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100promptsTitle: Jon's Epilogue
Word Count:3845
Characters: Jon Snow/Original Female Character, Tormund Giantsbane/Original Female Character
Fandom: Game of Thrones (HBO)
Prompt:#022 Honor for100prompts, 20 The Great Bear allbingo
Rating: G
Summary:His banishment to the Knight’s Watch was meant to be a punishment for his crimes. But the North remembered, and he was given a second chance at life. His son would grow up a free man, unencumbered by meaningless titles and foolish games of power. It didn’t matter if he was a Snow, a Stark, or a Targaryen.
A/N: This is somewhat of a fix-it fic for GOT. I needed Jon to have a little more closure.
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me
The doors of Castle Black closed behind them, sealing his fate among the free folk. He slowed his horse down for a moment to gaze out into the vast white open space ahead of him. Ever since he was a boy, he dreamed about embarking on adventures like his uncle Binjen. That’s all he ever wanted. While everyone in Westeros played Lords and Ladies, he was more interested in exploring the lands beyond the wall. Jon never wanted to be a leader or a king, but every time he fought against it, the mantel was thrust upon him. Here beyond the wall, he could finally be free. His freedom came at a price.
During the weeks of imprisonment, Jon had a lot of time to think about the road that led him to this moment. He thought about all the follies and all the missteps he’d taken along the way. But mostly he thought of Dany. Jon reflected on the last moments with his queen, playing it out in his head until he could no longer take it. Did I do the right thing? He had asked Tyrion and later himself. He still wasn’t certain. While Dany had proven his sisters right, she believed she was doing the right thing. How often had he believed he was doing the same only to be wrong? He got to live. He didn’t give her a chance. He would never forget the look in her green eyes at the exact moment he killed her. The blade of his knife had slid into her effortlessly while he betrayed her. Jon meant what he said to her, she would always be his queen. She would always have his heart. But he could not go down the path she was on. He made his choice.
The wind bit into his skin, welcoming him back to the north like a dear friend. The north was his home. Even if he hadn’t killed Dany, he never belonged in Kings Landing. He was Jon Snow, an outcast. A bastard. The Targaryen name didn't belong to him; it was thrust upon him, unwanted and unwelcome. While he bucked against his heritage, Dany clung to hers allowing it to fuel her motivations. They were the opposite sides of the same scorched coin. He may have been a child of the same fires that burned within her, but Jon was forged in ice.
“Jon,” Tormund prodded. The wildling jerked his head forward. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
Jon took one last glance behind him. He had nothing on the other side of that wall. Arya was gone. He was sure he would never see her again. Bran was king. Jon hoped he would make a good ruler, the kind of man the people deserved. The kind of man who would keep the tyrants from forging their wheels again. And Sansa… well, Sansa got what she always wanted. There was nothing left back there for him.
“No,” he answered solemnly. Jon didn’t have second thoughts. He merely wished that things could have been different. He squeezed his knees against his horse’s flank and pressed on through the snow-covered forest toward the wild.
++++
They encamped at the edge of the Haunted Forest with Castle Black and the wall far behind them. Without the threat of wights, the mood was festive. A lively tune played while the sounds of voices lifted high beyond the trees. Jon settled down in front of the fire he built for himself outside his lonely tent. He wasn’t in the mood to be around others, preferring to be alone.
“Drink?” Tormund’s feet crunched on the ice before he plopped down beside Jon. Jon shook his head at the offered drink and went back into staring into the fire. “Ah, come on! It’s a celebration. You finally grew a brain and some balls. You’re one of us now!” Tormund slurred.
A smile twitched at the corner of Jon’s lips. His friend meant well. Jon shifted his gaze toward the rest of the camp. He could live among the free folk, but could he ever be one of them?
“I'm to remain at Castle Black. In exile, remember?”
“Fuck that! And Fuck their shitty rules,” Tormund declared. “Fucking kneelers. No offense to your brother… or your sister,” he amended as if suddenly recalling who Jon was in exile from.
“None taken.”
Tormund clapped Jon hard on his back and laughed. “That’s why I always liked you, Jon.” Jon turned toward his friend and lifted a brow causing Tormund to laugh with more gusto. “You know what I mean. You’re not like them. You ne'er were.”
Tormund was right. He never felt like he belonged, even when he thought he was Ned Stark’s bastard. He wondered now if it was his Targaryen blood that made him different from the others all along. “I suppose you’re right. And now I’m here among free folk.”
“Damn right you are. Where you belong.” Turmond took a long drink. The dark liquid drizzled from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. When he was done drinking, he let out a satisfied “aahh” and belched loudly. The two men stared silently into the fire for a long time. “Are you going to tell me about her… it?”
Jon shook his head. “Perhaps someday. But right now, I’m tired,” he said before standing to his feet. Jon reached down and gave Tormund’s shoulder a light squeeze before he disappeared into his tent.
++++
Spring came to the north and it brought with it the warm sun, colorful flowers, and bright green grass. Jon sat at the edge of the lake and stared out over the misty water. The sun was just rising over the horizon, casting purple and orange lights against the azure sky. Jon stared at the mountains reflected in the crystal-clear lake and sighed. A puff of chilled air escaped his lips before evaporating. Ghost panted beside him before settling down on the crisp, cold grass by his feet. Jon liked coming out to the lake in the morning. It allowed him time to think and be alone without all the wildling chaos. Even after five years of living beyond the wall, he still had to get used to the constant noise and movement. Times like these allowed him to breathe. He took in another deep sharp breath.
Every so often he thought of Arya. He wondered where her boats and adventures had taken her. He imagined her happy and free of the titles she never wanted for herself, too. He often prayed to the forest gods for her safety. Jon had stopped worrying about his youngest sister years ago. He couldn’t think of anyone more capable of taking care of themselves than Arya Stark. He hoped one day their paths would cross again, but he knew they wouldn’t. Instead, he wished her well.
He sometimes thought of Bran and Sansa. He hadn’t heard from them since the day of his exile. He supposed they had settled into their lives as King and Queen. He wished them well, too.
There were times he thought of Dany. In his dream’s things were as they were before. The way she wanted it to be between them. He thought about the day they had flown on the back of her dragons together for the first time. She had wanted to stay near that waterfall and live out the rest of their lives just the four of them. He wished things could have been that simple. It made his heart ache thinking about her. His queen.
None of the wildlings knew the full extent of his dealings in Westeros, except Tormund. After the first night with the free folk, Jon eventually told him his story. He recalled the look on his Tormund’s face while he recounted his story about killing Dany. He didn’t get the judgement he feared he would receive from his friend. Instead, Tormund offered him support by patting him sympathetically on his back. They never spoke about it again. He also made it clear to his friend and everyone else that he had no desire to be named “King-Beyond-The-Wall.”
“I don’t want it” had become his resounding mantra until they finally moved on, bestowing Tormund with the title. Grateful, Jon was more than happy to serve under his friend’s leadership. The free folk were Tormund’s people anyway and he deserved the honor. Jon was perfectly content living out the rest of life quietly.
“Every morning you come out here and do this,” a woman’s voice said from behind him. Jon turned toward the sound. Siobhán gave him a dimpled smile and closed the short distance between them. “So, I thought I’d bring you something hot to drink. It’s my own special recipe.” She pulled out a wooden bottle and cup and poured him some of the teaming liquid inside.
“Thank you,” he said, taking it from her. She kept her focus on him while took the first sip. It burned his tongue, but he enjoyed the sharp taste. “It’s good. What is it?” His nosed opened and his sense come to life.
“Just an old family tradition. Can I sit?” she nodded at the vacant space beside him.
“Of course, yes.” He nodded while he spoke. Jon slid over and made room for the raven-haired beauty. He watched her move from the corner of his eye as she sat beside him.
“It’s pretty in the morning,” she said. Her voice was wistful as she gazed at the snowcapped mountains that surrounded them.
“It is,” Jon agreed.
Beside him, Siobhán laughed and shook her dark head. Jon turned to look at her, puzzled by her sudden burst of laughter. “Aren’t you supposed to say something like, ‘but not as pretty as you? Or some other nonsense you menfolk like to use to get up a woman’s skirt?”
Jon’s cheeks turned pink and he lowered his head to look at his fur covered feet. He knew she was teasing, but he always felt awkward and tongue-tied around her. She was an attractive woman with her thick, dark hair and blue eyes. He appreciated the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled or spoke. “It’s a good thing that most of you don’t wear skirts,” he joked.
Siobhán looked down at her thick pants and laughed again. “You’re right. I’ll leave the skirts and dresses to the women in the south.”
Jon took another drink of the hot liquid she had brought for him and smiled at her awkwardly. She was the daughter of Tormund’s second in command and completely off limits to everyone. Xanner The Brawn was fiercely protective of all five of his daughters. Most of the men in the camp were terrified to even look at them for too long. Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Xanner was not a man he ever wanted to cross. The wildling was known for his sharp temper and even sharper sword. Jon passed her the cup to share. She took it with one hand and ruffled Ghost’s fur with the other.
“Do you miss it?” Siobhán asked after a few minutes.
“The south? No. Not really.”
“What about your family? You never speak of them.”
Jon shrugged. “What’s there to say? I live on this side of the wall now. My place is here among the free folk.”
Siobhán smiled and took another sip of the drink. “Do you ever think of making a family of your own… here with us?”
Jon sighed and looked out onto the lake again. Part of the condition of his banishment was that he be stripped of all titles and could bear no children. He supposed that part of his sentence was to prevent him or his lineage from attempting any claim to the throne. The idea was laughable to him. “I’m not the marrying sort,” he answered in a low voice.
He took an oath when he joined the Knight’s watch and he had broken that oath, first with Ygritte and then with Dany. Each woman brought out a side of him that made him willing to risk everything he believed in for love. Each woman ended up dead in his arms.
“You’re not…” She nodded toward his lap.
Jon’s shook his head and chuckled softly. He was used to the brash free women by now. They never tip-toed around delicate conversation and preferred to dive right in. “I think it might be a good time for you to head on back to camp. I’ll have fish for dinner tonight.”
Siobhán stood to her feet again. “That’s a lot of mouths to feed, Jon.”
“I’ve got time.”
++++
“Well, how do I look?” Tormund asked. He twisted his face into a nervous grimace as he bared his teeth in a hard smile.
“Frightening,” Jon replied.
Tormund looked down as his traditional wedding dress, then back at Jon again. A look of confusion etched across his face. His wild red hair was slick back into a neat style. Jon was almost certain the wildling king had even bathed for the occasion.
“Shit,” he cursed.
Jon chuckled and patted Tormund on his broad shoulders. “You look like a husband.”
“You think?” He perked. Tormund paused and ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. I’m going to be a husband. How did I get myself into this?”
Jon shook his head as he donned a thick fur. Winter had returned to the north again and the chilling bite of frost covered the lands beyond the wall. The wedding party dressed warmly for the outdoor wedding. “Simple, you fell in love.”
“That I did. That I did,” Tormund agreed. “And to a fine woman at that.”
Jon followed Tormund out of the heavy tents and out into the snow. Thick clouds hung low in the sky. Jon reckoned the snow would fall soon. It was fitting for a wildling king’s wedding. His feet crunched through the snow as he took his place beside the lumbering redhead. They stood silently among the soft chatter. Jon lifted his eyes to the sky again and smiled. A few minutes later someone began strumming bouzouki in the distance and a woman’s voice filled the air. Jon turned his gaze toward the party of women walking down the snow capped aisle. Siobhán led the front of the line in a cloud of flowing furs and fabric. She wore a crown of winter blooms in her raven hair, her cheeks flushed pink making her eyes shine a deep blue. Jon’s breath caught in his throat when she flashed him a shy smile. He barely noticed the bride as she followed closely behind her maids.
Stars dotted the inky blue sky as everyone danced to the festive music. The bride and groom sat close together and shared a drink. Jon lifted his mug of ale and nodded at Tormund.
“What are you doing sitting, man?!” Tormund slurred loudly. “Get up, dance. Get you a woman.”
Jon chuckled and shook his head. “I rather not.”
“Get a woman?” Tormund asked shocked. “This isn’t your Knight’s Watch. There are no oaths here. It’s about time you find a woman. Your king commands it.”
“Well, in that case,” Jon joked.
Tormund took a long guzzling drink of his ale and nodded toward the crowd of dancing wedding guest. “Go on.” His eyes locked on Siobhán. The dark-haired woman was glancing furtively toward their table.
Jon sighed resigning himself to Tormund’s drunken command. He knew if he didn’t comply, Tormund would pester him about it for the rest of the night. Jon pushed himself from the table and walked toward one of the fires. He wrapped his thick furs around himself and hunched closer to the burning flames. Jon let his mind drift as he stared into the orange glow of light near his feet.
“Can I sit?” Her voice was gentle and feminine in his ears.
Jon shifted his gaze from the fire and bobbed his head. He shifted on top of the snow-covered log and gave her some space to settle down beside him. “Beautiful night,” he began awkwardly.
Siobhán looked up at the sky. The moon was so close it seemed like they could practically touch it. “Yes. I always preferred winter weddings. It feels…” she paused to think of the right word. “Magical.”
Jon nodded his head and took another drink from his cup. He was delighted the wedding went as planned. Weddings usually never ended well in Westeros. Above all he was happy for his friend.
Siobhán eyed him thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again. “The other women were right. You are a tough nut to crack,” she teased.
Jon looked up from the fire again. “What do you mean?”
“You’re always so serious. And quiet. It’s a wedding Jon Snow. You act as if someone died.”
“My apologies.”
“Don’t apologize. Ask me to dance.”
Jon stared at her, taken aback by her sudden request. She had her pick of any man in their camp. Why would she want to dance with him? “I can’t dance.”
“Anyone can dance. You just move your legs and feet.”
Jon looked down at the dark liquid of his cup. He hated dancing. It made him feel like a foolish, uncoordinated oaf. He looked up and caught Tormund watching him closely from the head table. Between Siobhán’s bright blue eyes staring at him and Tormund’s, he felt cornered.
“Alright,” he said finally. “But I’ll forewarn you. I’m not very good at it.”
“Then I’ll show you.”
Jon took her hand in his and wrapped his cool fingers around hers. They walked toward the edge of the edge of the crowd where a few stragglers danced together. Jon closed his eyes for a moment and tried to recall what he learned as a boy in Ned Stark’s home. After a few moments, he curled hesitant fingers around Siobhán’s slender waist and drew her closer to him. Her woodsy scent filled his senses and clouded his mind.
“Now, left, two, three,” she instructed close to his ear.
Jon followed her instructions and moved his feet first to the left and then to the right again. She was the first woman he had held since that awful day in Kings Landing. Jon pushed the image of Dany’s shattered expression from his mind and focused on the woman in his arms. Her lips grazed his ear as she guided him through the dance. Jon enjoyed the feel of her warmth of the softness of her body when she pressed against him. They danced that way for a while until the tempo grew faster. Jon found himself swinging her around wildly to the music until they toppled down onto a bed of snow.
Siobhán’s exuberant laughter filled the air and her eyes glittered with excitement. “See, I told you it wasn’t that bad,” she panted breathlessly.
Jon looked down at her and for a moment he was caught up in her excitement, too. “Are you sure about that? I think I might have stepped on your foot a few times.”
“I’m a northerner. Heavy feet can’t harm me,” she declared.
Jon stared down at her flushed face. Her lips were rosy and full, and his fingers tingled with the desire to touch her. “It’s freezing down here. Let’s go back to the fire.”
Jon helped Siobhán to her feet. The flames were low when they returned to their earlier spot and Jon added a few sticks to the flames.
“Oh, look! My cup is full,” she exclaimed once they were settled back down again. “I told you. Magic.”
Jon smiled. His cup had been refilled, too. “To magic,” he said clinking his pint against hers.
“You were a part of the Knight’s watch?” Siobhán asked, breaking the silence.
Jon nodded his head. “That was a long time ago. It seems like another life,” he said thoughtfully.
“I was a girl when you came with us beyond the wall. Back then there were stories about you. The King in the North, Jon Snow, and his white-haired queen.They said she was the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Jon’s eyes darted away from hers for a moment before resting on the flames once again. “Some believed she was,” he said quietly.
Silence fell over them again. Siobhán took another drink from her cup and studied Jon’s face in the glowing flames. “You still love her.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A statement that Jon couldn’t quite deny. He still loved Dany. He suspected he always would. Despite knowing the truth about himself and witnessing everything she’d done for that stupid thrown; he couldn’t make himself stop loving her. He tried. By the gods, he tried.
“Who?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
Siobhán rolled her eyes. “You know who. Your white-haired queen.” Jon stayed silent and continued to drink his ale.“Ah, I see.”
Jon lifted his eyes to meet hers. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You don't have to. Your silence says it all. She was a very beautiful woman. Crazy as shit, but beautiful.”
Despite himself, the corners of Jon’s lips lifted into a reluctant smile. She wasn’t mistaken. By the end, it seemed as if Dany had gone a little mad. He made his peace with it a while ago and he knew Siobhán meant no harm with her words. “Sometimes we lose our sight along the way,” he said, simply, putting an end to the conversation.
“That’s true. Things in this world are never simple, and some decisions are the right ones even when they feel hard or wrong.”
Jon looked up, shocked by Siobhán’s quiet words. It was as if she could see into his heart. He still questioned his decision from time to time. He knew that Tyrion had manipulated him that day in his cell. Jon wasn’t as big of a fool as everyone thought. People often mistook his code of honor for stupidity. No, he knew what Tyrion was doing and in the end, he made his choice.
“You’re a clever woman,” he said after a lengthy pause.
“And you’re a good man, Jon Snow,” Siobhán replied.
++++
Flowers bloomed among the snow, poking through the crisp, white ice. Jon watched as Ghost galloped beside a young boy in the field. His jet-black curls bounced as he struggled to keep up with his hound. The sound of the child’s wild giggles floated in the air. Jon smiled with pride as he watched his boy play joyfully among the wild. Beside him, Siobhán winded her arm around Jon’s waist and rested her head against his arm.
His banishment to the Knight’s Watch was meant to be a punishment for his crimes. But the North remembered, and he was given a second chance at life. His son would grow up a free man, unencumbered by meaningless titles and foolish games of power. It didn’t matter if he was a Snow, a Stark, or a Targaryen.
He was free.
Word Count:3845
Characters: Jon Snow/Original Female Character, Tormund Giantsbane/Original Female Character
Fandom: Game of Thrones (HBO)
Prompt:#022 Honor for
100prompts, 20 The Great Bear allbingoRating: G
Summary:His banishment to the Knight’s Watch was meant to be a punishment for his crimes. But the North remembered, and he was given a second chance at life. His son would grow up a free man, unencumbered by meaningless titles and foolish games of power. It didn’t matter if he was a Snow, a Stark, or a Targaryen.
A/N: This is somewhat of a fix-it fic for GOT. I needed Jon to have a little more closure.
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me
The doors of Castle Black closed behind them, sealing his fate among the free folk. He slowed his horse down for a moment to gaze out into the vast white open space ahead of him. Ever since he was a boy, he dreamed about embarking on adventures like his uncle Binjen. That’s all he ever wanted. While everyone in Westeros played Lords and Ladies, he was more interested in exploring the lands beyond the wall. Jon never wanted to be a leader or a king, but every time he fought against it, the mantel was thrust upon him. Here beyond the wall, he could finally be free. His freedom came at a price.
During the weeks of imprisonment, Jon had a lot of time to think about the road that led him to this moment. He thought about all the follies and all the missteps he’d taken along the way. But mostly he thought of Dany. Jon reflected on the last moments with his queen, playing it out in his head until he could no longer take it. Did I do the right thing? He had asked Tyrion and later himself. He still wasn’t certain. While Dany had proven his sisters right, she believed she was doing the right thing. How often had he believed he was doing the same only to be wrong? He got to live. He didn’t give her a chance. He would never forget the look in her green eyes at the exact moment he killed her. The blade of his knife had slid into her effortlessly while he betrayed her. Jon meant what he said to her, she would always be his queen. She would always have his heart. But he could not go down the path she was on. He made his choice.
The wind bit into his skin, welcoming him back to the north like a dear friend. The north was his home. Even if he hadn’t killed Dany, he never belonged in Kings Landing. He was Jon Snow, an outcast. A bastard. The Targaryen name didn't belong to him; it was thrust upon him, unwanted and unwelcome. While he bucked against his heritage, Dany clung to hers allowing it to fuel her motivations. They were the opposite sides of the same scorched coin. He may have been a child of the same fires that burned within her, but Jon was forged in ice.
“Jon,” Tormund prodded. The wildling jerked his head forward. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
Jon took one last glance behind him. He had nothing on the other side of that wall. Arya was gone. He was sure he would never see her again. Bran was king. Jon hoped he would make a good ruler, the kind of man the people deserved. The kind of man who would keep the tyrants from forging their wheels again. And Sansa… well, Sansa got what she always wanted. There was nothing left back there for him.
“No,” he answered solemnly. Jon didn’t have second thoughts. He merely wished that things could have been different. He squeezed his knees against his horse’s flank and pressed on through the snow-covered forest toward the wild.
++++
They encamped at the edge of the Haunted Forest with Castle Black and the wall far behind them. Without the threat of wights, the mood was festive. A lively tune played while the sounds of voices lifted high beyond the trees. Jon settled down in front of the fire he built for himself outside his lonely tent. He wasn’t in the mood to be around others, preferring to be alone.
“Drink?” Tormund’s feet crunched on the ice before he plopped down beside Jon. Jon shook his head at the offered drink and went back into staring into the fire. “Ah, come on! It’s a celebration. You finally grew a brain and some balls. You’re one of us now!” Tormund slurred.
A smile twitched at the corner of Jon’s lips. His friend meant well. Jon shifted his gaze toward the rest of the camp. He could live among the free folk, but could he ever be one of them?
“I'm to remain at Castle Black. In exile, remember?”
“Fuck that! And Fuck their shitty rules,” Tormund declared. “Fucking kneelers. No offense to your brother… or your sister,” he amended as if suddenly recalling who Jon was in exile from.
“None taken.”
Tormund clapped Jon hard on his back and laughed. “That’s why I always liked you, Jon.” Jon turned toward his friend and lifted a brow causing Tormund to laugh with more gusto. “You know what I mean. You’re not like them. You ne'er were.”
Tormund was right. He never felt like he belonged, even when he thought he was Ned Stark’s bastard. He wondered now if it was his Targaryen blood that made him different from the others all along. “I suppose you’re right. And now I’m here among free folk.”
“Damn right you are. Where you belong.” Turmond took a long drink. The dark liquid drizzled from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. When he was done drinking, he let out a satisfied “aahh” and belched loudly. The two men stared silently into the fire for a long time. “Are you going to tell me about her… it?”
Jon shook his head. “Perhaps someday. But right now, I’m tired,” he said before standing to his feet. Jon reached down and gave Tormund’s shoulder a light squeeze before he disappeared into his tent.
++++
Spring came to the north and it brought with it the warm sun, colorful flowers, and bright green grass. Jon sat at the edge of the lake and stared out over the misty water. The sun was just rising over the horizon, casting purple and orange lights against the azure sky. Jon stared at the mountains reflected in the crystal-clear lake and sighed. A puff of chilled air escaped his lips before evaporating. Ghost panted beside him before settling down on the crisp, cold grass by his feet. Jon liked coming out to the lake in the morning. It allowed him time to think and be alone without all the wildling chaos. Even after five years of living beyond the wall, he still had to get used to the constant noise and movement. Times like these allowed him to breathe. He took in another deep sharp breath.
Every so often he thought of Arya. He wondered where her boats and adventures had taken her. He imagined her happy and free of the titles she never wanted for herself, too. He often prayed to the forest gods for her safety. Jon had stopped worrying about his youngest sister years ago. He couldn’t think of anyone more capable of taking care of themselves than Arya Stark. He hoped one day their paths would cross again, but he knew they wouldn’t. Instead, he wished her well.
He sometimes thought of Bran and Sansa. He hadn’t heard from them since the day of his exile. He supposed they had settled into their lives as King and Queen. He wished them well, too.
There were times he thought of Dany. In his dream’s things were as they were before. The way she wanted it to be between them. He thought about the day they had flown on the back of her dragons together for the first time. She had wanted to stay near that waterfall and live out the rest of their lives just the four of them. He wished things could have been that simple. It made his heart ache thinking about her. His queen.
None of the wildlings knew the full extent of his dealings in Westeros, except Tormund. After the first night with the free folk, Jon eventually told him his story. He recalled the look on his Tormund’s face while he recounted his story about killing Dany. He didn’t get the judgement he feared he would receive from his friend. Instead, Tormund offered him support by patting him sympathetically on his back. They never spoke about it again. He also made it clear to his friend and everyone else that he had no desire to be named “King-Beyond-The-Wall.”
“I don’t want it” had become his resounding mantra until they finally moved on, bestowing Tormund with the title. Grateful, Jon was more than happy to serve under his friend’s leadership. The free folk were Tormund’s people anyway and he deserved the honor. Jon was perfectly content living out the rest of life quietly.
“Every morning you come out here and do this,” a woman’s voice said from behind him. Jon turned toward the sound. Siobhán gave him a dimpled smile and closed the short distance between them. “So, I thought I’d bring you something hot to drink. It’s my own special recipe.” She pulled out a wooden bottle and cup and poured him some of the teaming liquid inside.
“Thank you,” he said, taking it from her. She kept her focus on him while took the first sip. It burned his tongue, but he enjoyed the sharp taste. “It’s good. What is it?” His nosed opened and his sense come to life.
“Just an old family tradition. Can I sit?” she nodded at the vacant space beside him.
“Of course, yes.” He nodded while he spoke. Jon slid over and made room for the raven-haired beauty. He watched her move from the corner of his eye as she sat beside him.
“It’s pretty in the morning,” she said. Her voice was wistful as she gazed at the snowcapped mountains that surrounded them.
“It is,” Jon agreed.
Beside him, Siobhán laughed and shook her dark head. Jon turned to look at her, puzzled by her sudden burst of laughter. “Aren’t you supposed to say something like, ‘but not as pretty as you? Or some other nonsense you menfolk like to use to get up a woman’s skirt?”
Jon’s cheeks turned pink and he lowered his head to look at his fur covered feet. He knew she was teasing, but he always felt awkward and tongue-tied around her. She was an attractive woman with her thick, dark hair and blue eyes. He appreciated the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled or spoke. “It’s a good thing that most of you don’t wear skirts,” he joked.
Siobhán looked down at her thick pants and laughed again. “You’re right. I’ll leave the skirts and dresses to the women in the south.”
Jon took another drink of the hot liquid she had brought for him and smiled at her awkwardly. She was the daughter of Tormund’s second in command and completely off limits to everyone. Xanner The Brawn was fiercely protective of all five of his daughters. Most of the men in the camp were terrified to even look at them for too long. Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Xanner was not a man he ever wanted to cross. The wildling was known for his sharp temper and even sharper sword. Jon passed her the cup to share. She took it with one hand and ruffled Ghost’s fur with the other.
“Do you miss it?” Siobhán asked after a few minutes.
“The south? No. Not really.”
“What about your family? You never speak of them.”
Jon shrugged. “What’s there to say? I live on this side of the wall now. My place is here among the free folk.”
Siobhán smiled and took another sip of the drink. “Do you ever think of making a family of your own… here with us?”
Jon sighed and looked out onto the lake again. Part of the condition of his banishment was that he be stripped of all titles and could bear no children. He supposed that part of his sentence was to prevent him or his lineage from attempting any claim to the throne. The idea was laughable to him. “I’m not the marrying sort,” he answered in a low voice.
He took an oath when he joined the Knight’s watch and he had broken that oath, first with Ygritte and then with Dany. Each woman brought out a side of him that made him willing to risk everything he believed in for love. Each woman ended up dead in his arms.
“You’re not…” She nodded toward his lap.
Jon’s shook his head and chuckled softly. He was used to the brash free women by now. They never tip-toed around delicate conversation and preferred to dive right in. “I think it might be a good time for you to head on back to camp. I’ll have fish for dinner tonight.”
Siobhán stood to her feet again. “That’s a lot of mouths to feed, Jon.”
“I’ve got time.”
++++
“Well, how do I look?” Tormund asked. He twisted his face into a nervous grimace as he bared his teeth in a hard smile.
“Frightening,” Jon replied.
Tormund looked down as his traditional wedding dress, then back at Jon again. A look of confusion etched across his face. His wild red hair was slick back into a neat style. Jon was almost certain the wildling king had even bathed for the occasion.
“Shit,” he cursed.
Jon chuckled and patted Tormund on his broad shoulders. “You look like a husband.”
“You think?” He perked. Tormund paused and ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. I’m going to be a husband. How did I get myself into this?”
Jon shook his head as he donned a thick fur. Winter had returned to the north again and the chilling bite of frost covered the lands beyond the wall. The wedding party dressed warmly for the outdoor wedding. “Simple, you fell in love.”
“That I did. That I did,” Tormund agreed. “And to a fine woman at that.”
Jon followed Tormund out of the heavy tents and out into the snow. Thick clouds hung low in the sky. Jon reckoned the snow would fall soon. It was fitting for a wildling king’s wedding. His feet crunched through the snow as he took his place beside the lumbering redhead. They stood silently among the soft chatter. Jon lifted his eyes to the sky again and smiled. A few minutes later someone began strumming bouzouki in the distance and a woman’s voice filled the air. Jon turned his gaze toward the party of women walking down the snow capped aisle. Siobhán led the front of the line in a cloud of flowing furs and fabric. She wore a crown of winter blooms in her raven hair, her cheeks flushed pink making her eyes shine a deep blue. Jon’s breath caught in his throat when she flashed him a shy smile. He barely noticed the bride as she followed closely behind her maids.
Stars dotted the inky blue sky as everyone danced to the festive music. The bride and groom sat close together and shared a drink. Jon lifted his mug of ale and nodded at Tormund.
“What are you doing sitting, man?!” Tormund slurred loudly. “Get up, dance. Get you a woman.”
Jon chuckled and shook his head. “I rather not.”
“Get a woman?” Tormund asked shocked. “This isn’t your Knight’s Watch. There are no oaths here. It’s about time you find a woman. Your king commands it.”
“Well, in that case,” Jon joked.
Tormund took a long guzzling drink of his ale and nodded toward the crowd of dancing wedding guest. “Go on.” His eyes locked on Siobhán. The dark-haired woman was glancing furtively toward their table.
Jon sighed resigning himself to Tormund’s drunken command. He knew if he didn’t comply, Tormund would pester him about it for the rest of the night. Jon pushed himself from the table and walked toward one of the fires. He wrapped his thick furs around himself and hunched closer to the burning flames. Jon let his mind drift as he stared into the orange glow of light near his feet.
“Can I sit?” Her voice was gentle and feminine in his ears.
Jon shifted his gaze from the fire and bobbed his head. He shifted on top of the snow-covered log and gave her some space to settle down beside him. “Beautiful night,” he began awkwardly.
Siobhán looked up at the sky. The moon was so close it seemed like they could practically touch it. “Yes. I always preferred winter weddings. It feels…” she paused to think of the right word. “Magical.”
Jon nodded his head and took another drink from his cup. He was delighted the wedding went as planned. Weddings usually never ended well in Westeros. Above all he was happy for his friend.
Siobhán eyed him thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again. “The other women were right. You are a tough nut to crack,” she teased.
Jon looked up from the fire again. “What do you mean?”
“You’re always so serious. And quiet. It’s a wedding Jon Snow. You act as if someone died.”
“My apologies.”
“Don’t apologize. Ask me to dance.”
Jon stared at her, taken aback by her sudden request. She had her pick of any man in their camp. Why would she want to dance with him? “I can’t dance.”
“Anyone can dance. You just move your legs and feet.”
Jon looked down at the dark liquid of his cup. He hated dancing. It made him feel like a foolish, uncoordinated oaf. He looked up and caught Tormund watching him closely from the head table. Between Siobhán’s bright blue eyes staring at him and Tormund’s, he felt cornered.
“Alright,” he said finally. “But I’ll forewarn you. I’m not very good at it.”
“Then I’ll show you.”
Jon took her hand in his and wrapped his cool fingers around hers. They walked toward the edge of the edge of the crowd where a few stragglers danced together. Jon closed his eyes for a moment and tried to recall what he learned as a boy in Ned Stark’s home. After a few moments, he curled hesitant fingers around Siobhán’s slender waist and drew her closer to him. Her woodsy scent filled his senses and clouded his mind.
“Now, left, two, three,” she instructed close to his ear.
Jon followed her instructions and moved his feet first to the left and then to the right again. She was the first woman he had held since that awful day in Kings Landing. Jon pushed the image of Dany’s shattered expression from his mind and focused on the woman in his arms. Her lips grazed his ear as she guided him through the dance. Jon enjoyed the feel of her warmth of the softness of her body when she pressed against him. They danced that way for a while until the tempo grew faster. Jon found himself swinging her around wildly to the music until they toppled down onto a bed of snow.
Siobhán’s exuberant laughter filled the air and her eyes glittered with excitement. “See, I told you it wasn’t that bad,” she panted breathlessly.
Jon looked down at her and for a moment he was caught up in her excitement, too. “Are you sure about that? I think I might have stepped on your foot a few times.”
“I’m a northerner. Heavy feet can’t harm me,” she declared.
Jon stared down at her flushed face. Her lips were rosy and full, and his fingers tingled with the desire to touch her. “It’s freezing down here. Let’s go back to the fire.”
Jon helped Siobhán to her feet. The flames were low when they returned to their earlier spot and Jon added a few sticks to the flames.
“Oh, look! My cup is full,” she exclaimed once they were settled back down again. “I told you. Magic.”
Jon smiled. His cup had been refilled, too. “To magic,” he said clinking his pint against hers.
“You were a part of the Knight’s watch?” Siobhán asked, breaking the silence.
Jon nodded his head. “That was a long time ago. It seems like another life,” he said thoughtfully.
“I was a girl when you came with us beyond the wall. Back then there were stories about you. The King in the North, Jon Snow, and his white-haired queen.They said she was the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Jon’s eyes darted away from hers for a moment before resting on the flames once again. “Some believed she was,” he said quietly.
Silence fell over them again. Siobhán took another drink from her cup and studied Jon’s face in the glowing flames. “You still love her.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A statement that Jon couldn’t quite deny. He still loved Dany. He suspected he always would. Despite knowing the truth about himself and witnessing everything she’d done for that stupid thrown; he couldn’t make himself stop loving her. He tried. By the gods, he tried.
“Who?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
Siobhán rolled her eyes. “You know who. Your white-haired queen.” Jon stayed silent and continued to drink his ale.“Ah, I see.”
Jon lifted his eyes to meet hers. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You don't have to. Your silence says it all. She was a very beautiful woman. Crazy as shit, but beautiful.”
Despite himself, the corners of Jon’s lips lifted into a reluctant smile. She wasn’t mistaken. By the end, it seemed as if Dany had gone a little mad. He made his peace with it a while ago and he knew Siobhán meant no harm with her words. “Sometimes we lose our sight along the way,” he said, simply, putting an end to the conversation.
“That’s true. Things in this world are never simple, and some decisions are the right ones even when they feel hard or wrong.”
Jon looked up, shocked by Siobhán’s quiet words. It was as if she could see into his heart. He still questioned his decision from time to time. He knew that Tyrion had manipulated him that day in his cell. Jon wasn’t as big of a fool as everyone thought. People often mistook his code of honor for stupidity. No, he knew what Tyrion was doing and in the end, he made his choice.
“You’re a clever woman,” he said after a lengthy pause.
“And you’re a good man, Jon Snow,” Siobhán replied.
++++
Flowers bloomed among the snow, poking through the crisp, white ice. Jon watched as Ghost galloped beside a young boy in the field. His jet-black curls bounced as he struggled to keep up with his hound. The sound of the child’s wild giggles floated in the air. Jon smiled with pride as he watched his boy play joyfully among the wild. Beside him, Siobhán winded her arm around Jon’s waist and rested her head against his arm.
His banishment to the Knight’s Watch was meant to be a punishment for his crimes. But the North remembered, and he was given a second chance at life. His son would grow up a free man, unencumbered by meaningless titles and foolish games of power. It didn’t matter if he was a Snow, a Stark, or a Targaryen.
He was free.
