As You Will
Part II
The Vow
Jon Snow was not thrilled with the arrangement.
He was at first. As he packed for King's Landing, Arya had bounced around his chambers in joy that he would be joining them in their new adventure, and he felt the same. What was there for him in the north? He had hoped beyond hope that his father would bestow him a keep somewhere in the Gift for him to rule, but as he grew older that hope withered and died. At eighteen, his only choice seemed clear – The Night's Watch.
He would have his Uncle Benjen, at least, and perhaps in time could have been a Ranger, travelling beyond the Wall itself and defending the realm from wildlings.
Only, the first person he ever defended from any true danger happened to be the king's daughter, and her grateful father had other plans in mind.
King's Landing held possibility for him. Perhaps after years of leal service, the princess would insist on his promotion to the Kingsguard, something Bran had always dreamed of. Perhaps they would serve in the Kingsguard together one day.
Jon kept that thought close to his heart, especially when he had overheard the queen in the gilded wheelhouse somewhere in the riverlands as they journeyed to the capital.
"He's not even a member of the Kingsguard," the queen lamented. "He's a pup."
Jon gripped the reigns of horse a little tighter.
The princess' voice followed.
"He's older than I am."
It almost sounded like a defence, for which Jon was absurdly grateful.
"Not to mention the bastardy."
That made his stomach drop like a boulder.
"Nothing can be done about that, Mother."
Jon grit his teeth then, and rode away from the carriage.
Perhaps King's Landing would be a fresh start. A place for Jon Snow to fall away, and for Ser Jon of the Wolfswood to take his place. The picture of gallantry and service, defender of the blood royal…
It only took a few weeks of duty in King's Landing for that dream to burst like a soap bubble.
He was no more than a glorified bodyguard. He stood by while the princess embroidered, painted, danced, visited with her ladies, indulged her younger siblings and rode in the kingswood. He stood on the prow of the royal barge as it sailed around Blackwater Bay and suffered the dozens of young men who came calling.
As the eldest daughter of the king, the princess was the most desirable match in the Seven Kingdoms. From perfumed lordlings to upstart knights with more ambition than sense, all came to throw their sword in the ring.
As her sworn shield, Jon was learning to read her interest. When she shot him a desperate look, he would gently remind her of a prior engagement and lead her away. When she leaned forward in her chair or tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear, then it was going well.
Though if he had any gold of his own to wager on the eventual winner for her hand, his money would be on Ser Loras Tyrell.
It was the Knight of Flowers who was striding across the gardens now, where the princess and her ladies embroidered in an ivy-drenched gazebo overlooking the sea.
Ser Jon stepped in his path. "Your business, ser?"
Ser Loras bristled at that. "You know that by now, surely? Or are all northerners as thick as they look?"
"Ser Loras!" The princess leapt from her seat, tucking her half-embroidered project away. Jon knew the subject; three golden roses on a field of green.
The Tyrell flashed her a blinding smile. "When will your wolf learn to heel?"
Jon's hand gripped the pommel of his sword.
The princess giggled, a sickeningly sweet sound so different than the laughs she shared with her ladies, swatting at Loras in a way only a lifelong friend could. "Behave, ser."
"If you insist." The knight offered his arm, which she quickly took.
Jon fell behind, more than happy to listen to anything but Ser Loras Tyrell.
Instead, he did what he always did, and watched. He watched the princess laugh too loudly at every other word, watched her tuck back her hair, watched her eyes never leave Loras' face. He was a third son, and the biggest prat in the Seven Kingdoms, but it seemed to Jon the princess had made her choice of husband.
When he led her to a balcony overlooking the bay, Loras' gilded demeanour changed. He seemed to be apologising for something. Cassana's face fell as she listened. She took a small step back and away from him. He placed a hand on her elbow, which she quickly pulled from his grasp.
"That's enough," said Jon, intervening.
Ser Loras didn't seem to hear him, or care. "Annie, I-"
"-don't call me that!"
"-had to tell you. I wish it were otherwise, but-"
That's when Jon saw the tears in her eyes.
"Leave, ser," said Jon, stepping between them. "Next time I will say it with steel."
Loras looked through him, speaking only to the princess. "Control the bastard, will you?"
"Enough!"
Jon turned in surprise at the outburst from behind him.
Princess Cassana's usual calm face was twisted in an unfamiliar way. It took Jon a moment to realize it was anger, and it was on his behalf.
"Ser Jon is my sworn sword," she snapped. "You will show him the respect he deserves, and you will leave us."
Ser Loras swallowed, bowed stiffly, and took his leave.
Cassana turned toward the sea, her knuckles white where she gripped the balcony, her breathing ragged, as if she had just run a race.
Jon stood beside her in silence, though he felt he should say something. Anything. But nothing came. Instead, he stood beside her, ready when she needed him.
"Your duty is to shield my back, not meddle in my affairs."
Jon blinked at the sudden coldness in her voice, so different from everything he had heard so far.
If this was how it was to truly be between them, it was going to be a long life.
Jon bowed, turning to leave. "As you will."
"Wait."
Jon did.
Cassana still wasn't looking at him, but out to sea, as if desperately wishing to be across it. "Forgive me. I've just received…some disturbing news." A beat. "Thank you."
"Your Grace?"
Cassana looked at him with eyes as green as summer leaves. "For shielding my back."
A tug at the corner of his lip. "I'm told it's my duty."
Cassana tried, and failed, to suppress a smile.
After a moment, she sighed, steeling herself. A straightening of the spine, a lowering of the shoulders, a slight lift of the chin, and Cassana was the Princess again.
"Come, ser," she said.
"As you will."
The princess' stride was quickening as she went, as if she was getting more and more upset as they moved through the bright halls of the castle. Jon had to hurry to keep up with her, her green skirts flaring behind her.
As she approached, one of the guards at the door said, "The king is busy."
"My father will see me now," Princess Cassana said. "Will you open the doors, or shall I?"
The guards gave each other a shocked look, as if not expecting such from her.
Jon suspected no one expected such from her.
The small council chambers were grand, with colorful hunting tapestries adorning the walls, a great oak table and gilded, high-backed chairs. The company was even grander, their voices halting at the intrusion.
At first, the king seemed annoyed at the interruption, but there must have been a fierce look in his daughter's eye, because he said, "We shall reconvene at another time."
"But sire-" said Varys.
"Out, damn it! The realm can wait a moment."
The lords stood, bowing. Ned put a firm hand on Jon's shoulder before taking his leave.
Robert eyed Jon. "Let us speak alone."
"He stays."
Robert stood. "Do you think you need protection from me?"
"Perhaps I do. Is it true?"
"Yes."
The bluntness of his admission seemed to shock her, but only for a moment.
"I see."
"I've tried to shield you from this for as long as I could," the king said, approaching his daughter. He towered over her, just like he did in all the songs, "but you're no fool. You knew this day would come."
"I expected to know when it would," said Cassana. All the anger in her shimmered away and became a kind of deep sadness. And more than a little fear. "Father, a tourney-"
"You've known nothing but peace, Cassana," Robert said. "Our dynasty is a fledging one. It needs to be strengthened by legend and song. Or so I am told by my council."
"What if a commoner wins? Or a freerider from Essos? What then?"
"There are three competitions. Archery, the joust, and the melee. You may choose from the three winners."
"It's barbaric."
"It's your duty. Yours and Myrcella's, when her time comes."
Cassana looked away.
The king's eyes softened, and he placed a hand beneath her chin, tilting her face to his. "My sweet girl, if it were up to me, I would keep you close forever."
Resigned, Cassana nodded.
King Robert embraced her and spoke softly in her hair.
Jon studied the colored windows, attempting to give them as much privacy as he could.
Back in her solar, Cassana poured herself a goblet of Arbor red and drained it in one swallow.
As she poured her second, she offered Jon a cup.
"I shouldn't."
"And if I command you to?"
Jon would have laughed if he was unaware of what pained her. "Then I suppose I would have no choice."
"Excellent. Here you are."
Jon gave his wine a small sip as Cassana's throat worked until her second cup was empty.
And then she poured again. "I can see why my uncle is such a fan."
"You Grace-"
"I wonder if he'll be a brute," said Cassana, swirling her cup. "Do you think he'll be a brute? If I choose the winner of the melee, then he most likely will be."
"I can send for your ladies, if you would prefer their company."
Cassana winced at the strength of the wine. "My ladies won't be there, will they? Nor my mother, my father, my brothers or sister…I'll lose them, and everyone else I love. I'll be completely and utterly alone."
There is a silence that is deafening, and this was it.
Until she said, "Except for you."
Jon shifted.
Cassana shook her head, "I'm sorry for that."
That stung, and it was difficult for him to pretend that it did not. "It was not my choice either, princess."
"What?" Cassana's brows furrowed. "That's not what I meant."
Jon brought the cup to his lips and drank, for courage, perhaps, or perhaps to dull the bite. "If you'll excuse me," he said, placing his cup on the table.
"You are not excused."
Jon hesitated at the door.
Cassana sat in one of the large reading chairs by the fire. She inclined her head to the chair opposite, "Sit."
"As you will."
"I'm asking, ser."
"You have a commanding way of asking."
"Years of habit." When he did not smile, Cassana straightened. "You did not choose this life. When you saved me in the wolfswood, you didn't even want me to replace the cloak I bloodied, and instead your reward is a lifetime of service."
"It's a great honor."
"I'm sure my father believes so." Cassana's green eyes pierced him like a blade. "Why do I suspect a life as a woman's sworn shield is not the life you dreamt for yourself?"
"Dreams are for children." Jon had dreamt of being legitimized. Of leading men to glory. Of perhaps having a family of his own one day. The older he became, the less he dreamed.
"I am sorry," Cassana continued, carefully, slowly, so that he would not misunderstand her again, "because even a husband and wife may live apart, but a sworn shield can never leave his charge. I feel I have you chained to me against your will, and for that, I am sorry."
Jon could almost see it in the warm light of the hearth. A gilded shackle from his throat to her wrist, like a dog's leash. It mattered not how much time passed, who she married, where she went, how many children she bore, he would be there for it all. As much a prisoner as a sword.
And she was sorry for it.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
Cassana looked relieved. "I will do all I can to honor you. You are not my shadow, you are my sword and shield, my advisor, and I hope, with time, my friend."
This time, the sting was in his eyes. Jon blinked the tears away, embarrassed and relieved by her words. He did not realize how much he needed to hear them.
Cassana's smile was like the hearth, warming his blood and bones, impossible to tear his gaze away.
Jon didn't trust himself to speak, so instead he went to his feet, drew his sword and placed it on the ground before her as he knelt.
The princess' eyes never left his face, but her smile was gone, knowing what he was doing, knowing what it meant.
"I am yours, my lady."
Cassana drew in a little breath. He had sworn an oath to obey his king, and his king had commanded him to serve her, but this was different. This was more.
"I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."
Cassana leaned forward, her golden hair spilling over her shoulder, and she took his bare hand in her own.
It was the first time she had touched him. In the wolfswood, he had carried her like a babe, ridden on horseback with her between his legs, but this was different. She touched him willingly, her fingers soft but firm.
His eyes found the scar on her collarbone, all that remained from that night in the wolfwood. It was thin and pale and pink, hardly visible, but in the dim light of the solar it burned as bright as a star.
That moment, he made another vow to himself. That would be the last time she was ever harmed.
Jon looked full into the face of the sun.
"I vow that you will always have a place at my home and hearth," Cas said, her voice low and serious, her hand squeezing his, "and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that will bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new."
That shackle he had seen only moments before melted away, and something different took its place. Not a chain, but an unbreakable bond nonetheless. Not from his throat to her wrist, but from his chest to hers. Not placed by the king, but woven by the two of them, together.
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All best,
Rose
