You guys have been so amazing that I had to update already! I know I say this every time I update, but seriously, you guys have made me so happy with all of the wonderful feedback you've given me. I hope to get a lot more as the story goes on, and I hope that you enjoy this next chapter!
Gwynne stumbled back away from the wildling as she stood before her, grinning. The wildling eyed the young girl up and down, her tongue darting out to moisturize her chapped lip as she cocked an eyebrow in Gwynne's direction.
Gwynne watched the wildling girl carefully, fearing she was a threat but not convinced that the girl would do anything to harm her. Not until she reached out and grabbed a steady hold of Gwynne's arm, puncturing her flesh almost immediately as her dirty fingernails dug into her skin. It was then that Gwynne understood that whether man or woman, wildlings were all the same.
The wildling eyed her up and down, taking note of the extravagant gown and the way her hair looked to have been recently washed and brushed, unlike anything she had ever seen before. "You're no commoner. Who are you?" She growled.
Gwynne found herself at a loss for words. Who was she? She was a guest of the
Stark house, a Northerner who called Winterfell home, as countless others had. It was then that she realized for the first time that she was nothing but a commoner, despite the fact that she dwelled within the walls of Winterfell's castle along with the Stark children. Her father might have been a trusted and loved member of Lord Stark's guard, but she was nothing.
"Answer me, girl!" The wildling shouted, tightening her grip on Gwynne's wrist and tugging her an inch forward.
"I am Lady Arsenault from Belmont, Lord Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell's, betrothed. You'd do best to release me this instant before you lose your hand." The lie burned at Gwynne's lips and she could only hope it had sounded more convincing than she had intended it.
Hesitation lurked within the wildling's eyes as she heard the woman's powerful voice. While Gwynne had hoped her words would have forced the woman to free her from her grip, but to her dismay she found the woman only held on to her tighter.
"A lady? Soon to be Robb Stark's wife?" The woman let out a sickening laugh that instantly turned Gwynne's stomach into knots. "You'll be of value to us."
Gwynne's eyes shot over the woman's shoulder as she cried out, "Theon, no, don't kill her!"
The woman instantly spun around, letting go of Gwynne's wrist to identify the threat. Her eyes darted around the heavy trees, searching for the man Gwynne had called out to but seeing no one. The wildling turned back around and came face to face with Gwynne, wielding a rock in her grasp.
Without a moment of hesitation, Gwynne slammed the rock into the woman's temple, knocking her over with the dangerous blow. When the woman fell and Gwynne pulled her arm back to her she felt a moist, sticky substance had soaked her hand. Glancing down, she realized it was blood, too much blood, and she instantly dropped the rock to her feet.
She took a step back, her lip quivering as the woman lay unmoving by her feet. Dear Gods. I killed someone. Gwynne's breathing became heavy as her eyes refused to remove themselves from the woman's body. She felt her legs shake beneath her, threatening to give out and throw her to the floor to join the wildling that now lay in a pool of her own blood.
"I'm sorry." She muttered in a near whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Now, there ain't anything to be sorry about, little girl." A voice boomed from behind her.
Gwynne tried to turn around to see who it was, but they had already grabbed a tight hold of her waist, pulling her up against his body. She felt the cold metal of a dagger press against the skin of her throat and couldn't fight the sob that slipped through her lips. She pulled at his hand to free herself from the blade against her throat but couldn't budge it away from her.
"Don't worry, sweetling, you're of much more use to me alive than you are dead." He assured her, edging the blade closer against her skin, nicking her in the process.
She had to figure a way out of this. She couldn't depend on Robb, Jon and Theon coming to her rescue. She did years ago, and they had not failed her, but soon they would be gone, each to his separate way and they would no doubt leave her behind. She couldn't depend on them forever, not if she wanted to live long enough to gaze upon the innocent faces of her grandchildren.
"What do you want?" Gwynne asked, suddenly painfully aware that every word spoken could be her last.
The man pulled her tighter against his body, making his desire very clear to her.
Just do it. Do it so you'll be free and then run.
Gwynne swallowed back the bile that had surfaced in her mouth and rubbed herself against the man, drawing a low groan from his throat. She felt his grip on her loosen and her mind screamed at her. Now!
Somehow, Gwynne had managed to pull back one of his fingers, snapping the bone and sending the sound soaring into the midday sky. He stepped away from her, crying out in pain, and the next thing she knew was that the dagger was now clutched tightly in her hand. She spun around, wasting no time, and pressed the tip of the blade against the wildling's belly.
"Kill him, Gwynne." A familiar voice rang out from behind her.
She didn't dare take her eyes off the wildling as he stood before her, clutching his broken finger like a child. She knew who was standing behind her, his voice a very much welcomed sound.
Theon stood beside Robb and Jon, his bow armed and aimed at the man's forehead, should he try anything rash. Knowing her friends were behind her gave her the assurance she needed to step away from the man, his dagger still in her hand. She heard Theon groan in disappointment as the man stumbled backwards, aware that this was a battle he would not win. He turned and started running, hoping the men would let him be and let him escape with nothing but a broken finger.
Gwynne watched but said nothing as Theon's arrow flew by her, nailing the wildling in the back of the head and dropping him instantly.
Theon stepped forward to retrieve his arrow, his hand momentarily rubbing Gwynne's arm in reassurance as he passed. It wasn't another second before Gwynne found herself standing between Jon Snow and Robb Stark.
"Are you okay?" Jon asked, his eyes catching the moisture in Gwynne's. He had watched her cry, too many times then he would have liked to admit, and knew the look on her face instantly.
She nodded in response, watching Theon pluck his arrow from the back of the man's head, a splatter of blood following soon after.
Robb let out a sigh, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "You sure have a way of finding yourself in dangerous situations, don't you, Gwynne?"
Without responding, Gwynne glanced over her shoulder, her eyes falling to the body of the woman.
"Is she dead?" She was afraid to hear the answer but felt the need to ask it. She had to know. Had she taken someone's life today?
Jon said nothing as he moved over to the wildling woman, crouching over her to check for a pulse. It was then Robb who spoke up.
"If she isn't now, father will no doubt see that she is."
Jon shook his head, answering Gwynne's question as he stood up over the corpse, watching Gwynne with sad, heavy eyes.
Robb put a hand on her shoulder, comforting her almost instantly. "If you didn't kill her, she would have killed you. Wildlings have no sense of what's right and what's wrong. If you didn't do what you did it would be you lying on the ground in a pool of blood."
By now, Theon had joined them, standing behind Gwynne silently as he listened to his friend. His eyes never left the wildling's body, almost impressed that Gwynne had managed to defend herself and slay the one who had meant her harm. He couldn't help the smirk that spread across his lips at the thought.
"Please don't speak of this to anyone. Lord Stark will never let me leave my room again." It was true. Lord Stark had beaten himself up for so long when she had almost been raped and murdered. His last words to her father had been that he would protect his guard's only child, and he had never been able to forgive himself for allowing the beating to happen to her. If he heard of this Gwynne had no doubt he would lock her in her bedchamber and forbid her to leave until she married someone who could protect her until his final breath.
Theon said nothing but nodded, agreeing that this would stay between the four of them. Robb and Jon spoke, almost in unison, and agreed to never speak of this again. This was a secret the four of them would keep between themselves, along with the hundreds of others they had shared over the years spent together.
"And what of the marks on your wrist and neck?" Jon asked.
Gwynne glanced down at her wrist, pulling up the sleeve to reveal the cuts the woman's nails had left in her flesh. "Sansa loves to make dresses with long sleeves. I will let her make them long until the wounds heal. And until then, I have more than enough to cover the wounds." Her hand came up and touched the spot where the blade had cut her neck. Her shaky hand reached out in front of her, the blood of the wildling woman and her own now mixed together on her fingers. "My horse threw me, startled by a noise in the bushes. I fell and cut myself."
The men nodded silently in agreement. If Lord and Lady Stark had ever learned of the truth it would do nothing but convince them even more to marry her and send her away. The threats were dead, no one knew but them, and this was for the best.
"We should go back. They'll be wondering where we are." Robb spoke up.
It wasn't until Gwynne had walked with the others to their horses that she realized she was suddenly without one. She looked at Jon, unsure of what to say.
"Ride with me," he told her, his voice low.
She smiled slightly as he stood beside his horse, the reign held tightly in his gloved hand. It was then that she remembered countless times when they had been children, riding with Jon on his horse through the land of Winterfell. How they would laugh and promise one another that no matter how old they got, things would never change.
Theon eyed Jon silently as he watched the bastard pull himself onto his horse's back, Gwynne settled nicely in the saddle in front of him. His eyes shot to Robb's shortly after, who was already in the saddle of his horse. Theon cocked his eyebrows at Robb, who shook his head and quickly turned away from them all.
No words had been spoken between the four of them throughout the ride back to Winterfell, and Gwynne couldn't have been more grateful. She didn't want to speak about the fact that she had just taken a life, and all a conversation would have done was reminder her of it.
It wasn't that long after they had arrived back in Winterfell that supper had been served. She had excused herself and retired back to her room, too upset to even stomach the smell of food. Arya had objected over Gwynne's departure, to no surprise of the Stark guest. She had said a quick goodnight to Ned's youngest daughter, giving her a soft kiss against her cheek, as she left the hall and made her way back to her bedchamber.
Gwynne had been sitting at the foot of her bed, her fingertips gently stroking the cuts across her wrist when she heard a sudden knock at her door. She called out to the person, biding them entrance though all she had wanted was to be alone. This was the Stark's home and she had no right to deny one of them entrance into her bedchamber. Not after all they had done for her.
She was surprised to see that it was Jon who entered, shutting the door behind him with his foot. In his hands he carried a tray which held the supper he had with his family only a shortly before. He sat it down silently on the table beside Gwynne's bed, his feet planted into the ground beside it as he watched her.
"I thought you might be hungry." He told her simply.
She couldn't fight against the smile that burned at her lips as she looked up at him. After all the heartache you've suffered, how can you still be so sweet, Jon Snow? "Thank you."
He took a step forward and stopped, realizing how inappropriate it was that he had come to her in her room. "Are you okay?"
Gwynne nodded, her eyes falling to her wrist. "I'm fine, Jon."
"I know you well enough to know that you're not. You may be able to fool father and the rest, but you can't fool me."
Gwynne laughed breathlessly and pushed herself off the edge of her bed. She crossed the room and stood by her window, pushing the glass so it opened and let the breeze that circled Winterfell into her bedchamber. Her hands rested at the bottom of the window and she took a deep breath in, as if to steady the nerves that pulsed through her.
"I killed someone today, Jon." She glanced over her shoulder for a brief moment before turning her gaze back towards the window. "I took the life of an innocent and no amount of praying will have the Gods forgive me."
Irritated, Jon stepped closer, stopping only a few inches behind her. "The life you took wasn't the life of an innocent. She was a wildling, and Robb was right, she would have taken yours if you had hesitated for a moment more."
Gwynne felt the heaviness of her heart and could do more than shake her head. "I'm no different from the men who slew my father." She told him simply.
Jon felt his fists clench by his side. She was nothing like those men. They had attacked his father with the intent of killing him, for reasons even he was too young to fully understand. They had every intention of killing Lord Stark and claiming Winterfell as their own, pillaging and raping as they saw fit. Gwynne had taken a life to save her own, a life that had never deserved to be threatened in the first place.
"It's foolish because I know she would have killed me. I know she would have. She would have killed me and then killed you, Robb and Theon. And she would have never regretted doing so. Which only confuses me more. Why would I be so upset over killing someone who would have murdered my friends without a second thought?"
Jon didn't know what to say. He couldn't understand it himself. He had never killed a man, but if the life of someone he loved was on the line, he knew he wouldn't have doubted himself for a moment. If a man had raised a sword at one of his brothers or sisters, or even Gwynne, they deserved nothing more than to die at his hands.
"For years I had promised my father that the one and only man I would kill was the one who took his life." Gwynne tilted her head up towards the sky, as if to ask for forgiveness. Whether it was from her father or the Gods, Jon couldn't tell. "I've watched you and Robb spar, for hours and hours, trying to figure out how to wield a sword and how to defend yourself against one. And I had always hoped that one day, one day when I came face to face with the man who took my father from me, that it would prove itself useful."
"It did," Jon assured her. "You protected yourself."
"I broke my promise to my father." Gwynne corrected.
Jon didn't know what else to say. He knew that no matter what he told her she wouldn't listen. She was as stubborn as Arya and once she had her mind set on something there was no tearing her away from it.
Be a man, Jon. For once in your life, be a man and claim what should be rightfully yours.
Jon listened to the voice in the back of his mind and closed the distance between himself and Gwynne. He pressed his chest against her back, stopping only when her curves fit perfectly against him. He didn't feel her tense against her touch; he felt her move into him as if to welcome the warm touch of the living.
His right hand moved from the windowsill, trailing his bare fingertips up her wrist, edging up towards her shoulder. His fingertips messaged her neck, his other hand doing the same on the other side of her. His left hand cupped her cheek in his palm, turning her face so it was closer to his.
She let out a shaky breath against his skin as he closed the space between them, his lips finally finding hers after all the time they had spent apart. Neither of them hesitated as they opened their mouths, their tongues intertwining.
Jon knew that this was wrong. He felt like he was almost taking advantage of her, using her pain to benefit himself. But he deep down he knew that this was much more than that. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since their last kiss. He had dreamt about her every time he closed his eyes and every time he laid his head down at night. He had remembered everything about her. The way she tasted, the way she felt against him, the way she had moaned into his mouth. It was enough to drive any man insane. And that was all it had seemed to do.
Gwynne tore herself away from the window to face Jon, her hands finding a place to rest on either shoulder. She continued to kiss him until she felt as though she were so faint she would lose herself. She felt him press himself against her, the warmth of his groin radiating through both of their clothes but she never once feeling anything but want.
Jon's fingers tightened against her, his hand moving upward into her hair as he grabbed a tight hold of her, almost afraid that if he let her go he would lose her forever. He tried to control himself, tried to calm the erection that was swelling in his pants, but it was no use. His want and need for her was too much even for him to control.
But despite it all, no matter how hard she kissed him back and no matter how much she moaned his name, all Jon could think about was how she had told the wildling woman that she was betrothed to his brother.