Disclaimer: I want the final season so I know how much this story is fucked xD

Chapter Nine

Beneath the Stones of Winterfell

"Every day is a new day, and you'll never be able to find happiness if you don't move on."

- Carrie Underwood

No amount of deflection or excuses could dissuade Tyrion, so I soon found myself fidgeting on the lavish guest bed of my father's chambers. Tyrion shot me glances as he slowly and laboriously poured himself another glass of wine. He hadn't said a word since we'd entered the room. But I knew his look; he knew. Of course he knew; he was the Hand of the King, after all. The slower he went, the more uncomfortable I became. So I fidgeted more. First on the bed, then I paced the room, then looked out the window, then-

"Oh calm down, Synne, you aren't in trouble," Tyrion said dryly, taking a sip of his wine before sitting in one of the armchairs surrounding a low table on the other end of the room. He inclined his head at another chair, "Now sit down."

I shot him a look, then sighed and sat down. Tyrion handed me a glass of wine and watched me over his own until I was halfway through the sip before saying, "So... kissed the king, did you?"

I spat wine all over the table, "W-wh-wha-?!"

"Don't give me that look, daughter," Tyrion took a long, drawn out sip, looking entirely nonplussed, "Arya saw you two leave the Godswood looking all kinds of close. It wasn't hard to guess, and from your face... I'd say my assumption was right."

Arya saw us? She'd been with Sansa when I'd left the sitting room... how long were Jon and I in the Godswood? How hadn't either of us seen her?

"Arya is very good as sneaking around," Tyrion drawled, swirling his wine glass a bit, "She told her sister, of course. Who confronted Jon and told me." His beady eyes looked pointedly at me over the rim of his glass as he took a sip before setting it down, "Do you know what else Jon told me, Synne?"

I winced.

"That you ran away from him when he expressed desire to properly court you with the intent to wed. That you assumed - or, from his telling, preferred - to be a... what is it the Dornish call it...?"

"A paramour."

Tyrion clicked his tongue, "Right. That." The glass back in his hands and a long drink later - when had my palms begun to sweat? - he added, "Jon seems to think you're afraid of the repercussions of a bastard possibly becoming Queen of Westeros." I winced. He smiled, "Smart girl. You're definitely my daughter."

I blinked stupidly, "Huh?"

"You're absolutely right to be weary after... what happened to Tysha," A shadow so brief that I almost missed it cast over his eyes, "Dealing with nobility in Westeros is like a game of chess. One where the wrong move gets those close to you hurt, and the right one still ends in someone dying. And no matter what move you make, someone innocent can bear the brunt of the consequences."

My shoulders sagged. I suppose I should have felt glad that Tyrion agreed with me, but a strange tightness formed in my chest. He was right, just like I was when trying to explain it to Jon. It was too dangerous, not just for us, especially in light of the attempt on Sansa's life.

"However," Tyrion swirled his glass again before taking a long drink. His eyes narrowed just a bit, not suspicious but somehow knowing, "Sometimes you need to take a dangerous gamble, Synne."

"F-father!" Was it possible to be disappointed and relieved at the same time? I refused to acknowledge the relief. I couldn't be relieved. So I focused on the other emotions, "It's... it's dangerous! He could get hurt, assassinated like the attempt on Sansa's life. All the work he's done to get people to accept him... anything with us would only hurt that! And-and he told me how much it hurt losing two loves already. If something happened to me, if someone tried to kill me because of his attachment, how would Jon end up? A third love lost. It's... the risk is too great, I don't want to hurt him!"

"And you fail to see all the benefits from the match, Synne," Tyrion set his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, "Of course, there is the obvious that you both are in love with each other - don't look at me so astonished, girl, it is obvious - but there are other reasons that outweigh both that and your fears."

I scoffed, "Doubt it."

"Never change that non-noble talk back nature of yours, Synne. It will get you places," I honestly couldn't tell if he was serious or not. Probably both, in his unique double-speak Tyrion way, "Consider this; After Robert's Rebellion, House Baratheon ruled Westeros. King Robert married my sister Cersei, bringing House Lannister into the royal family. By the time Robert died, all of Westeros sans a scant few remaining loyalists were on the side of the Baratheons and Lannisters. However now?" He smirked, a darkness in the back of his eyes at some far memory, "The entirety of House Baratheon is gone sans one or two bastards that escaped the purging my monstrous nephew did. All three of my sister's children - heirs despite not having a drop of Baratheon blood because of her incest with Jaime - are long dead. Cersei herself is dead. Jon is the last surviving blood member of House Targaryen, the royal house from before the Rebellion. I am the last Lannister, technically the last of the royal family from after the Rebellion, sans one. That one being you."

"I am not a Lannister, I'm-"

"A bastard of a Lannister," Tyrion said, "But Lannister blood runs through your veins no matter what you have to say about titles. Jon is the last child of House Targaryen. You are the last child of House Lannister. Many people want a return to Baratheon and Lannister rule. Others prefer the Targaryens." He grinned, "Would you believe that last year, just before I found you, there was an ill planned attempt to oust Jon and install me as King? Me, of all people?" He laughed, a deep one from the belly, "Only lasted an hour after Varys discovered the plot, another hour before all involved were jailed or executed."

I paled despite his mirth, "Was Jon-?!"

"Oh he didn't even find out for another month," Tyrion waved a dismissive hand, "He had much more important matters at the time. The point is, while most of the country is content with Jon as King or simply doesn't care, there are still camps that want a Baratheon - not happening due to extinction - or a Lannister - myself - on the throne. What better way to placate the post Rebellion loyalist than to unite both the Targaryen and the Lannister households through their last surviving children?"

He made sense, damn him. I clenched and unclenched my fists a good half dozen times, trying to think of some smart response and coming up with nothing until I remembered my trump card against Tyrion's logic, "I don't want to end up like mother."

Tyrion froze for a moment. His face fell, eyes downcast as he drew into himself for a moment. I didn't breathe, a fear creeping up my neck at the thought that I'd gone too far. I knew bringing up my mother and what Tyrion's father did to her - to them both, really - was a sore spot, but it was my last line of defense. Mother and the things she taught me about the world were my greatest strength, after all.

At length, he spoke again, the words said slowly and with a piercing gaze I couldn't look away from, "You and Jon will never have to worry about what happened between Tysha and I happening to either of you."

I looked away, ashamed, because he was right. I'd known that before I'd even said the words. This whole talk proved that there would be no disapproving parent tearing the match apart. Most people around him either liked me or were neutral... with the possible exceptions of Arya and Varys, who it was impossible to tell with. But neither would go against Jon, especially Arya who loved her brother-cousin. But even as logic threatened to overtake my better judgement, the fear returned. Hoping above one's station was dangerous, whatever Tyrion had to say to the contrary.

"Father, even though I'm your daughter, that still doesn't change the fact that I am a bastard and was raised low in brothels and farms!" I shot up, emotions bubbling up within my warring psyche, "I-I'm not a lady, I never was! Sure, I can read decently enough now and can embroider poorly and understand maps and know history, but I'm not made of the right stuff to be a Queen!"

"And what would the right stuff be?" Tyrion smirked, "I have known two very well in my life, and they were the furthest apart in attitude and ideals as, say, Varys and a Dothraki."

"Father-!"

"Enough," Tyrion pinched the bridge of his nose before pointing at my seat again, "Sit back down and listen, Synne, and listen well." The seriousness of his tone had my rear in that chair before I'd even thought to object. He sighed, "Since your mother instilled these... fears... in you so resolutely, whether she meant to or not, and you fail to see reason or the logic in my counsel, I am forced to tell you something only a small handful in all the world know. To explain something of Jon's character."

My eyes widened a bit. Something about Jon? I couldn't deny that a surge of thrill shot through me at the thought, "But... if it's about Jon, shouldn't he tell me if he wishes?"

"We've discussed you more than once, believe me," Some mirth returned to his beady eyes, "I wouldn't tell you this if he hadn't allowed it. But if you won't take to logic, then I am simply forced to leverage your feelings for the King and your penchant towards helping people."

I blanched. At least he was honest about it.

Tyrion jabbed a stubby finger at his chest, right where his heart was, "Jon has had a hard life. He was raised as a bastard to hide his true parentage. He lived for years in the harshest environment in all the word. He watched his men under his command kill his first love. To save us all from the Night King, he killed Daenerys, the aunt he fell for before either of them knew of their relation. And here, underneath all that leather and fur he always wears, is a big scar amongst dozens of others. From where a dozen blades went through him, and one straight through the heart, killing him in the process."

All blood drained from my face. I felt light headed, shocked, disbelieving, "That's-"

"Impossible, I know, but everyone thought dragons were extinct and magic long gone too, and look where that's gotten us," Tyrion shrugged, "But it's true. Jon died, true as any corpse, and was dead for a good while from what I hear. Long enough that all parties involved were sure of the fact, at least. That is, before a Red Priestess wove her magic, or the Gods showed favor, or any number of miracles from any pantheon or belief system take your pick, brought him back from the dead. Literally back from the dead."

A long silence stretched on. My mouth was dry and I grasped for my own wine, taking a deep, long drink. Another silence passed before I blurted out, "What does this have to do with... with..." It was hard to say 'Jon and I'. Even harder to admit my feelings, at least out loud.

"Well, daughter, your pigheadedness won't listen to the political benefits or my rebuttals to your fears, so..." Tyrion took up his own glass, once more watching me from over the rim, "The fact of the matter is that Jon Targaryen is in love with you. A man who has gone through so much in a short life, who has felt betrayal to the point he literally died for it, who has watched everything crumble around him multiple times, wants you, daughter. Not arranged, not forced, just because you happened to worm your way through that tough exterior of his. He has smiled more since you came to the Red Keep. Put in more effort, tried more. And when you nearly lost your life to Drogon saving that idiotic handler, the way Jon's face looked reminded me so much of him and Daenerys that I thought for a split moment I was seeing them again. Your steadfast refusal to acknowledge what you both want is hurting not only you, but is hurting him." He finished his glass and set it back down, "I don't even have to ask if you like causing Jon pain, after everything he's gone through. I know you don't. The question is, how much pain are you willing to cause him if you have the ability to cause him happiness in greater measure?"

And like that, I was well and truly cornered. I could think of nothing to say or do that would refute Tyrion. I was still afraid - who wouldn't be? - but causing Jon any pain... the thought made me feel ill. Sick to my stomach, even. I covered my mouth and sobbed once, the mental image of everything Tyrion told me about Jon flashing before my eyes like a morbid art gallery.

Tyrion slid out of his chair and rested a hand on my knee, "It's late; let me walk you back. At least think on it, Synne."

All I could do in reply was nod.

A courier arrived early in the morning, a slightly damp letter clutched in his hand. He was from the Wall, and was ushered into the main dining hall halfway through breakfast. Jon took the letter, all eyes watching his every move as those dark eyes scanned the page.

"What word?" Sansa said, face as tense as the rest of us felt.

"Repairs are going well," He looked up with the ghost of a smile, "They are ahead of schedule with the help of the wildlings. The top of the wall near the breach is safe to walk on again."

I didn't know why that in particular was important, but some of the constant tiredness on his face melted away. It made me smile myself, softly, as he continued, "I must see it."

"Really, Jon?" Sansa said, "I don't think-"

"I have to see it, Sansa. It's been well over two years."

The siblings stared each other down, Sansa's cold eyes boring into her brother's own equally icy ones. At length, she sighed, shaking her head and tone disapproving but resigned, "I'll arrange hardier transport by tomorrow, Your Majesty." From the subtle wince on Jon's face, I got the hint that Sansa only used his title when she was angry with him. Over what exactly, I didn't know. If the restoration was so important to Jon, why shouldn't he see the progress?

Jon looked up at me and I diverted my eyes quickly. After Tyrion's talk last night, my thoughts were all in a jumble where the King was involved.

"The party will be myself and Davos," He leaned back a bit in his chair, "... along with half the Kingsguard. I'd bring you too, Tyrion..." I could hear his smile, "... but
I know how much you hate the cold."

There was a bit of an air of confusion in the room. I didn't realize why until Sansa said with a raised eyebrow, "Leaving behind a full half the Kingsguard, brother? Is that really necessary?"

"For protecting you and Synne, yes," Jon said, facing looking grim for a moment. I felt heat rise to my cheeks. He was including me in the same group with his sister. Something he wanted to protect. He hadn't mentioned Arya, but that was probably because the youngest Stark could obviously take care of herself.

"Well, I'm glad to stay in Winterfell, Your Majesty," Tyrion made a half-grunting sound, "The cold here is far enough for my-"

"Can I come?"

The table went silent when I blurted that out. Now my face felt on fire with all the eyes on me. I hadn't really meant to cut off my own father, but it just came out! "I-I mean. I would like to see it too; the Wall, that is."

Tyrion leaned towards me a bit in a sort of psuedo-whisper, "Women aren't usually allowed on the Wall."

"That policy ended with the integration of the Wildlings," Sam said. He'd barely said anything all meal; I'd forgotten he was there, "I-I mean, well... mostly. They don't stay on the Wall itself, but in the villages, and there is space for visiting girls."

"Your wife and boy, they live in the villages by the Wall, don't they?" Tyrion asked.

Sam nodded, "Sometimes, yeah. I'm technically the Maester of the Night's Watch, but I've also been charged with Winterfell until a new Maester is sent to replace Wolkan. So sometimes Gilly and Sam stay behind with the Wildlings, sometimes they come with me, like now." He looked at his pretty wife to his right and the adorable boy on the left. either spoke much, but happiness exuded from both. I was... jealous, somehow.

"I see."

"She can come if she wants," My gaze snapped to Jon, then away immediately when I saw him looking right at me. I hadn't expected him to actually agree, "I defer to your counsel on that, Tyrion."

My father shrugged, "It will be good for her to see. You'll get no objection from me."

I caught the double meaning in his words.

"Hardly a place fit for a noble woman, brother," Despite her words, there was no real objection in Sansa's tone.

Tyrion answered with a biting tongue, "As my daughter is apt to remind everyone, she's no noble."

I didn't miss the hidden meaning there, either.

The thickest and hardiest of my clothing was packed that night by Bridget and a few attendants. She was going to take care of Florys while I was gone; Winterfell was already pushing it for the poor desert animal. The fox hardly left the hearth of my room's fireplace. We were leaving first thing in the morning, taking the one largest carriage and about half the men and horses. Tyrion, Jon, Davos, and I were to keep to the spacious and grand King's carriage - the one Jon hardly used himself on the way from King's Landing, preferring his horse. With how Tyrion described it, and with none of the attendants coming with, it was mostly for my benefit. I was the only woman going north with them to the Wall; even Arya was staying behind.

"You'll take care of her, right?" I looked up at Bridget as she latched my trunk shut. Florys was curled up in my lap by the fire.

"Of course, Lady Synne," she walked over and gave the fox a few pats. Florys had learned to accept her presence in the time we'd been at Winterfell, "Lady Sansa has expressed interest in your fox as well; she'd never seen one before. Florys will be well taken care of."

"Thank you," I said, earnest. Florys had been with me ever since the day Bronn showed up on the farm. We hadn't been separated even for a day since then. It was hard to imagine not being awoken by her jumping on my head, hungry for breakfast, "I'm a little worried-"

A slow knock at the door startled me enough that Florys jumped off my lap with a huff, leaping onto my bed and burrowing under the covers. Bridget raised an eyebrow and I just shrugged. Who would call on me at this hour, with the moon already high overhead?

When Bridget answered the door and immediately went into a low curtsy, dread filled me. And that dread worsened when she added, "Your Majesty!"

If only Drogon had bitten my head off back in King's Landing.

I jumped up, hands clenched behind me and eyes on the floor as the unmistakable sound of Jon's footsteps strode into my bedchamber, "Excuse me, Synne. I was hopin' you would come walk with me."

"It is very late, Your Majesty, and we have to be up early."

He stepped close enough that I could see his boots and heavy cloak, despite staring at my own feet, "Then we won't be gone long."

Backed into the corner like I was - especially in the presence of Bridget who would probably tell all of this to either Sansa or Tyrion or both as soon as she could - I sighed, "... yes, Your Majesty."

I took Jon's offered arm and let him steer me from the room. We walked in silence for a time, through corridors of Winterfell lit only by the moonlight and the occasional sconce. In spite of the cold and through his thick padded gambeson, I could feel his warmth. It was... unsettling.

At first, I though Jon was steering me towards the weirwood of Winterfell. But instead of turning towards there, he took another side corridor that ended in stairs leading down. The icy air abated the further down we went, in direct difference to what I expected. But I remembered some lessons from Samwell and Wolkan; underneath Winterfell was a vast network of natural hotsprings, the waters of which would be diverted to provide head to the castle. So the further down we went, the closer to the springs and the warmer the air.

The walls grew rougher, older, and both statues and dark stone sarcophagi lined the walls. I read their names as we passed, eyes slowly widening. Jon was taking me down into the catacombs of House Stark, where the bones of his family were buried.

"Jon-"

"Just wait."

And I did. Until he stopped in front of a statue of a tall, beautiful woman. Her hair was covered by a veil, shoulders arrayed with stony fur. A long dress that reminded me of the kind other ladies about the castle wore - less layers than Sansa, without a cloak - and the remains of a candle, mostly melted, sat in one open palm.

"My mother," Jon said, his face as blank and calm as his voice, "Lyanna Stark."

"Your... mother?"

He held my arm firmly, steering me onwards. Another statue, the only other one of a woman in this part of the crypts, "Catelyn Stark. Wife of the man I call father. Who treated me with contempt in the best of times until I left for the Wall."

"Jon-"

"There's more," The statue on a pedestal next to Catelyn Stark was of a man, looking about Jon's own age, with a handsome face and regal countenance. At his feet laid a colossal direwolf, "My 'alf-brother - excuse me, 'alf-cousin - Robb Stark. Murdered at the Red Wedding because he favored honor and pride and owning 'is own decisions rather than schemes."

The next was a statue of a small boy. Too young to be here, knowing that underneath the statue was likely his body. Around his legs was curled a smaller wolf, "Rickon Stark. 'e was just a boy when 'e died in my arms, shot through with an arrow from the man who raped and tortured Sansa, Ramsay Bolton."

Then he led me back down the line, to a statue next to his mother's of a man who looked every picture of a noble. The one who carved it made his face gentle, yet severe. It reminded me of Jon's own, in a way, "And my father in all but blood, Eddard Stark. Beheaded because 'e discovered the adultery and schemes of King's Landing and was betrayed for it."

"Is this... everyone in your family who died in the War of Five Kings?" I felt like I should whisper, surrounded by all these statues of the dead.

He closed his eyes for a moment, face still smooth and weirdly calm, "Depends on your definition of family. A lot of people died then. Still do sometimes; the attack on Sansa's proof enough of that."

Jon's grip slackened and I slipped my arm out, "Jon, is this what you wanted to show me?"

"Yes," Jon hesitated, "... no." I looked away when he turned to face me, unable to stand the full weight of his eyes again, "There's a lot of bodies that aren't 'ere. People I cared about who died and their bodies were thrown in pyres or unmarked graves. Only ones here with bodies are my mother's and Rickon's. Catelyn, Robb... my father, one of the women I love... there's nothing. I wanted you... just to see this. So you knew why I am the way I am. I've outlived so many, and it's... easier to imagine losing more than gaining anything."

The first hint of emotion broke through his calm facade. It was sadness, the kind that never leaves a person. The kind my mother had, etched into her face my whole life, "I-I think I get it."

"No, you don't," Jon reached up and undid the clasp of his long cloak. He rolled up the thick, hefty thing and placed it on the ground by his mother's statue. When he reached for the ties of his gambeson, I stepped back, "You don't listen to words, Synne. It's something I... admire in you. You don't take them at face value; but you do trust what you see, right?"

"Jon, what are you doing?" For a moment, the thought crossed my head that we were alone down here. Not even servants would dare come into the Stark crypts without express permission. I was a woman, untrained in defending herself, alone with a man much larger and stronger than I. But I threw the thought away with a shake of the head. Jon wasn't like that. He was an honorable sort, unlike my... grandfather.

Yet when Jon removed his cloak and reached for the hem of his tunic, I panicked, "Stop, Jon! I-I shouldn't see you like..."

But the words trailed off when I saw what lie beneath the fabric. The flesh of Jon's chest was as alabaster as the rest of him, and all finely tuned and strong from decades of training. Lean, muscular yet flexible. But if it was just the chest of a beautiful man, it wouldn't have effected me so much.

It was the scars.

His chest as littered with them. Deep lines, some white and some pinkish, some raised and some indented, marred the smooth flesh. But the lines weren't thin, like those from a slash. A few were, to be sure, but as Jon stared at me with those bottomless eyes, a sort of horror dawned on me. A good many of the marks were too thick and too deep. The kind someone only got from something going through flesh, not merely slicing it. And they were everywhere.

"Oh... oh my-"

He was already putting the tunic back on, the cloak following as I sat there in dumb shock. Jon sighed, "Tyrion told you what happened to me. I told him you would understand better seeing it yourself. You don't put much stock in words."

So what Tyrion said earlier was true, "You were... killed."

"By my own brothers of the Night's Watch," He hadn't fastened his tunic all the way, and pulled down a portion to show one of the deeper scares, "This one was from my own steward. Some of them didn't agree with my bringing the Wildlings south of the wall. They led me away under false pretense and... ran me through with their blades."

I drew in a sharp breath. We were going to the place where Jon died. Tomorrow, "Your brothers?"

Jon stepped up, less than an inch from me, "I want you, Synne Sand." I stopped breathing, "For all the reasons I've already said and more. Good people are hard to find in this world. People I trust, and even fewer that I have ever..." He swallowed, thickly, raising one hand to place softly against my cheek, "Admired."

A knot twisted in my stomach. I wanted to lean into his touch. I wanted to so badly, "Jon, we can't-"

"We can," Jon's other hand went to my other cheek, now cradling my face in his hands, "I am only asking you give it a chance."

I tore my eyes from his own, slipping my hand between his and my cheek. I held Jon's hand, examining each knuckle with my thumb. They were so much bigger than mine, even though both showed signs of work. I had small hands and thin fingers, but even I had callouses from farm work. Less obvious after all these months, but they were there.

"Well then," I raised his knuckles to my lips, laying the digits softly against them. I didn't move away for a long moment, dimly aware that Jon had stopped breathing. Then I met his eyes, lips still ghosting over his hand, with a small, shy smile, "Your hands are cold."

"They always are," Jon leaned down at the shoulder, resting his forehead against mine. His smile was more sure, almost... coy, "Will you warm them, my lady?"

"... We'll see, your Majesty."

Author's Note:*cackles manically* You thought I'd give you a definitive yes or no, didn't you?! AHAHAHA!

Review Replies:

UmiNight Angel Neko: Tyrion DOES seem like he'd be a good dad, because he makes the mistake of generally being a good person in the GoT universe xD

DianaDy: Well, I mean... *points above*

Lorena: I've got other ones too you can read while you wait!

x XRoweenaJAugustineX x: It's a typo, thanks about Tyrion, and her name is pronounced "Sin", Anglo-Saxon origin, meaning "Gift of the Sun". And yes, I try to balance things so she doesn't come across as anti or pro-Sue. Going too far in either direction is just... boring.

LordRraine: I always update... eventually. xD

bfireworks5: I'd like to think she's being practical. Trust me, her eventually becoming Queen is NOT going to go over easily with everyone.

Desert: Possibly. I'm trying to keep things semi-vague with a lot of the characters since we don't know exactly who will survive the final season (like, it throws a HUGE wrench into everything if Daenerys is Azor Ahai and not Jon and Jon ends up dead and she survives or both die ). Like, if you notice, I have 100% said that Jaime is dead though Tyrion sorta implies it. So maybe with some, maybe not others. Tormund in particular is really up in the air, because last time he was seen was when Eastwatch got rekt and he was kinda there in the middle of it all sooo... good chance he's dead or will be soon. Of the three, I'd be most likely to have Brienne live because she just seems like the most likely to have lived.

Everyone else: Thanks for the reviews xD