and so the young wolf fell in love with the wild rose.
THE FLOWERS OF WINTERFELL
BOOK ONE OF THREE
[ synopsis inside! ]
multi-povs & canon divergent
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The Kingsroad near the Trident, 298 AC
Jon Snow
The conversation had been playing over and over in Jon's mind for weeks now. His thighs ached from constant riding, his muscles seized nightly no matter how he tried to ease the stiffness of his limbs out, and he was in a constant state of wonder at the new landscapes that passed him by, yet all he could think of were the words that had been spoken to him the night before the king's party departed from Winterfell.
He walked into one of the small rooms in Winterfell's Great Keep set aside to house those who worked for the Starks. Old Nan sat in her rocking chair, a familiar pair of knitting needles rested in between her fingers as she wove the wool dangling from the wood nimbly into shape. Already, a large patch hung below the needle in a dull grey colour, indicating the progress the woman had managed to make so far that day.
The old woman did not look up as Jon entered — did not even spare him a glance — and when she spoke her voice held that steely strength he had only ever heard before when she cornered him down in the crypts.
"I know why you are here, boy," Old Nan said. Her face betrayed nothing as she watched the movement of her hands. "You have come seeking answers. Answers that I cannot give you."
"Why?" Jon had asked, his mouth running away with itself before he even realised what he was doing. He blushed sheepishly and fought to steel himself again. If he wanted to learn anything from the woman, it would not do him any good to insult her.
Old Nan finally looked up at him then and gave Jon a sympathetic smile. Her voice returned to its usual frail whisper and the hardness seeped out of her eyes as she took him in. "It is nearly time. But it is not time yet. You must be careful being so open in your search for information."
Jon's face had worn his confusion openly as she finished speaking, his brows pulling together with the effort. "I don't understand. Time for what? Why do you keep saying that?"
He did not understand what was happening. First he had encountered the old woman in the crypts — no, first he had been offered to squire for one of the greatest knights in the realm, seemingly out of nowhere. Then, he had met Old Nan in the crypts. A few weeks later, Bran had fallen from one of the oldest towers in Winterfell, leaving him stuck in the north and permanently unable to walk. And finally, Jon had found that strange chest in his room one evening despite it being physically improbable for anyone to have put it there whilst his doors were locked.
If Jon did not know any better, he would think he was going mad.
"I cannot tell you," Old Nan said ruefully, a sad twist tugged at her lips. "You have the chest?"
