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Seeds of the Northern Kingdom	By : Sigil_of_House_Throckmorton Category: A through F > A Song of Ice and Fire Views: 99145 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: The setting and characters of the series A Song of Ice and Fire belong to George R. R. Martin. I make no profit from this work, and will remove it should I be contacted by GRRM or any of his legal representatives.

Chapter List
- 1-Val
- 2-Alys
- 3-Lyanna
- 4-Meera
- 5-Wynafryd
- 6-Wylla
- 7-Sansa
- 8-Arya
- 9-Epilogue: Daenerys
- 10-Omake: Dany
- 3
- 4
- 5
Jon stared ahead as the First Keep continued to rise into the sky. The builders were now using stone from the broken tower nearby to finish out the walls. Wun Wun still bumbled about, but there was no easier way for lifting the stones to where they were needed.

Galbart Glover. Roger Ryswell. Edmund Blackwood. Beren Tallhart. Howland Reed. Even the red woman, Melisandre. All of them were great individuals who paid the ultimate price in the Battle of the Crypts, which should never have happened in the first place.

Of the ten people who stormed the crypts, only four survived. Ser Kyle Condon was allowed to marry Jonelle Cerwyn and establish his own noble house for his deeds in the ensuing battle, and Sigorn of Thenn had proven himself loyal enough to hold the Barrowlands. Jon and Val each refused to discuss what happened in those depths with any others, and had no need to discuss any of it among themselves.

The message was clear. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

Unfortunately, Winterfell had been much smaller when that saying was first uttered, and the wards laid down by Brandon the Builder or whoever truly built Winterfell only covered the area underneath the First Keep. It would be livable again soon, perhaps even before Val delivered their child, and that would be where Starks would reside in perpetuity, lest terrible mistakes be made again.

Jon’s musing was interrupted by Hallis Mollen, the only surviving guard from his father’s era serving at Winterfell. Hallis was now the much vexed captain of the guard, a post well earned by guarding Eddard Stark’s bones for years before finally returning them home.

“Your Grace, the guards have apprehended a girl attempting to enter through the north gate. We told her that petitions for appointments to our staff were heard once a sennight, but she would not be dismissed and demanded to speak with you,” Hallis explained. “She seems an honest lass, but far too insolent for you to take her on, if you were to ask me. Shall I have her more forcibly removed?”

“That will not be necessary, Hallis. I find myself in need of a distraction. I shall receive her at the entrance to the godswood,” Jon replied before making his way in that direction.

Pressures on his time had cleared up considerably.

Lyanna Mormont began her journey back to Bear Island after staying only one sennight, which had admittedly been very enjoyable. She promised to return in high summer to learn the spear from Val, although Jon suspected that her build was more suited to the mace she already wielded with impressive skill.

Alys Thenn remained at Winterfell with her small household, although now that her pregnancy was assured, no more carnal visits occurred between them.

Her Grace, Val Stark, was handling the restrictions Sam placed on her activities poorly, having to content herself with reading when she might have once practiced in the training yard. She would enlist Jon to relieve her frustration some nights, although neither found their fingers suitable replacements for what they had become accustomed to sharing.

Jon pushed these thoughts aside as he approached Tom Too and Todder holding a young woman between their arms. She was shorter than average, with a stick-slim figure and knife-shorn hair either the color of mud or mud caked in so thoroughly as to make no matter. Her piercing green eyes bore into him, scrutinizing his very soul, although they were surrounded by dark rings. The girl’s clothes were filthy, but the pack around her shoulders and pronged spear slung across her back instantly told Jon that this was no ordinary crofter’s daughter.

“This is her, Your Grace,” said Tom, cheerful in spite of the girl’s obvious displeasure at being held by her arms.

“I could tell, Tom. Perhaps you could release her? I doubt she would harm the king in his own castle.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said when she was set free. The guards twitched toward their swords when the girl drew her spear, but before they could draw them from their scabbards the enigmatic stranger had knelt with her spear on the ground in front of her.

“Your Grace of House Stark,” the girl said calmly, despite wobbling on the ground even as she knelt. “The years have passed in their hundreds and their thousands since my folk first swore their fealty to the King in the North. I swore this oath once to your brother, and I am here to say these words again, for all of my people.”

Who is this girl? For which folk does she swear? How did she know Robb?

“To Winterfell I pledge the faith of Greywater,” she said. “Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, Your Grace. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you.”

She lifted her head to look him once again in the eyes.

“I swear it by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire.”

“Only one person could make that oath,” Jon admitted with no small amount of embarrassment. “Rise, Lady Meera of House Reed, and may your winters be short and your summers bountiful.”

Meera stood once again. “Winterfell’s hospitality has not improved since last I was here, Your Grace.”

“Consider yourself now welcomed to Winterfell then, Lady Reed, and know that these guards will personally attend to your every need during your stay. Isn’t that right, Todder? Tom?” The men in question bore contrite and embarrassed expressions and nodded at his order. “You look dead on your feet, though. Come, I will have a bath drawn for you from the hot springs as rooms are prepared for you, and a meal of hot bread and sausage left out with a clean set of clothes.”

Jon personally escorted her into the keep until he could pass her off to some maids. He avoided conversation, knowing that any discussion with one so exhausted would need to be repeated on the morrow. Satisfied that she was cared for, Jon sent a page to notify Hallis of Tom Too and Todder’s new duties and returned to his own activities for the day.

Meera slept through dinner. Val and Alys were excited to have another lady visiting the castle, despite them never having met the crannogwoman.

The next morning, Jon posted Dryn outside her door with orders to bring her to him in the godswood once she had broken her fast. Jon had many questions for the daughter of Howland Reed, not the least of which was how she appeared at his northern gate. These questions would need to be asked privately, for some were deeply personal.

Jon sat waiting on the stone his father would use to clean Ice in front of the weirwood. Longclaw rarely needed cleaning these days, which was probably for the best. The face of the tree wept crimson tears.

The morning sun was not far into the sky when Meera came down the path. She was still dressed in breeches and a sleeveless jerkin with patches of bronze scales sewn in, but her clothing had clearly been cleaned. She looked healthier as well, despite the bags still present under her eyes.

“Rest does you well, Lady Meera,” Jon stated. He tried to read her face as she seated herself on a nearby stone topped with moss, but her face remained neutral.

“Thank you for your assistance, King Jon,” Meera said. “I apologize for my condition yesterday. My journey has been long, and the road harsher still.”

“There is no insult for which to apologize, my lady,” explained Jon. “We had all thought you dead, and however it is that you arrived at Winterfell, from wherever you came, it is something to be celebrated. But not all tidings I have for you are good, and I would tell you of them myself.”

“If your news is that my father is dead,” Meera said with a downcast expression, “this I already know.”

Jon was not overly surprised that she knew this. While they agreed to never discuss the details, Jon had let many know that the men who never returned from the crypts below Winterfell were heroes of the highest order. If the spring weather delivered a sculptor to Winterfell, he would consider commissioning a statue in honor of each of them. As it was, any petty lord, inn keeper or bard in the North could tell you that Howland Reed had died an honorable death.

“He died a hero’s death, Meera. I do not exaggerate when I say that he saved my life, and the lives of countless men in this kingdom and all the rest throughout the world,” Jon said softly.

Tears built up in Meera’s deep green eyes, but they did not fall. “This I know as well,” she sniffed. “He died imprisoning the … the cold one.”

That statement did take Jon by surprise. “How could you possibly know that, my lady?”

“That … is quite a long story, Your Grace. Suffice to say I know a great many things that I wish I did not.” Meera did not make to speak further. Jon did not blame her.

“Well, so that you know, your uncle Lucen has been acting as Lord of Greywater Watch. He took a Mormont girl to wife, and I hear you have a cousin awaiting your return. Your father insisted that you still lived, however, and your uncle swore before a heart tree to step aside should you or your brother return. The Neck shall be yours.” Jon said all of this to be comforting, but his words clearly had the opposite effect.

“A lordship is a poor consolation prize for losing one’s family, Your Grace,” Meera replied as she looked to her feet and wrapped her arms about her middle. “But I trust my uncle to do as he says, and if you would have me serve as your bannerwoman, then that is what I shall do. Now, what questions do you have for me, Your Grace?”

So many flew through Jon’s mind, but the one that came out first was, “How did you meet my brother? Did he stay at Greywater Watch on his way through the Neck?”

“I never met your … I never met Robb Stark, Your Grace,” she said after a small pause. “It was your brother Bran I said that oath to, before the war and winter reached Winterfell’s walls.”

Jon felt a sharp pang in his chest to be reminded of Bran, crippled and trapped at Winterfell, forced to flee after the treachery of Theon Greyjoy and then Ramsay Snow. He remembered Rickon, who had also never been found. If Meera had been with Bran at Winterfell….

“Before he died, Lord Wyman Manderly told me that he thought Bran and Rickon might be alive. He would not elaborate on his suspicions, but said that he was pursuing the leads he had,” Jon took a careful breath. “Lady Meera, can you tell me anything of my brothers? Do they live?”

Meera evaluated him critically, before responding. “I last saw Rickon to the north of Winterfell, after the sack. He was in the care of a wildling woman named Osha, who I trusted to look after him. Jojen, Hodor and I accompanied Bran elsewhere, but Jojen and Hodor are dead and Bran is with the old gods now,” Meera ended with a whisper and a glance at the heart tree. The red sap continued to flow.

Hodor.

Jon had suspected as much, but it hurt no less to hear his fears confirmed. The world was too cruel a place to Bran Stark. It has no room for boys with dreams and summer in their hearts.

“… Once he joined them, Your Grace, and spring came again at last, I left our refuge and returned. It took a while for enough game to return to brave the journey home, but I have made it this far,” she explained.

They sat in silence for some time. Jon wept openly, but refrained from crying out or sobbing. Wind rustled through the blood red leaves of the weirwood above them for quite some time.

“My people are closely connected with the old gods, Your Grace,” Meera said with some hesitance. “This might sound preposterous to you, but I have a message from them to deliver to you.”

Jon had heard stranger tales and certainly seen things stranger still. Meera Reed did not seem the type to make such a statement in jest. “Speak this message then, Lady Reed. I trust your council in these matters, as I once trusted your father.”

With a nod, Meera said, “The message said: ‘The king of ice shall clash with the queen of fire, and their realms shall be spared blood only by the hidden seeds that he has planted.’ I know not fully its meaning, but the last part has been made known to me.”

Meera had the grace to blush as she said, “I am to bear you a child, to be made this day before the gods.”

Jon looked at her with his mouth agape. This cannot be happening yet again. “Surely you jest, my lady. Have you been put upon this jape by my lady wife?” Truly, it was the only explanation that made sense.

“I do not jest, King Jon. I know not who this ‘queen of fire’ is, but the old gods say that the salvation of your realm requires you scatter your seed across your kingdom. Do not mistake this for flattery – I am prone to no such thing.” If anything, Meera seemed disquieted at the prospect of breeding with him. “For your sake, I hope you have already begun, for I know not how much time you have to prepare.”

Jon blushed furiously. “That is not something you need worry over, my lady.”

They stared at each other for a moment, each at a loss for what to do next. The leaves rustled once more.

“We must act soon, Your Grace, lest we miss the timing,” she said, appearing determined.

Meera stepped off her stone and strode to stand before him. “I know I am not as comely as your wife the queen, Your Grace,” she said. “But my mother taught me the ways to prepare men for doing their duty.”

Before he could protest, Meera had dropped to her knees and was undoing the laces of his breeches. Her small hands were deft, and before Jon could react his cock was out in the open, half-hard in spite of himself and twitching.

This feels wrong, Jon thought. His body began to respond instantaneously when she wrapped her thin wet lips around his shaft and licked at the underside of its head, but Jon took no pleasure from it, only shame. It had been too long, and even her amateur stimulation rapidly caused the reaction she sought. When Meera began to move her head back and forth along his length, tongue flicking as she went, Jon let out a groan and pulled her head away from him as gently as he could.

I had always thought to have that done by someone who cared for me, not as some necessary procedure. Thoughts of Ygritte and the cave flashed through his head. He decided to voice his concerns.

“Meera, this feels wrong to me,” he told her. She looked back at him, frustrated.

“This is not how I envisioned losing my maidenhead either, King Stark, but sacrifices must be made for the good of the realm. I am certain of this, or I should not be doing this with you at all,” Lady Reed clarified. “If I am to suffer through it, you must do the same.”

“I would have neither of us suffer, my lady. If we must do this, then let us each take pleasure from the act,” he said. She looked at him for clarification, so Jon proceeded to remove his clothes, boots and all.

Meera followed his example and disrobed as well. Her breeches were loose about her waist but still had to be forced over her thin hips. Her breasts were small things, barely there at all. When she was bare before him, Jon laid down on his back next to the steaming pool before the heart tree.

“If you must prepare me, then it is only right I should prepare you as well. Lie down on top of me, and we shall prepare each other together,” Jon explained.

Meera seemed agreeable to this, and lay down next to him with her head opposite his and rolled until her stomach was pressed against his, their hips aligned with each other’s heads and mouths.

Jon felt her take his once-again-flaccid cock into her mouth and resume her ministrations. As she did this, Jon took time to examine the body a breath away from his face. Meera’s buttocks were skinny but shapely when presented in such a manner, and the brown curls on the mound above her cunt did little to hide her fleshy inner lips or the hood concealing the area Jon knew would give her pleasure.

Jon braced his left hand across the small of Meera’s back to hold her in place as he brought his right forefinger to stroke down her folds. He placed a kiss over her center, and then ran his tongue down the path his finger had traced. The motion was repeated until small bits of lubrication gathered about her opening. Jon collected some of that moisture on the tip of his tongue and brought it down to the hood at her apex, swirling around it in soothing motions. At the same time, the fingers of his right hand began to play at her opening, massaging her inner lips and stretching her around his first knuckle.

Meera moaned placidly around his cock. In paying attention to her cunt, he had lost track of what she was doing to him, but the change in sensation drew his attention back between his own legs. Her tongue was surprisingly nimble; after pushing back his foreskin, it had wrapped around his shaft, a second layer of tension past her lips which continued to stroke him up and down. A deft hand rolled his balls between delicate fingers, and Jon could not say he controlled his lust at her actions.

Moans began to escape the pair in mounting frequency as they learned each other’s bodies. Jon managed to work a full finger inside of the crannogwoman, and dragged his wetted lips across the pinnacle of her cunt to draw the hood away from that place Ygritte had drawn his mouth to when he first learned how to give a lord’s kiss. His attentions were careful as he tested how much attention she could handle, but before long she began to shake in his hands and buck her hips up as her back arched involuntarily.

She paused her work and removed him from her mouth to catch her breath. “P-Ahhh … that was … unexpected.”

“I could say the same of you. I have never been … stimulated in that way, although I had thought of it once,” Jon told her. “But now, I think, is when this will be easiest for you. We should begin.”

Meera agreed and stood up, allowing him to reposition himself. The detritus of the godswood floor had not made sympathetic bedding, and his back itched terribly as splinters and dirt fell away from him. Not wanting to subject Meera to the same fate, he looked for other options.

A tree will have rough bark, and I see no feather beds here…. There are no moss beds large enough either. Although, she might be light enough….

Without taking the time to consult the skinny girl, he grabbed her around the back of her thighs and lifted. Meera lost her balance and flailed her arms to grab at the closest stable object, which happened to be Jon’s head. Once recovered, she enveloped his neck in an embrace and locked her heels behind his hips.

She seemed to understand their position, and looked up at him expectantly. Jon nodded and lifted her hips until the tip of his cock rested nestled against her womanhood. His grey eyes lingered on her green ones as he lowered her body into a meld with his own.

Meera suppressed a cry as her maidenhead was breached, seeming to bite the inside of her cheek to distract herself.

“I know this is not ideal, Lady Meera, but I hope this will suffice.”

“I can endure, King Jon. Do what you will,” was her strangled reply.

Jon readjusted his grip on her arse, giving it a small squeeze as he lifted her up his burgeoning shaft before letting her drop back down. Her cunt, while slick on the outside, was more difficult to traverse the deeper his cock sank in, and his strokes stayed relatively slow and shallow to compensate.

Eventually, be it from blood or arousal, she became better lubricated. Jon began to pull his hips back when he lifted hers up, allowing for greater force with his thrusts. Meera’s head rested on his shoulders and her breath washed over his neck, allowing him to gauge her response. When her breathing hitched he adjusted their angle or speed, and he tried his best to continue whatever he did when her breathing hastened.

The slapping noise of her buttocks smacking against his thighs echoed off the ancient ironwoods of the godswood. Steam and occasional bubbles rose from the pool, and yet more red sap poured down the face of the heart tree.

“There, my sweet girl, does that not feel good for you?” Jon asked.

“Mmm….” was Meera’s verbal reply, but she pulled her head away from his shoulder to look upon him once more. Jon opened his mouth to ask further, but she silenced him with an unexpected kiss. Compared to the passionate kisses he shared with Val or Lyanna, or the sweet but meaningful kisses Alys gave him, this was wholly innocent, filled with affection if not longing or desire.

The kiss caught Jon completely off guard, and before he knew it his release was upon him. Meera’s breathing and small moans were still building, so Jon powered through his orgasm to see hers through as well. A few more moments of pumping into her cunt brought it out, a languid tension running through her slim body until she felt boneless in his arms.

“There, my lady, it is done.”

They shared silence again as they dressed, although this felt much more companionable than their previous lapses in conversation had. Whatever awkwardness lay between them, it had been soothed for now by their actions.

As Meera helped brush the dirt off his back, Jon remembered the other question he wanted answered. Why he truly wanted this conversation to be in the godswood, rather than in a solar where a servant might hear. It had only slipped his mind when hope of hearing of his lost brothers eclipsed it.

“Lady Reed, there is something else I must ask of you. Before your father and I went down into the crypts, he hinted that he knew something of my mother. I never had a chance to discuss it with him, and her identity has been denied to me by fate a second time,” Jon clarified. “Is there any chance he told you about the end of the war, when it was just your father and mine? About who my mother truly was?”

“I … I suppose that is a tale you are entitled to hear, Your Grace,” she said. “But it is a long one. Tell me, what do you know of Lyanna Stark?”

Their conversation in the godswood continued for a long time after that. Jon shed tears as the truth was laid out in front of him, so obvious in retrospect that it pained him. Equally devastating was the loss of the only family he had truly known, even if they were all dead or missing. But Eddard Stark had only ever called him of his blood, never his son, as long as Jon remembered. He had only been hearing what he wanted to hear.

All of that deception, from the most honest man I knew, all to keep me safe. Jon pitied his uncle then, and wondered if he would have had the strength to estrange his beautiful and loyal lady wife for the sake of his sister’s love child. If it were Arya, I suppose I would have promised her anything. I have already almost died once for her, after all.

Jon lamented never knowing much of the girl he thought of as his tragic aunt, so Meera told him another story that she had once told Bran, about the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Jon’s tears turned to laughter as he heard of the great deeds that his mother had performed, but he became solemn once again when he realized that they might have directly lead to Robert’s Rebellion and all of the death and suffering that followed.

He had much to discuss with Val this evening. Not only these revelations – Meera’s ‘preparation’ had reminded him of another way he might be close with his wife during their forced abstinence.

It was with mixed feelings that Jon and Meera departed the godswood, each enjoying their first opportunity to speak fondly about the family members they had lost.
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Seeds of the Northern Kingdom