Queen in the North

She belongs in the North. The real North.

Amongst the ruins of the Wall, Tormund's words rang in Jon Snow's ears. Rang in them as surely as the wind carried snow, and the sun shone ever dimmer. The Nights King had been defeated and his army had crumbled to dust, but that didn't change the truth of the Stark words – "winter is coming." And, by extension, winter had come. Winter had gripped the North, and it would grip all the lands in Westeros to some degree or another. But standing here, in the midst of the ruins of one of the wonders of the world, he was left to ask whether the "true north" could be said to exist anymore. There existed "the North," in the sense that it was one of seven kingdoms in a land where hardly any of them recognised any central authority – certainly not that of the Iron Throne itself. Then there were "the Lands Beyond the Wall," or what Tormund had called "the real north." There was no Wall to mark the barrier, and nothing living in those lands anyway. Right now, there was only "the North." And supposedly he was king of it.

King of the North. The houses of the North had let out that cry for Robb Stark at Oxcross and numerous other battlefields. They had uttered the same for him in the final battle with the Army of the Dead. He hadn't asked for it – let them fight for all mankind, not just the king whose name was Snow, he'd reflected. But men would fight and die for their own reasons. He could only assume that even the Night's King had had his reasons for marching south, but he'd never know what they were now.

"Well, Lord Snow. It's been awhile since we were last here."

He remained standing in place, looking beyond the detritus that was the Wall, and the eerily still standing Castle Black. Looking out into the forest that had crept ever southward as the Night's Watch had dwindled. He'd stood in that forest twice. Now, at the crossroads of history, he found the urge to enter it again. To enter, and never return.

"Of course," the voice continued, "I believe it was at the top of the Wall, not at the bottom of it."

"Can't be at the bottom of the Wall if there is no Wall," Jon said. He looked at Lord Tyrion as he waddled up beside him, clad in furs that were too big for him and dragged through the snow like a horse ploughed through a field. "Course last time we were here, we…"

"Hmm?"

Jon smiled. "Sorry. Had something clever to say."

"Do tell. I love hearing clever things."

"Well, I was going to joke about me becoming Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and King in the North, and you ending up in the service of House Targaryen, and both of us being on the same side against an army of undead, but…"

"But?"

"But that's a lot to put into a single sentence. So, I guess all I can say now is that times have changed."

"Hmm." Tyrion held up a goblet. "To changing times then."

How the hells did you bring a goblet with you this far from the camp?

Jon didn't ask. Nor did he ask why Tyrion took but a single sip, then poured the wine onto the snow, staining it like blood. He looked away – he'd seen more than enough blood over the past few days to last him what remained of his life, as short as that might be. So had the men, who were still burning the bodies of the fallen, enemy and ally both. The White Walkers had been defeated, but Jon had ordered that no chances be taken. The dead would be burnt. The dead would be mourned. And then…

And then we go back to fighting each other.

"You know, my brother is sure to ask this, but…what now?" Tyrion asked.

Jon closed his eyes – he didn't want to deal with this. Not now. Not ever.

"Since we've solved the matter of mutual annihilation, are we now going to return to the practice of targeted annihilation?"

"You're asking this on behalf of Jaime Lannister?" Jon asked, still not meeting Tyrion's gaze. "Or Queen Daenerys?"

"Actually, I'm asking it on my own behalf."

Jon looked at Tyrion. And through his snow-flaked beard and black-circled eyes, the Imp looked back at him. And Jon immediately understood.

"Come now Snow, we're both men of principle," Tyrion said. He paused. "Well, some principle at least, but-"

"Get on with it."

"Having seen the living and the dead kill each other…or whatever the proper vernacular is for wights…my stomach isn't entirely sold on going back to killing what's left of the people of Westeros."

"Last I checked, you didn't do much of the killing yourself."

"Great leaders rarely do."

"So what of Queen Daenerys then?" Jon asked. "She rode into battle. She killed Viserion. She fought when the night was darkest."

"She did," Tyrion said. "But the question must be asked then as to whether she is a great leader. For that and…other reasons."

Jon didn't say anything. He wanted to point out that Tyrion's sister was still on the Iron Throne. That she held a contingent of Lannister soldiers at her side, as well as the Golden Company. Daenerys still had two dragons, that was true. But she was at the head of a mauled army that was allied with several other mauled armies, none of whom now had a mutual enemy. Queen Cersei might be the most hated woman in Westeros, but she was the most hated woman in Westeros with the freshest army.

"It doesn't matter what kind of leader Dany is," Jon said. "I swore an oath. She's my queen."

"Your father swore an oath to the Mad King," Tyrion said. "Did that stop him from turning against him, any more than it prevented my brother from killing him?"

"Did it stop my brother from entering a marriage that resulted in his death?"

"No, it didn't. As you can see, oath breaking isn't an exact science. But you might understand that you pledging yourself to the Mother of Dragons might not sit well with those who wish the North to be an independent realm. Not to mention those who still remember the horrors of the Mad King."

"Who would you have on the Iron Throne?" Jon shot back. "Queen Daenerys? Or Queen Cersei?"

"If I had to pick?" Tyrion paused, but Jon could tell that it was a feint. "Queen Daenerys."

"Good. Then it's settled," Jon said. "We give the Lannisters the opportunity to join our forces, or failing that, give them safe passage. And after that-"

"Daenerys already wants their allegiance or their deaths," Tyrion said.

Jon blinked. "What?"

"Oh, haven't you heard?" He kicked some snow over the spilt wine. "Daenerys will give an ultimatum to my brother on the morrow – bend the knee, become a man of the new Night's Watch, or burn."

"But…"

"The war against the dead is over. For Daenerys, there's only one war left to fight. By extension, the Lannister forces here are her enemies. And by that same extension, ours."

Jon remained silent – he had little love for the Lannisters. Jeoffrey Lannister had ordered the death of his father. Jaime Lannister had crippled his brother. Tywin Lannister had ordered the deaths of his other brother and foster mother. The wolf could never break bread with the lion. But even the wolf could not stand idly by after the lion had fought alongside them against the wight.

"This is wrong," Jon murmured.

"I know it's wrong," Tyrion said. "But I thought you might have a better chance of making your queen see that. After all, you have her ear as well as other…body parts."

"What?"

"Oh spare me Snow, I know your secret. I've fucked more whores in a year than you have your entire life, and trust me, I know when a man's fucked a woman as well." He smirked. "Given how personable Queen Daenerys was up until the dead were destroyed, I can guess you fucked her rather well."

Jon's hand went for Longclaw, but he didn't draw it. There was no point in denying it. All he could do was speak the truth. The only truth that mattered.

"I don't love her."

Given the look in Tyrion's eyes, the dwarf clearly hadn't expected that response. Jon looked away, to the forest beyond the Wall. The true north, if such a place existed. The place where truth lurked.

"I don't love her," he repeated.

"I didn't say you did," Tyrion said.

"But you thought I did," Jon said. "You thought that Jon Snow, Bastard of Winterfell, King in the North, former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, would only fuck someone he actually loved."

"Given that you're the son of Ned Stark, the thought did occur to me."

"Then you might be interested to know that the only person I loved died a few dozen yards from where we're standing. And that she was cremated a few hundred yards beyond the Wall."

"I didn't know that."

Jon looked at Tyrion. He could tell the Imp believed him. And looking in the dwarf's eyes, he could see…pity, he supposed? Sympathy? Compassion? He couldn't be sure.

"Maybe I loved Daenerys," Jon said. "But coming here, seeing the Night's King, seeing all the wildlings he'd risen up around him…I remembered that I at least spared her from that."

"What was her name?"

"Ygritte."

"Then this Ygritte, whom I'm assuming was a wilding" Tyrion said. "If she was still alive, and willing to overlook your infidelity…what would she have you do now?"

Tell me to tell Daenerys to go back south. That the First Men bow to no throne. That I know nothing.

"She'd tell me to keep my options open."

"I doubt that," Tyrion said. "But I'd advise you to do the same." He nodded, and began walking south. To the banner of the dragon or the lion, Jon couldn't tell. Soon or late, he might have to make his own choice between the wolf and the dragon. To ask whether his honour was worth continuing to lead his people into a war that none of them wanted.

But that could wait. For now, he'd stand here. King of the North. Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Stand here, and look at the forest. Remembering what had transpired beyond the Wall. In the "true North." What had been, and what could never be. To reflect on how little he knew.

But he'd loved Ygritte. And his liaison with Daenerys aside…

He knew that much.

A/N

...am I the only one that ships JonxYgritte nowadays? :(

Yeah, I know, JonxDany is pretty big, but at least Jon and Ygritte had a relationship developed over three seasons, rather than meeting and banging over the course of seven episodes. And since Kit Harrington and Rose Leslie are actually engaged...

Anyway, drabbled this up.