Summary: Jon returns from battle, bloodied and victorious. But all you care about is the fact that he came home to you.
Warnings: SMUT 18+ (at the end) ref to canon-typical violence, blood/injuries, mild gore, strong language, ref to war.
A/N: I will forever love Game of Thrones, and I just rewatched it for the millionth time to distract myself from exams 🤭 this doesn't follow the plot specifically, but I imagined season 6 Jon :)
dividers by @cafekitsune
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS
WC: 2.6k
The wind cuts through the open expanse of the North, sharp and cold against your face as you stand above the large gates of Winterfell.
The men of the North have returned.
You can hear the rumble of horses' hooves long before they appear over the ridge, the sound growing louder and louder. The warriors ride in, exhausted but victorious, with cheers from the village ringing out behind them.
The familiar scent of the north fills your lungs, the fresh pine, the earth after rain, and a lingering trace of smoke from the fires burning in every hearth. You look at the soldiers, some of them grinning, others barely able to keep themselves upright.
But all eyes are on Jon. He’s at the front of the group, shoulders broad, head held high. His dark hair is matted with dirt and blood, and his clothes are stained with the gory aftermath of battle.
But to you, he’s perfect. He's your king.
Your husband.
You’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, the worry that’s been gnawing at you since he left now turning into relief that he's come home to you unscathed.
You can’t wait another second.
Without thinking, you break into a run, your feet pounding against the stone as you sprint toward him. The villagers part to let you through, some giving you nods of respect.
Jon’s eyes lock with yours in the crowd, his gaze intense, even from a distance. His lips curl into a half-smile as he urges his horse forward. You’re almost there, and in a moment that feels as though it’s been months in the making, he’s dismounting before the horse even comes to a full stop.
He’s there, in front of you, a storm of emotions swirling behind his dark, brooding eyes. You reach him in a heartbeat. Your arms are around his neck, and before he can protest, you feel the heat of his body engulf you. He tries to pull back from you.
“No, love, I’m covered in blood-”
But you don’t listen. You’re already in his arms, his chest hard and solid as he pulls you against him, lifting you off your feet in a tight embrace.
The cheers from the soldiers and villagers fade into nothing as his lips find yours. It’s hungry and desperate, as if the entire world has melted away, leaving only the two of you. His mouth tastes like salt, iron, and something raw. His arms tighten impossibly around you, pulling you closer, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away from his desperate grasp.
You feel his chest heaving beneath your fingers, his body trembling every so slightly, but there’s no hesitation in his touch. He holds you like he’s never going to let you go.
His lips break away from yours, just for a moment, but you’re still tangled in his embrace, your breath shaky. His forehead presses against yours, and you can hear the weight of his voice as he mutters, “I was worried, you know. I couldn’t stand the thought of you here all alone, and no one being here to protect-”
“I’m fine,” you say, cutting him off, your hands sliding up to cup his face. You smile up at him, feeling the rush of love flood your chest. “You’re back. That’s all that matters.”
Jon holds you even tighter, his hand cupping the back of your head as he buries his face in your hair. The world around you is still roaring with celebration, but in this moment, all you hear is his heartbeat and the sound of your own breath.
“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse. His words send a shiver through you, and you can feel the weight of everything that has happened settle.
All the brutal battles, all the bloodshed, the distance.
But now he’s home.
You hold him tighter, not caring about the blood or dirt staining your dress. You’ve missed him in ways words can’t express, and all that’s left is the overwhelming need to be close to him, to hold him, to remind each other that the war is over for now.
You don’t pull away from him, your arms still tightly wrapped around his neck, but you can feel the weight of his blood and dirt pressing against you, the remnants of the battle that still cling to him. You can’t wait to get him inside, where you can finally help him relax and tend to his wounds.
Jon pulls back just slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as he looks down at you with a soft smile. His thumb brushes across your cheek, as if checking to see if you’re truly real, as if this moment is just as overwhelming for him as it is for you.
He seems to notice the way your eyes scan him, analysing the cuts littering his body.
“I’m fine,” whispers, his tone soft but still with that familiar stubborn edge. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
You give him a look, a silent challenge to let you help, and Jon simply chuckles, his shoulders sagging slightly as he lets out a long breath.
Inside the warmth of your chambers, the two of you are finally together, alone.
You move toward the bathing area, prepared to clean him, tend to him. Jon doesn’t protest. He stands, his broad frame slightly slumped, and begins to undress slowly. His movements are tired, but there’s a quiet strength in them. You can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the lingering pain from the battle.
This is the moment where you can care for him, take away the stress, even if just for a little while.
He steps into the water, sighing as the warmth envelops him. You kneel beside the tub, reaching for the cloth. The water swirls around him, dark with the blood and dirt he’s carried back from the battlefield.
You step closer, a cloth in your hand, your presence drawing his gaze. His eyes soften as you approach, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Didn’t think I’d get a personal healer today,” he murmurs, his voice low but teasing. “I’m used to the battlefields, not the bath.”
You smile back, dipping the cloth into the warm water. “Well, today’s your lucky day.” Your fingers brush against his shoulder as you gently begin cleaning the blood and grime from his skin, the warmth of the water combined with your touch allowing Jon to finally relax.
Jon’s gaze never leaves you as you tend to him. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and you can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but also the trust. His hand reaches up to run through his wet hair, pushing it away from his forehead. The tension in his body slowly melting away.
“You always know how to make me feel better,” he says quietly, his voice soft, adoring.
You chuckle lightly, dipping the cloth into the water again and pressing it gently against his side, where a fresh wound is healing. “That’s what I’m here for.”
But there’s something in the way his eyes watch you that makes this moment feel different, more intimate than usual. His fingers brush over your arm, light, like he’s just feeling the softness of your skin, but it’s enough to send a small spark through you.
“Do you need to be so gentle?” he asks, his voice teasing but with a hint of something else in it, like he’s testing the boundaries. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”
You glance up at him, catching the glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m not worried about you,” you reply, rising to his bait. “I just like taking care of you.”
His lips curl into a smile, and he leans back, clearly at ease, letting you work. “I’m starting to think you like it a little too much.”
You raise an eyebrow, not missing the playful tone in his voice. “Maybe I do,” you smirk, the smile on your lips matching his. “But you deserve it.”
You move down his body slowly, checking over his wounds, making sure each one is clean and free of dirt. As your fingers graze over his skin, you notice his attention shifting. He’s watching you more closely now, the mood subtly shifting as his gaze moves from your hands to your face.
There’s a quiet pause before he speaks again. “You’re always so focused when you care for me. It’s... comforting.” His voice drops.
You meet his gaze, not backing down, but instead letting your hand trail along his arm as you finish cleaning the last of the blood from his side. "Like I said, I want to make sure you're alright."
Jon leans in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m more than alright with you here.”
The room falls into silence, the only sound being the gentle splash of water as you shift and move around him. You finish cleaning his wounds, your hands lingering just a little longer than necessary on his skin. He’s close now, his body warm against yours.
With a final look over his chest, you step back, letting him relax into the water.
“All done.”
Jon leans back again against the stone side of the tub, his eyes still focused on you. There’s a moment where neither of you speaks, just enjoying the quiet. Jon’s hand reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering just a little longer than necessary.
Finally, Jon stands from the bath, his muscles glistening with water. He reaches for a towel, but before he wraps it around himself, he turns toward you.
“You’re right, you know,” he says quietly, his voice laced with both affection and something deeper. “I’ve fought battles, but this... this is different. You make everything easier.”
You don’t say anything at first; you just watch him, and your heart is swelling for the man standing in front of you. You move to help him dry off, your hands slow.
But Jon isn’t finished yet. He steps closer to you, his body warm and solid against yours as he cups your face gently in his hands, bringing you in for a soft kiss.
His lips are so soft, and you feel his hands move from your face to your waist, pulling you toward him until your bodies are flush against each other.
For a moment, you both simply stand there, caught in the kiss. His lips are a little desperate now, pressing against yours harder, deeper, he can’t get enough. His hands slip lower, sliding around your waist, and before you can even react, he lifts you off your feet. You gasp into the kiss, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you across the room.
You cling to him, your heart racing, as he walks toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. His hands feel like fire on your skin, his body solid and strong against you.
You’re completely at his mercy, and you can feel the desire pumping through you. When he reaches the edge of the bed, he gently sets you down, taking a moment to look at you.
“You’ve no idea how much I’ve waited for this,” he mutters, voice thick and rough.
You reach for him, pulling him closer, unable to wait any longer. "Show me," you whisper back, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling every inch of him.
And without another word, Jon closes the space between you.
As you lie back on the bed, Jon hovers over you, his dark eyes heavy with desire, his fingertips grazing your skin. His breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling with the anticipation.
“You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he growls, his lips trailing down your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers across your skin. He finds the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and you can't help but let out a soft moan, the sound barely escaping you.
Jon pauses, lifting his head to look at you, his gaze heated, focused entirely on you. His hand moves slowly, possessively, from your waist up to your breast, brushing against the fabric of your dress before pushing it aside. He groans softly at the sight of your skin, his mouth trailing down to your chest, kissing the exposed area before his hands start to move lower.
“Jon,” you whisper. You reach for him, but he stops you with a gentle hand, pressing your palm against the bed.
“Patience, love,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I’ve waited far too long to rush this.”
Your heart races as his lips return to yours, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling your body even closer to his. The heat between you both is unbearable, every inch of your skin aching for him.
Jon’s lips trail lower, his hands finding the lower hem of your dress. He pauses, looking up at you one more time, his gaze soft but filled with hunger.
“Are you sure?”
You nod, pulling him closer, not able to wait any longer. “Of course I’m sure.”
Without another word, Jon pulls the rest of your dress off, his eyes drinking you in as he undresses you. The moment he’s fully exposed you, his lips find yours again, hungry and wild. He presses his body against yours, his warmth enveloping you as he pushes you further up the bed.
As he first thrusts into you, you feel your body shudder in response. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he stretches you, filling you completely.
The initial ache melts into something deeper, something that sends heat curling low in your stomach. Each of his movements is deliberate, slow, drawing out the sensation, the heat building between you both until it feels like there’s no distance left between you.
Jon’s face is pressed against the crook of your neck, his breathing laboured as he continues to move against you. His hands grip the sheets beside you, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he holds back, controlling the pace.
But as your moans get louder, his control slowly slips away.
He picks up the pace, his thrusts growing faster, harder, until everything blurs into a haze of sensation. You meet him with equal fervor, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him deeper, wanting more, needing more.
When the climax hits, it’s like a wave crashing over you both.
It's sudden, powerful, and all-consuming. Your body trembles beneath him, your nails digging into his back as he moves against you, his name escaping your lips in a breathless gasp. Jon follows soon after, his grip on you tightening as he buries his face in your neck.
For a moment, there’s only silence, the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms, recovering from the intensity of what just happened. Jon presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his breath still shaky as he pulls you closer.
“I love you,” he whispers.
You smile, kissing him softly. “I love you too, Jon.”
A/N: reader is actually Roberts kid and not a incest child.
warnings: very brief mention of murder and violence but not dipicted
"Seven hells, my dress it too tight," You yanked at the tight cloth around your waist. You had been stuck traveling up to the Winterfell for week on end and you were begining to get fed up. Not only was the journey long and grueling, but your mother unexpectedly expressed wanting to keep you close during the trip, so you couldn't even have fun or get drunk without her breathing down your neck.
"You were the one who insisted that you were to have several new gowns made, all of which you didn't show up to the fitting sessions, and for what, Winterfell of all places," your mother rolled her eyes, taking a long sip of wine. You knew more than anyone that she would've had the dresses made for you even if you hadn't insisted.
"I have never visited the north, I wanted to leave an impression," you shrugged, popping a grape into your mouth.
"An impression you will leave, niece, you always do," Tyrion slurred. He had the right idea of getting drunk before your arrival. You hummed in response before leaning out the window of the carriage.
"Uncle Jamie, how much further?" You squinted your eyes at Jamie, who was currently riding his horse.
"Not much further at all, take a look." Jamie stuck his hand out for you to take. You could see the judgmental look on your mother's face as you prepared yourself to jump out of a moving carriage and onto your uncle's horse. You had done this many times, each time either your grandfather or your mother voicing their disapproval. You and your Uncle Jamie had always been close, ever since you could remember, though at times it seemed to upset your mother. As you looked over Jamie's shoulder, you could see the tall towers of Winterfell, it truly was beautiful how the snow hugged the roofs of each tower and glistened in the sunlight.
As the Baratheon and Lannister flags entered Winterfell, you could see seemingly every member of House Stark waiting to greet the King and Queen. The cold immediately shocked your feet after your Uncle had helped you off the back of his horse. You let off a soft squeal before rushing behind your mother to stand with your siblings. As you watched your father and mother greet Lord and Lady Stark, your eyes couldn't help but drift towards the rest of House Stark. The first one you noticed was Robb Stark, the eldest son who was named after your father. He was tall and very handsome, the kind of handsome that made it kind of hard to look at. Next were the two Stark girls, both beautiful, one having long auburn hair, the other with dark brown hair and a light blue gown that had mud stains on it. Then there were the two youngest, a little boy with dark brown, almost black hair who was currently flexing this arm for your father, next to him was the most adorable little boy with light brown hair. You mentally tried to assign each name to each child untill you eyes got stuck on the boy at the very end of the time, he looked to be around the same age as Robb. He had black hair and dark brown eyes, paired with the most melancholy expression on his face. He was the only one that your father hadn't greeted, which deeply confused you until it clicked. He must be the Greyjoy boy that Ned Stark had taken during the Iron Islands rebellion all those years ago.
After your father and mother had greeted each Stark, it was now your and your siblings' turn. You approached Lord and Lady Stark with a polite curtsey. It was nice to see the two of them after almost ten years, although you had only been around eight years since you had last seen them, your memories all relating to the Starks seemingly had been erased from your mind. Your father always told you tales of the battles he and Lord Stark had fought in together.
You offered a soft smile and nod to each Stark child, and you attempted to properly introduce yourself to all of them before your mother called you over, making you leave the rest of them standing there. Just as you were about to enter the castle, you made quick eye contact with the Greyjoy boy. Gods, was he cute, his dark brown eyes that were akin to the eyes of a baby doe. Once again, you smiled, this time only at him, which caused your mother to clear her throat, a subtle way of telling you to hurry up. With a clenched jaw, she gave you a look, a very specific look that you had been able to identify ever since you were a child. The look of disapproval and judgment.
As you changed into a more sophisticated dress for the dinner feast, you heard a gentle knock on your door.
"It's mother," You heard your mother say through the door, causing you to quickly shuffle over to the door in order to unlock it. She sauntered into the room, a quiet grace to her, the kind that you wanted to emulate ever since you were a child.
"Come, let me fix your gown," She motioned for you to come to her. Of course, you obeyed; she did not hold back from tightening your gown. Typically, you'd either tighten your own gowns or a maid would. When you were younger, your mother would bear such a responsibility, one that you were more than happy to take over. She was always too rough with it, always tightening the gown to the point that the dress would almost split in half.
With a quiet sigh, you turned around for her, allowing her to put all her strength into cinching your dress to your body, making it act as a second skin.
"The north seems nice," You said softly, making an attempt to make conversation.
"I beg to differ, it is much too cold, and much too barren for my taste," She said casually. It was rare when you and your mother would hold the same opinion on almost anything. Of course, your relationship wasn't always like this. When you were much younger, the two of you were much closer. She was an extremely loving mother, but as you grew closer to your Uncle Jamie she it seemed like you fell a bit out of her favor, especially after Joffery was born and even more after Tommen and Marcella. Of course, you deeply loved and cared for your younger siblings, even Joffery at times, you wondered what could've been of you and your mothers realitonship had they not been born. Now that you were older, you long had excepted that this is how things were now, but as a child desperately wanting theirs mothers love, you, of course, had blamed yourself. At first, you thought that maybe it was because you weren't blonde, like your siblings; after all, your looks had favored your father's by far. But soon you realized it couldn't have been that, not to say you could rule that reason out, to this day, you still don't understand what made the change in her heart about you.
"I like the snow, I have never seen it before, it's a nice change of scenery," You said meekly. You wanted to work up the courage to tell her that the reason she doesn't like the north is because she doesn't like anything except for wine and being cruel.
"Well, it's very... you I can see why you like it," She sighed, tightening your dress even further.
"Mother, it's too tight," You winced, struggling to breathe.
"Hush, you're a lady, you must learn how to endure a gown that is a bit restrictive," your mother shook her head. This was ridiculous to you, all your life you had seen your mother get fitted into dresses and not once were they ever as tight as yours, in fact, they were often flowy on the looser end. Right before you could protest your heard a soft knock at the door.
"Enter," your mother said, without taking her eyes off your gown. A sweet-looking older woman entered the room, clearly a bit shy.
"The feast is to start in five minutes, your grace," The lady informed your mother with a curtsey.
"So soon?" Your mother scoffed, "So be it, leave us." She raised her hand dismissively at the lady. You frowned as she left the room, it wasn't her fault the feast started so soon.
"Have you seen your Uncle since we've arrived?" She raised an eyebrow, now standing in front of you, fixing your hair.
"No, unfortunately, I was looking forward to hearing what he was going to say about the Northern people, specifically the women." You laughed softly, earning you a sharp glare from your mother.
"I was speaking of your Uncle Jamie, not Tyrion." She deeply inhaled.
"I know," You said quietly, although you did in fact think she was referring to Tyrion, but you knew alluding to your Uncle Jamie having relations with Northern whores would deeply upset and anger her. When it came to upsetting your mother on purpose, you always had to be calculated and subtle with it.
"And what do you mean by that?" She intensely stared into your soul.
"Well, I- I saw him with Uncle Tyrion going towards Wintertown, and if I know my Uncle Tyrion then..." You shrugged, trying to play off your last comment.
"Jamie has nothing to do with what Tyrion does, ok?" She said sternly, you nodded in return. "Now let us head to the feast, shall we?" She smiled before intertwining your arm with hers.
‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙
As much as you tried to enjoy the feast, your body fought against it every step of the way. The gown you were in was simply too tight; you couldn't even enjoy your meal. Not only that, but the volume of the room was chanting, laughing, and, worst of all, the sight of your father actively defiling your mother and their marriage. You and your father had quite a different realtionship that you and your mother had. It was more of a different side of the same coin type of ordeal, you could tell sometimes he wants to be close with you, but mostly distant. Growing up, he allowed you to be as wild as you wanted; you played in the mud, sparred with guards, climbed trees, and rode horses bareback frequently. He seemed to have enjoyed that you indulged in all the things he wanted a son to take interest in. Yet it all changed once you turned thirteen years old; he began to treat you differently, not exactly cruelly, but almost resentfully. Of course, you didn't actually do anything to cause this, but it didn't matter that you were not permanently being persecuted of the crime of growing up, becoming a woman; a woman who could bear children, be married, and worst of all, have opinions. Ever since then, you shared some fond moments with your father, but overall, awkward interactions in passing, yet you still cherished the rare moments you had with your father that mirrored the days you spent with him as a child.
Despite being in the freezing north of Westeros, the dining room felt hot, perhaps it was the overwhelming noise in the room, or maybe it was how ridiculously tight your gown was. You quietly excused yourself from your seat, quickly making your way outside. Your breaths grew shallow, your head being filled with an intense pounding sensation. You leaned your entire body against one of the brick walls of the castle, making a pathetic attempt at clawing your gown off of your body. As tears welled up in your eyes, your attention was pulled to the sound of a sword clanking against a hard surface. It must've been your Uncle Jamie, right? After all, you hadn't seen him at the feast, he must have been the one practicing with his sword, surely. After rushing towards the noise, you came to a quick halt. It was not your uncle at all, it was the Greyjoy boy. He instantly turned his head towards you, a look of confusion and concern displayed on his face.
"Your grace," He bowed his head at you.
"Please just- I need you to cut my gown," You strained, still tugging at the tight fabric around your waist. He looked bewildered by your request, to the point that he froze. Had you been in a better state of mind, you would've cursed at him for not having a quick reaction time.
"I'm sorry your grace, you want me to-" He walked towards you, great hesitaton in his voice.
"I can't breathe," You heaved. "Now, I command you to get this gown off of me," You tried sounding assertive, despite being out of breath.
The Greyjoy boy once again hesitated for just a moment before nodding at your command and taking a small blade from his belt. As he walked over to you, you could tell he was nervous, probably afraid that he could possibly cut Robert Baratheon's firstborn child. He carefully laid the blade against your midriff and began to drag it all the way up towards the bottom of your breasts. Your waist's instant relief caused you to brace yourself against his upper arm, giving you a moment to gather yourself.
"Are you ok, your grace?" He asked, his thick northern accent awaking something inside of you. Before you could even respond, both of you froze after hearing a very familiar voice come from behind you.
"Drop your blade." You heard your Uncle Jamie demand, the sound of him drawing his sword following after. "You dare lay your hands and raise your blade to the princess?" He yelled rasing his sword to the Greyboy boy's neck.
"Uncle, please, it was not what it looked like, I swear." You quickly came to the Greyjoys' defense. Right before your Uncle was about to tell you to move out of the way, the doors to the dining hall swung open, and there came Lord Stark, Lady Stark, and your parents.
"What is the meaning of this?" Your father boomed clearly, not sober.
"A simple misunderstanding," You raised your hands, giving your Uncle a look of desperation.
"Would you be so kind as to lower your blade?" Lord Stark asked sarcastically.
"I'm sure if my brother raises his blade to a man, he has a good reason to," your mother responded dismissively. "In fact, my angel, why is your gown torn?" Your mother said through gritted teeth. You could see the look of shock and horror on Lady Stark's face.
"He had his blade to the princess, holding onto her, only the Gods know his motives," Jamie spat.
"That is-" the Greyjoy began before your Uncle inched the sword closer to his throat.
"Uncle, please, he was helping me, I asked him to!" You tried to reason. "My gown was far too tight, I couldn't breathe, in an act of desperation, I asked him to cut it off of me. He meant no harm!" You shook your head.
"You don't have to defend your attacker," your mother scoffed at you, "You look of fright," She walked over to you, covering you with her outlayer cover-up.
"Mother, he was not trying to hurt me, he was helping me," You retorted, growing more frustrated.
"Ned, my brother-in-law tells me your bastard was attacking my daughter, and my daughter tells me your bastard was saving her. What am I to think of this?" Your father snapped. Bastard? You thought to yourself, since when did honorable Lord Eddard Stark have a bastard, a bastard that was no older than you? Who in the seven hells was this? Your father had told you many things about Lord Stark but never once mentioned he had a bastard, a bastard that he openly recognized and allowed to live in the castle of Winterfell. You knew very well that your own father had many bastards, so many to the point you'd sometimes sneak into town to speak to your half-brother Gendry, a very talented blacksmith.
"Jon, explain yourself," Lord Stark said sternly. Oh, Jon was his name then, of course, his status as a bastard of the north would mean his last name was Snow. Jon Snow, that was the name of the man who had saved you, not Greyjoy.
"The princess had asked for my help, she told be coudn't breath. I wasn't sure of what to make of what she was asking me, then she commanded me to cut the gown off of her," Jon exhaled. "Your grace, I swear to you I had no intention of harming your daughter," He said earnestly.
"Was that the way of it?" Your father turned to you.
"Yes, father," You nodded, glancing over at Jon, who kept the same unwavering look on his face. You Uncle now putting his sword down.
"Well then, he's a hero, honorable just like his father." Your father patted Jon on his shoulder. "Well, come, Ned seems as though we are unneeded here now," your father began to walk away along with Lord Stark, your mother, and Lady Stark following behind. You wanted to yell at your father for not, at the very least, thanking Jon for helping you in your time of need, yet you decided to bite your tongue; there was no use of a protest while your father was drunk. You glared at your uncle, who lingered around you and Jon.
"A bastard with a heart of gold, is it?" He raised an eyebrow, placing his sword back into its holster. "Next time you decide to "save" my niece, I will not wait for anyone to come to your defense," He said before walking away, heading back towards Wintertown, probably going to find your Uncle Tyrion.
Without a word, Jon went straight back to using his sword against the sparring dummy. He didn't even say bye, or anything, not even a smile.
"Thank you for saving me," You smiled, approaching the area he was practicing.
"It's my duty, Your Grace." He said plainly, not taking his eyes off the sparring dummy.
"I know, I just wanted to express my appreciation." You nodded. Now this was just awkward, you remained standing near him, pretending to look at the bricks of the castle, then the sky, then the sparring dummy. "You know something quite funny?" You chirped, causing Jon to grunt in response. "At first, I thought you were the Greyjoy boy." You let out a small laugh. Suddenly, Jon came to a complete stop.
"Theon? You thought I was Theon?" He grimaced.
"Oh, is that his name?" You asked, biting back a smile over the look on Jon's face. "I only assumed so because my father never told me that Lord Stark had a bast- another son, around my age, other than Robb, of course." You dropped your gaze down to your feet.
"I don't tend to come up in the same conversation as my brothers," He deadpanned.
“I see, well how come I didn’t see you at the feast?” You crinkled your eyebrows.
“Lady Catelyn thought it would be disrespectful to the king and queen to eat in the presence of a bastard.” He said, going back to swinging his sword.
“Well- well, that’s just backwards, after all, it is well known my father has many bastards.” You let out a breathy laugh, taking a seat on a hay bale next to you. “I’m sure my father wouldn’t care much.” You shrugged
“And your mother,” he side-eyed you.
“Well, my mother, on the other hand- she, uh, she would most likely take issue with your presence,” You said sheepishly.
“I would assume so,” He said flatly.
“It matters not what she thinks, she and my father can barely hold a conversation. If you were in the dining hall, she’d probably just look at you and your father judgmentally. The same way she looks at me,” You sighed. You could tell Jon had a kind of “why is this woman telling me this?” look, yet he didn’t make you feel like a bother. “I mean, she doesn’t seem to like many people, not just bastards, you see?” You kicked at the dirt at your feet. You made the mistake of hoping for a deep response from Jon, but all he did was give you a plain hum in response.
Just as you were about to go into a deep rant about your mother, you completely froze. Only a couple of feet away stood a completely white wolf pup with bright red eyes.
“My Gods, who are you?” you fawned over the pup. The wolf had only taken a couple of steps closer to you before letting out a quiet growl.
“Aw, don’t be like that, we can be friends,” you explained, getting down on your knees, attempting to come across as less intimidating, yet the pup continued to growl.
“Ghost enough.” You heard Jon say from behind you.
“Ghost?” You turned around, looking up at Jon with a confused look.
“He’s my dire wolf, all of my siblings have one,” He explained.
“I thought there were no dire wolves beyond the Wall,” You leaned closer to Ghost, who was currently baring his teeth at you.
"We thought so too, that was until we found the pups' dead mother," He explained, trying to call Ghost over to him.
You frowned at the fact that the pup's mother was taken away from them so early in life. You watched as Ghost actively ignored Jon's instructions. Instead of observing the two, you decided to reach your hand out to pet Ghost on his head, and before you could even react, he latched onto the sleeve of your gown, tugging at it.
"Ghost, let go this instant!" Jon said firmly, the wolf of course ignoring him.
"Worry not, the gown is already ruined, might as well allow it to double as a toy," You laughed, allowing Ghost to drag your arm around. He had almost ripped off your entire sleeve before Jon finally intervened by picking Ghost up off the ground.
"Aw, let him have his fun," You playfully laughed, getting up off the ground. Just as you were about to go in to offer your sleeve back to him, you heard footsteps crunching in the snow behind you. You turned around and were met with Lady Stark and her younger daughter, the one with the red hair.
"Your, grace," They said in unison giving you a polite bow.
"We wanted to offer you a new gown," Lady Stark smiled kindly. "We are so very sorry about your being ruined," She continued.
"There is no need for an apology, Lady Stark, had it not been for the destruction of my gown and Jons heroism, only the Gods would know my fate," You smiled softly. She hummed in response, probably not fond of the credit you gave Jon. "Still, I will accept the gown," You nodded.
"Splendid, come with us, we will show you the way," Lady Stark smiled, motioning her hand towards the castle. As you began to follow behind Lady Stark and her daughter, you remembered whom you had just been speaking with.
"Goodbye, Jon. Shall I see you tomorrow?" You turned around, and he stood there motionless, lips parted slightly.
"Yes, your grace," He stuttered a bit.
"Excellent, I'll see you then, goodbye, Ghost," You playfully waved your fingers at the dire wolf before continuing behind Lady Stark.
As the three of you made your way through the corridors of the castle, you marveled at the beautiful stone that lined the walls. It was much more rustic than the castle back home, yet gave you more comfort than the walls of King's Landing ever had.
"It's just in here, Your Grace," Lady Stark opened the door to a small room that was filled with sewing materials. The gown was truly beautiful, a ashy light blue with long sleeves that reached past your hands.
"I believe it will fit your grace, the dress was always made, it seems as though it will fit you well," Lady Stark handed you the gown.
"Thank you, truly, Lady Stark, it's beautiful." You smiled,
"Sansa, stay with the princess in case she is in need of your assistance," Lady Stark turned to her duaghter, before exiting the room, closing the door behind her.
"Yes mother," She nodded shyly.
"Ah, so your name is Sansa?" You asked, pulling at the back of your gown.
"Yes, your grace," She said softly.
"Please, do not feel required to call me "your grace" every time you address me." You laughed, you could tell the young girl was nervous in your presence. You had heard your mother and father speak about possibly betrothing Joffery to her. You were sure she had heard of this swell, prompting her to come across as perfect as she could be. Without knowing anything about her, you were positive that she was too good for Joffery. At your core, you loved your brother, but it was obvious that he was incredibly cruel, even as a child. "Please just call me Y/n." You smiled, turning around for her to help you remove the ruined gown.
"Of course, Y/n," She said. Your name sounded quite unnatural coming out of her mouth, but soon she'd get used to it, you thought to yourself.
"Just a moment, please," You montioned your finger for her to turn round as you removed the gown you currently had on. "What is the name of your dire wolf?" You asked, kicking off the rest of the gown.
"Her name is Lady," She said while facing the wall. "I saw you already met Ghost.
"What an adorable name, if you don't mind, I would love to meet her. Ghost was quite fun," You mentioned.
"Lady is nothing like Ghost, shes very well behaved," Sansa insisted.
I'm sure she is. Ghost did not seem to want to listen to anything Jon said. You laughed. "It was quite funny, actually, although I can't tell if I'm in Ghosts good graces or not," You slipped the new gown on.
"Yes, Ghost is the runt of the litter, I believe, very fitting for him being Jons," She sighed. While you held nothing against people who were born as bastard there were times you forgot that others do take issue with bastards.
"I see," You said simply, now tying the back of your gown.
"Do you need any assistance with the gown?" Sansa asked, holding her arms behind her back.
"No, my sweet, I've been tying my own gowns since I was twelve. Unfortunately, the last time I allowed someone else to do it, your brother had to tear it off of me," You shrugged.
"Jon is not my brother," She responded sharply. It took you aback to hear this tone come out of her, she had been so shy and quiet beforehand. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, it is not my place to speak to you in such a manner," She signed quickly, realizing how hard she sounded, not towards Jon, of course, but towards you.
"Worry not, and again, address me by my name." You shook your head, you couldn't say how she disregarded Jon didn't leave a bad taste in your mouth. It came as no surprise to you that the disdain people had for bastards was stronger in the north than it was in the south. After spending some time in Dorne, you adopted the general attitude toward sex and relationships that the Dornish people held. After asking why bastards were treated the same as children who were born in wedlock, the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, had explained to you that being a bastard meant you were born of passion, which was something that couldn't be despised.
"It is just hard to accept Jon as my brother, that is all," She explained, "He's not a Stark. What he is is a reminder to all of us of my father's infidelity." She looked down at her feet.
"Do you forgive your father?" You asked, taking a seat on the love seat behind you.
"I beg your pardon," She turned around, mouth agape.
"Your father, do you forgive him," You retorted.
"He's my father, of course," She walked towards you.
"Your forgiveness for your father should pardon Jon from any wrongdoing. Does it not?" You questioned. You couldn't fully expect a young girl such as herself to understand what you were saying. Even adults had a hard time understanding your position on bastards. Yet you couldn't help but question her reasoning. "I understand, trust me, my father has more bastards than there are stars in the night sky," You sighed.
"...the king?" She whidened here eyes.
"Well of course, the king, he is my father after all," You breathed out a laugh. "This is the way of many men, in the south at the very least." You shrugged.
"What about Joffery?" She asked innocently, you had forgotten the conversations of Sansa possibly being betrothed to your brother.
"I cannot say, not out of discretion, but out of ignorance," You tried to assure her. You had never really seen any example of what your brother would be like to his future wife. All you knew for sure was that he was a cruel bitch, which was a word you didn't use generously. It would plague your conscience if Sansa had been subjected to being bound to him. You wanted to stop it, you really did, but your father wanted to unite the north with the south, and if that was what he wanted, that is what would happen.
"Now, I believe the feast is still ongoing?" You rose from your seat.
"Yes your- Y/n" Sansa nodded.
"Well then, shall we join once again?" You offered Sansa your arm, her quickly accepting intertwiing her arm with yours as she led you to the dining hall.
As the two of you reentered the dining hall, you immediately scanned the room to see if Jon was there. Of course, Jon had told you why he wasn't present at the feast earlier, his status as a bastard apparently barred him from enjoying a meal in a room where he'd surely go unnoticed.
Your mother, who was currently sitting with Lady Stark, had motioned for Sansa to come towards her and had left you alone, not sure who to speak to. Of course, you had your options, there was Robb Stark, the only Stark child you had met before, but it had been over ten years since you last saw each other. Surely you couldn't just walk up to him and pick up wherever you had left off at the age of four or five. There were your siblings, of course. Joffery was not an option for obvious reasons, Tommen was busy talking to the two youngest Stark boys, and Myrcella was currently reenacting something for the young Stark girl.
You decided your best choice, for an actually engaging conversation, was to head back outside and search for Jon. Sure, he was quiet, and didn't have the most brain-racking responses, but you still wanted to be around him, after all, he did save you from your wretched gown. Not only that, but it did help that he was very easy on the eyes. You noticed an enticing-looking link of sausage wrapped in bread, the prefect on to go snack, you quickly picked it up to eat as you searched for Jon. Just as you almost made it to the door, you heard someone call for you.
"Your grace!" A man around your age swooped in front of you. He had short, light brown hair and bluish-green eyes, he surely didn't look like a Stark.
"Hello, I apologize, I do not think I have your name," You smiled.
"I am Theon Greyjoy, Your Grace. May I say all the tales of your beauty ring true," He expressed, briefly looking you up and down.
"Ah, Greyjoy, of the Iron Islands," You reminded yourself out loud. "A pleasure to meet you, it truly is." You reached your hand out so he could shake it. As he took it, he gave the top of your hand a quick run with his thumb before moving aside, allowing you to continue on your path.
"Do you know where Jon might be?" You asked.
"Jon, Jon Snow?" He grimaced just by saying his name. "I'm sure he's swinging a sword or moping around here somewhere," He laughed, waiting for a moment to see if you'd laugh with him.
"Well, once again it was a pleasure to meet you, and thank you," You thanked him while walking out the door of the castle.
As you scanned the courtyard, looking for Jon, you were met with Ghost padding over towards you. He kept a good distance away from you but clearly was observing you. You took a quick look around before squatting down, trying to get Ghost to come closer to you.
"Well, hello again," You whispered. "I'm looking for Jon. Do you know where he is?" You reached your hand out, causing Ghost to bare his teeth at you. You frowned in response before remembering what you had in your hand, the sausage. "Look what I have, it looks quite delicious, does it not?" You held the sausage out, you could see some drool beginning to drip out of the wovles' mouth as his nose twitched. He took a beat before finnaly geting closer enough to begin to hawk down the sausage. "See, I knew you couldn't resist," you giggled, giving Ghost a soft pet on his head while we was still distracted. "Now, do you know where Jon is?" You scratched behind his ears, making him let out a deep, relaxed grumble. Ghost gave you a blank look, turning his head to the side in confusion. It was no shock that he didn't understand the modern tongue. "Jon," You elongated his name, hoping Ghost would know what you were talking about. His ears perked up a bit before he walked away from you, taking a look back to make sure you were following him. You lifted from your squat and began to follow the path he was taking you.
It didn't take long for Jon to come into your line of sight. Alas, he wasn't alone, he was speaking to an older man with long hair whom you didn't recognize. You came to a halt and kept your distance, trying to look like you weren't waiting for the conversation to be over. Ghost, on the other hand, had a different idea, he was confused as to why you didn't finish following him to Jon. So confused to the point he stopped his paw at you, trying to signal you to continue following him.
"I am your Princess, you do not stomp at me," You whispered, laughing at the wolf's attitude. Clearly, he didn't get the message, since he let out a baby howl in protest. Unfortunately, the howl was loud enough to catch the attention of Jon and the man he was speaking to.
"Hello there," The man called out, gesturing for you to come to them. You could see the slight shock on Jon's face, probably due to your return with Ghost nonetheless. You walked over to the two men with Ghost walking at your side.
"My apologies, we did not mean to interrupt your conversation. I just wanted to see what Jon was up to." You looked at Ghost. The man turned to Jon with raised eyebrows, trying to hide a smile.
"Is that so?" The man turned back to you, shifting his eyes between you and Jon.
"Yes, M'Lord," You nodded.
"Your Grace, I am no Lord, I am a man of the Night's Watch, my name is Benjen Stark," He bowed to you. You were taken aback that he was aware of your status as a royal since you were dressed like a lady of the north.
"A man of the Night's Watch... I thank you for your heroism in protecting Westeros from what lies beyond the Wall," You curtsied, and it then dawned on you who he really was, Benjen Stark. Lord Stark's brother, meaning he was Jon's uncle. "I have never had the honor of meeting a man of the Night's Watch before." You smiled. Growing up, your father had told you many things about the world beyond the wall, it had always fascinated you.
"Thank you, Your Grace. We men who take the black don't often get to hear such praises," Benjen put his hand on Jon's shoulder. You crinkled your eyebrows at his use of the word "we". It seemed to have been directed towards Jon, although you had never met him before today, there was no chance we was sent to the wall as a child, surely. Perhaps that was the case, though, after all, you never once saw or heard any mention of Jon when you had met and played with Robb as a child, even though he definitely had been born at the time.
"I'm sorry... but "we"?" You tlited your head in confusion.
"My nephew here has decided to take the black and join me at the wall," Benjen said, looking at Jon proudly. You couldn't help but turn to Jon, worry all over your face; you had to remind yourself that you had only met him today.
"...Oh.." You said softly forcing yourself to tear your gaze away from Jon.
"I should probably head inside now," Benjen said, once again looking between you and Jon. It was like he could sense you wanted a moment alone with him. Both you and Jon watched in silence as Benjen walked towards the double doors of the castle, disappearing inside.
"...So, the Night's Watch," you turned to Jon, trying to hide the disappointment in your face. "When will you leave?"
"In a moon or so," He said quietly.
"You shouldn't go if you feel like you are being made to," You crossed your arms.
"I want to." He said firmly, turning, beginning to walk away from you.
"Surely that can't be true," You let out an uncovinced sigh, trailing behind him.
"Well, it surely is." He shook his head.
"I just don't see why that would be the case." You sped up, matching his pace.
"A southern Princess of Westeros doesn't understand why a bastard of the north would join the Night's Watch? That's a surprise." He came to a stop, looking at you, clearly annoyed with your ignorance of the treatment of bastards in the north.
"You grew up in a castle. My bastard siblings are subjected to living in some of the poorest villages in Kings Landing," You huffed.
"Surely being an acknowledged bastard that gets to live among the legitimate children cannot be worse than what my brothers and sisters live through. Being a bastard is no reason to throw your life away by taking the black," You stood in front of him.
"And why do you care?" Jon raised his voice a bit.
"I have a very intense compass on what is right and what is wrong." You reasoned, "And I would hate to see the man who saved my life take what is basically a death sentence."
"A tight gown would not have killed you," he softly chuckled, clearly trying to change the topic. "Besides, the Night's Watch would be the only place where I would be truly accepted for what I am." He said, walking past you.
"They also accept murderers, rapists, and thieves," You grimaced.
"You wouldn't understand," He said dismissively.
"Then make me," You said earnestly. "I command you to," He turned around, at your command, looking at you clearly unimpressed before continuing walking to who knows where. "I can punish you for not following a command said by the princess ," You said putting on the poshest southern accent your voice could make.
"Send me to the wall then." He walked away from you and into the tall forest, Ghost following behind him, leaving you alone in the courtyard.
END
A/N: part two? I feel like this could be a series!
