Clandestine. 》 Tyrion Lannister 《

Runaway

It had been three days since Galena talked to Jon. She wouldn't even look at him if she could help it. Every time she would enter a room he was in, or anytime he would enter a room that she was already in, she would leave. She had never been so furious with him. How could he keep something so important from her? How could he conspire such a repulsive thing? She wanted to confront him, but she knew if she did, it wouldn't end well. They were both stubborn, and they were both hot-headed.

She sat at the top of the hill with Ghost, gently stroking his neck. She shook her head at herself. At first she didn't even want to touch the animal because he was Jon's. She wanted nothing to do with that man, but she quickly realized that it wasn't Ghost's fault. He didn't know his master was a brutish oaf. She wouldn't punish the animal for wanting affection. And besides, Ghost was the only bit of home she had left; she would always give him the scratches he yearned for.

She stared out over the ocean, pondering once again how she could book passage home. She felt like a prisoner all over again, and it was Jon who was her captor. She sat there, day after day, fantsizing about her triumphant escape, but she could never bring herself to actually go through with it. She had something, someone, at Dragonstone that she knew she would never be able to replace. She wanted him to go with her, but she knew that if he did, he would be in grave danger. She could only imagine the reward that came with his head. In a way, she resented him. Tyrion was the one and only reason she wouldn't leave.

"What are you doing up here?"

She turned to him, and so did Ghost, emitting a low snarl. She shushed the animal and sent him off.

Jon stared at his direwolf as he strode across the grass, flabbergasted at the reaction he drew from his faithful pet. He looked to Galena for clarification; to make sure he wasn't imagining what he just heard. "You must really hate me if Ghost can feel it. He has never growled at me before."

"Maybe he's finally starting to understand what kind of person you really are," she rebuked through her clenched teeth.

She could see Jon's muscles tensing in his neck. He curled his hands at his sides. "I'm trying to protect you, Lena!" he barked in frustration.

"From what?!" she challenged loudly. And then it happened. Everything that had been building up inside of her came pouring out. "Are you protecting me from Tyrion? From the one person who I feel comfortable with?" She stood up from her seat and converged on him at an alarming rate. "You should be the person I go to when I'm sad and lonely. You should be the one I run to when I'm frightened. You should be the person I want to talk to, and the one I feel closest to." She poked his chest ferociously. "But you're not! And do you know why, Jon?"

She waited for an answer, but nothing came. All she received was a surly grunt.

"Because I don't trust you, Jon."

She forced herself to ignore the frown that stretched across his face. A few days ago she would have felt horrible for causing it, and she still did, but she wanted him to have a taste of his own medicine.

"Lena," he breathed. "You don't mean that."

She took a step back. "Of course I do," she promised. "If you don't trust me, then why should I trust you?"

He looked at her with regret in his eyes. "Why would you say that?"

"Tell me, cousin," she softened her voice. She hated the way she was speaking to him, but she needed to finish. If she didn't, she didn't think she could ever stand to be in his presence again. She hesitated. "How's Sansa?"

"Sansa?"

She nodded as she sat down on the boulder once again. "Yes. Sansa. Your little sister, my little cousin. I hear she's the Lady of Winterfell now."