I know, I know. It's been for-fucking-ever. I'm the worst. Thank you to all of you who have hung in there and continued to send me messages over these long months. I'm traveling right now and my free time is almost non-existent, but I haven't forgotten you and I definitely have not forgotten this story. I can't make any promises on a timeline, but I will finish it. I swear.

I think that this chapter in particular held me up because it's here that we meet Lyanna Mormont — and I've honestly been slightly intimidated by the prospect of writing her. She's a fierce little lady and I wanted to do her justice. I hope I've succeeded.

Chapter 17 | Jon

It was early morning and the fire roaring in the giant fireplace had only just begun to drive away the chill from the study when Jon entered, the slightest hint of his breath still hanging in the air as he closed the door behind him. Deep in the castle walls he could hear the stirrings of the day about to begin. From the yard below rose shouts of the men readying horses for their departure.

Jon crossed to the window just as the gate was rising. Littlefinger and his men stood mounted before it, prepared for the ride ahead of them with Littlefinger himself at the lead, his black cloak unfurling behind him. Jon was glad to see him go. He'd been nothing but helpful and deferential from the time he appeared at the battle with his legion of shining knights, and yet something about his presence rankled in the back of Jon's mind.

It was something in the way he carried himself, the glint of his green eyes as he skulked in the shadows, always just out of the action and yet somehow Jon felt that he had his hand in everything, pulling invisible strings and laughing as they all danced.

Raising a hand in a courtly salute to the men at the gate, Littlefinger rode through it with his men in toe. The sight of him leaving filled with Jon with a vague sense of relief. He was glad to be rid of him, if only for a few days. His presence made him uneasy, as did the realization that he was powerless to rid himself of this snake in his walls.

The door opened and Ser Davos entered, flexing his fingers inside of his leather gloves against the cold.

"Good morning, Jon," he said as the door closed behind him. "Glad to be rid of that one, are you?"

Jon turned, his face still dark with his thoughts, but his eyes betraying his fondness for the old knight before him. Davos saw much and judged little, something that inspired a deeper gratitude in Jon than he was able to voice.

"Would that I could be rid of him for good," he replied with a wry smile, "but for now it looks like we are married to one another. So much for being the most powerful man in the North."

"That's the funny thing about power," said Ser Davos crossing to warm himself in front of the fire. "The most powerful men have the least freedom and the most free men have the least power. Unfortunately for you, having a good deal of one means that you'll have little of the other."

Jon nodded gravely as thoughts of Sansa flashed through his mind, but he pushed them away — or as far away as he could. The image of her was never far from him and neither was the ache that it caused in his chest. He wore it now like a mantle close to his heart, making him feel heavy.

Jon moved to the fire beside Davos and for a moment they stood in comfortable silencet as the room around them began to warm.

"Lyanna is here," said Jon finally breaking them both out of their reverie.

"Already?" The look of surprise on Davos's face brought a smile to Jon's.

"Our men met her on the road and she turned around immediately, riding through the night. I assumed she would spend the night somewhere and wait until the morning to be received, but —"

"But she's not like other women," said Ser Davos with a twinkle in his eye.

"That she isn't," said Jon. Though Lyanna was not a woman. She was only a girl. The thought still bothered Jon, and yet despite her youth, Lyanna seemed more of a woman grown than women twice her age. Hell, she was more of a man than most men he knew, as well.

"So today is the day, then," said Davos turning to him. "Are you ready for that?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," said Jon keeping his eyes cast down to the fire.

"You're doing the right thing," said Davos, laying a hand on the young King's shoulder.

Jon closed his eyes and nodded. The hand on his shoulder was fatherly and reassuring, holding him firmly to the earth even as the war inside him raged. This was the right thing. He sighed deeply, finally lifting his eyes from the flames.

"I'd like you to be here," he said. "When I ask her." It wasn't a traditional choice to have someone there, but this was hardly a traditional proposal, and Davos's presence would help keep him steady.

"It would be an honor," Ser Davos replied, squeezing his shoulder gently before releasing it.

"Whenever you're ready, I'll be here."

"She's on her way now, actually. She doesn't seem to see any need to wait to see why I summoned her, and I suppose I don't either."

"Alright then."

As if on cue there was knock at the door. The two men's eyes met, a world of meaning passing silently between them. Jon cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.

"Enter," Jon said with a voice that he hoped sounded more kingly than he presently felt.

"Lady Lyanna of House Mormont, Your Grace," announced Ser Dandrick with a flourish.

Lyanna swept through the door, her shoulders squared and her icy dignity wrapped tightly around her diminutive frame. Despite her size, her presence commanded both attention and respect. There was more than a hint of her uncle, the late Lord Commander, her steely gaze and Jon felt a sudden surge of protectiveness for the girl.

Lyanna was of the North — strong, fierce, noble, and unyielding. He couldn't help but think that his father would have approved of this match and the thought warmed him.

"My lady," he said moving forward to greet her. "Thank you for returning so quickly. I'm sorry to have interrupted your journey home."

"I trust that Your Grace would not have summoned me had it not been a matter of grave import," she replied.

"That it is. Please, have a seat."

Jon held the chair for Lyanna and once she was settled sat at the head of the table with Ser Davos to his right. He met the knight's eyes briefly, and finding the reassurance he needed, turned to Lyanna.

Her raven hair was pulled back severely from her face and her dark eyes took him in expectantly. Sitting in the high-backed chair, her skirts barely grazing the floor, it was easier to see her as the child that she was. It seemed unfair to ask so much of her, but the image of Rickon lying in the snow flashed bitterly through his mind. Children of winter didn't have the luxury of being children for long.

Smoothing his hands down the wide arms of his chair, Jon drew in breath to speak, "My lady —"

A pointed clearing of Ser Davos's throat interrupted him. One eyebrow cocked, Jon slid a questioning look in the knight's direction. With a flick of his eyes and a subtle incline of his head, Ser Davos gestured to the space between Jon and Lyanna.

Jon smoothed one gloved hand over his face, collecting himself, then stood, lowering himself gracefully on one knee to the floor before the young Mormont.

"My lady," he began again looking up at her, "As you surely know, the North is in need of a queen and I am in need of a wife. I could never hope to be worthy of your hand, but I hope that your love for the realm will compel you to overlook whatever shortcomings I may have and accept my proposal. Will you do the me the great honor of marrying me, Lyanna?"

It felt courtly enough, he thought. From the corner of his eye he could see Ser Davos nod his approval, a small smile playing on his lips.

Lyanna, however, appeared...unmoved. She regarded him silently for a moment, her gaze unwavering. Behind her eyes, Jon could see her sharp mind stirring. She cocked her head slightly to the side as if weighing something, then all of a sudden something seemed to spark in her and he could see that it was decided.

"Is this a request or a command, Your Grace?" she replied finally.

"A request, my lady, to be sure. I would never command you into a marriage if it wasn't what you desired, but I —"

"Then I must decline," she said, her voice solid and resolute.

Jon sat back on is heels, feeling somewhat stunned. He'd known that rejection was a possibility, but it wasn't one of which he'd considered the full ramifications.

If not Lyanna, then who? He'd had his concerns about her age, to be sure, but as she sat before him now, poised and full of quiet strength, he could see that those fears had been largely unfounded. Ser Davos had been right to suggest her as a match, and Jon had a hard time imagining who else he could ask to stand at his side against the horrors that he knew were to come. Who else, except for—

He pushed that thought away with a brief shake of his head and looked back up into Lyanna's soft, wide face, the stoney set of her jaw erasing any hint of girlishness from her countenance. He gave her a small rueful smile and stood.

"I won't insult you by beleaguering the point," he said finally, settling himself back into his chair. "It's clear that when you make a decision your mind has been made. But might I ask why?"

Lyanna didn't shrink from his question, but seemed to pause for a moment to consider her words.

"I do not intend to wed until I am older, Your Grace" she replied. "It is difficult enough for a woman to be regarded as an equal in a marriage. It's more difficult still when that woman is a child. I will not be made a ward and I will not allow the fate of my people to be sold off with mine like so much cattle."

"You must know that I would never treat you that way, Lyanna," Jon replied earnestly, leaning forward on his elbows, his hands interlaced on the table. "I asked you here above all the other ladies in the North because, despite your age, you're the only gir— the only woman I know who is equal to the task of standing by my side and leading my people. The greatest threat that this realm has ever known is bearing down on us from beyond the wall. I need your strength and so does the North. My aim is not to shackle you with marriage, but rather to empower you to be the leader that I know you can be — that you are meant to be. I hope that you will take some time to reconsider."

A small smile flitted across Lyanna's face, the first sign of softness that he'd seen in her, but it was quickly covered again by a veil of impassivity.

"I thank you for your kind words, Your Grace," she replied with a nod of her head, "but my decision remains the same."

Jon sighed, looking down at his hands, one loose chunk of dark hair falling across his face. He was failing at this somehow and he couldn't quite figure out why. He cast his eyes sideways to Davos to see if he might have something to offer, but the knight's gaze was trained intently on Lyanna. Seeing what — Jon could only imagine.

Jon looked back to the girl consciously letting the King in the North fall away and leaving only the young bastard of Winterfell in his place. He'd worn his new title, the title that Lyanna had in many ways been the one to give him, like armor since the day that they had first knelt to him in the great hall. Without it he felt suddenly vulnerable, a raw nerve exposed to the bitter winter wind, but he needed her to see him as he was.

"Is there nothing that I can do to gain your trust, Lyanna?" he asked her, raising his eyes again to hers.

The change in him was clearly not lost on her. She turned her body so that she was facing him directly and leaned toward him, her elbows on the table mirroring his own position. Her eyes met his and looked deeply into them.

"You can gain my trust, by earning it, Your Grace. You can earn it by telling me the truth."

Jon was taken aback. This raven-haired girl seemed to see right through him and he fought to maintain his composure against the feeling of being utterly exposed.

"And what truth might that be?"

"The truth as to why you've decided to propose to me. I believe that you have been sincere in all that you have said, but there is something else that you are holding back. It's the reason that this decision has been made in such haste. It's the reason that Ser Davos is here at your side. I can see it in your eyes. There is something else — something of critical import, something fraught with danger — and unless you are ready to share that secret with me, I can not enter into a marriage with you, because despite what you may say and despite what you may intend, Your Grace, we can't enter into a marriage as equals unless there is trust between us. So I believe that the real question here is what can I do to earn your trust?"

Jon lowered his head, resting it on his hands. A rushing filled his ears and it felt like the ground had dropped away from beneath is feet, as if he was hanging there suspended in the millisecond before he fell.

Was he so transparent? Could everyone see it? He had no prayer of protecting the North, of protecting Sansa if that were so. In his weakness, he would bring disaster upon them all.

"You're right," he said, raising his head after a long moment, his voice hollowed out with strain and sadness. Lyanna's steady gaze met his and it was suddenly too much to bear. He stood and made his way to the window looking out over the snow swirling in the courtyard below.

"There is something I'm not telling you," he said finally without turning. "A secret that has the potential to turn the realm on its head. I dare not speak it, my lady, even to you."

"Then I'm afraid that we are at an impasse, You Grace" came her reply. Jon nodded gravely, his eyes still trained on the courtyard below.

"My lady," said Ser Davos, speaking for the first time, "I understand your reservations. You wouldn't be fit to lead your people if you didn't have them. You are wise well beyond your years. I've always admired a healthy skepticism. Mine has always served me well. It's saved my life more than once."

"However, if there is anything that I've learned in my long years, it's that there are far worse things to lose in this world than your life, and from what I've seen beyond the wall there are things to fear that operate far beyond the realm of reason. There is a war coming — one that will make the horrors we've seen thus far seem like the games of children."

"I've served a king before who proved himself to not be worthy of that service. We look to strong men, to righteous, honorable men to lead us through the darkness, but the harsh truth of it is that kings are men. They are not infallible. Their honor can falter, their hearts and minds can be corrupted. They can, with all of the noblest of intentions in their hearts, lead their men like lambs to the slaughter."

"So why do you still follow, Ser Davos?" Lady Lyanna asked.

"Because I believe in this king. I see in him something that I never saw in Stannis — a humility and a strength that compels him to take right action and seek wise council without consideration for pride or the artifice of names and titles. He can lead us through this darkness, but he can't do it alone. And right now, he needs you."

"You were the first of the Northern houses to answer his call. I know that you believe him to be the one true King in the North. I won't ask you to abandon your convictions nor will I endeavor any further to change your mind, but can you at least give us this one day. Stay here in these chambers and simply observe. If you don't find for yourself a reason to reconsider, I'll trouble you no more."

The room fell into silence with only the crackle of the fire punctuating the heavy stillness. Jon knew that he should speak, but he felt somehow far removed from his own body. In the distance, thick smoke from the burned bodies of men and horses still rose here and there in tar black tendrils against the horizon.

"My men need time to rest after our journey," said Lyanna finally. "I'll stay long enough for them to get a good night's sleep and out of respect for yourself and the king, I will do as you ask. But I ride for Bear Island at first light."

"Thank you, my lady," said Davos, his voice filled with gratitude.

Jon turned, his smile rueful and hard. He wasn't sure what he could show the girl that would make her stay. He didn't feel strong or noble or kingly or any of the other things that Davos seemed to see in him. All about him there was only macabre chaos and lingering death, and he didn't know how to rule any of it. He didn't even know how to rule himself it seemed.

He couldn't help thinking again of Robb. It was Robb who had been raised to rule, Robb who had the blood of a true born Stark and the icy will of his father to do the right thing at any cost.

A sudden knock at the door jarred him from his dark thoughts.

"Enter," he called, his voice rough with his barely bridled despair.

"Lady Sansa, Your Grace," the knight announced.

Sansa entered and the sight of her, scarlet hair cascading about her shoulders, the deep blue of her gown rich against her ivory skin, was almost enough to make him weep. Her eyes fell on Lyanna and she hesitated in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," she said, her eyes not quite meeting his. "I can return later if this isn't a good time."

Jon found himself again without words, and again Ser Davos spoke in his place.

"Not at all, my Lady. We were just finishing here. Lady Lyanna has just agreed to sit in on the Small Council Meeting."

Sansa nodded graciously, her skirts gliding across the floor as she took the seat next to the girl.

"Lady Lyanna, it's a pleasure to see you again so soon."

Sansa, of course, knew why Lyanna had been summoned. She knew the nature of the conversation that had taken place, but perhaps sensing the tension in the room didn't ask. Instead she settled next to the girl, making small talk, her blue eyes sparkling at her with genuine affection.

Jon breathed deeply, filling his lungs and then letting the air slide from him slowly until he was empty, taking advantage of the momentary distraction to compose himself. This little plan of Davos's was sure to fail, but he owed the knight enough to at least attempt to be the man that he believed him to be. Squaring his shoulders he took his place at the head of the table.

"What brings you here, Sansa?" he asked as his sister's eyes turned finally to him, full of quiet expectation and something else that he couldn't quite name. Her eyes darted somewhat shyly to her lap, and when she pulled them back to his there was an apology there.

"I came to speak to you of my engagement, Your Grace," she answered. "Lord Baelish has received word from the Eyrie that Robin Arryn intends to make an offer of marriage. I'd like to ask that you grant his request."

Jon closed his eyes, needing if only for one moment to be rid of the sight of her before him asking him to let her go. His heart had broken a thousand different ways since he learned of the death of his father, but this — this was a different kind of pain entirely. Death had been easier.

I would welcome death a thousand times, but not this. Not this.

"Is this what you truly want?" he asked opening his eyes to search hers. There was sadness there, a pain the depths of which might even have mirrored his own. But there was a resolve there, too — the unwavering determination of a Stark who had made up her mind.

"It is."

"It will be as you wish then," he replied, his voice wrecked with a rage and a sorrow he could scarcely contain.

Sansa nodded, casting her eyes downward, no longer able or willing to look at him. Seeming to sense the storm rising in him, she rose from her chair, murmuring her goodbyes to Lyanna and made her way to the door.

Jon's hands fisted in his leather gloves as he watched her leave, biting back the roar that threatened to burst from his chest, Lyanna and Davos and the bleeding North be damned. There was nothing but Sansa and the excruciating curve of her back as she walked away from him.

He was on his feet before he knew he had made the decision to move, but once he was in motion he knew that there was nothing in seven hells that could stop him. He only had to follow her. To stop her somehow. He was out the door in an instant without a word or a thought for the two stunned figures who still lingered at the table.

Ser Davos cleared his throat as his eyes met Lyanna's. She nodded gravely at him in wordless acknowledgement, the scope and gravity of the situation clearly not lost on her.

"I see," she said simply. "I thank you Ser Davos for your trust and guidance in this matter. When the King returns tell him that I have accepted his proposal."

Ser Davos rose as the girl slid from her chair and straightened her skirts.

"I will, my Lady," he said with a deep bow. "And thank you."