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Chapter Text

The cold had seeped into her bones and she hated it. The month it took to reach this desolate ruin Joanna had seen the devastation the War of Five Kings had wrought upon the realm. An insufferable war that destroyed all that Joanna knew and killed all that she grudgingly loved. Mother, Father, Martyn, and Tommen… All she had left was Uncle Jaime, and the dwarf. One is a cripple and the other a deformed mutilated traitor, and kinslayer, not that she cared for that unmoving stone they called Tywin.

Her father’s brothers Stannis and Renly, her brothers, Robb Stark, and Balon Greyjoy all claimed kingship, if only father named me heir it wouldn’t have happened, with the weak-willed Martyn and Tommen in charge, with mother being regent. All five are dead along with the pretender king Aegon Blackfyre, who died after the Dragon Queen’s pale dragon cooked him alive and didn’t even eat him.

Surrounded by mountains of snow the ugly ruin came into view. Uncle Jaime turned to her and gave a searching look. “Are you ready,” he sounds unsure, but she grinds her teeth and mumbles an emotional, “Yes.” She was taught better than this. Widowed at 17, and now set to marry the son of who her mother called the ‘wolf slut.’ It turns out her ‘father’s’ rebellion was built on a lie, for Lyanna never loved him and had birthed the Dragon Prince a son, her soon to be new husband. Within a hundred feet of the walls Jaime orders her host to stop and she wonders why till, she sees four riders exit the gates. They had to be their welcome party.

Bundled in furs, she does not recognize not one. But the four riders are accompanied by banner-bearers and on their long poles, four banners flap in the winter winds: the three-headed dragon, the Tully fish, the falcon of Arryn divided by a sword and on the other side the grey wolf of Stark, and the last brings back lost memories.

She wanted the little bitch to show her the training yard, so she could see her brothers beat these wolves, if not Sandor was sure to do it. But she kept assuring her of a place with a great view. Joanna went along to only get out of that room full of simpering fools and lickspittles neighing at her who only seemed interested in sewing and sewing and sewing, never understanding how unfair and cruel it was to be forced to do such because she had teats. As she rounded a corner the little bitch led her to a balcony that oversaw the training yard, where she threw off Joanna’s harsh hold on her wrist and bounded over to a solemn-looking boy, nay man, sitting on the ledge. The Bastard of Winterfell! She thought all bastards were ugly looking things with devious tendencies, like her uncle. Nonetheless as she watched the bastard and little bitch interact she saw the purely innocent handsome bastard talk to his sister with such love she had never seen before. When he looked up and saw through her with those observant grey eyes flecked with purple she was laid bare. He looked at her then put on a courteous smile and knelt. She felt her face turn red and it wasn’t from the cold.

A white direwolf with red eyes. But all the memories gave her was a pit I her stomach and rising anger. So, she focused on the riders. They stopped in front of her and introduced themselves after kissing her gloved hand, as Ser Barristan Selmy, Jon Connington, Ser Brynden Tully, and Ser Roland Waynwood. Uncle Jaime introduced her as Queen Joanna Baratheon, and her companions and lords. Lady Margaery Tyrell, her goodsister and grudgingly best friend, her Kingsguard in attendance (her only ones left since her mother’s fiasco with the Faith), lords Stokeworth, Caron, Fell, Tarly, her goodbrother Lord Garlan and his wife, Leonette, her warden of the west Daven Lannister, her reluctantly companion Princess of Dorne and her lickspittles, and finally her hostages Lord Edmure Tully, his wife Roslin, the Last Frey (besides her brother Olyvar), and their two children Catelyn and Hoster. As Connington remembered his courtesies, the Tully’s were embracing. At least they found family, when all mine is gone. And that thought made her hate them even more, but guilt rose as well. Not like she wasn’t a major part of the war.  

“Queen Joanna, we welcome you to Moat Cailin,” Connington said. “You look very much like your grandmother, your grace.”

Uncle Jaime narrowed his eyes, remembering how the Mad King was obsessed with her grandmother most likely. “Let’s hope the prince has the same interests as his grandfather,” she darkly japes, it made the tension thicker, only Ser Kettleblack laughed, and it was a chuckle as best. “Lead the way, good sers, it is too cold to talk here.” She says with as much false courtesy she could muster with the urge to kill all of them for meeting her out here.

Ser Brynden nodded and led the way. Her 200 men host was given lodging in the newly rebuilt keep, while she and her close companions were given rooms in the newly built Dragon’s Tower. She scowled upon hearing that name but Lady Margaery, ever the one who should rule, courteously replied it was an apt name for who built it. Joanna was showed to her chamber by her betrothed’s steward Satin, she plopped on the bed and thought about her life.

Why did she feel guilt for those weaklings, Martyn and Tommen? She understood mother, who was as strong as her but too weak to fight what she was born to live. Father? He never gave her the time of day, but she constantly tried to get his attentions. But Martyn and Tommen were so weak she was the only one who cared for them, before the Starks entered their life. Now they were dead because of her actions. Why did she have to order Ned Stark’s execution, show ambition to take the throne, make alliances with the Tyrells, try to kill the peasants in the riots, and why did she fight with the family of the man she loved? Power was addictive, but once she got it a year ago, she realized she was in love with the idea of power. But not the application of it.

She was brought of her musings by a knock on her door, by Ser Loras Tyrell, who informed her of a private dinner for all parties before court appearances. Not even five minutes after while Joanna was washing off the dirt and grime of travel with a wash basin and some soap she had brought, Margaery and her ladies came in. The ladies were from several different loyal houses that stayed with her family throughout the entire war, from Lefford, Banefort, Stokeworth, Tarly, and others. They dressed her in her warmest and finest dress she had made besides her wedding gown. Marge decided to let Joanna’s golden curls down, on the basis of that it will keep her warm and entice her princely betrothed. Had no problem with that when I was a coltish 12-year-old, looks don’t matter, they want my kingdom and womb.When she expressed her doubts, Marge said it worked for Willas. He wanted a crown, stop playing coy, I know you are smarter than this. No matter, how they felt now, there was love once, a childish summer love, but love nonetheless, but the death of his father figure uncle, Ned Stark. A summer love is all, and winter is here, and the Others as well, if her betrothed can be believed.

Uncle Jaime escorted her, while Ser Loras escorted his sister, while Ser Osmund followed close behind. In front of the door leading to the private dinner room stood Ser Barristan and Ser Brynden, the only Kingsguard of the Targaryens. They let the three of them pass after acknowledgements. She left her Kingsguard without as well. In the room was a wooden table with ten chairs, the seven were occupied by the dwarf, the young Rickon she assumed, Sansa who flinched at the sight of her, Jon Connington who looked haggard, Maege Mormont by the bear on her clothes, the Dragon Queen, Daenerys, who was as beautiful as Joanna imagined, and the last but not least, he stood when she entered. He looked older and haunted. His dark hair was still to the nape of his neck, he finally grew a beard, a course thing streaked with silver, scars around his eyes, and his eyes were the same pools of grey flecked with purple, but once they were filled with hope, resignation, and love now looked lost and haunted.

When they sat after another round of false courtesy from everyone, the Dragon Queen rang a bell on the table. Servants poured into the room led by Satin and began to place a meager fare on the tables. Mutton, Crannogman spiced lizard-lion, a swamp plant grown here called rice, and beet soup, washed down with a strong northern ale, Myrish firewine, and Arbor Gold. It was quiet as they all ate the food placed in front of them. Joanna had to school her cruel side that said to order her men to kill everyman with the direwolf or dragon sewn on a doublet, or surcoat. They were outnumbered and when she died her kingdom had no heir, so they would obviously kneel to Daenerys if she survived her treachery. So, she decided to not do anything that would damage the alliance.

 “Rickon, don’t use your hands,” Sansa said exasperated. “And slow down or you will choke.”

He replied in a strange tongue, that had her two companions confused. Sansa huffed in annoyance at Rickon and mumbled something before turning to ‘him’. ‘He’ responded to Sansa’s look by talking in the same language. He doubtless said something about behaving and listening to his older sister. If it was Joanna and Martyn or Tommen, she would smack them or threaten to skin one of their beloved cats. After a few heated replies by Rickon and ‘him’, ‘he’ grew irritated as well.

“RICKON,” he ordered, while slamming a fist on the table. To Rickon’s credit he did not flinch but glared. “Satin take the young lord to his room, he has decided to be uncourteous to our guests and his sister.” He commanded.

The young lord stood up as defiant as possibly an eight-year-old could. But went muttering in the Common Tongue obviously to be as disrespectful to the guests as possible. “traitor,” and “dragon-fucker, or is it lion-fucker now,” and “what a jape this marriage is.” Uncle Jaime laughed alongside the dwarf but once they realized they were laughing together stopped.

“Where does he learn those words,” ‘he’ sounded tired and sighed in disbelief. “He’s eight, when I was eight all I wanted was to fight Robb not kill all my enemies and burn down their homes.”

"You had no enemies Jon," Sansa muttered. 

"There was Theon," he said.

“He learned from that wildling woman who cares for him, or those Skagosi raiders he commands, surely, my prince,” said Maege Mormont.

“I’m glad he’s alive but he’s as wild as that direwolf of his,” Sansa said, then noticed ‘his’ face, and grimaced. “Jon if I have to tell you one more time I will bring Robb back just to beat your arse.”

“Sansa,” he said uncertainly while making a face at her foul words.

“What she means nephew, is that if you left the Wall to join Robb you would be in the dungeons at the Twins, or have your head mounted on a spike,” the Dragon Queen said diplomatically. “No need to brood on the matter still Jae.”

Connington finally looked like what she assumed he used to look like under that haggard appearance, before his two silver princes died. “She is correct my prince. You killed all the Freys but Roslin and her brother when you made the Twins a new Harrenhal,” Connington said sadly but determined.

She tried the lizard-lion as she studied ‘him’, it was tasty but too tough for her taste, his shoulders looked sagged as if the world rested there. An attention gaining cough drew all eyes to the dwarf. “Now that Rickon is off to bed, a little earlier than we planned. We should begin the private talks of reunification of the Seven Kingdoms,” the dwarf said with an ugly smile on his deformed mushed ugly face.

“Sounds good, with the wedding of my niece, Joanna Baratheon, to Prince Jaehaerys, the Seven Kingdoms will be reunited in and by peace,” Uncle Jaime said eloquently.

Connington perked up again. “Yes,” he said. “Additionally, the wedding will be followed by the coronation of Jaehaerys and the abdication of Queen Daenerys.”

This was news, and it shocked her two companions, ‘he’ did not look happy but ready to do his duty, as always. “Why,” she choked out. “We thought the terms were I was to give him heirs and the southern kingdoms.” She was as perplexed as suspicious.

The Dragon Queen poured some Arbor Gold into her chalice. “I understand your misgivings, may I be frank,” she asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “Excuse me, winter has made me frank, no reason to waste words when your tongue could freeze off! I lived mostly in the lands around the lands of Always Summer.” She smiled at Joanna, but it seemed she was forcing it. “I wanted to restore my house, and I have almost accomplished that, but I was prepared for the throne but did not want to rule, but a home was what I wanted. This enemy is one I do not understand anyhow, why not pass the torch to my heir who has the experience to deal with the threat, who happens to be my dear nephew who I met a year ago.”

The Dragon Queen sound honest not frank, that years at court made her suspicious of her but glancing at the others at the table over her fork she noticed their faces. Sansa looked surprisingly proud of ‘him’, Connington was smiling but haggardly, the Imp looked dejected, Maege uncertain, and ‘he’ looked resigned. She nodded and her uncles and Connington continued their talk about the upcoming nuptials, the feast, bedding, and coronation. But she for once was not listening, her mind was leagues away.

He has a name Joanna! Two actually, and she laughed on the inside at her own jape and unconsciously smiled. He saw it and Jon smiled back, a solemn and small smile but it brought back memories of an older time.

The third night after their first kiss and a week into their stay at Winterfell. The third night of them meeting in the godswood. She was running around breathless while Ghost was on her heels. How free she felt that day. No body bothering her about being a lady. A lady doesn’t run, a lady doesn’t hunt, a lady doesn’t hit her siblings, a lady doesn’t live except for their husbands, brothers, or husbands wills and wishes. As she rounded the heart tree for the third time with Ghost nipping at her heels, Jon appeared out of nowhere, he grabbed her like a wildling stealing a wife, with one of his pure smiles, not those solemn smirks. He kissed her hard that night, a burning passionate kiss that warmed her on the coldest winter nights. He never seemed to be bothered by the things that scared her father. Her anger, her cruelty, her archery, everything her father could complain about. Jon was loving her as she was never before, and she wanted to go the next step, she heard her mother and uncle do it once, if they could how could Jon and her not. As she untied the laces of his pants, he jumped back as if burned. That argument that night was scathing, and she saw it on his face, but she never relented once. She felt humiliated and unwanted, so she let out her hurt on him. He claimed he would be dishonoring her, her future, and her chance at happiness with someone not a bastard. She stormed off after that and cried in her chambers. The next night she didn’t visit him, but the night after they acted like it never happened and just talked about what they want. When he said he was going to the Wall another argument occurred, but she held off her anger to stay with him that night.

If only he knew that she never found happiness with Willas Tyrell. That week-long marriage had been complete torture, him taking her dry as the desert and she was still reeling over Tommen and Mother’s deaths. The rape of Willas and the greed of Lord Tyrell was dehumanizing, taking advantage of her grief made her want to poke the them both full of arrows from her dragonbone bow but uncle stopped her and claimed it was not proper. But he didn’t say it was wrong. She was glad that on the seventh day after their wedding Lord Tyrell wanted to begin to push and ensure his son's hold on the realm and called him to a meeting on the top floor of his new and massive Tower of the Hand. Two hours later King Consort Willas Tyrell was dead, falling down the stairs and breaking his neck and cracking his head open like an egg. How she celebrated that night, in private of course.

A month after that fiasco, she was delighted to not have gotten pregnant, she had Uncle to thank for that. Her council told her to remarry and gave her a list of suitable king consorts. Many Tyrell cousins, Trystane Martell, Ronnel Arryn, a Baratheon cousin, and some Westerlands lords. She paled at this list of unsuitable consorts, but they were the last available men of considerable reputation since the war ended. When Maester Pylos ran inside and delivered a letter with the red three-headed dragon seal and a white direwolf, she was curious and eager. Having heard that her former love was leading a great rebellion up north months ago. Had somehow aligned with the dragon queen and half the realm to his side, not with eloquence in speech or blood ties (which helped), but by reputation and actions alone. The Scourge of the Twins, the Flayer of Boltons, the Wilding-Lover (how she raged when word came down that he found love with two separate wildlings), and the Night’s King; all these titles but word was slow and sometimes too convoluted to get a grasp of the truth.

The letter was written by the Imp, but she called him Tyrion for this boon, a marriage proposal between Prince Jaehaerys and her, to reunite the realms in perpetual peace, he was always a stickler for fancy words. She was glad to finally put ruling behind her and give the Dragon Queen the throne she wanted and craved. But now she was told she didn’t want the throne and was giving it to her and her soon to be husband. She was fuming on the inside, but Septa Leanne was whispering in her ear and nails digging into flesh, “Remember your place, you’re to look pretty and simper, not to express yourself.”

She ate in silence wearing a blank look, she was fuming on the inside of course but held it in for the rest of the dinner. She imagined the Dragon Queen on the rack after a mass rape session and her laughing holding a cup of sweet Arbor Red, watching from the best seat. 

As the Imp and Kingslayer settled on seven days from now for the wedding to be hosted, she noticed the glances she was getting from Jon. He had been doing that ever since she had withdrawn inside herself. He was giving that look that she hated when they were younger. A look that knew she was thinking of sadistic and cruel acts and wanted her to stop. But Joanna would not give Jon or Jae the time to judge her today.

As she rose alongside everyone once the dinner ended, the bastard offered to walk her back to her chambers, alone. Alone. ALONE. Who did he think he was? Prince of Dragonstone, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, the Scourge of the Twins, her once lov-, she shot that feeling down, and gave him a withering look as she took his arm. The Kingsguard didn’t follow them on his orders, her Kingsguard didn’t even argue. How dare they? Is he their king already? She dug her nails into his arm. As they left the Gatehouse Tower and entered the Dragon’s Tower, he didn’t speak once.

When they almost reached her quarters he did, “Jo…” he sounded unsure. She unconsciously missed his husky voice, but not like this, she missed his happy husky voice.

“Bastard,” she gritted out, trying to anger him, but as he stiffened, she realized she may have gone too far.

To his credit he didn’t react with words. “I heard of your rise to queenship from Sansa, and rumors.”

Now she stiffened, she was, was, Joanna did not know how to say it. Her past self, angry at the world, hurt his cousin? Sister? She knew it was wrong having the Kingsguard beat her bruised black, it was her way of coping with your world crashing down. She stayed quiet.

“I’m bleeding Jo,” he said casually. She realized she had not lifted her nails from his arm since the Gatehouse Tower and had been squeezing harder actually.

She mumbled an apology, and retracted her hand, but he caught it. Kissed each finger. “Every day news came from the South and I learned of your cruelty was a dagger in the heart and learning what you did to father and Sansa, was like my own heart was being ruthlessly cut out,” he said solemnly. “But I’ve never stopped loving you. Hated you so much I wanted to burn King’s Landing down like Rickon, but I always remembered our nights together. Behind the Wall, in the dark times, while I was dying, all those memories kept me warm and chained to this world as I felt I was leaving you.”

“I wouldn’t of have forgiven you if you left,” she mumbled.

“I know your fiery rage scared me more than death, my lioness,” he chuckled. A chuckle that lit up his whole face. She felt warmness pooling. “How I have missed you.” He took her curls in his hand. “Your curls, your curves, your cruelty, your pout.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she dodged.

“I don’t need a lovesick puppy, I need a husband,” she said. Then a bell went off in her head, dying? She had heard of numerous stories but never that. “Dying? What do you mean?”

He dodged her question, “A metaphor is all.”

“Jon,” she said angrily, he was doing that avoidance thing he used to do.

“Meet me in the godswood tomorrow night,” he said forlornly. “I miss our trips there, it helped me get through the tough times.”

Joanna did not know what to feel about this new Jon, he was always solemn and sad. So, she smiled through her teeth, “Of course.”

After leaving her at her chambers, she laid back down on the bed. He was different. She was different. Somehow whatever they had never faded by distance and cruelty on her part. She wondered why. She didn’t deserve him, but he was hers she realized. She wanted to tell him everything, to drop this façade she has put on herself. She wanted to sit in the snow and talk for hours. She wanted his hands on her. She wanted this to not be complicated.

She wanted what she never had.

Chapter Text

That night he dreamed he was in the crypts of Winterfell, he was walking past glowing specters of long dead lords and kings of Winterfell. It was a harrowing experience till he came upon his mother. She looked proud besides her brothers and father. Brandon put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a smile full of wildness, father looked like he was going to cry, Lord Rickard gave a grudging nod of respect. His mother hugged him and whispered, “The prince that was promised.” Then they all gave him a look of unrestrained anger, and the whispers started. “Winterfell,” and “their coming,” filled the crypts.

He felt tears stream down his face till he heard a sound like rusted metal moving. He turned and saw an Other standing in the crypts in all its inhuman glory, holding Arya by the hair, its crystal pale sword flashed and Jon was screaming.

He woke with a start with Arya’s name on his lips. He rubbed his temples with a fervor. Today is the day of his wedding, after talking to the respective parties two nights ago he moved up the wedding three days. The reason? He kept having that same dream of the crypts with the Others killing Arya. He needed to be further north, the Others are coming is what his dream kept screaming at him. He left Arya as castellan of Winterfell since she always hated Joanna and she was the most capable to lead their forces in their absences, besides Davos was guiding her as well.

Thinking of Joanna caused him to wince, she was completely different from the young girl he had fallen in love with. But there was flashes of her underneath her new layers of courtesy that were there before, but now were under lock and guard with Valyrian steel. His lioness was a monster underneath that as well. She killed my father, abused Sansa, and called for all his siblings heads at one point.

He knew there was cruelty to her when they were younger. He witnessed it whenever they argued, after Bran fell and she said to put him out of his misery, or when she threatened to kill him and everything he loved if he didn’t come south with her after he told her he was going to the Wall. Seems like she almost accomplished that. But love blinds, that was what Maester Aemon told him once before Jon sent him away to Oldtown. A folly that was, he died anyhow. No matter how many times he witnessed her cruelty, her soft spot appeared even more when she wasn’t guarded by courtesy.

Those times at Winterfell when she wouldn’t ignore her brothers, the time Tommen skinned his knees while playing with Bran, her face when Sandor Clegane said the cold was making his burnt face hurt, when Arya was refused from playing with swords by Ser Rodrik Cassel and showed her how to fire an arrow. Whenever it was just them two and she would show her soft side constantly, she would caress his hair, his face, his chest. She would shower him in kisses. Whenever he talked about how much she disliked her brothers but would say how proud she was of Martyn and his advancements in swordplay or Tommen being less clumsy. When he heard of Martyn’s poisoning and Tommen’s suicide he was hurt for Joanna.

He got out of bed, he couldn’t lay there for the rest of the morning, he had to prepare for the wedding, the feast, prepare his serjeants in the Golden Company, his lords and a quarter of Joanna’s host for the journey to Winterfell while the rest went south to prepare supply lines and gather any men left after the wars. He sighed thinking about how their chances of winning this war was looking, nobody wanted to fight anymore, but if we don’t then we all die nevertheless.

He looked at his reflection in his looking glass and was surprised to see more silver in his beard and a thickening streak in his dark brown hair. He sighed once again, as much as he wants to not acknowledge his Targaryen blood it just gets stronger. Lord Reed said that glamour he put on him at birth is fading. Lord Reed said Jon was born with a streak of silver-gold in his hair, he called a dragonstreak. Ever since claiming Rhaegal as his mount the changes kept appearing. Soon my beard is going to be completely silver. Sansa and Joanna assumed it was stress whenever they mentioned it, but Oldjon as Satin has started calling him said he looked more like Rhaegar with the silver and he would smile a forlorn smile full of longing. Dany would be proud in a way. “A Targaryen king cannot look like a Targaryen.” She had a point he had to agree but then he questioned her meaning, hoping they wouldn’t marry. All she said was she stepping down as queen if he would give her Dragonstone as a gift to an aunt looking for a home. His heart soared at her finding what she wanted in life but fell at the responsibility being dropped on him.

Someone knocked on his door and opened it. Satin appeared holding fine sable clothes in his hands. “Jon, I allowed you to sleep in, but you should have told me you awakened,” he complained and almost reverently placed the clothing on his bed. “Your wedding is in an hour since you wanted to move it up.”

“No need to worry Satin, it’s not like I’m planning to run away,” he said, with a smile. Satin smiled back, but the smile was different from his. Val told me true, but I couldn’t see it. He honestly thought Val was being jealous like she was of everyone, including Sansa and Daenerys. He does love me. Sometimes it made him feel guilty for not returning his good friend’s affections. Beside Satin his only other good friend was Sam and he was still south, so he is the only confidant he had here.

“Still having second thoughts then,” Satin stated as Jon began to clean himself a little with lye soap and the wash basin. “Honestly, you both look at each other with love and respect. It’s hard for me to understand why you feel apprehension.”

“It’s strange I know, I love her, and I want to hate her, and I never can, never could,” he tried explaining. “She’s done so many cruel things to my family, she essentially started the war. Causing Robb’s death as well. It’s hard trying to place Aerys the Third with Jo.”

Satin looked confused at that point, Jon sighed and explained it from Satin’s viewpoint. “There was Lord Commander and now there is prince me. Then there’s me, the real me, not in command me, the me I show you. Like that.”

“I think you are overthinking the whole ordeal,” he helped Jon into the sable breeches after putting on wool tights, then put a wool undershirt on him. “Love is hard that is true, but the past is the past, and it matters but not when our futures are so unsure.” Next came the tunic of sable, then a doublet of dyed black wool. When Satin held up the looking-glass for him, Jon was baffled. He looked more Targaryen than Stark today, and his beard being almost silver helped that assumption. Dany would be happy, but Sansa would cry, she loves mentioning how much I resemble father, now not so much. Jo will tell me to shave it probably. You look like a mummer’s whore, she would say. He chuckled at that.

“Let’s finish this conversation tomorrow, we can debate on love and duty for days I’m sure,” he gives Satin a smile reserved for friends and family, claps him on the shoulder. He leads Satin along with him to meet with Black Balaq and some lords to break his fast. As he exited the Gatehouse Tower Satin practically threw his cloak at him. Satin laughed at his face and he gave him a glare. As they walked toward the keep, men were staring. The beard was probably the reason why.

After finding some stewards and messengers to send off his messages to lords Umber, Manderly, Royce, and Dayne, as well as to the Golden Company, he settled in a seat next to Tyrion to eat quickly for he was to be at the godswood in less than 20 minutes. After ordering some bacon and bread, he noticed Tyrion’s questioning gaze.

“Tyrion, good morning,” he greeted.

“Jaime tells me you invited Joanna to the godswood to talk then declined then moved up the wedding,” he said with a scarred furrowed brow.

“I was not aware you and Jaime were talking now,” he questioned back.

“You have been notoriously absent these last couple of days, Sansa and Dany were worried about you. Oldjon feared you were going to leave her at the tree today. Rickon seemed happy with that prospect.” He dodged his question back at him.

“At least someone is finding enjoyment these days,” he said solemnly.

“Ser Brynden tells me that you have been having dreams,” he said glibly. “Do they involve dragons?”

Jon needed to tell Ser Brynden to guard Sansa's door for now on. But he put that in the back of his mind with the list of other things he needed to accomplish. “You are too smart for your own good,” he said. “also, nosy. Yes, I’ve been having dreams of the Others in Winterfell. I want to get back as soon as possible.” Then a small platter of food was given to him. It was enough to whet his appetite but not make him full. For the wedding feast was only in 3 hours, and that would be half of their supplies here at Moat Cailin. That would leave enough for some rationing back to Winterfell, there would need to be hunting parties as well. Hopefully the wildlife of the north will be as full as it usually is, if not the rationing will be stricter. I will need guards on the supplies as well, people he could trust. Maybe Darkstar, no, he’s a wildcard at best and I still need Ser Brynden to have guards on him. Can’t have the Kingsguard do this, even though there was now five members including Jo’s three surviving Kingsguard. We can convince Darkstar to join the order of white swords, that might cool his every growing temper. As his thoughts kept spiraling out of control he heard his name being called. He looked up to see Satin standing there with a worried expression.

“I have been calling you for the past two minutes, you have been spacing out for the last ten minutes,” he sounded confused as well as worried.

“Just thinking about all I need to do once the wedding is over,” he claims.

“Think later my prince, you have a wedding and coronation to attend. Don’t make that face, you always tell me duty is not an option. Yes, fix your face, there you go, you’re going to be standing for a while today so prepare yourself for that,” Satin complained as Jon finished his bacon in a hurry and followed him, only just now realising Tyrion had to have left while he was spacing out.

The next couple of minutes was a whirlwind of motion, Satin giving orders and people hurrying back in forth to prepare for the upcoming nuptials and coronation. He ended up in front of the heart tree by a steward under Satin, he felt lost as all the stewards lit torches to give the spectators a semblance of warmth. Soon the godswood was full of men and people not caring about being close, all trying to stay as warm as possible. When Dany and Sansa entered in matching thick dresses of red and black, followed by his Kingsguard, he nodded at them as they took their places near him as befit their station and family. Tyrion came next beside Lady Margaery, she smiled at him with a sultry look in her eye. He turned away and questioned her reasoning. She was Jo’s closest friend and she gave him a look of wanting. He heard from Sansa of the trickery of the Tyrells, he glanced at her and saw she was still staring. Gods, if Jo sees that then there will be blood in the snow, he knew that. She does not share. He was flattered that she like what she saw, but then remembered it was not him but his titles that she saw.

Dany snorted beside him. “Don’t focus on her, you will have a willing wife soon.” She gave a teasing smile.

“Funny,” he shifted from side to side to take his mind off of Lady Margaery.

Soon the chorus of a thousand conversations dwindled as Joanna was led by her uncle. She was radiant in a shimmering gown of black and crimson, the main colors of her houses of Lannister and Baratheon. Her curls cascaded down a pale column, her jade eyes were shining with something he couldn’t tell. But the thing that took his breath away was her smile, not the fake courtesy one, but her soft smile. He gulped and realized he was staring too hard. Dany giggled next to him and mouthed, “patience nephew.” He grunted in response.

Soon Ser Jaime said some words and Jon responded automatically without looking from the jade eyes that soon became his whole world in that moment. He placed his heavy cloak embroidered with the three-headed dragon of his new house. As they stood side by side as the septon began speaking. He grabbed her hand and she looked up at him with a questioning look as it wasn’t that part yet. He smiled reassuringly, she turned her head away, but he saw that blush. As she studied the septon he studied her. All his misgivings were being washed away, he decided to heed Satin’s words now. When the time came he didn’t even hesitate.

“With this kiss I pledge my lo-,” Joanna tried to say but his mouth was on her in a rush. She didn’t respond till he put his hand on her cheek to deepen the kiss, then she responded. This was his duty but also his love, once a great man said, “love was the death of duty.” For once to love was to do your duty, and it felt good. Ever since he left Winterfell for the Wall, his life has been determined by duty, never once letting love guide his actions. Except when I did once. He only released her lips when he felt Dany poke his back and cough. When he pulled away, Jo had an unguarded look of pure bliss, her lips swollen and red pouted at him as she opened her eyes, long elegant eyelashes fluttering.

The septon looked abashed and unhappy but declared them married. His finally, it only took five years. When he took her hand again he was ready to get to the feast till Dany stood where the septon once was. “Kneel,” she smiled. Jo and he obliged her. The ground was cool, and it felt like it was snaking through his body. “You knelt as a prince and princess of the Seven Kingdoms,” she said as Sansa and Tyrion came up beside them with two crowns. One was Dany’s crown of three dragon heads and the other was what he assumed Robb’s crown looked like. Sansa placed Robb’s crown on his head and Tyrion placed Dany’s on Joanna’s head. “Rise as the rightful monarchs of the Seven Kingdoms.” As they stood together the godswood was in full commotion as men took out their swords and kneeled before him, with shouts of King Jaehaerys the III and the Lion Queen. The King of the North was thrown around by the Greatjon and Lady Maege, and the noise was deafening. It seemed like Winterfell would hear the cheers. After that died down, Oldjon loudly said, “Long live the king!” And all voices rose again to give him their blessings. Even if he didn’t want it, he felt such joy at being accepted.

Joanna took him out of his thoughts by tugging on him to go to the keep. She pulled him along will everyone followed closely. In the great hall they were seated side by side on the raised platform. As everyone was entering Jo turned to him. “You never took me to the godswood my king.”

“Yes, I was dealing with some personal matters and princely duties,” she didn’t believe him by the look on her face. But she reached up and plucked a strand of hair from his beard. “ouch, and that was for?”

She studied the strand. “Is your hair really turning silver like Oldjon said or is it stress.” She seemed genuinely curious and confuddled.

“Ever since I rode that beast called Rhaegal, yes, the glamour placed on me at birth is fading apparently,” he shrugged. “It’s annoying, one moment I looked like my uncle now I’m turning into a dragon.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I even have this dragonstreak going through my hair. My eyes are turning a lavender color, I miss the purple flecks in my grey eyes. I feel like a stranger in my own body.”

“It is a little disorientating if you knew you before this,” she gestured at his face. Then a sensual smirk graced her features as she leaned to his ear and hand touch his thigh. “Is it silver down there as well?” His lungs lost all the air that was there. She pulled away laughing, but her hand stayed on his thigh possessively. It felt good and right with her hand there.

The feast passed in a blur of banter between them. She told many stories about some court fiasco or so, and he told her of some after he left her for the Wall. “Because Sam was ignoring us for reading we decided to visit him. When we found him, he was asleep on a book with a mouse in his hair. We yelled his name so loud he jumps in the air, hit his knee on the table and fell over like a boulder.” Joanna giggled at that, then her hand tightened on his thigh, her eyes leaving his own. She was looking at Margaery who was looking at him. “Aren’t you two close?” Her behavior baffled him.

“We are, but she was raised to find power in any way,” she clenched and unclenched his thigh. “If I were disposed as queen she would find another friend or become your mistress. I trust her as far as I can throw her. I still don’t like the Tyrells since Willas, but she has been a good friend.”

“I heard about that,” he hesitated. “Did you love him?”

She looked so incredulous that she laughed. “Gods, no. I hated him before the marriage, during and after.” Then her voice dropped and laced with sadness. “It was forced on me, the small council said I needed a husband. My supporters were the Tyrells, so no one to defend me. And I was devastated at that point. My mother was just beheaded, Tommen committed suicide. It was a harrowing time. I barely ate. Willas was nice but with that grandmother of his, he forced himself on me every night for seven days. He needed an heir to fully consolidate the new Tyrell dynasty.” She started rubbing his thigh, he caressed hers. “I had moon tea procured by Uncle Jaime, it worked, and I was glad he died. Ecstatic actually, but then I realized that the next husband would be worst and more demanding. So, when the Tyrion’s letter came I was just so happy. I was getting what I wanted so long ago, but never had. So, thank you Jon, I’m really glad it was you.” Her smile was radiant, it was the sun, it was the moon, it was Lightbringer. He couldn’t resist he kissed her.

Just as he pulled away, a racket of horns and cups on wood. All screaming for the bedding. He whisked Jo away before any of the drunk men could grab her. And before Margaery could grab him. He shuddered at that thought. In the snow with her dress hiked up they ran to the Gatehouse Tower laughing. He felt like he was the Bastard of Winterfell again, his laugh echoed off the empty courtyard.

He slammed open his quarters doors and closed it softly. He wanted a door, he wanted privacy. Joanna was already undressing glancing at him behind elegant eyelashes. As she shimmied out of the thick dress leaving her in her sleeping gown and smallclothes. “Jon,” she beckoned him. That night was the most wonderful night he ever had. Sleep didn’t catch up to them till an hour before dawn. The past is the past it defines us, but what we do in the present makes the future. Jon left his past with his clothes discarded and grabbed Joanna to make his own future.