Game of Thrones: Imagines and one shots. Book three

The bastard and the orphan - Part 1 - Jon x Reader

For BrittneyLyons2, I know you asked for a one shot, but I couldn't get in all that I wanted, so I hope that this first part is a good start.

Jon sat in his chair and stared at the fire. The wind whistling a mournful tune, as it whipped around the ancient stones of Castle Black. The sky beyond the windows of his room, was dark as pitch, the once King of the North sure that he had never seen a night like it before. That the old gods must be covering the moon and stars in a blanket, so thick, that one might fear that you would never see them again.

It was nights such as this that he hated the most. Nights like this that allowed his thoughts to go back. Back to a time before the Baratheon entourage had made its way to Winterfell. Back to a time, before his world had fallen apart.

It wasn't so much that his thoughts were of Daenerys; he had done what he had had to do for the good of everyone. He had done the only thing that he could do; the only thing that was right. No, it was the others. All the others that he had lost, all the others that he would never get the chance to see again.

It wasn't that he didn't want to think about them, didn't want to remember; but it was just that the memories of the good times, would become overshadowed by the bad. Ned, the only man that he had ever thought of as a father, beheaded in Kings Landing as a traitor. Robb, the man that had been his brother, shot multiple times with crossbow bolts, before Roose Bolton had struck the killer blow. Rickon shot in the back by Roose's son, Ramsey. Ygritte mortally wounded by an arrow and dying in his arms. Jon sure that sometimes he could still smell the fire upon which her body had burned. And then there was Arya, Sansa and Bran, family that he knew that, even though they lived, he would never see again.

Yet there was one memory that was not tinged with as much sadness as the others. The memory of one person that could still really make him smile. And that was the one of (Y/n).

(Y/n)..........The granddaughter of the blacksmith that looked after the horses at Winterfell. She had lost her parents not long after she had been born, and she had been brought to the great northern castle after their demise. Jon was sure that he had never known a world without her. She was the same age as him and from the moment that he had stumbled across her, as the little girl had carried water for her grandfather, they had been friends. The bastard and the orphan. The two, the strangest of pairs; for whereas Jon was shy and quiet, especially around girls, other than (Y/n) and his sisters, the orphan was rambunctious and opinionated. Never letting anyone, be they smallfolk or lord, get away with doing or saying something that she didn't feel was right. Especially when it came to the likes of Theon. But somehow, the two had formed a bond. A bond stronger than any other that Jon had really ever had. He had found in the girl not only a friend, but oddly, the mother figure that he had never had. (Y/n) always there to look after him, despite how all old they grew, or how much Jon was teased by Robb and Theon. And then, as she had blossomed, Jon had found his mind drifting to other things. To wanting more than what they had had; the beautiful girl the first that he had kissed. And he was sure that she would have been his first, that he would have happily married her, but for his decision to take the black. Jon still aware that he was a bastard and could offer (Y/n) nothing. The thought that she deserved so much better, pushing him to make his way to the Wall. His goodbye to her, possibly one of the hardest that he had ever had to utter; and after that, he had never seen her again.

He had heard rumours; rumours from Sansa and Theon when they had found him after escaping Winterfell and Ramsay. His sister telling him they the blacksmith's granddaughter had not only fought against the forces of the kraken, but also the Bolton's when they had taken the castle. That (Y/n) had been locked up in the dungeons, Sansa fearing that she may have been flayed by Roose's bastard. Yet when Winterfell had been recaptured, Jon had been unable to find her. Some of the old servants that were still loyal to the Starks, informing him that she had managed to escape before Ramsay could wreak his revenge. Jon having to admit that he wasn't surprised; sure, that the resourceful orphan, would have had the keys to not only the manacles, but also the cell doors secreted about her person, before she had been imprisoned.

Since his exile, Jon had found himself thinking more and more about (Y/n). Finding his heart sinking at the notion that she might also be dead; that or she could even be married and living the life that he had always wanted for her. Jon knowing that it sounded awful, but he wasn't sure which scenario was worse. Yet either way, it would mean that he had lost her forever. That just like al the others that he had cared for, he would probably never see her again.

Suddenly the sound of a horn rang out. Jon sitting bolt upright at the noise that rung out. A knock to his chamber door, taking its place. One of Jon's men making his way into the room, as he was bid enter.

"What is it...........?" Jon enquired, as the rather rough and scarred man looked to him.

"A rider, and their coming towards the castle." The man replied. Jon reaching for his cloak before following the man to the gates, to greet this rider.