BLOODLINES ↠ JON SNOW

XII. HEAVY LIES THE CROWN

XII. HEAVY LIES THE CROWN

THE SUN WARMED AMODERA'S FACE AS IT ENTERED THE ROOM THROUGH THE NARROW WINDOWS. It was as if the world had melted away as they had become one that night; as if it been just the two of them, enveloped in furs, in the whole word. The Wildling woman propped herself up upon her elbows, glancing over at Jon as he continued to sleep. He looked so peaceful, which was a rarity these days. It reminded her of a simpler time -- a summer before White Walkers and war. A time she missed dearly.

Feeling her gaze upon him, Jon stirred, opening his eyes slowly and smiling as he took in the sight of her. Her hair cascaded down the side of her face like a waterfall of colour and in that half-cast morning light, he though she had never looked more beautiful. His gaze fluttered across to her back, where the wound she had received from the White Walker scarred her pale skin.

"Does it scare you?" Her voice caught his ears like the song of a bird. "The idea that the White Walkers are growing ever closer?"

Jon looked over at her, studying her features with determination. He couldn't figure her out; couldn't see what was beneath the surface. But she couldn't mask what was in her voice -- fear. The same fear that quaked deep beneath his own skin; down in his stomach like a constant hum. "Yes." He answered calmly, his truth exposing him and freeing him at the same time. "Sometimes it scares me so much that I don't want to go on any longer. But then I look over at you -- full of strength and fire -- and the fear goes away." Jon leant over and kissed her softly on the forehead. "I think you're the medicine that makes me stronger; and I need it everyday."

Amodera looked down, a smile gracing her face as her cheeks grew hot. It felt almost alien to her to be treated like this; to receive so much love. She didn't know what to do with it. "I need you too." She replied after a while, laying her head upon his chest and letting her fingers trace his scars delicately.

Just as she felt herself drifting into euphoria, the door opened -- Tormund marching into the room without a care in the world. He looked at the two of them and shrugged his shoulders. "I knew you'd be here." He stated, winking gruffly at Jon. "The other Northerners have gathered in the hall. They want to know what your plan is; what's next."

Jon let out a sigh, allowing his head to fall back onto his pillow. Amodera grinned, kissing his neck softly before glancing back at Tormund. "We'll be there in a moment. Now get out of here!"

《》

Amodera sat next to Tormund at the side of the room; her black ceremonial dress (or more accurately, Sansa's ceremonial dress) clad in Free Folk leather and white fur. Ebony war paint stretched from eyes to hairline; shrouding her olive pupils in a mysterious twilight that dominated the room. The Northeners gave her odd looks -- some of hatred, some of awe, some of mere confusion. But she didn't care. She was here for Jon.

At that moment, he entered the room -- walking straight ahead to where Sansa stood at the head of the hall. He caught sight of Amodera on his way; her face instantly calming his nerves. He was about to stand up in front of both strangers and friends, expected to know the answers to everything. That scared him more than any battle ever could, but he hid it like it was his greatest weakness.

He stood next to Sansa, holding his head high to gaze over the crowd. "The free folk, the Northerners, and the Knights of the Vale fought bravely, fought together, and we won." He began, sensing the tension between the three parties in the hall. "My father uses to say we find our true friends on the battlefield."

A representative of one of the Northern houses stood, looking over at Jon. "The Boltons are defeated. The war is over. Winter has come. If the maesters are right, it'll be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home and wait out the coming storms."

Amodera scoffed, stepping forward to face the man. "The war is not over. A greater enemy is on the march, and he won't wait out the storm. He brings the storm."

The men in the hall began to murmur. Winter was here, which meant the White Walkers were a few weeks from reaching the wall at best. They had a right to be scared, but they could not run away.

A young, dark-haired girl stepped forwards -- someone she recognised from before the Battle of the Bastards. Lyanna Mormont, a child who had more strength and loyalty than any of the men in this room. As she began to speak, the room fell silent under her commanding tone. "Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly. But you refused the call. You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. And you, Lord Cerwyn, your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still you refuse the call." She paused, looking through the crowd. "But House Mormont remembers. The North remembers. We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark. I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king from this day until his last day."

Shock etched it's way onto Jon's face, but he swiftly hid it. Him; King. To Amodera, it made all the sense in the world, but she feared he would not know what to do with himself. More murmers filled the room. A Bastard on the throne? It was shocking, but they soon realised they knew he was all they needed.

Another Lord of one of the Northern houses, Lord Manderly, took his stand next. "Lady Mormont speaks harshly and truly. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another king in my lifetime. I didn't commit my men to your cause 'cause I didn't want more Manderlys dying for nothing. But I was wrong. Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding. He is the White Wolf. The King in the North." The man drew his sword, resting it on the ground and kneeling.

Lord Glover stood next, a look of guilt shadowing his face. "I did not fight beside you on the field and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong and ask forgiveness."

Jon shook his head softly. "There's nothing to forgive, my Lord."

"There will be more fights to come. House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousands years." He too drew his sword and knelt beside it, looking up at Jon. "And I will stand behind Jon Snow....the King in the North!"

Amodera stepped out from the crowd, walking to Jon until she was just a metre or so away. "My people owe you a great debt, Jon Snow. You saved us; gave us a home. And now we stand beside you, whatever decision you make -- now or on the battlefield." The Wildling woman drew her sword and knelt down, looking up at him with awe. "The King in the North!"

The Free Folk echoed her call, raising their swords in a flurry of chants. Where they would at first have been put off by her people, the Northerners cheered alongside them -- celebrating in a King they could trust and admire; a King that could lead them into battle and out the other side. Jon looked over as Amodera as "King in the North" echoed from almost every body in the room. She just looked up at him, a smile upon her face that made his heart grow.

Jon Snow, King in the North, but nothing without her.

《》

AUTHOR'S NOTE;
And that's is a wrap on part one of the fanfic! I hope you are enjoying the story so far. As we go into season 7 there will be even more action, so I hope you're looking forward to it!

Please comment what you thought of this chapter as I love to know what you guys think of my stories.

Thank you all so much for the support! Part two will be up soon! - CAT c: