#jon snow

[jaehaeryshater]

The King Come Over and his bride Ygritte Firekissed

art by : @shripscapi

Look at my King dawg we’re definitely getting through the Wall!!!

For the last month and a half, I have been working closely with Liesl to design concepts for Jon as King Beyond the Wall and Ygritte as his Queen. Personally, I’m not invested at all in Jon becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms despite him being my favorite character. He’s not very connected with the South and I don’t feel that it’s his birth right or anything, even being the son of Rhaegar. I am significantly more interested in him becoming King in the North, but my interest in Freefolk culture has led me to be far more invested in the idea of him rejecting Southron society as a whole and becoming King Beyond the Wall (this isn’t necessarily mutually exclusive to being King in the North later on).

The motivation for Jon becoming King as opposed to Mance stems from a theory that has been around since AGOT has come out: that the Others will only treat with/negotiate with a Stark. In the prologue of AGOT, when the Others are speaking among themselves before killing the Watchmen, what if they were confirming with each other that Waymar Royce was not a Stark and that they could go ahead and kill him? All in all, it doesn’t really matter if this is true, but rather that this is a plausible rumor that could easily have been passed down among the Freefolk which could lead Mance to conclude that Jon as a leader would give the Freefolk the best chance of survival. It’s not very hard, at least in my opinion, to imagine an AU like this, since survival is the most important thing to the Freefolk during the events of ASOIAF. But is it plausible that under these circumstances that Jon would abandon his Night’s Watch vows? I think so if he can be led to believe that only Stark blood could defeat the Others, but that is not the only factor. Jon Snow is insecure about his bastard status, plain and simple. He’s always lived in the shadow of his Robb, though he loved him. He’s wanted Winterfell, though he didn’t want to nor had any intention to take it from Robb. But he’s known since he was a small boy that he could never Winterfell and that would never inherit anything because he was a bastard. Jon also has thoughts, at least in passing, that Ned loved Robb more than him. He perceives Ned as having been more proud of Robb, of looking at him differently than himself. He’s seemingly always believed this, but there is a sort of confirmation of Jon’s feelings when Ned allows him to join the Night’s Watch without much preparation on what the Watch is actually like. Fully me making assumptions here, not something Jon has explicitly thought, but it’s unlikely that Ned would have sent Bran off at 14 to the Watch without much warning of what it was like, had Bran not become paralyzed. While we never get this exact thought process from Jon, in my opinion it fits into his psychology and insecurity. All this to say, if Jon is offered to be a figurehead, King, a title equal to his brother, but without taking anything away from the Starks or from Robb, that would almost certainly scratch that itch in him. It would be of his own merit, and there would be people behind him that don’t care that he’s a bastard, don’t see him as less than, and are willing to accept him for who he is. Not to mention that it also lets him feel like a hero and as if he is saving something far more precious than himself. And it probably doesn’t hurt that he would be able to remain with Ygritte as well.

We know from the descriptions of Mance and Dalla, as well as from being told directly by the former, that the King and his wife dress like all the other Freefolk, in thick furs. While the Jon and Ygritte arts from above are not particularly ostentatious by Southron standards, they are in obvious contrast to how Mance and Dalla are dressed. My idea was that Jon, having lived South of the Wall in a Lord’s keep all of his life, brought his own ideas to the Freefolk and added a distinction between a King and all other men. Nothing like in King’s Landing, all changes are inspired by his experience at Winterfell. I tried to think of what was achievable by the Freefolk, that would be difficult enough that it can’t be easily replicated for everyone else, but also keeping in mind of what could be done relatively quickly seeing as the Freefolk are focused on migrating South and saving themselves from the Others. The cultures I took inspiration for the clothing from are the Byzantines, Russians, Incans, Aztecs, and Mongolians. I wanted more “open” and flowy clothing, as opposed to more closed off and excessively modest clothing of 1300-1500s Europe that most of Westeros is based off of. Ygritte is still wearing furs, but they are dyed and there is weirwood embroidery in symbolism of the Old Gods and flame embroidery to symbolize her being kissed by fire. Her jewelry are simply clay beads that have been powdered blue. I didn’t want to give her any jewels as I felt it would be too difficult for the Freefolk to cut them directly and just overall would be against the spirit of the Freefolk. However, getting the blue on the clay like that still would be expensive and take a lot of time. I tried to keep the main color scheme surrounding gray as obviously that’s House Stark’s color. Jon’s clothes are similarly nice, with my main concern being him looking intimidating. I want the furs around his shoulders to be black because I wanted to call back to his time in the Night’s Watch without him keeping his psychical cloak, because I’m sure the Freefolk would not want him to do that. The furs are massive and make his shoulders look far larger, in an effort to make him look more intimidating, especially on a battlefield or in negotiations. He also has weirwood embroidery and his sigil is on the front of his outfit (my original idea was for him to have a flag with his heraldry on it, in which case the sigil would have looked far different, with a full length direwolf). There’s a white wolf on one side and either a crow or eagle on the other side (up for interpretation, both are relevant to Jon and one is one of the animals that can be used a symbol of the Freefolk) and the flame in the middle to represent Ygritte. The sigil is more than about Jon, after all, as it’s for the entirety of House Whitewolf, the House he founds. I thought the name fit far more in to Freefolk culture than something like Whitestark or something along those lines. Ygritte was supposed to have sewn on the sigil herself, and was very adamant about it, and that is meant to be why the thread is uneven and more visible than it ought to be. She’s not very good at the craft!

As I indicated before, crowns are not something common to Freefolk. That would be something else Jon would implement. Ygritte’s crown is very much like a hat, very casual. The beads are nice but obtaining them wouldn’t be unheard of, and holly most likely would not be particularly hard to come by. The reason I gave her a crown with holly is that during Christmas in the Tudor period and even before during pagan celebrations, people would go out into the woods and find holly and ivy to decorate their houses with. Holly was a symbol of masculine energy and ivy feminine energy. If you found more holly, it was meant to indicate that the man would rule the household for the year, and if you found more ivy then the woman would rule the household in the coming year (this was a way to “tell the future” not a rule lol). I liked the holly better for Ygritte so I’m just saying the Freefolk had the opposite belief. Jon’s crown is made of weirwood, which was important to me as I feel like his connection the Old Gods is also important as it is something that him and Freefolk both use to guide them. It ties them together. That being said, a weirwood crown is often used for Bran so I did not want to use a design that was too similar to the one used for him. Bran’s weirwood crown usually is made of weirwood branches, however, and not weirwood bark or logs, so I feel like it’s different enough. The frozen weirwood sap, as far as I know, is also unique to this design. There’s also some ivy to parallel with Ygritte’s holly.

The remaining bits and bobs I wanted to explain are the blue rose and then the face paint. The blue rose is obviously something associated with Lyanna Stark, who is widely accepted to be the mother of Jon Snow. I originally wanted to give him a rose somewhere, whether he was holding it or it was in his embroidery, but I forgot to ask during sketching, and then it was too late. But Ygritte holding the blue rose isn’t just about Lyanna. It’s also about Bael the Bard, a most likely fictitious person (or at least, the tale is fictitious, though I personally choose to believe it’s real) that went South of the Wall posing as a bard. He impressed the Lord of Winterfell so much that he granted Bael anything he wished; all Bael asked for was the most beautiful flower in Winterfell. This was granted for him, but the next morning he had stolen the Lord of Winterfell’s only child, a girl, and had left the flower in her bed in her place. He hid in the crypt with her for a year and they had a son together. Bael eventually went back North of the Wall and eventually Winterfell, having no other heir, passed to Bael’s child. Under this story, Jon is descended from Ygritte’s idol (maybe idol is stretching it, but she really likes him), Bael the Bard. Not only him, but all the Freefolk including Ygritte, according to her story. Following the story’s premise, Jon also poses as Bael and Ygritte as Winterfell’s daughter, with Jon joining her home under false pretenses and “stealing her”, as she calls it. So the blue rose has significance regarding both the Starks and the Freefolk. The face paint is inspired by tattooing done by cultures indigenous to North America. Indigenous Americans are not the only groups to use facial tattooing, the Vikings were famous for it as well, but Viking facial tattooing had more patterns based on shapes rather than lines and dots. I didn’t like the shapes so much, but the chin tattoo was one was that observed in all sorts of different cultures. Usually the chin tattoos with the line were on women in indigenous America, but I found some on men in other outside cultures. The dots I didn’t see outside of Native American culture and the claw marks on Jon’s cheeks I found mainly among Vikings. Because these all are an amalgamation of different cultures, we did them as face paint instead of tattoos because it seemed disrespectful otherwise. Not enough research went into it to be a proper representation of any one culture so paint was a better bet than a permanent body modification that is sacred to a number of cultures. The only thing that was meant to be a tattoo was the chin tattoo, which like I said, actually is from an amalgamation of cultures. Among the Freefolk (in this AU), dots on the cheeks are widespread, one of cultural mainstays of their people, and are generally a sign of peace, whereas the claws are meant to look intimidating and is applied to look like blood (Ygritte applies it for Jon) and is specifically used for military leaders. I really wanted to drive home the point that the goal with Jon’s whole look is to look fearsome.

I have so much more to say about Jon as King Beyond the Wall, how he negotiates with the Wall, the different rules he sets in place, how he sets up being King as a hereditary title once his daughter Bael is born, etc etc, but then I’d be here all day and approximately one person total read through all this. Oops! Ask in my inbox if you have any questions because I would love love love to answer them. All in all, shripscapi (Liesl) is so talented and she worked incredibly hard for me. She was extremely accommodating and changed as much stuff as I wanted. She never complained about the million times I decided something was not quite right and she sent me so many updates. I would recommend working with her to just about anybody. It was very cool what she was able to achieve and I got it in time for the holidays so I can enjoy my winter themed pfp on twt. So thank you from the bottom of my heart Liesl, and I hope everyone showers her with compliments because she deserves it. I also hope that people that don’t enjoy Ygritte very much can still appreciate the art and the concept of Jon as King Beyond the Wall. Hopefully I’ve gotten across how much I love and care for these characters to a chronically online degree and nobody accuses me of mischaracterizing them because that would make me!!!! very sad!!!

Bonus Jon with weirwood leaves:

[apensivelady]

Aw! My boys! ^^

Ghost was closer than a friend.

[kitnjon]

Jon Snow & Sansa Stark | GOT S06 E07

[klausisfreezing]

View this whole pic at AO3 ↓↓↓ 👅🍋🍰💦

This is my hormones' doing, blame them not me 🥹🥹

[moondostj]

my jon snow <3

Tried my hand with drawing Jon Snow- I’m not a fan of how it came out out but I might as well upload :’)

[mylittlecrow]

Jon & Sansa (+ Daenerys) | Love is the Death of Duty

"You have to protect him, promise me."

"I'll protect you, I promise."

He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.

[elycetellsall]

winter is coming

[justmymindandstuff]

The one that got away - Katy Perry

[sweetaprilbutterfly]

Jon Snow and Sansa Stark: Modern AU

[soncee]

I love your work, you’ve no idea! Love your recent jon work and I think it’s great even if you’re not a fan and now I can help but imagine him in like more traditional (your styles) Valyrian clothing and what he’d be wearing if he was dragon riding or king or in Valyrian. Would love to see the pale hair as well or with his dragon but yeh love love love your style

Thanks for an idea. His facecard deserved this

I know his head is a little to big, im still learning

[amber-laughs]

if the starks (ned beheaded, catelyn undead, robb wolf head, rickon feral, bran tree, jon dead, arya assassin cult, sansa brunette) could just have one family dinner cooked by gage i seriously think it would fix them all

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

65 - The Cold and The Rats

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

Length: 16.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, mentions of trauma and distress, disturbing or gore imagery, blood and violence, threats towards children, implied references to rape

Notes: Everything is fine, don't worry about the chapter title or the warnings :) Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Still fast asleep he was, but you had continued what you started anyways. Why you had been drawn to that book in the first place you didn’t know, but you were. Standing by your bookshelf near the window, your fingers had traced over various names and pages, some you read, some you hadn’t yet. They weren’t books originally of your own collection, those had been lost. Or, not so lost, but you knew they would never be returned to you.

Most of your belongings had been in Kings Landing. Thus by the time Ser Barristan helped you flee, only the clothes he gave you were what you owned anymore. Not just clothes though, letters, trinkets, and of course, all of your books, all left behind. Who knew what Cersei and Joffery had done with them, but not a single thing any of you nor the Starks brought there was any longer yours. By the time you had come back to Winterfell proper, the Boltons were your captors and the only things you owned then were what little they let you borrow from their own. In truth, for the names you held in your life you had very little left. Jon though, had been trying to fix that.

Insisting his bedchambers were as much your as they were his, but you never added a thing to it. Never suggested anything or even came up with a single mention of something you’d even wish for. It was his space, not yours. That hadn’t stopped him though. It was not much and it was slow, but over time Jon had managed to get you some things. A bookshelf with whatever he could find to fill it that might interest you, and a chair more comfortable then it felt belonged in here for you to curl up on. His argument at first was you normally would read at his desk, but if you both were there you’d need somewhere to sit still, and this was his apparent compromise.

Now though, it served well. Large enough that you could position yourself where little Eddard could be wrapped up against your front while a book sat in your lap angled for you to read. When your fingers that evening had trailed along the shelf, you paused at one without initial thought, but it was little Eddard who chose it. Making a small sound of babbling as you asked if thats what he wanted, and you grinned. A strange choice for a story to set him asleep too.

But near an hour passed, and he was no longer awake and yet you kept reading to him.

Your voice was gentle, little more then a tender murmur for the baby’s ears. “The Tower of the Hand was less secure. The two men crept up through the walls, bypassing the spearmen posted at the tower doors. Ser Otto’s rooms were of no interest to them. Instead they slipped into his daughters chambers, one floor below.”

A small murmur came from the baby, but only a shift to snuggle closer to you. A soft smile falling over your face as one hand left the book page long enough to run along his back before returning back. Knowing if you didn’t keep going, he just as well could stay asleep or awake wishing you to have continued.

You knew the words on the page better then most, but for a strange reason you felt your heart race as they slipped from your lips. It was history, but too so removed from you life it felt only like telling a story but yet it felt as if your nerves were ragged and on alert. As if you were living what you read, despite your ability to look up and see otherwise. “Once inside, Cheese bound and gagged the Dowager Queen whilst Blood strangled her bedmaid. Then they settled down to wait, for they knew it was the custom of Queen Helaena to bring her children to see their grandmother every evening before bed.”

Again your eyes flickered up, and again you questioned why. No one still was here, if your ears could strain further then your eyes, you might have even heard the walking and chattering about in the corridors beyond the room.

So again, you tried to continue as you described out loud to the little one words of history you didn’t know why it bothered you so much now. And it only got worse the further into the page it went, describing the scene as Queen Helaena Targaryean came into the room, and her children held at threat. “Debt Collectors, said Cheese. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We only want the one to square things. Won’t hurt the rest of you fine folks, not one little hair. Which one you want to lose, your Grace?”

The history of the moment was awful, a mother desperate not to make such a choice between her children, offering her own life up in pleading as they denied her. Your eyes looked down to your own for a strange moment as your heart lurched. It was not the same, you were safe in Jons chambers but the weight in your throat sat there even while you continued. “Cheese warned the Queen to make a choice soon, before Blood grew bored and raped her little girl. Pick, he said, or we kill them all. On her knees, weeping, Helaena named her youngest, Maelor. Perhaps she thought the boy was too young to understand. You hear that, little boy? Cheese whispered to Maelor. Your momma wants you dead.”

The voice speaking out next nearly startled you to the point it almost even awoke the baby. “Seven hells.” Your eyes wide looking up to see Arya standing by the door frame with an amused grin at what she caused inadvertently. Stepping more into the room as rose an eyebrow, “A bit young for that kind of violence don’t you think? What are you even reading him?”

Looking down, you closed the book before lifting it up to showcase the front, the words etched into it’s much more simple cover then the contents eluded to. The words of Fire and Blood, written by Archmaester Gyldayn. Written in the not so distant past when Robert Baratheon was still alive and still King over a realm full of peace, it was a well known history text by the time you were old enough to read it. A collection of histories of the Targaryean Dynasty, to a certain point.

Arya tilted her head in amusement as she closed the gap, reaching out her hand you read the intention. Handing it to her as she moved to the bookshelf to return it to the obvious spot it sat before. “I haven’t read this in ages.”

Carefully moving to stand, you ensured little Eddard was still asleep by the time you got to your feet. Easily pulling him from the wrappings into your arms, he shifted close to you as you moved more towards his cradle. “Trust me, there are far worse books on Dragonstone I could’ve read him.” Your hands slowly putting him down, little Eddard trying to worm his way closer to you, and only settling as you let one hand run along the top of his head before leaning down to press a kiss to the same spot. Confident you moved to pull a blanket over top of him and he much more settled as you begun pulling the wrappings from you.

You could hear Arya’s voice from the shelf, her eyes no doubt still looking at them. “What kind?”

Sitting the fabric down out of the way, you turned back to walk closer to her side. “More then I think most realize still exist.” Answering the question you knew would follow, your vision having caught at the side her turning her head towards you. “Baelor the Blessed had most of the Targaryean histories burned in Kings Landing. But, he died before he ever could think to touch the ones on Dragonstone.” Asking what was there, you tilted your head as your eyes squinted in thought. “Books, scrolls, scraps of pages, most of them in High Valyrian, but it was what the Targaryeans brought over decades before the Doom. Most of what’s detailed in those pages are far worse then anything Fire and Blood ever wrote.”

Not an exaggeration. The feats the Valyrian Freehold were capable of, the things known they had done and it was not a wonder why many of the free cities in Essos were not welcoming to their kind or their dragons to this very day. Arya seemed to catch onto your tone, something more low and dark then before. “Not sure what could be worse then that story.”

But your eyes only drifted back to the spine of where you knew Fire and Blood sat once more. That feeling in your gut making you uneasy, and not sure as to why yet. Only a vague idea based on what felt like nothing from your dreams putting you on edge thinking of the words on the page, how it was not a story but a history true to the life you lived now. Your voice little more then a whisper when you said it, and something not so angry nor resentful in it, but breathless and full of something you didn’t understand yet was fear, and in truth you had not a clue why you even said it. It slipped out as if a voice that wasn’t even yours.

“There is a beast beneath the boards.”

As morning light shined through the castle walls, you could only stand there, hands somewhat wringing together as you followed the path he walked to keep him in sight. Arms both preoccupied as either of yours were at any given time these days, Jon well balanced focusing on you with keeping his eyes consistently trained down and bright on little Eddard, whose small hands would occasionally reach up hoping to grasp at his father. He thus far, had not accepted your tone of concern.

Forcing the words out instead of biting down on your tongue, you looked to Jon in a hope that your eyes at least looked convincing of your plead. “He would be safer with you, you know that.”

Jon didn’t even bother looking at you with that narrowed gaze which could live on his face. Grey eyes trained down on the small bundle in his arms as he rasped out in a more smiling amusement to his son now equally as smiling back. “If you had to pick who to spend the whole day with, which one of us would you choose?”

Your eyes almost rolled in a playful manner but you swallowed it back down as the thought continued to rise. “Jon.” Only briefly did his eyes peek up to look at you, softening the moment the sight of the gaze over your eyes grew more and more distinct. Trying to open his mouth to reassure you, you cut him off. Head shaking, hands returning to wring together but not without you now more pacing along the longer edge of the room. “He’d choose me just to be fed. This isn’t about what he wants, or even what he needs. You know why he shouldn’t-”

Cutting you off, only Jons eyes turned to a sternness while his tone cut through as well but did not actually impede on the softness of his voice, despite the words. “I don’t know why. You’re worried about things that aren’t going to happen.” Trying to put forward he did not know that, but Jon entertained none of such insecurity. “I do know. We’ve had him almost a month now, darling. If something were going to happen to you when you had him, it would’ve happened by now. The only person worried about this is you.”

Biting down on your tongue roughly, your arms crossed one another over your stomach in something much more protective in motion. “It isn’t just me.” Jons walking stopped, an unknown in his eyes asking the question, but your lungs shook with the answer.

Not yet coming clean or simple, but picking one image in mind you seemed to use it as if a guiding force to tell him what was really going on behind the scenes if he read between the lines, which with you, Jon always could and did. You hesitated to answer, not wishing for it to paint anyone in any ill light but the truth was right there as you saw it.

Opening and closing your mouth, your head dropped, leaning back somewhat against the wooden cabinet behind where you stood. “Gilly’s worried.” Jons head tilted, eyes a softer plead for you to listen to him despite that you both knew how swiftly out of control you could turn something into. “The other day. When you were..” Seeking the appropriate word you elongated the length it took to speak the letters. “Explaining things to Ser Royce, I was sat down where Gilly was playing with little Sam. She would barley meet my eyes, looked at me holding the baby almost like she didn’t trust me.”

Stepping a bit closet to where you leaned, Jon didn’t even somewhat change the manner which he held and toyed with the baby’s attention. As if handling you was no more a strain then caring for his son, as if it came natural to him and only him, dealing with both. “Darling, that isn’t-”

He stopped his own words once you shook your head. The sting behind your eyes making it look a lot more clear what was brewing behind the demeanour you attempted to keep yourself with. “It is. She was looking at me like she didn’t trust me anymore. Everyone keeps looking at me like that. They watch me do something as simply as hold our son and they appear as if they expect having to jump in and take him from me for his own safety. As if I’m-” You cut yourself off as Jons eyes widened in a mixture of worry and a horror that you’d ever stray back down that path leading to such self destruction. Swallowing, the lump falling down the back of your throat did not clear the warmth in your face or the sting or even the rising heart beat with your now drastically increasingly working lungs. “I know what people are starting to say about me, and some days I’m not sure why you don’t believe them either.”

Jon only looked with that soft plead, the one which made it so difficult to say anything against. The baby in his arms only made such a task harder. You knew right away however, he was in a ploy against you. He and little Eddard looked so drastically similar that there was no way to deny he’d grow up to look just like his father. Cradling him in one arm comfortably, he was still small enough that Jon saw no issue with it.

Maester Wolkan had said he was the size which was appropriate for a newborn such as he, but it still felt as if he was small. As if that full month of days you had failed to provide him of growth, were which what would deprive him for good. As if there was no way to fix it now, and yet as he brought him closer to you, your insides melted regardless. Your softness was so close for both of them that he knew just what would make you listen to him with little push back. One hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, Jon turned you up to look at him better.

A gentle rasp which lived in your blood in comfort, your eyes almost fluttering shut at the sound easing the tension in your blood. “I’m not keeping you from him because of this. You’ve never hurt him before, you won’t now.” Adding before you had a chance to say it, “Not even on accident. I don’t care what other people think. They’re not part of this. You’re the mother of my child, I trust you.”

Nodding, Jon tilted your head up more to get a better look at him once more. Thumb running over what of your skin he could reach, almost denying himself the urge to lean in close to you as if not willing to sacrifice his ability to see your eyes. A peek into your truth better then any else could sometimes it seemed. Letting one hand leave your wrapped position on your stomach, you pushed the material of his sleeve up just enough to grasp his wrist, your own thumb finding his pulse. Still strong.

Tilting your head a bit into this touch, Jon leaned forward just the slightest to keep your gaze as you mumbled. “It’s getting worse.”

Shaking his head slightly, Jon never let up his gentle touch. “It was this bad before, we just don’t know why it stopped for a while.” He was not entirely wrong. Bran didn’t know what it was, he wasn’t doing anything to even remotely control it, which was how it had accidentally been functioning before.

He looked willingly into some memory you knew nothing of, and he would end up putting your eyes there with him, almost like looking through you made that easier. As if despite not being his blood, Bran could connect to these sights and sounds better with someone to channel this strange energy through, but this was different. This was out of nowhere, wild, lacking any one’s control and none of the times since this begun had it happened when he was anywhere near doing it.

Lord Howland wanted to speak to you however, he and Meera both had experience which seemed a bit closer to what you were experiencing as opposed to the complexities of Bran. Much of what was going on with him was going unsaid, and it felt as if time was running thin for him and you both to act vague.

“The only person who got hurt the last time was myself.” Jon tried to argue you had not hurt anyone this time either, but again, looking at the small bundle snuggled happily in his fathers hold, his son was so small. It would only take one bad day to ruin that and all of this. “How many times can luck be on my side at this rate?”

Sliding his had to the back of your head, Jon pulled you close. Pressing his lips firmly to your forehead and mumbling against them. “You won’t hurt him. You care about his well being, you don’t care about your own.” Opening your mouth, Jon pulled back with a raised brow with the briefest hint of amusement. “You can’t deny that one.”

Were you less on edge, you may have even huffed a breath of laughter. Glancing down, only the faintest trace of a jest came from you. “He seems fine right where he is now.”

That time, a much more real laugh came from Jon. Bright and wide as he kept his grip down at the back of your neck tilting you both to glance down better. “I’m warmer, you’re softer. Trade one for the other.” Prompting you to look once more at him better, Jon mumbled as he dropped the tone unbefitting of your still prominent insecurity. “You’re taking him. End of story.” Waiting for you to nod, Jon left one more kiss to your forehead before transferring the small bundle into your arms.

A weight in your chest at how easily little Eddard turned happily to snuggle into your touch, only brought a much more affectionate chuckle from Jons chest. Tilting your gaze somewhat to look at the baby better, you only muttered in a somewhat false bemusement, “Don’t rub it in.”

You didn’t quite know how much you bought into what he was saying, it all made sense logically of course, but there was a difference between agreeing and understanding. One which no doubt Jon himself was fully aware of, but the constant following of eyes both grey and red were something which never actually went away. Watching like a hawk, keen eyes of both white wolves on your state through the course of the morning. And of course, how much you were pretending as if you couldn’t see that while he watched with a gentle care and concern, the rest watched with trepidation and worry.

If not outright fear of your strange unknowns.

Sometimes it was luck when moments were of such calm. The ability to sit and listen while both you could be seen with a level head and the bundle in your arms too was quiet. Jon was not shy about it, he was not in any consideration to hide away his wife and son from the public court as you knew many would have done otherwise. But if he were to have you at his side, he was not going to keep you from it all just because of the child in your arms.

Little Eddard was scarcely disruptive anyways. Or perhaps you and Jon both merely found it easy for you both to pick up on when he needed something and why. Which was not terribly hard to do for most of your life. Being in and out of the Starks lives as the youngest were born and grew up, and too being there for the first many months of Shireen’s life you were familiar with what a fussiness looked like before it became an issue. Too it seemed, those who watched the proceedings of the court tended to enjoy the presence of the baby. Eyes always drawn to him and gods help when he’d begin making any innocent noises, did eyes and ears all turn to him instantly.

Were he to notice, the little one tended to turn shyly into your person from all of the attention. You’d shift to keep him closer to you and lower from the eyes of the onlookers but that too tended to draw attention. Never did Jon let that interrupt him, he hardly would falter on things which might draw others from the topic or issue at hand. Jon handled both seamlessly at the same time.

Still, it was odd to consider. Strange that despite everything, you sat beside Jon as a Queen and the son in your arms was not just your own, but to all others, a Prince. In your life within Kings Landing never did such a series of titles cross your mind. Princes were spoiled and rotten like Joffery, or sweet innocent blond boys like Tommen. Princess’s were elegant but kind like Myrcella. They were not things which belonged near you.

Born a highborn lady, daughter to the eldest brother of the King. In the royal family was what you were since the time you were born but never did it really feel as such. Why would it though? Where were you in the line of royal succession? Sixth you supposed. Beyond sons and brothers and passed the once supposed daughter of the King, then put you. In the only scenario one could have painted to you, would it lead you anywhere near the word Queen attached to you.

Looking passed Robert, his sons, brothers, and daughter would have to be wiped out to put you there and of course the thought was ridiculous. You’d stand to the side of the throne room in the Red Keep and feel fine knowing you’d never have reason to be placed so near the Iron Throne. Yet it was not being wiped out that put you as close as you technically could be now.

In one fell swoop of truth, were three of those spots gone. Joffery may have called himself a King, Tommen may do so now but that did not make it true. Not that you blamed the later, just a boy when all of this occurred and he was likely still none the wiser. How much people told him anything of significance regarding the rumours around him, you imagined was very little. Still though, with now not Baratheons but Lannisters unlawfully sitting on the Iron Throne, it put you down to third. Then Renly was gone. And the only rightful heir to the Iron Throne at the top with every right to it was Stannis Baratheon.

Were you to agree to it, you’d be second in line. The creeping words of Princess came to mind which no matter what any thought of you, sounded awful with your name. You were nothing like what a Princess was raised to be, nor did anything of the Iron Throne appeal to you. Instead, you found yourself skipping that step in a very odd way.

Greatjon Umber had stood up and declared the only King he’d bend his knee to was Robb Stark, and was declarations of King in the North rung out in the cool night air, did you by his side as wife, become a Queen. Even now, by the side of Jon were you still a Queen. The son in your arms a Prince and would become King next after his father. It was all such an odd place for your life to end up.

Yet it was nothing you knew, compared to Jon. He was born a bastard, not a scrap of this, you, or his son were something he ever thought he’d have because he was not in the rights of the land for any of it but here he sat beside you. The only King which Robb trusted to follow him in death, and every step of the way his choice was proven to be the right one. But there was a known which was entirely unknown to the rest of the country.

You doubted if by now there was any whom had not heard well of Aegon’s actions. Said to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryean and Elia Martell, he was once dead but apparently had lived. Now somewhere in the south he was preparing to take the throne of a family whom never deserved it, but it was not just him, was it? You had joked and jested but neither you nor Jon spoke a word about it in anything close to meaningful.

It was all there, the manner which Joffery had tried to have all of Roberts bastards killed, that were he not legitimate as was rumoured, that a known bastard connected to the father through blood might be the ones with a claim stronger. Yet the one which none of the realm knew about sat next to you as a Stark proudly named Snow, as was his wife and son next to him. It was all strange. A compilation of bloodlines drenched within that of Kings and yet none of it went addressed between either of you, let alone spoken to another soul.

As you sat there, Jons voice strong and his ability to listen keenly was unmatched. He was calm and as good of a King as a man could aspire to be and yet the insurmountable things working against him? It was hard to follow even the logic in your own head, everything felt like it was hard to follow right now.

Nothing felt right in your mind and little of it did you understand. Dreams were one thing, visions another, but it was as if you were unable to focus. A dark brewing cloud you did not really understand was following overtop your head and no one could make sense of it all. No words seemed to hit you from the past few minutes, likely more. Underwater and the speak above the surface was muddled and unclear, no matter how often you found yourself attempting to blink back into focus.

Small grabbing hands could sometimes draw you forth and your eyes drifted downwards with a soft smile only matched by the infant one giving you those bright curious eyes in the first place. Asking you in silence what was wrong, so easily picking up on your state of mind when no one else was able to outloud. Even if the little one could use words, you just knew something felt off. Moreso then usual, and you knew not what to chalk it up to without sounding as if you were dwelling too much on what already was going on with you.

Instead you sat, and only hoped that your silence was being taken as fair and dutiful rather then the confusion settling in your blood and bones. Only, if you thought you could hide that fact from Jon, you were rather wrong. His focus might have been on his people now, but still was there room in his mind for you, and the way you hardly reacted to anything was always a giveaway that Jon would store to handle later.

Only with a glance up, could you see the questioning eyes of Howland Reed. Something as it always was directed towards you, a knowing of something to what was occurring in your mind. And a flicker of his eyes to where the outside sat by the snow covered heart tree, you knew the question being posed. Your nod was small and a subtle yes, but he understood it perfectly well.

The sensation of Jons gaze glancing towards you came about, turning only somewhat to direct a small false smile which he knew did not meet your eyes at him. A public smile, one for the people watching to think everything was fine, and too one that was as disingenuous between you both which spoke that you could only hope he wouldn’t worry.

The narrowing greys looking back at you in something akin to a frown, gave away the opposite.

Grey eyes weren’t the only ones watching, of course you were right in a sense about people looking at you in a strange curiosity, but you knew Jon was not going to give credit to the ones he had encountered. Out of all of them left, Sansa was the most out of the loop. She didn’t know the details of what went on and why, or what led to this or that when it came to the whispers about you, or about Jon.

There was no way at this point she had not heard some or even most of it, but she had yet to ask. Gaze seeking out yours which did not reciprocate, and neither did Jons. Aryas however, seemed to be the ones who noticed where Sansa’s attention was drawn too, and keeping your eyes forward you hoped the girls discussed it together, and not went to you about it. Just one night you needed, one to yourself and Jon and little to interfere.

Your mind only tuning in near the very end it felt to the sound of Jons voice to whom it was he was speaking to at that moment. “Will that be enough to repair your walls?”

A thankful nod and bow given from the older man, “It is, your grace. Thank you, your grace.”

Looking to the room around for any standouts and then both sides to the council up with you both, “If that is all, my lords.” The sounds of chairs and doors and feet got moving, before you could even think to carefully swivel to stand easier, did you feel a warm hand grasping firmly at your side. Turning to look, Jon only moved to grasp at your hip on the other side of you to get you on your feet.

A hum close to something like a laugh in your throat as you looked up at him, arms still firmly holding the awake but calmly content baby. “I can still stand on my own, you are aware.”

Jon only tilted his head a bit, a smirk coming over him as he cocked an eyebrow at you for half of a second. “That doesn’t mean I won’t do it anyways.” Gesturing downward to the bundle in your arms as if pointing out the obvious. “Besides, you’re still carrying my child.”

Your brows narrowed in a more playful manner, but said nothing. You knew technically he was right, he was merely being smart about it. Leaving your hip, Jon let his hand run over the top of the baby’s head. A small nonsensical cry coming from him, prompting a bright and handsome smile looking back down at his son, almost causing a wider one back. A heartwarming sensation filled your chest at how similar father and son both were, how much fatherhood suited Jon without even trying.

An interrupting voice cut in from behind both of you, prompting Jon to turn you by your hip to follow and yet not quite leaving a hand from you almost in a stranger display with the amount of people still around. “What is going on with you exactly?”

Sansa stood with narrow eyes but not in what one would call suspicious. Jon withheld what was an instant twitch in his jaw, no doubt from the manner she said it but you took no offence for your own behalf. Adjusting your hold so Jon did not have to leave his gentle touch to his son as you looked up to her with much more of a purposeful calm. “I don’t suppose saying just having some odd dreams is sufficient?”

Only whatever temporary deflection Jon had in mind for you, it was interrupted with the just as curious Arya coming up beside her with an equally as narrow eyed look towards both of you. “We know something else is going on that neither of you are talking about. What is it?” A glance between you both, Arya picked up on it and cut in before a diplomatic response was formed. “Both of you, and Bran. You’re all hiding something weird that’s going on.”

Bran coming up behind all of you looked to you then Meera pushing behind with a hesitant look matching all four of you, Lord Howland approaching quietly much to your relief. “Perhaps this is a discussion best had elsewhere.”

Again, there was no confusion the manner which he looked at you. A promise that answers were had but you knew first there would only be answers upon answers which you did not wish to answer. You had not even wished to divulge a bit of the things which you saw when speaking to Ser Royce. You had only one saviour that day and there was no reaction but the overcoming of white eyes to accompany your disturbed silence. But those who could see you clearly, still saw it.

There felt like no hiding, everyone wanted answers to something you did not understand. You could know an endless amount about it and still not know how to word a single solitary part which one did not experience for themselves. A hesitant look wider in your eyes glanced up to Jon, the hand still at your side tightened with his jaw clenching a bit more. “Meet us in the godswood just after supper.”

Both sisters glancing at the other, but noticing the ones shared between yourself, Jon, Bran and both Reeds with something hesitant all in an understanding of what was to be explained, or even how.

Jon guiding you away however, he only got you as far as a quieter corridor before he gently pushed you enough for you to get the idea. Back finding itself resting against the wall, shifting the baby in your arms, Jon let that hand at your side rise up to cup your cheek much more firmly. His other grasping at your hip stepping into your space, more now crowding you against the wall with not an ability to touch him back.

His plan no doubt.

The bundle turning from looking out to the world, snuggling more into your front as the warmth from Jon cocooned him, tempting sleep as fast as could be. A mumbling rasp on his lips, thumb running over your cheek as you both looked down to little Eddard. “If you weren’t so possessive of her, I’d join you.”

A roll of your eyes was followed by a smile at his audacity, bright grey eyes peering up at you with something smug and prideful before he leaned forward. Not any shame as Jon captured your lips, pulling you by your cheek so you had nowhere to go. Soft lips guiding yours as you melted into him, only able to lean into his reach despite your hands itching to seek out something of him to grasp onto.

Slow he moved his lips with yours, each breath stolen deepening the kiss without failure. A needing feeling always flooded you whenever Jon kissed you, crowding you with his warmth as he stood over you with the power to keep you attached to his lips with no issue. Each time it seemed as if Jon was about to pull away from you, did he lean back into your kiss. Refuse you the thought that it would be brief as that word slowly died off the longer he kissed you.

Only, someone else no doubt had their thoughts on the matter. The small babbles sounded less and less happy coming from between you both as suddenly did the little bundle shift in your arms. Jon however, as if already having sensed it, kept you attached to his lips a moment or two longer. Lingering from pulling away, and only doing so enough he could tilt your head down from the back of your neck. Foreheads pressed against each other as your eyes were a bit dazed and his bright with a grin looking down to the now much grumpier baby.

His free hand shamelessly running along your hip as if he had no qualms with the competition for your attention occurring. “She was mine first.” You almost laughed at the sound coming from the baby, as if he were protesting loudly without the ability to form proper words. Jon only gave a playful look as his hand on the back of your neck tightened as did the one on your hip. “You spend more time with her then I do. Sometimes I need to steal some of your time for myself, you know.”

“Jon.” A huff of laughter came from him as Jon peeled his eyes back up at you. Shifting his grip so his thumb reached your jaw to tilt you back up to his gaze. Leaning close enough to gently run his nose along the length of yours, returning the gesture to him back did Jon steal another kiss. Shorter and more innocent that time, but still as lingering as the rest could be. Mumbling against his lips as he pulled back, staying close you could feel his breath dancing across your skin. “I’m sorry for the meeting.” Asking why, you thought it was obvious, very much sounding as if you were confused why he didn’t know right away. “I was hardly there. I don’t even know if I spoke the entire time. I should be more present at things like this.”

Shaking his head only once, Jon nudged your nose with his once more as if to keep the air of calm and intimate between you as he rasped so close to you. “We handled everything fine, darling. It’s enough that you’re there. I don’t need you feeling like you have to step in every step of the way. We’ve been over this. How many more times do you need me to say it before it sinks into your head?”

A shrug of your shoulder, Jon let a smile creep out onto his lips. That time you captured his lips first, albeit noticeably much more sweet and chaste then any he’d give you himself. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to apologize.”

A deep exhale, Jon gave you another nod before moving from your hip to run over the top of the baby’s head. His warmth, just as it did for you, causing little Eddard to squirm closer to the heat without failure, pulling another gentle chuckle from Jon. Not yet looking away from the sight as you did, Jon spoke that time both a little more quiet but more with an edge of seriousness. “What are we going to tell them?”

Neither of you needed to specify what he meant. Your own turn to sigh, you leaned more against the wall comfortably as Jon instinctively followed suit, keeping your main sight of vision to himself. “That depends.” Asking you on what, you could only keep it as straight forward as possible. “On how much you and I are ready to talk about it. Any of it.”

Eyes narrowing as he looked back down to the baby, then drifting upwards back to you. Jons face twisted, something more troubled then before yet still soft as ever as he tilted his head a bit looking at you for a long, quiet moment. Deep and raspy when he spoke, the weight of everything seeping into his tone gave hints to his actual feelings on the matter only ever shown to you. “I talked to Sam about some of this. The other night after everyone else left. Some of the things he found while we were gone, it matches what we saw. I know you don’t like talking about what happened, but we’re not going to be able to ignore it forever.”

“I know that, I just...” Cutting yourself off, your eyes fluttered shut as your teeth sunk down on your tongue. Never able to rid yourself of such a habit. At such a young age, a girl of only three or four being told by your septa that you should bite your tongue to keep yourself from having such overly dramatic reactions. Keeping you as stone faced as possible as over the years the pain needed to do so kept increasing, Jons touch cupping your cheek and jaw running his thumb over knowing instantly what you were doing. But still waited for you to find your voice. “How are we supposed to tell them the what, when I still haven’t figured out the why?”

Brows furrowing, Jon kept his touch by your jaw as if to prompt you not to return to such a straining habit of nerves. “I told you-”

Cutting him off, your eyes were a glossy sort of brightness that were sunk in something more distressing then you wanted to give off, but at least here in the small bubble of only you three was it picked up on. “You were given the answers, I was supposed to understand the reasons. But I still don’t. I didn’t then, I don’t know, and I have no idea how any of this works with me to know how to do it.”

You wished Jon didn’t say it, but of course, he had the right answer for that specific conundrum. “Bran might know how.” Almost biting down again, Jons grip grew tighter to stop it in its tracks. To an onlooker, you both would look a mix of intimate but controlling. Close in the others alone proximity, but Jons grip on your cheek and jaw looked worse then it was for. He was controlling, just not in the way it may appear. Some days you wondered if Jon was almost more a Collie. Dogs bred to heard sheep and cattle. Not aggressive but they certainly came off that way to the untrained eye.

Looking to nothing off to the side, only a pillar Jon kept you by to shield from wandering gazes passing the halls, you muttered more under your breath as you shifted your grip on the baby almost as if to move him more so you held him in a comforting manner to yourself. “Bran still won’t even tell us how he knew we were out there, or how he knew what was happening. I don’t know how much it will help him with what he’s going through by adding what’s wrong with me on top of it.”

It wasn’t a blame, nowhere near that, but sometimes to an outsider, when Jon said something blunt and to the point it could come off as a bit on the judgmental side when you knew he didn’t mean it. “He did this to you. He needs to be the one to help you.”

You only echoed what Bran had told little of what he said to you. “He didn’t mean to do this.” Jon only specified that he still did it, you tried to shake your head a little. It was the first time either of you said anything outloud even alluding to the fact, but it needed to be brought out at some point. “The only reason he knew he could do it to me was because you did it first.”

Jon said nothing, he knew nothing about how to respond to it. What was going unsaid, but like you, Jon knew you did not say it with blame or ire, simply stating a fact that was uncomfortable to hear, and near impossible to comprehend with any form of rationality. It was all complicated. What Benjen had said was right. Everyone seemed to have a piece of this puzzle but none of you were willing to step forward and lay out the first one for the rest to connect towards.

Finding your voice first again, you asked in a low voice as if trying to take that first step on your own in a small way. “What exactly did you and Sam discuss? That he found out while we were gone?”

It wasn’t an answer that you picked up on, and for once, it felt as if Jon too was keeping part of that story to himself. Someone you didn’t even realize that he knew, which you didn’t. Or why he had told Sam but not you. Not anything enough to make you feel as if something of your trust had been shattered, but certainly you felt a growing dread. What you already knew, and Jon didn’t want to tell you something about it?

Instead, gesturing for you to come with him. A hand wrapping across your back to pull your hip, turning you to walk beside him and pressed right up against his side, letting that same hand drift once more to your back, sitting at your lower spine. His voice only for you to hear, but the darker shade painting over his eyes and the troubled furrow in his brow begged you to try and read between the lines of what you couldn’t even decipher in the first place. “One problem at a time.”

A thick layer of snow sat around the Winterfell Godswood at all times now it seemed.

Hardly ever enough time the skies gave for the snow to disappear before more fell down and blanketing the North once more in such a way that made the normally thought of dreary and grey waste, appear in the beauty it always deserved to be looked at in. Easy to track who or how many went where in such a state, footprints normally were always covered by the drags of a cloak down behind them, but the path could be followed none the less. The only things individually seen in walking form, were two sets of very large paw prints making their way to the same location. Too their size made normal tracks of wolves much larger and easier to detect.

It was as if nature was sending warnings in two forms against an outsider, that no matter where you went the wolves were never gone. Too was it however, a rare instance in which Jon agreed when you would suggest it may be safer for him to take the baby. For what you may need to do you couldn’t be holding him, but too did you find yourself peeking to the side.

Unfair how matching they looked. Father and son so natural out in the snow of winter, two men truly of the North. Jon kept him warmer without needing to hide him in as much layers as you would, his natural body heat so warm that you were surprised much of the time it didn’t simply melt the snow in his path.

As both of you made your path down to the Weirwood, there sat an air of uncertainty that no doubt only Sansa and Arya felt out of the loop on. The later spoke up first with a much more noticeable air of frustration. “What’s this all about?” Gesturing specifically towards yourself she added, “What’s so secret about what’s going on with you?”

Sansa seemed to match the air of her sister, a quieter spoken but equally as sensed irritation on being so out of the loop. “And why are we,” Gesturing between her and Arya, “The only ones who don’t seem to know about it?”

All attending looked at one another, and yet as you suspected, no one knew how to start, or what to start with. Did it begin chronologically? Paint a timeline and go from that, or where it had begun to pick up in the most important ways? Just as a knowing glance was shared between yourself and Howland Reed, did Bran find that courage and begin speaking where he seemed to think it made the most sense.

“I started having strange dreams after my fall.” Eyes all turning with a haze over most eyes of the Starks which was a sorrow for something each of the remaining ones had to leave before he even woke up from, but Bran continued regardless. No doubt enough time for him had passed that it seemed less important to dwell on those specifics. “They were always the same in a way. A crow with three eyes, he’d try to tell me things, show me things. I didn’t think much of them at first, until..” Brans own gaze that time welled over with something heavy that he refused to hide away. “Until one night, the crow brought me down to the crypts. And showed me father was buried there. But I didn’t know until the next morning that he had...”

No one finished that sentence for him. No one wanted too.

“They kept happening after that. I dreamt about the Ironborn invading Winterfell just days before it happened. The three eyed crow was always there, but the dreams weren’t the only thing.” It did not fail your notice that the only Stark sibling whom did not know what Bran was speaking of when he begun describing what they’d later all learn was being a Warg, that Sansa did not at all know what he was talking about. “We escaped after they tried to burn Winterfell down. We were trying to reach the Wall to get to Jon when-”

That time it was Meera who spoke up, and the heavy weight being forced back down her throat with each word spoke of a pain all here knew too well of loss. “That was when my brother and I found them.” Meera specifying to Sansa when she asked in a repeat of the word brother. “Jojen. A few years younger then me, he always had dreams. He saw things from the past, the future, things that were happening around the world in those moments even. The ones from the past were always true, and they were always stories we never even knew about until we looked into them after. He had the same dream as Bran, when his father was murdered.”

Only yourself and Jon noticed the overbearing weight within Howland’s eyes at the mention. Strange that none but you both understood in such detail what the truth of that friendship was, and you could only pray he felt the sorrow coming from your soul wishing to give any comfort to his. No matter how little it would do.

Meera went into detail, how Jojen begun seeing things, seeing Bran, and eventually when he too had the same dreams and visions of a three eyed crow and the coming winters, did they tell their father. And it was him who told them that they needed to find Bran as soon as possible. Already prepared he was, to answer the question on Sansa and Arya’s minds. “Both you girls grew up during the long summer. This is the first true winter you’ve ever known, and many of us could feel something in the air was different this time. Something was coming with this cold that didn’t before.”

Benjen did not need to even him to elaborate, he knew better then all here about that feeling. “My rangers kept coming back with disturbing reports. They saw men stand up after they died and tried to attack them. They’d flee south, claiming that the Others were awake.” Much like what Arya’s initial reaction had been, Sansa’s face scrunched up in a disbelief.

“The Others? From those spooky stories? They aren’t real. They’re just things Old Nan used to try and scare us with.”

Yet if that were true, the reaction between the rest of you wouldn’t have been so painfully serious and covered in a thickly coated dread. Bran took it back from there, not even giving her the moment of reprieve to accept what had been put out there. “Meera and Jojen found me, and knew we needed to go north. Beyond the Wall. The three eyed crow told Jojen in that dream that he needed to find me, and bring me to him.” Arya that time was the one asking that this crow even was, but it had you hesitate the moment you thought to answer. You..well technically you knew the answer to that in a way he didn’t. But you didn’t have a clue how to bring that up or what it would do or add. It merely sat in your mind as something only which pertained to you it felt. “It’s difficult to describe. The three eyed crow is a man, someone with powers to see the world in ways no one else can. The dreams I’d have but bigger, and almost endless if they train long enough. He wanted me to be brought to him.”

Arya spoke again for Sansa’s confused silence. “Why?”

All hesitated but Benjen. “To learn to be him. The three eyed crow isn’t a man, it’s a title. Like Lord of Winterfell or King in the North. It isn’t one person, just the title for whoever holds it. And eventually, men die, and someone needs to take over their role one day. And so this time, they chose Bran.” Another ask of why, and Benjen explained it bluntly. “Because he was the right one. He had the ability, and he it takes a certain kind of man to do that. To be able to handle knowing as much as that, and not let it corrupt you. Or ruin you.” His eyes glanced to you, and it was without a doubt, on purpose as if to give them a hint.

Sansa seemed even more frustrated then before. “I’m sorry, if this is all true, what does this have to do with her?” Gesturing to you and then to Meera. “Or your brother?”

Howland had that answer, and it was just as cryptic as it felt when such things were said to you from the same man months ago. “Whoever the three eyed crow is, can give others a similar power. The Sight it’s called. The ability to see and dream events from our past and future that can help the three eyed crow on whatever path he is taking. To be their eyes where they might not have any, and do the work they cannot.”

Meeting a guilt in Brans eyes, yours softened in an instant. A begging not to blame himself for what he did not mean to do. Somewhat beside you did Lord Howland continue.

“The three eyed crow gifted my son Jojen the sight, so that he could help bring Bran to him. That was his purpose.” The swallowing of grief, as his arm reached out to run in a firm comforting manner along Meera’s now much more tense and sullen shoulders, the implication was heard and not acknowledged for their sake before he found his calm beyond a strain in his voice and more distant eyes looking to you. “Now that gift is hers. The dreams and visions, that is what she is experiencing. That is what you’ve seen and heard. Her mind is connected through her blood to the great powers of the old gods now. A servant to the three eyed crow as the three eyed crow is a servant to the gods.”

That time your glance was shared with Jon, and one you both knew only you two had a single idea about. Another which you both dared not speak to others. It would be much easier for your mind were you only a servant with purpose to one thing or person. Instead your new existence was stretched thin, tied to posts of different camps and asked to fulfill the duty of them all. Your voice was fair and faint, but all heard your quiet nature anyways. “I have these visions because Bran gifted them to me.”

You felt for both girls, the overload of such strange information that none here understood completely themselves. As if mere men were not supposed to understand. You stood before a Weirwood, and only they knew the truths, only they could comprehend it. You all were merely here to act for them in whatever ways bestowed upon you, no matter how difficult to accept it was.

Sansa at least said it bluntly, “I thought someone else was the three eyed crow?”

Bran was quick, as suddenly only those who had met out beyond the Wall understood with a feeling of gravity weighing you all down. “There was. He isn’t anymore. It’s just me now.” Asking with a mighty confusion that Bran was this crow, he nodded with a solemn look that you shared. “He’s dead, and now I’m the only one left.” Saying your name in more detail, “It’s why her visions are connected to mine. I gave her the sight, so her power is tied to mine.”

Neither said it, but you and Jon both looked at the other in knowing. It was not only his, but neither of you dared explain the what or why or how if either of you brought said issue up.

Though it was Arya who felt no qualm bringing up something else then the path your mind tracked you on towards. “So, the thing that happened yesterday? Or what Ser Royce said happened the day before? That was a vision? It didn’t look like that. It looked..”

Trailing off, Brans eyes found yours, peeling over to Jons to speak an ask you didn’t even bother looking to read. You knew where this was going, it was why he held the baby. This time you didn’t know what you’d see, but it was like Bran said, it would be easier to show then explain it. With a nod from Jon, you stepped towards Bran.

His chair sitting beside the Weirwood as you gently knelt to the ground. Gloved hands braced against your thighs, your eyes looked far brighter with a radiating of trust towards him. Nothing needed to be said, you knew that he nerves already lived within him as they did you.

Behind you somewhat you could hear the shifting of feet through the snow, and Jon dismissing Sansa to just wait when asking what was happening exactly. Deep breaths kept your heart from racing and your lings from exploding from your chest with nervous air as Bran pulled one glove off. Reaching forward to the white bark just below the carved face, the moment his hand touched the bark, did his eyes seem as if they rolled over into a pure white, and within the next moment, yours followed suit.

Getting into the room when none were there was easy, staying undetected was another.

There were paths under the halls of Winterfell. Made for the Kings and Lords of the North to escape no matter where they were in the castle, but hardly were they used for any reason these days. Little did the Starks run from in such a desperation. Instead those who creeped within their path had seemed to know where they were going. Walking the halls at night was easy, but it could not be night which they traversed the path inside.

Soon enough the sun would fall beyond the skyline and the moon and stars would rise, taking its place in the darkness and those in the castle would prepare to sleep. They had to be ready. They were for the most part. A distraction would be needed, separating the two and when the unwanted party was a King, it was far easier to delay him for the night then it would be the Queen.

The room itself was not extravagant as they expected a King would hold. Much more simple, and much more of the cold winter air breezed through with a fire raging near one of the walls being the main source of warmth beyond the furs laying about otherwise. Out in the open everything was in the main room, nowhere to hide not even a screen some used to change behind for modesty.

Curiously, the older man noted the smaller bed tucked against one of the walls by the main bed. Blankets and small toys surrounded it as if for an infant. One looked to the other with a doubt, but the older man dismissed it with a gruff hiss through his cracked and discoloured, rotted teeth. “Deal with the she wolf first.”

The second room attached to the main was better. Smaller, and the largest feature a well put together tub that men such as them had never seen in their lives. Fancy beyond fancy, it paled in comparison to any other object in the side room. One had to cross a corner of tiny halls to get into the room, unseen by wandering eyes right away, they could hide here.

Only, as the main door opened, a gentle hum followed. High pitched and were it to sing, likely would be somewhat off tune but also followed by a deeper voice. Cracked somewhat as if attached to a growing boy as he gave orders to the other humming voice who came in, and the door closed behind them. “Make sure to set out extra of the darker oils, and small cloths hung by the edge in plenty.” A pause was heard as if a face was made, and the boy spoke with a bit more impatience, yet still attempting to be nice. “The King prefers to handle the tasks himself when the Queen takes her bath. He doesn’t want anyone around.”

The voice was less nice then the hum sounded, but the tone was quick and not at all refined sounding, even less so then the boy. “The King is so romantic-” The men could almost hear the boy rolling his eyes from where they were pressed against the wall.

“I don’t care if it’s romantic, I care that you have everything in order. It will be my head if the King or Queen arrive and find everything in disarray because you weren’t listening.” A new maid no doubt. One looked at the other, and there was no qualms about that one. No one would miss a nameless maid if it got in their way.

At first the door opened and closed once more, and firstly thinking that they were alone again, until the gentle patter of shoes against the stone tiles crept closer and closer. Just as the young woman turned into the main room, did the clang of a bucket hit the ground. Smashing of glass oils followed and other sturdier objects rolling onto the ground from it’s depths.

The only sound not heard, was what came beyond the initial start of a gasp before what joined the oils spilling against the floor, was liquid. A copious amount of red liquid, and the thump of a body hitting the bottom of the tub which kept it just out of sight. Then the main door opened once again and the boy called back out as if he had forgotten one more instruction.

It like before, happened before Bran could stop it, and once it begun it didn’t end no matter who did what.

Leaning forward did Bran grasp at your shoulder in one, Howland Reed kneeling calm by the other as Meera was perched to the side of Brans chair leaning more towards you with a concern which looked almost instinctual on her face. The oddity as your breath came to you in heaps that this was something the three closest around you were used to by this point.

Beyond your vision, Sansa now held the more perturbed baby as Jon made his way behind you, kneeling down as he just hovered over the top of your head. His warmth giving away his presence in your subconscious, leaning into his touch as he cupped the back of your neck with one hand, a squeezing pressure to tell you to stay in the moment, the other grasping at your hip under where Brans hand held by your upper arm.

Howland Reed stayed without making any contact but held the most steady expression then even his daughter did. Benjen and Arya both made their way to the opposite side of you both, and the strange feeling came about, that your display no doubt, must have been a horrid sight. Looking up with more gasping type breaths to Bran did your voice mutter out in weakness, “Did you mean to-”

Shaking his head, it only added to the weight in your heart filling with a dread that had been there since the morning. “I had to...it was like I lost you in there. I had to find where you were and couldn’t get you out of there even when I did.”

Meera looked between you and Bran before kneeling down moreso like her father in front of you, a skin of water she pulled from her side almost moving to make your hand grasp it. “You should drink something.” Even in the cold air, you felt the sweat surrounding your hair and brushing over your skin when everyone else could be seen with colour in their cheeks from the cold alone. Nodding with a thanks in your eyes, you never felt Jons touch leave you as you downed nearly half in one sip.

Jon rasping low in you ear of what did you see, but you didn’t know how to speak it aloud. Something odd felt about it and vocalizing it was a challenge. But yet the words you spoke, the sensation rippled through more then one person there that it was not quite from your own thoughts, but an echo of something else that Arya had already heard the night before, yet it made even less sense now. “There is a beast beneath the boards.”

Just as Sansa stepped beside Arya, asking what was going on, Jon took proper control. “Quiet, all of you. Let her breathe.” Prompting you to stand up, Jon acted as a guide to move you mostly for him until you were on both feet. Circling around to your front, Jon gently used a hand to guide Meera off to the side before bracing your upper arms as you reached out to rest yours against his chest. Fingertips attempting to dig into the leather as your head dropped, eyes closed attempting to shake this feeling off. Jon lowered his head more towards you with something muttered on his lips to keep you tethered to his voice. “Take your time, it’s alright.” Jon moving suddenly, your hand almost swiped to grab at his like he was leaving your touch, the hand falling flatly to his chest once more as he simply moved so one hand cupped your cheek. Voice even quieter, but with no care for the people around who heard him. “You’re with me, darling. You’re here, not there you know that.”

Nodding, you felt yourself taking deeper breaths before looking up to grey eyes watching you closely. Jon muttered quietly to Bran behind him what it was you saw, but when he paused, all eyes suddenly turned to him. Jons face twisting in an aggravation asking a second time when Bran looked at your weary gaze and back. “I don’t really know.” Questions came as quick as he cut them off with a bit of a louder anger seeping in. “I don’t know what every moment in history is, I only know what I saw when I managed to find her.”

As Jon asked what it was, you eyes glanced up to his as if something between the two of you already said you both knew. Picking at your brain you found nothing but it sat right there that something was trying to tell you and Jon what it was being shown to you and why, but still it didn’t come.

Seeing your breathing even out, Jon pulled you more into his front, your head dropping a bit to his shoulder as he let an arm come around to the other side of your head to keep you tucked there. Looking to his sisters, “You two asked what was going on with her, but we don’t know. She has these because of Bran and if he doesn’t know why hers are out of control..”

Shifting so you could see the baby looking wide eyed towards his mother and father, you glanced up to Jon, nodding your head in that direction with a question in your eyes. “You should take him for the night.” Jon protested, saying you already discussed this, but the urgency in your voice too was as out of the loop as most here all felt watching the rest of it. “No, Jon. I think you need to take him.”

“Why?”

Only, eyes looking at his skeptical ones, then around and around before landing on the now more fussy moving baby wishing to reach out to you, did you sigh. You didn’t know why, and he knew it. Kissing the side of your head, Jon only mumbled for you to take him from Sansa. Ignoring the others for the moment, he watched as you cradled little Eddard close with something weary deep within you.

Hardly moving from the spot did they talk around you. More and more you felt as you did earlier, your mind refusing to listen as again and again you felt your mind and body elsewhere. The morning was trapped in your own passed, but now it was trapped within someone else’s, and the horror you felt as theirs without knowing why you were hurled into such images.

Your voice recalling a pleading to take their place, your life instead of theirs but the faces of those whom were all around you were little more then blurs. Only the interruption of a guard coming forth had the voices all around come to a sudden halt. “My greatest apologies for the interruption your grace, but there is a situation I believe requires your immediate attention.” Your eyes flew up to Jons with a beg, but you didn’t know why. You cradled little Eddard closer to your chest protectively, but you didn’t know why. The air felt incorrect. Something felt as if it was not right where you stood or anywhere else around you.

Only Jons voice did you hear, a kiss to the side of your head as he muttered for you to put the baby down for now. “Olly should’ve had the maids draw a bath for you by now. Don’t do anything, I’ll handle things when I get back. I want you to relax first, alright?”

He didn’t let you go until you said yes, but again, you didn’t understand why you kept hesitating as you parted ways from him once leaving the godswood. But the halls were growing more and more quiet, and at the very least you could rely on that later in the evening did Theon listen to your requests to be left alone once heading to Jons chambers. Needing the quiet when all day surrounded by guards, you could rely on that peace to settle the strange feeling in your head.

The room was quiet as you entered, no sign that the maid had been close by any time soon, meaning that at best, the bath drawn was not as scolding hot as it would’ve been freshly poured. Laying little Eddard down in his bed, you ran your hand across his cheek as a smile finally graced your features.

Whispering with a gentle lull as you ran your hand over the top of his head as his eyes begun to blink, worming his way into a comfortable position. Not yet leaving him until he fell asleep, always doing so faster with your or Jons touch. “You and your father have your hands full with me, let’s just hope you you born with the best of him instead of the worst from me. Give you even a fighting chance at being taken seriously.”

A mumble of nonsense on his lips before his hooded eyes finally dropped and breathing in his chest evened out. For a moment, you felt more peace come over you as you stood watching him sleep for a good while. Gently pulling the fur from your shoulders and hanging it properly, you stepped from your boots and made your way to the side room, as the outer dress slipped from your body and draping it over the side of a cabinet, only a thin dress and your shift under left as you made your way into the much brighter room.

But there was no water. In fact, there was a mess of what looked like the starts of a bath, then a struggle of things to the floor, then blood. Blood trailing from the floor up the steps to the tub, and painted over a young woman with wide eyes drained of any colour or life splayed out inside.

Lungs stopping with a fear rushing through you, a muffled sound drew you up further to a sight which then put your heart into a painful pounding. Tied and gagged with a terrible fear was Olly, desperately trying to say something to you through a muffle but all you could think was that fear. That voice not your own but whispered aloud as if in the mystery of your mind did it all connect. “The rats..”

The moment you sensed it, you turned to face a large figure standing in the frame way to the main room of Jons chambers.

Two figures were knelt down on either side of Jon looking at the sight. Laid out by the courtyard, a body of a man Jon didn’t recognize but the sight was more ghastly then he had expected. The mans throat had been cut so deep that were one to pick his corpse from the ground, there was a mighty chance the head would detach and fall to the ground with a splat. But it was not just that which stood out, the clothes did not look fitting. As if they had been put on right before or just after having his life hacked away at.

Around his neck was a cheaply made cloak, the fur surrounding the shoulders was no doubt that of a small fox, but the head remained in tact save for the eyes which were bloody and gouged out, no doubt done so from the dead mans own supply as drops could be seen down his collarbones dripping to the fur. Theon knelt next to him on his right, gloved hand looking over the rest of the body, pockets and whatnot to see if anything else could give a form of an answer as Jon turned his head somewhat to his left.

“And you found him out here like this all alone?”

Nodding, Gendry kept a look similar to that which you would give when put off by an unseemly scene, an eyebrow raised as he frowned in a more well put together disgust. “I was alone when I found him, but what’s strange is that no one I’ve asked recognizes him.” Both men turned to the other as Jons face twisted in a more discontent as Gendry gave a single nod as if to indicate he understood how he felt about that. “No one even heard anything. It’s like someone killed them then dumped him out here.”

Hovering at his back, Jon could hear the passing speculations of the now more crowded onlookers as Arya circled around to join next to Gendry with a disgust in her own face. “Why would someone come into the castle walls just to dump a body no one recognizes?”

Theon piped up without even glancing from what he had been doing, “Divert attention so whoever did it can make a run for it through Winter Town?”

Mumbling more, Jon felt something was off about it. “Maybe.” Glancing upwards, he could see Ghost hovering by an edge of the crowd with stern eyes, both wolves making eye contact as Jon attempted to decipher what his direwolf was saying, but it was much like he was. Something felt off out of nowhere, but neither knew why. “Or, maybe it’s here to distract us.” Looking up and around nothing stood out as out of the ordinary right away. “Keep us here while someone does something somewhere else.”

Arya asking what that would be, and Gendry had the more blunt version of that answer. “Something they’re not supposed to be doing.”

Pushing up from the snowy ground, Jon turned to some of his men nearby as his voice projected more in the quickly darkening sky. “Start asking around Winter Town, see if anybody knows who this is or if they saw anything happen or someone suspicious making their way towards the castle walls.”

“At once, your grace.”

Arya and Gendry both made move to stand, making their way to Jons side as he held a furrow in his narrowed expression with something further bothering him about the sight. Arya asking what was on his mind, but Jon grimaced for half of a second before answering. “How many men turn up in Winterfell murdered? Every town or village has their fair share of thieves and rapers, we have more then enough tavern fights then I can count but this? When was the last time someone turned up dead this way in Winterfell that you can remember?”

Arya’s silence was balanced by a matching disturbed expression that she nor Jon knew what to think of. It was odd, that was certain, and turning up so suddenly as it got dark in the castle walls of all places when there was no other disturbance inside or out from what Jon or the guards had been aware of.

Jon appreciated the straight forward and simple manner which Gendry felt comfortable chiming in as he too stood there still. “I grew up in Kings Landing. Plenty of men turned up dead every day, no reason for more then half of them but they got drunk in the street and bumped into the wrong person.”

Shaking his head, Jons expression was withheld in thought. “There’s a million people in Kings Landing, I have a little over ten thousand in Winter Town at best. My people know my family have never taken that lightly. They have a problem that bad with someone, nine times out of then they come to us about it.”

Jon knew Gendry had a point when he said it, but it didn’t feel as if that was the whole answer. “Guess this is the tenth.”

The fox fur stood out to him, and he didn’t know why. It stood out and Jon kept looking back at it before turning away. Something about a fox was pricking at his mind, something which was but a piece of a larger series of clues to what about this felt like it stood out in a negative fashion. The eyes purposely left there to be gouged out with blood, but just as he opened his mouth with another order did Theon call to his attention.

Moving back to where he was still knelt, Theon raised up the leg of the dead mans pant, where he had somewhat pulled his boot down. A bite mark was left, small and not so serious but it was still stained red from the swollen flesh around it. “What kind of animal bite is that?”

Theon was to say he wasn’t sure, but Arya cut him off with a certainty. “A rat.” The men all turned to look at her, but she was as casual about her certainty as she was about most things. “Anything else small enough to make a mark like that he’d have to have come in from the wolfswood to have gotten it, but it wouldn’t look that fresh if he had to walk all that way before he died.”

In truth, were Jon not so preoccupied, he’d have more noticed with something aggravated in his chest at the ease which Gendry leaned his arm across Aryas back to kneel down close beside her, or how she didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Whatever in seven hells that was, he’d focus on how much he didn’t like it later. “What’s a bite from a rat stand out for?”

Jon answered first, “It’s too cold out here. Rats prefer the warmth, they’d huddle somewhere in a pile if they were out in this cold. If he came across one out here, we’d see more scattered. He got this somewhere else.” When asked where, Jon and Arya both had that answer. “The tunnels.”

Explaining to Gendry Arya did, “The tunnels are underground. Close to where the hot springs Winterfell is build on top of, if gets cold they’d all gather there. A bite that fresh, he must have been in the tunnels.”

An increase in Jons heart beat came about, that detail did not sit well with him whatsoever. The tunnels where few knew to navigate let alone knew even existed, and this man no one recognized walked through them enough to get himself bitten by a rat, stumble out where and get his neck sliced into? Theon’s voice captured Jons attention once more with a much more obvious hesitancy. “Your grace...”

Turning to him, Theon pulled his hand from the dead mans neck as if it were shoved in there after he was dead. It was small, broken and bloody but it was no blade of metal of sorts. Not something snapped from a cheap dagger, but put there on purpose. Holding it out between them did Theon and Jon stare at it with wider, disturbed gazes. Shoved in his neck as if a symbol, a sign, a message of what the body was really doing. A snapped piece of antler, from what appeared to be the very top of what belonged to-

Jon and Theon both turned to one another with eyes sharp and full of a wide fear as his stomach turned inside out, and his heart pounded in his chest. The fox, the rat, and now the antler of a stag. Within a second, Jon had called to Ghost and without a single order needed to be given did both turn to run inside the castle, barley giving anyone a chance to even blink before many followed suit, their Kings disturbance.

Your lungs both stopped and shook within you.

The large unknown man filth covered and wreaked as if they had been hiding away from anything close to a bath in years. The one in front of you was older, hair long and a stringy white as his frame encased most of the frame which you could not even see passed. Your foot took a step back on instinct, your muscles both frozen and tense looking at him as your face hardened into something like stone in smothering what fear outraged inside you.

A force sat within your voice, the shaking inside wishing to come out but not allowing it to yet take hold as you considered how little you stood around with. How far away any would be to call to help for at that instance. So instead you stood without moving and without fleeing with a hope of reason in your tone. “Who do work for?”

Their smile was obscene, the discolour in their teeth not just from a lack of hygiene but as if there had been rot set about. The look as bad as the smell which seeped from him as he chuckled too. “Smart girl, you are. Most would just scream and cry about what do we want. ‘Cept you. You could tell right away we ain’t coming in from the outside for no reason.”

Your eyes noting the rather large knife in his hand, trying to ignore it desperately from being the only thing you saw, but also not wishing to give away that you were looking for any opportunity to move.

It had been too late however, pulling it upwards in a display meant to look rather theatrical as he grinned further. “You wouldn’t believe the gold promised for you. Pissed off some mighty powerful people, girl. People who will pay in the hundreds.” Your eyes kept drifting trying to pass his frame, but he too caught that as distressing sounds of Olly muffled in the background. “Oh? Worried about your son, are you? I wouldn’t care about that, girl. Won’t mean much in a moment now, will it?”

You could not stop it, that hitch in your breath with pounded in your heart at the sudden horrific feeling, gone now or gone then you took another step backwards with a far less convincing sound coming from you, much to his pleasure. “Whatever you are being paid, I-”

“You’ll what? Double it? Can the Queen in the North pay me enough to buy me a new head? Because mine will be coming right off, if I come back without yours.” Your body burned hot, but instead of being put out by the fear you felt it grow and grow. Eating away at your remaining stillness as what would happen to your son, would would happen to Olly should you find the final end now.

What failures you would be providing Jon by leaving him now this way? You had to do something, anything. But the moment it seemed the man sensed you were about to try and shout for anyone, did you find yourself unable too.

Two large arms wrapped around you from behind, a rope thick and coarse sound it’s way over your face and into your mouth. Pulled tight behind you, your teeth had no choice but to try and stop from clamping down on it, but you were dragged further behind. Your arms flung trying to reach up and grab at the second assailant but the old man before you jumped to your front. Throwing you with them against the wall to hold you upward, the first came to you with the blade but your hands reached out.

Slicing open both still unhealed phantom wounds, the blade soaked your hand and the metal itself in red as you could hardly make any sound through the rope at the sting nor the struggle in front of you.

Trying to kick at the first, he merely stumbled before a growl came forth.

Lowering the blade only to snatch at the front of your dress as the fabric tore, tossing you behind him as the second man followed keeping your gag silent. But the struggle slammed and sounds muffled from both gagged and men aggressive did the sound of the baby begin to cry.

Stuck in his crib at the struggle ensuing beyond his sight he cried louder and louder with something that would catch attention better then you could yell for, but that fear turned into a genuine pain that if he made enough sound they might kill him to keep it quiet and again you tried grabbing at them to make anything stop.

Knocking you to your knees, the blade came to the back of your neck. Just as you felt it draw blood did you grasp again at the sharp edge and with enough energy, you lifted it up against his strength enough to try and fling yourself to the side to knock him off kilter. Free now you threw your head back against the man with a crack in your skull leaving you dazed as now every sound of distress and yelling and your sons cries was underwater, like a blur for your ears as the room too dazed out.

Trying to stand did the larger man behind you suddenly return, grabbing you around your entire body, and did your world spin being thrown across the air. A sting made by the top of your head as blood begun to seep down into your vision as that same weight slammed you face down into the floor. The older man before you now, grabbed you by your hair to yank your head up and used the other hand to force your teeth to part. Shoving the edge of a blade partially between your teeth he hissed with disgusting rot into your face. “You fight me again and I’ll carve a smile into your pretty mouth, got it?”

As if working in tandem, the anger flowed through the men as a sudden striking fear made you feel as if you were about to pass out, the only survivor in your blood the sounds of your baby crying in terrible distress in the other room but the blood mixed with your tears that you had no plan to get out of this.

The fabric of your dress and shift suddenly tore, a blade behind in the hand of the second man cutting through the fabric as if also carved into your skin without any care. The air of the room stinging the line of blood following as it reached close to the lower part of your spine when the second leaned into your ear as his older companion suddenly shoved your head roughly down into the stone floor. “The price was your head, orders ain’t said nothing about doing what we want with the rest of you.”

Through the blade keeping you quiet hardly any kind of crying protest could leave you, despite the actual cries from your son and the increasingly both distressed and angry sounds muffled from Olly behind being forced to watch. The older man only added to that fear as he ran his filth across your cheek, mouth and jaw almost cupping it in a violent manner to make a display of something you knew too well as it implied. “This is happening boy, so best shut it. Our friend here’s gonna fuck your Queen real good. You won’t even have to look her in the eye when he’s done, she won’t have any. Will you?”

The blood and tears melted together across your eyes as they stung as much as everywhere else did, but you knew from the feeling vibrating in your chest that you no doubt were making sounds of utter distress and panic that you felt so helpless against the heavy weight atop you. But the second the blade returned to finish tearing the rest of it from you, did a loud slam echo in the other room.

Before it even registered did the weight atop you suddenly double before leaving entirely, a mixture of growls and snarls as yelling and tearing hit your ears. Ghost tearing into the one behind you, you barley found it in you to push up at all the moment the older man moved. Turning up and leaping to the second approaching wolf, but this one was not the same was the first.

You saw none of it, happening so fast before your eyes there was more blood as a body dropped to the ground before and behind. Whatever fight to the death these men thought they’d give, it did not end as brave or as valiant as two wolves would ever allow.

The sounds from behind stopped as well, Ghost suddenly appearing at your side as you shakingly tried to push up in your palms but hardly could put any pressure in your muscles as they shook, as your whole body shook. More and more people suddenly poured into the room but your eyes hardly left wide and terrified from the man slumping down dead to the ground before you.

Himself still covered in blood, Jon dropped down in front of you, a seething mixture of fear and burning anger raging through him as he helped you sit up. Your shock to the point you barley had it in your mind to hold the tatters of you dress up as he cupped your cheeks. He called to your name more then once trying to get you to look at him, but your vision was blurry and stinging from the blood and tears, all you managed to get out was a beg as you no longer heard the crying. “Our son..where’s our son..”

Jon carefully wiped some of the blood from out of your eyes, murmuring with such a deep rasp that it scratched along your heart as something more comforting then you should’ve felt his voice was. “He’s alright.”

But you felt that fear still rattled through your bones, shaking your head. “Where is he, I need to- please, he was crying-” In fact though, not that you really had the awareness to know, but you were the one crying, in much more free tears.

Not even turning his head to whomever else was in the room, Jons voice was a husking command. “Bring him here, now.” You couldn’t even hear anyone else in the room despite knowing they were there. Jon pulled you to sit more against the ground with your feet splayed to the side, keeping you close as he looked over you with such bright eyes soaked with worry. “He’s alright, darling. They didn’t hurt him, I promise.”

But he knew you wouldn’t believe that until you held him. Recognizing in the back of your mind that you leaned closer into Jons warmth as he refused to let go of you at all, only giving you enough space when in turn the baby was given to Jon, so he could turn and place him in your arms. Still crying, you cradled him close to your chest as your head buried more near the top of his head, falling a bit into Jons front.

He thus tugged you in close, one arm wrapped around your lower back to keep you tucked into his chest as your son was to yours and also allowing it to hold up what remained of your dress from falling. His other wrapped around to cradle the back of your head, hiding you almost entirely in his safe chest, knowing that the shaking coming from you was in fact hiding the silence of tears following the muffled cries from your son.

You truly weren’t even aware at all of what was going on around you. The shock from such a sudden ordeal had shot much of your nerves leaving only that shaking ragged fear in its remains. You could hear Jons rasps from above you directed towards Olly. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

Olly shook his head, a shaking in him as well but moreso looking towards you in his own distinct worry much like the rest of the room. “Only a little. They- They killed-”

Jon cut him off, no doubt trying to spare the rest of the details in front of you at that moment. The instinct within him to protect you growing fierce as ever. “I know.” It to only one pair of eyes who watched, was an interesting sight. Theon knew the dynamic between Olly, Jon and yourself was odd and it was moments like this where he could remind himself why he cared the way he did.

Coming up to him, Theon pulled Olly more up and to his side, luckily keeping his voice likely the most calm and even in the room as he spoke to someone you didn’t have the energy to even look up to see. “Make sure he gets seen too.”

Jon suddenly, moved to pull your face up to look at him, gesturing to be handed something, he shook his head a single no when you moved to give him space. “Stay just like this.” Gently running a cloth over to at least get the blood from your face washed out before noting with a hiss that some of it was indeed coming from a cut in your head. “Oh darling..” Pulling you close again he pressed his lips to your hair, resting his own face in the strands for a moment before pulling himself together.

Not a man to let kneeling on the floor, gently cradling his wife and son be a tender sight that would take away from his command, but as Jon spoke, there was an anger tinted behind. Not giving a single bit of room for objection. “These men came in through the tunnels. I want all of them searched, and every entrance from the outside into the castle sealed one way. No one uses them to get into the castle.” The tunnels, you thought. They came in through the tunnels, hiding beneath your feet. “Guards stationed all around Winter Town and double at each gate and watch. There are to be two guards outside these chambers and two guards at each end of the hall day and night, no one comes in this room without us knowing about it.” Looking up to Theon, you felt Jons arms around you tighten as if to say not to argue as he said your name in reference. “I want to guards with her at all times if she isn’t at my side, she isn’t to go anywhere alone for the time being.”

That had you pulling back a bit, meekly trying to get his attention with a protest. “Jon,”

He only cut you off without a hesitation. “This isn’t a debate. That’s an order. Either you’re with me, or you have guards or Ghost with you at all times.” Biting your tongue, Jon gave you a darker, narrowed look as he ran a hand over the side of your face. “Understood?”

A saving miracle in that for that instance Jon did not make you say outloud, he accepted your nod before much more gently wrapping his hand to the back of your hair and tucking you back into his front, leaning his head against yours with his eyes closing for if just a moment of peace.

[littleandless]

i think jon’s “true” identity being more stark-like than targaryen-like is established (foreshadowed?) in the first book, when jon makes a remark about joffrey treating his mother’s house as if it’s on equal footing with his father’s and arya says “no fuck that. mothers matter too.”

obviously he doesn’t know his true parentage, but he likely will later on. and i think it will be an important decision for him to make—blood of the dragon, or the blood of winterfell? and of course his post-resurrection self will be a bit different than his former self, so it’s unclear which he might choose. maybe he’ll embrace both!

so it’s not just my distaste for patriarchal family structure that makes me boo and hiss at the implication of jon being a “true targaryen,” i think it’s also clearly refuted by the narrative.

[seaside-storm]

DROGON and JON SNOW Game of Thrones (2011-2019) 8.05

[alicentlvr]

"dany is the prince that was promised"

"jon is the prince that was promised"

how about we all shut the fuck up and we kiss?

[dipperscavern]

Imagine getting season one Jon Snow high as fuck. I feel like that would be a hell of a situation lol

stop it right now because he would be soooo out of it. cant even bring himself to continue his nonchalant personality so he’s all smiley & laughing at everything bless him…. but is also weirdly sensitive to smells when high? smelled peppermint once while you were walking down the hall and threw up in a plant?