The Targaryen Princess

IX

The next morning:

Natari's POV:

I wake up early, the sun not yet over the horizon. I yawn and stretch dramatically. A smile spreads across my face when I think about last night, but it quickly fades. I can never have the life I desire. All I want is to live a simple life here in the North, raise a family, and help Robb manage the vast territory that will one day be his, but it is not to be. I expect a raven from Robert any day now ordering me back down South in preparation for a forced wedding. I have no doubt that Cersei will arrange it and make it just has miserable for me as it is advantageous for her. The game of thrones would be back on, and I would be a pawn again. A shudder rolls down my spine at the thought. I sit up and shake off the thought. All I can do now is enjoy what few weeks I have left in this place.

I throw on my usual outfit and make my way down to the training yard. I hear Jon before I see him. He has a tendency to make a lot of noise as he swings his sword. I could've guessed he was down here, too; we have a habit of waking up long before anyone else and coming here to practice. Although, he is here much more than myself. I have also been known to study in the library or go for a ride in the early hours of the day, but, Jon, he much prefers the weight of the long sword to the weight of a book. I turn the corner and stand there, observing his movements. He is almost perfect, but his mistakes will not cause his death. I should be proud of my pupil, but I can't help but feel a sense of loss. I know why he works so hard.

"Mastering your craft, Jon?" I call out to him as I make my way over. He is startled at the sudden interruption, but he relaxes after registering it as my voice.

"Obviously," retorts Jon as he continues swinging at the dummy. I sigh and lean forward against the outer side of the fence surrounding him. I watch him for several minutes as he concentrated.

"You don't have to do this, Jon," I tell him. I had never said it before, but I have this feeling that he will try to leave soon. It is his turn to sigh. He turns to look at me and walks over to lean with his back against the fence. He takes his time to answer me, carefully evaluating how he wants to phrase what he wants to say. To show my support, I wrap my arm through his and lean my head on his shoulder.

"Nat," Jon says, tossing his head up to the sky and closing his eyes. "Yes, I do. You have to understand that our situations are similar. Kings Landing was your personal hell, and Winterfell was your escape. Well, for this outcast, the Watch is my escape. Here, Catelyn treats me like dirt and everyone just follows her lead."

"Not everyone," I whisper. He sighs again, deflates, all his previous anger leaving him, and puts his head on mine.

"That's right," Jon says full of brotherly love and plants a kiss atop my head. "There are a few, but not enough. I can start over there. Be who I want, not what I was born. It's a chance I'm willing to take." He's right, and I know it, but it still hurts.

"It's a commodity not all of us get," I tell him in a sad tone. "Get on then. Practice." I let go of him and gesture toward the dummy.

"Oh, cheer up, Natty," He says, ruffling my hair, and, then, walks back to his position. I laugh at his antics and the childish nickname he used. "It's not like I'm gonna die or anything." I chuckled again at the dark joke and tried not to think about that happening.

"Promise?" I say a bit childishly.

"Of course," says Jon as he starts hitting that dummy again.

"Well, then, you'd better straighten that wrist out because I don't see how you're going to kill any Wildlings like that," I point out, my tone playful. He rolls his eyes but makes the correction anyway. "That's better." He does not find my joke that amusing.