Author's Note: Hi, everyone! This chapter's a bit weird, so, uh, stick with me? It'll be worth it?
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thursdy, 9 Septemer 1813
Volants, essos
Dear Prinses,
my names Bronn & I am 1 of the enlisted menn - jus been promoted, me, so now I am a corpral but you dont cayre abot that none - I dont have much skill at letters but the majer got his hand cut cleen orf - the captin was stabbed a bit & all so shot - I am all whats left who can wryte so -
the majer says to tell your dear freind that the captin woud have dyed but he had this buttin thing in his pocket - it kep the bullut & knyfes from the captins hert - it is the stronges buttin I have ever seen - the layce arund it is all grotty now from bloud but the buttin is not even a littel dented or scrached - they shoud give all us solders buttins lyke that eh? -
the majer was to go home but he sayd he woud not go withoute the captin too & I sayd I woud get them bothe back in whoole peeces - mostly becase I wanted to get oute of that fuckin hellwhole - but all so becase the majer & captin are not countes like mos officers - they shared all thoose socks with us - so leest I can do is carry theyre arses home eh? - so now we are all comin back to westros -
the majer is fine now but for whingin abot his hand bein gone - but the captin is not well at all - he broke many ribbs & lost a lot of blode & has beene feverish -
it was good that you said to go to tarth - I will send this letter theyre & get us passage & we shoud be there in a month or may be less if the winds be good - the majer says I shoud send this by rayvin insted of reglar post & youll get it faster -
the majer all so wants me to put in a drawrin of somethin nyce to cheere you up after readin such bad news so I have drawrn the osen & birds & wayves & sunn on the back of this letter - he & the captin look like helle & bein on a ship is not lyke to make them prettyer - so that is why I am not puttin a drawrin of them this tyme - but they are comin home & that is what matters eh? - better ugly then dead eh? -
the majer now wants me to tell you many things abot he loves you but I am not goin to do that - I figure you are aware of all that after how he goes on - I am to signe this from -
Majer Jamie Lanister
duke of Westerlans
P.S. now I am to put some more abot your dear freind is not to worry over the captin as we will tayke cayre of him - but the majer cant do but with his left hand so it will all be me - I dont mind as the captins a good man & he relly misses your deare freind if the way he carrys on in his fever is to go by - she semes prettye in the drawrin I saw of her so I dont blayme him -
P.P.S. now I am to say that if you want to wryte back you shoud send it by rayven to Lys or tyrosh becase after we leeve Volants we are goin to lys & than Tyrossh & from there to tarth -
P.P.P.S. now I am to say I am sorree for my spellin but I am not - I am not some rich counte with a mayster to teech me - he is lucky I can wryte at all eh? Or he woud not be abel to tell you we was comin - & I can drawr & am good at killin so I have my uses eh?
P.P.P.P.S. now I am to say sorree for saying counte - so I am sorree for sayin counte -
P.P.P.P.P.S. this one is only from me - what are theese P.P.S. things? Just a way to ad things you fogot to say?
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Saturday, 20 September 1813
Evenfall Hall, Tarth, Stormlands, Westeros
Your Grace,
Forgive me my presumption in opening Her Highness' mail, but she is still en route to Evenfall and I know how keenly she awaits each letter from you. I wished to address any needs you might have with all speed, rather than delaying until her arrival. A raven has been sent to Her Highness' next planned stop to brief her of your situation.
Your fiancée will be weak with relief to hear of your recovery from your fever. I beg you to never doubt the most faithful heart of your beloved. She has wept frequently to think of your suffering, and her powerlessness to provide you the care you have needed in your infirmity. She will do everything in her power to ease you once you are by her side once more. She has missed you almost beyond her tolerance to bear. The prospect of having you close in just a very few days is the sole dream that has given her the strength needed to endure the wait.
Please thank Bronn for his most entertaining letter. His personality shines through with each word and we cannot wait to make his acquaintance and show him due appreciation for the care he is taking of you and Captain Snow while you travel home to us. May I assume that both you and the captain have applied for discharge from your military service and are soon to be civilians once more?
By the time you arrive at Tarth, we will all have given ourselves callused knees, and worn grooves before the Mother's altar, so frequently and ardently will we pray for your and his continued recovery and swift arrival.
If you can send even a quick note upon receiving this, though it might be only from Tyrosh and thus but days from arrival at Evenfall, I would be most grateful. Her Highness will be desperate for any word from you, and to know you continue to be well and progress ever closer to being with her once more.
With warmest regards, I remain
Your affectionate servant,
Brienne, Countess of Tarth
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Saturday, 20 September 1813
Evenfall Hall, Tarth, Stormlands, Westeros
Dear Dany,
Now it is my turn to offer you comfort, though I am sorry for the need of it.
Jaime's batman wrote a nigh-unintelligible letter that is impossible for me to reproduce, but the gist of it is that Jon was wounded as well as Jaime. I believe their commissions have been concluded, for they are presently in Volantis and on their way to Tarth as I write this.
With love,
Brienne, Countess of Tarth
P.S. Apparently the cockade you made from that button saved Jon's life. He did not discard it, as you had feared, but he has carried it all these years, close to his heart. Your love protected him, Dany. He will come back to you, I promise.
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Friday, 27 September 1813
Bronzegate, Stormlands, Westeros
Dear Countess Tarth,
We have received your message. The princess was distressed so I have written a reply on her behalf to the major and now to you. We leave for Storm's End tomorrow if the princess is well enough, and expect to be there within three days. We will remain there until your arrival. She is eager to see you again.
Your Servant,
Podrick Payne
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Monday, 27 September 1813
Bronzegate, Stormlands, Westeros
Dear Major Lannister,
I am writing for the princess because she just learned about your current situation, and her hands are shaking too hard to hold the quill. She is very upset to hear of Captain Snow's injury, but relieved that you are doing better.
The princess says she is going to make an entire suit of armor out of buttons for both you and Captain Snow. I do not know what that means but it sounds impractical. Women often have odd ideas about fashion, though.
She wants me to sign this with love so I will.
Love,
Podrick Payne
P.S. To cheer you up, here is a little drawing I did of the princess with Lord Stark's son. Her Highness often says she hopes to one day have a son named Jon as well but it seems to me that too many Jons will get confusing and she should pick something else instead. I told her 'Podrick' but she said that is a terrible name.
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Jon did not want to be at this house party, but it was the last opportunity he would have with Robb and Sansa before deploying to Essos.
Where he also did not want to be, but needs must, when one was a bastard: there was no title or lands he might inherit from his father as Robb and Bran and Rickon would.
He descended the stairs to the grassy lawn, where several dozen people were scattered, chatting amiably. He saw his half-sister Sansa and her friend, Jeyne, and various others he already knew. Two people struck him as unusual in appearance; their hair was so fair it was nearly silver, but they were not old in the least.
The gentleman was a reedy fellow, with a petulant face, but the girl—
The girl—
Her eyes met his, and the breath seized in Jon's chest. He must have made some sort of funny noise, because Robb glanced at him.
"Why are you wheezing?" Robb asked, then followed the line of Jon's gaze. "Ah."
Jon clenched his jaw, ignoring his brother's smirk.
"Well, let's go meet the princess, then," Robb continued.
"That's the Targaryen princess?" Jon thought he might wheeze again.
"She's perfectly nice," insisted Robb. "It won't hurt at all."
That wasn't what Jon had meant, but when Robb was in this sort of puckish mood, he could not be reasoned with. Jon sighed and followed his brother to the little knot of women.
The princess was petite, and from behind he could tell she had a womanly figure not best displayed by the long, slim silhouette of current fashion. Her hair fell to her shoulders in silver-gilt waves, gleaming a creamy white in the sunlight, and his palms itched to touch it.
He realized, as they approached, that she was speaking. Her voice was low, husky, sweet, and when he realized what she was saying, it was all the sweeter.
"It's not as if he had any choice in the matter. One can hardly blame a child for the sins of his parents. Should he not be judged for the quality of his character instead of the mistake of his blood? House Stark is known for its scrupulous honor."
Jon was positive he was wheezing again. Beside him, Robb let out a wheeze of his own. She was… she was defending him. Him. The bastard everyone either ignored, or pretended was legitimate if they were forced to acknowledge him at all. Even the lowest baronet felt himself superior to Jon just because mother had been married to father prior to his birth.
"And was he not reared alongside the other children, all of whom have been praised for their excellence? I find it difficult to believe he would be so different from the rest of them simply because his parents were not wed."
He knew her story; had heard about how her family's lands and wealth had been confiscated, how all she had been left was her title and a bloodline that went back a thousand years with startling— sometimes troubling— purity.
That this princess, who was utterly dependent on the good-will of her hosts for her very living, would lecture them about fairness as regarded bastards, was beyond belief. Reckless. But brave. Incredibly, touchingly brave.
"I could not agree more, Your Highness," Robb said, pleasantly enough, but Jon could hear the edge to it. His brother did not lightly accept slurs against him. "It does you credit to express such an opinion."
The princess spun around in surprise, staring at them in shock. Jon took one look at her face, at such a proximity, and felt as if the world had ended and begun anew within the space of those few seconds.
He took her hand in his own, intending to bow over it, but the sensation that rippled up his arm from their point of contact made him pause, staring stupidly at her. She curtsied, then pulled her hand back, and it felt like a rejection.
"Dany," he said, then, louder, "Dany!" when she walked off.
But she did not return.
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She was apologizing to him, for discussing his illegitimacy. She had been the only one not disparaging him for it, and she felt bad for even mentioning it. A soft heart, he realized, concerned with the feelings of others. And this was a princess? He'd met mere baronesses who'd not shown him a fraction as much compassion.
"I'm not most people," she told him.
"No, you're not," said Jon. He was sure there was not another like her in all the world.
He told her to go to Winterfell if she were made unwelcome at Highgarden. The mental picture of her in his home, fur framing her face, her breath misting in the air as her cheeks pinkened, was so clear to him in that moment that it almost felt like a memory instead of just an imagining.
She touched his wrist, just for a moment, the lightest possible skimming of fingertips over his skin, but it was as if a flame had traced his flesh.
"Dany," he said, but she did not reply.
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She had received a dozen proposals of marriage, perhaps more, but her brother did not permit her to accept any of them. She had, interestingly, refused a prime offer from Jaime Lannister, though any fool could see his heart belonged to the giantess with the extraordinarily beautiful eyes.
The joy on her face, when Ghost permitted her to stroke him, made his knees weak. And when their fingers threaded with each other's, the wolf's soft fur flowing around their joined hands, the need to kiss her almost overcame his common sense.
But her friend interrupted them, and then she was leaving.
"Dany!" he cried, but she did not stop.
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They were dancing, waltzing, and it was like how Jon imagined flying: giddy, terrifying, ecstatic. She was so close, nearly embracing him, looking at him like he mattered to her. Arousal tightened the muscles along his spine and he felt a moment's concern that he would have a visible reaction.
She was grace and beauty, she was a thief who stole the breath from his lungs and the words from his lips, and he gave them up to her gladly.
"I'd never betray you," Jon told her.
"I would not betray you, either," she replied, but then she ran off.
"Come back, Dany," he begged. "Come back to me."
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Jon's heart stopped when the punt overturned, but before he could leap in after her, her head popped up from the water. She tilted her head back, her hair sleek around her head, and burst out laughing.
She was a mermaid; no, a siren, an inescapable lure, drawing him closer and closer until there was no hope of escape.
But Jon did not want to escape.
"Dany, Dany!"
He chased her, calling her name, but she was always a step or two out of reach.
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She was lost in the maze. Jon had not been able to find her, nor had anyone else, and then they had all lost interest and left.
All but Jon.
He hastened to the stables for Ghost, seething with contempt for the others— even if he had not come to care for her, he could not have abandoned a woman lost, alone, at night. She had joked about turning her ankle, earlier, but what if she actually had?
On the way back, he stopped at the kitchen to ask for some string. The housekeeper was called, the situation explained, and a ball of bright red yarn produced, all in short order.
Ghost strained at his leash as if aware not only of their mission but of Jon's urgency. He progressed into the maze with the same unerring instinct that had kept them both alive a few times already. The path was complex and bewildering; more than once Jon became disoriented, and was very glad he'd thought of the yarn, because there was no way he'd be able to make his way back out again.
And then he found her. She sat on a little bench, her shoulders trembling as she wept into her hands. Then she looked up, at his arrival, and the gladness on her face, to see him— to see him— made his heart stop.
He learned that the exact fit of her in his arms, while they danced, was no fluke; when pressed to each other as closely— almost as closely— as possible, there was no straining or reaching, just a gentle shift and her mouth was there, and her lips were moving against his.
"Kiss me forever," she pleaded.
So he did, over and over, his lungs and belly wound up tight while she clung to him. He'd known it would be like this, from the first shared look, the first touch.
"I'm so glad you found me, Jon," she whispered.
"So am I," he replied, knowing it had been inevitable, not coincidence. There was no way this perfection was accidental.
She kissed him again, and smiled, and every beat of his heart exclaimed her name.
"Dany!" it said. He joined his voice to its call. "Dany, Dany!"
But she ran off and did not turn back.
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"No, Dany," he said, and kissed her.
She sobbed against his mouth, winding her arms around his neck and holding on as if she meant to fuse them together for all time.
"I love you," she panted when the kiss ended. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't say so, but I can't help it. I don't know how I'm going to marry Edmure Tully or anyone else when I love you so much."
"You're not going to marry Edmure Tully or anyone else," he said. "You're only going to marry me."
"I told you," she said, her voice anguished. "Viserys will never permit it."
As she spoke, she backed away from him.
"Dany?"
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"We'll find a way, Dany," he told her. It was more than a promise; it was a vow.
She kissed him, held him, pressed her face to his throat, her breath warm against his skin.
"I love you," he whispered. The scent of her, roses and cream and smoke, was thick in the air.
Robb came to get her, and as the two of them receded in the distance, Jon was gripped by apprehension. He had to make her stop; she had to come back.
"Dany?"
She was close enough to hear him, still, but did not return, did not even pause.
"Dany?"
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"I can't leave Viserys."
"Bring him with you to the North."
"He won't forgive me, if I went against his wishes. He won't come with me. And he won't have anything, without me."
"I won't have anything without you," Jon protested.
But she was already gone.
"Dany?"
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Jon stared down at the cockade in his hand. It was very simple, just a pleated frill of lace framing a button, but what a button… there was only one family who had ever had access to Valyrian steel for such a mundane use. The item he held in his hand was worth more than an army lieutenant could earn in a year. In five years. Ten.
"I cannot possibly keep this," he said, holding it out, but she backed away from him.
"Please, please be careful," she whispered. "I love you so."
"Dany?"
But she was already gone.
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Numb, heartsore, hollow, Jon looked at Robb.
"I don't know what to do now," he said. He stared down at his upturned hands. They were empty.
"You should go," said Robb. "Staying here the rest of the week… I think it will hurt too much. Both of you."
The idea of hurting her took away Jon's breath.
"I should go," he agreed, and followed his brother to the plain little room that was all a bastard could expect in a place like Highgarden.
They packed. He hadn't much. It didn't take long. Robb walked him down to the stables, and they saddled his horse.
Ghost looked at him in that way he had, with such wisdom that Jon suspected he was just pretending to be a mere beast, then whined and bumped his head against Jon's chest.
"You know where to go?"
Jon nodded. He had the address on a scrap of parchment. Somewhere.
Robb put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll do what I can for her," he said.
"Thank you."
A last handshake, and Jon mounted. He began to ride away, but stopped to look back at the house one last time.
When he turned back and kicked his horse into a trot, her heard her calling his name.
"Jon!" she cried. "Jon!"
But he was already gone.