Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn in the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, in a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths where highways never ran—
The men who are good and the men who are bad, as good and as bad as I.

I see from my house by the side of the road, by the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardour of hope, the men who are faint with the strife,
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears. Both parts of an infinite plan—
Let me live in a house by the side of the road, and be a friend to man.

from The House by the Side of the Road by Sam Walter Foss

Jon

❄️

It was some time after Littlefinger had made his plight of the Riverlands, which he did not bring up again and he was glad the man seemed to understand he had refused him. He was in the solar, after having met with some of the lords still at Winterfell including Lady Lyanna and Lord Glover, when his sister appeared alone. She told him she needed to speak to him and just after she'd sat across from him, she spoke seriously.

"Lord Baelish informs me that Queen Daenerys is in Casterly Rock, and plans on taking Pyke. I am not sure how he knows this, but he is certain she will turn her eyes to the North after she does. Again he urges action, from me. He wishes me to sneak off to Riverrun with him, and Lady Brienne of course."

He knew he should focus on the matter of the Iron Islands, yet it was the knowledge that Littlefinger was scheming to steal away his sister that bothered him most. He tensed immediately, unsure whether he wanted to stay or go find the man. She laid her hand on his for a moment to calm him, and he remained in his seat. He was not sure why he'd been surprised of this information, he only knew Lord Baelish was a dangerous man and he wanted nothing more than to take care of him once and for all.

With her voice lowered she spoke.

"I must go, Jon. If I do not pay him heed, he will do some other evil to get what he wants. For now, we will play his game. I cannot be sure, but I think he intends for Edmure to swear fealty to me. Not you. I suspect he thinks if the Riverlands and the Vale support me, surely the North will follow suit."

For a moment, he was not sure who was more clever, his sister or Littlefinger. Then he remembered that this man had gotten his father killed, and sold Sansa to the Boltons, and he wanted to believe it was her, but he knew Lord Baelish would always get what he wanted.

"I cannot let you go. It is too dangerous. We will find another way," He finally spoke.

She scoffed at him, she would not accept this.

"You need not let me go, I decide my own fate. Our father is dead because of him, I am sure of it and I will stop Littlefinger, cost what it may. You once told me we needed to trust each other, and now you must trust me in this."

He understood her intentions, yet he did not want her to go. He wished he could handle the man himself once and for all but he could not risk losing the Vale, not now when there was worse coming and they were not ready as it was. Getting rid of the man was not as simple as ending his life, Jon knew this much, in fact he doubted even the act itself would be easy. He did not know the child who was lord of the Vale, but he knew Littlefinger's grasp on the boy was firm, and he had a feeling killing the man would not go unheeded.

"You don't need to do this Sansa," He beseeched her, hoping she might listen.

"But I do. I might be the only one who can."

Her voice was determined, and he knew he would not sway her either. So he nodded solemnly, his expression resigned.

"I trust you Sansa, it's him I do not trust, not with your life."

"Do not worry brother. Brienne will protect me. And I will not send Ser Davos back, not until we have dealt with Littlefinger. I will be well guarded, and he will not kill me, he needs me."

He nodded, "It is your decision to go, and I accept it, but you cannot convince me not to worry for your safety."

She stood to leave and it seemed that was the end of their conversation. He stood as well, and she took a step closer.

"As I worry for you and all of ours, that is why I will do this. I leave in a week's time."

Then she said good night and left.

As promised she left seven days later, and when he was informed, he felt truly her absence. She'd left word of her intentions though he'd known, so he would not need to send scouts after her. Suddenly he was truly alone, and he was the only Stark in Winterfell, though he was actually only a Snow.

As the days went by, Ghost began to appear at his side more often, going as far as sitting next to him when he held meetings with the few lords that remained at Winterfell, or during the evening meal finding a spot on the dais where he took his own food. Jon appreciated it more than his friend could know, not only did it make the days after his sister's departure easier to bear, the direwolf's strength seemed to bolster his own, and he began feeling more confident in his commands and as King, and the weight of the crown seemed less somehow.

Things had not calmed down much, yet he found he had free time in the afternoon before supper, and he took to training with the men in the yard. It felt good, wielding a weapon once more, and he vowed not to give it up. He would need to stay sharp, and training was vital to that just as a whetstone to a blade.

Without meaning to, or perhaps because he felt a kinship with the man, he took the new armourer Gendry under his wing in a manner of sorts, by helping him train and offering points when he could. As he'd suspected, his fellow bastard had not quite taken to the longsword, it was evident he wanted to hack as if he held hammer and not blade, but Jon did not say so at first.

When he did, it had not gone well. He was not sure if Gendry knew he was likely the son of Robert Baratheon, or if he'd grown up imagining himself wielding a sword, but he refused to switch weapons, even though he seemed to realize he was not very good with it.

It was not until some time passed, and they became more comfortable with each other, that Jon tried again. He'd invited Gendry to sit at his table for the evening meal, and Ghost had actually smelled his hand and let the man touch his head before the direwolf settled at Jon's other side.

"He likes you," He said almost smiling.

"I would not want to see what happens when he does not, your Grace," Gendry replied as he sat, looking uncomfortable, as if he belonged anywhere but at the King's table, a feeling he'd been all too familiar with himself for a time.

"No you would not," Jon agreed, a grin now on his face. "Luckily, it has not happened lately."

He said nothing at first, only his eyes darted over to Ghost who'd now long forgotten them, looking wary.

"Then I am honoured he likes me, your Grace."

Jon could not help chuckle at his relief, but the meal began to arrive then and for a while nothing was said in the commotion of being served. The Great Hall was not as full as it had once been, he'd dispatched of whomever he could, to re-man the empty castles along the Wall. It had not been enough men as it was, each station was poorly garrisoned, but it was not like he had much choice in the matter, though he knew a few men were better than none. Now at least they did not have a blind spot.

The thought reminded him of his intentions. He needed men he could trust, and Gendry had the potential to be a great fighter but only if he played to his strengths, which he was not doing at the present moment. But Jon knew he'd have to be tactful in his approach.

"How are your apprentices in the armoury doing?" He asked.

Gendry reached for his flagon of ale as he replied, "Good, your Grace. Some are near ready, it should not be long til the rest are as well."

"I am glad to hear it, soon you will be able to focus on your training."

The man tensed a little at the mention, but nodded none-the-less.

"Yes your Grace," he added before taking a gulp of his drink.

"Will you miss the work?" Jon inquired then, cutting at the meat on his plate.

This seemed to have the effect he'd hope for, as Gendry's shoulders relaxed as he answered.

"This may sound strange your Grace, but the forge, no matter where it is located, is the only place I have ever felt at home, like I belonged. I will miss that and the heat, of course."

Jon chuckled lightly, "I can imagine that would be difficult to leave behind."

He hesitated a moment, unsure how best to broach the subject. Serious once more, he continued, "There is a way you can put some of that to use, bring a little of it with you."

Not picking up on his tone Gendry smirked, "What the fire your Grace?"

"Sadly not that no, I mean your knowledge and skill in the forge."

He must have know what Jon was alluding to as his smile vanished from his face, and he said nothing. For his part, he was quickly growing tired of beating around the bush.

"Tell me Gendry Rivers, for I truly wish to understand why you insist on the longsword. Clearly the warhammer is a natural choice for you, a weapon I am sure you will master in no time. Is it not your wish to better yourself anymore?"

The man seemed defeated suddenly, as if he already knew this, and could no longer refuse the sense it made.

"It is, your Grace."

"Then why do you refuse to at least try it?"

He did not say anything at first, only looked down at his plate, picking at his food with his fork for a moment before turning his eyes back up.

"Apologies, your Grace. I can be as stubborn as a bull sometimes, but I cannot deny my swordplay is not improving. It is only for a stupid idea that I insisted but you are right, King Jon. A warhammer is indeed the natural choice."

As he expected, the armourer had quickly taken to his new weapon, and his reluctance disappeared almost as fast and Jon was sure he would soon finish his training and finally serve. With the issue of the warhammer finally settled, it was not long before he and Gendry formed a true camaraderie with each other, and Jon found himself grateful for the southerner, the bastard Baratheon to his bastard Stark.

a/n: So we're getting there, to the pairings, slowly but surely. There's so much I'm trying to set up and so many characters and plot lines to deal with, it feels like i've barely tackled the GOT universe, and just the tv series-verse. I'll get there, I promise!

Thanks for bearing with me.