All of your reviews are so good to me, thank you all who are reading this story from the beginning!
Gerold Dayne
Darkstar did not know how long he has been lying in bed or when he got here. Nor did he know how they brought him to this room but he didn't care, he won't have to face the mocking smiles he would get from the other great houses or even his own people. He'd been shamed. He had been humiliated in front of his people, Arianne, and the prince. He'd been shamed…by a bastard. It wasn't even an ordinary bastard that was exceptional with the sword; it was a bastard from the bloody north. The north is just a frozen land with barbaric lords that pretended that they run a household. The rebellion proved that when the north ran away from the Targaryens like the cowards they were, instead of fighting to the death as he would have. To be beaten by a bastard from that land…it grated on his nerves like never before and made his pride hurt more than it already does. His sword arm was the only thing he has.
He is the best swordsman in dorne, no matter what the red viper hisses out, he is the best. And despite that all, he was defeated soundly. Not just that, he might've even said that he was tortured by the white wolf. Snow's offensive was different and wild with his sword seeming to move in every direction at once, and his defense nearly matches it.
The white wolf. Darkstar was instantly intrigued when that name slithered its way into the ears of dorne. In Essos, they say that he killed a hundred men with just fifty soldiers aiding him. They say that he was the best commander that the Golden Company ever had at such a young age. They say that he is a legend and that he was the best swordsman that ever walked. They even said that he and his wolf was the reason why the Dothraki's disappeared, to never be heard of again. Snow's reputation was not just boasted in good things, they were darker things as well that would make sailors stop talking about their ships to talk about the bastard instead.
Snow was the only topic that Dorne talked about, and Darkstar was jealous that they talked about the bastard more than he. He was one of their own, not him! And since then, Darkstar waited anxiously to be given a chance to expose the bastard that he was not as great as people suggested that he was and that Gerold himself was better. The seven kingdoms would praise him, only him. Darkstar thought the bastard wouldn't know what hit him. That was why he challenged the white wolf in the middle of the feast, right in front of everyone… only to be left shaking as if the seven willed their power to fill his body with the contempt that they surely felt about him.
He'd been shamed…
Shamed…
Shamed…
Darkstar closed his eyes to block the warm tears of frustration that desperately wanted to flow down his cheeks as the disgraced word repeated in his mind. His image was ruined, his house was embarrassed and he was going to get mocked as soon as he left the door of this room. He was so used to getting fear and hate from people that if they start to change to mock then he would explode.
Abruptly, fury flourished in his chest at the thought of him. like the house words of the Tyrells, the fury grew and it grew strong until saliva would drip from his mouth and onto his chest that was free of armor.
His fury would surely erupt if he glanced at the person who casually sat in a chair in the corner of the room.
Jon Snow eyed him with calmness at the sight of the saliva that was escaping from his mouth as he leaned in his chair. Darkstar kept his eyes on the ceiling of the room, not taking the chance to glance at the bastard. He feared that if he does, then his composer will shatter and he knew that the white wolf carried a sword while he did not. He and Snow sat in silence, it was deafening as neither spoke.
"You finally stopped shaking," Jon said in the face of the silence.
Darkstar clenched his fist but said nothing; though, he couldn't hide the sharp breath he took. He certainly stopped shaking, but the bruises over his body were still painful. He was clothed in a purple tunic and pants but he wondered who stripped him of his clothes and who would be willing to do that without taking the chance to laugh at him while he slept.
"You spent two nights in this room. I did not think that you would recover, my lord," Jon added, carrying on as if he replied. "Your people are getting worried at your absence."
Darkstar snorted before he can stop himself. They surely don't miss my presence. They are probably going to be too ashamed to look at me. Arianne even more so.
"You're good at wielding a sword," Jon said, efficiently changing the subject. "You must be the best challenge that I've faced ever since I killed Khal Drogo. However, it was not enough to stop me from giving you a good thrashing I'm afraid."
Jon's face was of a well-placed sorrow and sympathy. Darkstar felt his chest burn, he didn't look at the bastard directly, but he can see him from the corner of his eye and it made him rage. He can see a smirk on the white wolfs face as he talked.
He comes in here…to small talk?! He is rubbing my lost in my face! Damn him!
"You must be thinking why I've come here after I knocked the stars out of you. You see, I came here to say-"
Red filled his vision, and his fury tripled tenfold. I will not let this bastard mock me anymore! He had just been defeated right in the great hall, and his name was forever ruined. Now, when the bastard comes to mock him after what happened? Darkstar wanted to kill him!
Darkstar jumped from his bed and crossed the room to swing at Jon's face. His attack was immediately blocked and as Jon held his hand, he punched him right on the nose. Darkstar retreated only for the bastard to follow with more punches to the chest. One particular punch to the chest made him bend over only for his face to get hit by Jon's leg. His back hit the wall and Jon swung a beautiful strike to his face that made blood fall from his chin. Darkstar desperately blocked his face to shield for any more potential blows only for there to be none.
Jon watched him with no expression, his purple eyes dark. "I was about to say before you rudely interrupted me that don't ever mess with my family just to get back at me." His eyes seemed to be on fire as he leaned in closer. "I'm better than you in any way and I'm not shy of expressing that. This is your only warning before you arouse my fury, and you don't want that don't you?"
Darkstar glared at him and his face got punched again, harder than the last blow and it made his world shake. He shook his head and stared at the floor. "How dare you!? You come to my room and attack me? You're just a bastard! I could get you hanged for this!"
"Spare me," Jon snorted. "I know all about you, Darkstar. You're a hateful man that will never rest until you set things right that you see fit. But you're also too proud for you to admit to getting punched by a bastard. I'm warning you, don't target my family or me. I'm going to say this again, you don't want to arouse my fury don't you?"
"Fuck you ba-"
"Don't you?" Jon repeated.
Darkstar refused to give him the answer. He was too proud even though this could only make it worse for him. He was from Dorne and they don't break so easily in the face of intimidation.
However, the anger that was in Jon's eyes vanished and a cold one replaced it. "I'm going to hope that you understood me." Jon walked to the door and stopped to look at him again. "I also think that you are not going to tell anyone what happened in this room, you are too proud like I said before. And the people of dorne couldn't care less of what I do to you. Good day, my lord and hope that this is our last meeting with each other for your sake."
The bastard paused again, eyes thoughtful as he observed Gerold on the floor. "After all, we share something that you may not see, People hate us." And the door closed with a slam and Darkstar was left to his thoughts.
It was in a daze that Darkstar got up. It was a daze when he left the room. It was a daze when he walked through the corridors and it was a daze when he struck the stray dummy when people began to snigger at him behind their hands as his practice in the training yard progressed.
Darkstar didn't care.
Jon Snow actually struck a chord in him.
Anger.
That was what all he felt as he slashed the dummy, with each strike he imagined that he was not striking the dummy but at Jon Snow himself.
Jon
It was necessary. Jon thought as he walked down the corridor in no particular direction. Gerold Dayne is a dangerous man and Jon even recognized it. No man would have a reputation if they didn't work for it and Jon could tell Darkstar did. The man was a formidable opponent and given him a tougher time to beat him than he once had thought, but Jon is not like the lords in this castle. Jon would end Darkstar if he makes a move on him and the other man knows it too (if the spar that they had was any indication to his claim).
He just hoped that he hadn't provoked Gerold too far; the blood on his hands was already too much as it is.
It was down the corridors where he saw Arya, Sansa, and Rickon and Bran walking with Jory following close behind. He smiled, if something can ever change his mood in an instant it was the Starks. "Jon! There you are!" Arya shouted as she hugged him around the waist.
"What is going on now? You've seen me last night, Arya," Jon said, hugging Rickon and bran tightly before giving the same to Sansa. He nodded at Jory and looked back to Arya.
"I know that! But you promised me and Rickon that you will show us the tourney grounds." A little scowl was on Arya's face.
I did? Jon couldn't recall. He looked at the smile on Bran's face that arouses his suspicion and made him glare at Arya. "You're a little liar, Arya Stark. I'm made no such promise."
"But can you please show us?" Arya pleaded, blinking her eyes rapidly. Bran and Rickon took place behind her and stared at him as well. Sansa didn't have the same pleading expression as her siblings but she did have a smile on her face that told of her wish as well.
Jory chuckled as Jon looked helplessly at his cousins. It's always three vs. one. I'm glad that Sansa is not like that.
"Fine, I can't refuse you, little sister," Robb told him that Arya was not the same when he left Winterfell and that she will always sob in her chamber when she thought everyone else was in bed already. By doing the small stuff like this, he was making amends with his cousins.
"Though, I don't understand why Jory couldn't show you," Jon said as he eyed his uncle's guard.
"Jory doesn't talk, brother," Bran told him. He smiled at the guard. "No offense Jory, But you can bore us by not saying anything."
"None was taken by this fellow," Jory easily replied.
"Hurry up!" Arya yelled, already running down the corridor. "Y'all are too slow!"
"Don't run, Arya," Sansa told her sister as she pulled up her skirt to follow. "It's not proper."
"Proper for what?!" Arya said as if her sister told her the craziest thing she ever heard.
"It's not proper for the daughter of the warden of the north to be running around as if she has no sense."
"Please, not now, my ladies," Jory interrupted with a wary voice as if he could set off the girls with the way he spoke. Everyone was relieved as the two Starks kept distance with each other and fell silent.
They easily strode out of the castle entrance and into the mass of the crowd that was leaving as fast as they were entering. No glance lasted more than a second as no one took real notice of them as they pushed to find a way through the bodies. From there he can see the tourney grounds. The melee and the jousting had their own separate grounds with it having space enough to hold a dozen knights.
He and his cousins walked around scoping the area. Some knights were taking their time to test the perimeter of the yards as their squires watched them grimly from the side. Jon could understand. The tournament will be ferocious and everyone will be competing for gold and glory. A few knights will be injured, and there might be death as well. Like the Cleganes, that…It will be messy. The brothers were both huge and bulky. Anyone will get flattened if that person was unfavorable enough to be in the way, Jon included. He was tall and lean; he was not as big as the brothers, not even close.
"This tournament is going to be severe," Jory told them, his face glum as he looked at the grounds as well.
"Why do you say that?" Sansa asked. He and his cousins looked at the guard too.
"The relationship between the houses is not favorable, my lady. They will try to seriously harm the other side because of what transpired during the Rebellion. Don't expect to be kindness and chivalry in the yard when the matches began, you will be disappointed," Jory said.
What's sad is that what he said was all true. Jon has no faith that the seven kingdoms will find trust with the other again, not this time. He was already expecting a dornishman to take a cheap shot at him during the melee. It was a testament of what the land came to. The north was never again going to be on good terms with dorne. Dorne did not take it well when Rhaegar ran off with Lyanna and for that, they don't like the north as well, even hate was involved.
"I want to join," Arya had a longing look on her face as she looked to the yards.
"Did you not hear what Jory said, Arya?!" Sansa said as she fought to keep her voice down as she looked at her sister.
Arya stared back at her, eyes so stony that Jon was reminded of his uncle when the warden was not pleased. "I don't care. I want to pick up a sword and fight with the knights."
"That can't happen," Bran said, backing up as Arya glared at him furiously. Bran looked to the ground so he can't see her stare. "I'm sorry; it's just that a woman cannot become a knight."
"You don't know what you're talking about!"
"Yes, I do! Girls will never become knights!"
"Perhaps I can share my insight on this, my lords."
Jon and the rest turned to the side to see a woman wearing a jerkin and a sword at her side. She was tall and had a hard face with blond hair. The women had none of the prettiness in the face like Sansa or any of the highborn ladies. Jon can even say she was ugly.
"Who are you?" Jory demanded the stranger, "And what is your house?"
"I am Brienne of Tarth, the daughter of Lord Selwyn Tarth. My house is a loyal bannermen of House Baratheon," Brienne told them.
"You're a knight?" Bran loudly asked as if such a thing didn't exist. While the others were looking at the woman in surprise, Arya smiled in rejoice at her being proved right.
"I am. Any lady can become one by discipline and effort," Brienne told them. She had the tone of pride and happiness at telling them such. "When father came to his senses that I will never be able to sew a dress or take any interest in dancing, he gave up and I became a knight later on."
Arya turned to the shocked Bran and shouted joyfully, "I knew it, you dimwit! You didn't want to believe me! Now you look stupid!"
Bran looked away from his sister's triumph gaze and into the dirt. "Aye, but you don't have to shout about it. Everyone has ears you know?"
Arya glanced at Sansa from the corner of her eye but spoke her question to Brienne. "Are you going to enter the melee and the joust or the archery competition? Or how about the singing one?"
"I'm only going to enter the melee, my lady. I'm average on the back of the horse and even worse with my skill with a bow. And I cannot sing. My instructor grew frustrated at this and told me that my voice sounded like a dying pig."
They shared a laugh that was neither aimed to hurt or to bash the women, it was only for amusement and Brienne laughed as well. The women knight looked at them. "I must be going, my lords." Brienne walked past them to the mass of the crowd and was gone.
"Wow." Rickon stared to where the women used to stand with a look of admiration in his youthful eyes. His eyes did not stop gazing at the spot until Sansa nudged him in the side. Rickon blinked a few times and was back to the real world.
"I will be the greatest knight in the seven kingdoms, I don't care if I'm a girl," Arya muttered. The others didn't hear her but Jon did. He smiled and whispered, "I believe in what you say." Don't let other people bring you down to the mud.
Arya started and looked at him only to see Jon's impassive face. She smiled and hugged him for what seemed like the fifth time today. His cousins and Jory eyed them with confusing faces as Jon managed to escape Arya's death grip.
"Arya!" Catelyn showed up with Edmure and blackfish following close behind. "Bran, Rickon, Sansa! What have you four been up to?"
Blackfish stared at Jon with scorn clear in his eyes while Edmure looked anywhere else as if Jon wasn't there. The white wolf stared back at Lady Stark's uncle and held the man's disdain for him. Catelyn had her hands on her hips and was gazing at her children as she waited for an explanation.
"We were looking at the tourney grounds, my lady," Jory said.
"With him?" Blackfish growled as he gestured to Jon who stood three feet from everybody else. "Why bring the bastard?"
Arya's face became enraged as she opened her mouth but Catelyn beat her to it. "Leave," Lady Stark said as she stared at Jon. Without a word and before Arya can defend him, Jon was already walking away from them and the grounds itself. While every else can assume that Lady Stark was not perky to be seen with him because they thought he was a bastard that was a living slight upon her family, but Jon can fathom what Lady Stark was doing. He and she had to keep the performance like it usually was. It would be strange if Lady Stark accepted him out of the blue after shunning him for his entire life. It has to be like this for now on… Jon did not like it. He did not like living a lie, he is a half Stark and they don't like deceit. But he reminded himself that this was not about him. It was for Arya, it was for Robb, it was for Rickon, it was for Bran, and it was for Sansa even when she and he was not as close as the others. If he had to sacrifice his happiness for his cousins…then he will gladly do it.
Jon found himself going to the camps, not only that but into the Westerlands territory. A presence, which he knew was coming closer, zapped to his side with the grace that was not normal for an animal or a human. Ghost licked his fingers as he trotted along with him. Jon was not surprised to see his companion after a long absence. The direwolfs usually goes off hunting for a couple of days but they always return to their master's side.
He was correct as fresh blood was smeared across the nose of Ghost and the direwolf was totally blind to it as he gazed at him. Jon sighed. "Oh, Ghost…Please clean your snout for me?" The wolf instantly ran its tongue and the blood was gone. "Good boy." Jon rubbed behind Ghost ears before walking again.
More than once he was eyed with suspicion, and ghost got his share of attention with fear. Well, we do make a sight. Ghost was large enough that he reached Jon's chest and with his ruby eyes and white fur, it was good enough reason why.
"Bloody hell, that's a direwolf!"
"That thing is fucking big!"
"Seven hells! Those teeth!"
"That wolf is larger than all of our cocks combined!"
What dumbass just said that? Jon stopped to look who said that absurd comment. He couldn't find the person as the sea full of faces stared back at him with different types of expressions.
"What are you doing here, Snow?" A man stepped in his way, eyes looking at Ghost with faint awe before turning back to Jon. A few men took a spot behind the man as they watched the Ghost warily.
"I've come here to find Tyrion Lannister," Jon replied.
The man looked at him for a long second. "What interest do you have with my nephew that you need to speak with him?"
This man must be Kevan Lannister. Jon thought as he looked at the lord. The man was fair skin, has golden hair and green eyes with a pudgy frame, the lord has Lannister blood in him. Tyrion said that his uncle was a solid man and was very capable but was behind his brother's shadow must of the time and his effectiveness couldn't be fully appreciated. Tyrion let Jon know that his uncle was more likable than his father and he was a good man that loved his family more than the legacy of their house. And with that, the man already had Jon's respect.
"What we discuss is only between us two, my lord," Jon said.
"If you cannot tell me the reason then you will not get to see him," Kevan said with more stern.
"Why not?"
"Because what you say was not a valid explanation for why you want to speak with my nephew. For all, I know this could be an attempt on his life."
Jon narrowed his eyes at the man. If he wanted to kill Tyrion then this way to do it would be utterly foolish. Only a brainless bloke will try to kill a Lannister in broad daylight with everyone watching your every move. The way he would do it was to wait until the hour of the wolf and set the tents alight to cause panic and with that, he will end the person's life.
Maybe he is being protective? Jon wondered. Tyrion did say once that his relationship with his uncle was better than what he has with his father. And Jon does have a reputation to kill people. Kevan Lannister was right to be worried.
"I'm not going to murder your nephew, my lord. Let me speak with him."
Kevan shook his head. "If you're not going to explain further then you are not seeing Tyrion. Therefore, you can leave."
If it was any other person, he or she would not get bothered like this.
From the tents, there was a shout. "Let me through! Excuse me; a dwarf is trying to get through for fuck's sake!"
"Let the small man through, you'll little shits! Out of the fucking way!" The next voice was louder and raspier sounding.
Tyrion appeared from Kevan's side with Sandor as an escort. The dwarf looked up at the Clegane after brushing himself off. "Thank you, hound."
"No problem little man."
Tyrion looked to Jon and his eyes widen. "Jon! What are you doing here in the den of the lions of all places?"
"I wanted to talk with you." Jon glanced at Kevan. "Well, I tried to but your lord uncle stopped me from doing that."
"Is it something that you did?"
"No. He fears what I'm going to do. Your uncle thinks that I was going to assassinate you in your tent."
Tyrion stared him and then started laughing with Sandor laughing too. People stared at them as the two laughed into the air. There was no sound except for those two.
Tyrion stopped his laughter and looked at his uncle. "I don't think this one is going to assassinate me when I have a whore in my tent, uncle. That would be uncivilized. Snow and I are good friends."
Jon snorted, inadvertently drawing eyes to him. Kevan looked at his nephew and to him. "It appears I have been wrong. I apologize."
"You shouldn't apologize to a bastard, my lord," Jon stated. He was glared at by the men and the women. He stared at them coldly and they looked away to the side. Jon turned back to Kevan.
Kevan looked to be in a struggle as Sandor triggered. Tyrion shook his head. "I'm sorry, uncle for my friend's bluntness. He's just like that."
"No need for that, Tyrion. We need more people like him. The seven knows that we only have a handful of them. I will take now take my leave." Kevan nodded at them and swept past. People turned from them and minded their own as the scene of interest was no more.
"You wish to speak?" Tyrion inquired.
"Aye, I have nothing else to do. What do you say, dwarf? Think you can handle me for a few hours?"
"Come now, Snow. We shall see if you can take being with me and my gloomy dog as we drown cups until we die."
"I am not your dog," Sandor said. He glared at Tyrion.
Tyrion grinned at him. "You must've known that I say that in jest! We have been around each other for so long for you to get so serious!"
"Or is he trying to act tough and mighty because you're here?" Tyrion said to Jon. "Perhaps he feels threaten that you might take his spot as my sworn shield?"
"Stop with that, dwarf." Sandor scowled furiously. "No one can replace me."
Jon looked at the Clegane with interest as people moved around them. The sky was becoming cloudy and the sun was blocked from view. A drizzle hit his nose and the camp was splattered with soft rain.
"I say that you don't like competition," Jon said with a small smirk as his hair became damp.
"Hmph!" Sandor huffed. He looked upwards to the sky and his eyes blinked from the rain. The man glowered at them and said, "Or we going to stand here getting our asses wet or are we going inside a tent?"
"You have read my thoughts." Tyrion walked through the tents as Jon and Sandor followed at his step. People did the same as they went into their tents to escape the rain. They arrived at a large pavilion and went through. Jon shook his head to lessen the dampness; his eyes were momentarily unable to see as his long hair closed off everything. After that, he observed the tent as Sandor and Tyrion kicked off their boots. Ghost padded himself in and curled himself in one spot of the room and closed his eyes.
An averaged sized table was in the middle with three flagons on it and one of them was empty. Candles were placed in many parts of the room but mostly on the other small tables that were in the corners. They were one of the chairs that a man sat.
"It long enough," The man said as they pulled up a chair to the table where he was. "I had the thought that you would bring a maid for how long you've been gone. I'm surprised."
"I'm full of surprises, Bronn," Tyrion wryly responded. "But no. We picked up my friend from my uncle's jaws."
Bronn peered at Jon. "Snow is it?" He sneaked a look at Ghost.
"The one and only," Jon responded.
"The one and only to kick Gerold Dayne's arse in front of every lord in that hall. Good job."
Jon poured himself a cup and looked at them. "It seems everyone is talking about that." He wanted Gerold to shut his mouth because he was too arrogant. He didn't spar with him to have every lord and every lady gossiping about him.
"Should it be a surprise?" Tyrion asked. Everyone shook their heads. "Are you not glad that people are talking about you?"
"Tyrion, they have been talking about me." Jon heard the whispers wherever he goes, some were bad and some were worse. The women in the castle seemed to be easier on him than the men just because of his looks alone.
"You know what you should do bastard? Fuck everyone in the fucking arse and there should be no more problems," Bronn idly said.
"That would be too easy. If I can do that then I will be the king of the seven kingdoms already," Jon replied. They all laughed but Jon's was a little dimmed compared to theirs. I could fuck everyone in the arse if I wanted too. But Cannibal…he would go insane. I don't think any force can stop him; they would only make him more crazed. Tyrion sent him a knowing look that told him that he was thinking the same thought as well.
"Are we going to play the game?" Sandor asked loudly, though Ghost didn't flinch from the floor.
Bronn saw Jon's confused face and said, "This is a harmless game. Well, it's harmless when you're the one winning. If not, you're going to find yourself under the table and too drunk to walk to the feast tonight."
"Tell me of this game," Jon said.
It was Tyrion who spoke, "It is a drinking game. Each person is going to have a turn to make a statement about their past to whoever he wants. If the person guesses correctly the other person drinks. If the person who asked guesses wrong he drinks. And each person has to answer truthfully, no lying. I will know if you are. The last person somber enough to attend the feast wins."
Fuck it. I'm playing, I need to relax. What harm will this game do?
"I don't think I'm comfortable having my guard not somber enough to protect me from danger," Tyrion said as he looked to Sandor.
"Fuck you, dwarf. If that sellsword over there gets to play that game then I am going to play." Sandor poured himself a cup.
"Who's going first?" Jon asked.
"You go first because you asked," Bronn said.
"Fine then," Jon conceded. He looked around the table. His eyes landed on Tyrion and said, "When you were younger, you used to look at your own shit to see if you can spawn gold like your father."
Tyrion picked up his cup and sipped. He put the cup down and looked to see everyone eyeing him with disgust. "What? I was only eight!" I was fully expected to take my first sip, not him.
"Ok, my turn," Tyrion observed everyone until he stopped at the hound. "You've killed a bloke over the matter of food at an inn."
Sandor sipped his cup without a pause. "It was a piece of chicken. I warned him."
Tyrion looked at his guard with his mouth hanging open. "When did this happen!?"
"It doesn't matter anymore."
"Doesn't matter anymore…" Tyrion said with his voice low as his stunted height. The Lannister looked at Sandor and said, "I should never share my meal with you again. Bronn, make sure you remind me of this."
"I will," Bronn said.
"At least I didn't play around with my own shit, dwarf," Sandor countered. Jon and Bronn chuckled at his words.
"I told you! I was eigh-"Tyrion cut himself short and he glared at them. He sighed and waved his hand towards Bronn. "Go."
"Snow, you once killed two men with only a spoon as a weapon," Bronn said.
Jon drowned his goblet and he glanced at the sellsword. "Where did you hear that from?"
Bronn shrugged. "A group of drunken fellows was talking about it in a brothel."
"And now It's your turn," Tyrion told Sandor. "And please, don't talk about chickens anymore."
Sandor glared at the dwarf and he looked at them each and he opened his mouth.
…
"You are actually a funny man, snow," Bronn complimented, his voice slurred from the wine he consumed. The four of them battled to a standstill and found no winner and so they relented. All of them couldn't walk straight as they bumped into one another and they talked gibberish to random people as they passed for no apparent reason. Ghost walked from the back of the group, his eyes had to be alert because Jon and the others were not. The rain had stopped and the sun dropped and the night air felt warm on his skin. Jon blinked, but the ground still swayed dangerously. He tried blinking again to no effect.
"When I first saw you I thought that you were just grumpy like Sandor over there," Bronn said as he looked at the confused hound. Ironically, it was Tyrion who managed not to sway on his feet. Despite his size, he was not as dazed as them by the wine. But Jon can hear the loud breathing of the dwarf to tell that he was somewhat damaged by the intake as well.
"Huh," Jon merely said as he continued his uphill battle.
"Should we really go to the feast?" Bronn asked. "We are going to act like fools in front of the lords."
"Are you being a bitch now?" Sandor breathed deeply, his large form bumping into another person. The woman yelled at them but her words were nonexistent in their ears as the drunken state was too strong.
"How do you call him," Jon said in confusion, pointing to Bronn. "A bitch when you're actually a dog yourself?" I sound really stupid. I should go to bed. I can't go in the hall like this. His guard was down. He was unable to concentrate. He laughed with Tyrion and them when he shouldn't, and jested with them when he normally doesn't and he smiled when he hadn't in ages. He had a good time with those three, he might even call the outing as fun but it was time for him to recuperate and go back to his usual state.
"What?" Sandor asked slowly.
"Nothing," Jon replied, just as slowly.
"Come now," Tyrion said to them as he gestured to the front gates where people were going through. "Let us go."
"No," Jon found himself say. His next words had more strength. "I'm fucked up in the head because of you three. I need to retire to feel better."
Sandor made a pathetic attempt to wave at him. "Goodbye bastard."
Jon turned just in time to see Robb grab his arm and start pulling him to the castle. The Stark glanced back at him. "I've been looking for you for hours! Let us go."
"Robb…I'm dr-"Jon tried to protest but he fell roughly on his face. The grass felt cool and soft and Jon just wanted to lay his head on it for a little bit longer to dull the wine effect on his body.
"What's wrong with him?" Theon asked. Jon didn't know where he came from but he didn't care, he wanted to rest.
"I don't know," Robb said as he grabbed Jon by the upper arm and pulled him up. Jon barely kept his feet standing and he didn't even have the time to protest when he was pulled along again. He looked back to see Ghost had disappeared without a trace.
When they arrived at the great hall he ripped his arm from Robb's grasp and scowled at him. Rather than taking the laborious walk to his tent, he took a seat at one of the tables. He took one glance at the high table to see it was arranged differently. The table was linked to another to provide more seats and for more people. Jon looked away and groaned as he rubbed his tired eyelids.
He heard Robb and Theon sit down and Jon can feel a warm face close to his own. "What is going on with you?" It was Robb.
"He is drunk," Theon answered for him.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Robb asked. "I could've taken you to your tent."
Jon placed his hands down on the table and glared at his cousin. "I didn't get the chance to because you were dragging me like I'm your pet. And didn't you think it was weird for me to fall down like that?"
Robb's face turned into a grin, it was so infectious that Theon grinned as well. "In that case, it will be very entertaining to see how you act in the middle of a feast while being drunk."
He better not dare! "Take me to my tent. Now."
"No. This is my first time to see you drunk and I'm not wasting anything for it. Besides, most people in this hall will be drunk as well. There is nothing that is going to be wrong. I will take you to your tent after the night is through. Hell, I can carry you myself."
"You are an arse," Jon said.
"And I heard there will be dancing tonight as well," Theon cut in. "Will you partake in this dance, snow?"
"Dancing while drunk? That's a no."
"You can't say that until you try it," Robb said with a smile.
"What did you say?" Alys asked in curiosity as she wrapped her hands around Robb's neck. "What are you talking about?" She asked again as she sat down in between Theon and Robb.
"Jon had too much to drink," Robb said with a small laugh. He looked at him and asked, "Who did you drink with anyway?"
"Tyrion Lannister." His head was pounding and he felt like shit overall, but at least his words came out without a stutter.
"The dwarf?!" Theon cried out in disbelief. "You shared a drink with the dwarf? He looks like he can't even stomach a single cup!"
"He is small, but his endurance is to die for. I joined him and his friends in a drinking game and if we hadn't called it a draw then he would've been the last one standing amongst us."
Theon still looked skeptic as he ate his food. Alys looked at him with a frown that made her face even prettier than before. "Do you want some water?"
Jon nodded and Robb passed him a cup that he sipped with earnest. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. The fresh water helped him clear his mind a bit, and Jon was happy about that. He didn't like to be vulnerable, no, he hates it. He spent too much time-fighting in wars to be acceptable to be defenseless. For years he had been looking behind his back at the hidden daggers and at the cloak men that always seemed to be following him. Jon gulped down the water and asked for another.
More and more people were entering the hall and it was getting full which was peculiar because it was so big. His cousins waved at him from the Tully table and he nodded back. Jon saw Tyrion and his bodyguards jesting to themselves and at the people from the other tables. Tyrion glanced at him and nodded in which Jon returned before he looked away.
"Take that back right now, Lannister!"
Joffrey was smirking as he was stood up from his seat as was the other person who was glaring at him in anger. "Your house and your people are jokes that happen to be in this kingdom. Your father is most pathetic."
Edric face grew red. "Say that again, Targaryen. I dare you!" The men from the Baratheon and the Lannister began to stand, glaring at the other table.
"Sit down," Renly ordered, "All of you sit down!"
Most of his men sat but Edric still did not move. "How can you allow this," He gestured to Joffrey as if disgusted, "Boy insult us?! He has no right! His grandfather was being a fucking craven in the rebellion by hiding behind his rocks!"
Laughs echoed through the hall as Jeffrey scowled and the Lannister men glared at the people who were throwing sniggers at them. Joffrey slammed his hands on the table and it was quiet again. The golden head sneered at Edric. "I say that my grandfather was smart. Could you say the same about your father? No, you can't because he died with a sword in his belly like how a usurper should die."
Edric roared and moved to climb over the table. Renly held him back but the other still screamed. "How dare YOU!" Plates and goblets were thrown to the floor as he struggled.
Joffrey continued to hit home with his snarl still on his face as he eyed Edric with haughtiness. "Robbert Baratheon left you all alone except for your equally pathetic uncle who can't even lay with his wife and had to name you his heir. It's a shame."
Edric didn't stop roaring and neither did he stop trying to reach Joffrey, and Renly had to manhandle him out of the hall with the help of his bannermen and the doors closed after them. The Baratheon tables were too embarrassed and flustered to meet any ones gaze. Silence hovered above all before Joffrey-who was still standing- raised his goblet. "It's true after all. Barath-"
"Close your mouth," Viserys said. His voice was calm but his eyes burned with the anger of a dragon. "And sit down; you've embarrassed me and your mother with your childish display. This is why you cannot sit at the high table with your family, and you've complained about why your brother sat with us and not you."
Tommen shifted nervously under the great number of eyes that touched him. Joffrey glared at his brother and looked at his father who continued speaking. "Do not say a word for the remainder of this feast, if you don't, I will slap you right in front of these lords and ladies that are in this very hall."
"But, father! The Stormlands needed to be put back in line! That bastard talked back to me!"
Viserys stood from his seat and went around the table. Joffrey took a step back, but Viserys slapped him so hard that the boy's face turned a harsh red. Cersei stood up so fast that her chair was knocked backward. Viserys glared at her, and the woman stayed silent but she still stayed standing. The brother of the king turned back to stare at his son. "Sit down and stay quiet."
Joffrey sat in his chair without complaint, his face still red as he stared at his plate with an unreadable expression. Viserys sat back down at the high table and Cerci sat too but scooted her chair farther away from him. Viserys said a few words to the prince and the princess and fell silent.
People ate hesitantly and they spoke softly. But as minutes ticked by, the hall returned to its proper form by having chats and shouting to its fullest measure. Jon-still uneasy with the drink-tried to strike up a conversation with the people at their table, Domeric was the only person to talk to him for more than twenty minutes.
The prince stood up and he had everyone attention. Aegon let his eyes sweep through the hall and his met with Jon's for a long moment before he looked passed him. He grinned and said, "Tonight has disappointed me, my friends. There has been an argument over matters that were settled years ago and that should stay in the past. We cannot dwindle our minds thinking about the past that is supposed to be dead."
Jon looked to everyone to see they're listening to every word the prince said, they almost looked like they're in a glaze. The prince is a good talker. Jon thought as he listened to his brother speech. The prince was compelling and powerful in his words and he was even more persuasive into capturing the attention of every person who was seated. Jon can see how the realm loved the prince, and he didn't even need to look at everyone's face to tell this. Even the people from the Stormlands listened to him; they are practically hanging on every word he said.
"And how do we fix this?" Aegon asked them. "I know and you know it too. We can put away our differences for just one night for this…dancing!" Cups were slammed on the table and chairs were being pushed back as cheers rippled through the great hall. The bards and the singers arrived and they started to play a few songs as people paired with the men or lady they had wanted to dance with.
"Did you change your mind, Jon?" Robb cheekily asked as he and his wife stood to dance. Jon stayed right where he was.
"No. Go and dance with your wife before you carry me back to my tent," Jon responded, drowsiness coating his voice.
Robb laughed and he led his wife to the center of the hall to join the dancing. Theon was approached by a lady and he left the table too but not before he said, "You are missing out snow."
Jon shrugged as he laid his head on his arms and watched the dancing take place. Even when he was the person to suggest the dance, the prince still sat at the high table watching everything. And Margaery was seated too. Jon thought that they were not dancing with each other for a reason. Aegon refused to glance at his wife and she did the same to him and they seemed to be a thousand miles away from each other but in reality, they sat right next to the other. Jon found this odd but left it to rest.
Catelyn watched as Sansa linked arms with a young man that looked a few years older and led her to where the dancing was taking place. Jon laughed at the way her eyes narrowed at the young man. He looked on until he was tapped on the shoulder. Jon turned his head to see it was one of the kingsguard, Ser Loras who stood behind him.
"What do you want?" Jon asked, his voice rough with the remnants of drink.
"The princess desires a dance," Loras replied, his tone hinting at something unspoken. His eyes flickered with mild disapproval, but Jon couldn't be bothered.
Jon's gaze swept across the hall to where Rhaenys stood. She had moved from the high table to the center of the room. Several young men had approached her, only to be dismissed with a courteous but dismissive shake of her head. She's waiting for me.
Jon met Loras's gaze. "And if I refuse?"
"It's a command," Loras said, amusement creeping into his voice. "You don't want to anger a dragon princess."
Jon took a long, steadying gulp of water before rising from his seat. "Not a good idea. I'm quite drunk, ser. A drunken bastard should not dance with royalty."
"A command is a command," Loras pressed, his amusement now unmistakable. "I'd suggest you take another drink before you go."
Jon did as suggested, swallowing the last of his water before walking toward the center. The cool liquid steadied him enough to maintain his focus, though his mind buzzed with a strange mix of anticipation and reluctance. When he reached her, Rhaenys held out her hand, her smile both inviting and unreadable. The moment his fingers brushed hers, a shiver raced up his arm, the sensation lingering like a spark.
Her skin was as smooth as it looked, and Jon couldn't help but notice the way their hands seemed to fit together perfectly. Rhaenys looked down at their entwined fingers, her brow furrowing ever so slightly, before lifting her gaze to meet his. She was beautiful—there was no doubt about it. The black curls framing her olive skin, her eyes glinting with something Jon couldn't name. Even as the other men watched them, a flicker of envy passed through their eyes.
She was nearly his height, so when her head rose, her gaze met his without either of them having to strain. Rhaenys's smile deepened as the music began, and they started to move in time with the rhythm. Jon kept his hands on her waist, determined not to let them wander lower.
"You don't seem quite as focused as the last time we met, Snow," Rhaenys said, her voice light, teasing. "Are you drunk?"
"I'm afraid so, Your Highness," Jon replied, his words blunt. Would she be offended? Would she have him thrown in the cells?
Rhaenys didn't seem angry. Instead, her grip around him tightened, and she gave a small laugh. "You move well, considering."
"I told Ser Loras that I was drunk, but he insisted it was a command," Jon said without hesitation.
Rhaenys laughed again, a sound that sent a strange warmth through him. "You looked quite alone at that table. I thought it might do you good to dance."
Jon felt a spark of doubt but answered anyway, "To be honest, Princess, I was hoping to retire to my tent and be left alone."
Her laugh was soft, but Jon couldn't ignore the way it made his stomach flip. The way she looked at him, held him, felt deliberate—as if she were not only tempting him but also trapping him. He could feel the weight of it, like being caught between the teeth of a predator, and there was no escape.
The princess stopped laughing, her smile still in place, though it had shifted. "Do you not enjoy my company, Snow?" she asked, her tone light, but there was an edge to it.
"I never said that, Your Highness."
Rhaenys's eyes darkened. Jon was careful not to let his surprise show. "Then why did you leave when I told you not to? When you sat with my brother and me, you didn't even have the courtesy to bow before you left."
Jon's nerves tightened at her sudden change in mood. He didn't know why, but he felt like he was in the wrong, even though he hadn't meant any offense. He glanced toward Robb, who was eyeing him with an almost knowing look while dancing with Alys. He couldn't ignore the way Rhaenys was watching him, waiting for an answer.
"I didn't want to be near your uncle's wife," Jon said flatly. "From what I know, she's unpleasant to be around."
There was a tense pause, and Jon expected anger. Instead, Rhaenys's lips quirked up, and she laughed once more, though this time it was far more genuine. "You can relax, Snow," she said. "Cersei can be a little bratty at times. I don't like her either. She's a bitch."
Jon blinked, taken aback by her response.
"You don't have to worry about what she'll say to you. You'll be around me."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. It felt almost like a promise, or perhaps a claim.
"As you say, Your Highness," Jon replied, though something in him stirred at the thought of being "around her."
"Call me Rhaenys."
Jon's brow furrowed slightly. "I can't do that, Your Highness."
Rhaenys's smile deepened, and there was a playful challenge in her gaze. "I'll tell you what you can do: I want you to call me by my name."
Jon hesitated. Something about the way she said it felt like an invitation, something more than just words. He nodded but didn't say anything.
"Say it. Say my name."
"Rhaenys." The name slipped easily from his lips, but as soon as he said it, he felt a strange stir in his chest, like an echo.
"If you want me to call you by your name, Rhaenys," Jon began, his voice steady despite the flutter in his stomach, "then you'll have to call me by mine as well."
Rhaenys's smile couldn't have been brighter. "From now on, I'll call you Jon when we are alone."
Alone. The word lingered in the air, and Jon couldn't help but feel that there was something more behind it. Something he didn't yet understand.
They danced in silence, moving together with an easy rhythm. When one led, the other followed, their bodies in sync, their hands gripping each other tightly. Jon felt lost in the moment, as though they were the only two people in the room. Her warmth against him, her presence undeniable. The music faded into the background, and for a brief moment, Jon didn't care about anything else.
Before long, the dance ended, and the feast began to wind down. As he pulled away, Rhaenys didn't speak. Neither did Jon. There was no need. The unspoken words between them said everything.
I am hyped for this weekend! Season eight is just around the corner, and I can't wait. Have a good day!