STRANGER ━ Jon Snow

SIXTY FIVE

Maia chuckled and nodded her head as Davos sauntered away to the boat. She glanced to her left, watching Jon say his goodbyes to Daenerys. When Maia saw him then look to her, she viewed down at her feet, feeling like she had when she first met him. The sense of innocence and strength, for they both never knew of the storm that would brew deep within them for each other.

He was standing in front of her then, looking down at her slightly, due to her being only a half inch shorter. Her eyes viewed up and connected with his. Jon cupped her cheek with his hand, staring down at his lady with awe. He saw the sadness in her eyes as she said, "I wish you good fortune, Your Grace."

Jon pressed his lips roughly on her own, unaware that both Tyrion and Daenerys, and almost the rest of the crew, were watching. Maia would always enjoy the sweet taste of ale that always lingered on his lips, for it made him so much more desirable. In any case, she desired him at all times.

When he broke off the kiss, he leaned his head on her own. Jon rubbed the tears away from her eyes. Maia tried sucking in her cries the best she could, looking at anything but him. "You can't die, you hear me?" She asked, to which he nodded. "You better come back to me. If you die, I ... I'll kill you in the afterlife all over again. Don't think that I won't."

Jon grinned slightly. "I know you would."

Maia's eyes lifted, and suddenly, her grip on the back of his head grew tighter. "Jon, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time now."

"Your Grace," Davos called, "we have to go!"

Jon turned his head, gesturing for them to be silent, before looking back at Maia. "What is it?"

"I ..." Maia searched his eyes, seeing only confusion. He furrowed his brow at her expression. She was at a loss for words. Suddenly, everything she wanted to say was gone, like she was choked up. This was Maia's last chance. She needed to say something, but her throat was closing up –

Gendry exclaimed, "Your Grace!"

"Maia," Jon whispered, "I have to leave. Just tell –"

"I'm with child. Your child."

Jon stood up straight, his mouth hanging open. It was as if everything in the world stood still. Maia watched him with tears brimming her eyes. He only realized what was happening around him when Davos shook his shoulder and began pulling him from behind. Jon still stared at Maia's face blankly as Davos dragged him to the point.

They pushed the boat off to the sea, but Jon was sitting in the front, still staring at his lady. She was pregnant. She was going to have his child. He was going to be a father. Jon Snow, a bastard and father.

And as Jon faded into the fog lingering over the water, his eyes found Maia's on the shores so far away. He still stared. He stared at the woman who was carrying his bastard, and he felt nothing but fright.

•••

Jon's thoughts were consumed by Maia Sanders, even though he knew there were more pressing matters as they arrived at Eastwatch days later. The last thing he should be thinking about was coming home to his lady and holding his child in his arms. He needed to focus on the raid, but that was so hard now.

When he arrived at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, Jon expected a quick hello from Tormund before rounding up men for the raid. The last thing Jon expected was what Tormund gave him: more men sitting below in the depths of Eastwatch's dungeons.

Jon followed Tormund down the castle's stairs, walking towards the prisons. "The scouts found them a mile South from the Wall," the wildling explained. "Said they were on their way here."

Jon approached the barred cells, peeking inside to see a group of men laying on the stone floor. He lofted a brow in confusion at Tormund, for he did not know these men in the slightest. The rest of Jon's company followed to look inside, and it seemed as if Gendry thought these people were familiar.

The first man Jon noticed was a person he hadn't seen since Winterfell. A big man, with half his face burned and scarred. "You're the Hound," he said. "I saw you once at Winterfell."

Sandor Clegane sat up from his rather uncomfortable bed. Tormund nudged Jon, "They want to go beyond the Wall too."

"We don't want to go beyond the Wall," Beric Dondarrion said from the corner of the room. "We have to. Our Lord told us. The Great War is coming."

Gendry shook his head. "Don't trust him. Don't trust any of them." He advised, walking close to the bars. "They're the Brotherhood. The last thing their Lord told them to do was sell me to a red witch to be murdered."

"Thoros," Jorah then called, causing the man in question to sit up. "I hardly recognized you."

"Ser Jorah Mormont," Thoros of Myr grinned. "They won't give me anything to drink down here. I haven't been feeling like myself."

Tormund's eyes went wide. "You're a fucking Mormont, like the last Lord Commander."

"He was my father," Jorah defended.

"He hunted us, like animals."

"You returned the favor, as I recall."

Beric sat forward. "And here we all are, at the edge of the world. At the same moment. Heading in the same direction for the same reason."

"Our reasons aren't you reasons," Davos quipped.

"Doesn't matter what we think our reasons are," Beric said, standing up. "There's a greater purpose at work, and we serve it together, whether we know it or not. We may take the steps, but the Lord of Light –"

Sandor scoffed. "For fucks sake, will you shut your hole? Are we coming with you or not?"

"Well, that depends," Jon replied, looking to the group. "Is this all of you?"

Beric then smiled from ear-to-ear. "Oh, you're missing the best one." He gestured with both hands to the cell right beside there's, clouded in darkness. "The one you all once served. The widow to Robb Stark. The Queen Who Lost the North and sister of the Brotherhood waits in just the next cell."

And the the bars began to shake. Jon looked to his left, seeing the eyes of a woman he never thought he'd see again. A girl he hadn't seen since Winterfell, who had once loathed Robb Stark, but apparently, married him years later. This woman had never been ordinary, but a legitimized bastard, and Jon had always related to her on many levels.

Freya Greyjoy approached the bars of her cell, hanging her arms outside of them. "Fancy seeing you again, Jon Snow." She said with a smirk. "Now, will you let me out of here? I'm quite tired of killing Lannisters and Freys. Killing the dead seems much more fun."