Winter is Coming (A Game Of Thrones Fan-Fic) (ON HOLD)

9. Winter Is Coming

A-N- It has been way too long. I have no excuse. I am sorry I made you wait so long when you sat here so hungry for it. Let me know what you think :) I like comments on my style and grammer, but I also wouldn't mind hearing predicitions of what you think will happen, your feelings on the characters as I write them versus how they were created, and other stuff like that.

Read on, Throners!

The sound of war was all around him, invading his ears, his eyes, and his nose. The clang of steel against steel rang loud throughout the courtyard and into the rooms. Jon Snow bolted out of his bed, somehow already dressed, and snatched Longclaw from its perch against the wall. He wondered where Ghost was but didn't have time now to worry, he had to take action. Darting out of his room, he was surprised to see the battlements of The Wall, and his Brothers fighting off white-cloaked enemies. Jon followed the feeling in his gut, telling him that someone was in danger. A lone howl cut through the night, seizing Jon's full attention and even putting a momentary halt on the battle. "Ghost," the name of his Direwolf tumbled from his lips, a look of fear evident on his face. Snow followed the voice his wolf had lent out and the battle for The Wall resumed in the practice yard. Wasting no time in kicking down Lord Commander Mormont's door, Jon called out. He wandered through the twilight soaked rooms, the only sound to accompany him being the occasional squeak of a floorboard and the faint sound of war drifting in from outside. Even Lord Mormont's raven seemed to have been muted.
A bark of panic tore Jon's gaze from the window; the first thing he saw being Ghost who stood in the corner of the room, and the second being the towering, coal-colored man inches in front of him. Sound came flooding back into the room; the moans of the dead man, the barking of Ghost, and the squawking, talking gibberish of the raven.
"Stay back!" Jon warned as he reached for his sword. Still, the creature loomed forward, over him, and began stretching his arms out. Jon took his sword and sent it through his belly.
The creature, for it was certainly not a man, did not shriek or wail. It merely looked down at the foreign object that had been placed inside him, and grabbing the hilt threw the piece of steel against the far wall. The creature lumbered forward, pinning Jon against the Lord Commander's desk. For all the effort Jon put against the brute, it might as well have been him kicking stone. Blackened fingers thick as sausages grabbed his jaw and forced open his lips. The fingers went down his throat, the farther they went the less breath Jon Snow could take. Seeing his only way out, Jon seized the nearby lantern and broke it over the dead man's head. The liquid fat fell over his shoulders and the fire licked it up, along with Jon's hand. The creature was writhing on the floor, now, screaming instead. As soon as it was clear that this being would be no more threat, Jon dampened the fire that seared his flesh, and clutched the wounded appendage.
Silence had settled again throughout the room, with the exception of Jon's pained breaths. A far less foreboding sound came next; the steel of Jon's discarded sword dragging over the floorboards. He gave a glance up, to see Ghost standing, almost regally, with the leather grip in his mouth. The red gems in Longclaw's eyes glittered next to their real-life likenesses pearly fangs. As one moment Jon Snow was looking at his Direwolf, the animal morphed in front of his eyes into a human
The steel tip now stood erect against the wood floor and feminine hands gripped the leather hilt.
Starting at the floor there was a pool of magenta fabric. Jon Snow followed the upward slope with this eyes, past the small hands, the thin arms and into... Golden eyes and hair like chocolate.
"Brooke?" He gasped, shocked, before hissing in pain.
Brooke jogged to his side, the weight of the sword having no effect on her, and her dress swirling around her like a dream.
"No! Don't!" Jon yelled as she reached for his hand despite the fire. Her fingers locked through his and Jon was amazed but grateful that the fire did not touch her skin. He was adamant that if all else would fall, if he died at The Wall or if the North crumbled, she must thrive-- her life must be filled with magic and happiness, even if he weren't in it.
The gore of his wound had no effect on her, as a matter of fact it seemed the she was having a reverse effect on him. The crisp flesh faded away and was replaced by new; the smooth, tan flesh fit nicely over his bones and moved with ease as he flexed his hand.
She placed Longclaw back into Jon's right hand. The weight fell from her fingers and into his. The sword felt right back in his grasp, as if it had been the missing piece of him. But even as he thought it, Jon Snow knew he was wrong.
"It's you," he muttered, looking up. Brooke looked at him curiously. "It's been you all along, Brooke! You are my fire and my salvation!"
Her enthusiasm didn't match his, "It's a double edged sword, Jon Snow. Someone has to take happiness and someone has to be dealt misery. I'd sooner die than watch you hurt." She pleaded to him, begging that he understood just how deep her love ran. But at the same time, her words were backed with a strength no woman had ever shown.
"As long as I'm with you I'll never hurt again," he spoke true. The sword fell from his hand as he placed them on Brooke's hips. The sound of the clambering steel echoed repeatedly as blackness consumed them.

Waking with a start, Jon Snow looked down to his right hand. There were the familiar grooves and scars, and dry skin. Had it only been a dream? He wondered to himself, But it felt so real.
Brooke popped up in his head, a huge smile instantly consuming his face. He bolted from bed and dressed quickly, his happiness increasing every second. He had to find Brooke, to tell her how he felt and about his dream.
Crossing through the courtyard, Jon Snow's smile was infectious! A few serving ladies quickly adopted their own as Jon spread his good mood wherever he went. Starting his search in the Great Hall, he discretely searched all public places where she might be. With no luck, and not wanting to be so obvious, Jon realized his declarations would have to wait. The best way to bide his time would be to spend it with Bran; which is exactly where he started heading. Somewhere in between the Great Hall and Bran's tower, Jon was halted by a most unwelcome distraction.
"Looking for someone, are we?" Theon Greyjoy sneered with pomp and entitlement.
"Not you," Jon quipped with glee.
Appalled, Theon snarled, "How dare you speak to a lord like that!!" His green eyes danced with fury.
"So your father recognizes you again, does he?" Jon dealt a wordy blow.
Hissing between his teeth, Theon stepped closer, "First no mother and now no father-- Is there anywhere you actually belong, bastard?"
Jon shook his head, "Say what you like about me, but leave my father out of it. Theon, have you nothing better to do?" And then he began walking away. As much as Jon Snow wanted to make the gap between Theon's teeth bigger, the pitiful man was not worth the time and effort.
"Go ahead! Turn your back on me!" Lord Greyjoy barked at Jon's retreating form, "Just remember it is easier for me to stab you in it then!!" Jon paid little attention to the threat, without dismissing it entirely. He was too content to deal with Theon now.

A few hours later, Jon and Bran were passing back through the gates of Winterfell. The two brothers had spent the afternoon together- they had been to see the knights, into the Godswood and through the market. Around them the courtyard was unusually busy for this time, but neither minded the chatter that filled the yard.
"Jon, I meant to tell you before," Jon looked up at his brother, strapped to Hodor's back, "You look different today- happy."
Jon smiled again, pleased that his young brother could see the change Jon felt, "And? How do I wear it?"
"It suits you very well," Bran gave a grin of his own. Jon ruffled the hair atop his head before excusing himself. Now it was time to find Brooke.
On his way to the Great Hall he was halted again.
"Jon Snow," a grumpy old voice called. Maester Luwin shuffled into view, a scowl set in his crusty face, "a raven bought this for you." Jon took the stiff parchment and tucked it into his belt. He watched the Maester shuffle away; not even that grumpy old geyser could dampen his mood.
Nearly skipping to the hall doors, he paused when he saw Brooke sitting inside. She was accompanied by Robb, Catelyn, and a holy man.
"I sanctioned your birth into this world," the man continued what he was saying, "And now to bind you in marriage! The honor is great!"
"Truly the honor is ours, ser. We are grateful for your service," Catelyn, ever the agreeable host, replied.
"A union so loving and blessed it will be! The words spoken so true and lovely! They will sing songs of it long after your grandchildren have died," the priest spoke to the couple.
"I am grateful, ser." Robb spoke, "My betrothed would never forgive me if I didn't ask you to lead our ceremony." He glanced fondly down at Brooke, and she up at Robb.
"Ready to become a Stark, my dear?"
"More so than you will ever know," she answered heartfully.
Jon backed away in horror, his face depicting the same emotion. She was speaking with a priest. The wedding was going to happen. Raw anger gripping his mind and soul, Jon stormed across the courtyard for the barn. As he neared he snatched his sword from his belt and jabbed at a sack of grain. With no other outlet, Jon released his pain how he knew best. He thrust at sacks of grain, ripped open the practice targets, and shred apart bales of hay. Still, his anger and disappointment were no less.
Stealing away to his room so that only those four walls would know the full extent of his pain, Jon threw his sword onto the chest at the end of his bed. He threw his fist at the wall before passing his hands over his face, smearing blood across his features.
She was meant to be mine! I dreamt she was a Direwolf! Surely that was a sign we would be together? One voice whispered, 'She is going to be a Stark, a wolf... Just not yours.' Another voice in his head whispered that he was wrong, he misinterpreted the dream- for she couldn't be his because he himself was not a true Stark.
Remembering the letter he had been given, Jon yanked the parchment from his belt and tore open the seal.
With shaking hands he held the words that someone had taken the time to send him. His eyes scanned every letter through the blood that his fingers had smeared over the page. The news hit him and he wasn't sure whether to be grateful or hopeful of the words:

Jon Snow,
There is hope. Benjen's horse has returned alive.
Lord Commander Mormont