Sorry for the delay guys, who knew writer's block was really a thing? Not my best work, but I hope you enjoy.

My love is of a birth as rare… begotten by Despair upon Impossibility.
Magnanimous Despair alone could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown but vainly flapped its tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive where my extended soul is fixt,
But Fate does iron wedges drive, and always crowds itself betwixt.

from The Definition of Love by Andrew Marvell

Jon

❄️

He vaguely heard his sister and Lord Jaime leave, and though he'd hardly voiced his concerns, he let them go.

They had not been alone together, not since that day in the Godswood, it even felt as if it was the first in as much time, that he'd looked her in the eye. His feelings were torn, in one regard he understood her motives, even Sansa's quick acceptance, but her omission, and the idea of a Lannister marrying his sister filled him with rage, and though he was prepared to forget the first, he was not ready to accept the last.

"I should have spoken of it the first day we met, I hope you can forgive my foolishness," She said finally, her eyes soft and remorseful.

She lifted her arms then, as if she meant to touch him, but her hands found each other instead, her fingers lacing for a moment before she let them fall once more.

"I know it is a difficult thing I ask. But my men and my children, and I- we, are with the North in the coming war, no matter what you decide, on both counts. Though I hope you will at least take some time to consider what I ask, for the good of the realm."

He exhaled, feeling himself fume once more.

"It is only for the realm that we are still discussing it," He answered, barely containing the exasperation he felt, and turned away from her before it got the better of him.

A few seconds passed before she spoke.

"Ser Jaime has made many mistakes for the sake of his family, decisions that I have suffered the consequences of as well. I would be lying if I said I had never wished him dead, and yet, I could not do it. How else are we to heal the damage we have both suffered and caused? Or wipe away the blood we have each spilt? Or protect the innocent from suffering for our feuds and wars? It will take more than a few pretty words and bent knees to truly bring our kingdoms together. But all our pain and suffering, all our sacrifice, will it not be worth it in the end? When there is peace, true peace, throughout the kingdoms?"

He said nothing to her words, but he finally let himself look at her again. Her deeply affected expression was the last thing he expected to see, and though he was sure he'd never be convinced, he agreed at least to the time.

"I will think on it," He answered after a long moment.

She let out a soft a breath, "Thank you."

"Until I do, I should like them to keep their distance, my people are still adjusting to the Lannister's presence, I do not wish for rumours to spread."

She didn't move at first, waiting to see if he would add anything else, but he had nothing to say. When she seemed to realize it, she dipped her head her eyes locking on his before she turned to leave.

She had almost reached the door when he spoke, despite himself.

"Daenerys," It was the first time he'd ever spoken her name like that, without title, he half expected her to be upset by it.

Instead, she looked back at him, her expression hopeful, despite her attempt to hide it.

"Yes Jon?"

I must be a bloody fool, he thought to himself.

"As for our union- I have no wish to break it."

She turned fully to him once more, and took a step forward, "Truly?"

He felt his lips tilt up at her expression, despite the fact that he was still upset with her.

He returned the step she took, "As long as that is all. Is there anything else I should know?"

At this, her expression faltered, and her eyes turned glassy.

"I will never bear a child," She spoke suddenly, her voice faint, as if it was something she was facing herself in this very moment.

He stilled, unsure how to take such news. He was not angry of course, such a burden would not be easy to share with anyone, let alone the man she intended to marry, who was still a stranger to her, and she to him, in many ways.

"I never intended to keep it a secret, I was going to tell you, only—"

As she hesitated he closed the distance between them, touching her for the first time in weeks as he laid a hand to her shoulder. She looked at the contact before finally looking up at him, her eyes still heavy with her revelation.

She opened her mouth then, but he spoke first, his voice gentle, "I understand."

His arm lingered for a moment before he let it drop once more.

"I must ask though, what makes you believe that?"

She turned away from him then, and he only waited for her to answer.

"I was still young and naive, and I felt like a prisoner myself, and I thought if I saved her, perhaps someday I could be saved too, only she did not want salvation. She wanted revenge, and blood and so she took my husband, and my unborn son, and promised I would never have another."

Though he understood that this admission had clearly taken a great effort for her to share, he did not share her gravity.

"But she is dead, and here you stand, was that part of her curse as well?"

She turned towards him then, her expression hopeful once more as she glanced at him for a moment. He felt his lips go up before her arms wrapped around his waist, but as quickly as she squeezed him, she let go.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

Bloody fool indeed, he thought again as he interrupted her, hooking an arm around her waist as he pressed his lips against hers without hesitation.

Or possibly a man in love.

❄️

With no surprise, Theon Greyjoy was the second to arrive, and Jon suddenly remembered he had greater problems than Ser Jaime. He'd once considered the ward of Winterfell a friend, perhaps even a brother (though he'd never say either out loud), and his betrayal pierced deeper than even Lord Jaime's.

The North had not forgotten either, that much was clear, and it was only because of what he'd done for Sansa, that Jon accepted his presence, and prevented the Northern Lords from taking his head. Though he could do nothing of their animosity at his arrival.

He'd reluctantly gone to the yard to receive him, standing between his sister and Queen Daenerys. He was confused by the Lannister knight's presence, though only momentarily, as he remembered that they had fought together in Pyke.

By the uncertainty in his eyes and the fear that coloured his steps, it did not take Jon long to realize that the Theon he'd once known, arrogant and bold, was gone. In his place stood a man broken.

Unable to avoid it, he turned to look at Sansa, suddenly understanding the depth of what she'd survived. She returned the look, though it was clear she knew what he was thinking and was not pleased by his realization.

He felt his ire dissipate in the wave of this knowledge, and suddenly found himself unable to haul this broken man over the coals, though that hardly meant he'd forgiven him, only that he accepted his presence with a sad kind of regret instead.

That night he dreamt of his brother for the second time, though he never saw his face. It was a black raven with three eyes who led him down to the crypts, but somehow, he knew it was Bran. When he reached the depths, the torch in his hand flickered, and went out, leaving him in darkness. He felt his heart thumping in his chest, but then the flame was back, and suddenly, he was on the wall, looking out beyond at the dark.

Then again, the flame went out and came back, and then he was beyond the Wall, at the Fist of the First Men. Over and over, the torch burned and waned, places he'd been to passing before his eyes, but never settling on one. He woke just after Winterfell came into view, though it was likely the continuous flashing that disturbed his sleep.

It was only the first of many restless nights. He told no one of his dreams, unsure they actually meant anything. They were disjointed and nonsensical, though most nights they began the same, him journeying down to the crypts. They would shift from there, flickering like the flame of a candle in and out of places at first, then moments in his own life. He saw himself kneeling in front of the Heart tree swearing his vows; burning the wight who'd tried to kill Commander Mormont, and even saw himself storm Craster's Keep.

But it was the night before the Sand Snakes of Dorne arrived, the last of the high Ladies meant to attend his and Daenerys' wedding, that his dreams finally took shape, in such a way that he finally understood their meaning.

This time the dream did not begin as usual, instead he prowled through the woods, the ground covered in heavy snow, he could feel it brush his arms, underbelly and legs, but he was not cold. When he stopped to howl at the moon, somewhere in the distance a raven cawed in response.

He moved forward slowly, wary, realizing he was in the godswood when he finally saw it, perched on the branch of the weirwood tree, its melancholy eyes seeming to stare at him just as the raven's three.

His eyes locked onto the unusual creature, until suddenly it took off, and then he was flying too, but he did not feel the chill of the air as he left Winterfell behind.

As he soared over the snowy landscape, he knew he headed North even before the long line of ice came into view. As he passed over, another line appeared, running parallel to the grey-white Wall, though dark as night, the tones of white snow disturbed by black dots of different sizes. He knew what they were of course, and though there were so many the snow almost disappeared underneath them, it was the shattering sound that startled him, so loud he thought it would burst his eardrums, and a rumbling so intense he felt it though he did not touch the ground.

The wall was crumbling beneath him, large chunks shattering like glass, but it was the blue of his eyes, like ice and frost and death, that woke him.

The Night King.

He was drenched in sweat when he woke, though the fire in his hearth had long since burnt out. He threw off his furs but didn't get out of bed, instead he lied there, staring up at the ceiling of his cold dark room, his skin burning but feeling chilled to the very bone.

He suddenly felt very stupid; he wasn't sure when it had happened, nor how, but he'd forgotten the true enemy, the only enemy, in the political dealings of being a King. His feelings towards those who'd wronged his family might never change, but for now he needed them, every able body, to fight the coming war.

Yet when he felt a deep pang as he thought of his sister, he could not reconcile her fate. She might rule the north, but to force a marriage of alliance on her filled him with shame, regardless that he'd done it to himself. He was not sure what he felt for Daenerys, but it was more than just lust and passion, it had grown into more, that he was sure of. As for Sansa, what could possibly bloom between her and a Lannister?

But he knew, in his heart, that he had to accept, though not for the Queen's reasons, he understood them but he could not see beyond the long night. If they were going to survive, they had to do it together, and that included house Lannister and Greyjoy as well.

Still, he said nothing of his thoughts when he saw her that morning, nor as they discussed the final details of their wedding.

"Jon, is everything all right?" She asked then, her hand over his stilling his thoughts.

He looked over to her, and smiled, turning his palm up so their fingers laced. He would never tire of the feeling of her skin against his, even such a small touch as her hand.

"Yes," He answered, and it was not a lie, at least not entirely.

Her furrow of worry nearly disappeared as her lips went up, though it was still there, hidden deep in her expression. They had not spoken once about his sister's betrothal since the night the Kingslayer arrived, and though she did a good job of hiding it most days, he knew it was almost always on her mind just as it was on his.

"Just thinking how everyone will fit into the Godswood," He added, hoping to divert the conversation away from what was still unsaid.

It seemed to work as she replied,"Perhaps only the High Lords and Ladies ought to attend, and the Northern Lords of course."

"Aye, I think that would be best."

Her thumb rubbed idly along his as she spoke, "Have you decided who you will name as Lord of the Stormlands?"

He had of course, and Jon knew the time had come to tell her, though he had not spoken with the man in question just yet, it seemed the best course of action if she heard it from him first, and now that they were alone.

"I have. You've met him of course, Gendry Rivers."

He waited to see if she would react to his bastard roots, but she did not.

"In truth he's a Waters, only when he arrived, Cersei still ruled the south, and I did not think the surname would serve him well in the North."

She smirked, "Sensible."

He wasn't sure how she would react but he knew he had to tell her. He glanced at their still intertwined hands for a moment.

"I did not know, when he arrived, though Sansa suspected, but I have come to learn that he— He is the bastard son of Robert Baratheon."

Her smile faltered, and her hand stilled, but he took it as a good sign when she did not let go.

She said nothing at first, and neither did he, allowing her a moment to adjust to this information. He knew what the King had done to her family, but Gendry was not blame, just as she was not to blame for the crimes of her father. Then suddenly, she finally did release him as she stood.

With her back to him she finally replied, her tone carefully controlled but not upset though she attempted to sound casual, "Will he remain a Rivers, or will you make him a Storm?"

"I had not considered it," He answered truthfully.

"Do you wish to make him a Baratheon?" She asked then finally turning, her voice not entirely steady.

It suddenly occurred to him, where her tension had come from, realizing himself what the son of a Baratheon could mean for her. Wanting to assuage her worry he stood and approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist when he reached her, pulling her close.

"I had not thought on that either, but he is the only one I would think to place there. I know what you fear, but he is not his father's son. I do not think he's ever intended on making any such claim on the Stormlands, so i'm not entirely sure he will even accept. But he might be the last of his family's blood, it seems only right it be him, but I leave the decision to you."

She had relaxed almost as soon as he held her, and though he could tell she was not entirely convinced, she said nothing only wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him down for a kiss. Her mouth parted easily, their tongues intertwining just as their hands had. She nipped at his lip before pulling away.

"I gave the Stormlands to you as a gift. Whomever you choose, I accept. I trust your decision Jon. As for his name, considering he has changed it twice already, perhaps we might let him decide. "

It was not the reaction he'd been expecting; and he couldn't help but feel touched by her trust, knowing she had to still be worried by what could come from making Gendry a Baratheon.

"As you wish," He said, before pressing his lips to hers once more.

❄️

The following days passed in rapid succession; a combination of tedious and necessary tasks occupied his time, and Queen Daenerys' as well, they hardly had a moment to themselves, let alone. Their stolen kisses in his solar felt long past, and much overdue.

But finally, it was the night before the date, and though the keep was brimming, he managed to escort her to her chambers on his own. Her guards had not yet arrived, and so it was still just the two of them.

He knew it was time to tell her, he wasn't sure what he expected of their wedding, only he did not want anything to hang over the start of it. He stole a kiss first though, chaste and sweet, as their first ought to have been, before he spoke.

"I will give my consent, if Sansa is truly sure it is what she wants. But if he hurts her, brings her dishonour in any way, I will kill him," His voice was dark with promise, and he hoped she did not doubt him.

Her eyes bore into his as she answered, "I would expect no less."

And then her lips on his, her kiss fierce and determined, her hands raked through his hair as she pressed her body against his. His tongue melded easily with hers, allowing his arms to wrap around her waist so he could pull her flush against him. After a moment, he pulled away, knowing he'd drown in her right then and there if he didn't. Her brow furrowed, confused.

"Only one more night," He said then, smirking at her devilishly.

Still holding her, he planted his lips on hers once, soft and light, then one on her nose before he pulled away.

He realized suddenly, that he did know what he wanted for their wedding. He wanted to do it right, like his father before him.

He took her hand in his once more, and bowed, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. When his eyes found hers again he smiled warmly, seeing his actions had had the effect he'd hoped for.

"Until tomorrow."

He left her then, blushing, just as her guard of Unsullied arrived.

That night as he lay to sleep, for the first in a long time, he felt light of heart and excited for tomorrow. He should have known it wasn't meant to last.

He dreamt of the crypts, descending down into the darkness as he always did. This time however, dark turned to light, and cold to hot, as suddenly he was no longer in the north, for he'd never seen such a place with his own two eyes.

Aside from the sky which went on unimpeded by tree and hill, the ground hard and barren beneath his feet. It was then that he heard it, a woman's scream, pierced with pain, he could not but run.

Suddenly bodies were strewn before him, a man tended to a wound in his stomach, another turned as if he'd heard his name called, and Jon's gut twisted as he recognized the face, though he was years younger than he'd ever known him.

Father.

Ned Stark did not see him though, and turned once more, racing up steps and away. Jon could do nothing but follow.

He entered the room, expecting anything but what he saw.

Blood. So much blood. A young woman, who reminded him a little of his sister Arya, dying and begging for a promise, and a child being placed into his father's arms. He woke then, her words echoing in his skull even as the dream faded into the depths of his mind.

'You know nothing', Ygritte had told him long ago, and though he'd always wanted to dispute her, deep down he knew she was right. And he'd hated it, feeling like a green summer child, never knowing if he was making the right choice.

But now… Now he knew the truth, and suddenly found himself longing for ignorance.

a/n: In case it wasn't clear enough: Jon just found out the truth about his parents.

So I just wanted to say a few things: This is still a work in progress in many ways, and sometimes it feels as if I bit off more than i can chew, so although i'm trying to stay close to the show's continuity (up until season 6), for the sake of my story and my pairings, some things will happen here that aren't likely to happen elsewhere. I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve, all is not as it seems, consider this a warning.

Also, when I outlined this, I hadn't entirely thought of Bran, his whole arc is a big question mark for me still, but i've worked something out regarding his role here, as best I could anyway.

I hope the next chapter won't take as long as this one did, and thanks for reading!