Jon Snow x Reader
Plot: The reader is the younger sibling of the Baratheons. Jon dreams of her still; as the world unravels, he needs her. And she needs him, too.
A/N: This turned out to be way longer than I expected, so let me know what you think. I decided to just smash it out as opposed to breaking it up: it all comes from a weird dream I had last night. I might do a Part 2 if this goes down pretty well. Also: I love Jon Snow. Thanks for listening.
Jon often heard her laughter in the snow under his boots in the years between. He imagined, often, that his father had never left for Kings Landing, and that he’d stayed in the Hall at Winterfell that night; falling asleep on the floor, awaking to Robb laughing in the courtyard as Arya jumped onto his back and called out to the sky.
He imagined her waking from her chambers, eyes like fire, her hands in his hair.
He imagined her hands on his face, peppering kisses across his jaw.
And then he woke up; alone at the end of the world.
They’d met when he was 15: too young, bare-faced and tangled hair. Robert had ridden North to meet with Eddard, as he did when the two kept good company. Robert had never been an amibitous King, and he hated the cold and harshness in the North; but he had loved Lyanna. Jon wondered whether Robert felt a sense of closeness to her in the frozen North, or whether he just enjoyed Ned’s company. Perhaps both.
This time, he brought his sister in tow. She rode in on horseback, proudly cloaked with the Baratheon sigil, eyes burning in the snow. Jon had been standing on the rafters; Catelyn had insisted he not join the welcoming party, much to his chagrin. But from here, he saw the blazoned silver on her neck, her finery: the way she shone, like a light in the cold. Hair swept from the wind, hands sore from riding for days. But still every bit more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen. She was roughly his age; maybe a little younger, maybe not.
That night, Jon sipped his ale slowly as he sat in the courtyard. The sound of merriment inside was inviting, but he was feeling a little lightheaded. He needed a break from Catelyn, and he needed a break from his thoughts.
“Do you mind if I…?” a voice quietly rang out in the dark.
Jon jumped, throwing half a tankard of ale into the dirt. Looking up, her face was illuminated in the torchlight. Pale, with the Baratheon features her younger brothers held so prominently. Cool tones and sharp-jawed; bright eyes that made Jon’s hands ache.
“My lady!” he breathed sharply “Well, it’s…it’s awfully cold, and I wouldn’t mean to pull you away from the festivities”.
(y/n) pulled the hem of her skirt, sitting cross legged next to him. He wondered at the way her hands folded in her lap; so careful and deliberate.
“Jon, am I correct?” she smiled, chewing her lip in thought.
“Jon Snow, my lady. Ned is my father”.
“Well, Jon. I’m (y/n). Of House Baratheon. And I’m very pleased to meet your acquaintance”.
They had spoken several times over the passing days. She had been pulled away often by Theon, which made Jon anxious in a way he didn’t yet understand. Theon was confident, and several years older than Jon; he looked more like a man ought to look, and took a liking to girls of all sorts.
And that never bothered Jon much - until it did. And then it bothered him a lot.
She had come to speak with Jon several times, but he never did have much to say that wasn’t awkward and embarrassing. He expressed his desire to protect the realm, and talked with her about his Uncle who had taken The Black - and she was encouraging, if a little taken aback by the whole affair. She had spent time with Arya when she had taken Robb’s bow - and even when Ned had embarrassedly scolded Arya, (y/n) had insisted on helping her practice her aim.
Jon grew very, very fond of her in a very short period of time. Something of teenage infatuation, which made it all the more difficult when she left to return to the Capital with her brother.
When she said her goodbyes to the Stark children, she did not forget Jon. She insisted on him being present - and he swore that when she hugged him, she held on for a little longer than the others. She smelled like summer flowers, and he breathed in deeply.
He was almost so distracted that he didn’t see Theon shoot him a filthy look. But as she rode away, he felt eyes on his back like daggers in his spine.
In the years that followed; Jon thought of her in the moments between everything.
He wrote a letter to his father after the death of Robert; asking after her wellbeing. He thought of asking Maester Aemon to send it to Kings Landing, but remembered he’d taken an Oath. He would forsake such madness; knowing that she would be safe. She had two older brothers, and family was hard to break.
After The Fist of the First Men: thoughts of her subsided somewhat. Ygritte had changed the way that Jon knew love; and she had taken from him that childlike infatuation he once had. But in return, he had forsaken his vow. And suddenly, he began to wonder whether he should have sent that letter while he had the chance. He had loved Ygritte with all the fire in his heart; loved her like he’d never loved another. So when she passed, he felt his heart would wither and die with her, as though the arrow had pierced him too.
But it didn’t.
And when Stannis Baratheon arrived at Castle Black with Mance in tow; Jon had to bite his tongue and remember that there were questions best left not asking. She was likely dead; he knew Renly had been murdered, and that Stannis saw any threat to his throne to be dangerous. Stannis had never mentioned her, but he knew their relationship was strained. She had spoken all those years ago of her good relationship with Renly; he imagined that she would have taken his death with unease.
So when he was declared 998th Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, and Stannis left to head South; he pressed Ser Davos for the answers.
“Stannis seems an honourable man” Jon had remarked, watching Davos for any hint of difference.
“He’s a just man, and a good King. I have faith in him, and I have faith in you, too” Davos had replied, his accent thick and heavy.
“Forgive me, Ser Davos…But I wanted to ask you whether you knew how the Lady of Baratheon house was fairing?”
Ser Davos had instantly known who Jon was referring to.
“Aye, I wish I could give you good news, Lord Commander. When last I heard from her, she had taken leave to Braavos, across the Narrow Sea. I can assure you that Stannis has never shown me that he intends to harm her, and that she left of her own accord. He eagerly awaits her return, but between you and I - I doubt she’d want to”.
Jon wondered if he’d been holding his breath for longer than he’d first thought.
But something seemed brighter in the sky that day.
When the gates opened, Jon was still in a haze. Sleeplessness had overcome him; dreams of Ygritte, of snow and White Walkers and strange, hollow halls had taken him somewhere he’d rather not be. Pushing open the iron handle, his boots echoed of the walls of the corridor.
Olly ran up, alert and snow-dusted.
“Olly” Jon smiled, pulling up his glove as he addressed the young boy.
“Lord Commander” Olly nodded slightly “a woman at the gate. Says she needs to speak with you”.
Jon’s brow creased as he ducked passed Olly, out into the snow.
A woman stood next to her horse; a damp, grey cloak draped over her shoulders as she rubbed her gloved hands together. Jon couldn’t see her face, but he felt a strange feeling in his chest.
“My L…” he started, but then the sentence refused to leave his lips as she turned to him.
She was older, now. Just like him. The years had turned them both into grown adults; but they’d been far kinder to her than they’d ever been to him. She was more beautiful than the day she’d left - flushed by the snow, hair longer, dusted with snow that framed her face. Her eyes still shone like fire - but he could see the heaviness in them. He felt that heaviness, too - they’d both lost too much for it not to have left a mark.
“Lord Commander” she breathed, straightening. He wondered if she knew him - whether she’d even recognised him now. But something in the way she addressed him made him realise that it was likely dangerous to acknowledge him in such a public setting.
“Olly has…he’s told me you wish to speak to me. We can discuss the matter privately” he said, eyes steady. He knew he was being observed - and she gestured to tell him to lead the way.
Once the door was closed and locked, (y/n) stood by the window; eyes dancing.
“Jon? Jon Snow? I could hardly believe it when I heard you were Night Commander” she grinned, removing her gloves with a swift motion and placing them on the desk.
“Forgive me, My Lady. I’m in something of a state of shock…Last I’d heard, you’d left for Braavos”.
She was quiet for a moment; the snow melting in her hair slightly, dripping on her cloak.
“Last I’d heard, my brothers were at war. And now, Renly is dead and Stannis is fighting the Boltons in a losing battle. And here I am” she added, a sadness in her voice “Stannis would never have let me live if he knew I was back in Westeros. And I have never supported him after what he did to Renly. But now I barely recognise myself, and my House is all but gone”.
Jon felt genuine sorrow for her.
“I’m sorry, My Lady. For what happened to Renly. And for your hardships with Stannis. Your House has fallen on hard times, and I hope a familiar face helps”.
She smiled sadly “it does, somehow”.
Jon scratched the back of his head; black curls tangling against his fingers.
“I can fetch you some wine, if you like. And I’ll have one of the men prepare some quarters - it’s the least I can do”.
(y/n) nodded, her eyes looking dangerously close to spilling over. Jon felt his heart tremble; realising that these feelings had been no teenage infatuation. He had recognised something then that had haunted him: that something drew him to her, like a moth caught in the torchlight.
Nothing good could come of it, but perhaps he deserved a light in this world.
Jon was sore and tired, and pulled his cloak off of his shoulders, slipping his undershirt over his arms. He noticed a scar that ran across his shoulder; purple and bruised from sparring. It ached to touch, and he gritted his teeth as he thought of the sharpness the sword had inflicted.
A rap at the door brought his attention back to the present, and he called that the door could be opened. It was likely just one of the men with another raven from someplace or another; he was waiting to hear from Stannis, and as of yet no ravens had come.
(y/n) flushed, her eyes darting around. She was dressed in simple garments; a dress that accentuated her curves and showed more cleavage than Jon had seen in some time. He suddenly felt woozy.
“I’m so sorry, Lord Commander. I was having trouble sleeping and I thought I might as well come to discuss current matters…” she trailed off, tipping her head slightly “…that looks like it hurts”.
“I wouldn’t worry, My Lady” he replied, looking self-consciously for his shirt “Lord Commanders have their fair share of scars”. He could feel her eyes on him - and his biggest concern was how much he liked it. Too much.
“You can call me (y/n), you know. We were friends once” she added, entering the room and closing the door behind her. Crossing the wooden floor, she sat on the furs that covered his bed “would you like me to look at that?”
Jon laughed nervously “that’s…that’s very kind, My L…(y/n)” he stammered, feeling his face grow hot “but it’ll likely heal on its own”.
(y/n) raised her brows, patting the area beside her in a motion for him to sit. He hesitated, but only for a moment; giving up on the idea of ever finding his shirt.
He was close enough to smell her perfume: she still smelled of flowers, even now. With a tender look, she placed her fingertips on the area where the bruise met the wound; he bit his lip at the feeling, somewhere between pleasure and pain.
“Let me at least bandage it” she said, taking a layer of cloth from his dresser. He had left it there to do himself, but it seemed he wasn’t getting out of this easily.
“I worked as a healer in Braavos, you know” she chuckled “but I wasn’t always very good at it”.
“You seem to be doing a fine job now” Jon replied, watching the look of concentration on her face. In the torchlight, those Baratheon features were more pronounced than he’d ever seen them: more beautiful and sharp than the Wall itself could ever be. How could someone so sharp have eyes that held such softness?
“I have a fine patient” she laughed, tying the bandage gently “try touching this and see if it feels any better”.
Jon reached out to where she held the bandage; the area still ached, but it felt calmer, less pronounced than it had. His hands skimmed to the edge of the bandage as she tightened it: his fingers briefly making contact with the edge of her thumb for a moment.
The feeling was instant. Like needles shooting through his bones, fire in his chest as his head spun. His hand didn’t move, didn’t dare to break the tiny amount of contact their fingers had.
She looked up at him; and he saw in her the fire he felt in his chest. It was there, in her eyes. In her blood.
(y/n) snaked her fingers across his, her eyes briefly dropping to his lips.
“Jon…” she whispered, biting her lip slowly.
It was enough to make a man lose his sense of purpose.
“My Lady” he swallowed, and reached out to her like a man gasping for air.
Their lips met; shocks and currents running through the space between them like dragonfire. Jon heard himself gasp as she followed the hard lines on his chest, his stomach. Tracing the valleys in his muscle with her fingertips. He reached up to hold her jaw, stroking it with his thumb as he guided her mouth with his. It was old and new; it was nothing like he could have expected. The kiss was blissful; it was relief from years of not knowing.
He didn’t want to pull away.
But he knew that there were some things left to be savoured.
“I know you have vows” she huskily said, eyes filled with desire “and I know I have to ride South tomorrow. But for tonight, nothing would give me greater comfort than sleeping in your arms. I want nothing else; not to break your vows, nor to forsake your company. Just to sleep, and not be alone, as I know we both have been for some time”.
Jon kissed her forehead lightly, stroking her cheek as he smiled.
“I haven’t thought of much else that would make me happier in a very long time”.
And that night, as her eyelids fluttered in peaceful sleep, Jon pressed the most gentle kiss to her cheek. Outside, the snow fell, the world raging. But for one brief moment; Jon Snow’s heart was full.