My jonsa exchange gift for @bravegentlestrong. I hope you like it! Book canon, slightly au, in the sense that this is what I hope happens in Winds Of Winter.
Summary: The old gods stir, and they wonât let Alayne rest. Peacefully at least. She dreams of the north, and of Sansa Starkâs half-brother, Jon Snow.
The dreams began shortly after her journey down to the Vale with Mya and Sweet Robin. Ever since she heard that wolf howl, she has dreamt of the north. It has called to her in ways she cannot explain.
She did not pay these dreams much mind, at first. They were rather boring. Jon sitting at his desk, meeting with other brothers of The Nightâs Watch, and sleeping.
Then, they began to pique her curiosity. She ran through the snow, and could feel the excitement surging through her. She felt the wind whip against her cheeks. Jon praised her, played with her, and she felt an overwhelming affection for him she never experienced before.
Her vantage point in these dreams was strange. She could almost swear she was Ghost. When she saw his white paws, she became certain she was dreaming she was Ghost.
It frightened her. There was a realness to these dreams that caused her to wake up in a cold sweat. She had dreamt of Lady before, but those were Sansa Starkâs dreams, and they were never like this.
She dreamt of Jon fighting, and of Ghost clawing desperately at a wooden door. She dreamt of Jon lying motionless on a table. Anger and betrayal overwhelmed her. They were not her emotions. They werenât even the emotions of Sansa Stark. She dreamt Jon Snow was dead, and Sansa Starkâs heart broke. He was all Sansa Stark had left in this wretched world. He could not die. After, she went days without dreaming of him. After seeing him night after night, the absence was noted. She missed seeing him. She took what she saw happen to him as a warning. She had to protect Jon however she could.
Petyr wanted to sell grain for the impending winter. She would use it as an excuse to travel to Castle Black. Jon would most likely not even recognize her, especially with her hair colored. It would have to be handled delicately. This she knew.
Petyr was against it at first. He claimed he did not feel it was safe for her to travel. Eventually, he realized she was no longer a little bird he could keep caged. Arrangements were quickly made for her to travel north with Mya. She refused to travel with anyone else.
The journey to Castle Black was long and arduous. It began on a ship out of Old Anchor, and they procured horses once they arrived in White Harbor. Their supplies ran low, and ice clung to their cloaks. Her hair lightened. She learned a great deal from Mya, while trying to contribute with what she could offer. They worked well together. She may not be practiced in the hunt or tying snares like Robb and Arya were, but she remembered different plants, and the ways they could be useful. She knew simple healing. She remembered the stars. Mya also knew how to navigate, but the north could be tricky. She leaned on nights spent in Winterfellâs godswood with Sansa Starkâs family. Falling asleep by the fire each night reminded her of this, and it comforted her.
Concerned for her horse, she walked beside him as they approached the gate. She pet his mane, anxious. She had a letter from Petyr explaining who they were, and their purpose there, but she feared what would happen if Jon were to turn them away.
âOpen the gates!â A man shouted, and relief flowed through her.
She led the horse into the courtyard, and searched for Jon.
Mya walked beside her, and took in their surroundings, wary.
A couple of men took charge of their horses, and she presented another the letter from Petyr after pleasantries were exchanged.
âI beg your patience, but it might be some time before you have an answer.â The young man informed them. âWeâre between Lord Commanders at the moment. I reckon thatâd be whoâd make purchasing decisions.â
She felt her chest tighten, and despaired at what may have happened to Jon. She was too late, she feared. She hadnât dreamt of him in in far too long, and this was why. She stared over the young manâs shoulder, and willed the tears to leave her eyes.
âI was told Jon Snow is Lord Commander.â She managed to murmur.
Her lip quivered, and something brushed against her legs. She gazed down at Ghostâs familiar, white paw scratching at her dress. She knelt down to pet him, and soon she burried her face in his fur. She held the direwolf until a raspy voice gave her a reason to look up.
âHe never takes to anyone like that.â
Jon was alive. Maybe not alive and well, but alive. He was always sullen, but he looked dreadful. He wasnât wearing the black she expected him to be. He was wearing a doublet similar to the ones he always wore, but he was absolutely not the Jon who left Winterfell. His hair was pulled back into a matted mess, he hadnât shaved in ages, and his eyes looked weary. The years have not been kind to him, she realized. There was also the large gash above his eye, but that was somehow less concerning. He folded the letter, and carefully placed it in one of his pockets.
He stared at her. She wondered if he recognized her. If he knew she was not here to sell grain.
She brushed the snow from her dress, and closed the space between them. She wrapped her arms around him, and rested her head against his neck. Overjoyed that he was alive, and filled with gratitude at having someone like him in her life again. They would protect each other, this she knew. She had never believed anything more:
He was taken by surprise, but eventually his hands found her back, and he embraced her.
âYou know each other?â The young man wondered.
âYes.â Jon smiled, and squeezed her arm ever so briefly. He nodded, but it was impossible to read his meaning. âLord Baelish was an old friend of Lady Catelyn. If none of you mind, Iâll help them with their things, and find them suitable accommodations.â
âWe must catch up.â He guided her with his hand while Mya followed. âCertainly we have much to tell each other.â