Jon III
"So let me run through this again: you got a letter from your baby sister telling you that there is going to be this big, fancy party for your older brother, and that's all it takes to convince you to go back to a place that, from what I can tell, you hoped to never see again? I know you have a soft heart, but that is a bit much even for you."
"That is a bit of an oversimplification, Serana," said Jon as he re-took stock of his room to check what was left, "and I am not soft-hearted."
Serana's eye roll told Jon exactly what she thought of his denial, "Tell that to that orphanage you fund. I wonder, did you send medicine and sweets with this month's care package, or just money and clothing?"
"Just because I display human decency to orphaned children, doesn't mean I have a soft heart. Besides, ever since I killed that old hag, I feel responsible for them. Plus, Maven hates being shown up; so when I make lavish donations, she does too, and the children benefit all around. Hand me that pouch, please."
"Fine, fine. But I still say that going out of your way to bring the orphaned children you find during your travels to Honorhall is the mark of someone with a soft heart."
He only smiled back at his friend. She had arrived three days ago, and he had spent those days trying to get her up to speed on the courts she would have to traverse. Thankfully, Jon had been keeping a journal full of the names of all the nobles in Skyrim, their families, bits of background, and if they could be trusted to act as allies. He also kept notes on the various issues that would likely pop up in court and how to handle them :
"What is all this stuff anyway?" she asked, gesturing to the various chests around the room.
"Well, this one—" Jon motioned to the large chest at his feet that he was nearly finished packing, "is gifts for everyone when I get back to Winterfell. Two for Robb, a smaller one for when I arrive, and a bigger one for his nameday, and one for everyone else. Well, actually, Lady Stark and her eldest daughter are getting a shared gift. I also have a few small things to give out if I need to, like if my uncle comes to visit."
Serana looked up from where she was sprawled lazily on his bed, and propped her head up with one hand, peering at him with her burning crimson eyes. "You know, before yesterday, I don't think you ever mentioned that you had a second sister. I mean, I knew about feisty little Arya, you've talked about her often enough, and you've told me about the other ones: Robb, who was your best friend, rival, and constant companion all in one. Bran, already a little adventurer who loved climbing things and dreamt of being a heroic knight. Even baby Rickon, wild and prone to biting those that upset him. But I don't think you ever said anything about Sanda."
"Sansa," Jon corrected, feeling slightly guilty when he realized Serana was right. "We were never close, at least, not once she learned what a bastard was. She is the one who took after her mother the most," he recalled as he gave Serana a small, what-can-you-do smile.
"Yet, despite that, you're still going out of your way to give gifts to people you hate. Sometimes you really can be a pushover," growled the centuries-old vampiress, her eyes glowing even more intensely.
Jon shook his head as he crouched by the chest, arranging the boxes that each held a handpicked gift so that they would all fit properly, "It's not like that. I could never hate a girl for looking up to her mother. Maybe it hurt whenever she refused to acknowledge me, but hate? No, I could never hate Sansa. Lady Stark, maybe I hate her a bit during my darkest moments. But, even then, I never wished for any misfortune to befall her because of how much it would hurt everyone else."
Jon never knew what hate was in Westeros; there were times he thought he did, but it had been the hate of a child. Perhaps he had known anger and sadness, perhaps he had known loneliness and the hopelessness of self-loathing. But he hadn't known true hate .
No, that was something he had learned in Skyrim.
Hate wasn't for a naive child or her cold mother, it was for the Thalmor, for Elenwen and Ancano. It was for Harkon, whose lust for power drove him to forget the love he should have had for his family, and for Mercer Frey, whose greed and ambition led him to betray oaths he had taken, and those who had trusted him. It was for the Silver Hand, who stole all the years two good men had left. It was even for Lemkil, an old farmer who channeled pain over the loss of his wife into cruelty directed at his daughters. For them and many others, their deaths brought only sweet dreams to Jon's mind.
Above all else, hatred was for Alduin.
When Jon cared to be honest with himself, he knew was tired of feeling so much hate.
Serana stared at him, quiet for a moment before finally saying, "You are a better person than I am, Jon Whitewolf."
Jon shrugged. "No, I don't think so. I really don't have much to complain about. As far as even noble bastards go in Westeros, except for maybe the ones in Dorne, I was extremely lucky. I was recognized, lived in a castle, had an excellent education… I should be grateful. It's not like Lady Stark ever actually hurt me or wanted me dead. She just wanted to protect her children."
Serana caught his wrist and gripped it tight, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Just remember, my father absolutely doted on me when I was a child, and still handed me over to Molag Bal, and then he was willing to use me to ensure the completion of his precious prophecy. Growing up, I was closer to my mother than anyone else in this world, but she still was willing to use me against my father and lock me away for centuries without any plan of ever letting me out."
Jon felt a chill shoot through his spine. "What are you saying?"
Serana's grip was cold and unnaturally strong on his wrist, yet the tone in which she spoke was even more so. "I'm saying that you should never doubt the amount of cruelty that a parent can possess, especially if they believe it is justified."
It took Jon a moment to comprehend what one of the people he held closest to him was suggesting, and when he did, he still could hardly believe it.
He pulled himself from her grasp, almost angry now. "Serana… No, no, Ned Stark would never harm me! One, he is too honorable, and two, he swore he'd always protect me. Despite how conflicted my emotions about him are, I know that to be absolutely true. As for his wife, well, unless Lady Stark has learned to kill people with a glare, then any dirty looks I get from her will be just that, dirty looks with the occasional passive-aggressive comment; and I've spent enough time around Maven Black-Briar that I know how to deal with those."
But Serana, in a frenzy now, shot up from the bed and seized him by the shoulders, "You don't know that, Jon! Five years changes people, it certainly changed you, so who knows what it did to your family? Your father, you said he wants you to come home for good, right? He could— he could try to lock you away when it comes time for you to leave! And his wife, what if she sees you coming back as a wealthy man and a strong warrior as a threat to her children, and tries to poison you? Or— or—"
"Hey, I'll be fine," Jon soothed, trying to pacify both her and himself. "No one at Winterfell would ever try to hurt me, you don't have to worry about that. And it's not like I'll be going alone."
Now it was Serana's turn to shake her head, "There is no way for you to be sure of that! You don't understand, I can't— Ugh, I swear, the thing I hate most about you is how overly trusting you are!"
"What? I'm not overly trusting!" Jon wasn't sure why that, out of all things, pissed him off, but it did.
What happened next surprised him. Upon hearing his angered retort, Serana stopped her near-hysterical ramblings, looked at him blankly for a moment, and then burst out laughing, flopping back onto the mattress. Jon stared at her, riggling with laughter on his bed, incredulously for a moment before crossing his arms, "Care to let me in on the joke?"
Serana struggled to stop laughing for a moment, gasping for...breathe? Eventually, she was able to regain some level of composure. "The idea that you aren't overly trusting, is the funniest thing I've heard all my life."
Jon scowled. "I don't know what you mean."
She let out a giggle more akin to a little girl playing with her dollies than an ancient, pure-blood vampire. "Jon, you're someone who went to Dimhollow Crypt while in service to the Dawnguard, and upon finding a sleeping vampire girl with an Elder Scroll strapped to her back, decided not only to NOT kill her, but also to escort her halfway across the country back to her home, which was also filled to the brim with vampires. All because she asked you too."
Any anger or irritation faded in Jon's heart as he smiled. There was a good reason that Serana was fit snugly against Jon's heart, warm and ever-present. "Well," he said, a touch of teasing in his voice, "I had to help you, if I didn't you would have just followed me around until I broke down and did as you asked."
Serana chuckled at his jape, reaching up to tug softly on one of the braids that decorated his hair before moving her hand down to brush her icy fingertips along the scar that curved around his right eye. "Jon—"
He closed his eyes and hung his head, "Serana, please, I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"Okay, fine, as long as you answer one more question."
Jon thought about this for a moment; on one hand, he really didn't want to answer any more questions, he had more than enough of that in the past several days. But on the other, he knew Serana rarely let go of something once she set her mind to it, and this was probably the best deal he was going to get out of her. So he nodded and braced himself for her inquiry.
"This Ned Stark, the man you called father growing up, how do you feel about him?"
Jon winced and turned to start folding clothes, not wanting Serana to see his face, "He raised me, provided for me, and protected me. He loves me and I love him, but, as it turns out, finding out you've been lied to your entire life can make things complicated."
Serana snorted, and began flipping through the pages of the filled journal he had given her. "You're talking to the queen of the complicated family relationships here, Jon. Hopefully, your family issues don't end up with the same resolution mine did."
Jon took that opportunity to try and steer the conversation away from his family drama. "Speaking of that, how are things going with your mother?"
Serana hummed slightly as she pondered the question. "Good," she said, in a slow, cautious way. "She doesn't regret what she did, exactly, but she does regret hurting me. We're trying to get used to each other again. It's been nice. We're even working on restoring my mother's old garden, and it's coming along wonderfully. Maybe once you get back from your little trip home you can come see it?"
Jon froze, as much as he cared for Serana and enjoyed spending time with her, Valerica still absolutely terrified him. It had been nearly two years since they first met, and he was now fairly sure that Valerica no longer hated him, and that she maybe even trusted him to a degree, but he doubted she would ever like him.
"We'll see," he offered.
Serana nodded and continued. "It's hard, though, trying to rebuild a mother-daughter relationship after all that time and pain. So, for now, we're working on building a relationship as equal partners, as colleagues working towards the same goal."
"And what goal is that?"
"Trying to reign in what is left of the vampire population of Skyrim. You see, while my father was head of the Volkihar Clan, which were some of the first vampires to ever be in this land, he wasn't exactly the king of the vampires the same way Elisif the Fair is the queen of Skyrim. But he was old and powerful, a vampire lord, so his word had a lot of power over the smaller, independent clans. Plenty of vampires were just normal people before they were turned, and even afterward still hope to live as normal of a life as possible," Serana explained.
"Most end up going mad, though, because they don't know how to manage their new hunger and abilities; there isn't exactly a vampire training school they can go to. Most of them end up falling in with the more violent clans because those tend to be the more visible ones, while the peaceful ones tend to stay as hidden as possible, and they don't really have anywhere else to go. My father pushed these clans to go out and wreak havoc whenever possible, to attack settlements and travelers. This usually ended up creating more new vampires, and thus the cycle continued. Mother and I are hoping to try to control, or, if necessary, cull these clans. As well as trying to help new vampires learn to manage their...condition. Isran has even, tentatively, agreed to work with us."
Jon's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, truly? That is a miracle in-and-of itself; the pair of you have a noble goal to work towards. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help."
Serana smiled at him, but didn't say anything else. As Jon continued to pack, they enjoyed each other's company in silence for quite a while. Eventually, Serana broke it though. "You're leaving tomorrow then?"
"Aye, the ship is sailing out at dawn. Adelaisa says it will take about six weeks to reach Braavos, where we will dock for three days, and then about a week from Braavos to the Northern City of White Harbor. From there we'll have to travel on land to Winterfell, which, as best as I can recall, could take a week or two, depending on the weather. It will be a long journey, but we'll arrive there within a few days of Robb's nameday. Factoring in the time we'll be staying in Winterfell, and what the ship and crew will need to reset and restock, we'll be in Westeros a month at the most before starting the journey back."
"Wow, it's been a while since you've been on that long of a trip. Are you ready to go?"
"Almost, I need to pack away a few last things and run some errands, pick up a few orders. Do you want to walk with me, stop for luncheon perhaps?"
Serana looked at the bright sunlight that peaked out from behind the closed curtains of a window, and made a face like a child present with particularly disagreeable boiled vegetables, "No, thank you. You go do what you need to, I think I'm going to take a nap."
"That is fine, I'll see you at supper. If you need anything, remember to just ask Jordis."
Serana waved her hand in agreement, and without warning began stripping off her sleek vampiric leather armor while Jon fled the room in shock. He'd finish packing later.
"Mister Jon! Hey, Mister Jon!"
Jon stumbled when heard the loud greeting, nearly dropping the wrapped bundle of arrows he had under his left arm and the case of Evette's spiced wine (he was lucky enough to get some bottles from a fresh batch) he had under his right. He turned to see a familiar sight; the young Nord twins, Malka and Malko, both with sandy brown hair and bright blue eyes, rushing towards him, dodging around the legs of other pedestrians.
When they skidded to a stop in front of him, nearly tripping over each other, Malka smacked her brother across the back of the head and scolded him fiercely. "You skeever-butt, you're being rude! You need to address him properly! You've got to call him Thane Whitewolf, or Great Thane. This is why Mama does trust you to watch the counter at the shop."
Malko scowled and rubbed the back of his head. "C'mon, Cheese Brain, he doesn't mind me calling him Mister Jon. Do you, Mister Jon?"
He couldn't help but smile. "Of course not, Malko, though some might not feel the same, so you should take care to always be polite when addressing someone. Now, what can I do for the two of you?"
"Welllllllll, Malka and I saw you passing by the shop, and we were hoping you'd have time to tell us a story from one of your adventures. Then maybe we could all get a little snack."
Two identical innocent smiles shined up at him.
' Sly little beasties .' Jon was undeniably fond of the children that lived in the city, and on the days when he found the time, it wasn't an uncommon sight to see the legendary Dragonborn playing a game with some of the local children, or telling them some tale or other. In fact, he was so fond of them, that he could usually be talked into buying each child a sweet or two. Sometimes Jon wondered if they actually liked him, or just liked the treats he gave them. He still almost always ended up giving in to their pleads though.
"I'm afraid I don't have the time today." Their faces fell but perked back up when he continued. "But you see this stuff I'm holding, well I still have some stops I need to make, and I'd rather not have to carry it all at once. So, if you two agree to deliver this stuff to Proudspire Manor, I'll pay you both five silver septims each. Do we have a deal?"
The twins both nodded eagerly and held out their hands. Being the children of a widow candle maker, they never went to bed hungry, but Jon doubted the two ever got much pocket money either. Jon, however, had plenty to spare. "Alrighty then, let's see, Malko can carry the wine because he is strong and sturdy, while Malka can carry the arrows because she is careful and steady. Now off you go and think of something good to spend that coin on."
With two more smiles, the twins hurried off to complete their assigned task while Jon turned back to his; he still had two more stops he needed to make. It was a beautiful day in Solitude, the sun bright and warm while the air was crisp and cool. Birds twittered and chirped from the roofs and treetops, and flowers scented the air. Jon just had to take a moment to bask in it all. The war had left many unhealed wounds, and Jon had been forced to make decisions that still kept him up at night, but seeing the peace, the reunited families, and renewed abundance of food and resources made it all worth it.
The doorbell of Radiant Raiment chimed above him when he entered, and at the counter Endarie looked up from her book at him with bored eyes.
"The Hero of Skyrim, come to grace my little shop with his presence," she drawled.
Jon gave her his biggest, most obnoxious smile, "Bad day, Endarie?'
"Oh, no more so than usual. Thanks for asking. I suppose you're here for your order? Let me grab it for you."
A nod of the head and Jon was left alone with his thoughts again. It had been a week since Arya's letter had arrived, and every day since had been busy with preparations. First, he needed to secure transportation. That had ended up not being as difficult as he thought it would be, as it turned out the East Empire Trading Company had a ship scheduled for Braavos heading out soon. So Jon was able to use his favor with the company to secure a spot for Enzo, Ghost, and himself, especially once Jon had promised to help them try and establish a trade deal with some merchants in White Harbor. The manifest officer hadn't been exactly happy about the idea of a giant direwolf on board until Jon had shown him how he could use magic to shrink Ghost down to the size of a pup, and all were satisfied. Aside from Ghost, that is.
Then Jon needed to get his affairs in order. First he sent out letters to all the different jarls, in addition to Lleril Morvayn and Adril Arano in Raven Rock, letting them know he would be out of the country for about five months, and that he had appointed Lady Serana to stand in for him at court. Then he sent similar letters to the other organizations he was a part of and told him that, until he got back, to ask Serana if they needed help. The Greybeards had also gotten a letter. He considered sending one to The Blades as well, but ultimately decided against it. They hadn't had many kind things to say to him ever since he refused to kill Paarthurnax. It had hurt when the organization he helped to rebuild turned him away —he had grown very fond of Esbern, and respected Delphine greatly— but what's done was done.
No one had taken the news of him leaving, even temporarily, very well, but agreed to work with Serana since Jon had vouched for her. And, between both of their notes, Jon had no doubt she could handle everything court life could throw at her. After that, Jon had to figure out the issue of money. Since he was fairly certain no one in Westeros would take Septims, but nearly everywhere valued precious metal and gemstones, he had Rayya bring up a fraction of what he had hoarded at his house in Falkreach Hold, along with some of his weapons and armor.
Finally, there was the little issue of packing. First had been the gifts, which went in one chest, and the gold and silver bars, which were packed in a second with a pouch full of loose gems. In a third, there were his armor and weapons. It had been difficult deciding which of his vast collection he should bring. He clearly couldn't travel without them, but which ones should he bring, and which ones to leave? Jon had eventually decided to bring both his ebony and dragonbone weapons sets: matching daggers, swords, and bow, along with a decent amount of the appropriate arrows. In addition, Jon also decided to bring Mehrunes' Razor, and on a whim, Dawnbreaker. He also settled on taking only two sets of armor, one light, and one heavy. That all went into another chest.
In a fourth one, Jon packed away a supply of potions, alchemic ingredients, and a small travel alchemist table that Quintus Navale had given him as a gift. While all his chests had both a steel lock and personal magick one as well, on this one he took particular care as to the quality of them, as he didn't want anyone rifling through it in Westeros.
A fifth, smaller chest would hold the different wines, brandies, and meads he would be taking with him; Jon had no intention of going the entire trip without his favorite drinks. In the last, second largest chest was his clothing. Now, Jon had plenty of clothing, and was planning on taking some of his older articles, but the prideful side of him decided to get that at least a few new outfits were needed. Which was why he was in Radiant Raiment now.
"Here is your order; it's not exactly our best work, you hardly gave us adequate time to work on such a large order, so we had to alter some of our preexisting items. But they're all made to your specifications: obviously of fine quality, but not overly ostentatious, and nothing with gray wolves for some asinine reason."
Jon took the large bundle of cloth from the Altmer seamstress with a grateful smile, "Thank you, Endarie. I know you and Taarie had to work double-time to get this ready."
Endarie shrugged. "Oh, we did. But it's alright, we got enough coin out of you to make up for it."
"Damn right you did," Jon grumbled sarcastically under his breath. It was true that the price of his new clothes had been quite high, although when he had seen it, he hadn't even blinked.
An upward twitch of the lips let Jon know that, despite her haughty tone and words, she enjoyed his patronage. Endarie may hate everyone and everything, but she hated him slightly less than others in the city. Especially after he arranged for the deed of the store to end up in the hands of the sisters with the proper changes made to the document. Gods, it was a good thing that Gisli enjoyed sabotaging her own brother.
"I'll make sure to tell Taarie that; she is going to be so disappointed she missed seeing you."
Jon shuddered slightly. "After all those extra 'measurements' she took, your sister has seen enough of me to last a lifetime."
That comment actually got a laugh out of Endarie, and Jon left the store with a wave. His last errand of the day was a stop at Angeline's Aromatics, which had actually begun to produce perfumes, scented soaps, and hair ointments alongside regular potions again after the end of the war. He just needed to pick up some supplies for the trip, but ended up hanging around for a bit, chatting with Vivienne about her recent engagement to Sorex Vinius, and helping sweet old Angeline move some heavy boxes. After about an hour, he said goodbye and headed to the Winking Skeever for a bite to eat, tossing a gold septim to the beggar Noster Eagle-Eye, who nodded his head in thanks.
Jon ducked around the old drunkard Octieve San, turning down the man's invitation for a drink that Jon would undoubtedly end up paying for, and sat at the bar. Corpulus Vinius looked up from the shelves he was stocking, "Afternoon, Jon. What can I get you?"
"Good to see you, Corpulus. I'll take whatever is freshest for the meal, and you can surprise me with the drink. How is your family, by the way? Are you all excited about the wedding?"
The innkeeper uncorked two bottles of tart ale, one he gave to Jon and one he kept to himself. "This wedding is gettin' to be a big expense. Don't get me wrong, I am happy enough about it, Vivienne is a nice, respectable girl, and I'm glad to have her as part of the family, not to mention I finally have a chance at some grandbabies. I was startin' to think that would never happen."
Jon raised a questioning eyebrow. "What about Minette, you don't think she'll have children?"
He gestured to the man's daughter who was busy delivering food to other patrons. Now blossoming into young womanhood, Minette's long braided blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and gentle smile clearly showed that she would be a truly beautiful woman in a few short years. It caused her father and older brother no small amount of grief.
"Children? That girl is never leavin' the inn if I can help it. In fact, excuse me for a moment," Corpulus growled as stalked over to where Minette was giggling at something a handsome young soldier had said.
Jon chuckled at the sight and turned to his meal, a nice bowl of steaming venison stew, with some fresh bread rolls. He was nearly finished when someone took a seat on the stool next to him.
"So, I hear you're going on a bit of a trip." Pantea Ateia, in addition to her beautiful voice, was a comely woman of about thirty with perfectly arranged blonde hair, meticulously tailored fine clothes, and always smelled sweetly of perfumes. But damned, if her smile wasn't one of the most devious he had ever seen.
"And just how did you hear that?" Jon asked his former teacher as he finished the last of his ale.
"Sailors talk, dearie. Especially to a beautiful woman. Why? Is it supposed to be a secret?" Pantea inquired, as coy now as she was strict with her vocal lessons.
Jon shrugged. "Not exactly, but I also prefer that it wasn't public knowledge either. I am concerned that someone may take my absence as an invitation to start trouble. The public story is I'm just checking out my estates, getting some space from the city, and still readily reachable."
The woman nodded thoughtfully, "That makes sense." Then, with a sly smile, she leaned closer, "Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. I won't tell anyone, I'll even wrangle those loose-lipped sailors tonight if you promise to write at least two new songs for me while you're away."
She got up and sauntered off before Jon could give a reply, so instead, he just groaned, left payment on the counter for Corpulus, and then headed back home. Women were still a confusing creature to him after all this time, and he had no desire to spend the last Skyrim evening he would have for almost half a year trying to understand just one of them.
The next morning came all too quickly, and as the first rays of sunlight were beginning to break through the darkness, Jon found himself riding down to the docks with Enzo, Ghost, Jordis, and Serena in a wagon filled with their luggage.
Jon sat up at the front of the wagon, just behind the driver, with Serana and Ghost, while Enzo and Jordis sat in the back, eyes closed as they tried to get a little bit more sleep.
A hand curled around his wrist, drawing his attention to Serana. "Look,I want to say I was sorry about blowing up yesterday. I didn't mean to insult your family, it's just... The idea of you being so far away scares me, Jon. What if something happens to you and I'm not there to help?"
The current lack of sunlight meant Serana had forgone her hood, and that Jon could see her glowing eyes more clearly than ever. It had been a shock to realize that he was the only one who could see vampires' red eyes, and that everyone else saw them as normal if 'hungry'. But it did explain how Sybille Stentor was able to keep her little secret from public knowledge.
He took Serana's hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze, "I'll be fine, Even if for some reason I'm not able to defend myself, I'll have Enzo and Ghost there to protect me."
"And what fine protection I'm sure he will be." Serana lovingly scratched behind Ghost's left ear, and the direwolf showed his appreciation by dropping his massive head in her lap, closing his eyes in contentment. "Still, I wish I was going with you."
"While I'd never say 'no' to friendly company, showing up with a beautiful woman would probably be more problematic than helpful. Besides, I need someone I can trust to deal with my affairs here. Now, do you remember what I told you about dealing with—"
"Ignore all of Jarl Black-Briar's snotty comments, and be as unbearably friendly as possible, as nothing will annoy her more. While I can't do anything to her, I can destroy Hemming Black-Briar in the training yard in front of the entire court. Also, I'm not allowed to eat Jarl Siddgeir if he tries getting a bit handsy after too much beer. However, if I get a chance to stomp on his foot and make it look like an accident, go for it. I got it, Jon; I am nothing if not a dedicated student."
He couldn't help but grin widely. "You're going to be great at this. You sure you don't want to take over my position full-time?"
Serana chuckled and slapped his shoulder as the wagon came to a stop at the docks. He hopped out with Ghost at his side, while Serana shook Jordis and Enzo awake.
"Jon, you've arrived right on time!" He looked up to see Adelaisa Vendicci striding towards him, a smile upon her stern, handsome face, and a group of dockworkers following behind her who started unloading the wagon to take the chests on board.
He greeted her warmly with a brief hug and a firm handshake. "Good to see you again, Adelaisa. I didn't realize you'd be leading this trip."
"I wasn't originally scheduled to. I was just assigned to make sure the ship got loaded and headed out safely. But I pulled some strings and got put on this expedition, using my own ship to boot! It will be a long one, so we put you and your companions in a private room. It's not exactly luxurious, and you'll have to share it, except you'll have some space to yourselves."
"I am sure I have slept in far worse places, thank you for going out of your way for us," Enzo assured the Imperial ship captain, shaking her hand in greeting. "I am not one for sitting around either, and you sure know that Jon is not either, so feel free to put us to work."
"You must be Enzo. I've heard much about you, and I may just take you up on that offer. Anyway, we'll be taking off soon, so don't wait too long before getting on board," Adelaisa informed them before she left to go oversee the loading of the last of the cargo.
"I think I shall go look around the ship, and make sure our luggage gets to the right cabin. Jordis, would you care to accompany me?"
"Lovely idea, Sir Enzo. I wish to investigate the ship's security measures."
The Sword-Maiden turned to Jon and hugged him tightly. "Be safe, my Thane, keep your blade sharp, and your wits about you."
Jon hugged her back. "I'll be back before you know it, Jordis. Just hold down the fort for me while I'm gone, okay?"
Jordis released him from her embrace, bowed deeply, and then followed Enzo onto the ship, leaving Jon alone to say goodbye to Serana.
"I've got a little something for you. I was planning to give it to you later, but now is the best time," Serana said softly as she back into the carriage pulled out a wooden box he had missed before, not noticing it shoved among all the other boxes and chests.
Jon stared at it, uncertain. "It's not another animal, is it? I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the last one you gave me."
Serana's last gift to him had been a giant predatory bird with a wingspan of ten feet, orange-red feathers, and absolutely lethal talons and beak. He was fond enough of the bird, and after learning to warg it as he could do with Ghost, it made for a crucial ally when scouting out an area or hunting. That being said, when the winged terror got bored, it had a bad habit of dive-bombing random people and scaring them half to death by stealing their hats. That was why Jon tended to leave the bird at Lakeview Manor in the care of Rayya, who dubbed the creature Sweet Roll, or Sweetie, for short.
Sometimes, he wasn't sure what went through that woman's head.
Serana rolled her eyes, and shoved it into his hands. "Just open the box, Jon."
He did so and inside, cushioned by dark blue velvet was a bowl carved from dark stone, and decorated with silver runes.
"It's enchanted, my mother helped me make it," Serana explained. "If you put a letter in the bowl and then burn it, the letter will appear in the bowl's twin, which I have. I figured this would allow us to send messages back and forth more easily."
Jon was touched. "Thank you, Serana. This— this is amazing , the best gift I have ever been given. I don't have any gifts for you, but I was hoping you could take care of this until I return."
He pulled Aetherial Crown out of his knapsack and handed it to her. Serana took it gently like it would shatter into a million pieces if she squeezed too hard. "Jon...you love this thing! It's so powerful, you can't leave it behind!"
Jon reached out, tightening her grip on it. "That is exactly why I need to leave it in the hands of someone I trust, and I can't think of anyone more suited to keep it safe than you. Plus, there is no way I could get away with wearing something like this in Westeros."
Serana seized him by the front of his tunic. "If you don't write to me at least every other day, I will track you down and haul you back by your hair."
Then she pulled him into a close embrace. The cool, smooth skin on the side of her face rested against his own bearded and scar-decorated skin. Her chest, quiet and still, pressed against his rapidly beating one.
They stayed like that for quite a while, despite Jon knowing he needed to board the ship. But in the arms of someone he'd do anything for, staring up at the sleeping city of Solitude, Jon felt at peace. He felt like he was home.
Next Chapter: Pirates, the Iron Bank, attempted muggings, the Manderlys, and, GASP, more conversions.