Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Ice and Fire Novels, Game of Thrones, House of the Dragon, and Dunk and Egg TV shows. However, I decided to have a little play around with the characters. I do not earn any money from writing these stories, it is for my entertainment and is something I like to share.
Start of Part 2, continuing from where we left off in part 1.
The cold winds descended from the north, harbingers of shifting seasons. In Winterfell, the white raven's arrival marked the end of summer, the precursor to the imminent embrace of autumn. Jon Snow, however, remained largely indifferent to the subtle change; his recent year and a half spent at the Wall and beyond had skewed his perception. To him, the weather still carried a semblance of warmth. Yet, amongst those who journeyed with him, discontent murmured like a gathering storm.
Wait until winter comes, Jon thought.
As they traversed the green pastures enveloping Winterfell, Jon contemplated the impending transformation. Fertile lands that once surrounding the castle would soon surrender to winter's grasp. The verdant expanse would yield to the encroaching white blanket, the ground beneath hardening, and the bounty of crops diminishing. The hills, more conducive to sheep grazing than agriculture, painted a stark contrast to the abundance found in the Gift. Winter's icy fingers were poised to tighten their grip, casting a shadow over the once-lush landscapes surrounding Winterfell.
Almost a moon had passed since Jon, Arya, Lady Stark, and their ten guards departed Queenscrown. Sansa and Robb undertook the responsibility of overseeing the castle, allowing the Freefolk to adapt to their new surroundings. Jon's confidence in Queenscrown's safety was unwavering, yet to ensure Sansa's well-being, he intended to petition Lord Stark for the despatch of additional soldiers northward.
The journey's most surprising revelation came in the form of Lady Stark's altered demeanour. Instead of wearing a perpetual sour expression, akin to sucking on lemons, she had softened over the four weeks of travel. Jon attributed this change to his meticulous efforts to exhibit his best behaviour, a conscious endeavour to win her trust. However, as the walls of Winterfell loomed closer, an uneasy feeling settled over Jon, prompting doubts about the adequacy of his actions.
Jon acknowledged the near-impossibility of winning Lady Stark's love, given the stain he represented in her marriage—a source of embarrassment spanning many years. Overcoming this history within such a brief period seemed an insurmountable task. Jon's sole aspiration remained simple: Lady Stark's loyalty, and more crucially, her allegiance to Sansa.
As the final night of the journey unfolded, a palpable sense of anticipation permeated the camp. Winterfell loomed large on the horizon, promising the comfort of warm beds, hot meals, and soothing baths. For Jon, this evening marked the last opportunity to engage in a private conversation with Lady Stark. Arya, understanding the gravity of the situation, had graciously agreed to give them space to air their differences once and for all.
Following the evening meal, Jon extended an invitation to Lady Stark to join him in his tent. Typically, his evenings were spent with Arya, strategizing their plans for Dragonstone, a place that held a particular fascination for her. However, this night was to be different — a solitary meeting between him and Lady Stark.
As the tent flap opened, Lady Stark peeked inside. "Am I early, my Lord?" Their agreement to address him as 'My Lord' during the trip was a discreet acknowledgment shared only between Lady Stark and Arya.
"No, Lady Stark," Jon replied, rising from his seat and gesturing towards a chair. "Please, be seated."
Catelyn entered the tent, her demeanour betraying a hint of discomfort as she took in the surroundings. It marked the first time they had been alone since their departure from Queenscrown.
"Wine?" Jon offered.
Catelyn nodded. "Please," she replied, casting her gaze around Jon's tent. It was her inaugural visit, and Jon poured her a cup before settling down opposite her.
The tent, while minimalistic, reflected Jon's pragmatic nature, devoid of unnecessary opulence befitting a Lord or a King. Four chairs surrounded a simple wooden desk, a brazier provided both light and warmth, a cot draped in furs served as Jon's resting place, and a chest held his meager belongings. Curled up next to Jon was a slumbering Ghost.
Pouring himself some ale, Jon braced for the forthcoming conversation with Catelyn. "Lady Stark," he began, "I won't feign that this meeting will end with the love and affection befitting a mother and son. I'm not naïve; I know you harbour no fondness for me." Catelyn lowered her eyes, her fingers wrapped around the cup. "But, I don't believe it's unreasonable for us to be civil, courteous, and supportive of one another."
Catelyn nodded, acknowledging the shared ground. "On that, I think we can agree."
Jon hesitated before broaching the next part of their discussion, acknowledging the delicacy of the subject. "I'm sure you are aware by now that the marriage has been consummated and cannot be undone by the laws of gods and men," he stated.
Lady Stark's response was sharp, her demeanour reverting to the familiar stance of discontent. "Oh, I am fully aware of that," she snapped, the bitterness returning. "I heard you both on the night before we left. Out in the corridor. I didn't raise my daughter to behave like a common whore." She lowered her voice, adding a touch of disdain. "Even at the behest of a King. I suppose that is something your father might have done."
Despite the potential embarrassment, Jon felt the need to defend Sansa. "Lord Stark is the only father I have ever known. I was raised to follow the examples of Stark and Tully. I live by the code of family, duty, honour. Whether or not you are my mother, it has been instilled in me. I was never raised by fire and blood. I know nothing of them, save for my interactions," Jon lowered his voice, "with Daenerys in my previous life."
"Yet you rode a dragon and were intimate with your aunt. I'd say you have plenty in common with your forebears," Lady Stark retorted, her words carrying a pointed accusation.
"Aye," Jon nodded. "I didn't know who I was at the time. We needed dragonglass and dragons. I did what I had to do. But I was her prisoner on Dragonstone, and it affected my judgment. I became desperate to convince her to help. I convinced myself I felt something, and that she would be good for Westeros. Because if she was prepared to save us from the long night, then she must be a good person and would be a good Queen."
"Sansa and Arya did not agree," Lady Stark remarked, more than an observation than a question.
"Aye, they didn't like her much. But still, she came to our aid." Jon sighed. "She would never have won Westeros over. The Lords didn't like her much. The northerners resented me for bending the knee. I am not prepared to kneel to her again."
"And her dragons? How do you propose to defeat them? Ask them nicely?" Lady Stark inquired, skepticism clear in her tone.
Jon took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Lady Stark's. Sansa was the only other person privy to the secret of the dragon egg; even Arya was unaware of their discovery. "I might have something that would help. I just hope it doesn't come to that. Anyway, dragons can be killed. There is a weapon called a scorpion. I would have them constructed to take her on if she was to invade."
"So her dragons were a waste of time?" Lady Stark questioned.
"We didn't know he could raise them from the dead. They won't cross the wall this time," Jon clarified.
"You intend to take them from her?" Catelyn inquired.
"I intend to try. Rhaegal might let me," Jon replied.
"Is that the one you rode?" Lady Stark asked, and Jon nodded.
"Look, Lady Stark. I did not invite you here to discuss dragons."
"You want to ensure my loyalty." Catelyn astutely deduced. Jon nodded. "I am a Tully, and I keep to my word. Admittedly, I don't like you now, and I may never like you. I cannot forgive what your grandfather did to my betrothed. I worry you will become like him."
Jon understood her concerns. Daenerys had not grown up with the Mad King, although it sounded like Viserys wasn't much better. Jon's aunt had a violent streak, which he found disconcerting.
"That sounds more like your expectations of me are low. And if I exceed them?" Jon asked. "If I prove to be worthy in your eyes?"
"Then I will beg your forgiveness," Cat said, acknowledging the potential for change and growth.
"Do you promise to help in the wars to come? Be true and loyal to the cause? This is for the future of your children and grandchildren. Should we succeed, your grandson will sit on the Iron Throne. Isn't that what you've always wanted for Sansa? For her to be Queen?" Jon posed the question.
"I don't deny it," Jon had to at least admire her honesty. "I just didn't expect it to happen this way."
"Does it matter? At least you know I will treat your daughter with love and respect. I would die for her. I would never touch another woman again," Jon asserted.
Catelyn scoffed. "You say that now. You are young."
"Am I?" Jon asked. "I am a man approaching seven and twenty. I have been a King, I have been the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and I have been a Lord in my own right. I know my own mind. And I am not the green boy I look."
"Gods, I forget that sometimes," Catelyn shook her head. "I know I need to trust you more. Would it be too much to ask for a grandchild? Mayhap that would assuage my fears a little." A slight smile appeared upon her lips before she took a sip of the wine.
"When Sansa's body is ready to bear a child. Sansa knows how her adult body will appear, and even I had some understanding. She has still yet to become more... womanly," Jon explained, struggling to find the right words. "Her hips need to widen some more." His smile faded. "Please don't ask me to forsake her in favour of wanting an heir too soon. I am not my sire. He should never have gotten my mother with a child so young."
Catelyn lifted her cup. "On that, we can agree."
Jon raised his own to match hers before placing it on the desk. "I have a letter for you. Written by Sansa and signed by me." Jon handed her the scroll, sealed with red wax bearing the Targaryen sigil. "Guard this with your life, Lady Stark. Your family is depending on you." Catelyn took the letter, holding it close to her chest. "A word of advice. Trust no one. Especially the Boltons, the Freys, the Lannisters, or even your sister."
Catelyn frowned. "Lysa? Why ever not?"
"Aye," Jon nodded. "Allow us to deal with Lady Arryn. We possess information that will secure the support of the Vale. Let Sansa, Arya, and myself handle her. Any interference could damage her." Jon noticed her stifling a yawn. "We have a long day's ride ahead tomorrow. One which we are all looking forward to. I think it is time we should retire."
Catelyn nodded, placing her empty cup on the desk before standing. "I bid you goodnight, your grace," she said, bowing her head.
Jon stood. "Goodnight, Lady Stark." He smiled. "I hope we will find our common cause in a year or two."
For the first time, Lady Stark gave him a genuine smile. "If that is the case, then you would have my eternal gratitude."
Jon laughed. "I think I can live with gratitude." With a nod and a shared understanding, they parted ways, with Lady Stark retiring to her own tent.
Late afternoon saw the gates of Winterfell opening for Jon, Catelyn, and Arya. Waiting inside were Lord Stark, accompanied by Brandon, Rickon, and Maester Luwin. The intentional sparsity of people aimed to avoid drawing too much attention to Jon's status. Jon had experienced both sides of this welcome – once to meet King Robert and the other when he accompanied Daenerys to Winterfell. Despite bending the knee, he was still greeted as a King.
This time, the greeting was more muted. Instead of kneeling, heads were bowed slightly. Lady Stark's return under grave circumstances provided a plausible explanation, but the deference was directed towards Jon. It felt embarrassing, especially coming from Ned Stark.
Jon stood back, allowing Lady Stark to greet her husband and youngest children first. The warm family embraces engulfed Arya, but Jon kept his distance. Despite his personal wish to join in the family reunion, he needed to become accustomed to standing back—this time for very different reasons. It wouldn't do for the King to rush in. Though his true identity was unknown to most, Jon felt it was a good time to practise; this would be his reality for the rest of his life. The irony did not elude him. Once not noble enough to join in such displays of affection, now he was too noble.
After a few minutes, Lady Stark and Arya stood to one side, gesturing for Jon to join them. Jon stiffened his back, lifted his chin, and approached. The breeze lifted the cloak Sansa had made him. Unlike the replica of Lord Stark's cloak, Jon's was black with white fur. His hair was tied back, giving him a more regal appearance. Even Lady Stark had stepped back that morning when she saw him. Jon now understood what it meant to look like a King. The symbolism of his attire mirrored the weight of responsibility he would, one day, bear.
Ned, Bran, and Maester Luwin all looked to the ground in deference, trying not to appear obvious. Rickon, completely oblivious to the significance, was attempting to let go of Lord Stark's hand to run to Jon.
"Lord Whitestark." Ned said.
"Lord Stark." Jon acknowledged.
"Winterfell is yours, your grace," Jon heard him whisper, nearly choking him up. However, it was nothing compared to the tears filling Ned's eyes. Lord Stark opened his arms. "Come here." He said.
Jon stepped into Ned's arms, which enveloped him. And for the first time in his entire life, Jon was held in a fatherly fashion by Ned Stark. "Father." Jon whispered in his ear as Ned pulled back.
"Gods, look at you. All grown, and every inch the man you were always destined to become." Ned said.
Not always, Jon thought, remembering Ned wanting him to take the black, but that was a different lifetime.
Instead, her said, "You can thank Lady Stark and Lady Whitestark for their wonderful help in the matter," Jon decided, praising Catelyn as a wise idea. The acknowledgment would bridge the past and the present, a recognition of the support that had brought him to this moment.
"JON!" Rickon screamed, finally freed from Lord Stark's hand. He wrapped his arms around Jon's waist. Jon stooped and picked him up and held him, closing his eyes. The memories of the older-looking boy running towards him, arrows flying in the air, and eventually puncturing Rickon's heart brought tears to his eyes.
"Seven hells, Rickon. You're getting too heavy to be carried like this." Jon put him down and turned to Bran. "You've grown," he said, noticing how tall Bran had become. Only a couple of inches shorter than Jon. In this life, Bran had never fallen from the window, so he could still walk. It was a shock to see him like this, though the hairstyle was short, similar to when he became the Three-Eyed Raven. "You're almost a man."
"Almost," Bran said in the way the Three-Eyed Raven did, sending a chill down Jon's back. There had been nothing to suggest Bran had returned with them. But then he smiled and wrapped his arms around Jon. "It is good to have you back. You look like a King," he whispered.
Jon turned to Maester Luwin. "Maester Luwin."
"Lord Whitestark." Maester Luwin bowed his head once more. "Your grace." He whispered.
"Will you come and spar with me?" Rickon asked.
"I think we all ought to get inside," Lady Stark said, much to Jon's relief. He just wanted to go to his old room to take everything in and feel normal, just for one night.
"I hope I am still in my childhood chambers," Jon said. "I am still family."
Maester Luwin looked uncomfortable. "We were having the great chamber in the guest wing, readied for you, my lord. It was felt your old room was below your... station."
Jon frowned. "I'd prefer my old room. I'd like some semblance of normality."
"Of course, your grace," Lady Stark whispered.
"Your room has been held like it was since you left," Ned said.
Bran accompanied Jon to his room, where they stopped outside. "I saw you, you know," Bran said.
Jon frowned, his heart racing. "Saw me where?"
"You and Sansa, in a cave. You were holding a white and red dragon egg. I also saw you sat on the Iron Throne. Be cautious, but ruthless, and you will succeed," Bran said, smiling that strange smile.
"And Sansa?" Jon asked.
"You will sleep forever on the same day," Bran said, his voice monotone. He shook his head and frowned. The face of the child was back. "I keep getting strange visions. Father said you, Sansa, and Arya have them too. Is that true?"
"Aye," Jon nodded, relieved that Bran wasn't the Three-Eyed Raven but instead, just a powerful greenseer.
"Do you have wolf dreams? Ones where you are hunting, but you are Ghost?" Bran asked as Ghost padded over to Jon, nuzzling Bran along the way.
"Aye, sometimes." Jon replied, his fingers slipping into Ghost's fur.
"I can't control it, though."
"You should learn. It will come in useful," Bran said cryptically as Summer bounded up to him, and he left. The enigmatic exchange left Jon with a sense of trepidation as to was to come from Bran.
Jon opened the door and walked into his childhood chambers, his mind still pondering Bran's cryptic words. He was sure Bran was still evolving into the Three-Eyed Raven. Had they been sent back to allow Bran to become more powerful? Or was he just a seer? And why did Bran suggest Jon should try to control his warging abilities?
Jon desperately wanted to write to Sansa about what Bran had said or even talk to Arya. He'd never asked her about whether she had wolf dreams in this life or her last. Instead, he heeded Bran's advice. He lay on the bed, relaxed, and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on Ghost.
At first, nothing happened; Jon was just lying on top of his furs on the bed. Just as he was ready to give up, Jon was lying on something hard and cold. He looked up and saw the figure of a man lying on a bed. Jon lifted his head and saw himself.
Jon stood, except he was not on two feet, but four. He walked over to look at himself lying on the bed. What he saw terrified him, for Jon's eyes were no longer closed; they were wide open and completely white.
Jon gasped in shock, and suddenly he was no longer looking down on himself. Instead, he was staring up at the white fur of Ghost, who was sniffing his face. Jon sat up. "I'm alright, boy. I'm alright." He reassured his wolf and wrapped his arms around Ghost's enormous white head, burying his face in the soft fur. "Thank you, boy, for letting me do that." He said.