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Chapter 2: Decisions, Decisions- Jon II

Notes:

1) While a lot of Jon's adventures in Skyrim will be referenced, or implied in passing dialogue or internal monologue, I don't intend to give any play-by-play. If anyone wants clarification on the events mentioned just ask in the comments and I'll try to answer.

2) I'll be explaining more about why and when Jon left Winterfell in future chapters, but what you need to know is that Jon is about 19 now and has been in Skyrim for five years.

Chapter Text

Jon II

"Thane Whitewolf? Thane Whitewolf, are you feeling alright?"

A hand at his elbow jolted Jon from his thoughts and reminded him where he was. "I'm sorry, what?"

Lady Anisgeth Summerwind looked at him with questioning sea-green eyes, "You've barely said anything all morning, are you ill? There has been a fever sweeping through the eastern part of the city."

"Oh? I'll have to send down a supply of potions to treat that. But, yes, I simply have something on my mind this morning. Thank you for your concern, my lady, have I missed anything important?" Jon rubbed his forehead, the contents of the letter in his pocket weighing heavily on his mind. Even with the loud arguments (and personalities) of the Council Chambers, it was all too easy for Jon to lose himself in his own thoughts. 

"Only if you find Bannerbold and White-Ash bickering yet again to be important."

"Gods, what're they arguing about now?"

A chair creaked when its user rocked back in it, as White-Ash answered himself answered Jon's question. "I'm just saying, why should I be responsible for increased guard patrols on your lands? Come on, Lord Fireburn you're with me on this, right? What about you Thane Merdekla? The more resources that go towards guard patrols, the less there is to go to your orphanage and widows' house."

If the man was looking for allies, he'd have to look elsewhere, because all he found in those two were dirty looks.

"You wouldn't be responsible for anything, White-Ash, Lord Blacksand would be," growled Lord Lembur Bannerbold. He was a kindly-faced man whose usually high amounts of patience were being severely tested by his argumentative 'colleague.'

"Oh yes, let me just inform my nephew. I'm sure a boy of three winters will be quite up to the task," sneered Herck White-Ash.

"Gentlemen, you are acting like squabbling children," snapped Thane Bryling as she glared at the two men from across the table. "Sir White-Ash, you are your nephew's legal guardian until he comes of age. Therefore, you have the power to make decisions for the people of his land. But, as hold guard patrols are paid for by the yearly budget, it is out of your hands. So kindly shut your mouth. Today is the final session of the Grand Court, and we still have several issues which need to be dealt with. I, for one, do not want to be here all night."

"My dear Bryling, do you have some other engagement to attend? Perhaps you're planning on meeting with someone?" Thane Erikur asked in a sickly, sweet voice, malice shining in his eyes.

There were few people in all of Skyrim that Jon found as purely irritating as Thane Erikur. Every word the man said set Jon's teeth on edge; he had spent the better part of the past two years slowly prying Erikur's claws away from the shops and properties of the capital city, secretly paying off the debts of certain shops, and making sure the deeds to others 'went missing' from the man's private office. He was slimy, self-important, and viciously ambitious with his mind fixed firmly on Elisif's throne. As she had no children or spouse, tradition dictated that she pick a member of her court as her heir. Though she had yet to make an official choice, let alone publicly announce an heir, it was well-known that Erikur desired the throne and would do whatever he could to get it.

So, needless to say, it filled Jon with no small amount of glee to give the man a sharp kick to the shin, and pretend it was an accident when he got a vicious look from his fellow thane. Falk Firebeard caught his eye, and the small smile on both his and Sybille Stentor's faces told him they both knew and approved of his actions.

High Queen Elisif herself stood up, lovely and regal with her circlet gleaming in the light, "Actually, I believe now would be a good time to break for luncheon."

There were some rumbles of agreement mixed with the sliding of chairs as members of the court exited the room. Jon got to his feet but waited a moment for everyone else to leave. He stretched and pondered if he should head home to eat, or go to the nearby restaurant which boasted the most delicious baked chicken in all of Skyrim, when Elisif stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Jon, I was hoping you'd join me for a private meal."

Elisif's private study was a cozy room with large windows designed to capture as much light as possible, while the twin fireplaces kept the room comfortably warm. Fur pelts, rich tapestries, and exquisite paintings even to Jon's amateurish eye decorated the walls, which were lined with shelves containing different books and assorted curiosities. Servants had already laid out on the small table a spread of meat, bread, fruit, and cheese, along with a light cider and a pot of tea when they arrived. He could smell the latter was his favorite blend.

"I'm glad you decided to join me, Jon."

"My pleasure. Besides, I could hardly refuse."

Elisif laughed lightly as she passed him a cup of tea, "You could always refuse me; you've earned that right."

"That doesn't mean I would." The warm liquid soothed the tight knots in his shoulders. Tea wasn't a common drink in Skyrim, the plants tended to be too delicate to grow in such a harsh land. So that meant it needed to be imported and that Jon had to stock up whenever he visited Solitude. Though he could usually get some when he was in Riften if he went through some less-than-honest channels.

Yes, he was an important member of society now, supposed to uphold the law. However, starting from the very bottom had left him very familiar with the flaws within society, and had little patience for those very laws which were cruel or senseless. 

"I wanted to thank you, Jon."

"For what, my queen?" he asked in surprise, sure he had not done anything of note lately.

"For being here. I know that sitting at a table and being forced to listen to the squabbles of nobles is not how you'd prefer to spend your days. But your counsel is invaluable to me. These past few years have been so difficult, and you've been such a rock for me."

Jon felt his heartache for the beautiful young widow who had lost her great love so terribly, and had the responsibility of leadership thrust upon her shoulders so abruptly, and during such a turbulent time. 

"It has always been my honor and pleasure to serve you. I won't lie, I'm much more comfortable out in the wild with a sword or bow in my hand than I am debating politics with lords and ladies. But I certainly won't argue with having a soft bed and a hot bath every night. The jarls of this land have been good to me, better than they needed to be, so I'm happy to help them in any way I can. If that means offering my counsel, or scowling at uppity guardians, then so be it."

Elisif covered his hand with hers and gave it a warm squeeze, "It makes me happy to hear you say that. So does it mean you'd be willing to answer a question?"

Jon looked at her, puzzled, "Of course, what would you like to know?"

She paused and bit her lip, clearly debating on how she should phrase the question, but eventually she sat up, squared her shoulders, and locked eyes with him, "Tell me what is troubling you. Don't try pretending that nothing is wrong, I know you far too well to believe such a lie. You've been distracted all morning, you're paler than normal, have bags under your eyes, and you keep rubbing your face, which you only do when something heavy is on your mind."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Elisif squeezed his hand again, "Please Jon, you've helped me so much. Let me help you."

After a moment, Jon sighed sadly, and dug out from his breast pocket the troubling letter. He handed it to Elisif, who visibly read it over once, twice, three times before sitting with him in silence for several painfully long moments. Eventually, she softly offered, "I've never heard you speak of your family. Honestly, I assumed you were an orphan as the songs say."

Jon couldn't help but chuckle a bit, "I don't know the man in those songs. I guess when people don't know the facts, they make up whatever lie sounds the prettiest. Bards I'm friendly with certainly don't help matters, what with all the ridiculous tales they enjoy spreading with their songs. But, truthfully, I never mentioned my family before, because I hoped to forget them, to start a new life. I did not leave on good terms, and when I arrived here, things quickly became so different for me. I became different; I was not the person that they knew. But still, a few years ago, I decided to send them a letter so that they at least would know I was alive.

"It was difficult, but I sent it with an East Empire ship; they don't stop in Westeros directly, but they do make the occasional stop in the city of Braavos, which is fairly close to the Westerosi port city of White Harbor. From Braavos, Adelaisa Vendicci made sure my letter got on the proper ship to get it to White Harbor, and then, eventually, to Winterfell, where I was raised. After my family got the letter, everything was good, for a while. We sent these grand, long letters back and forth, probably spending a small fortune, and I would tell them about my life here. I didn't tell them about… well, I told them I was happy and doing well, that I had made a name for myself.

But nearly two years ago now, Lord Stark wrote to me and asked that I come back to Winterfell, told me that was where I belonged, and he'd 'find something for me.' I got... just so angry when I read that. He knew I had found somewhere I could be my own man, and he wanted me to return to a place where my very existence was subject to scorn? How could he ask that of me? I wrote back and said some, well, some rather unkind things. I haven't heard from anyone in Winterfell since, not until this morning when I got that letter."

Elisif's delicate brow was furrowed in thought, clearly trying to process all she just learned. "This…Arya, she is your sister?"

"My youngest sister. She was always my favorite, and we were very close growing up. If Robb, who was older than me by less than fifty days but my twin in all but technicality, or Ned Stark, the man who raised me, had asked me to visit, I could say no without much of a problem. But with her, I don't know. I want to see her, but I can't go back to being The Bastard of Winterfell. I just can't face that kind of judgment and scorn again. I—"

"When Torygg first married me and brought me to Solitude, I faced plenty of judgment and scorn," Elisif said, cutting him off. Her face was that careful blank she always used when dealing with a tricky situation. "I was but a simple common girl, the daughter of a tavern keeper and a washerwoman; I had no business being married to the new High King of Skyrim. I could have been his beautiful mistress perhaps, but certainly not his wife. With all those eyes on me, I did the only thing I could."

"What was that?" Jon asked, raising an eyebrow at the abrupt change in conversation.

Elisif drew herself up proudly. "I proved myself. I learned to be the perfect queen and, in the meantime, I enjoyed watching the people who scorned me in one breath be forced to bow before me and kiss my hand in the next. Now look at me: Jarl of Solitude and then High Queen of Skyrim in my own right. 

"You said it yourself, Jon, you are not the same person who left your home. Now you are the Great Thane of Skyrim, the Slayer of Alduin, one of the greatest warriors alive, a respected scholar, rich beyond measure, and your tongue has the power to bring men and women to their knees. So what if the ignorant and the uninformed judge you? They know nothing ; you could crush them in a second, so why should their foolhardy beliefs matter to you? Besides," she stood, gripping his shoulders tightly and gave him a fiercely dark grin, "don't you want to show them just how well you've done for yourself?"

Jon grinned up at her, "You better be careful, less that mask of innocence and naivety slip in front of the wrong people."

A softer, yet no less conspiratorial, grin graced the Queen's face, "Well, let us hope Erikur and White-Ash never look too closely."

Jon rolled his eyes. Surely politics in Westeros weren't this convoluted.

The main bathhouse of Solitude was a large sprawling stone building with low ceilings, thick walls, and massive underground fires that heated the bathing pools. It was also a public building and free to use by the citizens of the city. Well, the two main baths (segregated by gender, so that modesty may be kept by those who worried about such things) were free to use, though toiletries were not provided. The other services the bathhouse offered were done so for a price. These services included smaller private baths, use of the steam room, herbal soaks, and Jon's personal favorite, massages.

"Is there anywhere you wish for me to focus on, sir?" asked a comely Breton youth as he drizzled warm scented oil onto Jon's back.

"My neck and shoulders, if you don't mind."

The first time Jon had been taken to the bathhouse for a massage, he had nearly fled the building in embarrassment. He was shyer back then; the thought of lying face down on a cushioned table, nude aside from a towel wrapped around his waist, while some stranger rubbed him down with oils terrified him. But time marched on, Jon grew up and more comfortable in his own skin. Having friends who partook regularly also helped, allowing Jon to see the activity as normal and socially acceptable. Now it was one of his favorite ways to relax, to the point Jon even had his favorites..

"Of course, sir."

Over the course of the next hour, Gilellen worked his body free from the many, many knots with his talented hands while Jon's mind mulled over the talk he had with Elisif. She brought up so many good points, it was a firm reminder of how she could be such a persuasive speaker when she needed to be. Persuasive enough to bring the entirety of her court into hand, and bring the final session to a peaceful, productive close. After popping loose one final knot in the small of his back, the bathhouse worker began to wipe the excess oil from Jon's body. "Are there any other services you require from me tonight, sir?"

"No, not today. I have an herbal soak scheduled and I'd like to get to that." Jon stretched his arms upwards so that Gilellen could wipe the last drizzle of oil from his rib cage and the shallow of his left hip.

"That sounds lovely, sir. Allow me to escort you there."

The herbal bath was already prepared by the time he arrived in the private room; towels and soaps were stacked neatly beside the bath. A small low table held a plate of pastries and sliced fruit, as well as a bottle of fine wine. Jon tested the water and while it was perfectly warm, he still needed to make a bit of an adjustment.

A jet of fire stirred up water until it was nearly boiling and then, only then, did Jon sink into the steaming tub with a satisfied moan.

"That cannot be healthy," the occupant of the second tub remarked.

"What can I say, I like my baths hot," Jon fell back into a relaxed sprawl and closed his eyes. "So, Enzo, how did the tracking exercise go?

The Redguard man chuckled darkly, "Oh very well. First, Aldis and I had Ghost run off into the forest and let the new recruits try to track the beast down. Then we made them run off while Ghost and I hunted them while they tried to throw us off their trail. It was amusing."

Jon gave the older warrior an incredulous look, "Tell me you didn't have Ghost maul any of the losers."

"Oh no, of course not. Just a few nibbles here and there; barely any blood at all. Besides, your beast was well paid for his work, five whole rabbits. He was enjoying them in the Manor's courtyard when I left to come here."

Their friendship was an odd one, possibly because Enzo had never intended for both of them to survive their second meeting. When a warrior clad all in ebony had approached him outside Warmaiden's, demanding that they do battle, Jon had been unsure but agreed to meet the man at his camp all the same. The pair's battle had lasted nearly half a day, one of the fiercest Jon ever had, until they collapsed to the ground side-by-side. Both of them were mortally wounded, throats raw and bloody from too many shouts with too little time in between, and neither had enough magicka left to cast a healing spell.

Jon had one healing potion left and, on a whim, he gave half of it to the other man. It wasn't a particularly powerful potion and the small amount they each drank was only enough to prevent them from bleeding out in the snow. With that little bit of strength regained, the pair limped their way back down the mountain to an inn where they collapsed a second time. It took them three days to reawaken.

Once they did, the man informed Jon that since he had robbed the warrior of his chance to finally make it to Sovngarde, he would now be staying by Jon's side until he had another chance. Then he introduced himself as Enzo Vlast. Jon hadn't exactly been thrilled with his new companion at first, but he quickly grew attached to Enzo, as a young boy would to a skilled, worldly uncle. It helps that the frequent sparring matches they had pushed each of their skills to new heights.

"What is it about this letter that has you so unnerved?" The flickering candlelight glistened against the water droplets on Enzo's dark skin, and the older man's deep eyes bore into the side of Jon's head.

"Oh my gods , did Jordis tell you about that?" Jon threw his arms up in frustration; good intentions were nice, but he was sick of being asked if he was alright.

"Of course she did. She is your housecarl, which means it is her job to protect you from threats, even if that threat is your own stubbornness. Now, tell me what the letter is about, or I shall shear off all your hair while you sleep."

With that threat, Jon sunk down into the water, a scowl on his face. He'd never be able to brush off Enzo, they were too similar in nature. Plus, Jon had spent enough time with him to know that he absolutely would follow through on his threat.

"Remember when I told you about Arya? Well, she was the one who sent me the letter; she wants me to come home for a visit. Robb's nameday is in a few months and she wants me to be there."

"Do you want to go?"

"No — Yes — Oh, I don't know! It doesn't matter anyway, I'd never be able to arrange it."

"Why not? Do not pretend you have not the coin."

"I have far too many duties that need attending to. I have to be in Whiterun in three weeks for Jarl Balgruuf's Grand Court, not to mention my responsibilities to the Companions, the College, and everyone else!"

"You already have others that handle the day-to-day running of those groups while you are busy with other obligations. Why is this any different? Besides, you can just select someone to stand for you in court; you would not be the first noble to do so."

Jon scoffed, "So I suppose you'll be volunteering for that position?"

"Gods, no, I would be a terrible politician."

"You say that like I am a good one."

"Do not sell yourself short; those honeyed words of yours have turned the minds of many. But what about that vampire girl you follow around like a pup? She's plenty tough enough to survive in a royal court. Maybe she will even eat a couple of the truly annoying nobles."

"Serana?" Jon paused, his brow furrowing as he contemplated what Enzo had said, "She's definitely got the mind to navigate court, and I trust her to act as I would. She also lives relatively close, I suppose I could send her a letter asking her to come by and — "

"Excellent, it is settled them. You get her here, and we will leave as soon as you make all the other necessary arrangements."

"What? Wait! 'We,' what do you mean by ' we '?"

"What do you think I mean? I am coming with you, of course." Enzo went serious again, "I told you, I have no plans to leave your side anytime soon. That includes going to your homeland. I will be there to protect you."

While warmth flooded Jon's heart, nonetheless he tried once again to dissuade Enzo, "I don't even know how we'd get to Westeros. I'm no sailor, I'm not going to just buy a ship and sail it myself."

Enzo relaxed once again, "Oh, I'm sure you will figure something out. You're a smart boy."

"Fine, I guess we're going to Winterfell then," Jon huffed and then sank completely under the water.

Later that night Jon was back in his bed, book in hand. It surprised him when he discovered how much he truly enjoyed reading. He had always been a decent student, and had enjoyed learning, but never considered himself the scholarly type. Except after spending time in Skyrim, studying all he could in hopes of finding something that would help him defeat Alduin, he had found himself reading everything he could get his hands on. History, war, politics, geography, language, alchemy, mathematics, poetry, and magic. He read it all, and even wrote some himself, and had amassed an impressive personal library.

But tonight he found that he couldn't concentrate. He was reading, or rather trying to read, A Game at Dinner, one of his favorites, and yet his attention kept wandering. But why? He should be content. Jon's bed was soft and warm; his belly was comfortably filled with roasted chicken and potatoes, apple pie, and Evette's spiced wine. His skin and hair were clean and fresh smelling from his bath. Even the pain in his muscles had stopped after the massage.

The answer was obvious and he needed to stop ignoring it. For what seemed like the hundredth time now, Jon read Arya's letter.

Dear Jon,

I had to send this letter in secret. Mother says we're not allowed to write to you anymore, she sent Bran to bed without supper when he tried to anyway. Father looks so sad whenever you're brought up these days, but he won't say why. Robb told me that Father said something that upset you in his last letter, and you told him you never wanted to speak to him again. Is that true? Because I'm sure he didn't mean to make you sad. When we got that first letter three years ago he was so happy, everyone was.

Well, nearly everyone, but even Theon smiled at the news. Now basically everyone is sad again. Sansa says we just need to forget about you but she says a lot of stupid stuff so I never listen to her. Robb and I have been telling Bran and Rickon stories about you, to make sure they remember you.

Bran says he dreams about you sometimes. In one of them you were climbing this really tall mountain and shouting at the wind to stop, isn't that funny? I can understand if you don't want to come live with us again, honestly, I wish I could come and live with you, but Robb's nameday is coming up, and there is going to be a big celebration so won't you please come and visit?

Love,

Your favorite little sister, Arya Underfoot

Jon wiped a tear from his eye, he missed Arya. He missed her spirit, her laugh, the way she'd hug him with all her might, and simply spending time with her. Even seeing the small mistakes and errors in her penmanship and spelling made Jon ache with love for his little sister. 

With a sigh, Jon put the letter away, blew out the candle on his bedside table, and settled back into the pillows to sleep. He had much to do tomorrow.