Breaking Oath (Jon Snow x Reader)

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AN: Just a note to all you wonderful readers; I normally write a little author's note at the beginning of each of these.  It prevents the need to write separate author note chapters.  The only times that I typically do those are to announce a hold, requests being open or closed, things of that nature.

A lot of these may be rather long, unless they're simply fluffy. 

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You were once a beloved child of Lannister blood, yet once your younger sister was born, she was the favorite.  Knowing this, you held a great deal of hidden resentment towards you, but no one could actually blame you for it, nor would anyone truly know so. Cersie revered Myrcella, and eventually began to say that Myecella was her sole daughter.  For whatever reason, Cersie never seemed to give you the same attention, even in the very beginning of your youth - before Myrcella was even born. As she grew, she was simply a beauty to behold, and your existence grew dimmer with each passing day.  It wasn't the fact that you weren't a beauty - you were just old news, and Cersie no longer seemed to care about your existence. You wondered if that was simply the fact that your father was not Jamie Lannister, and that you were actually the daughter of Robert Baratheon himself.  There was only once that they truly laid together, and from what you found out later, you were a bit of an accident. Cersie never truly wanted you as a daughter, nor a daughter to share the same blood as your father. Though you were the only true heir to the throne, you were locked away while you watched your half siblings grow from a distance.  Occasionally your Uncle showed, a couple months out of each year, to see you. Your father cared, yet he did not have the strength to stand up to Cersie, so you became the dirty seceret of the throne. In actuality, it should have been the others that would have been the dirty little secrets, since none of them held your father’s blood in their veins, yet they were passed off as his children, and to an extent even he believed that they were.  Cersie left very little room for doubt in his mind, despite the fact that their first born was never spoken of. There were rumors occasionally spread about your existence, but no one did look into it. More than a few times Little Fingers had inquired about you, seeing you around the castle while he was snooping.

Robert Baratheon would never let his only true daughter be taken into the whorehouse, though.  Your father was a very kind man, and so was his best friend. Those were the only two that really paid you any mind, and Ned Stark was forced to keep your existence hushed as well, due to no one wanting to enrage your mother.  That didn't mean that he hadn't mentioned in passing to his wife the troubles that you faced. You were in fact the dirty little secret that your father did manage to take to his grave. Though you were not able to be at his side in his passing, which you woefully regretted, you knew it was happening.  Awaiting in your room, you noticed the door spring open and a familiarly calming face entered, shutting the door quickly.

“Y/N,” Ned Stark whispered, pulling you aside in a matter of urgency.  His face was spattered with grief, particularly in his deep brown eyes.  Seeing him like this, you knew it was time. Robert Baratheon, your father, had without a doubt passed.  Your father and he did manage to have their differences, but the love between them held strong through it all, and he had become as an Uncle to you.  “I need to get you out of here.” Ned spoke fast and low, his eyes often darting back to the far door that could be opened any moment and trounce the secrecy of your meeting.  Though you did not receive many visitors, you both knew with your father’s passing that it was only a matter of time for your mother to burst in with her falsified tears and manipulation.   “Your father has passed, and I cannot protect you longer.”

Your heart pained, as though he was just gone, you missed him dearly already, and more so you were being told to leave the one place you knew.  Though it hurt, you knew what he could no longer protect you from, and though it should have cut deeper, it didn't. You were used to your mother's distaste, and knew now that your father was gone, you were the one standing in her way.  “I understand, but where?” you asked, speaking as hushed as he, anxiety surfacing in your chest. You knew nothing of outside of King's Landing, and barely anything of outside of your own room.

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