Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Another dragon, another wolf, another stag

Chapter 11: Jon

"Talking"

"Thinking"

(Location: Riverrun)

"I can't believe we missed this happening," Pyp said with a loud howl of laugh, so strong that he actually fell on his back and so loud that the leaves in the godswood shook. Grenn was sitting next to him unsure of what was truly so funny. They were all sitting in the godswood so they could have some sense of privacy.

"Jon, did you really defeat Ser Loras Tyrell?" Sam asked him. He sat to his left against the trunk of the tree like he did. Together, they all formed a rough circle.

"Aye, I did," he said with a small amount of pride in his voice. After his duel with the crown prince, he found the Knight of Flowers to be a little lacking. At least with Prince Aegon there was a challenge.

Ser Daemon Sand was laughing too. Beside him, Quentyn Martell had an uncertain smile on his lips. "It's about time someone other than the prince knocked him down a peg or two," Ser Sand declared. "He was getting unbearable."

"You've lost to him, ser?" Grenn asked.

"Practically everyone who's tried their arm against him has, even Quentyn here." He gave the prince a nudge of his arm. He didn't say anything to that.

It was a bit of a puzzle for Jon as to why a Prince of Dorne had joined his group, since the North and Dorne were not on good terms. But then again, he was still half amazed that this group had even started. Once Sam had recovered from his injuries, he found him and Edd to thank them. Ser Daemon had found them with Quentyn to ask about Sam and it all just seemed to go from there. Pyp joined them when they saw his mummers' troupe practicing and he guessed where they were all from just by their voices. And Grenn had literally run into Edd.

"Yes, yes, well done," said the Imp, Tyrion Lannister. He sat between Grenn and between Edd on a cushion with a cup of wine in hand. He always had a cup or a jug nearby ever since he has joined them. No one really asked him if he wanted to join, he just did and no one argued the point. "You've successfully earned someone else's ire."

"I did?" Jon said a little surprised at those words. "How could I? He was the one who challenged me to a duel."

"Yes, and you were the one who beat him in that duel. The Knight of Flowers is a prickly lad. It's most likely that he'll forget that it was he who started the fight and remember that only he lost to a bastard."

His pride fell a little at that. He was proud of his sword arm, having trained hard in the Winterfell yard for hours. When Domeric called him the best sword in Winterfell, he was glad for the praise. He had wanted to spar against Prince Aegon when it was offered but the thought of Lady Catelyn finding out stopped him. When it had been forced onto him and he was made to fight seriously, he enjoyed it. Loras Tyrell turned out to be less of a challenge than Prince Aegon. But now all that felt like ash.

Ser Daemon laughed. "Think nothing of what the Imp says, Jon," he said. "You beat Loras Tyrell. That is not an idle boast. You should be proud."

"Yes, he should," Tyrion agreed before drinking from the cup. "But he should also know that it won't stay like this. If I was a betting little Imp, I would bet that Ser Loras will try to challenge him again or just make his life miserable in general." His words made his victory seem even more hollow.

"Why are you here again?" Grenn asked him.

"Why, I am here to provide sage counsel and drink wine. How am I doing?" he asked with a self-mocking smile.

"Um, well?"

"Good. I might make the learned teacher in the tales yet."

"You are a drunk, uncle, and an embarrassment to the family," Lady Tya Lannister's voice spoke from beyond the circle. Jon saw her standing there behind her uncle, a vision in a red dress with golden hair and emerald eyes. But the vision was marred by the ugly look directed to the back of the Imp's head.

He didn't turn his head to look at her, instead taking another drink from his cup. "Ah, the sound of my sweet niece," he finally said, turning around to see her. "So does your mother wish to see me?"

"I do not know. I didn't come here on her benefit." She turned her gaze to Jon and her eyes became heavy with something. "Lord Snow, may I speak with you privately?"

"My lady, we are amongst friends," he told her. "What you have to say can be said safely."

She frowned, everyone else looked uncomfortable, and the Imp chuckled. "I think my niece's words are the kind that should be kept privately. I'd hate to disappoint her." He stood up from his cushion. "Come now everyone, we must leave them be. Grenn, carry my cushion if you would."

The two of them were soon left alone in the godswood. Jon knew Ghost was near but not close. Lady Tya stepped closer to him. "I saw your spar," she told him.

Which spar was she referring to? Perhaps it was best to assume the simple fact. "I believe that the entire castle saw the spar last night, my lady," he told her politely.

She laughed a light laugh and stepped closer to him. Now she was close enough to him that he could smell her perfume, it smelt rich and exotic. Did it come from the Free Cities? "You are droll, Lord Snow. I was referring to your spar against Ser Loras."

"Oh." He couldn't think of anything else to say right away. "I-I was not aware that you were there, my lady."

She smiled at him. "I wasn't in the yard. I watched from a window. You handled yourself well. But I supposed that I should have expected that from you. After all, you were the one who finally beat Prince Aegon in a spar." She reached out and brushed her fingers against his arm.

He could feel the fingers and they felt like they were leaving streaks of fire in their wake. He felt warm and it was like his breath couldn't leave. She was looking right at him and he couldn't look away. "You flatter me, my lady," he said, barely forcing the words out of his mouth.

"I should hope so," she said, that little smile becoming just a little wider. "I wait to see you in the tourney, Lord Snow." She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there in the godswood.

When she was gone, he leaned against the weirwood for support, finding his breath again. He had never had a woman that beautiful talk to him before. Every noble lady that had come to Winterfell was for Robb or Prince Viserys or someone else in the Pack. No one came for him. But that was changing now.

It seemed like every southern woman was taking the chance to find him and talk to him, from the knightly houses to the Great Houses who all had daughters. Even Dorne, though they seemed reluctant and were more interested in Ser Daemon Sand. It was odd, but this entire thing was odd.

When he took his hand off the weirwood tree, he found himself standing before the Knight of Flower's sister. "Lady Margaery, forgive me," he said to her, bowing deeply. "I didn't see you there."

"It is alright," she said with a smile. Unlike the one he had seen the Lady Lannister wear, one full of heat and desire, this one was gentle and kind.

She didn't seem at all angry for what happened to her brother in the yard. He didn't know if that was good or bad. But if he went with what Tyrion had said, it would probably be best to go with bad. "Um, is Ser Loras well?" he asked.

"Oh, he's fine," she assured him. "You're not the first to beat my brother. Garlan has been doing that for years now."

"He is trueborn and family," he thought. He was not but he dared not say anything about that to her. The only thing he could think of saying was, "Perhaps I should spar against Ser Garlan sometime?"

She laughed. "I think that you would need additional men by your side. He prefers to fight more than one man."

The prospect sounded intriguing and interesting. He wanted to try it but he stopped himself. He had doubts that he would be allowed to do that. "Your pardon, my lady," he said, giving her a brief bow of his head. "I must go."

"Go? Go where, Jon Snow?" she asked him, seemingly amused.

He focused on a point just beyond her left shoulder as he brought his head back up. "My sister wished to talk to me today and wanted to show me something too."

"How splendid," she exclaimed, clapping her hands together and wearing a bright smile. "Come, I will join you."

His face blanched at that notion. "That is not a good idea, my lady. I am a bastard and you are betrothed. If people see us—"

"They might think the Rose of Highgarden has more than courtesies in her head," said Arianne Martell as she walked through the godswood with her bastard cousins following in her wake. He did not see the eldest or the youngest of the adults with her.

"Princess, how nice to see you," Lady Margaery said to her with a smile.

"And you," she replied with a smile of her own, although hers seemed more dangerous and smug. It wasn't obvious, more like a hint of what she could do. "I believe that my royal cousin is looking for you, my lady. Perhaps you should go looking for him?"

A wider and smugger smile appeared on her lips "Of course. I thank you for that news, your Highness. If you will excuse me," she said before turning and walking away.

The Sand Snakes waited until she was gone before they started laughing at her back. "The girl really does have nothing in her head but courtesies," Nymeria Sand declared. "One mention of Aegon and she goes running."

"It is rather amusing," Tyene agreed.

Jon did not see what so amusing about it. The Lady Margaery was betrothed to Prince Aegon. If he called, then surely she would respond. But that was none of his concern. "Your Highness, if you will excuse me," he said to the princess, bowing his head down and turning to leave.

"I do not excuse you, Jon Snow," she said in reply, walking up to his side. "But I will walk with you."

"Princess, I—"

"Hush, I will not hear an excuse for it. I am not some dainty flower. I am of Dorne; we see nothing wrong walking with someone. Besides, my cousins are here." She gestured to them.

He glanced at them for a moment. "I've met the Lady Nym but not the Lady Tyene."

"And now you have. Come, we shall walk."

They did walk through the godswood to the other end of it. Jon felt rather uncomfortable holding the princess by the arm but he could not remove his from hers. It would leave him in an uncomfortable situation. But if someone saw them, it would also become uncomfortable. He could only hope that it wasn't Lady Stark that found them like this. That would be bad.

"I saw your spar, Jon Snow," Tyene said to his back as they continued walking. The leaves played with the sun's light, dappling into shadows on the ground and trees. "You fought well."

"Thank you," he said back to her politely. She was more courteous than either of the Snakes he had met so far. But he did not know of which spar she spoke of.

"Though one wonders why you did not know steal his sword from him like you did my cousin." She sounded curious and innocent when she asked the question. If he looked back, he had a feeling that he would see a look that matched her voice.

And yet, when she mentioned the Crown Prince, he had a feeling that he was about to walk into something, he didn't know what. "There was no real opportunity to do so," he replied, now knowing which spar she was talking about. "And in the end, I did not need to do it to beat Ser Loras."

"No one can doubt your martial skills, Lord Snow," Arianne said, reaching out and stroking his arm with her fingers. Again he felt trails of fire being left in their wake. He gulped in air, feeling nervous as he looked at her. Just like Lady Margaery and Lady Tya, Arianne Martell was a vision. But she was a different vision. She was shorter than both the ladies Lannister and Tryell but she was older and more of a woman than either of them. The dress she wore left nothing for the mind and he had a hard time finding a good place to look at her.

"A chivalrous man would have returned his opponent's sword to him if he lost it," Tyene remarked rather loudly to him.

He had an answer for that. "A chivalrous man might have but that was not how we were taught by the master-at-arms at Winterfell. He taught us that if an opportunity presents itself in battle, we should never hesitate to take it."

"Hmph, we should not be so surprised to hear that from a Northman," Nymeria said, just as loudly as her sister. "After all, what do they know of chivalry?"

If it had been a proper lady who said those words, Jon might have clamped down on his tongue. But it wasn't and so he spoke. "Dorne should not speak of chivalry."

He could feel her eyes staring at the back of his head. "And what does that mean?"

"A country that has never stood to a real war, only hide in the deserts and sands, should not speak of chivalry. If you do, I would name you a hypocrite."

"This is coming from a northern savage."

"Nymeria, there's no need to be rude about it," Tyene said, chastising her sister. "He can't help where he was born."

Even though those words were spoken kindly and gently, he felt the venom in them too. "Aye, I can't help that. All I can be is proud that I am from the North, where they teach us to take an opportunity in battle that will lead us to victory."

The princess chuckled and smiled suggestively. "Bold words, Lord Snow," she said to him, staring up at him. Even though she was older by some years, he stood taller than her. "I do say that you're quite a handsome man. One could almost say beautiful."

That was not a word he had heard given to him. No one had called him either of those words. Most of the attention had gone to Robb, Sansa, or Jocelyn. No one had paid that much attention to him to call him that. "Thank you, your Highness," he told her, unable to look her in the eye.

"Modest too," she remarked. "What do you think, Nym, Tyene?" she asked her cousins, looking back at both of them. They all came to a stop and he found himself facing the Snakes.

They looked him up and down like he was some kind of meat they were vaguely interested. "He's comely enough," Nymeria finally decided, "if you go that way."

"Oh, Nym, you sell him short," Tyene told her. "He is quite handsome. If a stranger saw him, they probably would confuse him for Lord Stark trueborn son."

Those words made his stomach and heart clench. It was an innocent remark and yet, he could still feel the sting of it. They knew that he was not Lord Eddard's trueborn son. Everyone in Winterfell knew that. Nothing he could say would change that. It was best if he stayed silent.

"What was that saying the King and Queen used to tell your cousins?" Nymeria asked the princess.

"I believe it was 'Never meet a Stark at night,'" Arianne answered, looking like she was thinking it over. Her finger was on her lip, pushing it down and making it look more desirable. "What say you, Lord Snow? Are you enough of a Stark for us to be worried at night? Perhaps you'll come into our chambers and ravish us until we beg you to stop."

He stopped and pulled his arm away from hers, quite forcefully. She looked a little surprised at the move. "What do you think I am?" he demanded. "Do you think I'm some rapist or madman?"

There was surprise on her face. She recoiled slightly but recovered, putting on a merry face. "Come now, Lord Snow. 'Twas only a jest," she told him.

"So says the trueborn child," he replied. "Surely you must know that bastards are evil creatures who can only be wanton and treacherous?" Loathing filled his voice as he spoke. He was aware of what people thought of bastards and of him. Despite him wanting to prove otherwise, they would always see his name first, just like she had.

"I do not think so. Dorne does not think of bastards like the rest of the Seven Kingdoms."

Those words did not affect him like she probably thought they would. "It seems that only applies to Dornish bastards and even then that claim is weak."

She was surprised by those words. "What do you mean by that? I did not think you've been to Dorne."

"No, but I have eyes. I've seen the way you've spoken and looked at Mya Stone and Jocelyn. Perhaps it is only Martell bastards who are looked upon favorably, since they are family." He looked at all three of them. "But perhaps even that should be questioned."

"What?" Nymeria Sand said, her eyes taking on a dangerous look. "What does a bastard from the North know of family when his father's wife despises him?"

He didn't ask how she knew of that. If he did, he would lose the confidence that was building up inside him. "I know enough to understand that no matter what they say or do to earn your ire; you support them as long as they do not turn their cloak. We do not fault them or look down on them for a single comment about a situation they were not the cause of." He stepped back and walked away angrily.

His anger helped fueled his speed and he was able to keep a good distance before bothering to look back. Neither the princess nor her cousins were there. That was good. Arianne Martell may be beautiful but she and her cousins were beginning to put a foul taste in his mouth, almost like Tya Lannister. There was a difference, the Lady Lannister left a taste that was easy to quash while in her presence. But the princess's taste made him speak out like he had.

He continued walking out of the godswood. Ghost did not follow him but that was not a matter of concern. If he stayed in the godswood then he would be fine as would the other direwolves. His feet quickly led him out of the castle and onto the tourney grounds. They were still being built but looked more completed than a few days before. He also had some semblance of the lay of the land, so he knew where to go.

As he made his way through the crowds and the tents, he noticed that a few boys were following him. He couldn't see them outright, only on the edge of his sight. They were gaining ground and would soon be upon him. It didn't take as long as he had thought as they surrounded him in a part of the camp grounds that could barely be seen. He also realized that these were also the same boys that had beaten up Sam. "Can I help you?" he asked them. Since they weren't fighting, he could see them without an enraged eye and saw that they were identical twins. And they weren't squires, they were knights.

"We saw you last night," the one on the left said, "against the prince."

"We saw you this morning against Ser Loras," the one on the right finished. They weren't handsome with their freckled faces and bright orange hair. But now he could see the purple grapes emblem on their jerkins, which meant they must belong to House Redwyne.

"You must think that you're important with your victories now. But you forget your place."

"My brother and I believe it is our duty to remind you of your place."

"I had sent you running once and I am confident that I can do it again," Jon told them both.

"You had help the last time. You don't now. But we do."

"That would explain the other six," he thought to himself, noting how they had him encircled. They must've prepared for this. "Are you so angry that you would stoop to having more numbers your enemy in single combat? That is not chivalrous of you." All that earned him was laughter.

"The northern bastard speaks of chivalry," the twin on the right said whilst still laughing. "A jape if I ever heard."

"Yes, it was a jape. But not a very good one," said his brother. "I know one that's much more amusing. Do you know what I am thinking of, brother?"

"Aye, I do."

"What's going on here?" Ser Daemon said loudly as he appeared outside of the ring. Beside him were Prince Quentyn and two other men, one who was bald and one who had blonde hair that looked like sand. They were not armored but Jon could see a sword around Ser Daemon's belt and a shaft of a hammer from behind the bald man.

"Who are you?" the left twin demanded.

It was Quentyn who spoke. "I am Prince Quentyn Martell. This is Ser Daemon Sand, Ser Gerris Drinkwater, and Ser Archibald Yronwood." He gestured to the blonde and the bald man with those last two names. "You carry the grapes of the Arbor so I say you are the sons of Lord Paxter Redwyne. My friend asked you a question: what is going on here?"

The twins shared one look with each before stepping back and keeping their hands away from their arms. "Nothing," the one on the right answered. "Nothing is happening here."

"Then perhaps you should move," Ser Drinkwater suggested, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

The twins and their group disappeared into the tent city, leaving Jon alone with the Dornish. "My thanks, your Highness," he said to Prince Quentyn.

"Think nothing of it," he replied. They left without another word.

The twins did not follow him after that and neither did their men. Walking unscathed through the tents allowed him to find the tent Arya told him to find, resting beneath a banner that was quartered with suns and moons. There he found his little sister scrubbing hard away at a piece of armor. He watched her for a couple of seconds before speaking. "I thought you said you were training to be a knight."

She looked up from her scrubbing and her face morphed into a mixture of happiness and irritation. "Lady Brienne told me that I had to know the armor I'm going to wear before I can actually wear it."

"And so you're cleaning it."

"Yes."

He smiled at her. "I can see you're enjoying it." She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed, reaching out to muss up her hair.

She swatted the hand away. "Stop that," she told him. But still she smiled.

He pulled his hand away. "Has she shown any techniques with the sword?" he asked, noting two practice swords nearby.

"Some."

He picked up the swords and offered one to her. "Care to show me?" She grinned wildly and took the offered sword with her left hand. He promptly switched his sword hand and they began.

As they fought, he noticed that sword techniques from the Stormlands were different from than what he had learned. Arya kept pushing her attacks, a heavy assault of strikes and cuts. It was like she was determined to finish him off quickly. But he stuck to what Ser Rodrik had taught him, the Northern way of fighting. Don't waste your energy, deflect and parry; only striking when you could. He had learned to stay silent in a fight, keeping his focus on his opponent in such a way as to unnerve them. It had been why he had been successful against both Prince Aegon and Ser Loras.

Their short spar ended when a woman came out of the tent. "What's going on here?" she asked, looking at them both. She was a large woman and nothing like the dainty women that kept finding Jon. If anything, she looked more like she belonged at Bear Island.

Arya dropped her sword immediately. "My lady, I—"

"Your pardon, my lady," Jon said, stopping his sister from possibly putting herself in trouble. "I had asked my sister to show me what you have taught her."

She looked at him. "I can see that. But she was told to clean the armor and that is not what she was doing." She turned her attention to Arya. "If you wish to become a knight worthy of the Kingsguard, you cannot just do what you wish. If you are given a task, you must fulfill it."

"Yes, Lady Brienne," she replied, keeping her gaze focused on her, not looking down at the ground.

"Good. Now return to your task."

She did and began scrubbing the piece of armor vigorously. But Jon was curious about something her teacher had said. "What did she mean by worthy of the Kingsguard?" he asked his sister.

"Prince Aegon promised that I would be one of his seven if I became the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms," she explained shortly, keeping her attention on the armor. Her hand went up and down over and over again, scrubbing so hard he thought that her hand would turn red and raw.

But what came out of his mouth was, "You, a Kingsguard? Now that would be a sight to see."

"Aye," she grinned. "Ser Arya Stark, the White Wolf."

"You can't be the White Wolf."

"And why not?" she asked, losing the grin. Her mentor was also eyeing him with a look, as if he meant to say something ill-intended.

He wasn't and never would, not to her. "Nymeria's fur is grey. Ghost is the white one of the six."

The grin back and she chuckled. He did too. Even Brienne smiled, although he was sure that she had no clue what they were talking about. "Hmph, pathetic," a voice said in derision from behind them all. Jon turned and saw Theon's sister standing there.

"Is there something you require, my lady?" Brienne asked her, her arms folding against her chest.

She scoffed. "Do I look like I'm some dainty green lander woman?" she asked them all.

It was obvious that she wasn't, wearing leggings and a man's tunic and jerkin. But so were Brienne and Arya. "I will ask again, is there something you require, my lady?" Brienne asked again.

"I'm not a lady, green lander freak."

"I can see the gold kraken on your tunic. You are of House Greyjoy. You are of noble stock, therefore you are a lady."

She scowled hard. "It is Captain Greyjoy to you. And where are you from?"

"Tarth, my house's namesake," she answered with a calm tone. "And if you persist in being rude, I will have to ask you to leave." Arya stood up and stared down the Greyjoy and Jon joined her.

Captain Asha stared at them all for a second before barking out a laugh. "Interesting," she said. "You're much more interesting than most of the people here. Perhaps I should come back sometime soon."

"Perhaps you should leave," Brienne said.

She turned around but not before saying, "Bastard, follow me."

Jon stayed put. "I think not." She did not look annoyed at his refusal. She just left.

And once she did and Arya got back to her scrubbing with Brienne watching her, Jon took that moment to leave their tent and explore the rest of them. His feet took him on no particular path. But his nose started to lead him to a delicious smell in the air. It smelt like someone was cooking meat in such a way he had never smelt before. It smelt good. His mouth began to water and he imagined tearing into that meat like a wolf killing a hare.

He stopped himself at those thoughts. "I'm spending too much time with Ghost." But that wasn't a bad thing. The direwolf was a loyal, if not silent, companion. All his brothers and sisters were, except they had their voices.

He followed the smell until he came to what he would have called a market. The only kind he had seen was in the winter town and it was similar to what he was seeing now: people selling their wares loudly and trying to outdo everyone else with their voice. He spotted the merchant who was cooking the meat. It was being done slowly over an open fire.

He started to take a step in that direction when he felt a hand on his wrist pulling him back away from the marketplace. His mind whirled with thoughts of panic, believing that those twins had found him again. But when the hand released him and he found his back resting against a wooden pole, he saw that it wasn't the twins. "You-your Highness," he said in surprise as he looked at Princess Rhaenys.

She stood there in a black dress that seemed to make her tanned skin brighter while she watched him. There was a look in her eyes, like she was still deciding to be angry with him. "Jon Snow, I've heard that you insulted my cousin Arianne," she told him.

If she knew, there was no point in arguing it. "I did," he answered. She looked a little surprised by his answer. The expression on her face was obvious.

But it was only a fleeting look. "I have also been told that you insulted her in the defense of my other cousin Quentyn."

"I would like to think that Prince Quentyn and I are on the way to being friend." He wouldn't proclaim it so. He was a bastard and Quentyn was a prince of Dorne. "If you would like me to apologize to your cousin—"

"That is not what I want," she said, stopping him.

"What do you want?"

With no warning, she reached out and kissed him. This was a kiss on the cheek but on the lips. It was a kiss that overwhelmed his senses and seared his lips. He hadn't expected it and almost took a step back from her. But then a growl emitted up from his throat and returned the kiss just as hard. He pushed away from the pole, his hands finding her waist to hold her place. She didn't back down, matching his fervor with her own.

When they finally had to stop for air, it help cleared his head letting him realize what he just did. He had kissed the royal princess when he had no right to it. A panic began to rise in his stomach. He didn't know what was going to happen next. Was she going to have him thrown into the dungeons below the castle?

But all she did was smile at him, a smile that settled the panic into butterflies. "I want you, Jon Snow," she told him. "And I always get what I want."

She turned around and walked away. He did nothing but watch her leave, still feeling her lips on his and the shape of her waist on his hands.

End

Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

Tyrion was supposed to fill the role of mentor for Jon's group. He'll have more scenes with any luck and possibly his own chapter. But this is not a story about him, so don't get your hopes up.

I reckon that sword techniques are not all the same in Westeros. They might share common ground in the basics, but after that they go on their own. It would just be a matter of finding the right description for each style. But don't expect me to actually go looking for them.

I'll see you all next chapter!