authorsnote: sorry this took a hot minute - insert the meme 'got a lot going on right now'

but I hope you enjoy, do feel free to review, war is coming

songrecs: The Promise - HOD Season 1

'The thing we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that'

Jeor Mormont to his squire Jon Snow

-x-

Jon resisted the urge (and it took some resisting) to get drunk at his own wedding reception.

For he knew what was coming.

He'd happily charge into war, even on dragonback, face the crab feeder a hundred times than do what he knew he needed to do. To be wedded.

And bedded.

It was the second part he was struggling with.

Of course, he knew he could do the deed, had before if only with one woman, had enjoyed it time and time again, had let her teach him where to put his fingers to bring her to pleasure, had enjoyed dipping his head between her legs, had writhed with pleasure as she'd bitten into his neck, scratched her nails across his back like a wild cat, had loved the tender moments by the fire, those stolen moments in the warm lagoons, the moments he whispered his love into her skin, and she promised it back.

But that was a different life, a life that wouldn't come to be, this was here and now, with his new bride next to him.

And expectant eyes on them from more than one source.

They were only moments into a grand feast. Drinks flowed freely, course after course of food were presented, Jon had never seen anything so opulent in the North, gifts heaved on tables nearby that Jon didn't spare a glance, and musicians played bard after bard, women in diamond encrusted dresses and men in tunics as garish and silly spinning across the floor.

He didn't indulge, he never did. He sipped a cup of mead, but otherwise he felt nerves writhing in his stomach; how was he supposed to do this? How could he do this?

It wasn't that he couldn't, and he felt like part of the problem that he most certainly could, as he glanced at Alicent, beautiful, radiant even in her wedding dress, her cheeks pink, her nerves were likely worse than his, he had to make this easy for her, he had to not scare her, but he was terrified he would, he didn't know how to do this.

This wasn't him, he didn't marry maidens, charge off into the sun with one at his back, arms around his waist like some Southern Knight. He wasn't some High Lord who would swipe a kiss to her knuckles and charm her, he was a man out of time, a Northern brute, he was a man who'd seen too much and felt too much to ever love again, he couldn't give her what she deserved, he couldn't be what these people expected of him.

And yet he could give her something better than what history had promised her, he had to accept that was as good as it was going to be and try.

And fail likely but try.

He was never meant to have this, he didn't want this, this wasn't his life, and yet it was, is, he was a Southern Prince and Heir to the Throne, and it all came back to one thing; to stopping the dead, it all came there, it all started and ended there, the war for the living, and what the Gods had presumably flung him back to do about it, to stopping them, that was all that mattered.

But did it?

Surely if it did he'd have married Rhaenyra, had a hoard of Targaryen dragon-riding children, stopped any dance through strength, fire and blood, fury and the Targaryen way, and carried on the dynasty, his ancestors dynasty.

Fire fights ice.

So, was it just about the dead? Or had he diverted to play the hero?

'Are you some sweet Southern lover Jon Snow?' Ygirtte had mocked him once, was she right?

'Love is the death of duty'

Or at least gallantry.

And yet he knew, Jon knew to his bones if he could go back, turn back time again to stand in the Small Council Chamber a week earlier and pick differently, he wouldn't have, he would have done the exact same thing.

'You're a fool Jon Snow' Ygritte again, and she was right, she'd always been right about him.

"To dance!" He would have been glad for a reprieve in his thoughts, a loathing to them as he turned the decisions over and over, were it not for that word.

The crowd cheered and hollered as a bard struck up a slow tune, and Alicent turned to him, pink on her cheeks, nerves in her gaze but a smile playing on the corner of her mouth. This was good for her, this was better than anything she could have hoped for, he hoped he didn't break that view, he hoped he didn't make her resent him.

And that was what drove him, under the smug smirk of Daemon, the encouraging nod of Viserys, Rhaenyra was nowhere to be seen, Alicent's hopeful gaze, to take up his brides hand and lead her to the floor.

Gods save him.

He was lost.

But at the least he could try and give his bride a happy wedding day, for whatever followed might not be happy, not with a husband like him.

But at least his martial skills, his speed, translated to the dance floor.

He swept Alicent around with little to no effort, he remembered the steps from Sansa practicing them over and over as a child, in the courtyard as he and Robb had sparred, Jon had spent more time stood than down as he'd knocked Robb into the dirt, and had seen the steps, he knew them, and he had always been nimble and quick, it was easy.

And the blush that stole over Alicents delighted face was something to witness.

This was his life now, did he need to accept that? He wasn't some Northern brute tolling away on the Wall to live, he was a Southern Prince, he had to do stuff like this so not to raise suspicion, to blend in and … he would be King one day.

He turned Alicent absentmindedly, his mind elsewhere, miles away even, he had no smiles for her or the crowd, but that was who he was too.

As he thought … he would be King one day.

He hadn't really considered that much, too many things crammed in his head to think that far in the future, that barring the very Dance he needed to prevent, he would be King, and that meant ruling these people, it meant being popular, he would never rule by fear, he would never be Maegor come again, and so love, or at least respect it would be, was this what he would have to do? Was this what the damned South would want?

It felt wrong, there were so many more important things, he could make a list as long as his sword.

He thought of Eddard Stark, yes he'd twirl Lady Stark around the dancefloor with a smile, but that was for her, not the crowd, he cultivated respect and love in different ways; inviting lower Lords and Commanders to dine with him, rewarding on merit, lifting capable men up, all things Jon had done at the Watch, as King in the North and even a little now with his plans for the Stepstones, wasn't that better?

And yet Lord Stark had danced, for Lady Catelyn, and that took him back to Alicent spinning in his arms, and he forced himself to look back at her, he couldn't manage a smile as he knew what came next, but he remembered Sansa, remember what as a child she'd cooed over, and with ease he lifted Alicent in the air to the delighted screams of Ladies in the crowd, and Alicents shocked but overjoyed face.

He could play this role for her, even if it would never be his.

No, he would never be a dancing Prince for them, perfumed in silks and false smiles, but he could try to make Alicent happy, he would be fair and just, and that would be enough, it would have to be enough.

He was half Northern here and had been before, he would die before he betrayed that.

But as a bell rung, and someone called, "To bedding!" He knew there was more, there was more to be done than this.

More to give, more to do, was this what the Gods had flung him back for?

Or had he failed them already?

'Duty is the death of love'

Not for him this time, playing the rescuer, and yet he knew as he placed down Alicent with her pink cheeked grin, he'd do it again and again and again, he'd twirl her on the floor, but not for the Southerners, for her.

But the next thing was for them.

"To bed!" And yet not all of it would be.

"They'll be no ceremony" He cut in harshly, and the relief that sparked behind his brides eyes told him all he needed to know as he took her hand in his, "I'll be taking my bride myself, and any who dare to try and look upon her naked will have their eyes removed" He'd never been possessive, and it wasn't that way, but he did feel protective of Alicent, immensely, too much.

What had he promised in that Sept under false gods?

'I am hers, and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days'

His to protect, his to ensure her safety.

What would he have said in the North?

'I take this woman'

His to protect.

And to take.

"Its all good fun" Viserys attempted but Jon was walking Alicent to the door, turned back to the crowd with a glare, no he could never be their dancing Prince, and he felt better as that settled over him, he would be their King, half North, half South, Fire and Blood, what had the Targaryens described themselves as?

'We are closer to gods than men'

He didn't have such illusions of grandeur, but he could invoke it as he took Alicents hand and steered her through the door.

"Any man who values their sight dare not follow us"

He meant it, as Alicent reached for him, and he followed.

To his doom.

At least that was what it felt like. And was that what it would be?

Either way the Gods surely cursed him for his decision, and curse they did.

They reached the bed chamber in silence, his … their bed chamber now. She would move her things in, lie next to him night after night, if their marriage was happy, the alternate was separate rooms, bitterness and resentment.

He preferred his own space, only Ghost had been permitted at the end of his bed and on rare occasions Sansa in the bed, he in the chair when nightmares had plagued her, but he would have to learn, he would have to remember days of sleeping with his brothers, of the trust, of trusting Alicent.

She was his wife now, until the end of his days, she was his to protect, his to trust.

"Would … would you l..like some wine?" She stumbled and Jon resisted the urge to curse, her nerves were not her fault, but as he shook his head he had no idea how to deal with them.

He'd never been with a trembling Princess, he had no idea how to comfort tears or kiss away nerves, and yet he had to try, he had to be good to her, he was no monster.

And yet he remembered going to her before, soothing her shaking hands, pulling her into his arms, the damsel in distress he'd saved, could he do it again?

"It's okay" He offered gently, could he be gentle?

"I know" Alicent said quickly, spilling a bit of wine in her hurry, she nodded and took a sip "I will do my duty to you" She promised and Jon sighed, that was her Father talking, and if anything good came from this marriage it was at least that he could get her out from under him, if anything.

"I didn't mean like that" He said kindly, his thumb finding under Alicents chin to lift her gaze to his, "It will be okay"

He tried not to wince at his lack of flowery language, he tried to think of the tales Sansa had gushed about, the gentleness of which Lord Stark had treated Lady Stark, he'd never had two parents to learn love from, but he knew how to be kind, he knew of Ygritte, how at times she'd liked his tender side.

It was terrifying.

"I'll be gentle" He promised, winced, but Alicent seemed to ease under those words, her gaze on his, and he took the cup from her hand and placed it down, there was no point in delaying, in letting Alicents worries fester, this was their duty, they would not be properly married otherwise, and he would give Otto no reason to steer his daughter to the King if he feared she might not be Queen.

Jon would not shame her in that way, and so, nerves in his own stomach, he led her towards the bed, his hand twining with hers. In a moment of gallantry, thinking what Sansa would scold him, he placed a kiss to her hand, and her blush came back, her cheeks having gone pale white as she'd entered the room, good, pink cheeks he could work with.

He would have to work with.

It was not that he couldn't do the deed, Alicent was beautiful, he was a man, they were close in age, and her smile was one of true beauty, he could smell the scent of berries on the air, he knew he could do it, that wouldn't be a problem, it was just her wide doe eyes, her trembling hands that caused him to hesitate.

Only for a second though, they had a duty, what was the other way the line went?

'Duty is the death of love'

Not today.

He stepped forward, and he knew Alicent was surprised, a squeak leaving her lips as he lowered his lips to hers, he was no brute, he wouldn't bend her over like a barbarian and take his martial rights, he would make it was good for her as he could, at least he would try to make sure it didn't hurt.

A kiss or two eased Alicent a little, and Jon was warmed as she placed her arms around his neck, his found her waist, and a tumble to the bed followed, another nervous squeal leaving his brides lips, he felt like a fool playing at gallantry, but Jon was a good reader of people, he knew what worked.

His lips lowered to her neck, remembering everything Ygritte had liked, but he wouldn't pretend Alicent was her, as the scent of berries filled his nose, he couldn't, nor did he want to.

He couldn't linger on the dead, but the living.

But with an adjustment or two he kissed, he went slowly and Alicent relaxed beneath him, his touch was featherlight, kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks, ever so gentle but as he tasted tears on her cheeks he pulled back in worry.

"Are you alright?" He asked, readying himself to remove himself, and yet Alicent gripped him.

"I'm happy" Truth shone in her eyes, and if Jon had, had any doubt in his decision before now, it vanished into the air.

And with that, and Alicents tentative smile, nervous but not scared he kissed her again, again and again until her arms were wrapped around his neck, she was clutching him as his hand moved lower, his lips too, her squeaks soon turned to gasps, whimpers and then moans, and even his name.

It would be a lie to say as she gasped "Jon" he didn't feel something close to glory.

More kisses, gentle hands, her thighs around his head squeezing, panting, his name again and again like a prayer, a chant, a promise, and then her dress was shed, a pile of white on the floor, a pretty thing ignored for the prettier one in his arms, Jons breeches next, an innocent giggle from her as he tore them off, and he took her with a smothered gasp of his own.

Wedded and bedded.

After he pulled her into an embrace against his chest, and she sunk willingly. Wedded and bedded.

In two lifetimes he'd never been married before, but as Alicent slept with a smile on her lips, he knew he'd made the right choice, he knew he couldn't have done anything else, fool as he was.

Even if the Gods damned him for it.

We felt like a fraud leaving so soon, but as dawn broke over Kings Landing, Jon knew it was time to go, he and Alicent were married, she was safe from marrying a man old enough to be her Father, she was a Princess now, safe and protected, and he'd delayed enough.

He wanted to pretend that was it, Jon was no coward, but he knew part of him was running away.

This wasn't what he was good at, marriage and babies, and love and tenderness, with Ygritte he'd snatched at those moments, but that had been all, everything else in his life had been hard and coarse, never gentle, only Alicent.

And yet the night before as she'd chanted his name and he'd kissed her eyelids, what had that been?

He bent down a gentle brush of his lips over her forehead, there would be no procession out of Kings Landing, no fanfare, his generals and soldiers had gone ahead before the wedding, there would be no sending off, the point was to slip away, mount Vermithor and surprise the Crab Feeder and his men, Jon would only reveal himself with fire, and victory would soon follow.

War he felt sure of, as Alicent stirred, this was what he didn't know.

"You're leaving?" She asked, half asleep, half awake, they'd slept without clothes, and he tucked the blankets up closer to her, he was dressed, in his battle gear, no plate, only chain on his top half, he didn't intend to let anyone close enough with a sword for him to need armor, Blackfyre was strapped at his hip, a dagger the other side.

Vermithor would protect him, and Valyrian Steel, and it was without arrogance that Jon knew he could defeat anyone on the ground, even the Crab Feeder himself.

He was counting on it.

"To the Stepstones" He said quietly, and though he could see a flash of worry in Alicents eyes, she nodded, she knew she had not married a Prince who'd sit pampered on a Throne, she'd married a warrior, her smile was small, nervous but it was there.

"When will you return?" She asked, and Jon fought not to wince at the longing in her voice, he wanted her to be happy, but Jon begged her not to give love he was not sure he could give back. Could he?

Would Arya laugh herself silly this was his life? Would Sansa scold him?

Did the Gods mock him?

Jon had rarely been a religious man, but he almost felt them looking down at him, they'd given him a pretty Southern bride and taunted him with love, with the reverence in her voice, with what he'd long sworn off.

"Soon I hope" He offered, "I intend to finish this quickly" Alicents nod was full of trust, that she knew he would, that he wouldn't linger, but what she didn't know was that there was always another fight to fight. If only she knew.

"I will see you soon" He promised, it was another vow to her, the only he could give for now. "I promise"

"Return to me" She said in almost a whisper, Jon nodded, that was his promise, bowed low again to sweep another kiss over her brow, for no other reason than he wanted to, her hands found his hand resting on her cheek, clutched, but she let go as he pulled away.

And Jon swept from his marital bed, without a glance back.

There was war to attend to.

He didn't pause by anyones chambers, he didn't stop to see the King or check Daemon had gone back to the Vale, no, he went right for the Dragon Pit, he had been honest in that he didn't wish to linger, nor did he wish to discuss tactics he'd already worked out or fend off Daemons attempts to join him.

War called.

It was quiet when he arrived, dawn had barely broken, and within minutes Vermithor was shaking out his wings, bumping Jon with his nose, and Jon was climbing upon his back, a pat to the wing and Vermithor took to the skies.

Their bond was one of the things about this new life Jon already cherished … among others.

Once in the skies Jon let out a breath of relief, the air was clearer here, as was his head, Vermithor needed little prompting their thoughts aligned, the flight would take two days, Jon had a pack of provisions secured to him, including a sleeping pack, water and food, he'd sleep on cliffs and be left alone to brood, he'd slept in worse places, a boat might have been easier, but Jon wanted quick not easy.

Vermithor was happy too, to stretch his wings, to fly across the clouds, it was quiet here, giving Jon plenty of time to think.

The Stepstones were an issue that long should have been dealt with, Jon knew defeating the pirates and the triarchy backing them was important but fortifying them was more so, without fortification war would never end. Jon would deliver the Stepstones, peace had to be achieved across Westeros to ensure Jon could focus on the Dance, or lack of, and this was the first step.

All of Westeros had to be aligned for what was to come, Jon couldn't think of any other reason, that and stopping the Dance, for why else he'd been sent back.

"Naejot" Jon murmured, 'Forward' to Vermithor who banked and then took up the path, they'd stop on the cliffs near Dorne, and then onto the Stepstones, two days and Jon would be at war, the thought didn't scare him, nor excite him, it was his duty.

'We all enjoy what we're good at' Who had said that to him? He couldn't recall, but he knew his answer, 'I don't'.

No, but he was good at it.

He didn't glance back at Kings Landing as it disappeared like a speck behind him, over Blackwater Rush and into the Bay, Vermithor moved North to clear Sharp Point with little direction, Jon would liken their bond to Ghost, flying him was almost too easy.

'The idea we control the dragons is an illusion' Viserys had said that to him, and Jon couldn't agree more, but he didn't control Vermithor, they were bonded, they were connected, Jon needed his dragon, and his dragon needed him, they moved together, a few words in High Valyrian were all Vermithor needed to know what Jon needed, a few shifts of Vermithor as they passed Dragonstone hours later told him he needed to land to eat, it was easy, it was as though they could talk.

It was as though they were one.

'Not all men were meant to dance with dragons' He'd read that in the history books, and it might be true, but Jon wasn't one of them. As Vermithor landed and Jon climbed him once again and they took to the skies, Jon knew he was meant to do this.

He was meant to be a dragonrider.

That thought emboldened him as they circled Stonedance and then down to the Narrow Sea and Tarth in the far distance, less than two days, and he would stop war in the Stepstones, he would do so quickly and then return to Kings Landing, to his bride, to any trouble Daemon might have caused he hoped Viserys could hold off, and to his duty, to all of it.

The weight of the world on his shoulders, but as Vermithor swooped past the cliffs, up here it felt a little lighter.

next we go to the stepstones, war and a surprise or two

and something I need to say:

this is an epic fantasy story with a splash of romance (and a lot of tragedy) trust the process, I've also planned this entire thing out, start to end, and I won't be changing that, this is fully canon divergent but will include lots of canon events in a different way, like fr certain stuff is getting crazy. but it is what it is, if you don't like that, that is absolutely fine, but I will not be changing it because you want me to, this is my story, I sincerely hope you enjoy it, but it is okay if you dont 3

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