Chapter Text
“I completely… understand, my lord,” lord Manderly uttered the words with such a grimace that, had Jon still be completely oblivious to the prevailing displeasure addressed at him by lords and common folk and spirits and statues alike, that in itself would have been enough to open his eyes to it. Angered, both at himself for letting it attain him and at everybody else for simply not seeing, he quickened his steps, practically forcing the plump lord to run to try and keep up with his Warden. “But winter is here, and the Lady Stark had done the long-tiring work of bringing enough within the walls of Winterfell and ensuring everybody would have access to it.”
Were he alone, he would have followed his instincts and answered with an annoyed growl, a worthy retort for this remark, but since the corridors were not quite empty yet he had to swallow it down. I know, he wanted to say then, scream it even, for the whole world to hear. I know that Sansa – smart Sansa, kind Sansa, sweet Sansa – is the reason we’ll survive the winter, should we live through it. I know we need the food, I know people will starve if I continue this sentence – and there’s nothing I want less. But it wasn’t about what he wanted – never anything had ever been, if he was honest – it was about the survival of humanity.
And so, he willed himself to speak the words one more time – one last time – trying to erase every bit of emotion in his voice, the way he had mastered during those moons far from home. “Two goats, my lord. An Unsullied is waiting at the North Gate to bring them to the dragons. If you go see through it now, perhaps you’ll be able to join your tent before that storm gets worse.”
He could see the old lord’s lip tremble under his whiskers, and his cheeks take a dark tone of red. “Two goats would nourish an entire family for a fortnight! To waste them in such a way during the worse winter anyone has ever known is abhorrent. To lay to waste all the good work Lady Stark did in your absence is…”
That was the last straw. Jon halted suddenly but held his ground when lord Manderly stumbled to him, his outstretched arm the only thing preventing the other man from falling over his own feet. “Lady Stark and I appreciate your concerns and, rest assured that, the both of us have agreed that feeding the dragons was one of the top priorities for the time being, a priority that should be shared by everyone here.” He stopped, briefly enjoying the understanding terror that passed through the man’s blue eyes. Taking a breath, Jon concluded more softly, “We’d like you to go to the kitchens and ask for those goats.”
He didn’t know if it was the reasonable argument he issued of the importance of the feeding of the dragons or the fact that this order had lady Stark’s approval, but the man didn’t utter anything else and scurried in the opposite direction.
Jon’s shoulders sagged a little after a serving girl rushed past him, the turmoil of the last few hours starting to take its toll on him. His day had started early in the morning, he’d been awake before the sun rose, heart thrumming and hands clammy at the thought of seeing Arya and Bran and Sansa again, after so long apart. The joy he had felt, a few hours before midday, at seeing Bran alive, Arya running to him and Sansa smiling had been quickly squashed when his brother invited him to his room before the lunch and threw Jon’s whole world out of its axis with a few words. Then, at lunch, the insistent glaring and barely concealed irritation started appearing from all corners of the Great Hall and spread during the afternoon to everywhere Jon stepped a foot in.
Only Sansa had come to his help, by reminding the lords of the bigger concern, and quieting the most recalcitrant ones with one look. She had looked so regal, sitting at the great table, the afternoon sun making her hair shine brighter than fire; he would have happily spent the whole afternoon looking at her as the northerners told him about what happened during his prolonged stay in the South. The last of Manderly’s men had arrived, the training of the women and children was going well, Baelish had been judged and executed and the food stocks were full. His hand had flown to hers then, and he had stopped himself before it was too late and instead offered her a simple smile, one he hoped conveyed everything he thought about her while hiding the most important part, as always.
But she had only answered him with a tired smile, and that had been the last time he saw her of the day. He could feel the tiredness in his eyes, too, but there was no time for him to sleep. He wouldn’t be able to, even if he wished to. He needed to talk to her first, and privately if possible.
What Bran had told him on the morning threatened to come at the forefront of his mind, and Jon knew nothing good could come out of this.
He needed to find food for her too, to make up for the goats, a part at the back of his mind supplied. Right now, snow was falling too heavily, and the night would be upon them soon, but on the morrow… He would wake up early and go hunting for a rabbit or perhaps even a hare, with luck. He knew that she probably hadn’t ate more than bread and stew and chicken for the past moons, and that the occasional venison was a meager improvement. He would surprise her with a roasted hare and peas and onions for her fast, he decided, and then they would be able to break it together and talk.
“Jon!” An impatient voice brought him back to reality, and he opened the eyes he did not remember having closed. The dragon queen stood before him, her eyes soft and joyous, making his throat burn and his insides twist in unpleasant ways. “We were looking for you, we didn’t have time to finish the tour of the castle this morning,” she reminded him with, as always, an undertone of warning in her voice. She hadn’t liked that he had preferred leaving her for Bran, and the way she was currently eyeing his arm did not leave what she wanted open to interpretation.
He pulled his lips up in a half-smile, offering her his arm and starting to walk to the stairs to continue where they left off. He would show her one or two corridors, the tapestry of the Godswood and his study, and perhaps she will be satisfied, then. He did his best to ignore Tyrion Lannister, who struggled to keep up in the stairs, as his feet guided her this and that way.
“How do you find the North, Your Grace?” The Hand of the Queen asked, completely ignoring Jon in return.
“It’s a pity Jorah didn’t tell me more about the beauty of the North, I would have liked to see it sooner. The white trees and the white lands, everything so white, so pure… it is all so beautiful.”
Jon felt a shiver move through his arms and chest, even beneath his furs and leather. He kept quiet, took care of not letting his eyes linger too long on her or else she would think he wanted to be alone – he had made that mistake three days ago, he wouldn’t make it twice – hoping she would continue talking on her own. He didn’t mind her talking, especially not if it were to say kind things to his home.
Perhaps she would. Perhaps once the Great War was over and she was safely home, with him and their family and their friends, she would find again some of the beauty she had enjoyed so much as a child. Perhaps, one day, he could walk by a room and hear her laugh and sing.
No, he chided himself, not her. The dragon queen. A Targaryen’s place isn’t in the North.
Tyrion snorted lightly. “The landscape might be pretty enough, I guess, but it is nothing compared to the gardens of the Red Keep on a summer evening. The Northern people, however, aren’t known to be pleasant or welcoming.”
Perhaps that’s because whenever a southerner comes here, they come with their pompous demeanor, bring only destruction and leave as soon as they can. He wouldn’t utter such words aloud in his present company but thinking them now did not hurt anybody.
Daenerys turned to him, preventing him from opening the door to his study and making his hand inadvertently brush her waist. Jon tensed and resisted throwing a look over his shoulder to ensure that no one witnessed that. He was well-aware how fast rumors could happen in the castle, cut off from the exterior world at least for the night, and he had no want of anyone to know that he had lain with the dragon queen while he was away. And with what Bran had said…
“The people are alike their ruler, they will see me for who I am, and they will love me, just like you do,” his- the queen susurrated, her mouth moving in a knowing smile and her eyes pleased by the way he clenched the hand that touched her. “You northerners must be convinced, I can see. It’s alright. I am impatient to know them, especially your little sister, Arya. We are quite alike, from what I’ve seen today.” She still hadn’t moved from the threshold, and so Jon lead her away, to the Great Hall or her assigned room.
A quick glance outside reminded him that the night did fall more quickly in the North, and that he needed to find Sansa before she’d retreat in her chamber.
Unfortunately, Daenerys looked at him in a way he was starting to be well-acquainted to and he suppressed a sigh. He would need again to think up an excuse as to why he won’t share her bed for the night, something he was rapidly growing weary of. It was usually an awkward moment for every party involved – and Jon still thought about the evening, when he had been discussing with Davos and had received the summoning, with embarrassment. The presence of Tyrion promised its own brand of awkwardness.
However, as the queen claimed she did not feel tired at all, even as he reminded her of the oncoming tasks of the morrow, they passed before Robb’s former chamber without stopping.
He felt the queen’s breath on his cheek, felt her hand return his previous unintended caress, the combined effect with the ale he drank that afternoon making his head spin, and spin, and spin. He wished someone would appear and end his plight, he wished Tyrion would intervene instead of scowling at him, he wished… But it was nothing.
“Your Grace…”
He saw her smile, he saw her eyes light up. “I know,” she said. “I’ll send Missandei to you. I’ll think of a pretense. You have my heart,” she whispered the last bit to him, as she had done before.
He remembered the first time she had told him that. She had summoned him in her cabin, the previous night, and he had lain with her, sealing her vow to him. She had whispered it to him, just after, as he was falling asleep, and at first he had thought nothing of it. But then, she had repeated it the following morning, when they were both dressing in a hurry, and she had been taken aback when he hadn’t offered an answer to her promise. In a fit of panic, he had said the first promise he could think about her, and it had seemed to please her for she kept on saying her part and looking at him expectantly until he said his.
“And you, my queen, never leave my thoughts,” he whispered back the words, though he was sure for a different reason. She stood on her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his mouth, as if to entice him with what was sure to come later, behind the secrecy of closed doors, and left him with a knowing smirk barely reaching her eyes. Her Hand followed in a hurry, but not before sending him another angry glare and puffing in a haughty manner that grated on Jon’s nerves.
His feet led him without his consent to the Lord’s chambers while his mind wandered about the following days. To the problem of the dragons, the constant attention his- their mother demanded from him added to the pile of the worries he would’ve rather left at Dragonstone. He would need to find a way to estrange the queen from his company, and to find Sansa – he was aware that it was quickly becoming a necessity, he thought as he stopped in front of her door.
His hand twitched with the urge to throw open the door and march into the room, uncaring of whatever he might interrupt. Sansa had always sent whoever was with her away, before, and without a second thought. But it hadn’t be completely right, completely true, completely him. He quietened his ragging breathing to try and hear if voices could be hear through the heavy door, but of course it was impossible this way.
What would he do if he knocked only to be dismissed? What would he do if she expected someone else? Jon swallowed back a whine at the thought that it could happen, that it will, soon, and started pacing in front of the closed door.
Did it already happen? He wasn’t aware of anything, but then, should it have happened, he’d probably be the last to know. Ladies didn’t share with their brothers the matter of their hearts, it simply wasn’t done. No matter how much he ached for a sign, a hint, a little thing that might put an end to his anguish... or fuel it until he ended it himself.