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rise-my-angel · 1 year ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

29 - Shrouded Truth in Sickness

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

Length: 14k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past child illness and death, mild mentions of violence, mild disturbing imagery, smut, p in v, light sexual descriptions

Notes: Jon is in fact not wearing a fur cloak in any of these scenes, unlike the show. As Dragonstone is very far South and is in fact, way too warm and humid for fur, Now, none of that matters, but it's important to me that you know that. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

For all that you had been doing, you could hardly remember much of what was said as you all sat around the painted table. Much of the Royal Fleet was typically at Dragonstone as it was far more advantageous then from King’s Landing, so for much of the fourteen years Robert had been King thus had allowed your father to serve his duty from home. On one hand it meant you stood watching him leave harbour for war so shortly since your return home. Yet, it also had meant only two short months later, you stood in the exact same spot watching him return.

High on the black stones down to the shores you had stood high up, holding Shireen up right by your cheek and waving her tiny arm at the ships coming home. She had finally been old enough you could take her on simple walks around the castle grounds telling her stories the whole while of father. Your mother had said she would not be able to understand you, but you cared little. Always bright and animated as you spoke to her she was always engaged with what you said even as she neared three months.

You perhaps had gotten used to how to talk to young infant girls like so from the last number of trips you had made to Winterfell. The first return you made was when you had met Lord and Lady Stark’s first daughter. A bright hair of Tully red, even moreso then Lady Catelyn herself, Maester Luwin had jested that little Sansa must have strong Tully in her blood more then Robb. She was a well behaved girl, quiet if not a bit fussy at times but you were quick to play big sister with her at that very young age.

Arya was more of the one however, that prepared you in the end.

Mischievous and loud, always looking for something to do, or someone to play with her and she had latched onto you quite quickly. By the time you had returned home some months ago, your mother was about ready to birth Shireen. Shortly after she came into this world, father left for war so you had spent two months doing everything you could do ensure she didn’t feel neglected. She even at so young, had a babbling energy about her that clearly little Arya had prepared you to handle.

So when father returned, it felt odd to suddenly be pulled back from spending time with her as he insisted on keeping you focused on your lessons. It was one night such as those where your father had his men all meeting around the painted table, your mother still recovering from giving birth and thus Shireen was left under the watch of her Septa. You were up with your father, sitting only a few chairs down from him with paper and ink in front of you.

You had one easy task, or at least, one task with a simple rule. Everything spoken in that meeting, you were to write and translate, and it would be checked to make sure you had not let your time North let you forget all of your language lessons. Whatever they had been talking about, you scarcely recalled however.

Reaching for the ink once more, your hand had hovered in place over it. In fact, all of you seemed to have stopped. Your Uncle Alester had later said that it looked almost as if you had accidentally caught sight of the candle lit flames situated near the empty middle of the painted table and had no longer had the ability to look away. The reflection in your eyes was tense, and you seemed not to have realized you were not paying any attention or moving.

Only when he had called your name did it pull you out of it. But as if having no awareness of where you had been, your hand dropped and thus knocked the small glass bottle of ink all over. Some spilling onto the wooden writing desk sat on your lap, the bottle crashed down with a smash all across the floor and spilling more ink onto there and most it had made it’s way all over the front of your dress.

The sudden onslaught of sensations had startled you greatly, causing you to jump from your seat with a gasp and all eyes flew over to you with various stays of confusion as to your outburst. But all you could do, was stammer. Looking at your father with no explanation as to what happened, but he had simply dismissed you, that he would look over what you had done up to that point tomorrow.

The walk back to the corridors where your room and now Shireens room sat was frustrating. You uselessly wiped at the ink now ruined the dress on you with no understanding of what really happened between you in the middle of correcting a word you translated incorrectly to flying back as you had sent the bottle of ink all over you and the floor.

All you did was reach your hand up, and your eyes caught glance of the flickering flames of the candles in the middle of the table and it was enough to take your mind away. Had that been all of it, you might have recalled looking into the flames and seeing strange images flying through it and painting across your eyes as they transfixed you to them. Until your uncle had called your name did it coincide with another calling your name that you, at the time, didn’t recognize, and it forced you back to the room you sat in.

But, it wasn’t the only thing to happen that night, and thus it was forgotten for a while.

Passing through the corridors, you could feel the damp, stuffy air even from the distance and huffed in annoyance. You walked a bit further, peeking enough into Shireen’s room so that you could both see your Septa, but not enough she could see your dress and lecture you. “My father says I am to watch Shireen for the remainder of the night, that you need not return until mid morning.” Her brows narrowed as she looked up from the cross stitching she had been working on, calling your name in sternness.

Before she could say anything more though, you disappeared beyond the corner shouting, “Please leave her door open, I will only be a moment.” You heard her sigh and grumble but as you hid somewhat behind your heavy door you could tell she had left. Giving you the chance to peel off the ruined dress before she could see, changing into something much more simple but warmer.

Only some minutes later and you made your way into her room. Shireen looked asleep when you had poked your head in, but it seemed the sound of your voice pulled her awake. Her infant’s bed with wooden pulls just enough that she could slumber without falling, you pulled the front and sides all the way down as she blinked awake more with a babbling on her lips.

Standing up you moved to the largest window which had the ability to open, to the edge of the room, which Septa Moelle had closed. Annoyed you shook your head as you spoke to your sister in a dramatic manner, “Oh it is far too cold child, I will freeze to death before the night is even up.” Dropping to a more normal tone, “Honestly Shireen, you’d think she grew up in Dorne how much she complains of such cold. This is nothing,” your head turning to glance at her now sitting up more to watch you, “Wait until you come North with me in some years, now that is what cold truly is.”

The cool breeze filtered in with a nice rush over your exposed skin that alleviated the damp air around the castle. Glancing to her once more, she seemed content as every to just have you speak at her. Unlike your mothers insistence, Maester Cressen said that as long as you speak to an infant, it helps them learn language faster. So it was alright she would not properly understand you for some time.

“Now, which story should we read tonight? If you have any suggestions, speak up.” Turning back you ran your hands over a pile of books you had brought in to her room. Ones you did not care to read or keep for yourself anymore, however you thought she may was well see for herself if she found any interest in dragons and wars long passed.

So you begun to read the stories to her, spending many nights you sat crossed legged on her or your bed, with her propped up comfortably in your lap with a book open before both of you. You would read carefully out loud, pointing to each sentence you read as her bright green eyes followed intently.

Voice morphing into low and high pitches of differing theatrics when you would go over something whimsical happening, gasping and pointing to drawings attached and helping guide her tiny hand to where you were pointing. Sometimes repeating certain words until she babbled out more nonsense before pressing a kiss to her cheek until she giggled.

Four times now your mother had lost one of your brothers, and now The Mother had finally heard your prayers and hers and granted a child. A sister, and you were taking full advantage of what you were beginning to think you’d never have.

Biting your lip in thought, your nails tapped against the cover of one book about The Young Dragon in consideration, when you heard a simple thud. Turning back, you saw a small doll laying flat on the ground and a little Shireen giggling along. Shaking your head, you left the books behind, walking over to her bed.

Kneeling down you recognized the doll was a brand new one father had bought from a merchant when he returned home. The dress had been hand painted to match that of the house colours even, and she clearly adored it. For the most part.

Picking it up you placed it back on the bed, only to watch her toss it again with a smile. This time your eyebrows shot up as your mouth opened in a playful audacity. “Are we playing a game or are you just being a pest, Shireen?” Like you were a dog you fetched the doll once more, holding it in your hand up above her with a grin as you waved it from her reaching arms. “Only if you don’t throw it again.”

This time she sat it down back on the soft bed as you took most of her attention instead as you sighed out, “Was I this much of a brat when I was your age? If so I see why father has so many grey’s already, you’ve been in this world but three months and I already feel as ancient as Maester Cressen.” You looked at her now more close up, and something made you narrow your eyes.

It was hard to see in the low light, and Shireen only wanted to reach for you when you tried to reach in and check. Laughing you pulled back from her grabbing hands, “Hold on, silly girl, hold on.” Getting up you walked to the other side of the room to grab a lantern sat on a small table, walking over and hanging it properly up on the wall to the side of her bed.

In the direct firelight now you sat back down facing her, reaching to gently tilt her face to the side as you tried to see what had gotten on her. “Does our Septa pay no attention, what did you get into in your nap that looks...”

It was something unpleasant filling your veins as your voice faded out, eyes narrowing with a sharpness as you leaned in, keeping her close. It wasn’t something you grasped right away, until your hand let go of her cheek. Glancing down to the brand new doll now sitting abandoned at the side of her, you flickered your eyes back up to the mark.

It was small almost like a tiny cut, but when you leaned in more reaching to turn her head even more so you could see, you realized that it wasn’t a cut that was on her cheek. It was a crack. A crack that sat with dry and almost flaking skin just slightly around it. In the uncomfortable pit forming in your stomach, you realized that it looked partially by the crack to be a mottled black, but the dry skin around it didn’t match the rest of her either. It almost looked-

The second you realized what colour the small patch of skin looked like, you had filled with such a sudden dreading fear that you were swooped with a painful dizziness, your hand dropping from her face in an instant. Not two seconds passed as you realized it, did your eyes and mouth widened in a horrored gasp, and you had turned and ran out of her room and down the corridor faster then you’d ever had run in your life.

Voice so loud that every man in the room around the painted table could hear you screaming in a desperate panic for your father, before you even could ascend the steps of the Stone Drum Tower.

It had been a long time since you had a single solitary use for knowing it. The worst you could think of was that you had translated it entirely wrong and were worried for nothing, but few on this island knew how to read it. As far as you were aware, it would only be three and you certainly weren't going to bring it to the third it was for until you already knew without a doubt what it said.

The morning rained harsh over Dragonstone, and as you leaned your palms against the painted table you had to tune it all out in order to focus. You read and reread it so many times you couldn't be sure it even spoke words anymore. Maester Pylos had brought it to you, but you had looked at him with something held back as you told him to have someone fetch your father up to meet you, alone.

Without any other word you simply had handed it to Stannis, “I need to make sure this says what I'm seeing before we do anything else.” A twist in his face your father had taken the raven scroll from you, and the translation was exactly as you feared. “You are certain?”

Stannis looked it over again as sharp eyed as yourself. “You surpassed my skill a long time ago, if what you translated is correct then that would be more assured then my own.”

One hand was draped across your stomach while the other let your elbow rest on your forearm and dig your nails into your bottom lip. You did not like the unease in his own gaze, turning to your father as an unsettled feeling rippled from your veins out and flowed equally through his as he continued. This if true, was something else entirely. “The last I had known of where they were, a spy of Lord Varys had reported her and her brother in Pentos.”

Shaking your head, you inhaled deeply as you stood straighter. “Apparently, she had been there to marry some Dothraki Horse Lord, last I knew of her Robert had ordered her and Viserys killed and his spy turned on him the last moment. Haven't known where she was or doing after that, I don't even know where she would have gotten..I thought all the eggs were gone.”

You could see the enormity of the skull in the underground halls of King’s Landing, and how much stories of Aegon’s Conquest were written in the worst severity known of fire and blood. Was this why he demanded Jon do the same as once done by Torrhen Stark? Bend the knee or be destroyed?

“Evidently not. After Summerhall proved failure, it would take a lot of power to bring three to life as she clearly has. Who did this arrive for?” Gesturing to the raven scroll, but as your head tilted somewhat to the side with a narrowing look in your eye, the answer was already spoken as much. “It seems Aegon is keeping a few secrets of his own.”

The rain poured so loudly behind you, as if trying to wash out the fire already burning in your memory that flashed so green it felt as it it blinded you. You did that with nothing but wildfire, what would three flying beasts of their full potential do this time? Your voice was quiet, “You said he claimed he was the last of his family, obviously he knew about her so why lie? Why lie to us?”

His guess was as good as yours, “Garner sympathy, perhaps. Much of our family and the Starks are gone, meaning he may have presumed a plea of similar circumstances would soften our choices.” You turned around, knowing your father could see the tensity in your shoulders as you walked to the edge of the room, hands braced on the stone looking out to the rain splashing against the sea. Moments later, sensing your father approaching all the same matching the position. “We need to know what the boy knows. If he intends on bringing them to Westeros, we will need to be as prepared for it as we are for the far North.”

A squire sent out to bring Aegon up to both of you, keeping for now things all tucked away between the only ones who could even read the language sent of the writing. Speaking low, your eyes never peeled from the sea. “Why Ser Axell?” There was a small noise in his throat, the only indication of a question to elaborate. “Maester Pylos told me about the ceremony on the beach, you burned Ser Axell and two others that day.”

Neither looked at the other, but your postures matched just as the held back coldness in your faces, his voice as controlled and tight as yours. “He was an infidel. I ordered him to tear down his idols and he disobeyed.” Your throat swallowing as you tried and failed to sense any emotion in the tone, and you couldn't help but notice that it wasn't calm dedication you sensed.

Turning not enough to face him, but so that your voice carried just well enough to hear your muttering towards him. “He was my uncle. He was your brother by law, if you needed reminding.”

There was the tone, only, it emerged from Stannis just on the air of light enough, it made your mouth part as you twisted in something close to frustratedly amused. “If we are speaking in those terms, I could remind you that by way of your late husband, Jon Snow is your brother by law.”

You could sense his eyes flicker to you just the slightest. Your eyes narrowing as your jaw clenched with almost a shake of your head. Whispering as your nails tapped against the stone, “Look at you, still having a sense of humour.”

Leaning more of his forearms against the stone, you did as well. His voice low and in what only you could pick up was a slight mocking. “An ironic thing to say when it's coming from you.” That time you did turn to properly look at him with a furrowed brow. “You have many strengths, but humour is not one of them.”

Matching his stance, you smirked half heartedly now both Baratheons watching the water. You chuckled just a bit, and so did he.

Your voice however, dropped back once more. “Everything got worse once I was dead, didn't it? This, my mother, the red woman. I don't know if I can say it only is coincidence all of this fanaticism got much worse after you all thought I was gone.” Stannis nodded, as your head dropped. Lungs tightening you tried to push out the thought that no one was responsible for your own families continued demise but each other. Maybe you were all destined to become this way.

“I've never asked you to believe as me and your mother do. She took to it more, a true believer your mother is. Even now, she takes is to her heart and no matter what you dislike about it, it is something I see in too.” Your hand reached up, fiddling with what you had begun to think of as Shireen's necklace, for just a moment to keep your eyes dry. “But losing you, and realizing I could have done something to help prevent it and didn't? Your mother and I hadn't known we were to have a grandson until you were already dead. So yes, in our grief, in my guilt we let ourselves believe in it stronger then we should have allowed. That I should have allowed.”

Unlike her necklace, you didn't reach down to run over where your scar was under your dress. You didn't want to once more feel it sink into you and twist as it had too many days since.

He continued quiet, your eyes both now on the sea of your home, and nothing but a heavy weight sat between you that hadn't been allowed to sit for a long time. If ever. “I almost lost you once, and then I actually did. All the same with Shireen. I can't change that, all I can do is work to be better then I am. Better then I was. I couldn't protect my daughters when it mattered most, and I will never have a bigger failure as my duty of a father then that.”

It was quiet between you, looking out to the rain as it slightly blew now to mist gently over your hair when you thought of it. That you desperately hoped that in his final moments, Eddard Stark did not feel as if he failed his daughters. No matter where they were now, alive or dead, at least your father was alive to see it get better.

But hearing the strain in your fathers voice even as he leaned just like you against the stone edge with a calm disposition, you dared not think of how it would have felt for Ned to die with that kind of guilt.

By the time he arrived in the room, both you and your father had moved onto opposite sides of the table. The rain still pouring as Aegon closed the heavy door behind him, looking between you both with a distrusting glare. Stannis gesturing towards the raven now sat by the edge of the table where the blue haired dragon had come in with a much more lack of patience in his tone then he had with you. “You speak High Valyrian, I presume. What do you make of that?”

Both of you watched with close eyes as he read it over, but there were few which could hide their surprise, or shock, as well as they thought they could from both Baratheons. Glancing up slowly as his grip tightened on it, you wondered just how much of this information he might not have known in so much detail. If the unnerved silence matching his clenched jaw, spoke of.

His voice was as controlled as any. “I presume neither of you brought me up here hoping I could translate this for you.” Your eyes were cold and without a single blink as they found his blues. “You already know what this translates as, what do you want me to say?”

Your voice came out as sharp and hissing as was the look in your eyes, hands perched on a chair in front of you. “We want you to tell us what exactly you know. About her, about them,” Your head gesturing to the raven he still held. “You do not get to stand there and pretend as if we do not all know what kind of a threat this could be. Your blood ties to that family does not excuse you from hiding something as important as this from people.”

Glaring at you, he ran a hand over his face. Pacing to the side as you and Stannis both watched before he put the raven scroll back on the painted table. If whatever lie he was about to conjure up was confident, your fathers stern tone to almost shout over the rain took every chance of that away. “You came to us pleading for peace only days ago, that you are the last of your family and yet now we know for a fact that across the Narrow Seas, Daenerys Targaryean has living dragons. How about you start with why you lied, considering the King in the North and myself did nothing but lay out nothing but our true intentions to you.”

Three monarchs were alone in the darkness of the room of the painted table, but for once it was the Targaryean heir which held not a single ally to look to. It took him a good while to find such words, and it had him on edge as neither you nor Stannis moved an inch waiting for him to speak. Glancing up between you both he sighed, then paced as he spoke instead. “I'm supposed to marry her, Daenerys.”

If Aegon had noticed the brief glance as you and Stannis shared a twisting grimace he didn't mention it. At least you knew your father well enough that his comment about Jon was a joke.

“They all thought it would strengthen my claim if I did, but if you had not noticed, I came here alone without her. I still have never even met her. I told you I was the last of my family, because as far as I've ever met, I am. I didn't even know her whereabouts until..” Hand gesturing to the raven scroll.

It had said that she was finally reported by Vaes Dothrak atop a dragon, but that there were still some to be suspected under the temple of Mereen which was under her control. Your father's tone was before, was indistinguishably short and unimpressed as yours coming out.

Stepping around the chair you came much more into his view, snatching a ship from the painted table's layout which was used to represent the Golden Companys own fleet, leaning against the side of it with your back against the table, staring unblinkingly harsh at the Targaryean. “Tell us what you know about them. Her dragons.”

The fact that Aegon had to look down to meet you in the eyes took nothing away from the cold intensity that gave away nothing in such a firm stature. “The one spotted by Vaes Dothrak, is the largest, Drogon.”

Your hands easily tearing off a sail from the wooden figure as you repeated but in a quiet mutter, almost mocking his more meek tone. “Drogon,”

“She has two others, reportedly locked in the dungeons of the temple in Mereen. Viserion,” Ripping off another sail, you chucked it along the painted table once more as your eyebrows raised, repeating the name. Aegon glanced with what almost was to be a sigh to Stannis before finding again, no ally as he returned to you. “And Rhaegal.”

Nodding, you tore the last sail off. “Rhaegal.” Nothing left of it, you under tossed it roughly to slam against the painted table, knocking down what other wooden ships sat by to represent that of Dragonstone. “We could have three dragons flying to our shores any day, and we would be powerless to resist. What does that say about your intentions that you chose to share this with none of the two Kings seeking peace on this island, until I had to translate your raven before it got to you.” Your head tilting to gesture to Stannis.

The man himself, looked none impressed as he too moved closer. “I spent four years at war trying to press my claim for the Seven Kingdoms, and yet I've put that on hold beacuse I can't rule Kingdoms that do not exist once winter arrives.” Your eyes forced to stay in place, not to ask him about it, it wasn't the time nor your business about his involvement with the Nights Watch. “You and this woman mean to bring dragons back to our lands, scorch our earth and massacre our people when already a war is coming for us from the North.”

For all spoken of being the last dragon, and the fire and blood of the family known for their undeserving pride, there was something not quite comfortable as he swallowed. He hadn’t spoken a word of this since you all had been here, and you were dizzy trying to connect it all to a why. “I never wanted..I didn't ask to be involved in her affairs. They tried to convince me to ask her for help but I said no. I came here without them, I got the Golden Company on my own to follow, I didn't need her help, and-”

Something in him stopped, as he looked between you both. Walking to the head of the painted table his hands braced against the top of the chair there. You and Stannis both shared a glance, something unsure of trust in both your eyes but allowed him to gather his thoughts.

“I know what they say about my grandfather, the things he had done. Hearing is one thing, but, knowing one of your own is out there doing all of that and worse is another.” Looking up to you both, finding something it seemed, a bit less difficult to look in the eye as something freezing washed over yours. “They say she performed some kind of blood magic to hatch her dragons, sacrificing her own slave, and ever since she’s let them turn her into a conqueror.” A drop to more of a strained whisper, “And despite my namesake, I do not use that title mindlessly, I assure you both.”

You saw green and screaming, what you had done to even be rid of the wildfire brought to your shores was more monstrous then you ever imagined doing and yet it was nothing compared to what three dragons would accomplish.

Aegon continued looking between you both now finding confidence in what likely he had rarely spoken of and finally getting out as terrifying as it kept becoming, “In Essos, her brutality is already legendary. She has taken the Unsullied for herself, and burned their previous masters alive. She crucified hundreds of noblemen in Slaver's Bay without a second thought, even boys as young as twelve for simply who they were born as without ever due trial for who as guilty and who wasn't. And when she grew bored of that, she fed the rest of her enemies to her dragons.”

You tried to find the right words more then once, but Stannis settling on a calmer disbelief for his thoughts attached. “Why keep such a close eye on her movements if you didn't intend to warn of it?”

It now was even move clear, Lord Varys had kept a certain degree of strange information from these people. “My – Lord Connington wishes for me to take her as a wife. Secure a powerful rule on the Iron Throne and if so then have use of her dragons as well. I chose to sail here without her instead. I shouldn’t have to go running to my aunt for help like some beggar.”

A low hiss in your own whisper finally clawed back at what he was focusing on. “This isn’t about who you wish to marry. We are not here to help you with a family dispute, we are fighting a war coming from beyond the wall-” Stopping the raise in your voice, you stepped back for a moment as your hand pressed to your forehead with a harsh pressure. Turning away until it eased up, you looked back to your father, only nodding once at you, letting you speak your peace, albeit calmer.

Facing Aegon once more, you gestured to Stannis before pacing closer and closer to the dragon. “He and Jon are the only Kings who care to protect the realm, before something we know nothing about comes for us all. What use is everything we have sacrificed if armies of Unsullied and Dothraki come to destroy the people’s homes, rape and enslave our women and children? Watch it be burned down by dragons and the daughter of the man Jons father and mine fought to overthrow?”

It didn’t matter if Aegon or anyone didn’t believe in what winter storms would blew through the realm without a second thought. The world seemed to be closing in on you, ice on one side and fire from the other and both were just as terrifying.

You felt as if he were looming over you increasing in his own frustration as his face twisted to anger, stepping closer to you. Stannis on the other side circling around quietly as the Targaryean stood tall and large in your face with anger. “I don’t want any of that, I didn’t conquer lands or burn down innocent people just to call myself a King. I was raised to be better then that, better then her. I told Jon Connington I was the only dragon he needed, and I meant that. I don’t need to ride on a dragon the size of Balerion the Dread. I want people to want me as their King not be scared of me.”

Narrowed eyes stabbed within the gaze of the other as Stannis stood now enough by him that Aegons shoulders tensed, your fathers voice was low and calmer. “Yet you are still demanding Jon Snow and myself, bend the knee and swear fealty to you.” The blue haired dragon only glared at you as you did him. “Knowing he and I, would be giving up everything we've fought for.”

Biting your tongue as you inhaled, trying to keep your heart calmer before you muttered through more gritted teeth. “I stood against my father for three years thinking we would one day go to war with one another, and now he and Jon are working side by side to protect their people from the Others.”

Looking between you both, the rain pouring down just outside the castle walls filling the air, Aegon swallowed. “If I don't fight for my right-”

Your father finished for him however, his voice low, and a sympathy within that had Aegon turn from you entirely to look. Not a comforting man Stannis Baratheon, but an understanding one. “I once thought that if I did not press my claim, that my claim would be forgotten. That I would be just a page in someone else's history books, but I'm not fighting for it now. Not here. I saw the truth, and it is coming no matter if you believe us. But we have been honest, you kept this from us.” His head nodding to the raven. “You mean to cut off our legs and leave us crippled to Daenerys Targaryean and her dragons, all so you can pursue the Iron Throne without competition. I would suggest reconsidering Jon Snow's offer to discuss terms with him, he convinced me this war the most important one, maybe if you have enough intellect left in you, he will do the same again.”

You had told Aegon you would go fetch for Jon yourself, sending him off closer to the main grounds of the castle as the rain only barley begun to ease up. Before turning the corridor, you looked back to the dragon before he could turn away. An unpleasant glare in his own eyes that faded into conflict as they drifted into anger. “If you wish to follow your ancestors, be that Rhaegar or your own namesake, we cannot stop you. But he won't kneel for you. Jon is not Torrhen Stark, and he never will be. But winter is coming, and we're running out of time, Aegon. Which means you're running out of time.”

Many woodland creatures looked at the approaching figure as a beast, large and terrifying as sharp eyes saw all. No noise was made other then small ones scattered about as if they knew they weren’t to be food for this one.

It was never not strange, especially now so far away to do so. So many times at the wall it would happen in his sleep and he tried to tell himself otherwise. They were only dreams he’d think to himself as he woke in the morning. At night Jon’s mind was filled with too much thought, too much work, and too much impending doom looming over the horizon of the far North and every night he found no solace. He dreamt of direwolves.

Control is what a warg was said to be able to do. Find their consciousness inside that of an animal and control them of your own, and yet sometimes Jon doubted it was as simple as such. Each time he had found himself seeing through Ghost’s eyes he found himself knowing what he knew and needing no explanation to follow what path he was already on.

Was Jon really the one in control of Ghost, or did they share that consciousness together? Because as he walked through the snowy lands of the wolfswood, Jon knew he was following tracks that of other wolves. He knew what he was searching for and there was no reason he should, but he would walk at night through the trees and search as Ghost would alone.

Sometimes he would sit in on the meetings of the Lords in charge for him. At first questioning the appearance of the giant creature but settling once they saw he would only sit silent right where he could see the whole room. But now, as he walked the morning through the woods, he realized what Ghost had realized before him, or together he surmised.

Whoever the wolves were which he seemed to be stalking, one left tracks that too large for normal ones. Ones Jon would step right into with a front paw and fit perfectly. Out in the wolfswood around Winterfell, Ghost was searching for the trace of another direwolf.

He could hear something else in the distance. A mist somewhere on his person, that was followed by pouring of rain overhead and waves crashing against the rocks. It was that which kept Jon from losing where and who he was.

It was harder some days then other to remember he was a man. He would be back in the snowy North, his paws sunk deep into a drift of snow as he stood on the edge of a great cliff. Or dreams suddenly finding his mind inside of Ghost during a hunt, and he suddenly needed to kill and fill his stomach with fresh meat and dark blood.

The feeling would startle him awake sometimes, the night before he had awoken just as his blood red eyes found, ironically, prey in that of a deer. For a few seconds, he couldn’t quite come back from how much Ghost’s hunger woke Jon, making his own mouth water. His hands tensed as if still paws and his nails acting as claws, Jon realized he was digging his nails deep into your hip almost drawing blood, and the force already bruising the skin.

You hadn’t at least, woken up at the pain, Jon had well worn you out only hours before.

But as he stood there now, his mind only was pulled back by the sudden sensation over his fur of delicate nails, scratching gently along his spine as he let a low growl out. But was the airy, quiet whisper making his ears twitch did Jon pull his mind back, reminding himself once more he was a man. “Jon,” A soft voice far from the North and Jon had to focus to come back. He was not a wolf. His hands had been braced against a high railing and his gloved hands strained at the pressure as the rainy skies of Dragonstone returned.

You knew before you had even gotten to his side, his stiff posture unmoving but also with a tensity that was not indicative of the isolated spot around him. It would take not much more but a gentle coaxing to pull Jon back, not wanting to startle whatever path Ghost was taking him on so far away. You had almost felt bad, it was clear he missed the direwolf and there was little doubt Ghost missed him just as much.

Letting him wander the North in the eyes of Ghost was also simply a way to bond with his companion so far from one another.

Much work had been done under the grounds of the island. Tunnels and strange pathways that with enough men stretched deep and far with caches of Dragonglass amongst the strange sparkle of a cave that stood around you like a dreaming sky.

Dragonglass was not for much use elsewhere, but it was certainly a very hard material to cut through, all tools needing to be as sharp as each others and as long as what broke off of the walls came down without shattering into tiny pieces that was all that was needed. It wasn’t the solution to save his people, it was a resort needed to protect those who otherwise won’t be able to protect themselves from what was coming. It killed the Others, it killed wights and if something came for you it was enough to survive.

The rest of it all however, was trickier. But one step at a time, too much and winter would overtake everything and blind Jon and yourself to what needed to be done.

It was almost adorable, the way you gently approached him softly whispering his name, and seeing even as his eyes paled over with an eeiry white, his brows furrowed in a brief confusion. For a moment it was almost as if a growl formed deep in his chest as you ran your hand flat and lightly up his spine before returned to you, blinked away the white and once more his grey eyes came back.

Not pressing him on what he was doing, instead he seemed to have gotten the message that you were trying to address him in a manner that wouldn’t tip off he was elsewhere as his back was turned. A flicker of his eyes to you, and you spoke low with a stoic look in your eye but a splash of amusement tinged behind your breath. “Aegon has decided he would like to discuss terms with the King in the North, peacefully that is.”

Jon’s eyes glanced more to your slightly clenched jaw and rigid posture, a small rasp as his hands tightened against the stone he was braced against as the wolfish sensation crept out slowly. “Are you and Stannis not invited?”

Shrugging a shoulder, you didn't want to weigh him down just now with what was discussed just yet, hoping the dragon would be reasonable otherwise with Jon as many were. “We already spoke, however I wouldn't say it went very well. It could be he is a difficult one to work with, or..”

Jons voice was low as it was amused, “Or it could just be beacuse it's you and Stannis.”

That pulled a chuckle from you, pulling your hand from his spine as you nudged his arm as a playful smirk was shared between your glances at the other. Not mentioning it to you, but he tried not to focus that the spot felt cold to Jon as you pulled away. Wrapping your shall around in the coolness just short of the rain Jon stood by, you leaned more against his side easy. “I'd wish you good luck, but it seems you are far better at having that with negotiations then I ever am.”

“You could be good at it, if you weren't so stubborn.”

Jon smirked to himself as your own face twisted in a playful offence. “Is this your first time meeting any one from my family?” He chuckled more freely next to you, only your voice lowered a bit as you leaned more to look at him. “Is everything alright, home I mean?”

Nodding, he looked out to the rainy island around and couldn't stop the feeling of how much he missed the cold and snow instead. If he knew how much longer he had to be here, Jon would have been counting down the days already. “It is, everyone's keeping the peace.”

He needed to go, but as you both stood there for a moment the pair of you let the comforting, warm quiet between you sit. Never time to yourselves, never allowed any time to yourselves it felt.

Small moments were all you had, Jon and Robb both it was starting to feel.

Too many had been gathered in the hall, for what was suspected a crowd was the worst thing to be in the corridor. Your own shorter figure was braced against the door frame, hands perched on it’s edge as you watched the careful movements of Maester Cressen. Beside him was your father and the silent, solemn look between them made you feel even worse.

None had ever seen you quite so openly distressed as when you burst through the door in terror saying something was wrong with Shireen. Your mother now stood on the other side of the door frame in a stilled silence contrasting how your muscles almost shook as you watched.

Cressen was quiet, only for family but it was your mother’s shaking gasp wavering into a need to cry that told the rest everything they needed to know. “It is as she feared, my lord.” The second you had looked at him and said her skin looked cracked and grey he and your father had moved swiftly. Your father ordering his squire to fetch Selyse and bring her to Shireen’s room as he pulled you with them to see for themselves what you had seen.

Whispers rippled around behind you and your mother in horror and concern. “We have to deal with this now,” one said. Another whispering, “Who knows which one of us already has it next.” A third in the back almost angrily, “She needs to be dealt with before we’re all shipped off with the stone men.”

Maester Cressen at least, held a bit more peace in his tone as he spoke to only the family. “There are methods to keep it at bay to varying degree of usefulness. Most accounts differ to what helps, but to take the safest course I would recommend none but me have contact with Shireen for the time being.”

Your father looked at you, “It was the doll you mentioned was suspect, correct?”

Nodding, you looked at it now laying on a small table on a cloth to be wrapped up and burned away outside. “It’s the only new thing she has, and Septa Moelle wasn’t paying attention, Shireen was napping with the doll pressed to her face.” You could hear her protest behind you, but your head whipped around as the red in your eyes stung enough to raise your voice. “I always pay attention to her when I'm with her, you weren’t even on the same side of the room when I came in.”

You knew the older woman was not happy with your more insolent attitude in the past few years, her eyes narrowing in a lecture already. “Well I could hardly stop the disease from being on the doll could I have? What else would you have me do, child?”

“Watch her-”

You had started to yell, only to have your father call your own name sternly. Your body flipping around to face him again, but there was no lecture in his eyes. A rigid posture that begged to fall apart and a strain in his voice and eyes as he glanced to the others. “Leave us.”

All but the family and Maester Cressen remained, as Stannis beckoned Selyse to step inside more before closing the door. Your arms had crossed over your chest, trying to contain the growing ache inside of it as you kept looking over at little Shireen oblivious to the world threatening to take her away from you all. Your father’s voice was quiet, and less angry then you presumed. “I understand how upset you feel, but I cannot have blame thrown around like that. This isn’t anyone’s fault. Including yours.”

Your eyes flew down, looking anywhere but his and you despised how easily he had seen past your anger. Your mother was quiet toned off to the side, “She is young and it has only just appeared there must be something we can do.”

Maester Cressen however, gave little hope. “Some believe cutting off the effected area upon formation will stop the spread, but that is out of the question in our case. I have a number of mixtures I can apply, and vinegar is also spoken heavily of something that prevents it’s spread to others. But other then that, there is little we can do.”

You shook your head fervently, “No there has to be an answer somewhere.” He tried to explain otherwise but your voice raise only shook as tears begun to form behind your eyes. “We could write to the citadel, some book there must have an answer we don’t.”

Perhaps if this was a more affectionate family, Selyse would have been more willing to pull you back into an embrace with her at your desperation, but you all stood there feet apart as alone feeling as one another. “There is no harm in requesting aid, or even inquiring if they would be willing to look on our behalf.”

Your father was braced with a hand on the high frame of the bed, eyes trained down on Shireen who blissfully was looking up at him with a smile hoping to pull one from her father back. His voice quiet as he never looked away or moved an inch from her. “Do everything available to you to treat her, and when you run out of options? Find more.”

You slowly stepped around everyone, coming to the other side of Shireen’s bed. You only just got her, you had finally seen The Mother grant your years of prayers and let a sibling be born. You couldn’t let her just take that away so soon. You finally had a sister, you couldn’t let her slip away right before your own eyes. “Did you hear that sweet girl? Father will make sure we get you better, yeah?”

Shireen was none the wiser, only reaching out with a tiny hand wanting you to return to her with a cuddle, and it only made the tears fall freely down your face. Would you ever be able to hold her again before the greyscale took too much of her? Would she think you hate her now?

If the adults had spoken around you, you didn’t notice. Only silently crying as you looked at the confusion of your new baby sister not understanding why you wouldn’t come to her. Your father’s voice was full of a pain as it was a rough determination. “Maester, none but you and I will be allowed access near Shireen for now. Selyse,” Your father motioned towards you with a nod. “Have her septa prepare a room temporarily in another corridor.” You turned to look at him, and for once, he did not scold you for so freely protesting him over something. “This is not a debate. I almost lost you to a fever a thousand miles away, only four years ago. I will not chance this disease taking both of you now.”

What you hadn’t realized at that time, was just how little you were about to be allowed to see Shireen in any way for well over a month. And even less so after only a fortnight from now when maesters, healers, and any other kind of potential for a cure came pouting into Dragonstone and left you feeling lost as to what to do all alone.

Other then who had been called upon to help cure her, the island was closed off from any and all people. And no ravens were to be sent or received during that time, not wanting to risk any chance of one of such birds or letters carry a hint of greyscale off the island.

You had a painful feeling you knew where your mother currently was. The halls more empty in the middle of the day as windows all opened around let the breeze flow around fresh. Your room once more, had not been touched it seemed.

Looking to the box still sat alone on a cabinet top, you ran your hands delicately over the surface. Deep blue with orange foxed adorning the sides while the inside you knew was a mixture of browns, and black and gold all forming that of antlers. You had done it yourself the first time, painted it to represent both your birth houses.

You could see what was sitting inside without opening again to check, and you knew that it was the last thing you had to do. You had one last part of Shireen, but you knew another needed these. A loss she couldn’t blame her own fanatical intents for. Being back on Dragonstone was nothing but miserable and yet you felt something compelling you to give one last kindness of yourself away.

By the time you had made your way down the corridor, you could see her door was open partially. The wind blowing her curtains against her bed with rushing water splashed behind and birds calling to the songs Shireen loved to sing when she was spending time in her room. Selyse was sat against one side of her bed, a paper in her hands, one of Shireens unsent letters to you no doubt, that her eyes refused to tear away from even as you stepped inside.

Neither spoke a word while you gently sat beside her. The box closed and sat gently in your lap, fingers running along the sides as you looked around the room. Not much had changed since your last visit with her. Books more advanced sat scattered about, ones dragonglass and volcanoes choking your insides to the memory of her saying she would be a scholar on it by the time you came back. A want to impress her big sister by showing she researched the mines that you were carving into now.

You never got to spend time with her as you both wished. Once she had been cured for coming to a month was when you and your father left for Kings Landing. King Robert had come to the island, beckoning his brother to serve as Master of Ships properly from the capitol instead of here, and your father had agreed and taken you with him. From then, only in letters and visits short and rare did Shireen still have a sister.

Voice so quiet as she spoke, it was low with a distant sorrow sat heavy in it’s sound. “I was beside myself when we had gotten the raven about your illness. Realizing that we could have lost you so far away from where we could help you was terrifying.” The letter in her hands drifted down, folding back into the position she unfurled it from initially. Neither of you looked at the other. “I’m not sure I ever felt more scared however, then learning Shireen had caught greyscale in her own home, in her own bed. I was horrified.” Her voice even in such low quiet, still cracked in pain. “I almost lost both of my girls and there was nothing I could do to change it.”

Far away on your own, you could see you and her here. You sitting where Shireen had been, and your mother where you sat, and the crestfallen expression as a reality hit her she did not understand. “I always promised to take her North one day, bring her with me to meet the Starks and she was always upset knowing you would never let her.” Swallowing heavy before pushing strongly forth. “She didn’t understand how terrifying it was. Almost losing her, having to stand and listen to father’s men all tell him to send her away before it was too late. Or how much you and father smiled when she got better.”

Before however she had a chance to respond, you spoke a bit more firmly. “I used to think you blamed me for my brothers.” Her neck whipped over to you, but you only swallowed more with a clearing throat but the waver did not go away. “You stopped spending time with me after your first, and father sent me away after the second. I thought boys were supposed to come before girls and I had cursed you to lose the rest beacuse I was somehow killing them just by way of being around you.”

You didn’t realize quite yet, that her brows narrowed as her eyes shined with a mist as you looked down to the box. “Everytime I would write their names on paper, spell out the prayers I had always heard Septon Barre bless the other children with under the Seven, and burn it into ash. I’d hold them with my own blood and let them wash into the sea. Everytime I prayed to The Mother begging her to forgive you, to forgive them and let them pass into the heavens and be together. They were my blood and my fault so I needed to pass them on.”

Selyse stayed silent. “I made a toy for each. Wanting to give them something hand crafted and so everytime I put the new one in here when they were gone.” Your fingers now trailing over the top. “Hid it away so that no one could take them from us, even after the Mother took them from you. But they weren’t my sons, they were yours.”

Turning to look at her, neither of you hid the pain. You gently handed her the box, her gaze looking it over before carefully pulling the top off. Your heart weighed far too much in your chest as you looked down at them all. Taking her time to gaze over each one did she realize you had gone back to carve a name into all four of them. Her voice a disbelieving whisper. “Petyr, Edric..”

“I did the same the first night back here with Ned.” Her eyes once more looking to you, but you looked at no one but the memory of deep blue eyes and an astounded laugh of joy. “I will always have part of him with me, every time I look in a mirror I will see him against me for good, but you don’t have anything of them. And as far into the future as I can imagine the second I leave this place I have no plans on coming back. They deserve to be in the hands of a mother they never knew. A child doesn’t deserve to have never truly met their mother.”

This time, you weren’t sure who you were even referring to anymore. Your life or your dreams.

The quiet was palpable as she looked at them, for a good while enough that you tempted standing to make your leave when she spoke. “I didn’t know my grandson had a name. Or that you had named all of my own sons..” Strangely, a small laugh left her lips. “You already were a better mother with your own brothers then I was to my own daughter. I can’t take back the years we didn’t speak, or the war we were on opposite sides of but I can start atoning for it now.”

Placing the lid back on, she put it to the side before turning to look at you more directly. The memory of waking up in Winterfell with Catelyn Stark so gently running a hand through your hair trying to ease you into things without being scared or confused hit you. But as so many years later the act was done by your true mother, you had muttered a quiet “Aren't we a a fucking pair?”

Eyes widening, your name in a scold came flying out of her lips in disbelief before taking a beat to pass and then laughing. Something you don’t know the last time you saw Selyse do. Her hand now mindlessly smoothing out messy strands at the side of your hair, “I suppose one Queen to another I can’t quite scold you for language any longer.”

You thought of your Uncle Axell, her own brother and what Maester Pylos had said but in truth you wondered what the point of bringing it up to her was. Her belief was stronger then your fathers even now, and had already witnessed how tight the red woman’s tendrils had been wrapped around her mind to think nothing of monstrosities. It didn’t make any of it right, but Selyse wasn’t a monster.

Just a woman who spent much of her life ill, and too many years as a mother losing her children over and over again. You only had lost one, and you knew the things you in that year with the Boltons had twisted you into believing, things that to this day Jon was still finding spots it was tangled deeply in your darker psyche.

Selyse and you were different for those things, but Stannis also told you of how he and your mother seemed to only let those beliefs get worse after they thought you were dead, and you knew that was no coincidence. Having no grasp of letting the red witch burn her brother alive after losing her eldest daughter and grandson in one slaughter. You still if you thought hard enough, could feel how much your hand stung in the pressure as you sunk a knife so deep into Myranda’s tongue and mouth that you hadn’t noticed until the next morning you had her blood splattered across your face and even then you almost cared not to wipe it from you.

Or how if Theon let you walk into that room, you would have wasted no time carving a number of sickeningly horrific things into Roose Bolton for every wound you and Robb had been killed with. A chilling memory of how if you were lucky you would have done worse to Ramsay that night. Horror in grief made the mind desperate to find answers in the blood that traumatized you in the first place, and you found it harder and harder to look at your mother and hate her for any of it.

Stannis was another story, it always was with your father. You and him too alike to find harmony in the ways you always saw in Lord Stark with Robb, with Jon. Those three of them cut so close of the same cloth but not for a moment did they clash.

In many ways Stannis was similar to Ned Stark, and it was why you suspected he and Jon seemed to find ease in working beside the other. Jon was raised with the best of values his father could pass to him, and it was those which Stannis respected more then anything. But the aspects of you and your father which were similar blended as well as drinking wildfire with a dash of honey to soothe it down.

The honey works for the bitter taste on your tongue, but the wildfire will still twist your insides and expose that it never really would go well in the first place. You were finding it easier to stand in the same room as your father, but there were things you couldn’t quite get passed but now perhaps it would be easier if you both understood that.

On the opposite end, Catelyn would hate you for finding love in Jon after losing Robb and, and Robb’s unborn son. But you knew it was none of those things which ever caused the divide between you and Selyse. A difference in core beliefs and what was right and wrong were the stops and the sights of fire as a terrifying horror versus the inevitable godly truth.

She was trying, and she didn’t hate you for having such different choices and beliefs then her. The woman who raised you half of your life would hate you for simply loving the bastard son of her husband. Look down on you for finding a life after being ripped from Robb in the brother he loved more then anyone, and solely would do so beacuse she couldn’t see him as anything but a memory of infidelity.

The voice next to him was easier to talk to then it was days before, much easier he found. Jon stood over the outside lands, the rain having cleared up enough that they could stand outside and stay dry. From here, Jon could watch the sights of his men, as next to him Aegon watched Jon with an uncertainty flickering between things. Both men had put forth that the two of them talk things out more civilly, and at the least so far he found once no other eyes and men were there to watch, the dragon found a bit more personality in his words.

“You make brooding over my failure here quite difficult, do you know that? You look far better brooding then I do.” As if unintentionally proving his point, Jon barley could muster half a smirk before it dropped once more. Brows narrowed watching his people, his only thoughts were how little chance any stood once the storms finally came and how so far he convinced all but none of the dangers. Aegon beside him filling the silence, “I’m the prisoner, I should be the miserable one.”

Jon’s tone was flat but not unsympathetic to the thought. “You’re not my prisoner. We're both keeping our men out here in peace, and you can take them and leave whenever you want. I didn’t come here for you or your army, I needed one thing before the dead come.”

Aegon was having difficulty with the ideas. He wanted to sigh clearly, but Jon could see his gaze finding the side of his once more with a question. “You’ve been King longer then myself, how about you figure out what to do for my plans of taking Kings Landing, and I figure out what to do about your walking ice monsters.”

There was something close to partially amused in Jon’s chest but it didn’t make it to the surface at all to see. Partially distracted by the thought of how he was beginning to miss the cold. It was windy on Dragonstone but humid and heavy in air the moment you left the close cliff sides to the waters. A once memory of looking to a summer in Highgarden and now that felt foolish, Jon wasn’t sure anymore he would be comfortable in any place that didn’t leave him a little bit on the edge of freezing.

“It’s hard for me to fathom, you understand.”

Not hesitating, Jon was confident as he spoke. “I do. But I also know that I sent two hundred men to the wall from an enemy I defeated, and that still won’t be nearly enough. We made pleads to the crown multiple times for help, but it was only King Stannis who came. He was the only one who believed us, and I’m starting to think I was lucky to get even him on our side.”

Aegon stood silently for a good minute. Arms crossed over his chest as he considered the difference between them. He had been trained for this his entire life, he knew how to look like a King, hold himself like a King, and how to rally men and speak as a King. But it was in the quiet, rasping, deep tones of Jon Snow, that had Aegon realizing none his own training meant anything compared to a leader who had one cause he truly believed in. “He seems like an unpleasant man, but not one easily swayed by those around him. Says something he came to your aid, even if it was just beacuse of his daughter.”

The silence between them was strange to Aegon as it was choking to Jon. What horrors had the Boltons forced onto you by the time Jon had finally met your father? How much had you thought everyone in the realm had given up on you when in truth both men were closer to you then ever without knowing?

Then he thought of Mance. He rarely did anymore, his time with the King Beyond the Wall not long nor was it anywhere near pleasant. He respected him in many ways, but when trying to find the truth of what he really gained from knowing him boiled down to one thing.

“You're a good lad. Truly you are. But if you can't understand why l won't enlist my people in a foreigner's war, there's no point explaining.”

If Jon could, he’d apologize to Mance for learning that lesson only after the man himself was dead.

“She had nothing to do with it.” Glancing to Aegon with a clenched jaw, “Stannis coming to our aid, he did it on his own choice. She had nothing to do with that. She- we both thought she was dead.” He didn’t know what others heard about you or him, but it sounded less and less appealing to him by day having people know about both of your deaths, and both of you coming back from it.

Beside him he could feel a tension. There wasn’t much he could do about that either, Jon had no interest in placating rivalries of almost thirty years passed. If Aegon was going to join him, then your presence would simply be something he would have to learn to deal with. His voice was controlled too, as if not to show Jon how agitated he felt. “It’s a tall tale you are asking men to believe. I don’t even know if I do yet.”

Jons voice was nearing a quite irritated edge. “How do I convince people who don't know me, that an enemy they don't believe in, is coming to kill them all?”

Aegon chuckled, and Jon didn’t appreciate it. He was included in that frustrations as far as Jon was concerned. Nodding amusingly, “Good question.”

Jon’s response was short, and with a stilted anger that he had to reign in. “I know it’s a good question. I’m looking for an answer.” That feeling only compounded with the wonder, was it him that was the problem convincing people or their blindness to the truth? Would this be easier were it Robb standing here instead of him, Jon wondered. Robb was the better talker, after all.

“What do I get out of helping you? I came here for the Iron Throne, not to fight ice monsters in the North beside a King who won’t even bend the knee. I help you and what would I get in return?”

This time, Jon’s eyes did meet his. The grey painted dark enough it flashed with an angry frustration as he lost more of his patience with him. “That’s the problem. I’m not fighting this war to get anything out of it but to help keep my people alive. But the more of you who fight against me, or demand you only will help if you get something out of me? I don’t have time to stand here and teach you why you’re the one missing the point.” Jon stood a bit closer to him with not an ounce of patience left for this. “You’re fighting for some chair, I’m fighting to save my people. If you can’t understand why that’s more important then the Iron Throne, then there’s nothing left for us to talk about.”

Aegon wasn’t nearly as confident, but he at the least, wasn’t hostile. “I suppose there isn’t.”

The sight out in the training yard by the cliff side was an interesting one. Approaching the holdings for swords, lances, arrows and a variety of other weaponry you came to stand beside Ser Davos who was watching in amusement. Leaning your palms against the wooden holding you found a small smirk. “Is this how we hold meetings these days? Beating each other with swords?”

The man chuckled, glancing to you with a playful twist on his own face. “I don’t know if I would call what they’re doing beating each other, your grace.” Looking over, you had to bite your tongue at just how correct he was. It seemed a few of the men had found use in challenging and failing to best Jon in a duel.

“How long have they been at this exactly?” There were laughs shared amongst the Northerners watching around with the men of the Golden Company as if none were at odds just days ago, the ones on the main area were a few you did not recognize, at the side of an increasingly exhausted and frustrated looking Aegon against a confident but focused Jon.

One lunged and was almost instantly overpowered with a few quick movements from him that they seemed not to even see coming, to which the Northerners around had a chuckle at as well as a smirk trying not to form on Jon’s own face. Ser Davos beside you letting it sit on his. “I think he’s been knocking most of them into the ground for about an hour now. I will give it to Aegon, he hasn’t given up yet.” There was certainly enough grime on the man to prove it had been a while. “Even if it would be in his best interest.”

Leaning forward more, you let your forearms brace over with hands clasping gently together as you watched freely. The two kings now opposite, Aegon’s blue hair tied up and back as strands continued to fall in his face, whereas Jon’s curls sat loose and far less damp then his counterparts in sweat. His voice lighter then it had been in just as long, not a trace of burden and frustration pushing him down more then he deserved. “You’re paying too much attention guessing what I’m going to do next. By the time you figure it out, I’ll already have hit you when you weren’t looking.”

Sighing out, Aegon squared his shoulders and readjusted his grip on the practice sword. “Focusing too much now, of course.” Both men looked at the other, as a second pair of men also stood by each side of the dragon.

It didn’t last long. Biting your tongue hard you found yourself finding an appreciation you never truly had before. Jon fought with ease, as if his sword was simply part of his arm moving around them and the second one got too close, there was a teeth gritting strength behind his hits to move them off or incapacitate them. A harsh slam to Aegon’s face knocked him right back and easily had Jon all but slam down the sword from his grasp in the result.

Thankfully, Jon didn’t look your way just yet. A tightening in your chest that heated your blood rushing along to every corner of your veins had you biting your tongue harder to keep such a stoic expression, you knew what he was like too much now. In a fight and more and such skill and strength swooped into your heart and made it race. Inhaling deep through your nose you felt it slow back to normal just enough to simmer the look from finding your eyes.

The gathering parting ways a bit more, Jon gathered what was scattered about as Aegon spat out what bit of blood Jon had hit up into him. Your eyebrows lifted a tinge without changing much else, voice flatter then he appreciated as you looked his way. “Well fought.”

Glaring at you with a hissed, “Piss off.” You looked to Davos as a smirk did indeed fail to get covered up on you, your eyes much softer now glancing back to Jon. You truly hadn’t seem him at any ease in what felt like such a long time. Even for just now, it warmed you to see just a hint of it.

Jon found a voice which sounded much like the days in the Winterfell training yards as he and Robb would still be much more inclined to knock you into the dirt yourself to teach you. “Fighting comes easier to some then others. You train everyday you’ll get better, but you can’t assume it’ll be enough to make you the best man in the field. Eventually even the best get bested.”

Turning back with a twist on his face, Aegon argued “So you’re saying if you weren’t the best out there the other night, it wouldn’t have been humiliating for you?” Jon’s easy answer only of no almost made you laugh. If there was one thing he had none of, it was an ego. “Well it is for me. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms hear I lost my first proper fight to a girl and they’ll all laugh me back out of the country for being a coward.”

It slipped out honestly, your eyebrow raised at him with a quick comment of “You’re too stupid to be a coward.” Jon and Davos both grinned at the ease of how you said it. Connington having watched silently from afar moved forward to grab Aegon’s sword with a yank, a silent comment on his lips likely telling him to cool off.

Was he purposely circling around you like you were a prey being stalked?

The evening sun setting in the sky still begging to rain again, but Jon had not let left the training yard, now only the two of you remained. One practice sword in each of your respective holds and yet he had not the courtesy to let you change from the dress you were in. A hard to hold back smirk of amusement on your face as you twisted and turned to keep your eyes on him.

“What happened to not wanting me near a sword any longer?”

A dark mischief sat in Jon’s eyes as he stood tall before you, a lightness still on his voice kept from earlier. “We both know you’re not going to stick to that.” A smirk on his lips was less cheeky and more of a soft fondness that bled into affection of the grey. “I know we haven't done this in years together, I’ll go easy on you.”

Once upon a time you wouldn’t have believed him on that, but now there was not the confident aggression in his stance he was holding himself with hours before. “As if that ever lasts long.”

Flashing almost black in his eyes for a moment did Jon almost stop in his tracks, you were purposely trying to rile him up. Throw him off track and he seemed to have caught onto it faster then he would have years ago. He was quick though, enough that you barley had a chance to turn around, but just as the two practice swords were to clash he had the strength to hold it merely an inch from colliding. “Besides, I miss just being able to spend time alone with my best friend.”

The brightness in his eyes soaked through your skin and absorbed into your very heart, your hold on the sword in your left hand almost shook enough he could knock it out. Instead he did something unexpected, using a free hand of his own and running it gently along the loose hair at the back of your head as he leaned in, hovering over your lips. But your gentleness spoke before he could close that gap.

“I could name a fair few people who might object to me having that title anymore.” But just as his free hand raked down your hair you realized what he was trying to do. Almost with a ducking spin you nearly avoided being yanked back into him with his sword at your neck, taking a few steps back with a grinning audacity at his own smirk.

Jon had gotten much better since you both last did this. In Winterfell during your last visit when Lord Arryn was still alive, Jon and Robb had teamed up on you alone taking easy turns all but tossing you around. Robb was overwhelming and fierce in direct attacks that had you only able to defend and never gain the upper hand, only to have you turned around and disoriented by Jon’s swift grace and using his unfair strength to shove you back into Robb.

Even now you could hear Bran, Arya, and Rickon all watching and yelling as it onlookers of a tournament and arguing who was going to win. Ned Stark had approached the scene behind all of your views and watched his sons who were clearly toying with you. Not that he had said it, nor did you know, but he had commented to Ser Rodrick that it was impressive you had kept up as long as you had.

Knowing his boys had done this since they were old enough to hold a sword. Robb and Jon would wake up early, and in the warm days of summer they wouldn’t even come to break their fast, just running out into the training yard and fighting until Ser Rodrick could finally come out and properly teach them. A many of those mornings they would choose heroes of old to be, yelling at the top of their lungs what great warriors they admired which they pretended to fight as. Some mornings as he walked the halls of Winterfell he would sigh deeply, shaking his head at how of all times his son chose to be the loud one it was the sounds of Jon yelling at the top of his lungs far too early in the morning, that he was The Young Dragon.

But you hadn’t ever held something sharper then a dinner knife before coming to Winterfell. You on the second visit had begun learning to shoot a bow, and picked that up with ease. You were quiet and focused most of the time anyways. But never anything more.

You hadn’t sparred with any that wasn’t a life or death slashing of genuine battle since he and Robb as they toyed with you, the small doe at the mercy of two true wolves looking at you like a meal.

In truth, you supposed that turned out to be far more true then you ever imagined.

Smiling and huffing a laugh was so freely falling from your lips, Jon was trying to challenge you but every upper hand he gained it was never aggressive. Just enough to push you back onto the right track as you both moved around the other, an ease almost with a laugh in his tone. “I know you’re quicker then that.”

Inhaling deeply, you tried to focus more. Watch his actual movements and not what everything else was saying he was about to strike with. So far, you hadn’t had once instance to put him at the disadvantage. Knowing he could see you were trying to focus, almost coming to get close to a hit on him twice, both times he seemed to get you turned around. Certainly he was indeed the one who taught you how to fight with smoothness and not strength. Only he had both which was the problem.

Glancing up at his curious gaze, you tilted your head down to your attire. “You wear the dress next time and tell me it’s easy to be quick.”

Only, he too had a quick trick up his sleeve that wasn’t part of the rules. Finding your stride for only a few moments before Jon came close, and instead of making a hit, chose rather to grab at the flowing skirt of your dress. Yanking you right up into his chest as the chilling cold of the metal on the sword begun to drift flat along the insides of your calf and thighs, taking the edges right up along with it just enough to have you fluster in an instant.

Jon’s voice only a husking deepness as his eyes drifted down for a second to your lips and further along what he could see. “I’d rather rip yours right off you.”

The dullness of a practice sword posing nothing to feel shaking nerves about, instead finding it in how strongly you felt a flush in your veins grow hot and begging as you failed to find the right way to turn the situation on it’s head. Instead one hand had pressed up against the leathers on his chest as the other tried to keep a firm grip of your own sword. “Here, where anyone could see? A bold move, my King.”

Oh did his eyes grow a full tint darker. Much more freely looking down at what he could see of your figure with a raw lust before leaning close again, his breath hot across your skin a he spoke deep in your ear. The hand which had your dress bunched in his fist let loose, sliding around now to your back and pulling you closer. Knowing you had not the right grip of your own weapon to over power him before he could you. “What about you? You going to let everyone see? No protest to someone walking by, watching me take you right here?”

The cool touch of the practice sword almost tracing along your inner thighs as if it were a teasing touch, his mouth drifting shamelessly to bite your neck. The hand flat on his chest begging to drift up to run through his hair but he had you pressed too close to his front to move. Your other hand very slowly shifting how you held your weapon as you spoke through strained, biting back moan. “Maybe I just know better then to fight back.” A hum in his throat as he soothed over the sting from his teeth with a gentle press of his lips. “Men are vile, dangerous things. A girl such as myself knows better then to fight back when she’s at the mercy of a man like you.”

His arm around your back pulled you closer, his other hand losing any purpose in it’s trace along your skin. Giving another growling bite to a lower spot on your neck, pulling a high gasp that almost was too loud in need. His rasp muffled against you, “And what kind of man am I?”

A few answers rung out, but just as you spoke gently leaning more into his curls to mutter it, his grip tightened. “A brute who lets his guard down.” Twisting right out of his grasp Jon pushed back against your counter with a bit more aggression before he overwhelmed you enough he could snatch your sword right from your hand.

Tossing it to the side with a clang, he then snatched you and flipped to pull your back into his chest. An arm wrapped around your front keeping your own under his, and the other gently letting his practice sword rest at your neck. This time his rasp was deep and rumbling in your ear, his arm pulling you back more as you almost let out a tiny gasp, feeling him press his hardening, covered cock into your ass. A shiver flew down your spine. “Maybe this brute should drag you back to his cabin. All alone in the woods. Strip you bare, mount you on top of my bed and claim you over and over until you’re crying anytime I try to stop.” Your breathing picked up drastically as he rumbled in your ear. “Is that the kind of man you think I am?”

His free hand sat flat across your stomach, pushing your hips back into his covered cock more as he stepped forward into the plushness of your ass. You partially tried to turn to look back at him, “Sounds more wolf then man if you ask me.”

His head dropped again, moving the sword down to drop before tightly holding your hip, his teeth and lips finding more home in your neck. His strength alone was powerful enough to keep you in place. “That would make you my mate, you know.” His grip tightening as you shivered against him. “And a wolf has a duty to fill his mate with a nice, litter of pups.”

Jon once more felt that sensation as if the two of you were being watched, but you shook more in his touch and a whine sat so close to leaving your throat he tossed the feeling away for now. You close to forgetting that you were out where any could see, leaned back heavily into his touch grasping at what you could of his forearm. Jon suspected you didn’t even quite realize how desperate you sounded or what you were even asking for. “Jon, please...”

Unable to stop the thoughts, all Jon could do was growl in his head, oh he will. He’ll fill you deep with his seed as many times as you could take it, and Jon was slowly uncovering just how much of his seed, how much of that intensity you could take.

You discovering how much you felt like your life held true purpose when Jon would kiss you, touch you, and take you again and again. Making it to the room you both were staying in was going to be a true test of will power at this rate.

Forgetting the rumours haunting you, for as long as Jon was as bare as you were? Hips grinding roughly against yours, his thick cock thrusting deep inside you, as his hands gently interlocked his fingers with yours, pressing them with a need into the sheets at the side of your head? Well, it seemed like nothing else existed in problems or mind but you and him.

Some nights, it felt as if truly all you and Jon had in this world anymore, was each other.

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