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Alayne was thankful for the coolness seeping in from her back being pressed against the firm stone behind her. It seemed to be her only lifeline to sanity in this madness.
How had it come to that?
She had been Alayne for so long at this point nothing about this situation felt wrong to her. Sure, intellectually she knew that it was in fact incredibly wrong and filthy. Still, here she was, wishing for the first time ever that she was truly just Alayne Stone.
Because Alayne Stone had met Jon Snow as he was reintroduced to Westeros: As the bastard of Rhaegar Targaryen and new right hand-man of Daenerys Targaryen, the woman who had fashioned herself the true heir to the Iron Throne. He had come to the Vale after unifying the North and Free Folk, getting rid of the Boltons and allegedly was brought back from the dead.
With Stannis passed away as well as his daughter, there was no legitimate Baratheon contender to the throne.
On the other side of the realm a man who said to be the son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen gathered the Dornish support. As well as the Queen to be herself that had landed on Dragonstone a while ago and took feeble control of the burned out Westerlands and Riverlands with the help of a weakened Iron Fleet.
Alayne wasn’t entirely sure what the truce between would be Aegon and Daenerys entailed, but as of right now, what seemed to be the last few Targaryen’s worked to retake their ancestorial throne.
It was widely considered that Aegon was relinquishing his would-be claim for two important reasons: From the Targaryen side of things succession was clear. Aerys had names his second son Viserys heir in his last days alive, a fact the Maesters had archived. Viserys Targaryen was dead as he had still considered his sister his heir. With Rhaegar’s offspring clearly moved down in the line of succession. Sure, the continent had proven that many would have preferred a King over a Queen in spite of legal inheritance, (The Dance of Dragons had shown as much.) but Aegon’s second problem was that he could not proof his linage beyond a pretty story and fitting features.
(Granted there was only one witness to Jon’s parentage in Hawland Reed but that was one eyewitness more than the other brother had. Reed was known as a loyal friend to Eddard Stark. Why would he tell a lie potentially endangering Jon who had been excepted as a Stark bastard all along?)
At least as spouse to the Queen Aegon would be crowned Prince and assume the position as heir for the time being. His children would still inherit the title and throne.
If the trio managed to establish power over all the Kingdom.
That was the reason Jon Snow or Aeomon Sand (names seemed a trivial thing these days.) had come to the Vale, to ask them to join the Targaryen in their war against the Lannister-Tyrell faction.
Jon had with a golden Dragon behind him on the horizon and a fully grown Ghost by his side. He had worn dark, black armor (for the Watch? As Targaryen colors?) and had looked little like the sweet sullen boy she had known from afar all her childhood.
He had looked at Alayne and found nothing familiar in her it seemed. It was one of the reasons it had been surprisingly easy to keep the charade up. Sansa Stark seemed so utterly gone and forgotten over the last months that not even a sibling could recognize her under the layers of deceit, dye and delusion.
No, she corrected herself. Cousin. If Jon Snow truly was a Targaryen Bastard, he had never been a sibling to the Stark children. And even if the revelation steered something within Sansa and maybe him too – Alayne wouldn’t know anything about it.
Here she was even with all her knowledge seeing the way he was looking at Alayne. Sansa and Alayne had their fair share of men looking at them, but it was the first time she felt somewhat comfortable with it. Jon would be horrified of course if he knew because actual cousins or not, they had been siblings all their lives. (Maybe not? Targaryen by their own decree do not adhere to the laws of gods in men. Maybe he would still look at her like that if he knew and then she was the only person obligated to be horrified.)
But flirtation was easier now. She had done it with Harry until he had lost interest in the bastard girl and he occasionally even flirted with Baelish to get him off her back. (Giving him just enough for him to not demand all.)
Dancing with him was easy. When he held Alayne close to him and watched her with his sharp grey eyes, talked in hushed voice in her ear, close enough to have his hot breath against her sensitive skin…
It was almost too easy for comfort to let him press her against said wall, relishing in the heat of his body against hers and loose herself in the friction of his kiss, sweet-tasting and dangerous.
It was almost too easy and inviting to reciprocate the kiss, move her lips against his, open her mouth willingly for him, to taste him, to let his tongue guide hers, to pull him closer and to suffocate by the heat and desire building somewhere deep, deep inside of her.
She moaned into his open mouth. Too loud and too frenzied in the silence of their little cranny.
He just pulled of off her with a smile, letting them both breath while his rough finger tips traced the lines and angles of her face, just light and teasing enough to fan the want inside of her. The monster that did not care who he was or herself for that matter as long as he kept touching her, as long as she could touch him.
Jon was a firm saving grace right of the bat. He seemed to be steady enough to pull Alayne out of the current that was her hated daily life.
But without the need for pretense all that was left was Sansa Stark, and she couldn’t let Jon continue this without knowing.
He deserved to know before making a decision, but she hesitated.
Would he hate her?
Was he the brother she knew? Or had the revelation of his own history changed him?
“Jon…”, she started, still uncertain. “I need to tell you something…”
“I know.”, he simply said his eyes turning sad and rueful.
“You do?”
“Yes,Ghost tipped me off actually, but I have to admit I wanted this.”
The confession rang thru her body like lightning bolt. Was it shock? Was it relief? Joy? A dangerous mixture of them all? Jon twisted a carefully died strand of hair between his fingers.
“I do miss your hair however.”