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pastanest · 1 year

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Jon Snow x she/her!reader

A/N: after an eternity away, I have returned with a gift. this took my entire heart and soul, and a month of my life, to write, so I truly hope you enjoy it!! ♡

warning: events up to Battle Of The Bastards referenced. also, it’s 8.5k words long 😳

part two can be found here

Yours - Part One

It was Maester Lewin that found you that day, stumbling on weak little legs that could barely hold your weight, through a thunderous storm towards the gates of Winterfell. He ran to you, nothing more than a helpless child that crumbled into his arms, your tattered clothes soaked through by the rain, wet fists balled at your face as you coughed and hacked into them. In truth, you do not remember much from that day, but you have heard every account from each member of the family that took you in.

While Lady Catelyn Stark always said she heard your coughs before she saw you, her motherly instincts bringing her to feet as she ran to meet Maester Lewin the moment he carried you through the doors of the castle, Lord Eddard Stark always first recounted the expressions on his children’s faces. Neither Bran nor Rickon were born by that time, and Arya was just a baby, but Sansa was just old enough to recall how sickly and thin you looked - a charming memory, you’d roll your eyes and tell her when she chose to bring up such details. Robb and Theon both held slightly different recollections, with Robb worrying that you carried some kind of sickness that his mother would catch by being close to you and Theon simply recalling that you were a girl around his age and that being his main thought at the time, but both always mentioned one particular detail: the eyes of the third boy in the room, locked onto you from the moment you entered the room until you were carried out of it.

They say that Jon Snow’s gaze was fixed on every door of every room he entered for the rest of that day, as though waiting for someone to walk through and deliver some news of you. Even teases from his brothers could not distract him.

Once, on a rare occasion when you were alone with Robb because Theon was not shadowing him, he told you something in confidence, not wanting his dear brother to be teased for something nobody else knew that he had done. Supposedly, for the three nights that you spent unconscious or so delirious that you could not tell the difference between your sleeping and waking moments, Jon Snow would tiptoe past your bedroom door and check in on you. If the door was closed, he would not disturb you by opening it, simply stand there and listen through the door until he heard your labored breathing and felt assured of your safety for the night. If he heard you cough, he would run to report it to Maester Lewin immediately. On the occasions that the door was open when he passed it, though, he would stop to peer around the frame, seeing your face so exhausted even when sleeping, and felt something strange blooming in his chest, so strong he would find himself pressing his palm to his chest through his shirt to check that his heart was still there. Robb caught him doing this, but never told him, and you didn’t tell Jon that you knew of his check-ins until many years later.

Lady Catelyn Stark was in your room the majority of the time if Maester Lewin was not there, ensuring you were safe and breathing well. Having not long birthed her second daughter, she felt a strong maternal instinct over you and your worrisome state, unable to stop herself from picturing her own daughters in your place and wondering where your mother was, why she was not the one that was worrying over you, and if she couldn’t be, Lady Catelyn would do so in her place without question. One motherless child in the castle was enough, and she had no reason to hold the resentment to you that she held to the little boy that was so enchanted by you, even then.

Once you had recovered enough to sit up and hold a conversation, Lord and Lady Stark pressed you with gentle questions on who you were, where you had come from, who your parents were, and why you had arrived at Winterfell. Unfortunately, you were too young to remember many details, only knowing your own name and your parents by ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’, only knowing the place you had come from as “south of here” and only knowing you were in Winterfell because they had just told you that. Your parents had simply told you to “head north” when the fire had started in your village, that was the most detail you could recount of your arrival. The Stark parents understood enough from your vague explanation to suggest that you did not have a home of your own to return to, and upon sending riders south, found the rubble and ash left behind from a village not two day’s walk from Winterfell - such a travel for one so young had been what ailed you. They debated amongst themselves what to do with you, whether to send you to a township with an orphanage and wondering if that would be the place for you. Over the days of you regaining your strength, the Stark children became your fast friends, slowly trickling into your room one at a time to introduce themselves and immediately trying to impress you, as children do.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell found it endlessly amusing, discovering Theon and Robb in your room practicing sword fights with broomsticks, making you laugh and applaud their display, which you thought then to be magnificent. Sansa, though younger than you, enjoyed sitting beside you on your bed and talking about her favorite stories of princesses and princes of old, which you listened to like it was your duty, having never heard the tales that highborn children were raised on and finding them fascinating. In turn, you told her of your favorite fairytales, most of which involved giants. Naturally, Sansa told you giants did not really exist, but when you asked her how she could know that, she sat back, stumped, and you grinned at her, continuing to tell her all of your favorite stories of giants, direwolves and white bears.

What truly set your permanent residence in stone was one fateful night, when Eddard Stark had been kept late in the hall, discussing important plans with the Lords of other northern houses. He had no intention of stopping when nearing the doorway to what had become your bedroom, until he heard a quiet laugh that he did not often hear. Lord Stark’s footsteps stopped just before the open door, never wanting to eavesdrop on his children, but needing to be sure.

“All of you are Lords here, then? You, your brother and Theon?” Your question was an innocent one, and at the delay in your conversation partner’s response, Ned’s heart sank.

“My brother is, and Theon could be, I s’pose, but not me. I’m just a bastard.” Little Jon Snow answered you, sounding defeated.

“Oh…why?”

“Lady Stark is not my mother.” Jon explained, and you gasped.

“She’s not mine either, does that make me a bastard, too? We can be bastards together!” You sounded so excited at the prospect that Ned had to muffle his own laughter behind his hand.

The same laugh that had stopped him in his tracks reached his ears again, your complete lack of judgment towards Jon’s status putting him at ease.

“No, because Lord Stark is not your father, but he is mine.” The young boy clarified.

“Oh…well, can we be friends still? Even if I’ve not got a title like you have?” You asked, voice so hopeful, making Jon chuckle again, with rosy cheeks that you couldn’t see under the dim candlelight by your bed.

“Aye, if you don’t mind being friends with a bastard.”

And you answered without hesitation. “I’d love to be, you seem like a wonderful friend!”

Nodding to himself, Lord Eddard Stark turned and walked the long way around to his chambers, so as to not disturb the conversation between you and his son. The moment he stepped through the door to his chambers, Lady Catelyn smiled warmly at him, and his lips were already parting to speak the conclusion he had come to the second he’d heard the laugh you brought to his boy.

“I think she should stay with us.”

With your fate decided, you were officially taken under the wing of the Stark family. While you lived amongst them and played with the Stark children like a highborn friend of theirs would, you did not ever want to overstep, knowing they were leagues above you in status and not wanting anyone to assume your status incorrectly by association. So, upon being granted permission to stay with them, you asked in a small voice if you could be their maid; that was the only position that you knew by name because Sansa had mentioned it to you. Thinking it both hilarious and very endearing that you, a child, were offering yourself as a maid to the family, Lord and Lady Stark agreed to this, and asked their existing maids to train you when you wanted, but not to be at all strict on you. Still, you took your role as seriously as you could at that age, learning to fold clothes and prepare beds for the Stark children. Going into Jon’s room was always your favorite, because even if he was not sitting in there as he often was, there were pieces of him everywhere. Pages of parchment with scribbles of writing and doodles on them, battered wooden swords and shields that poked out from beneath his bed. You liked crawling up to the window and peering down at the castle courtyard from there, knowing that is where you were most likely to see him.

“Lord Jon! Guess where I am!” You’d call in a singsong voice, waving down at him.

He’d laugh, waving back at you. “I don’t need to guess, I can see you there! When will you be free from your duties?”

And you’d grin cheekily. “Soon, but if you made your bed yourself, I’d be done a lot quicker!”

It was a running joke between the two of you, because Jon Snow had made his bed every morning since learning of your position as maid, never wanting to appear as untidy to you or giving you further work to do on his account, but you’d insist he never, ever made his bed and it was such a chore for you to always do it for him.

The first couple of years that you spent at Winterfell were peaceful ones, spent adjusting to your new life and the family dynamic that you had slotted into, at your new best friend’s side. After that second year, Jon Snow came down with a terrible case of the pox, and you were terrified, seeing him the same way he had seen you when you had first arrived, weak and most often unconscious, in his bed. Strangely, Lady Catelyn did not leave his side that first night, which you thought to be odd considering the hatred you had come to understand she harbored towards him - very unfairly, you thought, and frequently told Jon the same. Of course, you knew that she did not leave the room because when you had asked Maester Lewin of Jon’s condition and he had said “If he makes it through the night, he’ll live”, you dragged your mattress from your bed and down the hallway, to the floor beside Jon’s and refused to move, insisting you would never forgive a soul that attempted to remove you from his side. Naturally, you did not sleep that night, your ears finely tuned to every ragged breath, cough and whimper that passed Jon’s lips, and it seemed Catelyn’s were that night, too.

Only when the sun rose did you leave Jon’s side to run to Maester Lewin, fist pounding on the door of his chambers to wake him and have him check on your dearest friend. You had apologized for disturbing the castle’s Maester afterwards, but were too panicked to consider his sleep schedule at the time. Once he had evaluated Jon’s health, he confirmed to you and the rest of the family that he would, in fact, make it through, which seemingly allowed Lady Catelyn to leave the room. You, however, only left briefly to borrow a book from the castle library before returning to Jon’s room to sit at the foot of his bed, with the large book of fairytales in your lap. As soon as you were told you were allowed to stay with the Starks, Lady Catelyn began teaching you how to read and write, two skills that you thought yourself very lucky to have mastered by the time Jon Snow was fighting his war with pox. For the rest of the day, you did not move from the foot of his bed, and you read story after story aloud, hoping that somewhere in the land he was traversing within his tangled, sleeping mind, he could hear you tell tales of long Winters passed and the creatures that roamed the lands throughout them.

It was only sometime later that Jon admitted to you he had awoken an hour before he decided to open his eyes, because he was so enjoying you reading to him.

When his eyes did flutter open, though, you all but flung yourself at him with a cry of his name, more relieved than you had ever felt in your entire life thus far. Through chuckles and coughs, Jon thanked you a thousand times and assured you he was fine a thousand more. For the next ten minutes, you would not let go of him as you rambled about how worried you’d been, how much you’d missed him, how you swore to never take him for granted ever again. And you kept that promise, the two of you becoming inseparable from then on.

It became common knowledge within the walls of Winterfell that wherever you were, Jon Snow would not be far, and vice versa. While Theon Greyjoy was Robb’s shadow, you were Jon’s companion, his other half, his partner in crime. You were the more mischievous of the two of you, and when Arya was old enough, she followed in your footsteps to become your secret accomplice. Due to the circumstance of your arrival, Lady Catelyn had a softness in her heart for you, for seeing you happy, and even she could not deny that you were at your happiest when you were with Jon Snow. Lord Eddard thought what was blossoming between the two of you to be the loveliest thing, and was proud of the involvement he had in your residence at Winterfell to continue such a bond. He, himself, was very fond of you and the happiness you brought the son that had been disadvantaged since his birth. Though he did not like to plan too far ahead, he hoped that someday, Jon may request his father’s advice on asking for your hand.

And as the two of you grew up together, Ned Stark only became more confident in his hopes for his son’s happiness. In the eyes of others, you would only ever dare intertwine your pinky fingers and cast longing smiles at each other, but that was enough for Lord Stark to know what was becoming of the two of you. In the privacy of your own space, or the godswood, you were free to hold hands, hold each other completely, and even share the occasional chaste kiss if the moment called for it.

The first of those kisses had been on your fourteenth nameday, when Jon had led you to the godswood and presented you with a bouquet of flowers that he had picked himself, tied together with a black cord necklace that had a silver sword charm hanging from it, that he had asked the blacksmith to assist him in making for you. It was a little crooked as a result of Jon’s shaking hands when welding it, but you only thought that made it more personable, proof of the fact he had been the one to make it for you, which only made it mean all the more to you. Untying the bouquet, you held it in your hands and turned your back to Jon, allowing him to bring the necklace around your front and clasp it at the back of your neck. The smile on your face when you spun on your heel was like nothing he’d ever seen, the tears in your eyes reflecting the light of the sun as it streamed through the leaves of the weirwood tree. Seeing the necklace he had made and gifted to you actually hanging from your neck for the first time was an experience like no other, and it continued to take his breath away every time he saw you wearing it thereafter, the pride with which you wore it never failing to give him butterflies. And every time you caught him staring at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the sword charm, he was brought back to the godswood, under the weirwood tree, when you had wrapped your arms around his neck, holding the bouquet of flowers behind his head and gifting him with the first kiss he had ever received from anyone.

But no matter how proudly you smiled whenever you were at his side, no matter how many times you bit the heads off of any that dared call him a bastard in your presence, no matter the countless nights spent reassuring him that you had never thought of him as lesser for his namesake, Jon Snow could never believe himself to be good enough for you.

Lord Eddard Stark had hoped that when his son approached him not long after his sixteenth nameday, the time had come for him to bestow the fatherly advice of how to ask for a lady’s hand. It was only when Jon asked about the Night’s Watch that Lord Stark understood he had been sorely mistaken, and as Jon had never explicitly disclosed his feelings for you to his father, he did not think it was his place to ask his son if he was certain he wanted to leave you behind in taking such an oath. And when Jon shared his future plan with you, you did not feel it was your place to selfishly question why he would consider leaving you, when you knew such a position would bring him the feeling of honoring his father, something he had sought after all his life. And so, no opposition to Jon Snow’s future was presented, and your days together were numbered.

You had not taken Jon for granted since the day he had awoken from pox, but after he confessed his intention to join the Night’s Watch, you were more determined than ever to show him each and everyday just how much he meant to you. There was no ulterior motive to your actions, you wanted him to feel loved and appreciated in a way that only you could, for as long as you could. Some part of you did hope that perhaps your love for him would be enough to change his mind, but that did not motivate your actions, it was not an achievable goal in your mind, you were not foolish enough to believe you could accomplish the impossible. So, you began writing him letters and leaving them in places only he would find them. Posting them under the door to his bedroom, hiding them under his pillow, in the pockets of his jackets; and you would never tell him when you had written another, simply waited for him to find it, write his reply, and hide it for you, too. A constant and secret subtext to your every conversation that neither of you ever outwardly addressed, but in those letters, you laid your souls bare. Confined in written words, you were safe to dream of a future that could never be, to decide where you would live together, the colors you’d choose for the interior of your cottage, the horse rides you’d go on, the meals you’d cook together, the children you may have. All of it was safely locked away, for your eyes only, almost like the two of you could live that life through the rolls of parchment and then carry on your real lives satisfied by such fallacies.

The sentiments in your letters would often reduce Jon Snow to tears when he read them in the solitude of his own chambers, wishing more than anything that he could give you such a life, cursing the Gods for forcing that kind of love to be so far out of his reach. He appreciated every word, rereading them countless times until he would fall asleep with the pages still clutched in his hands, dreaming of the life he could never have.

Beyond that, everyday was met with beaming smiles between the two of you, both putting off the inevitable and pretending that the countdown of an unknown number of days was not looming over your heads with every sunrise and sunset you saw together. You would ride horses and hunt together, walk through the godswood hand in hand, spend hours on end in each other’s bedrooms, sitting beside each other on either of your beds to talk about anything and everything, to flirt until both of your faces were too hot to make eye contact anymore. And when Jon returned from the ritualistic event of beheading a deserter of the Night’s Watch with a white direwolf pup in his arms, you could not have squealed louder if you tried. The way that you cooed over that little creature, cradled it in your arms and spoke to him as though he could understand every word, made Jon’s heart sing further songs for a future he’d wish for over anything else, with as many animals as you would like if you would melt over them like you did Ghost.

After that, though, your lives seemed to pick up to a pace that neither of you liked. The death of King Robert’s hand led him to Winterfell, requesting Lord Eddard Stark replace his departed hand and join him in King’s Landing, and that in itself was a horrific enough turn of events. As the Stark’s maid by role, you would be best suited to serve Sansa and Arya, accompanying that half of the Stark family to King’s Landing and leaving Lady Catelyn and all of the boys, including Jon Snow, behind. But, of course, that was not the worst of it. Benjen Stark, as First Ranger of the Night’s Watch, was sent to Winterfell to appeal to the King for more men and resources, and the moment you saw Jon talking to him, you knew that your worst fear had come true at long last.

Everything passed in a blur after that, to this day you cannot recall how much time passed between the dread hitting you at seeing Jon talking to Benjen, and the hollow pit that formed in you seeing Jon preparing his horse for his departure to the Wall. For the first time since meeting him, your steps towards him were nervous, hesitant, and you hated yourself for it. If this was the last time you were to see him for Gods knew how long, you should have run to him, taken every second you could in an act of pure greed. But the closer you were, the more real it became, the more it hurt to face the fact that he was leaving, for good.

Hearing your heavy footsteps, Jon turned to face you, his face falling as he read the devastation in your eyes, clear as water.

“Oh, (Y/N).” Not caring for the public opinion then, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping his cloak around you to hide the two of you away in a little pocket of the world where you were safe to just exist together, one last time.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make your leave any more difficult. But I will miss you more than any words I write to you will be able to express.” You confessed, pouring your heart out to him because it was the last chance you had.

Jon’s arms tightened around you. “I know, and I will miss you just as much, if not more.”

Pulling away from him just enough to see his face, you took a deep breath. “I love you, Jon Snow.”

For a moment, shock flickered in his eyes, before he settled into a soft, warm smile, because he knew, you both did. “I love you too, (Y/N), and it’ll pass. We’ll live. Promise me, you’ll go out there and live.”

You nodded frantically, because if all you could give him in your last moments together was your word, you were going to give it to him. “I promise.”

A teasing smirk reached his face then, attempting to lift your spirits. “I don't doubt you’ll have men falling at your feet the second you reach King’s Landing.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully slapped his chest through his clothes. “Don’t take the piss, you know none of them will ever compare to you, you just wanted to hear me say it for the hundredth time!”

Jon chuckled at that, always enjoying when you spoke the common tongue in the midst of the more formal vocabulary you’d been given since arriving at Winterfell, and shrugging at your insinuation. “Perhaps I did, but you know there are no women at the Wall, so you will forever be the only one for me, forgive me for wanting to hear you say I’ll be yours in the same way one more time.”

Smiling with him then, you took another deep breath and stepped away from him, holding his hands. “Well, if you get cold feet when you’re about to take your oath and decide you would like to reconsider the whole ‘taking no wife’ aspect, you’ll know where to find me.”

At that, Jon squeezed your hands and released a hearty laugh. “Aye, and if any man mistreats you, send me a raven and I’ll get him ordered to the Wall somehow to sort him out.”

Before Jon could mount his horse, he faltered, eyes darting from yours to your lips before deciding that if it was his last chance to do so, he was not going to deny himself the bliss that was you. Taking your face in his hands, he kissed you more passionately than he ever had before, your knees nearly buckling beneath you and your head spinning as he did, gripping his wrists to hold him there.

By the time you parted from each other and Jon mounted his horse, you were both panting with dazed smiles on your faces.

“I’ll always be yours, you know, no matter what.” He swore to you.

“And I will always be yours. Dream of me, Jon Snow.” You asked of him, and he grinned at you.

“Each and every night, I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”

And then, he was gone. Riding through the gates of Winterfell for the last time, not daring to look back at you because if he did, he knew he would see you collapse to your knees as you sobbed. He could feel the weight of that in his heart without needing to see it, and that was temptation enough to nearly turn back. If he looked at you then, he would never be able to leave.

Thinking back, that should have been what told Jon Snow that he never should have left. And it would not be long before he wished he never had.

His journey to the wall passed in a painful blur, feeling every inch of new distance that separated him from you, further than he had ever gone without you since the day you arrived at the gates and made Winterfell his home. Jon felt a chain tugging at his heart as it resisted moving any further from you with every step he and his horse took, every word he spoke with his traveling companions of his new life that would not include you. He was ready, he was so certain of it, but soon enough he realized that everything he would do for the rest of his life would have you at the heart of it. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he could have just saved you from something, and that was the only victory he truly felt.

Upon entering the snow covered courtyard of Castle Black to begin his new life, an older man in a black fur cloak greeted him and the group of men that had arrived with him.

“Which of you is Jon Snow?”

He very nearly missed the question, too in awe of the sheer size of the Wall and wondering what the world would look like from the very top - being able to picture your amazed expression upon seeing it, as clear as day - but immediately concluding that everything he could see in the direction he came from would serve as nothing more than a reminder of you, not to him. To him, you were the world and more.

“I am Jon Snow.” He answered, clearing his throat and stepping forward.

Reaching into his cloak, the older man handed him an envelope. “Never have I seen a raven arrive before the boy that the letter in its beak was addressed to.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed pink, turning the letter over in his hands and knowing from the way his name was written on the front that it had come from you. Quietly thanking the man he did not know to be the Lord Commander at the time, he tucked the envelope in his own cloak to conceal it, and did not have the time to read it until he had retired to his quarters for the night and had to squint to read the words with candlelight.

“My dear Jon,

I watched until I couldn’t see you anymore, and then came straight here. I hope to not write too much, so that maybe this letter is sent in good time and arrives at the Wall before you do. We are leaving for King’s Landing soon; I will be grateful to no longer be in a room that exists solely as a reminder of you, like everything else here, but I fear that even in a place I have never been, I will find pieces of you.

Please, let me know that you arrived at the Wall safely, and tell me of your first day. Are the men treating you kindly?

I hope to see you in my dreams, I’ll be searching for you there.

Until we meet again.

Yours,

(Y/N).”

Quite suddenly, Jon found that he no longer cared for his own exhaustion at all. He rose from his bed and marched out of his chambers, heart set on a mission. If you had gone to the effort of writing to him quickly enough for it to reach him on his arrival, he would be damned if he did not reciprocate such a gesture.

And so, when you arrived at King’s Landing, Lord Varys approached you with an envelope decorated with handwriting that you recognised immediately. The smile that overtook your face that had been missing ever since Jon’s departure, returned in grandeur, informing Arya, Sansa and Lord Eddard Stark that both you and they all knew exactly who had sent a raven to you. Even Lord Varys, ever the perceiver, smiled at your excitement.

Without delay, you tore the envelope open, eyes scanning over your beloved’s words with fervor. By the end of the first sentence, your vision was blurred by your own tears, but you were determined to blink them away in order to read and memorize Jon’s every written word.

“My Lady (Y/N),

Your letter arrived as intended, before I had even reached the wall. Thank you for sending such a precious thing, I have folded it and will keep it in a pocket over my heart for the rest of my days, I swear it. To carry a piece of you with me is the greatest comfort in this new place.

The Wall is bigger than any can say, I hope someday you are able to visit and see it for yourself, but I understand if a short lived reunion would be too painful.

I hope that King’s Landing brings you countless new sights, instead of constant reminders of our past, though I can speak to the fact that everything here reminds me of you, despite you having never set foot further north than home.

My time here has been a good challenge so far. I have begun training with the other men; in truth, I think you could take on any one of them.

I have not yet spent my first night here - I am writing to you with the same urgency with which you wrote me, but I am certain that I will see you in my dreams this night and every night thereafter, as promised.

I am not certain I will be able to reply to your letters often, but please, do not stop sending them. I will treasure each and every one. Please, tell me of King’s Landing, of the things you do there, of the adventures you have with Arya, and send my love to her and my father, as well.

Now, I’ll race to sleep to see you again.

Yours,

Jon x”

By the end of his letter, your bottom lip was trembling and the tears you had been blinking away were cascading down your cheeks. Chuckling quietly, Lord Stark wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Come now, (Y/N), I doubt this was the reaction he wanted!”

Sniffling, you nod at him. “You’re right.” Looking to Varys with determination in your eyes, you composed yourself as much as you could. “Please, can you take me to the ravens so I can write back?”

Sharing a glance with the Warden of the North, Lord Varys nodded. “Of course, my dear, follow me.”

Walking away from the family that had taken care of you for many years, you ascended the tallest tower of King’s Landing to find a raven sitting in a window, with a desk holding quills, jars of ink and rolls of parchment in the center of the room. Little did you know then, that would be the room you spent more time in than anywhere else during your stay at King’s Landing.

You would send letter after letter, starting at sending one a week, then one a month, then one every other, not wanting to bombard Jon Snow with correspondence when he was yet to respond to the very first letter you had sent from that tower. In between helping out in the kitchens to continue your role as the Stark’s maid, spending time practicing sword fighting with Arya and gossipping with Sansa, you would sit in that tower and wait. Most nights, that is where you slept, the last sight of each day being the stars that you stared up at from the window and hoped with everything in you, Jon could see them, too.

Though it pained your heart to wait day after day and receive no word from him, your fondness for Jon Snow did not dare waver. Some part of you knew that he was still alive, that he was alright, because you firmly believed that if he wasn’t, you would feel it, even from so far away.

Lord Eddard Stark’s heart ached for you when every eve, you would arrive at the door to the hand’s chambers with the same question, the same glimmering hope in your eyes and voice as you asked it, and he would have to let you down as gently as he could, each and everyday.

“I’m afraid there’s been no word from him as yet, (Y/N), but I’m sure he is just too busy with his duties.”

You would nod, because of course, that had to be the truth. It was not possible for you to even consider the notion that Jon did not want to hear from you, he had pleaded with you to keep sending letters, so you would, until he told you not to.

“The farmer’s boy that came to the kitchens today has some affection for you.” Sansa had said to you when you had joined her in her chambers after supper, smiling in the hopes that it would encourage you to do the same.

Instead, you barely even met her eyes, your tone showing little to no interest in the eyes she had seemingly spotted a boy giving you when she had visited you in the kitchens, that you neglected to notice.

“Does he?” Your tone made your disinterest clear, your focus on your duties as you made your friend’s bed, the act second nature by that time.

Sansa rolled her eyes and took your hands, bringing you over to sit down beside her on her bed. “Of course! How could you not see it?”

At that, you shrugged sheepishly, knowing the answer as well as she did. “There’s only one I’ll ever wish to see such things from, m’Lady.”

A common girl at heart, you had never been one to address the Starks informally.

“Why is it that you cannot let him go?” Sansa asked you then, her voice pained for you, seeing you pine for her brother in such a way.

“He is gone, I know that to be true, m’Lady, but…it seems my heart doesn’t know the same.” You offered her a small smile, the most you could muster at the time, and Sansa sighed.

After that, she sought other means of cheering up. The two of you tried on every dress she had in her ornate wardrobe and danced around the room to music that was not playing, pretending you were fanciful Lords and Ladies at some grand ball.

Once Sansa had fallen asleep, you had tiptoed back to the tower, pinning every hope you had on the thought that while you had allowed yourself to have some fun, there may then be a raven waiting for you. But upon reaching the top of the tower, you saw the window was empty, not a feather in sight.

And unfortunately, after that day, the events of King’s Landing meant that you only had more and more letters to send Jon.

To see the man that all but raised you, beheaded in front of a crowd that hurled abuse at him for confessing a crime he did not commit, was not something that you even had time to process. There was not a moment to grieve when you had to ensure Sansa’s safety, because you were the only one left to do so. Arya was gone, you didn’t know where, but you hoped that she had escaped safely and was living an adventure of her own.

And later, the news of Robb and Lady Catelyn’s brutal murders while in the slippery hands of Walder Frey. Again, you were unable to think of yourself, and could only be with Sansa while she suffered and mourned the loss of her entire family, as she knew it.

You only allowed yourself fleeting instances to grieve, to feel the anxiety of it all, and those moments were all safely concealed in your letters to Jon that continued to go unanswered. They began to serve you more as a journal than correspondence awaiting a reply, and you found solace in the fact that your words and worries and pains were going to Jon, because they were safe with him. The knowledge of him holding all of your secrets and still, in some way, being there for you in receiving them, was the only comfort you had.

When Lord Petyr Baelish, someone you believed to be a worm of a man from the second you were introduced, came for Sansa, you were the only person she trusted enough to stay at her side. In fact, she completely refused to be parted from you, and Baelish agreed to rescue you, too, because he thought of you as nothing more than a maid and a means to earn points with Sansa.

As much as you advised where you could, Baelish was never far enough away for you to be completely honest with Sansa about him or his antics, he made certain of that. While you could not protect her with regards to getting her away from him, you thought you could at least protect her in whatever schemes he manipulated her into.

Regrettably, that led you back to the place you had called home, except it was in ruin when compared to your last memory of it. Having first been overtaken by Theon Greyjoy, which was the greatest personal betrayal you had ever felt, it had since been infested with the Boltons. The act of marrying Sansa to Ramsay Bolton - who you desperately wished you could refer to as Snow in your own head to mentally scorn him, if such a namesake didn’t have a place in your heart that forbade you - was outright barbaric, in your opinion. You could tell the man he was from the sight of Theon, or Reek, as he was newly named. But again, you were not given a moment alone with Sansa to dissuade her.

Still, you did everything you could and stayed at her side at every waking moment. That was, until her wedding night. While on the way to her chambers to meet her before the event, one of Ramsay’s henchmen that you had thought was just walking past you, grabbed you and slammed your head into a wall, knocking you unconscious.

At her wedding, Sansa had scanned every face in the crowd, searching for you desperately. It did not take her long to conclude that you were not there, and that thought alone told her that everything was wrong.

You awoke in darkness, unable to determine how long you had been unconscious for, but found one of your wrists chained to the back wooden leg of a bed, that was seemingly bolted to the stone ground that you were sprawled out on. The throbbing in your head quickly reminded you of what had happened and you fought to break free from your chains, to get to Sansa, save her, give your life for hers if the situation called for it, but it was fruitless.

Only when you sat back against the wall, breathing heavily and crying tears of frustration, did the door open. There stood Ramsay Bolton, with a grim smile that you could only see in the light of the candle that he held to his face.

“Welcome home, maid.”

Having been stuck in a similar mindset to you, barred from processing his own emotions in the place of his duties, Jon Snow had, too, reached a point of no return, in more ways than one. He had read many of your letters to begin with, but as the months passed, he was given more and more responsibilities, more tasks that took more time, and journeys beyond the wall. As a result, Jon simply did not have a moment to sit down and devote to you, outside of his dreams. While he had tried to read your letters as and when they arrived, before he knew it, there was a pile of envelopes forming, all of which addressed to him, and he could not bring himself to read anymore. The more he heard of his family’s passing, he knew that you would be sharing your grief with him, and that was a weight he was not ready to bare, having not yet confronted his own.

As well as that, the responsibilities Jon had been given and the things he had accomplished during his time at the wall had led to the majority of men, including the Maester, to vote in favor of him becoming the Lord Commander - a position he had never imagined were possible for someone like him. And his first thought on being granted such an honor was to tell you, it truly was, but without having read or replied to any of your letters since the very first, he thought it would be a disservice to the time you had given to him. One day, he would tell himself each and every night, one day he would sit down and read each and every one, and he would send you the longest letter you’ve ever seen, that would take 10 ravens to deliver to you.

But despite the continued chaos of his life at the Wall, Jon had noticed that no letters had arrived for him in some time. The last one you had sent had been from Winterfell, he knew that based on the sigil the envelope was sealed with, but he also knew that his home was under the control of the Boltons, who were not to be trusted based on the vultures they had been in claiming his home.

Still, there was only time for him to worry about such things in between everything else. The wildlings he needed to save, the white walkers he needed to save them from, the fate of the rest of the world as he knew it, and how Samwell Tarley would fare as a father to his adoptive son, were amongst the most prominent of Jon’s thoughts.

It was only upon saving the wildlings and doing what he thought was right - what he knew you would agree was the right thing to do - he was murdered in an act of mutiny from the men of the Night’s Watch, and a boy. Death was what allowed Jon Snow to regain some perspective. Once awoken from what should have been an infinite sleep, the red witch had approached him and asked what he had seen once life had faded from him.

“Nothing.” Jon had said, and he was not deceiving her.

It was true, he did not see a thing once the world faded around him. Everything disappeared into a great abyss, endless darkness, and he felt he was in an awful dream. That was, until he heard your voice, calling his name. Just a whisper at first, but it grew in volume, in urgency, until you were crying for him and with a gasp, his spirit returned to his wounded body.

And the moment he had opened his eyes, he knew what he had to do. First, he had to punish those who had betrayed him and retire from his watch, having served his duty ‘til death, as his oath intended. As soon as he was free of such responsibility, he disappeared to his chambers and took the box of envelopes, all addressed to him, and sitting on his bed, he read through each and every one.

Jon Snow had never felt worse, or cried more, in his life. Reading of your sorrows and hardships, the pain you had felt in his absence and in your grief, how desperately you pleaded to receive word from him, of his safety. Even through his tears, though, you managed to make him laugh. Sometimes just a quiet chuckle, but the tales you told and memories you recalled were enough to bring hearty laughs from him as he wiped his eyes. By the time he reached your final letter, his face ached and his heart was heavier than it had ever been.

“Jon,

I do not know how long I will have to write this, so I will keep this brief. Sansa is not safe here. I will do all I can to assist her in her escape, but it will not be easy.

If I can get her out of here, I will send her to the Wall, to you. She will tell you everything.

I miss you with every waking and sleeping moment, knowing you will not be there when I open my eyes again. I hope to see you again, but in truth, returning here has resulted in seeing you in places that you have been, but no longer are. Please do not worry, I am not losing my mind, but my eyes are playing cruel tricks on my heart in such a familiar place, where I have seen you everywhere, more times than I can count.

Please take care of Sansa, and yourself.

Yours, always.

(Y/N) x”

All of a sudden, Jon Snow wished he had not so quickly resigned his position as Lord Commander. Had he not, he would order every man to Winterfell to rescue his sister and you, who you had not spared a single thought to in your own escape plan for Sansa.

That was the moment he heard it, commotion at the gates of Castle Black. Regardless of no longer being the Lord Commander, he felt a responsibility to see to the arrival of whomever it may be. And like a miracle sent by the letters he had taken far too long to read, his sister was stood in the courtyard, with a knightly woman and her squire. The sight lifted Jon’s heavy heart beyond comprehension as he tentatively approached his sister, who had been a girl the last time he’d seen her and was now a woman, but when her face fell and she launched herself into his arms, he could not resist the sense of dread for what was to come; finding out the reason behind your absence from their party.

Not wanting to address the dark cloud that loomed over him until Sansa was settled, he sat with her in his chambers with a warm fire crackling at her feet and a bowl of hot stew in her hands. The two of them reminisced on the lives they missed terribly that were lost to time, and Jon knew either of them could only go so long before-

“Where will you go?” Sansa asked him with worried eyes.

“Where will we go.” Jon corrected her. “If I don’t watch over you, Father’s ghost’ll come back and murder me.”

And with a gentle smile, Sansa finally spoke your name. “And if you don’t rescue (Y/N), both Mother and Father’s ghosts will haunt you until the end of your days.”

He smiled back at her, a wave of relief washing over him like nothing he had ever known, because he knew you were alive. By no means were you safe or happy, but as long as you were alive, Jon Snow could fix the rest. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he would. Even if doing so killed him a second time.

———————

taglist: @otteropera @neymarjrrwife @oliviabelova

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow image #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #x reader #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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poppinspops · 18 days

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Dear older brother

Lucerys velaryon as your brother (platonic) the beginning of your relationship to the end of it..

Fem reader! Sorry, it's just easier to write for girls as a girl myself. I do hope you understand

Lucerys is your older brother as you were born a year after Luke was born a bastards, just like your two older brothers having dark hair and dark eyes

Though your mother Rhaenyra doesn't like it when you call yourself that neither do your two brothers bit alas you still do when upset with yourself

Lucerys HATES being called Lukey by everyone that's not you, and you hate when others (besides joffery, jace, and your mother) call him lukey

You and jace mainly use it when you are teasing him, and sometimes Rhaenyra joins in

You two where sat next to each other at dinner, always whispering about something or someone you always did strive to make your older brother laugh

Luke is more open with you because you would come into his chambers and let your brother rant to you

Often, big events ended in him in your arms crying after something stressful happened. I'm his chambers, though you didn't mind

You're usually the one consoling him if your mother hadn't beat you to it

You are the definition of a brothers girl

You are usually seen next to luke or walking besides him

Though if Lucerys isn't off with jacerys doing something most likely practicing sword fighting, you'd be seen with your mother Rhaenyra

During important dinners or really any social event your mother planned or was invited to, you'd always would be seen standing next to luke or sitting with him whispering to Luke

Most likely, just you gossiping to him about something another Lord told you or how disgusting one of the lords where with you

-----------

You bumped Lucerys gently with your elbow whispering to your older brothers "so.. how are you 'enjoying' this beautiful banquet older brother?" Giggling as you saw his quick roll of the eyes before he replied back in a hushed tone

"Oh, I see how it is.. how was dancing with almost every lord tonight?" Luke said with a sly smirk on his pale face. Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. Your feet hurt from all of the dancing you had to do tonight it was almost as bad as your name day.. "delightful." You replied in a strained voice. Luke had laughed at that, making you smile and laugh along with your brother, elbowing him harder this time, making him yelp out in pain.

You two quickly composed yourselves when your older brother turned his head over to the two of you making you straighten your back and look away from his gaze not seeing the small smile on his face form from seeing his two younger siblings seeming to have fun teasing one another.

-----------

Luke is the calmer one between the both of you which was funny as your mother thought that her having a girl after her two boys would mean the two older boys where going to be the ones protecting their younger sister from others when it turned out to be the complete opposite, not that Rhaenyra minded at all she was proud that her first daughter could defend herself

Though she did wish that you would hold your tongue at times as you would go head first into arguments no matter if your brothers were in the wrong or not

One of your brothers could have been the ones that got the facts wrong, but you would have defended them with your life, that made you get into physical altercations with many lords and some lady's aswell

Though Rhaenyra was proud of that as well as as Luke was rather reserved, it was like she had given birth to a second jacerys. Just this time, you could punch harder than jacerys could..

You were a natural when it came to learning High Valyrian much like Luke was

When you got the news of your mother being pregnant, it left you overjoyed, so you so dearly wanted to know if you had a little sister coming. Look. It's hard being the only girl in a family with mainly men.

When your baby brother joffery was born, you adored him from the moment you first got a glimpse of him

You always volunteered to watch over little joffery, to teach him how to walk and how to say his first words

Though this did leave Lucerys a bit envious of his little brother joffery and how he seemed to take up all your time and attention

It caused Luke to start giving you a bit of the cold shoulder rolling his eyes when your little brother was brought up

When you had figured out why Luke was giving you the cold shoulder for a few weeks, you laughed and teased him for it

You and Jace had started teasing Luke about it for months on end

You had started spending all your free time teaching your younger brother how to speak and colors, much to Luke's dismay, often seen in Jofferys' room reading to him, as you had always wanted a younger sibling and you had finally gotten one a well mannered one at that.

You were a tad bit upset that he wasn't a girl, though you had quickly gotten over that once you saw him

When you where younger you used to follow Luke around just like little joffery does to you

It was funny to Rhaenyra that joffery acts so much like his older sister

though she was glade that unlike his okder sister, joffery didn't go and dig up holes in the ground, looking for worms much to her dismay when finding her daughter outside, digging up bugs from the ground..

You were never too fond of Daemon, though he seemed to be fond of you quite a lot being as he has daughters of his own so he understood you on a level your brothers just didnt.

he was the first one to defend you, or he'd just appear by your side randomly at times

once you had punched him out of shock, though he just smiled as your punch didn't do much.... that day hurt your pride and ego very much, though you were just happy you didn't get punched back.

You and your mother Rhaenyra got along swell she's gets you the most since your two woman

You being Rhaenyras' first daughter and all making you have a special place in her heart as you weren't going to get a fancy title like you had always hopped for as you were sadly born a woman. And your brothers men.

Yours and lucerys safe place was always near the water

Least to say, after his death, it was no longer your safe space it was a place of fear and death.

You had gotten news of your elder brother lucerys death when you were getting ready for bed. The news brought you to your knees in tears, your mothers soft voice trying to calm you down

It took hours for you to stop crying. Your eyes had a red rim around them with rear stained cheeks

You wouldn't come out of your room and barely talked much after for almost half a month

The funeral couldn't even be called one as all you had of your brother was clothes. They couldn't find your elder brothers body, and that made the anger in that you boil up a bit, making you snappy at people

You had sympathy for aemond before he killed your brother, you did feel a bit bad for his eye being stabbed out by your older brother feeling guilty everytime you saw him with that eyepatch he is a child like yourself afterall..

You never did hate aemond you two would well 'talk' it was more of exchanging words when you had too though Jace always seemed to come in and swoop you away you where always greatful for that

Aemond took every chance he could to remind you of how your brother took his eye

you didn't know what kind of reaction the older boy wanted to gauge from your but he never seemed quite happy with the reactions you had

He only seemed pleased when you would apologize for your older brother saying how he shouldn't have done that and things along those lines for some odd reason unbeknownst to you

Though you always found aemond to be a bit weird, so you brushed it off as aemond being aemond

After your brothers death your heart held no sympathy for the older boy

when you thought of the one eyed boy, all you could think about was taking his other eye from him and forcing him to live the rest of his pathetic life blind.

You could no longer see the ocean as safe and calm. You saw the true nature of what the oceab could truly do. Its waves were angry as it took the lives of people you held so very dearly into its depths to never be seen again. Maybe that's just how you saw it in your hour of grieving

After half a month, you were slowly healing your relationship with the sea, knowing that at least your brother died both as a targaryen and as a velaryon and he wasn't alone in death he had his beloved dragon both dead but dead together.

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elijahslittleprincess · 9 months

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2braincellslz · 1 year

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Robb forgives what Theon did because he loves Theon deeply and wants a happy life with him <<<<<<<<<<<<< Robb forgives Theon for what he did because he is possesive and is basically lovesick

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poisonsage808 · 7 months

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Clover with Sandor? Also idk if you played dragon age but i feel like Sandor would be totally anti mage lol.

♡ Clover ♡

hello friend! i don’t know dragon age well enough to base this off that so it’s just a generic magic!au :3

• Westeros has different creatures all over the Seven Kingdoms. Different regions breed different creatures. Gryffins in The Vale, Stone Trolls in The Stormlands, Selkies in The North, Minotaurs in Dorne— even Centaurs roam Essos. And House Clegane is built off the bones of those monsters

• Sandor Clegane, like his brother and father and grandfather, is a hunter. He took bounties, killed whatever creature was unlucky enough to be spotted too close to town. It was no different from killing regular animals for meat, for blankets, for weaponry or armor. You were supposed to be no different too

• He set traps for you— whatever you were. Not one bloody soul from the village you apparently stole from had seen you, so he was wary about just what kind of creature he was working with

• You hung upside down from a tree, your ankle snared and bleeding from the wire. Sandor never felt bad about hurting monsters, he wasn’t about to start now. No matter how hard your watery eyes tugged at his rib cage oddly

• The moment Sandor stepped too close, a burst of.. something shot out of your outstretched hands and blasted him back into the bushes. By the time he sat up, you were darting the opposite way

• The Hound didn’t like being bested, he didn’t want to face Gregor’s wrath when he came home empty handed. He couldn’t go back without a prize, but the longer he stalked you the more he was curious about you. He’d never seen anything like you before in his life, not with his own two eyes and never in any book

• You never allowed him too close but a smile came to your face when you noticed him now. It was a game of cat and mouse. Sandor soon found himself smirking right before he ran to chase you again

#game of thrones imagine #x reader #sandor clegane x reader #game of thrones #imagine #sandor the hound clegane #ask stuff #poiboidrabbles #sandor clegane #magic!au #alternate universe #headcannons

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cass-foxx · 9 months

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Family reunion except it's just 2 besties dragging their partners with them when seeing each other

At this point, Masc!Y/N (or me idgaf) is a canon game of thrones character to me.

Also decided to give Masc!Y/N a design because I kinda dislike the bland grey character. (and yes this design is based of me because I am the realest real person ever /j) Relationships, if you guys are interested: Tywin x Masc!Y/N : They're in a relationship and not interested in marriage. Stannis x Davos : They're husbands and no one can change my mind. Tywin & Stannis : They hate each other so much, it's a miracle that they didn't kill each other yet. Masc!Y/N & Davos : They are BFF and sometimes strangers believe they're the couple because how tf would 2 such sweethearts date men like Tywin and Stannis ??? Tywin & Davos : Tywin barely acknowledges Davos as he is from low birth. Davos doesn't really care. Masc!Y/N & Stannis : They used to be friends but Stannis became colder once Masc!Y/N started a relationship with Tywin. I realised that they have similar hairstyles so, if you want, you can see Masc!Y/N as a Baratheon :]

#I gave tywin a slutty waist #now let me grab that waist #I love sexualising men #as a man myself ofc #at this point it's fully headcannons #but i hope you like it #still wishing it's not too ooc #game of thrones #asoiaf #stannis baratheon #stannis the mannis #davos seaworth #tywin lannister #x reader #masc reader #stavos #tywin x Y/N #stannis x davos #got fanart

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imagines-all-day-everyday · 1 year

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Queen of the Wild (Epilogue)

Summary: discover the fates of *yn* blackburn and robb stark in the four years that follow the battle between the north, the lannisters and the kingdom of vesiros.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, childbirth, violence, death

Notes: end of an era <3 hope you enjoy x

Series Masterlist

It had been two weeks since Cerlina had informed her of her condition and still her and Cerlina were the only ones who knew. When Cassius had enquired about her health later she had simply brushed it off and told him it was a passing fever and cough.

She knew that her people would be delighted. She was no fool, she knew the prospect of a Blackburn heir had always been discussed in hushed whispers behind her back. Questions of when, how, who, if.

There would be no issue in relation to lineage or relation, the concepts of bastards and true borns, of divine lineage and 'pure' blood had long been discarded. She could have the babe and raise it without a husband if she so desired. The question of who the father was though, that would always follow her wherever she went, in the looks and whispers in the shadows.

Cerlina could brew her a tea, to cure her of her 'ailment'. But *yn* knew deep down that was not an option. She had already grown far too attached to the small human growing inside her. Besides, to do so would be an insult to the gods according to Cerlina. This was a miracle conception, a one in a million chance.

Then, there was Robb.

She had managed to avoid him these past few weeks as she tried to process the information herself. Then her mind had turned to ponder if she should even tell him. The thought of his rejection of the child was one too painful for her to bare.

But she knew that she had to tell him at some point, she could not keep this from him forever, even if she wanted to. It was just a matter of when and how.

*yn* stared down at the note that had just been delivered to her room. She felt sick with nerves as she stared down at the elegant looping of the ink.

Our usual place at dusk this evening.

Forever Yours, Robb Stark.

It seems that Robb had made her decision for her.

The forest was so quiet that the water-starved leaves crunching underneath *yn*'s boots seemed to echo off the trees.

Her breath puffed out in a cloud. The bed of leaves that she waded through were shades of browns. Mildew or ice was beginning to turn the remaining leaves white.

Another reminder that the long night was drawing ever closer.

As she approached it she realised the stream was beginning to frost over. It was hard to believe now that only a few months ago her and Robb had spent their fleeting time together frolicking in it.

A snap of a twig made *yn*'s eyes dart around. Her hand involuntarily went to rest on her stomach. Over the growing life inside of her. She had to make a conscious effort not to do it in front of her people these days.

Luna pushed against her side gently, as if to remind her that she was here. Protecting her. Luna had sensed very quickly that *yn* was with child, and even though she had her own pups to look after, her protectiveness had increased triple-fold.

"So the queen still does in fact live."

Her hand slid from her stomach to her side. A soft smile appearing on her lips at the sight of Robb making his way towards her through the thick brush.

"I was beginning to think that you had disappeared off the face of the earth." His tone was teasing, enough to make her brow quirk up in amusement.

"I have been busy, not all of us can have their advisors run things for them while they go out hunting you know."

Her expected taunt made him chuckle, a warm glow in his eye as he neared her.

"I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

Her heart hammered in her chest as he finally reached her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

I actually am because I am pregnant with your child even though we are at war and our people hate eachother! How delightful is that?

"Now why would I ever do such a thing?" She forced a smirk onto her lips, shoving the voice back down into the pits of her stomach.

He hummed in response, his gloved hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I have missed you." His chest rumbled as he spoke.

He leant down and captured her lips in a hungry kiss. She felt herself involuntarily stiffen.

She felt him frown against her skin after a few moments. He pulled away, his eyes scanning every inch of her features. He knew her too well. To the point that even attempting to deceive him was pointless.

"What is wrong my love?"

Her lips parted to answer. For once she was at a loss for words. All her years of courting royalty and whispering sweet nothings into the ears of dangerous men to sedate them - all that training completely and utterly failed her as she stared up at him.

"I-"

She felt like he was peering into her soul.

She was going to be sick. She did not know whether to attribute blame to the pregnancy or to her nerves.

She took a step back. "I cannot-"

"*yn*, what is the matter-"

She took another step back. Her heel landed on a concealed branch. Her foot twisted oddly under her weight. For a brief moment panic flooded her. She was going to fall.

Her hand attached itself to her belly.

Luna's growls filled the air as she pushed herself in between them. Gnashing teeth made Robb quickly draw the hand back he had extended out to help her.

"It's alright." *yn* soothed, her other hand leaning out to run her fingers through the dire wolf's thick fur. She felt Luna's taught muscles ease under her touch.

"Wha-" Robb cut himself off, his brow furrowed in confusion as his eyes darted from Luna to *yn*.

He froze. Her hand was still resting on her belly. His eyes moved from her belly down to Luna again, who was still eyeing him warily as she moved from between them.

"I- you-" He breathed out as he took a step back to survey her.

"Are you?" He blinked in disbelief, his gaze fixating on her belly once more.

His eyes scanned her face. The slightest nod of her head was all it took for tears to begin to well up in his eyes.

"Fucking hell *yn*-"

She felt a breath catch in her throat as Robb moved forward and wrapped her in his arms. She could feel her own tears slide down her cheeks as he squeezed her so tight that her feet lifted off the ground.

"Robb-" She managed to get out as she struggled to inhale any oxygen.

"Oh I am sorry my love, sorry I-" Robb stammered as he hastily placed her back down onto the ground.

"That is not going to hurt the babe is it?"

She let out a small chuckle and shook her head. Tears were now streaming down both of their faces. "No, it is perfectly safe."

He let out a relieved laugh and nodded, his eyes never leaving her stomach as he spoke once more.

"How long have you known?"

"About two weeks."

Robb frowned at her answer. "Why did you not tell me?"

"I- I was afraid you would not want this." She admitted quietly.

"Not want this?" Robb echoed in disbelief. "The woman I love is pregnant with our child." His hand reached up to cradle her face.

"There is nothing on this earth I would want more."

*yn* leant up and captured his lips with hers. She could taste the saltiness of their tears on her tongue as their mouths moved as one. The pair only pulled away when it became necessary to draw breath.

Robb pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes shining like she had never seen before. Like a newfound purpose had sparked it.

"There is actually one thing I think I want just as much."

His murmour made a small smirk twist up onto her lips.

She rested her arms around the back of his neck. "And what would that be Lord Stark?"

"For you to be my wife."

The statement made her freeze. Her hands slid down from around him to hang at her sides. She took a step back.

"Robb." She frowned. "You do not have to."

Her answer clearly threw him off guard.

"You do not need to propose to me just because I am with child. The concept of bastards is not one we accept in Vesiros." She explained when she saw the confusion seep from his pores.

Her explanation made a chuckle emit from the back of his throat. This time it was her turn to have confusion flash across her features as he shook his head and pulled her back into him.

"Do you remember the night of Cassius' wedding?"

"Of course I do."

"And what I said when we were up on that balcony?"

She felt a smile involuntarily tug up onto her lips.

"Yes."

His smile broadened when he saw that she could see where he was going. "About that being us down there one day. Getting married. In the Godswood. Becoming one."

She watched as he reached into his pocket.

His fist unfurled. She felt her heart skip a beat.

A dainty ring sat neatly in the palm of his hand. It was silver, simple. A small sapphire carved into the shape of a wolf's head placed neatly in the centre.

"This was my mothers. My father gave it to her when they were to be wed."

"Robb...." She swallowed as she eyed the ring gleaming back at her.

"I knew I was done for the second I walked into your throne room and laid my eyes on you."

He took her hand in his.

"I have been carrying this ring with me for months, waiting for the right time to give it to you."

She was trembling ever so slightly in his grip. It was quite a sight to behold. Queen *yn* Blackburn of Vesiros, a wildling queen, brought to shakes and tears by a Stark. It was a sight that had to be seen to be believed.

"And I cannot think of a more perfect time than when I have just found out that we are to have a child."

They were both crying once more. Silent tears sliding down their wind chaffed cheeks. Lightheaded and pulses pounding.

"Marry me, Queen Blackburn."

*yn*'s lips parted. Excuses and questions begged to tumble out. How would this work? How would their people react? What if their people did not accept them?

Her tongue kept them at bay. For once she did not want to think like a queen of a kingdom. Like a scheming politician. She wanted to put herself first. She wanted to be a woman head over heels in love with a man. Giggling and blushing and hopelessly devoted.

"Yes." She pushed her forehead against his as she guided her finger into the ring clasped in Robb's hand.

"Yes I will marry you King Stark."

The union of *yn* Blackburn and Robb Stark was not a grand spectacle or a public affair.

It was on an unassuming night, basked in the light of a full moon in the Godswood. The attendees could almost be counted on one hand.

Cassius, Talisa, Mikel, Erik, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Luna and her pups.

They all watched on as *yn* and Robb took eachother's hands and whispered the sacred words of the gods to one another. The shouts and whoops and hollers as they kissed and sealed their sacred vows.

King and Queen. Husband and wife.

Once it was announced to their people, word spread like wildfire around not just the north, but all of Westeros.

Some saw it as a disgrace, a stain on the Stark name, to be entwined with a wildling. Others saw it as a mark of power, heralding Robb a 'wildling tamer'. Some saw it as an act of war.

It was hard to look past what the union now meant. Two of the most powerful armies in Westeros were now joined as one.

The outcry *yn* had expected from her people and from Robb's was less than she had expected. It appeared that the whispers in the north of the undead returning had sparked enough fear for people to welcome the news of a larger army.

It was the only time she would ever be somewhat grateful for the return of the white walkers.

The witches and prophets blessed the union, praising Robb and *yn* for listening to the omen of the birth of Luna's pups. Who were they to ruin their excitement and tell them that they would have wed regardless of any such omen.

Seven months later, *yn* had never hated Robb Stark so much in her entire life.

“Push Your Grace. Just one more.”

Her body felt like it was on fire. *yn* Blackburn had been through multiple wars, had seen the greatest suffering a human could suffer. Or so she thought. In that moment, she was convinced there was no greater suffering on earth than that of childbirth.

“Push!”

She could not believe Cerlina had called this a blessing.

“Come on my love.” Robb's raspy voice murmured in her ear as he knelt beside her. “Take my hand.”

*yn* let out a groan of pain as she pushed once more, her hand clasping around her husband’s as she squeezed with all her might.

“I see the head!” Cerlina announced from below her.

“You're nearly there my love.” A hand caressed her face, drawing her attention away from the pain between her thighs. Her eyes locked with the deep brown ones of her husband.

She nearly broke all of the bones in his hand as she gave one more push.

Frail wails echoed throughout the cavernous room.

"Ah-" *yn* let out a hiss as pain ripped through her once more. This could not be possible - she still felt so full, like her body was being torn apart.

"What is going on?" Robb queried, his eyes darting around the room when he saw the midwives exchange glances.

"Robb, make it stop." She begged as her body continued to scream at her.

"Cerlina?"

"There- there is another one Your Grace!" Cerlina exclaimed as she looked up wide eyed at the king.

"Another one-"

"Push Your Grace! I see the head already."

*yn* gritted her teeth and pushed with all of her might. She was so consumed by the pain that she had not even processed Cerlina's words. All she knew was that she had to do whatever she could to make the pain stop.

She let out a moan of relief as the pain subsided, air filling up her lungs once more as the midwives gushed in praise.

“It’s ok my love, it is over.” Robb murmured, kissing her damp hair as he held her closely. *yn* let out a silent sob as she clung to her husband, letting him pepper her face with kisses and praises as she fell limp in his arms.

It was when another set out wailing reached her ears that her brain finally processed it.

"Did she say two-" *yn* cut herself off as she sat up, her eyes widening in disbelief at the sight in front of her.

“Twins, your grace." Cerlina smiled up at her Queen.

"Two boys."

"Twin boys." Robb breathed out, tears filling his eyes as Cerlina brought over the two babes to them, both now wrapped in cloth.

Overwhelming love and warmth filled *yn* as a son was placed into each of her outstretched arms. Almost as if those last few hours of pain had been erased, like she would do it all again now just to hold them like this.

"They are perfect." *yn* whispered, her voice cracking as she studied them.

"Perfect." Robb echoed in agreement. She leant down and placed a kiss to each of their foreheads before handing one to Robb.

"Two heirs for two kingdoms." She murmured to him, smiling as she watched her husband be completely entranced by his children.

Her words made his eyes flicker up to her as a smile spread across his lips. "They will both make fine Kings, I can already tell."

She glanced down to her son in her arms.

"Eddard." *yn* whispered as she studied him. There was a pause as Robb looked over at his son before glancing down at the son in his arms.

"And Leo."

*yn* blinked through her tears as she smiled at him.

"Ned and Leo Stark."

If the birth of direwolf pups was seen as a good omen, the birth of healthy twin boys was practically a hand delivered message by the gods themselves.

Two heirs for two kingdoms. It was heralded as a miracle.

Their union was now unquestionable. They were the north's saviours. They would lead them to victory over the white walkers.

However, the war in the South was still raging on. Both Robb and *yn* had made it quite clear they had no interest in the Iron Throne, but that did not stop the South from trying to drag them into their war.

And then there was Sansa in King's Landing. Jamie and Tywin Lannister were still rotting in Robb's cells.

Cersei Lannister was spiralling into madness.

A Targaryen girl was amassing an army across the sea.

A wildling village had been massacred by white walkers.

Four years later

"Leo, do not throw things at your brother."

"But he stole my bow and arrow! He needs to be taught a lesson."

"Leo, listen to your mother."

*yn* shook her head as she watched Leo fold his arms and go off to pout and play with his toys in the corner. She stroked Luna's fur absentmindedly as Luna nuzzled her head into her lap.

Ned appeared completely unbothered and unfazed by the apple core that had been thrown at his head. Instead, he continued to play with the wooden wolf on the fur rug situated in front of the fireplace.

"He gets that violent behaviour from you, you know." Robb mused as he came to take a seat next to her on the couch.

"Oh is that so?" She raised a brow.

He hummed in response before pulling her in for a kiss.

It was hard to believe that their twins were now four years of age. What they had survived in those handful of years of living on this earth.

Robb had eventually traded Jamie and Tywin for Sansa.

The war against the undead had been fought and won. Not without casualties. Cassius had died, leaving behind his widow and two young children. *yn* had been inconsolable for months.

Daenerys had defeated Cersei before turning mad and wiping out half of King's Landing. And the entirety of the Targaryen line, except for Jon Snow.

Then she was killed by Jon Snow.

With the Iron Throne now vacant once more, eyes turned to Robb and *yn*. But neither wanted it. They'd spent their entire marriage fighting wars and political webs and snares.

They wanted to rule in peace and raise their children.

Sansa Stark was now the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, minus the North which still had its independence. Tyrion Lannister was her hand. Arya was her commander.

Jon agreed to be *yn*'s new commander in the aftermath of the war. As her people began to trickle back to south of the wall, Jon was happy to take up residency in Vesiros castle while she spent time in Winterfell.

Somehow, none of these events had been the biggest surprise that *yn* had faced.

"Mummy!"

*yn* smiled at the sound of little feet hitting stone floor.

After convincing herself that her twin boys had been a once in a life time miracle from the gods, two years ago she found herself with child once more.

Alira Stark beamed up at her.

"Come give me a kiss."

*yn* and Robb laughed as they watched their daughter scramble up the couch and into their arms.

They watched from their seat as Luna's pups bounded into the room, causing Leo and Ned to let out squeals of joy. They were almost fully grown now but were as gentle as lambs when it came to *yn*'s children. Like they knew they would get snarled at by their mother if they were too rough.

It was the first time since *yn* could remember that she was not at war. Looking over her shoulder waiting for someone to try and kill her, or usurp her, or take over her land.

She felt safe. They both did.

Even though neither of them knew how long it would last, they were at peace.

The wolf and the wild horse could finally rest.

It took me years but this series is officially complete!!! Hope you loved it as much as I do <3 As always, feedback is always appreciated. Please give it back here xx

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pandorasdead · 4 months

Text

Make sure to follow @witchthewriter !! Her work continues to be amazing 💗💗

#writing #headcannons #house of the dragon #game of thrones #harry potter

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axelsagewrites · 1 year

Text

Jon Snow in Bed

A/N: was going to do this as a multi character preference but ended up having too many ideas

Warnings: 18+ NSFW

GIF by rhaenys-targaryen-martell

Masterlist Here

Jon is a switch

He's either a mess underneath you or telling you exactly what to do and how to do it

No matter which mood he's in though his main goal is to make sure you're satisfied

Over and over and over again

To the point of tears depending on how he's feeling

When he's in a sub mood Jon is a slut for praise

He loves when you tell him how good he is and how adorable he is while he goes down on you

Even hearing it almost makes him cum

If you aren't praising him he'll do everything he can to earn it though until your screaming his praise

But this boy does not handle degrading. It's a hard line for him

He defo has a slight mommy kink but won't admit it

But he will shameless beg for you to let him feel you and to ride him

Which you will but go so temptingly slowly so he begs even more but it's so worth it for him when you finally speed up and he moans shamelessly

He wasn't always like this and was far more bashful when being submissive to begin with but as he became more comfortable he gets more into it. He's very big into trust so none of this information leaves your bedroom

However when Jon's in a dom mood it's a completely different story

This usually happens after a battle or argument or sparring

Sometimes your teasing him all day goes to far and he'll switch from submissive to "oh you've done it now"

At first it's exciting seeing Jon get all possessive until he's been inbetween your legs for hours and he still hasn't let you cum.

He can be cruel but when it finally happens it's so worth it.

What is sometimes worse is when he let's you cum to start then makes you do it over and over and over again until your legs are left shaking and you can barely breath from it all

This only happens when something particularly pisses him off though because he would never want to hurt you but he can't deny that watching you become a mess from his tongue makes his day.

Jon will make sure to kiss every inch of you before finally landing where you need him.

He doesn't really do quickies so when you do have sex it usually lasts a while because he always makes sure you finish first.

Aftercare:

Jon didn't fully understand the concept at first until he subbed properly for the first time and you cuddled him for an hour straight after petting his hair.

This practically set the standard so now he's a big fan and it always seems to be hair centric.

He'll brush you hair, practise braids in it if it's long enough, massage your scalp.

You'll run your fingers through his which always releases a satisfying groan from him.

He's never too particularly rough but he worries so you also assure him you did like it and he never hurt you.

He's very soft and caring after it's all done.

#jon snow #jon snow imagine #jon snow smut #jon snow x y/n #jon snow x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones smut #got #got imagine #got smut #jon snow headcannons

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hotxcheeto · 4 months

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Hi, can u write a domestic, fluffy, sweet headcannon about things ellie would do with the reader after coming back from work? I would love that<3

Biggest fan...

━ 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖/ 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Ellie Williams x G/N!reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing? It's fluffy

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - HAPPY HOLIDAYSSSSSS!! THANK YOU SM FOR 4000 FOLLOWERS I LOVE YOU ALL!! even if i post every 2 months <3

Ellie loves her job, she does

She just hates working

She'd rather be at home, with you, her game controller and whatever takeout you both picked for that night

And so when the end of the day rolls around, she gets in her car and drives home

Sometimes she'll surprise you with food if she knows you're having a rough day, or sometimes she'll just get it to get it

Then she's showing up with a bag in hand and a tired face and you know she's ready to eat and sleep

On regular days though, she loves coming home and walking in to you making dinner for the both of you

The smell of coming from the kitchen mixed with your humming?

She's down baddddddd

Astronomically

To the moon and back

She always did want to be an astronaut

But she'll walk in, and you'll know because she throws her shit more than half the time before picking it back up with a sigh

Then she wanders over to you despite definitely needing a shower but you never mind because she'll wrap her arms around your waist and hide her face in your neck

But the moment she cements this, it's impossible to get her off

Like I mean impossible

Sometimes she'll ramble at this stage of the night because she has a lot to say about her day and she doesn't want to forget before she tells you

So she'll just unload, all of it, while you're stirring soup or something

Oh and you love her but this girl can YAP

certified yapper

But you don't mind cause you haven't seen her all day so you just let her go

Then when she decides she's had enough, she'll try to cuddle on you again while you're cooking and you have to make her go and shower

It's sweet until you realize she's sweaty so off you make her go

You can hear her mumbling to herself as she walks away if you listen

More often than not she showers hella fast and is back out in the same koala position as before if the food isn't done

But she doesn't talk anymore

Silence besides your humming or your talking

And she very much prefers it that way because she loves the sound of your voice

And when you both sit down to eat she sits across from you when she's in a chatty mood and next to you when she's that tired she can barely keep her head up

She has those days when she stays up way too late despite you yelling at her

Take her phone, she'll be mad for five minutes then be fine after

the og ipad kid

Anyhow... after y'all eat, depending on how tired you both are, it's couch time

That's when you lay there and contemplate life together <3

It's TV show and movie timeeeeeeee

She's a game of thrones nerd

hated the ending too

Dany stan fr fr

Cause she's hot

Y'all are stuck to that couch until bed time

She cuddles bad, ur practically glued together for the entirety of the night

When it's skincare time she watches you

Same if you wear make up, she stares

0-0

It's just cause she finds you mesmerizing, until you make her wash her face too and put 48938490238 more products after

Then she pouts as you put them on her cause she wants to go to bed

But she gets happier once you're laying down and she's wrapped so far around you, you're sure she could be a contortionist if she decided to quit her day job

But she's a sweetie <3

#tlou ellie #ellie #ellie x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie willaims #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou

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pastanest · 1 year

Text

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

warning: brief reference to attempted SA

part one can be found here

Yours - Part Two

Tension rose between the two hot-headed siblings as they discussed the plan for their future, where such a plan would take them. Sansa was set on starting a war with Ramsay Bolton and taking back their home, saving you in the process, but having already been aged by the ways of war, Jon stood to his feet.

“I am tired of fighting. It’s all I’ve done since I left home. I’ve killed brothers of the Night’s Watch, I’ve killed wildlings, I’ve killed men that I admire, I hanged a boy, younger than Bran! I’ve fought, and I lost.” He was exhausted, in mind, body and soul.

But when Sansa stepped toward her brother and held his gaze, she knew exactly what she needed to say.

“You have not lost, because she is still waiting for you. She will believe until the day she dies that you are coming to save her, because that is who you are to her. You’ve fought, and now you must fight for her.”

Something flickered in Jon then, a spark that only you could ignite. “I have always fought for her.”

“Then do it once more. This time, knowing she is on the other side. If we don’t take back the north, we’ll never be safe. I want you to help me, but I’ll do it myself if I have to.” Sansa raised an eyebrow, seeing the fire in her brother’s eyes and knowing that you have succeeded, as you always have, in bringing Jon Snow back to his senses.

It was only then, Sansa chose to disclose the nature of your capture. With every detail, Jon’s blood boiled in his veins. Chained by one wrist to the leg of a bed, forced to live each day and night on the castle floor, in complete darkness, save for when Ramsay Bolton decided to pay you a visit for a regular beating. That particular comment made Jon visibly flinch, fists clenching at the thought of getting his hands on the man that thought he had any right to touch you. While Sansa tried to free you, the door to the room you were trapped in was locked and she did not have time to search for the key, you would not let her, instead you had been shouting for her to go, to escape to the Wall, to Jon.

In that moment, Jon Snow knew he was ready to beat Ramsay Bolton to death. And that was only exacerbated by the raven he decided to send to the wall, addressed to Jon, regarding his sister and younger brother, Rickon, with disgusting threats. There was no mention of you in the letter, but Sansa assured Jon this was a good thing, because it meant Ramsay did not intend to use you as a bargain, he did not think you were important enough, so he would keep you alive as his plaything. Jon did not find that as comforting as Sansa had intended.

Following Sansa’s advice, Jon arranged a meeting with Ramsay Bolton upon gathering his forces. By no means did they have enough men to truly beat Ramsay, but Jon was certain that he alone could blaze through an army, knowing you were on the other side of it.

Naturally, Ramsay arrived late to their meeting, leaving Jon, Sansa, and their accompanying party of Lords and Ladies from the northern houses that had rallied behind them, waiting in the clear field that surrounded Winterfell until Ramsay Bolton approached on his horse with his own display of Lords.

Smiling at Sansa on his arrival, Ramsay addressed her first, then looked to Jon, seemingly bemused by the sight of him as he greeted him with far less respect, if that is what his greeting to his wife could be deemed as.

“Come, bastard, you don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell - why lead those poor souls to slaughter? There’s no need for a battle, get off your horse and kneel. I am a man of mercy”

Jon smirked at him. “You’re right, there’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men dont need to die, only one of us. Let’s end this the old way - you against me.”

And Jon so wished the bastard opposite him would be foolish enough to agree. He could be the greatest fighter in the history of Westeros, and Jon would fancy his chances, for you.

Unfortunately, Ramsay laughed at that suggestion. “I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good, maybe not. I don't know if I’d beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men, you have, what, half that? Not even?”

Jon was thoroughly enjoyed taunting such a petulant child. “Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?”

Ramsay pointed to Jon, laughing. “He’s good, very good. Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender?”

It was then, Sansa spoke up. “How do we know you have him?”

And with a nod from Ramsay, one of his men threw the severed head of Rickon’s direwolf in between their respective parties.

Trying her best not to show any kind of reaction on her face, Sansa nodded. “And what of my maid?”

Ramsay shrugged. “Well, dear wife, with you gone, I will have no choice but to turn to the others at my disposal, to…serve me.”

It took more strength than Jon Snow had ever had to conjure up for anything, to not launch himself from his horse and tackle Ramsay from his, beating him into the earth below. With everything he had, he held onto what was at stake, what Sansa had advised him would keep him safest, and held his ground, restricting his visceral response to Ramsay’s words to the slightest clench of his own horse’s reins. “I wonder, will your men want to fight for you when they find out the only women you can keep at your side are your prisoners? A man who cannot please a woman is hardly one to inspire the heart’s of men.”

Ramsay tilted his head to the side, his ego clearly pricked by the notion of being undesirable. “Do you mean to tell me, bastard, that you broke your sacred Oath as well as deserted your post?”

At that, Jon scoffed. “No man would ask such a question, but a boy would. Killing your father does not make you a man, neither does forcing yourself upon a thousand slaves.”

Ramsay composed himself, Jon only picking up on the tiniest flash of a tantrum behind his eyes. “I have heard of your righteousness, bastard. That, I suppose, is the one thing you must have received from your father, and look where it got him.”

Oh, Jon Snow knew he was going to enjoy dragging out Ramsay Bolton’s death for as long as possible.

For the rest of the day, following the conclusion of their meeting, Jon’s mind was spinning with the threats Ramsay Bolton had made against you and your virtue. He hoped to the Gods he had not given himself away in his fists clenched the reigns of his horse, but that was the most he could do to conceal the fury that raged within him. Even during the continued discussions of the battle plan he had formed with his men, thoughts of you tugged at the back of Jon’s mind constantly. Having once again butted heads with Sansa, she began to take her leave from the tent Jon was situated in.

Turning to face him one last time, she held his gaze. “If Ramsay wins, I'm not going back there alive. Do you understand me?”

Jon’s heart sank in his chest, immediately understanding what she was insinuating. “I won't ever let him touch you, or (Y/N), again. I’ll protect you both, I promise.”

In her angered, traumatized state, Sansa seemed almost offended at such a sincere promise. “No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”

He dared not argue with her, but he knew that she was wrong. Jon would protect her, and you, even if it killed him. To die for someone he loved would be a better demise than his first.

That night, Jon Snow laid in the bed of his tent and stared up at the ceiling. He knew he needed the rest, but could not quiet his mind in the wake of what the dawn would bring. A war like none he had ever faced, with you on the other side. Reaching into the shirt pocket that sat directly above his heart, Jon retrieved the folded, aged piece of parchment that was worn and faded by the countless instances of him rereading it. Huffing beside his bed, Ghost nudged the back of Jon’s hand, bringing a soft smile back to his face as he tore his gaze from the page.

“We’ll get her back, Ghost, we have to.” He whispered, and Ghost breathed deeply in response, agreeing in his own way.

Following suit, Jon took a deep breath of his own and closed his eyes, folding the parchment back into a neat square and slotting it back into his pocket, feeling a piece of him returning as he did. He envisioned himself as the boy he once was, lying in the godswood, under the weirwood tree, with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. If he focussed hard enough, he could almost feel your fingertips against his scalp. That was the only sensation that could bring rest to his racing mind, on the eve of war.

The next morning, the sun rose high, illuminating the field of battle as Jon rode his men to their frontline. Seeing the army that stood between himself and you, Jon began to doubt whether he really could make it to the other side. That was, until a raven flew from one side of the field to the other. Upon one of the wildlings shooting it down, Jon was handed a small scroll of parchment tied with a torn black cord, a slightly crooked sword charm hanging from it, and a strand of your hair that fell with a wind that slowed time to a stop as Jon untied it with trembling hands. Seeing red, his eyes scanned the page, the words that were written on it, and the heart that he firmly believed still resided with you dropped to the field below him.

“She screamed terribly for you when I tried to take this from her. The bastard’s common whore screamed loudest for me, in the end. But fear not, she won’t be making a sound like that again, or any other for that matter.

I’ll let you watch her rot, if you like.

Come and see.”

The parchment fell from Jon Snow’s shaking fists, landing on the ground atop the hair that Ramsay Bolton had ripped from your head, but the necklace stayed clenched in Jon’s fist. It couldn’t be true, he told himself, he would feel it if you were no longer there, if you were not waiting for him anymore. As hard as it hammered in his chest, his heart felt the same way it did before, that it was not truly with him. It would have returned to him, were you not there to take care of it anymore, he thought. But deep within his soul, Jon knew that his heart would stay with you long after yours had stopped beating, for his heart had been with you when it had stopped beating in his own body. He truly believed that you were what had brought him back to this life in that sense. What would be the purpose in bringing his greatest motivation for winning such a battle, leading him to the field of war and then taking you from him. It did not make sense, Jon thought, and used that to rationalize to himself that Ramsay Bolton was simply lying for the sake of distracting him. Little did Ramsay know, Jon’s mind was solely on you regardless of such a threat.

And as he unclenched his fists to tie the black cord at the back of his neck, icy gaze fixed on the form he recognised on the opposite side of the field, Jon Snow knew that he would make it through any number of men to punish the one that dared to take a single hair from your head.

The short lived hope of being able to save his younger brother, Rickon, only set Jon’s resolve further into stone. Through a sea of arrows, Jon Snow rode his horse until he was thrown from it, and then he stood. Arrows at his feet that stuck upright, having failed in harming him in a way that reassured him the Gods were on his side once more. And as he faced the army that charged towards him, a single man serving as the front line, Jon’s life flashed before his eyes. He saw your smile, and over the sound of horses and men, he heard your laugh, your call of his name. For the briefest moment, Jon swore he could see you standing at one of the windows of Winterfell in the distance, but the version of you remembered so fondly was years younger than the one that he was here to save. The emotional weight of the sword charm at his chest and your first letter to him folded in the pocket over his heart, made it difficult for him to breathe, and he knew that this was it. Nodding to himself, he unclasped the belt of his sword and unsheathed it, standing to face the wall of men that charged for him, knowing that regardless of whether Ramsay Bolton was telling the truth, you were still on the other side. If Jon Snow could not save you, he would still fight for the right to rescue what was left of you and ensure you were laid to rest in the way you deserved, with his journey’s end being at your side when this was all over. The fury with which he would fight for you was unchanged, because it was still you he was fighting for, it would always be you.

And he fought harder than he had ever fought in his life, ending more lives than he could count without any regard for the men they were, whether he had known them once. If they were standing on the path that led to you, Jon Snow did not know them anymore.

Before long, the bodies had formed a wall at his rear and a living blockade of flayed-man banners at every other side began closing in on Jon and the men that had followed him into battle. His mind raced, every step and every swing of his sword accompanied by the mantra of your name, his very reason for being. For a fraction of a second, suffocating beneath the weight of his own army, he wondered if dying for you then was the best outcome, if you truly were not waiting for him in the land of the living, it would be his one means of returning to you at long last.

And then, the Eyrie’s horn sounded, with Sansa watching on from afar as they rode into battle for her, for you, for Winterfell. Many had told her the field of battle was no place for a woman, but Sansa would never sit back and let Jon fight for you on his own. She said she would finish this herself if she had to, and she did.

Bursting free from the trap that had been set by the enemy, with WunWun the giant on his left and his dear friend Tormund on his right, Jon Snow charged the field on foot with one deserter in his sights.

At the gates of Winterfell, WunWun took arrow after arrow, but crashed through the only barrier remaining between Jon and his home. Defeated and exhausted, the giant collapsed to his knees with a mighty yell, sharing a long glance with Jon at his side before falling forward. Wildlings rushed to surround him, protecting the giant from any further harm, and the blood soaked Snow stood before his greatest enemy.

“You suggested one-on-one combat, didnt you? I’ve reconsidered! I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Ramsay taunted, readying his bow.

And Jon lunged for a shield on the ground, raising it just in time to take the impact of the first arrow Ramsey fired, then the second and the third. None dared to break Jon’s stride before he reached Ramsay and slammed the shield into him, knocking him to the ground. Like a feral animal, Jon Snow jumped on him, the fury of an ancient dragon awaking from an age-old sleep burning in his veins, vision crimson with rage, knowing nothing except for your name, again and again and again, with every crunch of his fists against the red of Ramsay’s face.

It was only when Jon glanced up at Sansa that he was able to regain some composure, his chest heaving as he rose to his feet and stood over the sputtering Bolton bastard.

“You will never touch my sister again. And if you have harmed (Y/N) in the same way, if you have done her any disservice, if there is a fingerprint of yours on her, I’ll know, and I will relive the joy of your death in every dream I have for the rest of my days.” Jon Snow seethed, the flayed-man banner falling from the walls of Winterfell as its children finally returned home.

Running to his side, Ghost began licking at Jon’s palm, and Jon turned to him, crouching down and staring into the direwolf’s eyes.

“Find her, Ghost, take me to her.” He pleaded, not truly understanding how much his companion could comprehend, but knowing the second the beast took off inside the castle that Ghost understood exactly what had been asked of him.

With the spark of you reignited within him, Jon hurried after the white, blood spattered direwolf, your voice in his head calling out to him, growing more urgent with each whisper.

In the darkness of your cell, you rock yourself, your arms wrapped around your knees, attempting to tune out the noise from beyond the confinement of your cage. A large thud against the door sends a shock through your shivering form and you suck in a sharp breath, squeezing your eyes shut and focussing on the first memory you can grab at, deep in your subconscious.

“It was only a dream, (Y/N), it’s alright.” Jon’s hushed whisper reaches you, both so much younger than you are now.

“The fire, it was so-” Your younger voice was panicked, sobs catching in your throat as Jon’s arms squeezed you.

“You are safe, I promise. I’ve got you.”

Another thud at your prison door pulls you back to the present and you shake your head rapidly, desperate to lock yourself away in the memory of being in your best friend’s arms again, the safest place in the world that you had come to know. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel them around you. Almost hear his soft voice in your ears, comforting you, lulling you back to sleep.

A final thud against the door sends burning light into the room and you squeeze your eyes shut harder, shaking your head and burying your face in your knees.

“It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass.” You whimper to yourself, over and over again in an attempt to reassure yourself.

Large hands on your shoulders cause you to snap your head up, eyes wide and wild with fear and anger, but no tears blur them, you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“LET GO OF ME, GET AWAY!” You scream, trying to back away from him, but already having your back to the wall beside the leg of the bed that you are chained to.

The hands leave your shoulders and raise in surrender, either side of a blurry, bloody face that your terrified eyes can’t yet focus on.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), it’s me, look at me, it’s your Jon.” A familiar voice reaches your ears, and your wild mind halts to a sudden stop, the fog clearing and allowing you to see the face before you.

Jon watches your rigid, frightened expression falter, before it softens completely, his fractured heart at seeing you so afraid, healing at the recognition now in your eyes.

Very slowly, he takes ahold of your hands and brings them to his blood spattered face, gently holding them there and staring into your eyes.

“It’s your Jon, it’ll always be your Jon.” He tells you, relief flooding through him at being able to say such a thing to you, alive and safe again.

And after everything, after the countless days and nights spent surviving in darkness, locking yourself away in memories to avoid being mentally present in the regular acts of torture you were forced to endure, only when holding Jon Snow’s face in your hands and knowing you are truly safe, do you finally let the tears you’ve been burying fill your eyes.

Without sparing a second, Jon shuffles forwards and pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and softly shushing you as you sob into his chest. Covering your ears to shield them, not wanting to scare you, Jon yells out for someone, a ginger haired wildling running into the room with wide eyes at the sight of his friend, reunited with the love he had only heard him mention in moments when it wasn’t too painful for him to do so. With a nod, Tormund leaves the room and passes the order given to him by Jon amongst the wildlings, and between them they turn Winterfell on its head in search of the key for your chain.

For the time it takes them to find it, you stay safely nestled in Jon’s arms, cries slowing to a stop, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat, a sound that you had not realized just how much you had missed.

“D-Did…” You sigh, humiliated by your loss of ability to talk after being silent or screaming in an act of survival for so long. Jon squeezes your form gently in his arms, encouraging you to try again, he’ll wait, he’ll wait forever if he has to. Taking a deep breath, you clear your throat.

“Did you kill him?”

Jon takes a moment to reply. “Very nearly. Had Sansa not stopped me, I think I would have broken every knuckle I’ve got before I could have stopped myself.” He pauses. “The two of you should decide what to do with him, but you don’t need to worry about that now.”

Removing his arms from you briefly, Jon moves his hands to the back of his neck to untie the necklace. At the loss of contact, you lift your head from his chest to meet his eyes, and upon him opening his hand out to show you the necklace that had been so cruelly taken from you, you gasp, holding the base of your neck where it had previously resided. Turning away from Jon, he smiles softly and moves the necklace to your front, carefully tying it at the back of your neck. Feeling it back in place, you breathe deeply and settle back into Jon’s arms.

“That was all he took from me, you know.”

Jon frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He tried to take more, but I bit him through his trousers, so he has been…out of commission, shall we say, ever since.” The subtle tone in your voice is one Jon is so certain he recognises as smug.

Kissing your temple, he can’t wipe the smile from his face. “I am sorry that you had to do such a thing, but I am so proud of you, all the same.”

Sansa enters the room then, Ghost at her side and key in hand. She gasps at the sight of you, running to you and falling to her knees. Taking ahold of your hand and passing the key to Jon, she closes her eyes in a pained blink.

“I am so, so sorry that I left you here, (Y/N). Can you ever forgive me?” Her eyes open then, searching yours and seeing only a smile on your face.

Freeing your other wrist from the chain it had been confined in, you twist and stretch it before placing your other hand over hers.

“There’s nothing to apologize for and nothing to forgive.”

Sansa shares a look with Jon, both of them with knowing smiles, as those had been his very words when Sansa had been apologizing for her treatment of him as a child when she had not long arrived at the Wall.

“You really are the best of us, (Y/N).” Sansa chuckles in disbelief. “It’s about time we got you cleaned up and out of those rags, too. I’m sure Jon will see to that, and I’ll get a room ready for the two of you.” With a teasing smile, she rises to her feet and all but floats out of the room, leaving you and Jon with flushed faces.

Busying yourself with greeting Ghost and rubbing behind his ears, you try your hardest to distract yourself from the butterflies that have burst to life in your stomach after so many years of dormancy.

Clearing his throat, Jon taps your leg. “She’s right, y’know, we’d best get you cleaned up. There’s someone I’d like you to meet, when you feel up to it.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you shakily bring yourself to stand, Jon’s hands holding your waist to keep you steady. “Who?”

At that, Jon Snow gives you the first dazzling smile that you have seen in Gods only know how long. “All in good time, my Lady.”

In your attempts to take your first steps on wobbling legs, Jon swallows the lump that forms in his throat, seeing the strong person that he adores more than any other, reduced to such physical weakness. If his hands were not on your waist, they would be returning to Ramsay’s face in several more punches for good measure.

Sensing your frustration and embarrassment at your own lack of mobility, Jon doesn’t hesitate to swing you up into his arms, carrying you like the bride he had always wished was his.

“I take it I don’t have to ask you to retract the bedding ceremony from our marriage at this time?” You tease in reference to the thought that the two of you share in being carried through the castle in such a way, bringing a laugh from Jon that he feels he hasn’t heard from himself in as long as you have.

“Even in more ideal circumstances, I’d never let that happen. Wouldn’t be right to break a man’s jaw on our wedding night.” He says, eyes never leading yours as he traverses the winding staircases of the castle he has not ventured since he was a boy, but are etched in his memory regardless.

Giggling and patting his chest, you shake your heard bashfully. “Good to know the Night’s Watch didn’t remove your chivalry, Lord Jon.” You gasp. “Gods! That really is your title now, as Lord Commander, isn’t it?”

Having not had a smile on his face for this length of time in many years, Jon feels an ache forming in the corners of his mouth, but doesn’t care at all. “Aye, I was, for a time, but my watch has ended.”

It’s then, a confused frown that Jon remembers well returns to your face, years older than he had last seen it, but no less endearing to him. “But...your watch only ends as a dead man?”

Jon nods as he descends the final staircase and kicks an all too familiar door open. “It’s a long story, one for another time.”

You want to question him further, but when your peripheral vision registers where Jon has carried you, you turn your head to look around, your jaw dropping.

Though the room is dark, you recognise every corner enshrouded in the shadows. The large and ancient communal bath that sits atop the hot spring that is Winterfell’s source of heated water, that none use in favor of their own personal baths, but had been your preferred method of cleanliness ever since you and Jon had discovered the dark and “secret” room when you were children. Placing you back on your feet gently, one of his hands on your waist and the other cradling your elbow to steady you, Jon’s gaze stays locked on your expression at his side, remembering this place with as much fondness as you do.

“This is about to be a bath for the ages. I will stay in this water for a week, at least, ‘til I am but a shriveled prune and you will have no choice but to drag me out against my will.” You tell him, tone so serious and words so humorous they pull another hearty laugh from Jon.

“We’d best get that week-long-bath started, then. I shan’t keep you and your heart’s true desire apart any longer.” He plays along, making you smile as you step in front of him, nodding to yourself.

Taking his cue, Jon lets go of you and turns around, expecting to give you the privacy to strip free of the filthy rags you have been kept in and stepping into the water to conceal yourself, until he hears you hiss in pain.

“Jon, I…I don’t intend to make you uncomfortable, but I do not think I can take this off without help.” You admit, embarrassed for too many reasons to list.

“It would cause me no discomfort at all, but are you certain you are comfortable with me…assisting you?” Jon asks in a soft voice, careful with his choice of words.

“Of course. You could never make me uncomfortable, Jon.” You respond without delay.

Needing no further instruction, Jon Snow takes a deep breath and turns around. With your back to him, you raise your arms and wait for trembling hands to lift the hem of your dress - if you could call a ripped potato sack such a thing - up and over your head. Dropping the fabric to the floor, Jon immediately turns around again, face burning.

“Thank you.” Your voice is meak, filled with shame over your true love seeing you bare for the first time, filthy, bloody and bruised.

All the while, Jon Snow is trying to remember how to breathe while the mental image of your naked form imprints itself into his flailing mind. The dirt had not even crossed his mind. Your injuries, of course, brought him sadness and anger, but the triumphant emotion was one he is not willing to admit, even to himself.

Taking slow and careful steps, you reach the water’s edge and lower yourself to sit on it, slipping your legs into the water and breathing a sigh of relief as the heat envelopes you immediately, inviting you in until your body is completely submerged and at peace. Every ache within your beaten body is soothed and you are quick to scrub the dirt from yourself, to be clean of your days caged and the memories that clung to your skin like the dried blood of your wounds.

Hearing the gentle slosh of the water, Jon settles as he realizes you are no longer standing behind him. Standing up straight, he fixes his gaze on the closed door and decides that he will keep watch. As you raise your head from the water, you see his silhouette standing at the door and smile, unable to withdraw the connection your mind makes between this picture and the one you saw so many times as a girl, of a much younger Jon Snow standing as he is now, shorter then, but just as determined to keep watch while you were vulnerable in the water.

“Y’know, you could do with a wash, yourself.” You note aloud.

Jon chuckles airily. “Aye, you’re probably right.”

Smirking in advance of your devious plan to make Jon blush again, you glide over to the edge of the water and rest your arms on the cold stone. “Join me then.”

And you watch in absolute glee as Jon’s form turns rigid at your suggestion. He does not answer.

“Jon?” You call in a singsong voice.

He clears his throat. “Hm?”

“As grotesque as my body is in its current state, I did not imagine you would ever reject an offer to join me?” You tease, only half joking.

Jon’s reaction is visceral. In a second, he is standing over you with a harsh frown, having had no thought in the effect the sight of you below him in such a way would have on him, too focussed on his emotional response to the ridiculousness in what you had said.

“I cannot even bring myself to say such a word in association to you, the thought alone would be criminal. Do not allow yourself to think that I could see you as anything less than the most beautiful person to ever exist, as you have always been and will always be to me.”

You have never heard Jon so serious in all your life. His words and the sincerity with which they are spoken renders you speechless for a moment as you stare up at him.

“Won’t you let me share such a view, of you, then?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And after a moment’s eternity of silence, as though practicing some ancient dance, the two of you step apart from each other and turn your backs, neither of you able to face the tension a moment longer.

The sound of Jon’s armor hitting the stone floor sends goosebumps erupting across the tops of your shoulders that peak above the water, your heartbeats ringing in your ears almost in unison. Even when you hear the splash of his body entering the water, you do not dare turn to face him. As quickly as he can, he fully submerges himself in the water and scrubs the blood and dirt from a battle won. Then, Jon Snow stands, slowly wading through the water until he stands behind you. It is your turn to take a deep breath as you turn to face him, your eyes drinking in the sight of his clean face, the scars on his chest sitting distorted beneath the water, and to take his mind away from the pain of what you assume are his battlescars, your hands lift from the water to trace the line of his beard with an admiring smile.

“I always knew you’d suit a beard.” You compliment him, easing his nerves as he laughs, gracing you with another charming smile.

Your hands continue their journey around the back of his neck, feeling the wet, inky curls of his hair there and sighing deeply.

“Truly, you have the best hair in the seven kingdoms.”

And Jon laughs the hardest he has in longer than he can remember, throwing his head back and shaking it as though emphasizing the hair that you have never failed to shower in praise, making you laugh with him.

Taking ahold of your hands at the back of his neck, Jon brings them to his lips and places feathery light kisses against your knuckles, holding your gaze.

“I have missed you more than words can say.” He whispers.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that your excuse for not writing me any, then?”

Jon sighs, closing his eyes and hanging his head in shame. “I am so sorry.”

Chuckling, you lift his chin with your finger until you can see into his eyes again. “Considering you won a battle for me today, I think I can forgive you for not having time to read my letters.”

Jon smiles at you gratefully. “I read them all before coming to get you, I swear it.”

“And I believe you, as I always have. I believed you’d read them, I believed you would rescue me, and both rang true in the end. It seems my faith is safe.” You beam up at him.

“Your faith in what?” He questions.

“My Jon.” You tell him, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and the moment he hears it, he agrees that it is.

Unable to resist you a moment longer, Jon’s arms wrap around your waist and pull your body flush against his, lips falling on yours in a kiss softer than a summer breeze. Briefly, he falters, wondering if perhaps he has acted on his instincts far too soon, but then he feels your fingers running through his curls, pulling him into a deeper kiss than he had assumed you would be ready for, but you have been waiting far too long for this.

Only when the two of you recall the human need to breathe do you have the strength to pull away from each other. But Jon’s lips chase after you, leaving a trail of kisses from the corners of your mouth to your chin, your cheeks, your temples, your neck, with pleading whispers in between.

“Will you be mine, my wife- my queen, should the north call for a king? I cannot lose you again, I cannot deny myself the dream of us anymore.”

And in equally flustered, desperate whispers, you answer. “Yes to all and yes to any. I have always been yours, Jon.”

For a time, it feels like the two of you are the only people in existence, the world having stopped around you, the Gods having paused time to allow you to hold each other for your own eternity. It is not the time for love beyond a passionate kiss, both of your bodies need to heal and rest after the battles you have fought and won, together, to get back to each other. To simply hold each other, after so many years apart, is the greatest joy either of you can ask for.

But, time cannot be slowed forever. Soon enough, there is a knock at the door of the bath and in a wild panic that has you in fits of giggles, Jon scrambles from the water and grabs his armor, holding it over himself to answer the door to the young squire that has kindly delivered fresh clothes and towels for the two of you to dry yourselves with. Nodding and thanking the squire, Jon takes the pile from him and closes the door, turning back to face you with a sheepish expression and only seeing the humor in it when he finds you wheezing against the side of the bath.

Once dry and dressed, the two of you make your way to the door, pinky fingers intertwined between you out of habit. Until your boot steps on something that does not sound like the stone floor and you frown, bending down to pick up a folded piece of parchment, worn at the edges and ink fading in the handwriting that you recognise to be your own as you unfold it. Turning to face Jon, you meet his gaze and know you do not need to say anything as you fold the parchment back into the neat square in which you had found it and slot it the pocket of his new, clean shirt. Holding your hand over it, you lean up to kiss his cheek and, intertwining your pinky fingers again, you ascend the stairs together and step out into the courtyard of Winterfell. There, your eyes immediately lock onto the sight of the immense form of the hunched over giant, sitting against one of the stone walls as some wildlings watch over him. The child within you gasps, your hands covering your mouth in delight as you look between Jon and the giant frantically.

Laughing endearingly at you, Jon gestures to the giant and walks you over to him. “(Y/N), I’d like you to meet Wun Wun.”

Unable to tear your gaze from the giant, you approach him slowly. “Hello, Wun Wun, it’s…it’s been a dream of mine to meet someone like you, ever since I was a little girl.” Looking over him and his injuries, tears immediately sting your eyes. “I am so sorry that you got hurt, are you in pain? I can fetch you some milk of the poppy, if you like? Or fix up some stew for you?”

Wun Wun watches you with a frown that seems to be etched into his features, curious of you. Taking a few seconds, the giant processes what you have said, looks to Jon and then back to you.

“Snow princess.” His voice is like a tumbling boulder, thunderous and without the human pitch-difference that is associated with asking a question, but Jon understands what he is asking.

“(Y/N) would be my queen.” Jon clarifies, and Wun Wun blinks slowly.

“Snow Queen.” He attempts to maneuver his large form, but roars in protest at his own injuries.

Raising your arms, you attempt to stop him. “Please, don’t hurt yourself further!”

Jon remembers how Wun Wun had acted towards the Princess Shireen and takes a step forward. “You don’t need to kneel to us, Wun Wun, you are our friend, our equal. You bow to no-one, not anymore.”

Your eyes widen in realization of what the giant had been trying to do as he slumps back down with a large thud against the ground.

Breathing deeply, Wun Wun looks at you. “Snow Queen.” He looks at Jon. “Snow.” Then lifts an arm and loosely gestures to both of you. “Friend.”

Jon scoffs playfully. “So (Y/N) is Queen, but I am just Snow?”

You grin at the giant, who acknowledges your expression with a thunderous laugh that is so loud it would hurt your ears, were you not enamored by the creature it comes from.

“If she is not my queen, who’s queen is she?” Jon asks, bemused and hoping to catch out the giant, who considers the question for only a second before responding.

“Wun. Weg. Wun Dar Wun’s.” And despite how long it takes the giant to speak his full name, the impact of his own punchline hits just as hard, sending you into another wheezing fit of laughter while Jon shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, it seems both Wun Wun and I are yours, now.” Jon throws up his hands in dramatic surrender, causing you to laugh harder, the giant smiling at you fondly and Jon watching you with an adoring gaze, so relieved to see you relaxed and safe enough to laugh again.

When Jon asks you if you feel ready to eat, you nod, but request that you eat together, with Wun Wun, to ensure he eats and gains some energy to help his body heal, too. Naturally, Jon does not deny you of the endearing request and the two of you return to the giant with your own bowls of fresh stew and an extra large one for your new best friend. The three of you sit and talk, taking time to listen to Wun Wun’s responses, which take a lot longer than general conversations with a human would, but you don’t mind one bit. With every word he speaks, you are utterly mesmerized, having already pinned the creature as every bit as incredible as the giants from your favorite tales as a child.

Though it is not late in the evening by the time you finish your supper, you are too exhausted from the events of the day to stay awake much longer. Having not walked around for any length of time in so long, your limbs are too weak to stand on your own again, Jon having to help you back to your feet with an arm around your waist.

Waving to Wun Wun, you give him a tired smile.

“Goodnight Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, I wish you pleasant dreams.”

The giant gives you a smile that Jon has not seen him give anyone else. “Friend. Sleep good.”

With that, Jon begins leading you back into the warmth of the castle, walking you along the path to what had been his bedroom as a boy, without thinking of what the room could be now, his direwolf trailing behind the two of you. Thankfully, it seems that Sansa was thoughtful in the room she requested be prepared for you all, as Jon’s old bedroom door is open, displaying the candlelit room and the freshly made bed. The two of you share a chuckle in disbelief as you enter the room, Ghost instantly finding a patch of rug on the ground to curl up on and Jon walking you over to the bed to sit down on it before he leaves you to close the door and draw the curtains.

Falling against the mattress, you groan.

“I think this ordeal has aged me 20 years and perhaps it is time we retire. I could finally let Sansa teach me to sew and you could herd sheep with Ghost, what do you think?”

At the mention of his name and in confusion at your suggestion, Ghost lifts and tilts his head to the side.

Jon laughs as he joins you, landing on his back beside you, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath you. “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan. Only, I’m afraid, my Lady, there is another war to be fought.”

You turn your head to face him, seeing the simultaneous amusement and seriousness playing in his eyes. “Surely, you jest. Against who?”

Jon sighs. “An ever growing army of the dead, unfortunately.”

Throwing your arms up and against the mattress above your head in a dramatic display of defeat, you scoff. “But of course! Winter is coming, I should have known.”

Jon smiles at you, having never felt so at ease when discussing the threat that looms over the entire world as he knows it and marveling at the wonder that is you. “Aye, but for now-” He stands to his feet, swings you up in his arms, kicks the bedcover from the mattress and lays you down on the sheet. “-we are free to rest.”

Shuffling to remove your boots and watching as Jon removes his to nudge them under the bed, you use the last of your strength to move over and allow space for him to slide in beside you.

Turning to face each other, you snuggle beneath the bedcovers and share a smile, like the giddy teenagers that had been lost in your memories until now.

“When is the wedding due, then, dear almost-husband?” You ask, amused but genuinely curious as to when the two of you will have the chance to arrange such an event.

“Whenever you like, dear almost-lady-wife.” Jon laughs airily, taking hold of your hands beneath the covers and staring into your eyes. “How do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, knowing that the time to set aside your humor would come soon enough. “It is…difficult to put into words. Deliriously happy to be with you and Sansa, to have our home back and to be safe again, of course, but there is still a dark cloud that looms over me and I cannot ignore it. At any moment, I feel as though the rain could start to pour and I could drown in it, lose myself to the fear. In truth, the thought of trying to sleep is terrifying.”

Jon nods slowly, understanding you completely, as he always has. “However dark that cloud gets, however hard the rain falls and however scared you are to sleep, I will be here. To show you the sun again, shield you from the rain and guard you through your dreams, I will be right here, and I will never leave you again. I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”

Tears threaten to blur the perfect vision of the candlelit Jon Snow, but you are quick to blink them away, removing your hands from his to run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, until his forehead rests against yours. “And in return, I swear to protect you from whatever horrid memories plague you from the time when we have been apart, to hold you through them and remind you that no matter what, you are a good man, the best man, and the man that I love more than anything.”

Closing his eyes, Jon Snow takes a deep breath, and you do the same, sharing the silence and darkness in a peace that neither of you ever thought you would find again.

“Can it be that this night, I’ll dream of you and wake to find you here?” You whisper.

Jon sniffles, having not let his relief and love for you truly overwhelm him until now. “Aye, this night and every night thereafter.”

Gently tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb, you lean forward to close the space between your lips. “To be yours is to live nothing but a dream, Jon Snow.”

And for the second time since reconnecting to the rest of his soul, Jon Snow loses himself to you, falling into you and cradling every part of you with such care, having craved every second of these moments with you that he never thought he could have beyond the land of dreams. The two of you had lived separate lives for long enough, the Gods had no choice but to force you back to each other in an act of fate that defied everything Jon thought he could believe in, except for you. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he would be saving you from something, because he would be doing so from the frontline of your heart. To be yours was the only victory he truly felt.

——————

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