THE CROWNLESS
Robb watched Jon from behind their father's desk, sitting in their father's chair, Maester Luwin hovering behind as if he was their father, awaiting the answer.
Yet for some reason, in the light of the candles and hearthfire, Robb looked more like his mother and uncle in that moment than Jon could ever recall. His hair seemed more red, his eyes more blue, his frame bulkier than what his memories held as the truth. It was impossible to understand why. Was it because Robb was making a demand that would change Jon's life? Was this resentment?
Robb sat back in the chair, pressing into the furs, a laugh on his lips. "Look how we've struck him dumb!" he said to the maester, who shared in his smile.
"It would appear he is considering it, my lord," Luwin said, "Give him a moment."
"A lordship, a house to call his own and the most beautiful maid north or south of the Wall yet seen," Robb said to the maester, "It is no choice at all to my mind."
Jon bristled, now understanding what irritated him about Robb's demand. "I swore an oath to the Night's Watch. I can take no wife, hold no lands… father no children. What you ask me to do is abandon all honour and go back on my word to my brothers."
Robb's face fell. "What I ask you to is assist me in saving our father and our land."
"While abandoning my vow," Jon said, "Abandoning my brothers at the Wall."
"The North must have peace with the King on the Wall," Luwin said, "You cannot fight the largest host ever assembled by the wildlings and the Lannisters at the same time. It cannot be done. Lord Tywin is a cruel but cunning man. If we do not make peace soon, his envoys will reach Mance Rayder with promises of support. Even if his ships never sail to deliver it, the wildlings will be emboldened. You would then certainly face a war with them. Robb would need to choose between saving your father and sisters, abandoning much of the North to wildling raiding parties, or attempting to split his hosts and risk total defeat."
Robb sat, his hands clasped together, staring at a candle on the table in thought. He cannot argue against Luwin's logic here. But this isn't about logic!
"I swore an oath to the Watch," Jon repeated, "Does that mean nothing?"
Still Robb said nothing.
"The Canadians have destroyed the Watch," Luwin said, "The lords of the North no longer recognise it. Your 'brothers' failed in what every noble in Westeros saw as their duty, to keep the wildlings out."
"According to Maester Aemon, the wildlings have never mustered a host the size that Mance has," Jon countered, "And never did they have the help of men from another world, with weapons that can breach the Wall itself."
"The lords regard those as failures of the Watch too. If it had done its duty and watched the lands beyond the Wall properly, the Others would have been discovered far sooner and Mance Rayder would never have gathered so many. If the Watch had not acted with complete recklessness under the command of Alliser Thorne, the Canadians would never have assisted the wildlings."
"You know this, Jon," Robb added, finally speaking, "You were there in the Great Hall. You heard Lord Umber, Lord Karstark, Ser Wylis… And saw how others looked upon your presence, though they said nothing for fear of offending me."
Jon shook his head. "The opinion of the lords is irrelevant. My brothers remain at their post. We are still the Watchers on the Wall. Jeor Mormont is still Lord Commander."
Luwin frowned. "Your brothers are now at the command of the Canadians, and at the mercy of the wildlings."
"What does that matter to my oath?" Jon said, "The Others have returned."
"And the best defence against them is this agreement," Luwin said, "We can't burn a hundred thousand wildlings, Jon. Which means that even if you find a way to defeat them, every one of them shall be a wight if and when the Others do find a way past the Wall. The wildlings will not accept a lesser match to a vassal, and they do not believe the lords would hold to a betrothal. Rickon is too young. Arya and Sansa's hands cannot be pledged. And Bran… they will not have him."
Jon felt a pang of sadness for his little brother, who once dreamed of knighthood and gallantry in the name of the realm. He'd make a fine husband for Val, in a few years. "Then convince them of another match. Neither we nor the wildlings truly have the advantage. They'll bend. I cannot be part of this."
"The wildlings fear a lesser marriage will allow other lords to attack them," Luwin said, "Only a Stark match will do."
The sadness grew, clutching Jon's throat and chest, threatening to unman him. He gathered himself to state the obvious. "I am not a Stark."
Robb stood up from Father's chair, the legs scraping the floor with the force of it, and came around the table.
"Jon… You do not deserve to languish at the Wall. You would do more for those still there by agreeing to this. You can organise supplies and money to be sent, show all of Westeros the threat we face. And you deserve your own land, a wife worthy of you, even Father's name, though that is the one thing I cannot grant you yet."
Robb laid his hands on Jon's shoulders. "You are my brother. You say you are not a Stark. I say you should be and are."
Jon could say nothing. His jaw refused to move, his mind refused to compose words. He did not know what to feel about it.
"Take some time," Robb said, releasing his shoulders, "A few days, if needs must. The host is still gathering."
Jon wandered Winterfell for quite some time after leaving the solar, visiting all the places he liked to be before he had rode north to the Wall. His old room, still as it was. The stables, where he would learn to ride and take care of his horse. The smithy, where he saw his first sword being made. The practice yard, where he sparred with Robb and Theon.
His thoughts were nowhere near the question that had been put to him. They were all on his past, all the good moments in familiar places… and the shadow that hung over him. His nameless mother's shadow.
At some point, Ghost and Summer had joined him, the two direwolves padding behind as guards and Free Folk stepped aside to avoid them, the unicorns in their paddock groaning in objection to the beasts being so close.
Jon found himself outside the Sept, but quickly turned on his heels. The Canadians and the Free Folk had their own idea of what he should do. They weren't the place to go for honest advice, despite their good humour towards him and his rescue at the hands of their warriors from the last of Ser Alliser's friends.
Instead, he drifted towards the godswood, and before he knew it, he was standing before the weirwood. Its face hadn't changed at all since he was a child. Summer lay down on his haunches, watching him. Ghost circled the tree, red eyes searching the trees for something.
Feeling all strength leave his legs, Jon sat down on a large root and faced the pools, watching the water steam off their surface.
The white direwolf soon completed its circuit of the weirwood and joined him, sitting beside him. Jon put a hand on his friend's head and stroked the fur. "What should I do, Ghost?" There was no answer, but a glance and a lolling tongue. He sat there for a long while, the sun slipping below the walls, darkness covering the godswood, though the sky was still bright and the warmth from the springs kept things comfortable.
Summer soon jumped to his paws, ears and hackles up.
"Mind if I join you?" came a voice from behind.
Jon turned on the root to find Lieutenant Duquesne behind him, fully armed and armoured. How did he get away from the guards dressed like that? "Come to convince me to accept the deal?"
The man smiled and moved closer, causing Summer to growl. "Hey, if I was in your place, I'd accept it in a heartbeat," the Canadian said in a japing tone, "I have seen Val, after all. I'm surprised you have been able to say no at all."
Summer's growls grew louder. Duquesne's gaze swung to the direwolf, and his hand went to the grip of his weapon. "Is that wolf going to attack me?" he asked.
Jon scowled at him, before calling to Summer. "Down, Summer. Down."
After a confused look, Bran's direwolf finally quieted, and lay all the way down. Duquesne's hand moved away from his weapon, and he joined Jon on the tree root.
"I can see why this place was chosen for a castle," he remarked, "It's not a great position, but it has hot springs. Definitely useful in a place where winters can last years."
Jon made a non-committal noise, caring not for this meaningless talk. Why are you here if not to berate me? "I can't break my oath."
"Why not?" Duquesne asked, picking up a stone and throwing it into the pool. Ghost stopped enjoying being pet and turned his head towards the interloper. Duquesne held up his hands to the wolf, as if to apologise for disturbing.
Jon blinked. What a question! "Because what sort of a man would I be if I broke my word? Abandoning men I pledged to stand beside, no matter the challenge by enemies?"
Duquesne nodded. "I can probably answer that," he said, "But what is your answer? What sort of man do you think you would be?"
Jon's lips curled back. "A man who could turn on everything he stands for. A man no one can trust. A usurper, a…"
"An asshole, a dog fucker, a piece of shit," Duquesne said half-heartedly, counting off the insults on his hand, "A bastard?" He looked at Jon without turning his head.
Jon grit his teeth. "Yes."
Duquesne sighed. "Even in my mother tongue, a bastard means a bad person who harms others. In fact, most people don't use it in the context of someone who's parents weren't married. I suppose it's an attempt to call a person's mother a whore or father a deadbeat, indirectly."
"My father is not a 'deadbeat', and my mother…" Jon stopped. He truthfully didn't know what his mother was or was not. And the reminder was like a dagger though the heart. Ghost quickly nuzzled him, trying to cheer him up.
Duquesne scratched his chin for a moment. "I've been bending the meaning of my oath since arriving here. I've put my people into engagements that may or may not have been necessary, got involved with two or three wars that aren't really our business, forcing factions to make peace... Ever wonder what I am doing with Ygritte?"
Jon gripped Ghost's fur, and looked away. What else could you be doing? "No."
Duquesne blew out a laugh through his lips. "Is that how it looks? I'm surprised the Sergeant hasn't reprimanded me for that. But the situation isn't much different. By our laws, I'm not supposed to be doing anything with Ygritte. And I haven't, really. But keeping her happy was and is necessary for our survival and our gaomilaksir. So she stays with me."
"So you broke your oath?"
"No, I didn't interpret it so strictly that it stopped necessary actions. My point is if we do get in contact with our dārion, or even get home, I might face trial for what I've done here. All I can do is honour the spirit of our laws as best I can in a difficult situation, and hope I can explain myself when the time comes. So far I think I've struck a balance, though I think I'll be reprimanded in some way. That's worth the cost of getting home, or at least knowing home knows where we are."
"Bending your word isn't breaking it," Jon reasoned, "What Robb asks me to do, what you and Val ask me to do, it would be no bend in the rules like making me a wandering Crow to follow you around."
Duquesne rubbed his face, clearly frustrated. "What is the oath? Exact words, if possible."
Jon could remember the words with ease.
Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.
Duquesne considered the words, picking up another stone to throw before realising he'd upset Ghost again and putting it down gently. He sighed. "It doesn't seem to cover your situation."
Jon blew out a breath in anger. "Of course it does. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall live and die at my post. It is as clear as mountain spring water."
Duquesne smirked. "Yeah, those parts seem to be against you, but you can't pick the parts to follow, is that what you're saying? In that case, your purpose is to be the shield that guards the realms of men, the horn that wakes the sleepers. You're supposed to fight the White Walkers and make sure everyone knows they're a threat again."
"That's what I shall do. As a wandering brother of the Night's Watch, or by service at the Wall."
The Canadian shifted his weight. "You don't see the issue with your approach?"
His way of speaking is strange. "No, I do not."
"You think you should be up at the Wall, freezing your ass off, because that fits the exact form of words in your oath. But what parts of the oath are most important? Not taking a wife or being the shield that guards the realms of men? Not holding land, or waking the world to the threat? If taking a wife helps unite the realms of men, that increases their chances of survival against what's coming. And if refusing causes a war that will practically guarantee the Others little resistance, then are you not abandoning your post?"
Gods, he is right. Suddenly doubting his resolve, Jon flexed the fingers of his sword-hand, wondering if he really was making the right decision. But it's not my decision to make. "You may speak the truth about it. But what I think matters little. If the Lord Commander or my brothers think me a deserter, they would never forgive me. I could be killed out of hand if captured, by any lord of Westeros, and the law would be on their side."
Duquesne scoffed. "They're not going to kill the brother of Lord Robb Stark over something like that, not when you're more valuable as a hostage. As for the rest… What do you want to do? Be popular with the Night's Watch or save the world? Maybe your father and sisters too. Which is the more correct path to serving your oath?"
Jon felt the pressure in his chest release slowly. He thought of his father in a Black Cell under the Red Keep. Of terrible things happening to his sisters. Of those things ending, of the direwolf banner flying over King's Landing. And then, the memory of the little moments with Val came to mind, her scent, how she held herself, when she actually smiled. I'm letting myself be convinced, he thought, biting down the hope, Why?
"Is this why you came, Lord Duquesne?" Jon asked, "To tempt me with promises that I can have everything I want without sacrifice?"
"No, you can't," Duquesne answered, "There's still a damn bloody war or two to be fought. That's a sacrifice. Even if you live, not everyone you know will be at the end. You won't come back as yourself. Tempting you isn't why I came. I had another motive, but decided I'd spar with you for a moment and find out how you were thinking about the treaty on the table. I think I've managed to convince you of the merits, but…"
"What is your other motive?"
"To threaten you."
Jon glared at the Canadian. "To threaten me? You would breach guest right?"
Duquesne laughed. "Of course not. But you should know what happens if there is no treaty. In order to get Mance to try for peace instead of just beginning a war immediately, among other things, I had to promise him something."
A promise to the King Beyond the Wall? "What did you swear to do?"
"That if we failed to make a peace here, that I would fight on the side of the Free Folk against your brother and your father's vassals. Openly."
Jon felt a cold sweat drop down his back. The Canadians had tried to maintain a remove from the wildlings as long as he had known they existed. They always insisted they were separate. They did not fight against the Norreys directly, and did not leave the Watch to the mercy of Mance. But their weapons and machines were terrifying, and the ideas they gave the wildlings even more dangerous. Open warfare against them would be unlike any war the North had ever fought.
Duquesne held up a hand, seeing the disturbance Jon was under. "I did tell Mance that I wouldn't side with him if his demands were unreasonable. The wildlings are afraid to death of being slaughtered or pushed back north of the Wall again, and prefer to die standing while killing your 'bannermen'."
He shrugged.
"They can be stubborn as hell sometimes, like any people, so I was expecting something out of possibility for agreement. But a demand for a marriage with you rather than some lower lord who wouldn't be able to stop another one from screwing with the Gift, that's not unreasonable. Hell, a marriage with Robb wasn't a hugely unreasonable demand."
The Canadian got up from the root and brushed himself off.
"I needed to warn you that refusing everything that's being offered to you will look very unreasonable to Val and to Mance," he said, "And I can't blame them. So I want you to know that if an agreement can't be reached, whether it's this one or another, I've already determined that I can beat the lords of the North. I could break organised resistance quickly, even with the limited resources at my disposal."
Jon rose, and found he was already gripping Longclaw, ready to draw it out into the evening air. The direwolves had risen too, coming to either side of him. "You would murder my father's lords, and my brother, because you feel I am being unreasonable?"
Not paying any heed to the threat of Valyrian steel or direwolf fangs, Duquesne crossed his arms.
"No, I wouldn't murder them because you're being unreasonable. I'd go to war with them. If we could not come to a fair treaty with a chance of lasting peace and allowing us move unmolested to the Isle of Faces. Your decision is merely the last in a long line of decisions that everyone else has had to make a choice about."
Duquesne folded his hands on the end of the weapon hanging from the front of his armour. "This is not about taking lives, this is about saving them. Your father and sisters, we four Canadians, the thousands of people descended from your own stolen women, the hundreds of thousands of wildlings and Northmen, and perhaps the millions of people across the continent and world later."
The Canadian poked a finger into Jon's chest. "And that is worth you getting married to a beautiful woman and becoming a noble. Isn't it? They're all hanging in the balance now, waiting for your word."
Duquesne held his arms to either side. "What's it going to be, Jon Stark?"
Robb and Theon laughed and chattered about destroying the lions as they walked Jon into the Wolfswood. Even the direwolves seemed pleased with themselves, their tails wagging this way and that. Greywind and Summer playfully nipped at each other as they moved side-by-side. Shaggydog was around too, on the fringes of the group, though Rickon had not come. And Ghost led the way, sniffing this way and that. The retinue was also larger than promised; the lords wouldn't countenance Robb being so unguarded with wildlings around.
Jon couldn't help but be reminded of when Father took him to the execution of a Night's Watch deserter. Though what his brother intended was perhaps the opposite of what had happened to that man, Jon still felt it was the same in another respect; desertion.
It must have told on his face.
"Look at him," Theon said to Robb, "You'd swear the man was going to be imprisoned for the rest of his life."
Robb frowned. "I have heard you compare marriage to being locked in a dungeon before, Theon."
"Your marriages, not ours. Ironborn are free to take saltwives. And he went to the Wall, that was the true imprisonment."
Jon gripped Longclaw's hilt, and turned on his heel to his brother and the ward. "You're not on the Iron Islands, Theon. You're as imprisoned as the rest of us."
Theon's face flushed with anger, and he puffed up his chest. "I've had more women than you'd ever hope to, Snow," he said, "And I'm not done yet."
Jon scoffed. You buy your women with my father's gold, he wanted to say.
Theon would not relent. "Decided on your lordly name yet? Or shall you be Lord Snow?"
I'm sure Ser Alliser would have loved that question, Jon thought But not the answer. "Stark. House Stark of the Moat."
It was Theon's turn to scoff. "If the lords call you that, I'll eat my boot."
"Best get the cooking pot out," Robb remarked wryly, "You'll need to boil that leather before you have it for supper."
Theon cocked an eyebrow. "You're letting him take your house's name?"
"Yes. It would not be the first time my family has created a cadet house. My betrothed is a Kar-Stark after all, and her house started as the Starks of Karhold. That might be the only reason the lords accepted the double betrothal, in fact."
"Will your father approve of that?"
"My father is not here. Besides, Jon is my brother." Robb slapped Theon on the back. "As are you, Squid. Though to become a Stark, you'd have to give up your many saltwives!" He laughed and walked on, leaving Jon and Theon behind, both of them not able to say anything about the idea.
After a little more travel weaving between the trees and crushing scrubs underfoot, they came near a wild weirwood; the start point for the hunt to come. All the direwolves suddenly stood to alert, forming a half-circle in front of the retinue. Robb and Theon drew their swords, perhaps expecting the worst.
A man in a hooded doublet in crimson under the green-grey armour, green mottled trousers and black boots rounded the weirwood, holding one of the Canadian weapons and carrying another on his back, a hatchet axe hanging from a belt by his hip. "That's far enough!" he called.
Sayer, Jon thought, What's he doing here?
Ghost went forward alone, ears folded back. The Canadian met the wolf and scratched him along the neck, though the man's attention never left the retinue. The other direwolves sniffed the air, but didn't move.
Neither Robb nor Theon moved, and the guards seemed to be getting more nervous. Jon decided this was foolish. If we're making peace with my marriage to Val, we must act like it. He moved forwards.
Sayer smiled from under his red hood. "Hey Jon," he said, "Congratulations. You're lucky. Val is so pretty, it hurts."
Jon found that funny. Sayer was never without a companion or two trailing him. "Don't you have Free Folk women following you around all the time? Some of them are just as pretty."
"Don't know about that…"
"I can hear you!" said another voice, in the Old Tongue. A young spearwife in furs came out from behind the weirwood, green eyes filled with indignation. Jon recognised her as one of the wargs in Duquesne's company, and the girl most likely to be spotted nearby Sayer at any time in camp.
The Canadian rubbed the back of his neck under his hood. "Iola, you're supposed to stay hidden," he replied, also in the Old Tongue. She hit him on the shoulder, gaining a surprised yelp.
"Do you know what they're saying?" Theon asked Robb loudly. He had always skipped Luwin's lessons on the Old Tongue, because the nobles didn't speak it on the Iron Islands. Only the thralls they capture north of the Wall.
"Yes," Robb and Jon answered as one. Theon gestured with his hand as if to say 'Well?', expecting a translation. One didn't come.
The whole exchange made Jon feel better. It also seemed to soothe whatever fears Robb and Theon had. They ordered the retinue to stand easy, and the direwolves, approached.
"Wow," Sayer said, watching the wolves more than the men, "There really are more of them." He began to scratch Summer and Greywind with one hand each, letting his rifle hang from straps.
"One for each of my Father's children," Robb said, "You're one of Duquesne's company?"
"Louis Sayer," the Canadian said, offering his hand, "Actually, Louis Sayer, Elector of Yellowknife, Private of the Canadian Rangers. You must be Robb Stark of Winterfell."
Robb took the hand and found his own being shaken vigorously. "You're not one of the royal guard? Princess Patricia's, was it?"
Sayer smiled shyly. "Ah, no. The Rangers are a different thing. The Lieutenant and the others are part of a front-line combat unit. We do the scouting and reconnaissance in the remote and rough places, and the Patricias do the harder fighting. Sorta. It's hard to explain without a map or something."
"Why are you here?" Robb asked, "We expected to meet Princess Val and her companions."
"Or at least track them from here," Jon added, "I'm supposed to 'steal' her, am I not?"
"Change of plans," Sayer shrugged, "Only Jon is supposed to go up the hill. And Ghost, I guess." He gestured north. They all looked that way, and saw some smoke rising out of the tops of the trees.
"Let's go," Theon said with enthusiasm, moving to be first to the fight he imagined would happen.
"Just Jon," Sayer insisted.
"Who's going to stop us?" Theon asked, "You?"
Sayer's brow raised. "Zheng is up there too."
"I wouldn't go up there, kneelers," Iola added in Old Tongue.
Jon smirked at the Squid, but he found Theon strangely torn. He looks like he wants to go up even more, he thought, But knows it's unwise. "I'll go with Ghost. All will be well."
Robb examined Sayer for a moment. "We shall camp here, then," Robb said.
"Try not to get gelded," Theon yawned, his previous ardour forgotten.
"That would be a bad start," Robb agreed, "Father is still in King's Landing. So are Sansa and Arya. We'll go get them back together." He embraced Jon briefly.
Sayer gave a little wave as Ghost again led the way, up the hill.
Jon was soon out of sight of his brother, as his wolf led him through and around bushes and trees. The smell of pine rose from the floor of the forest, and each step gave way a little under the a layer of pine needles. Like a bed, Jon's mind noted, before he realised why he was contemplating that and shook the notion out of his head.
It wasn't long before he found Zheng. She was leaning against a soldier pine at the edge of a clearing, her weapon in her hands. Ghost padded up to greet her, tail wagging again. She forced herself to a fully standing position before the wolf's nose began poking at her, begging for attention she would not give.
"My apologies again, Lady Zheng," Jon said, "He seems to like you."
The woman frowned, but accepted the answer. "Val is near. She's armed with a spear and dagger. She's alone. Try not to get hurt, or hurt her with your magic sword. Or your other magic sword."
Jon felt his cheeks glow, and Zheng's expression softened at once. She winked at him, making it all worse. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I guess I want you to win. She's sort of a bitch. Good luck." She sauntered by and began walking down the way he had come up.
Jon pressed on in the direction of the smoke for only another minute or two, when Val stepped out from behind a tree. She was not wearing the finery she wore in Winterfell for impressing the lords, but the thicker greys and browns furs of her battle dress, draped in black Watch chainmail, complete with hood. She held a spear as tall as she was behind her back with a single hand, its steel head one of those stolen from the armoury at Castle Black.
She's prepared for battle, he thought, And so am I.
They stared at each other for what seemed like a lifetime. She was waiting for something. And he could not figure out what. It seemed impolite to simply attack her, the match was arranged after all.
Eventually, Jon could take it no more. "What now?" he called, "I don't know the rules."
Val moved her arms, bringing her spear into both hands, levelling it threateningly towards him. Though she was far from close enough to stick him with it, a quick run would change that. Jon released Longclaw from its scabbard. The blade glittered in the sunlight coming through the branches above their heads. He held it a low defensive guard, ready to deflect the spear, thinking he knew what was going on. A few meetings of our weapons, and we'll have fulfilled the requirement of us.
The wildling smiled, then bolted up the hill at a full sprint, her long blonde braid bouncing along her back with every stride.
Where is she going? "Gods," Jon cried, taking to his own feet. His own armour was considerably more heavy than hers, but he kept up all the same. That wasn't good enough. I have to steal her, he realised, This is no game.
And he had one asset that other men who tried to steal her could only dream of.
"Ghost!" Jon called, "Go!" The direwolf sprang forth, soon outpacing him in a flash of white fur.
The wolf circled around Val, not chasing her. Soon, she found herself confronted with the sight of Ghost appearing through two bushes directly in front, unable to run any further. His tongue lolled as he panted, which betrayed the wolf felt no anger or danger, but when she tried to move to one side or the other, he shifted to intercept. Jon didn't understand how Ghost had been able to understand his intent, but it didn't matter.
Val was trapped in a clearing, the trees in a circle looking like an audience of tall warriors hemming her in as much as Ghost was. Disregarding the wolf, she turned and aimed the tip of her spear at Jon instead.
"Yield, my lady," he said, mirroring her gesture with Longclaw.
"We do not yield to Starks," Val said calmly, "We fight, one of us is victorious. That is how it has ever been between us."
"Until now," Jon asked, "And we have won every time you have invaded. I agreed to marry you."
"Yet I hear you almost did not," Val said, "You cared more for your Crow oath than for my people, your family or me. So you shall not have me easily, Jon Stark."
"I have caught you."
"But you do not have me yet. And have not had me."
Realising both what she meant and that she would not yield no matter what he said, Jon felt his blood rush and decided to do it the hard way. Moving left and right, he tested her, finding no openings. Her spear had considerably more reach than Longclaw. I'll have to feint, draw her in, he said to himself, If I can only just…
His thought went incomplete. Without any sort of tell as warning, Val swung forwards on the ball of her foot and thrust the spear low, with the ease that only practice could bring.
Jon's heart jumped with surprise, but his body acted on its own. Parrying such blows had been a part of his bouts with Ser Rodrik every day since he could hold a sword. He pivoted, taking a step forward and swinging Longclaw down onto the spear's shaft just below the head.
To his surprise, the Valyrian steel bit through the wood, shearing the metal blade of the spear clean off, throwing him off balance for his next step towards her. Val exploited it, stepping forward and thrusting again with the wooden point created by Jon's own strike, high this time towards his face. He parried again, more desperately this time, curling Longclaw upwards and completing his move closer to her.
The spear shaft spun out of Val's hands, but she seemed to anticipate it, reaching for her dagger.
Mistake. Jon turned the blade and made a thrust of his own from the shoulder, another sequence that came as easy as breathing. As her dagger began to leave the loop it hung from at her waist, Longclaw pierced the furs and the rings of the black chainmail covering Val's breast. She froze. Jon wondered if he had killed her, cursing his training. But he had not. He had just stopped himself short of running her through with it. She winced, clearly hurt, but did not fall or back away. His relief only briefly restrained him.
"Yield," Jon said.
Val winced again and clicked her tongue, before she held up her dagger and threw it down. "You move better than most Crows. You're not the first I have faced."
"Most Crows didn't grow up in Winterfell. And my sword helped."
Val shifted towards him, almost pressing the blade deeper into herself. Jon quickly moved back in step with her, and when that did not work, he withdrew Longclaw. The point of the sword was red with blood. It trickled down until it slide along the three fullers in the steel. She moved closer still. "Here I am," she said, "You have done it. Do you understand?"
Jon gulped down a lump in his throat. "Yes." He had no idea if he spoke true.
Val frowned, doubting his word. Her fingers began to undo the laces of her chainmail shirt and furs, as her pale blue eyes looked into his.
Jon's mind wanted to tell her to wait, that they hadn't said their own vows yet, but his body refused to do anything but stand there and watch. Her clothing and armour soon parted from neck to navel, revealing her slender form, the full curve of her bosoms and the shallow wound he had made between them. The sight seemed to make every fibre of his being hum, like he could fight a thousand men and win.
Val took both of his hands in hers. "I am your wife."
Jon squeezed her fingers. Now I understand. "You are my wife."
She drew close, and he started to do what ancient instinct instructed.