DISASTROUS ( Jon Snow )

33

there is neither either good or bad, but thinking makes it so

-shakespeare

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"My father camped here on his way to Winterfell," Amaris said with a slight frown as she, Sansa, Davos and Jon rode around the perimeter of their new encampment.

"And that's a good thing?" Sansa responded dryly.

"Stannis was the most experienced commander in Westeros," Davos said. "He chose this place for a reason."

"These mountains are a natural fortification," Amaris explained, recalling what her father told her all those months ago. "There is a stream down that way for the horses."

"We're not staying here long," Jon interrupted. "Another storm could hit any day."

"Aye, the snows defeated Stannis," Davos agreed.

Amaris, however, disagreed with Davos. It was not the snowstorms that defeated her father, but rather his hubris. She loved her father with all her might, but he was too rash in his actions.

"The snow defeated him as much as the Boltons and his own pride did," Amaris spoke up sharply, dismounting from her horse and offering the reigns to one of the remaining soldiers from her father's army.

"We have to march on Winterfell while we still can," Jon said.

"Two thousand wildlings, two hundred Hornwoods, one-hundred-and-forty-three Mazins—"

"Sixty-two Mormonts," Sansa said, bitterly interrupting Davos.

"Ah, six-hundred-and-twenty," Amaris said with a slight smirk. "Each Mormont man is worth ten of any other man, remember?"

Neither Sansa nor Davos looked very amused with her quip, while Jon looked heavily exasperated.

"It's not what we hoped for," Davos acknowledged, "but we still have a chance if we're careful and smart."

The conversation was cut off by the sound and sight of two men boisterously arguing. Amaris rolled her eyes to the heavens and internally cursed R'hllor. The Lord of Light would give her pointless visions, but he would not help her keep the peace between what little men she did have – some god he was.

"For fuck's sake," Davos grumbled.

He turned on his heel and stalked away from Amaris, Jon, and Sansa to break up the fight. Sansa watched after him, evident distaste in her eyes.

"So, he's your most trusted advisor now?" Sansa asked Jon, almost mockingly. "Because he secured sixty-two men?"

"You'd do well to watch your tongue, Sansa," Amaris warned. "Ser Davos is one of the truest and most good men in all of Westeros. His advice is worth heeding. My father didn't listen to Davos, and where is he now? Dead."

Jon placed a hand on Amaris' back, hoping to calm her down. He knew how much Amaris loved Davos, how much she trusted and admired him.

"Ser Davos is the reason I'm standing here talking to you," Jon told Sansa, his hand moving from Amaris' back to her waist. "And he served Stannis for years."

"Stannis who lost the Blackwater, who murdered his own brother, who doesn't have a head?"

Seething, Amaris stopped in her tracks and rounded on Sansa.

"My father, after Robert died, was the rightful heir, making Renly a traitor. Brienne of Tarth murdered my father and she had no right to do so. My father was a good man and he is dead now because he honored tradition and the line of succession."

Sansa blinked, shocked by Amaris' outburst. Neither girl seemed inclined to apologize, so Amaris hiked up her skirt and stalked away. She entered her tent with an angry huff, and Jon entered only minutes after she had flung a set of goblets and a pitcher of wine onto the ground.

"Sansa meant you no offense," Jon mumbled, taking Amaris into his arms.

With her head buried into his chest, she began slowly unravelling and soon enough her tears were soaking through the wool tunic he wore. For what could have either been mere minutes or full hours, the married couple stood in the middle of their tent holding each other tightly with no inclinations to let go, surrounded by the destruction caused by Amaris.

That night, Amaris' dreams were plagued by the image of a pale woman lying amongst blood soaked sheets. The woman held a crying baby boy in her arms. Tears were in her eyes as she weakly sang to the child. Throughout the night, Amaris tossed and turned, moaning out in pain and mumbling out the words she heard in the dream.

You have to protect him.

Promise me. Promise me. I promise.

In the morning, Amaris shot awake, panting and covered in sweat. Jon was still asleep and the sun had yet to rise above the mountains in the east. There was part of the dream Amaris could not shake away, aside from the utter tragedy of the vision. The woman in the dream, her nose, her mouth, her eyes, the way her hair fell, there was a familiarity to those features. And Amaris knew why they were familiar. Those were Jon's features.

She had dreamt of Jon's mother, she was sure of it. But why did Jon's mother look like the portraits Amaris had seen painted of Lyanna Stark?

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oooooh amaris is starting to learn things

-bleuseys