Chapter 8

Jon sat beside Daliya's bed, watching her steady breathing in the dim light. She finally looked peaceful after Maester Luwin had given her a tonic to help her sleep, but Jon had no intention of leaving her side. Her nightmares had been growing worse, and the fear of what might come next gnawed at him.

Ghost, ever vigilant, rested his head on the edge of her bed, gently brushing his nose against her cheek.

"Careful, Ghost," Jon murmured, his voice low and soft. "I know you're worried too, but she needs her rest now."

Ghost's ears twitched at Jon's words, but the direwolf didn't move, his eyes fixed on Daliya with the same intensity Jon felt. For a moment, Jon allowed himself to relax, taking in the quiet. The room was still, save for the soft sound of Daliya's breathing and the faint rustling of the wind outside.

Jon leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in his chest ever since Daliya's nightmares had started to worsen. The visions she spoke of, the blood, the lions and wolves, the prince, none of it sat right with him. There was something dark at the heart of her dreams, something that felt like a warning.

He glanced at her again, her pale face turned toward the window, even in sleep. He wondered what she saw in her mind, if she ever had a moment's peace when her eyes were closed.

"Why you?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Why do you have to carry this?"

Ghost lifted his head slightly at Jon's murmur, sensing his distress, but remained still, keeping his watch.

He stood and approached the window, looking out at the landscape of Winterfell, the cold air seeping through the cracks. His breath clouded the glass as he exhaled, trying to make sense of it all. Could he protect her? Could anyone?

A soft murmur pulled him back to her side. Daliya stirred, her brow furrowing as if something troubled her, even in sleep.

Jon knelt beside the bed, his hand hovering over hers, unsure if he should wake her or let her sleep. She had suffered enough; the least he could give her was a few hours of peace. But her distress grew, her whispers becoming more urgent.

"Jon…" she mumbled, her voice weak. Her hand twitched, reaching for something, someone.

He grasped it gently, holding it between his own. "I'm here," he whispered. "I'm right here."

"The stag is riding with six lions," she murmured. "They're coming and death will follow."

After those words, her breathing steadied once more, but Jon didn't move. He stayed by her side, his mind racing with all the questions he couldn't answer. A quiet knock startled him out of his thoughts.

"Hey," Robb's quiet voice said as he opened the door. "How is she?"

"She's resting," Jon murmured. "At least, I hope so."

Robb stepped quietly into the room, his eyes flicking from Jon to Daliya, who was still sleeping, her face soft but troubled. He shut the door behind him and crossed the room to stand beside Jon, glancing down at her.

"She looks so fragile," Robb said, his voice low. "I didn't think it was this bad."

Jon nodded, his gaze never leaving Daliya. "It's getting worse. The dreams… they're not just dreams, Robb. She keeps saying things, things that don't make sense, but they feel like warnings." He paused, thinking of her latest words. "She just said the stag is riding with six lions, and that death will follow."

Robb's brow furrowed as he absorbed Jon's words. "The stag?"

Jon shrugged, frustration edging his voice. "She's been talking about lions, wolves, blood… I don't know what it all means, but whatever it is, it's tormenting her."

Robb was quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning Daliya's face. "Do you think that she can really see something the rest of us can't?"

"I do," Jon replied without hesitation. "I just think we need to learn how to listen to her."

Robb studied Jon for a moment, seeing the conviction in his eyes. "You really believe that, don't you?" he asked quietly.

Jon nodded. "I've always known she's different. There's something about her dreams… They're not just nightmares. They feel more like warnings, things she's seeing that we're too blind to notice." He paused and sighed. "I just wish I knew how to help her."

"Me too," Robb admitted quietly. "I love her, I always have, but… I should have tried more. I should have spent more time with her. Learn to understand her."

"It's not too late," Jon said. "She's still here, Robb."

Robb nodded, though his eyes remained troubled. "I know. But it's hard to know how. Every time I try, she pulls away, like she's living in a world none of us can reach."

Jon sighed, feeling the weight of that truth. "I know the feeling," he admitted. "But I think, somehow, she's trying to protect us. From whatever she's seeing. That's why we can't give up on her. We have to be patient."

Robb's shoulders slumped slightly, his usual confidence clouded by uncertainty. "I don't know if patience will be enough, Jon. I'm sure you've heard the whispers about her. People tend to fear what they don't understand. Of course, I'll always defend her, but I fear the world won't be kind to her."

Jon nodded, his gaze distant. "I've heard the whispers," he said quietly, his voice tinged with frustration. "Some people think she's… broken. But she's not. She just sees things differently."

Robb frowned, his jaw tightening. "It doesn't matter how much we defend her, Jon. People's fear turns to cruelty too easily. They'll say she's mad, that she's dangerous."

Jon ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of Robb's words. "That's why we need to protect her. We can't let them isolate her, or make her feel like she's the problem."

"But how?" Robb asked, his voice low but intense. "How do we protect her when the world will always see her as something to be feared?"

By killing everyone who tries to harm her. That was Jon's first instinct, but he knew better than to say it out loud.

"By staying close to her," he murmured. "By listening when no one else will."

Robb's expression softened as he looked at Daliya, and for a moment, a deep sadness clouded his usually strong features. "You're right," he said softly. "She's part of this family, and we won't abandon her. No matter what."

"This is nice, isn't it?" Jon asked gently as he helped Daliya take a seat by the heart tree. Her usually dreamy eyes looked sleepy now, and her movements were slow. Jon hated to see her like this. Ned and Catelyn had decided to continue giving her Maester Luwin's tonic to "help" her with her anxiety and nightmares. Jon had rejected the idea, but that didn't matter. They believed they had found a way to help Daliya. This wasn't helping her; this was drugging her to make her act more "normal."

Jon watched as Daliya settled down beside the heart tree, her movements sluggish and her usually vibrant eyes dulled. He clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. This wasn't Daliya. This was what the tonic did to her, a shadow of herself, quiet and compliant.

"It's peaceful here, isn't it?" he murmured, trying to bring some sense of normalcy to the moment. He knew she loved the godswood, the tranquility of it. But today, she barely responded. Her gaze drifted lazily over the tree's carved face, her lips parting slightly as if trying to form words but not quite managing.

Jon sighed, kneeling beside her. He couldn't stand seeing her like this, so muted. "Daliya," he said softly, placing a hand on her knee. "Are you alright?" He hated asking, knowing the tonic made it hard for her to express herself.

Her head turned slowly towards him, and for a brief moment, the usual spark flickered in her eyes, only to fade just as quickly. "Tired," she whispered, her voice so faint it barely reached his ears.

"I know you are," Jon said gently. "But this… this isn't right. You shouldn't have to live like this. They're trying to help you, but this isn't help."

She blinked slowly, as if she was trying to process his words but couldn't fully grasp them through the fog the tonic had created. "They don't… like the dreams," she murmured. "They said it's better this way."

Jon's chest tightened. "It's not better," he insisted, his voice firm but quiet. "You don't have to be like this for them. You don't have to be 'normal' for anyone."

She looked away, her hands resting limply in her lap. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Jon's heart ached as he watched her, knowing she was trapped in a world she didn't fully understand, caught between the dreams that haunted her and the reality everyone else tried to force on her.

"I'll find a way to help you," Jon promised, his voice low and determined. "The real you, not this."

Daliya didn't respond, her head leaning slightly against the heart tree as her eyes fluttered closed. Jon stayed beside her, his resolve hardening. He wouldn't let them turn her into this passive, quiet version of herself. Whatever it took, he'd find a way to bring her back, the Daliya who wandered into his chamber, who saw things others couldn't, the one who was wild and free, even if no one else understood.

"Jon…" she murmured.

"I'm here," he assured, gently wrapping an arm around her.

Her head dropped against his shoulder as she tried to stay awake.

"The trees… I can't hear them… I can't…"

Jon's heart clenched at her words. Daliya had always been able to hear the trees, feel the life around her in ways that no one else could. It was part of what made her so unique, so connected to something deeper than anyone understood. But now, the tonic had silenced that connection, cutting her off from the one thing that gave her solace.

"I'm so sorry," Jon whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he tightened his hold on her. "I swear, I'll find a way to make it right. You'll hear them again."

Daliya's breathing was slow and uneven, her body limp against him. Jon's anger toward the maester's tonic, toward the decisions made without his input, simmered beneath the surface. This wasn't how she was meant to live. Daliya was more than her visions, more than the fear others had of her strange abilities. She was part of him, and seeing her like this, broken, quieted, was unbearable.

"You're not alone," he whispered into her hair. "You'll never be alone. I'll stay with you."

She stirred slightly, her fingers twitching against his arm, but her voice was weak and distant. "I miss them… the whispers… the trees..."

"I know," Jon murmured, pressing his forehead against the crown of her head. "I'll make sure you can hear them again. I won't let anyone take that from you."

His gaze drifted back to the heart tree, its ancient face watching them both in solemn silence. The old gods were still here, even if Daliya couldn't feel them right now. Jon believed that. He had to.

"Do you want to go back?" he asked after a long silence.

Daliya's head was still leaning on his shoulder, she was half-asleep. "Tired," she murmured.

Jon sighed softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. He hated seeing her like this, drained and distant, so unlike the vibrant, strange girl she usually was. The tonic may have dulled her anxiety, but it had taken too much from her in return. It wasn't a fair trade.

"Alright," he whispered, standing up slowly and helping her to her feet. "Let's get you back."

Daliya swayed slightly as she stood, leaning heavily on Jon for support. Her eyes remained half-closed, as though she was caught between sleep and wakefulness, her usually sharp, intuitive gaze dulled. Jon wrapped his arm around her waist, steadying her, as they walked back toward Winterfell.

As they made their way through the godswood, Jon's thoughts churned. He had to speak to his father, had to convince him that this tonic was doing more harm than good. Daliya didn't need to be drugged into submission; she needed to be understood, protected for who she was, not changed into something she wasn't.

"Jon…"

"I'm here. You're safe with me."

Daliya mumbled something unintelligible in response, her head resting against his shoulder as they walked. Jon's grip tightened, and his jaw clenched. He wouldn't let this continue. No matter what it took, he would find a way to protect her, to bring her back to herself.

"Snow!" Theon's voice called.

"Not now," Jon snapped, not bothering to hide his tension. Unfortunately, Theon didn't give up. His brows furrowed as he saw Daliya.

"Someone's sleepy."

"This isn't a good time," Jon stated, trying to regain his composure.

"I can see that. What's wrong with her?"

Jon's patience was already fraying, and Theon's casual tone only made it worse. He shifted Daliya's weight slightly, holding her closer, as if shielding her from Theon's gaze.

"It's none of your concern," Jon replied tersely, keeping his voice low but firm.

Theon, however, wasn't one to be easily dismissed. His eyes flicked between Jon and Daliya, curiosity evident. "Looks like she's more than just tired. What did Maester Luwin give her? She looks… out of it."

Jon's jaw clenched, his irritation barely contained. "Like I said, Theon, this isn't a good time."

"Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off. Just trying to help."

Jon turned his attention back to Daliya, ignoring Theon's lingering gaze. He could feel Theon's eyes on him, but right now, his only focus was on getting her back to her chamber and figuring out how to stop this from happening again.

"I was going to ask if you've heard the news already," Theon continued.

"What news?" Jon asked, his attention still on Daliya.

"The King is coming to Winterfell. He has the Queen with him. You do know what they say about her, don't you?"

"No, and I really don't care."

Theon smirked, though his eyes were sharper than usual. "You're really not any fun."

Jon shot Theon a hard look, his patience wearing thin. "Daliya needs to rest, and I have more important things to worry about than the King's arrival and his entourage."

Theon shrugged, unfazed by Jon's irritation. "Fine, but I thought you'd want to know. Everyone's talking about it."

As Theon turned and walked away, Jon let out a quiet breath, relieved to be free of his prying eyes. He glanced down at Daliya, who was still half-asleep, her head resting on his shoulder.

As they reached the doors to her chambers, he helped her inside, guiding her to the bed and pulling the blankets over her. She was asleep almost immediately, her breathing steady and soft.

Jon stood by her bedside for a long time, watching her sleep, his resolve hardening with each passing moment. He couldn't let them take her away from the things that made her who she was.