my matches. If you'll excuse me, I will leave you now. I will be in the back.

"Thank you," Sam replied before turning his attention to the nearest shelf.

Jon walked aimlessly about the bookstore looking from shelf to shelf and scanning the titles. A lot of the titles were in French, but there were also shelves of books in English, even some in Dutch. Bran would love this, Jon thought, he'd be so happy he would never leave.

He lightly grazed the spines of all the books with the tips of his fingers. The smell of the shop, the quiet, the shelter of the bookstore, and the feel of hardback books beneath his fingers…he felt tightness in his throat and a tingle in his nose before he realized he was crying. He hadn't truly experienced peace in so long. He hadn't felt safe since he arrived in France. But here he was, in a bookstore, leagues away from home, feeling a calm he thought he lost with childhood innocence. Jon leaned his head against his hand that rested on the shelf, and he allowed himself a moment to cry. He could feel the months of tension leaving his body. For the first time, he felt relief.

As his shaking subsided and his eyes began to dry, he took a deep breath and wiped his face with his hands, trying his best to pull himself together. As he finished his task of composing himself, smoke tickled his nose. The old man must've found his pipe tobacco.

"Can I help you find something?" he asked Jon kindly.

"Escape," Jon whispered. The man looked him in the eye, clarity and understanding present in his expression.

"Come with me then," the man said. He turned and walked to a corner of the store with beautiful hardback books in English.

"I understand her to be a classic English writer, but I must say her satire and romance is impressive. And I a Frenchman!" The old man chuckled at his own joke, and Jon smiled politely. He's trying to cheer me up, Jon realized.

"Now—this one is just right for you," he said, pulling a book off the shelf. He looked down at the book the man had pulled from the shelf. Persuasion by Jane Austen. He hadn't heard of Persuasion, but he had heard of Jane Austen. He wondered at what the man thought of his reading preferences. Jon didn't read much, but when he did pick up a book, it was never anything like Jane Austen. He always thought her novels a bit girly for his taste. It was women's literature, but whether or not he'd like to admit it, comedy and romance might be exactly what he needed most. They brought levity, and lord knows he needed that. Besides, it was a beautiful book: red leather bound with gold leaf pages—too nice for a solider.

"What if I ruin it?" Jon asked as he ran his hand across the front.

"Ah, a common concern with you, I can tell," the bookstore owner said with a glint in his eye. Something about how he said that made Jon blush.

"I can cover it in brown paper if you are concerned about how it will fare in the trenches, but once this war ends—and it will end—you shouldn't need the paper anymore. You'll take care of it just fine."

Jon dug into his pocket for money, but the man stopped him.

"My gift to you."

"But sir!" Jon protested, "this book—I can tell—it's expensive!"

"Ah! It's valuable, yes. And even more valuable to you than I think it could be to anyone who would buy it right now. Take it, please." Jon looked at the book, running his hand over the cover.

"thank you," he said with a small smile.

'Of course. As long as you promise to come back."

"I will," Jon promised.

Jon and Sam left the old man's shop in search of a café. Both men were finally hungry and looking for sustenance. They found a café on an old winding street. They ordered a simple soup and a baguette as well as a pot of coffee and found a place next to the window but close enough to the kitchen to keep warm. Sam wasted no time in telling Jon all about that day's discoveries at the bookstore while Jon listened and ate slowly.

"I'm telling you, Jon. It's surprising how many books on modern science and engineering that man has in stock. I mean, shelves! And the languages! At least five—French, English, Spanish, Dutch, even a small Basque section! He says he used to have a German section, but since the war started he's had to hide those books away in the back. Says folks always make assumptions about stuff like that."

"Some people are absolute fools," Jon said, "so what did you find this time?" Sam smiled brightly and pulled out a paperback book with a green cover.

"It's a book on soundwaves—physics stuff. Fascinating really. Oh! And this one!" He pulled out a larger book.

"This one is on the history of French art. Also fascinating." Jon chuckled.

"You really will read anything," Jon stated, "I think it's great."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Curiosity should be admired in a person." On occasions like this, Sam reminded Jon of Bran.

'So what did they old man give you, Jon?" Jon pulled the book out slowly and placed it on the table. Sam whistled as he touched the gold leaf pages with the tip of his finger.

"Wow," he said reverently, "that's a nice one, a real beauty…and he just gave it to you?" Jon nodded.

"He said I would find it more valuable than anyone who would buy it. I don't know why. I've never even heard of this book before."

"May I?" Sam asked. Jon nodded as Sam picked up the book with two careful hands.

"Persuasion! Oh, I read this! It's actually pretty good. I'm usually a guy for nonfiction, but Gilly begged me to read Austen so I did: all six books."

"Gilly?"

"My girl back home," Sam said with a smile, "have you got a girl Jon?" Jon's hand instinctively went to his breast pocket.

"Sort of. It's complicated."

"What's complicated?"

"We come from different places, she's at home, I'm here, I haven't seen her in months…nothing was ever set in stone, and not much was ever said out loud come to think of it…She still writes to me, though," He said with a smile thinking back on the letter she sent about the Lannister party.

"That's something," Sam encouraged.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"What's her name?"

"Sansa," Jon uttered reverently.

"Nice name. Very pretty, very unique."

"More than fitting for a girl like her," Jon said with a smile.

"So what's she like?"

"Oh, what a question," Jon said biding his time as he leaned back in his chair, "she's…she's kind, compassionate, thoughtful, smart. Much smarter than I. Goodness is she smart. She never ceases to amaze me really."

"Is she pretty?"

"Oh, beautiful! She's got this red hair. Deep red, like sunset. And blue eyes that go right through me. She's got the most mesmerizing smile, and when she speaks…" Jon trailed off as he lost himself in his memories of her.

"She sounds incredible," Sam stated.

'She is," Jon replied, "much too good for me really. She seems to think otherwise, but even so I know I don't deserve her."

"Uncanny," Sam said looking down at Jon's book in amazement.

"What is?"

"The old man," Sam answered, "he had you pegged. It's impressive really. Absolutely astonishing."

'What? The book keeper?" Jon reached for his book, which Sam happily handed back to him, "why?"

"You'll have to read the book to find out," Sam said with a grin.

"What is it about this book?"

"Just read it and you'll see!" Sam insisted.

"Alright!" Jon relented, "I'll read it."

"Good. I promise you, it's just as the old man said. You'll value it more than anyone who might buy it."

"You both seem fairly adamant about it, "Jon observed, "I'm almost starting to believe you."

"Good," Sam replied as he took a chunk of bread off the baguette, "I would not steer you wrong, Jon."

"I appreciate that, Sam," Jon said earnestly. He looked outside to see snowflakes showering the street. He may not have been at the Lannister ball with Sansa, but he was sharing good food with a good friend. He was not with any family, but he still felt content, and for the first time since leaving New England in the summer, he wanted to be nowhere else. He knew it was sure to be short lived, but all the same he'd enjoy it while it lasted.