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linndechirTitle: To every thing there is a season
Fandom: ASOIAF
Pairing: Stannis/Jon
Rating: PG-13
Words: 697
Warnings: character death (old age, nothing violent)
Summary: Jon thinks about the years he has spent by Stannis' side. (Kingsguard!verse)
It was autumn when his king first came to the Wall. It felt like winter, here in the North, but they both knew that the worst was yet to come. His king was cold and harsh as the North itself, if not for the that hint of Southern fire burning in dark blue eyes, a fire that seemed to fuel and consume him at the same time. His king glanced at him and saw a boy, a bastard, an obstacle – but the closer he looked, the more he saw himself in that boy, his pain in that bastard, the ally beneath that obstacle. For every time Jon defied him, his king respected him more, and for every time Jon stood by his side, his king loved him more. It was autumn when Jon killed the boy to become the man he was meant to be, but he did not yet know that this man would belong to the king.
It was winter when his king returned from Winterfell to fight the true war beyond the Wall. They had no hope left, no illusions, no dreams. Winter seemed as endless as the war, fighting as pointless as trying to melt the snow. But every time Jon felt despair engulf him, every time he wanted to give up and die, his king's piercing eyes – blue as the living sea, not the dead cold blue of the Others – found his, and Jon would not falter in his duty. His king's strength seemed infinite, his iron will forged and tempered in a life of deprivation and duty, and Jon felt ashamed of his own doubts when he saw his king's inexorable determination. Only years later would he know that his king had depended on him just as much, that they had leant on each other whenever one of them was about to fall.
It was spring when his king took him to King's Landing, and even a land ravaged by war and winter seemed beautiful in the light of victory. The white cloak was heavy on Jon's shoulders, and yet it felt lighter than the black of the Night's Watch ever had. Victory had taken away his purpose, but his king had given him a new one. He had swept aside Jon's doubts and fears, had made him his with a sword and a vow, and Jon had spent too much time by his king's side to bear the thought of ever being without him again. So he knelt, and he followed, and through the years of his king's reign, as he rebuilt a realm that never thanked him, those blue eyes would always meet Jon's for advice, for approval, and Jon knew that he had not failed in his duties, for his king needed him more now than the Wall.
It was late summer when his king lay dying, the longest summer anyone could remember. He had been king for so long that men said the Stranger himself feared him, though Jon thought he was merely too stubborn to die. His sons were grown men when the king's old body at last broke the iron will that had once saved Westeros. As Prince Steffon – King Steffon soon, though no one dared to say it – took his weeping mother and siblings from the king's chambers, only Jon remained. Sitting by his king's side, sword-calloused fingers entwined with hands he knew as well as his own, he looked into the blue eyes that had guided him through life, watched them go hazy when his king whispered in a broken voice his final order to keep his son safe, watched as they strained themselves a last time to focus on Jon's face, and then died. Jon's hands were tender as he closed his king's eyes, and he breathed a last kiss on still warm lips. If this were one of Sansa's stories, he thought, that kiss would bring him back to me for one more lifetime. He chased the thought away with a sigh – his king would scold him for such foolish musings, and even now that he was gone, Jon could not bear to disappoint him.
Fandom: ASOIAF
Pairing: Stannis/Jon
Rating: PG-13
Words: 697
Warnings: character death (old age, nothing violent)
Summary: Jon thinks about the years he has spent by Stannis' side. (Kingsguard!verse)
It was autumn when his king first came to the Wall. It felt like winter, here in the North, but they both knew that the worst was yet to come. His king was cold and harsh as the North itself, if not for the that hint of Southern fire burning in dark blue eyes, a fire that seemed to fuel and consume him at the same time. His king glanced at him and saw a boy, a bastard, an obstacle – but the closer he looked, the more he saw himself in that boy, his pain in that bastard, the ally beneath that obstacle. For every time Jon defied him, his king respected him more, and for every time Jon stood by his side, his king loved him more. It was autumn when Jon killed the boy to become the man he was meant to be, but he did not yet know that this man would belong to the king.
It was winter when his king returned from Winterfell to fight the true war beyond the Wall. They had no hope left, no illusions, no dreams. Winter seemed as endless as the war, fighting as pointless as trying to melt the snow. But every time Jon felt despair engulf him, every time he wanted to give up and die, his king's piercing eyes – blue as the living sea, not the dead cold blue of the Others – found his, and Jon would not falter in his duty. His king's strength seemed infinite, his iron will forged and tempered in a life of deprivation and duty, and Jon felt ashamed of his own doubts when he saw his king's inexorable determination. Only years later would he know that his king had depended on him just as much, that they had leant on each other whenever one of them was about to fall.
It was spring when his king took him to King's Landing, and even a land ravaged by war and winter seemed beautiful in the light of victory. The white cloak was heavy on Jon's shoulders, and yet it felt lighter than the black of the Night's Watch ever had. Victory had taken away his purpose, but his king had given him a new one. He had swept aside Jon's doubts and fears, had made him his with a sword and a vow, and Jon had spent too much time by his king's side to bear the thought of ever being without him again. So he knelt, and he followed, and through the years of his king's reign, as he rebuilt a realm that never thanked him, those blue eyes would always meet Jon's for advice, for approval, and Jon knew that he had not failed in his duties, for his king needed him more now than the Wall.
It was late summer when his king lay dying, the longest summer anyone could remember. He had been king for so long that men said the Stranger himself feared him, though Jon thought he was merely too stubborn to die. His sons were grown men when the king's old body at last broke the iron will that had once saved Westeros. As Prince Steffon – King Steffon soon, though no one dared to say it – took his weeping mother and siblings from the king's chambers, only Jon remained. Sitting by his king's side, sword-calloused fingers entwined with hands he knew as well as his own, he looked into the blue eyes that had guided him through life, watched them go hazy when his king whispered in a broken voice his final order to keep his son safe, watched as they strained themselves a last time to focus on Jon's face, and then died. Jon's hands were tender as he closed his king's eyes, and he breathed a last kiss on still warm lips. If this were one of Sansa's stories, he thought, that kiss would bring him back to me for one more lifetime. He chased the thought away with a sigh – his king would scold him for such foolish musings, and even now that he was gone, Jon could not bear to disappoint him.
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no subject
Date: 2011-12-06 08:47 pm (UTC)What a bittersweet story. Beautiful.
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Date: 2011-12-06 08:51 pm (UTC)Thank you, I'm glad you liked it. :) I didn't even mean to make this so sad, it's just where the story went. Broke my heart, too. I'm very relieved that it worked and didn't come across as cheesy.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 12:14 am (UTC)Sad works for them - a sappy, fluffy ending just isn't believable, so a noble ending is best...
no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 01:38 am (UTC)In this verse it actually is a fairly happy ending - they did have years, even decades together, even with the hint of sadness in there that Stannis was married (to Sansa, in my headcanon) and that made them feel all guilty for their relationship. But they were happy together, as happy as they can be. But Stannis IS twenty years older than Jon ...
no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 03:05 am (UTC)Now this kind of reminds me of a less extreme version of Aragorn/Arwen.
Until the sign-ups close you can still change your prompts, if you like. So you can still request something else until Friday, just leave another comment so I don't forget about it. I'm all for awesome age difference/heartbreaking death scenes after decades of happiness fic.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 05:15 pm (UTC)Ok that white cloack on Jon's shoulders need to happen *____*. You keep writing about it and I love the idea. Either white, either lack and nothing else.
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Date: 2011-12-07 05:17 pm (UTC)I will convince everybody that Kingsguard!Jon needs to happen. Now I only need to convince GRRM ... Thanks for commenting. ^^
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Date: 2011-12-12 03:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 03:16 pm (UTC)I'm SO glad you liked this. :D I adore their co-dependence, I'm glad it came through. I love how Stannis, despite being such an incredibly strong person, still leans on others because he needs -someone- to be there for him. And you just know that 30 years or however long with Jon on Stannis' Kingsguard would make them ridiculously co-dependent. They probably finish each other's sentences, or they barely talk for days because they understand each other without a word.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-10 11:28 am (UTC)I love Your stories about Stannis/Davos, Stannis/Jon. I like Kingsguard Jon.
And Queen Sansa, Stannis's wife. Wonderful. She is a little too young, but... she grow up by this time, she is'nt innocent stupid little girl now.
I think king Stannis deserves for long, long time on Iron Throne, Westerosians deserve for his long, peaceful, just reign.
But everything is in Martin's hands. /sad sigh/
Thank You for Your stories again.
kamarwier/Kate Poem