sangrael

          JON SNOW’S FATE WAS A RATHER DULL AFFAIR to ponder on. For Rhaenys, at least. Despite his refusal to bend the knee and his branding as a traitor because of it, Rhaenys doubts he will suffer a traitor’s fate. Daenerys knows better than to start her reign by killing a Stark — even a bastard. The parallels between her and Grandfather would be too many and she’s already fighting the fear and suspicion that comes with being the Mad King’s daughter. And even if Daenerys was cross enough with him to want him gone, her advisors and allies would dissuade her from any rush decisions. But he doesn’t know that.

          ❝ The Lannisters. ❞ She retorts. ❝ Was it not Tywin Lannister the one who ordered the deaths of your half-brother, his wife and unborn child? ❞ At least they were offered quick deaths. Her hands are clenched into fists to keep from shaking. There are times when her anger is blinding, so blinding that it threatens to consume her fully. What would her kind, gentle mother say of her daughter in these moments? ❝ Was it not Cersei Lannister the one who threw your father in the Black Cells for her little cub to behead later? ❞ The princess scoffs and takes those few strides that put her in front of the Northerner. ❝ No. No, we are not the same. I intend to make ALL those who hurt me and my family pay. Justice will come for everyone, not just some of them. ❞ The wind is indeed stronger at the edge but it only seems to flare the fire burning within her and cause her eyes to water — she’ll pretend it’s the wind. ❝ Do you know who stands guard at Cersei’s side? ❞

Indeed he’d wandered into the dragon’s den. It was the not the monsters who soared roaring through the skies he needed to fear, but their masters. The Queen and her aunt, who had the dragon’s fire burning bright and hot within her as well. Rhaenys Targaryen might have the Dornish look to her, but she was at Targaryen through and through. Did she even feel the cold bite of the wind now when she was like this? Jon made himself to look directly into those hot embers that glowed behind her dark eyes, his mouth setting into a thin hard line. He was no dragon, he was hardly a wolf, but he would not sully the memory of his father and his brothers by being cowed by a Targaryen either.

“Jaime Lannister, so styled the Kingslayer for a reason. I know.” Lord Stark might never have spoken of what happened during Robert’s Rebellion, but being the children that they were, he and Robb and the others had heard of the atrocities committed by the Lannisters and their ilk to the far south. A babe still at his mother’s breast with his head dashed in and a mother who’d been brutalized. He knew those stories. Just as he knew in great detail of what this woman’s family had done to his and his own. There was an uncle and his father’s father that he’ll never know. 

“I have no doubt that you’ll do me proud.” There was a reason that Ned was sending Jon to the Resistance, why he had picked Jon over Robb, over anyone else. He trusted Jon, he knew that he would make the right decisions and that he would be willing to go. While Robb would be willing to go, he needed his first born to be safe and far away from others. Ned knew that their family needed to be split and he hated the idea of it but it was necessary for their protection. He did not want to leave Catelyn but they both understood, no matter how hard the decision was to make. In a way, Ned hoped that he would be able to walk out of his alive.

“I’m not surprised.” There was little surprise at the idea of Jon joining the Resistance as it was exactly the place where Jon belonged. He could help, communicate back and forth, they could whisper secrets but Jon could also further his training more so than on Westeros. There was little he could do here but once he was off the planet, there was more freedom, more desire, more knowledge and masters out there that could help him. Ned knew that Jon would excel.

“The others are going to be hidden, they’ll receive their training still, as we all need to be on our toes. With you in the Resistance, I want you to continue yours, better yourself. I have this for you.” Ned handed Jon a small medallion on a leather thread that could easily be worn around his neck. “It has all the locations of where everyone will be. I know of some of them and I do not need to know the rest for their own safety. If I mange to escape, it will have my planned location. When it’s time, I want you to seek our your siblings and Catelyn. Bring them together and keep them safe. Before that, you are to work and blend yourself into the Resistance. Do not look as if you are from Westeros. Train, better yourself, learn everything you can about the First Order and this planet destroying weapon the First Order has. Do not speak about this conversation to anyone either, Jon, keeping between us.”

He’s scared. 

It’s as though his heart’s dropped straight into a lake of dark and frigid waters and Jon has to force himself not to shiver. But he can’t deny that twisting in his gut that reminds him all too much of those day of childhood. Days when he’d been a young boy, waking with tears in his eyes from nightmares that he could never quite remember save for the monsters and shadows. It all felt so very real to him then. And it’d always been Father who’d find and comfort him, Father who’d gather him within his strong arms and whisper soothing words and promises that he was safe. He would always be safe. 

The shadows and monsters are real now. Jon still has the same dreams and he still wakes gasping for breath. And maybe, he still wishes that he had Ned Stark to hold him and whisper all those sweet promises that everything would be fine so long as he was with him, but he’s older now. Jon knows better than to believe that one man can stand against a dark that threatens to swallow even the brightness of the stars. 

But just as he’d needed Father then and still needs him now if Jon were being honest with himself, times have changed. He swallows that fear, buries it deep until he can stare at his father with his chin raised and can speak without a tremor in his voice. “I won’t fail you.” But his hand still curls tight around the medallion, its edges biting into his skin. His last link to his family when he leaves and dread tingles at the edges of his awareness, the same sense of warning that’s been with him since he could remember. He looks at his father, feeling as though this meeting is a goodbye and thinks how unfair it is when his father had only just returned. 

There was no going back.

It was silent acceptance between the two as she watched him shut the door. They could never be truly alone, there were too many opportunities for their exposure. There was apart of Daenerys that knew she should be more cautious and not fall into bed with another man – to allow herself to be this vulnerable. This could be another mistake, another lapse in her judgement to appease her loneliness. Her heart was dangerous to follow and so many have died from the decisions she’d made. Jon would be another life that would be taken because of her foolishness. ’No.’ she vowed, ‘He will not be taken from me.’ In that moment,  she relinquished the fear that seem to sit upon her heart. Jon Snow would be hers and she vowed to protect his life.

Even if it meant the loss of her own.

Despite the darkness that engulfed everything she knew, he was the anchor that kept her from drowning. Losing Visieron left a gaping wound in her heart she wasn’t sure would ever be filled. But his survival from that fateful encounter with the Night King was a testament of his strength. They would fight together and defeat whatever obstacle that stood in their way.

She felt the oddest sensation consumed her entire being and she was certain she would fall right where she stood. She could hear the beating of her heart and all of her blood rushed to her head as he came closer. His calloused hands were gentle against her skin, feeling the pad of his thumb sweeping across her cheek. She closed her eyes, feeling the warm of his breath tingling against her lips. 

And he kissed her.

His lips were soft against hers and she noticed how gentle he was. He pulled away and she opened her eyes to see slate orbs staring back at her intently. She could sense his urgency, but he was holding back and Daenerys blamed herself. Even in this moment he didn’t know what she wanted and sought her permission. Whatever he needed from her she would give freely and without hesitation. The sound of her name coming from his lips sent a shiver down to her spine  and sudden urgency to have his body pressed against hers.

“Jon.” his name being sacred, a prayer she had always needed.

“Jon.” she repeated his name suddenly feeling light headed as her grip on him became tighter. “I want you to stay with me. Always.”

IT WAS ALL that he needed to hear.

Every gesture, every touch of her hands against his skin was searing even through the layers of fabric and yet he’d needed to hear that vow. Still feeling so very much like a boy, he broke into a smile at those spoken words and felt the heavy weight of the past handful of years lifting. This was a woman true to her many styles and she’d broken through his restraint. He’d said as much to Davos upon that rocky wall with the winds nearly threatening to blow them into the seas. This was not a time for indulgences. Not with what he’d seen with his own eyes in the far North, not with the darkness that was threatening to plunge their world into a night that would never end. But it was too late to turn back now. Much too late. Sometimes Jon thought he’d passed that point the moment he thought to set sail from White Harbour. 

How many nights had he argued with himself about this? Trying to rationalize that war was not the time for passion? But he’d been drawn to her, pulled slowly and inexorably to her until he’d been caught by those fires. And now he could hardly bring himself to regret this moment with her cradled between his hands, her body pressed against his with their shared heat so intense and so burning that he could hardly breathe. This was dangerous and all Jon could do was smile because he was hers. Always.

“You may yet live to regret those words, Your Grace.” 

His hands fell to grasp hers, thumbs tracing and tripping against her knuckles, her skin soft and smooth against the rough callouses of his touch. Slowly he lifted her fingers, pressing them to his chapped lips, still watching her through the low light of her cabin. In the candlelight he could still see the colour of those violet eyes that shone with bright with heated emotion. A look that was a gift that he would take and horde amongst the other many and small treasures she’d given him in their time together. All the smiles and the soft expressions, all the sacrifice and compromises she’d made when she had no reason at all. Everything she’d given and given so freely and lightly with barely a thought of the consequences. 

I am hers and she is mine. 

Slowly he released her hands, still feeling the heat of her skin against his and reached up, touching her hair that was impossibly soft even pulled tight in those braids. There must be a story to them, but now all he cared was to undo them. Fumbling awkward fingers worked to loosen the weavings, watching as bundled strands broke free to fall like curtains of silver-gold that framed her face. He liked it when she had her hair down, it was a look that suited her.

 he  was  correct  on  that        -                     that  she  was  not  from  the  north  .        no  twist  of  fate  from  the  seventh  hell  could  ever  make  her  wish  for  one  moment  that  she  was  from  the  north  .        such  freezing  ,        frostbite  ,        and  starvation  SUFFOCATED  HER  !        and  so  she  would  leave  it  rightfully  untouched  ,        rightfully  claimed  by  the  man  and  his  brothers  in  black  .        terrible  though  the  conditions  were  ,        she  did  not  allow  herself  to  dwell  upon  her  discomfort  .        to  do  so  would  be  to  allow  icicles  into  the  pale  of  her  features  and  bring  dangerous  sluggishness  to  her  thoughts  .        aching  cheeks  aside  ,        and  frozen  lips  aside  ,        phasma  intended  on  answering  in  such  a  way  that  left  his  knowledge  eclipsed  in  shadow  .          ❝      i  have  no  reason  to  flee  south  when  there  is  nothing  for  me  there  .      ❞          little  comfort  ,        no  more  family        -                    not  when  she  had  sent  an  arrow  into  her  brother’s  chest  and  turned  her  back  on  the  rest  .        she  was  blunt  ,        yet  she  kept  herself  pensive  enough  ,        she  hoped  &&  plotted  ,        that  he  wouldn’t  dare  turn  her  away  .          ❝      i  bring  no  others  .        you  can  scout  the  land  yourself  .      ❞

THERE CAME a sharp gust of wind, piercing and cold enough to slice through his many layers of fur and leather. It was a whistling howl, mournful enough to make their surroundings all the more bleak and desolate when there was naught but snow for the eye to see. But Jon knew the dangers of that belief when there were foes who knew how to hide and make use of even this barren land. He had scouts, seasoned rangers who were his eyes and ears who would bring him what tidings they found. It was how he was here with this woman after all and he believed her claim. If she had friends then they were like to be dead or gone. Or worse.