Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/738302.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/
      Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Jaime_Lannister/Jon_Snow, Robert_Baratheon/Jon_Snow, Cersei_Lannister/
      Jaime_Lannister
  Character:
      Jon_Snow, Jaime_Lannister, Robert_Baratheon, Ned_Stark, Tyrion_Lannister,
      Arya_Stark, Too_Many_to_really_list
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-27 Updated: 2015-04-13 Chapters: 5/? Words: 7554
****** I Will Make You Hurt ******
by snowblowingoverafieldofdeath
Summary
     During the visit to Winterfell, King Robert takes a liking to Jon
     Snow and orders Ned Stark to bring the boy to King's Landing.
***** Eddard *****
“The King and Queen are going to be visiting here?”
Ned Stark laughed quietly at the expression on Sansa's face. It couldn't be
helped; his eleven year old daughter looked so excited. He glanced around the
table quickly at his other children; with the exception of seven year old Bran,
who dreamed of becoming a knight of the Kingsguard, none of his other children
looked particularly thrilled. Nine year old Arya simply looked bored while
fourteen year old Robb, Ned's heir, actually groaned loudly. Little Rickon,
only three years old, didn't seem to realize what was going on. His ward,
nineteen year old Theon Greyjoy, had his usual smile on his face. And fourteen
year old Jon Snow just looked disgruntled, as usual.
Ned turned to his beautiful wife, Catelyn; the poor woman looked harried. He
didn't blame her, the King hadn't left them much time to prepare for the visit.
“Yes,” he replied with a smile, turning his attention back to his children.
“The King and Queen, along with their children and retainers, shall be here
within a fortnight. I want you all to be on your best behaviour, is that
understood?” The last comment had been directed at Arya, his little
troublemaker. “We don't need any problems during the royal visit.”
Arya stuck her tongue out petulantly but nodded nevertheless.
Ned watched as the children stood and slowly started to make their way out of
the great hall, struck by how quickly they all seemed to be growing up. He
sighed deeply, not looking forward to this last task, and glanced at Catelyn
before calling out, “Jon! Hold back a moment please.”
He watched as the youth paused and looked back at him in confusion before
urging the others to go on ahead, making his way back to the table.
Ned ignored the poorly hidden smug expression on his wife's face as his son
approached hesitantly; he knew that Catelyn would have gladly done this task
herself with joy. There was no love lost between his wife and his bastard son.
He knew she felt shame that he had brought Jon back from Robert's Rebellion to
live with them at Winterfell instead of leaving the boy with his mother. Ned
couldn't have done that in any case; Jon's mother had died giving birth to him.
He hadn't been about to just abandon the child to face the elements, Jon was
his child and he had promised to take care of him. Ned also realized that
Catelyn was angered by the simple fact that Jon looked more like a Stark, more
like him, than any of the trueborn sons she had bore him.
Ned sighed deeply once again as Jon came to a halt in front of him, a
questioning look on the youthful face. He didn't want to do this. “Jon, for the
duration of the royal visit, it may be best if you were to stay out of sight.”
He felt a pang in his chest as he watched his son's face change from confused
to hurt. Not that he could blame the boy; he had never hidden Jon away from
guests before now.
“Did I do something wrong, father?” Jon sounded very much like the child he
still was at that moment, and not the man grown he seemed to be at all the
other times. It just made the pang in Ned's chest worsen.
“No,” he hurriedly tried to reassure his son, still ignoring his wife's smug
expression. At least she knew to be quiet now. “Of course you didn't. It's . .
. too complicated to explain properly. This is just what's best, for everyone.”
Jon shot a quick, nervous glance at Catelyn before dragging his gaze back to
Ned, his expression changing from hurt to anger. He gave a quick, jerky bow as
he said, “As you wish, my lord.”
Ned hated hearing his son addressing him in such a formal manner, but maybe
this would also be for the best. Let Jon think that he was ashamed of him; Ned
would explain the true reason after the King and his family had left
Winterfell.
Ned watched sadly as Jon stalked away in anger, running his hand through his
dark hair tiredly. “Don't look that way,” he growled quietly to Catelyn.
“It's time for him to learn his place in life, Ned,” Catelyn reasoned, much too
calmly for the man's liking. “You cannot keep treating him as though he is
equal to the other children. He will become a man grown expecting much more
than what he will get.”
You have seen to it that he won't, Ned thought silently, his eyes narrowing
dangerously at his wife. Out loud, though, he only said in a deep warning tone,
“He may not have my name, but he has my blood. Jon is equal to the other
children in my eyes.”
Catelyn knew that tone of voice and knew that it would be for the best if she
said no more on the subject for now. Ned was glad for it; he didn't want to
have to try and explain to his wife the true reason as to why he didn't want
his bastard son in the sight of the royal family. Besides the obvious detail
that the Lannisters would never allow a bastard to mix with them, Ned wanted to
keep Jon away from King Robert Baratheon. He prayed to the gods that his
worries were unfounded; he didn't want to think his best friend capable of
harming a child. But until his prayers were answered, he would do his best to
keep his oldest friend away from his son.
There was a time long ago, while Ned and Robert had both been fostered at the
Eyrie; a time before Robert Baratheon had ever lain eyes on Lyanna Stark. Ned
and Robert had been very close, closer than was probably appropriate. Sometimes
Ned had wondered whether their adventures had been more than just boyhood
mischief to Robert. But then the moment that Robert had seen his sister for the
first time Ned had been forgotten, and their bond had changed to brothers. It
was what was for the best.
But now Lyanna was gone and had been for many years, Robert was stuck in a
loveless marriage to Cersei Lannister, and Ned . . . Ned acted as though he had
forgotten those stolen moments with Robert at the Eyrie. If the King, so
starved for love, happened to see a boy who looked like a young Ned . . . Would
he be able to stop himself?
Ned prayed that he was horribly mistaken.
“We have many preparations to see to,” he said to Catelyn, standing swiftly and
helping his lady to her feet. “We have much to do before Robert arrives.”
***** Arya *****
Arya Stark was hiding from Septa Mordane, creeping silently through the stone
halls of Winterfell to avoid being caught. She was avoiding her lessons on
needlework; she knew that her stitches would be crooked and that Septa Mordane
would just make her redo the stitches over and over again. Nymeria, her
direwolf pup, trotted along beside her, tail wagging rapidly and pink tongue
lolling out of her mouth at the prospect of an adventure. Arya decided to go
watch the boys practicing in the court yard. There was a window in the covered
bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where she could have a view of the
whole yard; that's where she decided to head now.
When she arrived, she was slightly disappointed to see Jon already sitting on
the window sill. She would never admit it out loud, but Jon was her favorite
brother. Her favorite sibling. He never treated her as though she were only a
girl, only a child. He let her tag along with him, even sparred with her on
occasion. Unlike her oldest sibling Robb, and the older boy Theon Greyjoy. And
Jon never talked down to her like Sansa did. Jon treated her as an equal. She
thought it was horrible the way everyone else treated him just because he was a
bastard, especially her mother. They even looked more alike than any of her
other siblings; all the others had the Tully coloring and hair, but she and Jon
looked more like their father. She was only disappointed that he was sitting
here because that meant she wouldn't be able to watch him sparring with Robb
and Theon Greyjoy. She always cheered for Jon to win his matches.
Arya paused a few feet away, studying Jon for a long moment. Her brother looked
upset about something, scowling down at the court yard from where the sounds of
clashing swords rose up. He held his own direwolf pup, the pure white and
silent Ghost, close to his chest. Arya could practically feel the anger
radiating off of him and she frowned, wondering what could be wrong.
“Jon?” she spoke quietly, cautiously stepping closer to the boy who was sitting
in front of her.
She saw Jon jump a little before slowly turning to face her. “Shouldn't you be
doing your needlework, little sister?” His lips quirked up into a small,
affectionate smile.
Arya giggled and moved right up to the window, both of them looking down into
the court yard below. Robb and Theon Greyjoy were sparring with each other.
“I'm avoiding Septa Mordane. Why aren't you down there, practicing with Robb?”
She regretted asking as Jon's face darkened; their moment of joy was over
already.
“I am practicing.” Even Jon's voice was dark. “I'm practicing staying out of
sight for when the King visits.”
“I don't understand,” Arya replied with a frown. “When would you need to stay
out of sight?”
Jon sighed deeply, the anger written on his face draining away to leave only
sorrow. It hurt Arya deeply to see it. “Father said that it would be for the
best.”
Arya couldn't, wouldn't, believe that their father would tell Jon something
like that! Possibly her mother would, but certainly not their father! “But
why?”
Jon laughed quietly, the harsh, sad sound sending shivers down Arya's back.
“Why do you think, little sister? He is ashamed of his bastard child. What
other reason could there be?”
Arya could only stare at Jon in shock, unable to believe that he would even
think something so horrible as that. “I'm sure that's not true, brother-”
“The King is his best friend,” Jon interrupted quietly but firmly, staring down
unseeing at the court yard. “And according to the talk in the yards, the King
himself has a dozen bastards of his own. Yet Father doesn't want the Royal
family to see me. What other reason could there be?”
Arya's frown deepened as she listened to her brother speak. She hated it when
he talked like this, like he wasn't good enough to be a part of their family.
“Maybe it's not the King he wants to hide you from,” she suggested hopefully,
desperate to try and make Jon feel better. “I hear the people talking in the
yard too. I hear that the Queen's family is really . . . proper. Father
probably just doesn't want you to be faced with their cruelty.”
Jon slowly turned his head to look at his sister with wide eyes, before
laughing quietly again. This time the sound was more natural and Arya sighed in
relief. At least that dark and depressed expression had disappeared off of his
face. She grinned again and punched him playfully on the shoulder. He snorted
back and messed up her already messy hair affectionately.
“Thank you, little sister,” he said quietly as he climbed off the window sill
and set his direwolf on the ground. “I'd better get down there; Robb is
probably wondering where I am. He's losing to Theon pretty badly.”
Arya watched him walk away swiftly, proud that she was able to make her brother
feel better. She watched until he turned the corner then hopped onto the window
sill to watch the boys practice. She grinned happily as Jon came into the court
yard and Robb rushed over to their brother, waving one of their wooden swords
around in the air.
She hoped that everything was back to normal.
***** Jaime *****
Winterfell; the ancient home of the noble Starks and the castle of the North.
Cold grey stone, looming towers, snow. Oh gods, the snow. Even in the summer it
snowed in the North. Ser Jaime Lannister was not impressed; he much preferred
Casterly Rock, the family home of the Lannister house. He would even prefer
King's Landing to this gods forsaken cold, stone, frozen hell. He had never
before come this far North; as a member of the elite Kingsguard, he stayed with
the King. There had never really been a good reason for him to come so far
North anyway since he knew that the Lord Eddard Stark mistrusted him.
Ever since Jaime had slain the Mad King Aerys Targaryen during Robert's
Rebellion, when Eddard Stark had ridden into the throne room at the Red Keep
and had seen him sitting upon the Iron Throne covered in the Royal's blood, the
lord seemed to think he was plotting to seize the throne. To be fair, Jaime
knew that he had a reputation; he knew that he was called the Kingslayer behind
his back. He embraced that name though, as it made him a legend. The only
reason that it was spoken with scorn now was because he had been a member of
Aerys Targaryen's Kingsguard then, too: sworn to protect the King above all
else. And Jaime, the youngest member of the Kingsguard ever, had literally
stabbed the Mad King in the back.
Someone had to do it. If it hadn't have been him, it would have been someone
else.
But Ned Stark had never forgiven Jaime; nor had he forgotten. Lord Stark would
always mistrust the Kingslayer, suspecting some nefarious plot to take over the
throne. Jaime couldn't care less about being on the throne, though; ruling over
the seven kingdoms seemed like such a bore. He knew that King Robert absolutely
loathed the day-to-days aspects of being a ruler: listening to the complaints
and requests of his subjects and passing judgement on the petty squabbles of
the kingdom. Jaime much preferred the excitement of being a knight; even the
vows he had taken to become a member of the Kingsguard were better than having
to rule.
Besides, there was only one woman whom Jaime would ever love.
Finally the King and his retinue reach the cold, desolate castle, passing
through the front gates on horseback. The entire population of the castle was
assembled to greet them. Jaime could almost laugh at the sight of all the fur-
clad people standing at attention; they all looked like the direwolves that
were their House sigil standing on their hind legs. He did smile at the
thought, though. He allowed his gaze to roam over each person discreetly as the
formalities were sorted out. There was Eddard Stark, the lord of Winterfell,
standing at the front; tall, stern, easily recognizable and as cold as the land
in which he lived. The man had barely changed since the last time that Jaime
had seen him, except possibly to grow even more stern and cold. The woman
beside him had to be his wife, Lady Catelyn of the House Tully. The auburn hair
was the giveaway. She was just as stern and cold as her husband. Their children
all seemed to have the Tully features as well, except the younger girl who had
the Stark look about her.
Jaime's eyes passed over the knights and retainers in disinterest, dismissing
them as unimportant. The serving wenches and maids held no interest for him
either. His disinterested gaze gave one more bored sweep over the crowd before
coming to a surprised halt on a figure that seemed to be hiding in the shadows
at the very back. The young man, only a boy really, was the spitting image of a
young Ned Stark; dark and cold, and much too stern for a boy of his apparent
age. Jaime knew who it must be, the one stain on Ned Stark's perfect honour:
the bastard son.
He stared at the boy curiously; not even King Robert, who was Ned's closest
friend, was said to know who the woman was that had been able to cause the
honourable Lord Stark to forsake his marriage vows. It was almost unbelievable.
But the evidence of such a feat was right there in front of him, tall and
straight and cold, looking more the Stark than any of the trueborn sons. Jaime
couldn't hold back an amused chuckle; that fact must make Lady Catelyn angry.
Jaime continued to watch the boy discreetly as the King and Lord Stark headed
towards the crypts, completely ignoring his sister's request to rest. Even at
this distance he could see that the boy seemed to be angry, probably at being
shoved to the back as befitted his station in life. Jaime had heard tellings of
how Eddard Stark treated his bastard as though he were a trueborn. Jaime
continued to watch, until the crowd started to disperse and the boy disappeared
among the shadows.
He moved across the courtyard easily, a playful smile on his face, to stand
beside the fuming queen. “Let him pay his respects to his dead love,” he
murmured cautiously, eyes sweeping over the crowd once more to be sure that
they were not receiving any undue interest. “You are the one whom is sharing
his bed at the end of the night, dearest sister.”
Cersei huffed indignantly and whirled on him, the anger written on her
beautiful face plain for the entire world to see. “That does not matter to
these people, brother,” she hissed venomously before stalking towards the
castle. Jaime followed her in silence. “For him to do this undermines my
authority; my authority as the queen, my authority as his wife, and my
authority as the mother of his heirs. He just humiliated me in front of these
people!”
“Calm yourself,” Jaime cautioned quietly, keeping the smile on his face for
anyone they might pass as they sped through the cold halls of Winterfell.
“You're causing a scene, which will only humiliate you further.”
His sister huffed one last time then slowed her pace, the anger draining out of
her beautiful face to be replaced with a demure smile. Jaime smirked as he
followed her into her empty chambers. With one last glance around, he shut the
heavy wooden door behind himself and bolted it.
Cersei whirled on her twin brother again, the smile dropping off of her face
immediately. “What do you think you're doing?”
Jaime's smirk widened; without speaking a word he just reached over and gripped
his sister's slender wrist and pulled her towards him. Of course she put up a
fight. She always did. He always won.
“Not here, Jaime,” she growled, splaying one slender hand across his gold chest
plate and attempting to push him away. “Someone might come in!”
“The door is bolted shut,” he replied easily, winding his free arm around his
beautiful twin's waist. “As well, your husband is bound to be in the crypts for
a while and the children are getting acquainted with the Starks. We are alone
for now, sweet sister. I suggest we make the most of it.”
Cersei finally succumbed, like he knew she would, winding her arms around his
neck and gazing lovingly up into his green eyes, identical to her own. “Then
make the most of it we shall,” she whispered before his lips descended on her
own.
They knew that they had to be quick; there were any number of things that could
interrupt them. He pushed her back on to her bed, climbing on top of her
swiftly. They didn't bother to undress fully, he just hiked up her voluminous
skirts around her waist while she pulled open his breeches. Without pause he
thrust into the tight heat, covering her mouth once again with his own to
muffle her cries and moans. It had been over a month since their last coupling
and both were rather desperate and needy. Neither of them took long to finish;
just a few hard, rough thrusts, and then he was spilling his seed inside her.
Jaime pulled away with a smirk, quickly adjusting his clothing so that they
were once again in order. He bowed low to his sated sister still on the bed.
“My Queen,” he murmured softly, pressing one last loving kiss to her lips
before rising once more to his feet.
He left her chambers then, knowing that his absence had probably already been
noted. He made sure to close the heavy wooden door behind himself and started
down the long hall in silence, musing over another wonderful coupling. They
were both aware that should their affair ever be discovered, it would mean the
end of them, so they were very careful. He would never give her up though.
Cersei was his love; as they were twins, they knew each other like no one else
could.
Jaime had just turned the corner when he stopped suddenly, frozen by the sight
presented to him. The bastard boy and Catelyn Stark were standing a few feet
away from him, a pure white beast that appeared to be a wolf pup pressing
protectively against the boy's legs. Luckily they hadn't noticed him, so he
slipped silently back around the corner to listen in.
Perhaps I am not the only one involved in a forbidden affair, he thought with a
small smirk, leaning back against the stone wall casually.
“Father told me to stay out of sight,” he heard the boy say in a low tone,
anger barely concealed. “And that's what I'm doing. I didn't think that there
would be anyone in this part of the castle now.”
Unfortunately, it didn't sound like they were having an affair; that would have
been scandalous. And more fun.
“Lord Stark-” Jaime couldn't help but notice how Lady Stark emphasized those
words, “-told you to stay out of sight, not wander around the halls near to
where the Royal family will be staying!”
“I'm sorry, Lady Stark.” The boy's voice sounded strained as though he were
trying not to lose his temper. “Where would you have me go?”
“Go stay in your own chambers.” The woman's voice was cold. “No one will be
forced to see you there.”
Jaime heard the rustle of skirts and light footsteps heading in the opposite
direction; he assumed that Lady Catelyn had stormed off. No, Catelyn Stark was
too much of a lady to storm off. She would most likely retreat gracefully at a
swift pace. He chuckled lightly, even that small noise sounding loud in the
quiet of these stone walls.
“Who's there?” The boy didn't sound frightened, merely cautious. “Show
yourself, or I will send my direwolf after you.”
The threat just caused Jaime to laugh out loud as he pushed himself away from
the wall and stepped around the corner. “Is that what that beast is? A
direwolf? It's rather small, don't you think?”
The boy's glower was almost threatening. “He's still young; he'll be huge when
he's full grown. Already he's bigger than the others.”
“Others? There are more of these beasts around?” Jaime asked curiously,
sauntering slowly closer to the pair and ignoring the wolf's growling.
“Each of the Stark children received one.”
“Ah, but you are not a Stark child.” Jaime smirked as a light, angry flush
colored the boy's face. “So the Lord Stark will include you among his own when
presenting gifts of his House sigil to his children, but not when his oldest
and dearest boyhood friend visits. How sad for you.” His smirk widened as the
boy bristled with obvious anger. “What is your name, bastard?”
For a tense moment, Jaime thought that the boy would refuse to answer, such was
his anger. The boy's posture was rigid as he finally replied, “Jon Snow, ser.”
Jaime passed the boy by, chuckling once more. “Well, Jon Snow, I suggest you
head to your chambers now, before a member of the Royal family catches sight of
you and takes offense. That would shame your lord father.”
He wasn't sure if the growl that followed him down the hall came from the wolf
or the boy.
***** Jon *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello everyone! I'm sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. I
     have this story also posted on FF.net, and I received a really harsh
     review that was insulting and hurtful towards me as a person, rather
     than the work, and I lost all my steam for this story. I am trying to
     get it back, but I will continue to post the few chapters I do have
     written here. Thank you for bearing with me.
     An extra note, there is explicit NONCONSENSUAL SEX in this chapter.
It's not fair, Jon Snow thought angrily, stalking through the empty stables of
Winterfell in search of Ghost. His direwolf, while usually so obedient, had
disappeared from his room. As Ghost seemed to be the only living thing he was
allowed to be around at the current time, he was a little desperate to find is
pet. He wouldn't admit it, but he was a little glad that Ghost had escaped; he
himself had been starting to go a little stir crazy being locked up in his room
alone. At least now if he were to be caught by Lady Stark, he had a good reason
to be wandering about the grounds. She would most likely approve of him trying
to keep his pet out of sight as well, as she hated the direwolves. There wasn't
really much danger of being caught, though; everyone would be attending the
welcome feast for the king. It was a really lavish affair that had already been
going on for hours. Lady Stark would more likely be in bed than not. And he
probably could have attended the feast if he had wanted to, as long as he sat
at the back of the dining hall. But it still wasn't fair that he had to hide
completely.
Jon didn't understand why his father would want to hide him away from the king.
It was almost assured that Robert Baratheon already knew about Ned Stark's
bastard son, so it wasn't as though it would shame his father. Besides, the
maids spoke of how the king had fathered over a dozen bastards of his own. Jon
was inclined to believe Arya's theory, that it was because of the Lannisters
that he was to stay hidden away. But even that idea had its flaws, for the
Lannisters already knew of him (as evidenced during his run in with Ser Jaime
Lannister earlier). He just couldn't understand then, why his father would
suddenly wish to hide him away.
It wasn't fair.
He knew he shouldn't be expecting so much; he was incredibly lucky that his
father acknowledged him at all and took him in to raise among the trueborn. It
just . . . hurt that his father seemed able to shove him to the side so easily.
Actually, it hurt that his father apparently felt shamed enough to hide him
away. Jon hated to think that his mere presence caused his father shame. It was
times like these that Jon wished he could just leave. Maybe he could go to the
Wall, where even a bastard could find honour and make a name for himself.
Jon had talked to Uncle Benjen, his father's younger brother, about it. Going
to the Wall to serve the Night's Watch, taking the Black. It was a dream of
his, a dream to make a name for himself. Uncle Benjen was the first Ranger of
the Night's Watch; Jon could go North with him. But his uncle had refused,
claiming that Jon was too young to join and that he should experience life more
before taking those vows.
So Jon was trapped at Winterfell, where he didn't truly belong and he didn't
think he was truly wanted.
The door to the stable suddenly slammed open and a large silhouette appeared in
the moonlit entrance. Jon froze briefly in the middle of the main hall before
throwing himself into the nearest empty stall. He landed with a soft thump in
the hay, holding his breath and hoping whoever it was would leave soon.
“Who's there?” The voice that called out was loud and slurred; the man was
obviously drunk. The voice was familiar though, and Jon had a sinking suspicion
he knew who it was. Still he remained silent, praying to the gods that the man
would give up and go away.
“I already saw you! I, your king, command you to reveal yourself!”
Jon bit his lip and pressed back against the hay as the king's heavy footsteps
neared his hiding place. He stayed silent, hoping that he wouldn't get in
trouble; either for ignoring an order from his king or for being seen by the
king.
The footsteps came to a stop right outside the stall he was hidden in. “Are you
some kind of craven? I saw you flee in there! Reveal yourself now!”
Jon held his breath, his heart beating wildly. He was not craven; he just
didn't want to shame his father even more by being caught by a member of the
Royal family. Again. But would ignoring a direct order from his king shame his
father even more than being caught? He had just decided to reveal himself and
face whatever punishment his father saw fit, when the opening to the stall was
suddenly filled with the shape of the king.
Jon froze, his eyes wide.
Robert Baratheon was a very intimidating man, even if he had gotten fat. But
the intimidating factor was somewhat lessened when the man was swaying with
drink, a surprised and confused expression on his face.
“By the gods, Ned! You look so young, like a boy!” The king's voice was still
booming, but now it was more affectionate than threatening. “Just as when we
were children.”
It took Jon a moment to realize that the king was speaking to him; the man must
really be drunk to mistake him for his father. “Your Grace,” he replied lowly,
falling to one knee before the king. “I'm not Ned Stark-”
“Who else would you be?!” the king roared, stumbling closer to him. Jon winced
as thick fingers wound into his hair and forced his head up roughly. “You look
exactly like Ned!”
Jon could only stare up at the man, his head held in place by the king's strong
hand. “I'm his son-”
“I met his children,” the king growled darkly, throwing the boy back down onto
the hay. “You have to be Ned; you can only be Ned!”
Jon slowly climbed to his feet, keeping his eyes on the man warily. “I'm his
bastard son, Jon Snow,” he replied carefully, embarrassment coloring his cheeks
slightly. “Lord Stark is my father.”
The king looked even more confused before suddenly lurching forward. Jon
grunted softly as his back hit the stone wall painfully. The considerable
weight of the man was pinning him flat against the cold wall; he didn't know if
he should try to try to push the king away. He could smell the drink on the
king's breath, the man's mouth uncomfortably close to his own.
“I've missed this Ned: the young and more relaxed one.” It didn't seem like the
king was actually listening to a word that Jon was saying. “Remember the fun we
had together in the Eryie? Remember the adventures?”
Jon started to panic as the king pressed against him more, lips and beard
brushing against his cheek. He was unsure of where this was leading to, and he
was very confused. Then the king shifted and Jon felt something hard press
against his hip.
He froze completely under the man, hardly even daring to breathe. “Your Grace,”
he said slowly, quietly, trying to press himself even farther back against the
wall away from the man. “I am not Lord Stark. I am his bastard son, Jon Snow.”
The king didn't even acknowledge his words. “I miss those old times, Ned.
Before everything was so complicated and boring. We had fun together, didn't
we?” He shifted again, causing his groin to brush against Jon's; Jon flinched
back, but there was nowhere for him to escape to. “My life is so dull now, Ned.
My wife can barely stand me and the wenches . . . The wenches are nothing. I
miss you.”
“Please Your Grace.” Jon fought to keep the rising panic out of his voice.
“Please, I am not Ned Stark. I am his son.”
The king continued to ignore his words, and instead he started to move his hips
steadily against Jon's. Dry, chapped lips found his neck, pressing wet kisses
to his skin. Large, strong hands came up to grasp his narrow hips in a bruising
grip. Jon closed his eyes tightly, desperately wishing that he was only
dreaming that the king of the seven kingdoms was rutting against him roughly.
He brought his hands up to push at the king's broad shoulders with all his
strength, but the man was just too heavy.
“Please, Your Grace,” he said again, the panic and fear coming through in his
voice. “Please stop!”
The king's hands gripped Jon's hips tighter and slammed the boy's whole body
back against the wall roughly, forcing a pained gasp out of Jon's throat. “How
dare you try to refuse me, I am your king!” He slammed the boy against the wall
of the stable again. Then his grip loosened and the man started to gently
stroke Jon's hips. “I'm sorry, Ned. But remember how much fun we used to have
together? We could have fun again.”
Jon shook his head frantically, the panic rising inside of him even more when
he felt thick fingers tugging clumsily on the laces of his breeches. Still, the
man was his king. He could, by law, take anything he wanted from him. But Jon
really didn't want to give the king his virginity. He could feel tears burning
in his eyes as the rough hands pushed his breeches down, exposing his
completely to the king.
“Stop,” he tried again, pushing harder against the man's strong shoulders. He
still couldn't budge the man. Still the man refused to listen to his words.
“You're bigger than I remember,” the king murmured into Jon's ear, wrapping one
hand around his length. Jon let out a quiet gasp as he felt himself start to
harden under the man's attentions. “Ahh, to be young again,” the king laughed
lowly as he stroked the boy to full hardness.
Jon could feel his face reddening as another gasp slipped past his lips. No one
besides himself had ever touched him like this. It felt different; pleasure was
coursing through his entire body even though he didn't want this man touching
him. Even the shame he felt at having another man touching him like this wasn't
enough to cut through the pleasure that the king was forcing on his body.
“Stop!” Jon gasped once more, even as his hips moved unbidden into the king's
hand. He wondered for a brief moment how many girls had been taken by the king
while he was drunk, begging him to stop. It was a horrible, cruel thought, but
Jon couldn't help but wonder when he himself was being pressed against a wall.
The king started to move his hand faster along the length, his lips pressing
once again to Jon's throat. “You don't really want me to stop,” he muttered
between wet kisses. “You always played hard to get, Ned. But you always submit
to me in the end.”
Jon shook his head even more frantically as the king pressed in even closer to
him. “I'm not Ned!” he cried out, feeling hot tears start to slip down his
cheeks. “I'm his bastard son, Jon Snow!”
The king stepped away then, and Jon felt a wave of relief wash over him. That
is, until the king gripped his hips tightly and turned him roughly to face the
wall. He pressed himself against the boy again heavily, trapping him against
the stone wall. Jon felt his breath catch in his throat as he felt the man's
hard length pressing against his bare backside. He brought his hands up and
tried to shove himself away from the wall, silently cursing the king's massive
girth.
“Just relax, Ned,” the king's slurred voice whispered in Jon's ear. Large,
rough hands kneaded at his pale ass in a strangely gentle manner. “You always
forget to relax.”
Jon couldn't hold back a frightened whimper. “Please, Your Grace! Stop this!”
The hands faltered for a brief moment before sliding to grip Jon's hips again
roughly and slamming him against the wall again. The boy gave a pained groan,
another frightened whimper escaping his lips.
“Do not say no to me, Ned,” the king growled lowly in Jon's ear, one hand
pinning the boy to the cold wall, the other pulling open his own breeches. Jon
stiffened as he heard the king spit into his hand. “Not now. I told you that I
need you. You can't say no. Not to your king.” With those words, he pressed
forward roughly, slamming into the boy.
Jon cried out; the pain was excruciating. He felt like he was being split open
and torn apart from the inside. He sobbed loudly as the king kept on moving,
thrusting into him at a rapid pace. His own body was slamming painfully into
the wall with every thrust; it was all he could do to brace himself against the
wall.
Thankfully, it didn't last long before the king was spilling his seed inside of
Jon. For a long moment the man didn't move. He just leaned heavily against the
boy, panting heavily. Finally he pulled out; Jon could feel the king's seed
spilling out and down his thighs, leaving a disgusting sticky trail. Jon didn't
move except his shaking shoulders as sobs continued to spill from between his
lips. He prayed to the old gods that the king was done and would leave him
alone now. He didn't think his body would be able to handle anything more.
For a change, his prayers were answered. The king just fixed his breeches and
staggered off, probably back to the feast. Jon didn't care where the man went;
he was just thankful that the man was gone. Slowly, hissing in pain, he pulled
up his own breeches and made his way back to his own chambers. Ghost would
eventually find his way back. Right now, Jon just needed to get himself cleaned
up.
***** Robert *****
Chapter Notes
     I think (I hope) that I may be getting my muse back for writing this
     story. I really hope so, anyway. I figured I could at the very least
     post the remaining chapters that I already have written.
     Rereading these next few chapters, I realized that I'm not very happy
     with them (especially chapter Seven). Therefore I may change them
     from the original version that is posted on my Fanfiction.Net
     account. Just in case anyone read it over there, and then notices the
     (possible) changes here.
     Other than that, please enjoy! :D
“Your Grace?”
King Robert Baratheon scowled into his substantial breakfast at the infuriating
formality. “Damn it, Ned; it’s too early for civility. Just call me Robert like
you used to and be done with it. There is no one of importance here to listen
in.” He finally dropped his fork and lifted his gaze to his oldest friend, the
scowl still on his face. “Well? Get in here and tell me what’s got you up and
being so bloody formal this early in the morning.”
Ned Stark entered the king’s chambers and took a seat at the table across from
Robert, the ghost of a smile skirting across his face. “It’s almost midday,
Robert. I’ve ben awake since dawn. You, it appears, have slept in.”
The king let out a bark of laughter, the scowl dropping from his face. “I had a
long night, Ned; probably much longer that yours. And I am the king of the
Seven Kingdoms! I should be allowed to sleep in if I so desire.” He took a
long, noisy swig from his cup of wine and gave a grin. “Speaking of last night
though, I had a vision. I went outside to take a piss and saw you in the
stables, but it was as though you were a young lad. No more than fifteen or
sixteen! It certainly felt real, though!”
He was so certain that it had been a vision, even though he could still feel
the warm body beneath him and taste the salty skin. He was so caught up in his
remembrances, that he did not notice Ned’s startled look or brief pause.
“What do you mean by that?” Ned asked carefully, his voice betraying no
emotion. “What do you mean, it felt real?”
Robert snorted, not noticing Ned’s stiffness. “I mean the vision certainly felt
like warm flesh when I touched it!”
This time the king noticed the other’s brief pause.
“What are you thinking of?” he grumbled, taking another long swallow from his
wine glass. “You always look too serious.”
Ned didn’t even crack a smile, his gaze focused on the king. “I wonder . . .”
he mused for a moment, a barely discernable waver in his voice. “My . . . my
bastard son, Jon, looks remarkably like I did all those years ago. Perhaps it
was him you saw.”
It was Robert’s turn to pause, actually thinking back to the previous night’s
encounter. The boy in the vision had said something about not being Ned . . .
But everything from the night was a blur. “It’s possible,” he conceded gruffly,
refilling his wine glass. “Now, what are you doing here?”
Ned ignored the question, replying with his own. “Robert, what did you do to my
son last night?”
“Seven Hells, Ned! Don’t act like I hurt the boy!” Robert exploded, slamming
his palm down onto the wooden table. “I didn’t do anything to your precious
bastard!” It was a lie, but the king would die before admitting to the
honourable Ned Stark that he may have fucked his protesting son.
“Robert . . .” Ned’s voice held a cold warning tone.
“Ned,” the king replied, just as coldly. “I may have pushed him around a bit,
thinking that he was you. I can’t remember. Now, what did you come here for?”
Ned stared hard at Robert, but the king stared right back, not willing to
budge. As stubborn as the Starks could be, Robert Baratheon could be more so
when it mattered to him. Finally Ned sighed, his whole body slumping.
“I came here to tell you . . .” Ned paused yet again and swallowed heavily.
“I’ve decided to accept your offer. I would be honoured to be the Hand of the
King, Your Grace.”
Robert broke into a huge grin and pushed himself to his feet, striding around
the wooden table to drag Ned into a tight hug. “That’s great! What made you
change your mind?”
“It is my duty to serve my king,” Ned replied solemnly, even as he hugged the
king back.
“Dammit, Ned! I told you to stop being so damn formal!” Robert roared with
laughter, squeezing the other man tightly. “I knew you would come around
eventually! Of course, you’ll have to move down to King’s Landing. You’ll be
bringing your family with you, I presume.”
Ned struggled to extract himself from the king’s grasp. “You’re partly right.
Catelyn will stay here with Robb, to help him learn how to run the household.
And Because Catelyn is staying, Rickon will stay as well. But the girls and
Bran will be coming to King’s Landing with me.”
Robert finally released his friend, moving heavily back to the table to pour
two glasses of wine. He pushed one towards Ned, his expression clearly telling
him to drink. “And your bastard?” he asked, his voice clear of emotion. “Will
he be staying here as well?”
It was then that Ned Stark came as close to snorting as he was able to. “No;
Catelyn wouldn’t stand for that.”
“So you’re bringing him South.” It wasn’t a question; there wasn’t much else
that Ned could do with the bastard, beyond warding him out to one of his
bannermen. Though Robert was certain that most would be insulted with the task.
He wasn’t entirely certain why he even cared where the bastard ended; he told
himself it was residual guilt from what may have happened the previous night.
“Jon would not be welcome in the South,” Ned replied with a small sigh, finally
lifting the glass to take a small sip of wine. “He will be going North with
Benjen to the Wall.”
“The Wall?” Robert snorted incredulously. “The Wall is no place for a mere
boy!”
“What would you have me do?” Ned shot back. “There is no place for a bastard in
the King’s Court and he cannot stay here. Benjen has told me that Jon has
expressed to him a desire to go North. It may be for the best.”
“Nonsense!” The king took a seat at the table, once more picking up his fork to
eat. “The boy has barely experienced anything yet! You can’t send him to the
Wall without experiencing life!”
“Cat will not have him here—“
“Then bring your bastard to King’s Landing!” Robert roared. “I’ll find
something for him to do there!” He could already think of a few things that his
friend’s pretty look-a-like bastard could do for him after last night. He
should have been ashamed by the thoughts shifting through his head, but it was
only a bastard.
Ned shook his head. “I can’t—“
“Bring the boy South, Ned,” Robert cut in, his voice firm and final. He chose
to ignore the voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea. “That is an
order from your king.”
After all, the boy looked remarkably like a young Ned, and in turn, his Lyanna.
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