EIGHT : JON (I)
The King's party poured through the South Gate; at least a hundred knights and all their retainers; freeriders and sworn shields, and dozens of bannermen. The courtyard was suddenly filled with a mass of black, gold, and crimson to go along with the white, grey, and green already in place. These new people were foreign, as were these colours which did not belong.
They all knelt as one as the party invaded Winterfell's yard. Jon spotted the golden heads of the Lannisters, and the black armour of the Hound, Sandor Clegane; his ferocious snarling helm that bounced as he rode.
Robert Baratheon, unmistakable with his golden antlered crown, rode at the head of the column, backed by none other than the Kingslayer himself; Ser Jaime Lannister, along with another member of the kingsguard. Jon felt sick at the sight of the overweight man. Had his father truly told him many tales of him before? The Robert Baratheon of those stories had been tall, built, and fierce; a true warrior of the south. Now he had a girth to match his height, and his forehead was covered in sweat from the strain of riding, despite the brisk state of the air.
His Grace grunted as he slipped off his destrier — most like the only horse that could manage his weight without collapsing — and embraced Lord Eddard Stark like a long lost brother. Jon winced. The King must have cracked at least a rib or two with that hug.
"Ah, Ned," he grinned, pearly white teeth just visible under a scraggly black beard, "how glad I am to see that frozen face of yours!"
Father bowed his head. He seemed utterly befuddled. "Your Grace," he said, tremulously, "Winterfell is yours."
The King bellowed an unexpected laugh. "There is no need for courtesies, old friend," he said.
Jon blinked. It would have been understandable, of course, for King Robert to request that courtesies be put aside in private, but in front of a hoard of lowborn men and women? In front of commoners and the bannermen of both sides? That commanded no respect.
Perhaps the king thought it might warm the northerners to him... And yet even northern lords who had known one another for years observed pleasantries before speaking on equal terms. Jon shot Theon a bemused look, which his father's ward returned.
"Cat!" The King pulled Lady Stark into his arms with a jerk and a strong clinch which must have wounded both her pride and body. Jon flinched again, thankful he was in the second row of the precession and therefore of little importance.
Then the Queen and her three children, whom Jon knew to be Joffery, Myrcella, and Tommen — all of which had the golden hair and green eyes of Cersei Lannister, and bore no features of Robert Baratheon that were noticeable as of yet, were displayed.
Lord Stark's trueborn children were then brought forward and introduced to the King and Queen, and their own three heirs. Robert Baratheon clapped Robb on the back, complimented Sansa so well she blushed, gave Arya an approving nod, ruffled Rickon's hair and nodded to Bran.
"Ned!" The King barked. "Take me down to your crypt! I would pay my respects."
Jon bristled. A sudden, fiery anger had spread through him. How dare this southron man presume to walk in the crypts of the Starks? Who was he to demand more grief and pain of Jon's father? Robb seemed to wonder the same, for he turned to Jon with eyebrows raised in disbelief.
Their Father only nodded briskly, after the King dismissed Cersei Lannister's pleas at rest and patience — to which Jon wholeheartedly agreed with. Father led Robert down into the dark depths of the crypts, out of sight.
Lady Stark exchanged words with the queen and ordered her chief handmaidens to show the Lannister woman to her bedchambers. The royal children followed along — the younger two overly eager and the oldest disdainful.
Jon turned to Theon. The Greyjoy heir and he had gotten off to an unsteady start, at first, but gradually after many arguments and fights and long talks about their families and homes, they had discovered that they were not so different after all; they both missed their roots, and both envied Robb for the unconditional love his father bore him — they had disclosed none of this to Robb himself, however.
Even still Theon was not Jon's true friend; he was arrogant, cocky, and a bit stupid, but all the same he was better an ally than enemy.
"Did you see the queen?" Theon asked him, voice low.
Jon dug his boots into the mud, grinding his teeth. "The King has little respect, it would seem," he told Greyjoy. "He does not heed his wife's council nor does he bother to consider the feelings of others; it would seem the Iron Throne has gotten to his head."
Robb nodded solemnly, but Theon scoffed. "Why the fuck would the king listen to any woman? What advice can they give?"
Jon wanted to shove him, box his ears, or punch him. He did not, however. Better an ally than enemy. "She is a Lannister," he reminded his companion, "the daughter of Lord Tywin, who is said to be brilliant and well-thought in both politics and battle tactics. Surely he passed down some of that knowledge to his daughter — and even still women are not numbskulls to shove your cock into, Theon."
At that, both Robb and Theon laughed — Robb a little more hesitant and Theon a little more hostile. "You are right about two things, bastard," said a voice from behind them.
Jon turned, careless of the insult — if it was one. There by the kennels was none other than Tyrion Lannister, clad in stained red leather that conformed to his stunted body. He held a skin of wine and his hooded face was grinning ruefully.
Jon folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. "And what things would those be, imp?"
Perhaps he was being bold. Perhaps he was being a fool. It mattered not; Jon was of Dorne and the Dornish were blunt and forthright, whether the people of the other six kingdoms cared for it or not. Tyrion did not take offence, however; he merely laughed.
"My sister is indeed a Lannister, which means that she is cunning and sharp, but do not mistake me: she is not the brightest of the bunch. No, that would be me." He grinned and sipped his wine.
Theon snorted. "Like that's true," he said. "I doubt you've even got a brain in that thick skull of yours."
"Shut up, Theon," Jon glared at him. Once the Greyjoy heir had backed off, he looked back at Tyrion Lannister. "What's the other thing I was right about?"
Tyrion smirked. "Eager for compliments, bastard?" He asked. "Ah, well, I suppose those of us who are smiled to and shit on all at once strive for such things," he took a step forward, stumbling a bit from how drunk he was. "You are right in that women are not holes for plugs. I commend you for such... Open-mindedness."
Jon bowed gracefully. "I thank you, Tyrion of Lannister."
"There is no need, Jon of Dayne," the imp grinned again and gave a mocking bow to the three of them. Then he stalked off.
"You just get all the attention, don't you?" Theon rolled his eyes and left Jon and Robb standing in the mud, staring one another down.
"You grow bold, brother," said Robb, frowning. It had been four years since Robb had first called him 'brother'. Since then, nor he or Jon had thought anything else of each other but the simple truth: they were brothers, friends, and rivals on occasion.
Such as now. Jon only managed a small smile which he hoped conveyed some form of humility. "Aye," he said. "Perhaps they will compare me to Ser Barristan Selmy, one day."
Robb chuckled at that, and threw an arm around Jon's shoulders. They made their way to the godswood, where they might walk their direwolves in private without having to worry about disturbing the King's company. His sister's wolf had grown restless, of late.
Ghost and Dawn splashed in the dark spring before the heart tree, sniffing at the red fallen leaves that floated on the surface. Jon and Robb sat in the thick mulch, coats spread around them like dark pools of shadow.
Jon wondered if his siblings envied him for having two wolves. He did not see why they should; one was meant for Alys, his sister, but as she was currently being housed in the Reach with the delicate flowers of the south, he did not think that she would appreciate the gift of a direwolf-pup.
He wished she could see Dawn, mayhaps hold her for herself. The wolf had been named after their Uncle Arthur's sword. Her pelt was that of red and gold, like Dornish sands. Jon could still recall what they had looked like, though the image was vague and unsure.
Robb whistled to Grey Wind to leave the Heart Tree be. His wolf backed off and went to play with his litter-mates, huffing and whining.
"How is she?" Asked Robb, passing Jon the skin of Arbor hold they had swiped from the kitchens.
Jon sipped, frowning. The separation of himself and his sister was an old pain, and yet just a mention of her stung. He wanted to see her so badly, to tell her of all he had neglected to include in his letters, which were scarce in themselves. He remembered when they were small; playing on the shores of the nearby rivers, making sandcastles in the summer and mudpies in the winter. When they had been very small, he had called her Sanni, which had annoyed her to all of the seven hells.
"She is well," he told Robb, "but my mother is not. My uncle has informed me that she is ill."
"Ill?" Robb leaned back against the trunk of a pine tree, mindless of sap and needles. "Does Father know?"
"Nay," Jon downed another swallow of the golden wine. "He has been far too busy with matters of the north and the King. I had no wish to burden him with such thoughts, nor to invoke the wrath of your lady mother."
Robb huffed a laugh. It was short lived, for suddenly his usually mirth-filled features grew solemn and serious. Jon had never seen him look so like father. "You know she harbours no resentment toward you."
"She says she doesn't," Jon replied easily, wine making his tongue loose, "and she acts as though she doesn't. And yet..."
"And yet," Robb agreed with a sharp nod. He stole the skin back.
Dawn yelped, suddenly. Jon's gaze shot up to see that his sister's wolf had been snapped at by Ghost. He chuckled, amused. "She needs Alys," he told Robb bitterly, woeful at the sound of her name. "Dawn will be wild by the time she meets up with her mistress."
Robb sighed. "You can do nothing of it just now, brother," he said regretfully. "Alysanne will have to wait for her wolf."
Ghost approached, looking strangely sheepish. Jon ruffled his shaggy white fur with a bemused grin. He loved his pup; Ghost was quiet, and deadly, unlike the other wolf pups who made their strengths known to one another. He held his ferocity behind all else, putting up a facade of humility, not unlike Jon himself.
Dawn was an enigma to him, on the other hand; she imported herself with a silent dignity over the wolves, and yet when provoked she went from unsuspecting to terrifying at once. He had a feeling that she was a reflection of the sister he no longer knew.
Robb stood unsteadily, leaning up against a tree for support. Jon could not help but laugh. He had half a mind to give his brother a good shove, just to see what would happen, but that was when they heard the voices.
"No, Jamie," the high, lofty voice of the queen carried though the godswood and sent terror straight to Jon's heart. Quickly, acting on pure instinct alone, he shoved Robb behind a cluster of thick shrubbery and knelt down next to him. The wolves followed instantly, thank the gods, though Jon knew not why or how they had known to hide. Moments later, the queen and her twin brother, Jamie Lannister, came into view. "Now is not the time."
To Jon's great surprise and disgust, the man reached out for her breast. At first Jon did not quite understand what was happening, but then, as he watched the queen reluctantly allow her brother's touch, it dawned upon him.
"Seven hells," Robb whispered.
Jon clamped a hand over his mouth in a panic. Thankfully, the Lannister woman only huffed. "I hate this place," she complained, turning away from her brother — no, her lover. "I hate the north, I hate the cold..."
"I will warm you, then," the Kingslayer smiled that deadly slash of a grin and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "We will melt all of this bloody snow together, mm?"
Cersei shook her head. "Not here," she said sharply. "The wind speaks, and the trees have faces. Anyone could be watching."
Yes, Jon wanted to shout. Anyone at all. He kept silent, however. As silent as the two wolves at his side. They understood the importance of this moment, he gathered with relief. Clever creatures.
"Who do you think is spying on us? You are the queen, and I am your brother — an anointed knight. Your husband is still squatting in the crypts with his wolf-friend... You worry, I understand that; you worried with Jon Arryn and you worry again, but about who? What do you fear, sister? Do you fear me inside you, suddenly? After all these years?"
Cersei actually laughed at that. "No," she said. "No, I do not. But I cannot risk it. Not in such an open place."
"I'll fuck you anywhere, sweet sister," Jamie smirked, "even in that ruin of a tower."
Cersei's eyes lit up. "Meet me there tomorrow, then," she said in a rush. "Robert will no doubt go on a hunt to celebrate Ned Stark accepting his position as Hand—"
"If he does accept," Jamie said softly.
"If he does," she agreed, nodding. "If he does we will go to that tower and pretend that we are free. Will you come?"
Jamie answered her with a kiss. Jon looked away in disgust, unable to process all of this new information and yet, all the same, he was seeing it. It was there. Robb was with him, seeing it, too. Seven hells...
Father as Hand, as well. That was another thing. Jon had suspected it. He had even written Alys with his hopes that it would be so. Now, with this new knowledge, he was positive he had to protect their father from the madness of the south.
And Alys, too.
After Cersei left, Jamie whipped out his cock and pissed on the Heart Tree.
"What in the seven hells was that?!" Robb looked half-mad, eyes wide and hands spread out. His hair was a mess from shaking it out, as though he could remove the thoughts in his head that were swirling around and around, all fighting for the surface.
Jon shook his head, staring at the defiled Heart Tree. "He pissed on it," he informed Robb.
"He's fucking the queen!" Robb yelled.
Jon hushed him quickly. "Do you want to alert them? Would you like your tongue ripped out by hot pincers, Robb?"
His brother buried his head in his hands. "I can't..." He drew in a sharp breath, closed his eyes, and emptied his stomach all over the ground. "Oh, Gods..."
"Do you understand what you saw?" Jon demanded of him.
Robb rolled his eyes. "I'm not an amateur, Jon," he said. "Gods... They're brother and sister! It's just wrong!"
"Aye," Jon agreed, exasperated, "but do you understand what this means?"
Robb wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, considering. "It means that the queen is in an incestuous relationship with her brother, and they've been hiding it for years."
"Yes it does," Jon knelt beside him, mouth set into a grim line. "It also means that there is a very large chance the queen's children are not legitimate, but instead bastards born by Cersei and Jamie Lannister."
"That can't be," Robb dismissed, "the King would know. I mean, gods..."
Jon shook his head. He did not know why or how he was so certain of this idea that had formed in his mind, but he was determined to make Robb see. "Think about it, please," he said. "The children all have the golden hair and green eyes of the queen. You saw them. And you witnessed the same thing as I."
"How could it be that the King is unawares?" Robb asked, still slightly disbelieving.
"I don't know," Jon said. "I... We'll keep our eyes on them, brother. We'll listen for as much as we can. When we're sure, we will inform Father of what we have learned. Not before."
Robb nodded. He rose with Jon's help, shaking and pale. "You must compose yourself," Jon told him, "and we cannot be seen exiting the godswood at this time. The queen will suspect, if she knows."
Robb managed to calm himself. Jon let him finish off the last of the wine, partially to calm his nerves and partially as a cover if someone asked why Robb was acting so strange. They made their way to the inner bailey wall together and climbed up, just as Bran had so often done. Jon took a moment to rest on the battlements, triumphant in his deception of the queen.
Jon led Robb down to the yard. Most of the King's party had dispersed by that time, now occupying the Guest Keep and Winter Town. Theon was showing off his marksmanship to the Princess Myrcella, who stood patiently with Lady Sansa and Lady Stark. Jon studied her, and saw only she sharp features of the queen and her brother — none of the ruddy face of the King was reflected in her.
Jon clenched his fists. Beside him, Robb placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded his head.
I'm with you, brother. Now and always.
The hall was stifling.
All around Jon there were squires, lowborn men, knights and bannermen. He knew they spoke, knew they drank, knew they laughed, but he did not listen to them. He paid them no mind. His attention was fixed solely upon the flickering candle in the middle of the table, watching as the wax slipped down in one hot tear.
Up at the high table, which housed the voices he so strained to hear, there was the Queen, King, the Lannister brothers, Father and Lady Stark and all of the children. Sansa and Arya were bickering, Tommen was pouting, Joffery was scowling petulantly, which gave Jon half a mind to break his jaw.
His Father was silent, and Lady Stark conversed lightly with the queen. He could not hear the words over the squeals of the serving wenches that the King was feeling up. Jon wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Ghost and Dawn whined at his feet. They were staring up at him, having finished all of the scraps he had given them. Jon, now amused at their savagery, knifed a whole chicken and handed it to the two very pleased animals.
"Are these the famous direwolves I've heard so much about?"
Jon turned, grinning at the sight of his uncle Benjen. "Aye," he told him.
Benjen huffed, straddling the bench with his long legs and ruffling Jon's hair — which was equally as unruly as his own, and now even worse. He stole a horn of ale off the table and drank deeply. Benjen seemed to relish in the act, unlike Jon, who drank only to forget tonight.
"How have you been, uncle?"
Benjen shrugged. "Cold," he said shortly. "Why is it that you sit here of all places, Jon? You are a legitimised bastard, now, are you not?"
"You are correct," Jon said, leaning back, "and yet the Lannisters have great pride."
So much pride, Jon thought, that they would lay with one of their own in order to avoid the dissatisfaction of an outsider.
Uncle Benjen smirked. "That they do, nephew," he said. His expression turned from amused to serious in a heartbeat. "The lions of Casterly Rock are not the only ones with pride, Jon; some say the King's ego has grown at the same rate as his girth. I worry for my brother."
"I worry for my Father," Jon confessed. He scooted closer to his uncle. "I overheard that the King might ask Father to be his Hand. You know as well as I that some wolves do not belong in the south."
"Some wolves," Benjen agreed solemnly. "How fares your sister, Alys?"
Jon bit his lip. "She is well, as far as I know," he said, "I miss her, though... I haven't laid eyes on her in six years."
Benjen's eyes turned sad. Jon had a feeling that he was thinking of Lyanna. "I know what that is like," he told Jon. A pained smile made it's way across his lips. "Fret not, nephew," he said, clapping Jon on the shoulder. "I am sure you will be reunited with your sister soon."
I am not so sure, uncle, Jon thought sadly, as he watched Benjen depart to the high table.
AN: Hello, my lords and ladies! I apologise for the late chapter. My life has been an absolute hectic nightmare, at the moment, and I had not the motivation nor the time to get this update out. But here it is now :)
Anyway, please do review. Feedback is very important to me!
Much love! xx