authorsnotes: a fortnightly update? (almost) gurl we on a rolllll

I do hope you enjoy, damn this chapter was INTENSE to write.

little shill here: I just posted (am posting) a brand new WIP (I know, kill me, but I had to!), jon snow-centric, time travelly, all kinds of goodness! it is live on my page now, called: Ice and Fire, do check it out!

songrecs: darling - halsey

He felt numb.

As Sansa bustled about gathering the Stark clan together, he just sat still, prone, probably in shock. The alcohol he'd thrown back had done almost nothing; the burn had been something but not enough, not nearly enough. It felt as though someone had poured ice water through his veins, freezing him from the inside out.

He was a Targaryen.

He had never been a Stark, not really, despite the words of his family, meant to reassure him,

'I'm not a Stark', 'You are to me'

'You are my brother'

'The blood of the Stark's runs through your veins'

'Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins'

'Ned Stark's bastard, Stark blood'

It was partly true, he had Stark blood, but also the blood of the dragon, the blood of the Targaryen's.

He remembered all the warning stories of the Targaryen's, their madness, how unhinged they were. What did the Gods say?

'Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land'

Had he been the right side of the coin? Or was his madness next to come?

He thought of who had sired him, Rhaegar Targaryen, he knew now he hadn't raped Lyanna, but he had taken a second wife, better but still. And then there was his Grandfather, Aerys Targaryen, 'The Mad King' that was the line he came from, people who had stabbed and schemed, who had conquered and killed.

Jon had known he was never really a Stark, but he had been proud of his heritage, Snow or Stark, proud to be a descendant of the First Men, of a noble house, and yes, he was still descended, he knew that logically, and yet his mind couldn't focus on that, only on the other aspect of his heritage. He had come from the dragons, dragons' blood, born of fire, born of madness.

His mind felt scrambled, as he felt Sansa shaking his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to look at her, her cheeks were flushed, her hair a touch messy, as though she'd been running her hands through it. She looked put out of place, not the norm for Sansa, she was shocked too, and that tore at something in him.

How could she not be? He was a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon, not something appreciated up North.

She had said he was still her King, warming him when nothing else could, but how could he be? The Northerners would never accept him now, and why should they? He had learned the stories as everyone else did, but he had been on the Stark side, he had cheered for King Torrhen, had wished he'd never bowed, had pledged as a boy to fight for an independent North one day, hell he had made that happen!

'King in the North'

How could he be?

How could he be King in the North when the Stark blood in his veins was polluted with Targaryen blood?

Sansa seemed to think he could, and he trusted Sansa more than anyone, but this time he felt she was wrong. Not just wrong, but misguided. Should he be King? He didn't think so, not anymore.

He'd never wanted to rule, ambitious to a point yes, to make change, to do good, but he'd never been hungry for the throne, he'd never step over bodies or scheme the way they did down South, but he felt a pang at the idea of relinquishing his crown, of handing it over to Robb or his Father…Uncle now, to give it up and go back to just being a soldier. He found he didn't like that idea, not at all.

Perhaps he was more ambitious than he thought, perhaps he just liked calling the shots, perhaps he liked the way Sansa looked at him when he'd been declared King. He didn't know.

"Jon" Sansa spoke, breaking him out of his thoughts again, "We need to go and see the family, tell them, and make a plan for telling everyone else" He nodded, he knew she was reluctant to share what they knew, but he'd said they had to and here she was following him, like he was a leader.

Like he was her leader.

He was, and not arrogant, no, but he knew he was a good leader, a good commander, would he have to give that up? Should he give that up? Did he want to?

"Okay" He said with a nod, trying to come back to himself, "Gather them, I'll be there soon"

"Where are you going?" Sansa asked, brow knitting together.

"I'll follow you" He said with a strained smile, and it was a mark of Sansa's trust in him that she nodded, let it go, and went for the door.

"You know I'm here for you" She said, turning back, and he nodded, feeling something tight in his chest as she looked at him with a sad smile, "Always"

"And I for you" He didn't hesitate in saying so, he'd defend Sansa until his last breath, and a large part of why he wanted to remain King was for her, for what she wanted, for the way she looked at him. He managed a smile and nodded, "Always"

With that she departed, and once he grabbed his cloak, took another swig of drink, he too left the solar, his solar (but for how long?), and made his way back to the Godswood.

The Gods had said they'd contact him, but this was different, he needed guidance, answers, and he needed them now.

The Godswood was silent.

A layer of fresh snow had settled since Sansa had taken him to the solar, and fresh flakes drifted still down. He loved the snow, the cold, always had, never one for warm weather or a sunny sky, he liked the cold, the ice, especially as since returning from the dead he had found himself oddly immune to it.

Just another thing that had changed over the years.

So much had changed, him, Sansa, the Stark family, Westeros, the whole world. Everything had changed, the Winterfell he had left was not the same Winterfell he had returned to. Yet, he felt he had changed the most.

It was a close run thing, with Sansa having hardened, changed her entire personality, perspective and all, but to Jon it had been there all along, 'The iron underneath' as some would say, Jon felt like he had changed at a different level, a deeper level.

He didn't even know how to explain it to himself and let out a sigh as his boots made fresh prints in the snow, as he approached the Weirwood. He didn't care at the moment that the Gods had told him how it would be, that they would contact him, he needed answers.

Because, ever since they had stepped in, ever since they had intervened, he had been left with just more questions.

Why had the Stark family returned?

What did his heritage mean?

How did they beat the Others?

And if the survived … then what?

More questions than he'd had before, and so, to balance it out, he needed some answers, and he needed them now.

He didn't sink to his knees, but rather stood in front of the great Weirwood, hands clasped behind his back, in a position of respect, but his shoulders were tensed, he meant business and he wasn't leaving until he had answers.

Jon didn't know what else to do … the numbers for the battle didn't add up, and though he was thankful that their family had returned to them he had no idea what difference they could make. The Gods were always cryptic, that was known, but this? This was beyond cryptic, no one could figure this out, none.

"I need help" He said, the desperation in his voice was there, as it had been the first night, he had come…

'I need help, we can't win this, we can't hope to. I need help, I need … I need more than me'

Though this time he spoke allowed, this time he needed to say the words, he felt no less desperate, no less unprepared.

Jon knew he was a good battle commander, and a better fighter, but what he had to do? What resources he had? Not the best general in the world could make those work, there had to be something else, something he couldn't see, and so he hoped the Gods would help him see, and he said as much.

"I don't know what you want of me, what you've given me" He swallowed, tightened his fists, his hands shaking, and not because of the cold, "I can't make sense of your aid, and we're going to lose" He paused, his voice near trembling, but he took a second, gritted his teeth and carried on, "We are going to lose, we are going to die, even I can't change that" Another pause, a last hope as silence pressed on the air, "You can, so help me"

A pause, silence, nothing.

Seconds, minutes, it felt like hours.

Silence, nothing.

"Fuck" He whispered to himself, and turned on his heel, the snow crunching underfoot. He felt the hope drain from his veins, this was it, there was no further aid, there was no more help, not anymore.

He had to do this himself, and yet he knew, with all the will and ambition in the world, they couldn't do it.

Some said when one learned the inevitable, when one looked down the point of death there was a calmness, and Jon had experienced that before, in the slipping away with a knife in his heart, a strange peace that settled…

That wasn't the case here.

The panic in his chest rose, for this wasn't just him, this was everyone and all he loved. His family, the Stark's, Arya wherever she was, his friends, his subjects, Sansa …

He could look at his own death and accept it, part of him had felt like he was living on borrowed time for a while, granted something he wasn't supposed to have with his resurrection, he would die with a sword in his hand and determination on his face, he wasn't scared for himself, but for the others.

He knew others would be the same as him, almost everyone, but Sansa… she was no warrior, she didn't deserve to die like one, bloodied and in the snow, cold and alone. The panic in his chest roared, and he turned back around on the spot, fury chasing through his blood.

"How dare you" He yelled, his voice echoing through the silence of the Godswood, "We are fighting for our lives" He was incensed, he shook now too, but with anger, desperation manifesting a very different way, "We are fighting for humanity" They were, what had he said time and time again?

'The dead are coming, they don't wait'

'The storm is coming, the coldest of storms'

'When the dead knock at the door, does it matter who rules?'

All true, and so often ignored.

"Fighting" He roared, "And what are you doing? Sending cryptic messages, aid that whilst welcome is not helpful for this fight!" He should have been worried, showing such disrespect to Gods he knew existed, but he wasn't, he was just angry.

He had come here for answers, and he demanded them.

"Well?" He yelled again…

And then a sudden boom.

Deafening, he clapped his hands over his ears, and a strangled gasp left his lips as the Weirwood glowed as it had before, near blinding him, and then red as it had before, he fell to his knees, relief and fear pulsing through him in equal measure.

The Gods had answered, but how he did not know. He trembled, but did not waver, did not move, this was what he had come for, he would take any consequences that came with it.

It was odd, his heritage, which had consumed him from when he'd heard it until he'd entered the Godswood was the furthest thing from his mind.

'You remember what we swore' The great voice boomed once more, as it had before, the exact same. When Jon had first heard it, he had been terrified, he still was now, but relieved too, his call had been answered. 'We vowed, you will hear from us twice more, but not at your call, at ours. Twice more King Jon' He remembered the words, they were burned into his brain, as surely this would be.

It stopped and Jon realised they were waiting for a reply. Last time they had just spoken to him, now it was a conversation, a commune with the Gods. He imagined every Sept, and Priest would die happy to do this, but Jon just felt nervous, and desperate, hoping they could give some answers to him that helped.

"I know" He replied, his voice gruff, he wasn't one for ceremony, for scraping and bowing, he hadn't before he'd been a King, and he didn't now, 'We do not kneel' Perhaps the freefolk had rubbed off on him after all, "But I need answers"

'Answers to what questions' He was relieved it replied, and wondering if he had hit his head, had he not had so many shocks over the past weeks he'd have surely keeled over clutching his heart, but now, used to it, he took it in stride.

"Why did you send the Starks back to us?" He asked immediately, being practical, somehow managing to do so, to focus, for who knew when he'd get this again, he imagined he even wouldn't, the voice hardly sounded happy at talking to him now, and he'd come here for answers, thus he had to ask the questions.

Questions, answers, that was the game here, and one he needed to play.

'That will become clear in time' He gritted his teeth, more riddles, but as seconds past and they said no more, he moved on, forced himself too.

"We can't win the battle" He stated.

'That is not a question' If he wasn't mistaken the voice almost sounded bored, and that got his back up just a touch.

"We can't win the battle, can we?" He threw back, not in the mood for riddles or games, no matter how he needed to play it.

Jon moved politically when he needed to, he moved the pieces when necessary, but he found no enjoyment in it, none at all, not like Sansa did. He'd seen her coming up with a political plan, the way she relished when things slipped into place, he did too, but only to see her smile and to see a plan come together. He wasn't delicate with his moves, he never had been, it wasn't his style.

Yes, he'd become better since becoming King and knew sometimes it was necessary, but he preferred plainness, which he definitely wasn't getting here, hence his frustration.

'You can' It said immediately, sounding less bored now. 'You can win'

"How?" He asked, the panic in his chest rising, this was yielding nothing, nothing and he sensed he didn't have much time left.

'You already know the answer' Now he felt like yelling again and only just managed not to, just.

"No, I don't" He said, he couldn't leave here with nothing, he couldn't, and his voice rose a touch. "Give me something, anything, anything at all" He paused, forced himself to add, "Please"

'Use what has become new to you' It said, clearly irritated at having to answer, but it answered that was what mattered, 'Use the information that changes circumstances'

He paused, silence spread, and then …

It clicked.

"What fights ice" He whispered to himself, not asking now, for he knew, as soon as they had spoken, as soon as they had finally revealed something, ''Use what has become new to you, use the information that changes circumstances' He knew, it had clicked all at once, and was clear now, clear how it should have been to him, had he processed, had he looked past himself.

He knew, he didn't need them to finish his question for him.

And yet they both spoke, at the same time, on the same page, finally Jon was on that page.

"Fire"

'That is all King Jon' The voice boomed, and he felt no fear now, just a resolution, a determination rising in him, he had the answers he'd come for … in a sense, 'Do not call us again, we will not come. You will still hear from us twice more, but not at your call' It paused, 'Do you understand?'

He nodded, but it asked again, 'Do you understand?'

"Yes" He said, but his mind was racing, he barely noticed as the light grew once more, only snapped out of it as it near blinded him and then was all at once gone.

Once again, he was on his knees, the cold snow penetrating through his breeches and yet he didn't feel it, he wasn't sure what he felt. Relieved? Confused?

Determined.

Some questions had been answered, but only more generated. It felt like an endless loop, no end.

'I fought, I lost, I rest'

He would never be able to rest, never get that luxury, and that was his burden to carry now. Borrowed time, but a time in debt, it was not his own, but to do his duty, for humanity, for those he loved.

He could do that, he would have that sacrifice, if it meant protecting those he loved.

And he did have an answer, it had come to him as soon as they'd given him that nudge, he had got what he had come for, he knew what he needed to do now, and he needed to do so quickly.

"Your Grace" He turned his head, to find a page stood at the entrance to the Godswood, abruptly pulling him from his thoughts. He quickly stood and brushed off his trousers and cloak, he knew it looked like he had simply been in prayer, and so he strode forward, and nodded for the boy to continue, forcing himself to focus.

The boy … what he had been once, but not anymore, not for a long, long time.

"Your Grace there is someone at the gate" The page spoke, trembling a little in the cold, and Jon nodded striding forward, his mind far from the message, the page following close behind still trying to give it, "Someone claiming to be Arya Stark"

He stopped, abruptly, the page skidding to a stop beside him in haste. His mind snapped back to reality, just as he needed it not to.

"Say that again" He ordered, something he wasn't keen on doing, but he did.

"Someone claiming to be Arya Stark is at the gate Your Grace"

Relief, happiness, what did he feel? He hardly knew anymore, and yet he turned on his heel immediately, away from his solar and to the gate, shouting only one command behind him, "Tell the Lady Sansa" He didn't check to see if the page ran, only hurrying forward, mind completely turned in just seconds.

His plan, his revelation could wait … for a time, not a long time but for a time.

The time it took to see if his little sister had come home.

soooo thoughts?

ahhhh! I knew we needed a jon heavy chapter after the revelations, my bby boi 3

I do hope you enjoyed, it's all kicking off next chapter, I've already started writing it and OOF it may be a long one!

do follow/fav as always, review (I love em') and check out my new fic mentioned above!

speak soon