AN: Getting closer to the Long Night!

Every Loyalty

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Chapter XII:

For What Purpose

"Your sister doesn't like me," Daenerys said.

Jon walked with her through the camp of Northern men fortifying the outer walls of Winterfell. He breathed in the crisp winter air that was sharp in his lungs.

"She doesn't know you," he replied. The conversation was all too familiar, and no less uncomfortable.

"If it makes you feel better, there aren't many people she does trust."

"She doesn't need to trust me, not yet at least. But I am her queen," Daenerys said, with some steel in her voice. "I believe you and I will make a good alliance, but that alliance won't work if it is undermined."

Without a ready answer, Jon could only frown. Her words were not a threat, but a fact he couldn't deny. Luckily he didn't have to, as she turned to one of her approaching Dothraki commanders to hear his report of her dragons.

High above them on the ramparts of Winterfell, Davos tried to swallow the conflict he felt in his heart as he toured through with Tyrion and Varys. He had a hunch of what this conversation would entail.

"The Northmen and the Wildlings are loyal to Jon Snow, that much is certain," Tyrion said, "but not yet to our queen."

"That can't be helped," Davos said. Northmen were stubborn as goats, and understandably wary of outsiders. The Free Folk could barely tolerate one another, let alone the people they'd been fighting for centuries. It was a wonder Jon was able to bring them all together.

Tyrion nodded in agreement.

"For the moment, but how can we help it?"

"It sounds as if you've already got some idea," Davos said wryly.

"On the off chance that we survive the Long Night, what better way to unite the Seven Kingdoms than with a union—between the rightful heir to the throne, and the man who united the North."

"You may be overestimating our influence, Tyrion. Jon and Daenerys do not want to listen to lonely old men," Varys said. He glanced over the edge of the ramparts to where Jon and Daenerys walked together away from the castle, following a Dothraki rider.

"I'm not that old," Tyrion quipped, and with a nod toward Davos, "not as old as him, anyway."

Davos offered a good-natured grin, yet he felt compelled to voice the doubt he harbored. He could admit that Tyrion's proposal was probably their best bet to maintain the peace once the war finally came to an end. His reasons were more personal than they should have been, but as Jon's advisor, shouldn't he also consider what Jon wanted for his own life? Or at least, what he seemed to want.

"If it's the kind of union I think you mean, it would be…tricky, to convince Jon."

Varys slid him a certain glance. "He seems a man to put duty before fleeting personal desire."

Davos shook his head.

"Nor is he a man for fleetin' fancy."

Jon allowed Sansa's Lady in Waiting to pass him through the doorway with her head bowed before he entered his sister's chamber. He found her reading a raven's scroll, a frown marring her face.

"Lord Glover wishes us good fortune, but he's staying in Deepwood Motte with his men," she said. Jon's teeth began to grind as he fought to contain his aggravation.

"House Glover will stand beside House Stark as they have for a thousand years. Isn't that what he said?"

"I will stand beside Jon Snow, he said," Sansa tersely reminded him. "The King in the North."

Jon could hardly believe they were having this argument again, but he was reminded that both his sisters shared the stubbornness of Starks.

"I told you we needed allies."

"You didn't tell me you were going to abandon your crown!" Sansa said. "You brought armies home with you, but at what price? A Targaryen queen."

"Do you think we can defeat the Dead without her?" Jon challenged. "I fought them. Twice. You want to worry about who holds what title, and I'm telling you it doesn't matter. Without her armies, we don't stand a chance."

Her lips pursed, but she didn't argue further. He could see in her eyes that she wanted to.

"Do you have any faith in me at all?" he asked. She softened slightly.

"You know I do."

He smiled a little. "She'll be a good queen…she's not the Mad King, Sansa."

Sansa raised a brow.

"Just like Larisa Lannister is not Cersei," she said flatly. As Jon stared back at her, he wondered, not for the first time, if she thought him a fool. He knew how his decisions looked on the surface, and maybe he was a fool.

Maybe, he thought. But his decisions were his own.

"I know you don't trust her," he said, "but she's been a help to us too."

Sansa's eyes gleamed knowingly, just as her expression remained unimpressed.

"You mean a help to you."

Once again, gray dishwater splashed in Larisa's face. She glared over the pile of dishes at Garda, the great cow of a woman, who was already turning back to the assembly of vegetables she was chopping.

She was enjoying making Larisa sweat, just as she enjoyed dumping her used bowls and knives into the large basin. Larisa's back was already in knots from leaning over it for hours, and if the ever growing pile was any indication, her work would not be done any time soon.

Not that those long weeks at sea were much easier, where crates of ale and wine were more plentiful than water to cook and wash with.

So it was with the same annoyance and relief that she regarded Martha, when the girl entered the kitchens.

"Now what're you doin' here so early?" Garda asked her.

"Lady Sansa won't have need of me until the evening," Martha replied. She put on an apron and tied it behind her back. "I thought you might need some extra hands here."

"You're a dear lass," Garda said gratefully. "Go on, you know where everything is."

Martha surveyed the kitchens and eventually met Larisa's gaze. Larisa looked away on reflex, frowning when Martha predictably made her way over and sat on the other side of the basin.

"I don't need any help," she said. Martha only grinned.

"I expected something more clever," she said. Larisa bit the inside of her lip to keep a hot reply off her lips; she refused to be provoked further and prove the girl's point.

She also knew her spite towards Martha was somewhat childish. When her mother bade her to choose any of her handmaidens to accompany her to the North, Larisa had chosen Martha on a whim. Now she was just as much encumbered by her circumstance as Larisa had been, and in some rather unsavory ways, they both still were.

"You've never complained," Larisa mused. Martha took up another plate to scrub off dried lamb fat and shards of bone.

"It's not my place to do so," she replied, still with her head lowered.

"You've feared for your life with Ramsay, rightly so. And said nothing when Sansa took you into her service, just as smart," Larisa continued. "If you had married my brother, you would have been free of your family's debt. Instead you will likely serve others for the rest of your life."

At once Martha's expression began to fall.

"Are you coming to a point, or are you just entertaining yourself?" she asked.

The corner of Larisa's mouth had raised, to finally see Martha's dutiful mask fall away; to finally see something other than that doe-eyed innocence. But now Larisa was also reminded of her late husband; she hadn't learned quickly enough to hide how his words struck her like poison-tipped needles. It had often amused him to watch.

"You've never seemed unhappy," Larisa noted, as guilt nipped at her. "Until now."

Martha regained something of her smile. "I'm honored for my lady's consideration."

There was humor behind her eyes, and Larisa mostly held in her own smile. She would have corrected her again, had Will not come running into the kitchens.

"What's the matter?" Larisa asked, just as Garda said,

"What is it boy?"

Will's gaze was wide as it swung from Garda to his sister.

"Ser Jamie is here," he said. Garda's mouth fell open in shock, and Larisa knew she fared no better.

"You mean the Kingslayer?"

Larisa watched Ser Jaime Lannister stand before Daenerys, Jon, and Sansa in the Great Hall. She'd seen him months before at the Pit in King's Landing, but still, she hardly recognized him. He was no longer clean shaven. His shorn hair had grayed at the temples, and even with his gold hand, he seemed a different man. A weaker man.

"Your sister pledged to send her army north," Daenerys said.

"She did," he conceded.

"I don't see an army. I see one man, with one hand. It appears your sister lied to me."

"She lied to me as well," Jaime said. "She never had any intention of sending her army north. She has Euron Greyjoy's fleet and twenty thousand fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the Dead, she'll have more than enough to destroy the survivors."

"We?" she echoed.

"I promised to fight for the living," he said. "I intend to keep that promise."

Predictably, Tyrion tried to intercede in his brother's defense. Daenerys was smart enough to note his bias, as well as where he'd failed, trusting Cersei's word. It was the first time Larisa found herself agreeing with the Dragon Queen, as well as with Sansa who refused to trust the man who fought against her father and brother.

But in the end, Brienne of Tarth's vouching in his defense won over Sansa, who trusted her word. Larisa could only watch in silence as Jon agreed, forcing Daenerys to choose between looking like a tyrant and bending to what appeared to be sound judgment.

Soon after the meeting dispersed. The queen, Jon and Sansa filed out with Bran, but Larisa found it difficult to move from where she stood, even when Willem left with Davos.

"Hello, cousin," he said, his voice mild, despite how hard he'd only recently been defending himself. He had to have been afraid for his life; she knew from experience what it was to stand before a crowd of people who very well craved to see your head on a spike, yet this man was likely much more familiar with taking his life into his own hands.

"Yet another who seems so pleased to see me," he remarked. She finally steeled herself and met his gaze, and was surprised by just how much she hated the sight of him.

"It's amazing, truly," she said, "how anyone could defend a man like you."

Jaime offered a smile devoid of humor as he began to walk past her. "You know, there just isn't much of Uncle Kevan in you at all, is there?"

She didn't quite know why his words boiled her blood so effectively, but she instinctively claimed a mask of indifference.

"Brienne of Tarth attested to your honor," she called after him. "Was it honor then, that let you stand by while your sister burned my father and brother alive?"

Jaime stopped, and when he turned back to her she read the conflict veiled in his eyes.

"At that time, I wasn't in the capital," he said. Larisa swallowed past the emotion threatening to choke her.

"And afterwards, was it your honor that left my brother and I stranded in the North with Ramsay Bolton?" she challenged, "Were you with your queen then?"

He said nothing. She was able to stand with her chin high, only until she was out of the Great Hall, and out of sight.

If she were to be honest, she was being rather pitiful. Feeling sorry for oneself was trifling at best, and repugnant at its worst. But as she gathered the scraps from preparing the evening meal with Garda, she had the growing suspicion that if she were to walk out of this castle, alone into the wood and the snow to let it swallow her up, it wouldn't matter.

Larisa thought she'd come here for a reason. These hands of hers—toiling for a purpose, she'd thought—didn't matter. For what purpose then.

She almost didn't see the white wolf until its low growl startled her half out of her wits. Holding her beating heart with one hand and her basket in the other, she stared back into Ghost's ruby red eyes as his ears flicked forward. She'd seen him before, in passing, but had never been so close to the direwolf before. Jon had told her how the Stark children had first gotten each one of a litter, and she herself had heard stories of their ferocity. They were even more impressive in person, and of course, more terrifying.

Larisa's limbs were tense as she and the wolf continued their front. He sat in the snow, raising his nose expectantly. She then realized what he must have been smelling. Eventually, she gained the courage to toss him a few pieces of bone, stepping back slightly when the animal immediately tore into them and started gnawing with sharp, yellowish teeth.

Ghost laid down with one of the bones between his paws. If it wasn't for his size, Larisa might take him for a normal wolf. He was beautiful.

Jon was his master, yet she wondered with no small amount of astonishment how an untamable animal could have such a bond with him. She didn't know what lapse in sanity made her bold enough to try and reach out her hand.

Not toward the head, though. She figured his back was safer at the moment.

She quickly pulled it back when he began to growl in warning.

"It's only because he knows you're afraid."

Larisa jumped slightly at the voice that appeared behind her. She turned and found a young man, portly and bearded. He smiled apologetically.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you."

"I should've known better," she said, dusting herself off from the falling snow now clinging to her clothes. They walked a little ways from the wolf, giving him a respectful distance as he worked on the small pile of bones.

"You're Lady Larisa, aren't you?" the young man asked.

She frowned, realizing that she didn't recognize him. "I don't believe we've met."

He shook his head. "I've only heard there are more Lannisters here than there are in the South."

Her expression must have turned more frigid, as he raised his hands with another apology.

"I only meant…well, sorry. I suppose I don't know what I meant."

Larisa forced herself to relax. On the whole, he seemed rather harmless.

"It seems you have me at a disadvantage," she said. He smiled then.

"Oh, I'm Sam."

Her mouth threatened to form a smile as well. Of course.

"Samwell Tarley?" she surmised.

"Well, yes. How did you…?"

"Have you not reached out to Jon yet?" she asked.

"I planned to," he said, face falling somewhat sheepishly. "I've been in the library tower."

"All this time?" she asked incredulously.

"News may travel fast, but not all that far up, I'm afraid."

Larisa smiled. "Well, I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

"He's been busy, I'm sure," Sam said.

"I'm more certain that he'd make time for you," she returned.

All too soon though, her good humor dissipated. She hadn't spoken to Jon in days. They never could get a moment alone, and whenever she did get a glimpse of him, it wasn't appropriate for them to share more than a brief, polite exchange.

Just yesterday, Will had all but interrogated him for an hour at lunch, after he'd heard the man had actually ridden the dragon Rhaegal. Somehow, one of Daenerys's dragons had accepted him to ride, and the Dragon Queen had met him in the skies with Drogon.

"How did you stay on? What do clouds feel like?" Will's excitement was nearly palpable, and Larisa saw the small smile that lit Jon's face at the boy's enthusiasm.

"It's hard to describe. It just felt like air, I guess," he replied. "But thicker."

"What about the wind? It had to have cut like a knife," Davos said.

"Freezing. Thought it might knock me out of the sky," Jon admitted. The conversation continued around him, and when he looked down the dining table, Larisa offered a reserved smile. But when his own was somewhat lacking, she knew that for once, she hadn't hidden her feelings well enough.

"Jon can sometimes have a narrow focus on things," Sam said, interrupting her thoughts. "But I wouldn't worry."

Larisa realized then that Samwell Tarley was smarter than he looked. Their eyes met, and she saw that somehow he'd guessed the truth of it. Maybe she did reveal herself along the way, however incidentally.

"It's all right," he said. "You could say I'm good with secrets."

She'd only just met the man. And somehow, she believed him.

Larisa sat down heavily at the first empty seat she could find with her dinner. Will was content without her, it seemed, and she grew tired of being a silent spectator while laughter and pleasant conversation happened around her. She was exhausted, and she didn't care to think of anything further than the meal in front of her.

"Evenin', my lady."

Larisa mustered a polite smile for Gendry, who had noticed her sit down across from him at the end of the table.

"Good evening," she replied. They ate together for a while. He carried on with other Northerners, and she ignored every time he glanced at her. She predicted the moment he decided to speak to her again.

"You look tired," he said. Then, realizing how it sounded, "Pardon my sayin' so."

"You're very observant," she mused.

"You're not sittin' with your brother and the others," he said. "I reckon you're not willin' to hear about the time Davos smuggled a den of whores out from their master's nose to live free lives on some island in the east."

"Not for the fifth time, at least," she said, smiling a bit. His returning grin allowed her to see Robert Baratheon in him. She could imagine what that man must've looked like when he was young—dark haired and blue eyed like Gendry, with that strong jaw. She noticed his hands looked strong as well, though his right hand had what seemed to be a scar.

"What's that?" she asked. Gendry followed her eyes and raised his hand, revealing what was actually a burn.

"From the forge," he said. "Happens sometimes."

She told him to wait where he was, and when she returned, she moved her stool to sit closer as she asked for his hand. She applied a salve she got from the maester and allowed him to have the rest.

"You should apply it twice a day at least, in the morning and at night."

"Thanks," Gendry nodded. "You should finish eating. I didn't mean to take you away from—"

"It's no trouble." She waved dismissively and went back to her original place at the table. Gendry was giving her a measuring look, one she wasn't altogether comfortable with.

"You have a gentle touch," he said. "…I had wanted to thank you again for that night that you stayed with me, at Eastwatch. If it weren't for you, I probably would've frozen to death."

Larisa found herself lacking a proper response. She wasn't usually thanked, but she supposed it was because she didn't often do things worth someone's thanks.

"I know when I came back, I wasn't the one you were hoping for," Gendry said, grinning faintly.

She could only stare back at him. Her face and neck suddenly felt warm, but she resisted the urge to make sure. It seemed she wasn't as discreet as she thought she was, and for her, that was more frustrating than anything else.

It took longer than normal to clear out the dining hall and get the dishes washed; or maybe it only felt longer. By the time she was able to make the climb upstairs and head towards her chamber, she was sure it had to be coming upon midnight.

A hand closed on hers from the darkness and she nearly screamed, until she realized whose hand it was.

"By the gods, what are you doing?" she hissed. Once again, it felt as if her heart would leap out of her chest from fright. Jon signalled her to be quiet. He led her to his chamber, up more stairs and at the end of the hall. He closed the door behind them.

"You scared me half to death," she told him. Whatever she might've said next dissipated when she noticed how he held her hand between them, and how his dark eyes were scorching down her face and body. He considered her hands, running his thumbs over her palms.

"Who taught you to use herbs and brew teas?" he said. "I never asked."

Larisa's mouth curved into a suspicious grin. "Why ask now?"

She could tell he was trying not to smile, but he betrayed himself.

"His hand was burnt from the forge," she said, "It looked rather painful."

"You didn't eat with your brother," Jon said.

Meaning, she hadn't eaten at the same table as Jon and his sister.

Larisa rolled her eyes and slipped away from him to pour herself a glass of wine. The pitcher sat on a small table, left by her brother, probably. But she knew Jon likely didn't drink it. He preferred ale.

"I hardly thought you'd notice," she muttered, until she felt his presence behind her, his hands on her hips and his chest against her back.

"How can I make sure you stay out of trouble if you don't stay where I can see you?" His voice was low and gravel near her ear, and it was everything she had to keep herself still against the pleasant shiver that ran down her spine.

"I didn't realize I was being watched," she remarked.

"Didn't you?"

He sounded skeptical, and amused. Brushing the long braid of her hair to the side, his lips pressed to her neck.

"I'm sorry it's been so long," he said at last. She relaxed on him, taking a sip of her wine.

"I'll have you assist the maester from now on, or attend the library. Far as I know, that tower's been empty for months," Jon said.

Larisa smiled behind her glass. As far as you know.

She set down the wine and turned in his arms so she could face him.

"I hate the feeling of blood and raw animal meat underneath my nails," she confessed. "My spine is probably crooked by now…but the work needs to be done."

She decided that she wouldn't give Garda, or Sansa, or anyone in this damned place the satisfaction of giving into her misery. Even that thought itself somehow felt shameful.

"I could tell Bran and my sisters the truth," he offered.

"Sansa already suspects," she warned him.

Jon held her more firmly in his arms and waited until she met his gaze. "Let me deal with Sansa."

She could admit, the idea was appealing. They wouldn't have to hide anymore. He was willing to take any backlash from his family, from his people, in whatever form that may take.

Too unpredictable, she thought, frowning.

"After the Dead are gone and dealt with," she said.

"…After," Jon agreed. He closed the meager space between them to kiss her, long and deep and slow. Larisa's eyes closed as she became lost. She knew this wasn't what her mother had with her father. It might not even have been as refined as what Elinor Crakehall had with the man she married.

It was a rough tumble into Jon's bed. A few laces were torn in his haste to get to the inner layers of her clothing, and she admired the strength of his hands, despite being slightly annoyed.

"Is being considerate to another man really the only way I get your attention?" she quipped. Jon's hand stilled on her thigh, while hers continued to unbutton his leathers. He shook his head and kissed down her neck and shoulder. He tugged down the thin sleeve covering the rest of her arm and she helped him slide it the rest of the way over her hips.

She circled her arms around his neck as his wandering mouth set her skin tingling with anticipation, for now between the valley of her breasts.

"Perhaps I'll make a note of that for the future," she teased into his ear.

Jon looked up at her with a flat smirk. "Shut up."

"Oh," she giggled. "Have I upset his grace?"

Her amusement died the moment his tongue finally wandered where she ached the most. She nearly choked on the air captured in her throat, and her nails reflexively dug into his shoulder. She didn't even have to see his face to know he was smiling.

Larisa was forced to let her head fall against the pillow as she fought the urge to squeeze his head between her knees. Damn it.

Early before the morning, he took her hand before she could leave his bed. Larisa looked back at him as a small pang of guilt bloomed in her chest.

"Have an appointment to keep?" His voice was rough with sleep.

She didn't want to go just yet either, but it was better this way. For now.

"We can't be found here together," she reminded him.

Jon sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. He yanked her back by the hand and caught her when she fell into his lap. He was just barely covered by a fur blanket, which only made her blush a little. It wasn't that she was still coy at the sight of his naked body, but the intimacy of being in his arms, just because he wanted her to be there...

She laughed a little, kissing his bearded chin with her hand splayed on his chest for balance.

"I can't stay, Jon."

"You want to be my mistress?" he asked.

She reached around his neck and grabbed a tight hold of his hair. To his credit, he only winced slightly with a grunt under his breath.

"Not your mistress."

"No? Weren't you just about to make your escape?"

Larisa held in a sigh. It was far too easy to argue with this man, but for once, she was too exhausted. Instead, she pushed him back onto the bed. Following him, she kissed him fully, only nipping sharply at his lower lip when he started chuckling.

She sat back with irritation. "Are you mocking me?"

Jon leaned forward to push her hair out of her face, behind her ear. His knuckles brushed her cheek. Just when she thought he would've kissed her, his lips pressed to her forehead.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said.

Larisa didn't know how he kept managing to surprise her. At the very least, she forgot her anger as quickly as it sparked.