Disclaimer: Insert the usual.
Warning: Small lemon in the end of this chapter, clearly marked for those who are squeamish.
Kings Landing:
Petyr Baelish was angry, no scratch that he was apoplectic. He had spent over a week trying to get to grips with the devastation to his fortune after that Bloody. Wild. Fucking. Wolfthat was the spawn of Brandon Fucking Stark.
Never had he thought he would hate a man more than Brandon Stark who had not only humiliated him beyond belief in front of his beloved Cat, but even today almost two decades later he could still feel the agonizing pain that had coursed through him as the savage scarred him for life from navel to collarbone.
That is until he met the bastard spawn of Brandon of course. Jon Stark and his companions little romp to King's Landing had left him with only one remaining brothel (whose whores had up and left with whatever gold he had stashed in it). His numerous holdings (mostly stationed in Flea Bottom and jealously guarded by the Gold Cloaks) had been reduced to matchwood, and the gold and gems or secret notes with delicious blackmail material was conspicuously missing. Four and Ten years he had worked for that wealth, first as harbour censor master in Gulltown, and then as Master of Coin, skimming as much as he dared from the treasury, made all the easier with Robert's Lavish lifestyle.
All of it gone in a single night, if he ever got his hands on that northern savage he would tear his head off, that is he would stand by the side mocking the boy while he got some big brute do the dirty work for him. And to think he had been so close to his goal too.
Jon Arryn had been sniffing around alongside Stannis Baratheon, suspecting (and rightly so) that the King's children were not his. Such as it was it was too late to back out now, so he had convinced Lysa to poison her husband, only for the daft bitch to somehow mangle it as the old man was still alive and delirious. Had Lysa just told him sooner he could have tried to arrange something, but such as it was, by the time he found out Jon Arryn's Maester had discovered that he had been poisoned and tried to treat him.
The only thing that seemed to be going Petyr's way was that it had apparently been too late for Arryn as the poison (those Tears of Lys was worth every dragon) had seeped into his body far too effectively and as King Robert had sat by his old foster father to say goodbye, Jon Arryn who had been informed by his squire just minutes before that a certain vial had been brought to Lysa at her express command, had in a moment of surprising fury told Robert that Lysa had been the one to poison him.
Whatever else the old Lord tried to say was left unfinished, as Jon Arryn's last words to a furious King Robert had been 'The seed is strong,' and then he died, leaving the King mourning, and as furious as he had been when he fought Rhaegar Targaryen, that fury had thoroughly cut Petyr's plans to rise in power by slowly gaining the Lordship of the Vale through Lysa and her son.
Ser Barristan, and Jon's squire Hugh had tried to make the King exercise restraint, but apparently it had been too long since he last killed something that wasn't walking on four legs as he had grabbed the first weapon he saw (an axe almost as tall as Petyr) and barged into the Tower of the Hand. Whatever doubt there had been to Lysa's complicity in her husband's death had blown right out the window as the King found her packing furiously while screaming at her servants to pack faster as they needed to flee the city.
Petyr let out a slightly relieved sigh at that. Instead of doing the wise thing like surrendering (and then revealing himself to be the mastermind behind the poisoning) Lysa had taken one look at the furious King and babbled at high pitch at how the King wouldn't get her son, and then grabbed young Rebert Arryn and thrown both of them out from the top window, Petyr's only regrets beside the fact they he couldn't use them for his plans any longer was that he hadn't been present to hear the bitch and her little Falcon scream, nor hear the satisfying thump they must have made as the splattered all over the cobblestones below.
And Now Harrold Hardyng, Lady Wainwood ward was the new Lord of the Vale, and no doubt already strutting about with his new name Harrold Arryn, probably just as arrogant as Jon Stark must have been, and Petyr felt a stab of pain as if something gave in his stomach, and made a mental note to make sure that Jon Stark and Harrold Arryn never met one another, surely if would be the end of him (if not the entire Realm). The only wise decision the King had done had been to decree that Yohn Royce would act as Harrold's regent until the boy turned twenty, and Petyr found himself cursing Varys for informing the King about Harrold's vices, and that having Yohn Royce teach him to rule for a few years was surely better than to throw a young man from a Knightly house straight into the position of Lord Paramount. A wise decision on the King's part, and a VERY bad one for Petyr.
Less than a week after the raven flew to Runestone to inform Lord Royce, a letter had been sent to Petyr informing him that just because he was a friend to Lysa did not mean that he was exempt from paying taxes, and that men (with a nose for sniffing out hidden valuables) had been sent to his small keep in the fingers to pay for the back taxes Petyr owed, and after seven and ten years one could accrue a lot of interest apparently, and Petyr was almost sure that if it would be more trouble than it was worth, Lord Royce's men would probably had torn his keep apart stone by stone and taken the stones themselves just to inconvenience him, there was no wealth waiting for him back in the fingers that was certain.
Seven and Ten years, all down the drain, and all because of Brandon Stark not managing to restrain himself from putting his cock into any willing female and eventually siring a brat that was apparently Brandon Stark . Just as much an arrogant lustful imbecilic dunderhead as his father only worse, as not even Brandon Stark had seemed to possess the talent of fucking up a man's life work on accident.
"You'll pay Jon Stark, trust me you'll pay," he muttered angrily as he went back to counting what little of his coin remained.
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Varys on the other hand was amused. To watch Littlefinger tear his hair out in frustration day after day had been his favourite past time for quite a while now, and if doing this to Littlefinger had been Jon Stark's only actions in the south Varys would still have sent him a large shipment of food and wine (anonymously of course) but naturally the boy hadn't stopped there.
He had crippled Littlefinger to the point that Littlefinger had been too busy (and angry) to salvage the situation with Jon and Lysa Arryn. Varys didn't know fully what Littlefinger's plans were, but he could guess, and seeing that brief glance of apoplectic fury on Baelish's face when he learned that Lysa and Robert Arryn had died had told Varys all he needed.
Not that Petyr Baelish was the only one angry at Jon Stark though. The Queen was beside herself at how angry she was, cursing Jon Stark in every other sentence for not only speaking out in disgust at House Lannister in public, but also humiliating House Lannister by killing Gregor Clegane in single combat, thus proving that the Gods had ruled House Stark as the more righteous one (at least in the eyes of the smallfolk and the devout). She was also angry as her father had sent a letter to her, denigrating her quite horridly, it was a shame that one of Varys little birds had gotten their hands on the letter first and subsequently spread the word that Tywin Lannister was displeased with his only daughter for losing him his favourite monster.
She also had to spend time spoiling her little golden shit of a firstborn who was inconsolable. Not only had Jon Stark made a mockery of their house by besting their greatest fighter/monster, but when Joffrey had ordered the Hound to bring him Jon Stark's head, Sandor Clegane had taken one long look at the Prince and then spat at his feet and told him "Fuck the Lannisters, and fuck you," before leaving and heading north, apparently to swear his sword to Jon Stark in thanks for killing his brother.
War was brewing, he could almost smell it. Tension between House Stark and Lannister was so strong now one could almost touch it, and it would take very little before Tywin Lannister would forget himself and march off to war, he was a man who could not accept the slightest insult to go unpunished, and from what Varys knew, and had seen during the Duel, Jon Stark was not a man who would let himself be intimidated or threatened, so Varys would keep his eye on them both and observe for now. That and he would speak with Illyrio to send a ship or two laden with produce and perhaps a little gold. Gods know the boy had more than earned it for not only killing Clegane but also for providing him with such great entertainment.
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Dorne:
Prince Doran smiled slightly as Areo threw a bucket of cold water over his insensate younger brother.
"Seven hells why did you do that?" Oberyn asked as he wiped the water out of his eyes.
"You have been switching between sulking, raging and celebrating for a week now Oberyn, it is time you return to the rest of the world," Doran said.
Oberyn snorted. "Clegane should have been mine, Elia was my sister, Rhaenys and Aegon were mine to avenge, instead of taking vengeance ourselves we had to rely on a Stark of all things to do it for us. Some northern bastard who don't share a lick of blood with my niece and nephew did away with the mountain on nothing more than a whim…what does that say brother?" Oberyn asked, his voice conflicted with anger, pain and amusement all at once.
"You forget," Doran said. "The young man was born here in Dorne. Rhoynish blood runs within him, for all that he was raised in the north, he reminds me strongly of yourself at his age."
Oberyn grumbled rebelliously. It was true after all, the former Snow certainly had a reputation, not only for his skill at arms, but also his promiscuity and his carefree attitude certainly struck close to home, and after killing that monster Clegane his reputation would certainly be cemented as one of the deadliest men in Westeros. "Must be the Dayne side in him, though his father had a temper too I suppose."
"Yes," Doran nodded. "He may have been raised in the north, but we will remember that he came from the sands of Dorne."
"By the gods," Oberyn laughed suddenly. "He'll never sleep in an empty bed for the rest of his life if he comes to Dorne."
Doran gave a rare smile. "Ever since the news reached there has been celebrating in the streets. Wine flows, whores let men and woman alike rut for free, apparently near three thousand men and women have gathered here in Sunspear to travel north together with gifts and to see the head of Clegane."
Oberyn's eyes widened. "I must go. I…I have to see it with my own eyes."
Doran nodded, "Then go my brother."
Oberyn shook his head again to try and clear out the wine. "I have to find Ellaria, the girls too now that I think of it. This will be glorious," Oberyn mumbled as he started to pace back and forth, digging out clothes and sniffing them to see if they were suitable, "What?" he asked as he spotted the amused glint in his brother's eye.
"Long has it been since I've seen you this pleased," Doran said calmly. "You will take Arianne with you yes? She has expressed a desire to go."
"Of course," Oberyn said. Arianne could still vaguely remember Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon so it was only fair that she got to see the head of the man who had caused their family so much pain.
"You will also be bringing a gift as a token of our appreciation," Doran said. "A full chest of gold, food, spices, wine, cloth and steel. I will not have it said that House Martell does not give out princely gifts for such services."
"Of course brother," Oberyn said as he readied himself to find Ellaria, knowing his lover best he would no doubt find her in one of the whorehouses celebrating. "I only wish I could see the look on Tywin's face."
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Casterly Rock:
"Would you care to say that again?" the cold voice of his father rung out from behind the door to his solar and Tyrion winced with sympathy at the poor bugger who had no doubt told his father the news that had had Tyrion leave the whorehouse in Lannisport in all haste.
Entering the solar Tyrion saw his father seated behind his desk, his hands twitching with rage, while his uncle Kevan stood beside him with a look of shock on his face, while Maester Volun shook with fear, not an altogether unusual sight as the spineless old man could be frightened by someone slamming a door too hard, facing Tywin Lannister in a rage would be infinitely worse.
"J-Jon Stark was accused of murder b-by the Queen and Ser G-Gregor My Lord. He demanded a t-trial by combat and won, viciously k-killing Ser Gregor so that several m-men and women f-fainted My L-Lord."
His father was still for a moment before ruining any hope for Tyrion to sneak some wine for himself by grabbing the pitcher and hurling it straight at the wall. "What else?" he hissed.
Maester Volun shook slightly before turning his eyes down to the small scroll in his hands. "Pr-Prince Joffrey commanded S-Sandor Clegane to bring him the h-head of Lord S-Stark, whi-which caused Clegane to speak r-rude words to the P-Prince about House Lannister and th-the Prince himself before leaving. R-rumours has it that C-Clegane is hea-heading north to swear his sw-sword to Lord Stark."
Now THAT was interesting. Tyrion didn't know much about the Prince's now former sworn sword, other than that he had a reputation of total obedience, and quite some skill with a sword. That Sandor Clegane was willing to turn his back on House Lannister was grave indeed, his father would take that as a direct challenge, as it implied that House Lannister was becoming weak. With two of their most brutal and infamous warriors now lost, one of them butchered far worse than the infant Prince he was famed for murdering and with their popularity in the Realm at an all time low due to Cersei's behaviour, and his father's before that Tyrion was genuinely worried for the future. You didn't just yank the lion's tail and expect to come out of it unharmed, and since everything could be laid at the feet of Jon Stark in some way or another Tyrion knew the young Lord's days were counted, unless he had the men and skill to defeat his father on the field.
"I. Want. That. Bastard's. Head. On. A. Damn. PLATE!" His father roared, and Tyrion refrained from rolling his eyes, that response was true to form if nothing else.
"Kevan, you'll write to the King to press our demand, threaten him with calling in the debt he owes us if you need," turning his eyes back on Maester Volun he snarled at the aging Maester. "Leave me." "Not you," he said as Tyrion turned to leave as well and Tyrion felt his shoulders sag, before wandering over to his father's desk and taking a seat.
"Yes father," Tyrion said.
"Madness," Tywin muttered. "Madness and utter stupidity, I thought Cersei would have learned by now that Robert loves the Starks."
"Yes well, my dear sister has always been a bit unstable," Tyrion said with a shrug.
"That boy should have been drowned at birth," Tywin snarled. "No doubt the King will do nothing, regardless what I threaten him with."
"In his defence father, the gods proclaimed Jon Stark as innocent, and righteous in his vengeance, to try and have him killed would not be good for us, not to mention that the smallfolk loves him, even in the south people speak of him with awe, and that was before he killed Clegane."
"So I should do nothing?" Tywin asked sharply. "I sat by for several years as my father did nothing and turned our House and Name into a laughing stock. House Lannister cannot let this insult stand, lest our bannermen think us to be weak".
Never in his entire life had Tyrion seen his father this furious, that he was willing to ignore all common sense, that Tyrion was actually in the right during one of their discussions was a bloody miracle. "If you try and have him killed he and the entire north will rise up against us, and with the north comes the Tully's, and let's not forget that the boy has Dornish blood, and is probably the most loved man in all of Dorne now, do you truly think we can hold off three of the Kingdoms at the same time father?"
"Cersei is married to the King, and he owes us three million dragons," Tywin snarled.
"And that won't mean shit father and you know it. The King bloody well rewarded the boy for gods sake, do you honestly think that any of the Baratheons will rise up for us if we start a war? Thanks to your actions during the Sack and ten and seven years of Cersei as Queen and our ever-increasing grip and influence in King's Landing, we are despised by every single one of the Kingdoms father…if you do this you are dooming our house."
FUCK it was pleasing to see the absolute fury in his father's eyes as he saw that Tyrion was right, and the sheer pain of that realization sinking in would fuel Tyrion's happiness more than a thousand salty whores. "Be gone from my sight Imp, I do not care to look at you."
Well that was nothing more than expected as always from his father, so Tyrion bowed mockingly before leaving his father in a rage, mentally scoring a victory for himself, perhaps he should travel north, he had always intended to visit the wall sooner or later and if his road took him by Moat Cailin, well, no one could blame Tyrion for that, could they? His father would obviously deny him, so taking an extreme 'interpretation' of the words 'leave my sight' Tyrion decided that his father's words had not meant 'you are barred from leaving the Westerlands,'. Knowing that his father would no doubt be far too angry to even ask where Tyrion was for perhaps a week or three, Tyrion decided that now was the best time to finally indulge his desire to travel the Kingdoms. Decision made, Tyrion informed a maid that he was returning to Lannisport, where he gleefully had the few servants he had (and loyal to him) gather the majority of the coin he had saved over the years from his weekly stipend. Finding a few Sellswords willing to escort him was hardly difficult, he was well liked after all amongst the 'lower' classes of people, the two guardsmen in full Lannister armour no doubt helped as well, so with everything ready he and his companions took the first ship available which meant that they would be disembarking at Seagard which was the home of House Mallister, they would continue by horse from there.
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Back in the North:
Jon and the others had all been blissfully unaware of how various powerful Lords in the Realm had reacted to his slaying of Gregor Clegane, though it seemed that word of what had happened preceded them as Lord Wyman Manderly threw them a feast that lasted for a whole three days, and left Jon and his friends groaning at the mere mention of food, and while Jon was certainly quite pleased and smug (and rightfully so) at how he had cut down Gregor Clegane he found that the novelty of having to explain every minute detail became a bit stale after the fiftieth or so time, besides he was more interested in learning what had happened on the homefront during the time he had been away.
The most exciting piece of news was actually brought by Domeric Bolton who was doing his best to charm Lord Manderly (and Lord Manderly's granddaughters) in the hope of being allowed to wed Lady Wylla Manderly.
"Can you say that again Lord Bolton?" Jon asked Domeric as soon as he told them the news that shocked everyone.
"My father and bastard brother are dead," Domeric helpfully replied.
"Your father was a cunt," the newly named Smalljon 'Stagsbane' Umber said to the approval of the crowd.
"Excuse me Lord Jon," Domeric said to the Smalljon. "My father was brutally cut down by his own son who attacked the both of us right as we were dining."
"Your father was a cunt," The Smalljon said again. "And that's why he killed your father, your brother was a cunt too, and that is why you swapped drinking goblets when he wasn't looking."
Jon almost hadn't believed it when he heard the tale the first time. Domeric had decided to visit his bastard brother Ramsey, despite the warnings he had received from his father, from Jon, and several others. But had kept a wary eye on his brother who had quite deliberately placed a goblet of wine in front of him as he personally served him food in the small cabin he lived in. Suspicious of the eager and slightly unhinged look in his bastard brother's eyes and face he had swapped both the plate of meat and the goblet of wine when Ramsey's back was turned as he went to pick up eating utensils.
It was a bit of a shame according to Domeric, as the meal was quite excellent, Ramsey had a flair for cooking apparently, though he didn't much care for the extremely aggressive attitude Ramsey had when cooking. The next day Domeric heard tale that Ramsey was swearing up a storm as he was apparently shitting his guts out, and had thought that to be the end of it, but Ramsey had proven them all wrong by apparently clamping his arse cheeks together long enough to make the short ride up to the Dreadfort under the guise of talking to their father.
He had stormed in with a wild bloodthirsty look on him right as Domeric and their father was enjoying a meal and had charged straight for Domeric and tried to run him through with his crude falchion. Thanks to the training he had gone through during his stay with the Redforts in the Vale, He had managed to escape Ramsey's blow by throwing himself back away from the table, just in time to see Ramsey bury his falchion into the chest of their father. Roose Bolton had died with a look of sheer surprise on his face, and before Ramsey had managed to comprehend what he had done Domeric had kicked Ramsey as hard as he could right in his stomach to his great regret later as Ramsey had immediately unclenched and loosened his bowels. While watching his cruel bastard of a father get done in by his own sadistic bastard, and watching said bastard shite himself to death had been both amusing and somewhat pleasing, the sheer amount of shit had left a lingering stench in his dining hall that still hadn't vacated during the week he spent at the Dreadfort to take up charge as the new Lord Bolton, but since it had been over a moon's turn since he left he hoped that the small was gone, Maester Wolkan had certainly promised that he would see to it, despite disliking the whole concept of it, threats of flaying did seem to help when making orders, he had a family name to live up to after all.
"I suppose I have to agree with you that Ramsey was a cunt," Domeric said with a shrug.
"Hmmm," the Smalljon said in a nonchalant way. "Don't think I've ever heard of someone killing their own father only to shite themselves to death after the deed, might be one for the history books," the Smalljon said with a laugh, causing most to join him, even Domeric seemed to grin a little.
"I suppose I owe all of you some thanks, had you not warned me I might not have done what I did," Domeric said with a wince, no doubt imagining himself living his last days in agony as he sat on the privy shitting blood.
"Bah," Jon said. "Ramsey was a cunt, and you deserved to know, perhaps this way House Bolton can start to work to changing their image here in the North," Jon said.
"What do you mean?" Domeric asked with narrowed eyes, causing Jon to stare right back.
"Exactly what I said," Jon said victoriously as Domeric averted his eyes. "You know all too well the reputation that your House has, Ramsey certainly haven't improved on it, and your father wasn't exactly a beloved man in the North either, but House Bolton is yours now, you can act as your ancestors, or turn over a new leaf for your House." Extending a hand towards Domeric, Jon said, "I am willing to extend a hand in friendship, to try and bridge the gap that has existed between our Houses for thousands of years."
Domeric grasped Jon's hand in a firm shake. "And I am pleased to accept it," he replied.
"Good," Jon said as he tightened his grip a little, "But a word of warning, if you play me false, I'll make what I did to Gregor Clegane look like a sparring session."
Domeric gulped as he swiftly tried to offer his denials while the rest of the table held their breath, causing Jon to laugh uproariously. "Relax Lord Bolton, a tasteless jape at your expense," Jon said, causing the rest to laugh again, "I am sorry if I frightened you."
"You're sorry," Domeric wheezed, "you should check my smallclothes for fucks sake," this caused even more sniggering, even Domeric joining in swiftly enough as the shock disappeared and he saw the humour in it.
"Alright that enough Stark," Lord Wyman said as he raised a hand to try and regain some measure of charm. "Having gotten to know you somewhat over the last moon, I am prepared to agree to a betrothal between you and my granddaughter Wylla…now there are some conditions to this," Lord Wyman said quickly, interrupting Domeric who seemed to be well on his way to thanking Lord Wyman profusely. "She will be bringing with her, her own companions, as well as a good contingent of my personal guards to act as her chaperone, if I hear that the two of you have snuck off without a chaperone the betrothal is off, after a year if she will have you, you have my permission and blessing to take her as your wife."
"Th-thank you Lord Manderly, I will naturally accept these terms," Domeric said as he stood and bowed low to the Lord of White Harbour.
Jon looked at the Smalljon and they shared a grin, while young, Lady Wylla would certainly prove to be a challenge. She was as free spoken with her mind as his cousin Arya, and was apparently not too concerned about scandals either as she had coloured her hair a rather eyewatering shade of green and her dress certainly served to flatter her figure, the fact that she had huge…tracts of land that were displayed rather nicely due to her dress was certainly a point in her favour. "So, who will be wearing the armour and the gown in that marriage you think?" Jon whispered in the Smalljon's ear, causing the larger man to spray Jon's goodbrothers Harrion and Torrhen with a mouthful of mead as he tried in vain to hold in his peals of laughter.
"Fuck you Jon, do you always have to run your mouth when I'm eating or drinking?" he asked as he kept the two furious (and drenched) Karstark men at bay with his large hand (holding a rather hefty mug).
"Of course I don't," Jon said. "I just enjoy seeing you make a fool of yourself," he finished, causing the Smalljon to grumble angrily.
"That's right lad, better laugh while ye can," Lord Wyman chortled.
"Pardon?" Jon said.
"I don't imagine your wife will be too pleased with you when you return home, word has it that it took her brother and three others to stop her riding after you to beat you bloody, the hammer she grabbed out of your poor smith's confused hands certainly lends credence to that statement."
Jon felt a chill run up his neck. An angry Alys was a dangerous Alys, even worse she was fully capable of barring Jon from their marriage bed, he certainly didn't think he had a 'right' to take her just because she was wed, fucking a woman who didn't want to be fucked was rape in his mind, married or no.
"Fuck me," Jon said despondently as he spotted smug grins on the faces of his friends.
"I think that's the last thing she'll do to ya Jon," the Smalljon sniggered.
"Well just have to see I suppose," Jon said adamantly.
"Aye that's true," Torrhen chimed in.
"So, we leave tomorrow," Jon said. "Who will go where?"
"Me and Torrhen will be going back home," Harrion said, "So we will accompany you for some part of the way at least."
"Same for us," Robett Glover said. "Though it is a long distance back to Deepwood Motte, and I would not be averse to guesting under your roof again Jon, lay my eyes on that direwolf of yours again," and from the eager look in his son Gawen's eyes Jon surmised the young lad was even more eager than his father.
"You'll always be welcome in my home Lord Glover," Jon said to the older man, who despite being as old as his real father was, got on very well with the young Lord, mutual respect and similar interests (killing ironborn raiders) probably had a lot to do with it.
"While not the Lord of Deepwood, I believe I can speak for my brother when I offer the same courtesy to you Jon, you'll always find hearth and home in Deepwood Motte."
Lord Halys and his son Daryn would be staying in White Harbour for a few more days, most likely due to the shared kinship they had through Lady Hornwood who was Lord Wyman's cousin.
"I'll be coming south with you Stark," the Smalljon said swiftly, causing Jon and the others to raise questioning eyebrows at him.
"Me father usually selects this time of year to parade women in front of me to try and entice me into taking one to wife," he said, causing Jon and the others to snigger.
"Poor little 'Stagsbane' afraid of a wee woman are we?" Robar Royce said.
"Shut yer trap little Runestoneling," the Smalljon snarled. "There's nothing that's 'wee' on the women me father usually picks out, and I think he is getting impatient as well."
"Picky aren't we," Harrion sniped.
"Picky? Not as such, though I do tend to put me foot down when the smallest woman me father picks out looks like a slightly slimmer female Robert Baratheon," he said, causing the others around the table to go slightly green at the thought, King Robert was anything but a slim man.
"Well, I suppose I can protect your virtue a little longer, " Jon said, "Though I fear that if this continues tales will be spread about Jon Starks giant damsel from Last Hearth, I suppose I could just tell the tale to Sansa, that way the rest of the North will know your plight soon enouAAARGH!" Jon was cut off as the Smalljon locked Jon's head in his left arm and used his right fist to give Jon the worst noogie in northern history.
"Yer good Jon, but I can still make you shut yer trap," the Smalljon said as he finally let Jon go.
"I suppose I deserved that one," Jon grumbled as he tried to glare the others into submission, and failed spectacularly in doing so. "That reminds me Domeric," Jon said suddenly. "I am in need of your family trade."
Silence stretched over the hall as everyone stared in shock at Jon.
"Flaying is forbidden in the North Jon," Domeric said slowly.
"Flaying men is forbidden Domeric," Jon said. "The law state nothing about dead men."
"I don't follow," Domeric said, confused at what Jon was getting at.
Jon shrugged slightly. "I've figured out a much better use for Clegane's head than just mounting it on a spike, though I suppose I will have to speak to Gendry about it as well…" Jon trailed off. "Anyway, I figure that having Clegane's face hanging on my wall should do nicely, in case any southerners come to my home with an attitude, a…Stark reminder if you will," Jon said, grinning at the multiple groans that his bad pun produced.
"That…HAH, don't let anyone tell you that you don't have balls Jon," Lord Wyman said with a laugh.
"I suppose I could do this for you," Domeric said. "It would be interesting if nothing else."
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Leaving early next morning (new 'blanket' amongst his possesions) Jon and his friends shared good tales along the way, even felling a magnificent stag with an impressive four and ten points in a small forest along the White Knife due to the rather impressive bow skills of Hugo Norrey. As the Norrey was the one to land the killing blow he got the choice cuts, and lion's share of the stag, which would indubitably net him far more praise and welcome in his home amongst the Mountain Clans than if he had returned with a hefty tourney purse, the Mountain Clans valuing food far more than gold. The rest of the stag was shared equally amongst the rest of them, some going to the Karhold, some to Last Heart, some to Deepwood Motte and some to Moat Cailin.
Harrion and Torrhen parted with them on the third day, heading north toward the Karhold, While the Norrey's headed north when they came to the Kingsroad, as the rest of them turned south towards Moat Cailin. Finally after another two days on horseback the Moat came into their vision, Stark banners waving in the wind.
"MAKE WAY," A voice yelled from the top of the gatehouse. "MAKE WAY FOR LORD STARK."
Men and women drew to the side as Jon and his party rode down the causeway towards the central keep, many cheering as they passed, and Jon heard more than one person whisper 'Mountain's Bane' as he rode past until they finally reached the courtyard where the majority of the household had turned up to greet them.
Dismounting, Jon was shocked to see Winter sit proudly beside Alys, with six small pups yipping and yelping as they swarmed around their mother.
"Well met husband," Alys said as Jon stepped up.
"I've missed you My Lady," Jon whispered as he took her hand to lay a kiss on it, before lifting up first his son to toss him in the air slightly (to the young lad's great enjoyment) before repeating the process with his daughter.
"Clearly," Alys said drily, "Otherwise you would never had done something as foolish as provoking the Mountain into a fight," and Jon gulped slightly at the decidedly frosty tone in his wife's voice.
"That's it lads," The Smalljon said suddenly, "I'm getting out of here," he yelled to great cheer, and Jon was somewhat awestruck at how quickly the courtyard could empty itself, Torhen and Lyarra, his last line of defence was also removed by the wetnurse who quickly scarped into the keep to find somewhere else to be.
"Traitors," Jon grumbled at their retreating backs.
"Come," ALys said sharply as she led Jon to the godswood until they stood underneath the weirwood. 'SMACK!' "THAT was for the worry and aggravation you caused me," Alys snarled as she drove her fist as hard as she could into Jon's chin, "And this is for making every girl in the realm jealous of me," she said softly before grabbing his head into a voracious kiss, causing both of them to moan as they wrestled with each other's tongue.
"Lets go back, food should be ready soon enough," Alys said as she started to walk away only for Jon to grab her by the wrist and pull her back until she had her back to the heart tree.
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LEMON WARNING! LEMON WARNING! LEMON WARNING!
"Surely you didn't think we'd be done so soon?" Jon growled as he tried his best to remove her undergarments from beneath her skirts.
"Jon, someone can see," Alys moaned as she tried her best to not let her arousal take over, which was failing spectacularly as she had already freed his cock from his breeches, and as he desperately stroked her lips he discovered that she was as wet as a bitch in heat.
"Let them fucking watch, you are mine and they can do nothing more than look with longing."
"Hngh, FUCK!" She swore as Jon finally sheathed his cock inter her, sinking all into her all the way to the hilt with one hard thrust.
"FUCK, I've missed this," Jon grunted as he started to pound in and out as hard and swift as he dared. It became clear that both of them had wanted this for some time as they attacked each other like a pair of rutting wolves. Biting and scratching each other's face and neck while the sound of their rutting could probably be heard from far away as a distinct 'slap-slap' sound of flesh meeting flesh.
"Harder my Love, harder," Alys moaned as he continued to drive his cock into her, gasping slightly as he finally freed her teats from her dress, immediately latching onto a tempting nipple with his mouth, biting down ever so slightly. "FUCK!" she screamed as he combined the slight bite with a sudden pinch at the small hood at the top of her cunt, and Jon felt his legs almost give out as her cunt suddenly gripped his cock like a vice as she thrashed against him, her back arching away as she rode out her peak and Jon barely remained standing as he felt his cock fill her with jet after jet of his seed.
"Fuck me, that felt good," Jon panted as he leaned an arm against the tree they had rutted against.
"Definitely," Alys said weakly as she rearranged her dress, committing a crime by covering her teats back into the dress.
"Hnng," Jon grunted as he withdrew his cock from her, sending a jolt of intense pleasure through him as the sensitive member glided out of her so that he could tuck it back into his breeches. Looking over his wife Jon felt a smirk steal across his face. "We should probably take a bath and get on some new clothes before we enter the hall I think."
Her hair was all mushed up, and teeth marks and hickeys decorated her lover neck and top of her shoulders where Jon had marked her as his own, as from the stinging sensation he felt on his face and neck he knew that she had marked him just as much, with her nails lips and teeth.
She giggled slightly as she saw how, himself sporting the 'freshly fucked' look that she was sporting. "That might be for the best husband, and then perhaps as we bathe you can tell me of your exploits in the south.
Offering his arm to her Jon bowed slightly. "Lead the way the My Lady."
LEMON OVER! LEMON OVER! LEMON OVER!
AN:
And that's it for this chapter. I decided to split this in two as it was currently nearing 12k words and it still isn't finished (though I will endeavour to finish it within a week or so)
As you can see we are heading further and further into AU as Jon's very presence seems to be the embodiment of Chaos Theory and Murphy for his enemies all in one.
As you no doubt noticed I decided to lift some of Smalljon Umber's lines from the Show as the guy is prob one of my favourites, both in the show and in the books, and I was fucking pissed at how they made him out in the show. Not even the deathstroke of the horrendous 'DOrnish Plot' triggered me as much as Smalljon Umber of all people turning into a fucking traitorous bastard who turned Rickon over to Ramsey.
On the note of Ramsey I was actually sad when I killed, as I briefly entertained the notion of having Ramsey joining Robb, Jon and the rest down south to war where he would turn out to be Westeros' Gordon Ramsey in the kitchens, kicking ass and taking names both in the kitchens and on the battlefield, I eventually decided for it to happen this way though as I decided to have Domeric live in this story, and I refuse to believe for one second that Ramsey would do nothing once he discovered that Domeric turned the tables on him, and Roose already proved in the show that he could be taken off guard by Ramsey, (has something to do with the fact that he clearly believes that Ramsey would never dare go against him I think)
On another note, to the few who has complained about how this 'Isn't what Jon is supposed to be, not in character bla bla bla', this fic is AU for a reason. It explores exactly how different things could have been if Jon took after his mother and uncle instead of his father, his 'sullen, serious, brooding' way that he acts in the show/books, shows that he clearly takes more after Rhaegar than Lyanna. Naturally I am going over the top as well, as I do like to write with a 'humoristic' wibe rather than dark and serious and all that. That is not to say that there won't be dark moments. This IS ASoIaF after all, and people will die, many of them in horrible way, and as they say war brings out the best AND the worst in people.
Next chapter: Jon and Co is bombarded by Dornishmen, all at the same time that Robert and his court arrives, recipe for disaster? Definitely. Mysterious gifts from across the sea arrives and Jon runs into a mysterious bard.
Thats it for now, read and review.
-Manowarrior.