Talia’s glossy eyes widen, not expecting that outcome. She is only making suggestions, some plans for possible battle. But Jon bringing Ludd here to execute him? For some reason, it sounds like she is living in a dream. She is no strategist, but she is passionate. That is one thing they share: their passion and their will to see justice. They will both live to see it. Talia will protect him in any way that she can until her dying day. She will stand by his side as his men bring Ludd to the square, stand by his side as Ludd is sentenced to what he deserves.
“There is no need to be forgiven. You were Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, not Lord Commander of the North, of Westeros– it is not your fault that you didn’t know. I did not know much of what was happening at Castle Black besides the basics of what was spread throughout Westeros.”
Talia has not been touched so gently in so long. She has been pulled, tugged, pushed into the mud, dragged through the woods with a grip so firm it caused her wrist to bruise. It is almost like she had forgotten what comfort feels like. Her teeth sink into her trembling lip. She always seems to be on the brink of tears nowadays. No. No need for that now. Once again, her hands find his atop of her shoulders. She peels them off gently before guiding them to meet her own. Jon’s hands are larger than hers, she noticed that previously but did not focus on it until now. Gloved hands squeeze against each other, and in this moment, she is not talking to the king. She is talking to Jon, the boy sitting alone at feasts, the one Talia always snuck around with to at least see a smile on his face, to at least make him feel like he held some importance other than being Ned Stark’s bastard.
It’s difficult to see Talia like this. He always remembered her warmth and kindness as a boy, but death and suffering weigh upon her now. They have both lost family, both felt such grief and felt hopeless to do anything about it. But together, there is an alliance strong enough to do some good for those that remain.
“You don’t need to thank me,” is insisted, fingers softly squeezing in return. Justice will be served for her family, or he’ll be no true king---of the North or otherwise. No executioner shall carry out the sentence either. He will swing the sword as his father always did.
Jon’s grasp slowly eases, and hands fall to his sides, hidden beneath the folds of a cloak. “It will take time, but the North will heal.” The words sound like a vow, one he means to hold. Boots quietly scuff over the stone floor as he rounds the table, surveying the map from the other side.
“Our enemies have done unspeakable things, done everything in their power to tear us apart. But we can rebuild.” Grey eyes raise to meet hers then, gaze hard with determination. “Once Ludd Whitehill is brought to justice, there will be no one left to oppose us in the North.”
