Chapter Text
Jon is often cold. I love that about him. He does not waste time jollying around, drinking or gambling. He does not whore like Robb did; as much as I loved Robb, he was a fool that thought he could play king, fall in love and that it would all be okay.
When Robb went South to marry the Westerling girl, he surely had not expected to be ambushed. Taken, captured, his direwolf decapitated. He died tragically, and I was too young, too afraid to do anything. When mother had us escape, when she sacrificed herself, I cried. My hair, brown as mud, was dampened, and my stupid little wedding dress, dirty.
Sansa and I escaped to Winterfell. If not for me, Sansa would have died, the stupid girl, head stuck in the clouds. I secreted us through Rills' lands, through the Reeds' swamps, and got us home. We left by ourselves, only to find that father had died as well, having gone out to search for us, wandering too close to Bolton territory.
It was the end of our House, I thought. Two girls in a large castle would never hold out. They would have charged us, force us to leave or give in. I know I would have died fighting.
Then Jon arrived, walking in tall and in all black. We thought we lost him in the war with the wildings, but he survived. My respect for him grew, and when he declared himself king, against his bastard status, I respected him even more. The winter crown suited him well.
He took me to wife, which was to be expected. Like grandfather, he married his sister. However, Jon was not willing to bet the Stark line on only me. I could blame him, but I understood. If I had a cock I’d have taken a serving wench and legitimized my bastards by her, if it meant maintaining our line.
He married us in the godswood, before the bloody tree. That night he had us both. It took me a day to get over him going to her first, that silly, smiling girl, but at least when he had me, he stayed with me for the night. He did not stop with conquering us though.
One night, after sitting on the winter throne for hours, he came to me. He told me his vision: a North united. He told me his plans, his ideas, what methods he planned to us. I thought of laughing at him, but as he went on and on, I knew he was serious. I still thought it too dangerous; our house was already close to falling. Then he unveiled a Valyrian steel sword to me; he told me it was named Dark Sister, and he smiled for the first time since I had seen him. I agreed to follow him.
Afterwards, he went to Sansa, and to make her feel important, pretended he was telling both of us for the first time. Surprisingly, she agreed to follow him. To think, a girl like that. She wrapped her hands around his head, kissing him and telling him all the silks she would knit for him, that she would polish his crown. She talked about the age before Torrhen, like those times could so easily be grasped. I decided not to smack her stupid head.
In our planning, my relationship with Jon became more meaningful. He took me to bed more often, and he did the same with Sansa. He doesn’t take her like a wolf though. I am more appropriate for his desires, for his coldness, for his lack of smiles, for his need to fight. Sansa is just pretty and lustful, in her seductive gait and love of songs.
But I am not jealous, so it bothered me not. I couldn’t be considering what Jon did next. After bringing about the best soldiers we had from Houses Mollen, Poole, Cassel and Cerwyn, Jon drew Ice, and told them his plan to unite the North. They called him King in the North quite quickly, to my surprise. But I believe it was just the excitement of young men. They couldn't imagine all the blood it would take to do what they imagined, what we wanted. Our first invasion was Torrhen’s Square, kingdom south of our kingdom. They were the weakest and the closest, and weren’t expecting a full-on assault.
I wet my blade that day. Nymeria, my direwolf and preferred warg beast, ripped many a throat out. Jon fought with me, with a few hundred other men, mostly boys and fools. But our savagery drew fear from the Tallharts; they gave up quickly.
Not since grandfather Rickard had Winterfell engaged in a battle, having remained pathetically neutral, inward looking. Torrhen’s Square became ours that day, back under the watch of Torrhen’s heirs. I did not like what happened next, but at least my suggestion that he take the Tallhart heir to Winterfell heeded.
Sansa could have cared less, I believe. But I saw the political necessity in it. Let the Tallharts be an example, and all others will have to bend.
And I've already dreamed about storming the Dreadfort.