AN: So basically I'm trash for taking this long, but hey! Long chapter! And season 8 is only one week away.~~

Every Loyalty

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Chapter X:

A Formidable Woman

It was among her first weeks at the capital in King Robert's court. Larisa was barely twelve years old, and she kept pricking her finger with the needle because for once, she couldn't care less about her stitching. She also couldn't manage to stop weeping.

Later she would guess it was hard to keep up the semblance of polite conversation, because in that moment Cersei rolled her eyes and snapped, finally, "What are you sniveling at, child?"

Larisa ducked her head. It wasn't the first time she'd heard the Queen speak harshly, but it was the first time Cersei had lost patience with her.

"It's…it's nothing, your grace."

Cersei's smile suggested she didn't really care either way. It was a far cry from the serene look she wore for her husband, and anybody else who crossed her path, for that matter. But Myrcella was with Jaime, and Joffrey was off brooding somewhere on his own. Her mother had taken ill and had retired to her chamber, and her brothers were chasing Tommen in the courtyard with sticks.

It really was just the two of them this afternoon while her father met with King Robert.

Larisa had never known her cousins very well; they were much older than her, but she had been so excited to meet the Queen of Westeros, the beauty everyone always told Larisa she resembled.

Now she knew that was just what people said to young girls with famous relatives.

"You may as well be out with it," Cersei said eventually.

Waving off her handmaids, she leaned across the space between them and took the stitching from Larisa's hands. She then took a cloth, dipped it in a chalice of water and cleaned off the girl's bloodied fingers.

"We have a while yet until supper," she said, then righted herself in her chair, gazing at Larisa expectantly.

The girl looked down at her hands. Tentatively she folded them in her lap.

"I don't belong here," she confessed.

The other girls at court, the daughters of nobles like she was, they smiled to her face and said, how nice, that your eyes are not as dull and brown as your hair.

Lucky for you, they'd laughed, that her skin was soft, when so many freckles marred her shoulders.

Huddled together in the garden, they gossiped about trivial things, and sighed at the romantic plays they'd seen and the books they read.

Well, Larisa liked all those things too. Only she also liked the stories her father told her, real stories that actually happened; of Old Valeria and the First Men and the Targaryens. And also the ones her mother knew, about woodland nymphs and whimsical creatures—the stories that people here didn't seem to take seriously.

Those girls certainly had more to laugh about then.

Now, Cersei rested her head against her hand. Larisa couldn't tell if the Queen was bored or not. She asked, anyway, "Why not?"

Larisa couldn't answer that. She didn't know how to put it all into words, and even if she could, she was sure it wasn't something you bothered a queen with.

Two slender fingers lifted her chin, until she was forced to meet the queen's cool gaze.

"My father once told me that a Lannister does not lower her chin, not for anyone," she said. "Never show them your tears. Show only what you want them to see. Otherwise you won't survive in this world, little dove."

Jon Snow's cabin door swung open, startling Larisa out of her thoughts when she only nearly avoided its path. It rattled the contents of the tray she was holding, but she managed to save it all from tumbling over.

"Oh, my apologies," Daenerys said, just as surprised. Larisa noticed the suspect puffiness around the smaller woman's eyes, her tense shoulders.

Larisa lowered her eyes, if not her head. "I beg your pardon."

Daenerys stood still, as if waiting for something.

Then adding a thin smile, she moved away from the door.

Larisa couldn't know for sure, but she certainly felt like she was being watched as she entered the room and tentatively closed the door behind her.

Jon was still awake, already mostly dressed as he sat on the edge of his bed. He greeted her with a short nod.

"You're late," he said. She kept herself focused on pouring hot tea into a cup.

"You had company," she returned. And to her shame, she wished she hadn't stood outside the door for entirely too long, straining to hear what was being said. She wondered just what would bring the unyielding Dragon Queen to tears, though.

Jon certainly didn't offer up that information. Larisa didn't think he appreciated the efforts she'd made, leafing through those dusty old maester's books for herbal remedies.

"I hate tea," he grimaced, after a sip.

She sighed and went for the jar that contained a salve. "So you often remind me."

"How much more are you gunna make me drink it?" he asked, but did she hear a note of teasing in his voice?

Thankfully he removed his tunic without her having to ask, and she started in applying the salve to his shoulder. The bruising and swelling had gone down considerably in past weeks. In her opinion (novice though it was), it would continue healing fine on its own from now on, just like the rest of him.

"Until Davos agrees that I no longer have to make it," she snipped. It was hard to fight even a small smile at the look he gave her, annoyed but resigned. He knew how close he came to death, and yet they both knew it wouldn't be the last time.

Even after these weeks at sea, she still hadn't been told exactly what happened—why Jon now spoke a bit gentler to Daenerys, something more familiar passing between them.

"What happened," Larisa said before she could help herself. She sat down beside him and cleared her throat. "What happened, after you sent Gendry to us?"

Jon didn't answer for a moment, but when he did, he spoke of the long night after they were surrounded by wights, and the White Walkers who controlled them. They'd been trapped in the center of a lake that froze over enough by the morning for the wights to cross.

"If not for Daenerys, we'd have all been dead," he said frankly.

With his own eyes, he explained how he saw the Night King slay Viserion, one of her dragons.

"I've seen bad things. Horrifying things," Jon said. His dark eyes were direct, honest, as always. But Larisa hadn't seen him quite so honest as this.

"Nothing's going to compare to what's coming."

A knock at the door made them both flinch. Larisa sprung to her feet, putting a respectable distance between them when Jon allowed her brother to come in with the evening meal. The smell of it hit them before anything else.

"For you, your grace," Willem said, setting down the tray beside Larisa's.

"Thanks, Will," Jon said, but then he looked up at the boy thoughtfully. "Would you mind bringing this back abovedeck, with everyone else?"

A slow smile grew on Will's face. He nodded and took the tray back.

Jon stopped him just before he left. "Remember a place for your sister."

Larisa tried to keep her expression neutral when Will shot her a mild glance, but out of respect for Jon, he nodded again and was off.

Later they ate among Davos and Gendry, Daenerys and her court. Davos told his stories, entertaining them all as usual while Willem served out portions.

"Judging by the smell, I'd say he made that meal himself," Larisa said.

"With one of your recipes, probably," Jon remarked. She gazed at him narrowly, but the upward quirk of her lips gave her away.

Instead, she mentally noted that he was finally standing and moving around naturally. She was reminded of those days in the beginning of their voyage: when he was half-frozen and still as death, and then pale and almost delirious with fever.

"He was worried for you," she admitted.

Jon looked down at his meal, choosing to continue eating rather than answer.

"You seem close," he said eventually, "you and your brother."

"I suppose so," she agreed. "Our mother often wasn't well…the only way I could see to help was with Will. Believe it or not, he was the trouble child."

"I don't know if I do believe it," he said, hedging her a glance.

She shook her head. "I used to pray that my own children wouldn't be as exhausting as him."

Jon grinned slightly behind a flask of ale. "I imagine you'll find a way to tame 'em."

Larisa blanked. The heat of anxiety crept at the back of her neck, but she ignored it.

She said nothing and brought a cup of wine to her lips.

"I uh…didn't mean anything by it," Jon trailed.

She realized he thought he'd offended her somehow.

"It's not that, your grace," she said airily. "I just don't suppose I'll get that chance."

"Why?" he asked, his more familiar frown replacing the levity that had briefly lightened him. Larisa only held his gaze, long enough to conjure something he would believe.

"With what's coming," she said pointedly, "I can't imagine a worse time for a child to come into this world."

Larisa stood with her back against the large wooden pillar that made up the mast. She watched the moon's dim light on the black waters alone, a shawl wrapped tightly around her from the chill that should've have been in the summer South.

They would arrive at the capital soon enough.

She was well-practiced in hiding her apprehension from Willem, but dread was nearly a living thing inside her; not only from the creature locked down belowdecks, but mostly of what would happen in King's Landing. Of what she would do upon seeing the woman responsible for her father and brother's death.

But she couldn't afford to misstep, not in the capital. Not when she still hadn't found her mother.

Larisa heard voices behind her, carried on the wind. With the mast hiding her from view, she snuck a glance at the silvery strands of Daenerys's hair. Leaning out a bit farther, she saw Jon, Davos and Tyrion with her.

What must've been a council meeting dispersed as the men went their separate ways, until Daenerys called on Jon a moment.

They stood there together, talking in low tones. Larisa couldn't pick out much of anything they were saying, but she thought she caught a glimpse of a smile on Jon's face.

She saw no way back to her cabin without being spotted. Though just then, she nearly could've abandoned her pride and let both of them see her alone in the dark if it meant getting a moment's peace. Perhaps she could slip by on the other side of the ship, but there was quite a lot of open space on the main deck.

Larisa hesitated, until the thought of being caught behind the mast urged her out of her hiding place. She'd only made a few strides when she was nearly startled out of her wits by Drogon soaring overhead, dipping lower than usual beside the ship before surging on into the night. His dark scarlet wings were a beautiful, terrifying sight, and Larisa felt their power in the gusts of wind that pushed her back towards the base of the mast.

"I believe that's his way of checking up on me," Daenerys said. She appeared from the other side of the hull.

Larisa barely controlled her reaction to a small flinch and met the other woman's stare as neutrally as possible. She knew what should happen next; she was meant to offer a demure apology for not immediately acknowledging the queen's presence. She was meant to cross her ankles and bow her head with a flourish of her skirts. And yet, Larisa found that she couldn't.

Daenerys's head tilted to one side, her lips quirking as if she were vaguely amused and intrigued.

"Forgive me, Lady Larisa. I realize that we're not terribly well acquainted, but I believe a proper woman such as yourself knows well her due courtesy before a queen," she said.

When Larisa's father gave her to her husband, despite the implications of her house she'd learned her value. She knew she had no place beside a formidable woman, with her dragons and armies. But she had long grown tired of being mocked.

"With all due respect," Larisa said, "you may have been a queen across the Narrow Sea, among the scum of Slaver's Bay. You may devise yourself to be a queen here, but I pledged no oath to you."

Against any crude expectation of what Daenerys might have done next, she smiled.

"But you don't deny that I am what I say I am."

Though somewhat relieved that she wasn't already surrounded by Dothraki, Larisa frowned.

"All that time wandering the flea-bitten edge of the world clearly gave you a complex," she said.

"And what did a privileged life in the Westerlands give you?" Daenerys returned.

Larisa's temper flared, and her restraint slipped.

"A weakness for custard tarts," she dryly quipped.

The queen raised a brow.

"You were brought up surrounded by excess. They washed your hair and dressed you, brought you food and wine and whatever other inanities you desired."

As she spoke, Daenerys moved on idly toward the ship's hull, the heels of her boots falling lightly on the wood. Her dress was fitted, the shoulders sharp and the neckline high. It wasn't the look of a soft leader, and suited her sharp demeanor. The fabric was thick and well-tailored, and likely a well-paid price as well.

Larisa's own was simpler; the lighter brows and cream white of the skirts fitted by a thick leather belt were easy for travelling.

"Am I to believe you go without such pleasures?" she asked.

"Both of us were given a birthright for our names," Daenerys said. "Which one of us has earned it?"

They made port at last. Daenerys would not be traveling with them on foot, but Jon and Tyrion led them with the Dothraki to the Dragon Pit, where they were met on the road by a hoard of Gold Cloaks led by a man Tyrion called Sir Bronn of the Blackwater.

Larisa remembered the day he must have received that title all too well, but his face was only a little familiar at best. With him were Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Paine, likely sent to represent Sansa at the gathering.

The Dragon Pit was immense; it's walls were half-destroyed by time, but to Larisa, the impression of the structure seemed at once a theater and a cage. There was a raised platform in the center with three sections of seating decorated with the Lannister gold and red banners. Tyrion and Missandei, along with Sir Jorah, Theon, and the Dothraki took the left, while Larisa and Willem followed Jon, Davos and Brienne to the right. Sir Bronn and Podrick filtered away from the Pit, leaving them to wait for Queen Cersei.

Larisa's chest seized when the sound of heavy boots and armor clanking reached them. Soon enough, Cersei's black knights entered the Pit. The Mountain led them, but Cersei was just behind; her hair was shorn to the neck, and her once flowing gowns had been replaced by black and a silver circlet, but unfortunately, she'd lost none of her elegance. She only seemed harder, her true cold fire visible in her eyes.

Larisa soon noticed Will fidgeting beside her as they approached. After debating within herself for a moment, she settled on discreetly touching his hand.

"Don't look at me," she warned him quietly. "Don't speak, even if they try to bait you. Just know that I'm here beside you."

She didn't know if that gave him any comfort, but it was the most she could do. The tension was nearly palpable as Cersei ascended the steps with Sir Jaime and who Larisa could only assume was Euron Greyjoy, by the sigil on his back. The rest of her knights took their stand behind Cersei as she sat down.

She addressed her younger brother coldly.

"Where is she?"

"She'll be here soon," Tyrion said.

"She didn't travel with you?"

Tyrion replied negatively. Resigned but clearly irritated, Cersei settled further into her seat. She surveyed the enemies that surrounded her on both sides.

When her eyes fell on Larisa and Will, Larisa stared back directly. Whatever the queen saw there raised the corner of her lips.

"I see our traitorous cousins have become Northern pets."

Larisa bit her tongue and clenched her fists into her skirts to keep herself from something she would regret. Her eyes unbidden flit to Jon, who glanced back at her, frowning.

Just as he might've opened his mouth to reply, they were interrupted by Drogon's wail. He and Rhaegal descended and eventually landed on the edges of the Pit, where Drogon scaled farther down with his claws and let his rider down gently. Daenerys climbed down and made her way to the platform as her dragons resumed flight. She took her seat beside Tyrion.

"We've been here for some time," Cersei said blandly. But Larisa had seen the woman's eyes when Drogon let out his roar, displayed rows of teeth and fang; she knew the display had achieved its desired intent.

"My apologies," said Daenerys. She turned to Tyrion and gave a small nod, and he stood, prepared to start the proceedings.

"We are a group of people who do not like one another," he began. "We have suffered at each other's hands, we have lost people we love at each other's hands. If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no need for this gathering."

In truth, Larisa hardly heard her cousin speaking. She could only stare at the side of Cersei's face within her view. Later Larisa wouldn't remember what thoughts had raced through her mind, what memories had plagued her one moment after the other, but she knew that she saw too much of her father's likeness in the queen, just as there was resemblance between her brother and Sir Jaime, and with Tyrion.

"We are entirely capable of waging war against each another without meeting face-to-face," Tyrion said.

"So instead we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days?" Cersei remarked.

"We all know that will never happen."

"Then why are we here?"

Here Jon finally stood and joined Tyrion, breaking Larisa from her thoughts.

"This isn't about living in harmony," he said. "It's just about living. The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you can't negotiate with, an army that doesn't leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me a million people live in this city…there are about to become a million more soldiers in the Army of the Dead."

"I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement," Cersei mocked. As expected, she saw no credence in a truce based on an impeding war against myth and legend. She saw it as a play on Daenerys's part to solidify her position in Westeros with Cersei's army pulled back to the South.

When it became clear they could not move forward through talking in circles, Sandor Clegane brought the sealed cage and set it down on the platform. He unfastened the chains and kicked the cage forward, stirring the creature inside to scramble out hissing and screaming.

The iron clasp around its ankle prevented the wight from attacking, but Larisa almost leapt out of her skin all the same. Will was stock still in his seat, though he eventually pried at her painful grip on his wrist.

Cersei was ashen by the time Clegane and Jon finished off the wight, and all while Jon explained the ways the creature could be killed, Larisa felt increasingly sick to her stomach.

"There is only one war that matters," he said at last. "The Great War. And it is here."

Larisa watched Cersei share a look with Jaime, who looked more disturbed than any in her party.

"I didn't believe it until I saw them," Daenerys said. "I saw them all."

"How many?" Jaime asked.

"Hundred thousand at least."

Euron left soon after, claiming he would take the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands.

"He's right to be afraid," Cersei said of him. "And a coward to run. If those things come for us, there will be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we suffered would've been for nothing. Everything we lost, would've been for nothing. The Crown accepts your truce. Until the Dead are defeated, they are the true enemy."

She then addressed Jon Snow, "In return the King in the North will extend this truce; he will remain in the North where he belongs, he will not take up arms against the Lannisters, he will not choose sides."

"Just the King in the North, not me?" Daenerys asked.

"I would never ask it of you. You would never agree to it, and if you did, I would trust you even less than I do now," Cersei sneered. "I ask it only of Ned Stark's son. I know Ned Stark's son will be true to his word."

Larisa held her breath. It was a fair deal, and the best Jon would receive for that matter. Though she liked the idea of returning North even less than staying in the South, there was no answer he could give other than to accept if the truce was to be made.

"I am true to my word. Or I try to be," Jon said. He seemed to be struggling with his words, though Larisa hardly knew why. He might've been a man of few words, but when he spoke, it was with conviction that few men had.

"That is why I cannot give you what you ask," he said. "I cannot serve two queens, and I have already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys."

Jon considered the fragment of bone in his hands. He didn't know what kind of animal it had belonged to, but it was a relic of the great creatures that once lived and died here. He wondered what, if anything, would be left of them after the Army of the Dead.

"No one's less happy about this than I am," he told Daenerys.

"I know. I respect what you did…wish you hadn't done it, but I respect it," she said.

She looked up at the deteriorated rock that formed the walls of the Dragon Pit.

"This place was the beginning of the end for my family. A dragon is not a slave," she quoted. "They were terrifying. Extraordinary. They filled people with wonder and awe, and we locked them in here. They wasted away, became small. And we grew small as well."

"Your family hasn't seen its end," Jon pointed out. "You're still here."

"I can't have children," she said. He frowned at the admission.

"Who told you that?"

"The witch who murdered my husband."

"Has it occurred to you she might not've been a reliable source of information?"

Daenerys smiled slightly, but Jon couldn't help but picture the strained look on another woman's face when she spoke of children. Her green eyes clouding with pain, and some kind of fear.

"I just don't suppose I'll get that chance."

It had stayed with him since.

"What is it?" Daenerys asked.

Jon shook his head, though he found himself searching the small crowd of their allies for the woman, who stood alone before the steps of the platform, looking up at formerly grand structure of the Pit. If he knew her, then Cersei's callous words may still be on her mind. Or maybe she too thought he was an idiot for not just telling Cersei what she wanted to hear.

"She's interesting," Daenerys said. Jon turned back to her as he returned from his reverie.

"What?"

"She reminds me of you, in some ways," she said in amusement, leaving him to rejoin Sir Jorah and Missandei. "She takes her oaths very seriously."

Jon watched after her for a moment, wondering just what that was supposed to mean. He looked back at Larisa.

There was something wrong there, possibly more than the state of their situation. Her straight shoulders, soft features, the poised tilt of her chin, all of it was everything Ygritte would've sneered at.

And yet.

"Your grace," she dipped her head when he approached her, but she still seemed distracted.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked tentatively. But after the look she gave him, he amended, "despite the…obvious."

Larisa raised her eyes to his. He didn't know what she was thinking, but he could almost swear she was disappointed.

"You've chosen Daenerys Targaryen," she said.

Why that caught him off guard, he couldn't say. But before he could answer her, Tyrion returned.

Cersei followed closely behind. Jaime and her knights flanked behind her, and she looked to both Jon and Daenerys when she agreed not only to their truce, but also promised the aid of her armies in the war to come.

They returned to Dragonstone. Jon arranged with Daenerys and her advisors on a plan to sail to White Harbor together and return to Winterfell as a united front. He was finally able to reconcile most of his anger against Theon Greyjoy, long enough to give him leave to find his sister Yara and right at least one of his wrongs.

Jon had also spoken with Davos, and despite the older man's warning, he knew there was one last thing he had to do before they left Dragonstone.

"Your grace?"

It was clear she hadn't expected him at her chambers, which was fair, considering the early hour.

"Would you walk with me?"

She agreed, despite visible her visible confusion. He led her down the many steps of the keep to the cliffs of the mountain, where he was sure of their privacy.

"I meant to apologize," he began, "for what Cersei said."

"It wasn't your doing," Larisa replied. "I wondered what she would do, seeing my face…somehow I didn't expect that she wouldn't care in the least."

He felt guilt then; in all that time at sea, he hadn't thought what it would be for her and Willem to see the people responsible for their father's death. He knew that anger better than most.

"I wouldn't trust her word," she said. "That woman has no honor, and no loyalty save to herself."

Jon quirked a reserved smile. It wasn't the first time that thought had crossed his mind. He liked to think he was getting better at thinking like Southernfolk.

"I actually didn't ask you here to speak of Cersei," he said. Larisa glanced back up at him in question.

"I have a ship," Jon said, "for you and Will. I'm sending you to be with your mother."

Larisa didn't speak, her eyes were wide with shock. Then she looked away from him, enough to regain her bearings, he thought.

"I don't want people following me because they have to. This war that's comin', it's too important," he explained. She was much quieter than he expected.

"You know where my mother is?"

He handed her the note Varys provided him with. She read it quickly, her expression so frustratingly neutral. It was a wonder, for a woman with a temper like hers.

"Is she safe?" she asked eventually.

"As safe as she can be," Jon said. "You'll leave at first light."

She still didn't look at him, but she nodded in any case.

"So that's it, then," she said. Her voice was mostly carried off by the wind.

Jon gave her a respectful nod, though his chest felt heavy.

"Goodbye, my lady."

She should have swallowed her pride and thanked him.

Her mother was safe, just as her brother would be, and she was finally free. She only needed to tell Will.

He would be disappointed for childish reasons, which is why she had put off going to his chamber until that night. But in the time it took them to reach land again, Jon Snow would fade from his mind and he would be surrounded by the family who loved him.

She decided then, it was irresponsible of herself to have waited this long to find him in the first place. Just as the anger she couldn't quell within her was pointless and irrational.

Her mind made, Larisa dressed and made her way down the long halls.

Jon had only just removed his coat and leathers when he heard someone at his chamber door. Likely it was Davos, or even Tyrion, with last minute plans for their departure in the morning. His shoulders were weighted with it; he hoped they would get there before the Night King did, he hoped his sisters and Bran were safe.

He opened the door to Larisa Lannister.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. It tumbled out of his mouth before he could smooth out his latent confusion; the weight on his chest eased to see her, but when he'd said goodbye that morning, he meant it.

"I have a matter I must discuss with you," she said curtly.

"Now?"

"Yes, my king."

There was fire in her eyes that he hadn't seen for a while yet. He stepped out of her way, allowing her into his chamber and shut the door behind her. She stayed close to it, and he allowed her that distance.

"What can I do for you?" he drawled.

"Do you take me for a coward, a fool, or a liar?" she demanded.

Jon scoffed incredulously. "Excuse me?"

"I know I'm afraid," Larisa said. "I have a right to be afraid of those bloody creatures, but I have never been a coward. And I'm no fool—if I were, I wouldn't be afraid of what may kill us all in the great damned winter that's coming."

Jon shook his head, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

"Larisa," he tried.

"But if you think I'm a liar," she said, her green eyes wild and livid. "If you think I'm only a woman whose loyalty can be bought and swayed, or a Lannister who only—"

Jon grabbed her by the arms then, holding her firmly but not painfully as he stared down at her face, flushed red with anger and something else entirely.

The first time his lips pressed hungrily to hers, it felt like a sin he was meant to commit. Her hands pushed against his chest, though her mouth was just as complicit as his. In a short tangle of steps, his palms smacked hard against the wooden door to keep her back from meeting it too harshly. It rattled at their weight.

His lips burned a trail away from her mouth, finding the line of her jaw and the length of her neck. Her breathing was shallow in his ear, and her fingers grabbed at the thin material of his tunic.

Jon took her wrist, pinning it beside her head against the door. He let the pads of his fingers drag down the sensitive underside of her arm before he managed to pull himself away, just enough to see her face.

"If this isn't what you want," he said, "tell me now."

Larisa's chin tilted up towards him as her labored breaths made her chest heave. He let go of her wrist and found her waist instead, closing what little space was left between them. Her hand fell on his arm, while the other once again found the strings of his tunic.

She kissed him next, surging forward with a force that rocked Jon on his heels. Soon enough he was nearly tearing the seams of her dress while she helped him loosen one layer after another.

His boots and belt made a trail from the door to the foot of the bed, joined by her belt and rings and clothing. When she stood left only in her shift, his hands marveled at the fullness of her hips and thighs while she removed the pins holding her hair in place.

Jon had never seen it loose; it fell in rich waves down her back, and was thick between his fingers when he tasted her again. She met his fire with her own, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and biting down hard enough to strike a lance of pleasure down his spine.

Her body was softer underneath his, once they were able to stumble into his bed. With the remainder of their clothes laid forgotten on the floor, Jon's lips and tongue resumed their exploration further down while his hands found her breasts, massaging and rolling over pert nipples. Larisa's nails dug into the sheets as her moans became more strained.

"Jon."

There were things he would probably forget; how the dim haze of light from his lamps splayed flickers of light across her sweat-slick body, the moment he finally slid inside her, slowly, as she bit her lip at the overwhelming pleasure that made both of them shudder. Her nails had raked the flesh of his back and arms, just as her bites lingered a dull, pleasant sting.

She wept just afterwards, when her release came so suddenly it tore a keen whimper from her throat. He knew she didn't realize when the tears started to fall, not until his palm caressed her cheek, and he brushed them away with his thumb. Her eyes were filled with such shock, he was compelled to close the distance between them once more in a softer kiss.

He moved to lay beside her, and she made to cover herself with a fur blanket without looking at him. The warmth between them dissipated to a strange tension; new distance where there had been...closeness.

Jon didn't understand it, or her, as her expression turned serene and unreadable.

"Even now, I can't tell what you're thinking," he admitted. Larisa looked over at him.

Eventually her eyes softened.

She turned towards him, tentatively edging closer. She reached out with a slender hand to boldly trace the lines of his scars across his chest and abdomen.

"What happened to you?" she asked, gentle as her touch. Jon took her hand in his, and he told her.

They spoke well into the night, and revisiting those old memories, he told her more than he'd planned—about becoming Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and what happened afterwards. She listened in that way of hers, quiet but focused on every word, likely reading the truth of what he was saying even in the silences.

The lamps had long died out by the time he finished.

Once again, he was surprised by the tear that escaped the corner of her eye. She let him brush it away.

"That's twice now," he said. Larisa smiled flatly at his teasing, slipping her hand away from his. She hesitated, only briefly before she touched his cheek.

She leaned in close enough for their lips to meet; a slow and tender kiss.

"Fine," she said. Her mouth then curved slyly as she slipped her arms around his neck. Jon went along willingly.

"Tell me what I'm thinking."