A/N: Longclaw here. Wow, the reception for this has been amazing. All y'all are great, and we thank you for the support!

BRuh4 here. Thanks to every single person who checked this out, it means a lot to us that you did. This idea came to me and I didn't think too much about it at the time, but from later reflection, it sounded so cool. Now, it's spawned into this great big story that we've got planned. We're so excited to share it with you.

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Chapter 2: Acceptance

"I see that you have considered my offer," Stannis stated, leaning forward in his chair. Nothing had been said, but he looked supremely confident - if dour. "So what is your answer, Jon Snow?"

Having slept on it, the Bastard of Winterfell no longer wanted to be referred to as such. Also, his hunger for justice had grown. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted justice for his family. "Your offer was generous, your Grace. It is my honor to accept."

Davos couldn't help the smile on his face. The brooding northerner had made quite the impression on him in the last weeks. "You made the right decision, young Stark." The change in title was not lost on anyone present. "Together, we will avenge your family and bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon returned the smile, though it only half reached his eyes. "I hope so, Ser Davos… or should I say, Lord Hand?" At Davos' answering nod, Jon turned at his new King - the man he'd be serving for as long as time would be. "I'm unsure of how this would proceed, your Grace."

Stannis only grumbled in response but rose from his chair. He held his hand out to Davos waiting in the wings, who clutched his King's blade. Ser Davos unsheathed the sword, the steel glinted in the light. He knelt and passed it to Stannis. "Jon Snow, Bastard of Winterfell, do you pledge your loyalty to me as the rightful King of Westeros?"

Blinking, Jon saw in the edge of his vision Davos miming downward. Without further hesitation, he knelt to the floor. Longclaw exited its scabbard, Jon resting his forehead on its hilt as he bent the knee. "I, Jon Snow, do pledge my loyalty to Stannis of House Baratheon, First of his Name. Rightful King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the Realm."

Allowing himself a look of triumph - allies few and far between since the defeat at Blackwater Bay, at this very moment he had secured the most prized victory since turning the majority of Renly's forces - Stannis brought the sword to touch the bastard's shoulder. "Rise, Jon of House Stark. Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

A shuddering breath left Jon's mouth, standing proved more difficult than he had hoped.

He knelt a Bastard. A person lower than the low, looked down upon, spat and stepped over. Worthy of no lands, no titles, no children of his own, known as a stain upon Ned Stark's shiny, honorable name.

But he rose a Stark. A Lord. The Lord of Winterfell, The future Warden of the North, everything he's ever wanted and more. He couldn't help but smile. Wiping a singular tear that formed in his eye, he stood tall.

Davos stepped over, putting his hand on Jon's shoulder, "You deserve this, Jon."

Stannis grunted, "Now, go talk to your wildling friends, we must ride out soon." He leaned in close to Jon, "I need those wildlings. If they fight with me, here and now, when the North is won I'll give them all lands to hold."

Jon nodded, "It will be done, Your Grace."

"Good."

After his legitimization, Jon went directly to find Tormund. He was still being held prisoner, so he's not hard to locate.

Jon closed the door behind him, moving into the room where Tormund sat, tied to a post.

"Ah… Crow," Tormund snorted. "Why have you come?"

"Can you lead the Freefolk?" Jon said, simply. Moving in close to the wildling man, looking down at him.

"Me? Ha," Tormund chuckled, shaking slightly.

"You have an opportunity, Tormund. You all do. You should take it," Jon replied.

"Kneeling… if Mance didn't you think the rest of us will?"

Jon crouched down to look Tormund in the eye, "I'm not asking you to kneel. I'm asking you to fight."

"Fight?"

"With Stannis."

Tormund frowned and spat on Jon's boot, "Fuck you." He seethed.

Jon sighed, he stood up and walked over to one of the small windows nearby. One of the only ways light was allowed into the room. He leaned against the wall, and said, "Put aside your pride, this is about survival. Out there…" Jon pointed to the wall, "Out there your people will die. Stannis has offered to give you lands on the south side of the wall. You can live. You can all live. This is your only chance."

"What makes you fucking think that the southern prick would honor his word?"

"Because he proved it to me." Tormund stared at him as if waiting for an explanation. "He promised that if I swore to him, he'd legitimize me. I did, and he did."

A guttural laugh left Tormund. "I remember you spilling your guts about being a bastard, whatever that was. Thought it gave you some guts… but now you're just like all those other prick Lords."

"I doubt all those prick Lords, as you call them, lived among you. I actually care about what happens to you. Stannis is the best you'll get because I am with him."

Still grumbling, Tormund turned the other cheek.

"As I said, I'm asking you to fight. Which you're very good at, I'm not asking you to kneel for Stannis."

"He wanted Mance to kneel," Tormund responded.

"He just wants your people to fight for him. He needs men. How many fighting men do you have?"

"Here? None. Everyone is probably regrouping at Hardhome," Tormund said, eyes returning to Jon.

"Hardhome? That's where they're all holed up?" Jon frowned, moving off the wall. Tormund slowly nodded with an accompanied grunt. He crouched back down, "How many of the Freefolk are at Hardhome?"

"Don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Fuck off, Crow."

Jon exhaled heavily, "Tormund, listen to me, if your people don't get South of the wall, they will all die. Do you understand? We both know what's coming."

"I'd rather die than fight for your southern King!" Tormund lashed forward, but his body didn't move much. Jon didn't even flinch.

"You Freefolk are too proud," Jon hung his head, for a few moments. When he looked back up, he said, "I told you. This is your only chance. Fight with Stannis, and I'll protect you. I'll make sure you get your land."

"How can believe anything a Crow says?"

"Because I honor my word. Stannis isn't from the North. But I am, he will trust me on the North," Jon replied.

Tormund sighed, shaking his head back and forth, clearly contemplating the choice before him. "The Freefolk followed Mance. They won't follow anyone else."

"Not you?"

"It's hard to do anything chained to a post."

"What if I unchained you?"

"Why'd you do that? How you know I won't bash your skull in?"

Jon rested his palm on Longclaw, "You wouldn't have the chance. Besides, you are not my enemy."

"You sure look like an enemy to me," Tormund growled, trying to lash forward again.

"For the whole history of the Night's Watch, they've held the Freefolk out from this side of the wall. Our words are, 'We are the shield that guards the realms of men.' We betrayed that oath. You are your people belong on this side of the wall, you are a part of the realms of men, just because you were born on the wrong side doesn't mean you have to die there," Jon explains, keeping his voice as level as possible.

Tormund's expression softened, "You want me to ask my people to fight alongside a Crow? That's a death sentence."

"You are condemning all of your own people to death," Jon breathed out, frustration flaring up. "What of the women? The children? The elderly and sick? They're all supposed to die? Why? Because you won't make peace? Maybe you're just a coward after all."

Eyes widened in anger, Tormund slowly pushed himself up on the pole until he stood. He growled, "Easy thing to say to a man chained to a post."

Jon withdrew the keys from inside his cloak, sweeping around behind Tormund, he unlocked the chains. They clattered to the floor, the Wildling man rubbed his wrists as he turned to face Jon. For a moment they just stared at each other, Jon kept his hand on Longclaw.

"Your people are in danger, they need a leader and they need to get south of the wall. The walkers will get to them first. I can get you to passage to Hardhome, you can be there in a week. Find your people and bring them back here. Don't make peace to save yourself… make peace to save your people."

Tormund rolled his shoulders back, fists clenched, eyes fleeting over Jon's face. Searching for something give him any reason to believe Jon's lying. The decision became clear, even though he didn't like it.

"We'll need ships."

Jon slowly nodded, "I can ask the King."

"If I go… You go. They have to hear it from your mouth. So they know the ships they're boarding won't be torched the second they set sail. You're coming with me, or I don't go."

Jon frowned but nodded.

"And the oathbreaker reveals himself." Normally quiet and brooding, Jon allowed himself a feeling of smugness as he gazed upon the upper echelon of the Night's Watch. Who, since the death of Lord Commander Mormont only had one ally of his… Maester Aemon. The rest hated his guts. "I always knew you were no proper brother of the Watch," Janos Slynt hissed.

Glancing at Davos, who had the same disgust for the poor excuse of a lord before them, Jon shrugged. "Well if you are the epitome of a proper brother. I weep for the Watch. Castle Black won't stand a chance with its brothers pissing their trousers in the cellar."

Slynt rose out of his chair in a fury… "Sit down!" Thorne was no friend of Jon's, but it was clear he thought the insults were pointless. The former Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing - a title he had no qualms bragging about till he turned blue - fumed, but obeyed. "But Brother Slynt is right, Snow. You did break your oath and could be put to death."

"Pardon, Lord Commander." Without opposition, Thorne had won easily. Davos gave him deference just for said title. "Jon is a Stark. He was legitimized by the true King of Westeros…"

"True King or not, Jon Stark." Thorne spat out the name. "Is under our control. We no know kings, just the brotherhood that has existed for thousands of years."

"A brotherhood dependent on said kings for men and supplies. And on King Stannis specifically for saving you when Mance regrouped that fateful night. Where would you be had he not? In a Thenn's stomach?" Jon smirked, glad he and Sam had coached the Hand in his wildling terminology. "You owe Stannis, and all he asks at this point is for Jon."

The various leaders spoke to each other in hushed tones, discussing it for themselves. Leaving the two men swaying in the wind, uncomfortable. Finally, it was Maester Aemon that spoke. "Jon Stark, you intend to be Lord of Winterfell, correct?"

"That is correct, Maester Aemon." Jon gave the kindly old Targaryen a special reverence. One he had earned.

"When you retake Winterfell, may we expect more supplies to restock what we lost?"

Retake Winterfell, that's all Jon can see, his blood burned. If he had to brave every blizzard the North threw at him, he'd pay the Boltons back for what they did to his family. For their treachery. For Sansa. "You have my word."

"Gods know how much that is worth," Slynt muttered.

Stroking his chin, Thorne looked at Jon. Slowly, a satisfied grin came over his face. "I've been wanting you gone from the beginning, Snow. I don't care what fancy title you think you have - you'll always be a troublemaking bastard of a family of traitors."

The First Builder piped up. "Alliser, the Night's Watch has not survived for so long by letting its brothers out of their vows…"

"Shut up." Thorne narrowed his eyes at Jon. "You would have been the death of the brotherhood. I am saving it by letting you go." He battered him off with his hands. "You are released from your vows. Go. Take your Southern King and never come here again!" A fire burned in his eyes, spitting venom at Jon…

But it did not affect the young lad. Nothing could. He had so long worn his status as a bastard as armor, but he no longer needed to. This meeting was somewhat of a formality anyway, Stannis had pardoned him.

He was Jon Stark. Scion of the greatest family in the North. No one, least of all bitter, insignificant men like Alliser Thorne, could pierce his new armor.

Bowing shallowly, Jon addressed his former commander. "As you say, Lord Commander." Jon could let him have his insults and anger. He had his freedom, and such was worth far more.

Jon entered the solar into the waiting gaze of Stannis, his new King. Davos stood behind him as always, and Melisandre stood next to the door like before.

It was Davos that greeted him first. "The new look suits you, Lord Stark." Jon smiled softly in thanks. He had finally taken the time to shed his Night's Watch black, Sam and Edd having procured him a more proper fur cloak befitting his status. "Good news. We sent ravens announcing your new claim to the Northern houses. House Mormont and the Mountain clans are supportive of swearing allegiance to House Stark.

"Good, but not enough. You have my wildling army?" Stannis asked, with the same hard expression. The King was a dour one, moments of levity few and far between. Only the Lady Shireen seemed to invoke joy in Stannis Baratheon, from what Jon observed.

Stepping up, Jon cleared his throat, "Your Grace, I spoke with the Wildling, Tormund. I told him your offer."

"And?"

"He told me that the majority of the Wildling likely retreated to Hardhome," Jon replied, with a sigh.

Davos spoke up, "So, what does that mean for us?"

"Well, I wanted Tormund to go up there and get them, for their safety," Jon said.

"To come fight," Stannis inserted.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"I sense there is an issue," Davos sighed, glancing between his King and Jon.

"Yes, Tormund said the only way he would was if I went with him, as to reassure the Freefolk that your promises are real," Jon explained.

The new Stark winced as Stannis' expression stiffened, "What? Do they not trust the word of a King?"

"The Freefolk don't have a good history with Kings, Your Grace." Jon had to put this as delicately as possible. Men like Stannis were loyal, but delicacy was needed if counsel was to be appreciated. "Mance was only able to unite them through feats of courage and strength… and even that was from pure necessity."

Pursing his lips, Stannis leaned back in his chair. "So what does that mean for me?"

"I believe it would be helpful for you to come with me to Hardhome." Jon winced as the King bristled.

With a scoff, Stannis crossed his arms, "Me? Go beyond the wall?"

"If I may, your Grace." By Davos' expression, he felt Jon was correct in the assessment - it emboldened him to press on. "The Wildlings are not of the Seven Kingdoms. You are not taking what is rightfully yours, but expanding the reach of your domain. Perhaps it would be proper to convince your prospective subjects of why they should accept your rule?"

"More like," Ser Davos started. "Your Grace, I think these… wildlings might need a true King there to further bolster their feelings about coming south."

"Hmm… I see," Stannis replied, stroking his hairy chin. "But that could take weeks. I need to march back south now."

"Well, Your Grace, if you leave now, it'll be without the Freefolk," Jon replied, desperately trying not to sound disrespectful.

"I agree, Your Grace," Ser Davos said, nodding towards Jon. "The addition of the wildlings to our force would make quite the difference."

"How many of them are there?" Stannis asked, directed at Jon.

"Not sure, Your Grace. There are men, women, and children," Jon shrugged slightly. "Fighting men and women? A few thousand at least… if not more. Warriors that are experts at fighting in winter conditions."

Stannis glanced at Davos with raised eyebrows, seemingly pleased. The Onion Knight nodded encouragingly, and said, "You've done well, Jon Stark."

Hearing his name spoken like that, Jon felt his knees weaken. He strengthened his resolve as to not look ridiculous. The Red Woman moved behind him, causing him to turn his head to her. She ambled over near him, so close her nose brushed against his ear. Stannis and Davos both appeared confused by the advance. Jon recoiled from her, "My Lady?"

Eye seeming redder and redder by the passing seconds, Melisandre reached out and cupped Jon's cheek with her left hand. He wanted to back up further, but he felt locked in place.

"I see a darkness in you… but there's also light. A fire," Melisandre told him. "You have a role to play, an important one. The choices you make moving forward will be the most vital of your life, and those choices will change everything."

"My Lady?" Jon frowned, face contorting in utter confusion. Melisandre's mouth locked down, but she smiled. Making no intentions of responding, she backed up into her corner.

Sensing the tension… the confusion, Davos interjected. "Alright. Let's get back to it."

Looking puzzled himself, Stannis seemed to deflate. "Fine. If I must go to Hardhome, then go I shall." He wryly chuckled. "I expect the fools will write songs for thousands of years of how King Stannis Baratheon tamed the wildlings." Preening aside, Jon allowed himself a smile. All that was left now was getting the approval of the wildling clans.

His smile fell at the thought. Perhaps Stannis' presence will help… perhaps not. 'It's possible that the wildlings will altogether refuse.'

Jon knocked on the door before him, waiting patiently for allowance to enter. Maester Aemon's small voice called out to him, "Come in." Instead of going through the door himself, it was opened for him. Suddenly, Jon is faced with the smiling face of Sam.

"Hello, Jon."

"Sam?" He probably shouldn't be surprised to see Sam, but nonetheless, he is. "Helping the Maester with his dispatches, I see."

Aemon gave him a toothless smile. "Never go blind, Lord Stark. Even though I've gotten used to it, I wouldn't recommend it."

"I'll… keep that in mind." No matter how happy he was that he was now the legitimate son of Ned Stark, being called that still felt weird to him - as if he was… incomplete. It's oddly ironic, a name had been the reason for a lot of his misfortune. Now, the name he wished for all along has been given to him. He thought it'd give me peace, comfort. In a way, it does. But at the same time, he doesn't feel any different. "I shall be heading to Eastwatch on the morrow with his Grace."

Sam blinked while Aemon was impassive. "Oh… King Stannis wishes to sail somewhere?"

"Aye, to Hardhome. I've convinced him to join me and Tormund in trying to convince the Wildlings to journey south of the wall. To fight for him in exchange for land and safety."

Clicking his tongue, Sam looked worried. "Thorne won't like that."

Jon narrowed his eyes. "Thorne can kiss my ass as far as I'm concerned, besides, he has little say on the matter." Normally he'd never say that out loud, but being Lord Stark left him with an armor not easily pierced. "If he has a problem, he can take it up with his Grace."

"The wildlings bow for no man." Both looked to Aemon, who had broken his silence. "They will not easily surrender their freedom, even for safety."

"I hope they would. They don't really have a choice." He and Sam shared a shudder. Each had come face to face with the face of death - Sam even moreso. Suddenly, emotion started to well up inside him. "In any case… this will be goodbye."

Sam pulled his friend into an embrace. "Goodbye, Jon. Gilly and I will keep a cot warm for when you visit from Winterfell."

"I'll appreciate that, Sam. There's no one who's knowledge I would hold a greater trust." Sharing one last smile with his friend, Jon looked at Aemon. A tired smile stretched out over his wrinkled face, violet eyes sparkling with emotion. "Goodbye Maester. Your advice and counsel kept me going through my first years here."

Aemon clasped his hand. "You remind me so much of my brother, Lord Stark. Honorable and… simply good. A noble heart. One last word of advice… no matter what comes your way, do not lose it."

Jon nodded. "I won't." And he meant it. Without another word, he left.

Moments later he had returned to his quarters, his feet felt heavy, body even more. His space has been sparse for his entire time at Castle Black. Just a bed, and a few other small pieces of furniture, in slow, ambled steps, he approached his bed. It felt appropriate to shed his thick cloak, being as by the morning tomorrow he'd no longer call himself a man of the Night's Watch. Normally something like that could cost him his head. It didn't feel right that he's likely getting Winterfell for deserting the Night's Watch. He'd watched a man executed by his own Lord Father for the same crime.

Leaving doesn't feel easy, though it is, physically at least. Tomorrow, he'll leave in the company of a King. A King he'd just sworn his life, not unlike what he'd done in front of a heart tree just outside the Wall. He's getting out of that oath. Honestly, he's betraying that oath, breaking it. He wondered if he'd be called 'Oathbreaker' now. He remembered many people calling Jaime Lannister a Kingslayer at Winterfell. That's not an existence Jon's envies.

All these thoughts swirling through his mind, regret lingering on the edge of his tongue. Though he swallowed it down. This is a choice he made. The choice he made, and at the very least he'd stick to it. For his family.

With a stern look about his face, he unclasped the cloak. It fell from his shoulders swiftly. Like a weight lifted off, breathing came easier.

The very same cloak he'd dawned for many months now. It was his comfort, his safety. But also a prison, a symbol of his captivity at Castle Black.

Sleep came to him quicker than it had since his days living in Winterfell.

He was free now.

A/N: So Jon is now Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Forgive me for saying that that sounds freaking badass.

Daenerys will play a huge part in the story, but as we've said before, the first grouping of chapters will be more about what happens in the North, though there will be snapshots of major events in both Meereen and King's Landing.

The scene at the end with Jon is sort of the whole theme of this story. We decided early on that the non-Jonerys moments would largely center on Jon and what he'd do if he got the Stark name (unless we change it up, y'all can make the assumption that Dany's character arc is the same as canon until she arrives in Westeros). I wanted to make sure that this accurately depicted his feelings on it. He's still a bit conflicted, but also he feels like this was the thing to do. In canon, he refused Stannis because of his vows to the Night's Watch. We had to reference that but also made sure that didn't keep him at Castle Black. The physical shedding of the cloak is symbolic for the weight of his vows lifting off his shoulders. Now, he can breathe easy.

Next up, we catch a glimpse of Bolton Winterfell. Plus perhaps a certain silver-haired queen gets a small cameo appearance ;)

Be sure to check out our other stories: An Empire of Ice and Fire for Longclaw and To Catch a Dream (on Ao3) by BRuh4.

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