#jon snow fanfic

[sweeterthansammy]

ONLY YOU - JON SNOW

Summary: After being accused of wanting another woman instead of you, he makes it his mission to let you know that he wants you…and only you.

Warnings: This is all over the place but it makes sense in my head :D. Completely made up the last name for the sake of the fic. Now for real warnings - One (1) quickie, unprotected sex (be smart y’all), vaginal penetration, fingering, oral (female receiving), face-sitting., love-making ig, overstimulation, basically porn, very light touch of breeding, one (1) use of the word ‘whore’, marriage (yes that is a fucking warning but it’s not that complicated in this fic), feelings (ew), mild language, cheating accusations, mentions of not being able to conceive, one (1) very brief mention of Jon crying (yes this is also a warning)

A/N: Hello my darlings! My laptop is still being repaired so please bear with my shitty typing as well as possible typos. I just recently started watching GOT and I HAD to jump on the opportunity the second I laid my eyes on Jon…… considering that I’m only a few episodes in, I did not follow anything too canon considering that I don’t want the details to be too off.

Word count: 4.2k+ (this is the most I’ve written in forever LMAO)

not my gif!

Daenerys Targaryen. The most wanted woman of all in any of the kingdoms. She was undoubtedly envied by many, you included. You were a very close runner-up, but it didn’t help much considering your family’s constant comparisons between you and the younger girl.

You were nearing twenty-one and you had yet to be set for marriage, your parents frowning upon the idea that you wanted different things in life. Sure it might be nice to carry on your family’s legacy and become the heir, being their oldest of seven girls, but it wouldn’t be all that nice when you’d get threatened by others to give up your title as queen.

You’d met Jon when your parents had gone over to the Stark residence for a ceremonial dinner. He’d been out front, swording away at a dummy. You removed the flask from the garter that sat under your dress, sipping the bitter whiskey. You’d leaned yourself up against the wall, eyeing the dark-haired alpha as he blabbered away to his uncle Benjen.

He stole several glances, his tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek when he realized your gown parted more and more to allow some air under the fabric.

“I shall go with you when you leave, Uncle Benjen. My father will say yes - ask him!”

Trying your best to not eavesdrop much more, you began to wander off. His uncle couldn’t stop the perverse words that fell from his tongue. You glanced over your shoulder, shooting the older male a wink, careful as to not show too much of your face as he’d only seen your silhouette. He took off, heading into the castle to rejoice with his brother and several lords, leaving you in the presence of the young man.

“Tisn’t quite the scene for a lady. You should be inside with everyone else.”

“Nor is it the scene for the son of a lor-“

“Lady Stark requested that I didn’t join them for the dinner.”

“Oh, right. Jon Snow, is it? The bastard?”

You finally turned to face him, his eyes widening in their sockets.

“Honorable Y/N Burke. You shan’t be in the presence of an unwed man, young lady.”

“There are many things that I ‘shan’t’ do,” you mimicked air quotes. “But, you’ll find very soon, bastard, that I don’t care much about the things that I shan’t do.”

He eyed you for a moment longer, his sword firm at his side. You had yet to conceal your flask, offering him a sip before taking one of your own.

You watched as his eyes glanced over the way your lips encircled the opening, a drop of the liquid dribbling down the side of your mouth before your finger swiped at it, sucking the digit into your mouth.

Then he lost it.

He pounced on you in just a matter of seconds, groaning as your tongue mingled with his. The exchange of tastes - the whiskey warm with a mix of whatever sweetness you’d treated yourself to beforehand, and his bare whiskey. You could almost taste his musk but it must’ve only been the way his scent overstimulated each of your senses.

His hands, which had made themselves up to your face, dropped to your waist, pulling your lower halves together as he felt up on your body.

“Goodness- we can’t get caught, Snow.”

Your breath picked up into heavy pants, his fingers dipping into your undergarments as he swallowed all of your moans.

“Just be quiet, darling, and they won’t know a thing.”

He teased your clit with a grin plastered to his face. He yanked your underpants down, mimicking the move with his own clothing.

“Jon-“

“Sh, sweetheart-“

He hoisted you into his arms, not hesitating to plow himself into you. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to fight each moan from leaving your mouth. A high-pitched squeal sounded from your throat as his hand accompanied his rather vulgar pace.

“Fuck-“

“Remember what I told you, sweetheart,” he grunted into your ear.

His arm circled itself around your waist, stabilizing your squirming figure. His head tipped back, a groan sounding from his throat before his forehead met yours.

“Jon, fu-“

Before you could finish your statement, you felt the pulsating of his cock, his seed dribbling down your legs. He fucked you through his high, dropping his thumb to your cunt so you’d finally come around his cock. Your body shuddered as your climax hit you, your hands clutching onto him for dear life.

He pulled his garments back up once he’d placed you on the makeshift railing. You remained silent for just a bit longer until you broke said silence.

“Look, Jon- Lord…Snow, I’ve heard of your desire to leave this land and become a Night Watcher. I just….”

For once you had not much to say despite wanting to spew so much out.

“I know of your oath and the things you must accede to.”

“What are you getting at, Hon Burke?”

“If…if I am to carry your child, and I know the chances are slim because it’s only been once-“

“As you said, it’s only been one time. Don’t speak nonsense. This never happened. Are we clear?”

“But-“

He turned to you, helping you redress yourself with a sigh. He couldn’t miss the way your demeanor faltered just a tad, his own softening drastically.

“It’d be in both of our best interests to pretend that this never happened, sweetheart.”

And so you did as he said.

Despite wanting oh so badly to miss your menstrual cycle that month, it’d worked out for the best - you’d told yourself. You’d only known the lad for a few minutes tops but he remained on your mind for years following.

Upon his leave, you were devastated. Watching with teary eyes as the man you knew you wanted so much more with was leaving. Your mother watched as you quickly wiped a tear from under your eye, sniffling quietly.

Two years down the line, it was nearly impossible to avoid the fact that you’d have to step up and become queen rather soon.

“Mother, I am not stepping into that role until I get a proper proposal!”

“You’re too picky, Y/N! We’ve been waiting - for years, we’ve been waiting. You’ve gotten thirty proposals, all of which you’d turned down for the darndest reasons!”

“I’m not picky! I am awaiting someone that will settle for more than what the stupidity of this society offers. My king-“

“Has arrived.”

That voice. His voice.

Immediate tears were brought to your eyes as you found Jon standing in your doorway.

“J- Sir Jon Snow. Am I dreaming?”

“No, m’lady. ‘Tis truly I.”

You resisted every fiber in your body that urged you to jump into his arms and snog him right in front of your mother.

“Lady Burke,” he bowed.

Your mother offered a tight-lipped smile before leaving the pair of you to catch up.

“I didn’t think I’d see you for another ten years.”

Your smaller arms pulled his body into yours, embracing his warmth despite his cool armor.

“Jon,” you hummed, nuzzling yourself further into him.

“Y/N,” he copied your actions, smoothing his hand over your hair. “I couldn’t do without you for much longer.”

“Really? That’s hard to believe considering how quick you left after fucking me,” you quipped.

“I’m sorry, darling. I truly am.”

You met his lips in a soft kiss, your fists clenching around his coat.

“How’ve you been holding up?”

“I’ve just been dandy.”

Lies.

“Sort of glad I didn't have your child.”

Lies.

“Tried to get back out there after you left.”

Lies.

His arm tightened around you at the last of your statements.

“Tell me, Hon. Am I marrying a whore?”

“‘Marrying a whore’?” you were flabbergasted. “One - never call me a whore again. Two - who said we are to be wed?”

“Me.”

The simplicity of his statement baffled your mind.

“You? My father would never let me-“

“Marry a bastard. But, darling, as I remember, you’d told me something two years ago. You don’t care about the things you shan’t do and that shall include claiming me to be your king.”

“Well, why do you wait, my lord?”

He held you tight to his chest with his pupils blown.

“Tell me you’ll be mine, sweetheart. This is my proposal to you. We shall leave this land and rule our own kingdom together.”

“I do accept your proposal, my dearest, but I believe it isn’t that easy.”

“Nothing is easy, especially this. If your father is to deny our marriage and your leave, we shall go nonetheless.”

You grinned up at him, shaking your head as you laid your head on his chest.

“Then I shall marry you, my king.”

As expected, your parents didn’t have the merriest of a reaction when it came to notifying them of your leave with the man who’d notoriously been known to be a bastard. They were disappointed you wouldn’t be running their kingdom but they were relieved to see that you were finally off to be married. They hesitantly approved of the young man’s proposal, sending you off with him.

On your ride to your new castle, miles from your parents’ kingdom, you couldn’t help but question your husband-to-be.

“Why did you leave?”

He eyed you.

“The Night Watch. Why did you leave, Jon?”

“I know my status as a bastard would’ve done me well over there but I couldn’t take it. Being away from you, my family. It was eating at me day and night.”

“Then…why’d it take you two years to come back?”

“I didn’t know how to tell them I’d be leaving. It took me a long time to muster up the courage for that.”

You allowed yourself to remain silent until he placed a hand on top of yours.

“I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I regret ever setting myself up to be away for the rest of my life, but now I’ve got you and that’s all that I need.”

“You sure have a way with words, don’t you?”

His lip quirked into a gentle smile, his hand squeezing yours with tenderness.

In just a couple of weeks, you were settled into your new home with your husband. It was now time to host several dinners and welcome all to your land. You were beyond ecstatic but it wasn’t until the guests actually arrived that you became wary of those around you.

Daenerys had made quite the entrance into your home, every one entirely forgetting that you existed for a moment. The Khal trailed behind her, offering head nods to those that personally greeted him.

Your heart stammered in your chest beyond your control. You isolated yourself from the crowd, tears cascading down your cheeks as your breathing grew jagged.

Your husband seemed to be infatuated with the platinum blonde-haired girl. You couldn’t blame him but it was killing you. He hadn’t torn his eyes from her, nor did she. She seemed to eye Jon for a bit too long, keeping great eye contact with him as she bowed.

“No need for that,” he chuckled, greeting Drogo with a firm handshake.

He waited for you to greet the couple, not sparing a glance at your seat until he hadn’t heard your voice whatsoever.

“Y/N?”

Chatting and eating resumed, Jon’s leg bouncing anxiously. He watched like a hawk, eyes wandering about the crowd.

“Lord Snow, I don't think Lady Snow is feeling all that well.”

Upon hearing your name, you wiped the last of your tears, seating yourself at your husband's side yet again.

“Darling, what’s the matter?”

He held your face in his palm, eyebrows furrowing at your puffy and reddened eyes.

“Nothing, my lord.”

You spoke the words with such harshness that it pierced his heart.

“What-“

“Ah, Lord and Lady Snow! Why don’t you make a toast?”

“I don’t think-“

“Of course, Benjen. We shall give a toast!”

You stood with your goblet, Jon staring at you with confusion clear in his features before standing on his own two feet.

“Thank you all for coming tonight. Lord Snow and I are delighted to be sharing such a special moment with you all. We wouldn’t have wanted it to be spent any other way. Jon?”

He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on you as he spoke.

“I’m sure I’m supposed to be thanking you lot but if it weren’t for my beautiful wife here, I wouldn’t be standing in front of you and for that, I thank her. I thank her for trying to understand me, for being the greatest human on earth, and for standing by my side regardless of what. I’ve known the shame of being a bastard for my whole life but she’s willing to bear the embarrassment of being wedded to me.”

His speech went on and on and on. It didn’t seem to end but your heart fluttered at his words. He grasped onto your hand when you turned away from him, your eyes catching Daenerys’. You shook those pestering thoughts from your mind, repeating ‘stop it, stop it, stop it’ over and over in your head.

That had only been the first of many instances, though.

You were distraught. It’d been months since you and Jon were lawfully wedded yet it seemed as if you couldn’t conceive. Your parents were applying pressure, sending ravens to your kingdom every day after, asking when you’d bear children.

After a dinner you’d put together at your castle, you lost it. Jon had spent nearly three hours lingering near the Khal and his Khaleesi. For only two minutes, he held you at his side while conversing with the couple. You’d shimmied yourself from his arms, entertaining the younger Stark children.

Robb had witnessed the way in which you embraced your inner child, chasing the kids around as they screamed their heads off. You shooed them away with a motion of your hand. With a hand on your hip, you watched them run off, your heart aching at the thought of never having children.

“Any luck yet, m’lady?”

Robb chuckled as you flinched in the slightest.

“My goodness, Robb. No, no luck yet. However, we already have names picked out, as well as runner-ups for godparents.”

“Oh really?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, spinning to face the brunette.

“If you’re so desperate to hear it, then yes, you are a candidate for our children’s godfather.”

He took your hand into his, landing a kiss on your knuckles as you giggled endlessly.

“I knew you always loved me,” he dramatically expressed.

You raised a brow, badgering him, “Say that with caution, Stark.”

“Or what? Lord Snow will behead me?”

“I might.”

The older boy wrapped his arm around his brother’s neck in a cub-like embrace.

“Goodness, Jon. Leave your brother be,” you scolded him, watching as his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer.

The dinner was called to an end rather soon, but a few of your guests straggled about - Khaleesi Daenerys amongst the few. Your eyes were like daggers as you watched Jon converse with the younger girl. You were drawn from your thoughts the moment Robb placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Now, Y/N, I am well aware that you think my brother is mad over this woman - or at the least, having an affair with her. But I can assure you, nothing of that sort is happening at all. He’s only trying to make am-“

“I’d like to hear that from him, Robb. If he’s just trying to make amends with the Khal and everyone then that’s on me. But it doesn’t help that the Khaleesi is that fucking gorgeous. She has these big doe eyes that scream ‘help me’ or ‘fuck me’! I don’t know which one it is but I’m afraid that Jon will play the hero and be the one that fulfills any of her needs.”

You were seething in the corner with Robb at your hip. He tried assuring you repeatedly but you were quite a stubborn queen.

After everyone had left for good, you wasted no time in heading straight to bed. You wanted to avoid Jon to the best of your ability but you simply couldn’t outdo the king. Before you could step foot out of your bedroom with your things in hand, Jon stepped in front of you. He backed you into the room, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he shut the door.

“What’s your problem?”

You tried to not break under his intense gaze, your eyes bouncing from his own to everywhere in the room.

“What is your issue, Y/N?”

His voice was too quiet for your comfort.

“Are you…having an affair with Daenerys, Jon?”

The words that left your mouth sent a genuine fit of laughter racking through his body.

“Are you being serious?”

“Answer the question.”

His laughter died down, his body gravitating towards yours.

“Of course, I’m not having an affair with Daenerys. What makes you ask this?”

“The way you look at her kills me, Jon. When she’s here, it feels like I don’t exist! Why do you think I disappear for hours on end- you know what - you don’t even realize that I’m gone because you’re too immersed in your interactions with her! It’s-“

His hands found themselves on either side of your face, forcing you to look at him, though gently.

“If I was having an affair with Daenerys or anyone else, do you think that I’d be in the same bed as you every single night? All of those things I said about you months ago were nothing but true. You were probably too busy being upset with me to hear most of it but I don’t want anyone else. I want you and only you.”

“Then why do you look at her the way that you do? There’s so much compassion and-“

“I look at her that way because I feel bad for her! She talks to me because she feels as if she can’t trust anyone else, not even her own brother. I’m sorry that I ever made you feel less important. You’re the most important person, the most important thing in this world. I care for Daenerys’ well-being but I don’t care about her the way I care about you. I love you and I know I don’t say it enough but I do!”

He panted as he read your face.

“So you’re not cheating on me?”

“No, and I never will! I only want you, Y/N Snow. Only you.”

His lips met yours, your shoulders falling as relief washed over you. You allowed your hands to get lost in his hair, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist as your lips moved in tandem.

“Tell me you love me.”

You hadn’t noticed the few tears that stained his cheeks until he spoke against your lips, your heart aching in your chest.

“Jon, my darling, I love you more than you will ever know.”

His arms tightened around you, lifting you from the ground as he pecked your skin.

“It seems as though I have to make up to you for the rest of my life,” he chuckled against your skin.

“Sweetheart, you loving me alone is enough of an apology.”

He laid you gently on the bed, undoing your bodice in an impressive amount of time. He held back no longer, suckling on the skin that was graciously presented to him.

“Jon,” you hummed.

He imitated your actions, putting a ministration to his movement once he’d reached your underpants. After kissing, biting, sucking on your skin, his lips were red and plump. They met yours again, the taste of whatever wine you’d been drinking just hours prior still lingering on your tongue.

He worked his hands into the sides of your underpants before pushing them down your legs. You whimpered against his tongue as his fingers stimulated your clit.

“Darling,” you gasped out, his fingers dipping in and out of your cunt.

He used a leg to pry yours apart, reveling in your angelic sounds. He propped himself up on his other arm, hand holding his head. With your hands tugging at his clothing, you pulled him in even closer.

His face disappeared into the nape of your neck. The way in which he breathed against your neck caused your skin to crawl.

His nose nudged at your jawline, a dumbstruck grin taking over his features once he felt your walls pulsating around his digits. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the next words that flew from his mouth.

“Lannister had told me he imagined you sitting on his face long before my proposal. I nearly slayed the son of a bitch until I realized you weren’t mine then. Why don’t you come on my face, sweetheart?”

“W-what?” You stammered out - half shocked at the proposition and half processing the fact that he was still fucking you with his fingers.

“My pretty girl doesn’t want to sit on my face?”

He jutted out his bottom lip, on which you pressed a kiss, uttering an ‘I do’. Your legs squirmed a bit more until you came. Your back arched off the mattress as you gasped and cried out. He slid his fingers into his mouth, his eyes locked on your blissful features.

“You taste heavenly,” he murmured, wiping his saliva-slicked fingers off on his bottoms.

His words made your cheeks heat up, using whatever strength you had to push yourself onto your knees.

“Are you sure about this, Jon?”

“A million times over - yes, I’m sure about this.”

He laid himself down, your legs trembling as your cunt hovered over his face. He brought you down in seconds, not being able to resist the temptation.

His tongue expertly worked your cunt as it’d done several times before. Sitting on his face, however, brought a new sense of pleasure to you - his nose bumping your clit every so often as the entirety of your cunt grew soaked. The mix of his saliva and your release sent you spiraling once more, the core in your lower half tightening before you could say anything.

His tongue softly fucked your desperate hole, a glass-shattering moan sounding from within. You couldn’t hold back any of it. You needed to let the whole damn castle know that your king was treating you right.

“Jon!”

One hand dropped to his hair, the other fondling your breast. Your eyes dropped to his, your body giving out at the sight of his disheveled hair and his eyes just begging for your come.

Your body shook gently as you came in his mouth, eyes screwing shut once your head had lolled back. You’d lifted yourself off to the side, your husband chuckling at your already fucked-out state.

“How was that?”

His fingers traced patterns on your skin as you came down from one of your many highs for the night.

“Fuckin’ amazing,” you breathed out, your arms reaching for him once he’d brought himself to his knees.

You watched as he undid his bottoms. The intense eye contact he held with you was a telltale sign that you needed to help him out of his clothes before he exploded.

“I won’t be rough tonight,” he whispered.

You bit your lip, feeling the burn of his gaze on your face as you undid the buttons of his shirt. Your insides grew fuzzy, becoming giddy at the fact that this was truly your husband. No one, nothing could ever take him away from you.

He stood nude before you, pressing his back to the headboard before patting his lap. You climbed onto him in a matter of seconds, your hands already stabilizing themselves on his shoulders. Your knees bent at either hip, legs akimbo to appease his girth. You pumped him a few times, running his tip up and down your fold before sinking onto him with a cry.

“Has it been long, my darling?”

You nodded, offering an airy chuckle as you struggled to take all of him.

“Gods, I’m beyond s-“

You hushed him with a kiss on the lips, your hips beginning to rock back and forth once you’d hit his base. His hands fell to your behind, your back arching as he hit that spongy spot inside of you. His name left your mouth like a mantra, chants of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ following right after. Your mouths found one another in a slobbery mess, a clash of teeth and tongue as the rutting of your hips became more desperate.

“Stop apologizing, my lord. I- holy shit, I love you,” you choked out.

“I love you, sweet girl.”

His forearms held onto your waist, using this as leverage to thrust himself further into you.

The pace of his hips, the words exchanged, the looks on both of your faces. Just outside your door, guards exchanged knowing glances, clearing their throats at the sounds that came from the both of you. They seemingly grew louder, Jon taking the opportunity to let the words flow from his mouth - “I shall put a baby in you tonight.”

And so the night proceeded. Jon didn’t let up until you physically couldn’t go for another round, making sure none of his seed left your womb.

It was a relief to know that your king, your lord, your love wanted you and only you.

Join my taglist here!!

Old miscellaneous taglist (dm for removal): @ronbrokemyheart @quxxnxfhxll @eunoia-kth @siriuslyslyslytherin @dracomalfoys-wh0re @rudypankowisdaddy @tenaciousperfectionunknown @i-love-scott-mccall @justreadingficsdontmindme @sprucewoodlover @iwannabekilledtwice @daydreamin-lol @analove26 @ravenhood2792 @spiderdrive27 @photocoz @lunar-writing

[ichorai]

nobody ; jon snow.

track five of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; jon snow x martell!gn!reader

synopsis ; a child of sand and a child of snow—destined never to last, but somehow, you made it work.

words ; 9.0k

themes ; angst, action, fluff, healer au

warnings / includes ; heavy violence/gore/injury, wars/fighting, trauma, ramsay bolton, implications of sex, multiple mentions of death, reader is a bastard to oberyn martell, reader loathes the cold, a couple game of thrones spoilers, mentions of other characters in the show, and finally, fuck season eight !!

main masterlist.

You were fifteen when you first met Jon Snow.

The air was saturated with the ambrosial scents of spiced mulled wine and the rumbling thunder of tipsy cackling. Alcohol dripped from full golden chalices, heaping baskets of steaming bread rolls were passed around the mess hall, and plates were piled high with peppered mutton chops and creamed potatoes. You were seated near the end of the long table, quietly sipping on your honeyed apple cider as you politely smiled and nodded at the young nobleman who sat across from you, detailing a rather elaborate story of how he had hunted down a bear with nothing but a single hatchet and a lick of courage. 

You didn’t buy a single word of it, but the exaggerated story was mildly entertaining nonetheless. You’d rather listen to his tipsy rambling than watch King Baratheon stick his tongue down a random maiden’s throat. 

Once the man finished, he smiled charmingly, before grabbing your chalice and downing the rest of your drink. His loud belch was drowned out by the rest of the crowded hall of Winterfell, busy feasting and celebrating. Your lips twisted into a frown out of instinct, but you quickly fell back into a stoic expression, gently excusing yourself from the table. 

You mourned your half-eaten food left on your plate, but you didn’t think you could stomach another bite of Northern food—you longed for the sticky sweetness of Dorne’s dates. 

Hurriedly, you wove through the hall, quickly ducking when a silver wine chalice sailed across the large room. You made for the exit, squeezing past a couple children playing by the entrance.

Once you were outside, Winterfell’s frosty wind instantly nipped at your exposed skin, whispering snowflakes into your ear and tousling your hair in a haphazard fashion. A shiver spidered down your spine as you pressed yourself against the castle’s walls, pulling your fur coat closer to you. 

How you missed the kiss of Dorne’s sun on your cheeks. 

Damn the North.

You wrinkled your nose in frustration. 

A repetitive, faint thudding drew your attention away from the howling breeze, resonating from just around the castle’s corner. Curiosity piqued, you sleuthed across the icy grass, looking around the bend with wide eyes.

It was dark—far darker than it was inside. The only source of light came from the lit torches lining the walls and the dewy luminescence of the moon. 

The thudding came from a man—no, a boy—hacking furiously at a hay-sewn dummy with a dull wooden practice sword. You blinked, watching with mild awe as he relentlessly struck the unmoving figure, moving with an exact precision that was uncommon to see in such youth.

You didn’t realize just how long you’d been staring when he suddenly stopped, muscles visibly tensing beneath his thick leather tunic. The wooden sword drooped downwards when he lowered his arm, but his grip never faltered.

“What are you looking at?” he grumbled at last, turning around to face you entirely. 

At first, you found yourself at a loss for words. He was quite a beauty—a large mass of dark curls adorning his head, dancing with the snowy gale. His eyes, a tempestuous hue of stormy grey, narrowed and scrutinizing, were studying your every move, as if preparing himself for some sort of attack.

You shuffled backwards out of pure instinct, but steeled yourself before you had the nerve to turn tail and run. 

“Nothing,” you replied hoarsely, averting your gaze to a particularly interesting pile of rubble. “I just… needed to get out of the mess hall for a bit. It’s loud in there.”

It was silent for a moment, before he placed the sword down, regarding you with a somewhat intrigued stare whilst stepping closer. 

“I’m sorry if I’m being disrespectful,” he said, surprising you with his sudden change of demeanor, “but I don’t quite recognize you. How am I to address you?”

“My name would be just fine,” came your reply, eyebrows shifted upwards. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Martell. My father is Oberyn Martell, brother to the ruling prince of Dorne.”

It was the boy’s turn to be surprised, and an amused smile itched across your lips when he seemed to fumble for words, wondering if it was customary to bow or to shake hands with you. 

After his initial stupor, he shook his head, small bits of frost flying away from his hair. “Well, what are you doing out here? It’s cold out.”

“I told you, I came out to get some space. It was awfully crowded,” you hummed. Then, you leaned forward towards him, lowering your voice to a leveled whisper, “Plus, the sight of King Baratheon fondling a woman on top of his venison doesn’t exactly whet my appetite.”

A flit of a grin momentarily crossed his features, but it disappeared back into his regular brooding nature nearly as soon as it came.

“You know my name.” You tilted your head in a questioning manner. “It’d be rude of me not to ask for yours.”

“Jon,” the boy with curls of ebony replied in an off-handish manner.

“Jon…?”

His lips twitched downwards, twisting into a glower. Reluctantly, he mumbled, “Snow. Jon Snow.”

“Oh,” you whispered, stepping closer with widened eyes. Jon risked a glance towards you, surprised that he could see his own reflection in the dark of your pupils, frost clinging to your eyelashes and knitted brows. “Snow is a name for Northern bastards, is it not?” Your tone was not one of disdain like Jon had expected, but rather one of tender excitement.

There was a twitch to his jaw. He remained silent.

“I’m a bastard, too.”

Your words made him tear his gaze away from the snowy ground to your searching eyes. “You? A bastard?” he asked, plain with surprise.

You bowed your head once with a mild smile painting your lips with warmth. “I suppose my proper name would be Y/N Sand—the name given to bastards of Dorne. But we don’t care much for bastardy as the other kingdoms do. My father thought it proper to call myself a Martell during my stay in King’s Landing.”

Snow scuffed around Jon’s boots as he dug the heel into the grass. “What were you doing in King’s Landing?”

“I’ve been staying there to study medicine. Been about… seven months now? I left home when I was fourteen,” you said, teeth worrying into your bottom lip in thought. The hazy memory of saying goodbye to your father and sisters made your heart lurch with a sudden jolt of nostalgia. 

“Do you like it there?” Jon asked, intrigued. “In King’s Landing, I mean.”

You wrinkled your nose in response, shaking your head firmly. “I much prefer the golden sands of Dorne. The wispy shade of a palm tree. The wiry muscles of our horses—bred to run for fortnights on end. The cool sip of water on a hot day. The spitting bonfires at night—the stars seem to be so much brighter in Dorne, Jon Snow, you wouldn’t believe it.”

The both of you tilted your heads up to look at Winterfell’s dark sky. There wasn’t a single star in sight.

You sighed with stinging disappointment, tilting your chin back down to nuzzle your cold nose into your coat.  

Jon couldn’t help how his lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. “Sounds like a wonderful place.”

Humming your agreement, you uttered, “Enough about me.” You stepped closer so that you were nearly side-by-side with him. “What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you at the banquet?” 

The smile on his lips melted away nearly instantaneously. “Lady Stark thought it improper to seat a bastard amongst the royal guests.”

“That’s stupid,” you said in a rather blunt fashion, which made Jon’s eyebrows inch closer to his curls. “Not to bash on your kingdom’s customs or anything—but I find the exclusion of bastards rather redundant. You’re still their family regardless.”

“It’s what I am,” the boy responded with half a shrug. “It’s all I ever will be.”

“It’s all you’ll be if that’s all you choose to be, Jon Snow.” You inhaled a lungful of frigid air. 

The boy beside you seemed to mull over your words for a while, mouth twisted in thought. “I plan to join the Night’s Watch,” he said suddenly, looking almost surprised that he’d admitted that to you. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about the matter yet—it just happened to slip from his tongue without him giving it a second thought.

“That sounds fun,” you replied with a small smile, nudging your elbow into his shoulder. “At least, as much fun as you can have in this dreary place, anyway. No offense.”

For the first time, you heard the bastard of Ned Stark laugh. It was a quiet one, barely little more than an amused huff of his nostrils, but you heard it nonetheless. It made a queer sensation pool at the bottom of your stomach, one of warmth and selfish pride. You wanted him to laugh again. 

“You’d look handsome in black,” you commented with a roguish leer, to which Jon shifted in an awkward manner, turning his gaze to the frosty ground. If you looked closer, you’d be able to catch a dusting of rouge over his pale cheekbones.

The silence warped around you two in a hazy cocoon, time slowing down to a slow drip, drip, drip of the sand grains in an hourglass. 

Abruptly, you pivoted away from his side to face him, beckoning back to the mess hall with your head. “I’m sorry, in Dorne it’s rude to converse with someone who hasn’t had a meal when you’ve already eaten. You must be starving! Let me go fetch a plate for you.”

“Oh,” Jon started, already beginning to shake his head in panicked protest, “you really don’t have to—Lady Stark wouldn’t be very pleased—”

“Who said Lady Stark has to know? What if I just pretended I wanted a second helping?” You internally grimaced when you remembered that you hadn’t even finished your first helping. 

Raven-hued curls shook haphazardly as he stepped forward to catch your wrist with his in a futile attempt to persuade you to stay. After all, he wasn’t all that hungry.

He could feel his stomach cinch painfully at the thought of roasted mutton chops and candied almonds, or honey cakes and creamed potatoes, or steaming rabbit stew and flaking raspberry pie. Alright, Jon supposed he was a little bit hungry. 

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” you called out while waltzing away with a bright smile. “I’ll bring us two chalices of honeyed apple cider, too! Hope you like that!”

Despite all his efforts to stave away his mirrored excitement, Jon couldn’t help but watch you whisk away with a grin pulling at the side of his mouth.

“This is Ghost,” Jon said after swallowing down his bite of peppery chicken. You had been generous enough to add a bit of nearly every single dish available in the hall, walking out none-too-discreetly with a wobbling mountain of food stacked on the porcelain. 

The white direwolf, still only a small pup, tittered towards Jon with a knowing glint in its eye, using its snout to nudge against his knee. Relenting, Jon ripped off a piece of mutton and tossed it onto the ground for the direwolf. 

You were practically vibrating on your wooden seat beside him, grinning ecstatically. “I can’t believe you’ve got a direwolf!” you exclaimed in a hushed whisper, biting into a slice of spiced honey cake. “He’s gorgeous.”

Chuckling, Jon reached over to ruffle the creature between the ears. “He’s alright. Was the runt of the litter.”

That made your grin stretch wider. 

The two of you conversed for what felt like hours—you found out that he was only a year older than you, that he hated blackberries, that he had nightmares about dragons sometimes. In turn, he learned that you had a pet snake at the ripe age of five, that you counted the stars outside your window when you couldn’t sleep, that you thought your father, Oberyn Martell, was going to kill the Mountain one day.

Jon found you fascinating—he couldn’t remember the last time he had listened so intently to someone.

Jon had wolfed down the food you brought, despite previously claiming he wasn’t all that hungry. Setting the empty dishes aside, you strolled alongside him, sipping on your cider and occasionally bumping into his side, which made both of you laugh as he kindly told you to mind your step. 

When the guests inside the hall started to quiet down, small groups of people trickling out of the castle to retire to bed, you knew your limited time with Jon was coming to an end.

“We’ve only just met, but I’m gonna miss you,” you said, gazing towards him with disappointment etched plain as day across your features. Your hand lifted to brush away a bit of snow that had landed on his shoulder. “I certainly won’t miss the cold, though. I have no idea how you Northern folk live like this.”

“Our blood must be thicker than yours,” he commented in a humorous tone, which made you roll your eyes and stick your tongue out playfully at him. The smile that spread across Jon’s lips made your stomach twist with a queer sort of warmth. A tentative silence warped about the two of you, and you felt him step closer to you, his hands clenched into fists by his side, as if he was staving off some sort of urge. 

You were young and foolish then—it was only expected that you acted on giddy impulsivity.

You leaned forward slowly, making sure he knew of your intent—and you kissed him. It was a dry, chaste kiss, awkward and hesitant in nature but endearing all the same. Jon was frozen for a long moment before his calloused hand was brought up to cradle your jaw, movements stiff with uncertainty, softly tilting your face so it slotted just right over his. His nose gently bumped into yours. His teeth caught against your lip. His dark curls tickled your forehead when they knocked together. The kiss tasted of apple cider and winter’s frost.

You pulled away with a flustered beam, pleased to see Jon had turned a furious shade of scarlet, his expression mirroring yours. 

“Goodbye, Snow,” you said to him quietly, just as the both of you spotted his family coming out of the mess hall. Subconsciously, you shuffled away from him. The last thing you wanted was for Ned Stark to catch the both of you in the act, even though it was merely a harmless kiss. “You stay safe at the Night’s Watch, alright? Who knows, maybe I’ll get you to come visit Dorne one day. Get that thick, chunky Northern blood of yours to loosen up.”

“It would be an honor to come,” he replied with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a glint of sadness hidden within his dark irises—perhaps he believed that this would be the last time he’d ever see you. “Goodbye, Sand.”

With that, you watched him trudge away with a tight chest, his fur-coated figure growing smaller and smaller as he disappeared into the castle walls. 

You were twenty the next time you saw Jon Snow.

Five long, long years.

You shivered on the horse, Sansa’s cold fingers holding onto your waist tightly. She sat just behind you, breaths spilling out pale mist over your shoulder. Podrick and Brienne were only an arm’s length away on their own horses, faces stony and filthy with grime. You were sure your own face was no better.

“Open the gates!” someone screamed. 

The creak of metal. The whinny of a horse. The schlop of mud.

Your eye was heavy with exhaust.

Brienne led the way into Castle Black, dismounting her horse first. You followed suit, helping Sansa down and watched as Podrick ambled off of his. Castle Black was far colder than Winterfell had been. The cold didn’t seem to bother Sansa as much—after all, she was well accustomed to the weather since childhood. That, or she welcomed the numbing sensation of the frigid wind. 

Despite being stuck in cold conditions for years, you were still a child of sand. You were made for the heat. The thought made you pull your thin coat closer to you, lips warbling into a glower. 

And as you turned your head away from Sansa’s pale, sallow face, you could feel a dozen pairs of eyes burning into you. Tilting your gaze upward, you nearly burst into tears of relief upon seeing a familiar face.

Jon Snow. 

He held the same features as he did five years ago—the heavy-set frown, the stormy, curious eyes, the ebony locks upon his head. He was taller, evidently so, and had a well-tamed beard blanketing the expanse of his jaw. He had grown into his features, face more chiseled and physique just a tad more defined. 

The bastard laid his eyes on his sister first, an amalgamation of shock and confusion morphing across his features before it crossed over to the two strangers he’d never seen before. One tall and blonde, one stocky and dark-haired. 

Then he looked to you. There was a slight shift to his expression. One of slight dubiety. Then, like a ray of sun on a stormy night, realization dawned upon him. 

You looked so different. You wore your hair differently than when he last saw you, dyed a significantly lighter shade than it used to be. There was a new, jagged scar carved down your left cheek, a dirty leather eyepatch fixed over one of your eyes, and you were much taller than you had been at the ripe age of fifteen. Nonetheless, Jon recognized the small quirk to your lips, your Dornish facial features, the brightness of your one eye (though far dimmer than it used to be).

He rushed down the creaky wooden steps. 

He embraced Sansa first. The red-head breathed out a sigh of exhaustion when he held her, tears rimming her eyes like snow on a wiry tree branch. Jon held her tightly—it’d been five long years since he’d seen his family. 

A lump formed in your throat when he gently pulled away from her, and cast his gaze to you. You felt small under his scrutiny, partially afraid that he’d forgotten you after all these years. 

Then, he whispered your name to the frost and you bit back a sob, launching yourself forward to wrap your arms around his midriff. There was so much you wanted to tell him—so much he needed to know. 

But you couldn’t force the words out. So you remained silent, burying your nose into the warmth of Jon’s neck. 

Your hair was still damp from the icy bath they’d drawn for you. The cold made your heart jump up your throat—it took you around ten minutes of dipping your toe into the water only to retract it with a scalding hiss until you forced yourself in with a grumble. You were now wrapped in about three layers of thick, furry blankets, a bowl of warm chicken soup cradled in your palms.

The crackling of the fire in front of you filled the silence momentarily. The clementine flames licked into the air greedily, spitting out small orange embers for you to watch turn into grey ash. 

Jon was sitting close beside you, thigh pressed up against yours. You hadn’t the time to say anything to him before you were whisked away for a bath and food. Now that you had his full, undulated attention, you weren’t quite sure what to say.

“It’s good soup,” Sansa chimed from across the both of you. She was staring into the fire with a nostalgic grin fiddling with the corner of her raw-bitten lips. “Do you remember the kidney pies Old Nan used to make?”

Jon chuckled. “The ones with the peas and onions?”

The two hummed in thought, then fell back into silence. You shifted to slurp up more of your soup, offering your spoon to Jon with a tilt of your head. He shook his head softly, gesturing for you to have some more. 

You had offered out of courtesy—Dornish traditions never died—but you were ever so grateful that he declined. You hadn’t realized just how starving you’d been. 

Ramsay went out of his way to make sure you barely had a meal a week. He was cruel like that. Glancing to Jon, you caught him watching you unceremoniously gulp the soup down with a wide grin. 

“Sorry,” you coughed out in a small voice after wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Do you… do you have any more of this?”

“We have plenty,” Jon said, not unkindly. “I’ll have one of the lads fetch another bowl for you.”

As he left, Sansa looked to you with an amused expression. “He likes you.”

“I barely know him. He barely knows me,” you replied, eyebrows canted upwards at her statement.

“And yet he likes you,” she persisted, bobbing her head down to sip on her soup.

You didn’t grace her with a response, instead opting to stare down at your empty bowl.

Jon came back not too late after, handing you another serving of the warm chicken soup. “Thank you,” you said sheepishly, before tucking in once more.

“We should have never left Winterfell,” Sansa spoke up. Both you and Jon looked at her, grunting noises of agreement. “Don’t you wish you could go back to the day you left? Tell yourself, ‘don’t go, you idiot’.” 

A film of tears glossed over your eyes. “I wish I never left Dorne.”

Jon shook his head. “How could we have known? All the things that have happened to us… it wasn’t our fault.”

“I wish I could change everything,” Sansa admitted, shame threading heavily through her tone. “I was such an ass to you.”

“We were children,” he replied. “Though, you were occasionally awful.”

You snorted at that and Sansa rolled her eyes before turning to watch the fire. 

“I’m sure I can’t have been better,” Jon replied modestly. “Always sulkin’ in the corner while the lot of you played.”

The three of you chuckled mirthfully at the thought of young Jon muttering curses under his breath in the shadows. 

“Will you forgive me?” Sansa asked, quiet. 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Jon countered firmly.

“Forgive me,” bit out Sansa, narrowing her eyes.

They both smiled. 

“I forgive you.”

With a satisfied smile, Sansa drank the last of her soup and placed it on the table in front of her, rising with a certain kind of grace only she bore. She excused herself to go draw a long overdue bath.

Jon glanced at you once she left. “What have you been doing? After all this time?”

Hesitant, you fiddled with the spoon in your bowl. 

“Well, five years ago, I followed your father and sisters to go back to King’s Landing. Continued my studies. Watched Ned Stark die in front of my eyes. My father came to King’s Landing for Joffrey’s wedding.” You paused for a moment, finding it hard to speak around your suddenly-thick throat. “I watched him die, as well, fighting for Tyrion Lannister. He was about to win. He was so close. But he wanted revenge for his sister—and his greed for revenge eventually became his demise. In a panic I… I ran away from King’s Landing. From everything.”

Tears of gold. Stolen bread from outdoor markets. Rats squeaking on cobblestone pathways at night.

“From then on, I bumped into Podric, Tyrion’s squire, and Brienne, a knight pledged to looking for the Stark girls. Pod recognized me from my time in King’s Landing—and knew all about my family, so that convinced Brienne enough to let me tag along. Besides, I knew more about medicine than half of King’s Landing combined, and that’s always useful when embarking on a journey.”

Bandaged wounds. Crackling fires. Clopping horseshoes.

“After a while, we ran into Arya and the Hound. I tried killing the Hound because his brother killed my father but I stopped upon realizing that he wanted his brother dead just as much as I did—if not more so. We lost sight of Arya. I’m sorry, Jon, I have no clue where she could be now.”

Blood. Sword. Blood. 

“Pod, Brienne, and I kept moving forward and we eventually caught sight of Sansa at an inn with Petyr Baelish. Sansa remembered me from all those years ago at Winterfell—so I asked if I could accompany her. No, I didn’t ask. I begged. Tears and everything. I was foolish to leave Brienne and Pod. Baelish agreed to let me come when they were chased out.”

Panicked rambling. Desperate eyes. Hands and knees—begging.

“At Winterfell… it was a living nightmare. Ramsay Bolton tortured Sansa and I—he would lock me in rooms for weeks on end and forced me to run through the forest naked whilst shooting bolts at me. He fed me dog food and tied me to the bars of the hounds’ cage so he could watch them struggle against their ropes to rip me to shreds. He made me watch as he cut pieces of Theon away. He gave me these.” You pointed at the deep scar on your cheek, then to the eyepatch, voice warbling. 

Hounds. Manic gaze. A scream of agony.

Jon’s hands found your face, slow and steady, his thumbs swiping at your cheeks. It took you a second to realize that he was brushing away tears, steadily falling from your eyes without you noticing. You nearly flinched away when his finger trailed down your steadily healing scar, but steeled yourself before you could retract away. 

You trusted Jon Snow.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sand, I can’t imagine what that must be like,” he said softly. You cried harder.

“My family is dead. Poisoned with hatred for each other—for everybody else,” you choked out. “And it feels like you and Sansa are the only ones who can understand.”

The man in front of you nodded solemnly. “Aye. It was a pain like no other—hearing about each of their deaths through raven letters. And knowing that there was nothing I could do about it.”

Far too caught up to care about your boldness, you placed your bowl on the table and sidled up to Jon, your head resting on his shoulder and arm curled around his back. He didn’t seem to mind at all, in fact—he shifted so that his arm laid over the back of your neck. He smelled of a hearth’s smoke and a fresh, tree-like fragrance.

“Enough about me,” you whispered. Jon smiled, remembering that those had been the exact words you uttered to him five years ago. “What’ve you been doing all this time?”

“I was murdered, for starters,” he said with a hint of amusement when you abruptly twisted in his arms staring at him with parted lips. 

“You were what?”

“A story for another time, I promise,” he mumbled, waving away your concern and gently nudging you back down against him, as your arm was digging into his stomach uncomfortably. “I’ve been fighting nonstop, come to think of it. I’ve killed people I hated, people I didn’t know… people I admired. I hung a boy younger than Bran. I’m tired of fighting, Sand. I’ve fought and I’ve lost. I’m done.”

You opened your mouth to say something comforting, reassuring, anything. But you had little to say, so you kept quiet, pressing your nose to the underside of his jaw in an effort to convey your sympathy. 

Jon’s chest rumbled beneath your palm as he said, “There’s also dead in the North.”

“There’s what?!”

The bastard hummed gravely. He hummed as if that was just a normal sentence to toss out. 

“And both of those things mean… we can’t stay here.”

You turned again, making sure your forearm wasn’t pressing against his abdomen, instead slanted off to the side. This made you lean even closer to Jon, nearly nose-to-nose with him.

Well, you certainly weren’t cold now.

“Where do we go?” you whispered in a low voice, brows furrowed. “I’ll follow you anywhere, Jon Snow. You’re the closest thing I have to a family now. I trust you.”

Jon studied you for a moment with an indiscernible expression, irises darting between your glistening eye and your front teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip. You spotted the way his gaze lingering on your mouth just a bit too long, but you pretended you hadn’t noticed. “Sansa wants to go back to Winterfell,” he replied slowly, bracing himself for your reaction.

The way you physically tensed against him didn’t go unnoticed. 

Blood. Screaming. Trees. A bolt grazing your thigh. Blood. Barking hounds. Sansa’s wedding. Theon’s screams. Blood. Trees. Blood. Manic gaze. Ramsay’s sweat. Hounds. Blood. Blood. Blood.

“Why would we ever go back?” you spat out, withdrawing yourself with a snarl.

Jon sighed. It was a long, winded one, laced with exhaustion and uncertainty. “Because it belongs to us. To her, to Arya, to Bran, to Rickon.”

Your face softened. “To you, too.”

After a tentative pause, Jon rested his cheek onto your head, beard tickling the skin of your temple. “Aye. To me, too.”

“Will this be your last fight, Snow?” 

Jon snorted at the thought. “I wish it was, Sand.” Already, it seemed you had forgotten about the dead in the North he had mentioned—which was all the better. He didn’t think you needed to worry at the moment. You deserved even just a brief moment of rest. 

“I hope you kill that bastard. I hope I kill that bastard. I may be trained in the art of medicine, but I know how to fight. I grew up with the Sand Snakes, after all.”

Jon wisely chose to remain silent at that. He had no doubt that you were capable to take care of yourself.

“We should go to Dorne,” you murmured, words growing quieter as your eyelids drooped. Now that your belly was full and you were warm from the blankets and fire, it was growing harder and harder to resist the urge to doze for twelve hours straight. 

“Alright,” Jon replied with a smile. Then, he asked in a joking manner, “How’s the weather been up here? I personally think it’s quite warm, actually. Must be my thick, chunky blood.”

“You’re a real pain, you know that?” you barked out while pinching his arm, your words lacking any real bite. “And don’t even get me started on the damn snow! Why the devil is it always snowing here? It’s ridiculous, actually!” 

Jon was smiling down at you so wide that his cheeks ached as you drowsily gesticulated at how horrible Northern weather was. 

When Sansa came back nearly an hour later, she wasn’t at all surprised to see you passed out in Jon’s arms, her older brother frantically motioning her to be quiet with his free arm. Much to his horror and her humor, all the jostling had made you rouse awake, blearily looking around with evident confusion etched plainly across your features. Jon gently coaxed you back down, telling you to go back to sleep with a soft tone—one that she’d never heard him use before. 

Yes, she thought with a slightly amused shake of her head, he definitely likes you.

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Jon said quietly, just loud enough for you and Sansa to hear. You shifted on your horse’s saddle uncomfortably. Of course you didn’t need to be here. But you weren’t kidding when you said you’d follow Jon Snow wherever he went. 

Without sparing him a glance, Sansa replied with an even voice, “You know I do.”

Jon sighed. He looked towards you. If the situation wasn’t so serious, he’d laugh at how the fur coats you donned were nearly thrice your size. He briefly wondered if you were still cold under all that.

Ramsay Bolton certainly wasn’t a sight for sore eyes. He had a throng of men on horses riding behind him, the banner of a flayed man dancing with the wind, almost mocking in nature. His eyes were cold as ever, countenance serious yet still so very arrogant. 

You could feel your muscles tensing so hard you were nearly stiff as a statue on your horse. 

Blood. Trees. Theon’s screams. Barking hounds. Blood. Ramsay’s sweat. A knife flat against your cheek. Blood. 

“My beloved wife. I’ve missed you terribly!” Ramsay preened with a sinister smile, scornfully bowing his head to Sansa. Then, he turned his horrid gaze to Jon, barely making note of you. “Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely.”

Your blood boiled, an anger churning thunder within your stomach. You bit down on your tongue and steeled your emotions. Now was not the time for impulsivity.

“Dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night’s Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house. Come, bastard. You don’t have the men, you don’t have the horses, and you certainly don’t have Winterfell. Why lead all these poor souls into slaughter? There’s no need for a battle. Get off your horse, and kneel.” Ramsay sat up straighter on his horse, gesturing to the cold, muddy grass in expectation. “I’m a man of mercy. I promise.”

Liar.

Fury clawed at your throat until you could feel the metallic taste of iron sting your tongue.

Of course, Jon Snow did no such thing.

“You’re right,” Jon admitted with a level tone. “There’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men don’t need to die. Only one of us. Let’s end this the old way. You against me.”

The slight change of your expression was minute, but it was there. Ramsay noticed the way your brows pulled together and a frown carved over your lips. 

The devil of a man chuckled. You’ve heard that laugh a million times before—it plagued your nightmares every night. It was one of utter contempt, laughing at the sheer ludicrousy of the offer. 

“I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you… you’re apparently the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good—maybe not. I don’t know if I’d beat you. But I do know my army would beat yours. I have over six thousand men. And you have, what? Half that? Not even?”

Jon nodded his agreement. “Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you when they know you wouldn’t fight for them?”

A cold fury washed over Ramsay’s features. His nostrils flared as he stared Jon down. “Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender?” 

For the first time since she left Winterfell, Sansa spoke to her husband. “How do we know you have him?”

A horrific leer flickered over his face. Those manic eyes came into play once more. He was enjoying this. Slowly, he gestured to one of his men. He was drawing this out. 

Like a cat playing with a mouse before devouring it whole. 

The man behind him pulled out a fluffy, black mass. It took you a moment to realize what it was. Horror settled itself, black as tar, in the pits of your gut.

It was the head of a direwolf. 

You wanted to look away—but you couldn’t.

Ramsay studied your expression with glee. Whilst Sansa betrayed no hints of her inner turmoil, he could read you like an open book. 

“Now, if you want to save your—”

Sansa interrupted him with a tone so sharp it would’ve cut straight through iron. “You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well.”

With that, she turned and rode away. You had half the mind to follow her. 

Ramsay watched with shock clearly splayed over his countenance. He was quick to regain his composure, turning his head back to Jon. “She’s a fine woman, your sister. I look forward to having her back in my bed.”

Your breath caught in your throat, clenching your jaw so hard that it was a wonder your teeth didn’t crack under the pressure.

“My dogs are desperate to have their favorite playtoy back,” Ramsay simpered. Your head snapped up, finding his eyes trained upon you. There was a sickly grin to his features, twisting his pale face in an abhorrent way. “I haven’t fed them for seven days—they’re absolutely ravished. I wonder which parts they’d go for first. Those bright eyes of yours? Oh, I’m sorry. Eye—forgot I did that to you. Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. In the morning, then, bastard.”

He sent one last smirk to you, bowed his head to Jon with a sneer on his face, before clicking his tongue and turning his horse around. The men followed closely behind. 

The mutilated eye beneath your patch throbbed. 

Bile rose in your throat. 

You could feel Jon’s worried gaze on you, but you avoided his searching scan, mirroring both Sansa and Ramsay’s movements by pressing your heel into the horse’s side, and galloping away.

The amber glow of the candlelight did little to hide the morose expression folded over Jon’s features. His lashes cast long shadows down his cheeks, lowered with thought. You had come into the room just in time to hear his row with Sansa, their shouts echoing along the stone walls.

You waited for Sansa to leave, then a couple minutes more to allow Jon a second to mull over his thoughts.

Then, you stepped out of the darkness. 

“Y/N,” Jon hoarsely said, immediately sitting up from his chair upon seeing you. “You weren’t at the war council.”

One of your shoulders lifted in a half shrug. “Didn’t think I’d be needed—I may be able to fight, but war strategy isn’t my forte.”

Jon regarded you for a second, before gesturing to the chair next to him. 

“Still,” he murmured once you took a seat, drawing your knees up to your chest, “it would’ve been nice to have you there.”

“You want my advice?” you asked, mildly surprised.

Jon’s hand slowly reached out to sit heavy on your shoulder. “You know him better than anybody here—other than Sansa, of course.”

Chewing on your lip in thought, you shifted so that you were facing him. “He likes to play games. He wants to draw things out—prolong the inevitable as long as he can so he could squeeze every last drop of sick enjoyment out of it.” Your eye darted to the warbling candle’s flame, clearing your throat uncomfortably. “That’s what he did with me, at least. I’m sure that on the battlefield, he’ll play to his strengths first—dangle it in front of your face. Leading you on like you would a donkey with a carrot.”

“I’m sorry if this is… a hard question, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Jon started hesitantly. “But why you? What did he gain from hurting you?” There was a bitter sort of anger to his voice—but not the active kind. It was passive, almost wistfully so, and frustrated that he could do nothing about it because it was in the past.

“I’m a bastard, remember? I am what he hates in himself the most.” You sniffed disdainfully. “And I suspect he’s somewhat jealous. I’m a bastard just like him, yet I’m considered royalty back in Dorne. How come I get to have what he’s always wanted? He reminded me of Joffrey in a lot of ways. But far worse.”

Jon’s eyebrows raised at that. “You knew Joffrey?”

A smile flickered over your lips that didn’t quite reach your eye. “Not really. But the stories Sansa’s told me—they seem nearly one and the same.” After a brief pause, you turned your head back to Jon. “I’m coming with you tomorrow. Just so we’re clear. I want to see him dead.”

Grimly, Jon bowed his head. “There’s no shame in staying here, Y/N. Especially not after what you’ve been through.”

“I know,” you said. “But I can fight. Or who knows? Maybe—just maybe—my medical skills will come into play on a battlefield. Slim chance, though—men rarely ever get wounded in a war.” 

The last sentence dripped with sarcasm, and it made Jon gruff out a short laugh. 

There was a beat of amiable silence before Jon nudged you with his elbow. “Just don’t die on me, alright?” 

“I think you’ve got more experience than me in that department,” you joked. “Which, by the way, you still haven’t told me about.”

Jon wrinkled his nose humorously. “Tell you what—if we both make it out alive, I’ll tell you about it.”

“Deal,” you agreed, swiftly sliding off the chair. He stood up with you, just inches away. “You should get some rest, Snow. Big day tomorrow.”

“Aye,” he whispered, bending forward to ring you into an embrace. He softly patted the back of your head just as you pressed your cold nose into the bushy fur of his coat. “Sleep well, Sand.”

When you pulled away to look at him and say goodbye, you found your throat running dry. You couldn’t find it in yourself to say the words. 

Jon seemed to understand.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he whispered in a low, reassuring tone, rubbing his palms up and down your forearms. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, he tenderly kissed over your eyelid, then moved to kiss the eyepatch with an equal amount of affection. The raw compassion behind the action made tears sting the corner of your vision, but you blinked it away just as quickly as it came. 

Determined not to start bawling in front of him, you nodded once, then stepped away, retracting from his warmth. 

Damn Northerners and their thick, chunky blood.

A raised blade.

Rickon running.

Flying arrows.

Jon on a galloping horse.

Terror.

Ever so close.

A sick squelch.

Rickon Stark was dead.

Mud, everywhere.

Was that the barking of hounds you heard? 

No, those were the dying whinnies of horses.

A rally of arrows. 

The song of steel against steel.

A man screaming as you sliced his throat.

Gurgles.

You picked up a fallen shield.

Another rally of arrows.

Blood trickled out of your nose. 

Copper in your mouth.

Piles of dead men.

Parrying strikes. 

A grunt. 

Your sword sticking out of another man’s abdomen.

Jon Snow a whisker away from death. 

Your boot against his attacker’s jaw. 

Jon Snow’s frantic hand gripping your arm—pulling you. 

Where was he taking you?

Shields in a circle around you.

Trapped.

Trapped. 

Trapped.

Mud. 

Jon Snow yelling your name. 

Trampled. 

Clawing for air. 

You, screaming for Jon.

Inhaling dirty water.

Coughing.

Choking.

Air.

Jon Snow’s wheezing, exhausted gasp as you hauled him up.

Sansa Stark, in the distance. 

More men. Horses.

Ramsay Bolton riding away.

You spat out blood.

Coward.

There were three arrows embedded into the wooden flesh of the shield. Three.

Jon Snow managed to block Ramsay’s arrows thrice. 

Before a fourth could be nocked, Jon drove the edge of the shield straight into Ramsay’s face, a bilious crack of his nose echoing across Winterfell. 

Ramsay was on the ground, mud flying up between the two as Jon straddled him. His fist rained no mercy. With every brutal punch, a ferocious grunt rumbled from Jon’s chest. Each time he pulled away, his skin grew more and more damp with the Bolton’s blood—sticky scarlet mingling with the dark soot.

 It sounded less and less as if Jon were striking something solid, and more like he was hitting a pool of liquid. 

A snarl appeared on Snow’s face. Your Snow. There was a manic glint to his eyes.

You shuffled forwards, then back, uncertain of whether to stop him or to let him keep going. Fear reared its familiar, ugly head within you.

Ramsay smiled through the blood.

Jon paused for a second—a mere second—to glance up. He caught your eye. It looked like he was about to punch Ramsay again, kill him, even, but he hesitated.

You were afraid. Of Jon? Neither of you were quite sure.

Slowly, painfully slow, he slid off of Ramsay’s bloody figure, panting with both exertion and pent-up frustration. 

It nearly shattered him when he approached you, and you took another step back, merely out of pure instinct. 

“Jon,” you whispered, snapping out of your dazed reverie and reaching out to him. It was only Jon—you trusted him.

Jon Snow was nothing like Ramsay Bolton. 

You wrapped your arms around him, uncaring of the dirt and blood on his clothes. Three seconds ticked by. Before the fourth could strike, Jon gingerly lifted his arms to tug you closer to him. He mumbled out a couple breathy words into your hairline, but you couldn’t quite hear what he said. 

You supposed it didn’t matter—not when he remained silent for the rest of the time he held you. Barely, you registered the way his entire body trembled. He tucked his nose against the column of your throat. 

And he cried. 

That only had you holding him tighter. 

You watched in the shadows of the hounds’ kennel.

Watched as Sansa set the hounds on a tied-up Ramsay. 

Watched as they slobbered drool over his face. 

Watched as he screamed agony when they tore into his limbs.

Sansa’s hand brushed your shoulder on her way out.

You stayed.

You stayed until the screams turned into gurgling.

You stayed until the gurgling died away—a flame using the last of its wick. 

You stayed until you knew Ramsay Bolton was dead.

It happened in the dead of night. When the winds quietened to but a feathery whisper, when the moon shone silver and gold, when the fires in the hearths had waned to a soft orange glow. 

Jon’s face, now freshly void of any grime, was cradled in your palms. 

“We match, Snow,” you whispered, thumb trailing down the faded scar over his eye. 

A smile flittered over his lips. 

His own hands raised to faintly trace your new white patch on your eye, careful not to press too hard. “Yours is a lot worse than mine, Sand.” In a much less humorous tone, he said, “Thank you. You saved my life out there, while we were fighting. I owe you.”

You regarded him with a strange look, one so very tender and affectionate that it made Jon’s stomach squirm. “You owe me nothing, Jon Snow. You would’ve done the same for me.”

“You’re a good fighter,” he quipped, a dusting of pink on his cheekbones. “I was watching you more than I should have. You distract me.”

Instead of responding, you boldly leaned forward and enveloped his mouth with yours, nose slotted against his. It took no less than a second for Jon to reciprocate—as if he’d been waiting for this for a long time. 

All the frustration of the fighting, of the battles, of the wars, came pouring out of the both of you. It was raw, needy, brutal with want. 

Boots thudded to the ground. Fur coats were hastily shed. The back of your knees hit the bed, and you both fell onto the mattress with quiet oomfs. Your fingers tangled into his dark curls, tugging, yanking. 

Jon made a guttural noise against you, eyes half-lidded.

Stars of Dorne colored behind your eyelid as Jon moved against you. Sweat beaded your body. Your chest pressed against his, rising and falling with each staggered breath. His skin was burning, near scalding to the touch. But you were a child of sand. You were made for the heat. 

Caught up in the intense fervor of the moment, your blunt nails scratched down his abdomen, leaving raw red marks in its wake. You were about to apologize, but Jon seemed not to mind, kissing you even harder, all teeth and tongue. He smelled of cedar and honey cakes. 

At one point during the heated session, you switched positions so that you sat on top. “Didn’t you say you’d tell me about how you died if we both made it out alive?” you questioned, stroking his stubbled jaw.

A brief frown crossed his expression. “You’re really bringing this up now, of all times?” he grumbled. 

“Fine, fine.” You rolled your eyes and smoothly moved against him, like the push and pull of an ocean’s wave. A soft, desperate noise scratched at the back of Jon’s throat. “You’re telling me after, though.”

Abruptly, Jon hooked his leg over the crook of your knee and flipped you onto your back, hovering over you. An unattractive squawk of surprise wrangled out of your lungs. His long ink-hued locks tickled your forehead and you wrinkled your nose at him, flushed with desire. 

“I’m hoping you’ll forget that by the time I’m done,” Jon gritted out, sounding unfairly confident in his abilities, kissing along your jaw, your clavicle, your chest—and further down he went. Waves of heat danced across your body and you bit down on your tongue in near torment. 

He took his time with you, savoring every last second he had before facing the outside world once more. The grip on your hips grew impossibly tighter. Jon could smell the snow on your skin, paired with the faint aroma of smoke, most probably because you’d been hovering by the fire, complaining about the cold just before this. He smiled into your flushed skin. He just couldn’t get enough of you.

You were about to retort something scathing in response when his teeth sank into the flesh of your inner thigh. Immediately, your lips snapped back shut. You didn’t trust yourself to speak without dissolving into a fluster-fucked mess. 

It was safe to say, the thought of Jon’s past-death was the absolute last thing on your mind for the rest of the night.

You were fourteen when you left Dorne.

You were twenty-two when you returned home. 

“So…” you just about purred into Jon’s ear, draping an arm over his shoulder. “That thick, chunky Northern blood of yours loosen up, yet?”

He side-eyed you with faux-annoyance, before returning his gaze to the large expanse of Dorne’s gardens. His elbows were resting against the balcony’s marble railings, the sun’s rays kissing his skin with golden warmth. 

“It’s beautiful,” he observed, bowing his head. “I still can’t believe all of this is yours now.”

“Well,” you shrugged your shoulders, kissing his cheek fondly, “I suppose that’s what happens when I’m the last Martell standing.”

Jon turned to face you, expression turning grave. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t—”

“Oh, hush.” You pressed a finger to his lips, other hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. You made the mental note to ask if he wanted to get his hair trimmed—though, you rather liked the long hair on him. “It’s okay. What happened, happened. It’s over now. The battles have been fought—we defeated the Night King. Ramsay Bolton is dead. Cersei Lannister is dead. Daenerys Targaryen is dead. The war is won. We can rest.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he nodded once solemnly, then cast his gaze back to the sunny view. Palm trees arched to the cloudless sky, lush greenery neatly arranged in the gardens. In the center was a large fountain, with four red scorpions as its centerpiece. Just past the gardens were the beginnings of a yellow desert, where the camels roamed and snakes thrived. 

A servant came up to the both of you, offering two chalices of honeyed apple cider and a bowl of sticky date cakes.

“Thank you,” Jon told them graciously, nearly groaning with delight when he sipped the sweet drink. “I’ve missed this.”

You hummed your agreement, taking a generous bite of the cake. “I have something to ask you, Snow.”

An eyebrow arched in question, silently boding you to keep going. 

You fiddled with the loose, ochre fabric of your shirt. “Will you stay with me? Here, in Dorne?” Uncertainty splayed over your features, and you were quick to backtrack. “I mean—I understand if you wouldn’t—you’ve got family in the North, and it’s where you’re from but… I wouldn’t want to rule without you by my side.”

The question was one Jon expected—one he already had an answer prepared for.

“I don’t know.” Jon scratched at his recently-shaven stubble. “It’s a bit… hot.”

After getting over your initial shock at his nonchalant response, your fist collided with his forearm, which made him burst out into peals of laughter. Much to your dismay, you felt a smile cracking through your annoyed glower. 

“You’re a bastard, Snow.”

The raven-haired man turned to you fully, placing the chalice onto the flat of the railing and gathering you into his arms. His forehead leaned against yours as he stared into your single bright eye, glimmering with hope. How could he ever say no to you?

“Aye. That I am,” he said wistfully, before pecking you chastely. You tasted the apple on his lips. “And so are you, Sand.”

You nodded. “You’re right about that,” you whispered, sighing out a breath of relief. 

“Of course I’ll stay, love. You said it yourself—we can rest now. I can think of no better place than with you.” Jon slotted two fingers beneath your chin so that you’d meet his sincere gaze. 

There were tears pricking the corner of your eye, and you quickly blinked them away before yanking him closer by the collar of his tunic, and kissing him under the scorching sun of Dorne.

[dearsnow]

Hello!

Could I request a Jon Snow x female reader, where she is a seamstress for the Stark family and they become friends and talk during her visits to Winterfell and slowly become lovers?

A PATCHWORK OF BLOOD AND BATTLES

- you are a fighter, and so seems to be the needle stuck in your thumb. and, of course, the man that unintentionally put it there (jon snow x fem!seamstress!reader ⚠️ mentions of blood and a needle-based injury).

word count: 1058

a/n - this took absolutely forever to finish i’m so sorry 😭 i think this request was from literal months ago, but here you are!! i love this concept so much, i hope you don’t mind my artistic liberties :)

You have fought for everything in your life. For your right to simply exist in the same world as the nobles, for your trade, and most importantly, you have fought for yourself. You have climbed the ranks of peasantry with chipped nails and a needle, asking for more and getting less. Now, you have won. At least, you have won as much as the earth beneath your feet will allow you to win. You are a seamstress for one of the most prominent families in Westeros, and as you patch a hole in a fancy evening dress, you can’t help but smile.

The night is dark, but you are not unfamiliar with the flicker of a candle flame. Snow falls lightly outside, and the wind rustles your hair as it sneaks through your open window. As you thread your needle through the lacy fabric, your door slams open.

Your eyes widen as the needle between your fingers is driven straight into your thumb, sending a shooting pain through your entire hand. You let out a sharp yelp, clutching your injury. Who in the gods’ good name was slamming doors at this hour? And why the hell didn’t they warn you?

The thumb clenched between your hand is throbbing and dripping red around the needle still stuck in the middle of it. You look up at the man who startled you, eyes burning with distaste.

It’s him. Lord Stark’s bastard child, the one that sits alone at feasts. And the one that comes to you with sword slashes in his vests.

“May I help you?” You ask. Your finger is still in burning hot pain.

In truth, you have grown to like him. He is also someone who has fought for his status, though his came with a lot more cushion. You recognize the burn in him, the drive that your own eyes carry. He will do great things someday; you’re sure of it.

He looks at you like your hand is made of dragonfire. “Sorry.”

You press your lips into a thin line. You need to keep him on your good side if you wish to keep your job.

You tuck your hand behind your back, hoping he just drops off whatever garment he needs repaired and leaves you to nurse your sores. Unluckily for you, he is a gentleman.

He moves to kneel beside you, dark curls almost glowing in the dim lighting. He looks positively angelic as he reaches for your hand.

“My lord?”

“Allow me to help.” He utters, voice as soft as the wind. He is an honorable man, you cannot deny it. You have seen him in the courtyards during your visits to the castle. He is always improving and always helping others do the same. He gets it from his father, you assume.

You comply with his urges, slightly in fear that you will lose your position if you do not. That worry is always in the back of your head. Will sewing this neckline a millimeter too short cost you your life? Is this cuff good enough for Lady Stark? Are you up to the task? Your thoughts almost consume you long enough to not notice Jon Snow pulling the needle out of your finger.

Almost. You feel a sharp sting of pain, but you bite your tongue. He swiftly wraps the undershirt in his hand around yours. For a brief moment, his rough hands brush the tip of your pinky finger. You have never felt anything so electrifying.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up like the angels have come for your body at long last. When he pulls away, your thumb shouts with new pain, but all you can focus on is the memory of his hand. You shake your head.

“Shall I call the maester?” He asks, ever the responsible one. You wave your good hand.

“I will be alright, my lord. I will wash and patch your shirt, if you wish.” You don’t exactly love the idea of taking the pressure off of your wound, but you must be willing to sacrifice your own comfort in this moment to assure your future.

He stands, and an owl outside hoots. His eyes flicker to the window, then back down to you. “Don’t worry about it. Keep the thing.”

This shocks you. It shouldn’t, but it does. He is being kind to you. For the first time in a long while, someone is being kind to you.

“I mustn’t, my lord.” You speak, hesitantly standing up next to him.

“It’s no trouble. I insist.” His voice is smooth, and the sound tickles your ears. You think you could hear him speak all night if you ever had the opportunity. Something in you wishes you did.

You nod slowly. It would be rude to further refuse it. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. You hope it is not the fact that you suddenly hope your finger never stops bleeding.

Jon turns to leave, exiting just as swiftly as he had come. You clutch his shirt, heart beating wildly in disbelief of what just happened. In that moment, you suddenly decide that you have another thing to fight for.

Gods, did you fight for it. You took every opportunity to see him, and it worked like a well-oiled hinge. From patching more sword slashes to custom-tailoring a pair of riding pants, you were able to take any of his sewing work off of your coworkers’ hands. And through that, you began to learn why exactly he was fighting.

He often sat in your quarters while you worked, and you were beyond glad for the company. Eventually, he began to open up as beautifully as a flower in spring.

He was neglected and outright hated by Lady Stark, as he was the bane of her married life. He wishes to take the black and become a watcher of the wall. Most importantly, he does everything possible to maintain what little honor he has in his family.

Like you, he is a fighter.

Sometimes, in the quiet night, words spill from his mouth like he has never held them back. You do the same. And every once in a while, very softly, he takes your hands in his larger ones and whispers that he will fight only for you.

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

Taglist: @lovelyliliya @the-jess-life @hopelesswritergall @watercolorskyy @cecespizza01

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Dead Girl Walking

Pairing(s): Jon Snow x Stark!Reader, Ned Stark x Catelyn Tully, refereneced!Rhaegar Targaryen x Lyanna Stark

Warnings: none

Words: 2086

Summary: If this could possibly be your last night alive, you wanted to make it worthwhile.

They were coming.

Arya and Sansa flagged either side of you, knowing that battle would be upon you soon. Maybe that night or tomorrow, the Night King’s army was drawing closer.

Winterfell had fallen onto your shoulders after your eldest brother was beheaded. When you took back your home during the Battle of the Bastards, the northern men that remained named you their queen.

No longer were the Starks scattered throughout Westeros. They were where they truly belonged: in the north. Fewer in numbers, but finally together.

Below the parapet you stood on, men and women alike were preparing themselves to fight for their lives. Surprisingly, their hustle and bustle soothed your nerves. Unsullied, Wildlings, Dothraki and noble blood laike were united. And despite the thumping of boots against stone, the night was otherwise calm and quiet. The fire at your back warmed you.

In a nervous tick, you hold the pommel of your sword. You hoped this wouldn’t be your last battle.

“Practice your dance moves while you still can.” You address Arya who nods and leaves to do just that. She had trained with the Faceless Men in Braavos; you hoped that would be enough to keep her alive. Leaving just you and Sansa alone. You didn’t want to scare her, but you needed to tell her the truth of things. “I may not make it out alive.”

Immediately she opens her mouth to protest but you silence her.

“It’s something that can very well happen. I want you to know now that if I am to die in battle, I want you to take my place as Queen of the North.” You took off the metal circlet that had been comfortably lying atop of your head. It had caused quite the argument between you and the Dragon Queen Daenerys. Even though she had accepted the north as its own separate dominion, she still didn’t like the crown on your head.It made her feel insecure. In a land where the people adored you and obviously didn’t trust her, Daenerys knew that the people were your’s. “This would look far better on you anyway.”

Sansa swallowed back whatever protest that had been sitting on her tongue. “You’ve been through worse battles than this.”

Unable to catch your laugh, you shake your head. “Never against the dead. The living are an easier foe.”

Clinking of metal behind you makes you turn. Sansa smiles fondly at the semi-armored direwolf. “Even Storm is ready for battle.” Sansa muses. Your dark gray direwolf was missing an eye from the bloody battle against Ramsay. It made her appear even more deadly than she already was. She towered over her albino brother Ghost and even some of the soldiers. The days when they were both playful puppies were long gone. Nostalgia grips you when you remembered how you and your siblings sat in a circle and picked your direwolf pups. Of course the odd looking one went to your bastard brother Jon. The albino pup had garnered your attention until Storm had stumble up to you in the most adorable fashion. She had chosen you. Out of all of your siblings, Storm wanted you as her partner in crime. From that moment you knew the two of you would be together until the very end.

And the end was probably creeping up.

As a child you had always been fearful, the kind of child that got scared over the smallest creature. Theon teased you relentlessly. Jon took the job upon himself to become your protector during such times. He would go after Theon with his sword and tend to you in an attempt to make you feel better. Thanks to Jon, he helped you learn how to be brave and not be so scared of the world around you.

You needed a little bit more help in remembering what it felt like to be brave. This was something your father had always warned you about. Winter had arrived and with it the Night King’s crusade. All of Old Nan’s tales were coming true.

Excusing yourself from Sansa’s side, you delve into the castle that was now completely your’s to control and protect. Old and ancient halls where you, Robb, and Jon would run through in the early years before Sansa and your younger siblings were born. Bruising knees on the hard stone when one of you fell down, the other two were always there to help their fallen sibling back up.

You passed the Great Hall where many were gathered, talking quietly amongst one another. Wine was being handed out to anyone who looked nervous. Liquid courage and perhaps the last sweet thing they may taste.

Some of the wildlings and Dothraki men were talking loudly, boisterous laughs echoing even though there was a language barrier. Drinking certified them as comrades in arms. The sight was enough to make you smile at least for a little bit.

Daenerys may have been gracious enough to loan you her army fro the time being, but it was you that made the Dragon Queen’s men and your own get along. The merging of Westeros and Essos. That was you. Something Robb was never able to do was keep his army together.

You inhale sharply and shake your head free of those thoughts that were best left in the grave. Yet your ears continued to grow numb to sound reducing you to stumbling about like a drunk until you finally made it to the family crypt. Your ever loyal Storm followed you down the tight stairs, making sure you didn’t fall. The musky smell of the crypts took the edge off of you as you entered the final resting place of your family. It was quiet and glowed warmly from the torches, revealing that there was one other living person already there in front of your father’s statue.

A man who turned out wasn’t Jon’s father. It must have been bittersweet for Jon to discover his true parentage.

“How fortuitous that you’re down here right when I need you most.” You smile shyly at Jon.

His lips turn up gently. “Something told me that I should come down here.” Ghost pokes his head from around the corner, red eyes two beacons of light. “Or rather someone. Besides, you used to come down here when you were younger. Something about it being quiet soothed you. For a child that was scared of everything, the crypts have never been a problem for you.”

“I felt like our ancestors were protecting me. Like they each gave me a piece of their courage.” The stoney face of Ned Stark looked down on you and Jon. Looking at the carved details of his face made you fill with sorrow. “I just wish Robb and mother could have been buried here too. . .”

“They may not be physically here, but their spirit is.” With the small amount of light offered to you, you catch sight of the scars on Jon’s face. Faint silver lines that told the story of his life at Castle black. They oddly suited him and his often serious expression. Catelyn may have never loved Jon, but Robb loved him just as much as Bran or Rickon. As hard as you searched his face, you just couldn’t see any Targaryen traits. Even if his father had been Rhaegar, Jon was of the north. The Stark in his veins was enough to overwhelm the Targaryen.

Gingerly, Jon wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you against his side. You focused on his warmth, the desires of your heart starting to become louder. There had always been an unspoken bond between you and Jon. Neither of you spoke of it out loud, afraid that even speaking of it would bring ruin to the both of you.

But he wasn’t by blood your brother. The truth was out.

Cheeks feeling warm, you take a step away from him. You laugh a little bit at yourself. “What kind of queen am I to show my fear? Mother would never have let her cards slip so easily. Sansa reminds me so much of her now. . .”

“You’re only human. You fear losing your home and people you love. You’re a good queen (y/n). Lord Ned would be proud of you and all that you have done. Winterfell once again belongs to the Starks because of you.” Dark eyes delve deep into you, eyes that wanted to let you know that everything would be okay and if not, well, Jon would stay by your side just like Storm. Until the very end. In the face of Daenerys Targaryen, Jon had to refer to her as queen; it was clear to all though that his real queen was you. He would not forsake you. Now now, not ever. Besides Robb, no man had ever loved you quite as much as Jon did.

Reaching your arms up, you cup his face with your palms. Easily Jon lets his face fall into your hands, nuzzling his nose into your touch. How easily Jon trusted you and put down his walls.

You wanted to hold him, place your head against his strong chest. Like you did when you went to the Wall to ask for his help. Years apart had changed you both greatly yet Jon’s arms still felt the same from when you had last embraced him.

Perhaps it was too bold of you, but being with Jon made you feel bolder; You sprung up on your toes and kiss. To finally kiss him after years of longing and confusion. If you were to die, you wanted to do so without any regrets. You wanted to let Jon know just how much you loved him and how you had never stopped. Relief had washed over you the moment Jon revealed what he had learned from Sam. That he wasn’t your half-brother which would still be looked down upon in the north if you were to have any sort of romantic relationship with him. Cousins were commonly married to one another.

Surprise took him as he slipped backward a little bit, but Lord Eddard Stark’s statue was enough to keep him up. It didn’t take long for him to melt against you. If you were to die, you wanted Jon to be the last thing you tasted.

Targaryen and Stark, perhaps the pair were always inevitable. The dragons had conquered the north centuries before, but had still been able to respect Torrhen Stark by giving him the title of Warden.

In his eyes you saw no dragon or wolf. You just saw Jon. Your Jon that you had known since you were a babe. Your best friend, your confidant, the one you had loved since you were a girl.

As he pulled away, stars filled his gaze as he breathed heavily.

“I love you Jon. More than a brother. More than a cousin. More than any man I have ever known.” You lower your gaze, feeling the sun in your cheeks. “If. . . If we are all to die tonight-”

Jon abruptly grabs your face and once again you’re kissing him. “We will live to see the sun rise. Not much good has prospered for me being half Targaryen, except for one thing.” To your utter shock, Jon bent down on one knee while still holding your hand. “My Queen, if you would have me it would be my honor to stand beside you for the rest of my life and after.”

You wanted to slap him initially for taking so long to propose, but you went with your second reaction: you threw yourself against him in an embrace. Both of your winter pelts smooshing against the other. “And how long have you been sitting on those words?”

Chuckling, Jon holds onto you as Storm and Ghost watch. “For years. It was never feasible until now.” You knew he could hear your heart beating fiercely. “We have no choice but to defeat the White Walkers now.”

Yes, you wouldn’t let the Night King take this one great joy away from you. For your future with Jon, you had to be brave. You would be brave. Jon had always been a source of courage for you.

The next kiss you gave him was of a different nature. Seductive and enticing, sweeter than any honey. You still wanted a taste. “Are you opposed to escorting me to my chambers?”

A boyish smile makes your chest flutter. “Of course, Your Grace.”

[damn-stark]

Chapter 1 Heir to the iron throne

Chapter 1 of Sandstorm

A/N- First chapter I hope you guys like it!

Warning- Y/N has a son, swearing, death and blood, talks of sexual assault, fluff.

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

Episode- 7x02 & only the beginning of 7x03

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*21 YEARS AGO*

“Mother, when is father going to return?”

He has been gone for months now, you can’t seem to recall what he told you last, but you know you miss him.

“Soon,” your mother assures you and tucks you in bed. “I swear.”

It was always the same answer. Vague, “he’s fighting a war.”.

“Now, Little Sunspot,” your mother continues softly and sits at the other end of your bed. “It’s your turn to pick a story for tonight, so what will it be?”

Without a moment of hesitation you beam at her and give her your answer. “Tell me the story of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters.”

“Oh no!” Rhaenys whines from her side of the room. “Not that one again, Visenya, pick a different one!”

You pull your blanket over your mouth and snuggle under your blankets. “That’s mine and fathers favorite,” you mumble and then look at your mother to bat your lashes. “Please mother, tell it!”

Your mother offers you a sweet smile and nods in agreement. “I will, but I must warn you, I am not as good as Rhaegar is at telling it, but I will try my best.”

——

Home.

What a fickle thing. Home is as some say where your own family is. But for the 21 years you lived at Sunspear with your family; with your late uncle Oberyn and his daughters you thought of as sisters, and with your late uncle Doran and his son, both of them brothers to your mother, both beloved uncles, it seems you could never find such belonging amongst them.

It would be a lie to say you didn’t feel peace and happiness at Sunspear. Because you did. Yet it’s that sense of belonging that you’ve always craved and missed.

It’s a belonging you hope you’ll find here in Dragonstone, your family’s ancestral home, amongst the only living relative you still have from the House of the Dragon, from your fathers side of the family. Amongst your aunt Daenerys Targaryen.

Your great reunion has been a long time coming, years perhaps, but time only seemed fitting now. Especially since it’s not until recently that she herself has arrived back home, at Dragonstone.

A place you were born at and left a long time ago, a place you did not recall in any of your memories.

Coming upon it in the clouds seems so surreal, like a dream maybe, a faded one. It was a lot grayer than you imagined, colder; but that’s maybe due to the fact that you’re several hundred feet in the sky—The ocean's waters are darker as well; a lot more than the ones at Sunspear. It was strange, truly.

Dragonstone seems a lot smaller too—or seemed a lot smaller, but as you began to descend from the sky the castle became larger. Not only that but now that the clouds didn’t hide you anymore something else came to view, three dragons. They all looked dark and small, but the more you began to descend the larger they got, the more you can see their colored scales.

There was a green one like the green fields of grass, but it seems it’s also mixed with bronze. There was a cream and gold one, smaller than the other two. And the third one was larger, a beautiful black dragon with red mixed within it as well. And without fault all three of them screech, sing their song as they catch sight of Eraxis, your beautiful white She-dragon descend to the sand in front of the castle gates.

All three of them circle Eraxis as she lands. And Eraxis just watches them before she sings, a loud echoing and sharp song.

Once you climb down her and hit the sand, you can’t help but smile at her and caress her neck. “It is alright girl. It’s okay, they're family.”

Eraxis turns her head and tilts it before she looks back up to the sky as the dragons keep circling her.

You look up and smile at the three dragons before you drop your eyes to the sand beneath your shoes, and slowly crouch down to scoop up some of the cold sand in your hand and watch each grain drop out between the gaps between your fingers. You proceed to dust off the sand and rise up again until you hear a soft thump on the sand behind you.

“Welcome home,” you break your silence and begin to grin a soft smile. “Rhaenar.” You look back and meet the pair of dark brown eyes of your son.

Said boy lets out a small breath and looks up the castle gates to slowly examine it and watch the guards that stood in front of them. “It’s cold,” he mutters and buttons the top button of his shirt as if that would make any difference

You sigh softly and nod. “Quite is. Come on, let's get inside then.”

Rhaenar drags his hand along Eraxis as he follows you to the gate, but hesitates to depart from her as you reach the guards.

“I’ve come to see the Queen,” you tell them.

The guards eyes shift over your shoulder and land on the white dragon who watches them intently.

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “She won’t do any harm.”

The guard's eyes shift back to you before he shifts to push the doors open, finally letting you see the long and grand stairway that leads up to the castle.

“Come Rhaenar,” you tell the boy who you know has probably only moved an inch from the dragon.

“And if she does not like us?” He asks in a timid voice that let his Dornish accent come out even after he tries to hide it.

You sigh and turn to reach him. “You do not have to worry about that my Sunspot,” you assure him. “Okay? She is family, your grandfather's sister, it will take some time to get used to one another but I am sure she will love you.”

Rhaenar lowers his gaze and nods, letting you smile as you cup his cheek. “And do not hide your accent, what would your uncle say?”

“Targaryens do not talk like me, mother,” he mutters and fists his hands.

You scoff. “Who said that?”

Rhaenar goes quiet, so you grab his face with both hands and press him. “Rhaenar, tell me.”

“Myself, books I have read about our family,” he whispers.

You sigh. “Oh my sweet boy, we talk how we damn want to, no one can tell us otherwise. Not books of old dead ancestors. Be proud you are part Dornish. That only makes you more fierce than any other Targaryen.” You smirk and brush the strands of hair out of his face. “Come. Let’s go.”

You turn back to face the gate and offer him your hand, but he just scoffs and shakes his head.

Now without any more delay and falters, both Rhaenar and you walk up the long stairway, catching Eraxis now flying overhead, keeping her distance from the other dragons flying in the sky. You can see the grand castle getting closer and closer.

Yet, before you can reach the castle gates, an army of unsullied, and tall, dark and muscular men in fur garments walk out and meet you halfway.

“Halt there,” a slender and tall man orders, causing you to do as he said.

“I have come to see the Queen,” you inform him. “I am…family.”

“Doubtful,” you hear a familiar voice interject between the crowd of men. “Who are you…” the moment the men part to the side to let him meet you halfway, the tiny man trails off and looks at you in shock and yet a puzzled look.

You scoff in amusement and smile mischievously as you instantly come to recognize the short man. “I am sorry, Lord Tyrion, it seems the last time we met, my hair was a different color.”

The small man hums and loses the confusion and now looks more serious. “Y/N Sand. Prince Oberyn’s daughter. I thought Dorne was not meant to get here yet.”

You shake your head. “No, but they are on the way, I,” you glance up at Eraxis and smile, “flew here.” You glance down at him. “And my name is not Sand. I am Princess Y/N Targaryen Martell,” you reveal yourself. “If you want to get technical, my true name my father gave me is Visenya, but well…I’ve grown accustomed to my new name.” You sigh. “I am the niece of your Queen. I have come to meet her, to join her.”

Lord Tyrion studies you for a brief moment with doubt lingering in his stare, making you smirk.

“Do you wish for me to prove myself to you, my Lord? Wash my hair? Bleed my veins, or tell my dragon a command?” You retort.

Lord Tyrion sighs and shakes his head. “No. Please none of that. I was just trying to progress the fact that a supposed dead princess is standing right in front of me.” He counters.

You swallow thickly. “I was never presumed dead, was I?” You ask rhetorically. “Nevertheless, I have no reason to lie, nor am I, Eraxis can prove that.”

Tyrion looks up at the white dragon and watches her as she keeps circling the area.

“Well,” Lord Tyrion says and meets your gaze. “Greetings Princess. It is very nice to finally meet you.” He offers you a faint smile. “Now please if you don’t mind please hand your weapons over.”

Usually parting from your weapon is a condition you don’t like to follow, but in this case it’s only fair, besides these large handsome men didn’t seem like they were going to let you pass if you didn’t follow orders.

“Rhaenar,” you say and hold a tall man’s dark gaze as he watches you unsheath your weapons. “Hand over your weapons.”

Without arguing, your son does as he’s told and hands his sword and daggers to the men, leaving you to bend down to unsheath the daggers you have hidden under your dress.

“Dothraki, I assume,” you comment as you keep holding the man’s gaze with a sly smirk.

“Yes,” Lord Tyrion confirms. “The Queens warriors.”

You stand up to your given height and catch the tall, dark man smirking at you as he takes your weapons. You then smirk back at him.

“Follow me,” Lord Tyrion breaks the tension and pulls your gaze back to him. “The Queen is already waiting.”

When you walk inside, the soldiers that had come out to greet you continue to follow you inside. They surround Rhaenar and you, and don't let you take in your surroundings very well.

“I do pardon for such a cold greeting,” Lord Tyrion interjects. “We just don’t know the true intentions of you or your…dragon.”

You scoff. “Do not worry, Lord Tyrion, I understand.”

“Tyrion,” he corrects you. “I am not the Lord of anything now.”

“My apologies.”

“It’s alright,” he assures you and brings his army of men and you to a halt in front of big black doors that lead to only one obvious room, the Throne Room.

Now it’s closer than ever. The moment you have dreamed of since you found out about her being alive. Beside your son Rhaenar, she was the last piece of family you have remaining from your Targaryen bloodline.

Her….

Let’s just say that happiness isn’t the most powerful feeling you feel now. Rhaenar senses that it seems, your nerves, and reaches for your hand to give it a gentle squeeze.

You look down at him and offer him a soft smile before you secure your hold around his hand.

Before the doors can be opened, Tyrion asks for your name and titles. It’s only after you give it to him that the guards begin to push the doors open, letting the gray dimly lit throne come to view.

As you proceed to walk inside, you see her. She’s sitting so poise on that stone throne at the end of the room. You see the color of her silver-white hair that matches yours. You see her fancy black garments and her red cloak elegantly hanging off her chair. You see her pale face, her blue eyes. You see her, your aunt, the Queen. She’s there, she’s real.

“Princess Y/N Targaryen, Princess of Dorne, and Daughter of late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen,” Tyrion announces as you keep slowly walking inside.

Now you notice a bald man, a man you know as Lord Varys. You catch his gaze narrow, and see him take a slow step forward as if fascinated by your presence. You then don’t fail to notice the Queen's face twist to something you can read as disbelief and…anger.

“Prince Rhaenar Targaryen, son of the princess.”

You come to a stop before you can reach the unsullied guards standing in front of the steps that lead to the throne, and let go of Rhaenar’s hand to curtsey; while he bows to the Queen.

“My Queen,” you say and return your gaze back on her as you stand up straight. “It is an honor finally getting to meet you.”

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.” A woman with brown skin, and dark curly hair announces the mouthful of titles that must be a pain in the ass to see each time.

Nevertheless, Queen Daenerys holds your gaze and retorts. “I am sorry I am not rejoiced by your presence. Until now I had no idea you were alive.” She slightly raises her eyebrows as she seems to pierce her glare in you.

You scoff in amusement. “That’s good, it means my uncles did a good job in hiding me from the world that wanted me dead,” you rebuttal confidently and pass a discreet glance at Tyrion. “But I do swear to you on my fathers memory that I am who I say I am. I mean…if I wasn’t would I have come flying on a dragon?” You smirk. Yet no one else finds it so amusing.

“You have no reason to believe me,” you continue. “But I do know people who know of me.” You glance over at Lord Varys standing a bit a ways from the Queen, and make her gaze drift to the man.

“Lord Varys, can you attest to her word? Can you prove that who stands before me really is a niece I have thought long dead?” She asks and looks at you.

The Lord slowly steps forward and stops at the top step to study you from closer.

“Yes, I can,” Tyrion speaks up and walks to the top step. “I can attest to her word. I have met her before. However, back then she went by another name.”

You scoff and nod. “Yes. Back then I went by Sand. I was just another bastard daughter to my uncle Oberyn Martell, but it was for my own safety. After all, it is his family who wanted me dead.”

Tyrion nods and accepts your accusation. “Yes. It was my family.”

You clench your jaw and let out a deep sigh.

“Her uncle died for me,” Tyrion continues. “He was a good man. That is why I trust her word.”

The Queen slowly stands up from the chair and begins to head your way, yet she stops at Tyrion’s side. “If it is you. If you do have a dragon, where have you been this entire time?” She asks you.

You clasp your hands in front of you and part your lips to speak, but then Lord Varys speaks up before you could. “She was hiding, by her uncle's demand. Sworn to keep her identity a secret until the right time came. As was I.”

The Queen shifts her head to the side to look at her Lord.

“She is who she says she is. She is Princess Visenya Targaryen, daughter of your brother Rhaegar Targaryen. She is blood of your blood, My Queen.”

You shake your head and correct them. “No. It’s Y/N. Not Visenya. Not anymore.”

The Queen begins to glare at the man for a second before she finally returns her gaze to you and begins to step down the steps to meet you halfway.

She then continues to study you, to check out the gold dragon scale corset over your red dress, the golden rings on your fingers, the golden snake around your bicep. She looks at your silver-white hair probably trying to see if your hair color was actually real and not fake, or if you were actually real or not. Her eyes then shift to Rhaenar for a brief second before returning to look at you again.

You don’t do anything, you let her take her time, and take this time to study her too; to realize how beautiful she is, how tiny she is as well now that she’s not sat on the throne.

“Who might you be?” The Queen breaks her silence and looks back at Rhaenar.

Said boy bows and then tries his best to once again hide his Dornish accent. “I am Prince—”

You clear your throat to correct him, making the Queen glance at you in confusion before returning to look at your boy.

“I am Prince Rhaenar Sand, your Grace,” he shares in his normal voice, and this time you glance at him slightly concerned since he refers to himself as Sand.

The Queen scoffs softly and her lips are just faintly showing a smile. “Sand?” She questions.

Rhaenar nods. “I am a bastard,” he tells her, making you sigh.

“And like I have told him before,” you interject. “That does not matter. That does not change who you are descended from.”

Daenerys nods. “Your mother is correct,” she agrees in your defense. “You are still the blood of the dragon aren't you? You are a Targaryen first and foremost.”

Rhaenar shrugs. “I suppose.”

The Queen offers a soft laugh before she looks at you. “Let’s take a walk.”

You nod, and without a fault when you walk out, the curly headed woman, the Unsullied, and the Dothraki warriors follow you out and walk behind you like lurking shadows. It’s something you have never grown unaccustomed to after your years of being somewhat free in Dorne.

“What’s your dragon's name?” The Queen asks once you’re out of the castle and walking up a stairwell that leads to some place you can’t see yet.

“Her name is Eraxis,” you share with a faint smile.

Queen Daenerys eyes snap to you, and you catch her surprise at your comment.

“Your dragon is a female?” She questions.

You nod. “Yes. She is. Or at least that’s what I like to say, I don’t think we can really place a gender on a dragon.” You smile.

The Queen nods. “Yes, I suppose we can’t.”

A screech sounds from the sky before Eraxis flies down past you. Both the Queen and you look up to watch her, to admire how her white scales glimmer like diamonds against the sun's rays; to watch as she let her large wings soared, and how her horned tail swung to the side as she flew up.

“She’s…quite big,” the Queen points out with an admiring smile. “How old is she?”

Once Eraxis passes, the Queen's black dragon flies past you to follow Eraxis up in the sky.

“She is fifteen,” You answer softly, and catch her swallow thickly before she brings you to a stop so you can watch the both of your dragons as they begin to twirl up to the sky together, like if they’re dancing. Like if they were familiar with one another already.

“It seems Drogon is quite taken by Eraxis already,” the Queen says. “That should be good.”

You rest your hands on the stone before you and nod. “It is. It means Eraxis won’t be alone anymore.” You look down to look at the Queen. “What are the names of your other dragons?”

The Queen drops her gaze and answers, “the green one is Rhaegal, I named him after your father.”

Your smile falters, and your eyes go soft.

“And the gold and cream one is Viserion, named after my brother, Viserys.”

Ah. Him. The youngest brother. The uncle you only have one memory of, and it’s not a pleasant one.

“If I may ask,” the Queen continues. “How was Eraxis born to you?”

The story is something you hardly know how to explain to make it sound sane. Yet it is one people ask for a lot.

“To be honest,” you laugh softly. “It’s going to sound funny, but…” you avert your gaze and begin messing with your rings. “…a dream…”

You hear the Queen's feet shift against the stone ground at the sound of your comment.

“…it was a dream I scarcely remember anymore. But it was of my dragon being born from fire and blood.” You let out a deep breath and slowly look up to once again meet her gaze. Now you notice her look slightly disbelieved.

“It was fate then,” the Queen interjects softly.

You shrug and smile faintly at your rings. “Perhaps.”

You could tell her what you did to have the egg hatch, every detail. You can tell her that even if you don’t recall every detail of the dream, you still have a fragment of it painted so it could keep your mind from clouding at that time.

Yet you don’t.

At least it doesn’t seem so fit yet. Instead you let the conversation drift, you let her continue to lead you up the steps. And it’s now that you can see you’re being walked to some green cliffs where you spot her two other dragons resting.

“I have heard a lot of great things about you, not only because I have made it my job to keep myself informed, but word travels. I am more than in awe, I am fascinated,” you share sweetly, and make her smile a lot more timidly.

Yet when you reach the cliff her smile begins to falter, a serious and almost threatening look paints on her face as she comes to a stop and faces the ocean.

“If you have been alive this whole time why have you not tried to take what’s yours,” she says seriously. “You have the right claim, you, my brother's last living heir.”

You look away from her and face the ocean as well to watch the horizon as you think of what to say. Something that would sound like you’re not lying. “There’s many reasons, one, I am a woman. My claim is not as strong.”

“But you have a son,” she cuts in.

You nod and peer back at Rhaenar, catching him watching the dragons with awe. “A bastard. In Dorne they might not be shamed, but here they are. They would never accept my son, even if he is my fathers grandson.” You sigh and face her. “There is also time,” you reveal carefully. “My uncle had a plan, we couldn’t just risk ourselves by flying down to Kings Landing and burning everything. We needed a lot of time, ally’s, and resources. I actually was meant to marry your brother, but,” you scoff with a playful smile on your face, and catch her stare. “Before the proposal was officially announced, well, we heard the news he passed.”

The Queen scoffs and smirks. “Maybe it was a good thing,” she interjects, making you slightly furrow your brows in confusion. “I loved my brother, but I don’t think he would’ve made a good husband. Especially not to someone who already had a dragon before him.”

You laugh softly. “Is that so?” You query. “Well I for one was quite excited. More so for the promise of seeing the family I thought I had lost.”

The Queen lowers her gaze before she goes serious again, letting you continue.

“Anyway, before much else could be done my uncle…died, and the dream died with him.” You swallow thickly and let out a deep sigh. “Albeit, I can’t say I ever shared his dream, that's another reason I haven’t tried to claim what’s “mine”. I never had a desire to rule. Not after what happened. That’s why I have not taken the throne, that’s why I am here. Why, I sent Dorne to ally with you.” You meet her gaze and raise your head proudly.

“I don’t want the throne for myself. I want to help you take it,” you share confidently. “I want to take back what is ours with fire and blood, I want Cersei to pay for what her family did to mine. I know,” you sigh. “You have no reason to trust me, but know that I am done hiding and tired of doing nothing. I want my son to be proud of me, I don’t want him to hide anymore either. I just want to help you, at your side, united like family. Just like how Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters did, together.”

Daenerys continues to look at you with a threatening and piercing glare, she lets out a deep breath and looks past her shoulder. And without saying anything both her dragons walk over, causing Rhaenar to step back. When her dragons stand behind her you see the same burning, piercing glare that their mother carries.

“If it’s true, bend the knee,” she orders in a menacing tone. “Swear to me that you nor your son will go against me, that you will fight alongside me and help me win this war to take back what belongs to our family. Swear to me, Y/N Targaryen, and you and your son will have a place in my court. You will keep your title as Princess, your son as Prince. If not….” She pauses and her dragons begin growl. Yet you don’t react out of fear, you hold her gaze and stay calm.

“…I would hate to consider my last living relatives as traitors.” She finishes.

You look back at Rhaenar, and he meets your gaze, and together without hesitation you get down on one knee and look up to meet her gaze. “I swear to you,” you assure her. “I swear I will have no ill intentions. I will not fight against you. I will fight at your side.”

Daenerys begins to smirk and continues to walk over to you to offer you her hand. You’re confused at first, but when you take it she helps you up to your feet and keeps you in front of her for a moment, before she pulls you in for an embrace.

You’re caught off guard for a brief second, but once you feel her grip tighten you return the embrace and clutch onto her with relief, and joy.

Finally after years, here she is. You’re finally together.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

Nights were already hard to sleep. Returning to Dragonstone sounded like it could be a solution to your restless nights, to the nightmares that plague your mind, but the bitter night air made it harder. There was some reassurance in the morning when you woke up and saw that meeting Daenerys wasn’t some fever dream. She was real.

As slow as things are between her and you currently considering you only just met, she was a comfort, that instant familiarity. Plus, you shared the restless night and got to speaking about everything you were missing about her current progress of the war, you spoke of other mindless things until the sun broke the sky. After the sun started to rise from the earth, you shared a mutual craving and spent no time finding your dragons.

“What’s on Eraxis back?” Daenerys points to the saddle on your dragon's back as she lowers her neck down to the ground.

“A saddle,” you say slowly and find it surprising she had to ask. “I can’t ride her bareback, not anymore at least, I have the scars on my thighs to prove that,” you laugh softly and approach Eraxis to grab one of her many horns that align her neck. “It helps me steer her too. And since Rhaenar rides her with me, I had it made so he wouldn’t fall off.”

Daenerys approaches Eraxis and then glances at you. “May I?” She asks and points to your dragon's body.

You nod, and watch Daenerys turn and begin to smile at your dragon as she carefully begins to stroke a part of her neck.

“I find it quite easy to ride Drogon with no saddle,” she shows off, making you scoff in amusement. “Then again it’s not like I have had much of an education besides what feels natural, and the few books I did have.”

You hum and smile at her. “Well don’t worry, I am here now. I can teach you all I’ve learned about our family.”

Daenerys eyes drift to you and her gaze softens as a softer smile appears on her lips.

“Now,” you say playfully and begin to climb onto Eraxis. “Let’s fly, yes?” You smirk down at her, and Daenerys begins to grin before she rushes over to Drogon to climb on him.

Since this won’t be a long flight, you don’t bother restraining yourself on her, you just climb on your saddle and grab your handles before you speak to Eraxis in High Valyrian. “<Fly, girl.>”

Without hesitation Eraxis begins to run off the hill, and Drogon follows, creating thunderous stomps on the green hill until both dragons flap their wings and take flight.

At first Daenerys and you are riding side to side, glancing once at one another with playful looks as both dragons gain more momentum and fly higher. However, it’s once Eraxis reaches the clouds that you turn her to her side, exposing her belly to Drogon, before you then drift to the left to hide within the clouds.

Drogon calls out for Eraxis, most likely to know her whereabouts, but Eraxis stays quiet and flaps her wings, blowing air and clouds behind her before she twirls upward rapidly and shoots out above Drogon. Once again the black dragon calls out, and this time Eraxis responds. You then lift your body off the saddle to peek down, catching Daenerys urge Drogon forward so she could lead, instead of being right under you.

You grin at the action and push the handle forward, causing Eraxis to flap her wings harder and get ahead of Drogon with ease. Daenerys looks up and sees, and then as if they have been mentally communicating, Drogon flies up.

Before they both could lose them, you motion Eraxis to fly up as well. Now both dragons have their bellies exposed to one another as you all fly up.

The dragons screech, and you snicker before you lean forward and exclaim happily, “<Dracarys!>”

Eraxis blows out a cloud of fire, and as Drogon was going to approach it, you make Eraxis drift to the side so you both could then begin diving down.

Daenerys doesn’t notice you flying in front of her anymore until she’s past the fire cloud. And when she sees you and Eraxis diving down, she beams and makes Drogon do the same.

Since gravity is what is pulling you down, Daenerys and Drogon don’t take long to catch up, but Eraxis and you do end up beating her to the surface of the ocean water. Albeit before Eraxis could splash in, she instead flies up and only lets her body barely skim above the water, creating ripples on the surface as she flies past.

Drogon and Daenerys on the other hand drift to the side and he skims the tip of his wing in the water as he flies at his side. When he fixes himself he then flies at your side, letting Daenerys and you turn your heads to smile at one another.

Now as little as you have known one another, there was a sense of a connection no one else can understand. For the first time you both could share the joys of flying with another soul, for the first time it wasn’t just the two of you alone in the skies with your dragons. It was now you and her. Her and you. Together.

However, as you flew, as you got closer to the castle, you could now spot Dorne, Greyjoy, and Tyrell ships sailing to Dragonstone. Daenerys sees them too, but instead of flying above them like you, she flies ahead without you. Yet you don’t stay just above them for long, you instead fly to the first Dorne ship leading the way and stay flying by it.

And since only the people you were truly closest to, and a few trusted guards knew of Eraxis, those who didn’t gawked as they saw you on a dragon, and as they literally saw a dragon. Those who did know about Eraxis however, like Tyene, looked excited and happy to see her again. Your other sisters climbed out to deck to watch Eraxis too, but unlike Tyene, they watched with more calm and collected demeanors.

Once you landed on the sand to wait for them to get to shore, Tyene shares that same excitement for your dragon when she arrives. She didn’t even bother to greet you.

“Eraxis!” She exclaims and rushes past you to reach Eraxis. And since Tyene, Nymaria, Tyrstane, and Obara helped you raise her, Eraxis was comfortable around their presence and didn't fail to let herself get caressed.

“This is where you wanted to come to so badly?” Nymeria asks in a teasing manner as she and Obara approach you after they climb off the boat.

You look back at the castle gates and nod. “This is where I was born…albeit I do prefer Dornes heat, and the Water Gardens.”

“It’s very bland,” Obara doesn't hold back from saying.

You hum as you can’t help but agree since you are used to more color because of where you were raised.

“How is it going?” You hear your late uncle's paramour, Ellaria, ask as she approaches all of you.

You glance at her and swallow thickly before you speak. “Good. I’ve made peace with my aunt, we were just bonding.” You meet her gaze briefly, but can’t stand looking at her for too long because all you see when you look at her is her with a knife in your uncle's stomach; all you can see is his death, you remember him dying in your arms after you were too late to save him.

You remember pain and grief, and feel it all over again. Ellaria is only alive now because of the love your uncle Oberyn had for her, you only tolerate her because she's Tyene’s mother. Otherwise she would no longer be here.

“Rhaenar is inside,” you say and look back at your sisters. “He’s excited to see you all again. It’s as if he hasn’t seen you in months.”

Obara smirks at the mention, and before you could spend more time out in the chilly air they follow you inside.

——

*LATER*

“If you want the Iron Throne, take it,” Yara Greyjoy tells Daenerys, making her turn to face the table you're all gathered around. “We have an army, a fleet, and four dragons now. We should hit Kings Landing now. Hard. With everything we have. The city will fall within a day.”

You scoff to yourself and drop your gaze to the table.

“If we turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorm,” Tyrion protests.

“It’s called war,” Ellaria interjects. “You don’t have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding.”

You roll your eyes and proceed to lift your leg over the other.

“I know how you wage war,” Tyrion snaps. “We don’t poison little girls here. Myrcella was innocent.”

“She was a Lannister. There are no innocent Lannister’s,” Ellaria says, and to some degree you can agree with her. But not about what she did, not about Myrcella; like Tyrion said she was innocent, she was also never cruel, not to you, not to Rhaenar. You can understand Tyrion’s anger. Yet you can’t accept their bickering, not if you’re meant to be ally’s now.

“My great regret is that Oberyn died fighting for you,” Ellaria continues to spat, finally causing you to cut in.

“Ellaria, that's enough. Please. Tyrion is the hand of the Queen, you will treat him with respect.” Without bothering to look back you glance over at Tyrion and sigh. “More so because we both know my uncle died fairly. Tyrion is no one to blame for my uncle's carelessness. Besides…” you peer back to side eye her. “You would find it wise to try and forgive him just as I have forgiven you for what you have done.”

There is a bit of silence for a lingering second before Ellaria talks back. “Yes, Princess.”

You hum and let the meeting continue.

“I am not here to be Queen of the ashes,” Daenerys finally inputs.

“That’s very nice to hear,” Lady Olenna of House Tyrell interjects. “Of course, I can’t remember a Queen who was better loved than my granddaughter. The common people loved her. The nobles loved her. And what is left of her now? Ashes. Commoners, nobles, they’re all just children, really. They won’t obey you unless they fear you.”

You glance down, clasp your hands over your knee and let out a small sigh. “May I add something?” You interject and gain everyone’s attention.

“Go on,” Daenerys encourages you.

You sit back and share what comes to mind. “A century back, when our ancestors were fighting amongst each other in the Dance of Dragons…it’s those same commoners that raided the Dragonpit and killed our dragons.” You glance at Daenerys, and then at Lady Olenna. “And I know for damn sure that dragons were feared back then as they are now. Burning Kingslanding down will turn everyone against us. We have to be smarter. We have to make them fear us without killing the people.”

Daenerys nods in comprehension and pulls her gaze away from you to look at Lady Olenna. “I’m grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your counsel,” Daenerys says. “I’m grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me, I will not attack King's Landing. We,” she makes her word clear. “Will not attack King's Landing.”

You nod in agreement, but Lady Olenna on the other hand doesn’t seem so convinced.

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne?” She questions. “By asking nicely?”

“We will lay siege to the capital surrounding the city on all sides,” Daenerys shares. “Cersei will have the Iron Throne, but no food for her army or the people.”

“But we won’t use Dothraki and Unsullied,” Tyrion adds after your aunt. “Cersei will try to rally the Lord of Westeros by appealing to their loyalty.” He begins to walk around the table as he continues to speak. “Their love for their country. If we besiege the city with foreigners, we prove her point. Our army should be Westerosi.”

“And I suppose we’re providing the Westerosi?” Ellaria questions,

Tyrion nods. “You are,” he agrees. “Lady Greyjoy will escort you home to Sunspear.”

You slowly begin to put your leg back and lean in as your interest is piqued.

“And her Iron Fleet will ferry the Dornish army,” Tyrion continues, “back up to King's Landing. The Dornish will lay siege to the capital alongside the Tyrell army. Two great kingdoms United against Cersei.”

“So,” Lady Olenna quips. “Your master plan is to use our armies. Forgive me for asking, but why did you bother to bring your own?”

Tyrion places down a dragon figurine that represents Daenerys and her people as he begins to explain and walk again. “The Unsullied will have another objective. For decades House Lannister has been the true power in Westeros. And the seat of that power is Casterly Rock. Greyworm—” you have learned that he is one the Queen's most trusted war advisors, and the commander of the Unsullied army, an old friend now to describe it better.

“…will dial for the Rock and take it,” Tyrion continues and knocks down a lion figure to place down the dragon, leaving a silence to linger thereafter as everyone takes in what was explained.

Yet, it’s you who breaks that silence rather quickly to comment on something else. “In regards to the upcoming siege on Kings Landing, I will meet up with them on Eraxis.”

Both Lady Greyjoy, and Ellaria turn their heads to look at you, and agree with their look alone.

Yet...“no, that would not be wise,” Tyrion interjects. “People still believe you’re dead, Princess. We can use that to our advantage.”

You scoff and argue, “what better way to reveal myself than to stand with my people? Cersei’s fleet will be there as well, I will fight with my people.”

Tyrion looks back at Daenerys to share a quick look before they look to Lord Varys, and all come to a speechless agreement.

“Go then,” Daenerys says. “When the day comes you can meet with the army and stand to fight alongside them.”

You offer her a kind smile and nod. “Thank you, my Queen.”

Daenerys offers you a nod herself, and then rather than letting the meeting proceed you share one more question.

“What about the North? Have we heard anything from the King?”

Lord Varys steps forward and responds this time. “No. Not yet.”

You hum and sit back to continue on the matter. “Well, as we well know, the North is made up of proud people. The Starks as well have just taken back their house, what will we do if they want to keep being an independent Kingdom?”

“You have dragons,” Lady Greyjoy interjects.

You scoff. “So did Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters when they wanted Dorne to pledge their allegiance to them. What did we do? We resisted for years.” You remind them.

Daenerys slightly narrows her gaze and questions your comment. “What is it you’re trying to say then?”

You begin to smirk and meet her gaze. “Well if they come on their own accord. Listen to them. I doubt they’ll come just to bend the knee, no, they probably want something. If they resist.” You pause briefly. “Then offer them a marriage proposal. What better way to unite the grand Kingdoms than through marriage of the Queen and King?”

Daenerys quirks her brow in disbelief to your suggestion, and Tyrion speaks for her. “That could work. Winter is among us. They will need food for their people, what better way to sway them than to bargain. It will be hard to decline.

Daenerys swallows thickly and interjects. “I hear you, Princess. I agree, but we will decide what to do when the time comes.”

You hesitate before you nod agreement, causing the silence to return for a moment before Daenerys continues to interject. “Do I have your support?”

Lady Greyjoy steps up first. “You have mine,” she adds.

Without hesitation you follow, “Dorne is with you, Your Grace.”

Lastly Olenna nods agreement, and with that this meeting is settled.

“Thank you all,” Daenerys ends the meeting. “Lady Olenna, may I speak with you alone?”

You get out of your seat and walk out of the room alongside Ellaria since you’re both going to the same place.

And it’s a quiet walk at first, you both wait for everyone else to pass by and get out of earshot first. Even then when you were approaching the hall your family was in, neither of you could right away say what you both had to say.

First actually, when you were reaching your chambers, you spoke to the guard bringing in your things. “How are my paintings? Did they make it alright?”

The Dornish guard nods. “Yes, my Lady.”

“Princess,” Ellaria corrects him. “Y/N is a Princess, you shall address her as such.

The guard looks nervously between her and you and immediately bows his head. “My apologies, my Princess.”

You shake your head. “It is quite alright. Go on please.”

The guard nods. “Neither your, nor the…Prince’s items got damaged.”

You offer him a faint smile. “Thank you,” you say and then continue to the hall.

This time Ellaria finds the courage to speak. “How can you not be angry? How can you even look at him after what he’s done to your family?”

You sigh and begin to mess with the rings on one hand. “You know why, Ellaria. He is not mine to make leave, nor is he at fault for my uncle's death. You have accepted the facts of his death. We were there that day, we saw.” You glance over at her, and she meets your gaze. “In regards to…my mother and siblings, it is other Lannisters I set my anger on. I suggest you do the same if you want to keep having a chair at that council, I can't let your anger get in the way.”

Ellaria lets her gaze linger on you as she scowls for a brief moment before she nods. “I will try,” she says.

You nod and offer her a faint smile. “That's all I ask,” you tell her before you open the hall doors and make yourselves known to your sisters and your son.

“Mother!” Rhaenar greets and breaks away from his fighting stance to run over and greet you.

You grin down at him. “Hello, my Sunspot, what have you been doing?”

He points back to Obara. “Aunt Obara and I were just training.”

You smirk and ruffle his dark curly hair. “Did she kick your ass?” You tease him as you make your way to the wine tray.

Obara begins to snicker. “He held his own for a few minutes. It is a much better improvement.”

You grab a cup and serve yourself some Dornish wine before walking over to sit with your back facing the fire so it’s easier to face your family. Whilst Rhaenar returns to Obara to pick up the stuff they had around them.

“Dorne will be part of the siege on King’s Landing,” you share with your sisters.

Tyene stands from her chair and begins to smirk. “Are we?” She questions. “Does that mean we can finally kill Cersei?”

You snicker. “I wish it were that easy. Albeit if all goes well, we will be one step closer.”

“Will you accompany us?” Nymeria asks.

You nod and take a sip of wine before speaking. “I will. Once you reach King’s Landing I will go on Eraxis and help fight the enemy fleet.”

“We will be done in no time then,” Tyene says cockily.

You smirk and nod in agreement. You then proceed to take a longer sip of wine, and when you set your cup down you share a thought you've had since you knew you were coming here.

“I have a proposal for you, sisters.” You sit up and look between the three of them. “After this siege, I want the three of you to join me in the fights to come. I want you to be by my side.”

“Like what? Your ladies in waiting?” Obara asks teasingly.

You scoff and shake your head. “Not quite. More so my protectors. I may have Eraxis, but one can never be so sure now that I am going to reveal myself to Westeros again. Of course only if you want, I won’t force you.”

All three girls look at one another, and Tyene looks at her mother before the three of them look back at you.

“I will join you,” Tyene says first. “Father would have wanted us to stick together. Besides,” she begins to smirk mischievously. “It seems there’s a lot of Dothraki men here I would like to get to know.”

You smile, and then look at Nymeria as she interjects. “I will also join your side.”

Lastly, Obara walks over to be in your pherial view and says her response. “I will also join you too, sister.”

“Yes!” Rhaenar exclaims as he runs over to be a part of the conversation. “Does it mean we won’t have to be apart?”

You glance at him and assure him. “Yes. Exactly.”

Rhaenar grins with excitement, causing Tyene to ruffle his hair whilst he turns to face Ellaria. “What about you aunt Ellaria?” He asks. “Will you stay with us?”

Ellaria draws in a deep breath and shakes her head. “No, little warrior,” she sighs. “I will have to stay with our armies. But I will come see you frequently.”

Rhaenar gets comforted by her response and then takes a seat amongst you all.

In the meanwhile you lift your cup of wine and offer a toast. “Thank you, sisters. And to our bond, may it only get stronger.”

All three of them lift their cups and Tyene is the one that interjects with excitement. “To us! And to our battles to come!”

——

*A YEAR BACK*

The doors locked. The windows are sealed.

Why—

Footsteps are approaching the door.

“Rhaenar?” You call out in hopes it’s your son. “Rhaenar, is that you?”

The footsteps stop and a thud sounds at your door. You run back to your door and try to open them again, but to no avail.

“Rhaenar?” You call again and try to peek through the doors creak. But there’s nothing there. You get on your hands and knees to peek at the creek below and see only boots.

“Hey! Let me out! Guards! Let me out!” You yell and jump back up to your feet. “What’s the meaning of this?!” You pound your fists on the door before you begin to kick it. “Let me out! Let me out! Let me out or I will feed you to my dragon!”

There's a shift at the sound of that threat. Yet the damned door remains closed.

“Do you hear me out there? I will feed you to my dragon,” you curse and step back to look around your room for anything that could knock this door down. “Let me talk to my uncle!” You yell as you search your room until you think of your daggers, and sneak over to snatch them from the chest.

“I will give you one more chance,” you sneer and tiptoe back to the door to pick the lock. “Open…” you pause as you hear the lock click. “The door,” you mutter before you throw the doors open, startling the guards that were for some reason placed outside.

“What's going on?” You demand to know from the guards as you point your daggers at them. “Where is my uncle?”

The guard to the right clenches his jaw and gives you an answer. “Go back to your room, Princess.”

You scoff and then lunge at him to throw him back to the wall and point your blade at his throat. “Tell me now,” you sneer and side-eye the other guard who keeps his hands out to show that he won’t hurt you. “What is going on? It’s only a matter of minutes I assume before my dragon comes to me. Should I throw you to her first? Or you,” you point at the watching guard.

“The prince's chambers, he’s there,” the watching guard spits out.

“See,” you scoff and drop your dagger before letting the guard go and stepping back. “Easy. Next time you disobey, I will make Eraxis eat you.” You offer them a sweet smile before you turn and storm over to your uncle's chambers.

And as you pass halls and step outside, guards begin to look at you weirdly, they pass odd looks between one another and give you second looks as they watch you storm past them. The closer you get to your uncle's chambers, the more suspicious they get. They even try to stop you, but you just ignore them and quicken your pace.

Once you begin to see the pool outside his quarters, the guards try to grab you, but you just swiftly slip past them without hassle.

“Princess wait!” One of them yells before you can turn the corner of the patio to reach your uncle's quarters. “Princess!”

He runs after you, and as guards around his pool see you approaching, they unstiffen from their stance and try to rush over to you. Yet you just run past them until you get to the steps of the deck. That’s when you notice the dead Maester and a pool of blood dripping down the steps. As you slowly look up you see Areo Hotah dead next to where Tyene is standing. Next to her is Ellaria pulling a dagger out of your uncle.

“No!” You immediately cry out and gain the attention of your cousin Tyene. “No!” You try to run over to him as he falls to the ground, but Tyene runs over to hold you back. “No!” You sob.

Your uncle Doran flips over and reaches his hand out to you. You try to pull away from Tyene, but guards then help her keep you away.

“When was the last time you left this palace?” Ellaria snaps at your uncle. “You don’t know your own people. Their disgust for you.”

Your uncle begins to cough out blood, but he keeps trying to drag himself away, making you try to squirm with more force to try and reach him.

“Elia Martell, raped and murdered, and you did nothing,” Ellaria spats out, causing you to hit the guards harder. “Oberyn Martell butchered, and you did nothing. You cloud your niece's head with that same ignorance.”

Your uncle flips over again and begins to pant.

“…You’re not a Dornishman. You’re not our prince.” Ellaria finishes spitting out.

“My son Trystane,” your uncle mutters.

Ellaria turns around and scoffs. “Your son is weak just like you. And weak men will never rule Dorne again,” she says spitefully. And finally the guards let you free so you quickly rush over to your uncle and fall down on your knees next to him.

“Uncle,” you cry and cradle him in your arms. “I’m here. I’m here. I will help.”

Your uncle groans, and slowly pulls his bloody hand away from his wound to cup your cheek. “My sweet y/n, you have the power to change the world, do not let vengeance cloud your judgment.”

You sob and shake your head. “I won’t, I swear to you,” you whisper, knowing deep in your heart that there was no saving him anymore.

He lets out labored breath and offers you a wobbly smile. “You have your mothers smile, you know that?” He whispers. “Smile for me, one last time, will you?”

A sob escapes your lips, but you muster a wobbly smile before he takes his last breath and drops his hand from your cheek.

“No,” you mutter as tears stream down your face, and your heart feels as if someone had just stabbed it. “No, no, no!”

“It was for your own good,” you hear Ellaria say from behind you. “Now you can come out of your uncle's shadow. You can finally fulfill your destiny and take back what is yours!”

You swipe your hands over your uncle's eyes to close them, and then slowly put him down.

“Now you can stop living in fear,” she continues.

You let out a shaky breath and drop your head, choosing to ignore her, choosing not to act out on your desire to stab her through the heart.

“Y/N,” she mutters and grabs your shoulder. “Now…” she trails off as the sound of flapping wings sounds from the sky only seconds before Eraxis reveals herself and lands down on the ground, only barely managing to fit her body in the courtyard.

You keep staring at the ground regardless and only hear her growl at Ellaria as she stands stiffly behind you.

“Sister!” Tyene cries out, but doesn’t move.

Eraxis breath slowly unfurls out of her nose, blowing back Ellaria’s dress.

“I watched my own mother die,” you whisper in a quivering voice. “Every night in my dreams. Of course I didn’t know what it meant then, I was only four,” you feign a laugh. “And well it was only fragments of her death, pieces I couldn’t place together. Not until years later. And now it lives over and over in my mind.” You stand up from the ground and let out a shaky breath.

“Do you want to know how that feels, losing a mother?” You ask Tyene, and turn, seeing Eraxis keep her eyes pierced on Ellaria.

“Please,” Tyene pleads to you.

“Do not hate your sisters,” Ellaria interjects, making your eyes snap to her. “They had no fault in it. It was all my doing.”

You swallow thickly and slowly begin to walk around her. “Yes,” you say. “I figured as much. Only you are capable enough to fill their heads with poison.” As you reach Eraxis side you pierce your glare on Ellaria as well, mirroring your dragon's same burning glare.

Ellaria scoffs and lifts her head with confidence. “Tell me what you would have done if I hadn’t killed your uncle?” She spats. “He was a plague. You would have kept hiding, kept dying your hair pretending you’re someone you're not, you would have kept hiding your dragon. You would have kept living in ignorance here. It’s time to wake up y/n!”

Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps you have lived your entire life in fear. But she still killed him. And you still couldn’t avoid it.

“I am only sparing your life because of Tyene,” you change the subject, and Eraxis begins to lose her scowl and begins to whimper and lean her head against you. “Betray me again and I will burn you alive.”

Eraxis pulls her snout out the deck and then lifts her head as you walk over to begin mounting her.

Once you’re on your saddle you grab your handles, and Eraxis flies off.

——

*NOW*

“Lower,” you tell Rhaenar and walk over to push his arms down a bit lower. “Pull your arms down.”

The boy sighs. “Uncle Oberyn said this way,” he tries to argue.

You nod and move back. “Yes, I understand, but there are many fighting styles, you have come close to mastering his way, now you must use different tactics,” you advise him and slide your foot back to once again stand in your fighting stance. “If you want to become a great warrior you must know much more.”

Rhaenar sighs and mirrors your stance. He then looks at your blade and lunges, but you quickly change your stance and swipe off his feet.

“That’s no—” Rhaenar cuts himself off and instead pushes himself to his feet.

You drop your head and laugh softly to yourself.

“You did better,” Daenerys tries to assure him as she watches him train—out of simple curiosity she said. “Less complaining this time.”

You chuckle before you turn around and watch the boy scratch the back of his head whilst he walks to grab a spear off the rack.

“Perhaps the young prince could spar with me soon,” Greyworm offers from the Queens side, as he too was curious to watch your morning training session.

You glance at the soldier and then at your son. “How does that sound, Rhaenar, hm? Maybe Greyworm will be a much kinder teacher than I am.”

Rhaenar turns with his spear in hand and offers the soldier a grin that goes from ear to ear. “Yes I would love it!” He exclaims happily.

Greyworm smiles faintly and nods. Daenerys smiles at the boy, and you part your lips to tell him something, but the door then opens and Tyrion and Qhono, the Dothraki Lieutenant, walks in behind him.

“My Queen, Princess,” Tyrion says, and gains the attention of everyone in the room. “Your guest ship has been spotted docking at shore.”

Daenerys nods in comprehension, letting The Hand turn to leave. Qhono albeit lingers and meets your gaze, making you smirk at him before you turn to face Rhaenar. Daenerys catches your interaction but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Go change out of your training clothes,” you tell the boy. “When you’re done go to the Throne room.”

Without argument Rhaenar puts away his sparring weapons and does as he’s told.

Before long you also go and change out of your training outfit, deciding to put on a long red dress that perhaps is too revealing for the chilly weather of Dragonstone. The long matching red cloak that attaches under the golden dragon scales on your shoulders provides some warmth, but then again you never much mind being too cold or too hot in something if it means looking good.

And sure, The King of the North wasn’t yours to impress, if it came to it it’s not you he’d marry, but you still do choose to show off your golden chained gloves that connects to your golden rings, and matches with the golden breast plates that was elegantly carved to go over the dress. You still didn’t choose to cover your exposed chest, or a part of your sides, or your arms. Because the truth is, if it were a choice to choose between armor and dresses, you’d choose the expensive and most beautiful dresses, even for dragon riding.

And well there is maybe Qhono that you are trying to impress.

“Come,” you call Rhaenar over once you walk in the Throne room.

Rhaenar sighs and lets you walk to where he was standing already.

“Your pin is all crooked,” you let him know and unpin the dragon pin to correct it. “There. Better. Handsome.” You pat his shoulder.

Rhaenar rolls his eyes out of embarrassment, making you laugh softly before you fix his hair.

“Mother,” he whispers sharply and pulls back to then glance back at the Queen.

Daenerys catches his embarrassed glance and shoots him a teasing smile.

“Fine,” you scoff lightheartedly. “I’ll go.” You then go and stand in your spot to wait patiently.

Once those doors open, the first one to walk in is Qhono, Tyrion, and Daenerys most trusted advisor Missendei of Naath follow, but you watch Qhono, as he watches you while he walks past you. You don’t notice the King of The North right away, not even when Missendei says all of Daenerys titles, you instead then look at your rings when Qhono is out of sight until you hear your name.

“…and the Princess Y/N Targaryen Martell, Princess of Dorne, daughter of late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”

You finally blink and look up, finally taking in the sight of the King of the North, and noticing that his eyes are already on you. They were on you for most the time he’s been in here but you didn’t notice, not until now.

Until now you see that he isn’t as tall as you imagined Northern men to be, he isn’t as musclary built, or as hairy. He’s quite small, more lean. His hair is dark, as dark as perhaps a moonless night. His eyes aren’t rough, they’re soft and a very pretty dark brown you can get lost in. He has soft features, scars on his face that he wears more than well.

The King of the North is handsome and breath-catching. Much to your surprise.

“And Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, son of the princess.” Missendei finishes introducing everyone that she needed to, leaving a very long silence as the King of the North looks at his advisor.

“This is Jon Snow,” the advisor reveals, letting said man glance at the Queen. “He’s King in the North.”

You smile at the introduction and once again catch the softened gaze of Jon Snow, the King of the North. His gaze lingers on yours, as your eyes linger on him. Neither of you dare to look away, it seems in a way you’re both too mesmerized. For that brief moment until Daenerys spoke up all that existed was just the two of you.

It was such a…weird and new feeling. One you never want to lose.

.

.

.

.

[asa-writes]

Dreams - Masterlist

They all need each other, though each in their own seperate way. Growing up and loving in times of war isn't easy at all. Especially when you have to fight for the lives of the people you thought you loved - when you have to abandon everything for the greater good, when you have to choose between sexual, familiar and romantic love.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings and General Tags under the cut.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapters:

1 - Jon ¦ 2 - Robb ¦ 3 - Lucie ¦ 4 - Robb ¦ 5 - Jon ¦ 6 - Lucie ¦ 7 - Jon ¦ 8 - Robb ¦ 9 - Lucie ¦ 10 - Jon ¦ 11 - Lucie ¦ 12 - Robb ¦ 13 - Jon ¦ 14 - Lucie ¦ 15 - Jon ¦ 16 - Robb ¦ 17 - Lucie ¦ 18 - Robb ¦ 19 - Jon ¦ 20 - Lucie ¦ 21 - Robb ¦ 22 - Jon ¦ 23 - Lucie ¦ 24 - Theon ¦ 25 - Jon ¦ 26 - Lucie ¦ 27 - Theon ¦ 28 - Jon ¦ 29 - Lucie ¦ 30 - Theon ¦ 31 - Robb ¦ 32 - Jon ¦ 33 - Lucie ¦ 34 - Jon ¦ 35 - (surprise) ¦ 36 - Jon ¦ 37 - Lucie ¦

Drabbles and One-Shots:

"My Sweet" - Robb Stark x Lucie Templeton

Also available on:

Archive of our Own and Wattpad

Warnings / Tags: Canon Divergence - AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Misogyny, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon, Alcohol, Drugs, Age Difference, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, War, Forced Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Pregnancy, Character death, Child Death, Age Play, Bondage, Masochism, Edging, Derogatory Language, Infidelity, Oral Sex, Unplanned Pregnany, Breeding Kink, Masturbation, Hunting, Underage Sex (Canon-Typical)

[rhaenyra-storms]

Jon Snow and female reader sitting by the fire, each doing their own thing (sharpening weapons, reading letters, doing embroidery/sewing) just enjoying their company

Jon is definitely always in desperate need of some calm in his life. He has always been involved in fights, wars and the violence of this world seems to be chasing him all the time.

You are definitely the source of his calmness and relaxation. All the time actually. He can only relax when he's with you, like now, sitting by the fire and just enjoying each other's company. He is sharpening his sword while you are reading some letters, sometimes updating him on what the lords are reporting to you or him. It's also calming for him when you read out his letters to him.

Sometimes he glances over to you, seeing your face illuminated by the fire and he can't help himself but smile at the sight in front of him. Your eyes are following the lines on the letter and some of your hair is falling into your face. He slowly reaches out to you, brushing the strands away and letting his hand rest on your cheek then. "You're so beautiful, my love," he smiles and it gives you a warm feeling all over.

You look up at him, giving him a smile as well. His face is also painted a light shade of orange by the fire in the room. He looks good in every light. Even after battle, with blood on his face and dirt clinging to every part of his skin, he always manages to look like the most handsome person in the realm.

“I don’t know how there aren’t more marriage proposals arriving. All the ladies should be after you,” you answer, a grin on your face. Jon let’s put a soft laugh and shakes his head just slightly. He isn’t interested in anyone but you. And he could sit here for a hundred more years, listening to you read out letters to him and he would listen closely to every single one.

“Let’s hope you won’t read one of those out to me anytime soon. Now, I think you weren’t finished with this one,” he reminds you, pointing to the letter while he goes back to sharpening his sword. “But you can maybe keep your eyes open for a marriage proposal from me to you,” he says like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

But you’re sure the heat in your cheeks is not coming from the cozy warmth in the room then.

[asa-do-your-thing]

Dreams

Chapter 05 - Jon

18+ MINORS DNI Word Count: 2.9k Chapter Warnings: angst

The haunting nightmare had returned with a vengeance. Jon felt the clammy chill of the castle walls wrap around him as he held the wailing infant in his arms. His face was caked in crimson and droplets of blood trickled from the corners of his eyes.

An eerie voice called out his name, urging him to turn around. Fearful yet determined, Jon slowly twisted his body and saw Lucie's lifeless frame crumpled on the cold stone floor, surrounded by a growing pool of her own lifeblood. The babe had stilled in his embrace, its wide eyes fixed on Jon's face - it seemed to be begging for rescue.

He took one step towards her, when an overwhelming pain surged through his chest, like a thousand arrows piercing deep into the innermost depths of his core.

Jon tried to move forward but was unable to do so, as if he was stuck in time itself. He looked down at Lucie, noticing her lifeless eyes which were still filled with love despite her death. Tears started streaming down Jon's face as he realized that it was all his fault--he had been too slow to save her; now she lay dead before him due to his negligence.

The pain in Jon's chest only intensified as he saw the babe lying helplessly next to Lucie's lifeless body, its little hands clutching her arm tightly as if begging not to be taken away from its mother even in death.

He knew he could never make up for what had happened; all he could do now was offer it some comfort by taking it away from this place of tragedy and giving it a better life elsewhere.

Waking up with a start, Jon saw the way Ghost, his direwolf, looked at him with concerned eyes and shook his head. What the hell?

He knew Lucie would get engaged to Robb at some point, yet he hadn't anticipated his mind to react in such a dastardly way. He gently scratched Ghost between his ears and groaned, running his hands through his messy hair. Maester Luwin had been right all these years ago - going to bed angry was never a good idea.

He pulled on a fresh shirt and traipsed over to his washing basin, quickly washing his sweaty face in the icy water. Lucie hadn't shown up yesterday to the library. Did something happen to her? Pulling on his breeches and lacing them, he shook his head. No, most probably Robb forbade her. He knew it wasn't just for him that she went there - it was her only place where she could talk openly about her worries. Besides, Robb did have a certain posessive streak about him, since the moment where they started... noticing women.

Throwing on the rest of his clothes, along with his sword belt and a fur cloak, he quickly fixed his dark, tousled hair and walked out of chambers down to the hall to break fast with the others. Would Lucie be there? Straightening his shoulders, he bit his tongue. Of course she'd be there, gods, she isn't married to Robb yet, she'd have no reason not to eat with everyone else.

Quickening his pace, Jon entered the dining hall and looked around for her. To his relief, she was there. She was sitting next to Robb, and the two of them were engaged in a lively conversation with Sansa, looking like the closest of family. Jon felt a stab of pain in his chest and walked over to where the food was kept on the long trestle tables.

"Hey, Jon, you look rough."

Jon turned around to see Theon standing behind him, grinning like a fool. That little prick. Jon gritted his teeth, raising his brows. "You don't look so good either, Greyjoy."

Lucie and Robb both looked up at once, glancing at each other and then back at Jon. He walked over to the table with his food, trying to make his features into an innocent expression.

"Jon." Robb got up from his seat and walked over to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come to my chambers later, we need to talk."

He gave Jon a hard look before turning around, and sitting back down again. Jon's body tensed up, but he collected himself, walking over to his seat and sitting down. He glanced at Lucie who had a perplexed look on her face. He gave her a small smile and she returned it, whispering something to Robb who nodded his head.

"Thank you for the meal." Jon said with a curt nod to Maester Luwin who was standing on the other side of the table.

Theon muttered an agreement which was echoed by the younger children.

Lucie glanced at the pile of eggs and bacon on his plate and gave him a smirk. Gods, that smirk... "Have you not had enough to eat, yesterday, at the feast? You look like a starving man." The lightness in her voice brought a smile to Jon's face. He hadn't heard Lucie sound so cheerful in so long.

Though he was glad that she was so content, were her joyous feelings connected to Robb? His heart grew heavy at the thought but he tried to remind himself that it wasn't his place to question her happiness. No matter what, she would soon be married and he had to quell these confusing emotions.

“Yesterday's feast had been magnificent, but today my stomach rumbles once again, Lady Lucie,” he said with a faint smile as he lifted his mug of warm beer to his lips. At the same time, he could feel Robb's looming presence in the back of his mind; nothing ever good comes from his need for further discussion. He had to force himself not to shudder at the thought.

Lucie giggled, further surprising Jon and Robb. Lucie... giggled? The two of them shared a look before Jon cleared his throat. "So... what are your plans for today?" he asked, turning back to Lucie.

"I'm going to go embroider with Sansa and Arya, I'll try to get them to stay still and not insult each other for a while," she said with a bright smile. "And then I think I'll go into the godswood and draw, I think."

Jon glanced over at Robb. "Do you want me to come with you outside? It's getting colder now, I'll try to keep your ink from freezing."

It was clear that Robb was uncomfortable by the suggestion but Lucie's face lit up. "Yes! That would be wonderful."

Jon felt his chest tighten as he watched Lucie finishing her breakfast, the motion of her lips mesmerizing him. His heart raced at the thought of touching those lips with his own, to see them wrapped around his member...

He had to force himself to look away in order to keep from thinking about these wicked things - never before had he experienced such longing and lust for someone so close yet so forbidden. He nearly choked on his thoughts as he realized that he'd never be able to escape them.

He'd never have thought that someone so dear to him could lighten up his day and dampen it at the same time just by simply existing.

Robb's voice interrupted his thoughts. "If you two are done here, I'll need to discuss something with Jon in my chambers."

Lucie nodded, pushing her chair away from the table. She grabbed Arya's hand as Sansa followed close behind them and started walking towards the door.

Jon quickly stood and followed them out of the dining hall, though he couldn't help but feel a sting of disappointment at having to leave Lucie's presence so soon. As Theon strode away, his echoing laugh reverberated through the room. "Ha! Little Snow's going to get an earful for fucking the ice-maid", he jeered mockingly.

Even through his shock, Jon couldn't help but notice Lucie's cheeks flush pink in reaction. He was furious that Theon would even suggest such a thing - did he really think it was funny?

"Shut your damned mouth before I give you one," Robb retorted and shook his head, motioning Jon to leave with him.

Ignoring Theon's comment and Robb's apologetic look, Lucie left the hall. With one final tug on Arya's hand she disappeared around the corner, which left him to follow Robb up to his chambers.

Noting the stiffness in Robb's expression, Jon was sure that he had heard Theon's comment.

"I'm glad we can talk, Jon." Robb took a deep breath as they came up the stairs to his chambers. "Please, in, in here."

Jon stood on his side of the door and waited for Robb to open it, which he did after a moment of hesitation, allowing Jon in first before closing the door behind them.

"So, uhm... never mind that." Robb said in an attempt to sound casual. "I mean, it's not important, I guess. Go on, take a seat."

Jon folded his arms over his chest, his eyes locked on Robb's. "Robb, Theon's an idiot who doesn't know what he's talking about - I can't believe that he would says something like that in front of the kids, in front of Maester Luwin."

Letting out an annoyed growl, Robb massaged his temples. "I know, I know, don't worry, I'll tell him to stop. He's been trying to suggest I fuck Lucie before our marriage so she might warm up to me, but that's just... so wrong."

Shrugging, Jon sighed. "That's Theon for you. Though most of the stuff he said probably come from his own dreams."

Robb stared at him, tilting his head. "You don't mean...?"

"I'm not saying anything," Jon said, lifting his hands in surrender. "But I think you should relax and stop worrying so much, Robb. You're too tense for courting Lucie - I honestly don't know why... uh... it doesn't work between you two."

Robb let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "It's not that I don't like Lucie, it's just that... I feel like we barely know each other. And then there's you," he said as he turned his gaze to Jon, his eyes filled with an intensity that made Jon's heart race. "How did you manage to get so close to her, Jon?"

Jon felt his cheeks heat up, his mind racing to come up with a plausible answer. He couldn't admit to the sinful thoughts that plagued his mind whenever he was near Lucie and the fact that he didn't have to do anything special... He was just being himself.

"I... I don't know, Robb. I guess we just clicked," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Robb narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenched as he studied Jon's face. "There's something you're not telling me, Jon. I can see it in your eyes."

Jon's heart raced as he felt Robb's hand grip his shoulder tightly. "Please, Robb, let it go. It's not important."

"It is important, Jon. Lucie is going to be my wife soon and I need to know everything about her."

Jon felt a pang of jealousy and anger at Robb's words. How could he be so blind to see that Lucie that she had feelings too? Feelings that were human, like grief, anger and fear? "Why don't you just ask her then? Instead of interrogating me?"

Robb's grip on Jon's shoulder tightened, his eyes locked onto Jon's. "Because I trust you, Jon. You're my brother."

Jon could hardly breathe as Robb stepped closer to him. "It's just so confusing, Robb. I know you don't want to hurt her, but... I like her, Robb, I adore her." The words left Jon's mouth before he could stop them, but it did not matter anymore - he could not take them back.

Jon gulped, his throat dry as he watched his brother move even closer to him, his free hand lifting to Jon's other shoulder, staring down at him. "I know, Jon. I know how much you love her and I know how much you want her. But I want her too. She is mine - my betrothed."

Robb's voice was firm, yet it held a pleading tone that tugged at Jon's heart. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he felt Robb hesitantly loosen his grip on him. "Please, Jon, you're the only one who can help me with this."

Jon closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Robb, I'll help you. Always." What did he get himself into? Was he mad, telling Robb about..?

"I'm so sorry, Jon. I know this must hurt you, but I need you. I need you both." His brother's hand relaxed its grip. "I know I'm being selfish, but I can't help it. I need her."

Jon opened his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest as Robb's hand lingered at his shoulder, his gaze boring into Jon's as he walked back to his chair.

Jon felt a pang of sadness rush through him as he stared at his brother's broad back. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if things were different. If Robb didn't have to marry Lucie, Jon could tell her how he truly felt and be with her like he had always wanted. But that was impossible now, Robb had chosen Lucie and there was no going back from that.

He exhaled sharply, feeling a sudden wave of admiration for Robb flood through him despite everything. His brother trusted him so much and still wanted his opinion even though Jon had revealed his true feelings about Lucie. He was so grateful for the trust between them - something that they had never really shared before - and he vowed to do whatever it takes to keep it alive. It meant more to him than anything else in the world right now, even if it meant having to put aside his own feelings about Lucie just this once.

Clearing his throat, Jon gave Robb an awkward smile. "Well, uh, now that that's settled, what would you like to know about her. I'll try my best to answer all of your questions."

Robb relaxed his shoulders, the tension leaving his body as he settled back into his chair. "Thank you, Jon. I appreciate it." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he gazed at Jon. "So, tell me, what does Lucie like to do? What are her interests?"

Jon thought for a moment, his mind racing through all the conversations that he had had with Lucie over the past few months. "Well, she enjoys drawing and reading. She's had a lot of free time lately, so she's been trying to improve her skills."

Robb's eyes lit up, a smile forming on his lips. "That's great. Maybe I could commission her to draw something for me."

Jon nodded, a sense of relief washing over him as he talked about Lucie's hobbies. Maybe this would help Robb see her in a different light and stop worrying so much about connecting with her.

"But there's something else, too," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Lucie hates public speaking. It makes her really nervous."

Robb frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked at Jon. "Why would that matter?"

Jon shrugged. "I don't know, Robb. It's just something that I've noticed about her. Maybe you could try to avoid putting her in situations where she has to talk in front of a crowd? It seemed like you startled her greatly at the feast, when you announced your betrothal."

Robb leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping on the armrests as he thought about what Jon had just said. "I see. That's good to know. Thank you, Jon. I... uh,,, Will try to approach her in a different way. And if uh... no, you know, forget it. Shall we go and spar for a bit? This has gotten so awkward, I'm looking forward to blowing off some steam."

Jon smiled, a wave of relief washing over him as he saw his brother's tense shoulders relax. "Yes, that's a good idea." He rose to his feet, feeling a knot of tension leave his body as he stretched. "I'll meet you outside."

With a deep sigh, Jon shut the door tightly behind them and smiled as he strolled down the hall towards the courtyard.

He had done it again - helped Robb, and by extension, Lucie. He had managed to hold his feelings for her at bay, even if only for a few moments. And he knew that it was for the best because now, he could stand by Robb's side and help him truly connect with Lucie.

As Lucie and Sansa's laughter rang out in the halls, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. He had worked so hard to be in this position, to have her close to him, but now that it was within his grasp, he had to let her go. She was untouchable, and he knew he could never truly reach her.

His heart ached with every step he took, the pain growing with every breath he took, yet he felt strangely light and free. He had done it for Robb and Lucie - he had sacrificed his own happiness for theirs, it was the epitome of chivalry. And he would do it again.

[welldonebeca]

The Impatient Wife - The King's Wives

Summary: Too impatient to wait for her night with him, Margaery surprises Jon. Her wait is done, and she wants to give him a son. (Preferably before any of the wives) WC: 2.3k words Warnings: Fluff. Virginity loss. A little bit of degrading kink. Dirty talking. Smut. Vaginal sex. Breeding kink.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

"Margaery!" Lora hissed as he followed her through the corridors. "Will you please stop?"

She didn't.

Five years. Margaery had waited over five years for her husband to finally fuck her.

And now Loras wanted her to wait?

No!

If she waited, then she would need to wait for him to bed Arianne first, because she was his first wife, and she had already let him fuck Sansa.

So she put on a robe and set herself on her way to his study room, where he usually ate, right in his quarters.

Her brother had tossed his cape over her the moment he saw her, and was trying to convince her to get back to her quarters, but Margaery wasn't going to let him stand in the way of her and her husband.

At least Loras could guard the door.

She would hate it if a servant walked in before Jon and caught her in such an indecent state.

"Your Grace!" the man of the King's guard gasped when he saw her, quickly casting his eyes down, and she stopped at the door, almost jumping, startled, when Loras put himself in front of her.

"I'm here to surprise my husband," she told him. "I know he's off to his morning walk before breaking his fast."

The man raised his eyes to look at her, utterly confused and shocked.

"Is he here?" she asked him.

He cleared his throat.

"No, your grace," he told her. "But he'll be back any time now."

"Good, then let me in," she commanded. "You don't want to leave your princess waiting and standing outside like this, do you? Where anyone can see me?"

That seemed to be enough to make the man move.

He let Margaery into the room and she left Loras' cape right outside before the door closed, and she tossed her robe out and kicked her slippers off her feet as she walked out of the room, exploring it.

Jon's study room was tidy and very simple, with just his books and a massive desk, where she could see a bowl of fresh fruit.

She plucked a juicy peach, looking for a knife to cut it, but there was none around.

Margaery didn't have to wait, though, as the door opened, and her husband stepped into the room.

"Mar-" he started to speak but stopped, stunned at the sight of her right.

She grinned and spread her legs, putting a foot on the nearby chair and leaning back.

"Good morning, my King," she greeted. "Your first meal of the day is here."

Her royal husband stood before her for a moment, shocked and wide-eyed, and she giggled as he approached her.

"My love?" she teased him. "Did the cat get my King's tongue?"

"Marge," he half stuttered. "I... you... we..."

She leaned closer to him and put her arms on his shoulders, and his eyes were right on her tits.

"I couldn't wait," she told him, grabbing him by his shirt. "I had to come to see you."

Jon took his hands to hers, pushing her away almost instinctively, but stopping midway, and she pulled him closer again.

"We don't have to wait any more," she reminded him. "You have all your wives, my King."

He swallowed down, looking down at her body with hunger in his eyes.

And didn't move.

Margaery tilted her head. What was he waiting for?

"You can take me, my love," she moved closer to him, rubbing her nose over his. "You can make me yours."

Jon kissed her so hungrily she was caught off guard for a moment.

His lips moved over hers almost as desperately as his hands grabbed her, holding her hips tightly and pressing his strong chest to her torso.

Margaery grabbed his shirt, trying to take it off and undress him already. She'd waited for so long, she needed him now.

He took his hands from her just to help her, undoing the clasps and buttons and throwing it on the floor, and she tugged on his tunic to take it off too, impatient.

"Wait," he pulled back, breathless. "The bed."

Margaery frowned, confused, and her husband held her for a moment.

"You deserve a bed," he exhaled.

A bed? Who needed a bed?

"No," she whined, grabbing his trousers and unbuttoning them. "I want you now."

Before he could complain, she pressed her lips to his again and pushed them off, looking for the string holding his briefs up and untying them just as well, pulling his cock right out.

Fuck, he was big.

She looked down with wide eyes as her hand wrapped around him, and her fingertips barely touched.

His cock was thick, with a nice pink shiny head and so warm!

She couldn't wait anymore! He had to fill her up!

Margaery moved her hand up and down, like she'd been taught before, and earned a strangled moan from him.

"Marge," he moved his hand to hers, and she raised her eyes to his.

"Please, I need you inside me," she arched her hips, brushing her lips against his. "I got myself ready for you."

She spread her legs a little more and brushed the hot head against her wet folds.

Jon moaned, moving his hand over hers, and Margaery gasped when he brushed against her bud.

"What did you do, my love?" he exhaled. "Did you play with yourself?"

Her face burned hot.

Margaery sought his lips, but her husband didn't let him kiss her, rubbing his cock up and down, up and down.

"Please," she panted.

Jon pulled her hands away, pinning them down.

"Tell me," he commanded strongly. "What did you do to yourself, my love?"

She whined, needy, and he continued to move up and down over her cunt.

"I put my fingers in," she whimpered. "And rubbed my bud the way you showed me."

Jon hummed along, moving his nose over yours, brushing gently over it.

"And you did you make yourself peak, dear wife?" he asked her.

He dipped his cock in for a moment but pulled it back.

"Yes," she moaned. "I wanted to be ready for you."

He kissed her chin.

"How many times?" he asked her. "How many times did you make yourself peak?"

Margaery panted, embarrassed.

"Please," she pleaded, trying to move. "Jon!"

He didn't give her any mercy, instead, her husband pulled back and picked her up, turning her around and laying her on the desk with her ass up.

"If you don't tell me, I won't give you what you want," he warned her. "Won't you be a good wife?"

She melted inside.

"I tried to make myself as wet as possible," she argued. "I woke up with before the sun and couldn't sleep again!"

Jon tapped her bud with his cock.

"So you touched yourself all night?" he asked, sounding impressed. "It's no surprise you are so soaked."

She was dripping to her thighs again, and she had wiped her legs before coming to see him.

"How many times, Marge?" he asked again. "How many times did you make yourself peak?"

Her face burned in pure embarrassment. Gods!

Didn't he know it was embarrassing?

"Twice!" she confessed, at last. "I made myself peak twice!"

His hand descended on her pussy with a slap, and they gasped together.

She waited for him to say something but Jon didn't, and she turned around to glance at him. Oh, her husband was positively surprised with himself.

"Please, my love," she shook her ass. "I want to be a good wife."

Jon slapped her again, this time more certain, and she moaned in response.

"How is that being a good wife, naughty girl?" he asked, sounding very dissatisfied. "When you didn't even let me see those beautiful peaks? When I didn't get to see and listen to you, hm?"

Margaery's head fell forward, and he clicked his tongue.

"And you weren't even patient enough to wait for me to summon you," he slapped her once more. "Couldn't wait for your night and came to my study dressed in what? I can't even see your dress around here."

She whined, embarrassed.

"I wanted to surprise you!"

He clicked his tongue again, taking his hand away, and she felt his cock brushing against her entrance.

"I worried so much I was neglecting you," he lamented. "I didn't even realise how spoiled I made my sweet princess."

She pouted, ready to stomp her feet.

Spoiled! Her?!

"I'm not-" she tried to argue.

But Jon pushed himself all the way into her, filling her cunt completely without an ounce of a struggle, stretching her completely, almost making her ache.

"Shush now, my love," he moaned, strangled. "I must fuck that out of you now."

Margaery grabbed the edge of the desk, but Jon didn't move. Instead, he leaned onto her and kissed her shoulder and cheek, and waited, caressing her belly and her sides.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly into her ear. "Did it hurt?"

She shook her head. It was uncomfortable, but it didn't outrightly hurt her.

"I'm sorry, I lost control for a moment," he spoke softly.

Marge reached for him, covering his hand with hers.

"Please," she begged. "Please, Jon. Fuck me like a dragon."

He stood straight behind her, holding her by her hips.

"I'll do better, my love," her husband spoke, and his voice was so dark it made her outrightly melt. "I'll fuck you like a wolf."

He moved slowly, barely taking his cock out of her in slow, shallow thrusts, so strong and deep her ass stung with the way his hips were slamming against hers.

His fingers moved down to her bud almost dismissively, rubbing mindlessly with no clear rhythm, but it was enough to make her eyes roll back and her mind melt.

"Spoiled little wife," he moaned. "So needy she didn't wait for me to give her pleasure and took it with her own hands."

Margaery moaned under him, outrightly taken by him and the pleasure, completely and thoroughly his.

She had waited so fucking long for him, and it was worth it.

Her orgasm hit her like his cock had done, filling her up completely, making her shake and tremble under him and moan loudly and uncontrollably.

Jon didn't stop, his cock brushing against the most sensitive spot inside her as his finger played and played with her.

"Jon," she panted, squirming under him. "My love..."

"Shh, sweet girl," he moaned. "Be a good wife and take it. Take what your husband gives you."

It was the most delicious ache, to be fucked like that, filled to the brim as pleasure flooded her veins.

She was going to peak again.

"Please," she panted. "Jon, please. I'll peak again, I'll peak-"

Her husband pushed her down with a single hand holding her to the desk as her legs shook and her toes curled.

And didn't stop. He didn't fucking stop.

His fingers rubbed her more, and his cock rutted into her even deeper.

"Jon," she moaned, feeling her brain just outrightly dripping from between her legs. "Jon!"

Something inside her tightened, and Margaery's eyes widened.

Oh, gods, she was going to piss herself.

"Jon," she begged, trying to reach for his hand. "Jon, I can't hold myself, please, I can't-"

But he didn't stop.

Instead, her husband angled his cock and fucked her sensitive spot even more.

"It's okay," he panted. "Let go."

"I'll wet you!" she hissed.

"Trust me," he moaned. "Let go for me, sweet wife."

Margaery did, and when she came again, something broke inside her, far different than anything she had ever felt.

Jon moaned behind her right as her moans only grew, and his movements became a little less regular as he fucked her, and Margaery felt something even weirder in her, something hot filling her up like her grandmother told her she should expect.

Finally, after she was patient and a good wife, her husband had filled her up.

He stopped, at last, and held himself inside her as they both panted, Margaery's legs completely soft and weak now. If he asked her to turn around, she was sure her muscles wouldn't obey her.

Jon picked her up without even taking himself from inside her and carried her close to his body, laying on his bed with her, and she put her hands over his when he wrapped his arms around her body, spooning, kissing her shoulder and her neck.

"Does that mean I get to spend the night with you?" she asked, yawning.

Oh, she was so tired.

Jon caressed the skin of her belly gently, his kisses sweet and endless.

"Tomorrow," he told her. "You must wait for me to send to you, Marge... it's not fair to the others."

She pouted.

Fairness.

It wasn't fair that she had to share him!

"But I wanted to see you," she whined, tethering sleep, trying to keep herself away. "Want to give you a son... we gotta practice."

He chuckled, hand stopping on her low belly, holding it gently.

"I have a feeling you're making me a son right now," he kissed her cheek. "Something tells me that this might have already worked."

She smiled, closing her heavy lids.

Yes.

Sansa could have been the first to lay with him, but Margaery would be the first to give him a son.

"Rest, my love," he held her close. "Rosamund will be here with clothes when you wake up."

Margaery couldn't fight sleep, but frowned her nose. Rosamund was Myrcella's lady-in-waiting!

"Elinor," she mumbled into her pillow. "Her name's Elinor."

"Yes," he chuckled. "Elinor."

She hummed a confirmation, and Jon caressed her belly slowly, humming and rocking her gently.

"Sleep now, my dear," he whispered. "Rest."

. . .

"The Impatient Wife" was posted on my Patreon on May. To have early access to the sequels to "The King's Wives" and my other works, consider subscribing to my page! It's just $2 a month, and it helps me a lot while I search for work, and means a lot to me.

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

Hello! How are you? I am not sure if this is the right place to send this. But i am new to the fandom and I want to read fanfictions too but i can't find any. I was wondering if you could recommend some fics, more specifically Jon Snow centric if possible. Also i love your blog and the metas andobservations you make. Have a lovely day!

Hello! Thank you for your kind words!

I can recommend you Jon Snow fics but I'm not sure if they will be to your liking since I don't know which relationships (romantic or platonic) of his you prefer.

Dragon's Cradle by @buildoblivionthenwewilltalk AU where Ned survives and has the chance to tell Jon about his true lineage. Ned's point of view as he observes Jon when they meet again a couple of years later. Also, Rodd, Catelyn and Daenerys appear.

when they build you, brother, they broke the mold by janie_tangerine A "What if" story where Robb knows about Jon's true lineage ever since they were kids. Robb's point of view, their brotherhood is on focus. Also, Theon and Catelyn appear.

By the Sword : A Wish in Winter by JR_Castle Jon's adventures in the Night's Watch. It's set during AGOT. Night Watch's & Winterfell characters appear and Tyrion plays an important role.

allies in time of war by @liesmyth Another "what if" story where Jon joins Robb's war campaign and also has to spend more time with Catelyn,too. I guess you have to like both Jon and Catelyn to be interested in this story but it's worth reading bc both are written in character. Both have point of view chapters and Robb and Theon appear,too.

the body is the blade by @mummer Post ADWD, after Jon is resurrected Satin looks after him. Jon x Satin

Dragons in Winter by @rhiawriter I'm still reading this one because it's huge (and that's a good thing). Daenerys flies to the Wall to meet Maester Aemon and there she also meets Jon. Both have point of view chapters and they are both so in character. Jon x Daenerys.

Other Jon fans feel free to jump in with more suggestions!

[galacticwildfire]

The Storm Queen

Four

Cassana arrives at Winterfell and meets her betrothed, becoming more taken with him than she could have ever anticipated, while Robb quickly tries to learn how to court her properly until his fairytale is dimmed by Ned's warning of her family and their involvement in Jon Arryn's murder.

Word Count: 5.3k

Tags/warnings; arranged marriage, drinking, lots of fluff here, young love, cersei, drinking, no real warnings here, more suspicion coming into play

~

Cassana

It's not long before the feast becomes drunken and rowdy but I only find myself feeling more at home.

"It's not too much?" Robb asks as he looks around the room and I can't help but laugh.

"No, not at all," I smile to myself as I sip my wine.

"Are you allowed to drink so much?" he asks and for a moment I'm slightly offended until he glances at my mother who's watching and I realise that he's asking out of fear of my mother rather than his own concern.

"It's quite alright," I laugh dismissingly. "My drinking habits come from my parents, and tonight is a night to celebrate."

I raise my glass and he raises his as well.

"Indeed it is."

We both take a drink while maintaining eye contact and I don't know if it's the drink or something else but I can't ignore the fluttery feeling in my stomach. Something that I've read of but have never actually felt before.

Until now.

We're interrupted by a man perhaps just a little bit older than Robb who asks "Are you going to introduce me?"

"Cassana this is my fathers' ward Theon-"

"Greyjoy," I finish knowing very well who he is and why he is here, but I know my Father openly despises the Greyjoy's but I've never been one to support prejudice. Yet as I look at him I'm even more grateful father betrothed me to Robb instead of Theon as the council has recommended. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Theon just laughs "Sure it is." He slaps Robb on the back. "I'm going to find some stronger ale."

He leaves as abruptly as he came and Robb looks somewhat embarrassed. "Theon is like a brother to me."

"Ah," I realise, if Robb has taken the Greyjoy as his brother instead of his prisoner then that says what kind of a man he is, what kind of heart he has. "Well, I suppose I'm going to become well acquainted with him then."

"I know he's a Greyjoy but he's a good lad."

I put my hand assuringly over Robbs. "I'm sure he is," I say lightheartedly. "Don't worry I'm not my father, I won't go marching around with a giant hammer ranting about the Greyjoy's."

He laughs and with the liquor in me I stroke the side of his hand, if I want to see more of his heart then the best chance is to see how he is with those he loves. "Introduce me to whoever is important to you, there's no better place than a feast."

For a moment he looks surprised then his eyes soften into something akin to adoration. Taking my hand in his he guides me over towards the back of the room towards his father and he hugs an unfamiliar man who is talking to Ned.

"Uncle Benjen," Robb grins and I realise that he must be the Stark who joined the Night's Watch.

"Look at you, you're a man now," Benjen says patting Robb on the back, a common sign of affection among the men here. "You're even getting married."

"Uncle Benjen this is Princess Cassana," Robb says introducing me proudly.

"Princess," Benjen says nodding his head respectfully.

"You are a man of the Night's Watch?" I ask equally respectfully. It's no secret amongst the council that the Night's Watch is run down and they only see it as a place to send criminals however I know the history of it.

There are far too many maesters reports of the Long Night to laugh at the idea that the creatures beyond the wall are mere stories, but no matter what anyone believes they are certainly needed to protect from Wildling invasions.

"I am, if you have your Fathers ear we could use some more men."

"I'll speak to my Father," I promise him, when in reality it's the council I'll speak to considering they'll actually act, unlike my father. "I'm sure there's plenty of men in the Black Cells that can be delivered to the Wall."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my Father drunk with an equally drunk woman in his lap.

"Your Grace please excuse us," Ned says guiding his brother away, most likely for Nights Watch business.

My fathers' laughter echoing through the hall makes me cringe as he so openly disgraces my mother and himself. As king, he can do whatever he likes, even so, if I was ever king I would never disgrace myself in such a manner.

I clear my throat. "Robb, can we get some air?"

"Of course," he says and with his hand on my back he guides me out of the hall.

When we're outside in the cool air his hand slides down to my waist and remains there as he asks "Are you alright?"

I decide to laugh it off. "I'm fine, I'd just rather not watch my father carry on like he is."

"Well," he says awkwardly "I wouldn't want to see my father like that either."

"Your father is an honourable man Robb, surely you're in no danger of seeing that."

"But he still managed to father a bastard," a voice interrupts and we turn to see a black-haired man wielding a sword.

For a moment I'm shocked anyone would say such a thing to Ned's son and wonder if I'm about to witness a fight until I see the warm smile they give each other and realise who he must be. The bastard my father once mentioned.

"Who is my favourite brother," Robb finishes. "Jon this is the princess Cassana, Cassana this is my brother Jon Snow."

"Princess," Jon says politely but I can detect a hint of hostility in his voice that Robb doesn't pick up on.

"I didn't see you at the feast?" I ask and he almost looks amused.

"Lady Stark thought it might offend the royal family to have a bastard seating in their midst," he comments bitterly and now that hostility makes sense.

"Jon-" Robb warns but I wave off his concern, it's no wonder Jon's offended.

"No it's alright," I assure Robb and turn to look at the black-haired man who must be almost the same age as Robb, there could only be mere months between them at most. "And the only bastard that offends the royal family is my brother Joffrey."

His eyebrows raise in surprise and his demeanour changes completely as a hearty laugh escapes him "Well I can't argue with that."

Robb laughs in agreement and it seems that word of that little prick has spread all the way to the North. I'm unsurprised. He is infamous for his... I don't even know what to call it. Developing sadism?

"Come inside with us," I offer but Jon just laughs off the suggestion. "Please, I insist."

He seems like a decent man, just like Robb, however far quieter in nature, solemn even. Then again as a bastard that probably would have been expected of him. Regardless, he should be seated with his family.

"You might not mind but Lady Stark will," Jon says and I look up at Robb in confusion only to find his eyes on the ground.

"Robb?"

He looks at me and explains "My mother as you may understand is not so fond of Jon, she made the point that she wouldn't have him there in sight of the royal family."

As a woman, I can certainly understand her offence but it's hardly like Jon chose this life for himself.

"Nonsense," I dismiss. "If you get into trouble I'll happily tell her it was by my request, now come on inside. I don't know about you two Northerners but it's freezing."

Robb gives me a thankful look and Jon wears a small smile as we go to return inside the hall but a familiar figure appears.

"Uncle Tyrion," I grin, glad to have a familiar face who isn't drunk or angry. "I missed you earlier."

"It seems you've been occupied," he teases as he walks over with the usual glass of wine in hand "So is this your fiancé?"

Robb clears his throat "Yes, I am. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Tyrion."

I note the lack of warmth in his voice. One thing I am quickly coming to realise is that Lannisters are not as welcome in the North as I had previously thought.

And Robb's apparent apprehension is something I had also not anticipated, something that indeed rubs me the wrong way.

Yet more than anything else it confuses me.

Why is there any apprehension towards my family at all?

~

Robb

Cassana goes oddly quiet as I address Tyrion Lannister.

I don't know why Aunt Lysa doesn't trust them or why my father is suspicious of them but if any Lannisters are likely to be up to anything it would be the imp and the queen from what I've gathered.

Cassana however seems strangely fonder of the dwarf than any of the others.

"I'm sure it is a pleasure," he says glancing at Cassana who looks displeased.

"Well, Tyrion is my favourite uncle," she says to me almost defensively despite the smile on her face and I realise she might have picked up on my apprehension towards him.

"I wasn't aware," I laugh nervously feeling the tension in the air.

"Well, you two hardly know each other yet," Tyrion interrupts and the reminder is harsh. "But that will change in time."

"Of course," she says holding onto my arm with kind eyes and I'm glad I haven't caused offence. "I've enjoyed getting to know everybody here tonight."

"All sorts of people I see," he comments.

It's then I become aware Jon still stands with us. No other royal, or even a noble lady, would invite a bastard to a royal feast, let alone insist on it.

Everyone knows about the Greyjoy rebellion and that Theon isn't here as a guest, I was worried about how she may react but she had no prejudice against him and even now with Jon, she makes it very clear that she doesn't care what he is. Or if she does she doesn't let it show.

Even more interestingly she even seems to be against the Lannisters with how she speaks about her brother and mother.

These are things I'll have to tell my father to put him at ease. I still don't know what he's suspicious of but I'm sure I'll find out.

"I haven't seen you since you decided to see what the North had to offer, did you get lost on your way here?" Cassana jokes with him fondly and from the look in his eyes, he is also fond of her.

"I'm surprised you noticed," he comments as he turns his attention to me. "You seem to have been kept occupied."

Even in just the moonlight, I can see her cheeks turn a shade redder and it's only then I realise that mine have as well.

"Well it certainly has been an eventful day," she says as she glances at me but Tyrion looks between us, oddly protective of her.

"So you are the man who will be marrying my beloved niece," he says as he looks me carefully in the eye.

"He is," she says as she looks up at me "I believe my father found me a good match."

"I hope so," he says never looking away from me "Cassana your mother is asking for you, why don't you see what she wants while I become acquainted with my future nephew."

Only then I realise that by marrying her I won't be joining with just house Baratheon but also house Lannister. Perhaps that's why father is apprehensive.

She sighs heavily then squeezes my arm "I'll be back," she promises then says to Tyrion "Don't torment him."

"I won't," he promises with a wink and I look to Jon for help. "I believe I've already spoken with your brother."

Cassana looks a little alarmed and asks Jon "Will you escort me back inside?"

I'm surprised by the request, as is he. He seems stunned before clearing his throat and accepting. "Of course your grace."

They start walking away and I hear her whisper. "If you wouldn't mind I'd rather take the long way back to the hall."

And I realise I'm not the only one who's afraid of the queen. But I may be the only one who's afraid of her uncle.

"I suppose this isn't just small talk?" I gather and he almost looks impressed.

"Smart boy," he praises "I don't mean to scare you-"

"I'm not scared," I immediately reply and he looks amused.

"Perhaps you should be," he says as he looks me up and down with the same analytical look Cassana gave me when we first met "You are marrying the princess of the Seven Kingdoms, she is an heir to the throne."

I stare at him in confusion "Yes but she's a woman?"

"She is but out of all her siblings she has always been the best fit to rule," he begins, choosing each word carefully. "She always wanted it. She has her mothers charms and acts like a lovely lady who is happy to be the wife of a Lord, and to a degree that is true but she is not a lady, she is a princess and a Baratheon of Storms End."

I know very well what she is and I gathered from our conversation earlier that she wished she could fill her fathers' shows but he's only confusing me. It almost sounds as if he is warning me.

"I don't understand why you're telling me this?"

"Well remember that you've only just met her. She has a good heart, considering who her mother is I don't know how her heart ended up so good but she is also ambitious. You can thank our good king Robert for that," he says taking a long drink. "My family is a complicated one, my father loathes all of us children for different reasons however he does seem to like Cassana but she doesn't like him for many reasons, she also loathes her mother and Cersei hates me but-"

"Your point?" I interrupt and he clears his throat.

"Right back to my point, us Lannister's may despise each other but we also protect each other. Cersei would burn the world down for her children. I love my niece and I want her to be happy here but you must understand that for her entire life she has wanted to succeed her father. She wants to be more than just a princess or a lady. She won't sit idly by forever, she'll be harder to please than most women."

Finally, I understand. When he finally boils down to his point he just wants her to be happy. Perhaps he isn't as bad as I had thought. I certainly haven't had anyone else in her family come and speak to me as he has.

"How do I make her happy?" I ask knowing that I won't get a better answer from anyone else "If she's as complicated as you're making her sound then what do I do?"

I know my father did what he could to make my mother happy here, well except for coming home with Jon, but other than that he tried to make her feel welcome.

Tyrion smiles a little and I can see approval in his eyes. "Well, she's always felt suffocated as a princess. Not by expectations or pressure, she could always handle that without a problem but she wanted freedom, control over herself. She has always wanted to express her opinions, actually have a hand in the politics and the ruling part of being royal, unlike her father. She's always wanted to ride and hunt and do all of that as he does but Cersei wouldn't allow it. She wants to be free and well the North is a wild country," he says and as he realises that his glass is empty I know this conversation is coming to an end so he sums it up "If you want her to be happy let her be free."

It seems like such a stupid thing to say. To let her be free. I wouldn't own her, I wouldn't want to control her but I know things are different in the south. Even here in the North, I can see how Sansa is making herself into a proper lady as she believes she should be and how Arya struggles to conform with that idea. I can't imagine what that pressure must be like for a princess. I don't want her to have to pretend around me, I want to see who she is, who she really is.

"I want to be a good husband and I want to make her happy," I promise him. Seeing her smile and the life in her eyes affects me in a way I never expected, all I know is that I want her to be happy.

"Good," he says satisfied. "She was hesitant about this arrangement but she seems quite taken by you already."

"Really?" I ask as my cheeks go warm again.

She's taken my breath away more today than any woman ever has and as I expected already everything has changed. Although she's being playful and trying to get to know me I hadn't known how she truly feels. If she feels as I do.

"She is and she happens to be a good judge of character, as am I," he says seeming content. "I look forward to the wedding."

As he wanders I know that tonight is the night to make my impression on her. To show her the man I am, the man I will be for her.

~

Cassana

Jon walks beside me back to the hall.

Well, the longest way possible. I'd rather make small talk with him than confront my mother.

"You know you don't have to invite me in," he says anxiously now that we're alone. "Robb loves his mother Lady Stark but well..."

"Mother's can be difficult," I finish as I find myself walking slower knowing what awaits.

"Even yours?" he questions and I find myself laughing in amusement and dread.

"Especially. I'll admit, sometimes I feel like the bastard amongst my own family. It's why Tyrion and I are so close."

"You feel like a bastard?" he scoffs and I notice the bitterness in him at the word. The hatred for it.

"My mother hates my father, despises him and everything to do with him," I find myself confessing as it is common knowledge by now. "And here I am. The Baratheon girl amongst all these blonde Lannisters. The odd one out. Not quite Lannister enough for her, and too much a Lannister for the rest of the Baratheons. But I do not complain, I am a princess, far more fortunate than most. I could never presume to understand what it must be like to be a true bastard, how you must be treated by both strangers and those closest to you, but I can understand what it is like to be seen as one in the eyes of a mother. There is nothing worse."

"Aye," he agrees and he's quiet for a long moment, considering what I've said. "Your uncle Tyrion, when he spoke to me earlier he said to never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not, wear it like armour and it can never be used to hurt you."

I find myself surprised by Tyrion approaching Jon but then again Tyrion is much like myself when deciding who to speak to. "It is good advice. He's my favourite uncle, probably the smartest man I've ever met. He seeks knowledge, understanding. He finds himself engaged in conversation with people from all walks of life. Especially those who are shunned by society as he is."

"Well it seems he's taught you a great deal," he says and I can hear genuine respect in his voice. "It's not every day a princess treats a bastard as highly as you do."

His words do sadden me to a degree, his treatment by Lady Stark. Just as Tyrion's treatment by the rest of my family saddens me. Being treated as less solely due to his birth despite having the same upbringing as his siblings.

"A persons birth should not affect the respect they are entitled to," I tell him. "Whether they be a dwarf or a bastard. I've always believed a person should be judged by their character rather than birth."

He looks at me in complete awe. While my opinions are simply humane and logical I know they are very rare.

"I can see why Robb likes you now," he says and I'm curious. "He said you were different but I never realised how much. It's certainly not every day someone says a prince is more of a bastard than an actual bastard."

"Trust me I've called him far worse," I say and he laughs. "Families are complicated, to say the least."

"So is that why you've gotten me to take you the long way back, because you don't want to speak to your mother?" he asks and I begin to realise he's more perceptive than the average man to say the least.

"Let's just say she didn't know about the betrothal until a few hours ago."

"Ah," he realises. "I can't blame you then, I don't want to cause any offence but she seems a little-"

"Terrifying? Overbearing? Yes. She is."

He chuckles. "I'd imagine you'd be glad to get away then."

We come to stand outside the door to the hall and I can feel the warmth. "Well, I'll certainly be glad to get away once she's finished with me."

"Aye, well if it helps Lady Stark won't be happy with me either once she catches me talking to you."

"Well if my mother is offended by any of you Starks it's by your brother," I assure him knowing which one she wants to murder. "You're the last person that would cause offence."

The corner of his lip curls up and it's only in that moment of silence I realise how easy it is to speak to him while I'm still fretting over almost every word Robb and I exchange.

I was under no obligation to like  Jon, or even speak to him really, and he was under none to like me. He certainly doesn't have a filter and perhaps that's what's put me at ease, the fact I know he means everything he says.

The fact he looks at me with genuine respect.

"We best go inside," he suggests and so I reluctantly enter.

We stand at the back entrance and if I could hide behind him I would but it's a little difficult considering we stand at nearly the same height.

"You'll be fine," Jon tries to assure me but I'm not the only one hiding. It's clear he's trying to avoid Catelyns gaze as well.

My mother doesn't spot us but I notice Ned and Benjen looking at us and talking in hushed voices.

For a moment I'm worried I've gotten Jon into trouble but they aren't angry, if anything they look saddened but I don't know why.

Yet I swear as I pass by I hear her name mentioned.

Lyanna.

The woman who has haunted my father for seventeen years.

Her memory likely being another reason my mother looks so cold as I approach her.

"Mother," I greet as I'm summoned to where she sits with Robbs mother. "Lady Stark."

"Princess Cassana," Catelyn also greets, nodding her head respectfully. "How are you enjoying the feast?"

"Very well," I smile. "Robb has been introducing me to people."

"I was hoping he would," she says seeming relieved. "I remember when Ned brought me up here for the first time, I was terrified."

"Well I was nervous but I'm already beginning to feel at home," I say truthfully much to my mother's displeasure. "Robb has been showing me around Winterfell and I think I'll be very happy here. You raised a good man Lady Stark."

"I'm glad," she smiles warmly "That's really all you can hope for as a mother."

As I look to my own mother who is watching Joffrey mock one of the serving girls I know that she can't relate, however she still nods her head "Indeed."

"You summoned me?" I ask her and through her polite facade I can see the betrayal underneath, she knows that I knew.

"Yes, I was rather surprised to hear of your betrothal," she says stiffly. "It seems your Father told everyone except for me."

"Well, Father says it's been finalised," I say as I notice Catelyn suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "And I am looking forward to the wedding."

"Is that so?" Mother asks. "Most brides are terrified before their wedding, I know I was."

"Well I believe father made a good match," I tell her and I see her struggling not to snap, for once she is not in control. "In fact, I believe Uncle Tyrion is talking to Robb so he'll be able to attest to that."

My mother looks me in the eye and it's what it always has been with us. A power struggle.

"Actually I think Robb's just come inside," Catelyn says breaking the tension.

"Perfect," Mother smiles fakely "I can finally meet my future son in law."

Although her voice is chirpy I can hear the bitter disdain hidden in it. She doesn't want to let me go. She wants to keep her claws buried in me.

"I'll get him," I smile knowing how to keep up appearances just as well as she does.

Robb's chatting to Theon and Jon when I find him.

"Robb, you're back," I smile as I wrap my hand around his arm. "My mother would like to be formally introduced."

Theon snickers under his breath while Jon gives me a knowing look and I know which of the two I like best.

"Should I be afraid?" Robb asks rubbing his hands together nervously.

"Very," I answer taking his arm to guide him over and as he blinks at me I can tell that's not the answer he expected. "You should know that I'm nothing if not honest."

Well, occasionally.

"Well at least I got a warning," he comments as we approach where they are seated.

"Your Grace, this is my eldest son Robb," Catelyn introduces while my mother glares at him.

"And this is my mother," I continue "The Queen."

My mother watches him silently, waiting for him to speak first. He nervously clears his throat but his voice is nothing but confident when he finally speaks.

"Your Grace it is a pleasure to meet you and to be betrothed to your daughter."

"Is it?" she asks and I know that she's going to torture the poor man. Perhaps I should have let Tyrion do it properly as a trial run. "Most men are quite nervous or even apprehensive when it comes to their future brides."

I can tell what she is doing. She is trying to inflict doubt in him, and in me. She has always played mind games.

"Not at all," he immediately replies and as I look at his expression I realise that he isn't blind, he can tell what she is doing. He watches me as I lean in closer to him "I look forward to our wedding."

"As do I," I smile and watch her eyes burn.

Any doubts about him disappear before they can arise. Barely knowing me he still stands with me before my mother as a united front. Catelyn is taken by surprise by our sudden affection but as she glances between my mother and I, realisation dawns in her.

"It will be lovely," Catelyn smiles and my mother nods her head while grasping her glass slightly tighter.

"Indeed," she agrees painfully.

"Now if you will excuse us," I say politely taking the first chance to remove ourselves from this conversion. They nod their heads and I guide Robb away from them.

"I understand what you meant about your mother now," he comments when we are out of earshot.

"And everyone in Kings Landing is just like her and worse," I say bitterly "Can you see why I always wanted to live in the Stormlands?"

"Indeed I can," he says and once we are somewhere private he stops and to my surprise takes my hands in his. "But you're in the North now and her opinion won't matter, you won't have to deal with her or any of that up here. I want to be a good husband to you and an honourable man."

As I gaze into his blue eyes I wonder just how I came to be so lucky. I almost can't believe it. Most men wouldn't give a damn what their betrothed thought of them. Robb knows that whether we like it or not we will be wed but he still wants to court me.

"I truly believe you will be," I smile and I've never meant any words more. "I hope I can be a good wife."

His smile matches mine. "I'm sure you will be." His thumb strokes the back of my hand as he adds "Your uncle had quite a conversation with me."

"He didn't torment you I hope?" I ask knowing what Tyrion can be like. Mind games and manipulation are Lannister traits. At least he isn't cruel like my mother.

"Only a little," he chuckles before his expression turns more serious "He just wanted to know that I'd treat you well, it's rare to see someone like him show so much concern for his niece."

I smile to myself. "Well he is protective, to say we are close would be an understatement. I love him dearly."

His hands tighten around mine I realise he isn't finished. "He certainly likes to talk and what he made clear is that there are no other women like you. You are a princess and while I can't give you a crown I can give you a good home, a loving family and a husband who will treat you honourably. I can only hope that you'll be happy here."

Tears burn in my eyes as my heart becomes overwhelmed.  No one in my entire life has ever had such pure intentions for me. No one, never.

"Are you alright?" he asks as he caresses the side of my cheek and although my eyes are teary I smile brighter than I ever have before.

I place my hand over his and look up into his eyes "I will be very, very happy here Robb."

And just like that everything has changed.

A good home and a loving family is what I have always wanted. My father and mother love me in their own ways, uncle Renly is kind, Jaime is protective in his own way and Tyrion has always been loving so I have had love in my life but we were never a family.

They all despise each other, even if they love me how could we possibly be a family?

Then I look at Robbs family, there is so much love amongst them it almost doesn't make sense to me. It wasn't something I thought I could ever have and yet here is a man offering me a good family, a good home and to care for me as no one ever has which is more than I ever could have asked for.

He smiles brightly and as I look into his eyes I still cannot believe it. That this man I was so opposed to marrying is making me feel this.

And it terrifies me.

It terrifies me because I know that I might fall in love with him.

Taglist

joselinesstuff tremendoushearttaco vaubreytyrellev captainmrsallamerican aupernatural-teenwolflover chocopuddingang nose235678 hoardersunlimited tearingbooks emptyspace008 ynatram scribbler-scrabble love26435 neuralxfistbump wonder-worldxx aranneoartwork nicckkyys brooklynn3253

[jade-of-summer]

Kodlak Whitewolf, oldest son of Jon and Serana Whitewolf. He is as powerful as his mother when it comes to magic and as skilled as his father with a blade. While he is skilled with all forms of weaponry he prefers daggers.

For his six and tenth name day his father gifts him with matching daedric daggers, enchanted with health absorption. Like his father he is gifted with both ice and fire magic. He is also highly gifted at Conjuration magic. He is also very partial to his fathers favorite staff, Wabbajack.

He will one day become the Emperor of Tamriel, and will build a dynasty that will live on for over a millennia.

[siravalondulac]

something about them makes me go insane 🤌

[dearsnow]

EVERYWHERE, EVERYTHING

- your best friend comes home for the first time after joining the military. (jon snow x gn!reader, modern au, some parts are sad but it’s mostly fluffy). part of the mixtape 2: our version collab

based on “everywhere, everything” by noah kahan

word count: 3,530

a/n - i love jon sm but me personally? i would not be able to stand having a military man because i would be sad he’s not in my arms every day 🥲

Coming back to his large family house in his little hometown leaves Jon feeling conflicted. The snow is the same. The barren trees, the little snowmen on the front lawn, the crunch of leaves underfoot- everything is the same. It’s so similar to the life he once had, yet so different. As he gazes upon the once-warm house in the cold north, he finds it hard to swallow. His half-siblings have grown so much that he can hardly recognize the littlest ones; they went from lumps of blankets and tears to little people with their own thoughts and complicated personalities.

He will see you, too, and he isn’t sure if he can even handle the idea.

Leaving to join the military was one of the hardest things he ever had to do, yet it was necessary. Northward Base, lovingly nicknamed “The Wall” by its residents, had opened so many opportunities for him. Honor to his family and whatnot. He had gone through so much with his brothers, and there was yet more to come. But he is back now, at his old doorstep.

Sansa stands in the doorway, leaning on the side of it. Arya hasn’t spotted him yet, though he is sure she will rush him with a hug and a million questions when she does. Robb offers to take his luggage in with him, but Jon shakes his head with a smile. He can carry his own bags now.

You’ve been waiting for this day for so long. After years, years of waiting and writing to him and sitting in your own isolation, your best friend is at the tips of your numb fingers. As you stare out your window, almost afraid he would disappear again if you blink, you remember the day he left.

It was barely the middle of fall. There were dead leaves raked in piles outside of his house, the house you frequented, and you felt an almost childish urge. Who could stop you, though?

You jumped in a pile, the material underneath your boots giving out a crackling noise so loud it alerted the attention of the newly eleven-year-old Arya. She quickly jumped in with you, tackling you to the ground. You fell with a ‘fwump’, a giggle bubbling up through your stomach like warm cider. The ground was hard, the hidden rock underneath the left side of your back even harder, but all you could feel was joy.

You were too grown to be playing like that, and you knew it. You figured, though, that you had too little time to not enjoy every second of it. A mildly shocked Jon watched from the sidelines.

“Having fun?” He called. You laughed, the sound ringing out like a harmony to his ears.

“Definitely. Why don’t you come join us?” You tried to stand back up, but the child in your lap was making it a lot harder. Arya stuck out her tongue.

“Yeah, have a little fun!”

Jon shook his head. “Not today, I’m afraid.” He hesitated. “I actually have something to talk to you about.” He was looking so deeply into your soul you were sure he could see the words rumbling at the back of your throat.

Arya knew. She knew what he had to tell you, and she knew what you would say, and she decided that she would rather die than see the light fade from your eyes. She looked between the two of you for a moment then scampered away into the house behind her.

Your head was spinning. Why would she just leave like that? You knew her. She needed to know every moment, every interaction, every little glance between friend or foe. She would surely stay, unless (of course) she was already clued into the situation.

Jon took a deep breath, and you could tell his heart was aching just by the look in his deep brown eyes. His fists were clenched at his side and his breaths formed quick clouds in the cool air. You stood up, and he didn’t move to brush the leaves out of your hair like he normally would. His hands stayed still, so you took them in yours. He was ice cold.

“I’m leaving.” Oh, your Jon. So quick to the point.

“When? To where?” You questioned. You knew he had to leave at some point. You were leaving for college in the next month, though your university was so close to your home it was barely a drive.

“Today,” He whispered, “to join the military.” Your heart dropped down to your feet. You could feel a sting in your eyes, like a wave of salt water had suddenly drowned you. You now understand why Arya left so quickly.

“Today.” A prickle formed behind your eyes. “How could you not tell me? I won’t be able to see you for so long.” 

He wilted like a dying flower. “I was going to. I would’ve told you when I first thought about enlisting, but it was finals week. It felt like a bad time. Then, so much happened and I just… I just couldn’t do it. But I’m leaving for Northward today, and I needed to tell you before I went.” He swallowed thickly. You looked so crestfallen, with your teary eyes and shaking voice. He wished he didn’t have to leave you like that, but he had made up his mind long ago.

“I wish you had told me earlier.” You choked out. He winced a little bit. “At the very least, I could’ve spent more time with you. Gotten milkshakes at the café by the church one more time,” his fists tighten more than he even thought possible. “but I want you to know that I support your decision. I believe you’ll be the best they’ve ever seen.”

You wanted to scream. To yell, to beg and clutch at his coat and plead for him to stay. A rabid animal had taken over your heart, clawing at your insides and shredding your resolve like cheese.

Jon could tell you were on the verge of tears just by looking at your shifting eyes. If you were a subject, he would pass with flying colors. He didn’t know what to do except embrace you.

You sunk into his arms like they were a plush comforter. The sun was collapsing, but with him, you were safe. That would have to change soon. 

You could feel your tears making wet little marks on his shirt as your feelings finally bubbled over. He was leaving. You wouldn’t see him for a long, long time after that day, and you didn’t know how you would be able to stand it.

He lifted your chin with gentle hands. He hated seeing you cry, whether it was from a sad movie or something far more serious, so he did the only thing his heart could think of doing.

He pressed his lips to yours, and the sun finally exploded behind you.

You step out onto the sidewalk nervously, and past his driveway, you can see Jon. He’s just standing there, exchanging banter with Robb. Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest. Then, finally, he turns around.

When his eyes lock with yours, it’s like nothing ever changed. He’s taller now, with more muscle, a lot more scars, and a lot less hair. But he’s still Jon. You know his face like the back roads in Winterfell, the ones you can drive with your eyes closed. You know him like the little dorm that has been your new home for the past few years. God, you know him.

When you were sixteen, and he had just gotten his license, he took you out for a drive. He went on the back roads, the bumpy ones that sent you flying if you weren’t properly strapped in. You sat in the front seat of his brother’s old truck as you talked about anything and everything you could ever talk about.

When he reached his destination and laid out blankets in the bed of the truck, you didn’t know that in a few years, he would be gone. You laid in his arms that day as you watched the clouds meander by overhead. It was summer. The air was fresh, the grass field was peaceful, his breath was on your neck, and the birds were singing their twittering little songs. For a quiet boy, he sure talked a lot when it was just you and him. He was curious and lively in those little moments. His stoicism was put off to the side and he could talk freely when you looked at him. Your eyes were just so inviting he couldn’t stop his words from tumbling over the edge.

“I want to join the military someday. It’ll make my dad happy, I think, knowing I’m in there with my uncle. For once, maybe I can be more than my father’s unfortunate mistake. But I also know that it means leaving Winterfell behind, maybe forever. It means leaving everywhere, everything, and everyone. I wonder if I could even make a decision like that.” He said, eyes glued to the sky above. It was nice like that, you thought. Watching him watch the clouds.

“Whatever you decide, I’ll always be here for you.” You responded simply. It was true. Somehow, you knew you would still love him even if he was a million miles away. You would love him if he got a lover, though you would try your best to stop, and you would love him when he was dead. You would love him when you were dead, too. You would love him so deeply the worms would taste his lips on your rotting skin. “Just remember to write me every once in a while.” You didn’t know how soon he would be leaving, and looking back on it, you should have seen the signs. You should’ve known that he would leave the moment he graduated. He was always like that, persevering and fighting and marching forward the moment life called for it. But in the moment, you couldn’t even fathom life without your best friend. The only thing that mattered was the present.

He had brought a little laptop, and you both binge-watched bad rom-coms until you fell asleep wrapped in blankets that smelled like him. 

He takes a step towards you, unsure. You’re unsure too, but a magnetic force pulls you forward until you’re both stumbling over your feet to get to each other. You crash into him, and he holds you like you might shatter and break. “Jon,” You whisper, “I missed you so much.” He smiles.

“I surely missed you more.” 

You shake your head with a laugh. “Impossible. I wrote you so many letters they could fill a book, and I saved all of your texts.”

He looks at you with soft eyes. “You never left my mind when I was up there. Never.”

Robb hoots from the sidelines, and Sansa giggles. The Starks had been your rocks while Jon was away, though Robb was often gone, and you love them like siblings. They’ve always been your siblings, in a sense.

“Save some love for me, brother!” Robb calls. Jon looks over with a joking glare before Sansa pulls the other Stark into their family home. She was the wariest of you at first, but she quickly became one of your most trusted confidants. You guess she liked having someone around that she could spill drama to- none of her siblings cared for the latest whos, whats, and wheres.

Jon is still hugging you, but he pulls away just the tiniest bit. “We should go get milkshakes while I’m home. Is Hot Pie’s still open or has it closed down since I’ve been away?”

You narrow your eyes. “It’s still open, but don’t you think you should greet the rest of your family first?” He pauses like he just now realized. He laughs a little heartwarming laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right. Here,” He pulls out his keys, “Just wait in the truck. I’ll be out in a little.”

The ‘little’ was more like half an hour, but you were happy to wait. You realized, in those thirty minutes, something that you should have known years ago. You need to savor life while it lasts, let it melt on your tongue like a chocolate before you’re too old to taste it. You need to savor him while he’s yours. Everything will end someday, and you need to act like it. You set your resolve when you see him speed walking towards his truck. The same one from all those years ago, passed down to him when Robb had gotten something fresher and newer. Jon was never one to waste, so when it was his turn to have it, he fixed it up. It still felt the same, but the air freshener on the rearview mirror was an entirely new scent. 

He got in the driver’s seat, and everything felt familiar. It felt like a wave washing over you, reminding you of all of the memories you have ever had with him. 

There’s a little smile on his face as he turns the keys in the ignition.

“What did you do while I was away? Anything new you didn’t mention in your letters?” He asks. He’s watching the road, and you’re staring at the usual blur of snow and bare trees. 

“Oh, nothing. I just studied a lot and missed you. I made a couple new friends in college, and I definitely missed you. Oh, have I mentioned that I missed you yet?” You tease. His cold heart warms in his chest as he chuckles.

“No, I don’t think you have.” He says, eyes flickering over to you for a minute.

“What were you up to?” 

He shrugs. “I got promoted to lieutenant. I didn’t really want it, but it’s what I had to do. I was also attacked by my own platoon and my heart stopped. Got released from duty after that. I should have just stayed home.”

Your mouth drops open. “And you didn’t mention any of that to me?” He squints at the road.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” He replied simply. What a doofus, always concerned about you when all you want to do is be there for him.

“Well, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But if you do want to, my ears are open.” He laughs at that, and you laugh, and you’re both laughing so hard he almost misses the turn to Hot Pie’s. It’s not that funny, but somehow, it rekindles an old, dying flame.

The rest of the short drive is filled with words spilling from the surface of your skin. You have so much to talk about. Things both of you couldn’t express through letters or texts bubble up, and nothing stops them. You’re breathless by the time you reach the door of the café. 

He opens the door for you, always a gentleman. When you step through the threshold, the familiar smell of sweets and freshly-baked bread wafting through the air, the boy behind the counter gasps.

“Our favorite customers, back again!” It’s Hot Pie himself, now grown and definitely friendlier than he once was. He was lovingly nicknamed after the place he worked a long time ago, and it seemingly stuck to this day. His name tag reads “Hot Pie Jr”. 

You shoot him a smile. “You know we couldn’t stay away for very long.” He nods, satisfied with your answer.

“I guess it’s the usual then. An Oreo milkshake for m’lord, and something special for someone special.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you snort. He still knows your order. 

When you sit down at your usual booth, you notice a new painting on the wall. It’s a gorgeous landscape featuring the sun setting over a grassy field, one that looks so much like that certain spot in Winterfell it makes you shiver. You wonder if the café’s owners had it commissioned. Jon notices it too, and he gives you a slightly confused look.

“Is that…?”

“I think so.” It’s such a coincidence. There are reminders of your time in the bustling town everywhere. It’s like you can never escape it, and you’re quite sure you don’t want to. “That’s so weird, but I feel like it’s meant to be there.”

He nods in agreement. “Everything feels like it’s meant to be here. Especially you.” He makes no attempt to elaborate, so you gently coax the words he’s choking back out of his mouth.

“What do you mean by that?”

He hesitates. “You just feel like home to me. Being back here, not giving inspiring speeches or training or listening for gunshots and talking to you makes me think I could have a real second chance at life. When I’m with you, nothing else matters.” He looks at you like he expects you to kick him where it hurts. You don’t even consider that for a second.

“I feel the same way.” You offer, giving him a watery smile. The way he words things sounds so poetic it makes your head spin. You can feel tears rushing to your eyes again and the rough patch in your throat flares up, choking you with words unsaid. Something about him makes you emotional in a way you can’t even hope to stop. He lets out a deep sigh and looks even deeper into your eyes.

“I love you.”

You’re a little shocked. He’s not one to express his emotions so openly, but you’re glad your friend feels safe with you. “I love you too.”

“Not in that way. I love you so much it almost hurts. Every minute you’re gone I think about you, and I think about you even when you’re right in front of me. I’ve never loved anyone this deeply.” He confesses. You’ve been waiting for this moment since the moment you met him.

You met when you were both extremely young. His parents invited yours over for a dinner party, and you hit it off so well with the quiet boy that he has been stuck to your side ever since.

You loved him at first sight. From the moment you saw him, you fell head over heels into a never ending spiral of him. Down, down, down the rabbit hole you went, and you don’t regret a single second of pining. Everything has led up to this moment.

He looks so earnest and kind it sends a throb through your heart. He laid his inner workings on the table in front of you, and you can only respond in kind.

“Me too.” His eyes widen significantly, but he lets you continue. “I’ve loved you like that since we were little, before I even really knew what love was. I just saw your little frown and curly black hair and thought ‘yes, he’s the one’.” He smiles at that. “But really, I fell in love with your heart. I fell in love with how you care about other people, especially Arya. I fell in love with your intelligence and sparring prowess and messy handwriting. I love everything about you.” Your words come out in a ramble. You can’t stop yourself, the reasons just keep pouring until there’s nothing left. 

He listens with thirsty ears. When you’re almost out of things to say, he can feel his heart beating just as fast as it did when he told you about his decision to leave. Butterflies are flocking in his stomach, but he leans over the table anyways to capture you in your second ever kiss. His lips are warm, just like how his hands usually are. They’re a little rough, too, but you don’t fault him for it. At the moment, nothing else matters except the fact that your passion is leaking out of every pore on your body.

When you finally break away to suck in greedy gulps of air, the volcano in your heart erupts and sends your mind reeling. 

“Oh my god.” You’re so dazed you can barely function, and he doesn’t look much better. He’s panting a little, and that’s when Hot Pie decides to bring over your drinks.

“I didn’t want to interrupt, but here you are. On the house, lovebirds.” He teases. Jon’s face flushes red, and your cheeks warm so quickly you could rival a stovetop. He leaves you alone after that, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

Jom clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” You ask, breathless.

“For not asking to be your boyfriend earlier.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, and it makes you laugh.

“Well, you certainly can be. I would appreciate it if you didn’t wait until the day of to announce your next departure, though.” He cringes. 

“Understood.”

It’s a long time before you’re ready to leave Hot Pie’s, but in your eyes, it’s the most meaningful time you’ve ever spent. When you walk out, you walk out hand in hand, and for the first time in a long while, you truly feel alive.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

Taglist: @lovelyliliya @the-jess-life @hopelesswritergall @watercolorskyy @cecespizza01

[otteropera]

hello just to let you know ily and am so proud of you and your talent beloved ♡

THANK YOU ILY ❤️ if anyone is itching for a jon snow fanfic, pastanest has the GOODS ❤️❤️

[asa-writes]

Dreams - 1 - Jon

18+ MINORS DNI Jon Snow x F!OC / Robb Stark x F!OC Word Count: 3.8k Masterlist with Fic Warnings - contains Death, SA and Abuse.  Dividers by @cafekitsune 

It had always been relatively crowded in Winterfell when it came to the Stark family, Jon noted. At first it was Lord Eddard, Lady Stark and Robb, followed by him, Theon Greyjoy, Sansa, Bran, Arya, Rickon… and Lucie. They had been a rag-tag band of kids, playing, hitting and chasing each other. Theon had gladly joined their games, yet he, along with Sansa quickly realised that Jon wasn't a Stark - he was a half brother at best and a Bastard at worst.

Yet Lucie had never really been a part of the group, yet she was always there to prevent things from getting out of hand. Everyone had given him respect when she was present. She was a key player in maintaining an atmosphere of harmony. Looking up at her from his distant seat at dinner, he thought back to the day where she had joined them. Father had told them a few weeks before that they were going to have a new ward; her family had sadly passed away and he graciously allowed her to be taken in with them until she came of age soon.

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

He knew he would forever remember her arrival; gallantly riding into Winterfell astride her untamed black stallion. As her lengthy ebony locks billowed behind her in the wind, she fearlessly surged through the gates on her steed. Dismounting with the finesse of a seasoned warrior, she strode confidently in his direction. All those present, Jon included, involuntarily retreated to afford her space, captivated by her awe-inspiring presence. Noticing his stare, she quickly glanced over at him and caught his eye before turning away and exchanging greetings with Lord and Lady Stark. He was struck dumb by how commanding yet beautiful she was in that moment—her dark black eyes glowing with life despite the dire situation she had come from. Using his newfound courage — because only a fool wouldn’t be afraid in her presence — he managed to stammer out a few words of greeting which she returned warmly before moving on to meet the rest of the family. It hadn’t taken too long for Jon to recognize that Lucie wasn't like anyone else he had ever met; even the Starks seemed impressed by her strength and poise (though they masked it well). But despite being adopted into this strange new world, Lucie still held onto an air of confidence and self-assurance that made even Jon feel small next to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon watched Lucie's figure slowly fade away down the hallway as darkness crept in, just like it had one year ago at the very same spot. But something was different about her tonight. She seemed stronger, more confident; as if she was hiding something from him. Should he confront her? He thought back to their conversations and noticed that she had been silent about what was going on with her life lately. He began to worry that maybe she had found out his secret - that terrible, shameful secret about how he touched himself late at night when no one would ever know. The mere thought sent a chill down Jon's spine. She couldn't know, nobody could, it'd be the end of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon felt his throat tighten as he stammered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you or hurt you." He gulped and tried to swallow back the lump in his throat. How could he feel this way? He definitely shouldn't feel anything for Lucie as she wrestled him into his room, but there was something thrilling and forbidden about it. It wasn't like Robb or Theon playing a joke on him - this moment was different. Even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help himself.

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

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

"Lucie, I don't think-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As Jon gazed into her eyes, her vulnerability tugged at his heartstrings. He knew he couldn't leave her feeling like this; she deserved better than that. So, he inched closer and sat down on the bed beside her. "You'll never be alone, Lucie," he whispered softly as he took her hand in his. "I'll always have your back no matter what happens. And someday, the man who's meant for you will come into your life." He thought about Robb, and how he owed it to him to let Lucie go. It was selfish of him to keep her to himself. Besides, he couldn't even tell if she liked him or not - it was probably all in his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stroked himself faster, his breathing growing ragged as his body approached the peak of pleasure. He moaned louder, his hand moving faster and faster until he finally exploded, spilling his hot seed all over his stomach. As he lay there, panting and sweating, he knew he had to get his feelings for Lucie under control. He couldn't let his lust for her ruin the special bond they shared. But at the same time, he couldn't stop himself from fantasising about her. She was just too beautiful, too alluring, too... perfect.

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