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an-idyllic-novelist · 1 year ago

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Leonidas and Buddha with fem!Giyuu!reader headcanons

Warning(s): RoR manga spoilers up to ch. 78, violence, KNY manga and anime spoilers, strong language from Leonidas and Sanemi, ooc.

Collab work with @deathmetalunicorn1, based on her own headcanons with fem!giyuu!reader and Leonidas. Images of Leonidas and Buddha were provided by @enryegotrip.

So with that being said guys, sit back, relax, and let’s dive into these headcanons! :)

Being a Demon Slayer did not mean to wait on a crow with orders and directions to find the flesh-eating monsters. There was also intel gathering, working closely with the kakushi so that they were not overwhelmed with the number of injured and deceased Slayers, and being pestered by your peers to take an apprentice because you are the only Hashira who doesn’t have one. That isn’t necessarily true, though. You had every intention of taking Tanjiro Kamado as a tsuguko once he was proven to be trustworthy by other Hashra and Lord Ubuyashiki.

He, at the very least, had what it takes to become the Water Hashira. He deserved to be the Water Hashira, more so than a failure like yourself. It makes sense to take Tanjiro and his sister in your care, housing them at the Waster Hashira residence with a room and food. So why was Kocho making a fuss about it? She stayed quiet about it before, and you assumed it was because she despised people who defended demons or disapproved of your decision to make Tanjiro your apprentice. But that shouldn’t be your concern, or Rengoku’s.

Lord Ubuyashiki has allowed these children a chance to prove themselves, and you will not grant the other Hashira an opportunity to hurt them. You’ve lost count how many times a colleague has shown up at your door, and how simply slammed the door in their face.

You weren’t in the mood to hear their excuses then, and still aren’t.

Tanjiro was quick to warm up to you, profusely thanking you for all you’ve done even when you really didn’t do anything. If he and Nezuko were home from a mission, they’d welcome you back with light hugs and a warm meal. You made sure to make extra portions when you were alone, in case they didn’t come back until late at night, or tried to, depending on the crow’s swiftness with a message from the Kamado siblings. Against your better judgment, they became precious to you. You would show no mercy to anyone who would harm them, demon or Demon Slayers.

But that was enough reminiscing. You, Tanjiro, and Nexuko were being sent to investigate a few territories where demons are reported to have been spotted and causing chaos. No one has been killed, though several civilians were injured, two are currently in critical condition at the Butterfly Mansion.

You almost felt sorry for Kocho. Almost.

Leonidas had not been happy lately. Greeks in his domain were being picked off left and right and no one could tell what was going on, except movement from their corner of their eye and that is all the information his men had been able to collect. Damn it all, what else could he do? What would Gorgo do? His heart twisted painfully at the thought of his wife. Because she had not been a warrior, she was not welcomed into Valhalla by side, instead residing in Elysium with other souls. It’d been so long since their separation and he never took another woman to his bed, putting that energy into training his men to be prepared for anything…until now.

When another night-time report came in of yet another incident, Leonidas and his men immediately left camp to investigate. What he and his soldiers hadn’t expected, though, was to stumble upon three scrawny men gorging themselves on lifeless civilians, their hands and everywhere from the waist down covered in blood.

Leonidas led the charge, swinging his shield and sword but the maggots barely flinched when they touched them. No….when the criminals turned to them with annoyed frowns, the Spartans saw rows of glistening white fangs and slitted amber irises.

These weren’t men. They were monsters who were evenly matched with his men, both in agility and physical strength. All seemed lost until a woman, a boy, and a girl jumped into the fray.

The smaller ones went against two of them while their de facto leader swiftly decapitated the other monster once she had gotten close enough to strike. She was calm, too calm for someone who faced a monster and cleavage spilling out of her…uniform. Or she didn’t give a shit about modesty in a life-or-death situation as she darted towards the others, providing the boy with enough cover to swing his sword across the monster’s neck while the girl held its accomplice by the throat and burned him.

Yes, she fucking set the bastard on fire.

When the monsters disintegrated into ashes, Leonidas all but demanded who the hell they were and what are those things they just killed. The younger ones were startled by his command, but the woman simply blinked owlishly at him, as if she had been asked this question a dozen times.

“That was…a demon.”

“A demon?” Leonidas snarled.

“Yes, that was a demon. It feasts on human flesh and cannot be killed unless it is exposed to sunlight.” She said, sheathing the iridescent blue blade in her hand back into the scabbard hanging from her hip. “We are able to kill them because it is our duty as Demon Slayers.”

….If shit-head gods existed, then he supposed it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for the idea that demons did exist. But Leonidas did not survive wars on sheer strength or the number of armies under his commands or ‘blessings’ from the gods alone. He was a strategist.

And he did not stop pestering the woman, who only introduced herself as the Water Hashira, until he’d squeezed every bit of information she knew about demons and the sword used to kill them.

But she did not give in to his demands, and would not compromise the organization by telling him about their supplier. There was too much at stake....unless he was willingly to speak to her commander. She cannot guarantee if he will answer him or not, though…it seems he has many people to protect as well.

Leonidas didn’t like it, but if this woman is willingly to arrange a meeting with a complete stranger like himself, he could not allow this opportunity to slip past him. He agreed to the conditions, and watched her and the other Demon Slayers leave, fussing over each like a group of misfit siblings rather than comrades on the battlefield.

The Water Hashira came to personally escort him to Lord Ubuyashiki’s estate a week later. Kneeling outside on the grass near the veranda were the other high-ranking Demon Slayers, the Hashiras. When they stood in front of them, she too kneeled, her head down. Glancing over his shoulder, Leonidas could see the pissed off expressions on everyone’s faces. Suppose in their eyes, the Water Hashira had brought in an outsider to their organization and became the mediator of a meeting that should never have happened.

If Lord Ubuyashiki hadn’t agreed to this, the Water Hashira’s actions might have been considered treason, and she’d be stripped of her rank plus any land she owned. But she was calm, not flinching or back talking to the other soldiers until one of them, a white-haired little prick with scars on his face made a snide comment about ‘being brainwashed by a brat and his demon sister’.

“...Choose your next words carefully, Sanemi, or there won’t be another Wind Hashira among the ranks.”

“Is that a fucking threat, Tomioka?!”

“It will be if you or the others make another attempt to hurt Tanjiro and Nezuko Kamado in my absence.” She said icily. “They are under my care and no harm will befall on them unless Nezuko succumbs to bloodlust. How can we call ourselves the pillars of this organization if we cannot trust them?”

“And how hasn’t your ass been killed yet with that thick head of yours?!” Sanemi barked. “God, you’re always like this, just doing whatever you want -”

“Oi, shithead.” The Spartan turned towards the Wind Hashira. “This woman is the reason my men are still alive. You’ll soon be in the presence of your commanding officer, so heel.”

“THE FUCK YOU JUST SAID, GEEZER?!”

“I said heel, you fucking mongrel.” Lenoidas’ eyes flashed dangerously, his temper about to boil over. “If that’s too hard to understand, shut up. And no talkin’ to a woman like that, got it? Gods, kids these days.”

“You son of -!”

“Sanemi, that is enough.” Tomioka said. “Be silent.”

“[First Name] -”

“Quiet, Kocho. Whatever grievances you have, I will gladly listen to them another time.” As soon as the Water Hashira hissed out those words, Lord Ubuyashiki appeared alongside his children and wife. When the Hashiras tried to voice their complaints in his presence, the scarred man all but silenced them with a finger pressed against his mouth. He then turned to him, apologizing for his children’s behavior and asked him to come inside to talk.

The hours went by quickly, and Leonidas got the answers he wanted. Tomioka, the Water Hashira, whatever her name really was, had been assigned to escort him back to his domain.

“Thank you…for defending me.” She murmured, her eyes looking straight head and face flushed a light shade of pink. “No one…has ever done that for me since I became a Hashira. They…do not like me. And I am…not like them.”

Lenoidas raised an eyebrow. “Anyone in their right mind would defend a hell of a woman like yourself. Honorable, strong, and it’s pretty damned obvious that you love those kids in your unit as if they were your own children. In Sparta, there would be men lined up outside your home asking for a chance to court you with the intention of marriage. Hell, even I would have a hard time fending them all off.”

When he saw the surprised look on her face, Leonidas gritted his teeth. It was obvious to him that her comrades did not think highly of her, and with her current mindset it had no positive impact on her self-esteem.

Looks like they were just fellow Hashira, and nothing more. Assholes. He thought before he sighed, patting her affectionately on the head. “Wanna get a drink with me before we start heading back?” He asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

[First Name] agreed, and she followed him to a local pub. The Water Hashira hadn’t realized what he did was a pick-up line until he was on his fifth drink, and she was on her third. He didn’t expect her tolerance to be this high for a strong liquor.

“You know this is a date right?”

Her comical reaction to his words made him roar with laughter; [Eye Color] orbs wide, face bright red, and her mouth formed into the shape of an ‘x’ with her drink still in her hand. He grinned at her from the rim of his glass.

Shit, she’s adorable!

Bonus Content:

The Spartans came to enjoy Tanjiro and Nezuko’s company over time, as well as their help in training them. While Tanjiro worked with the men to increase his physical strength and practice his swordsmanship, Nezuko would shrink down to her smallest size and play a nightly game of ‘tag’ with them to help the soldiers’ agility. Piggyback rides were her reward if she won.

Buddha is someone who would rather take care of the demons who were bold enough to try and lay a hand on the humans who followed him. He is the enlightened one, and someone you really shouldn’t mess with.

So imagine his surprise when the little bastards were actually able to keep up with his and his attacks, and without breaking a sweat. He had been minding his own business on a dreary summer morning, relaxing under a bodhi tree when one of the worshippers darted towards him, pleading for help and covered in blood that wasn’t his own. Naturally, he stood up and reassured the sobbing mortal that everything would be fine.

Now, he was using the Six Realms staff and his eyes to parry and attack his opponents, yet these guys still kept getting up from the ground, snarling and glaring at him with bloodthirsty eyes. Huh…how long has it been since he had an opponent, no, opponents like this? Kintoki is probably the only other god he’d be more than happy to trade friendly blows, well, actually, the only one because he hated the other gods.

He was about to activate the Animal Realm: Club of Nirvana and stroke the demon in front of him when all of a sudden, a tiny girl dressed in a pink kimono with a bamboo stalk in her mouth struck the demon down with a single kick, decapitating him swiftly.

The demon’s body collapsed onto the earth, twitching rapidly before clumps of flesh began to sprout from the neck, an enraged face beginning to morph until she stomped on it, her leg glowing a bright vermillion as the regenerating demon howled, flopping and twisting in a vain attempt to get free. In seconds, all that remained was a heap of dark ashes. The girl then looked up at him. Blinking her large pink eyes as if she didn’t do anything special.

Buddha was about to ask the kid who she was when an ear-splitting shriek stopped him. The future flashed in front of him in an instant, and he acted quickly, switching from the Animal Realm to Asura Realm: Shield of Ahimsa to defect crescent-shaped sickles aimed at them. Naturally, the shield didn’t get a scratch and he and the little lady were all right.

“Get down!”

The enlightened one did not need to be told twice, ducking his head as a wild-haired boy in a green checkered haori exhale wisps of bright red-orangish flames before he swung his sword, slicing the demon’s neck and effectively removing its head from the main body. As the demon disintegrated into the same ashy remains as the other one, the boy turned around and looked at him worriedly.

“Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Buddha just blinked. “No?” He said. The enlightened one watched the kid’s shoulders sag in relief before he smiled at him, the little lady running towards the boy and hugged him tightly. Ah….brother and sister maybe?

“Nezuko, did you get the demon that was trying to run away?”

Buddha looked over his shoulder, seeing a young woman decked out in a black uniform with gold buttons and a mismatched haori approached them, calm and expressionless. The little one - Nezuko, Buddha presumed, nodded happily with tiny flowers floating over her head. The boy beamed.

“She did, and she’s gotten much better at controlling her Blood Demon Art, Tomioka-san!”

The young woman nodded. “Indeed. Tanjiro, when we return home, we’re going to work more on your Breathing techniques and footwork. You’re still moving based on instinct and waiting until your opponent strikes to make a move. I will not always be here to protect you.” She then looked at him, [Eye Color] irises calm as a lake with the slightest hint of curiosity. “Oh. You’re a god?”

Buddha met her gaze, his teeth clamping down on the lollipop in his mouth that he had forgotten was there the whole time until now. “So what if I am? Got a problem, little lady?”

Tomioka furrowed her brow, head tilting to the side and arms crossed. “Why would I be troubled by someone I just met? As far as I am concerned…you’re not an enemy.” Her voice was cold and detached as she spoke, her stoic expression unchanging even the boy, Tanjiro, glared at him with puffed up cheeks that reminded the enlightened one of a chipmunk. The little one, Nezuko, actually jumped up and grabbed one of his arms, swinging from it with a closed-eyed smile.

What could he say? The kids loved him, and his candy.

He pulled out a cola-flavored lollipop from his robes, handing it to her. Buddha watched Nezuko’s eyes brighten in joy and wonder as she extended an arm toward him, carefully cradling the lollipop in her open palm as if it were a lotus flower. She then hopped down, landing on her feet before running to Tanjiro, making happy, approved noises that were muffled by the bamboo piece in her mouth. Tanjiro chuckled, patting her head as he could see now that this god wasn’t a big bully.

For a split second, the enlightened one saw the barest hint of a smile on the woman’s face before it was wiped away by horror…because the gray clouds in the sky were going away?

Tomioka quickly removed her haori, shielding Nezuko from the sunlight piercing through the clouds and Tanjiro removed a large wooden box from his shoulders, urging Nezuko to get inside as soon as the door opened. Buddha watched in fascination as Nezuko shrunk to the size of a toddler and blitzed inside. Tanjiro locked it up before he shared a relieved look with his teacher.

Buddha felt his lollipop between his lips nearly fall as he saw the flash of Tomioka’s thigh in her uniform, similar to what Tanjiro was wearing, but more form-fitting, showing off the very alluring body that she had been hiding under her haori. He did nothing to correct his gaze as he stared shamelessly at her.

Tanjiro sighed. “Thank you, Tomioka-san. Nezuko and I are both grateful that you’re looking out for us.”

She took her haori back, a small smile stretching across her lips before she stretched a hand and gently rubbed the top of his head just as he had done with his little sister earlier. She then turned her gaze to Buddha, causing the enlightened one to flinch slightly, though not before his own eyes lingered on her chest, her folded arms pushing them up just enough to tease him.

She did not even seem to realize just how sexy she was when she spoke to him. “May I ask you some questions about the demon?”

He grinned, flashing a toothy grin at her. “Anything for the pretty lady~!”

She nodded, not reacting to the slightest at his subtle flirting. “Thank you for your cooperation with us.”

Buddha’s eyelid twitched before he glanced over at Tanjiro, who just shook his head with an exasperated smile. That was when the enlightened one realized, that the Water Hashira he’d come to know as [First Name] Tomioka, was dense as a brick wall.

Taglist:

@myrisan-melodies

@praisethesuuun

@rukia-writes

#an idyllic novelist #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok #ror x reader #snv x reader #snv #fem reader #snv buddha #snv leonidas #ror x you #ror leonidas #giyuu!reader

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spicy30 · 2 months ago

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Lycanthropy

Pairing(s): Cregan Stark x Fem!OriginalHybrid Reader, Bennard Stark (Uncle of Cregan Stark) x x Fem!OriginalHybrid Reader

Crossover: TDV/TO→HOTD

cw: graphic scenes (violence) major age gap (Reader is 1000+) PTSD, Self-resentment, unnecessary cruelty, Stockholm syndrome???

Rating: 18+

Add-ons: AFAB reader, no use of Y/N, angst/no comfort, reader is NOT sentimental, Slow-burn

2/2

(Not Proofread)

WC: 11.7K

A deep guttural sound ripped from your throat. You clawed at your clothes ripping them off. It was cold here. Where that witch had sent you, you didn’t know, but here you were in cold white woods.

You didn’t want this. You didn’t want your bones breaking. You didn’t want to hear as your screams morphed into growls. You didn’t want to be a hybrid. You yelled out cursing Klaus for dragging you down with him.

Never once did you ever want to acknowledge you were a bastard. You had been such a daddy’s girl even if he did not love you as much as you loved him. It did not change that in your heart Mikael had been your father, you still wanted him to be your father, even if he did want to kill you all.

That is how you phrased it.

Mikael wanted to kill everyone, not just you. It wasn’t personal. Your father didn’t just hate you. You couldn’t have been a bastard.

Yet here you were crying out in pain as you grasped at the trees as each bone in your body broke and rearranged itself. Here you were feeling as your eyesight was impossibly enhanced and you could see in ways you never did before. Here you were feeling as your fangs grew larger than ever before. Here you were smelling everything, including the nearby town filled with women and children who were crawling around like maggots. You hadn’t felt this strong in centuries. Not since you first tasted human blood, not since you ripped apart your first human in an attempt to sedate this inhumane hunger that now consumed you.

You let out one final yell in agony before it turned completely into a snarl.

It’ll be a massacre.

You tore through men, women, and children alike. You had never feasted on human flesh before, only their blood. It was pure animal instinct, this urge to kill, this urge to rip out the insides of anything and anyone that moved. Your favorite part was the heart. The muscle was partially fun to chew through. The blood vessels seemed to pop in your mouth as you drank the blood. You couldn’t count how many heads you ripped off, how many people you tore in half, how many infants you chewed through feeling their mushy heads burst under your teeth.

It all felt so good. You ran through the cold woods, heading towards the next town that would sedate these cruel desires that were forced to lay dormant for near millennia.

…

“I heard the thing tore right through Torrhen's Square then the next day it slaughtered everything in sight in the Deepwood Motte. Not even the babes were spared.” You perked up angling your ear to the voices.

“May the gods give them rest. A stroke of ill fortune to be in the beast's way.” A gruff voice spoke out. “The beast leaves the bodies half-eaten. It eats hearts and other times eats the belly of the person leaving them torn in half, but in all the babes, it only ever eats the head. The monstrosity is hunting for sport.” The gruff voice spat out.

“We’ll see how well it hunts when I use the skin of the beast as a coat and its head hangs in the Great Hall.” Another spoke, this one seemed to be the head of the hunting group.

Your tongue licked your snout, cleaning off blood from your latest kill, though it seemed you just found the newest batch of victims.

Running towards them using your supernatural speed you reached them in no time. You leaped out taking the head of one clean off.

The only thing the men heard was the plop of something behind them. Rickon Stark turned to see one of his men without a head. Instinctually he went to stand in front of his son, Cregan. It had been a mistake to bring Cregan.

Rickon knew he should’ve left him behind. He was his only heir. The only one he had left since his youngest son died in childhood. He had to protect Cregan. He looked around for the creature and his men drew their swords.

A soft crunch was heard and Rickon turned to face the thing. A wolf. A wolf the color of sunlit ivory that seemed to glow with dawn itself. In its mouth held the head of his fallen comrade. The wolf closed its jaw and the crunching of the skull was heard as the wolf dropped the now disfigured head.

Rickon watched in horror as his men charged and in what seemed to be the blink of an eye all of them were on the floor bleeding out crying out for mercy. One was clutching his throat which had a chunk ripped out. Another was holding the inside of his thigh as blood sputtered out in ways Rickon had never seen and the other had his head caved in. The last one, however, forced Rickon to put his hand out covering Cregan’s eyes as he watched in horror as the wolf pulled the organs out and the body laid out, nearly bit in half.

The wolf turned its sights on him and for the first time since his first battle, his hands trembled as he held his sword. The wolf lunged at him and before he could blink Rickon felt teeth biting into his internal organs. He looked down as the wolf opened its jaw making the hole in his stomach bigger. The thing had rammed its snout so hard into him that it punctured a hole in him. Rickon was already dead. He knew this, however, his son was not. Rickon grabbed the fur of the wolf and pulled it towards him as he steered himself away from Cregan. The wolf jerked itself while its snout remained inside Rickon.

He gritted his teeth and yelled as he brought up his Valyrian steel sword, Ice, and drove it down on the wolf. It gave out a cry.

“An abomination!” He yelled out and he felt the wolf pause from its jerking.

“You are an abomination.”

Familiar words echoed in your head.

“That is a pretty dress.” You smiled inching forward towards the maiden. “You were always so good at making them. I asked you for one, remember?”

The girl in front of you began crying. “I promise I’ll make you one! Just please! Please have mercy.”

“No, I want the one you have on. Give it to me.” Dark veins pooled under your eyes as you felt your fangs protrude. Why your family hated this, you could not say. You loved the power it gave. No one could stand in your way, no one could say no anymore.

“Now?” The girl asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Yes, now. Take it off and give it to me.” Though you had yet to kill anyone, if this girl took any longer she would be your first. You watched in amusement as tears streamed down her face as she trembled. As you continued to watch her your smile faded. She moved like a tortoise.

“What will I wear?” Your patience snapped at her question and in the blink of an eye you sunk your teeth into her as she screamed. You pulled her head away for better access, though in your excitement you pulled her head too much and it ripped off. Her blood splattered all over your pretty yellow dress.

You dropped the body and held the head in your hand tilting your head to the side.

“Imbecile. You made me rip off your head and ruin the dress.” You murmured before drop-kicking the head off into the woods. You grinned and kicked her headless body with such force that you heard the snap of the spin as it was flung into the woods.

You turned to walk away before your leg broke under sending you crashing to the ground. You screamed out in pain. Just as quickly as it broke, it healed and as you went to stand up your arm broke and once more you screamed.

As your bones kept breaking your screams echoed through the forest. You looked up seeing your mother looking at you as if you were a monster. Your father was not far behind as your collar bone snapped. Blood filled your every sense, blood on your mouth from your first kill, the smell of it, the feel of the warm sticky blood felt disgusting on your overly sensitive skin, however, the worst was your sight. When you looked up to your father, he had a look of disgust as he looked towards you, every single crease of disappointment on his face you could see as your vision sharpened.

“You are an abomination.” The words came out of your father's mouth. The same words that had been told to Niklaus when it was discovered what he was. A bastard, and now here you were proven to be another fruit of your mother’s frolicking.

You cried and begged saying that it wasn’t true. You screamed and cried as they tied you to the same post-Niklaus had been on. Though as you cried you did not fight him and instead were willing to let yourself be tied. Niklaus was the only one who fought against your father. You yelled to Niklaus to let you be. That you were not a bastard like him, that this was a mistake. You loved your father and your father loved you.

You kept repeating those words over and over as the ceremony to lock away the ugly parts of you that you swore did not exist, proceeded.

You tore yourself out of the man who repeated those same words to you. You inched backward trying to get the sword out of you.

“Cregan, my son! You must go, run back to Winterfell! Go!” Your eyes darted to the boy who stood there in terror. He looked no older than twelve or thirteen. As if you finally came back to yourself to overpower that animalistic instinct to kill you stood still watching the father cry out to his son. Pleading for him to leave, saying that he loved him.

It tugged at a heart string though it was quickly overtaken as the father pulled his sword out of you and you let out a yelp that now sounded more human. By accident, you slammed your paw down and it caved in the man’s chest and consequently his heart.

Cregan looked over to his father who whispered out a final ‘I love you’ before he died. He saw steam rise from the gaping hole in his father’s stomach and the wolf pulled its paw out of his father’s chest. Piercing amber eyes met Cregen’s gray ones. Those eyes, they looked ravenous.

Cregan does not know why his body moved the way it did but all he knows is that he was swinging down Ice on the wolf’s body like one would chop wood.

He heard the wolf’s cry though it was a disturbing cry. It almost sounded human under the wolf’s cry. It was as if a woman was crying out in agony along with the wolf. Cregan kept swinging the sword as blood splattered over him, on his eyes, his mouth, his face, his clothes, and his hands which made it hard to hold the large sword that was much too big for him. Ice nearly cut the wolf in half. It only clung together by skin.

“Cregan!” At the sudden shout of his name and the blood that coated his hands and the hilt, Ice slipped from his grasp. He turned around to face his uncle, Bennard Stark, and his three sons; Benjen, Brandon, and Elric Stark.

They stood still as they watched him. There he stood covered in wolf’s blood and a nearly cut-in-half wolf lying under him. Bennard Stark rushed over to him picking up Ice and dragging Cregan away from the bloody scene. Cregan only looked towards his uncle with blank eyes and trembling hands.

“What happened to Cregan?” His uncle asked him and he could not find it in him to speak so he pointed to the wolf, though to his utter horror, it was gone, only a bloody trail was left. It was impossible for anything to survive that. The wolf’s body only clung together by skin! Cregan was sure.

“Benjen, Brandon, Elric follow the trail. If you find it, cut the damn head off.” His uncle commanded and Cregan shook his head. They would die, if that thing survived its injuries and was restored to its former form, his cousins would be dead in seconds.

…

You had managed to get away, but just barely. The sword that little twat used slowed down your healing exponentially, though your spine reconnected but just barely so that you were able to crawl your way out of there. Your supernatural speed in the use of crawling had gotten you at least a mile away. You panted and cried each time you dragged yourself forward dirt and rocks were lodged into your lower half, inside of you slowing your healing even more.

Your cry became less wolf and more human as you dragged yourself forward eager to get to the town you smelled. You need to feed and fast. The next time you clawed forward a human hand showed with long claws instead of a wolf’s paw.

As time passed you reverted to your human form yet you were still nearly cut in half, this time you didn’t have fur to shield you against the cold of the snow. Your ears picked up steps, not far from you and you cried out for help. An old woman and a young man came running and she screamed. The man hugged the woman shielding her from the view.

“Help me. Please…” You begged. They weren’t close enough for you to compel them.

“How are you alive?” The young man questioned looking down at your naked body and the dark and dirty entrails that spilled out of you though there was no more blood to leak out of you, the vampire side of you kept you alive.

“Just help me.” You begged once more. Finally, the man let go of the old woman who you assumed was his mother, and cautiously crept over to you. As he bent down you looked up making eye contact with him.

“Give your arm and don’t scream.” You compelled and the man wordlessly gave you his arm and you bit into it.

The woman screamed for her son and you let go. “Get your mother and bring her to me.” You compelled him once more and he grabbed his mother harshly bringing her to you.

“Shut up and wrap me with your coat.” You compelled her as well and continued feasting on the man’s arm. Stopping you waited for your healing to increase, but it didn’t, it kept healing at a slow pace only just barely keeping you alive.

“Damn it.” You muttered. You looked up and gave an order for the man to pick you up and take you to their home.

As you entered the small village you looked around and then smelled the air. You’d recognize that smell anywhere. You had lived in it for nine centuries.

Just what had that little Bennet witch done to you?

You looked up towards the man who held you. “Invite me in.” You told him and he did. They set you down on their dining table. “Rinse me and sew me back together.” Wordlessly the man and his mother left and you were left on the table looking down. It was disgusting to see. Part of your liver and large intestine were beginning to form again. The man came in with a bucket of water and the woman with a needle and string.

You clenched your jaw. No way in hell were you staying awake for this. “You’ll shut your mouth about all of this and you will stay by my side until I command it otherwise.” You compelled them both and they began to start preparing for their work. Just as the man went to clean your dirty entrails you stopped them.

“Wait, break my neck first, then work and if I wake and you are not done, break it again.” You told the man and he went and made quick work of you.

The next time you woke you were screaming in pain. Your spine was fully intact now and that meant all of your nerves were now reconnected. Just as quickly as you woke, you felt your neck snap and once more you fell into darkness.

The next time you woke your body was whole again, but you could still feel your insides rearranging themselves slowly. That damned sword. What had they used? Had it been anything else you would’ve been fine by now. You looked down to see stitches circling your torso keeping it together. You stayed there on the table shivering from the cold air. When was the last time you were this cold?

As a vampire, you never felt the cold, you were dead. What has this new side done to you? Damn, Klaus, you had begged him to leave you be. You could care less about this ugly side of you. You’d rather not relive the moments where you were deemed a bastard. This new side of you, made you aggressive, much like how you first were when you were a vampire. You thought back to your time as a wolf. Every single kill, you remembered. The burst of blood in your mouth, the skulls crushed in your jaw, the crying of the women and children. The men who charged at you only to be killed a second later.

However, the most vivid memory was of the scared little boy whose father you slaughtered in front of him. Why him out of all the people you felt sorry for, you couldn’t say. You probably could’ve killed him and spared yourself this suffering, but you let the boy do this to you. A punishment for being the monster that your father always said you were. Revenge for what you did to his father, justice for the lives you took.

You clenched your jaw but felt something sharp stab the inside of your mouth. You picked your teeth to pull out the thing that stabbed you. As you inspected it you sighed disappointment. A piece of skull. You threw it to the side and simply laid it on the table.

An abomination your father said.

You had killed families, infants, mothers, fathers, and seniors, no one was spared but the boy. You were not your brothers. You were not Klaus, or Kol, or even Elijah for how noble he pretended to be. Your siblings never felt regret for their killings.

But you did. You were different. Right? Your father did not just hate you. You were kind before. You felt remorse. You were NOT an abomination.

A debt was owed. A human life was not long in the span of all eternity. You could do the right thing and repent. You were not like Niklaus. You would not remain guilty of the sins your father had condemned you for.

What was the boy’s name again, you tried to recall? You walked through the memories of blood and carnage.

“Cregan, my son! You must go, run back to Winterfell! Go!”

Cregan. That's what it was. Cregan from Winterfell.

“Where is Winterfell?” You asked out loud knowing your newest slaves were never too far from you.

“Only a half a day’s ride away. Just East of here.” The woman spoke as she sewed flowers on the dress you had told her to make you.

“And who is Cregan?” You asked again.

“Cregan? He is the heir of Winterfell, oldest of Rickon Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of North.” The old woman answered once more. You gave out a hum of approval as you laid back on the table shivering slightly as the cold air washed over your naked and broken body.

…

At only thirteen years old Cregan succeeded his father. He sat in the Great Hall in the chair his father used to sit in and in his lap laid Ice. He felt the metal rest heavy on him. A large sword fit for a large man, yet here he was, only a boy holding a sword fit for a man. All because a wolf had taken his father away from him.

A Dire Wolf that was on their banner and represented House Stark. Yet it was a wolf that killed his father. Every night since then he has slept with Ice. That demon wolf was out, somewhere, lurking. He would not rest soundly until that wolf’s head sat hung in the Great Hall like his father wanted and he used the coat to clothe himself.

Cregan sat in the Great Hall with a permanent scowl on his face as he listened to the Lords speak. His uncle sat next to him. He would reign as regent until his fifteenth name-day. Two years, two years would be enough to hunt down that beast.

“My Lord, I present you with a gift. You have lost your father, I will give you someone who can deliver the support a man needs.” Cregan looked up towards Lord Tallhart, his holdfast had been the first to ravage the beast. “I bring you someone who has managed to bring stability once more to Torrhen's Square, now I give her to you, My Lord.” The doors opened and Cregan watched as a woman walked in. A golden ivory dress she wore. The same color as the wolf. That color was forever ingrained in his mind. He watched you walk in and bow. There was something about you that seemed familiar. Something about the way you carried yourself and the way you spoke. It puts him on edge like he should be wary of you.

“I thank you Lord Tallhart, but my nephew has no needs that can be taken care of by a woman. For that, he shall have a wife.” His uncle spoke and Cregan watched your eyes narrow at his uncle.

“Of course, I would never dare to insinuate such a thing. However, I do not give her for duties that a simple whore can manage if one so desires. This woman can offer support unlike anyone, if you are displeased with her I will gladly take her back.” Argued Lord Tallhart. “I implore you to take her.”

Cregan watched as Lord Tallhart vehemently argued for you. What kind of support did you offer? Cregan was well aware of the things whores did for men, his half-sister was born due to these ‘supports’ whores offered. Cregan signed and agreed to take you if it would stop this incessant arguing.

He watched you bow and meet his eyes. Your eyes were sharp and familiar. What kind of support would you offer this young lord?

After the meeting was conducted Cregan walked the halls of the castle holding Ice close to him. He was often allowed to leave due to still being in his mourning period. As he walked these halls that seemed so big and dark to him he felt the wind brush his hair. He gripped Ice tighter and turned around only to see no one there. No servants roamed these halls, there was no one here but him. He sighed and kept forward with a tight grip on Ice. As he turned once more he heard the air rustling behind him. This time Cregan unsheathed Ice. He stayed still looking around, was the wolf back? No, why would the wolf be here, in the castle? The wolf could not be here.

The wolf was not here.

Cregan felt his breath escape him. He held on to Ice so hard that it made the sword shake. He sheathed the sword trying to calm himself. The wolf was not here. Should anyone see him holding out Ice ready to strike air they would call him mad. The heir to Winterfell cannot be mad.

The wolf is not here.

He didn’t feel safe here. He needed to get to his father's chambers. As Cregan walked through the dark halls, he felt as if something was watching. Something that shouldn’t be here. Something that shouldn’t exist here. Something that was displaced and had no right to be here and it was watching him.

The wolf.

It echoed in his head. The wolf echoed in his head. The promise of love his father had told him. Cregan’s steps grew hurried. He ran through that dark hallway to get to his father’s chamber room.

There was something on Cregan’s heel as he ran. Something was breathing down his neck.

Cregan turned the corner and hit something and when he looked up he felt as if those same ravenous amber eyes of the wolf looked down on him. His breath was caught as he looked up at you. He couldn’t move as he looked at you. His hands spasmed as he tried to grab onto Ice for stability.

It wasn’t until he was eye to eye with you and your calming words that he felt his breath come back to him. When you spoke it felt like a cool river rushed through his veins covering his body.

“Are you alright, my lord?” you asked, reaching out a hand. Cregan nodded and took your hand. It was soft and warm; you almost seemed unnaturally warm. There was an underlying fear Cregan had of you, and he couldn’t explain why, yet he felt as if he could not respond accordingly. “Shall I accompany you to your chambers?” you asked, and Cregan shook his head. If anything, he needed to get away from you.

You watched as Cregan left you behind. You sighed in annoyance. All you wanted to do was a little repenting to make yourself feel better, but this brat wasn’t letting you do it and of course, you couldn’t just compel him, it had to be natural, despite the fact you just compelled him to calm down, but that was different, the kid was gasping as if he was drowning.

However, the look in his eyes. You knew that look anywhere.

Fear.

It radiated off him in waves. He knew you, he recognized you.

A cruel smile bloomed on your face and you felt your vision sharpen and lock onto the fleeting figure of Cregan. You dug your fingernails into your palm drawing blood. You breathed in his scent of fear. You grabbed onto the wall next to you. You had to stay put and calm down. The stone cracked under your strength. Damn, Klaus, it has taken you a near century to get your impulses under control. Amongst your siblings, and even Klaus, your thirst for blood was unmatched. That first century of learning to control yourself was pain. You would watch as your siblings would spill as much as they so wished while you were forced to stand on the sidelines eating scraps. Your hunger for blood drew you to rip heads off, even if you didn’t want to. It was an animalistic urge that, unfortunately, ran a lot stronger in you than in any of your other siblings.

It proved to be a problem. In only fifty years the rumors of your bloodshed reached worldwide, and thus The Brotherhood of the Five were born to kill you and your siblings and unfortunately, gave Klaus the weapon to put your siblings to sleep. Once Finn was put to sleep as a consequence of your actions, your siblings, Klaus included, put you down and forced you to get your appetite under control. You had been clean for nearly nine centuries, it would’ve been millennia had it not been for the slip-up in the 20s with the introduction of another who was like you.

Stefen Salvator.

Your brother let you loose along with Stefen, and when your fun ended once more your animalistic urges were put down, like ripping out the claws of an animal. To take the claws from a predator is to leave it bare to the world.

While your siblings were free to turn whomever they wanted once again you were forced to sit on the sidelines and watch. Your blood was infected with this disease of being unable to control your hunger. They say when freedom fades, even sunlight feels pale and so the lines you sired were always put down like lambs to slaughter.

You were never allowed to love another knowing you would always have to ask for someone else to turn them, lest they turn out to be a monster like you. You never understood why Rebekah asked when she simply could. It was a luxury you did not have yet your little sister never used.

And now here you were, alone in the world, with no brothers or sisters to keep you in check, no father to hunt you down. Nothing to kill you. This bastard side of you was pulling you. Bad enough you had already torn through towns, who would help you overcome this?

There was no one here. You’d have to rely on yourself and your will, but there was never much of that.

…

Weeks passed and Cregan continued to avoid you like a plague. You made his hair stand on end. There was something about you that wasn’t quite right. Your smiles were saccharine yet Cregan was never one for sweets. You were indeed helpful and your knowledge of medicine was unmatched. He understood why the Lord Tallhart said you were like a pillar. In only a few short weeks you had become the backbone of Winterfell. Sickness had always run rampant in Winterfell due to the cold, but with you, those colds seemed to disappear. You always seemed to be the one everyone was looking for.

Yet despite all of that Cregan couldn’t shake the anxiousness that you brought him whenever he looked at you.

Today was no different, once more you had gone out to do charity work for the commons, cured illnesses, and healed broken bones, and Cregan stayed far away from you. At first, even his uncle stayed far away from you and in turn, also had Cregan keep a distance from you, but now, as he looked at his uncle talking to you with more interest than a married man should, it seems his uncle has also fallen.

Though Cregan thinks his uncle is far too old for you. You looked to be around Cregan’s age, if not only a couple of summers older.

“My Lord, we have looked in the Wolfswood, there is no sight of the beast. You said it to be a sunlit ivory, we have not encountered any wolves of that coloring. Winter is coming and all the wolves are white here in the North.” Cregan listened and subconsciously gripped Ice.

“Mayhaps it has perished with its injuries.” The man spoke and Cregan shook his head.

“There would be a corpse, why is there not a corpse?” Cregan gritted his teeth. He hasn’t been able to sleep these past few weeks. He always felt as if the wolf were watching him and it terrified him more than he’d like to admit.

“My nephew only wishes to exact revenge on the Wolf that took his father, my brother, your late lord. Find the wolf. Perhaps it has gone South. I saw the coat myself. That wolf is no Northern wolf, it might’ve found its way to the Hornwood forest or even The Neck’s forest.” His uncle, Bennard Stark spoke. He knew his uncle only wished for the best. If his uncle did not back him on this, it would give the appearance that Cregan is mad with grief and riddled with fear of a wolf and Starks do not fear wolves.

Cregan clenched his jaw as he entered his chambers and dressed himself in his night clothes. He laid down on the bed that once belonged to his mother and father, Ice was never far from him as he thought about his next actions. He could not rest until he knew the wolf was dead for sure. There Cregan lay in his father’s bed trying to forget the snarling the wolf gave out, the cries it screamed. Slowly but surely Cregan fell into an uneasy slumber.

A wolf’s howl sounded and Cregan shot out of bed gripping Ice as he looked around the room that was lit by the fireplace in his chambers he could not see anything. But once again he heard the howl of a wolf. He breathed heavily before he felt his throat tighten. He was Cregan Stark, heir to Winterfell. He could not fear wolves, yet he was feeling as if were going to cry because of the howling of a wolf.

Once more he felt his breath escape him as he held his face in his hands.

A knock sounded and Cregan could not gather enough breath to tell them to leave him. He looked over and swore he saw amber eyes in the darkness. He crawled away unsheathing Ice holding it towards the door. He watched as you walked in with what he saw as false concern and your hands up.

“My lord, are you alright?” You asked, looking at the terrified boy. “Calm yourself.”

Every time you spoke to him, he fell into a trance—a trance that was impossible to escape. Your voice scraped the edges of silence, stirring shadows that lay dormant in his mind.

“Who are you?” He whispered trying to resist your calling. He listened as your words danced around in his mind and fog invaded his senses.

Cregan doesn’t remember much from that night or any nights that follow afterward. All he knows is that every night you enter his chamber rooms and the next morning he is awake sleeping through the entire night without a single dream.

One thing does not change, however. His fear of you does not leave him. Not even as you dress him, prepare his bath, bring his meals, brush his hair, or even as you tell him stories of what you depict as love.

“And so the little brother who doomed his family swore off love for everyone and once more the six siblings ran away.” You finished as you finished the last button on Cregan’s coat.

“How old are you?” He shivered at your unnaturally warm touch. You looked down on him and once more gooseflesh pebbled his skin. Cregan believes that he will always fear them.

“Old enough to know that you will be late to break your fast if you do not go.” You always did that. You never really told him anything about yourself. Not your age or where you came from. He didn’t even know if you had a father or a mother, but he’s sure you have siblings. The stories you tell him are always about five siblings, sometimes six. You spoke with fondness, like how he would if he spoke about his younger brother.

As he went to walk out he turned around only to see you tending to his bed. He walked out of his room, however, something compelled him to seek you once more. As he reached the room he gave a sharp gasp. The air whistled within the room. The same whistle that tormented him that day in the hall. He swallowed his fear and looked inside. He didn’t know what to expect. What would he do?

Cregan felt his hand twitch for Ice. Ice was nowhere near him. Ever since you had lulled him to sleep that night he no longer reached for Ice as he once did. What if this confirmed everything he thought of you? What did he even think of you? As he looked his brows furrowed. There you were putting Ice on a counter then you went to put out the fire. It wasn’t what you were doing that confused him, what left him puzzled was that it had been seconds since he stepped out and yet his bed had already been made.

That should’ve been impossible. No maid could make a bed that fast, yet in front of his eyes, his bed had been made. He took a step backward shaking his head. It wasn’t right. You weren’t right. There was something about you. Something about you that was unnatural.

Cregan turned away quickly and walked down the dark hall, this whistle of the air a faint sound.

…

Your teeth grazed the neck of the sleeping boy. You felt the heat radiating off his body and you could practically taste his blood. He still reeked of fear but being this close to him. His blood tastes sweet, almost too sweet or so you would imagine. There is something about these Starks, their blood holds something that they have never tasted before. You have tasted the blood of vampires, werewolves, doppelgangers, humans, and the blood of the Brotherhood five, but the closest you can imagine Cregan’s tasting like is the blood of witches. Like a sweet thick flavor with a slight burn. The burn was stronger with Stark blood. You had fed off of Bennard Stark once. Nearly ripped the man apart.

It was addicting. It ignited that animalistic urge that you now tamed by burning yourself.

You panted desperately trying to keep yourself in control and keeping your groans as quiet as possible as your skin bubbled from the heat of the fire trying to tear yourself away from Cregan’s neck.

You whimpered as your skin ripped and the blisters on your hand popped. You tore your hand away from the fire and yourself away from his neck. A deep sense of disgust began to fill your being as you stared at the peaceful sleeping figure of Cregan. You dug your nails into your palm and quickly made your way into your bedroom.

On your bedside was a piece of cloth submerged in a bowl. As you reached inside the bowl a single sounded as your skin began to burn and smoke rose. You gave another whimper as you grabbed the cloth and rung it out before balling it up and stuffing it in your mouth. You nearly scream as you feel the burning on the inside of your mouth and some of the water goes down your throat burning you from the inside.

In another bowl, there was a rope submerged in the same liquid. Undoing your dress you trembled for what was to come, you trembled from the cold, and from the burning sensation that has yet to stop.

You stood naked as tears fell from your eyes and muffled cries sounded. You grabbed the wet rope trying to bear the burning on your hand. You whipped it backwards and it struck your back and a loud singe was heard along with a muffled scream.

You whipped yourself with the vervain-laced rope and choked on the cloth that was soaked in wolf’s bane.

It was the only way. The only way to sedate this urge, this bastardy that plagued you. It was the way you were put down by your siblings. The only way disgust would not consume you. You would not stop until your back was raw until all the skin on your body was new. Shedding of the old skin for new. A new beginning.

As your skin bubbles and pops you think back to Cregan and the fear he emits anytime you look at him. Another crack of your makeshift whip sounds and once more you cry out before clamping down on the soaked cloth and wolf’s bane is squeezed out burning you. There had to be another way, another way to make him feel at ease that was not by compulsion.

Your head.

You cried into cloth and tears streamed down your cheeks mixing with the wolf’s bane. It slid down your throat and burned until your wolf’s bane tear fell on the top of your breasts, burning them.

The only thing that would possibly calm Cregan was your head, more specifically the head of your wolf form.

You felt your legs give you under you as you gave a final whip to your back. As you fell forward your temple hit the sharp end of your bedside table. You let go of the rope and grabbed your temple as your world spun and your sight went in and out. The only thing keeping you conscious was the healing of your raw back, however, both bowls spilled on top of you and you screamed as the burning liquid soaked your entire backside and for the first time in a century you passed out from the pain.

You nearly gagged from the overpowering scent of wolf’s bane and vervain. You opened your eyes and looked over to see Cregan sitting there with Ice firmly in his hand.

“What were you doing?” You heard him mumble out though your eyes only zeroed in on the light scratched on his neck from your teeth. Tearing your eyes away from his neck you looked at the boy who only kept eye contact for a couple of seconds before looking away. You heard the way his hands gripped Ice. Disgust crept onto you once more.

“I have to go home.” You sighed out looking away from Cregan. If it was your gaze he feared then you would not look. “My brother…” Though you craved to see his widened gray eyes and the slight wobble of his lips as he spoke to you. You shut your eyes. “My siblings. I need to go home for a little bit.” You bit your tongue and turned to him and he turned his gaze down towards Ice. A small sense of satisfaction filled you.

“Why?” You hear him ask. It was small and meek. You tilt your head slightly before shutting your eyes and turning your face away from him. Only then did you hear the grip on his handle on Ice lessen.

“Because…I miss them,” There was a tone change towards the end of your sentence. Almost as if you were asking a question. You simply needed to leave.

Did you miss your siblings?

You hadn’t seen Finn in over nine centuries or Kol for two. The last you had seen of Rebekah was in the twenties. Elijah and Klaus kept you on a tight leash since you couldn’t be daggered, not like Klaus would. Despite his constant badgering about telling you to keep your hunger under control, he would shove humans your way and pretend to not see when you ripped them apart. It was like when you were both little and he would give you extra pieces of bread under the table during dinner then claiming he didn’t know anything about the crumbs on the side of your face.

Elijah despised this and was constantly on you to keep clean. You were always a messy eater. When Klaus would fail to keep you under control it would be up to him to dirty himself to bathe you in Vervain, just like how he would clean up the crumbs on the side of your face so that father would not see.

Were they looking for you? Did Elijah really kill Klaus? He wouldn’t. Not even if Elijah really wanted to. If he truly killed Klaus then he would have no one. Not even you, not the way you are now. Maybe you did miss them, even if it was only a little.

“How many siblings do you have?” Once more his quiet voice sounded. Cregan was quite talkative today. It would've been great if it wasn’t for the constant waft of Wolf’s Bane and Vervain.

“Seven, though I never met my oldest sister. She died in childhood a couple of years before I was born. I do not even know her name. However, currently, I have two. Elijah and Niklaus. The rest…are gone.” You would never see your siblings again. According to your little brother —Niklaus— they were buried at sea. Maybe Elijah would kill him for that.

“What happened?” You fought the urge to look over towards Cregan, lest he turn away from you. Though as you began to think of how to explain your family and how your siblings weren’t dead but they might as well be you fought the urge to smile. This would be perfect.

“My youngest brother, Henrik was killed by wolves.” You heard Cregan perk up as you kept your eyes closed trying to keep your smile down. “My brother Niklaus took him to see wolves hunting. Unfortunately, the wolves did not capture their prey and instead mauled my brother to death.” Slowly you opened your eyes and turned to face him ever so slightly. Cregan this time did not turn away. You both stayed like that. Simply looking at each other and once more disgust plagued your body. You had nearly bitten into him last night.

“What about…your other siblings?” He whispered once more. You took in a deep breath and looked up with a bitter smile.

“My eldest brother Finn was…” How could you explain to him that your family was tired of his constant badgering? Though you never were one to mind it. Your entire family constantly berated you for your tendencies. Finn, despite his demeanor towards the rest of your family, was surprisingly more understanding of you. He made his comments to you every now and then, though he seemed to understand that you simply could not control it. Finn was the only one to never judge you or condemn you. There were times throughout the centuries when you almost successfully pulled the dagger out of Finn or simply stayed beside his body.

Klaus and Elijah would tighten your leash whenever you got too close to him.

“Put down for…crimes against my family.” You decided that was the best way to frame it and you heard the slight shift in Cregan’s posture. “My brother Kol was very…wild and it got him put down as well.” Technically they weren’t dead, but they might as well be. “Finally my little sister Rebekah…fell in love with the wrong person.” There were more people than people but he didn’t need to know that.

“Why did you leave?” So many questions he had.

“My two brothers began to fight. I stayed with Niklaus at first, but then I left for my brother Elijah. Niklaus was not happy with me but in the end forgave me…soon after,” You struggled to come up with something that would explain your presence. It’s not like you were here by choice. “I was brought here. To the North I mean and now I’d like to go home for a bit. See my brothers.”

…

It was strange not having you here. You had been gone only a week yet a crucial part of his routine was now missing.

You were missing.

In the end, Cregan had let you go. He was never planning to deny you, but it was the most he learned of you throughout your entire time here and while a part of him did feel more at ease with you gone there was a strange yearning for your return.

How strange it was.

How strange it was to have you speak to him at night and lull him to sleep with your stories only for him to never be able to recall them in the morning. How strange it was to have other maids dress him instead of you. How strange it was to never carry Ice as much as he did.

However, what was most strange was that he constantly thought of you. The fog that used to cloud his mind seemed to be gone if only for a little while.

Cregan picked at his food looking out the window into the Wolf’s wood. Suddenly his cousins burst into the dining room with blood-soaked armor. All three of them had such bright smiles. Cregan pushed his food away standing to greet them while his uncle reprimanded them for their poor manners.

“Father, look! Here cousin we brought you a gift!” Elric pulled out a red-stained gold ivory coat. A wolf’s hide. Cregan’s breath hitched and he gripped onto Ice.

“By Viserys, what is that?” His uncle swore. “You didn’t clean it!? Where is the head? Did you cut off the head?”

As his cousins explained how they caught the wolf, Cregan felt as if his ears were being plugged with cotton. All he could do was try and reclaim the breath that seemed to escape him. He felt sick. The taste of the chicken was fresh in his mouth. The white glossy meat and the waft of it nearly made him vomit.

Breath.

Even when you were gone you helped him. Your voice was clear and echoed in his head and suddenly his breath returned to him.

“Where’s the head?” His voice took on such a tone that he had never mustered before. All three of his cousins turned their attention swiftly to him and so did his uncle. In that instant, he did not feel like ‘Cregan Stark, Heir to Winterfell’ but instead like ‘Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North.’

His uncle coughed and smiled. “Yes, your father wanted to mount the head in the Great Hall. A wonderful suggestion, nephew.”

“I want to see it. Bring it to me.” There it was again. The tone of ‘Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North.’

Breath.

Once more your voice sounded in his mind and a calm filled him. It wasn’t long before they brought the wolf’s head before him. Those amber eyes now clouded over. How did they find it? How did they kill it? What his father and his men could not do his cousins did.

Cregan reached his hand out to touch the matted coat. It was so cold. So different from the warmness that coated his hands when he first sliced into it. Cregan could not look away from the eyes. The eyes that seemed to have plagued him for the past couple of months. They didn’t seem so familiar anymore. They were just so cold. Those amber eyes he swore he saw whenever you entered a room. Those amber eyes glinted and now those same amber eyes were clouded and cold.

This head was so cold. Death is cold.

The night was cold.

Now Cregan shivers under the covers of his bed. It is so cold. Everything is so cold.

It is so different from you. You were so warm. Unnaturally warm. A warmth he craved now as he shivers under the covers of his sheets. His hands touch the soft golden fur that lies atop his bed. They sent the head away but the image of those cold amber eyes was clear in his mind. Those eyes were cold, nothing like yours. You were nothing like the cold head that sat at his table in the morning or like cold golden fur that brought him no warmth.

Every night after that night was cold. So unbelievably cold for Cregan.

For the rest of his life, Cregan swore that it was the coldest month the North had ever experienced even if no one else recalled.

So shivering he crawled out of bed roaming the halls of his keep. It was dark. He kept his hand on the warm walls of his keep. He leaned against them, relishing the warmth they brought him. This night is dark and full of terrors yet in these halls he feels warmth and light. When he breathes it is clear and refreshing. He continues to roam his warm halls. They almost brought him the warmth your hands did whenever you buttoned his shifts or when your body heat hit him whenever you would coax him into bed. He would have to light a fire in his room to keep himself warm without you.

Cregan walked to where they kept the firewood but stopped when he heard a moan. His head snapped towards the sound. His father had told him that he was reaching the age where he would soon become a man. It was not unnatural for him to creep closer to the sound. Curiosity was a good thing, right?

It came from his uncle’s room. His wife was away. The door was slightly ajar and another sweet sound came. His eyes looked through the slit in the door. There was a feminine figure moving up his eye raking her figure greedily taking in the sight. He had never seen another woman in this light. She seemed divine, almost unnaturally so. He watched as tilted her head upward and another sound came from the woman. It was almost cloying. His breath hitched when he realized who it was.

There you were pleasuring yourself on his uncle as a red bead rolled down the side of your mouth onto your breast that was cupped by his uncle’s hand. There was blood on his uncle’s chest and on yours. His eyes trailed up your naked body and asserted that the blood was not coming from you.

Cregan gave a small gasp as he saw the gaping wound from his uncle's neck, spurting out blood every couple of seconds.

He sees your head turn with disturbing speed. Cregan doesn’t remember what happened all he knows is that he awoke in his bed with a warm sticky feeling in his pants the next morning.

Were you here? Had you come back for him? He was unsure of what to do with himself. Had he dreamt of you? That would be the first. Cregan has never dreamt of anyone. Cregan was not unfamiliar with sexual acts. His cousins once brought him to a brothel outside the walls of Winterfell. He saw what he only thought was for marital duties to be performed. To think of you was new. He saw a slight tent through the covers. What was he supposed to do now? What if you came in?

Cregan waited in his bed until a bath was brought to him. He eagerly took to the bath trying to rid himself of the stickiness. He watched the maids take away his sheets and the coat of the wolf. It was to be made into a coat, one that he would wear when he would inherit Winterfell and claim the title of Warden of the North.

When he had finished washing himself the maids came and dressed him. Their hands were cold on his skin as they buttoned his shift. Flatting his attire he walked out to meet his cousins and his uncle. Uncle Bennard seemed to be in high spirits. Flashes of memories flashed before Cregan eyes and grimaced though there was no sight of any irritation on his uncle’s neck. He had been sure there was blood spilling from his uncle’s neck yet there was no sign.

Has it really been a dream? It felt so real. Your name fell from Cregan’s lips and his uncle turned to him.

“She is expected to return either today or tomorrow.” His uncle spoke. So you weren’t back yet. What a strange dream, but that’s all it was, a dream. You weren’t back yet.

“Come nephew, we have petitions to hear today.” His uncle commanded. Cregan followed closely behind his uncle along with his cousins.

When he stepped into the Great Hall the first thing he caught sight of was the preserved head of the world hung on the wall. It had been preserved in a snarling manner. The pink-brown gums are on show while the incisors and canines are on full display. The pupils of the wolf permanently dilated and now a much clearer color than what he saw the other day.

All Cregan could do was stare at the wolf throughout the meetings. He knew as the future Lord he really should pay more attention to his people, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Looking at it, he doesn’t know how to explain it, but there is a sense of giddiness. He feels as if there is something good happening. Something good will happen.

The day seemed to pass, though, to Cregan, it felt like no time had passed at all. He had spent his time observing every crinkle of the snarl on the wolf’s face. It truly was a beautiful creature. For a moment Cregan wishes it had really died by his hand. Then at least he could’ve seen it in its beauty before he killed it.

It wasn’t until he was brought out by his uncle that he finally ripped his eyes away from the wolf’s head. His uncle told Cregan to mount his horse. Cregan listened while his cousins mounted theirs and his uncle prepared another horse once he finished prepping his own. All five of them rode out through the East gate to the town outside of Winterfell’s walls.

It wasn’t long before Cregan saw who the extra horse was for. There you were in a simple blue gown with linings accentuated with ivory coloring. Uncle Bennard was the first to greet you. You gladly took his hand helping you mount your horse. It had been so long since he had seen you. Sure he had dreamt about you, but to look at you, it was something else. Have you really looked like this all this time? Cregan supposes the only time he really looked at you was to see your eyes. Those eyes that held such familiarity.

How well they suited you.

The entire ride back he spent looking over towards you while his uncle took up your time and attention. Much to his surprise his cousins did not seem to mind this excessive attention put on you. Cregan is not his uncle's son yet he feels frustrated that his uncle is acting in such a way with you. One would deem it most inappropriate.

After all, you were gifted to Cregan, not Bennard. Yet here his uncle was, taking up all your time when it should instead be focused-

“Mayhaps father will let me wed her.” Cregan’s attention was immediately pulled to the conversation his eldest cousin was having with Elric and Bradon. Benjen sat proudly on his horse eyeing you as your body swayed with every step the horse took. “I am to be one of the bannermen of our dear cousin Cregan.”

“To be a bannerman you need to wed the eldest daughter of some lord Benjen.” Brandon chastised.

Is that why they didn’t mind their father acting so inappropriately with you? Benjen wanted to marry you? You seemed to be a couple of years younger than him so it wouldn’t be a bad match but Cregan would much rather have you here than wherever it is his cousin would keep you. When they finally arrived at the gates of Winterfell you turned your attention to Cregan. He gave a small smile as he quickly rode to the stables. Much to his delight, you rode after him.

Cregan quickly took you inside to show you the wolf’s head. He heard you give a sweet laugh.

“They have the wolf.” He said eagerly. Cregan eyed your reaction. He watched you rub your neck before smiling down at him. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Have you been able to sleep better?” You asked him and Cregan was unsure of how to answer. He no longer faced night terrors as he did once, but now it’s too cold to sleep. Cregan decided a simple no would suffice.

…

You gave a loud cry as you felt the sword slice into your neck. You snarled at the man. The least the idiot could do was give you a clean death. You had even stood here letting them get close enough while you feasted on the entrails of a man. Yet here you were snarling because he couldn’t get a clean cut across. You looked towards the said idiot.

Benjen Stark.

He struggled to get his sword free from your neck. Luckily for you, his two brothers came and finished the job. When you awoke you were laid naked on the snowy forest floor. You got up quickly, shivering. You could smell where they had taken your head. Much to your surprise, they had left your lower body, and from that, you regrow your head.

You walked through the forest trying to warm yourself. You smelled the air, not far from here you left yourself a little snack. You ran and found the woman you had left here, for what you assumed was hours ago, as a way to regain your strength after your head would be cut off.

Quickly you compelled the woman to take off her dress. Once she did, you hung it on a tree branch while you trailed your nails across the woman’s neck. It wasn’t long before dark veins pooled beneath your eyes and your enlarged canines protruded from your mouth as you smiled before ripping into the woman. You gripped the woman’s shoulder trying to show a little restraint. Much to your displeasure, you broke her shoulder bone and in turn caused a gush of blood to be sent your way.

You gave a sound of content as you greedily drank. Soon enough you began to feel a wave of euphoria take you, you pushed yourself closer to the woman. Close and closer you drover yourself opening your jaws as wide as you can to allow for more room. By the time you sucked her dry her head only hung on by a ligament of muscle.

You let the woman drop before whipping your mouth and putting on the woman’s clothes. Now that the boy had his wolf’s head, his fear of you shouldn’t be much of a problem anymore.

“They say the ‘realm’s delight’ has given birth to another plain-featured bastard.” You heard snickering.

Realm’s delight?

“Seems the princess shares her delight with anyone.” Another voice laughed.

A princess. How long has it been since you’ve played the games of court? Oh, ages. The last time was in 1820 you reckon. George III otherwise known as ‘Farmer George.’ No one ever writes stories of how fun it is to play with heads of monarchs. To see their descents into madness. It was simply divine to watch. Though playing with the ladies and their word games was never much fun. You had too much of a short temper. Ripped off the heads of many in court. That earned you a ‘time out’ for nearly a century by Elijah.

By the time you returned, it was clear times had changed and monarchies were going out of style. What a shame. In the end, you turn to the next best thing. Politics. Playing jump rope with lines that could start wars. It was such a surge of adrenaline.

Perhaps it’s time to head back to court, if only for a little while after your penance with Cregan. Just another…fifteen years? The average lifespan in this era is about thirty or maybe forty. Regardless, a small blip in time compared to all of eternity.

It wasn’t long before you were staring at your own head hanging on the wall. You went to rub your neck, the terrible job that Benjen had done. In any case, you had received a warning from Bennard. You had come late in the night and to say you were parched was an underestimate. Not to mention it had been oh so long since the last time you had attempted to procreate with another. It was fine, he ended up passing out mid-way. You had gotten too excited with him. A miracle you didn’t take off his head. You healed him soon enough with your blood after Cregan had come and interrupted your little rendezvous with his uncle.

You stalled off coming back for another day. You didn’t want the kid to fear you again. Not after you had given your head to him.

So for now you would hold your disgusted face and instead give Cregan a mute smile. It was in poor taste.

Once more you returned to your penance and every night once more you would prepare Cregan for his day and lay him to rest at night. He was growing. Growing fast. In the short time away it felt like he nearly doubled in size. Such a strange thing. You had only ever gotten as big as your short years of human life permitted you. You often wondered if you would’ve grown taller or how your body would age in your years. How your body would change with a pregnancy. If you developed those terrible eyebags your mother did when she was pregnant with Henrik? Such a fascinating thing to watch little ones grow.

“How were your brothers?” Cregan asked as you tended to the fireplace and he sat on a chair simply watching you before looking away. You lifted a brow. Maybe you have a little bit more work to do to get rid of that fear. Though it was a bit strange. You couldn’t feel it, you could hear the slight increase in pace within his heartbeat but not the sweet scent that humans produced when they got scared. Maybe you were almost there.

Then you considered the question. How were your brothers? Was Niklaus dead? Your only or what you assume is your only full-blooded brother (who knows if your mother had a taste of other werewolf men) was dead or did he rewrap Elijah? Probably the latter knowing just how much Elijah valued family. “They were good. My brothers are okay.”

“Were you worried for them?” Cregan asked as he leaned forward and you looked over to him. There was something your ears picked up. His voice was dropping.

“What’s the saying you Starks have?” You looked towards the growing boy and he looked back with those grey eyes.

“Winter is coming.” Cregan did not look away as he spoke.

“Winter comes in many different forms.” You looked away from him as you pulled your hand away from the fire watching the slight regeneration happen before your eyes. The regeneration was constant. You were constantly regenerating to keep your dead body from rotting, though recently your regeneration seemed less needed. How strange everything was.

You turned and walked over to him. Cregan looked away as you began to undress him, preparing him for bed. It was a routine the both of them had fallen into. Just another fifteen years.

(It would be a lot longer than fifteen)

Cregan slipped on his robe as he made his way into his bed. You picked up Ice and went to hang it up. It had been a while since Cregan had asked you to lay next to him.

“When will you see them again?” You paused in your movements. When would you see your family again? Probably never thanks to that Bennet witch. Your grip tightens on the sword as a sudden wave of anger passes you. If you were never going to see your family again you would’ve rather it been on your terms. Should you ever return you’d hunt down every last Bennet witch and everyone she’s ever met.

“I don’t know.” It was a simple but truthful answer. You didn’t know if you would see your brothers again, much less when.

“I had a brother once.” It was a slight mumble and while you really should listen to him earnestly you honestly couldn’t find it in you to care all that much. So you tuned him out as you thought about your situation. It was selfish but it was but a small moment in all of eternity. That Bennet witch. Every single one of her descendants, you’d hunt them down and throw their heads at her feet. It was always better to make a person take their own life. There was a certain art to making a person hate themselves, to no longer have a reason to live. So as Cregan spoke you thought about all the ways to make that Bennet witch rue the day she learned of your existence.

Your back faced him until he eventually found sleep. Only then did you face him again. You looked over his sleeping form. A growing boy who would one day be a man. You wonder how he would react if he one day discovered it was you who killed his father. What kind of face would he make?

The ends of your lips quipped upwards in a knowing smile. Maybe you’d tell him on his deathbed to see his face. The shock would kill him, or at least that's how it plays out in your mind. (You would never find out if it would or wouldn’t.)

You stepped out of his room only to feel arms wrap around you. Your nose twitched in irritation, though quickly soothed by a bloody wrist that was brought to your mouth. Black veins formed underneath your eyes and your vision sharpened.

“What are you?” A voice whispered but so close to your ear the man might as well have been yelling. You tore yourself away from the man’s wrist.

One moment you're in front of Cregan’s door and the next you’ve got Bennard Stark shoved against a wall away from Cregan’s chambers with a bloody smile. The amber wolf-like eyes glowed bright in the dark.

“Why don’t you take a guess…” You licked the drop of blood that fell from the side of your mouth.

“You are fast and stronger than ten men, you feast on blood yet your skin feels as if you have a constant fever…” Bennard stared into your transformed eyes then trailed his gaze to your impossibly long canines.

“There was a time when I was as cold as a dead body.”

Note: Let me know what yall think. Lemme hear them predictions.

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rise-my-angel · 3 months ago

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

The Stags Lone Wolf

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

Length: 17.7k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, insecurities, self loathing tendencies, mild smut, allusions to neglect/emotional abuse

Notes: Did you ever wonder what the very first chapter looked like from Jon's point of view? No? Well just in case you do, here we go. Companion Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Jon had tried very hard to consider that this was a sign of things looking up. The day before had been one of many twists and it was difficult to come to terms with what he thought he was not granted, to one standing out as if just for him. There felt something wrong in the thought of leaving the direwolf pups, or worse, killing them out of mercy. Everyone had argued around him over his fathers decision, but Jon only stood.

Looking down to the five pups, save the one being pulled from Brans arms, all still cowering by their dead mother and by the maggots around meaning Jon knew it was a miracle they had lasted this long with nothing to protect them. But too he looked closer, the one he picked up and handed to Bran was a boy, and he could now see clearer that there were two more boys and two girls. It matched. But, only without him. Not six pups, and not four boys.

But it couldn’t be about him, Jon knew that it couldn’t be about him if he was going to save them. And something deep called to Jon from within to do so. A chilling in his blood as he looked at them and on an instinct did Jon turn. With everyone around and the formal proposal he was about to present, he separated himself as much as possible in order to make this work. Looking to his father did Jon call out, “Lord Stark,”

It wasn’t just his words that stopped them, it was what words he spoke. Most of the time there was not a single issue in calling him father, but saying something showcasing Jons true position caught everyone off guard. Finally did he gesture to the pups, and pled his case.

“There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. You were meant to have them.”

Silence, everyone waited and looked to him to see his answer and very quickly did his father break. He did not do so with much softness towards them, but Jon could read that softness in how he folded regardless. Looking to both Bran and Robb, “You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.”

With a little smile, Bran happily took back the pup Jon had handed him initially, from Theon who had been ready to put it down then and there. Both he and Robb then came around to take hold of the other two each. Jon only watched, something grateful in his heart that he did what he did, but there too was something darker. A piece of him missing as he realized he was not graced to be part of this. Something had sent direwolves to the wolfswood outside Winterfell and meant for the Starks to find them, but that was it. The missing part of him that meant this wasn’t his place to be involved.

Bran himself seemed to pick up on this if only the slightest bit. Looking to the nothing in Jons arms and asking what about him. But Jon just told him the simplest truth, of why he didn’t have one, and why he had to be the one to propose it to their father the way he did. “I’m not a Stark. Get on.” Prompting his little brother to make his way with the rest up the creeks hillside and back to the horses.

Still Jon didn’t know why he sensed it. Something telling him to stop in his tracks and look. Not search, but look in one spot. Hidden in the bushes not making a sound, Jon could hear Robb having turned to him with a curiosity. “What is it?” Then he felt it. Something soft, and small. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t a Stark, this wasn’t his place, the gods knew that.

And yet, Jon picked up what felt like the scruff of somethings neck and raised it out of the bushes.

Looking at him now, there was nothing capable of being on Jons face but a smile. He was tiny, he was different then the others in more then one way, but, he was his. The fur a pure white, and his eyes a pinkish red. The other pups were darker and varied in colour with golden eyes but none could see yet. It made the ride home for Robb, Theon, and Bran a bit of a trip as the small things didn’t know what was happening yet or where they were going.

But Jons? He was silent. Tucked carefully away as to not disturb him as he made the horse ride back to the castle, and scantly did he make a single sound. They had all sought out the rest of their siblings, showing the wolf pups and explaining what happened. Bran, Robb, nor their father notably did not include in the story that rescuing them had been Jons idea, while Lady Catelyn was hovering by. Clearly beside herself that her children now all had not just wolf pups, but that of direwolves. Ones she knew would grow to a massive size if the stories, and Neds account of how large the mother was, were true.

She had silently glared to Jon as he was knelt down beside Rickon who was equally as excited as somewhat afraid. Jons pup had his full sight, why he didn’t know, but it meant he was a comfort to the scared and bumbling blind ones. Coming over to the one which seemed to be Rickons with a darker fur closer to black. Knocking his head into him to comfort him as the growling settled.

Only then did Jon put a hand on Rickons back as he leaned down more to his baby brothers level knelt there, “Go on, he can’t see so he can only get used to your touch and voice right now.” Carefully did a shaky hand reach out as if the thing was going to bite his hand off. Initially it looked like it to the small six year old, a tiny nibble that had Rickon gasp and almost pull away. Jon shifted, putting a hand more around to hold at both arms to steady him. “It’s alright, he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s just getting used to you.”

Slowly did he and the dark wolf pup get used to one another, his baby brother looking up to Jon with a bright smile, only for Jon to sense Lady Catelyns on him. But now, not even that was bothering him. Not for this.

That night Jon had tried to make a small bed for the wolf pup, a comfortable place to sleep and multiple times had to pick him up and put him back on the bed. Each time he would step off and follow Jon throughout the room before Jon just settled down in his bed, alone and tired. It didn’t last long. Jon hadn’t even fallen asleep before he felt something jump onto his bed, and then a small bundle of fur nearly smother his face. Turning in the spot, the wolf pup had snuggled his head right up against Jons as if asking to cuddle and who was Jon to kick him off his bed?

He and the pup slept like that the whole night, with the feeling of tiny licks waking him before even he would’ve normally. It wasn’t long before he settled on a name. The way he could hear the other wolf pups howling constantly, very cute little sounds trying to get used to the world, and even though he could hear his making small noises, he never howled himself. He was silent both in his voice and how he seemed to walk against things making no noise.

Ghost. He settled on Ghost.

And for once, Jon thought he could think perhaps not everything looked so grim. Only to be wrong. So utterly and completely wrong that even as he still stood there now, he was almost in shock. His father and Lady Catelyn had called them all, Jon included to news that had arrived that morning.

It was twofold at first, and that seemed like enough. Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King and a man who was like a father to many, including Jons own father, has passed. Which meant that King Robert Baratheon rode for Winterfell. With the Queen, her children, and the rest of them. They all knew what that meant. What it was implying and their father thought his children should have the time to brace themselves to realize things might change in not so distant of the future.

It was Arya who started it. Asking with a genuine curiosity if you were coming as well. And thats when Jon knew something was wrong. No one but him saw and he didn’t know why, the way his fathers eyes flickered so quickly to Jon and back it wouldn’t have registered to any but them. It was Lady Catelyn who delivered it, and Jons heart sunk from his chest and down crashing through the stone floor deep beyond as she turned to look directly at Robb.

“The King has determined it was time she were wed.” Slowly everyone turned to look at Robb with the same falling expression realizing what she was not saying for him to put together. Something, not outrage, but perhaps frustrated at what was being implied.

Robbs face twisting as he spoke up with a bit more force in his voice, “You mean married to me?” Catelyn nodded, and instantly did Robb not hide his feelings about it. “Mother, you can’t mean it.”

Jon knew the problem wasn’t you, it was the idea, the suddenness, the out of nowhere feeling. All his siblings had conflicting ideas about how to feel, but too did Jon sense his fathers gaze which he didn’t return. Just watched Robb and Catelyn go back and forth with not a shift in his posture or expression in the slightest as she continued. “You are both to be wed before she returns to Kings Landing.”

There was no more way to argue it. It was a command brought by a raven from the King, there was no fighting with that kind of order. As his father and Lady Catelyn begun to discuss things amongst themselves did the siblings disperse. Jon felt Aryas knowing gaze the entire time he turned to walk away, and made no motion to indicate he noticed. Jon made little indication of anything, as if he was the only one unaffected by the news. Following almost naturally in stride with Robb, it was his instinct to let him vent the moment they were out of earshot.

Robbs face was still twisted in a frustration, his hands gesturing out with emphasis showing how rattled he was by the suddenness. “Her fathers spent years trying to keep her from getting married, and now he ships her off without so much as a thought?”

Swallowing the weight in his throat Jon hoped his voice came out a lot less forced and on edge then he felt. “If father does go to Kings Landing, a marriage could help.” Robb only argued back that it didn’t matter, only that there was no getting out of this. Jon asked and almost regretted it, he knew why he asked it. But he didn’t want to think about it. Not yet. “Is it getting married at all, or just that you’re marrying her?”

If Robb picked up on anything, he didn’t let it be known. Shaking his head with a huff of a false chuckle. “We’ve known her since we were ten, I’d rather marry her then some girl I won’t even meet until the wedding day.” The hand opposite from Robbs easy view clenched into more of a fist before relaxing again. The tension needing to be dispersed somewhere, but still unsure as to what to do around so many people. He couldn’t feel this yet, he needed to be alone first. His brother must have glanced to Jon, and made a judgment of what his tense expression could’ve been trying to silently convey. “Beside, I’d rather marry her then watch her get shipped off to some southern Lord who’d have no patience for getting used to her.”

It was short and muttered out through hopefully not gritted teeth, “None of us would want that for her.” It was normal Jon cared. He was your friend, you were his best friend. Of course it would come to a shock to him as well to learn of this betrothal. But did it come off that way to Robb? Jon didn’t know, he just kept walking and kept trying to feel that tense numbness as long as he could hold off the rest of it from flooding him too fast. “You should write to her. About it.” Meeting Robbs more questioning gaze, Jon elaborated looking back forward as he said your name. “You know her. She’ll be too worried to write to you first about it, it’ll be easier if she knows you’re not mad at her.”

Robb only asked for a moment. “Why would she think I’d be mad at-” Cutting himself off, both brothers gave knowing expressions in a bit of a flat manner one could’ve called bemused in a better scenario. “Right.”

By the time Jon had a moment to himself to go back to his chambers, he was at least relieved that his were a bit further away from the other Starks. He could slam the door closed behind him and no one of meaning would hear it. Sleeping in the middle of the fur atop his bed, Ghost perked up right away with a whine at the sound but Jon didn’t look at him. Running a hand over his face before stepping into the room swiftly where his desk was. Palms bracing against the wood, Jon stared intensely at the wall, eyes bleeding from grey to black as the rest of his muscles begun to shook.

He wasn’t ready. It was too soon, he wasn’t ready. One hand slammed into the desk, startling Ghost again before Jon turned and leaned his back against the surface as he ran a hand over his mouth and kept it there. As if containing what wanted to come out, whatever too strong emotion was fighting for control of him each passing second. Eyes closing it felt as if his heart was pounding in his chest as the thought kept repeating. He wasn’t ready.

His eyes tore to his bed, and he felt warm. Too warm. Unpleasantly warm as if he was being burned from the inside. Just a few short moons passed, Jon had you on that bed. With only his breeches on, and you nothing. How beautiful you looked. Your skin soft and plush and perfect as you laid back not knowing what to do, but how he didn’t need you to do anything. You let Jon climb up onto his bed, and carefully pry your legs apart and look at you, at what he’s always wanted. How he could see the traces of your wetness as if your walls were clenching around nothing in anticipation. Your breasts begging to be grabbed and marked up as they heaved with your nervous breaths.

The way your hands shook underneath his as Jon guided you to take his shirt off. And too, the way you both asked if he wanted to stop when Jon hesitated, and asked in a quiet, gentle voice if he wanted to wait for you, so you could wait for him. How for just an hour, Jon had the time to keep you bare in his arms, hands running over your skin as your hands rested along his chest. If Jon went through with that day, it was the worst case scenario that made him stop. What if he got you pregnant? He was nothing but a bastard. He couldn’t give you anything. Less then anything. Only a shameful surname he would never curse you or any children with in a lifetime. You were a beautiful, royal, highborn, popular Baratheon girl. Jon was a bastard dragging you down. And he almost shamed you by taking your maidenhead no matter how desperately Jon would’ve treasured it for the rest of his days.

When his eyes closed he had no idea, but he opened them to feeling Ghost at his feet nudging with a whine. Sensing Jons rise in distress, he picked up the direwolf pup and kept him high on his person as he his voice rasped in such a quiet tone for the pup alone. “I’m not ready, Ghost. I’m not ready to let her go.”

Ghost just bumped his head into Jons. Who turned to press a kiss to the top of his head, keeping close to the other his only comfort. He hadn’t even told you yet. He hadn’t found a good time to tell you he loves you, how much he’s always been in love with you. He and you were supposed to share your first times together, explore the others body in such intimate ways the way you and he had been each others firsts for everything else.

He wanted you to get to Winterfell, take you with him and leave in the middle of the night. Jon would take you north, so far north he’d end up beyond the Wall where no one could tell him that he couldn’t love you. He’d build you a warm cabin, nothing special, but something for you two. In that world, Jon wouldn’t have reason to hesitate. No one out there would care. He’d drape you on his bed just like last time but match how bare you were.

If his eyes closed he could see it, how he’d mount you atop the furs. His cock sinking deep inside of you over and over as you cried and begged his name. He’d take you as much as it needed. Out there, you could have his child and not have your life ruined over it. He could see at least four. Running around free as he’d come up behind you. Wrapping his arms around you, hands resting on your stomach as you swelled with his fifth child.

But he couldn’t do that to you. You had a good life, and you would have a good life with Robb. He’d treat you well, better then Jon ever could. His brother was a trueborn Stark, the heir to Winterfell, he would adore being married to you. He couldn’t not. You were perfect. And Jon was only tormented by it. The day after he thought the old gods were sending him a message that perhaps he was a Stark deep somewhere in his blood, the thought was ripped away from his hands. Casted out and reminded he was nothing but a bastard who would ruin you and your children’s lives.

Ghost slept close again that night. Jon barley able to stop seeing you in his mind, realizing how unprepared he had let himself become for this day. He knew he couldn’t keep you forever, and it was his fault he hadn’t at all readied himself for the day he’d have to give you up. Jon just wasn’t ready.

He’d been thinking about it a lot. More and more the past few days.

It wasn’t out of nowhere. For years now each time his Uncle Benjen came to visit from Castle Black, Jon thought just a little bit more about leaving with him. But he was needed here. His family was here, and Jon knew his father would never let him take the black if he asked. But as he sat there that morning, once again the conversations around him turning to the inevitable wedding, Jon felt more and more like maybe this was a sign.

He had been selfish in trying to keep you for himself, and now he was being punished for it by listening to his little sisters boast about finally having you really be part of the family like they always wanted, and the quieter discussion between Robb and his mother. That though, was more of an argument.

Catelyn it seemed thought a wedding in the small sept would be the obvious choice, you were raised in the Light of the Seven and Robb was raised under the old gods and the new, it only made sense. Robb however, knew you as well as Jon did on this matter. “Mother, she’s not going to want a big ceremony in front of the whole castle.”

“It is a traditional-”

His voice was more exasperated then normal, as if Robb too wasn’t sleeping as well as he was pretending he was. Jon wanted to be there for him, wanted to assure his brother that he knew you wouldn’t make him miserable and that it would be fine in the end, but he didn’t want to say that. Because by giving that to Robb, it meant taking all of it away from Jon. And he still wasn’t ready for that. But still, Robb argued regardless about much of the wedding preparations. “She won’t care about tradition. If I asked her right now if she was alright with getting married in the godswood-”

Catelyn cutting in, “You know she would say yes?” Robb affirming he would, and Jons hand around the fork he was holding got a bit more tight gripped.

Sensing eyes on him, Jon dragged them up to see Arya looking right at him, narrowed eyes asking no doubt if he was alright but Jon just looked back down to his plate without much acknowledgement. She was the only one who knew. He never confirmed it to her himself, but she had caught Jon kissing you in the stables one day and confronted him about not telling her. But he certainly didn’t want to talk about it now.

And as the days shortened to the one where the King would finally arrive, so it seemed the direwolves grew. The morning after they found them, Jon could recall all of them in the kitchens trying to decide on names. Some came easier then others, Bran didn’t even yet have a name for his. All of them though, seemed to grow fast. Each of them outgrowing their pup size in a matter of weeks, it would be no time surely before they grew to be the size of the mother they found them cowering around.

Training was going better for some then others. It seemed as if the direwolves matched the traits of the one they were with, like they were meant to go to that person. Arya named her wolf Nymeria, after the Dornish Princess who had let the Rhoynar to Westeros. Though, it seemed both of them had much time to go before reaching that point of legend. In private, Nymeria was calm and comforting to Arya, but in the public eye? She was just as stubborn and difficult to train as Arya could some days be to teach, they matched well.

Rickon seemed still somewhat scared of his. Naming his Shaggydog, he was young and unsure of what to do when the pup would get aggressive. More then once Jon and Robb would step in to teach him to stand his ground, as if Shaggydog didn’t see fear in Rickon towards him, he’d stop feeling the need to prove himself as aggressive. More then once Jon would see Rickon looking across the yard with wide eyes, only needing him to nod supportingly and he’d shift his voice to project more and tell the wolf to listen to him. His little brother had always been so easy to spend time with.

He was still young, barley even six at that point, Rickon understood many things and was quite smart but he was young enough that there were things that passed his knowledge. He had yet to truly grasp why Jon was different then his other brothers, not really coming to the conclusion of what being a bastard really meant. Not understanding why Jon couldn’t do certain things, or wasn’t involved in others.

So vividly he could remember a feast they had not a year passed, other Northern lords and their families attended and the tables up at the top of the dining hall were immaculately decorated for them all. Some of the Starks escorted other guests to their seats, with Rickon tailing more in the back being so young. Jon never sat up with them at feasts. He never stood with them at formal events. That wasn’t a bastards place.

But Rickon? He didn’t get it. At only four then, Rickon had scrunched his face up as he was walking to his seat, before stopping and walking right over to Jon. In front of everyone he simply went to go greet him, wanting him to just come with them because he didn’t yet understand why his brother wasn’t sitting with him. Jon had to get up, crouch in front of him and prompt him to go on, that he’d see him later. Rickon had done so, but turned to look with an even greater frown at Jon nodding at him to keep going.

Hardly anyone ever gave him such freedom from his status. The only one who did it with ease other then him, was you. Not that his other siblings looked down on him, but they knew he was different and why. Rickon didn’t. You did, but you didn’t let that change anything. You never had. Always referring to him in the plural as “You Starks,” when lumping the whole family in together. Always joking he was a wolf, never letting him put himself lower then his siblings. You never even hesitated in being with him in any way.

You had been worried you’d get him into trouble because you weren’t supposed to be doing things, not because he wasn’t supposed to be with a highborn girl. You didn’t want him to get into trouble, because you knew him being a bastard wouldn’t be appreciated if anyone found out about you both. It was a miracle honestly that Lord Stannis, your father, had seemed adamant about keeping you from marriage.

Robb had figured out that in a two year period you had suddenly been sent to Winterfell, was because the Queen was trying to set up marriages for you after you had your moonblood, and your father had kept you away from the capitol to put an end to them. By the time you returned almost a woman at six and ten, you had two sides to work with. The first was how your father was busying you with work and intimidating away potential suitors, the other was Jon.

You had no interest in any of the highborn men or talented knights around you, because you were content going back to Winterfell to be with Jon no matter how that would be. You just didn’t care, you were happy having everything with Jon that a trueborn lord could’ve given you. But, now it wasn’t enough.

Jon knew he was being selfish with you. He knew he couldn’t keep you forever, and that one day he would have to give you up. But he had made it so much worse for himself by being as in love with you as he was. He was too deep to let go completely. He had to, and he would, but his heart would never move on.

And worse? When you married Robb, you’d go to Kings Landing, then what? Return one day to live with your new husband? Have beautiful children? You deserved that, but Jon couldn’t handle it. The thought ate away at him more and more thinking about it. He couldn’t do it, he wasn’t going to be able to take watching you get everything he wished he could have with you, with the brother who already was and had everything Jon never would.

He hadn’t said anything to his father yet, he wasn’t sure how he would handle that. But he had made his mind up. Maester Luwin didn’t think much of it when being told who the raven was for, but he did pick up on how tense Jon was. How much more troubled he had been for days. But he couldn’t say it yet. Luwin cared, but he’d be likely to bring it up to his father if he heard, so Jon let it drop for now. It was in the raven, but nothing else.

He felt bad saying it there. He knew you’d have so much overwhelming you right now, and this would not help but he didn’t want you to show up and be blind sighted by his choice. So Jon wrote to you on the Kingsroad, telling you that he wasn’t going to be at Winterfell much longer after you arrived, because he was going North and taking the black.

You didn’t write him back, not did he expect you to on the road. But you had to know. Jon had to now figure out how to convince his father to let him join, a fight Jon knew he would likely fail on his own. Despite being a bastard, the stain on his fathers reputation, never once did he let Jon fall to the sidelines.

He raised him in his home, with his other children, let him feel as much as the family as one possibly could. The older Jon got, the more he found himself working at his father side. Robb did too, but as he would take over one day, Robb had a degree of distance to prove he could stand on his own. Jon had no such future obligation. Many times it was he who stood right by his father as they’d discuss things back and forth. Jon would be sent to do things a lot, while Robb was asked to oversee things. And more then one nights as men, did Jon find himself in his fathers study with a drink or two between them as they could just spend time as father and son without hangups.

He knew it would be not an easy fight on his own, but he knew one person who could convince his father, he just hoped he could to convince him to make that fight on his behalf in the first place.

The castle was amok with people everywhere. They weren’t yet sure when they royal company would arrive, but it would be in no time. Days at most. Sometimes Jon would find himself and Ghost in the godswood at night, and he’d sit down. The still small direwolf jumping into his lap as he and the old gods would listen to Jons plight. Only for them to hear and no one else, that he wished he could hate Robb for it.

His brother seemed to be getting used to the idea of being married to you, and as much as Jon tried to be there for him, he hated every second of it. He wanted to hate Robb, that would make his feelings so much easier to figure out. Just a pure jealousy, but it wasn’t. He loved Robb, and he didn’t want Robb to be miserable nor you. But, did that come at the price of Jons happiness? Perhaps.

The King and his company must have been closer then they all thought though. Lady Catelyn came up to them during the morning, he, Robb, and Theon and told them all they were to clean up before the King arrived. Facial hair all clean shaved, and hair trimmed short and neat. All three men gave each other looks knowing it wasn’t really ideal, but the tone of her voice gave no room for interpretation.

Robb was first, his hair normally kept on the short side compared to how Jon would let his dark curls grow wild, he was though just as unhappy being shaven as the rest felt. It had been so long since Jon would’ve had nothing. Since he was fourteen maybe. As soon as facial hair begun to grow, it came in fast and coarse and he didn’t care to put in the work to constantly keep it shaven. You liked it too, which may or may not have been a much greater contributing factor to why he kept it then anything else.

Arms crossed as he waited for his turn, Jon let his general dismay he known. “Why’s your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?”

Before Robb could answer, Theon piped in first as he said your name. Both wolves eyes darting towards him as he elaborated. “It’s for her I bet.” Nodding towards Robb in particular he elaborated. “And if you have to look all nice and fancy for your betrothed, then so do we apparently.”

He didn’t want to comment on it, the manner which you were so easily now discussed in terms of being Robbs. But something more flat slipped out before he could stop it. “Not like she’d care.” Both eyes directed up towards Jon as he tilted his head in a dismissive manner to ease the tensity he might have originally carried in his words. “We spent half her life roughing her up in the training yard. Looking nice for one day won’t change any of that.”

Neither of them suspected anything, and Jon could at the very least relax in the slightest that his immense attitude in his heart hadn’t been noticed by anyone else who didn’t have reason to suspect otherwise.

Theon could only smirk to himself as the image came to him. “I’ll wager the Queen will spend half the morning tomorrow trying to doll her up. Might get to see what a royal girl is supposed to look like on her for once.” Robb had passively asked with a jest if he had been thinking about that a lot, only for Theons face to scrunch up before falling amusingly flat. “You assume I’m thinking of her, when we got the Queen coming our way?” His focus now shifted entirely, at least Jon could relax in that it was off you for now. He could tolerate whatever the discussion of Queen Cersei had become far more. “I hear she’s a sleek bit of mink.”

Robb however, much like Jon would’ve, did not even bother to entertain that specific discussion. “I hear the Prince is a right, royal prick.”

By the time Robb was done, he stood up with no restraint in amusing himself by smacking Jon on the arm as he switched places. A taunt on his lips as Jon begrudgingly made his way over, almost needing to be shoved down in the chair at his purposely putting off demeanour. “Go on Tommy, sheer him good. He’s never met a girl he’s liked better then his own hair.”

Jons face said one thing feeling the blades slice into his curls, but his heart said another. Wishing to look at Robb and tell him that he had not a single clue what he was talking about, and that he had no idea what Jon secretly had and always would have over him about you.

Jon was your first. Your first kiss, first touch, first orgasm, so many firsts between you both. He knew how addicting kissing you truly was, and how you only knew how to kiss because you and Jon learned together. And Jon was the first to know what you looked like, what you really looked like. What a sight your bare frame was and how he would never forget it, nor want too. Robb was about to get many more firsts from you, but Jon and you shared so many of your firsts together, and just maybe Jon could hold onto that.

Because even though neither of you ever said it, he was certain he was your first love, as you were his first and only. He wouldn’t hold it against you, if you found real love with Robb, he wouldn’t hold it against either of you, but Jon could at least say he had your heart first, and you’d always have his.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, everyone had begun to gather in the main courtyard. The Kings company had been spotted by Bran as he was climbing around up on the battlements and now everyone stood in preparation. Or, they should’ve been.

Catelyn noticed first as she glanced down to her children beside Ned, “Where’s Arya?” Seeing her nowhere, Catelyn asked specifically, “Sansa where’s your sister?” Naturally, Sansa only had a single shrug that she didn’t know, which wasn’t very surprising to Jon. It wasn’t as if those two spent more time together lately then they had too. They usually were better at getting along when you were there to mediate their issues and force them to set things aside, but just them on their own was more arguing lately then anything.

Jon understood that. He’d been down that path with Sansa, though, at this point they mostly ignored one another instead of her trying to get into arguments with her far older brother. His grey eyes could slide to Lady Catelyn and be sure where that negative attitude towards him had been influenced by.

Seemingly out of nowhere did Arya come running up urgently, only for their father to grab her, making her stop. Looking down at her, a helmet sat on her head he asked confused, “What are you doing with that on?” Arya didn’t even have an answer as he took it off her and motioned for her to stand beside her brother. Passing the helmet behind to Ser Rodrick in the queue where Jon stood beside Theon. The bastard brother in the back, as normal. Though, the back wasn’t the worst place he’d be delegated today.

One by one did horses begin filling the air with their trotting before they were spotted. First the riders in the front holding the banners, the golden crowned stag flying bright as it always did on one side, and the deep red of a lion on the other banner. The Baratheons and the Lannisters. First them, then guards, then two Kingsguard rode passed, and then he saw you.

You rode next to what he could only presume was your cousin, the Prince Joffery. He looked as opposite of you as possible. Short, golden hair, rich and clearly luxurious clothing as he rode in with a look that felt more smug then it should’ve been for where he was. But hardly did Jon pay any mind.

He knew to anyone else, he looked angry. Maybe he was, but in another way, a stranger would presume he was angry at who he was looking at instead of in general. But truly, he felt a painful break in his heart at the simple truth watching you ride in. You looked astoundingly beautiful. No doubt hand maidens had taken the time to paint your face more then you’d ever do alone, making the best of you stand out. Somehow not ruined at all by the stern scowl as you looked around in knowing. You didn’t look at him, not that Jon expected you too, but nor did you look at Robb. You were clearly just trying to keep yourself together, and play the part you were expected too as a member of the royal family.

Not that you’d ever want anyone to say that about you, but watching you here ride in with the luxury of them all, it was clear how much you belonged with it. You had done your own hair, some parts loose, some done in many braids, a style you had once told him was more common amongst highborn women in the Stormlands to contend with the weather as Dragonstone had all the same storms and more, and you had simply gotten used to it.

But it was your dress. It was a golden yellow, draped along you perfectly as he could see the antlers of stags sewn into the design, and a thick, deep brown shall wrapped around you to keep you warm. The dress meant to stand out, and clearly the Queen had thought a cloak would hide too much of it. It wasn’t the title graced to you, but in some regards, its exactly what you were. The daughter of the Kings brother, in some places, you wouldn’t just be a lady, your position would be close enough to call a princess. And you looked like one.

And he hated it. Because he knew Queen Cersei had dressed you up as such, to make sure you appealed as much as possible to Robb. He had a feeling the Queen would be offended if she knew a bastard like him even had eyes for such a beautiful princess no matter how much it was his kiss you knew.

Eventually the carriage no doubt holding the Queen in question and her other children, as they were not seen riding in with the procession, did two more Kingsguard ride on either side before he appeared.

Jon had never seen King Robert Baratheon as much as he heard about him. Grew up with his father in the Eyrie as a ward. Half raised by Lord Jon Arryn, the now deceased hand of the King and as little as he personally knew about him, was the man Jon was named after. Much like how Robb was for the King before his eyes. He knew Lord Arryn had a son named after Robert as well, or Robin as you had once stated was the nickname the strange boy preferred. But none of the Kings children held any name resembling Ned Stark.

It itched at something in Jons brain that he hated thinking about. That if he could take you north to run away with him, he’d give you a son first and name him after his father. But he couldn’t think that, because you were here to be married to Robb, under the Kings command.

King Robert was…not what Jon was expecting of a King. He held the same green in his eyes, the same dark hair, and the same fierce demeanour and scowl that matched you perfectly. He could see how you looked more like Roberts daughter then his own son actually did. But he was large. Much larger then he thought, as the songs all described the great warrior King as a lean and fierce man. He could see someone who was once fierce, but perhaps, not anywhere close anymore to the word lean.

But he was the King, and as his father knelt down to the ground so did they all too. He could see in his peripherals that the King approached suddenly, a hand waving to his old friend to stand as they all followed. His father bowed with a greeting as he would any man, “Your grace.”

All waited in silence for the Kings words, but it was not what he expected, or any. “You got fat.”

No one said a word. His eyes did though, and so did yours. It was so natural, looking to you to read his eyes as he did yours. And like you were meant for one another, your sternness broke only for him. You both looked to the other right away, flickering with hidden smirks as if to joke about which one of their family members had gotten fat before you had to stop and look away lest a grin break out on you more. Jon could barley smother his, but it made him feel just a bit warmer on the inside knowing that not even the news between you both had ruined that you and he never stopped gravitating to one another.

His father though, too had a natural reaction not as proper as one expected of him. Only nodding down to the Kings very large belly as both of them burst into a laughter and bringing the other in for a hug. It wasn’t often he heard much of the King from his father, but he knew how close they one were. The King even once betrothed to Jons own Aunt Lyanna before the rebellion. Though, that felt strange to think of.

What his life would’ve looked like towards you had that taken place as was planned, and Jon wasn’t so sure he liked the thought of not having you in it the exact way you had been for fifteen years. Around him the King continued, “Nine years, where the hell have you been?”

His father only jesting with a knowing that he was guarding the North for him. One by one he greeted everyone, a jovial hug for Lady Catelyn, and personally greeting each of the Stark children. Even with a joke towards Bran asking to show him his muscles, only to tell the boy of then with a laugh, “You’ll be a solider.”

The next to approach made Prince Jofferys appearance much more obvious who he took after. The Queen was as blonde as he was and looked just like him, as did her two children beside her. The look on her own face was not quite the natural scowl it seemed the Baratheons had, but one more of genuine disdain. For what, Jon didn’t care to know. But it only grew as the King demanded Ned to take him to the crypts to pay his respects, and Queen Cersei in a rather flat tone tried to say otherwise. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

The King didn’t listen, and thus the party begun to disperse.

He knew his place, and as Jon watched you preoccupied with climbing down off your horse, did Jon decide to leave now. He didn’t need to make you feel more conflicted by hovering around you right away, especially as he could see Robb making his way over to talk to you. Besides, between the Queen, Lady Catelyn and all the other eyes, Jon knew better then to let the bastard of Winterfell hang around these far more important people, no matter how much he wanted to talk to you.

But it was not likely. The Starks were to feast the royals at sundown, and for all the effort into making Jon look as cleaned up as the rest of them, he wasn’t permitted. Not sat down at a further table for his little brother to stop by to see him, but not at all. Told very firmly by Catelyn herself only the day before that it would be insulting to the royal family to travel all this way, only to have a bastard feasting with them. She didn’t need to say that she simply didn’t want him there in general, but neither her nor Jon needed many words for him to know that anymore. They barley talked, and when they did, it was as if Jon and Catelyn spoke a language all of their own, but that one was simply filled with spite and hate.

Weird as it was to say, but Jon and Catelyn knew each other extremely well in a way no one else did, only it was nothing but an angry and ugly side to either of them that they both tried to keep from the rest of the family for their sake. They could hate each other when they were alone, they didn’t want it to ruin the rest of the family. So she didn’t need to tell Jon she didn’t want him there, it was loud and clear without the words.

Why did he torture himself like this?

Jon hadn’t seen you, nor most of anyone all day as they prepared for the feast. Outside in the cold of the training yard, he could hear the muffle of the music inside with that bitter anger building that he wasn’t welcome. That everything was better without him in there. A painful reminder once more that Jon was raised with the Starks, but still wasn’t one of them.

Instead he tormented himself by staying close enough he could hear them in the cold, as he took his anger out with a practice sword. Something rather animalistic in him of just needing to let the anger out by hitting something. It only half worked, really. But as he was there for some time, did he hear the sudden approach of a horse. Turning to look, it was the first he smiled all day as he sat the sword to the side.

“Uncle Benjen.” Both men came in for a hug with glee. It had been a while since they saw one another at that point, but a welcome one. Always a man Jon felt like he could rely on. Even far away on the Wall at Castle Black, did his uncle always feel like someone Jon connected with. In the Nights Watch sometimes it felt like he could arrive to visit as a bit of an outsider, and Jon, the true bastard outsider would spend much time with him during his visits. Hearing about the Wall, and his brothers. Many of whom sounded too wild to be true but he swore on his mothers name that he was telling the truth.

And always glad to see him did his Uncle Benjen reassure him with an amusement. “Rode all day. Didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters.” Though, in the pause it was obvious. No one was outside but Jon, and the music was muffled further away where he wasn’t. Benjen knew, but Jon appreciated that he asked anyways. “Why aren’t you at the feast?”

“Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst.” His Uncle nodded in knowing. Saying that he was always welcome on the Wall, that no bastard was ever denied a seat there and Jon all but jumped on it. He had been thinking on it more and more, he was right. His father never would let him go, but he would, if it was his own brother who proposed the idea. “So take me with you when you go back.”

“Jon-”

Cutting whatever protest he was about to say, Jon continued on jumping right to the point. “Father will let me if you ask him. I know he will.”

Both only stared at one another for a moment. Something difficult to discern on his uncles face, but Jon looked with a tense but hopeful stare. He couldn’t stay here. He had no place anymore. His father would accept being the Hand, he’d take the girls and Bran with him. Robb would act as Lord of Winterfell in his absence and Jon would be left with the mother who hates him, waiting for you to return one day and live out your new life outside of him. There was no place for Jon in Winterfell anymore, and there was only one place a bastard of the North with no meaning could find belonging in.

Sighing a bit deeply, he knew where his uncle was going with this. “The Wall isn’t going anywhere.” Jon tried, more clam and assured that he ready to swear their oath. But his Uncle had another argument, with something deeper in his eye that Jon couldn’t quite read well. “You don’t understand what you’d be giving up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons.”

Jon though said it without thought. If he dug deeper, he’d find doubt, but that doubt was marred in the knowledge that he wouldn’t ever be able to have it with the one woman he always dreamed of it with. Jon had spent hours at night as a boy wondering how to convince his father to find a way to let Jon marry you when you both grew up, only to know it was never going to happen.

If it was true, Jon wasn’t sure, but he said it anyways just to convince his uncle. “I don’t care about that.”

There was a look in his uncles eye though, one Jon had no idea how to read. Something knowing that he didn’t understand, and yet something filled with almost a bit of sorrow. “You might. If you knew what it meant.” Jon only looked away, something he couldn’t connect in his mind with what Benjens had thought separately. Adding to him, “If you knew the cost, you might not be so eager to pay the price. You can always ask me again after you’ve fathered a few sons of your own. See how you feel then.”

Jon said nothing. Were he the young and impulsive boy he was as a teenager, he would’ve let that feeling turn to anger. Maybe burst out that he’d never have sons, because he refuses to father a bastard. To ever have a child know that life or force his to live it. But he didn’t, and he kept it all inside. Perhaps too because those thoughts of fathering sons sat a little too close to his heart, knowing the only woman he’d ever want that with, was going to be the mother of Robbs sons in no time.

If it wasn’t with you, Jon had no wish to even consider having a child. And even then, he hadn’t even gone through with that day because he refused to ruin your life or your childs life by giving you a bastard.

Instead, as a crash and laughter was heard inside, did Benjen shift the subject. Too likely suspecting Jon needed some time to linger on the thoughts. “I better get inside. Rescue your father from his guests.” Both hands came up to grab at Jons upper arms, with a reassurance that Jon could barley nod at. “We’ll talk later.”

Watching his Uncle disappear into the castle, Jon finally turned around. Picking the sword back up, but something in his bones had little energy for it left. The Wall might be Jons only chance to find purpose, and he couldn’t be denied that too. It was the one place left Jon could see himself at, could see himself being. With everything left to him being taken, he needed something and this had to be it.

Interrupting his thoughts though did an unknown voice from behind take him off guard. “Your uncle’s in the Nights Watch.” Turning around, did Jon see an approaching figure. A rather short figure with a flask in his hand but no sign it had been sipped at too much. It didn’t take an expert to know who he was. The hair and the height said it all.

But Jon looked at him with a narrowed gaze, “What are you doing back there?”

Coming close with a flat jest on his tongue he said, “Preparing for a night with your family.” Leaning against a wooden post, he glanced up to Jon with a genuine curiosity. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.” Jon only asked to be clear, preferring to know the proper name and title of the man he was speaking too that he was Tyrion Lannister, the Queens brother. Only for him to reply in a more sarcastic tone Jon recognized. “My greatest accomplishment.” Only to look up at him, and say it at the worst possible time for Jons mind. “And you. You’re Ned Starks bastard, aren’t you?”

Jons face just fell. No words even spoken did Jon turn to walk away entirely, he didn’t need this, not tonight, not now of all times he didn’t need to be reminded of what he was plagued with his entire life.

Tyrion Lannister for what it was worth, stopped him in his tracks with a shout that seemed both a bit surprised but genuine. “Did I offend you? Sorry.” Turning to look back at him, he swept away that apology and instead dug the knife deeper. “You are the bastard though?”

It was as good of a yes as Jon could possibly say without the word. “Lord Eddard Stark is my father.”

But it didn’t get passed Tyrion what Jon was trying to avoid. Anything to do with this discussion. And thus he spelled it out to ensure Jon understood exactly what about him he was pointing out on purpose. “And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you, the bastard.” Jons jaw clenched looking away, hand around the hilt of the practice sword tight behind his gloves needing something to let the energy out on as it rose once more. “Let me give you some advice bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour, and it can never be used to hurt you.”

Truly, whatever time it would take for that to sink into Jons mind, it would not do so tonight. Hardly letting the man walk three feet away before all but shouting in an accusatory tone, “The hell do you know about being a bastard?”

Jon though certainly didn’t forget the answer, a look he knew too well on himself, something almost a bit angry yet self loathing. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes.” And thus finally, Jon was left back alone in the cold.

Neither conversation gave him hope, and neither provided him with a single scrap of comfort. Until there were none left in sight but him alone did Jon finally turn around. His plan had been to put the sword away, and just abandon this place and go to bed entirely. But now that feeling returned.

Everyone had everything to say about him being a bastard as if he hadn’t been one his whole life, as if he wasn’t ruining other people’s lives by being the bastard he was. Instead of putting it away, Jon felt that anger rise to the top and burn through him before much more violently letting the sword hit at the training dummy as if hacking away at something.

If one more person tried to talk him down tonight, he might lose it. That was, until a soft, high pitched voice called to his heart from somewhere behind him. “Think he’s dead yet?”

Spinning around in an instant did Jons anger melt away, leaving nothing but that need to fill his heart. Eyes wide and bright as he looked at you, as yours were just as soft but more hesitant. You hadn’t come close as you normally would’ve. He knew why, he knew you were afraid of what he was thinking or feeling, and afraid he was mad at you for it. So you stood further back, your hands not even gloved out in this cold wringing together.

You had changed for the feast. Something a bit warmer then before, and just as beautiful but this time there were more shades of blue and dashes of what in the light may be orange. It was fancier then anything you wore when you were here, your dresses of Kings Landing likely being much more beautiful, fit for a princess. But you looked stunning no matter what to him.

Barley muttering your name, did Jon put the sword away for good and circled around to the empty space between you both. You looked behind him as Jon looked behind you and saw nothing and no one. And thus neither of you hesitated.

You approached him but Jon all but ran up to you. Grasping you in a hug, his strength easily able to pick you up and spin you in place as he held you tightly as you did him. Your voice gentle in his hear making his heart sore in his chest, “I missed you.” Only putting you back on two feet to see your hesitation had left somewhat, leaving just the softness and adoration to make the main priority.

His hands remained more firm on your upper arms, about to tell you how much he missed you, how much he missed everything about you these past months, but looking up and around he stopped himself. No one was around still, but twice now his peace was disturbed and it could again. Instead, wordlessly did Jon turn and pull you with him.

Following without protest or question, you let Jon lead you anywhere he wanted. Pulling you both into a smaller, empty armoury. Turning you to face him again, Jon almost said something, anything, but it was you. He didn’t need too. You knew what was going through his head as much as he did yours, words weren’t needed between you both. Instead, Jon pulled you into another hug.

The embrace lasting much longer then it should’ve were you somewhere eyes could spot you, and his arms hovering too long and probably too low to be appropriate for a bastard and a highborn maiden, but he didn’t care. Only pulling back enough to hold you at one upper arm to keep you there, and a hand at your waist, Jons eyes darted down to yours.

Again between you both but not touching him back now in the slightest. He knew why. You were nervous. You didn’t know what to say or do anymore and Jon hated that you felt so insecure about your future that you couldn’t even hold him as he was you. Muttering your name gently, you looked up at him with those eyes he adored more then anything.

Your voice though, cut right to the chase of what he had told you in his letter. “You’re really joining them?” Jon wouldn’t even try to lie about it, so he nodded confidently. Barley able to get half the start of a sentence out to say his peace he’d been thinking for weeks, you cut him off with something distressed. “Don’t give me that.” Your fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to him and Jon certainly caught the movement. “Don’t tell me what you think everyone else wants to hear.”

Was it the reason? Or was it just Jon cutting right to the chase of your issue as you did his? He couldn’t be sure, but in a deeper tone he said it. “You’re marrying Robb.” Instantly Jon could tell you bit your tongue, a nervous habit of yours and without hesitating did Jon reach up. His hand cupping your cheek as his thumb traced along your jaw until he felt you relax under his touch. Leaning down more he made sure you looked into his eyes as he said it. “I’m not mad at you. Neither of you really had a say in it.”

Ever so slowly, you hesitantly reached out so the tips of your fingers could start to rest against his stomach, knowing that anytime before now you wouldn’t have hesitated to touch him back when alone like this. Neither of you were really addressing the topics between you, but you continued anyways. “And you think the Nights Watch is the only place you belong?”

After everything else tonight, were it not you, Jon would’ve pulled away in frustration. But not with you, and not when his time with you was suddenly so little. “It is now.” Your head rose up to look at him again as your brows narrowed. “You’ll marry him, go back to Kings Landing with my father and sisters, and leave me what? Here with the brother who gets the one thing that used to be mine, and his mother who hates me?”

You shouted it a bit louder then you meant too, a worry and an anger that Jon had gotten the wrong idea. “Jon, I’m not trying to leave you behind.”

He only sighed, he knew that. Jaw clenched as the hand on your waist tightened he tried to reassure you but only came with words you both knew were of zero comfort. But you too were you both aware that comfort between you both was swiftly running out. “No. You’re doing your duty, and I’m doing mine.”

For a good while you both stood there, his hands on you, yours barley on his but it was too much. He missed you so desperately and he had you right here. Jon thought not of it being a good or bad idea, but he had you close, and he wanted to do it. Suddenly shifting you with the hand on your waist, Jon moved you to press your back against the wall behind you.

Stepping more into your personal space, Jon hovered over you as he leaned down. Your eyes slipped closed as he let his dark ones flicker down to you, then your lips and back before letting his close as well. Not quite kissing you yet, but no doubt he was close that you could feel his breath against your skin when you exhaled nervously. Jon almost smirked, how cute you were about being physical with him even now.

But just as he was about to press his lips finally to yours, months after almost making love to you for your first times, did it stop. A sound in the distance like a door opening and voices reminding you both where you were and why. Your head dropped suddenly as your eyes opened and something sad came over you both.

Jon never took his hands off you, instead cupping both of your cheeks and turning your head downwards a little to press a firm kiss to your forehead before resting his against it with a muttering rasp. Not telling you anything but what he didn’t say before. “I missed you too, darling.”

Everything went wrong after that. Most of the men left for a hunt with the King in the wolfswood, and somewhere between that, did Bran fall. A climber only matched by you when you were his age, Bran had climbed a thousand times. In the wind, and the rain, and he’s never fallen. But this time as he climbed the run down, empty tower on the edge of the castle walls, did Bran apparently fall.

Now in bed, none of them knew if he would make it and they could only hold on to find out. But in the middle of that new pain and grief, did the Queen make it all worse by declaring, “We still have a wedding to put on.”

He tried to keep his distance, but it wasn’t an easy task. Being around you came so naturally to Jon that he barely sometimes thought about it when he’d begin to seek you out. Many times normal you’d be found with him or him with you, but with everyone around including such watchful eyes of royals, things were different. He couldn’t spend time with you the way he wished.

Queen Cersei kept a tight leash around you much of the days. Always seeking you out or sending a handmaiden to fetch you for her, always fussing about one thing or another and he could only guess it was wedding preparations. Many times you would emerge hours later fussing with the skirt of your dress as if you had to smooth it out from changing out of it multiple times. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it. What it was going to look like. Jon knew what he could imagine, but likely it was nowhere near as elegant as what it could be.

Just another reminder to Jon that this was inevitable. He was always going to have to give you up. A bastard couldn’t provide you with those sorts of things, things that you deserved. But, as it turned out, a bastard wasn’t welcome in many regards with the royal family around. He spent much time it felt on the outside looking in, not being part of the dynamics around the castle in front of such grand company. And much of that time as his father thus spend with King Robert, he found his duties more lax especially as the time ticked away.

It was another inevitability now. You were going to marry Robb, and Jon would leave the next day for the Wall. How his Uncle Benjen convinced his father to say yes he wasn’t sure, but he did, and now Jon sat in the waiting for it to happen.

One afternoon he recalled finding himself sitting up on a landing with Arya, watching in the training yard as the spoiled Prince Joffery had demanded to spar with Robb. When Arya asked why he wasn’t down there, she needed little more explanation as he told her bastards aren’t permitted to spar with princes. They laughed as they watched Joffery fail time and time again to match Robbs skill, many times yelling and getting angry when Robb would knock him down, only for The Hound to remind him that he was the one who demanded Robb fight in the first place.

He had thought on the idea a lot, but now with his time here limited, Jon had looked at Arya and knew what he was planning. He could recall how according to his father, Arya reminded him of the spirit of his sister. Their Aunt Lyanna, the one whom passed after Prince Rhaegar Targaryean had kidnapped her. Their father didn’t speak of her often, but when he did it was always memorable. Jesting once that had their own father allowed it, Lyanna would’ve likely carried a sword just as her brothers did.

It was all ready to go, to be picked up the next day for the final touches and it was one of the only things Jon had to look forward too now. Others, not so much. The feeling drew further close to the day you would marry, and Jon tried to tell himself to keep his distance.

Really, he knew he had to accept this. He didn’t want to leave and you have him stuck in your memory. You knew Robb just as long as you did Jon, you were just as close in a platonic sense. You were a match that made sense, and Jon didn’t want Robb nor you to be unhappy with each other. He wanted this to work, because he knew he couldn’t give you what Robb could. It didn’t feel good, it pained in his heart to consider what life you’d have that was so much better when he wasn’t the one keeping you down, but he knew he had to let you go.

Not his love, that would remain for the rest of his days and beyond them. But, Jon was ready to bring your heart with him to the Wall. He’d keep it safe, protect it with everything he had left. That love would come with him, so you could make room for Robb. He was giving up any chance at a wife or family in the Watch anyways, and he had no plans for eyes for someone else. He’d protect your little secret love so you didn’t have to have the memory of it getting in the way of your new happiness. But that didn’t mean he was ready.

The night before he had seen you leave the castle late into the night when you should’ve been sleeping. Seeing you go to the godswood, Jon smiled. Knowing that sometimes you felt lost and confused and the sept never felt the right place for it, so you’d sit in front of the Weirwood and hope something made sense in your head there. All it took was once single glance to Ghost before he nodded.

The still small direwolf making his way down to the ground as Jon followed, only for you to be taken by surprise as Ghost thus jumped onto your lap. Almost not registering how natural it was when Jon sat down next to you, that he pulled you in close with an arm around you as your head rested against his shoulder. The perfect position for Jon to lean more over you to take in the last quiet you two would ever have together.

Your fingers running along Ghosts fur by his ears, he almost didn’t hear you, you whispered it so quietly. “We never had a chance did we?” His brows narrowed in a confusion, looking more down to you as you elaborated, not taking your eyes off the direwolf. “I mean, being with you is easy. It’s always been easy, but being together?”

Jon rested his chin on the top of your head. Breathing in deeply before rasping into the cold air, “No. No, we never had a chance.”

It stung to say, but it was the truth that you both had spent years pretending would not happen. Yet it was, and there was no more running from it. You turned your head suddenly, a tenseness in your muscles like something overwhelming came over you, partially hidden by the soft fur of his cloak. “You know right? Even if I don’t say it?”

Oh he did. Jon knew, he knew for a long time. But two scared teenagers started this love off, and never did you both quite get passed that fear to speak it out loud. But, he refused to let you and him depart the others lives with you thinking he didn’t love you. Moving to pull your face to look back up to his by your chin, his eyes were bright down at your much more sorrowful ones. “I know. And you do too.”

Back and forth for a bit you both went, jokes about wanting to kiss as if it didn’t pain you both to avoid it. Eventually, a silence simmered over when the idea came to him. Jon had his own fantasy, but his was of escape. He didn’t want that. Jon didn’t want anymore for you to think about leaving your life to make a new one, he wanted you to accept what was coming as he had to. But that didn’t mean he had to give all of you up. “Where’d we meet?” Chuckling instantly at your confused expression. “If we had a chance, in another life where’d we meet?”

“Are we still not us?”

His tone felt much easier, something more free and normal within it as if nothing was happening around you both out of your control. Pulling you a bit closer, “No, well I mean I’m still me, and you’re still you. But we’re not highborn, no titles or duties. Just two people somewhere in the kingdom. Where’d we meet?”

You squinted in thought for a while, and Jon couldn’t say he was disappointed in your answer. “I hear Highgarden is beautiful in the summer.” As far from the cold or Kings Landing as you could get, a perfect spot for two people in a new life.

Without even hesitating, Jon said it without even realizing your eyes went comically wide. “Alright. So you’re a bar maid in Highgarden, and I-”

You laughed loudly, tried to pull away as Jon kept you against him, an audacity in your tone. “Excuse me, why am I a bar maid? Isn’t this a fantasy?”

But Jon didn’t need to elaborate, he’d thought of a thousand and one scenarios in his head at ways he and you could marry and live out your lives together. There was practically no fantasy Jon had not long since thought of in depth about your future together, knowing it would be the only future you’d have. “Yes, and if you’re a bar maid, it means I have an excuse to pull this pretty little bar maid in Highgarden down onto my lap as she passes by.” Muttering with a held back amusement that such a thing was rather aggressive of him, Jon only smirked. “Maybe this particular bar maid makes me aggressive.”

Back and forth you both went. What he would do, if you stayed in Highgarden or travelled the realm elsewhere. How many children you’d both have, to which Jon kept adding to your seemingly final conclusion of two, until he managed to bend your arm and get you to agree on five. By the time it was too late for you both to be awake, your other lives had been planned and settled.

Ghost sensing Jon was ready to leave, leaped out of your lap to the ground. Shaking out his fur to wake himself up as you both watched with fond smiles. You turned to look back up at him first, his hands resting without care at your waist and you held gentle at the wrists holding you. Jon knew better then to try and kiss you the night before you married his brother, it would put a selfish need for him onto you and add to the guilt he knew you were already going to struggle with. And Jon didn’t want that.

Raising one hand to cup your cheek, Jons heart skipped at how easily you leaned into his thumb running over the soft skin. “Don’t look for me in the ceremony.” Your eyes widened before narrowing in what he knew right away was a panic, and he put out that fire before you could even think otherwise. Leaning down to meet your eye level better, he spoke slower to make sure you understood him. “I’ll be there, but don’t look for me. You’re going to be Robb’s now, and I want you to be okay with accepting that.”

Nodding, he made you promise out loud to ensure you understood him.

Never letting the thumb running along your cheek stop, Jon told the painful truth. It didn’t feel good for him to say, but he said it for you. He knew you needed to hear it, he didn’t want you to go into tomorrow upset about betraying Jon when he’d never feel that way about you, or about Robb. “You’ll be each others tomorrow, and I’ll be at the Wall. I want you two to be there for each other. No matter what. Besides,” With a bit of brevity he just told the truth he’s seen in the countless girls who gave Robb those very looks. “Robb’s easy to fall in love with, and I think it’s impossible not to fall at least a little in love with you.”

Swallowing roughly you nodded again before Jon carefully pulled you into his arms. A hand running down your hair he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, before muttering for you to go on and get to bed. Sending you off first was on purpose. He didn’t want you to linger with him on your mind. Jon needed you to be okay with being Robb’s, and he himself, just needed to get through these next few days. He had an entire life at the Wall to grieve about you.

In a complete truth, Jon as sure your wedding as as much a blur to you as it was to him. Not even your father was there to walk you, not the King who did it, but Ned Stark himself. It seemed fitting, the man who was more of a father to you then any of your family by blood, and he walked you to the Weirwood. As if not giving you away, but being the one to welcome you to being a true part of the family from here on in. As he moved to stand with the rest of the crowd, Jon pretended not to notice his father giving him a look.

Jon was too distracted. He hated the dress you wore. You looked beautiful, but you didn’t look comfortable at all. It was…well it was rather tight fitting for a girl like you. You preferred long sleeves, gowns that flowed along the ground like a curtain in the wind, and less bold designs but more colours that were sewn into the stitches to make things stand out ever the slightest. This was not you. His eyes glanced to the Queen and he knew right away whose dress really this was made for, but just forced onto you.

Northern weddings were quiet. No septon, no one up there but the bride and groom. Some spoke words out loud, some didn’t, but the man would drape her with his fur and they’d prey before the Weirwood. Jon watched, but didn’t seem to pay attention to it. Robb would never make a scene out of it anyways, and certainly not when it was clear you were incredibly nervous. Perhaps it was the only thing Jon focused on. The gentle way Robb tilted your face up by your chin for a short, and gentle kiss. Normally such events were followed by more festive acts, many times the man carrying his new bride to the feast with a rambunctious energy, but their father clearly understood better right now. Giving the crowd the chance to go there first and give yourself and Robb a moment alone.

Jon didn’t hesitate to leave the godswood. It’s what he asked of you, and it’s what he wanted, but he couldn’t take it. The kiss was just the tipping point. You didn’t look at Jon once the whole ceremony, and he couldn’t get to the Wall fast enough.

Jon remembered very little of the feast he actually had indeed attended, by the time morning came. Sitting more down away from the main table you and Robb sat at, he couldn’t stand any of it. He knew the look on your face better then anyone. It was the same apprehensive one you wore for him when he undressed you completely only months before. Wanting not to appear scared but coming off as it anyways in such an innocent way. Only, it wasn’t Jons bed you were nervous for.

It was Robbs. And Jon knew better then to think that you’d back down tonight. You backed down with Jon because you were scared, and there were no duties. You both thought you had all the time to get there, and there was nothing attached to it. Robb would never insist on it, but Jon knew you and he knew you would go through with it tonight no matter what.

In your head, you still had one duty left to become a proper wife and-

Eyes closing as his hand tightened around the mug full of ale, he let an exhale forced out through gritted teeth. A darkness was starting to rise in his chest. Something much more like a wolf as he watched you both. Robb would try and calm your nerves, just small mutters in your ear and a hand on your leg to ground you. You both looked good together. You fit well at Robbs side. Of course you did. You were basically a princess, of course you fit married to the Heir to Winterfell.

But Jon knew you first. He was the one who spent three days and three nights taking care of you. He was the one who brought you out of your shy shell. He kissed you for the first time, he touched you for the first time, your first orgasms were his, he was the one who knew first what a beautiful sight your bare body was. It was Jon who almost made love to you first. And yet, the one last act that mattered most, and Robb was the one who would get it.

The logical part of Jons brain knew it was the alcohol doing it, drinking more then he should’ve. He knew it was the part of him that was drunk that was angry and jealous, and he didn’t really blame Robb for any of this. But that dark, drunk part of Jons head despised all of it. Around him too he heard whispers of a bedding ceremony.

Never in a million lifetimes would Jon put you through that, and were he sober, Jon knew Robb would never either. But drunk? He feared it. He feared it would happen, and being Robbs eldest brother he’d be forced to participate and there was no chance he could handle that right now. Looking up at you once more, Jon barley let his eyes stay for a second before suddenly pushing up from the table.

Lucky for him, he was just a bastard, and no one who noticed cared when the bastard abruptly left the table and disappeared into the darkness beyond the hall. He thought nothing of it at the time, a little too drunk and rattled to care, but on his angry way out he nearly ran right into Ser Jaime Lannister.

The man only standing there with a curious expression for a few seconds still in his way before Jon roughly snapped out, “Pardon.” Before he relented with what looked like a mocking expression as he moved out of the way. The Kingslayer said nothing to Jon, but he felt the mans stare until he turned the corner out of sight, nor was he sober enough to care why.

Jon stayed well away from any of the main bedchambers that night. The walls of Winterfell were thick stone, made to act as an insulation to keep the warmth in, but it also muffled most sounds. He’d never be able to hear anything, and certainly not from his further away, but he couldn’t risk it. He wanted to know nothing about what you’d be like laying with his brother.

He didn’t sleep at all in the end. As if to torture himself, Jon ended up back in the godswood. He felt lost, and sometimes the eyes of the old gods were the only ones where Jon could go to try and bring himself back down to the ground. He sat with his back firm up against the tree near the carved face, Ghost following closely before laying in Jons lap with a whine. Perhaps trying to comfort him, but it too felt a bit like something in Ghost was just as upset as Jon was. As if in the short time the direwolf knew you, he was losing you as well.

Luckily for Jon though, by the time the morning sun rose its weary head did he feel what was left in his system disappear for good. Pushing himself up, he looked down at Ghost with a sigh, the direwolf matching in expression. “You better go say goodbye too. Might be a while before we see any of them again.”

Jon had a lot to do in a short period of time, but at least was awake before most to ensure that he was ready to go. What of his belongings he was bringing packed up, but Jon had a few stops to make, but two were the most important. Though, the first of which required an extra trip. Down outside as Jon waited for the last of the details to be finished with the blacksmith, the very last thing Jon wanted to happen, decided to do so.

He somewhat recalled running into Jaime Lannister the night before, but he was pissed off and rather drunk at the time, but it seemed it was enough to catch his attention. Approaching him from behind, he called out first. “A sword for the Wall?” Turning to look at the approaching figure, Jon could only comment that he already had one. Yet the questions kept coming, “Have you swung it yet?” Of course he had, but the man had a different direction in mind. One Jon couldn’t comprehend why he was asking. “At someone I mean?” They both knew the answer was no, but instead of mocking like he wondered if the man would swing at him, Jaime Lannister said something rather honest yet odd. “It's a strange thing, the first time you cut a man. You realize we're nothing but sacks of meat and blood and some bone to keep it all standing.”

Jon didn’t trust when he held his hand out, but took it out of courtesy anyways with a suspicious look in his eye. The mocking came then, just as he knew it would. “Let me thank you ahead of time for guarding us all from the perils beyond the Wall. Wildlings and White Walkers and whatnot.” Instantly Jon tried pulling away, but was yanked back forward with an equal strength as the man twisted the knife just a bit further. “We’re grateful to have good, strong men like you protecting us.”

Trying to walk away, he didn’t get very far almost as if he assumed Jon would say something, which he did. Trying to keep an even tone, and not start anything despite the anger sitting with him. “We’ve guarded the kingdoms for eight thousands years.” Mockingly, Jaime Lannister asked if he were speaking as we already, asking with a condescending tone if he took his vows yet. “Soon enough.”

The look the man gave Jon, he had no idea what it meant. Something more serious flashing across his eyes before he sauntered back over and covering whatever that emotion was with more mocking. “I can only hope you got everything out of your system before hand. Or, gotten into something you’ve always wanted before you can never have her.” Jons grey eyes grew darker and narrowed, as the man leaned in for only him to hear. “Do yourself a favour, and do one last dishonourable thing with such a pretty girl before you never have the chance again.” Neither of them expected a single word out of Jon, as he begun to stand back more, louder this time for all around to hear. “Give my regards to the Night's Watch. I'm sure it will be thrilling to serve in such an elite force. And if not, It's only for life.”

He had to ignore it, any of it. He didn’t have the time nor patience to figure out what he meant, if he knew, and if so, how in the seven hells did Jaime Lannister put that together when years around the same people everyday hadn’t yet. He had to focus, it was his last day, and his time was growing ever shorter.

Arya reacted just as he expected, excited by the idea but more touched he actually did it. A small, skinny sword made special for her. He couldn’t be there to teach her, but he could give her the first step, and her first lesson if just a handful of playful words she all but rolled her eyes at. Having to pull back when she went in for a hug, “Careful.” Realizing the sword still in her hand, she’d have a long way to go, but Jon would be proud of her no matter what.

Without much thought, Jon expected it as much as she did. Short as ever, Arya jumped high into Jon as he caught her without a second thought, and with ease. He loved all his siblings, but he’d miss Arya a great amount as she would him. They were always the outcasts in their own family, in their own unique ways and that made it easy to always look out for the other. “All the best swords have names you know.”

Thinking for a moment, Arya found a fitting name only she could ever come up with. “Sansa can keep her sewing needles. I’ve got a Needle of my own.” Neither rushed to pull away, but she had to finish packing and Jon had another stop to make. One that would be much more unpleasant then this.

Catelyn glared at him the moment she turned her head to see him. Jon stood in the open door, seeing his little brother still as unconscious as he was the day before, and the one before that for countless nights now. He didn’t blame her as a mother for staying at his bedside, but it meant he had to do this with her there. “I came to say goodbye to Bran.”

Dismissive as ever, she managed to just spit out without looking back at him, “You’ve said it.”

Were this years ago, when Jon was still a teenager, it would’ve been worse. Their relationship then was hostile and volitle. He had an impulsive temper and she had no patience to put up with it the way his father tried to get her to do. He may have challenged her, she’d have threatened to call the guards and Jon would’ve called her bluff knowing she’d never cause a scene like that.

But he wasn’t that teenager anymore, he was a man who knew better. So instead, he ignored her completely. Walked into the room to the other side of Brans bed, looking down to the boy who would wake up and not realize Jon even had plans like this to leave. He felt Catelyns eyes on him, angry he had walked in regardless of what she tried to convey to him.

It wasn’t about her though, it was about Bran. Only a boy of ten, but Jon had seen his face nearly every single day since he was born and for that he considered himself extremely lucky. And leaving him wasn’t easy, especially like this, especially when he knew if he were here when he woke up, Bran would be upset he was gone. “I wish I could be here when you wake up. I’m going north with Uncle Benjen, I’m talking the black.”

Eyes glancing up to Catelyn, he knew this was out of his comfort. Doing this in front of her, but he wasn’t going to push it and ask her to leave and he wasn’t going to leave Bran without saying goodbye. So, instead Jon knelt down to Brans bedside, leaning more to him with a soft and gentle tone hoping his little brother could hear him asleep. “I know we always talked about seeing the Wall together, but you'll be able to come visit me at Castle Black when you're better. I'll know my way around by then. I'll be a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. We can go out walking beyond the Wall, if you're not afraid.”

Jon risked the glance, and regretted it. There likely was a lot running through Catelyns head towards him. Even when he only wanted an honest moment with his brother, she still didn’t have it in her to just ignore him, no she always had to haunt over Jons life and remind him exactly why he didn’t feel welcome here anymore in the first place. With a force to say it, but a seething anger whispered behind it she nearly hissed it at him. “I want you to leave.”

The footsteps caught both of their attention. Turning to look, was Ned Stark standing there, watching the unusual and tense scene. Rarely could Jon ever be found alone in the room with Catelyn, but with the sleeping Bran between them, it was clear what was going on and he said nothing. Knowing Jon picked up on the silent indication to give him and his wife a moment alone. Standing up, Jon leaned over the bed. Running a hand over the top of his brothers head, pressing a kiss to his forehead with the only hope that he indeed, will wake up one day.

He said nothing further to Bran, Catelyn or his father. Only shifting around him to leave as his father eventually closed the door behind him. Jon didn’t want to linger anymore then he had too. He was the sore spot between his father and her. The stain on her husbands reputation, the walking memory living with her own children that her husband brought another womans son home. He was the rift in the family, and he knew if was the spite and hatred of Catelyn that was the driving force behind getting Jon to this point.

But, as the morning continued, his time grew short.

He hadn’t seen you until that moment. You were around, but you were avoiding him. Not that Jon blamed you. You of all people would have no idea what to say. Not just being a married woman now, but what to say about all of this. About leaving, both of you. He could see you as he prepared his own horse, you having clearly tended to your own for some time no doubt as a way to try and distract yourself from everything away from people.

But he heard Robbs voice before he saw him, and for once, didn’t feel that jealousy. “You say goodbye to Bran?” Nodding, Robb did as he always did. Even when he himself wasn’t sure, he spoke confident for the rest of them. If he was calm and sure, then his younger siblings would be and Jon felt something warm yet tight in his heart that no matter what, Robb did the same for him here too. “He’s not going to die, I know it.”

Jon, covered his own up with something clever, which Robb knew too well was hiding his real worries. “You Starks are hard to kill.” Asking with a wonder about his mother, knowing no doubt Jon would’ve had a run in with her, but he wasn’t here to cause problems. Leaving was supposed to solve them, and he started with a lie he knew Robb likely didn’t quite believe. “She was very kind.”

“Good.” Facing the other finally, he only jested towards him. “Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

With a shrug, he returned the light gesture. Nothing needing to be heavy said between them. “It was always my colour.” Jon and Robb had the other for their entire lives. Their closest companions since the day they met as mere infants. Raised together, trained together, did everything together and only ever added others to that already close dynamic. Before you came along, Robb was Jons only real friend and Jon was Robbs.

No matter the jealousy about who he was, what he was and who he got, there was not a single part of Jon in his bones that could ever hate his brother. Not even close. Robb knew that, he knew all that, but never let that get in the way either and neither of them needed to say that this was the first time they’d be truly apart in their entire lives and it wasn’t as easy as either of them were making it out to be.

“Farewell, Snow.”

“And you, Stark.”

Both went in for a hug at the same time. Tight and full of everything they didn’t say, that they were brothers, and being apart was going to be harder now then if they had done so in easy times. Pulling back, Robb though nodded his head to the side. Indicating over to where you were now very obviously trying to ignore both of them.

Jon knew what he meant. If he let you, you would leave right now and not say goodbye to Jon, because you didn’t know how to handle the fact that you were taking this a lot harder then you let on. Robb wasn’t the only one who was watching someone who was a massive part of his life, seek out a new one away from them.

Nodding, he watched his brother walk away before turning to look to you. It was more then that though, something strange felt like it was settling in Jons stomach. Something unpleasant he couldn’t understand, but that begged him to go to you. As if he would let you leave this way in the first place.

Grabbing what remained of your things not yet packed up, Jon did it for you with more ease then you could. Nothing about you looked any different, in fact, you almost looked like you felt that same bitter sensation inside that Jon was beginning to feel. More then the heartbreak of saying goodbye, but something much stronger as if trying to warn him of something.

As you turned to look up at him though, it was all still there. One night didn’t take it away, that love still flourished in your eyes looking up at him and it gave Jon the only comfort he could get left. That you still loved him and he still loved you. He’d take your love with him, so you could be free to give your love to Robb, but you both could part knowing that Jon would protect your love for the rest of his life.

Company be damned, Jon didn’t care. Pulling you tightly into his arms, you wrapped your around him just as needing as he felt. His hand gently cupped the back of your head as your face was hidden halfway between his neck and the soft furs muffling your voices. He spoke first, a deep rasp in your ear only for you. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.”

You both knew what you wanted to say, but mourning the loss of it was easier to start now then to finally say then when it was too late. Pulling back, your hands held at his shoulders while Jon shamelessly cupped your cheeks both both hands. It slipped out with a grin, but it have you a watery laugh that made it all worth it to him. “Think I could get to the Wall before they catch me, if I kiss you now?”

Tilting your head with a smile you muttered softly, “Now or never, Snow.”

Slowly Jon leaned forward, truly almost as if he was to press his lips to yours, but turned to leave a sweet and lingering kiss to your cheek. The closest he could get for the rest of his life. And he’d take it. Not pulling away he pulled you close once more, letting himself take his time for the last time.

A small whine interrupted though, you glancing down with a sudden bright grin. Ghost ran up to you it seemed before you could leave without saying goodbye to him as well. Kissing Ghost on the forehead, he licked your other cheek as you ran your hands along his fur. A loving whisper you knew Jon could hear as he watched you with his wolf, in a way that only you were ever so soft with him. “Protect him, no matter what you hear me?” Next time I see him, you better make sure he’s as healthy as you are now.”

You, Jon, nor Ghost could’ve had a clue how painful in irony that would come to fruition one day.

It wasn’t a goodbye the same as others, but along the Kingsroad there was a parting way where you turn south to go along to the path eventually leading to Kings Landing, and the other the path eventually leading to Castle Black. Jon Snow and Ned Stark both sat at that crossing atop their horses, a moment for only the two of them.

Jon could see you in the distance waiting. Staying far away enough so you could ensure you did not accidentally hear them, but enough you could still watch them. Waiting for his father to return and you’d join him. But it was his father who spoke at that moment with something both proud yet almost worried in him that he didn’t say. Or didn’t know how to. “It’s a great honour serving in the Nights Watch. The Starks have manned the Wall for thousands of years.” He had no words to say why, but hearing his father say what he said next, never left Jons heart for years to come. “And you are a Stark. You may not have my name, but you have my blood.”

Looking down, Jons brows furrowed. It was a chance, a chance that never worked before. He never got any answers from his father about her, but Jon asked because he always wanted to know. “Is my mother alive? Does she know about me? Where I am, where I’m going?” Looking at him, the real question came out in a raw, gentle wonder. “Does she care?”

His father though, it was a look Jon had never seen before. Something painful, truly painful. A conflict weighing so heavily on his shoulders that he spent Jons entire life keeping it to himself no matter the cost it was taking on him. But, he looked at Jon and was as honest as Jon had been asking. “The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother. I promise.”

Jon nodded, it was more then he’d ever gotten about it before and he’d take it. Watching his father ride off, you didn’t yet turn to join. Instead, you looked to Jon as he did to you.

Why Jon knew, he couldn’t have an idea, but he did. You felt it. This feeling dark and ill in the pit of your stomach, you felt it. As if screaming not to leave the other behind in a way that was so strong it scared him. But you said nothing, and neither did he. His life was up North now, and yours was family and duty, both of which Jon couldn’t get in the way of any longer.

He always knew he wasn’t good enough for you. He was a bastard, he could never give you anything of value beyond the love in his heart and that wasn’t enough for a girl like you. You deserved everything, and Robb would give you everything. Jon would have your love and keep it tucked away with his, and you both would at least know that even if you loved another, Jon would always love you. That was all he could ask for that this point, that you never forgot that he loved you more then anything.

You took off in the other direction as suddenly as he did, needing to turn and leave before that screaming feeling caused Jon to go after you. Riding off in opposite directions, that sinking feeling just screamed louder and louder the further away you both got.

Neither of you having any idea, what horrors would bring you two back to one another.

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