SUN AND SNOW

After another long, hot day of watching the tourney and the archery contest, it turned to another lengthy night of feasting and dancing and Jon Snow found himself reaching to refill his wine cup yet again. Wine wasn't his lover as it was to the Imp Tyrion Lannister; it wasn't his enemy as it was to the scowling Lord Stannis Baratheon either. It was more of Jon's…unwanted ally.

For the last four nights, rich Arbor gold and the sweet, fruity summerwine alternated at keeping Jon company. Tonight it was Arbor gold again. Jon had never drank over four goblets of wine at the most. If he was at Winterfell, he would have been only permitted a cup or two like the rest of his siblings. Half-siblings, a wily voice whispered in Jon's head. They're the trueborn children of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Lady Catelyn Tully of Riverrun while you are Lord Stark's bastard he had begotten during a war. The thought of his bastard taint depressed him further.

What am I doing here? Jon wondered for the sixth time that evening. Why did he even accept Lord Stark's invitation to travel to King's Landing with him, Lady Stark, Robb and the rest of the family? He should be at the Wall as he had planned years ago, not feasting in the Great Hall with the royal family and the other nobles and knights from all over the Seven Kingdoms. All the celebrations were in honour of thirteen year old Lord Robert of House Arryn's betrothal to Princess Myrcella Baratheon, King Robert's only daughter. It was a match suggested by Lord Stark, who was also the King's Hand, in an effort to bring the Vale back in peaceful terms with the crown and the queen's family, the Lannisters. It was also an attempt to lure Robb's aunt Lady Lysa Arryn (formerly of House Tully) – the mother of the young Lord Robert – out from hiding in the Eyrie.

Whatever Lord Stark said or did, it most certainly worked.

Craning his neck, Jon saw the king, a tall, fat man with a beard seated in the centre; on his left was his wife, Queen Cersei Lannister, a beautiful yet icy woman with golden hair and cold green eyes; on his right was his prospective good-son and the guest of honour, Lord Robert Arryn who looked more like a boy of nine than thirteen. On Robert Arryn's left was his widowed mother and Lady Stark's sister Lady Arryn, whose one beauty was the long, thick auburn hair that fell to her waist. Jon watched his father – seated a couple of seats away from Lady Arryn – immersed in a deep conversation with Lady Stark who had worry etched into her forehead and her lips forming a frown. At that moment, Lady Stark glanced over and her warm blue eyes met Jon's. They instantly turned cold blue. If I had my way, you would never have stayed at Winterfell, Lady Stark's icy eyes said. You'd never have been raised with my children, bastard. Jon slid his dark grey eyes away, yet he still felt Lady Stark's chilly glare blaze in his direction.

With a disheartened sigh, Jon filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon and sipped. Robb will be Lord of Winterfell one day, he mused, staring at the shimmering gold liquid in his cup. Sansa will be happy living in Highgarden as its lady for the rest of her life, bearing pretty children and singing them the southron songs she loves. Bran and Rickon'll be soldiers and loyal bannermen to Robb, perhaps founders of new Stark cadet branches as well. Arya…she might hate being the future queen but motherhood? She can always teach her future daughters to fight. As for Jon himself? He would remain what he always was. A bastard of the North.

"Why the long face, Ser?"

Jon jerked his head up. He clamped his gaping mouth shut as he stared at the speaker. It was a woman, a beautiful olive-skinned Dornishwoman of about five foot two. She had large dark eyes and her full lips curved into a charming smile. Her long, thick black hair fell into ringlets that tumbled to the middle of her back, and around her brow sat a band of shiny copper suns. As she moved closer towards Jon, the loose, flowing silks of orange, yellow and red samite that clung to her dark skin rippled like flames. On her thin fingers glistened rings of rubies red as blood, citrines and tourmalines orange as the sunset and golden beryls yellow as a cat's eyes. Around the lady's neck was a round orange pendant that bore the gold spear piercing the red sun of House Martell.

Uttering a soft laugh, the noblewoman gracefully sat down opposite Jon. As she gazed at him, she waved her hand and a servant hurried over, handing her a goblet. The smile remaining on her face, she poured herself some Arbor gold. Dazed, Jon watched the lady drink. To his surprise, she put her goblet down and made a face.

"Arbor gold." The Martell lady shook her head. "I should've known. Tastes like golden water; not as good as Dornish reds. Have you ever tried a Dornish red, Ser?"

"I am no ser, my lady," were the first words that escaped Jon's lips. He blushed as his pale cheeks grew hot. "My apologies my lady."

"You are no ser…" the lady contemplated. "Squire then?"

Jon arched an eyebrow. He was twenty two. A little too old to be a squire.

"I've met a man of forty who claims he was still a squire," the noblewoman remarked slyly. "You are not a squire then. Not a squire or a knight…yet you have noble blood. You look like a northerner," she added. "I must be correct assuming that, yes?" Jon nodded at her. "I am a northerner," he affirmed. "You are from Dorne." He swallowed as he noticed that the lady's smile turned from amiable to…to seductive. Twice he'd been backed into a corner by enticing women. The first was a serving girl who had hoped to wed him if he impregnated her, and the second was one of Lord Greatjon Umber's daughters who had, after too much to drink, mistaken Jon for one of Lord Stark's legitimate sons. Every time Lord Umber would come to Winterfell with one of his daughters – all three of them were tall, about half a head taller Jon – Jon would blush as red as a strawberry and hide either in his chambers or in the Library Tower.

"I am from Dorne," the lady agreed. She studied Jon for a moment. "You have the look of the Starks," she said decidedly. "Lord Stark's son?"

"Bastard."

"There's no shame in being a bastard. My uncle Oberyn sired eight bastards; I love all of them as if they are my trueborn cousins. Some of them are over there." She pointed to a long table near the dais where a number of Dornishmen were seated. Jon felt a pang of envy as the noblewoman gestured and named each Sand present. He wished he was just as welcomed to sit with his half-siblings as the Dornish bastards were able to sit close to their trueborn family members.

"Who are you?" Jon was eager to know the lady's name now. Who would be willing to be seen conversing with a bastard? She was Dornish and a Martell…

"Arianne Martell," the lady replied, her dark eyes never leaving his. Her alluring smile broadened. "Prince Doran's daughter and heir. I'm not surprised you northmen have not heard of me. What of you, Snow?"

"Jon. Jon Snow."

Princess Arianne leant forward. "I heard all northmen are cold and solemn," she said softly, drawing a circle on the back of Jon's hand with one of her slim fingers, "in life and in bed. Is it true, Jon Snow?"

Jon cleared his throat which had suddenly gone dry. "I…I…"

"Have you ever fucked a woman, Jon Snow?"

"A lady should not speak like that." Jon's cheeks were burning hot now. "My lady," he added rather hastily.

The Dornish princess laughed. "A lady should not speak like that," she repeated with a second giggle. She brushed a ringlet of black hair behind her ear. "Would it shock you if I tell you that I have always dreamed of making love with a northerner?" she breathed. "A solemn, sullen northerner such as yourself?"

"I…you…um…" Jon's eyes were wide as he babbled like an utter madman. Both of his clenched fists shook as he stared at Princess Arianne and listened to her smooth, honey-toned words. His heart skipped a beat as she squeezed his hand.

"Y-you should not be doing this my l-lady," stammered Jon. "Y-your husband will not be at all pleased that you are um…err…"

"Flirting with another man?" Princess Arianne offered.

Jon nodded wordlessly.

"My husband cares not." To Jon's horror, she nodded at Lord Stannis who was talking quietly – and reluctantly – to Sansa's good-father Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden.

"Your husband's the king's brother Lord Stannis?" said Jon, astonished. On impulse he pulled his hand away from Princess Arianne's. The last thing he wanted was for sombre Lord Stannis to catch him and arrest him, possibly even having him castrated like all the rapers were punished. Jon glanced around nervously. "Perhaps it will be best for you to ah, return to your husband?" he suggested.

Princess Arianne chuckled. "You northmen are so timid at time! Do you truly believe I am afraid of what Stannis would do if he discovers me sleeping with other men? We are both pawns wedded together to solidify peace between the Stormlands and Dorne. Why do you think us Dornishmen are here for? This liquid you call wine?"

"I do not think it is wise my lady…what if you…?"

The princess snorted. "You're worried you will impregnate me? I wouldn't be the first Princess of Dorne to birth a bastard. One of my ancestors had as many bastards as Uncle Oberyn had, perhaps even more. Stannis will not be pleased at me, but there's naught he can do." She flashed him a coy grin. "What do you say, Lord Snow?" She reached out and picked up a red grape from the bowl conveniently in front of her. Enthralled, Jon stared at her, unable to look away. She smiled broadly, revealing her pearly white teeth, before plopping the grape into her mouth. "Mmm," she said slyly, licking her lips. "These grapes are…delicious." She selected another grape. "You should know," she continued, her dark eyes glittering invitingly at Jon, "that I do participate in other much more…thrilling and exciting activities at night – not just flirting and…eating grapes."

Jon swallowed. He was finding it more and more difficult to distract himself from the enticing and beautiful Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne. It is the Arbor gold, he thought drowsily as he downed another cup of the delicious golden liquid. He had drunk a cup or two more than usual. Yes, it is the Arbor gold at fault. Jon had seen many attractive ladies before, but usually from a distance. None of them would speak to him – alone or in their little herds – or venture close to him. By the second day of festivities, Jon was convinced that everyone knew who he was – the honourable Lord Stark's bastard.

"Well?" breathed the Dornish princess, her hand snaking over and grabbing Jon's. "Do you want a princess in your bed…Jon Snow?"

The last two days of the seven days of celebrations flew by more quickly than the first four days. The nights…Jon's heart fluttered. The last two nights were the best of all. Well, the feasts were the same and he still ate alone, but afterwards…

Jon finally understood why his father's ward Theon Greyjoy, the heir to Pyke, enjoyed sneaking off to make love to a serving woman or a prostitute or whore so much. At first, it was shocking to know that Princess Arianne was knowledgeable in so many…pleasing and pleasurable activities that could last from late night to dawn. The first time Princess Arianne took Jon to bed, Jon could not stop grinning the next morning. That act caused a flurry of questions from his half-siblings…and their children.

"Why is Uncle Jon smiling?" five year old Elric, Robb's firstborn son with his lady wife Alys Karstark, had asked, his blue-grey eyes staring at Jon curiously.

"I am happy the festivities are nearly over," Jon had lied smoothly.

Elric then tilted his head like a bird. "Why?"

"I like the North better."

"Why?"

Thankfully Jon was rescued from answering…by the most unlikely of people:

Lady Catelyn Stark.

"Come children," said Lady Stark, slowly pushing Elric and his three year old brother Donnor away as she shot Jon a disdainful look. "Let's go and find your aunt Sansa…you'll like playing with her children better…"

Jon rolled his eyes when Lady Stark had her back to him. Of course she wouldn't want her grandchildren associating with their bastard half-uncle. However, Jon felt happy and even Lady Stark's scornful stares couldn't ruin his mood. Perhaps Theon is right after all, Jon contemplated as his thoughts returned to the present. He couldn't believe he was in the slightest bit of agreement with Theon Greyjoy of all people. Maybe a drop of bliss does come from lovemaking. He reddened yet retained a more sheepish smile. He rarely made a grin or a smile, especially at King's Landing.

"What are you smiling about, Jon Snow?"

Jon turned and his eyes met Princess Arianne's again. Her eyes danced with mischief as she smiled at him. Jon could not help but notice that her gown – loose yellow silk with a jewelled girdle – was more revealing than the last. Her hair was tied up in a bun, but a single curl stubbornly refused to be pinned.

"Princess," said Jon, dipping his head.

Arianne laughed. "Princess? For the last two nights you called me 'Arianne'. All night I believe. I didn't realise we are on formal terms again, Lord Snow."

"I am no lord. I am a bastard, remember?"

To Jon's discomfort, Arianne Martell smirked. "You didn't mind me calling you that. I thought you actually liked it too."

Jon blushed. Over the last few days, he'd reddened more than he'd ever done over the last decade. Every morning Jon would pinch himself, urging himself to believe what had happened the night before was true. Princess Arianne Martell in his bed; what she done to him, what he had done to her…a delightful shiver ran down his spine.

"Festivities are coming to an end," he said casually.

"Indeed." Arianne nodded, her eyes not leaving Jon's. "A pity, is it not? I will return to Dorne while you leave for the North. You know, Jon, when I first came here, it was a sign to the king of Martell loyalty. I never thought I would find a lover…a northern lover. You are my first and probably last northern lover, Jon Snow."

Jon made a noise. "Your husband will kill me if he finds out." To his surprise, Princess Arianne laughed. "Kill you?" she murmured with a smile. "That would be a blessing."

"A blessing?"

"Stannis doesn't kill. He demands justice. Jon Snow, he won't kill you if he discovers it. He will have you arrested and castrated. Perhaps even send you to the Wall."

Jon's mouth dropped open. "Castrated? You could have told me about it before I…" He faltered. "Before I…"

"Before you agreed to sleep with me?" Princess Arianne supplied.

Jon nodded, his eyes darting around nervously in case the grim-faced and unforgiving Lord Stannis Baratheon was to appear. The last thing he wanted was for the solemn lord to catch him even talking to his wife. Jon always failed to remember that Arianne Martell was a married woman – and a mother! It was also very easy to forget that she was seven years his senior. Theon Greyjoy had once mentioned – after a night in Winterfell's finest brothel of course – that making love with an older woman was exciting.

It was astonishing that Jon found himself agreeing with Theon's comment the second time in a few days. Usually Jon would never agree with Theon's remarks. In fact, at times Jon would disagree with Theon for the sake of it. That was when they were younger and more rash and foolish. Though Theon was now more an honoured guest than ward, he'd not changed in the slightest. Married to Dacey Mormont – now showing Arya some more tips in swordplay near the entrance to the Great Hall – Theon still enjoyed sneaking off a night or two to his favourite taverns and brothels.

Inwardly, Jon shook his head. Theon would always be…Theon. You will be naught but a bastard till the day you die, the nasty voice in Jon's head whispered.

"You are brooding, Jon Snow."

Jon blinked. "What?"

"You are brooding," Princess Arianne noted. "You have that long, brooding look. What is on your mind?"

Jon shook his head with a tiny smile. "Nothing. I was just…thinking. When I was a boy of fourteen, I considered taking the black. Even bastards can rise to positions of honour. My uncle Benjen is First Ranger and Starks and Snows have been in the Night's Watch in the past. I thought the Night's Watch was honourable. I was foolish back then. My father warned me that the sworn brothers were mostly criminals now and if I joined the ranks, I would forsake my family forever."

"You didn't join the Night's Watch."

Jon nodded. "I took Lord Stark's advice and waited. I went to Castle Black twice, as an interested guest. I realised that Lord Stark spoke the truth about the Night's Watch and I was so pleased I didn't choose to take the black so rashly."

"Have you considered knighthood?"

"Who will take a bastard like me as a squire?" Jon had in fact thought about becoming a knight twice – mostly when he was a young boy. Knighthood would solve the majority of his problems. He would have a small keep and some land and he wouldn't have to live under Lady Stark's contemptuous gaze again. That had lifted Jon's spirits. When Jon was a boy, Lady Stark disliked him; when he grew older, Lady Stark loathed him more; when Robb and Sansa started having children of their own, Lady Stark detested Jon even more. She probably hoped I wouldn't be at Winterfell when she had grandchildren.

Princess Arianne grabbed Jon's hand. "Squire for my uncle," she urged. "I promise he wouldn't mind that you are a bastard."

Jon frowned. Squiring for Prince Oberyn Martell in hot, sunny Dorne? That was quite unexpected. He had watched Prince Oberyn participate in the melee on the third day of celebrations and was impressed. Instead of wearing heavy steel armour like many of the other southron knights, Oberyn Martell, known as the Red Viper, had worn light armour, and chose to fight with a spear in the Dornish fashion instead of a sword, spiked mace or even a warhammer. At first Jon thought Prince Oberyn would be severely injured in the first hour, but to his astonishment, the Red Viper lasted until the end when he narrowly missed victory against one of the knights of the Kingsguard.

"He will take me?" questioned Jon uncertainly.

The Dornish princess nodded confidently. "I'm certain of it. Mark my words, Jon, that by the end of the year, you'll return to Winterfell as Ser Jon Snow." She smiled brilliantly like the sun's bright beam.

"Why do you want to help me?" Jon couldn't resist asking. In the past, all he received was pity and polite, yet insincere offers of aid.

"Why not? Dorne thinks of bastards as the product of love rather than deceit. Do you not want to see me again?" Arianne's smile grew coy again. "Come now Jon. I heard what Lady Stark thinks about you. Wouldn't you rather months of excitement and fun instead of months suffering under Lady Stark's loathing stare?"

"How do you know about Lady Stark?"

"I have ears, Jon Snow. You see…people talk. My cousin Tyene had heard from Oberyn who in turn heard from Willas Tyrell who was told by his wife the Lady Sansa that Lady Stark would be happy to hear Willas fathered no bastards and had no intention of doing so as she has a dislike for uh, you." Princess Arianne hesitated for a second. "I heard that Lady Stark approves of Prince Tommen as Princess Arya's husband too. Lady Stark must think Prince Tommen wouldn't have bastards."

Family, Duty, Honour.

Jon never liked the Tully words.

"You did drink moon tea didn't you?" said Jon, glancing around swiftly. A great deal of alarm shot through him when he saw Princess Arianne looking shiftily away. With a soft groan, Jon hissed. "Princess! Do you want to have a bastard? What will your husband say? He will be furious!" The thought of castration unhelpfully crossed his mind. "Please have a cup of moon tea," Jon begged.

"Jon!" Robb walked up to him, Lady Alys at his side with two of their sons. "Our father wants us to prepare to leave early tomorrow morning. Alys and I thought it'd be best to bid Arya and Sansa farewell. Sansa's not leaving for Highgarden until Arya gives birth so she is in no hurry. We will leave at dawn with Bran and Rickon…and my mother."

Jon's stomach turned.

A whole month of travelling in Lady Stark's company. Jon shuddered. He glanced at the Dornish princess who was murmuring a polite greeting to Lady Alys. Jon was not stupid. He knew even if he decided to squire for Oberyn Martell, he would not have the Dornish princess warming his bed every day – or any at all. Who knows? Maybe after a week or a month, or even a few days, Princess Arianne would forget about him during her hunt for another lover. However, a whole year without Lady Stark's detestable glower…

Jon's dark grey eyes met Arianne's. She smiled and nodded understandingly. Jon had made his choice clear.

He was going to Dorne.

This is the oneshot response for BigStevie's prompt (copied and pasted):

- Arianne/Jon Snow...Arianne has set her sights on Jon Snow at a holiday feast/party. Jon is only interesting in drinking away whatever recent sorrows the poor bastard is recovering from this time. Out of the corner of his eye he spots the beautiful dornish women approaching him and can only wonder what the gods have in store for him this time. Setting can be which ever you want.

I set the oneshot in 305 AC. BigStevie, I hope this matches what you had in mind :)

I found it an interesting pair to write about and took the opportunity to make Jon more...interested in women than I had done in my previous stories.

I also uploaded an appendix because I enjoy making appendices and though some of you might think me uploading one is lazy, it's more because I know how confusing reading oneshots in AUs/mostly AUs can be and an appendix can be helpful and also because as I already said, I like making them. This appendix isn't much different to the canon GOT appendix in Houses Lannister and Greyjoy, just letting you know :)