Chapter 11: Wherever You Will Go

King's Landing

Rhaegar was the first to enter the hall with Lyanna on his arm. He was satisfied by the preparations and Lyanna agreed. The people made way for the King and the Queen.

The seats were higher for the royal family and friends. Jon sat to Rhaegar's left and Aegon to Lyanna's right. Sansa sat near Jon. Rhaegar looked at the future Queen. She was looking effortlessly beautiful in a golden dress. Rhaegar liked Sansa, and he was sure she would make a good Queen. He wondered why Lyanna did not think so as well.

I have to talk to Jon. Jon would have to agree with Rhaegar for him to prepone the wedding. He looked at his son, who was tracing the rim of his wine cup with his finger, staring at the opposite side.

"Jon," Rhaegar called.

"Father," he replied.

"After the feast, meet me in the study. There is something I must speak with you."

"Wha-" Jon stopped and nodded. "Yes, Father."

Rhaegar nodded in return. "You will ask Lady Sansa for your first dance?"

Jon replied hesistantly,

"I was actually going to- I am asking Arya for the first dance."

Rhaegar looked at him surprised. "Jon, Lady Sansa is your betrothed. It is her you must must dance with first."

"But Father, Ary-"

"No, Jon. You must dance with Lady Sansa first."

"Why would it matter who I dance with first?"

"No!" Rhaegar almost roared. He felt Lyanna place a hand on his arm and look at him worriedly. He gave her a reassuring smile and turned to Jon again. "You cannot do that, Jon. You will ask Lady Sansa. It is not proper for you to direct all your attention towards Lady Arya."

"But Father-" Jon meant to retort.

"I will hear no more of this, Jon," he stated. Jon dropped his fist on the table rather loudly, but because of the noise, no one heard.

Rhaegar looked at Arya, who was looking rather bored sitting and drinking. The girl always reminded him of when he first met Lyanna. His wife was wilful and unrestrained just like her, but after all these years, Lyanna had turned into a Queen in every way. Her wolf-side was still evident in her ways, but she had tamed herself for her position. It was the wildness in her that had made Rhaegar fall in love with her, he remembered. The michievious glint in her eyes, and the flight in her steps.

His mind went to Jon's words. He is my blood. What is he is entranced by the same carelessness Arya possesses? After all, he was alike to Rhaegar in most ways, even though there was a distinct contrast in their appearances.

When the dance started, Rhaegar watched Arya slip to the side of the room, not at all looking eager to dance. Jon looked at her with sad eyes, then asked Sansa for her hand, which she gave eagerly. Rhaegar himself took Lyanna's hand but just then he saw Varys approaching him.

"Your Grace, might I have a word?"

Rhaegar apologized to Lyanna and Aegon took her hand instead. She walked away rather unwillingly.

Rhaegar turned to Varys.

"What is it?"

"There is news from the Iron Islands, Your Grace." He looked around. "May we retire to a more private place?"

Rhaegar nodded. Both of them entered the solar. Two of the Kingsguard, Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Arys Oakheart stood outside the door. Connington arrived a few minutes later, and the door was closed behind them.

"What is it Varys?" Rhaegar asked.

"Stannis Baratheon has attacked the Iron Islands, Your Grace," he replied. "Balon Greyjoy has been taken captive, and his sons slain. His daughter has taken refuge at Winterfell."

Rhaegar sucked in a breath. "And Victarion Greyjoy?"

"Victarion Greyjoy is on the far side of the Narrow Sea."

"Your Grace," Connington said. "A raven has arrived from Winterfell."

Rhaegar opened it quickly.

"Do you know who are Stannis' allies?" He asked, closing it and crushing the paper in his hands. Robert. This is Robert's work.

"No, Your Grace. Not yet," Varys replied.

"Jon," Rhaegar commanded. "Send a raven to Storm's End. Stannis needs to answer for his actions. He has crossed his limits. Send one to Eddard Stark as well. Tell him to ask Lady Greyjoy what happened. Let her be taken care of. If the reports are true, she is the last living child of Balon Greyjoy. Varys, you find out who is supporting Stannis. And find out if Robert is involved in this."

"Yes, Your Grace." Varys bowed.

"If he is," Rhaegar added, "Stannis will be punished for his crimes, and so will his allies."

After dismissing them, Rhaegar went downstairs. The Tyrells may be involved. But he couldn't be sure.

Lyanna was taking his arm before he knew it.

"Is everything alright, my love?" She asked.

"Yes." He didn't want to spoil the feast for her. He would tell her later.

"What did Varys want?"

"Nothing important," he assured.

He took her hand and they started dancing. Rhaegar sighed. For the time, he would let Lyanna's smile distract him from everything else. But only for now.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"I believe you owe me a dance." Arya gasped in surprise. She turned to see Jon was looking expectantly at her. When did he get here?

Arya had not forgotten about the dance, but she had hoped he had. She didn't want to dance at all. She had always been clumsy and horrible at dancing, despite her Mother's continuous efforts to make her step properly. Some things just weren't meant for some people. And it wasn't like Arya liked the chore and had put much effort in it anyway.

She looked around the room, thinking of a way she could refuse the man beside her.

"I don't how to," she replied truthfully.

"Just follow my lead," he suggested. "Please?"

She didn't reply. Wasn't Jon supposed to be mad at her? After all, she had rejected him so clearly. But he was right here now, standing next to her, and she felt like all her efforts to push him away had been in vain. How much it had hurt her to say no to him. Why must he keep talking to her? It would make her need to repeat her actions.

She didn't want to.

"You told me we're friends." The coolness in his voice surprised and relieved her equally. "I'm tired of dancing with Margaery. Give me a reason to refuse her. Help me as a friend."

The way he spoke made her want to scream. He was doing this deliberately: trying to feign nonchalance. He was trying to get on her nerves, and he was succeeding. But Arya wouldn't change her decision. If he wanted to act as friends, then she'd too. But he won't hurt her by his indifference. He can't.

The music started again, but none of them moved from their places. A minute passed, then another, and Arya realised there was no way he'd retreat. She looked at him and nodded.

He held her hand and she felt the heat seep from his palm into her own. His eyes bore into hers in a way she knew only his' could.

"If I stumble-"

"I'll catch you," he finished her words, staring at her intently. She had never known a person before who could calm her and make her fumble in nervousness at the same time.

They joined the others while they were already busy moving along. Sansa threw her a smile, busy dancing with Loras. Arya looked everywhere, trying to avoid Jon's eyes. Her mouth curved in amusement when she saw Aegon dancing with Margaery with a tortured look on his face, like he was going through so much pain. Margaery's eyes met hers and she threw Arya a fake smile.

She tried to recall all the dancing her Mother had ever tried to teach her. And failed. Right foot forward, then the left, then again the right... or was it the left this time?

She almost tripped when Jon held her waist and balanced her, pulling her properly onto her feet. She finally looked at him, unable to do the opposite anymore.

"I told you I'd slip."

"And I told you I won't let you," he replied instantly, leaning in closer to her ear. She could feel his warm breath on her skin, and unintentionally leaned closer to his mouth. His lips met her temple for mere seconds before he pulled away. Arya felt herself grow hot. Jon pulled her closer by the waist, and she almost bumped into his chest. His eyes were staring at her, and not for the first time, she realised how identical they were with her own. His were darker than hers, but grey still.

The music stopped and they parted. Arya could feel her skin flush. The room felt too small, the air felt too heavy and she struggled to breathe. Before Jon could make his way to her again, she pushed past the people and ran upstairs to her room. She didn't care if anyone saw.

Once she was inside, she let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. She cursed loudly. What the fuck was wrong with Jon? Why can't he just bloody stay away from her? Even her dress was irritating her. The bloody thing was so big and heavy it was a surprise she was able to wear it all this time.

She heard the door click behind her and turned abruptly. Jon was standing there, his back to the door which had been locked.

She turned to look at the opposite wall.

"Why are you here? You should go downstairs."

She heard his footsteps come closer. She tensed and began to turn around, but he caught her arms and turned her around to the same position she was in moments ago. His chest was to her back. Arya struggled to break free, but he tightened his grip.

"Jon," she warned. Her heart drummed against her chest, and Arya closed her eyes, relentless in her efforts to get away from him, but it only resulted in him pulling her closer.

"Why is it so hard to know what you're thinking?" His mouth was against her head, and she could feel his lips move. Jon breath then ghosted against her neck.

"You should go." Her voice was weak.

"Not before I have what I want," he whispered. One of his hands dipped lower and held hers, their fingers intertwining. "I know you're pretending about everything. Just tell me. Trust me, Arya."

He pressed a kiss against her throat, lingering at the spot with his lips. Arya arched her back slightly, and sighed.

"You have to marry Sansa. Your Father wants you to."

"You care about what my Father wants, and not what we want?" Jon laughed. "Sansa doesn't want to marry me."

"What?" Aegon told you.

"You hid it from me, and I am angry at you. I'm angrier at Egg. I know the truth now. None of us will be happy with this marriage, so I am breaking the betrothal."

"You're not breaking anything," Arya shouted. He kissed her neck again, and her breath hitched.

"I am. I'm not marrying Sansa."

"But you have to! The prophecy says-"

"Wait." Jon went still behind her. Arya took the chance and turned around, but his arms were still holding hers. When she tugged at them hard, he pushed her against the wall, pinning her arms to her side. "Who told you that?" His face was unbelievably close to hers.

Arya inhaled sharply. "I know about it. I know you have to marry Sansa. If you don't-"

"I don't have to marry anyone." He laughed aloud. "You have been doing all of this because of the- Arya, Gods! You cannot possibly believe all that."

"But I do!" She insisted, her head lowered. "You have to-"

"For the last time Arya, I don't have to do anything! Prophecies don't tell me what to do." He held her face in his hands and made her look at him. "Is this the only reason?"

"I don't want you to get hurt," she murmured.

"You know what hurts me? Not being able to be with you. Nothing can possibly hurt more."

Arya stopped struggling and put her hands over his arms, looking up at him questioningly.

"You don't want to marry Sansa?" She asked.

"No. I want you. I love you. I'll talk to my Father, and I'll marry you." He stroked the side of her face with his knuckles, and she bit her lip. "You're cold."

"You're too warm," she replied instantly, rolling her eyes.

A hint of a smile lingered on Jon's face. His eyes seemed to ask her permission for something. Arya stood on her toes. A thousand questions ran through her mind.

Fire burned away every one of them.

She pushed her lips to his, feeling nervous even though she had done this before. This time I kissed him first. I can't say this is a mistake anymore. But, I don't want to.

Jon's mouth curved into a smile and he held her face in his hands, kissing her in return with equal, if not more, fervour. Arya felt her back hit the wall as he left her lips to trail kisses down her neck. She sighed.

When his lips met hers again, she tried to move her hands to his face, but the sleeves of the dress made it difficult to. She dropped her hands to her sides in frustration and rested them on his shoulders instead. Jon stopped kissing her and looked at her curiously, then a smile formed on his lips.

"Turn around," he whispered in a raspy voice.

Arya looked up at him with a questioning gaze. He stroked her hair with his hand, repeating his words, gentler this time,

"Turn around, love."

Arya did, although hestitant. Jon dropped a kiss on her neck, and she felt his hands touch the laces at the back of her dress.

"Jon," she murmured. "What-"

His lips met her skin again.

"Stand still."

Arya waited and started to feel the dress loosen a little. She shivered slightly at Jon's touch. Finally after a few tugs, she felt like she was able to breathe again.

"You alright now?" He asked.

Arya spun on her feet and kissed him hard, her hands finding their way to his hair. Jon gripped her waist and pulled her closer. She felt his tongue lick her lower lip, and instinctively let it enter her mouth. One of Jon's hands was stroking her back.

He started planting kisses on her cheeks, her forehead, then dipped his head lower to kiss her neck. Arya breathed rapidly and tilted her head to the side, giving him more space.

"I love you," she whispered suddenly, without realising the words left her mouth. Jon left her skin and looked down at her.

"I love you," she said again, looking at him, her voice more determined this time. Jon was silent for some time, before he touched her forehead with hers and sighed. Arya smiled.

"Marry me," he asked and said at the same time.

Arya's smile disappeared. She pulled away from him slightly and shook her head.

"I can't do that."

"Why?" Jon asked surprised.

"Jon..." She took a deep breath. "I am not like that. I don't want to marry and have children and- That's not what I want with my life." She touched his cheek with her hand. "I am not like other girls."

"But I am expected to marry," Jon said.

"I know. But really, it's strange. I am not a Lady, I wear men's clothes. I like to fight. I have never been interested in marriage."

"But you have to marry someday."

"Yes, I know. And maybe I will. But I am just fifteen now. It's too early."

Jon stared intently at her. "I want to marry you. I want you as my wife. As my Queen."

"And that makes it harder still. I don't want to be Queen."

Jon sighed. "You are the strangest woman in Westeros, I swear to the Seven! You know women would actually kill to be Queen?"

Arya pursed her lips. "I know Margaery would." She looked at Jon who was grinning at her. "What?"

"You are adorable when you're jealous," he said and chuckled. Arya glared at him and held up her hand to hit him, but he caught it halfway. His fingers traced her palm and he brought her own fingers to his lips. "You are with me. It's enough for now."

Arya wrapped her arms around his neck and he lifted her off the floor, kissing her tenderly on the lips.

"People will look for us," Arya said.

"I think they'll be able to spare us for some more time." He smiled into the kiss. "I love you," he said.

"I love you," she replied.

Maybe things will be alright now.

Storm's End

"The North would be the hardest to resist."

"Eddard Stark is too honourable."

Robert punched the wall hard, and his knuckles came back bloody. "Where was his honor," he spat, "when Lyanna left me to marry Rhaegar? She was betrothed to me, and he didn't blink an eye to side with him when I rebelled. I was his friend, he should've stood beside me. I piss on his honor."

"You know him better than I do," Stannis mused. "I don't know Eddard Stark personally. What I do know is that he is the Warden of the North, and even if you don't, his people know him as the most honorable man." He emptied his wine cup in one gulp and poured again. "The North alone would destroy our troops. Add the Targaryens, and we have no chance."

"Ned must side with us," Robert said.

"That is near to impossible, brother. He would never."

Robert studied the map laid out on the table. His lip curled and he took out his dagger, pressing it to the upper part.

"Then we must find a way to stop him from fighting altogether," he said. "If the North doesn't fight, Rhaegar is more vulnerable."

"And how would that be? Ned Stark wouldn't listen to you. He is loyal to the Crown, and his sister is the Queen. His eldest daughter is also betrothed to the Crown Prince." Stannis leaned back on his seat, eyeing his brother carefully. "What could possibly force him not to fight for the King?"

Robert smiled cruelly. "I have something in mind. Although, it would be a great risk."

"A greater risk than rebelling against Rhaegar Targaryen? I think not."

"Well then." Robert sat down on a chair. "Let's put the bastard to work."

A/N: Chapter 11 up! ^-^ Tell me what you think. =)

Also, I made fanart for this fic on DeviantArt. I go by clove25 there. I'm not that good, but still:

art/Jon-Snow-Arya-Stark-578510374