AN: I'm sorry! I know this took forever. Thank you to everyone who's been reviewing and patiently waiting!

Every Loyalty

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Chapter XVI:

A True Alliance

"So this is it then," Tyrion mused. "We who remain must decide what happens next."

He, along with Davos and Varys, sat in a claustrophobic, little used room within the Great Hall. It was one of the few buildings that had been far enough removed from the battle to sustain minimal damage. And so, many of the lost, sick, and injured had been gathered there after they'd spent the first day clearing the bodies, stacking them on wagons (and anything else one could drag a body on) and collected them for the funeral pyre. Dusk had fallen since then.

Davos sighed wearily, wiping his gloved hands with a scrap of cloth. Tyrion noticed, the man had developed the habit since they'd begun clearing the death from this place. "Less than half of the Dothraki army are left. Maybe…a third of the Unsullied?"

Tyrion's spirit dimmed further. Grey Worm was a grave loss, not only for himself personally, but for his queen, locked within her chambers with only Missandei allowed in her company. He didn't know who would be comforting who. Jorah Mormont had fought bravely, but had also fallen at the Northern Gate. Tyrion would never know a more noble man.

"The war is not over," Varys remarked.

His small eyes glinted with a grim apprehension, and Tyrion shared the sentiment. He'd loftily spoken of what would come after the war with the Dead, and yet hadn't readily expected to see it. Now that it was here, that they were still here, it was all too easy to forget (or at least ignore) that his sister waited in the south. Perhaps she would become impatient to learn the outcome of the north and decide to come see for herself.

Tyrion had developed a plan, however crudely, for how they would unify the likes of Dothraki and Northmen. But even now, he realized how naïve it'd been, to think his plan to unite the King of the North and the Dragon Queen would be well-received.

His mind conjured back the scene after the fighting had stopped, and the Dead had turned to ashes. Everyone still alive had gathered in the courtyards and walkways, from the Northern Gate to the Great Keep.

And then the battle-weary Jon Snow, the perfect image of a triumphant hero, stumbled into the arms of Larisa Lannister. She'd held him, supported him, and he'd raised his head to everyone who stood there and managed to raise his sword to their victory.

It was a pretty picture, that. And it would surely be seared into the minds and mouths of every man, woman, and child in this place.

"The booze is sure gunna flow tonight," Davos said. "I hear they found a few boar and birds to roast."

The silence between the three men had been dense and uncomfortable, but just like that, Tyrion was able to at least attempt a grin.

"For tonight then, let's ignore our responsibilities."

Larisa brushed his dirty, matted hair away from his face. He slept in a makeshift cot beside her while they stayed in the Great Hall with so many others. It was cramped and loud, and yet she doubted he could be disturbed if she tried.

If there was one thing that hadn't changed, it was her brother's ability to sleep like the dead. His face, though boyish, was starting to lose its roundness. Already he had grown in the year since they'd left home. Now despite the small burns and cuts that littered his body, he would grow much more.

And yet, her traitorous mind reminded her. It was her choice to return here, even with evidence that they could've been safe in the south. Even now, Will didn't know that their mother still lived and was presumably well. Because Larisa hadn't bothered to tell him.

How could she do such a thing? In her own selfish desire, she hadn't even thought to tell him. Hadn't thought that he might want to stay where it was safe. But perhaps not. Will was just as reckless as she was, and even more troubling, he was terribly concerned with the idea of a knight's duty and honor.

Just then, she hissed and jerked badly as a viciously painful sting tore through her back. She whipped her head around, as far as she could without the pain getting worse. "You great, stupid cow, are you trying to kill me?"

Garda met her glare with one still colored with amusement.

"Just hold still, your ladyship," she said. Her hands were only slightly gentler as they eased a thick salve across her tender flesh. "The burns aren't deep, but they span these wee shoulders of yours."

It hadn't taken much for the older woman to tear the back of Larisa's tattered clothing and begin clearing the bits of dust, splinters, and debris from her wounds. Many of her nails were broken from clawing the stone floor as she was dragged across it. Similar rash burns stung her legs and forearms, and she wore a cut from chin to cheekbone. But she was alive.

What scared her was her brother may not have been, thanks to her.

"How's the valiant knight?" Gendry asked as he approached. He brought them a pitcher of water, which Larisa drank from gratefully. She handed it to Garda, who nodded her thanks before rising to find more wounded to treat, though with a promise that she'd be back to check on them.

Larisa glanced over at Will, who seemed to be drooling on his arm. "Not very valiant at the moment."

Likely her worry showed on her face. Gendry took Garda's empty stool and sat beside her, smiling ruefully at the sleeping boy.

"He managed to find me on the roof tower," he said. "He fought bravely."

Larisa tried to imagine it. All she could see was her brother falling out of a window before the flames leapt at her.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, "for protecting him."

"He protected himself well enough," Gendry shrugged. His eyes eventually wandered, falling on the more enigmatic of Jon's sisters as she passed carrying medical provisions. Larisa herself wasn't sure yet what to make of Arya Stark, but the softening expression on the young man's face told her all she needed to know about his thoughts. By the time he looked back at her, she didn't bother to temper her amusement.

He cleared his throat, scratching at the back of his head. "Why don't ya get cleaned up? I'll watch Will for a while, 'til Garda comes back."

She hesitated to leave her brother alone, or at all. But she was deathly tired, and the sooner she could rid herself of these grimy, smoke-drenched clothes, the better. Garda had already found her something passable to wear and left it in a heap near Will's feet.

"You'll stay then," she gave him a measured glance. "You're not needed elsewhere?"

Gendry smiled slightly. "Can't say I've got anywhere else to be."

Warring with herself briefly, she gave into the urge to touch Will's cheek a final time. She left at Gendry's insisting that he wouldn't leave the boy's side.

Just when she reached the door of the Great Hall, she had the good fortune of catching up to Davos, who had likely been in meeting with her cousin Tyrion and the Spider.

"Are you well, my lady?" he asked kindly. "And Will?"

"Yes, thank the gods," she murmured the latter bit. She didn't know if the gods had been any part of it, but it somehow eased her to think the Old Gods perhaps inhabited the essence of this place. It was still standing, at least.

"Davos," she started, then paused. What she wanted to ask was on the tip of her tongue, though she hardly knew why she still held herself back.

But his blue eyes were sharp with understanding, even as he smiled.

"Aye, I know where the lad's gone."

His tired muscles were finally starting to loosen from the heat of the spring. The water was cooler than usual, but still close to scalding, burning away imperfections along with his scattered thoughts.

He'd had to enter through the Great Keep to reach the hot spring below even the cellars. If it weren't such a small space by comparison, too small for even fifty, let alone a couple hundred, they could've had the women and children hide even further underground.

Jon closed his eyes. It was inevitable, but he didn't want to think any longer on everyone they'd lost.

Just then, Ghost perked up from his nap, ears flicking. A mild growl sounded in his throat, and he rose, padding silently out of the cave.

A bit strange, Jon thought. The wolf had already fed an hour ago, unless he heard something worth investigating.

A few moments later, Ghost returned and stood at the edge of the spring. His red eyes watched him, as if expectantly.

"Can I help you?" Jon quirked an amused brow.

"I think he just helped me."

His head turned immediately at the soft sound of her voice, carried by the cavernous walls. He smiled to see her, though she looked anxious while her eyes took in her surroundings. Once they fell on him, she looked relieved, if exhausted. She held a bundle of spare clothes.

"So this is where you've been hiding?" Larisa remarked.

He shook his head, despite the small smile that curved his lips. "Not hiding."

"How can you stand the hot water with that wound?"

Jon touched the tight row of stitching below his ribs absently. He was used to ignoring his wounds.

"Garda patched me up pretty good," he said instead.

She kneeled down at the spring, still a ways from him. Ghost seemed to surprise her by hunkering down beside her, his back resting against her hip. She raised a hand, tentatively, and let her fingers pass through his fur. Besides his ears flicking again, Ghost didn't react. His head settled over his paws, eyes closing. Jon watched the wonder playing across her face with affection.

"You didn't have to come all the way down here," he said. The anxiety returned to her features, and she went still. Her gaze scanned the dark corners of the room, as if something were to leap out of it. From what she refused to say, and what Sansa had told him, he learned that they'd all spent the entire battle clawing their way out of the belly of the Great Keep.

Jon started to get out of the spring, but her voice stopped him.

"No, don't. I didn't come to disturb you," she said.

He reached out a hand to her. "Then come 'ere already."

With a wry turn of her lips, Larisa slowly got to her feet. Her features pulled into a slight grimace, so he moved closer to where she was and helped her out of her torn, frayed and stained clothes. Her shoes joined the rest of it, and he supported her by the arms as she stepped into the water.

"I didn't know this spring existed," she admitted.

"It helps heat the castle."

Jon noticed that she'd been careful not to show him her back, but on closer inspection, he saw the stretch of newly treated burns that marred between her shoulders. He made sure to keep her chest above the water as he held her to him, and used the scrub brush he'd been using gently on her neck, down to her collarbone, between her breasts.

He could do this much, but he couldn't prevent the scars that would form on her body, like his. The cut along her cheek might fade entirely, but if not, even a thin line would serve to remind him that he hadn't been able to protect her, or anyone else.

Larisa's fingers soothing between his furrowed brows snapped Jon from his thoughts.

"Why are you thinking so intently when I'm right here, sitting on your lap?" she teased. Her other hand trailed down his chest. Out of consideration for his wounds though, her touch stayed innocent enough.

Jon quirked something of a smile. He didn't know how to explain it, or even if he should. But again, she surprised him.

"There will always be more you could've done. But I think you can cut yourself a break, just this once," she said. Then her eyes drifted away from him. "Don't feel like you've let me down. Not me, or anyone else."

Jon grasped her hand that rested on his chest. As much as her words warmed him, there was something else on her mind.

"How's Will?" His thumb traced the back of her hand.

"He's fine," Larisa said, though her voice shook. Realizing it, she ducked her head a little. But as she bit her lip, he watched the tears pool in her eyes. The fear and worry and guilt she'd clearly been holding inside.

Jon held her tightly in his arms. She turned her face into his neck and finally allowed herself to cry, and rest.

Pain exploded from his arm. It couldn't be helped, so Willem threw out his other hand in an attempt to grab the ledge. He barely did it, but eventually he was able to push himself back up and onto the narrow rampart beneath the window that was already spouting flames.

Larisa had pushed him out the window, but it was obvious why. He couldn't get back in there if he tried. He had no choice but to find another way in if he was to find her again. If she was still alive.

He sidestepped along the ledge until he was able to climb up to the top of the tower, where more of the battle was still raging. Soldiers and the Dead alike were strewn about, limbs and bodies and heads, torsos and extremities. He held in the urge to vomit again and forced himself to keep moving, unsheathing his sword (thank gods it was still at his belt).

"Look alive!"

It was Gendry who screamed at him, just as a Wight's gleaming axe was hovering over him.

"How long do you plan to sleep?"

Will started with a short gasp.

"Easy now."

Gentle hands caressed his forehead. Her green eyes were softer than usual, shining with relief and worry. He gradually took in the candlelight behind her, the sounds of people and crying, cussing, and laughter. His sister sat beside him, weary, but smiling at him.

She helped him sit up, slowly, and when she asked him what he remembered he told her honestly. He remembered the Dead turning to dust, Gendry hauling him down from the tower, Garda treating his wounds, and then nothing afterwards.

"You didn't miss much," Larisa told him. "Jon, Davos, Tyrion, the Dragon Queen, many of us survived. Many did not."

He nodded mutely. The world around him still didn't quite feel real. Maybe she understood that, because she didn't pester him with questions or nagging. She gave him a bowl filled with some of kind broth and meat, a slice of bread, and a cup filled to the brim with water.

As he focused on the food and how good it smelled, Will took it from her, managing a grin.

"You didn't make this, did you?" he asked.

Her eyes met his flatly, her lips thinning. "And if I did?"

"I may's well jump off the tower again."

"Shut your mouth and eat."

She should've known better than to try to get past Tormund, especially while he had a ram's horn full of wine clutched in his hand and his grizzly arm nearly choking Jon around the neck.

"Ey, ey, ey, where ya think yer goin' missy?" he slurred. Laughed boisterously, he let go of Jon long enough to grabbed her shoulder. Larisa yelped as that large hand of his twirled her around until she practically fell into Jon's lap. Instinctively her arms circled his neck while he caught her around the waist. The man gave her an amused grin, and she blushed. Davos, Northmen, and Wildlings around them laughed along with Tormund as he teased her.

"Aye, this one here's a scrapper, and not too bad 'round the hips." He took a long drink then.

Larisa was already too drunk to be terribly offended, but not yet enough to be free of embarrassment. Blinking with wide eyes, she flushed, refusing to take note of any other man's stare but Jon's. He looked fondly exasperated with Tormund, but his hold tightened on her. Perhaps it was the wine that made her tongue loosen in the presence of his men, and even Sansa and Daenerys who sat further down the table.

She feigned an unassuming smile at the redheaded Wildling. "Are a woman's hips really what's important to you?"

Giving a hearty laugh, Tormund's eyes gleamed.

"A gal with a bit of meat on her bones makes her easy to tenderize."

Despite her cheeks warming further, Larisa laughed along with the rest of them. Maybe it was the blood rushing to her head, but her laughter dissipated into softer giggles as she turned her face into Jon's neck to hide it. She felt his fingers run over her hair, and more gently down her back, mindful of the burns hiding under her clothing. Smiling, she pressed a few lingering kisses under his ear, along his jaw and throat. Jon cleared it a bit awkwardly to cover the hitch in his breath.

Hands drifted lower, squeezing the parts of her he held. His voice was a bit deeper and more gravel than before. "Just now, I probably can't be held accountable for my actions."

Her smile curved into a smirk.

"We do have a problem then."

A chair scraped loudly behind them, and Larisa watched with disinterest as Sansa left the table. Well, that was perfectly fine. Larisa had no intention of sparing her not one more thought tonight.

The feast went on with more fanfare than she'd ever seen in the north, most of it, the person she was a year ago would've considered uncivilized, save for when Daenerys granted Gendry his father's name and the title of Lord of Storm's End. The man seemed grateful, but there was something in his eyes she couldn't place. Like he didn't know what to do with such an honor. He'd soon gone back to drinking with Arya, and Will was with them, finally awake enough to eat.

Eventually Larisa left Jon to revel with the men, who seemed to trust him again after having allied with a Dragon Queen and giving up his kingship. She found herself along the same wall as Tyrion, refilling their cups with rich wine that was warming her insides.

"Your queen drinks alone," she told him, eyeing Daenerys who sat nearly on her own at Jon's table. For the first time, she felt something of sympathy. She knew what it was that kept others away. "Apparently, earning Northerners' trust isn't entirely out of question."

Tyrion snorted indelicately.

"How could she do that, I wonder. By saving the entire North with two whole armies and dragonfire?" Tyrion mused. His eyes raised heavenward. "Oh wait."

Larisa sighed. She should know better than to speak with him when he was drunk. Her gaze wandered, falling on a rather unfortunate exchange.

A woman bold enough to flirt with Sandor Clegane was shoved away, and Martha was next, nearly bowled over by the man as he stormed away from the table. A pitcher flew out of her hands and its contents splashed onto the floor. Who else would help her than Theon Greyjoy?

He knelt beside her on the floor, taking the pitcher of ale, and more tentatively, her hand. Just long enough to pick her up off the floor. His smile, somewhat lacking, still managed to be pleasant. "At least it wasn't wine."

"You look positively green with envy," Tyrion smirked at his cousin. She returned him a baleful glare.

"If I'm green, it's certainly not with envy."

There was a part of her that was pleased, however. She'd long promised Martha she'd repay that debt of spying on her for Sansa. This was a particularly perfect opportunity, if not the moment.

"Yet another spark amidst the moment of revelry," Tyrion muttered. He glanced at his own brother and the warrior, Brienne. Larisa followed his gaze, though she couldn't say she was surprised, considering how passionately she'd defended the man when he first arrived at Winterfell. She shook her head.

Her attentions subconsciously rounded back to Martha and the Greyjoy. Nothing good could come out of that paltry attempt at romance.

"How could such a thing possibly work?" she snarked. Tyrion glanced at her in amusement.

"Why should you care?" he asked.

Larisa scoffed. "I don't."

Tyrion hummed, but his perceptive gaze swept over her. "Is it the Greyjoy you disdain, or Martha Marbrand? She was once in your service, was she not?"

"My maid," Larisa corrected. "Given to my family by a Marbrand debt. And now she's Sansa's pet spy."

Tyrion tsked at her.

"What?" she asked, annoyance coloring her tone.

"Careful, cousin," he said. "You've inherited a Lannister's cunning, but spite does not become you."

Larisa remained silent, rather than arguing further. She didn't need to explain herself to him...but his words did rankle a bit. Perhaps her grudge was a bit pointless now that her relationship with Jon was out in the open. But the sting of betrayal remained. Martha had served her house for years. Larisa's mother Dorna had been kind to her. Larisa herself had been...well, not always kind, but not abusive. It was the principle of the matter.

"I only mean," she said, with hesitation. "Surely a flirtation with the Greyjoy is a...shall we say fruitless endeavor."

Tyrion's brows rose with an amused, and decidedly indecent glint of humor in his eyes.

"Grey Worm and Missandei always seemed happy. Though I admit, I never asked," he said, matter-of-factly. She knew he wasn't done.

"Although," he continued predictably, "I know a bit about some…clever contraptions, should young Theon ever request my good council."

Larisa rolled her eyes dismissively. "You truly are disgusting."

"Oh cousin, I didn't take you for a prude," Tyrion smiled. "I'm not so squeamish. You're always welcome to probe my mind when Jon Snow begins to bore you."

Her expression became somewhat pained, as well as disgusted. "Why should I want to probe something so perverse."

"Perhaps you'll thank me for it. I have no doubt he would—"

Larisa walked away from him before he could finish that particular thought. Her gaze traveled across the room again, only to find Jon following Daenerys out of the great hall. She soured, but noticing Tyrion's amused look, she said nothing.

What she didn't need was more talk. What she needed was wine.

The air was tense between them, as if crackling with her rage. Jon could tell it was taking all of her self-control to keep her composure in front of him, maybe even to keep from lashing out in words. Daenerys had that way of keeping herself dignified, even when things didn't go her way. Her blue eyes were a storm as they finally looked back at him. He knew she believed him, even if she didn't want to.

"Who else knows?" Her voice was quiet, but sharp.

"Just Sam. And Bran," he said.

"And your lover?"

Jon remained silent, but she rolled her eyes all the same.

"I don't want it," he said. "I know what it looks like, that I waited until now to say this. I only waited this long because I didn't want it to matter."

"But it does, and you know it," she retorted hotly. Her temper snapped at its leash.

"You're my queen," he reiterated.

"Which won't mean much to others once they know," she said. "You could be pushed to oppose me. We can't have a true alliance when your very blood opposes me."

Jon wanted to point out that their blood should make them family, but he knew, better than most, how blood wasn't everything. "You helped save their lives—"

"And still, they choose you." Everything about her was cold, but he knew it was her pain that made it so. He could see now, how much she craved to belong in this place where she was born, but couldn't truly know. She turned away from him for a moment, lost in her thoughts.

"I don't…want to take action against you," she said. "You're a good ally, a good man. But I will if I must. No one will know of your true parentage, not even your sisters, and our alliance will stand."

Daenerys left him soon afterward. Then Jon stood alone in his chamber, feeling like a fool.

He sighed heavily.

Removing his leathers, he only put on warmer layers before leaving his room. His path, as it so often did, led to hers. He knocked, but didn't receive an answer. Maybe she was asleep, or still at the feast.

Just in case, he cracked the door open. A small smile overtook his gloom as he saw her there, trying to climb from the floor onto her bed. To his surprise, she glared at him.

"I saw you, Jon Snow." She pointed a swaying finger at him. Her dilated eyes narrowed. "I saw you with the Dragon Queeeen."

Jon gently grabbed her under the arms and hefted her more comfortably on the bed. Larisa was nearly limp in his arms, but still so stubborn as she pushed against his chest. She repeated again, that she'd seen him with Daenerys.

"Aye, you did. But I wasn't with her," he told her patiently. "You realize she's my aunt by blood?"

She snorted. "That doesn't matter much in my family…nor hers."

Then she sighed.

"Men are pigs," Larisa said vehemently, though it lost some of its effect with the way she finally wrapped her arms around his neck, rubbing herself against him like a cat. His mouth threatened a smile, but he managed against the laugh bubbling in his throat. He hadn't taken her for the jealous type.

"Can't argue with that," he offered. Despite the burden on his shoulders from that unpleasant, but necessary encounter with that queen, some of it was easing already. He helped Larisa out of her old clothes, even with her half-hearted complaining that she was too cold to be undressed, he eventually got her into something warm to sleep in.

"There now, enough outta you," he teased, and fairly dropped her into the bed. She giggled, taking him with her. Careful not to squish her beneath him with her clumsiness, Jon settled himself on her other side and brought her close, laying her head on his chest. Her fingers roamed beneath his shirt and started tracing patterns up and down his chest, and along his stomach.

Jon yanked the covers over them and reached for the lit candles at her bedside.

Suddenly he jerked with a hiss, almost spilling the hot wax on her head. At once he reached for her hand that had wandered much farther down, inside his pants to caress him. Her lips were already tracing the same patterns her fingers hand on his chest.

"The fuck're you doing?" he laughed. "You want to burn yourself?"

Larisa raised her head a moment. Her eyes, vivid green even in the dim light, were unrepentant as she smiled.

Jon blew out the light.