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rise-my-angel · 1 month ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

66 - Blood Filled Danger

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 19.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, descriptions of gore blood and violence, disturbing imagery, mentions of child death, discussions of consent, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, somnophilia, breeding kink

Notes: The three sequences of events in the last scene of the chapter, do not take place at the same point in time as the main chapter's events. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Knives, ropes, a small coin purse with but a handful of silver in its contents, and on the older man specifically sat a suspiciously shaped sack which as it was laid out with the remains of the other contents, was looked at with dark eyes and a jaw so tightly clenched one may have thought the bone was about to snap. “No identifiable marks, features. No sigils sewn into anything. Nothing special about the rope material, nor the blades. Nothing.” Maester Wolkan held a sigh just barley internally with the frustration of so little to go on as he looked upward. “It seems by my estimation, your grace, that whomever sent these men did not so readily wish for themselves to be known.”

Glancing at the third which Jon had already looked at in the hours before, the tenseness on his tongue no doubt came in part from the inability to let his muscles nor bone in his face relent even the slightest bit. “And him?”

Moving across to the second table where the man Gendry came across in the courtyard now lay, the fox fur bloody around his back laid out to have been looked at in more depth, both boots pulled off with pant legs rolled upwards where the rat bite was still fresh looking on the dead flesh and the bloody antler piece lodged in his mouth sat on a small metal tin on a side table beside with varying instruments used to examine it all. Wolkan first gestured to the fur, the only thing of worth looking. “The cloak itself is rather unextraordinary. Which is what makes the fur stand out. Fine craftsmanship would have gone into putting such a fresh fur to work. Your guess was correct though.” Gesturing to the blood gouged eyes over to the wound presently being sewn closed. “His throat was cut, then the shard here was used to make these wounds in the eyes of the fox fur.”

Jons voice was a rough sort of husk in the more quiet air of the night of the room. “Then shoved in his throat.” A grim hum came from Wolkan in a more disturbed agreement. Arms moving to cross against his chest, Jon couldn’t decide between which he watched. The strange one Wolkan stood before now, or the two whom Jon had seen almost do what they had meant to do.

“Why the fox? I understand what the antler means, but why put so much work into what one of them was wearing just to kill him?” Arya stood not too distant from Jon, but behind a sitting area, her hands perched and tense against the top of a chair as she too looked as tense and on edge as Jon felt in his blood, and no doubt looked on his face.

Both men had the answer, but Jon gave it first with your name to start. “She’s half Florent. The sigil for the Florents are foxes. They give nothing away about who was paying them to do this, but they wanted us- wanted me to know she was the target.”

Arya, unable to keep any kind of relative status calm, pushed from the chair only to pace across part of the room and back. “It still doesn’t make sense. Why leave something for you to figure out who they were here for? Wouldn’t that make it more likely you were going to stop them in time? Putting it together faster?”

Shaking his head only once, Jon didn’t even bother restraining the need to glance to the side room where he knew you were just out of hearing through the door. Blood properly being washed from you and tending to the cuts across your hands, back and the one in your head from being thrown, colliding with the side of the bath as you were thrown to the floor. His voice was low, only heard no doubt by those in the room. “They didn’t expect her to fight back.”

Arya and Wolkan both looked with a question in their eyes, allowing Jon to morosely elaborate as his hands flexed with an agitation as he did so.

“She’s a woman, and a new mother. They tried to corner her when she was alone because they thought she wouldn’t fight back as much as she did.” Swallowing heavily in his throat, he continued. “If she didn’t fight back, they would’ve had enough time to kill her and run out the way they came.”

With your head, but none in the room dared broach that imagery.

The question broached next, was why leave a message behind in a body of whom their target was when they all would’ve found out regardless. But the answer much to all of their dismay, was more obvious then they felt comfortable with. Yet it was from your voice, now standing with your hands gently braced against the frame of the door, which had all three pairs of eyes turn towards you. “Because it was personal. Whomever ordered this wanted to make a scene out of the fact that it was my head they were after. They wanted everyone to know this was no accident or coincidence they came across me. Who ever these men worked for, they wanted me. They didn’t just stumble upon me by accident.”

Creeping up gently behind you, Selyse muttered your name to grab your attention before letting one hand rest on your upper arm. Turning to face her, you mustered part of a smile, letting her transfer hold of your son from where she held him as you were being tended too. Little Eddard clambering as much as he could to worm his way into your warms, you felt the mutual distress. You had been in danger just out of his view, and it was as if the baby sensed it happening beyond the struggling noise and was unhappy with anyone holding him except for you. His own way of saying, he needed to be there for his mother without having any words attached.

Though you were almost used to it, Bran had offered to send Summer out in place of Ghost whom normally would’ve been the eager one to run into the area surrounding to look for anything of note. Instead, Ghost kept dutiful at your side, the large direwolf not even needing any look or word from Jon to do so, both your white wolves minds functioned at an eerily similar level.

Moving further into the room, you were thankful none drew any attention to the less then composed state you appeared in. You knew no longer were there any hints of tears which you hated had fallen in the first place, but the redness in your eyes, puffiness just below them against your flushed skin gave away what you would’ve done just out of their view in your own overwhelmed silence.

Not kept to your own devices however, your mother grasped you by your arm and side, moving you across to a different far side of the room to where the others mostly stood but away from the tables of men and blood that your eyes tried to drift towards. Keeping the baby close, it felt as if you were still pinned to the floor listening to him crying out for you muffled in the other room. “Do we have any idea who would’ve done this?”

Missing from your eyes still trapped against the blood and flesh on the tables, was Jon relaxing only the arm reaching more out to Selyse to beckon her to guide you to his side. Each part of his muscles tense in the places which did not at all touch against you in anyway as he spoke. “It depends on what the person who ordered this wanted.”

Pulling you close to his side, Jon kept his arm firm as he let it drift from your side up your spine gently as if he was attempting to trace where he had no doubt seen faint marks of a knife which had inadvertently dug into your skin as your clothes were sliced at from the back. Keeping a large, warm hand on the back of your neck as part of your now somewhat damp hair sifted through his fingers, the maids helping to have cleaned what you didn’t then realize was your own blood having painted down the strands.

Arya caught on right away to what Jon had been alluding too. Looking to him more suspicious and wide eyed, “If they wanted to hurt you through her, then it would have to be someone who has a problem with you specifically. But if-”

Wolkan finished the next assertion for both Starks. “And if the King was not taken into account at all, then the list of who could be responsible is endless.” Selyse gave him a look which no doubt looked much like a pleading of frustrated reason of yours, head tilting slightly as her face fell and brows furrowed for more of an answer, or at the least, the wish of a better one she knew would not be provided. “She is one King’s daughter, the wife of another King, and the mother to a future King.” He hesitated to say what he was next thinking.

Jons grip tightened not enough to be uncomfortable, but to the point you allowed your body to turn a bit closer into his side so he could feel you against him much more presently. The hand once more relaxing at the sensation, even if neither of your eyes found one another to communicate it, his rasp much more comforting this close. “What?”

Eyes narrowing towards him, Wolkan took Jons state and relented that the truth out here and now was a better option then withholding it for a better time. Knowing the reaction was going to be the same regardless, as he gestured back to you. “It is not something discussed within the North, your grace. But to widely whispered about in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, she to the public knowledge, is still considered the heir to the Iron Throne.”

Heart nearly lurching from your chest out onto the floor in a vomit at the thought, you maintained just an unpleasant twist of your stomach, curling the baby closer to your chest as if an object of comfort the way he tried to match it by resting more against your chest. “I’ve never-”

Cutting you off, Wolkan gave the most straight forward explanation that you continued to feel an ill within you for being any kind of insulation, no matter who here did not believe it. “How something is and what that thing appears as, are two different things to the people of the realm, my Queen. You know that. To most, you are the only living heir to the Iron Throne through your father. You have twice been married to a King in the North, and now you have bared a son to the present. To the eyes of one considering you an enemy, you would be quite the great one.”

Jon pulled you even closer, feeling his dark eyes flickering down towards you as Arya’s just as dark but more worried then angry ones gave a similar overbearing feeling. Deep his voice vibrated into your ear and shivering down your spine, “She’s been in the North for years, she’s never been anywhere near Kings Landing since she escaped. Why would they-”

Your mother had the answer, swift as it came to her. “She and you sailed with a Northern army to Dragonstone, where you met with Stannis and Aegon Targaryean. Then sailed home, with an alliance of peace only for Stannis and his army to soon return following back North.” Your mind was a bit muddled to put it together on your own, but hearing it aloud did your eyes close with a sigh leaving you.

If one didn’t know any better then, “It looks as if she and her father are plotting something with Jon.” Arya had however, seen what felt the most likely piece fit right into place as why you were the target. And her addition only solidified it as the one explanation which made the most sense. “Besides, Jons right. Killing a Queen is a lot easier then killing a King. Let alone two, and it just so happens the one Queen that connects the North to the South?”

The open endlessness of her statement was not a question but something to have the blanks filled in on, which was done so with ease.

Some begun to leave the room, others still with work ahead of them with the bodies in need of final tending towards, Jon murmured your name as you made move initially out of the room. Turning you more to face him, Jon let his now free hand reach up to cup your cheek. Tilting you to look up at him, for once the freedom in his own nerves you suspected, allowing him to not care about giving such physical affection in front of others, even as little as those within Wolkans study.

The baby laying down in your arms, only one of your hands closer to Jon found the ability to reach out, fingertips gentle as they brushed against the leather of his tunic. Not even a chance he had this late into the night to dress down as he should’ve. Still though, he barley gave the thought any pass in his head no doubt as the hand on your cheek drifted upwards, running gentle through your hair to seek out the now cleaned out and closed cut across the top of your head.

A deep sigh left him, once more uncaring of the eyes around Jon tilted your head downward that time to let his lips press against your forehead in a firm but lingering kiss. Murmuring so close you could feel his breath warm as it brushed against your skin as his forehead leaned against yours, now both hands slipping to cup your cheeks. “The room won’t be clean enough to go back in for a little while. We can stay in your old chambers if you-”

Shaking your head, your fingertips barley curled into the belt by his waist keeping his things strapped to his side. “No, no I want to sleep in our bed.” Muttering once more that it won’t be for a few hours at this rate, you shrugged only one shoulder half committed as to not disturb the baby. “You want me by your side regardless,”

As your own voice slowed, a pleasant vibration entered through your cheeks and ears down into your heart and reclaiming it with a warmth as Jon gently laughed. Bright eyes shining down at you, as one thumb ran over the skin of your cheek. “Maybe this was all my plan. I hated not having you by my side all hours of the day, I just needed an excuse for it.”

A tiny shake of your head with something fond trying to fight overtop your lips, you murmured in something just as fond but more pretending to be dismayed. Despite the general feeling around you being that of something numbing and exhausting, something that wished to remain in the small bubble you stood within and not step outside or look away at all to the truth.

Something small and meek inside your heart reminding you that you were safe right here in Jons arms, and not to move away from that and risk anything else. A girlish feeling you knew, but one that even if you said it aloud, would garner nothing negative from Jon beyond perhaps, a few jests here and there as he knew he wanted you close all the same.

Looking back to years ago, Robb was sweet and gentle with you but you as a woman were vastly different. The times your life was in danger were not similar, and you could stand your ground without a question and Robb felt a loving confidence in his wife being capable of taking care of herself. But here you stood, letting your head lean closer to rest against Jons once more and you knew it was very much not the same, nor did you think you could go back. You relied on Jon to keep you safe in a way that he craved to do to protect you right back. It was soft, and perhaps a bit pathetic to some of the people in your life but you felt that safeness standing there in his touch, and not even a slight twitch or sound from the bundle between you both.

Pulling back with one more kiss to your forehead, Jon directed you out the door with a thank you to Maester Wolkan before nearly being bombarded in the corridor by Theon and a few others. “You grace, we found where they came in from.”

The hand around to your side tightened as Jon looked at him, glancing to you from the side of his vision with a nod for you to follow him, as if you needed instructions to do so now.

“They didn’t come down this way, but it leads up to the path we came in through. Easier access I assumed them making the Queen climb through a bloody tunnel in the middle of the night.” The man leading the group of you presently down into the tunnels had made quick way through the paths underground and found it simple to navigate you all through. Pointing down one path which was a thin and narrow passage before leading to an unseen incline upwards into the castle no doubt. “That’s the path they took to get in. I’d show you if not for her grace and the little Prince, but thats the way they would’ve taken to get all the way to your quarters. One section of the stones just loose enough to be pushed up against, and a short way from there.”

Eyes narrow as he looked down the way Jon asked, “You’re certain?” The man affirming he checked himself, Jon only nodded for him to go forward. “Show me where they came in from.” A hand reaching backward until he felt you in his grasp, he turned to the side to allow you to walk forward in front of him as you cradled the baby still. Pushing you with both hands on your hips, “I don’t want you lingering back there.”

Jon said nothing more as he pressed his lips to the side of your head, except for prompting you to follow. One winding way then the other, these tunnels went on and on. For many miles they did, nowhere near the fifty you once traversed within under a different city, and much warmer in fact as they sat closer to the allusive hot springs you wished were possible to see one day. Were you to stay down here for hours, one might have even broken a sweat as ridiculous as that sounded, as the path wound its way to the outdoors as slowly did droplets of snow find your face, the outdoor winters creeping in against the floor in terms of snow.

Gendry knelt to the ground glanced up, looking you over with what was much more of a subtle worry between you both then either gave off, your small nod his only needed indication. Jon behind you asked to confirm this was where they came in, pushing up from his thighs he and Jon moved to stand next to one another just near the outside as the former explained. “Summer found some tracks near the woods about half a mile west, can’t see most of them now with all the snow.” Gesturing up and around to the falling flakes covering the faint traces of paths. “My guess, they came in here last night, probably looked around best way to get in and waited.”

Theon affirmed to the side just partially out of view as you carefully made your way around the tracks in the snow out closer to the night. “Down here for hours, probably how one of them wound up with a rat bite in his ankle.”

The rats. Biting down on your tongue, you didn’t even feel the sting crawl in from the increasing pressure each moment. The rats came crawling through the tunnels, a beast beneath the boards, killing a maid, tying up and gagging another forced to watch as they sat in waiting for the Queen and her child to arrive alone. A lightheadedness fell through your mind as you looked at the footprints with unblinking eyes.

“You hear that, boy? Your mamma want’s you dead.”

No, your mind screeched. No you didn’t want him dead, you wanted to fight back to make them stop to ensure they never got to him. Somewhere in the fainting of your mind, did you hear Jon like a muffle beyond you. “No one around knows anything, or heard anything?”

“None, your grace. Probably snuck in through the wolfswood, never intended to come across anyone but the Queen before leaving.” Another ask from Jon about any idea from Theon of who the men were, but too did Theon have little answers so soon. “Could be anyone, they didn’t look like they were from anywhere close but its impossible to say. All it takes is one person to know there’s tunnels under Winterfell and they could’ve been around here for days trying to figure it out and no one noticed.”

One problem, then the next. One dead, another takes its place. Only there were two, maybe three if the man with the cloak was also involved. One then three, how many next? Four or more? How many rats were down here to take up the mantle against a life? The baby in your arms bundled and asleep, you were grateful he were not awake to sense and make notice to your distress rising if only seen in the deeper caverns in your eyes.

Jons call of your name grabbed your attention, head rising up with wide yet deeply distant eyes as little in your face gave away anything of what confusion turmoiled within. He needn’t say anything, and only with a small twitch of the smallest hint of a smile did Jon sense the answer to the question he did not have to ask, which was later. His focus turning back to Gendry, “How fast can you get bars blocking the path?”

Tilting his head in thought he only asked, “Without any gate or lock, maybe an hour after getting everything over here. With one, maybe two hours.”

Thinking for only a moment did Jon return with a single nod and a voice firm not to be questioned, as if any here would’ve dared or cared too. “Gather whatever men you need, I want everything blocked from the outside. Give anyone in the castle a way to get out if they need, but no one sneaks in.” Jon only managed to get in from the cold as the snowflakes in his still pulled back hair barley begun the process to melt in the hotter tunnels, turning back to Gendry and the other man whom guided you all here with something even more stern in his tone. “That passage they used to get into my chambers? Make it two gates. One to get into the passage, and one just before where it leads into the castle. That one, and any others we know of that could lead to Brans chambers or either of my sisters.”

Your eyes trapped on the footprints as your mind almost asked yourself why it felt confused they were in the shape of shoes belonging to men and not the prints of rats did your heart lurch in a startle. Turning your gaze to meet his narrowed one, with a grip of your chin in one hand, Jon muttered your name as if it were the second attempt to do so with a question in his eyes. You only nodded once with a just as false smile both of you knew he did not buy. “Are we certain everyone else is alright?”

Jons head turned to the side slightly, a beckon for you not to once more divert the attention before slipping his grip to run along the side of your head. Gloved hand threading his fingers through the strands he found before using the leverage to begin the process of making you turn the way you came. “I had the guards check on Bran and Sansa both, they’re fine. Just worried about you.”

Muttering enough only for him as Jon seemed to be the one to guide you with ease, ignoring the following footsteps behind you both that no doubt was about to become a repeating occurrence of a sound in your life. “I’m talented at that.”

You knew Jon said nothing as to indicate for you not to do this within anyone else’s hearing. An easy ability you had to turn any discussion into something more self hating to a degree few but Jon really could grasp. Even then, he had little patience for it in the kindest manner he could convey. Pushing you forward for a moment, did Jon stop to mutter something to Theon you barley heard. “I want all of your men to know, unless I say otherwise, whoever is on duty with her doesn’t leave her side. For any reason. If she isn’t with me or Ghost, I want two guards with her at all times.”

Were you willing to cause a scene, you’d have protested.

The main room of Jons chambers were as clean as always. Everything in it’s proper place but that was never the spot in question. So late into the night, in a waiting for the room to be finished being dealt with along with the body of the poor, young maid you never even had the chance to meet let alone learn the name of yet. Jon had taken the time to find a study with a warm fire already going to sit you in, knowing before returning the little one was in need of feeding.

It was nice almost, it felt normal. Jon sitting somewhat beside you enough you could turn and he’d pull your back to his chest, as your son together fed from your breast at his usual slow pace as the warmth of the fire filled the feeling back in your skin. Now though, you felt Jon part from you the moment the door behind him closed. Making his way to inspect the side room no doubt, you made quick work of gently placing little Eddard down in his bed. Hand running along his front and side as he shifted and wormed his way into something more comfortable to sleep in position of.

You stayed there for some time, never looking away. The horror of the vision in your mind from the night before any of the actual horror reached your eyes. You wished it was one clean cut. But it wasn’t. The sounds of your son crying for you in the next room mixed with the phantom sounds of a vision in a memory not yours, of something grotesque. A boy, a prince, an heir all the same as yours but older by a few years. The cutting, it haunted worse then the rats.

Until an overwhelming warmth encompassed your back, did your shoulders relax. Your hand on your son lifting to hover in the air as Jon gently murmured your name in your ear. His own now uncovered hand reached down to yours, pulling it up from the small bed and passed yourself beyond to his own. Turning so he could see the back of your hand and pressed his lips to the skin, the coarse facial hair scratching at the skin with something comfortingly familiar. Keeping it in his hold, Jon wrapped your own arm attached to his around to your stomach and pulled you back into his chest as his other hand grasped at your hip to steady you.

You felt the lack of presence of some of his outer layers, weapons off, tunic off and just his softer layers as your brows furrowed. Jon however, only chuckled deeply in your ear knowing exactly what your face was speaking in the silence. Murmuring for you to hear as his rasp danced in your ear, “After everything tonight, darling. The last thing I’m going to do is make you do anything for my sake. I can undress myself.” Your frown only increased, causing Jon to laugh deeper into your ear before pressing a kiss to the skin just underneath it. Leaning against the side of your head with his, “You’re going to like what I’m about to suggest even less.”

Twisting the hand in his to try and hold back, your other was still braced against the top of the wood of the small bed as you both just watched him fall asleep. “I won’t argue, I promise.” Jon only muttered that such a thing was not what he wanted you to say whatsoever. He was only amusingly silent before the drifting urge to fidget in his arms came about, yet suddenly just as it arrived did Jons hold on you grow knowingly tighter to keep you in place. “Jon, what is it?”

Asking over his chuckle, Jon gave a gentle shush in your ear. “Only if you settle.” You didn’t need to be looking at him to feel the bright grin growing brighter when you stopped moving about or fussing. His hands reached up finally leaving your other touch, running to your shoulders and dancing his fingertips along the fabric there toying with the idea of letting it drift downward but not with a tease in his voice, but a seriousness. “I know what they were about to do to you.” Cutting you off from stating the most obvious, “Beyond that. I know what they were doing when they tried cutting your clothes off of you.”

His hands ran across more smoothly but now each glide of his palm dragged the material down further and further with the drag. “They didn’t, I promise.” Jon only muttered he knows they didn’t touch you. “I don’t understand then, it isn’t a-”

His rasp turned deep much more to a husking frustration as his accent always thickened along with his emotion. “They were going to. They wanted too. I never want to push you, but I want to take your mind off of it. All of it.” Asking how, Jon was not teasing nor even upbeat as he stated it almost in your mind, embarrassingly outright. “I want to lay out on the bed, and have you over top of me so I can taste you.”

Your eyes wide, you would’ve pulled away if you thought you could escape his grasp. “Jon...”

“You can say no.” One hand dragged the material down your shoulder more then the other, his lips suddenly finding the skin of your neck on that free side as if tempted to continue downward the now freshly exposed skin. “But I don’t want any of this to scare you. Make you forget how far you’ve come. Replace what they almost did to you, with what we do together.”

Biting down on your tongue, it released just moments after as soon as Jon finally pressed his lips down to where your neck and shoulder met, tracing it along your shoulder more and more as the same hand dragged the material stretching down your arm. He too you felt, had let his curls sit loose as they danced across your bare skin being slowly exposed. You nodded, but knowing his lips had him too distracted to see it, a stealthily taken inhale of air prepared you to sound more confident then you felt over the image.

Faint you were but Jon heard you as loud as possible. “What about you?”

Tingling the feelings were, of Jons lips forming into a laugh against your skin, as the sound muffled deep in your ears. Pulling his head up to kiss the side of your neck more firmly one, Jon trailed them more sloppily up a path to just below your ear before he rasped deeply. “What about me?” Trying to now much more awkwardly bring up what he would get out of such an arrangement, Jon left a much more lingering kiss just below your ear as if somehow his voice grew even deeper, something wanting much more thick within it. “Tasting you is all I’ve ever needed.”

He was clever, you could give him that in the back of your mind. A master at tricking your distressed mind into focusing on something very different then the problems he portrayed at first. Air in your lungs coming out a bit more on the shaking side then you wished, but your words flowed behind it just fine, even despite the airy tone. “I feel as if you are underselling yourself a little.”

Jon knew exactly what your mind had turned too, is grip on your hip growing tighter as his lips returned their path along your neck as his other hand now continued to drag your sleeve down. “One thing at a time. Let’s get you feeling good first.” Muttering an alright, Jon moved both hands to pull the sleeves down of your dress down your arms.

The material sitting indecently low on your chest before Jon undid the small belt like fabric keeping it together. Instead though of letting it fall naturally to the floor, Jon took initiative on his own. Hands rough as they drifted up your sides, sliding around to your chest and through the fabric against you grasped both of your breasts. A not so gentle groping as he ran his hands over you, the spark through your system igniting the desire in your core, but it did not last long in such a form. Sinking both hands inside he went against your thoughts of his plan, and instead grasped at the fabric against your breasts and started to slowly pull the material downwards. Not letting them have a break, Jon never ceased pulling everything down off of you in one fell swoop.

Grasping at both of your hips as a prompt to get you to step out of the material before swiftly turning you in the room towards the bed. Spinning you more to face him, your hands reaching out to grasp against his sides to steady yourself, Jon only murmured in a low tone, “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

His brows narrowed however, the moment you reached up to his remaining clothes, Jon grabbed your hands. Pushing them back downward with a disapproval, before waiting in quiet to ensure you weren’t about to move again. Instead, close to you enough you felt every movement from him did Jon reach for his shirt. Pulling it up and off, dropping it out of his sight, Jon kept your gaze firmly on his grey eyes as he too reached for his breeches, again not even bothering to let you help.

Bare as you were, your hands only finally moved but not for anywhere provocative. Instead they followed the path your eyes took, fingertips tracing up and against the scars along his chest, never closed and never to be healed as yours was. A strange, dark, and macabre matching you both had that none else either had known of someone in this fashion could understand. His own hands ran up and down your hips, watching your eyes dark scour the wounds littering his chest as if the first you’d ever seen them.

One of his own left your hip, slinking up the length of your arm before turning your face up back to his from his fingers gently under your chin. His brows were narrowed and the expression painted across him was almost frowning in something akin to a worry but you took the initiative normally Jon held the lead for. Leaning upwards, your eyes slipped closed just as he followed suit.

Meeting your kiss in the middle, did Jon cup both of your cheeks, tilting your head up to his angle perfectly, soft and guiding he was but not for a moment as your lips met did Jon let you control anything of it. Your hands smoothed up his torso before winding around the back of his neck, hands toying with what of his curls which fell into your grasp. One of his sank down to the side of your neck and jaw as if to keep a hold controlling you to up to him, the other ran along your front. Down gentle as his thumb traced your scar before pulling your hip close to his.

Feeling the brush of his cock against your front as he hardened, your hands clung to Jon a little needier as you nearly parted your lips for his freedom without even needing to be asked in any way. A deep grunt left Jon gifted to your mouth as he wasted no time. Slipping his tongue inside of your mouth, brushing against you and tasting just as he wanted no matter what of you he had, his grip on your neck and jaw stayed more controlling to ensure you had to lean up almost perched on your toes just to stay with how much he hovered right over you in his kiss.

Barley did you notice Jon slowly turning you so his back faced the bed, kiss growing deeper anytime you may have parted from him, pulling you back to him with more of a need as he used his grip on your hip to pull you up right against his front, yet somehow uncaring of his cock sitting hard between you.

The amount he left your lips hardly anything as his breath was hot against your skin. Muttering in a low rasp as he nearly interrupted himself to kiss you once more. “There’s no pressure, remember. You’re just going to sit there, and let me make you feel good.” Not even looking in your eyes until he felt the nod, and then pressing his lips back to yours.

Just long enough to take away any air you might have needed before muttering in a strained need to breathe as your hands had slipped down to grasp at his shoulders. “I promise.”

Jons laugh though was bright, gentle, almost sweet. “Stop promising what no one’s asked of you, darling.” Nodding, Jon left a rather chaste kiss to your cheek before moving himself to the bed. Not letting you go, he pulled you along with one hand.

As he laid on his back, looking vastly more relaxed, you were hovered over top of him by your knees straddling his lower half yet not even close enough to his cock were he to demand instead you both get right to it. Instead you let his hand drop to his chest as yours braced against the furs beneath you. Tilting his head he looked up at you with patience, your name murmured deep from him. “You have to come up here yourself this time. Show me you trust me to help you.”

“I do trust you.” Entirely unconfident and were you anyone else to Jon, he might have taken it as doubtful instead of the endearingly shy manner which made him smile handsome and bright. One arm resting casually on the pillow above his head, as he let the hand you dropped from his grip still lay limp across his chest. Questioning if you truly did, your head lay a bit to the side as if to implore him to listen to you. “Jon.”

Rasping deep, you felt your limps relax a little the more he spoke so gentle towards you with a murmur of your name. Yet what came from his lips next you hadn’t at all expected. “Were you this shy with Robb?”

A fluster came over you right away. Sitting up straighter against the bed as you nearly turned with that sensation of embarrassment coming over you right away. Perhaps it was the scenario you both were in, or the passage of time making it a little easier to sometimes shove that sorrow away, but it was a mere mutter from you that was your reaction. “Robb never did such unusual things with me.”

Jons grin however, only grew brighter. Sitting up, Jons hand slid around to the back of your neck as he leaned up to you, hoping it would prompt you to sit closer as he nudged your nose with his. “There’s nothing unusual about this, darling.” You only replied back with a whisper that you never had heard of any of this before Jon had started doing it. But he only felt an amusement as he let the hand at the back of your neck toy with the loose strands there. “You barley knew what sex was by the time we almost shared our first time together.”

You tried pulling back as an even stronger embarrassed fluster came over you, Jons laugh breaking out into the night air as he tugged you back to him through your protest. “I knew what it was.”

Pulling you down, Jon ran his hand through the back of your hair, the other hand traced along your cheek before cupping it. “You had never even seen a man naked before you decided you wanted me to have you that way.” Gentle presses of his lips spoke through his teasing words, knowing the heat behind your face was of his causing. “You let me pin you against the wall and taste between your legs, not even knowing that was something a man and woman could do together.”

You could only attempt to mutter between each press of his lips, “What relevance does any of this have?”

Laughing again, Jon pressed one more kiss to your lips before pulling your head back by his grip to look you in the eyes brightly. “Don’t think about what we’re doing. Just let me help you.” Draping a strand of your hair behind your ear, Jon leaned in only to nudge your nose again with his. “Alright? Will you let me make tonight better? Escape your head?”

He didn’t ask you to respond when you nodded, only leaned back properly on the bed once more. That time, even though the apprehension was painted all across your face as you slowly made your way over his upper torso, you did move all of your own accord. Up and up until your face burned so hot and flustered your eyes flew closed unable to handle any of the sights further.

That time unlike the last proper he had introduced you to the act, Jon did not actually let you hesitate once he had you. Grasping both of your hips, Jon leaned up to press his lips to your clit. A jump almost making you leave his touch were he not holding your hips with a bruising grip, Jon pulled you back down more to him.

Small pecks against your clit he left, one then the next each growing a bit more sloppy without ever sacrificing how small and gentle he left it. Gradual small brushes of his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves cause that heat to flow generously through your body and down to your core. Your hand reaching up to grasp at the headboard, while the other almost hovered clenched in the air unsure what to do with it, but each pass of Jons tongue gentle like a kitten against your clit had your face scrunch in wanting to cry out.

Licks and tiny presses of his lips were nothing compared to how he almost took your clit into his mouth like the manner he would to your breasts, but the gasp erupting from you was sharp and high pitched at how without mercy he begun to suck at the nerves. Thighs tensing around his head, Jons grasp on your hips grew tighter as he continued to suck at your clit, brushing it against his tongue as if he treated you between your legs the way he’d indulge you in a kiss of greed.

As much for him as he was doing it for you. The wetness between your legs making you self conscious at how close to Jon you were feeling that burn grow needier and hotter but he did not care. He licked and sucked at your clit with no stopping, forcing you closer to that end. But that lack of mercy came out in a grunt against your core, biting down on your lip from the cry of his name so desperate to come out but you felt a fog within your head.

The feeling building and twisting inside of you, you knew he was putting you in a position as opposite as before as possible. Atop of him, on the other side of the room facing away, Jon wanted to keep you from it all. But he had no reason to, he had been the one to save you. He saved you, and yet he was the one filling the air with the sounds of his tongue between your legs and a grunting noise from deep within his chest each time you wracked yourself with a shake in your muscles.

Eyes everytime they tried to open, fluttered shut as your limps too shook and the burning twist of a coil within grew tighter as did his grip as did the patterns which he ran his tongue along your clit. Hand against the headboard, your nails begun to dig into the wood as he licked you closer and closer to your end, but you knew he had so little mercy this was nowhere near to be your first and only end he would draw his tongue for you tonight.

“Jon...”

A grunt again only followed, increasing how his tongue ran flat across your clit, your gasps high pitched increasing along with how tense your thighs shook. Biting down against your lip trying to hold back, but Jons hands on your hips burned, as if the moment he’d leave the grip you’d see marks as if they were on fire when he touched you. Licking and kissing against your clit, you nearly bit a split into your lip trying to withhold but soaking you again and again as the coil twisted.

Just barley following a much more greedy suck of your clit with the scraping of his teeth did that coil snap, bursting within you and causing Jon to react. He did not just hold onto you and make you endure, no. As soon as you began to cum, did Jon shift himself downward on the bed and yank you roughly much more down onto his mouth. One hand on your hip and the other sliding back to grasp just as roughly into the meat of your ass.

Running his tongue downwards, as you still felt that releasing burn from your orgasm did Jon finally sink his mouth onto your core perfectly. Every single drop of wetness he drew from you previous did he drink now, and his grip had you been more aware of anything but his mouth against you, would’ve begun to hurt as the skin around you bruised.

Drinking deeply, you felt Jon lick inside of you. Were your eyes not sealed closed, they would have rolled into the back of your head. Lips parting in a desperation to plead his name but it did not come, you could only be kept there against his mouth as he feasted upon what you soaked him with. Small cries left you without you even realizing, high pitched noises short and repeating of pleasure did they sound like music reaching Jons ears as he groaned.

The vibrations against you had the hand on the headboard grip even tighter, and your other hand shot up. Joining it without any other place knowing where to put or do with it, nails digging into the wood as Jon refused you the ability to move in anyway. Sitting you right against him, did the sounds of his tongue between your legs get muffled by how you covered him.

Running up to your clit and back, Jon shifted his other hand to your ass as well, pushing you more to the perfect angle as the embarrassment ran through you wildly, but Jon did not care nor would he ever have allowed you to move now. The heat burned, sweat begun to dampen your hair as you tried not to move against him, but Jon did the work for you. His hands naturally shifting you by his dead tight grip on your ass as if shoving you closer and his tongue dragged along something sensitive inside you deeper.

So close you felt, he already dragged one from you but already you felt your breathing increase almost in quieter sobs trying to hold back how warm his mouth was and how soaking wet he made you and subsequently drank from you. Twisting like burning metal the coil once more spun but before it even truly had recovered and begun the process again did Jon drag a second from you.

Even worse this one was, as he had you pinned to his mouth like a feast for a starving man only to survive off of one thing. A growl left him as he somewhat sat up, soaking his mouth as you cried out his name, one hand leaving the bruises on your ass to hold steady at your hip so you would stop making it harder for Jon to drink everything you soaked against him. His facial hair scratched the skin at your thighs utterly raw to contrast the warmth his mouth was against you.

The taste to Jon, was unfair. He almost felt angry that you didn’t feel comfortable with this position the way he did. He had you down against his mouth in such a perfect position and he knew he was strong enough to keep you there, and your beautiful begs in his ear he was so sure you weren’t even aware you were doing. “Please Jon, gods, please its too much..”

If he was willing to tear his mouth from your cunt, he’d have barked a no in response. There was no way he was stopping now. He knew you didn’t like how whenever he was finished between your legs, would he glide his tongue into your mouth and make you taste yourself but he always had to try. Something feral inside him growling that he needed you to understand what your taste did to his head. But holding onto your body this time?

Oh it was doing Jon something in bad. He hadn’t had you on top of his mouth like this since before the baby. Since coming back to Winterfell, Jon was almost overbearingly strict about your eating habits. He refused to let you fall into the same instinct drawn from insecurity about your size now that you had regained the weight lost from your captive time a prisoner. The skin in his hands, hips, breasts, ass, they were so plush again. Just the way he remembered but now he had the perfect amount to hold onto to force you to stay at his demand.

Spiralling did a third come through you like a wave, the pleasure making you lightheaded as everywhere within your core burned and stayed alight as you meekly held onto the wood of the headboard. Your head hung with your eyes closed, lips parted barley managing to beg Jons name with all you knew to say as his tongue ran over you, drinking from within you like a parched man.

Everywhere tingled on the inside, but you almost clenched around the nothing of his mouth as it screamed at you for a mercy you knew Jon had no interest in showing when he was growling into your taste.

Running his tongue back to your clit and down flat again, Jon soaked up every single bit left so the only thing keeping you wet was his own saliva. The rest from yourself treated like a dessert he kept all too himself. Finally did small sounds of begging needs leave from your chest, trying to breathe deeply as you bit your lip. Jons strength picking you up and moving you to his desire.

Hardly did you notice as he shifted you like something weightless in his arms, your hands braced against his shoulders as Jon sat against the headboard of the bed you just held onto. Leaning you across his chest and tilting your head up with a grip at your cheek to look up at him. Eyes turned black and hooded, Jon looked down to your lips but a whine came and your eyes sealed back closed at the shine against his from where you stained him before he captured you in a kiss.

Slipping to the back of your neck, Jon bit down on your bottom lip instantly tearing into the wearing spot you had worked at. The gasp allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth, running it along and with yours, gifting you the taste he was addicted too. Your hands braced against his shoulders but his other hand tugged you closer to his torso, your breasts pressed tightly against his chest. Whining into his mouth, Jon growled again as you felt his cock twitch between you.

Tearing away enough, the saliva still connecting you both as Jon looked down your lips and body of what he could with black eyes. His rasp was deep and his accent such a Northern thickness that were you not so lightheaded at his very hand, you may have struggled to even understand him. “Nothing could ever be better then that.” A small whine left you, your eyes closing with that flush travelling back up to heat your face when he continued. A hand on your side leaving down to recapture the perfect bruised imprints of his fingertips against your ass once more. Your wince at the sting only prompting Jon to start speaking through a quick but greedy kiss once more. “I’m serious, darling. You think what little you taste when I kiss you after is anything close to what tasting you is actually like?” His brows narrowed as if in disbelief of your lack of ability to understand. “You think I don’t let you use your mouth on my cock enough, but you have no idea what it’s like trying to tear myself away from how you taste. No idea..”

Biting your lip, your head tried to drop but Jon forced it back to meet his eyes despite yours staying closed and flustered. Unable to yet handle the intensity in his gaze let alone his voice as you spoke back in something weak akin to a whisper just for him. “It isn’t that-”

Instead of bothering with words, once again Jon pulled you to his lips. Rough and deep he kissed you over and over, the growl in his chest coming out into your mouth as you felt lightheaded, grasping at his dampening curls with a need to hold on for his sake, only tearing from your lips down your neck. Teeth sinking in as he sucked at the sensitive skin, Jon forced your head more to the side to give him room.

Relentless he was, tearing his teeth down your neck in marks just as you knew so well, a wolf would sink his sharp fangs into its prey to render them immobile. Arms trying to wrap around his back and shoulders, Jon grunted as your nails without notice, dug into his back at the painful sting he gave your neck as it bruised something fierce. Only tearing away to once more bite at your lips, pulling away to seek your hooded and needy eyes, as one hand smoothed down your hair at the back of your head over and over in a soothing type manner.

His voice back to a husking rasp that was only intelligible to your ears. “You want to do something for me?” You didn’t even seem to notice that it was not quite a rhetorical question, but a trick one. A way of doing something he knew was for your sake entirely, but appealing to the side of you that he exhaustively knew desired to simply please him. A trick just to ensure you didn’t try to argue against what you were worried about being a problem. “I think my beautiful wife should reward me for saving her life.”

That had your eyes peer up wide at Jons, the grey almost completely gone beyond that which sunk into the blackness. “Anything.” Your posture even seemed to perk up too.

Withholding a groan, Jon knew he was doing himself in with his tactic as much as it was to you. Normally, he’d lay you out gentle on the bed, keep you in a position where he was sure you could relax and feel the best, but the marks along your back he knew wouldn’t feel good against the sheets or furs just yet. But if he posed it as such, you’d protest. Knowing Jon preferred to hover over you when you laid out against the bed like that, so Jon had to try and coerce you a different way to make taking care of you a bit less of a back and forth debate.

Leaning forward, Jon ran his nose down the length of yours, nuzzling them together as he spoke lowly and with a slow purpose with the way he said it. “Let me have you, just like this tonight. I want you on top of me, just like how I took you the night we married.” Pulling you closer, Jon ran his lips across your jaw and under your ear to rasp into it more. “Or the morning after I had you for the first time, just like that. Let me have you this way tonight, a thank you for protecting you, yeah?” Nodding, Jon had to reel in a few varying emotions on the matter.

He wanted you the way he always did, but this was better for the marks along your back to heal more first. But it too was the ease in which when he had you so deep into pleasure, that you went along with anything he said. He wasn’t even sure you would’ve registered if he had truly suggested something outlandish. Something much more perverse he pretended every single night he didn’t want to try.

If Jon brought that up now, you’d let him without question. Head dropping into your shoulder as he swallowed and smothered a grunt, Jon couldn’t get over how much you trusted him. How much you simply agreed he should be rewarded for saving your life, when he shouldn’t be rewarded for that. Jon didn’t want a reward for protecting you the way he had promised he would, but the swift obedience you held for him when in such a pleasured state pricked at something feral within him. That part of him which was more wolf then man. A wolf with an obedient mate.

But you felt none of that, a lightheadedness as you looked at Jon. Holding him tightly as you could with your muscles feeling weak from three orgasms already he drove you towards with his mouth alone, and when you bit your lip and nodded, your lungs ceased to function as Jons grip shifted to move your hips.

Braced against his shoulders, you looked between you as Jon settled you over his cock, thick, red and leaking already but barley as you felt his tip slip inside of you did you gasp. Forehead resting against his as he asked if you were alright but you just nodded, grasping the curls around the back of his neck. “You’re...I always forget like this how...” The nerves within you made you sound less and less confident or seductive by the time you finally got even part of the actual though out. “You’re just big...”

Jon though, didn’t react with tease or anything smug. Nodding with a stern expression, Jon didn’t force you to look at him but he kept your face in his focus as a seriousness matched his softer tone. “You’ve taken me just like this before. I’ll fit, darling. You know I will.”

Your eyes spotting his as you raised your head, and something more sure ran back through your blood with a nod. He never left your touch, helping you sink down inch by inch as your face twisted in a wince and eyes closed with parting lips to let out a gentle cry. Never once making you do it all yourself, Jon guided you the whole way until you were sat upon his cock completely.

Head inside of you spun a mess, but Jons hands on your hips were back to so tight they left marks where his fingerprints sat. Through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, Jon could barely spit out what through the desire was doing to him. “Just follow me.”

Nodding, you felt that burn of how much his size stretched you, especially this way. Jons cock was so thick, the girth something never not intimidating and as your mind wrapped around the feelings of him to drown out what had happened just hours ago, you still couldn’t relax enough not to be so tight around his length. Leaning back properly against the headboard, Jon leaned you against him so the leverage was shared equally.

His eyes looking upwards to the ceiling as if begging for mercy, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as he breathed heavy and deep through a jaw clenched tight. You only had the baby not so long ago, Jons only been able to make love to you again for just around a fortnight. And yet, it was as if that time had made it so you wrapped so tightly around his cock like you were still a maiden. You were always tight, but now Jon felt as if he was being tormented. He had to be rough with you, just to sink inside you all the way. But with you on top of his cock this way? Sunk as deep as possible simply because you sat atop his cock? This felt cruel. He was expected to at some point, pull out of you? That was cruel, knowing he could not keep you right here on his cock forever.

But slowly did he start moving you, hands on your hips as you held at his shoulders, and the moment the first gasp came from you as he lifted you just halfway off his cock, did Jon sense your nails digging into his skin and whine in your throat a beg not to make you leave any more. So just as slowly did he sink you back down, and you nearly fell into him at the sensation. Hiding in his neck as Jon let one hand rise up to pull your hair over in a way he could rake his fingers through it and massage gently to bury his face in the same way.

His other hand, was strong enough after all to keep moving you.

Burning was felt within you, a fire strong and engulfing both of you as a sheen of sweat build against both your skin. Lips parted open in a silent pleasure, slowly you moved with Jons touch. Sinking up and down his length, getting only halfway before you felt that need to return as if it would stop going too far. Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck more but the cry leaving you was soft yet dizzy as you felt him fill you.

Each inch inside of you dragged perfectly against such a sensitive part inside of you, the angle meaning there was not way to alleviate the pressure it built within your core as a result. Warmth inside you turning to hot and burning and a fire living within as the coil twisted the more Jon moved you up and down.

Never overwhelming you too much, he stayed mostly still. Not thrusting up to meet but following your movements as a guide to help you take him, the slow pace between you, was perfect. Jon let out a shaking breath as he guided your head up from his neck so he could rest his forehead against yours, more almost moving like a wave just following your movements, despite him being the one to actually control your pace. Never going too fast or slowing down, but certainly the sound of him so deep and filling you so completely added that wetness to the air.

Your voice weak and needing, barley able to mask the sound each time you took his cock deep inside you. “Oh fuck.. Jon..” Nodding, Jon was imploring you to continue words neither of you were sure you even had planned within you, but they came out in pure desire breathless and hazy. “Thank you...for saving me, saving our son..thank you..”

Swallowing down a groan, Jon still rasped rough and strained trying to not overwhelm you with how tight and warm you were around his length. “I’ll always protect you. I promise.”

Leaning forward yourself, Jons lips took charge the moment they made contact. Deep and slow as his cock moved you atop it, his tongue barley brushing against yours as he kept it gentle but on the side of sloppy as he refused to let you part to breathe. He needed your kiss now more then you needed air, and Jon had no choice but to refuse one of you that reprieve and his strength meant his kiss continued.

Both of you knew perhaps it was strange, or perverse or simply not comprehensible. Why after such events did this become the only peace you both could find, but it was there. The way Jons lips were so soft and kind against yours, his hands tight and yet possessive afraid to even consider letting you go. The way you let yourself fall into a dizzy feeling relying solely on Jon. He always took care of you when he made love to you, he’d take care of you now and your eyes could close and you fall into him knowing there was nothing safer then when he moved you along his cock.

Lips and skin always connected in some way too, you were always sure of each other when Jon was deep inside of you, it was a certainty. It was an expression of something you both were not talented enough to say in another form, but found unity in the way he moved you against him here. The pleasure burning and twisting in your core was exactly the language you both spoke, and the blood and pain did not have to exist.

There were no visions of begs and threats and death which had kept you trapped in a terror of your mind until it was playing out in front of you. You did not have to consider what it all meant. You just had to keep moving against him, let his length fill you over and over and it all kept making sense. There were no sounds of cries or crying, just the wetness of each time he moved you to take his whole length, the press of his lips to yours or the breathing ragged and deep between each of you the chance Jon gave you to try and catch it again before reclaiming your lips.

A groan left Jon as you clenched around him, crawling closer and closer to another end. Tearing from your lips, Jon pressed his forehead against yours once more. Eyes both squeezed closed, but his hand in your hair keeping you pressed to him was firm but not for you, as if grounding for him to feel the soft strands of your hair through his fingers as he kept moving you up and down his length. Each time he sunk as deep as he could, his cock throbbed more and more and each did that have you clench tighter.

His name pleading from your tongue as your hands braced against his shoulders, staring to try and move more desperately but Jon shushed you, forcing your hips to slow down. “Easy, darling. Go slow, it’s alright.” You barley had met his eyes, yours glossy and hooded as were his dark to match but you just nodded with a bite to your lip trying to listen to him.

Sitting up straighter, Jon kept your eyes more on his as he started to move up with you more with a purpose, waves against the water you both moved like as his eyes begun tearing down your form and his cock throbbed even more inside of you. “Jon..”

He begun to speak, but in the back of Jons head he had no idea what he was saying. It was whatever animal arguing to make its way to the front wanted to say as the man in him making love to you slow and gently was too, trying to tame back down. “I told you I’d never let anything happen to you. I promised you, and I always will. I’ll always keep you safe.”

You didn’t notice that you nodded, but your hands ran up over his scratching facial hair while a thumb of yours brushed against his cheek, grey eyes beautiful as they looked at you wide. “I love you,”

Eyes of his flying shut, did Jon thrust up into you a little faster then he had the pace at before. Trying to slow back down, he could only hiss as he moved you faster and faster despite his tries to stop. Breathing roughly Jon was trying to keep himself together but the growl festered through. “Fuck darling, you have no idea how much I love you.” A deep and urgent kiss did Jon capture before still rasping towards you in a battle for sweet and demanding with no clear winner yet. “Keep you with me like this forever, you’re safe on my, cock you know that. I’ll make sure you’re always safe that way, protect the one thing I love more then anything..”

Hurdling close towards your end, Jons cock throbbed inside of you and grew warmer and warmer. Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck seeking his eyes, Jons jaw clenched and teeth gritted as he still moved harmoniously with you but faster and more greedy. The beg from you was high pitched and truly you hardly noticed you said it beyond his name. “Jon, please, I love you I promise.”

His grip on your hair grew rougher. “Stop promising that. I know you do, I’ve always known. You don’t-” Cutting himself off as he groaned out with a gentle moan coming from you as you clenched around him tighter. “I don’t want your promises. We love each other, that’s all that matters, I know it’ll never change. I know.”

Forcing your lips back to his, it was the final thing you both needed. The coil within you breaking into a violent snap as your orgasm swam through you in cries he accepted in his kiss. Tight and soaking around his cock, Jon suddenly dragged you down to fill you completely before he too found his end as your walls were all but milking his cock to join. A groan, possibly of your name into your kiss, Jon begun to fill you.

Hot and thick seed spilled and spilled. Pouring inside of you in thick spurts as Jon kept you pressed to his kiss and your hands both clinging to one another as you both encouraged the others orgasms to not stop, as you came together around one another perfectly.

Only as you begun to drop, head seeking his neck and shoulders did Jon still have just a bit more in him, filling you to the point if he didn’t have you so deep and were he not so thick inside of you, it would’ve begun to leak between your legs, instead it all stayed deep inside your cunt as Jon knew it belonged.

Truly, Jon meant to let you sleep.

Already had you begun to drift away before he even pulled out of you, he knew the days events had exhausted your mind. Gentle shushes as he did so, knowing it was a lot when he left you, but swiftly Jon laid you down. “Let your back heal, darling. Just like this..”

Pulling the furs up over so your lower halves were covered, stopping at his hips and just above your ass so the marks along your spine had time to breathe. Your hands rested up around the pillow as he fell asleep to the gentle press of Jons lips to the top of your head and a murmur back and forth once more that you loved one another before you slipped into a dreamless sleep for once.

But Jon didn’t yet. In truth, he did this a lot. Waited for you to sleep after taking you, then watched you sleep gentle knowing that in a few short hours would his son rise, and cry for something. It was a time he loved. Sometimes the baby needed to just be cleaned, sometimes he needed attention and sometimes Jon suspected his baby simply woke from a dream he wanted comfort from.

If there was parts of being King in the North, Jon knew he had the worst of it. Not having the time he desired to simply spend with you both. Everything you and little Eddard were to him, and as Jon a few knuckles of a hand run up and down your back as you slept, his gaze would toss between watching you sleep, and watching from a little ways away, his son sleep happily.

Jon hadn’t said it, and in truth, he had no idea how to explain that he knew it, but Jon was well aware of what you had seen in the display earlier in the godswood. He had no more information then everyone else but he knew. The rats, the plead of her life in place of a sons in whose mind you found yourself in. It was why he realized. The rat bite, the fox and the antler, your worry all day of something which made you wish to keep the baby elsewhere and then you not wishing to part alone.

One attack was for a son, but this attack was more. But that only meant Jon knew he was going to fight even harder for this. Whatever the rest of the realm thought of the bastard boy being called King in the North with a son now at his side, Jon didn’t care. His son was his son, and it started and ended there. Nothing else played a single part in it, he was his son as he was his father and he’d never hear another side of that story.

But you? Jons head turned back to you, sleeping in peace as the sweat across you begun to dry and leave a cool sheen along your skin as he ran his knuckles still down your back carefully. You were different, just as Maester Wolkan had said. You were the daughter of Stannis Baratheon, the niece of Robert Baratheon. That alone posed you in a very dangerous position in the world and Jon knew too well that there was more danger lurking then some thought. He didn’t know when or where it would appear, but it posed a threat to you all the same.

Jon had ideas on who would try and have you killed, and his list of allies were a lot smaller then he was going to let on publicly. There were easy names he could direct temporary suspicion at, but a lot less that he trusted to actually be safe. There was only one truth, he was to keep you safe with him. At his side, Jon would protect you. The worst part though, is Jon only knew one single person who wouldn’t have done it, and it was the one person Jon wished he had every reason in the world to kill.

The only person who wouldn’t have tried to have you killed, was Euron Greyjoy. He wanted you alive to rule at his side for your power. A power you didn’t even understand, a power that left you scared and confused, a power that would only hurt you the more it was used and Euron would not hesitate to use it for whatever he willed. He knew the rumours and what he already heard, Euron had sent a small army to murder Jon and kidnap you. But he needed you alive. He hated that the one man Jon would have driven his sword through the throat of, was not the guilty party he sought.

But again, Jons eyes looked down to you. Everything you were, and you were everything to him. He saved your life and then fucked you to make you forget because your mind and heart were far more gentle then they used to be. It was another problem, another thing keeping Jon awake for more the just waiting for the time his son would wake and demand time with his father. Jon stayed awake, because still under the fur, you lay bare, with his seed still between your legs.

Knuckles of a brief touch turned to a palm flat and smooth across your back, tempting each run to dip below the fur to run across your ass and look at the bruises of his fingers he knew he left. The way his sanity relied on taking you, that feeling of being so deep inside of you the one thing that brought Jon peace just as it was the one thing he knew he could protect your mind with. Keep you focused on how he made you feel and you wouldn’t spiral about the rest of it just as he wouldn’t obsess over the rest of it.

Jon moved before he realized, before he would stop himself. But it was not a man who was suddenly at the forefront of his mind, no, instead Jons mind was replaced with the wolf dark inside him. As soon as the word came back, Jons eyes bled black.

Mate. Looking down at his mate.

Suddenly did Jon push away the fur, sending it down from where it covered your ass, and his hips. The bruises of his hands on your ass were perfect as they matched your hips, and Jon felt shameless as his cock hardened thick and heavy between his legs looking at you. It was all instinct, truth be told. How he started.

Suddenly starting with your legs, pulling them apart wide enough he could climb over top of you and have them on either side of him. The thought was so unseeingly, that all he had to do, was yank you up by your hips. Your own wetness still sat between your legs as did his seed keep you wet to the point Jon knew he could slide his cock inside you all over again. His hands ran up and down your calves up to your thighs and back, considering it all but he wasn’t a brute.

Slowly, Jon let one hand press against the sheets beside your body, as his other slipped two fingers deep inside. The sound was obnoxious of how soaking wet you were as he did so, gliding them out and in the sound repeated to the point Jons cock ached. Leaning down, Jons eyes watched what he could of your face as it rested against the pillow to the side, but no sigh of discomfort came.

Two fingers thrusting in and out of you, were he to pull them up they would be utterly coated thats how wet you were. But he wasn’t done. Shifting to his knees, Jon used his other hand to lift your hips, only enough that he could slip between and find your clit. Rubbing in tandem to his fingers in and out of you, Jon let out a grating exhale at how quickly you begun clenching around him. Eyes dark and narrowing as he looked down at you, still asleep as he quickly brought you to a gentle orgasm without you ever waking up.

Pulling from you, soaked he rested his palm against your bruised ass with a small grasp of the plush skin as he considered it. You had told Jon that if you fell asleep during a particularly long love making, that he could keep going no matter how much more he wanted. You had not yet discussed Jon starting the act when you were asleep, but the wolf inside him howled.

You were his mate, and his mate was laying in the perfect position to pull your hips up and breed. His cock throbbed as did a growl try to leave at the thought. There was only one solution to the fact that you hadn’t said anything about this. He’d have to wake you up. It was lewd, the way Jon eyed you so wantingly as he pulled your hips up, your slumbering body just moulding to his will as he kept your cunt level to his cock.

He’d need to wake you up, and yet as Jon prodded your entrance, he kept the grip on your hips tight, sliding more down to press against your scar to keep you propped up better, Jon slid inside. Deep he sank with no resistance, and pulling all the way back out to the tip, Jon did not go fast yet, but more roughly he sank back inside of you fully.

The feeling was new, the way you woke up.

As if you knew this sensation of waking with such fullness before but this time your eyes couldn’t open at all you were still so deep from sleep. In and out you were filled, and by the time a gentle voice whispered in question from you, it made the figure behind you growl. “Jon?”

Rougher he thrusted inside of you, barley giving you enough time to try and sit up in anyway. Your hips yanked up and your knees the only thing keeping you in that position as Jons cock was rough thrusting in and out of your soaking cunt. “It’s me, I’ve got you.”

A louder cry left, face twisting in pleasure as your lips gaped open. Trying to push to your elbows and then hands, you barley managed to try and meet his thrust back once before Jon growled even deeper. Suddenly grasping both of your hips, Jon fucked into you as much as he yanked your hips back onto him. The slapping filling the room instantly was loud, each pound of his cock making it almost violent in nature were one to hear passing by. Pound after pound Jon dragged you on and off his cock, and it grew rougher as it did faster.

Begging his name with a sleepy slur, Jon let one hand leave you. Suddenly thrusting shallow and deep as he did roughly, Jon overwhelmed your back. Leaning over your body as your legs suddenly were forced to lay out spread wide for his cock. His head suddenly appearing by your side, curls hiding your vision somewhat as he held your hip to steady himself, but the other gripped at your thigh keeping your leg propped open for his cock to sink inside of you.

Again and again Jon pounded and your eyes still had yet to truly open as you only cried and begged for his name, Jon shushing you in your ear. The gentle tone not at all matching the rough pace of his cock not the words from his mouth. “I’ll always keep you safe. I’ll find who did this to you, and I’ll put a sword through their throat. You belong to me, and I belong to you. I’ll protect you, darling.”

You couldn’t even nod from how pressed against the bed he had you, Jons heavy weight at your back was his cock fucked deep and rough and fast was perfect, all you had was him. His weight and his touch and his lips and words and you came around him before you could even realize it snuck up on you. Sinking his head into your neck and hair, Jon growled as he moved slower, but each thrust made a loud smack as it was rough enough to dry tears you’d ask for more of.

“You’re perfect, you’re cunt’s perfect..” Just rambles in your ear as Jon sunk deeper and deeper. The hand on your hip suddenly shot up. Grasping at one of your hands resting against the pillow, Jon intertwined your fingers as you returned the gesture. Leaving your leg to wrap around your stomach and keep your hips pulled up for his cock to sink into again and again as the sound was wet and mean but your cries were gentle, sweet and to Jon, beautiful.

All you had in you to his touch, was a promise in your heart. “I love you so much...”

Jon only nodded, growling as he tightened his grip with your hand as you did the same, clenching around him again before suddenly his hot seed poured thick. Spilling inside you once again, but Jon didn’t stop. Until he did so twice more, and you came around him another three times, did Jon keep pounding into you. The only words between a wolf and his mate were promises of love, but between Jon and yourself, those words said more then most said in years to one another. This was simply, the language you spoke together.

You knew there was something he wanted to say, but much kept occurring from the moment both of you awoke come morning.

You knew the look, the recognizable look Jon would give you when there was something he would feel the need to check in on you with or for, but your mind had no idea what it could be. Everything he had done last night, none of it was apology worthy and you foolishly thought perhaps if you went about the day with him as normal as possible, his stresses over something small may leave his mind.

Though, that did not mean an apology was not given at all from him. Just the first of which were directed towards his three younger siblings once the dust of the morning settled over discussing what happened and if you were alright. “I’m not a child.”

That was the common thread between the three of them, and each time it came from one then the next you saw the scowling furrow of frustration in Jons forehead grow deeper. His elbow coming to rest propped up on the table as his hand pinched the bridge of his nose trying to keep his sighing exhale as quiet as possible, despite the fact that you and the baby felt an amusement by his state no doubt.

Grey eyes flickering over with a narrow to you both in an instant much more jestingly before Jon raised his head back up properly, all you did was fail to smother your smirk. Turning down to little Eddard wrapped against your chest as you pulled your hand up high from his grabbing attempt to take the food from your hand, which he no doubt could not yet even chew. Jon meanwhile, looked back to his brother and sistsers, one of them with more frustration returned then when looking at you.

“I’m not assigning you all septa’s to watch over you like you’re still children. This is for your own saftey, you know that.” Sansa’s protest was his most easy to dismiss, saying she could handle herself did Jon throw it right back. “Have you ever even held a sword before?” Her narrowing gaze was not angry, but more of a less then mature defeat as Sansa turned back to her food, but the immaturity was then next passed to Arya.

Her voice sounded confident, but you sat in quiet knowing the attempt would be futile. “I can use a sword, I own one. I can look after myself, I don’t need someone following-”

Jon however, had the better argument and most of all, the tone and right to declare what he said as a statement of finality. “I’m not making guards follow you three around all day. Just enough to guard your chambers at night, you’re not safe in there by yourselves if something happens.” You felt the eyes flicker to you, but you ignored them promptly. As did you the eyes of those whom would continue to walk into the dining hall throughout the morning as the sun finally rose its weary head through the darkness.

You had not thought of it whatsoever until she sat down. Your mother only a seat away from you, went to gently ask how you were, only to cut herself off. Uncaring of the display, she reached a hand out to tilt your head to the side and narrowed eyes found your neck as she dropped her hand. Meeting one anothers gaze you read it loud and clear, the judgment and disapproval. The moment her eyes went to slip towards Jon as if saying something in your pair of silence, you shook your head only once with a frowning plead to drop it. You hoped she would drop it all together, but the Mother have mercy you prayed she at least would drop it here in front of all these people.

You already knew how your neck looked, and how the bruises and marks adorning it now were not the same manner which your mother had left you looking once your wounds had been sewn and cleaned out. Those were new, and she was no fool as to whom left them there.

An infant son of your own was strapped to your front, and still your mother managed to pull shame from you for engaging in behaviours with your husband of all people. Yet there was something else in her eyes she was not saying, but dare you venture into that thought now? No, you decided not.

Just as you could hear the faint traces of Jon once more debating with his siblings over whether or not his orders for them were unnecessary did the final Stark way his way in. Swiftly sitting across from you, both grabbing at food for himself while also leaning forward enough to speak not over his nieces and nephews, but around them to you without interrupting as a whole. “How are you feeling?”

A small shrug of one shoulder accompanied your answer. “As well as can be considered. I think I feel more confused by the event then upset about it.” Benjen affirming with a warm comfort that they would find out who ordered it, you found but a hint of a smile in the lightness of your eyes. “I thought men of the Nights Watch weren’t involved in the politics of the kingdoms?”

Benjen at times, was as quick and dry as Jon could be saying something. “Being in the Nights Watch has never stopped a Stark from protecting his family if they can help it, has it?” Your head almost shaking a little in a dismay of how you had not much of an argument against that. All you’d have to do is look to your left and the evidence was right there. Instead you returned to eating, once more navigating around very small attempts to take it from you.

Your attention only drawn back to Jon as his large hand suddenly entered your vision, toying with the baby’s hands before running smoothly over the top of his head. Leaning close enough he could hear his fathers whisper but you could as well did Jon rasp just beside you, “Behave for your mother.” Nothing but a soft smile was directed towards him, and even softer eyes gazing towards you when your visions from the side sought one another.

It was not a topic of discussion at the table itself, but it certainly was an oddity how none of the Starks here had seen that form of fatherly nature since they could all sit here as a family whole when everyone else, including Ned Stark was alive. And yet the first they saw it on someone like a mirror since his passing, was on of all people, Jon. He was a natural father, and sometimes even as you sat there did you wonder if Jon really grasped that.

By the time you all had stood, it was your mother who grabbed you to stop you. Turning back to face her, you dreaded the discussion only for her to switch tactics of what you expected. Pulling what appeared to be a raven scroll from somewhere on her person, she spoke in a more tender but serious tone. “I meant to give this to you the night before, but you will want to know about this before they arrive any day I imagine.”

“Before who arrives?” Grasping it from her, your mother only indicated for you to read it yourself. The warm sensation of a hand coming up to grasp gentle at your hip, and the other flat along your upper arm as Jon leaned over your shoulder both of you missed the significant glance your mother was giving Jon.

From your neck to him and back, her eyes narrowed in a stern judgment that while Selyse would not openly speak on, she certainly felt a well of agitated disapproval for such indecent displays. Her gaze finding it’s way back to you, your hands tensed around the edges of the paper. Lips fallen flat and tight as did your eyes once you reopened them after a deep exhale. A raise of her eyebrow, your mother only said, “If you wished to hide just another incident involving your life, I am afraid the whispers around the castle aren’t going to cease in time.”

You looked it over before closing your eyes with another sigh. Opening again as you noticed Jons hand on your arm shift to take it from you to read closer for himself a you silently let him. Looking to your mother with a plead you knew she could not control against. “He had over a fortnight to come do this, and he only decides now when all of this has just occurred?”

Jon muttered from behind you, his hand still on your hip running slow and lightly up and down in a soothing manner. “I was going to let him know already.” Trying to turn around slightly to look up at him, Jon’s expression did not change to anything which made you feel better, despite knowing why he said it. “Your father was on Dragonstone the last time something happened to you. This time he’s only a few days ride from here, he should know about this.”

That time you turned fully from his touch, looking between both him and your mother with mouth partially agape before the small sound of a babble from your son had you sigh. Running a hand over your forehead before letting them fall flat at your sides. “You both are aware not every facet of my life needs to be relayed to him, don’t you?”

First attempting was Jon, a tender rasp trying to appeal to your softer side but it was not helped by the lightness in his face that he was actually rather amused by how sullen your mood had turned at such a small event being made known. “He cares about you, he’d want to know if your life was in danger-”

Cutting him off, Jon ran a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide his grin, but both he and you knew too well it was given away blatantly in the brightness of his eyes that he was enjoying your reaction more then he was sympathetic to it. “He is not arriving for that, he does not need to know about that to what he is coming for.”

Your mother was much more to the point, with a sigh in her tone which very much matched your own exasperation but without the emotion behind it of overreaction. “He may be able to offer his help.”

“Do you know when he is set to arrive?” Shaking her head no, you offered a smile rather false and mother and daughter both knew how childish it was purposely coming off as. “I do love surprises.”

Offering your mother a glance which asked her to allow Jon to handle it, she made her leave as Jon came to your back once more, now both hands on your hips pulling your back into his chest. One wrapping around your stomach, your hands rose. Pushing the material of his sleeve up just enough to grasp onto his forearm with a better hold. “The castle knew last night, which means most of Winter Town already heard it too. It was only a matter of time before it reached the Wall.” You said nothing to it, only closing your eyes to allow yourself to lean back into his warm embrace for a moment longer. “People care about you, you know?”

Neither of you really believed the passive nod you gave, more that you were simply enjoying his touch in the rare moment of quiet you both had alone. Instead of slipping from his embrace as you stood up straighter, your eyes glanced around as only guards and passing servants were left near when you turned to face him. Hands reaching to sit along the belt strapping things to his sides, Jon again gently encompassed your hips as you found the bravery to bring it up first for him.

“There’s something else.” Brows furrowing down at you, you let one hand reach up. Running across his facial hair as you cupped his cheek. “Something that’s bothering you that you aren’t saying. If it’s about last night-” Confirming with a low, no doubt difficult to determine tone your head tilted. Running your thumb along his cheek further. “Jon. It’s over. Yourself and Ghost handled it, you protected me there’s nothing left to-”

“This isn’t about that.” Your face turned confused, letting your hand drop more to his shoulder as he continued. “It’s about what happened later.” Asking slowly if you had done something Jon cut you off. “No, you didn’t do anything. It’s what I did. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

Face twisting further, you suddenly were not following at all. With a bit of a fluster in your veins as you thought it over, seeing everything in your mind as it occurred between you both but nothing came up he’d have to feel odd over you thought. “I’m not sure I follow, Jon.”

Cupping both your cheeks, Jon at the minimum could rely on that the guards and servants would not direct attention to Jons delicate display with you. They could gossip on their own time as long as they gave him the privacy and distance now. You on the other hand, only let the hand on his shoulder hold at his wrist as he murmured so close you felt his breath. “I should never have touched you when you were asleep like that. I had no way of knowing that would be something you wanted, and I did it anyways.”

Lips parting, something both faint yet warm came over you. Glancing flustered to the side, you simply muttered to discuss this perhaps a bit more private, but with the hope it was not in a manner Jon could take as worrisome. Pulling you better in a corridor, Jon gently let you rest against a wall. A pillar hiding you from view, though from how close and intimate Jon stood it would be clear whom he was with. But it would hide your voices.

Looking down to your son, now with his eyes falling asleep more between the warmth of you both so close did Jon hold at one hip, and run his fingers through your hair with the other as his brows furrowed once more in a frustration. Picking up right from where he left off. “I should’ve woken you up properly, ask you first, make sure you were alright. Or..just let you sleep at all. I shouldn’t have assumed because I still wanted you, that I should be able to still have you.”

You knew what he meant, he did not wish for you to be used as an object for his pleasure but regardless of how much you tried to assure you were fine with such an arrangement, you knew much more heartfelt tactics worked with Jon in matters regarding yourself. “I don’t want or need an apology from you, Jon. I liked it. All of it.” The warmth was not from his body temperature alone no doubt, but you shoved it aside. “Besides, I already told you I more then want you to be able to do things like that.”

Cupping the side of your face with wide eyes but painted sad with a frown, Jon so effortlessly captured the part of your heart which was so soft for him as he spoke low. “The only thing you said, was that if we’re together and I’m not done by the time you fall asleep on me, that I can go as long as I need. Nothing about that gives me the right to take you in the middle of the night when you’re already asleep and I never asked.”

What he did not expect, was your hand to drift up to the back of his neck. Pulling him closer to press your lips to his, Jon slipped a hand to the back of your neck, only you pulled from the chaste kiss just as he attempted to deepen it. “Let me make myself perfectly clear then. You do not need permission to take me like that. If I am asleep or not, if I said yes beforehand or nothing, you are free to use me as you see fit.” Pulling back to seek your eyes, a flashing of a darker anger came over him saying that he was not going to use you but your smile had him stop in his tracks. “I’m your wife now, Jon. You can have me whenever you like, and I will always want you too. Awake, asleep, whenever. I’m yours. I want you to have me when you want me.”

Leaning closer, Jon nudged his nose against yours. “And if you decide you don’t want me too?”

Your hand drifted up to his cheek once more, nudging back. “I more then trust you at this point, to know when I may not want to. You know me better then I do.” Muttering with a breath of laughter that he certainly did, Jon pulled you into a much more innocent but lingering kiss.

Mumbling against them as he pulled away, Jon rested his forehead against yours as he changed the subject swiftly. “I’ll find out who did this to you, I promise.” You said nothing, but Jon kissed you once more anyways as if you had. Pulling you close as he could with the baby between you, the urgency of what he truly felt poured into your mouth as you accepted it and soothed with your gentle kiss back just as he and you both needed.

Jon let it linger for a few minutes longer then was appropriate for mid morning. He had a lot of work to do the second he would leave your kiss, and the anger which would replace this feeling here and now would leave him little room to give any affection as you needed today. He could only hope you understood his harshness about to erupt, was to be for your sake.

Afterall, one by one, Jon had a list of people whom could have done this and he was going to protect you from them no matter the cost.

Thousands of miles away however, a storm of a different making was brewing in one direction or the other. Cersei Lannister stood in her chambers with a rage, it all was falling to pieces and not one part of her could conflate to why. It all was thrown back in her face when her plans should have worked and yet not even those within her circle seemed to grasp why her anger was rising.

Both the people and her own son all found side to Margaery Tyrell instead of her. But it should’ve worked, her accusations should have stuck and yet the people, her son, and her own lords alike all vouged for her rather then Cersei. Lord Randyll Tarly had rode to Kings Landing to come to her defence against the Faith and the betrayal was felt hot on her heels. The Tyrells had gone from an ally her family could use to her advantage to nothing better then backstabbers trying to place Cersei in a position so far from Tommen that they had their rose covered claws dug into him alone.

Her own trial approached, only Kingsguard they had told her could act as her champion. Yet weeks had passed and not a word from Jaime. Her letter was a plea to her twin to come home and fight for her but she heard nothing and neither had anyone else. He was as if a ghost took over his person and refused to look back to the life Cersei knew belonged with her.

No word of her retched murderer of a brother reached her ears, but perhaps that was for the better. For everything she had done to find him guilty of murdering her son, he had escaped and murdered their own father. Shooting him with arrows while he was on the privvy with not a single bit of dignity given to the man and Cersei was left here to pick up the pieces but none of it worked for her as it did him. As for Tyrions wife, well that was a new revelation that made her angry.

Ned Stark’s only remaining child, his bastard of all things, had taken Winterfell from the Boltons, and thus returned Northern independence back into Stark hands. The bastard, Snow, had taken up as King in the North and one by one did it seem his siblings revealed themselves. First Arya, the little animal had lived all these years and appeared in Winterfell one day. The second youngest Bran, the one she watched Jaime shove out of a window for coming upon their passion together, he had lived through the many rumours of what became of him. But finally, Sansa.

The murderous little bitch had hidden away with Petyr Baelish, and he had taken her home to Winterfell to her family where she was now so far from her reach she could not be touched. None would get passed the Northern army to get to her, it was near useless now.

Yet there was one more problem and it did not lay with any of Ned Stark’s children. It lay with you.

How you survived what she knew was a butchering massacre at the Twins she could not conceive. All words spoke that you had died and returned to life, that the bastard Snow had died and you brought him back to life. That you were reborn with magic, visions, dreams, sights of the future and spent your days crying of dreams which came true and it ate at Cersei’s blood.

She thought it was Margaery. Younger and more beautiful, which will take her place, but it wasn’t. It was you. Of course it was you. For years when you were a girl, Cersei tried to groom you to her will. She did genuinely like you for some time, smart and quick and not without a hint of attitude towards the men in your life. But slowly did you stand against her until you were called Queen in the North at Robb Stark’s side. You died and returned as you and your bastard King ruled as beings of worship amongst the Northerners.

She heard the rumours of what your people thought of you and him, and it was unlike any ever had thought of Cersei. You were her. The one whom would take her place and she hated that you were so far away. She needed you gone. She needed you dead before it was too late. Cersei stood watching what little of an army Tommen had prepared for a siege once more, and yet it was the obsessive thoughts of killing you that filled her head with sights of red.

The rain was so prevalent it nearly blended into the water splashing against the sides of the ship and over the deck onto each one of them.

The night was dark as they sailed and in an hours time, would the city come upon their vision through the murky darkness. It had been leading up to this for years, for decades and it felt nearly dreamlike that it was about that time.

For years they prepared him for this, and for years he watched with a pride in the past few that he helped do this the best he could. It would not fail, because it could not. They had no one on their side which could stand a chance. They did not even have their own men as they thought. It was clever, he could give House Tyrell that. Their tricks and schemes. He was not entirely sure he trusted them beyond their support here and now, but then again, it seemed neither did Aegon.

He only had trust for one house and Jon Connington knew he was failing at advising him otherwise. He would not listen about how you were nothing but a liar and manipulator using your husband to trick them, and Aegon everytime would close the discussion over it. Varys did not seem to trust you but that was beacuse of the utterly ridiculous claims of the realm.

Everywhere they went they spoke of you as a witch. With the power of raising the dead at your fingertips and the ability to see the future. Visions and dreams which had driven you to a crying madness only that of a woman could hold. How you even ruled at your King in the Norths side with such debilitating madness making you a scared and crying mess of haunting visions was more magic that people called it. That something of your King and husband made you able to rule with him because you shared this magic together.

The smallfolk spoke of you a witch and your husband some kind of god, but Connington knew better. He knew the Baratheons and you were never not going to be one of them. You were a liar, and spreading lies possibly to your husband even to trick everyone into thinking you were this powerful creature not to be stood against together. But you weren’t. You were a liar, and a cunt.

But Aegon failed to see that. So wrapped up in his own plans, he failed to acknowledge you as a true threat and denied doing anything about it. But he would. He had to do something. He needed you dead before you were the cause of Aegons death.

Feet walking across the soaking deck, Connington knew the city he last left in shame would appear and he could not focus on you right now no matter how much he wanted too. He needed to stay focused, because everything was being put into making this plan without risk of failure. Aegon had managed to secure many sides by pushing it was him against the Lannisters and the realm made that choice easy. Aegon or Cersei and most were choosing Aegon.

The Lannisters were true usurpers. They held the Iron Throne through no right of conquest as did Robert Baratheon. They stole it unlawfully and sat upon it only spreading war. And it was time for the Thrones rightful heir to reclaim it, and he would.

The power of the Reach alone was one thing, but with his alliance made with his cousin Arianne Martell, did Aegon sail forward with Dorne at his back, and it showed in more way then one.

Turning back to look upon him, Connington did not see the boy he helped raise most of his life. He saw the blue washed out, and long silver flew behind him in the wind, the rain and water curling it ever so slightly in dampness. His armour was still painted black, the red three headed dragon atop his chest plate as it was that of Rhaegar Targaryean he had the claim for.

But it was not that alone. The details in colours elsewhere, the oranges and yellow, the suns in his accessories. And too, it was his crown. Simple, but with the Targaryean armour, Aegon had a crown made for him which was personal. Aegon made his crown not for him, but for her.

Aegons crown was for Elia Martell, not Rhaegar Targaryean. Wrapping around his head in a thin line was the design of a spear, and crossing over back and front into more then one layer of lines, was the tip of that spear piercing a sun.

All his life, Connington had prepared Aegon for this in Rhaegar’s name, but it seemed, it was the name of his mother, the memory and desire for true justice for Elia Martell and his dear sister Rhaenys that Aegon sailed towards Kings Landing for war. And Connington would do all in his power to help Aegon sit upon the Iron Throne.

But it existed in the back of his mind no matter what he did to make it go away. The wonder about his own plans for you. The Baratheon bitch posing a witch to scare and fool the smallfolk and superstitious Northerners. You were a problem only killing was going to solve.

It was not in those waters though, but across them far away and over many foreign lands which your name came upon one more mind.

She did not understand Ser Barristan Selmy’s hesitation towards your name when it came up in that meeting, nor did she feel the need to pry into his mind to learn why. She had only cared about one thing. This Aegon the sixth was a lie, there was no surviving Targaryean left but her and she would show him that without any hesitation. She would show the people their rightful Queen and they would hand over the lying usurper without fuss. But you were a problem. You always had been.

You were powerful, you were influential, you were well liked, had many allies, and worse, you held an ability of magic which was never heard of before. Ser Jorah tried claiming it was the superstition of Northerners as winter closed in on them needing something to occupy their minds, but she was not so sure and neither it seemed, was Ser Barristan. Lord Tyrion as well was a difficult case to read. She was not sure what his true feelings on the matter were when she decided it, but as did the rest of the men under her rule, they complied to her every order.

As she stood that night at the side of her largest, most powerful dragon, she knew there were few options. Westeros was closing in on her reach finally, and once she dealt with the false usurper, she knew her eyes would turn to you. Or perhaps she had thought, she needed to deal with you now. Before you posed a true threat as you once did to her. Looking up to Drogon, she only had one thought.

Daenerys Targaryean needed you dead. She needed a plan to kill you before she ever steps foot in Westeros.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

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esther-dot · 1 year ago

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[I posted a list of SEASON 6 AUS before but these are book verse]

the cold inside our bones 2k @xylodemon (just have to point out that this was posted in 2012)

The Wall is no place for a woman, but Jon looks at Sansa's gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes and knows he will not send her away.

we're a different kind of same 3k by @jonsaslove

"I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will” Or; Sansa flees the Vale. Jon retakes Winterfell. When they meet again, they are changed.

Varg-hamr/Wolf-skin 1k by @cappymightwrite

hamr: the ‘shell’ or ‘shape’ of a person — the physical body, a state that can alter. hugr: what a person really is — the absolute essence, that which can leave the hamr behind. (Or, Jon in the body of Ghost, coming across a girl in grey fleeing north, along the east side of Long Lake...)

Pearls of Water ficlet by fedonciadale

Someone wakes up in Castle Black.

Saw You In The Snow 1k by @theemberalchemist

Sansa used the last of her strength to crawl to the foot of the tree, placing her head on its roots like she would lay on her mother's lap lifetimes ago. She could die here, perhaps, in the halo and ghost of her mother's warmth. Her mind drifting to gentle hands pressing against her head, tucking her hair back, humming a sweet song Sansa knew all the words to.

tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme 1k by @hoaryoldbitch

Satin averts his eyes and all around her bodies shift and uncomfortable looks are exchanged. Something akin to fear grips her and automatically she reaches out. Ghost is right there beside her. She wraps her arms around him and buries her fingers in his fur, kissing the top of his head. A buzzing of whispers and hisses arises around her, but one man bursts into a loud and booming laugh. He's tall and burly with reddish hair and a rusty beard. "Is this the beast you've all been afraid of? The pretty little lady tamed the ferocious wolf with a touch of her hand," he snorts, before walking toward Sansa in long strides. Brienne tenses up beside her. "I'll take ye to Lord Snow, lass."

In the darkest night, a song so sweet 2k

The Lord Commander stood atop the Wall and watched as the girl in grey came riding north, her army at her back.

old timber to new fires 27k by @setnet

When Alayne Stone hears word of the marriage of Arya Stark to the Bastard of the Dreadfort, it prompts her to leave the dubious safety of the Vale and set out on a dangerous journey north to Sansa Stark's homeland and her last remaining relative. But home is not safe. Winterfell is burned and broken, the Baratheon King and the Northern Lords are fighting to influence the future of the realm, the dead are stirring... and the old gods of the North are not half gods, worshipped in wine and flowers; they require blood.

And From the Ruins 15k by @thewolvescalledmehome

After awaking, Jon Snow's sole focus is trying to get his sister back. Alayne Stone is trying to survive the Vale. After an accident, she's forced to flee.

Stay With Me 5k

As her eyes shut, probably forever, Sansa Stark thought of one last thing: Jon. Then everything went pitch black.

now we're dead roses 22k

From Ghost’s eyes, he saw a lone, grey horse racing south. On the back of the courser mounted a girl. He could hear her breaths come out in little hitches and gasps as she grasped with all her might to the reins. Ghost chased after her, sprinting fast and nimble on his feet. She was a delicate little thing. Like a breeze could throw her off the horse. Her back shook as she stifled her sobs. Ghost followed on the horse’s rear, eyes sharp on the hooded figure. She must have sensed him behind her because she turned around and suddenly-- Jon woke up with an impossible name on his tongue.

a wind with a wolf's head 13k, WIP by @branwendaughterofllyr

The cold numbed everything. From her nose, to her fingers, to the breath in her lungs, the cold froze and stiffened. Sansa shoved her cloak up around her face and tucked her free hand under her arm. The grey cloth billowed and faded into the darkening twilight as the wind tore at her. Somewhere, a wolf howled, but Sansa was not sure if it was in her mind or not. A ghost wolf, she told herself and pressed on.

Art: The Girl in Grey and Jon's Resurrection by @palominojacoby, The Girl in Grey by @jonsawilldanceanon, The Girl in Grey by @thetullystark , The Girl in Grey by @ozzy698 , The Girl in Grey by @cute-poison20102014, Jonsa Reunion by knightmarescape, Forehead Kiss by colleendoodle, Jonsa Hug by CristianaLeone, Forehead Kiss by rosenroot

PRE CANON - WESTERN - REGENCY - FAIRYTALE - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS

#jonsa #jonsa fic #book verse #the girl in grey #dot fic list #I didn’t include Jon/Alayne fics on here because I hope to eventually make a separate list for those

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stargareed · 1 month ago

Text

Catelyn Actively Interfered with Jon's Life in a Negative Way

The Vault Vol. VIII

I. Intro

Recent posts have claimed that Catelyn, at worst, simply ignored Jon, and that this is fine because she didn't have a duty to mother Jon. While I agree Catelyn had no duty to mother Jon, I disagree that she simply ignored him. Rather, Catelyn unequivocally attempted to hinder Jon’s relationship with his family and societal position. Further, the text implies the only reason Catelyn didn’t do more to impede Jon’s quality of life was because Ned wouldn’t have allowed it.

First, a disclaimer: I think Catelyn is a compelling character who was, overall, a good person. The way she treated Jon was far more an indictment of Westerosi society than her own personal failings. Her wariness of Jon and his future children was relatively rational considering the historic threat bastards have posed to their trueborn siblings and Catelyn’s duty to ensure her own child inherited Winterfell. While Jon never exhibited any disloyal behavior, Catelyn understandably viewed him as a threat to Robb for at least three reasons: (1) Ned loved Jon and was very protective of him; (2) Jon was raised alongside his trueborn siblings; and (3) Jon looked like Ned, unlike any of Catelyn’s sons.

Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him "son" for all the North to see. . . . She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned's sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Aside from any threat Jon posed to Robb’s inheritance, it’s also understandable that Catelyn didn’t like Jon for personal reasons. He was the embodiment of her husband’s infidelity, after all, who was neither out of sight nor out of mind. And Ned seemed to love Jon’s mom. Worse, he refused to even tell Catelyn who Jon’s mother was and got angry when she asked. It had to be difficult when the man Catelyn grew to love refused to share such a big part of his life with her. Indeed, she reflects on this more than once the text:

Eddard Stark had married her in Brandon's place, as custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the other, the shadow of the woman he would not name, the woman who had borne him his bastard son. . . . When the wars were over at last, and Catelyn rode to Winterfell, Jon and his wet nurse had already taken up residence. That cut deep. Ned would not speak of the mother, not so much as a word, but a castle has no secrets, and Catelyn heard her maids repeating tales they heard from the lips of her husband's soldiers. . . . The Lady Ashara Dayne, tall and fair, with haunting violet eyes. It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one night, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face. That was the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her. "Never ask me about Jon," he said, cold as ice. "He is my blood, and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady." She had pledged to obey; she told him; and from that day on, the whispering had stopped, and Ashara Dayne's name was never heard in Winterfell again. Whoever Jon's mother had been, Ned must have loved her fiercely, for nothing Catelyn said would persuade him to send the boy away. It was the one thing she could never forgive him. She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added)) Her own children had more Tully about them than Stark. Arya was the only one to show much of Ned in her features. And Jon Snow, but he was never mine. She found herself thinking of Jon's mother, that shadowy secret love her husband would never speak of. Does she grieve for Ned as I do? Or did she hate him for leaving her bed for mine? Does she pray for her son as I have prayed for mine? They were uncomfortable thoughts, and futile. If Jon had been born of Ashara Dayne of Starfall, as some whispered, the lady was long dead; if not, Catelyn had no clue who or where his mother might be. And it made no matter. Ned was gone now, and his loves and his secrets had all died with him. (Catelyn VI, ACOK (emphasis added))

Moreover, Westerosi norms likely exacerbated Catelyn’s hurt feelings because they limited her options in dealing with such a slight. She had no say over whether Jon lived in Winterfell, at least while Ned resided there. She couldn’t just divorce Ned. What’s more, she had every incentive to learn to love Ned for the sake of her children. But while societal norms encouraged her to forgive her husband’s infidelity, they did not force her to mother Jon. So, she didn’t.

Ideally, Catelyn would not have blamed Jon for Ned’s actions. But let’s be real, only an extraordinary person would be able to completely separate the negative emotions caused by their spouse’s betrayal from how they perceived the very product of that betrayal. And while Catelyn was extraordinary in some things, such as her devotion to her children, she wasn’t extraordinary in her treatment of Jon. And that’s ok. It doesn’t make her a bad person.

That said, it’s also disingenuous to pretend Catelyn didn’t mistreat Jon, even if her actions were understandable. In 2005, GRRM stated that Catelyn and Sansa were the two POV characters readers disliked most. This is likely because of their contentious relationships with sympathetic protagonists Jon and Arya, respectively. If Catelyn’s mistreatment of Jon was truly limited to neglect, it’s doubtful readers would have such a negative view of Catelyn. Regardless, the text provides multiple examples of Catelyn affirmatively interfering in Jon’s life.

One final clarification before we begin. I'm aware that in 1999, when asked about Catelyn's "mistreatment" of Jon, GRRM responded that while Catelyn "distance[d]" herself from Jon, she did not "verbally abuse and attack him," and that the instance in Bran's bedroom was a "very special case." However, while an author's account of the facts must be accepted as gospel (e.g. Catelyn did this to Jon, she didn't do that), an author's legal conclusion about what those facts constitute is not entitled to the same deference (e.g. Catelyn did A, B, and C to Jon, and this does/does not constitute "abuse"). To be sure, GRRM's statement that Catelyn didn't regularly abuse Jon is certainly relevant. However, it's not dispositive because, let's be real, a baby boomer speaking in the 1990s is likely going to have a different definition of abuse than a millennial would in the 2020s. As a result, I'm not going to focus on whether Catelyn "abused" Jon because many of us have different definitions of abuse. Rather, I'm simply going to try to discuss a few express and implied facts that show Catelyn did far more than simply ignore Jon.

II. Catelyn fought hard to banish Jon from Winterfell, even after Jon grew close to his siblings.

Catelyn had tried to send Jon away from his family multiple times before the events in the first book, to no avail.

Whoever Jon's mother had been, Ned must have loved her fiercely, for nothing Catelyn said would persuade him to send the boy away. It was the one thing she could never forgive him. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Then, once Catelyn convinced Ned to become King Robert’s Hand, she again demanded that 14-year-old Jon leave Winterfell. This time she was successful, in part because of Jon’s desire to take the Black.

Jon must go," she said now. "He and Robb are close," Ned said. "I had hoped …" "He cannot stay here," Catelyn said, cutting him off. "He is your son, not mine. I will not have him." It was hard, she knew, but no less the truth. Ned would do the boy no kindness by leaving him here at Winterfell. The look Ned gave her was anguished. "You know I cannot take him south. There will be no place for him at court. A boy with a bastard's name … you know what they will say of him. He will be shunned." Catelyn armored her heart against the mute appeal in her husband's eyes. "They say your friend Robert has fathered a dozen bastards himself." "And none of them has ever been seen at court!" Ned blazed. “The Lannister woman has seen to that. How can you be so damnably cruel, Catelyn? He is only a boy. He—" His fury was on him. He might have said more, and worse, but Maester Luwin cut in. "Another solution presents itself," he said, his voice quiet. "Your brother Benjen came to me about Jon a few days ago. It seems the boy aspires to take the black." Ned looked shocked. "He asked to join the Night's Watch?" Catelyn said nothing. Let Ned work it out in his own mind; her voice would not be welcome now. Yet gladly would she have kissed the maester just then. His was the perfect solution. Benjen Stark was a Sworn Brother. Jon would be a son to him, the child he would never have. And in time the boy would take the oath as well. He would father no sons who might someday contest with Catelyn's own grandchildren for Winterfell. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added))

(As an aside, I’ve always loved that Ned referred to Jon not as a “bastard,” but as a “boy with a bastard’s name.”)

III. Catelyn also played a role in Jon ultimately choosing to take the black because she made sure Jon knew he would never be part of the Stark family or welcome in Winterfell.

While it was Jon’s choice to join the Night’s Watch initially, he quickly became disillusioned when he realized it was filled with criminals who lacked honor. But while he desired to go back to Winterfell, he knew he had no place there because of Catelyn. So, he swore his life away.

Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. "I have not sworn yet," he muttered. He was no outlaw, bound to take the black or pay the penalty for his crimes. He had come here freely, and he might leave freely … until he said the words. He need only ride on, and he could leave it all behind. By the time the moon was full again, he would be back in Winterfell with his brothers. Your half brothers, a voice inside reminded him. And Lady Stark, who will not welcome you. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King's Landing either. Even his own mother had not had a place for him. The thought of her made him sad. He wondered who she had been, what she had looked like, why his father had left her. Because she was a whore or an adulteress, fool. Something dark and dishonorable, or else why was Lord Eddard too ashamed to speak of her? (Jon V, AGOT (emphasis added))

We also see, through Jon’s eyes, the extent to which Catelyn made him feel alienated from his Stark family.

"We're not friends," Jon said. He put a hand on Sam's broad shoulder. "We're brothers." And so they were, he thought to himself after Sam had taken his leave. Robb and Bran and Rickon were his father's sons, and he loved them still, yet Jon knew that he had never truly been one of them. Catelyn Stark had seen to that. The grey walls of Winterfell might still haunt his dreams, but Castle Black was his life now, and his brothers were Sam and Grenn and Halder and Pyp and the other cast-outs who wore the black of the Night's Watch. (Jon IV, AGOT (emphasis added)) "Your sister," Iron Emmett said, "how old is …" By now she'd be eleven, Jon thought. Still a child. "I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you." Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton's throat as easily. (Jon VI, ADWD (emphasis added))

Fortunately for Jon, it seems Catelyn’s disdain for him was only adopted by Sansa, at least among his siblings:

He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but "my half brother" since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had … yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him. (Jon III, AGOT (emphasis added))

Though, of course, Catelyn made her contempt for Jon known outside the Stark family.

"I will permit you to take the black. Ned Stark's bastard is the Lord Commander on the Wall." The Blackfish narrowed his eyes. "Did your father arrange for that as well? Catelyn never trusted the boy, as I recall, no more than she ever trusted Theon Greyjoy. It would seem she was right about them both. No, ser, I think not. I'll die warm, if you please, with a sword in hand running red with lion blood." (Jaime VI, AFFC (emphasis added))

This fact even made Jon hesitate to ask the Vale for food for the Night’s Watch.

We could, thought Jon, if we had the gold, and someone willing to sell us food. Both of those were lacking. Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard. As a boy, he often felt as if the lady grudged him every bite. (Jon IV, ADWD (emphasis added))

IV. Catelyn mistreated Jon while he lived in Winterfell, to the point where he felt uncomfortable even being in the same room with her if Ned wasn't there.

There have been some great write ups about how, while GRRM said Catelyn’s horrible treatment of Jon when Bran was comatose--i.e. “It should have been you”--was a “special case,” the scene also revealed Catelyn had a history of mistreating Jon. For example, Jon was afraid to visit his own comatose brother merely because Catelyn was in the same room.

He reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid. Ghost nuzzled at his hand. He took courage from that. He straightened and entered the room. Lady Stark was there beside his bed. She had been there, day and night, for close on a fortnight. Not for a moment had she left Bran’s side. She had her meals brought to her there, and chamber pots as well, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though it was said she had scarcely slept at all. She fed him herself, the honey and water and herb mixture that sustained life. Not once did she leave the room. So Jon had stayed away. But now there was no more time. He stood in the door for a moment, afraid to speak, afraid to come closer. The window was open. Below, a wolf howled. Ghost heard and lifted his head. Lady Stark looked over. For a moment she did not seem to recognize him. Finally she blinked. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a voice strangely flat and emotionless. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Jon’s fears proved well founded as Catelyn immediately attempted to prevent him from seeing his own dying brother.

“I came to see Bran,” Jon said. “To say good-bye.” Her face did not change. Her long auburn hair was dull and tangled. She looked as thought she had aged twenty years. “You’ve said it. Now go away.” Part of him wanted only to flee, but he knew that if he did he might never see Bran again. He took a nervous step into the room. “Please,” he said. Something cold moved in her eyes. “I told you to leave,” she said. “We don’t want you here.” (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Notice how Catelyn said “we” don’t want you here, not “I” don’t want you here. She attempted to manipulate Jon into thinking Bran would also not want him there, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Soon, it’s revealed this isn’t the first time Catelyn tried to kick Jon out of a room to prevent him from seeing his family.

Something cold moved in her eyes. “I told you to leave,” she said. “We don’t want you here.” Once that would have sent him running. Once that might even have made him cry. Now it only made him angry. He would be a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch soon, and face worse dangers than Catelyn Tully Stark. “He’s my brother,” he said. “Shall I call the guards?” “Call them,” Jon said, defiant. “You can’t stop me from seeing him.” He crossed the room, keeping the bed between them, and looked down on Bran where he lay. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Notice also the power she wielded over Jon as Lady of Winterfell, threatening to call the guards on him.

Jon then gave a heartwarming talk to Bran, apologizing that he didn’t come earlier because he was afraid.

“Bran,” he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t come before. I was afraid.” He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. Jon no longer cared. “Don’t die, Bran. Please. We’re all waiting for you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone . . . “ Lady Stark was watching. She had not raised a cry. Jon took that for acceptance. Outside the window, the direwolf howled again. The wolf that Bran had not had time to name. “I have to go now,” Jon said. “Uncle Benjen is waiting. I’m to go north to the Wall. We have to leave today, before the snows come.” He remembered how excited Bran had been at the prospect of the journey. It was more than he could bear, the thought of leaving him behind like this. Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his brother lightly on the lips. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

And then a curious thing happened. Catelyn, grief stricken, confessed to Jon that she felt partially responsible for Bran’s condition. And Jon consoled her! (As an aside, GRRM really knows how to write a sympathetic protagonist, starting with the very first chapter when Jon excluded himself from the Stark family so his siblings could get direwolves, and even later in this chapter when Jon lied to Robb and said Catelyn was kind to him because he knew Robb had enough to deal with.)

“I wanted him to stay here with me,” Lady Stark said softly. Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for a part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room. “I prayed for it,” she said dully. “He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered.” Jon did not know what to say. “It wasn’t your fault,” he managed after an awkward silence. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

And how was Jon rewarded for trying to comfort Lady Stark?

Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. “I need none of your absolution, bastard.” Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran’s hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds. “Good-bye,” he said. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Now, notice how Jon didn’t think twice when Catelyn called him a “bastard.” This was likely because she’d called him that before. This is important for the next part.

He was at the door when she called out to him. “Jon,” she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing hit for the first time. “Yes?” he said. “It should have been you,” she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

So, in 14 years, Lady Stark had never once called Jon by his name. Notice it doesn’t say she never once called him a name. Indeed, she had just called him “bastard” and he didn’t think anything of it. So she called him names, like “bastard,” just never “Jon.” That’s pretty messed up. No one should have to face that level of contempt from an authority figure in their own home. No wonder Jon avoided her like the plague.

In sum, even if Cat telling Jon “It should have been you” was a one-time thing, it’s clear she had a history of mistreating him, such as (1) calling him “bastard” but never once calling him by his name; (2) kicking him out of rooms; and (3) making him so uncomfortable that he avoided spending time with his family if she was in the same room (unless Ned was there, of course).

Now, for those who say Jon may be an unreliable narrator, the next paragraphs show this wasn’t the case because others were very much aware of how Cat mistreated Jon.

"You Starks are hard to kill," Jon agreed. His voice was flat and tired. The visit had taken all the strength from him. Robb knew something was wrong. “My mother . . . " “She was . . . very kind,” Jon told him. Robb look relieved. “Good.” He smiled. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Robb was worried about how his mother treated Jon while Jon was seeing his comatose brother for possibly the last time. When Jon lied and said she treated him kindly (I love Jon!), Robb was “relieved.” This shows Jon wasn’t just making stuff up, and others were aware of Catelyn’s mistreatment of Jon.

Robb’s interesting because, as supportive as he was of Jon, he unwittingly played a role in what was likely the one of the first times Jon realized he was a bastard, courtesy of Lady Stark, of course.

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. (Jon XII, ASOS (emphasis added))

And soon after that repressed memory resurfaced, Jon thinks again about what Catelyn would do to make him feel unwanted and uncomfortable.

It was not Lord Eddard's face he saw floating before him, though; it was Lady Catelyn's. With her deep blue eyes and hard cold mouth, she looked a bit like Stannis. Iron, he thought, but brittle. She was looking at him the way she used to look at him at Winterfell, whenever he had bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. Who are you? that look had always seemed to say. This is not your place. Why are you here? (Jon XII, ASOS (emphasis added))

V. Catelyn sought to prevent Jon from succeeding Robb, even in a scenario where Jon couldn't possibly threaten Catelyn's children or grandchildren.

Catelyn, like much of Westeros, was deeply prejudiced against bastards.

"Mya Stone, if it please you, my lady," the girl said. It did not please her; it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was a bastard's name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden; in each of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no names of their own. Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but think of Ned's bastard on the Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty, both at once. She struggled to find words for a reply. (Catelyn VI, AGOT (emphasis added))

(As an aside, it’s interesting that Cat seemed to feel some guilt regarding Jon. I wish GRRM had fleshed that out a bit more like the show did. It also makes me yearn for a Lady Stoneheart-Jon reunion.)

Catelyn also did not like Jon. So when Robb was trying to discuss who should be his heir--with Bran, Rickon, and Arya presumed dead, and Sansa married to a Lannister--Catelyn did not want to consider Jon, advocating instead for distant Vale relatives.

“Young, and a king,” he said. “A king must have an heir. If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her.” His mouth tightened. “To her, and her lord husband. Tyrion Lannister. I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. That dwarf must never have the north.” “No,” Catelyn agreed. “You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son.” She considered for a moment. “Your father’s father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest . . . it might have been a Templeton, but . . . " “Mother.” There was a sharpness in Robb’s tone. “You forget. My father had four sons.” She had not forgotten, she had not wanted to look at it, yet there it was. “A Snow is not a Stark.” (Catelyn V, ASOS (emphasis added))

Ok, first, I love the way Robb reaffirmed Jon’s humanity to his mother, reminding her that Ned Stark had four sons. (Go Robb!) It was always Jon’s goal to live his life so that people would say Ned Stark had four sons, not three. See Jon IX, AGOT (“He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.”)

Second, it’s important to note that Catelyn explicitly said she did not want to “look at” Jon. Not that she considered him but worried his vows or bastardy precluded him from being heir, but that she did not want to even look at him. This shows Catelyn’s gut feeling was to not even consider Jon, and only when she was forced to did she develop her post hoc arguments regarding Jon’s vows and bastardy.

Third, while Cat initially framed the discussion as deciding who Robb’s heir should be until Jeyne provided Robb a son, later the discussion was broadened to include who should succeed Robb if he died without issue. And even then Catelyn argued that an unknown Vale lordling should inherit over Jon. This is an important distinction because Cat’s arguments regarding the threat posed by legitimizing Jon--namely that Jon and his sons would threaten Robb’s sons--do not apply to a scenario where Robb dies without issue. And Robb’s Will could easily be written to only legitimize Jon should Robb die without children. So, clearly the issue wasn’t limited to Catelyn’s fear for her children and grandchildren. It also included pure pettiness on Catelyn’s part.

Catelyn first attempted to dissuade Robb by reminding him of Jon’s Night’s Watch vows. Then, when that didn’t work, she pivoted to the threat posed by legitimizing Jon.

“Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.” “Jon is a brother of the Night’s Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands. Those who take the black serve for life.” “So do the knights of the Kingsguard. That did not stop the Lannisters from stripping the white cloaks from Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Boros Blount when they had no more use for them. If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon’s place, I’ll wager they find some way to release him from his vows.” He is set on this. Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. “A bastard cannot inherit.” “Not unless he’s legitimized by a royal decree,” said Robb. “There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath.” “Precedent,” she said bitterly. “Yes, Aegon the Fourth legitimized all his bastards on his deathbed. And how much pain, grief, war, and murder grew from that? I know you trust Jon. But can you trust his sons? Or their sons? The Blackfyre pretenders troubled the Targaryens for five generations, until Barristan the Bold slew the last of them on the Stepstones. If you make Jon legitimate, there is no way to turn him bastard again. Should he wed and breed, any sons you may have by Jeyne will never be safe.” (Catelyn V, ASOS (emphasis added))

I love seeing lawyer Robb advocate on his brother’s behalf. But gods, Catelyn’s contempt for Jon couldn’t be more obvious when she referred to him having kids as “breed[ing].” It reminds me of how Robert Baratheon used that term when referring to Daenerys because of his hatred for Targaryens.

I love this next part because, not only does Robb defend Jon, so does Grey Wind! Don’t mess with the pack!

“Jon would never harm a son of mine.” “No more than Theon Greyjoy would harm Bran or Rickon?” Grey Wind leapt up atop King Tristifer’s crypt, his teeth barred. Robb’s own face was cold. “That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon.” (Catelyn V, ASOS (emphasis added))

Then it concludes with Catelyn stating she’d even oppose Jon if Robb died without issue.

“So you pray. Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north may not be permitted to pass to the Imp, but what of Arya? By law she comes after Sansa . . . your own sister, trueborn.” “. . . and dead. No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father’s head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya’s gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they’ll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother than remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice.” “I cannot,” she said. “In all else, Robb. In everything. But not in this . . . . this folly. Do not ask it.” “I don’t have to. I’m the king.” Robb turned and walked off, Grey Wind bounding down from the tomb after him. (Catelyn V, ASOS (emphasis added))

VI. Catelyn likely would've treated Jon worse if Ned wasn't so fiercely protective of Jon.

To Catelyn’s credit, she could’ve treated Jon far worse. We see this with Falia Flowers, who was forced to serve her trueborn siblings. And then, of course, there’s Cersei:

"I glimpsed him once at Winterfell," the queen said, "though the Starks did their best to hide him. He looks very like his father." Her husband's by-blows had his look as well, though at least Robert had the grace to keep them out of sight. Once, after that sorry business with the cat, he had made some noises about bringing some baseborn daughter of his to court. "Do as you please," she'd told him, "but you may find that the city is not a healthy place for a growing girl." The bruise those words had won her had been hard to hide from Jaime, but they heard no more about the bastard girl. Catelyn Tully was a mouse, or she would have smothered this Jon Snow in his cradle. Instead, she's left the filthy task to me. "Snow shares Lord Eddard's taste for treason too," she said. "The father would have handed the realm to Stannis. The son has given him lands and castles." (Cersei IV, AFFC (emphasis added))

While I know Cat would never physically harm Jon, it’s interesting to consider how much of Catelyn’s restraint was due to Ned’s protectiveness of Jon, as opposed to her own scruples. After all, the text mentions multiple times how defensive Ned was of Jon:

The look Ned gave her was anguished. "You know I cannot take him south. There will be no place for him at court. A boy with a bastard's name … you know what they will say of him. He will be shunned." Catelyn armored her heart against the mute appeal in her husband's eyes. "They say your friend Robert has fathered a dozen bastards himself." "And none of them has ever been seen at court!" Ned blazed. “The Lannister woman has seen to that. How can you be so damnably cruel, Catelyn? He is only a boy. He—" His fury was on him. He might have said more, and worse, but Maester Luwin cut in. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added)) Still, she was struck again by how strangely men behaved when it came to their bastards. Ned had always been fiercely protective of Jon, and Ser Cortnay Penrose had given up his life for this Edric Storm, yet Roose Bolton's bastard had meant less to him than one of his dogs, to judge from the tone of the queer cold letter Edmure had gotten from him not three days past. (Catelyn VI, ACOK (emphasis added))

We also know Ned desired for Jon to have a close relationship with Ned’s children:

… but then somehow he was back at Winterfell again, in the godswood looking down upon his father. Lord Eddard seemed much younger this time. His hair was brown, with no hint of grey in it, his head bowed. "… let them grow up close as brothers, with only love between them," he prayed, "and let my lady wife find it in her heart to forgive …" (Bran III, ADWD (emphasis added))

But once that protection waned with Ned’s appointment as Hand and relocation to King’s Landing, Catelyn was able to convince Ned to allow Jon to take the black.

"He cannot stay here," Catelyn said, cutting him off. "He is your son, not mine. I will not have him." It was hard, she knew, but no less the truth. Ned would do the boy no kindness by leaving him here at Winterfell. (Catelyn II, AGOT)

Notably, while Catelyn was demanding Jon be evicted from Winterfell, it was actually Ned’s decision. This is evident from the fact he had denied her prior requests for Jon to leave Winterfell. Indeed, Ned even controlled where Cat’s own children went, insisting that Bran accompany him south over Cat’s strenuous objections.

So what made this request different? The answer is simple: Ned could insist that Jon remain at Winterfell, but without Ned’s protection, Catelyn would be free to make Jon’s life . . . difficult. Catelyn’s inner dialogue hints at this.

Ned would do the boy no kindness by leaving him here at Winterfell. (Catelyn II, AGOT)

Compare this to what Cersei told Robert about Mya Stone coming to court:

“[Y]ou may find that the city is not a healthy place for a growing girl." (Cersei IV, AFFC)

This begs the question: If Ned had insisted Jon stay at Winterfell in Ned’s absence, would Cat’s treatment of Jon change without Ned to keep her in check? To what lengths would Cat go to “differentiate” Jon from his trueborn siblings? While I think Robb would be old enough to curb Cat’s worst impulses, and Cat would also have to account for Maester Luwin “tattling” on her via raven to Ned if she got too bad, I’ve no doubt that Cat would, at the very least, be emboldened in her mistreatment of Jon.

VII. Catelyn's disdain for Jon likely hurt her in the end.

One of the first thoughts many people have after learning about R+L=J is: “Why didn’t Ned just tell Cat the truth?” It surely would’ve saved a lot of heartache. But I think Ned gave us his reasoning:

Ned thought, If it came to that, the life of some child I did not know, against Robb and Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon, what would I do? Even more so, what would Catelyn do, if it were Jon's life, against the children of her body? He did not know. He prayed he never would. (Eddard XII, AGOT (emphasis added))

In other words, if Cat knew Jon was a secret Targaryen, and she thought her family might be in danger because, perhaps, someone in King’s Landing suspected the truth, she likely would have no qualms about sacrificing Jon in a heartbeat to prove her loyalty to the Baratheon regime. After all, she never made any promises to any dying siblings to protect Jon.

Further, that Catelyn treated Jon so poorly likely played a role in Ned’s refusal to tell her the truth which, in the end, only hurt her because she died thinking Jon was the product of her husband’s infidelity, as opposed to Lyanna’s son.

Another way her mistreatment of Jon hurt her was in Robb’s decision to marry Jeyne Westerling. While Ned’s honor no doubt played a role, there’s a good chance Robb also married Jeyne to prevent any potential child he had with her from growing up a bastard because he had seen the way Jon was treated, including by his own mother. And, of course, Robb’s marriage to Jeyne directly led to Robb and Catelyn’s own deaths.

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jon snow #catelyn stark

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goodqueenaly · 7 months ago

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Hello again! Sorry I’m trying to figure out how to make this a question, but if you’re willing to, I’d love to hear any thoughts you have about Myranda Royce? I feel like she’s interesting as a counterpoint to the general depiction of the Vale nobility—it struck me that her open association with “Alayne Stone” could be considered unusual by her contemporaries. Do you think it’s genuine, or being gracious (or both)? Thanks and I hope you are well!

I think Myranda is quite an interesting character! (Long, more under the cut)

On the one hand, Myranda certainly wants to encourage Sansa-as-Alayne to see her as a friend. Throughout their conversation, Myranda asks, indeed demands that Sansa-as-Alayne refer to her as “Randa”, an informal nickname which bridges the class distinction between them (more on that in a bit). Myranda’s genial, self-identified “wicked” gossip, punctuated with laughs and jokes, directly recalls Sansa’s last true experience of female friendship, way back in AGOT - sharing a strawberry pie with Jeyne Poole, “giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets”. Too, as they near the Gates of the Moon, Myranda tells Sansa-as-Alayne of the apartments readied for her but offers to share her own bed with Sansa-as-Alayne, much in the manner of Margaery’s bedsharing with her close-knit cousins. Nor is this proffered friendship an entirely empty hope on the part of Myranda. By TWOW, Sansa is internally referring to Myranda as “her friend”, and when Myranda cheerfully dares Sansa to race the gatehouse by declaring “[l]ast one to the gate must marry Uther Shett”, Sansa laughs and joyfully thinks that “[f]or just a little while … [Sansa] found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up”. Myranda does provide Sansa-as-Alayne, at least eventually, some access to friendship and fun Sansa has not experienced in a very long, very traumatic time; finally, after months turning to years of loneliness, abuse, and fear, Sansa has a young aristocratic woman of an age with her, with whom she can be happy - in fact, feeling “alive again, for the first since her father… [sic] since Lord Eddard Stark had died”.

Yet Sansa cannot embrace Myranda Royce as her friend without complication, given the context in which she is introduced to Myranda. Before Sansa and Myranda Royce ever meet, Littlefinger warns Sansa that she, Sansa, must “be careful” and “[g]uard [her] tongue around [Myranda]”, because while Myranda “likes to play the merry fool … underneath she’s shrewder than her father”. That Sansa takes this warning to heart is reflected in Sansa-as-Alayne’s greeting to Myranda, allowing Myranda to call her “Alayne” but internally adding “you’ll get no secrets from me”. Indeed, Myranda’s frank conversation, complete with blunt questions, seems to parallel Olenna Tyrell’s similarly staged interview of Sansa at the start of ASOS; just as the shrewd Queen of Thorns weaponized an attitude of uncourtly candor to make Sansa comfortable enough to admit to Joffrey’s monstrousness, so Myranda seems to want to draw information out of Sansa-as-Alayne, particularly to her true identity, by peppering their chat with candid sexual references and choice bits of gossip. To that end, Myranda does appear to succeed: when Myranda seemingly offhand mentions that “the Night’s Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark’s”, Sansa-as-Alayne blurts the name “Jon Snow” - an improbable bit of identification for supposedly the bastard daughter of a minor Vale lord, allegedly living in Gulltown with the Faith until relatively recently. (Whether Myranda then later remarks on Sansa-as-Alayne’s “rosy cheeks and big blue eyes” to make a coy reference to the true Sansa’s Tully appearance, or later still tells Sansa-as-Alayne that “[t]he first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare” as a sly allusion to the Waynwood marriage Catelyn says was made by one of Jocelyn Stark’s Royce daughters, are both open, intriguing possibilities.) In the ongoing theme of truth versus lies so central to Sansa’s storyline, Myranda’s search for knowledge is used by Littlefinger to portray her as an antagonist; falsehood and secrecy, literally defining Sansa for the moment in the guise of “Alayne Stone” must perforce divide Sansa from her would-be friend, at least according to Littlefinger.

Yet Myranda does not simply represent the duality of friendship and animosity for Sansa-as-Alayne. For all her risqué jokes and targeted requests for information, there is I think a good heart to Myranda, most clearly demonstrated in her treatment of Robert Arryn. Before we even meet Myranda on page, Sansa mentally notes that “Robert [would] be pleased” at the news of Myranda’s coming, because “[h]e liked Myranda”, implying not only that Robert has met her before but that Myranda made a good impression in her prior visit(s). While it’s certainly good political sense for any Vale aristocrat to treat the Lord of the Eyrie with respect, Myranda shows Robert genuine warmth and kindness: kneeling to meet him at his level, grandly lying that he had “grown so big” and would “be taller than me soon”, and joining Sansa-as-Alayne in allaying Robert’s fears by agreeing that the Winged Knight could indeed fly “[h]igher than the mountains” - all important actions to take toward a young boy infantalized and dismissed as sickly for virtually his entire eight years of life. Like Sansa, who plays to Robert’s favorite stories of chivalric heroism to encourage his bravery, Myranda offers Robert a rare opportunity for pride in himself in this trek down the mountain. Indeed, Myranda acts exactly as Sansa believes Mya Stone should have - “greet[ing] him with a smile” and “[telling] him how strong and brave he looks” - a positive reflection on both Myranda’s relationship with Robert and her perceptive sense of manners.

Related to this point, Myranda seems to have a keen and natural grasp of her position; this is a young woman who understands how to be lady of a castle to her fingertips. The little Sansa initially knows of Myranda Royce includes the fact that Myranda “kept her father's castle for him”, and that “it was a much livelier court when she was home than when she was away”. Myranda’s courtly experience is on full display in Sansa’s TWOW sample chapter. When the Waynwood party arrives to the Gates of the Moon, Myranda curtsies to Lady Anya, politely ignores Wallace Waynwood’s stammer, adds some sweetly witty commentary on the upcoming feast and tourney, and informs the Waynwoods of their and their party’s lodging with both grace and tact. Too, while she might continue to provide her cutting opinions privately to Sansa-as-Alayne, Myranda also seems to know where to express herself more subtly: calling to Sansa-as-Alayne for a less rude escape from her Lipps and Shett admirers, and quietly teasing Lyn Corbray (whom Myranda already identified as an unlikely suitor) by piously wishing for a healthy delivery for that Corbray sister-in-law whose pregnancy Lyn resents so much.

Which, of course, only highlights the (relative) societal knife edge on which Myranda exists. As the daughter of the head of the lesser branch of her family, Myranda already occupies a place lower than that of other Vale blue-bloods - recall Littlefinger’s note to Sansa that Myranda’s father was in part quite willing to believe Littlefinger precisely because he, Nestor, was “very much aware that he was born of the lesser branch of House Royce”. As “a widow, but scarce used”, to borrow her rueful turn of phrase, Myranda has neither the maidenhood so prized by aristocratic Westerosi nor the dynastic investment of a child with her late husband - and by extension, a socially acceptable role(s) as wife and/or mother. Myranda is, in the cold and unfair calculus of Westerosi aristocratic marriage making, a lesser prize - a fact Myranda herself appears to recognize all too well. As she sighs to Sansa-as-Alayne, Myranda cannot determine “whether it was me she [i.e. Anya Waynwood] found unsuitable [for Harry Hardyng], or just my dowry”; too, as Sansa herself picks up, behind Myranda’s japes of Sansa-as-Alayne’s apparent success in being betrothed to Harry, there is the hurt of a young woman brusquely reminded that she was, at least in the estimation of Lady Waynwood, not good enough for such a match. In the zero sum game of Westerosi matchmaking, Sansa-as-Alayne cannot win (again, only in the sense of a betrothal to a politically very important fiancé) without Myranda losing out on that exact match.

This tension, in turn, I think as much defines Myranda’s relationship with Sansa as the duality of Myranda as both (potential) friend and foe does for Sansa’s relationship with her. Myranda has the name and familial credentials, but not the dowry to make good on them or the aristocratic marriage to show for them; Sansa-as-Alayne is (ostensibly) an unlegitimized bastard of a rather upjumped lord, yet she has the great dowry and (as of the start of TWOW) the brilliant future marriage to the heir presumptive of House Arryn. Consequently, when Myranda first meets Sansa-as-Alayne, it is Myranda who condescends (in the most fundamental meaning of the word) to her: “I am 'my lady' at the Gates”, Myranda reminds Sansa-as-Alayne, “but up here on the mountain you may call me Randa”, a quiet reminder that it is Myranda who can waive the privilege of formal address because she herself is automatically entitled to such a style. It is Myranda who sniffs at the “common girl”, not even dignified with a first name, with whom Harry fathered a child; Myranda who thinly veils the bitterness in her observation that “Harry could have done much worse” than marry her, even if she was, as she reflects, widowed and no longer a maiden; and Myranda who declares that she “shan’t concern [herself]” with Sansa-as-Alayne’s “bastard breasts” when comparing their physical appearances. Likewise, it is Myranda who scathingly asks whether Sansa-as-Alayne “ever knew] a Sisterman who could joust”, as according to Myranda “[t]hey clean their swords with codfish oil and wash in tubs of cold seawater” - proper performance of chivalry being so often equated in Westerosi society with aristocratic bearing. These two young women occupy similar, yet opposed, liminal spaces in their society (as I talked about before specifically with Sansa), operating in an aristocratic sphere that at the same time embraces and rejects them, but for very different reasons.

What I could certainly see is that when (not if) Sansa-as-Alayne is in fact revealed as Sansa Stark in TWOW (ahem, Shadrich), Myranda helps verify Sansa’s true identity (having, again, perhaps puzzled out as much from observing her). More importantly, I hope that Myranda is not in fact an antagonist to Sansa out of some petty sense of jealousy (I had plenty of negative female relationships in F&B, thank you very much), but rather helps undermine Littlefinger’s governing thesis presence in Sansa’s life (before the final denouncement of Littlefinger by Sansa at Winterfell, anyway). For Littlefinger, who values and employs lies and deception as a fundamental aspect of his character, a figure who seeks out truthful information is indeed a disturbing, dangerous individual. Moreover, as a confident and (again, relatively) independently secure aristocratic young woman in her own right, Myranda Royce almost certainly represents to Littlefinger a threat to his isolation of and control over Sansa; just as Cersei separated Sansa from Jeyne Poole in the immediate aftermath of the purge of the Stark household to keep Sansa alone and friendless (remaking with annoyance that “[t]he gods only know what sort of tales she's been filling Sansa's head with” - that is, true stories of the violence and bloodshed of the purge), so I think Littlefinger fears the appearance of a potential friend to Sansa, unconnected to himself, who could begin to influence and encourage her in ways he would not be able to oversee. In perhaps identifying Sansa as a Stark, but then supporting her, Myranda may appear to Sansa as a deliberate rejection of Littlefinger’s description of her as a truth-seeking villain - and, in turn, begin the downfall of Littlefinger himself.

#asoiaf meta #myranda royce

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agentrouka-blog · 1 month ago

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Super long ask, I hope this is okay to share with you. I've been reading through your speculation tags and so many other Jonsa blogs and everything just CLICKS.

I think George wasnt lying when he said the show end point is more or less how the books will end too. I really do think it will be as close to that as it can get, with how much GOT cut out/changed. Arya sailing, Bran and Sansa as Summer King and QITN, Cersei and Daenerys dead and Jon ending up far North is pretty much guaranteed to happen. It's just going to be set up very differently. Based on the theories, metas and speculations you have posted and reblogged, and the foreshadowing istumpysk highlighted in the reread project, I tried summarising what would likely happen in TWOW and ADOS.

Vale arc: Tourney starts, Brienne arrives and - similar to the tavern scene in the show - tries to get Alayne to leave with her but she refuses, Sansa (infamously) vows to become SS again and take back the North - which I feel like will be either because of her finding out about Jeyne/Arya or maybe something happening to Sweetrobin (he'll survive though), she'll then actively try to escape from LF. I think the Tourney will span several days and Harry dies relatively early, Shadrich tries something and Brienne possibly duels him, then the mountain clans attack and Sansa tries to negotiate w/ them/offer food, something goes wrong and she'll escape to the Wall with Brienne.

Stannis burns Shireen, possibly gets murdered by one of the Seaworths?

Because of his warging Jon doesn't really die, his body gets stored in the ice cells, he'll be "resurrected" (i'm unsure how), and he'll struggle with feeling and behaving like a human again. Him and Sansa reunite (I will die on the hill that the show got that thing right and they will be the first Starks to reunite), (possible Jonsa but they wont act out on feelings), and maybe also take back Winterfell w/ the Knights of the Vale (unpopular opinion apparently. But I think it would suck if Stannis were the one to take Winterfell).

Arya leaves the faceless men, meets Lady Stoneheart, possibly (😭) kills her, Nymeria (and Brynden?) free Edmure and Jeyne Westerling. I think, similar to Jon and Sansa being the mist distant Starks but the first Starks to reunite, it would be so interesting if the least Tully looking Starkling was the one who ends up reuniting with the Tully uncles.

Howland Reed and Robb's will arrive at WF, with Jon having to choose between being legitimised as a Stark but stealing his cousins' claim or having his true parentage be revealed

Cersei somehow gets rid of the faith. Tommen is foreshadowed to fall to his death and Myrcella likely dies as a consequence of the Dorne storyline. The Sand Snakes infiltrate Cersei's council.

The Greyjoys ally with Daenerys, Daenerys marries Euron?, kills Victarion? Victarion possibly dies because of that horn?

Aegon takes over Kings Landing, allies with the Riverlands, the Reach, Dorne (possibly marries Arianne?), + Golden Company

Cersei flees to Casterly Rock, Cersei as YMBQ, Jaime as Valonqar

Daenerys arrives, starts Dance 2.0 with Aegon, Aegon takes out or possibly claims one dragon, Tyrion ping pongs between both sides

Arya and Sansa are likely to be in conflict with one another at first (the letter Sansa wrote to Catelyn will likely be used - why else have Robb specificallypoint iut that he left it at home?), and perhaps the show was also right when it had them team up to take out LF (giant in a castle made of snow)

Jon goes South, possibly bonds with Aegon only to see him be taken out by their aunt, Daenerys burns down KL, Arya possibly takes out Daenerys

Bran makes some sort of deal to get rid of the Others, gives up his "powers" to atone for the actions of his ancestors, gets elected King by a council, takes ancestral seat in Harrenhaal

Arianne rules (a possibly independent?) Dorne, Asha as ruler of Iron Islands or whatever is left of its people/possibly displaced and being given land in the North?, Sansa as Lady/QITN, Jon as Lord of the Gift, Jonsa possibly left open ended, Arya sails across the world, Arya and or Brienne as independent agent(s) helping out people in need, Rickon dead (... or Bran's heir... or Septon or Maester...).

Tyrion either: Lannister heir (maybe? with his tongue cut out?) or sent to the Wall. Probably the former.

Like I said, this would definitely be in line with the show ending but unlike the show, here the characters actually would have full arcs and it would be bittersweet rather than just bitter. The dance 2.0 won't be a Jonerys romance and instead will mirror the conflict between Aegon and Rhaenyra, and Daenerys's arc will be tragic and fascinating and her death will be a mirror to Maegor and a direct consequence of what she does to the Smallfolk. All the Starklings (well.... we'll see about Rickon) are left alive, with important and fulfilling but challenging roles. They're all separated but they can and likely will reunite. All the big houses will be ruled by illegitimate children, women, and people with disabilities. No more ice threat and no more fire threat and largely no more real magic. No curtain of light, no YA team up, and a somewhat happy and satisfying and realistic end that includes an actually change to the status quo. It just makes so much sense!!! It feels so right!!!

Hi there! And sorry for the delay!

Isn't it SO satisfying when the books suddenly take on this coherent, stringent logic, all because of what jonsa represents? :)

I broadly agree with your predictions and timeline. I'm more of a jonsa optimist and truther, but otherwise... yeah, it just makes sense, doesn't it?

#jonsa #asoiaf speculation #asoiaf endgame #long post

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jackoshadows · 2 years ago

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How is Jon Snow ‘idealistic’?

He’s one of the most pragmatic Starks in the books, which is something considering he is only 14/15 when the story starts. There’s a reason Maester Luwin tells Jon that ‘bastards grow up faster than other children’.

It’s Jon Snow who stays up at night worrying over his future and not any of the responsible adults, because he knows the realities of being a bastard. It’s Jon who makes the hard decision to go to the Wall because he has no place at Winterfell, not Ned or Benjen. Ned refuses to deal with this until Catelyn forces his hand.

It’s Jon who explains the unfair rules to Arya about the difference between Robb and Bran practicing in the courtyard with the prince while Jon sits it out. It’s Jon who reassures Arya when she goes to him afraid that she too is a bastard. It’s Jon who leaves his name out so that the other Stark kids can get a direwolf.

Yes, Jon does not know how much the Night’s Watch has fallen as an institution in terms of it’s members now being outlaws, rapists and murderers. That’s because no one tells him the truth and not because he believes in songs and fairy tales. Benjen only tells him that it’s a hard, tough life with life long celibacy and not about it’s current status as a penal colony.

That’s why Jon ends up appreciating Tyrion Lannister as a friend, because Tyrion is the only person who does tell Jon the truth. That’s why Jon is hurt, that his own father send him to the Wall without telling him what the Wall has now become and then giving him a choice.

[Note: In fairness to Ned and Benjen, they both probably still think it a great honor to be a brother of the Night’s Watch. Like all the Starks before them they hold the Night’s Watch up as this important historical institution that has to be honored and then fail to actually support it in terms of funding and manpower]

Jon not recognizing that his fellow peers don’t have his education at the start of AGoT? That’s not idealism. That’s him not recognizing his privilege. At Winterfell he’s the bastard compared to his Stark siblings, always judged as less than them by nature of his birth. It’s only once he gets to the Wall that he realizes, with Donal Noye’s help, he has had it better than the other new recruits.

Jon wanting to be a ranger? That’s ambition, that’s self-confidence. Notice how after Sam Tarly explains that being a steward intern meant being groomed for leadership, Jon is immediately accepting of the decision.

Jon being angry and bitter at the unfairness of his world is not idealistic. Being angry about inequality and only being able to imagine a fairer world in dreams is the opposite of idealistic.

Jon’s not trying to end world hunger or trying to legitimize all bastards or set about righting all the wrongs of Westeros. He’s trying to do the best he can at world’s end on a little patch of land called the Night’s Watch for his fellow crows and freefolk there.

When Jon sends out the paper shields to the Crown in KL, he is angry and cynical and knows they will not send him any help. He is cynical about goodness and integrity which is clear from his interactions with his deputies at the Wall.

If anything, Jon Snow is ruthlessly pragmatic. Whether it’s taking child hostages, or telling the Freefolk that they will only get more food if they work for it or hiring spearwives to defend an entire castle or taking on Satin as his steward because he is good at it or using Wun Wun to rebuild or doing actual science experiments, all his decisions are immensely practical - which is why 99% of his policies keeps clashing with the outdated dogma of the likes of Bowen Marsh and Septon Cellador.

‘You Know Nothing’ is a play on Socrates ‘I know that I know nothing’, an acknowledgement that he has yet to learn a lot despite being Lord Commander. The people he holds in high esteem are the likes of Donal Noye, Maester Aemon, Qhorin Halfhand and Samwell Tarly.

It is true that all the Stark children growing up in the relative safety and comfort of home and family have lofty ideals as children. That’s the innocence of children. And then they grow up. This quote encapsulates that:

When Jon had been a boy at Winterfell, his hero had been the Young Dragon, the boy king who had conquered Dorne at the age of fourteen. Despite his bastard birth, or perhaps because of it, Jon Snow had dreamed of leading men to glory just as King Daeron had, of growing up to be a conqueror. Now he was a man grown and the Wall was his, yet all he had were doubts. He could not even seem to conquer those. - Jon, ADwD

Jon Snow is keenly aware of how hard his job is in terms of actually being able to help people. Idealistic is not a word I would use to describe him.

#Jon Snow #asoiaf

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asa-do-your-thing · 8 months ago

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Dreams - 1 - Jon

18+ MINORS DNI Jon Snow x F!OC / Robb Stark x F!OC Word Count: 3.3k Masterlist with Fic Warnings - Contains Death, SA and Abuse. Dividers by @cafekitsune

It had always been relatively crowded in Winterfell when it came to the Stark family, Jon noted. At first it was Lord Eddard, Lady Stark, and Robb, followed by him, Theon Greyjoy, Sansa, Bran, Arya, Rickon… and Lucie.

They had been a rag-tag band of kids, playing, hitting, and chasing each other. Theon had gladly joined their games, yet he, along with Sansa quickly realised that Jon was not a Stark - he was a half-brother at best and a Bastard at worst.

Lucie had never really been a part of the group seeing as she was the last person to join them, yet she was always there to prevent things from getting out of hand. Everyone had given Jon respect when she was present. She was a key player in maintaining an atmosphere of harmony in Winterfell’s spacious halls.

Looking up at her from his distant seat at dinner, Jon thought back to the day where she had joined them. Lord Eddard had told them a few weeks before that they were going to have a new ward; her family had sadly passed away and he graciously allowed her to be taken in with them until she came of age, which was just around the corner.

Lady Lucie Templeton of Ninestars, a distinguished Lady of the Vale. A title befitting her remarkable poise and presence. Jon had envisioned her as resembling an older iteration of Sansa: statuesque, elegant, and, above all, exuding an air of haughtiness and subtle aloofness towards him.

He knew he would forever remember her arrival; gallantly riding into Winterfell astride her untamed black stallion. As her lengthy black locks billowed behind her in the wind, she fearlessly surged through the gates on her steed. Dismounting with the finesse of a seasoned warrior, she strode confidently in his direction. All those present, Jon included, involuntarily retreated to afford her space, captivated by her awe-inspiring presence.

Noticing his stare, she quickly glanced over at him and caught his eye before turning away and exchanging greetings with Lord and Lady Stark. He was struck dumb by how commanding yet beautiful she was in that moment—her dark black eyes glowing with life despite the dire situation she had come from. Using his newfound courage — because only a fool wouldn’t be afraid in her presence — he managed to stammer out a few words of greeting which she returned warmly before moving on to meet the rest of the family.

It hadn’t taken too long for Jon to recognize that Lucie was not like anyone else he had ever met; even the Starks seemed impressed by her strength and poise (though they masked it well). But despite being adopted into this strange new world, Lucie still held onto an air of confidence and self-assurance that made even Jon feel small next to her.

He watched her with a critical eye, noting the way Robb and Theon stared at her with rapt attention, despite her meek and unassuming attempt at conversation. Instead of commanding the room as was expected of her, she averted her gaze and twiddled her fingers nervously while speaking in a barely audible whisper.

Jon had taken such care to make her feel welcome, in those days. He showed her the way around Winterfell, whenever she got lost again, and even taught her to pray to the old gods. Lady Catelyn scolded him for that - Lucie had grown up in the shadow of the Seven, the new Gods. Robb had gone out of his way to try and make her feel comfortable. He offered her a seat by the fire in the Great Hall while he fed her lessons on battles and strategy, noting that Lucie was a fast learner - able to keep up with him even as he tried to pummel her with facts. Theon, though never one for charity, seemed more enthralled by Lucie than any of them. Mostly because Lucie was not the type to laugh at his bad jokes or take part in his pranks - she was always too busy trying to stay one step ahead of everyone else in terms of knowledge.

Jon smiled fondly at his memories; he had been so sure that Lady Lucie would be like Sansa - aloof and haughty. Instead, she had become a dear friend and family member who could hold her own when needed - serving as an equal rather than a subordinate. It was amazing how someone so young could possess such depth and strength — something Jon admired greatly about her.

As the last plate was cleared, he glanced at Lucie and saw her weary eyes plead for solace. It had become a ritual - every night after dinner, while the others scurried off to their beds, she would stay in the library with him. They talked quietly about her struggles and sorrows as she clutched an aged book in her hands and the tears ran like rain down her face. On her first day, when everyone else had gone to bed, she asked meekly if she could stay up and read in the library. Septa Mordane attempted to bar her from doing so, but with one pained glance at Lord Eddard, her request was granted, albeit only if someone stayed with her. Together Jon and Lady Lucie walked into the library, and he felt nothing but pity and sadness for this brave little girl who had trusted him since the first time they had gone to talk.

That evening, all these moons ago, was something that made Jon cringe when looking back. Robb had tried to console the girl, yet after several unsuccessful attempts he asked for Jon's help. “Jon, nothing I said could get through to her. I offered her a pony, flowers, and new gowns, but she told me to go away. What’s wrong with her? She won’t tell me anything. Should I tell Septa Mordane or my mother?” Robb’s face was pale as he ran his hand through his hair anxiously.

Jon had crept back to the library, his leather belt clattering against the tops of his thighs as he walked. “Robb, do not try to console her. SHe is in mourning for her family and her home. I think you might scare her. Let me handle this.” Robb nodded acknowledgement and Jon entered the library, quietly shutting the door behind him. Lucie was hunched near the window, sobbing away. Robb was right, Jon had thought painfully; he could hear her muffled sobs and it made his heart ache for her. All he wanted was for her to feel some sense of comfort again.

Sitting down next to her, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. She looked up and sighed, wiping her tears and closed her worn book. “Please do not tell me all will be fine and for the love of… of the Gods, do not offer me a damned pony,” she muttered and sniffed.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You have a fine steed yourself; I do not see the need for you to have a pony,” he said matter-of-factly and shifted in his seat, offering her a rag to blow her nose.

Lucie looked up at him, her dark eyes reddened by the tears. Tentatively blowing her nose, she sighed and tucked her feet under herself, hiding them under her lavish skirts. “So, I take it you are Jon Snow.”

He sighed, knowing that what would follow would be her acknowledgement of his status as a Bastard. He knew it all too well; Lady Catelyn had probably told her of that, prior to her arrival. She looked so young, so maybe he could still forgive her. “Indeed, I am, Lady Lucie.”

She had frowned, gently furrowing her thick, dark brows, patting the tears away from her reddened cheeks. “Why do you look like… Like I hurt you?”

Jon was baffled back then. She did not care about his mother, then. He might just start liking her. He gave her a small smile. “Oh, I... uhm…” His words, whatever they would’ve been, were stuck in his throat. “That is my mistake, my Lady. I meant no offense.”

“You are a peculiar man,” she noted, biting her lip, and putting the book to the side. “How could you offend me with your face? I think it is a fine one, I have seen worse.”

A big blush had crept up his cheeks. “I… My lady, I… Thank you.” Silence spread between them. “May I ask why you wished to go into the library and not just to your chambers?”

Now it had been Lucie’s turn to blush, though it seemed more in shame than in bashfulness. “That’s where my mother used to read to me and where we wrote before retiring to our chambers. I know, I know, it sounds childish, I should act like a Lady, but…” Tears welled up in her eyes again and spilled onto her dress.

With a nervous look, she stood up and sat down next to him, resting her head against his shoulder, crying quietly. Jon had decided not to probe, instead looking at the booklet. It didn’t belong to the Stark’s library - it must’ve been one of her own, titled ‘You shall be the best Lady.’ He hugged her, holding her gently, for the longest time, until her tears subsided, and her breath became calm once more. Sniffling, she gently broke free from his hug and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Jon. I… shall retire now, I think.” To which he nodded, escorting her to her chamber.

Jon watched Lucie's figure slowly fade away down the hallway as darkness crept in, just like it had one year ago at the very same spot. But something was different about her tonight than in the first night. She seemed stronger, more confident as if she was hiding something from him. Should he confront her? He thought back to their conversations and noticed that she had been silent about what was going on with her life lately. He began to worry that maybe she had found out his secret - that terrible, shameful secret about how he touched himself late at night when no one would ever know. The mere thought sent a chill down Jon's spine.

She could not know, nobody could, it'd be the end of him.

He was entranced by the way Lucie had looked at him, with those mysterious dark eyes that seemed to know what he was feeling. Part of him wanted to believe that she felt something for him too- after all, he was the only one she allowed to spend time with her. But then there were moments when he could not help but feel that his own longing for her was deluding himself into seeing signs where there were none. He wished he could make sense of what she thought of him, yet he still could not unravel the complex of feelings between them.

Hells, he could not unravel his own thoughts, after all.

As he made his way back to his own chambers, he found himself lost in thought, replaying their conversation over and over in his mind. Lucie babbled something about Sansa's lady-friend crying and Arya asking her to train mounted shooting and, as always, Septa Mordane's question about her blood, which to her chagrin had still not come.

Jon could not comprehend why she felt so mortified by her own coming of age. She was now an adult at the ripe age of six-and-ten; why did this cause her such humiliation? Though he could somehow understand what she was implying, that everything associated with becoming a full woman was linked to... carnal passions.

He stopped walking for a second, remembering the redness of her cheeks as she talked about it. He shook his head and continued his way, not wanting to dwell on it any longer. He didn't want to assume anything – that was only a recipe for disaster and disappointment.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice the figure standing in the shadows until it was too late.

A hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his cry of surprise. He struggled against the grip, but the person holding him was much stronger than he expected. Panic set in as he realised, he was being dragged away, the darkness swallowing him whole. When they finally stopped, Jon was disoriented and confused. He tried to shake the cobwebs from his head, but it was difficult to focus with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight of his bedchamber, but when they did, he could not believe what he was seeing.

Lucie stood before him, blushing, and wiping off the sweat from her brow, her hair undone and cascading over her shoulders in waves. She was clad in a simple cotton gown, the kind that the maids wore. Jon felt his heart skip a beat as he suddenly realised what was happening. He was afraid to speak, afraid that if he did, it would shatter the moment and she would disappear like a dream.

"Lucie?" he said confused, his voice cracking. “What on earth?!”

She grinned at him, the candlelight casting a warm glow across her face as she tried fixing the cloak around herself again. "I am sorry for this… unconventional method. I thought that this would be the safest way to be truly alone with you because... I want to talk to you. Without Lady Catelyn spying."

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to upset you or hurt you," Jon muttered and felt his throat tightening, gulping, and trying to swallow back the lump in his throat. How could he feel this way? He should not have felt anything for Lucie as she wrestled him into his room, but there was something thrilling and forbidden about it. It was not like Robb or Theon playing a joke on him - this moment was different. Even though he knew it was wrong, he could not help himself.

She tilted her chin up at him, her glossy black hair cascading down her back. Her voice was firm and determined as she spoke. "No, I am not angry. I want to know what it's like, Jon. What people do when they become intimate with one another. No one ever told me these things, but I trust you. Please tell me what it feels like, what am I supposed to do and how much does it hurt?"

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. This was wrong - he knew that - yet he could not find the strength to deny her. The drive she had to learn more overshadowed her usual innocence, and there was something in that blazing gaze of hers that made it impossible for him to turn her away.

"Lucie, I do not think-"

"Please," she interrupted, taking a step closer to him. "I trust you, Jon. I know you won't lie to me. No one wanted to tell me and... I am...," her voice faltered, and she nervously bit her lip, sitting down on the foot of his bed, gently scratching Ghost between his fluffy ears. "I feel tens of thousands of things, most of all fear and... I trust you to help me."

Jon's heart was pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a million thoughts at once. He knew that what Lucie was asking was wrong, that he should not be indulging her curiosity in this way. But still, he could not deny the pull he felt towards her. It was as if a part of him had been waiting for this moment, for her to come to him with her questions and her fears.

He took a deep breath and stepped closer to her, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Lucie, I can't teach you those things," he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's not right. You are too young, and it's not... it's not something that should be taken lightly."

Her pupils widened with shock, and she gave him an awkward, confused glance. "But why?" she questioned, her voice wavering slightly. "I thought... I thought we had established an atmosphere of trust, considering all I've shared with you."

Jon's heart lurched as he heard the pain in Lucie's voice. He did care for her deeply, far more than he should. But that didn't change the fact that what she was suggesting was both dangerous and wrong.

Taking a shaky step back, he shook his head sadly. "Lucie, you do not know what You are asking of me," he said quietly. "It's not something I can take back once it's done, and it's a decision that should only be made with someone you truly love and whom you plan to spend your life with. You know we can never marry... You are a highborn Lady, and I am just..." His tongue stumbled over the word he wanted to say, knowing that even a whisper of his parentage had the power to shatter their moment.

Lucie stared at him for a long moment, her sharp eyes zigzagging across his face like she was searching for something he could not place. Then she let out an awkward laugh and touched his shoulder with tenderness. She adjusted herself under her nightgown, probably trying to hide the embarrassment that came with their misunderstanding.

"Oh Jon! I only wanted you to talk me through it, not show me!" She said in between giggles as she planted a gentle peck on his stubbly cheek. "You are so imaginative," Biting her lip, she looked away before continuing: "What do you think I am? A hungry harlot looking for prey?" With a suppressed smile, she raised an eyebrow waiting for his response, her cheeks ablaze.

Jon could not help but let out a small laugh at her words, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. "No, no, of course not, Lucie," he said, feeling relieved that she didn't expect more from him. He wanted her to... have flowered, he wanted them to have kissed, he wanted it to be less... dangerous, to be more romantic.

"I am sorry, I just... I didn't want to disappoint you. I know how important this is to you, but it's not something I can do. Not right now, at least. I do not want to lie... I uh..." The heat shot straight back into his head. "I have only ever talked about it, I've yet to... lie with someone." Because I am saving myself for you, I want you, only you, Lucie... the thoughts whirred in his head.

Lucie nodded, her expression softening. "Oh, I understand then," she said quietly, clearly unhappy with his response. "I just... I feel so lost sometimes. There's so much I do not know, so much I am not allowed to know. And I am afraid... afraid of being alone forever. I... I mean, yes, I will be married soon, and we both know who it will be with a high probability, but..."

As Jon gazed into her eyes, her vulnerability tugged at his heartstrings. He knew he could not leave her feeling like this; she deserved better than that. So, he inched closer and sat down on the bed beside her.

"You'll never be alone, Lucie," he whispered softly as he took her hand in his. "I'll always have your back no matter what happens. And someday, the man who's meant for you will come into your life."

He thought about Robb, and how he owed it to him to let Lucie go. It was selfish of him to keep her to himself. Besides, he could not even tell if she liked him or not - it was probably all in his head.

With a mix of gratitude and sadness, he knew that there was no going back from this moment. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, which smelled wonderfully of peonies, and she closed her eyes, her arms tightening around his waist. For a moment, they sat there in silence, lost in their own thoughts and feelings, until he pulled away, breaking the moment.

"I should get some rest," he mumbled, trying to guess the time. "You should too, we are to hunt tomorrow."

Lucie shifted back into her old, sad self and gave him a tired smile. "Of course. I wouldn't want Robb and Theon to think that I do not want to see them. It's... uhm, I am sorry to have bothered you, Jon. I promise it won't happen again." She got up and tied her cloak around her shoulders. "I am bringing you in dangerous situations, you know, being alone with you and then overstepping your boundaries. I am... sorry," she mumbled.

'No, you haven't! Please do not leave!', shot through Jon's mind, yet he knew he could not, it was wrong. It was shameful and... he didn't want to project his feelings and his lust onto her, so he gave her a small, sad smile in return.

As Lucie turned to leave, Jon could not help but watch her walk away, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips. When she stood up, a bright flash of red silk slipped out from under her nightgown; the ribbon that held her stockings around her pale, supple thighs. He knew it was wrong to think of it, of her, in that way, but he could not help it. She was so beautiful, so pure, and so unreachable.

He wanted her, desperately.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. It was wrong, so wrong. He had to push those feelings aside, for both their sakes. He could not risk ruining the delicate balance they had between them. So, he took a deep breath, laying back on the bed. His thoughts drifted to the memory of Lucie's lost ribbon, the image of her silky stockings and smooth skin replaying in his mind. He felt himself growing hard again, and he knew what he had to do.

He closed his eyes and let his hand wander down to his growing erection, imagining it was Lucie's small, delicate hand instead. He stroked himself slowly, feeling his heartbeat quicken as he thought of her. He pictured her beautiful face, the curve of her lips, the arch of her eyebrows, her sharp, sparkling eyes. He imagined her soft, warm skin, her supple thighs, her tight, wet cunny.

As he continued to stroke himself, he let out a low moan, his body writhing with pleasure. He fantasised about Lucie being with him, touching him, kissing him, and eventually, making love to him. He imagined her moaning his name, her body trembling with ecstasy.

He stroked himself faster, his breathing growing ragged as his body approached the peak of pleasure. He moaned louder, his hand moving faster and faster until he finally exploded, spilling his hot seed all over his hand.

As he lay there, panting and sweating, he knew he had to get his feelings for Lucie under control. He could not let his lust for her ruin the special bond they shared. But at the same time, he could not stop himself from fantasising about her. She was just too beautiful, too alluring, too... perfect.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling his body slowly calming down. He knew he had a lot to think about, a lot to figure out. But for now, he just needed to rest. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep, his mind full of thoughts of Lucie.

AO3 <= Other Stories ¦ Next Chapter => 2 - Robb

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