AN: So I just want to say I hope everyone is staying safe during this crazy time of quarantine. Sending out healthy vibes to everyone!

For this chapter I need to make a little disclaimer: one of the few things I liked about season 8 was that they just went for it on the Jaime/Brienne storyline, but then of course, the ruined it. So I'm just going to implement how I thought that should've gone. I've gotten some notes that this story is using too much of the crummy stuff from that season, and while I might agree with some of that, I do have plans for these next chapters that are going to take things in a different direction. So please bear with me!

Every Loyalty

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Chapter XVII:

Reckless Talk

As usual, she was angry with him.

Jon counted it lucky that the stone walls of his home were thick. But his bedroom, however spacious, still buzzed with tension. He finally stopped pacing, while Larisa faced away from him at the opposite end of the room. She sat at his writing desk, gripping the edge of it as her eyes continued to blaze.

"You once told me not to worry about problems that surely wouldn't matter if we survived the Night King," she said tightly. Eventually, her eyes lifted to meet his. "This seems a bit counter-intuitive."

Jon sensed that some of her immediate anger had dissipated, enough for him to sit down closer to her at the end of the bed.

"The longer I waited, the harder it would be to tell Daenerys the truth about me. About our family."

Which was true, though Jon rightly presumed she would spark once again. Her fingers curled around the quill bottle on his desk, as likely she was contemplating throwing it at him.

"You also promised me you would be less reckless, Jon!" she snapped.

He sighed heavily. "She knows I don't want to be king—"

"Yes, yes, I know. But for posterity's sake, let's revisit this again," Larisa's face pinched as she rubbed at her temples, leaning back in her chair. Jon crossed his arms. It had been a long morning, and it was shaping up to be an even longer afternoon.

"Why do you loathe the idea so much if you accepted being made King in the North in the first place?" she asked. "Your people chose you."

"And how many of them wish they hadn't?" Jon said. It was a rush of words that left him suddenly, instinctually, born of frustration and long-suppressed thoughts. Larisa looked as surprised as he felt, to admit what had been festering in his heart. Perhaps since taking off the mantle of Lord Commander.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Her gaze was gentler, but also genuinely curious. Bracing his hands on his knees, he released a deep breath.

"My brother, Robb. He was the one who trained his whole life to be a leader of men," Jon said. "When I took the Black, even when I became Lord Commander, it felt…right. And look how that turned out."

Sometimes, he still felt phantom aches where the scars on his body lied. Just now, the one over his heart fairy throbbed.

"The truth is, I lost my men's trust when I sought out Daenerys's help…I don't regret my choice. I don't regret anything, but I also can't blame those who chose not to fight with me because of those decisions."

Jon stared down at the floor between his knees. He heard Larisa rise out of her seat, felt the bed dip beside him. Her thigh was warm where it brushed his, but she didn't yet touch him. He was grateful enough to have her understand and sense her support.

"They're fighting with you now, whether you realize it or not," she said. "But Jon, what happens after Daenerys claims King's Landing? Do you think she'll let you live in peace, in dominion over the entire North? Whatever happens next, no one will be safe."

"She's not her father," Jon refuted.

"You really don't know that, do you?" Larisa huffed. She stood, gaining distance between them by filling a cup of wine. His eyes traced the alluring curve of her waist and hips as he warred within himself.

How could one woman be so entirely maddening? He knew she was coming from a place of concern, but it was still frustrating to know she didn't trust his judgment.

"This battle is going to ravage the South," she said, lifting the cup to her lips. "If my mother is still where Varys claims she is, I want to send her a message to travel north…though I wonder if she would trust a letter. For all she knows it could be a ransom."

The thought was so bizarre, Jon couldn't help but laugh. "Why the hell would I ransom you?"

Larisa shot him a peeved look.

"Fine, a trap by Cersei then. Look, clearly my mother is a cautious woman if she's been waylaid in Dorne all this time."

Jon held in another sigh. He felt the argument brewing, but chose to believe she would be reasonable. "We can't have any missives going south. There's too much risk of interception."

He stood and went to Larisa, meeting her frown with a small smile. She set down her cup and allowed him to pull her gently into his embrace. Her face turned up to his as her expressive features took hold of him.

"Please, Jon," she said earnestly. "You've known from the beginning that I just want my family to be safe."

"She's safer where she is, Larisa, and so are you," he said. "You know I can't think of just you. I have a responsibility to my people, to—"

Larisa pushed at his chest and out of his arms. Her anger flashed again, but this time it was different; he saw veiled hurt in her eyes.

"And to your queen, is that it?" she said hotly. "But not to me. I'm only your mistress after all."

He could hardly believe her—the insane path her mind worked to create such conclusions. If she wanted him to embrace being a leader to his people, how is it that she couldn't understand the sacrifices that came with responsibility?

But maybe that was it. Larisa had come from a family that likely hadn't placed much responsibilities on her outside of marriage. And a family of snakes as well. He understood what kind of person she'd had to become in order to survive it, but as with Sansa, it had left more than just scars.

Despite that bit of clarity, he couldn't help how his temper flared.

"Is this how you get your way? By talking in circles until you think you've won?" he retorted. "Maybe that worked on your husband, but I won't be manipulated. Not by you, or anyone else."

"Oh, but you'll let Daenerys do it." Larisa met his raised tone with her own. "You gave her exactly what she needed to back you into a corner. You think she's so merciful and tender-hearted, but when has she ever spared her enemies?"

And it always came back to this.

Jon resisted the urge to shake her. How many times would they have the same argument?

"Without her, we'd be blood and ashes on the ground! I won't betray someone when it suits me. I won't go back on my word either."

"It's worth your life, then. Do you think she's survived this long by holding onto compunctions like honesty and loyalty?" she mocked. "Or do you want to be Ned Stark that badly?"

Though his muscles were coiled like a spring, he only stared back at her blankly. The moment she finished, he could see that she immediately regretted her words. Her chin was defiant, but she looked away from him, hiding the tremble in her lip. He knew he'd hurt her, speaking of the man she'd been forced to marry. She'd dealt Jon in kind.

But the longer he stared at the side of her face, the more he longed for what they'd shared just last night. Security, intimacy, warmth, and all the rest.

So Jon reached out for her hand. She turned to him, mild surprise flitting across her face.

"I know what you're saying, better than you think," he said. "But I need you to trust me. Please."

Larisa let go of his hand.

She couldn't yet reconcile her instincts about the Dragon Queen with the sting of everything they'd said to one another. She needed time—to think, to busy her mind with something else, or maybe just to sit and simply be. Regardless, she needed to leave this room.

The moment she left Jon behind, the door shutting behind her, she was faced with her brother. But Will wore a strange look on his face, serious and very much unlike him.

"Why are you just standing there?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

It was taking a moment for him to work out what he wanted to say, but soon enough his confused, furrowing brows began to worry her. "You knew?"

"Knew what?" she asked. Finally, his expression settled on anger.

"You knew where Mother was, and you never told me?"

Larisa looked back at him, shock making her silent and uncertain. She knew she often managed to annoy him, but rarely had she ever seen her brother truly cross. Betrayed.

"I can't believe you," he said, and turned away from her, disappearing down the hall before she could stop him. She sighed, heavily.

Making her way down the stairs at a more sedate pace, she left the warmth and darkness of the keep and for once was able to take pleasure in clear, bright skies above. The sun was a balm to her nerves, and she took a deep breath to sustain it.

Eventually she wandered into the kitchens, where Garda was already preparing the evening meal. Martha was nowhere to be seen, likely attending Sansa in that case.

"My dear lady-lass," the woman greeted. There was humor in her eyes as she took in Larisa's glum look. "Have a restful holiday then? I've only been skinnin' rabbits all morning long. Alone."

"I'm sorry," Larisa said. She didn't have the energy for their usual banter. But she took up her usual place and picked up a carving knife to slice the meat into parts. She was aware of Garda watching her from the corner of her eye, a small grin playing at her features.

She continued tearing furry hide from muscle as she said, "I'll have you know. Without your cheery face, I cried tears with my whole heart this morning, I did."

Larisa's lips curved slightly. She knew a bait when she saw it, but it worked all the same.

"Your whole heart?" she supplied. "How hard it must be, to wring a tear from an old stone."

The woman heaved a laugh.

"How's the lad?" she asked. Though she must have seen how Larisa soured, because her gaze took on a knowing gleam.

"Aye, what'd he do, now?"

Once again, Larisa sighed. "Unfortunately, it wasn't him this time."

Davos had told him not to bother, but Willem couldn't help it. He snuck into the council meeting by pretending to stand watch at the door. When the last person entered the room, he held the door open by a fraction and slid in just behind.

He wouldn't have bothered, but he didn't feel like getting caught in the halls by Larisa. His irritation still distracted him from some of the meeting. Really though, he didn't think he missed much in the beginning. Both Daenerys' allies and Jon's had sustained major losses. About half the Unsullied and Dothraki, and even more of the Northmen. But the Dragon Queen still wanted to go south, to destroy Cersei and her army, now strengthened by a new force. The Golden Company she hired with stolen gold.

As far as he could tell, the plan was simple. Corner Cersei with their combined forces, starve out the city if necessary, and use the Queen's remaining dragons to keep the people of King's Landing in check without destroying everything with dragon fire.

"If it comes to it," Daenerys warned, "I will not hesitate to smoke Cersei out."

"The men we have left are exhausted. Many of them are wounded, they'll fight better if they have time to rest and recuperate," Sansa pointed out.

"I came North to fight alongside your people, at great cost to myself," said Daenerys. "Now that the time has come to reciprocate, you want to postpone?"

"It's not just our people, it's yours," Sansa replied succinctly. "You want to throw them into a war they're not ready to fight?"

"The longer I leave my enemies, the stronger they become," Daenerys snapped.

Her voice was as tired as she looked, despite how clean and well-dressed she was. Will reminded himself that she'd probably lost the most—her general Grey Worm, Jorah Mormont, and likely much more than that. But now her blue eyes were dark and cold, and he wondered if Larisa was right to worry about Jon.

After going over their immediate plans for preparation and departure for the South, the meeting ended and dispersed. Will left soon before then, so he wouldn't be caught in the back of the room. He would have left, but Jon caught him in the hall by his shoulder.

"Walk with me," he said.

Will suspiciously wondered why, considering what he'd heard that morning, but he followed anyway.

Jon led Will out to the stables and fitted him with a horse. He called it a final riding lesson while they patrolled the outlands of Winterfell where men were building more weapons, shields, and armor. Will was grateful enough to have fresh air, but he could admit, it was nice to ride beside Jon. Like this, he could pretend they were equals, nearly shoulder to shoulder.

Jon finally turned to him with a small sigh. "You're going to stay here this time."

Will's smile fell. He didn't want to stay in the north, he wanted to fight with everyone else—against Cersei.

"But—"

"I know you want to come with us, but I need you here to protect this place while I'm gone," he said. "My brother and Sansa, and your sister…I'm looking out for you too."

Will's temper finally snapped. "Why are all of you always trying to protect me! I've survived this long, and I don't need anyone's help."

Jon watched him for a moment. He looked caught between surprised and amused, but also something else. Something strange.

"Are you still mad at your sister?" he asked. Will scoffed and looked away at the gently falling snow around them. The men and women working, sawing, welding.

"Will," Jon prompted. "Would you have gone to your mother, even if she'd told you the truth?"

Will grumpily refused to answer, though in his heart he knew.

"Now at least you don't have to feel guilty for making that choice," Jon offered.

"It's still a lie," he said. And he meant that. She hadn't had to lie to him to get her way, like she did with everyone else. Except maybe with Jon, Will had noticed.

"Aye, she should've told you. But she knew your bull-head would've still brought you here, where you've fought bravely and honorably."

Will looked to the other man, wondering if he really meant that. "Then why're you leaving me behind?"

Jon met him with a grim look.

"Haven't you had enough taste for war yet?"

Will looked down at the reigns in his hands. It wasn't so much that he wanted to be surrounded by blood, death, and chaos. But it was more than the instinct he felt in his gut when he climbed that tower and fought across Winterfell's rooftops.

"I just want to be where I belong," he said.

"I understand that," Jon nodded. "Believe me, I do. But your sister would have my head if I didn't make sure you're safe."

Will shook his. "She doesn't have to look out for me anymore."

"That time'll come. Sooner than you think."

What was better, lying to protect the ones you love, or to protect yourself? In Jon's view, a lie was still a lie, by omission or not. With good intentions, or not.

He'd had a week to tell his siblings about the truth of his heritage, and he meant to. But each time Daenerys' warning echoed in the chamber of his thoughts. And in those moments, so did Larisa's, and his own words to Willem. It was a vicious cycle he couldn't break himself out of.

On the final day that his men and the remaining Unsullied-Dothraki forces were to head south, Tormund announced that morning he was taking the Free Folk back to the "real" North. It stung to part with the man, and it raised his anxiety to know Winterfell would be that much more vulnerable afterwards, but he couldn't fault the Wildling for it.

Later that morning, he secured his provisions to his horse and noticed Tormund accomplishing the same thing with his men.

"This is the North, you know. And the Free Folk are welcome to stay," Jon tried.

"It isn't home," Tormund said simply. In that span of time when their eyes met, Jon understood what he meant, and wondered if that was why Castle Black never felt warm enough.

"I understand," he nodded. "This is…farewell then."

"For a time, maybe," the redhaired man agreed. He clasped his arm with that large hand of his. "I doubt I'll be free of you yet."

"Tormund!"

Both men turned their heads at the call. Larisa was approaching them at a hurried pace with a wrapped parcel in her hands.

"Be careful with that one," Tormund said. "I think she likes me more than you."

"I wouldn't doubt it," Jon groused, though still with something of a smile on his face.

Catching her breath, she handed over the parcel of goods and covered the Wildling's hands with her own.

"I'm sure it'll only last the day, but a little extra couldn't hurt," she smiled. Tormund grinned down at her.

"Probably right, but it's the thought that counts," he winked.

Larisa laughed. Raising on her toes, she had to crane her neck far to reach his cheek with a kiss.

"I won't say goodbye, so you won't be a stranger," she said. Tormund's bearded smirk was too wide as he shot Jon a triumphant look.

"Well, how can I say no to that?"

"All right, get on your way," Jon chuckled. Tormund let out a boisterous laugh and turned on his heel, carrying the parcel under his arm as he went.

Jon hesitated only a moment. Finally he reached for Larisa's hand. She'd been watching Tormund and his men gather and prepare to leave, but his touch earned her attention. She still held some reservations, but she allowed him to draw closer and hold her in his arms for the first time in days. Soon enough, her arms slid around his back and clung to him as her body relaxed against his. He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Please, don't do anything reckless," he smiled. Larisa scoffed.

"Don't lose your head," she warned.

She was almost teasing, but there was too much weight in her words to be simple joking. He knew her better than that.

Jon pulled away just enough to see her, raising a hand to brush strands of her brown hair behind her ear and cradle the side of her face. His thumb traced across her cheek, over her lips. Then she surprised him, reaching up to press those lips to his. He responded in kind, dragging her to him even closer, letting his fingers sift through her hair, only half braided for once.

Her hands gripped the back of his leather armor, then his arms to hold him close. When they finally parted, taking in the crisp cold air, she told him.

"Don't let that be the last."

If he was honest, Will felt sour. He'd been left behind, and his sister was even more dour than ever before (not that he was ready to talk to her anyway). He was patrolling the back corners between the various keeps, even though it was late enough that he should've probably been sleeping. It was dark as hell, but in the recent months of darker days, he'd learned to see well enough by now in the near-pitch of night, letting the moon light his way.

He was about to turn another corner when he heard an angry shout.

"You're being an idiot!"

Will peaked around the wall, slightly startled to see Brienne of Tarth in nothing but a fur coat. He'd never seen her in anything less but full armor. But she faced Ser Jaime, who seemed to have saddled a horse. He looked pained, but his mouth curved in a derisive smirk that didn't reach his eyes.

"Why, because I've done my deed, had my way, and about to escape into the wind?"

It was harsh, considering they'd probably done what Will thought they had. But Brienne didn't look fooled. Her frown was unimpressed at best.

"You're throwing away everything you've worked for," she said. "You may not be a good man, but you're better than this."

Jaime grimaced. He didn't seem to agree. "Yet you bedded me."

"Is it important to you?" she asked. "What I think of you?"

Silence stretched between them. So long that Will began to grow uncomfortable just watching this morbid scene unfold. But then Ser Jaime offered a kind of answer.

"It's not about you."

Despite the words, his tone was gentle. Kind even. His eyes were soft and full of emotion Will had never seen in his cousin.

"But you're right, I'm not a good man," Jaime said. "I've done hateful things, for her. Because I wanted to. Because…so she should die by my hand."

Brienne scoffed angrily. "What hand?"

Will covered his mouth to keep from laughing, but Jaime looked down at his stump with a quirk of his brow. Eventually, he looked up at the woman with honest eyes.

"It's my debt to pay, Brienne."

Silently, before he was found, Will left the wall and that scene behind. He made it all the way to his room before he allowed himself to take a full breath. Over and over it played in his mind, and as he looked down at the sword Jon and Davos had commissioned for him, he thought of where they were already traveling toward a bloody battle. Didn't he owe something to Jon, who gave him his life? Was staying here, comfortable and safe, enough to repay it?

Where did he belong?

Larisa had never attempted something quite as stupid as she was about to do, but she had no other choice. A missive had come to her just this morning, shortly after she'd found her brother missing.

Then she had deliberately knocked on Sansa's door and requested an audience. The girl had been notably surprised, but she soon hid it behind a convincing wall of indifference and derision. They sat at her table, both tense and uncomfortable.

"I'll send a search party, but if he's already made it beyond Winterfell's borders, I can't do anything about your brother," she said, once Larisa had said her piece.

While she had expected as much, she wasn't in the habit of taking no for an answer. She opened her mouth to continue, but Sansa beat her to it.

"I won't allow you to go south either," she said curtly. "Even if Willem does make it to the battle, Jon has enough to deal with already."

"That's exactly what I mean," Larisa said. Sansa studied her, likely reading something more in her expression besides worry for her brother.

"What're you talking about?" she asked.

In truth, Larisa had been deliberating whether to enact this particular plan for some time, but she'd never thought Jon would leave himself so vulnerable. She'd thought his honorable nature would surely have forced him to clue in his brother and sisters, but it seemed Larisa would have to take a rather large gamble.

"There's something you need to know," she said. "About Jon."

They spoke long into the morning. Sansa often reached for the pitcher of wine to settle her nerves and still her shaking hands.

"And Daenerys knows he's the rightful king," she clarified. Larisa agreed.

"Here's what we both know to be true," Larisa said. "Jon will be in danger the moment Daenerys seizes the throne. Even though he continues to swear his oaths, she knows his secret won't remain hidden for long."

"And I know her. She wants to burn that city to the ground if it means ridding herself of Cersei," Sansa said.

Larisa nodded. "If she takes the Red Keep by force like she really intends, and Jon opposes her?"

"Or the people discover he's the rightful king, and decide to raise him up?" Sansa posed.

"They won't be enough to protect him, and I doubt Tyrion would be able to convince her Jon doesn't pose a threat to her rule," Larisa reasoned. "This is all conjecture and guessing, but if something does go wrong there, he won't have any support. We won't have any way of knowing, and even if we did, it would be too late."

Sansa watched her carefully. "You seem to have something in mind."

Larisa took in a slow breath as she thought on her words.

"If we go south," she said, "you may have enough political sway to help him."

Immediately, Sansa's doubt returned. She regarded her mistrustfully.

"How could going south possibly help anyone other than yourself?"

"Not just south, Sansa. We must go to Dorne."

"You could be luring me into some convoluted trap. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?" Sansa stood angrily. Larisa's temper flared, and she joined her, slapping her hand hard on the table.

"Because, you suspicious, pig-headed harpy," she barked, "there is a new prince in Dorne. And my mother holds his ear."

Incensed as she was, she could see Sansa processing exactly what she'd said. The gears of her mind concocted the possibilities as quickly as Larisa had. Her blue gaze was calculating, even as her lips formed a hint of a smile.

"Explain."