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

6. Winter is Coming

Jon Snow currently sat in the large dining hall of Winterfell- sitting, of course, in the place of great disgrace. He thought back to when Lord Eddard was still alive and living in Winterfell; during that time he always had Jon sit at the high table with the rest of the family, despite Lady Catelyn's protests. Those were the days, when Jon was not so afraid to walk through these halls; only having to ward off the nasty glances from Lady Stark and, only recently, his sister, Sansa.

Now, no matter where he went, he got grief from even those who did not know him. His home, Winterfell, crawled with those who bowed down to his brother, The King in the North, and Lady Stark. At The Wall, the place where he had lived for nearly two years now, he got grief from much of it's inhabitants despite the similarities they all shared. Jon was feeling even more now like he would never find a place where he fit in. And if that place were out there, it surely would be beyond The Wall, frozen in the ice, or across the Dothraki Sea among the Barbarians.

Jon yanked himself out of his thoughts and pulled his dagger off his belt to cut a strip off the fowl in the middle of the table. He took the scrap and passed it underneath the table to Ghost who was sitting patiently beneath him. The curious, even hostile, glances given to him did not go unnoticed. Jon knew that most of the gazing was out of curiosity due to The Black which he wore; some were scared because of the types of men who took it, and others were scared because they thought it as being condemned.

They don't know that I chose this, he reminded himself. Jon grasped the cup of wine from the table and drank more. The taste was foul and bitter, very unlike the first time he had gotten drunk- off of Summer wine. He could remember that day well; He sat at the same table on the night that King Robert Baratheon, Gods keep his soul, and his family visited. Jon was condemned to the outskirts of the festivities, only he did not mind because his beloved Uncle Benjen was with him, teasing him for his rosy cheeks, lopsided smile, and unfocused eyes. That was also the night he had met the Imp, someone whom he now easily called a friend- Tyrion Lannister.

Tonight, Jon had no friends, and would not for a very long time.

Cup of wine still in hand, Jon turned his head to look at the high table where his brother sat, laughing with the cruel Theon Greyjoy,  surrounded by his followers and supporters. To Robb's left sat the same girl whom he had fallen in love with at first glance. Lady Brooke Frey was staring right at him, a close lipped smile on her face but her full cheeks pushed so high up; she was happy.

What Lady wouldn't be happy sitting next to a King? Especially as his fiancee...

But much to his surprise, she lifted her cup, not so discreetly, to... him! To Jon Snow! Automatically, stunned, he did the same; only his lips could not move, thus giving her a view of his gaping mouth. He could have sworn she laughed. Lady Catelynn, not too far away, looked curiously at Brooke. It could have been just the two of them in this large room for all the attention Brooke paid back to Lady Stark.

Did she know how he felt? Could she hear his rapid heartbeat earlier in the Godswood? Did she... feel the same?

The moment the two shared earlier... was pure magic. He believed the stories of the Children of the Wood which Bran wrote so often about. Maybe there was magic left in Westeros- and maybe that magic was love.

Up at the high table, Robb turned to Brooke, took her hand, and softly kissed it. She gave a genuine smile in return.

No, there was no magic; and if by any chance there was- love was not it. Magic was taken away by Man, by Kings- by people just like his half brother. People like him would end up alright, but where did the bastards end up? No one knows, because no one cares. 

Jon turned angrily away and reached for the flagon of wine to refill his cup.

He wanted to forget Lady Frey, lose her name on his lips like he lost the names of so many others, leave her memory like it was a ghost haunting him. He wanted to forget her gentle brown waves, her lightly tanned, soft, skin, her deep chocolate eyes, those plump pink lips, the voice that lured you in and made you feel like you were floating in the sea on a calm day. He wanted to forget the way she looked at him-- as if he were a Lord.