"Open the gates!"
Lord Commander Tullet made his way to the courtyard where he found Tormund leading a group of thirty men from various northern houses and some free folk.
Greeting the red haired wildling, Edd smirked. "I guess it went well?"
"You kneelers have a new king," Tormund said with a shrug.
Edd's face fell. "It's true then? Jon's king?"
"As much as a man with a fake name can be," Tormund laughed. Seeing Edd's confusion, Tormund clarified. "His mother named him Aegon Targaryen, though he still wants to be called Jon."
"Targaryen?" Half the yard broke into whispers as the rest were left silent in shock.
"Said his father Rhaegar stole his mother Lyanna from Winterfell, married her in some southron ceremony and she died giving birth."
"He was a fucking prince the entire time?" asked a brother.
Tormund shrugged as some of the northern men snickered, glad their own shock wasn't misplaced. "Not like he knew. Man who raised him lied to stop him being murdered by some cunts killed his brother and sister when they were babes."
There was a moment of silence before they started to snicker and laugh. "Of course Snow would be a fucking prince."
"Pretty enough to be one for sure."
"That cunt gets all the luck, I swear it."
"First his wildling wife, and then that other redhead-"
"That was his sister."
"Cousin now."
A brother scoffed. "Sister or cousin. I wouldn't care. Not if she looked like that."
"And now he's a fucking king." Another brother laughed, looking to Tormund and the men with him. "At least the prick didn't forget us."
Edd shook his head. "Jon wouldn't do that."
"Aye, he hasn't," said Tormund. "Said you sent some men out to scout for wights?"
"They came back three days ago," Edd nodded, motioning to the barracks. "They saw them heading east, but if we hurry we could catch their rear."
Tormund grinned. "Always enjoy takin' 'em from behind."
Brienne couldn't help be awed when she first saw the Citadel stretching above Oldtown. It reminded her of the Wall in a way, not only for it's height but because it felt almost otherworldly. It seemed impossible to think the city around it could be anything but normal, and yet she found it wasn't too far from the others she'd visited, only untouched by war.
Though she'd met him only briefly before his departure from the Wall, she felt a small relief upon seeing Sam.
"It's hard to believe," he said with a laugh as he handed her a satchel filled with copies of everything he could find supporting Jon's heritage.
"I can't believe I never bowed to him," Gilly fretted.
"He wouldn't want you to," Sam assured. After a moment he looked to Brienne, worried. "Would he?"
"He seems uncomfortable whenever someone does," Brienne said with a smile. "They call him King Jon rather than Aegon. I'm sure he'd prefer you think of him as you knew him."
"I can't imagine how awful he must have felt when he found out." Sam's frown turned with a laugh. "If anyone could feel bad about finding out he's king it would be Jon."
"You sure this is smart?" Sansa asked standing with Jon on a walkway looking over the courtyard as Theon walked with his head down, carrying a bucket. "I know what he went through is awful, but… How do we know we can trust him?"
"We don't. No more than we know we can trust anyone else here. But I saw him try at the end, so I'm sure there's some part of him that cares for us in his own way. I'm sure he just wants to feel safe, same as any of us, but hopefully whatever regret he may feel will keep him loyal. He grew up wanting to be a Stark and was raised one in all but name, it'll keep him loyal." Jon leaned against the railing with a sigh. "I know I would be."
His tone made Sansa turn to him, frowning. "You're nothing like him."
Jon shook his head. "Aren't I? Theon was a hostage as a ward, and I was a bastard out of fear for a man father called his friend coming to smash my head against a wall and murder the rest of you. We were both raised by the same man but never part of his family, no matter how much we wanted it. I could've become everything your mother feared and ended up like him or Ramsay."
"Jon," she said firmly, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to look at her. "You are not Ramsay. You're nothing like him, or Theon, or anyone else." She sighed. "I can't take back what happened before, but I promise I'll do everything I can to make sure you know you're always a Stark."
Lost in her azure eyes for a moment, his lips quirked into a smirk as he said, "Hopefully not too much. I'd rather not have them think us Lannisters."
After a second of confusion a teasing grin took her lips. "You are a Targaryen. I doubt they'd be surprised."
"And yet it was the Lady of Winterfell who demanded I have a room closer to her."
"I can't let the king of Westeros sleep in the room of a bastard," she said letting her hand slip from his arm. "I don't want the lords thinking poorly of me."
Jon took a step forward, letting his hand slid across the railing, stopping at the beam that must have seemed to separate them. "And what would they think if they knew you came to your king's solar every night and never leave without a kiss."
Sansa felt heat stretching through her, coloring her cheeks. "I'm sure many ladies would be envious."
"As would many lords if they knew how much I enjoyed you lips. How much I'd like to let my lips taste every inch of you."
Her throat shifted as she took a breath, fighting her flush before playfully glaring at him. "Maybe you are a bastard. Only a bastard could be such an awful tease."
Jon chuckled. "I'm no tease, my lady. I'm a king raised by an honorable man." His right hand shifted forward just enough that when her left matched it he could stretch his finger out to touch the back of her hand. "All you need do is ask and I'll prove myself a man of my word."
Sansa bit her lip, turning her head, his gaze unbearable. The swirling heat in her stomach grew as she through of what he might do, but it shrank as she thought of what would come after that. She could see the frays of the dream she was living, the silver edge of duty coming to sever the thread holding them together.
"And then what?" she sighed. Sansa frowned as she stepped back. "What are we doing, Jon?"
"Being happy," he said confused by the shift in mood.
"For now maybe, but what about a when all of this is settled? What happens when Cersei and the Night King are dead? What happens when you're on the Iron Throne? I can't… You'll have the North's allegiance, but what about the south? If Margaery lived then the Tyrells would try and sell her to you. Dorne will want you to marry some princess and I'll probably end up sent to live in the Reach while Rickon takes over Winterfell."
"Sansa," he said stepping forward. "I won't let that happen."
"You may be king," she said moving her hand away when he tried to take it, "but I know you, Jon, and I know you'll do what's best for the realm. You'll need to do this to assure alliances."
It hurt watching his eyes darken, shifting to the cold mask he wore when he didn't want to let his emotions show. Something she so rarely saw when it was just them. It left her feeling cold and alone.
"You're right. It would help assure alliances," he stepped toward her and she suddenly felt small, anger and sorrow leaking through the ice of his eyes, "but don't say you know me and then prove you don't."
Sansa was left blinking as he walked past her, throwing open a door that swung shut as he stormed down a corridor. She pressed a hand to her stomach as it twisted, leaving her nauseous, disgusted with herself while fighting back tears.
This would be easier, wouldn't it?
Even as snow fell Melisandre stood atop the walls of Winterfell in one of her many red gowns, content that for once she'd been right. After every time she'd been proven wrong in her reading of the flames, it was a relief to feel sure again.
That relief grew as she heard the crunch of snow beneath boots, drawing her eyes to Jon as he walked along the walls after sunset. "You grace," she said with a smile.
"Lady Melisandre," he said with a nod, coming to a stop beside her. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"
"Only my content thoughts," she said turning to him. "I'm glad you've kept me in your service despite Davos surely telling you to beware my influence."
Jon nodded. "He did say something like that. I think he forgets I saw what Stannis was before the end."
Melisandre's smile faltered. "I fear my mistakes led to that."
"Your mistakes?"
"The Lord of Light shows me what he can, but it is up to me to determine what he means. It's not as simple as him whispering in my ear or showing me you sat atop a throne. He shows me snow when I ask for a savior or dragons when I asked for salvation."
"I don't think I can offer you salvation," Jon said with a laugh before giving her a once over and nodding toward her, "but I could give you a cloak. Though I assume your Lord's flame still keeps you warm?"
"It does, your grace, but I thank you for the offer." She looked past him for a moment before tilting her chin slightly. "May I ask, your grace, why you're walking the walls rather than relaxing in your chambers?"
The humor left his face as he sighed, pulling his cloak around him and turning to the darkened fields. "I felt the cold air would ease my mind."
Melisandre tilted her head to look at his face. "I'd offer to bear the burden of your thoughts if it would ease it as well."
Jon glanced at her, his arms crossing as he took a breath. "Growing up there was a part of me that assumed being in charge meant you were the most free, but it seems like every day another chain wraps around me, forcing me to do as others please."
Melisandre's brow arched before a smirk took her lips. "Surely it's not your assumptions as a child that leave you uneased?"
He shook his head. "It's the chains. It feels wrong to just give up what I want so easily, even if it's what others may want. I know I have to be responsible for the whole realm, or at least the North for now. They're accepting me as their king, I can't ignore their needs for my own."
He turned to face her when she took a step toward him, smiling. "Do you know why it's said king's blood has power? Because a true king, one born to it and deserving, is rare. They aren't cruel or crazed or craven. They're kings because they're fair, intelligent, kind and brave, with an unstoppable will that means nothing can keep them from their throne. If you desire something and you know it, you won't let anything hold you from it. I have no doubt you'll be able to endure whatever comes after."
Jon nodded, his jaw shifting slightly before he asked, "And if what I desire won't be had?"
Melisandre's lips curled into a grin, a knowing glint in her eyes. "I would say a king could always take what he pleased, but I know you're not that kind of man. Instead I'd say few would deny a king's will. Fewer would deny a king when he is what they want. Even if they think it their duty to ignore it for her family."
Jon's lips flickered with a smirk. "You see that in your flames?"
A laugh rose from her throat. "No, I saw it every time we sup or break fast, every time I see you walk through the yard, even as we marched to war. I dare not ask the lord what I already know when there is so much else I could learn."
With a sigh Jon nodded. "I fear I have much to learn sometimes."
Melisandre smirked as Jon turned to leave. "It seems you know something after all, Jon Snow."