If you are the sort of person who likes to listen to music while they read, I found Balmorea's "Remembrance" fitting.
His name is Jon Snow: Jon by Lyanna's request, and Snow because no other kingdom wanted him.
But the first time Rhaegar held him, he knew that there was at least one person in Westeros who did.
Jon's first proper memory, undefined and blurred, was of his father standing with his back to him on a balcony that overlooked the Blackwater.
"We are the blood of the dragon," Rhaegar told him.
Jon had heard of his mother, a Stark, but the name meant little to him. As did the name Tagaryen, for he was a snow. A bastard. Even then, he knew of shame.
Rhaegar said. "You are still the blood of the dragon. Of the Conqueror." He put a hand around Jon's shoulder, and as he continued to look out at Blackwater Bay, he said, "Let no one tell you otherwise."
"Yes, father." Jon said. It seemed like the right answer to everything in those days. But Rhaegar looked down upon him with a frown and repeated himself.
"We are the blood of the dragon," he said with force.
"Yes, father." Jon said again. After a moment, Rhaegar's frown faded, and he pulled him closer and said, "Now go. Your grandmother would like to speak with you."
Jon would never know his siblings well. Aegon was the heir, guarded by Ser Arthur Dayne, and Rhaenys the crown princess, guarded by Barristan the Bold, but he was Jon Snow, a bastard from the North misplaced in the South. His father had his lessons in the morning, after his trueborn children; his time in the yard was in the afternoon, when the sun beat down the hardest, and while he and Aegon shared the same master at arms, Aegon trained with all members of the kingsguard, and with Father, while Jon was taught only by Ser Gerold Hightower; where his siblings' clothes were stitched with red dragons and golden speared suns, Jon bore no sigils, and wore more white than red. White for snow, the only snow for miles in every direction. For all this and more small things, Jon was largely left to his own.
Before he turned ten, he was friends with Robb Stark, his father's squire; he bore the red hair of his mother, one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, and who was kind enough to him, and the fish, direwolf of Jon's mother. They chased each other, playing knights while exploring the Red Keep's endless tunnels and hidden passages. But one day his father pulled him aside after his lessons and took him to the balcony attached to his solar, and again looking out onto the Blackwater, he told him:
"I don't want you playing with Robb Stark anymore."
Jon's chest grew tight, and he just managed to ask, "Why?"
"The Starks cannot be trusted," Rhaegar said.
"But he's your squire," Jon said.
"For now," his father said. "For now, yes."
"But he's a good squire, isn't he?" Jon asked, desperate.
"Indeed, he is," Rhaegar said. "But in a few years he will leave to take his place at Winterfell, and after that…" Rhaegar pursed his lips. "… I don't want any untoward things thought or said about you. You might not have my name, but you have my blood, and some have already begun to talk."
Water pooled in Jon's eyes, which he wiped away furiously. "Please, father."
Rhaegar looked down upon him, and after looking back out on the Blackwater, he turned back to Jon and said, "Tomorrow, before supper, you will start training with me."
Jon blinked, and his eyes went wider than ever before. "Really?"
"Yes," Rhaegar said. "You will."
But training swords with his father didn't alleviate all of his pain. It stung to have to tell Robb about what his father said, even as he began to know the sing of steel on steel, and though Jon apologized, Robb said, "You're not even a Stark, bastard!" and went running to his mother. She did apologize for her son's behavior, but it was only some comfort.
It had never truly struck Jon that he was the subject of talking, but he came to look upon every stranger with suspicion, feeling both surrounded and terribly alone; worse, he had already begun to have terrible dreams.
He dreamed of lying in a cell, crying, and he would leave it to find himself surrounded by men all in black. They welcomed him, cheered him, took him upon themselves and their black, until he turned around and saw his father with worms and maggots crawling out of his face. He would scream, and then he would wake up. Another dream was of white, endless white, only broken up by ice-blue demons. Jon would find himself with a flaming sword, cutting them down, down, down, until one clad in thick ice touched his face; on the worst nights, he thought the demon could have had his father's face.
Jon eventually told Ser Hightower about his dreams, but the knight laughed easily.
"They're just dreams, boy," he would say. "You best focus on keeping your shield up."
It is on one of the nights when he wakes up from the dream of demons, and he cannot sleep, that he decides to wander the keep. Ser Gerold follows him, as they always did in those days, and his feet take him almost to the throne room, but he stops himself at the door. From down the hall, however, comes a voice.
"My prince, is that you?" the man asks.
Jon freezes as the man approaches, but he finds it to be the master of coin, Petyr Baelish.
"What are you doing up, my prince?" he asks good-naturedly.
Jon had been told not to trust Lord Baelish. In whispers he was called Littlefinger, even by Jon himself. Seeing him up close for the first time, however, Jon quickly felt bad about it.
"I'm not a prince, Lord Baelish." He says.
"Well, I wouldn't say that," Lord Baelish smiles. "Not entirely, bastard."
Jon scowls at the word, but Lord Baelish says again, "I mean nothing by it, bastard. That is simply what you are."
"I'm the son of the king," Jon says, defiantly. He barely reaches Lord Baelish's chest.
"That you are, my friend," Lord Baelish says. "That you are." He pauses, then says, "I find myself parched, Jon. Can I call you Jon? Would you take a walk with me?"
"The boy is tired," Ser Gerold said gruffly. "he must get abed."
Jon turns to look at the guard, and he scowls.
"I'm plenty awake," he says coolly. He looks back to Lord Baelish. "And you can call me Jon."
"You honor me," Lord Baelish says, and Jon believes him earnest.
Their steps echo down the halls, and Lord Baelish keeps just one step behind him. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Jon. Many in the kingdoms are bastards." Jon scowls again. Lord Baelish continues, "The Queen's brother, for instance, has fathered more than one. Does he walk with shame? Do his bastards? No." he smiled. "Like you said, Jon, your father is the king. Just because your mother wasn't the queen doesn't mean you need to be ashamed."
The mention of his mother stops Jon for a step. His chest tightens into a knot. His father would not talk about his mother; in fact, almost everyone in the Red Keep was forbidden from speaking her name. Why Jon didn't know, but that his father was so ashamed of her…
"My great-grandfather may have been a bastard, you know," Lord Baelish said. Jon looked at him with surprise.
"Really?" Jon asked eagerly. He quickly tempered it, realizing how rude it was, but Lord Baelish didn't seem upset.
"Of course," Lord Baelish said with ease. "He was but a sellsword. A very good one, of course, but still, he may have been a bastard. It didn't make him any less worthy."
Jon felt water coming on, but he vigorously rubbed his eyes. He was sure Lord Baelish saw him, but he didn't comment.
At last, they found themselves in the Great Hall, where Jon took all of his meals, and with a snap of his fingers, Lord Baelish got a servant to bring them water and bread. Jon thought that Lord Baelish should have asked, as his father had taught him.
Lord Baelish cut a slice for each of them, then said, "You know, Jon, I am no grandmaester, but if you ever need help with numbers, you are welcome in my solar."
"Thank you, Lord Baelish," Jon said.
Lord Baelish leaned in close, and whispered, "And if you ever need an open ear, my prince, feel free to come to me."
"Thank you, Lord Baelish," Jon whispered back.
In time, Jon took up Lord Baelish on his offer of help with numbers, after a particularly harsh scolding from grandmaester Pycelle. After supper, he sought out the master of coin, who received him with a gentle smile.
"Good morrow, Jon," he said.
"Good morrow, Lord Baelish," Jon said. "I… I need some help with numbers."
"Of course, my boy, of course," Lord Baelish said. "While we're at it, how would you like to learn some about gold?"
Come the end of the evening, Jon had a firm grasp on his numbers, and soon enough found out what kept the master of coin so busy.
"Remember, Jon," Lord Baelish told him. "Numbers do not lie. This is King's Landing; there are so many liars amongst us."
"Does that include you?" Jon asked, before blushing furiously. "I'm sorry, my lord, I simply—"
But Lord Baelish laughed easily. "Now, Iwouldbe lying if I said I've never deceived before," he said. "But you can trust me, Jon. I told you that I'm here if you want someone to listen. Now, I would advise you to beware of The Spider."
Jon couldn't withhold his shiver. He had seen the eunuch around the Red Keep, and while he was always polite, Jon had heard remarkable things. That he grew legs in the night; that he had ears everywhere, even amongst the orphans and cats; that he was never, ever to be they also say that of Littlefinger,he realized, and yet here he was, conversing with him. He stiffened, and clearly Lord Baelish noticed it.
"Is something wrong, Jon?" he asked.
Jon didn't have the exact words, only mustering a truly intelligent, "Um..."
Lord Baelish seemed to study him for a space, then he smiled again. "Ah. Yes, they say plenty about me. But, if you'll humor me, can I tell you a secret, Jon?"
After a moment, Jon said with hesitation, "Alright."
"They think that they are better than me because of my low birth," Lord Baelish said. "It doesn't matter to them that when Robert Baratheon rose against your father, I managed to convince the city watch of Gullstown to remain loyal, or how I have kept the royal coffers full these past ten years. I am the first true noble in my family, and for that they think they're better than me. Much in the same way they believe that because you are bastard you are worth less. And that's not very fair, is it?"
"No," Jon said. "It's not. I'm sorry they treat you that way."
"Oh, I've developed my own sort of armor about it," Lord Baelish said. "But thank you. And if you'll take some advice from this ledger-monger, let it be this: let no one deride you for how you were born. Anyone who does that is not your friend."
Jon nodded, then frowned. He asked, "That doesn't include my father, does it?"
Lord Baelish shook his head. "Your father is your father, Jon. He has a special place in your heart, as I hold my dearly departed sire and grandsire."
"I'm sorry," Jon said.
"Thank you," Lord Baelish said. "Now, I must get back to my books, but do come by again."
Jon smiled. "I will, my lord."
"You're a good lad," Lord Baelish said. "A good lad."
His father did not like the time he spent with Lord Baelish. But for the first time in his life, Jon refused to cede ground. He crossed his arms, planted himself on the ground, and as his father stood over him on Red Keep's ramparts, Jon held his upper lip.
"He's my friend," he said.
"He has proven himself a good servant," Rhaegar said. "But he is not your friend."
"And you are?" Jon challenged. Rhaegar blinked.
"Jon…" he said, "you are my son."
"I am your bastard." Jon said. Rhaegar looked taken aback, but Jon cut him off, "Yes, I am your bastard. Do you think that makes me untrustworthy? That's what the High Septon says about us."
Rhaegar pursed his lips. "The Faith of the Seven is complicated," he eventually said. "But Lord Baelish was raised at Riverrun, under the care of the traitor Hoster Tully."
"He got the gates of Gulltown open for you," Jon said. "That's more than I've ever done, right? I..." Jon paused, gathered his courage, and said, "… I killed my mother, and I am a bastard. What does that make me to you?"
Rhaegar stared at him. He said, horrified, "Jon, you didnotkill your mother. Who has told you such things? I will have their tongues for it."
"I am your bastard," Jon said, defiant. "And I refuse to be shamed by it."
Rhaegar glowered. "Jon, stop being difficult. You are my son, and I forbid you from speaking to Littlefinger."
"His name is Lord Baelish," Jon said. "And what if I keep talking to him? What will you do?"
Rhaegar glared at him, and his hand flexed. Jon noticed it, and his heart jumped up into his throat. He began to pale. Then Rhaegar followed his eyes, and shame washed over his face.
"Jon," he said. "It's for your own good. Your safety."
Jon was only two and ten, but he snorted all the same. "This is King's Landing. I'll never be safe here."
"The man who raises a hand against you will lose it," Rhaegar said. "I would never let any harm come to you."
Even as his heart hammered, Jon raised his chin and said, "I—I don't need you."
"Truly?" Rhaegar asked. "Where will you go? The Wall?"
"Yes," Jon said.
Rhaegar laughed. "You truly are your mother's son."
"Don't talk about her!" Jon shouted, drawing the attention of the guards, anyone who could hear. "You hate her! I'm going to the Wall, and you can't stop me!"
Rhaegar sighed heavily, then turned his back and walked away.
"The Wall?" Lord Baelish asked when Jon told him what happened. "You don't mean that, do you?"
"I do," Jon said. "I've been thinking about it. Where else can I go?"
"Jon," Lord Baelish said. "You can go anywhere you want. Your father may treat you with shame, but he will gladly provide you with anything you ask. A keep, a wife, a knighthood…"
"I don't care about any of that," Jon said emphatically. "Everyone will look at me. Whisper about me. I hate it here. My mother was Lyanna Stark. The North is where I belong."
"Would your mother want you to live among cutthroats and criminals, Jon?" Lord Baelish asked. "Because that is who they send to the Wall."
"My uncle Eddard Stark is Lord Commander at the Wall." Jon said. "I know he will accept me."
Lord Baelish pursed his lips, then said, "I don't think you understand what you will be giving up, Jon."
"I don't care," Jon said. "It's my choice. It's the first choice I'll ever make for myself."
"I hope you remain here," Lord Baelish said. "But you must… follow your instincts. But please, take my advice to heart."
Jon glared at him. He got out of his chair and said, "Thank you, Littlefinger."
And if that was the last time he had ever spoken to the man, it would have saved him so much trouble.
His father forbade him from joining the Night's Watch. He changed things. He brought Jon to eat with his trueborn siblings; he came to take his lessons with his trueborn siblings; he had his grandmother, aunt, and uncle come by more often, although his uncle Viserys was sometimes cruel. Rhaegar promised to provide him a keep in The Gift and to let make his own cadet house; even the Queen took him aside one day and urged him to not throw his life away at the Wall.
Jon refused to listen to any of them. He screamed, he broke things, he insulted his father in private and in public, for everyone to hear.
By the day he turned five and ten, his father at last agreed. But as he did, he did something even stranger. He took Jon in a tight embrace and said:
"I love you. You will always be my son, Jon. I beg that you never forget that."
His father refuses to have him go with the normal Night's Watch recruits, however. He makes a tour of it, Robb Stark needed to go to claim Winterfell anyways, and Jon finds himself traveling North with all of his family. As usual, however, he mostly keeps to is one friendship he does rekindle on the Kingsroad, however: Robb Stark. He may be a bastard, but he was still Robb's cousin. He sought Robb out, and while it was awkward at first, he came to feel rather close to him by the time they reached Winterfell.
"Are you sure you want to go to The Wall?" Robb asked him in Winterfell, as did his father, the Queen, and even his Uncle Benjen, who had been ruling Winterfell while awaiting Robb.
"Yes," Jon said to all of them. He did have one secret, however:
Before he went, Lord Baelish asked after him, and Jon found himself in the master of coin's solar yet again. He had come to repair his relationship with Lord Baelish, but it had never been the same since he determined to go to The Wall. But Lord Baelish smiled at him, and from behind his back, he brought for a bundle of cloth.
"Handle it with care, Jon," Lord Baelish said. Jon took it and found it very light. When he took off the cloth, however, he gasped.
"It's Valyrian steel," Lord Baelish said. "Terribly sharp, so you must be careful with it, lad."
The handle had a Stark wolf on one side, and a Targaryen dragon on the other.
"I can't go North with you," he said. "But I wanted you to have this."
"My father didn't give me anything like this," Jon said with wonder. He had been given a sword from the royal smithy, but nothing like the Valyrian steel Rhaegar had accumulated over his kingship. Jon said, beaming, "Thank you, Lord Baelish."
"I'm sure the Wall will teach you much," Lord Baelish said. "But keep what I've taught you in mind."
Jon nodded. "I will."
He kept the knife hidden on his journey North; while the thought of flaunting it in front of his father had appeal, he truly did not want to leave on such a sour note. One day he might need something from him, after all.
I am a fool, Jon thought as he lay down on the bed in his cell. A complete fool.
Ghost, the direwolf pup they had discovered while riding North, hopped up on the end of the bed and peered at him.
"What?" Jon asked, frowning. "What do you want?"
He had been given a chest with the Targaryen symbol etched into it on all sides, and in it lay a letter from Lord Baelish whose last line read:remember to play some little games from time to had been playing them, especially with regards to Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. The oathbreaker, the traitor, the kingsguard with shit for honor. Once, he had fought the Smiling Knight with Ser Arthur; now, he was the Wall's master at arms, and had taken an immediate dislike of him. He had taken to mocking him as "Lord Snow". Jon had tried to speak to his uncle Eddard, but his uncle had told him that he had to make do with his situation, and the Kingslayer's names, if he were to live out his life at the Wall.
The other boys hated him. Jon knew this. They had given him a dark bruise that afternoon in the armory, and he realized that they had perhaps meant to kill him. Donal Noye had interrupted them, then scolded him with what he felt was genuine hate. How do you feel about your victories now, bastard?He had asked. Jon hadn't backed down, but the blacksmith's words were still in his mind, and he wondered if they had any truth. As Ghost nipped at his blanket, Jon considered the worst. The worst reason Noye could have, but he could not find enough wrong in his words.
It took the arrival and horrid beating of Samwell Tarly to finally spurn him into action, however, and while Sam is wounded in the leg, and would always have a limp, he was left alive. Soon enough, Jon made friends with the other boys, came to first appreciate the meaning of the word "brother".
His first reaction to being assigned as his uncle's steward is deep offense, but he remembered Lord Baelish's advice, as well as the council he had sought in his uncle Aemon after Donal Noye's scolding, and he realizes it's true purpose was not like to be sinister.
However, when he takes his vows, Ghost comes in from the forest, with red around his snout and a dead man's hand in his mouth. Jon returns to Castle Black to find two dead men in the courtyard. As pale as the hand Ghost brought him, with open eyes and dead blue eyes. It stilled Jon, for in his dreams, he had seen that shade of blue before.
Sure enough, that night Ghost is disturbed. He tries to lead Jon out of his cell, but Jon knew he still had enemies in the Watch, hidden amongst his friends, and his mind almost plays a little game with his direwolf. He played them every day, after all, especially when left alone with the rapers and cutthroats, but he shook off the instinct, feeling stupid. Ghost did bite down on his arm a little harshly, as well, which also spurned him.
He is too late: his uncle is dead, and one of the dead men has smashed in his skull with a chair. Jon tries to fight him, picking up his uncle's fallen sword, but the dead man cares not for his slashes and cuts, or even when Jon takes his head. The head continues to moan and rasp, and Ghost takes it in his mouth, mangling it. In desperation, Jon takes a lamp on the wall, a lamp that illuminates his uncle's fallen body, and hurls it as the headless corpse. It bursts into flame and swiftly burns away, and Jon has to wrestle the head from Ghost's mouth to throw that into the fire, too.
Jon had not been allowed to send a raven to Lord Baelish—the ravens weren't for personal use, of course—but Geor Mormont becomes acting Lord Commander and has Jon write one to his father. He hadn't written in so long that his writing is an ugly scrawl, but he hopes it is enough, and he also finds himself tying a third letter to a raven, again addressed to his father, from Uncle Aemon.
When Lord Commander Mormont asks him to join them in ranging beyond the Wall, Jon keeps his vows, but he can't help staring at his burned hand in the night.
He takes the Valyrian steel dagger with him beyond the Wall, but he finds his way into becoming a prisoner of the savages. The dagger finds its way into the hands of Wildling girl he hesitated to kill. Ygritte doesn't even know what Valyrian steel is when she takes it, but she grins at his protests all the same. "This a nice piece, Jon Snow. I think I'll keep it."
"No," Jon glares at her. He has been captured, marched along with the Halfhand, and Ghost is gone to the wilds, but he refuses to let her win. "You won't."
Ygritte is pretty in a wild way; she is fierce, unpredictable, and warm. His father had introduced him to a few, far prettier ladies in King's Landing, as had Lord Baelish. Lord Baelish also taught him to be aware of the wiles of even noble ladiers; that when speaking with them, dancing with them, he needed to think with his mind, not what lay south. To his father's frustration Jon did just that, refusing all of them in the end. But he is tired, hungry, and his eyes can't remain on Ygritte's face as he'd prefer.
One particularly harsh night, the Halfhand gives him a plan: kill him as a ruse to sneak into the Wildlings, and try to return to Castle Black at all costs. Jon takes a moment to play a little game before agreeing to it.
The next day, the Halfhand picks a fight with him.
"Bastard!" he cries. "I've seen you looking at that girl. Do you want to fuck her, bastard? Are you that lowly and lustful, bastard?"
Jon flushes, and he hopes the rage he summons is believable as he kills the Halfhand.
"We are the watchers on the Wall," the Halfhand says with his dying breath. Jon can't help lingering on the sight of the man's body, but when he at last finds it in him to look up, Ygritte is giving him another cocksure grin.
"Perhaps we have room for you yet, Jon Snow." She says as she gives back his dagger.
That night, as Jon burns the Halfhand's body, he prays that nobody sees his tears. As the old ranger burns, he thinks of Father, and Ser Gerold, and Lord Baelish, how he may never see them again. Perhaps someone will know his name after he's gone, unlike other bastards at the Wall, but he'd still be dead. Or, if he wasn't burned, worse.
I don't want this, he thinks. I don't want any of it.
Perhaps he comes to love Ygritte; he thinks she may come to love him. She holds his face and calls him husband, and herself his spearwife. So often she tells him that he knows nothing, but he comes to dismiss it, for how many times she says it before kissing him. And after so many kisses and so many nights of pressure, Ygritte convinces him to lie with her. He doesn't like how it feels. When she's asleep next to him that night, he thinks of his dagger, within ready reach, but he can't stomach the thought of killing her in her sleep either. He isn't that dishonorable.
(In the back of his mind, of course, he thinks of Lord Baelish's remarks on honor:Even the Smiling Knight was chivalrous some days. The smallfolk loved him. He also took many heads, until Ser Arthur took his in the name of the Mad King. I sometimes wonder, Jon Snow, how many heads Ser Arthur also took in the name of Aerys Targaryen, and how much honor that won him.)
When they are climbing The Wall, he hesitates one time too many, and only him, Tormund Giantsbane, and Ygritte make it over the Wall. He feels bad about it, but on the top of the Wall, looking out over the North, they kiss fiercely.
The next night, when everyone is finally taking some rest, he takes his dagger and sinks it into the back of Tormund's neck, and while she gets the better of him, she hesitates, and Jon sinks the dagger into her heart. She could have given me children, he would think later. I could've given her children, too.
When he returns to Castle Black, so much and so little has changed.
Jaime Lannister is acting Lord Commander, after a mutiny killed Lord Mormont; supposedly, his father had contracted catspaws to attempt to assassinate Robb Stark, Tywin Lannister, and Hoster Tully; his uncle Viserys, who was left in the Capital to serve was Prince Regent, had married Cersei Lannister and declared Rhaegar mad, as Rhaegar had declared his father, and formed an unholy alliance between Stark, Tully, and Lannister against Rhaegar. Where Lord Baelish was in all this Jon did not know, and while it pained him, the Watch was supposed to take no part. There were larger, worse things coming, and it fell to him and what remained of the Watch to stand against it.
Of course, that doesn't stop the Kingslayer from calling for Jon's head when he tells him all he had done. It is his uncle Aemon that saves him, along with the first builder, who came with his uncle Eddard to the Wall all those years ago. It is also, perhaps, his uncle Aemon who spurns Jaime Lannister to take Jon atop the Wall on the night the Wildlings are set to attack.
"You can say you were right if you'd like," Lannister tells him. "We should have sealed the tunnel."
"It was a difficult choice, ser." Jon says.
"I'm not a ser." Lannister says bitterly. "But if I bow to every suggestion the little shits make," Lannister says. "Then it's finished. For you, for me, and all the little shits." The Kingslayer turns to him. "And your idea to lock a dead man in a cell… if we survive tonight, I'll have it done." Lannister grimaced, then gave Jon a grave look. "You have the Wall, Lord Snow. Hold her."
Jon does. But if not for the intervention of Robb Stark, the Wall and the Watch would have fallen all the same.
The Robb he meets is not the bright-faced, bright-haired boy he went north with. His forces had been routed at the Trident, just as Robert Baratheon's had, and only his retinue and a small force of motley men remained to him. When they had a surprise charge into Mance Rayder's ill-organized flank they managed to capture the King Beyond the Wall, but had they faced the Wildlings in fair conditions, they would have been slaughtered. Jon does not have the affection for Robb that he once did, but he is grateful for his cousin's intervention, and he says as much to Robb in private. In public, however, he cannot look as if he had much affection at all.
Jon doesn't care for what men remain to Robb. Especially Beric Dondarrian, who had seen Thoros of Myr resurrect. Robb had made the event public, but it didn't have quite have the effect he desired; the Watch had seen enough dead men coming back, even if it seemed Dondarrion remained close enough to a man. Further, in the days after Robb arrived, the only uncle that remained to him at the wall, Aemon, finally died.
"He was the blood of the dragon," Samwell Tarly, who Jon had manuvered into becoming Aemon's steward, before dead men and his dead uncles, "and now his fire has gone out."
And now his watch is ended,they all said, and once again, that night Jon buried his face into Ghost's shaggy fur and cried.
Winter had come months before, but the snow was falling in earnest now. Robb repeatedly asked after Jon, but he made excuses to avoid his cousin. The Watch wasn't supposed to take part, and if in those days Jon had been made to spend time with Robb, he may not have had it in him to do what needed to be done.
A raven came one day, and the Kingslayer asked after him.
His new steward, a boy named Olly, rushed to grab a skin of wine for Jaime, which the Kingslayer took, even though he already appeared drunk. But the Kingslayer bid the boy to leave the room. It was only after the door was closed, and he bolted it shut, that Lannister told him to sit.
"Lord Snow," Lannister said, grim-faced. "I got a raven from your father today."
"Good news, I hope," Jon said.
Lannister snorted. "There was a battle at Highgarden. Viserys' forces were surrounded, and your father set fire to the fields to kill them. All your uncle's commanders and major allies are dead."
The Kinsglayer bore a dark look. Jon said, "I'm sorry to hear that, Lord Commander."
"Of course you are," Lannister took a long draught from the wineskin. "You have a gentle heart. Even for our enemies."
"I killed the Wildling I lay with, ser," Jon said. "I would do it again."
"Your father wants us to throw out Robb Stark, but show mercy to any of his men that surrender," Lannister said flatly. "We have the men to take him, but not without loss."
"That is… unfortunate." Jon said.
"Is it?" Lannister asked. "Do you have affection for a traitor to the crown?"
Jon studied the Kingslayer.
"No," he said.
"Do you know why I killed your grandfather?" Lannister asked.
Jon opened his mouth, then thought far better of it.
"He had wildfire cached underneath the Capital," Lannister said. "He had plans to set it all off, should the winds not blow his way. This was before we knew what happened at the Trident, you see. Your father had clapped me on the shoulder and told me everything was going to be alright." Somehow, Lannister's eyes grew even darker. "Then, one terribly hot afternoon the king had me follow him below the city. I saw what he had, all of it." Lannister took another long draught. "I have sworn many vows, bastard. But I knew there was only one purpose for all that Wildfire. Tell me, if your father had shown you the same thing, what would you have done?"
Jon's eyes were wider than they had ever been. He said, dumbly, "I don't know."
"Do you?" Lannister sneered.
"My father never told me this," Jon said, more to himself than the Kingslayer.
"Naturally," Jaime sneered. "Your father promised to geld me and before sending me to the Wall if I did. Not that the Kingsguard didn't make their own threats, of course. Even your precious Ser Arthur."
Jon was quiet as Lannister drank the last of what was in the wineskin. He watched as the Lord Commander unsteadily got to his feet to fetch another, and his throat only grew drier as the Kingslayer sat down with the next one.
"I'll do it," Jon said quietly. Lannister blinked at him, confused.
"Do what?" he asked dumbly.
"Robb Stark trusts me." Jon said. "At least enough to let me in a room with him. My father wants him captured, but he won't submit meekly. Neither will his men. We'd lose more people trying to capture him in a proper battle than it would be worth." Jon took a deep breath, then said "I'll kill him for you."
The Kingslayer, the man with shit for honor, gawked at him.
"They'd murder you for that, Jon Snow." He said.
The words hung in the air, in the silence that fell between them. Jon's stomach almost churned, but he found himself more frightened at the prospect of death than anything else. He didn't want to die. He had brothers now: brothers he loved, brothers who would miss him. Brothers who would certainly die if they tried to do things honorably.
"I took my vows," Jon eventually said.
"We'd need to kill more than just Robb Stark," Lannister said slowly.
Jon nodded. "When they sleep, then. Gather the men you trust. They're already packed into in the King's Tower. Have your men set it afire, and at the exits. Kill anyone who tries to leave."
Lannister recovered himself and said, "You'll burn."
Jon swallowed, but said, "I'll be dead anyways."
Lannister raised an eyebrow. "Do we even kill the women and children?"
Now Jon's stomach churned. "Has my father promised to help us with the Others?"
"Yes," Lannister said.
"Then we save who we can." Jon said.
"Perhaps I misjudged you," The Kingslayer said.
Jon didn't know what to say in response. All he could ask was, "Can I go, Lord Commander?"
"Of course," Lannister said. "Get your rest, Jon Snow."
His father's demands aren't revealed to the Watch as ought to be. Rather, two days before Robb is to make his doomed march back to Winterfell, the Lord Commander sets the cooks to make their best meal and feasts Robb and all of his retainers as the heroes who saved the Night's Watch. Like all the best lies, Lord Baelish had once said, it contains some truth. Jon, however, can barely eat that night, nor can he sleep. The dagger Lord Baelish gave him was how he was going to do it, but he can't bring himself to take it out until a black brother tosses a leg of honeyed chicken into cell, distracting Ghost. Jon buried his head in the direwolf's shaggy fur before leaving him to the chicken.
The guards are suspicious of him. But when the message is passed to Robb that he wants to speak with him, he is welcomed in. Robb's hair is thinner than it used to be, his face gaunter, the blue in his eyes duller, but he wears a smile when he lets him into his room. There is a guard outside, but not in. Jon feels sick.
"Are you alright, cousin?" Robb asks.
Jon cannot find words. Robb looks at him for a space, his smile faltering.
"I know you must be nervous," he said. "I realized that was why you wouldn't answer my requests to see you. It might look untoward. That is also why I didn't officially summon you, either." He smiles again. "But you are here now, and not a moment too soon. I've been planning the defense of Winterfell from the Others. How do you think we go about getting more dragonglass?"
"I don't know," Jon eventually croaks.
"Cousin," Robb steps toward him. "Are you sick? Should I call the maester? He won't be happy to be roused, of course, but he'll do his duty."
"Duty," Jon echoes hoarsely.
Robb grows too much concern. Almost too much for Jon to bear. "I think I have just the thing to make you feel better. Sit down while I get it."
Jon initially didn't believe Samwell Tarly when he claimed to have killed an Other, but he had brought back dragonglass, and when pressed for details, he said, "I didn't know I was going to kill it, but I had to do something. I didn't have any choice: he was going to kill Gilly and take the baby. If someone had asked me my name right then, I wouldn't have known. I wasn't Samwell Tarly anymore. I wasn't a Steward in the Night's Watch or son of Randyll Tarly or any of that. I was nothing at all. And when you're nothing at all, there's no more reason to be afraid.
What would Jon's name be after this? Dishonorable. Kinslayer. A bastard with no honor.
But what would it be if the Others got to him?
It is only after Robb has gone to the trunk behind his desk, displaying the whole of his back to him, that Jon finds it. He draws the dagger and tackles Robb, stabbing him in the back of the neck and knocking over his desk.
Jon quickly disentangles himself from his cousin, and it is all he can do to watch as Robb turns on him, utter shock and pain in his eyes. Jon wants to apologize, and apologize, and apologize until someone stabs him in the back of his own neck, but he can't. All he can do is watch Robb collapse, pawing at the wound to his throat.
When the guard comes rushing in, Jon is weeping freely; he doesn't fight back.
He wakes up terrified.
He is cold and alone. The room is dark, so dark that he can't see Ghost as he leaps over to him, licking him furiously, whining, and soon enough, others stream into the room.
The only friends that remained to him was Dolorous Edd and Sam, and their eyes are wide as dinner plates. The Kingslayer leads the party, and he too looks at him in shock. Jon wrestles Ghost off him, and the direwolf proceeds to circle the room, more animated than Jon had ever seen him, despite appearing to have suffered wounds of his own.
"Jon," Jaime says. "You're back."
Jon is still squinting in the darkness, and all he can remember is the sword in his chest, the pain, the salt in his tears. The Kingslayer had brought a torch, and Jon can smell the smoke, just barely.
"You're back," Sam says in wonder.
Jon has so many questions. Many that he knows can never be truly answered. All he can ask is:
"Why?"
Jon didn't like that he survived, didn't like that he was the only one Thoros of Myr had been able to bring back, but he also knew he was grateful to be breathing again, and most of a man. He thinks.
When his father finally arrives, Jon requests that he be the one to bring Robb's head, and the one to lead his father down to the cells to see the fallen Wildlings they had secreted away while burning Mance Rayder's dead, who had risen again a few days later with blue eyes. Lannister had granted the first request.
Jon stands with the Lord Commander to meet the royal party, carrying a Robb's head. Ghost is sitting next to him, and when he sees the royal party, he growls. Jon holds him back by the scruff of the neck. His father, naturally, leads them, next to him Aegon, and next to him, the princess Rhaenys, to Jon's surprise. All three sets of eyes settle on him at once, and his father looks at him with deep melancholy.
They all bend the knee, and the Lord Commander wears a winning smile. "Your grace."
"Lord Commander," his father acknowledged. "Where is Robb Stark?"
The Kingslayer gave Jon a significant look, and Jon threw the sack on the ground, and out rolled his cousin's head.
"He fought us, your grace," Jon said in a monotone.
His father gawks at him, before recovering himself; Aegon turns up his nose; Rhaenys looks down to the head, then to Jon, and he can feel the judgement.
"The King's tower is… undisposed," the Lord Commander said. "But you can have my quarters."
"We won't be staying ong," his father said. "You are to come with us to Winterfell. All of you."
The black brothers look between each other; the Kingslayer quiets their whispering with a harsh snap of his fingers, then he puts on his smile as he says, "We are honored, you grace."
"Your raven said you had something to show me," Rhaegar says.
"We do, your grace," Lannister nods. "And I humbly request you bring your lords with you. They all should see it."
Rhaegar studied him, then the crowd, and then Jon, for a terribly long moment. Jon felt heat rising in his cheeks, but he straightened himself.
"So be it. Show me what you have, Lord Commander."
His father calls after him.
Jon is once again brought to the Lord Commander's office, but it is no Lord Commander in there this day. His father looks out of the windows that overlook the training yard, and the crop of boys who are like to die soon enough.
"That was vulgar," he said.
"You know where I stand, your grace," Jon tells him. "I had to show everyone that."
"Spikes would have done perfectly well," Rhaegar said. He studied him, then shook his head. "Is it true? Did you kill Robb Stark in his own chambers?"
Jon considered his words, then said, "I know what grandfather was planning to do."
Rhaegar blinked, then sprouted a glare. "That has nothing to do with this."
"You saw what we have in the dungeon?" Jon asked.
"Yes," Rhaegar said stiffly.
"Then you should understand my actions perfectly well." Jon said.
"Jon," Rhaegar said, dismayed. "What happened to you?"
"They call me Lord Snow these days," Jon said.
"You're not a lord," his father said.
"Grandfather was king," Jon countered. "What made him worthy?"
"The Kingslayer has gotten to you, hasn't he?" Rhaegar asked. "He's been filling your head with lies."
"How were we going to guarantee that Robb Stark would never get out? That we would even overcome him in the first place?" Jon challenged.
"You didn't have to kill women and children!" Rhaegar shouted. "What kind of cur are you, Jon?"
Jon, strangely, found himself laughing.
"Am I amusing you?" Rhaegar glared at him.
Jon laughed harder. Rhaegar watched him for a time, before sweeping forward and hitting him in the face so hard he fell over.
It stopped Jon's laughter for a time, but he grew a sneer in its stead.
He got to his feet and challenged, "Is that it? I've had worse."
Rhaegar had gone pale. He looked in horror at his hand, then said softly, "Jon…"
"Lord Snow to you," Jon said.
"I'm sorry, Jon," Rhaegar said. "I…"
"You've seen what's in the dungeons," Jon said. "We need more dragonglass and more fire. Samwell Tarly thinks there may be some on dragonstone, thanks to the volcano. Otherwise, you'll be ruling over a graveyard, your grace."
Rhaegar turned away from him. He trembled, then said, hoarsely, "Go."
And so Jon did. If he cried into Ghost's fur that night, well, that was only between them.
His father didn't summon him again. Ser Gerold refused to acknowledge him. Not when they took the Kingsroad to Winterfell, not when they arrived, and not in any time after they arrived. Someone he did find, however, was Lord Baelish, who had maneuvered his way into becoming the Lord of Harrenhal: apparently, he had sent some of his whores into the rebel army as camp followers, and through them, learned of a rebel battleplan for Highgarden. A few ravens later, the rebels had been burned and scattered, and Lord Baelish awarded Harrenhal. Jon was digging latrine pits when a servant sought after him, and he was grateful for the meeting and relief from latrine pits both.
"Jon," Lord Baelish said when he saw him. "Or should I call you Lord Snow? That's what everybody else seems to."
"I am Jon to you, Lord Baelish."
"That's good to hear," Lord Baelish said. "You know, I worried for you every day at the Wall, surrounded by all those cutthroats and rapers."
"I find them good enough company," Jon said. "They are my brothers now."
"Are you sure?" Lord Baelish asked. Jon smiled some.
"Well, not entirely. But one of those cutthroats saved me when the Wildlings were trying to climb up the Wall." Jon said.
"Brothers in arms," Lord Baelish said.
"Brothers in fear, if we're honest," Jon said, his smile fading. "Has the king showed you?"
Lord Baelish faltered and couldn't entirely recover his ease. But he said, "He did. A terrible thing. It's a good thing we're fighting them together."
"We don't have enough men," Jon said. "During the Great Ranging, Samwell Tarly found weapons made of dragonglass, and used one to kill an Other. We're getting shipments from Dragonstone now, but it won't be enough, either."
"Is it truly that dire?" Lord Baelish asked, his voice a note quieter than Jon had ever heard.
"We know that when you kill an Other, all of the dead men they have die for good," Jon said. "We learned that after a disaster at Hardhome. So, if we kill enough Others, I think we'll live."
"You know," Lord Baelish said. "When I began running customs at Gulltown… I never expected to make ledgers like this. Somehow, all the crown's men are still expecting to be paid."
"If we win, they will," Jon said. "We have the men we have. It's either that or letting them roll over all of us."
"There's little that gold can't buy," Lord Baelish said with a faint smile. "But it doesn't seem like those… things want gold."
"No," Jon agreed. "They don't. But why did you summon me, Lord Baelish?"
"I've heard much about you since the royal party returned." Lord Baelish said. "I must confess, I am having difficulty believing all of it."
"I did come back," Jon said. "Not like the others, I think, but I came back."
Lord Baelish was quiet for a long time.
"I didn't see anything," Jon said.
"Then, for our sake, I hope we win," Lord Baelish said. "And… I have also wondered, since you—ah—came back, are you released from your vows?"
"Aye," Jon said. "The Lord Commander held a vote, and the yays had it. But first, I must fight with them." Jon paused, then added, "It's my duty."
"Supposing we win," Lord Baelish said slowly. "Would you consider leaving them?"
"Yes," Jon said. "I'd like to get warm at some point."
"It's certainly warmer in the south," Lord Baelish said. "And life offers many opportunities. Have you been playing my games?"
"Yes," Jon said again. "Robb Stark lost his."
"Some might call what happened dishonorable," Lord Baelish said.
"Even the Smiling Knight was chivalrous at times," Jon said back.
Lord Baelish smiled. "So, you did listen."
"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't," Jon said earnestly.
Lord Baelish studied him, then said, "I think that's all for today, Jon Snow. But even in these times, don't neglect all the possibilities at your fingertips. You are still the King's son."
"That I am," Jon said, but it didn't feel affirming like it once had. "Now, Lord Baelish, I need to go."
"Of course, of course," Lord Baelish waved. "Until we speak next, Jon Snow."
"Until then," Jon said.
If he had known what Littlefinger had planned, he might have struck him down then and there.
One night, while Jon is sleeping with the quarters provided to the Watch, Ghost began to growl and bark. It woke Jon and several others, and they all saw a pack of men holding swords.
"We only want Jon Snow," one of them said. "But we don't intend to stab him in the back, like he did to Robb Stark."
Some of the stewards didn't move, but the others leapt to their feet, drawing their own knives, steel and dragonglass, and fell upon the men so hard that when they were done, the would-be catspaws were little more than vague collections of meat. It would soon come out that they were Karstark men and Night's Watch among them; those remaining of the men who took the black with Eddard Stark, those who had grown to love him, those who had come to hate Jon, including Donal Noye, and the first builder who had saved his head. Jon was surprised at the feeling it drew from his father, and the number of heads he took in response.
The first man Jon sought out after the attempt, however, was Lord Baelish.
"I first offer my condolences," Lord Baelish said. "It's an awful thing they attempted."
Jon hadn't said much since the attempt, but he managed, "I knew there would be consequences."
"Still," Lord Baelish said. "An awful thing. But, I fear, it may not be the last."
The thought had of course crossed and then stuck itself upon his mind, and so Jon again opted to say nothing.
"Do you feel safe, Jon?" he asked. "Would you like me to provide some of my own men?"
Jon considered him. He had always hesitated to play games with those he trusted, of which there were less than five left, and he realized that Lord Baelish hadn't been among them for some time, so far he had been down in the South.
Jon said, "I'm surrounded by my brothers."
Lord Baelish regarded him with what seemed to be pride as he said, "I understand."
There was, naturally, a second attempt at his life. This one by a collection of Manderlys and Glover men. His brothers had closed the ranks around him, so the men didn't get terribly close, but among those who killed them was a tall, somewhat dashing man with one eye, who wearing a cloak as black as any man of the Watch.
"Who are you?" Jon asked. He hadn't slept overmuch since the first attempt, but he managed to keep his wits about him.
The man smiled. "You may call me Maynard, Jon Snow. And it is good fortune I met you. There is little time left."
"Thank you," Jon said. "But I must get back to my rest."
"The last word you said to Robb Stark was 'Duty.'" Maynard told him.
Jon went stiff, then he paled, and then he said, "Come with me."
Maynard continued to smile as Jon led him to his father's chambers, and found himself face to face with Ser Gerold and a kingsguard whose names he did not remember. He expected them to deny him entry, but one of them simply went inside, soon came out with his father.
"Jon?" Rhaegar asked. Jon wasn't quite sure how to put his discovery into words.
"Your grace," Maynard bowed. "When you left King's Landing to fight at the Trident, you told Jaime Lannister: When the battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but… well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."
This time, it was Rhaegar who went pale. He ushered Maynard and Jon into his chambers, and father and son were at last in step with each other: confused, horrified step.
"The hour is late, your grace," Maynard said. "Thank you for receiving me."
"How… how did you know that?" Rhaegar asked. His eyes darted to the sword leaning against the wall, which had slain Robert Baratheon, and Stannis Baratheon. It hadn't taken Renly's, but the boy had bowels of the Red Keep, where he soon disappeared. Rhaegar hung the men supposedly guilty of the crime. But those politics, and that guilt, it was so long ago.
"I know a great many things," Maynard said. "But what matters is this: the leader of the dead means to kill me. You have been planning your defense, and I'm certain you have realized you will fail. You cannot prevail with your men, or, in fact, any force of men you could muster. However," Maynard looked to Jon, then to Rhaegar, and his smile widened. "The leader of the dead does want me. He will seek me out. Place and your best men in the Godswood and give them dragonglass and what Valyrian steel you have."
Rhaegar agreed and summoned all of the remaining lords and commanders immediately. Many were disgruntled, some appeared mutinous, but their songs soon changed.
So it was that everyone thought the king mad, and Jon got to watch as Maynard provided more words he should not possibly have known, words for every lord and commander who remained in Winterfell.
"The Starks are gone," Maynard said at the end of the meeting. "The Starks were also right: winter was coming, and now it is here. We must fight together now, or die."
There was no revelry before night fell. Maynard told them one day that to gather their forces and prepare to fight, for the sun wouldn't come up the next day. He was right, of course, and when the sun didn't rise, Jon felt terror sink into the marrow of his bones. He had a rough-hewn dragonglass sword, a dragonglass dagger, and the dagger Lord Baelish had given him. Lord Baelish who had failed to join the line with the other lords and knights and smallfolk. In the days after, Jon couldn't quite find it in him to condemn the man.
What followed was not a battle. Within the hour the dead were upon them, and while they set them aflame, and for a time they burned, burned, burned, they kept coming. One by one, the kingsguard fell; Ser Barriston first, then Ser Lewyn, and Ser Gerold, who stopped a dead man's sword meant for Jon. Alongside them fell all but one of their rangers, when the time the dead formed a circle around them, an endless mass of rotten bodies and blue eyes, Jon had hidden himself amongst the bodies of the fallen. Stupid, he knew, but he didn't want to die so very, very desperately.
His tears had frozen on his cheeks, and blood was flowing down his face. Through the bodies, whether they were kingsguard or his black brothers he didn't know, he couldn't find his father, but could see the feet of Ser Arthur and the Lord Commander. He vaguely Aegon drop his sword and offer his abdication, all the gold he owned, and hear Rhaenys telling him to shut up. All Jon could think about was the horrifying reality that when he closed his eyes in the King's Tower, that guard's sword in his chest, he had no memory of dying, really. One moment he was closing his eyes, and the next, he woke up in that dark room with nobody but Ghost.
He heard Ser Arthur and Jaime Lannister loose a battle cry, but it rang dull to Jon. He presumed that they charged, because he heard them die.
"Hello, good Ser," Maynard said. He had fought with them, but always stayed close to the weirwood in the Godswood.
The King Other made a sound that was horribly high and thin, and then Jon had the privilege to watch as the King Other killed Maynard. As Maynard collapsed, he said, "Ghost."
Ghost. Jon had lost track of Ghost. Ghost was probably dead, and probably Sam and Edd, too. He hadn't heard his father die yet, nor Aegon or Rhaenys die, but they had lost. They were dead already. And Lord Baelish, and his grandmother, and his aunt. He had nothing. Nothing at all.
... Yet the thought also brought some words Samwell Tarly had said to him a thousand years ago, and soon, Jon burst from beneath the bodies, screaming like an animal, and in the absence of Lord Baelish's dagger or his dragonglass sword, he still had the dagger made of dragonglass. A dagger long buried in the Fist of the First Men, a dagger hundreds, thousands of years older than himself. He had no idea who made it; perhaps it was another bastard like him, who died namelessly beyond the Wall. But he had the dagger because of that nameless man all the same. Jon watched as the King other struck down his father, and then Aegon. His heart was pounding out of his chest; he felt cold, so very cold, but the blood flowing down his face was warm as he did the natural thing: stabbed the King Other in the back.
They won. So many were dead, and but they had won.
The whole of the Kingsguard was dead, as was almost all the Watch. Jon cried upon seeing the Lord Commander's body, spilling blood into the snow. Next to him lay Ser Arthur Dayne, his dragonglass sword some feet from him, and the handle of Dawn fallen next to him, and what could only be the remnants of its blade scattered at his feet. His father was dead, fallen in front of Aegon and Rhaenys, having apparently thrown himself in front of his trueborn children to try and save them. He only saved Rhaenys, but she wasn't crying as Jon had, but she had the look of a ghost more than a woman. The two of them exchanged no words; they didn't have any for each other.
Instead, they found themselves silently working together to organize what remained of their army. It wasn't particularly difficult; so many were dead. Jon wanted to spend time identifying the bodies, to search for Samwell Tarly and Dolorous Edd, who he couldn't find, but those lords and soldiers left, along with Rhaenys, elected to burn the bodies with some of the wildfire that Rhaegar had brought with them but chosen not use; their situation would only be worse if they set Winterfell alight on accident during the battle. Rhaegar had it buried, and Jon had to help dig it back up, along with the horribly large mass grave several miles away from any piece of civilization. Jon protested so vehemently that Rhaenys eventually declared:
"I am your queen, bastard! Any more protests, and I will have your bastard head!"
Jon had a rabid thought to take the dragonglass dagger that slew the King Other and fell her, but he saw Lord Baelish in the gathering of those lords and ladies who remained and acquiesced.
The bodies burned for days. His one relief was that somehow, Ghost had survived.
Naturally, with the death of the king and his eldest son, along with the devastation to the royal host, there rebels once again.
Rhaenys all but demanded his aid, he but said, "I'm tired of fighting. I'm going to get warm."
Rhaenys looked half a mind to threaten to take his head, but in the end, she let him go.
"I don't want anyone else in our family to die, Jon Snow," she said. "If that is what you wish, I will find you the gold for a ship east."
"Thank you, sister," Jon said.
Lord Baelish had survived the battle by also hiding amongst the corpses of the fallen, and he welcomed Jon's decision happily enough. Jon gifted him his sword and gave back the Valyrian steel dagger. When Lord Baelish refused, Jon insisted with more force than he thought himself capable.
"I'm sorry we couldn't find you more gold," Lord Baelish told him the day he set out for White Harbor.
"I'm sure you did your best," Jon said.
"I live to serve," Lord Baelish smiled. He put a hand on Jon's shoulder and said, "Remember, Jon Snow, that you will always find my arms welcome to you."
"Thank you, Lord Baelish," Jon said.
He was a fool.
The only ship he could afford was a rickety, foul-smelling trade galley where he lived and ate in a space about the size of a few cells in Castle Black. Ghost hated it and became utterly insufferable, with the captain threatening to kill him more than once. When he arrived in Pentos, he sought work with his hands, and while the pay was enough to live on, and he drew the attention of some girls, but the days were long and too hot. He found lodging, but he could tell the man with which he slept was eyeing Ghost for a pelt.
After a long, sleepless night, he determined to become a sellsword. That too proved a trial, but he fought well enough that he was hired to be a guard for a cheesemonger.
One day, however, he was called into his cheesemonger's office after his normal shift. He took Ghost with him, and as usual, the direwolf put off the other guards. The guards at the door told him to keep Ghost outside.
"What do you intend to tell him, then?" Jon aske. The guards exchanged a look, before letting him and his wolf in.
At a desk sat Illyrio Mopatis, his cheesemonger. He didn't recognize the man to his right. Both stared some at Ghost, who gave a low growl. The only one who seemed undisturbed was the man to Illyrio's left.
Jon drew his dragonglass dagger. Illyrio's guards drew their swords, but Illyrio lazily waved a hand and they sheathed them.
"The kingdoms are in disarray," The Spider told him. "Your sister has failed to find enough support to keep the Iron Throne. Currently, she is hiding in Storm's End, under siege by the Tyrells and Florents. Your grandmother and aunt are besieged at Dragonstone."
"She is my half-sister," Jon said. "I don't mean to be rude, Lord Varys, but why have you called upon me?"
"We want you to join us, Jon Snow." Varys said. He gestured to the left of the cheesemonger. "Let me introduce to you Lord Toyne, a commander in the Second Sons. We have an army, and a leader, but we are missing someone with the right family name."
"My name last name is Snow," Jon pointed out.
"That it is," Lord Varys said. "But you have the blood of Rhaegar Targaryen. As well, your story has spread throughout the kingdoms. While some parts are more believable and other parts not, there are those who are open to the idea of you being king. Yes, even among the high lords."
"I don't want the throne," Jon said. "That thing has killed almost everyone who has sat it. Whoever your lord is, tell him I don't accept whatever this is."
The Spider should have glowered, but instead he smiled. "Who said anything about him?"
Jon was deeply confused, until behind him came a beautiful woman with dark eyes and silver-gold hair. She was a head taller than him and had every look of a lady, and certainly carried herself as such.
"This is Melissa Blackfyre, Lord Snow," The Spider said.
Jon looked at Melissa, then back to The Spider, and his hand tightened around the dragonglass dagger. He often turned it over in his burned hand a night, when thoughts of what could have been consumed him.
"The Blackfyres are gone," he said carefully.
"Through the male line, yes," Lord Varys replied. "But the female line survived. Melissa has a trueborn claim, and she asked after you specifically. A fortunate coincidence that you were already serving my other friend IlIyrio quite well."
Jon frowned at him.
Lord Toyne sighed. "Do you have the stones to join us or not?"
Illyrio shushed him, however, and looked at Jon intently.
"There is also this," Varys drew a bundle of cloth from beneath his robes and laid it on the table. Jon refused to touch it, however, so Varys gave Illyrio a significant look. As Illyrio unwrapped the bundle Melissa circled around and perched herself on the desk. Jon gawked when he saw what it was, and Melissa picked it up and offered it to him with a feline smile.
"I've been told this is of importance to you," she said. "Valyrian steel, is it not?"
Jon's chest became tight, and the hand gripping his dragonglass dagger shook.
"What do you want from me?" he asked.
"Much and more," Melissa said. "But I have heard the songs they sing about you. It seems to me that you have spent your whole life serving others. What doyouwant, Jon Snow?"
"Lord Snow," Jon said, although he couldn't explain to himself why.
Melissa smiled. "See? You already know what name you want. What else is there that you desire?"
A newborn son in his arms; perhaps a girl named Lyanna, too. To give them all the things he had been denied, to make them feel safe.
"I don't know," he said.
"I think you do, Jon Snow," Melissa leaned forward, and turned the dagger over in her dainty hands. "I think you might be able to get it if you join us."
"What do you want from me?" Jon asked her.
"A queen needs a king," Melissa said easily. "And I don't see many promising matches in Westeros. None who have your blood, or, more importantly, your kind heart."
"I assassinated Robb Stark," Jon said. "My own kin."
"From what we've gathered, that helped you save us from oblivion." Melissa said. "Or were the Others just a story?"
"They were real," Jon said, somewhat hoarsely.
"Join us, and we can free your country from those who have set it ablaze," Melissa said. "You can get all that was denied to you, for the sin of existing out of wedlock. You can give your children the best life possible. They will be kings and princes and queens—but only if you accept this and join us."
Jon looked at the Valyrian steel dagger, then down to the dragonglass dagger that he held in a shaking hand. He closed his eyes. He saw his father staring out across the Blackwater; he saw Lord Baelish at his desk, counting the crown's gold; he saw Jaime Lannister's shock at his suggestion to kill Robb Stark; he saw Jaime Lannister's body, pooling blood in the snow around it; he saw uncle Aemon's smile the first time they met; he saw his father's body next to Aegon's; he saw Ygritte's heartbreak as he stabbed her; he saw the burning body of the Halfhand. The hand holding the dragonglass dagger steadied.
But when he opened his eyes, Ghost was nuzzling his head into Melissa's free hand, then hopped up on his legs and began to lick her face. Melissa laughed as she placed the Valyrian dagger back onto the desk and playfully wrestled with the direwolf. She could give me children, Jon thought.
Varys asked, "What say you, Lord Snow?"
I have cross-posted this on AO3. I'm excited to hear what you think: what you liked most, what might not have landed, and simply where you think Jon will end up! Cheers.
:)