Not my best chapter. Sorry for the delay!

Some may have blamed you that you took away the verses that could move them on the day
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind with lightning…
and I could find nothing to make a song about but kings, helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things…

For the world lives as long ago; and while we're in our laughing, weeping fit,
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit…
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.

from Reconciliation by William Butler Yeats

Jon

❄️

His squire arrived with a message brought by raven just as Littlefinger informed him of the arrival of Daenerys Targaryen, the Mad King's daughter. He slid open the small scroll, aware of Lord Baelish's attentive eyes while he read the message from Ser Davos.

King Jon,

All is well. More will reach soon.

Ser Davos of House Seaworth

He rolled the small slip of paper and slid it inside his glove, next to his scarred hand. He hadn't said much in word, but Jon understood everything he meant. It seemed he could trust the Tully's for now, and a rider would soon arrive with the details.

"She holds Dragonstone once more, and her three large dragons roam the sky over it. She has a little more than a thousand ships, the Narrow Sea is quite literally filled with her fleet."

He turned to look at the man, and Littlefinger seemed genuinely bothered by this fact. No doubt she presented a great threat to his plans, whatever they were. He did not like this Lord Baelish, and did not trust him, but he had no choice. For now it seemed he was on their side, and Jon would attempt to take advantage of that fact.

"She seeks the iron throne, which luckily lies East of even the Vale. Let her take it and the South, and end the Mad Queen's reign," He answered simply.

Littlefinger did not seem happy with this answer, as he expected. He's not sure what the man had hoped to hear, but Jon had known one thing when Lord Baelish had mentioned Queen Daenerys' arrival. He'd listed all the titles she boasted, but the only one that mattered to him was the one that named her Mother of Dragons. She was a Targaryen and she sailed for Westeros with her thousand ships. She would fight for the throne, and when it was hers as he knew it would someday be, he would need to convince her to join his fight. She and her dragons were likely the difference between life and death, and he would do whatever it took, his pride or his life, to get her help.

"She will seek out the North once she takes the crown," He argued, then almost a moment too late he added, "Your Grace."

Jon smiled, "If what you say is true, there is little we can do to stop her. As you well know Lord Baelish, I do not have the men. When she comes, we will do what we must. Our war is not in the South."

He turned to Sansa, hoping she was on his side.

"King Jon is right. It would be folly to attempt any talk with a Targaryen, the last time a Stark has done so, our grandfather and uncle were burned alive. In fact, the last time a Stark left the North, our father and brother were killed by Walder Frey and the Lannisters."

Littlefinger looked at her intensely, nearly smiling, though not entirely with affection, but he nodded and said nothing. Jon tried hard not to think of Rickon, who'd died by the hands of a northerner, and Sansa who'd known all along that it would happen.

The lord of the Fingers turned to him, "Everything is well in the Riverlands, your Grace?"

He figured nothing passed him by, and so he answered, "I ought to ask you Lord Baelish, you are likely better informed than I."

His lips went up though it was clearly meditated, "I am informed of certain things I admit, but only so that I may inform the Lord of the Vale. Ser Davos is a clever man your Grace, he keeps close guard of his secrets, an excellent choice for the task after all."

He nodded, understanding what Littlefinger truly meant, and Jon could not deny, the man was cunning.

"It seems the North has not erred entirely in naming me King."

With that, he stood. He could not take another moment of this conversation, and he knew he needed to get word to the guard that a rider from the south would arrive any day soon.

"Well if you'll excuse me Lord Baelish, sister. There are some other matters I must attend to. I will see you both later, in the great hall."

Sansa nodded and their companion stood and bowed slightly.

"Your Grace," He said.

He left the solar unworried, Lady Brienne was there after all.

❄️

As he stepped out a gust of wind whipped by him, and he felt cleansed by it. He was used to always feeling the cold pressed against him like a tight embrace, but now he spent his days in the castle, where the springs kept it warm, and the hearths made it hot. Sometimes in his chambers, he would open the windows wide, and let the room fill with cold. Then he'd grin, remembering how he'd hated the chill in his quarters when he'd been a man of the night's watch.

He had no need to deliver the message himself, but he'd needed a respite. The courtyard had always been his spot, when he was a kid he loved jousting with Robb and Theon under the guidance of Ser Rodrick. With their wooden sticks, it had always been a place where he was just another boy amongst his siblings.

After he spoke with the guard, and started walking back, though by a different route, he heard the clang of metal on metal. He was close to the armoury, and wondered if it was his new addition, Gendry.

When Sansa had whispered in his ear that he was likely the bastard son of Robert Baratheon, and though Jon had only seen the man when he'd come to Winterfell, he could see the resemblance. And she'd already told him of the day the goldcloaks, led under Janos Slynt, whom he'd executed, had killed more than a dozen children throughout the capital. It seemed likely, though there was no way to prove it.

He moved towards the clanging, when he opened the door he saw the man hammering away, wearing a tunic though the arms were cut off, and thick black gloves on his hands. He didn't realize Jon was there until he stopped to temper the blade and stuck it into the cool water.

When he noticed, he bowed, and said, "Your Grace," but did not remove his blade from the liquid. When it was ready, he pulled it out and laid it down.

"My apologies King Jon, a blade must be properly cooled, otherwise it could easily crack."

"There is no need. I heard your hammer, so I thought to see how you were settling in."

"Very well thank you your Grace, though I'm not quite accustomed to the cold yet."

He motioned to the tunic he wore and continued, "I would be wearing my cloak if it did not bother my work."

Jon smirked, "It takes some time to get used to."

"That it does," He replied.

"Have you begun your training yet?"

He hadn't seen much of Gendry since he'd arrived, but looking at the man reminded him of the old king and he knew that here stood the last stag, though he was as much a Baratheon as he was a Stark, which he was not. Still, he was king, and there was hope yet for his fellow bastard.

He did not smile exactly though there was mirth in his expression when he answered, "Tomorrow, your Grace."

"And have you chosen your weapon?"

He half expected a warhammer, but then the man signalled to the longsword he'd just tempered as he replied.

"A longsword. I figure with my size, I'll have no problem wielding it."

He grinned, and wanted to tell him that was not what mattered most, but didn't. Perhaps the sword was for him, and if it wasn't, well he'd soon find out.

"I do not doubt it."

There was a moment of silence, and Jon found himself thinking of his brothers in black. Curious, he could not avoid the question.

"How did you meet Yoren?"

Jon had known the man only a short time and hardly at that, but had judged him a brute with little idea of honour, and yet, it seemed he was wrong.

Gendry twitched a little before answering, "My master sent me to the wall. Course, I never made it."

Somehow he was not surprised by this information, though it seemed his companion had just realized the error in his admission, likely realizing he'd once been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, which now felt like ages ago to him.

"Do not worry," He said before the armourer could explain himself.

"I'm not a brother of the watch anymore, and you have broken no vow."

Gendry did not speak, but he nodded gratefully.

He did not like thinking on the night's watch, it only reminded him of what his brothers had done, and that he was no longer the same man he'd once been. In truth, he had a hard time not feeling envious of the man's choice. Had Jon not become a crow, his life could be vastly different, maybe even his brother Robb might still be alive.

He returned then to his curiosity, deciding it was of no use to think on such things.

On the Wall, they had heard that Yoren and his recruits, had been slain on the road by his brother's enemy. There had been no survivors, or so it'd been said.

"He was killed in the Riverlands by Lannister men, is this how he saved your life?"

He seemed surprised Jon knew this, but he replied in any case.

"Yes, your Grace."

This did not surprise him, for though his brother Yoren had been rough, Jon knew he was not an evil man.

"Were you the only one?" He asked then.

Gendry hesitated for a long moment before finally answering, "No your Grace, there were others. Though I could not say how many still live."

It did not seem like a topic he felt like speaking of, so Jon decided he would not press further, though he wanted to.

So he said, "It seems you have still ended up serving in the North. Though I will not ask you to take no wife."

He'd attempted humour, in spite of the fact that he was not very good at it, and it had not been particularly funny. Gendry grinned genuinely though, seeming to have appreciated it.

"Someday surely, I'll be grateful of that your Grace."

By his expression, Jon wondered if perhaps he had a sweetheart in the Riverlands, and that was why he hoped to better himself. Of course, he did not say so. Jon had no such hopes for himself, not only because he'd once been sworn by vow, and before, as a bastard, he would have no name to give his children, and he would not condemn them to his same fate. Now he was king, yet the future did not seem certain.

"And I will be glad to see such a day."

Jon did not think Gendry understood his meaning, though he would soon. He felt heavy with what was to come, somehow his conversation with the man lead his mind to grim matters he did not want to think of.

"I will let you return to your blade, you will need it tomorrow no doubt. Lord Glover is a skillful swordsman, and an honourable man. He will teach you well."

"Thank you your Grace," He said simply, bowing.