Archive of Our Own

Ned was worried about his nephew.

It had been three weeks since the death of Lyanna. His own sister, and Jon’s beloved mother.

Three weeks since Jon had come to live with him, his wife, and his own four children. And while he knew that grieving was to be expected, he couldn’t help but fear that there was something else going on as well.

He had hoped that the funeral would have provided some sort of closure for the young lad of eleven, but Jon had remained just as gloomy and withdrawn since that day.

If anything, he was becoming even more so.

The poor boy barely ever left his room, and on the sporadic occasions that he did it was obvious that he had been crying. His grey eyes red from rubbing and tears, his nose dribbly and chafed.

Sighing, Ned placed his elbows on the kitchen counter and rested his heavy head in his hands. He just wished he could do something, anything to help him. But by the gods he could not think of what. He felt like a failure.

Ned and Lyanna had always been close, and since Jon’s father had died before the lad was born he had always played something of a paternal figure in his nephew’s life. But now, now that Lya wasn’t here, that paternal role was suddenly so much more important, so much more crucial, and felt so much more impossible than it ever had before.

Luckily his own family - his wife and his children, who loved Jon like one of their own, and like a sibling respectively - understood and respected that Jon needed some special attention, and extra love and care right now. They didn’t begrudge Ned giving it to him, indeed, they had all tried, in their differing and unique ways, to cheer him up themselves. Though none had been successful so far.

He needed a way to reach Jon. He needed to try to get him to talk to him like he used to.

Climbing the stairs he stopped in front of Jon’s door and gave it a few quick knocks.

“Go away,” he heard mumbled and muffled through the thick wood.

But Ned was not to be deterred. Jon, whether he thought he did or not, needed someone right now. And Ned very much wanted to be that person for him.

So, without any hesitation, he turned the knob and pushed the door open to see Jon sitting on his bed, hastily pushing a small, square piece of paper under his pillow before he turned to his uncle with a look of abject betrayal on his face.

“I said, go away,” Jon repeated, his cheeks a little flushed, which only made Ned worry more.

Something else was definitely going on here. At least he wasn’t crying, though, by the look of him he had been in the not so distant past.

“I don’t mean to intrude, Jon. I was just wondering if you wanted to come to the Godswood with me? Sit under the heart tree for a while? I know it always gives me a bit of peace to do so.”

Jon looked at him sceptically for a moment, his eyes darting to his pillow and back again making Ned even more curious as to what he’d hidden under there as he’d walked in, but finally he nodded.

“Aye, just give me a minute,” he replied, pushing Ned out the door and closing it firmly behind him.

He could hear vague sounds of shuffling. Of drawers opening and closing. A noise that sounded alarming like furniture being dragged across the polished wooden floors.

What on Planetos was the boy trying so desperately to hide?

Ned’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch. What if he’d been taking milk of the poppy? Or shade of the evening? Or chewing on sourleaf?

Yes, this upcoming talk was very necessary, and well overdue.

Finally, looking a bit out of breath which was not surprising given the racket he had been making, Jon opened his bedroom door again, pulling on his black parka with the fur trimmed hood.

The trek to the Godswood was silent. Nothing to be heard but the sound of snow crunching beneath their boots. But Ned allowed it. He wanted to give Jon some time to come back to himself and get comfortable.

They stopped once they got to the heart tree and, simultaneously, they lowered themselves down to sitting on an old log in front of it. Still neither saying a word, just gazing up at the weirwood in reverent, pensive silence.

Eventually though, Ned broke the quiet stillness surrounding them. “So,” he cleared his throat hoping to come up with the right words which had eluded him the entire time they had been sitting outside.

Jon gave no real indication that he’d heard him. He remained sitting stiff and uncomfortable, his tiny brow furrowed in that way it perpetually was these days. His eyes full of misery and gloom, a pout on his lips, staring blankly at the heart tree.

“What’s going on Jonno? Is this just about your mum? Or is there something else?” He waited a beat, then two. But he got no response. He might as well have been talking to one of the old statues down in the crypts.

Wracking his brain, he wondered what else it could possibly be that was hanging over his nephew like a cloud.

“How about school?” at that Jon twitched a little and Ned thought he might be on to something. “Are you, are you being bullied, son?” At Jon’s remarkably stoic silence for one so young he had no choice but to keep pushing, “Or is it something worse? Can you give me anything? Even just a hint?”

Next to him, Jon clenched his little fists against his knees a few times, tugged and pulled at his pouted lips with his teeth before finally turning to face him, staring at him appraisingly.

“Do you really want to know?” he questioned quietly, almost unsurely.

“Aye, I really want to know,” Ned told him sincerely nodding his head encouragingly.

Jon frowned deeply before looking up at him again, “Even though there’s absolutely nothing you can do to help?”

He sounded so desolate and miserable. So certain that that would be the case, that his uncle wouldn’t be able to help him. It wrung Ned’s heart and bled it dry. It made him even more resolute to do everything in his power to do whatever it takes.

“Even if that’s the way of it, aye, I still do really want to know. And I swear to you, here, before the heart tree, that I will do whatever I can to help. You know what that means don’t you?”

In return Jon nodded solemnly. “It means you’ve made a sacred vow. You won’t break it.”

“That’s right, I won’t. So, let’s have it. What’s going on?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. But Jon suddenly flushing furiously and looking down, his shaggy curls falling into his eyes was not it.

The wee lad took a few deep, steadying breaths, clearly readying his nerves before turning to him again, his face as red as the leaves of the tree they were sitting in front of.

“Alright.” Another heaving breath, “Well, the truth is… I’m in love.” He said clearly and so, so sincerely, his grey eyes bright.

“Sorry?” questioned Ned incredulously. This admittance was the very last thing he had been expecting.

“I know I should be thinking about mum all the time and I am.” Jon hurried on, perhaps mistaking his abrupt question as a reprimand. “But the truth is I’m in love,” again, said so earnestly. “I was before she died and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He finished with a jerky little nod suggesting he thought that that was the end of that.

Ned couldn’t help himself. He wanted to stop himself because his young nephew’s confession was so heartfelt, but he couldn’t – his relief was just too palpable – and so he barked out a startled laugh.

Jon whipped his face up to his, the look on it showing he believed his uncle’s reaction nothing short of treason, so Ned rushed to explain. “Aren’t you, aren’t you a bit too young to be in love?”

“No.” Jon replied simply, with an undercurrent of incredulousness as though he could not believe his old uncle was so dense.

“Right, of course, right.” Affirmed Ned in his most serious voice. The very last thing he wanted was to invalidate Jon’s feelings after he’d finally opened up to him about them. “But I’ve got to say I’m a little relieved,” he continued reaching out a hand to ruffle Jon’s hair.

“Why?” Jon asked sounding beyond baffled.

Ned chuckled, “Well, because I, I thought it might be something worse.”

At this Jon’s eyebrows shot straight up in surprise, “Worse than the utter agony of being in love?” he questioned him, the disbelief that there could be anything worse than that written plain on his face.

Ned studied the sweet, thoughtful boy that was his nephew. His face both twisted in agony, and flushed with joy at the mention of his love.

The boy that he had just sworn to help.

So help he would.

He jumped off of the log and began to pace. “Well, it doesn’t have to be agony now does it, son? All we need is a plan.”

Jon’s mouth dropped open in shock, “A plan? You’ll really help me?”

Ned’s eyes soften and he feels his heart thud painfully at the hope in Jon’s eyes. He walks over and places a firm hand on his shoulder, “I swore I would, didn’t I?”

Jon puffs out his chest, his eyes alighting a little. It’s such a joy to see after all these weeks of melancholy. “Aye, you did.”

“Right, so we can crack this.” Ned began pacing excitedly again, hoping to get Jon just as energised. “Remember I was a kid once too.”

Jon’s nose screws up at this as though he cannot even begin to picture it and Ned does his level best to contain a chuckle. “So, I take it it’s someone from school? Right?”

“Aye.” Jon mumbles shyly, his cheeks pinkening again, and definitely not from the cold.

“Good. Right. Good. And what does she… he… think about you?”

Jon sighs miserably, “She doesn’t even know my name. And even if she did she’d hate me. She’s the prettiest girl in school, and everyone wants to fall on their knees in front of her because she’s a Queen.” He finishes passionately, his eyes bright. And if this were a few hundred years ago Ned had no doubt that Jon would have already tried to pledge his life and his sword to her.

Walking back over and sitting down again he throws his arm around Jon’s shoulder, “Well, sounds like you’re screwed then aren’t you?”

“Hey,” Jon cries shoving his arm off of him, offended. “You said you’d help.”

“And I will. But like I said, first, we need a plan.”

*

Jon had been in a slightly better mood since Ned had promised to help him come up with a plan. He still wandered around the house looking glum, but he was starting to make more of an effort to talk to his cousins, and his eyes were no longer rimmed with red every time he left his bedroom.

That night, Ned was in his office finishing up some paperwork for the estate now that all the kids were in bed when he heard a shuffling at his door and looked up to see Jon, in his pyjamas, his frown and pout both firmly back in place. His eyes a little swollen.

“Hey Jonno,” he called him in, “Can’t sleep?”

In response Jon flung himself dramatically into the chair opposite Ned’s big desk.

“I got some horrible news today,” he announced miserably.

Pushing all his work aside Ned steepled his fingers under his chin giving Jon his undivided attention. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“Daenerys is going back to Essos,” he whimpers out in response.

“Your girl’s Esossi?” asked Ned, curious.

Jon wrenches a gut heaving sigh, “Yes, she’s Essosi. But she’s not my girl,” he whispers dejectedly. “And now she’s going back to Essos, and it’s the end of my life as I know it. As I want it.” He finishes fervidly, tears forming in his eyes again.

“That is horrible news,” Ned commiserates shaking his head wondering what he can do to cheer his nephew up even a little.

Jon has just started sniffing quietly again when he comes up with something; “Well, we need the White Wolf. We need the Dragon Queen. And we need them now.”

And to his relief Jon’s lips quirk up into a barely perceptible, tiny smile.

The Long Night was Jon’s all time favourite film. Like all young boys he loved the battles and the action, but he also knew that his sweet, sensitive nephew secretly adored the romance between the brave White Wolf and the fierce Dragon Queen who saved the world together.

While Jon sets up the DVD in the den, Ned makes the pair of them some popcorn, and soon they are both immersed in the film that they have each seen more times than they can count.

And now they’re at one of Jon’s favourite scenes.

“Go on,” encourages Calliope indicating her dragon, Rhaegal, who is sniffing around Tom.

“I don’t know how to ride a dragon.” Tom replies, startled.

“Nobody does, until they ride a dragon.” Answers Calli, nonplussed.

“What if he doesn’t want me to?”

“Then I’ve enjoyed your company, Tom Eis.”

Calli watches in amusement as Tom scrambles his way atop Rhaegal.

“What do I hold on to?” calls out Tom, alarmed.

And just as, on screen, Calli replies logically “Whatever you can.”, Ned swoops across and grabs Jon in his arms lifting him high in the air, pretending to drop him, then throwing him higher again until Jon is shrieking with laughter.

“What was that for?” he demands of his uncle once he’s finally been set down again, and the pair of them fall, breathless, on to the couch.

“You weren’t holding on to your dragon,” teases Ned.

Jon chuckles a little, but then he harrumphs and, to Ned’s dismay, he can see his pout reforming, his mood beginning to grow dark again. He needs to try to fix this. Impart a little adult wisdom, however harsh adult wisdom can often seem to a child.

“You know, Jon, I’m sure she’s special, and unique,”

“Perfect,” Jon interrupts him.

“Aye, and perfect. But the general consensus is, is that, in the end, there isn’t just one person for the each of us.”

Instead of this putting out the fire it seems to fan the flames in Jon’s tiny, loving heart.

“There was for Tom and Calliope. And there is for me.” He says fiercely, resolutely. Then, more quietly, both hopeful and sad, “She’s the one,” he whispers like a prayer holding up his pointer finger to show what he means.

“Fair enough,” Ned sighs out, incapable of anything else in the face of such stalwart belief.

*

Things had gone back to being a bit more sombre for Jon after that night. Faced with the prospect that his one was leaving the country the poor boy was devastated, moping around the house and giving monosyllabic answers to any questions posed to him. Which was why Ned was so surprised to hear the stomping running feet, to see the door to his office fly open and nearly off its hinges and a positively beaming Jon come skidding into the room.

“Uncle Ned, Uncle Ned, I’ve got a plan!” he crows excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Praise the Old Gods,” cried Ned throwing his hands up into the air. “What is it?”

“Well, I was just watching the telly and I saw that guy, you know, the, the biggish… balding, old rock star, one. Bobby B?”

Ned nods his head in the affirmative, glad, given Jon’s description that his nephew doesn’t know how close he and Robert used to be.

“And he had all these really pretty women around him and that’s when I realised it.”

“Realised what?”

“Girls love musicians, don’t they?”

“Uh huh.”

“I mean, even the really weird ones get girlfriends. Bobby B was saying he gets tonnes of them.”

Ned chuckled wryly. Bobby B may have once got tonnes of girls, but he’d never gotten the only one he’d truly wanted, Jon’s very own mother – his sister, Lyanna. But he won’t tell Jon that. One, because the lad seems so excited about this plan, and two, because it genuinely might traumatise him.

“So anyway, there’s this big pageant at the end of term, and Daenerys is in it. And I was thinking if I was in the band and played absolutely amazingly, then there’s a chance that she might actually notice me. Then she might fall in love with me. What do you think?”

In truth, Ned thought it was insane. But he’d made an oath before the heart tree to help his nephew out, and this seemed to be the plan he wanted to go with.

“I think, it’s a grand plan, aye. Except for…”

“The fact that I don’t play any musical instruments?” interrupts Jon sounding not at all concerned. “That’s nothing but a teeny, tiny, insignificant detail. I’m doing this.”

“Right,” says Ned standing and picking up his coat. “Well, we’d better head in to town then. Go to the music store. Buy you a drum kit.”

“Why drums?” Jon asks, cocking his head to the side in curiosity.

“Trust me,” Ned replies with a wink, “Rock stars think they get all the girls, but really it’s the drummers that do.”

Jon’s responding grin is bright enough to melt the snow out in the yard.

*

Ned hires a man named Jeor Mormont to come to the house and teach Jon the drums.

And suddenly, Jon is energised like never before. His nephew is absolutely determined to become the greatest drummer alive it would seem, and he demands lessons every single day of the week.

Luckily, Mormont is a no nonsense kind of man who approves wholeheartedly of dedication, and is as much of a task master as Jon is an eager pupil and so he agrees without hesitation. It also helps that he seems to have grown rather fond of Jon.

To the chagrin of the entire household, especially baby Bran and his tiny developing ears, Jon practices every free moment he has. And many of the moments he really should be sleeping. Eventually, they had had to move his drum kit out into the old barn otherwise they would never get a moments peace in the house such is Jon’s determination. He practices as though his life depends on it. Which, according to him, his life, if he wants it to be worth living, does depend on it.

But, despite the racket, Ned is thrilled. Jon has a new sense of purpose. A bounce and confidence in his step that he hadn’t before.

Another development is that he is now never, ever seen without his drum sticks in his hand. He’ll play on anything. Catelyn’s freshly scrubbed down kitchen counter, Robb’s CD tower, Sansa’s doll house, Arya’s Lego buildings, Bran’s highchair. Any space is a fine space to practice drumming apparently.

But no one minds. They are all as thrilled as Ned is that Jon has a light in his eyes and a smile on his lips again.

Well, Bran might be a bit confused as to why his high chair table is suddenly percussive, but what can be expected of a four year old really? He happily bops along to the beat anyway.

One day, after finally cajoling Jon out of the barn long enough for the lad to scarf down some dinner before he begins practising again, Ned notices, tucked into one of the stands of the drum kit, a picture – clearly cut (very neatly, and with much more care and precision than one would expect of an eleven year old boy) out of the school’s year book, of a young girl about Jon’s age. She’s smiling shyly and looks sweet, and pretty.

This must be her, Ned realises. This must be Daenerys. Jon’s one.

His suspicions are confirmed when he turns the picture over and sees, in Jon’s very neatest printing the name Daenerys enclosed in a heart.

Ned will never admit it, not to anyone, but he swoons a little over the adorable, innocent, romanticism of the whole thing.

*

Finally, the day of the big school pageant has arrived.

As is typical in the Stark / Snow household it is absolute chaos getting everyone, with all their necessary props and costumes into the Rover and off to the school. Eventually though, they do manage it.

Jon is equal parts excited and terrified Ned can tell. So, he quietly pulls him aside and reminds him of one of the only things he knows to be true in this world. A person can only be brave when they are scared. Jon nods curtly, understandingly, clutching his drum sticks tightly.

“I love her, Uncle Ned.” He proclaims earnestly.

“I know you do, son.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” Jon frets.

“If it doesn’t work you’ll at least always know you gave it your best shot. I’m so proud of you, lad. So proud. Now get in there and try and impress your girl.” He winks at him giving him a shove towards the school.

With all the kids settled backstage with an army of teachers to prepare them, he and Cat make their way out to the front and find their seats in the audience, Cat immediately pulling out her camcorder to capture every moment for posterity.

The items are in order of class from youngest to oldest.

So first they watch, enraptured, as only proud parents can be at these kinds of things, as Arya’s class performs a miniature play version of The Long Night.

Arya had been so excited for the performance until she was told that she had been cast as girl praying in crypts number ten. She’d been livid that she wasn’t going to get to be part of the action. In hindsight, Ned now realises he should have seen this disaster coming. Just as the boy playing the White Wolf is about to defeat the Night King, Arya charges across the stage with a battle cry and homemade weapon in her hand (gods, how did that get by them? They are going to have to start frisking that girl every time she leaves the house), she strikes the killing blow to the classmate playing the monster of legend herself.

Neither the kids on stage, nor the crowd knows what to do. Frustrated, Arya shoves the boy playing the Night King to the ground to prove she’s really killed him.

It’s not how the story goes. It makes no sense that way. There’s no pay-off for the long standing rivalry between the White Wolf and the Night King. But she is just a kid grinning cheekily, and coming from her these things aren’t anywhere near as annoying as they would be from grown men, so the audience allows it laughing and clapping. Arya looks thrilled with her new found fame, while he and Cat exchange looks knowing they will be having a talk with her when they get home about proper stage etiquette.

A few performances later Sansa dances beautifully in a ballet about Florian and Jonquil where she plays the Queen of Love and Beauty, a crown of blue winter roses on her head as she flits about the stage. His eyes tear up seeing his precious little girl looking so happy.

Then, a couple of performances later, it’s Jon’s turn.

Ned would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous for the lad.

There’s no music to begin with, but then, gently, a spotlight come up on a tiny, singular figure in the middle of the stage and she slowly begins to sing, unaccompanied, for now, in a voice far, far too soulful for a ten year old girl.

Once the light has come up fully Ned can see her.

Jon’s one.

Daenerys Targaryen. Looking cute as a button in a skirted Santa Claus costume.

But her talent, her voice, is anything but cute.

It is phenomenal.

Before he can dwell on it for too long, the music begins and builds as all the stage lights come on and the band begins playing in earnest and Daenerys goes from soulful, to pop princess (Queen, he knows Jon would correct him), in an instant.

He can see Jon grinning from ear to ear playing his drums to perfection, clearly having the time of his life, and the sight makes him sigh with gratitude and relief.

Halfway through the rousing rendition of All I Want for Christmas is You, he catches Jon’s eye and nods towards Daenerys, holding up his pointer finger in Jon’s one gesture, in question.

Jon practically nods his head off his neck non-verbally replying in the affirmative and the percussion misses a few beats as Jon stops drumming to hold up his own pointer finger in response.

Ned gets it.

She’s the one.

The whole crowd, including him and Cat, are on their feet clapping along to the song at this point and as it winds down, little Daenerys sings “All I want for Christmas is………,” then she turns directly to where Jon is playing the drums, pointing at him as she finishes “…you,” in a long, lovely note.

Jon’s grin would put the sun to shame, and he’s so happy for the boy… But then the music continues and she’s still singing “and you, and you, and you” pointing all over the audience, and with each utterance Jon’s face falls more and more heavily into a scowl.

He punctuates his anger with a resounding crash of his cymbals on the last beat.

Ned is not looking forward to the aftermath of this.

Nonetheless, after the show as Cat goes to gather up Arya and Sansa, Ned runs to find Jon.

“Classic drumming, son. What a show. Old Mormont would be proud.”

Jon simply shrugs looking miserable. “Thanks,” he says scuffing his toe on the linoleum. “Didn’t work though.”

Ned’s had enough. “So tell her then,” he cries as the rest of his family joins him.

“Tell her what?” Jon grumbles stubbornly.

“Tell her that you love her, of course.”

“Oh yes, Jon, do.” Swoons Sansa.

“Nooooo,” Jon whines, “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, she flies out tonight.”

Sansa squeals. “Even better. Chase her to the airport and tell her how much you love her. Just like in the movies. She’ll simply adore it.”

“Sansa… I…” Ned begins unsure how to say what he needs to say as the responsible adult here, but knowing it needs to be said nonetheless.

“Take him dad. Take him there now.” Sansa demands stamping her ballet shoe clad foot. And Ned makes a mental note to sit her down one day soon and gently explain to her about the differences between fiction and real life.

“Yes, NOW” Arya chimes in. Which is… surprising. He hadn’t picked his youngest daughter for a romantic.  

Truthfully, he thinks it is a terrible idea, but one look at Jon’s face, bright, so bright with hope. His eyes, so like his mother’s, wide, and yearning, and pleading and he thinks, ‘fuck it, what harm can it do really?’

“Well, I did swear to you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” replies Jon and he can see that the lad is getting impatient and if he doesn’t act now half his children will be against him.

“Go get in the car then,” he grumbles indulgently.

Jon absolutely squeals with delight.

He then turns and begins to sprint off in the direction of the exit shouting “Come on, we have to hurry.”

But before he can even begin to follow Jon has skidded to a halt and run back to them. He stops in front of Sansa, still in her costume and shyly, fidgeting with his fingers, he asks, “May I?” pointing gently to the crown on her head.

And Ned’s heart nearly breaks knowing what he wants.

His sister had raised such a sweet boy. He only hopes he can continue that. Live up to all that Lyanna had wanted for Jon.

Sansa, meanwhile, is beaming. Thrilled to be involved, and more than willing to take off her crown and hand it over to Jon.

But he doesn’t take the whole thing. Instead, he carefully works just one of the stems of the blue winter roses loose before handing it back to Sansa. “I don’t want to ruin your crown. I only need one. Thanks, Sansa.” He grins at her.

She beams back at him in response absolutely starry eyed and swept up in the romance of it all. “Go get the girl, Jon.” She cries – straight out of a movie – yep, Ned will definitely have to sit her down very, very soon for a talk about expectations versus reality.

*

The drive to the airport is fast and frantic. Jon is bouncing in his seat, but still holding the blue rose so, so carefully.

When they arrive they sprint through the airport seeing that the flight to Braavos is now boarding.

Jon looks up at him in a panic and he knows he has to take charge now.

He steps up to the desk clerk.

“Look, we’re not flying but do you think we could just head back there for a minute?”

The stuffy, bored looking clerk glares at him, “No ticket, no getting through that door.”

“Not even so the boy,” he pushes Jon forward who puts on his best puppy dog eyes, “can say goodbye to the girl he loves.”

“Nope.” Snaps the clerk. “Next.”

An older man, who was behind them in the queue steps forward. He has white hair, and a white beard, and, if Ned’s not mistaken, he’s missing three fingers on one hand.

As Ned moves aside he sees the old man give Jon a wink, with a twinkle in his eyes as he begins loading his possessions into the clerk’s arms claiming he simply cannot find his boarding pass.

Once the clerk is properly burdened down with coats and hats and bags the old man gives Jon a nudge, “What are you waiting for, boy?” he whispers to him. “Go on. Go get your girl.”

Jon, appatently, needs no more encouragement than that, taking off at a sprint through the door, Ned trailing behind, stopping just long enough to smile gratefully at the old man.

He hopes to catch up to his nephew, but Jon is too quick, too eager, for Ned.

Before he knows it the lad has sprinted far ahead and jumped security. Immediately the officers begin to chase after him.

Shit.

Suddenly, Ned hears a familiar voice yell “Wait, that’s my nephew.” For a moment he wonders if he’d shouted it himself, but then he sees Benjen, who does part time security at the airport during the busy seasons to help out, as a part of the mob that is tailing a blurry with speedy determination Jon.

He urges his legs on chasing after them all. When one of the men tries to stop him he barks “He’s my nephew, too.” And the man seems to recognise him. Maybe he can see the resemblance to Benjen? Or maybe he just can’t be bothered with the hassle of arguing it right now. Instead he merely jerks his head in what Ned assumes is assent and they continue the chase.

They come to a stop just before the gate and Ned and Benjen hold the rest of the men off while Jon, who Ned can see is shaking with nerves, steps forward towards the little silver blonde haired girl who currently has her back turned to him, waiting to board her plane.

“Daenerys?” Jon calls. And Ned could not be prouder somehow.

Quick as a whip the little girl turns, and her eyes go so wide that they threaten to take over her entire face. But a sweet smile is blossoming on her lips.

He sees a woman, almost certainly Daenerys’ mother, given the fact that Daenerys is a perfect miniature of her, turn around as well.

For some reason, this woman’s eyes begin to water at the scene.

“Jon?” she replies, sounding shocked and excited all in one.

His poor nephew looks stunned.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, the boy gathers himself and says disbelievingly “I thought you didn’t know my name.”

Little Daenerys’ smile becomes so shy, but her eyes are so bright “Of course I do,” she gushes.

And Ned is fairly certain that the Others could rise again but those two would not notice.

Instead they would stay a thousand years, standing there, gazing at one another in awe.

“I… ummm… Here.” Squeaks Jon thrusting the winter rose at her. “I bought this for you. To say goodbye. I,” he can see the poor boy gulp, “I hope you’ll be happy in Essos.”

Tiny Daenerys takes the flower from his hand as gently as if it were the made of the finest crystal, and handles it as though it were a million times more precious. Her smile is blinding.

“Thank you,” Ned can hear her whisper. He can definitely see the sweet little tears forming in her eyes. “It’s lovely. You’re… you’re lovely,” she stammers never breaking eye contact with Jon who has gone so still at the pronouncement that Ned nearly barrels towards him in case the poor lad faints. Benjen holds him back, an indulgent grin on his face.

“I hope you have a lovely Christmas here too. I… I can’t wait to see you when school starts again.”

“What?” screams Jon so loudly that he draws the attention of the very few people remaining who were hitherto disinterested in the adorable scene playing out before them.

“I’m just going to Essos to visit some family for Christmas,” says Daenerys gently, placing her free hand on Jon’s arm which, if he didn’t know better, he would have thought had electrocuted the boy, he jumped so jerkily.

“Oh,” it appears Jon is too stunned to say anything else.

The final boarding call is announced and, clearly regretfully, Daenerys’ mother calls for her softly.

“Thank you for the flower, Jon. I love… y…it.” She stutters, blushing like the young girl she is.

But she’s a bold one, Ned can give her that, because she takes a small step forwards, towards Jon and quickly, softly, presses her lips to his.

Poor Jon looks like you could knock him over with a feather.

“I’ll see you at the start of next term?” Daenerys asks shyly.

“Aye.” Is clearly all Jon can manage in response.

And then, in a flurry of activity, Jon’s one is ushered through the gate and onto her plane and Jon turns to face him.

At first he looks stunned beyond belief. But then he whoops and jumps in the air, his entire being lit up with pure, unadulterated joy.

Jon doesn’t need words. He just grins at him and holds up his pointer finger grinning smugly.

Ned can’t help but grin back.

The one indeed.

*

On Christmas Day, like the rest of his children, Jon gets plenty of presents but he’s barely paying attention to any of them.

He’d received a card in the mail yesterday and already the poor thing was showing signs of wear and tear having clearly been held, and opened, and read countless times since its arrival. Jon had excitedly sprinted to show it to him as soon as he’d gotten it. Catelyn, Sansa, and even little Arya had positively cooed over it while Jon preened. Ned was just glad to see the boy so very happy.

A few days before the new school term is about to start, Ned asks Jon if he wants to go for a drive.

“Sure,” responds Jon.

He’s a pretty happy boy now, and Ned could not be more grateful nor more relieved. “Where to?”

“It’s a surprise.” Ned winks conspiratorially.

They take the scenic route to the airport. Ned had managed to get in touch with Rhaella Targaryen, Daenerys’ mother, and asked her if it was alright if he bought Jon to meet them when they arrived back.

The woman had been overjoyed at the suggestion and provided all the necessary details.

So now, here they were. Jon impatiently pushing past people to get a front row view of the arrivals, knowing that his one was going to be there any moment.

Ned recognises the exact moment that Daenerys spots Jon in the crowd.

When she sees him her little face positively glows with happiness as she does a silly, awkward little skip making her braided pigtails swing as she waves frantically before making her way quickly towards Jon who, to his amusement, is just as awkwardly tripping over himself in his rush to get to her.

Across the commotion of commuters he makes eye contact with Rhaella, and he can see the delighted, but equally amused twinkle in her eyes that he knows is in his too.

Ah. Young love. It truly is the sweetest.

Neither Jon nor Daenerys care. In fact, they probably, definitely don’t even notice how bumbling they look.

They are just so happy to see one another again.

Gracefully, Rhaella makes her way over to his side and mentions how her little Dany hasn’t stopped talking about Jon all month.

Ned laughs. “Aye, Jon’s much the same. If it’s not about Daenerys he’s not much interested these days.

“You know,” coos Rhaella adoringly, “Dany calls Jon her mēre.”

“Her what?” He asks, confused, and unable to take his eyes of the adorable sight of his nephew and Daenerys clearly trying to work out whether they should be the first one to do something besides talk excitedly to one another.

“Her mēre. It means her ‘one’ in Valyrian. She’s convinced that your nephew is the only person in the world for her.”

Ned can’t help it, he barks out a loud and startled laugh.

“Is that funny?” Rhaella questions.

She doesn’t sound angry. On the contrary he can see in her eyes the same worry he had harboured for Jon all those months when he thought that Daenerys didn’t even know his name.

The worry that her little girl is going to get her heart broken.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. No, no it’s not funny. It’s… it’s serendipitous I suppose.”

“How so?” asks Rhaella glancing at him, confused.

“Watch this,” he assures her, confidently.

“Jon,” he calls through the noisy crowd, and his nephew looks up at him, clearly annoyed that he’d interrupted his time with Daenerys.

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he does the pointer finger hand signal with his eyebrows raised as if questioning whether it is still the case.

Jon grins giddily, returning the gesture and bobbing his head energetically in affirmation.

Ned turns back to Rhaella, smiling. “He’s been calling her his one for months now. Way before that stunt at the airport. That was how he’d often communicate it.”

Rhaella laughs, softly and happily. And they both smile softly as Daenerys and Jon finally begin to approach them.

Their little hands linked and swinging between them.

Identical, joyful smiles on both of their faces.

Their shining eyes looking only towards one another.