I need a few hours. I am a hand taller than I was before our journey to the Singularity. Before I do anything else, I must sort out new clothes, new boots.
That you feel lost — I don't like it. You deserve better.
[ She doesn't know if she will or not, but right now she has bigger things on her mind. Her bees are dead, her home needs half a roof, and she misses the wrong husband. ]
[The truth here would be easy: "I like your silver hair" and "I'm not all right." But he has no right to say these things, so he doesn't. And it might be that time will soften them; it might be that it will not. Hard to say now. She isn't dead, like Ygritte is dead; she is only over in Solvunn and not truly his in any real sense. He cannot say whether this will make things better or worse.]
Better than me. My head is a whirl.
You should keep your hair as you like it, however you like it. There might be herbs that can make it brown again, if a spell cannot.
[ The thought is automatic, less filtered, and she regrets it as soon as its gone. She doesn't know him, or have any right to those words, does she? She doesn't know how to recover from that thought, and so she barrels ahead to changing the topic back to their plans. ]
[ Her heart feels like it's in her throat, and Claire stares at the door as if it's committed a great offense to her. She's made what she knows he likes because...well. Why not? She's already second-guessing herself as she looks at the tea and biscuits. But she does finally stand from her table and open the door.
Seeing him causes a knot in her throat that she tries to swallow, but it causes a small wobble of her chin. She ducks her head and then steps aside, finding her voice. Her long silver hair is down and perfectly hides a portion of her face when she dips her head, just as she was hoping for. ]
[Her hair, still silver. He does not expect that seeing her will feel like a blow, but it does. Even the simple cottage is still so familiar, like something he's seen in every dream he's had since he was a boy -- better than the true ones, which usually involve being lost and unwanted in the crypts at Winterfell, or fighting endless waves of wights with the faces of everyone he's ever known or loved.
Everyone but her. He has loved her. He's lived whole lifetimes with her. He hardly knows her.
When he comes inside, he has the ghost of an impulse to sit in a chair and kick off his boots and put his feet up and pull her into his lap. He does none of these things, pushing them aside. This is not your place, no more than those crypts are. Instead, he inclines his head to her, a gesture of respect.]
-- I still don't know what to say. Saying I'm sorry, that's a place to start.
[He stands far enough into the room that she can close the door behind him; he stares at her sadly.]
Edited (give me time and I can make the text *even smaller*.) 2024-05-23 04:27 (UTC)
[ Claire doesn't say anything at all after he speaks, not until she's closed the door quietly behind him. For a moment she rests her head against the wood with her eyes closed, but then she turns to look at him, eyes resting on his. ]
You have nothing to be sorry for, it isn't necessary. If anything I'm—
[ She's what? Married and should have somehow known to resist? Confused because she doesn't understand why she can't quickly fall back on being married, unavailable and unaffected by what happened? ]
I didn't make it easy for you when you tried to explain the truth to me, and for that, I'm sorry.
[ She was borderline juvenile about her refusal, but she's trying to stand taller now, trying to remind herself that none of this was their fault. Her love for him isn't her fault. ]
[he says, but he says it easily, with no rancor. She had not made it easy for him, but -- ]
I can't think of a reason why you should have. It was your whole life, and for my part -- well, I wished then that I had never known. We could have gone on happily until the end if I had not gone to Hayle.
Still, I -- it's better to know the truth.
[He keeps his tone very calm and serious as he says these things. He has told himself, before arriving, that speaking this way is for the best.]
How is Solvunn, now that you've returned to it? Thorne seems much the same as ever, apart from the trouble the storm caused.
[ Claire hears him, she does. She hears him, she listens, and her voice feels caught in her throat. She hears her husband, then she thinks of Jamie, and she wonders if he'll ever arrive in Abraxas for her to apologize to, to beg for forgiveness her trespasses. Would that be another year for now? Eight-hundred? ]
Solvunn will be fine. I need a new roof, all my bees are dead, the community is rebuilding. Is that what we're here to speak of, then? I'll give the more detailed report if so.
[ Brushing her hands over her skirt, she sits at the table and pours tea for both of them simply to have something to do with her hands. It isn't because she spent lifetimes taking care of him, knowing what he likes, able to anticipate it. It's because he's a guest, he'd do the same for anyone. Or so she tells herself. ]
[His gaze drops to the top of the table, and he hesitates for a moment before he looks back up at her.]
No. It isn't.
But I wanted to know if you wanted anything from the castle town in Thorne. I will bring it to you in Nocwich, when I can. I'd help you with your roof if I could, too, but -- [An awkward, dismissive shrug -- he can't see her house in Solvunn, let alone aid her with it. Then, more hesitation, and then,]
How well do we know each other, in truth?
[The entire time, he ignores what she's pouring into the cup.]
[ Claire waves a hand dismissively at his trailing off sentence, sitting and running a hand over her forehead distractedly. ]
I know, it’s alright. I don’t think I’m short anyone willing to help, but I’ll make a list if you’re really alright with it, of supplies I might need.
[ She’s quiet. It feels like there’s an ocean between them, and where the answer should be simple, it isn’t. ]
You know me more intimately than anyone in Abraxas. Everything about my heart, my character. You know fears and worries, all of that was real Jon. What you don’t know is what I was forced to forget, but I’ll tell you anything you want. It involves time travel, I’ve been pulled to another time before.
[ She doesn’t want him to think she’s hiding anything, and her gaze settles on his. ]
The Singularity gave us one another for centuries, and I haven’t had even a handful of years with Jamie. He’s the father of my children and I do love him, deeply.
[ Claire’s voice is shaking, the knot of guilt unfurling. ]
For two decades I grieved for Jamie, a shell of myself. I got him back, I had him for less than two years, and then I was here. It’s been a year since my arrival, and at first I thought…well, I thought I would be that same half-alive person without him. But then I wasn’t. I made friends here, I created a small family for myself, and I realized I was happy. Making choices solely for myself, building connections, realizing my happiness didn’t depend on being reunited with Jamie.
[ She heaves out a breath, realizing she might as well finish so she can stop talking. ]
Before all of this, I’d already started missing having someone not only in my bed, but someone who knew the deeper parts of me. Everything that matters when you let someone into your heart.
[ Then she had it, and now she doesn’t want to let go. She understands that she has to, and she assumes these are final words. She’ll have to think later about what sort of person she is for wanting all of this, if she’s always been selfish. ]
[He only nods, a little blankly, at the first part. Then he listens.
What he hears is: she loves this other man. They have children, something she and Jon could never have had. She had missed Jamie when she was summoned... but then, less and less.
Jon's fist flexes, then loosens. He wants to smash the man's face in. Poor man, who has done nothing to him but be born somewhere, at some time; a man whose great crime had been to meet Claire first. He wonders what he would do if he rounded a corner and met Ygritte. Her body is ashes in the wind scattered all across the North now. He has tried to let her go, however long it has taken. No man can hold to ashes forever.]
And that's what we were?
[Some of the skepticism in his expression relents when he goes on to explain, gently as he can,]
You don't know everything about me, either. You know more than most, but not the things I couldn't remember -- same as it is with you. I was not made to forget anything like a wife, I am free to marry if I wish, but other things. My duty is to rally the defense of the North, and I am nowhere near the North. They took me from it.
[Still, one thing stands out in everything she has said: somewhere in all of this, she has loved him. Their life together had been as true as it might be, for all that it had been an illusion. He adds,]
[ She bites back quickly, a shade of embarrassment if she was wrong beginning to color her cheeks. ]
You say I don't know everything about you as if something is keeping us from getting to know one another again, truthfully this time. Although, how do we even know this is all of it? What if something else has happened, if more time has passed than we think, or a bigger event occurred, and we just don't know?
[ Her gaze focuses on the top of her mug, watching the steam slowly rise. For his last statement, she tries to come up with something to say, but all she can come up with is a truth. ] When I met Jamie I was married. Something...similar to Abraxas had happened to me. It kept me in the same place, only moved me two-hundred years into the past. [ One thumb glides up and down the side of the hot mug, swallowing, wondering what he'll think of her after this. Likely nothing good, if he takes issue with her being married now. ]
Weeks after we'd married, I had the chance to go back to my own time, I didn't. I suffered for it later plenty, believe me, but I made my decision and left a husband to wonder what in hell happened to me. I don't know what it says about me, if I'm able to love deeply and easily, or if I'm selfish, needy.
[ She knows based on what others have said that it's likely if she ever does leave Abraxas, she won't remember her time here, won't have any knowledge of it, and will go right back to floating in the to the middle of the ocean none the wiser. She also knows Jamie could theoretically arrive tomorrow, but she's already done a sort of waiting, for two decades, and she can't go through it again, always wanting for something, always aching. ]
I understand if this is too much, Jon, I do. If nothing else, I would like to at least be a friend to you.
[ A friend who still remembers canvassing the man in front of her with hands and mouth, things which she will absolutely not allow herself to think about now. ]
And...I'm sorry.
[ Because now she thinks it's worth saying again, after all she's mentioned. ]
[She has given him a cup of tea. Before their false marriage, he had never tasted the stuff. Tea at Winterfell had been sweet herbs, usually mint, not the bitter stuff she brews. But he had grown to like it well enough, and he knows how to make it taste better, just so much sugar or honey, just so much milk or cream. He does that now, and drinks it, and... oh, he recalls the flavor well enough.
He watches her as she speaks, but sometimes, what she says to him has him looking down at the table. He is looking at her, though, when he affirms,]
We were. It was for me. No one has ever known me better than you did then. But it wouldn't be right to assume that's how you feel about it now. I needed to know.
[The rest bewilders him. A second husband? Not really married to this Jamie at all, but she had loved him, missed him, mourned him? He listens -- he will be thinking about little else for days -- but he doesn't yet respond to it. Part of him wants to kiss her to stop her talking, leaping ahead as she is, and the better part of him knows it would solve nothing. Hearing what she's saying might be like little knives, but it is the truth, better than a comforting lie.
He sets his teacup down and puts his face in his hands, rubbing over his eyes, before looking up again.]
Of course we're friends. None better. I didn't tell you that there are things you don't know about me to make you feel like you don't know me, or you can't.
[A deep breath.]
My father was Lord Stark. Winterfell was his castle, you know that much. He was good through and through -- the best man I ever met. But I am not Jon Stark; I never have been. He fathered me on some woman -- I've never known who -- when he was at war, even though he had been newly married. And when the war ended, he brought me home to his castle.
I don't know what they treat bastard children like where you come from, but where I come from, they say that bastards are born sinners because they come from sin. Born full of lust because they are born of lust. Born oathbreakers because they come from the breaking of an oath. If my father had been a different man, I might have been raised as the servant of his trueborn children, or raised far away from them, instead of beside them. There are worse places to be a bastard child than the North, but --
[An expansive little gesture. It had been bad enough.]
When I was a boy, I wanted to prove them all wrong. Prove that a bastard might have honor; prove that I was not a stain on my father's name. And still, I've done many things as a man that I swore, as a boy, that I would never do. You think things are simple when you're a child. You don't understand how hard some choices can be -- that sometimes there is more honor in breaking an oath than keeping one, and that one man's honor does not matter against the lives of a thousand people.
I'm telling you this so you understand why it troubles me to lie with another man's wife. But then, I weigh that against another measure. We were happy for hundreds of years.
I've hardly ever looked to be happy; I've hardly had the chance.
[He hears the uncertainty in his own voice. What he means is: how much should his own happiness matter? Or, if not his, hers?]
[ Claire listens attentively; this isn't only about her, about her marriage and life before. She listens and wants to reach out to take his hand in quiet support while he speaks, remembers nights of talking for hours on end about what she thought was their lives all from the comfort of his arms. And she hears, which is more important than listening in any case, and why the knot of guilt tightens in her gut. There is a pause before she speaks; it isn't easy for her to want Jon, it isn't as easy as shrugging Jamie off, and she worries that's how she comes across. ]
I understand the reasons you have, and I think most morally centered people would need to take a step back. You're right; as a child, even a younger person before being introduced to the real horrors of the world, things are so black and white. 'I will never' and 'I will always' come easily. Too easily because we simply don't know any better.
[ Something in her softens, loosens, as if the tension has been set free, even if momentarily. ]
As adults, we have the ability to see nuance and apply context. Some can do that more easily than others, or perhaps I'm attempting to make excuses for myself. Either way, I lived for twenty years in a nebulous space, faithful to a man so far away that he was a ghost, while someone right next to me wanted me, wanted to love me, be a husband.
[ Frank was by no means perfect, but he accepted her when he had every right not to. He did things she will always abhor, he took things from her, all but her ring, but he also tried. He tried harder than he had to, and she rejected him, stayed buried in her grief and never, ever moved on. ]
I could've chosen to be happy while keeping space to mourn and miss Jamie, but I didn't. I could make the same mistake again, but I won't.
[ Claire sounds a little more sure of herself, but still isn't positive there's anything she can say that makes her sound like less of a wandering wife. ]
I want to live my life, and if love is a part of that, if that's what happiness looks like, I don't want to push it away because something may or may not happen. I don't want to lose hundreds of years of happiness, even if...
[ Even if their status and history in Abraxas was a lie. Their feelings weren't, were they? ]
Even if I have to defend myself to Jamie. Tomorrow, two years from now, two hundred. I can't live another life wanting and feeling achingly alone.
[He absorbs this, mostly silent. She doesn't understand that one of the things he had sworn he would never do was to lie with a woman: he is free of that vow now, but he had broken it of necessity long before he was free of it, and the breaking was bitter and sweet all at once. Still, loving a woman freely does not come easily to him. And it's for him like it is for Claire, in some ways: Ygritte has been dead for some time. He had mourned her; he had thought to join her, when he was dying himself, and then it had not happened that way. She is utterly lost to him, and always has been, and he had learned to live without her. There had been no other choice.
But the life he remembers with Claire had gone on for centuries, not only a few moons, and had never been so fraught as his time with Ygritte had been, and today, Claire means more to him. It is hard for it to feel like a betrayal of a woman he is not likely to see again. He can even imagine what Ygritte would have said, with that sly smile of hers: Taken up with a woods witch, have you, Jon Snow? But she would have wanted him to live freely, not to suffer and mourn and think only of duty.]
That's the trouble, isn't it? I don't like to think of you all lonely like that. You ought to be happy. If we part now, there will be other men -- someday. I don't like to think of you with another man, either. Not your Jamie, I am sorry, and not anyone else.
If I break with you in truth, those things will come. They should come. I will have to stand aside, watch them. No right to do anything else, and no one to blame.
[Right now, it seems she is a widow, more than another man's wife. She is much older than he is, too.
If those things don't come, might be that she will leave this world the way others have, and it will be like it was with Alicent: his hesitation, knowing of her husband, knowing the man had sat the Iron Throne all those years ago, had removed all possibility between them.
The idea of all of that makes him feel heartsick. He has endured that before, though. His heart is usually of such little matter.
He does reach for her hand, covers it with his, for all that he wears a slight frown. It feels good to touch her. A living woman, right in front of him, and both their futures in his hands.]
We were happy for so long. And we might -- that might be near enough to our lives now, not in five hundred years. Not after all that sorrow. Is that what's right?
[He doesn't know if she can tell how much he wants it, and how hard it is to take the last step. But he is beginning to understand that there might not be another chance.]
[ She can tell. And she suspects that there are things still to know, information to process, and other realizations to come to. But she wants to know those things and understand with him. When he reaches for her hand, she covers his with her free one and lightly slides her thumb along the side of his palm. His admission feels like a spark of hope despite every manufactured moment and differences between them.
Keeping her hand in his, Claire stands and moves around the table to the chair right beside him. Now her free hand is against his cheek, holding his face in her hand, a perfect fit. It's a gesture that feels so familiar, and she tries to soothe away his frown with her touch. ]
What do you want, Jon Snow?
[ She answers his question with a question of her own. Has he ever been asked that, ever been able to ponder the question and ultimately choose himself? The hand in his squeezes gently in encouragement, but she doesn't let her believe it will be as easy as a simple answer. She has hope, but it's hesitant. ]
[The way she rubs her finger against his nearly makes him pull her in; the way she cups his cheek only adds to the temptation. He leans into the palm of her hand, closing his eyes, and has to stop himself from turning his head to kiss it.
So easy to live in this love, this moment. It could be the last, or it could be only one of many.
He opens his eyes, catches her gaze with his.]
You know what I want.
[You, for as long as I can have you.
He exhales, then adds,]
But I also don't want either of us to do something we'll regret.
I would be breaking faith with no one. You say you would not be: I want you to be sure. We have never touched each other in truth, but I remember every -- [Every inch of you, every breath.] Everything. There's a difference between something that fell on us and something we chose.
When I was a boy, I did not think I would ever marry. I had nothing to offer a wife and no reason to think I'd ever have funds to support a family. These last few years, now that things are different, I have known that I might have little choice in my bride. If I married, it would be for the North, not for who I wanted in my bed. Not for love of anything but my people, though it might be that love could grow.
But you and me -- this is a choice, now.
If we are lovers in truth, or more than that, we should be sure of it.
I don't regret how I feel. That's where my guilt comes in, knowing there's the potential to hurt Jamie if, one day, at any point, he should arrive. But even that guilt isn't as big as how I've felt for you for centuries.
[ If that love was manufactured by the Singularity, then wouldn't it have dissipated along with everything else? She listens to him now and leans in to press her forehead to his tenderly, closing her eyes. Bringing their hands between them, she holds onto his hand with both of hers. They aren't married here, he's never been more correct that they have the opportunity to walk away cleanly. ]
I remember. Nights we talked out problems until sunrise, mornings we stayed lazily in bed mapping one another, the days of walks and exploring, solving problems together. I remember, and I'm sure. I want this, I want you.
[ Voicing it, these last three words especially, feels as though she's reaching for him across a gulf even though he's right in front of her. ]
[He holds her hands tightly, leaning against her forehead with his eyes closed. Her mouth is so close; they share the same breaths now, if one is truly breathing in the Horizon. He nearly kisses her -- wants to kiss her, moves his mouth to do it -- but stops himself in time.
When he speaks, his voice is low, hardly above a whisper, and his lips are almost against hers.]
In Nocwich. I want to see you in the flesh. If we both still want it, if you haven't changed your mind, if I can know in my heart that I am with my own woman and not some other man's, we will see each other there.
[He ought to move to leave, as tempted as he is, but he doesn't. It had been hard not to call her his wife, but she is not, not right now.
Sitting here with her like this, nearly kissing her, almost holding her, it's a taste of what he wants. All that really stands between them now is his worry that this desire is wrong -- that giving in to it might dishonor them both. Even so, it's all right to stay a while longer... all right when it's a beginning, and all right, too, when it might be a farewell.
Isn't it?]
Before then, there's something I want you to know. A few years before they brought me here, there was a mutiny. My own men stabbed me -- I don't know how many times. I have scars, ugly things, all over my chest and my belly. You haven't seen them.
[In their hundreds of years together, his face had been scarred, lines over each eye that were faint or deep depending on the day, but his chest had been smooth and uninjured.]
[ It's a comfort to be so close, and not have him pull away. She doesn't want to risk it now with a kiss, satisfied that he hasn't decided to walk away from her. It's why, even with her eyes still closed and her forehead pressed to his, she nods. ]
That's fair, Jon.
[ She pulls back enough so that she can look at him, holding his gaze while her thumb grazes his cheek. ]
I'll agree to that.
[ For some reason she hadn't expected any other confessions, but the more Jon speaks, the tighter her lungs feel in her chest. Mutiny, stabbing, scars. One hand drifts to his chest, pressing there through layers to feel the muffled beating of his heart. ]
I remember listening to this at night. [ Her forehead creases in pain at the image her mind conjures, of Jon being brutally attacked, his blood pooling out of him. It makes her feel nauseous, but she swallows the emotion back. ] You think scars are going to mean anything to me other than you lived? [ She shakes her head, and this time, her forehead comes to rest on his shoulder, a hug that isn't one, not yet. ]
[At first, he nods slowly: to her agreement, and to the way she looks at him in light of his confession, and her memory of resting against his chest, her ear to his heart. And when she leans on his shoulder, he leans his head against hers for a long moment, then pulls back slightly to explain.]
It's a long story. I will tell you more of it some other day.
For now, it's enough to say that I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The men choose their Lord Commander, and the vote had been a narrow thing. When I made... an alliance with an old enemy, to fight a worse one... some disagreed. It was our only chance, but some disagreed. They had not seen. They did not know what we would face.
[He is now trembling, but only a little.]
The word of the Lord Commander should be law, and once a man is made Lord Commander, he is Lord Commander for life.
Claire, I didn't live. [It's hard to say this, but if she ever sees the scar over his heart, she will know. No man could survive that wound.] I was dead and cold on a table for two days until a priestess brought me back. I don't remember anything, but believe me when I say I was dead in truth.
[This might go some way to explaining his insistence, even through the years of their marriage, that he was not a god, only a man. Back at Castle Black, in his last days there, he had had to insist on it.]
[ The trembling isn't little enough to go unnoticed by her, and she aches to hold onto him. To take each scar, one by one, and claim them with her lips. It isn't the first time a love of hers has been scarred, and she wonders why Jon had to be hurt so deeply, on different levels. Instead of tugging him to her bed in the small Horizon home, or even kissing him to soothe, she simply takes one of his hands in both of hers and attempts to be an anchor for him, support. She thinks that's all of it, but then he continues, and she feels the breath hitch in her chest, hanging there painfully until she raggedly exhales. ]
Dead.
[ She repeats it slowly, thinking of those she knows who have told her if not for Abraxas, they would be dead. She thinks of vampires, of Louis, how death and the dead aren't what she'd come to believe. It's still difficult to wrap her mind around, that this man she loves was dead and could have been gone forever, might never have arrived here. Bending her head, she presses a very soft kiss to his knuckles, reassuring herself of his solidity and leaving behind a bit of dampness from a stray tear. He was hurt, murdered, and it makes her stomach ache. ]
I believe you, Jon.
[ She's straightened, looking at him again. She wants to pull him close, to love him, but she's made an agreement and she can only hope that in Nocwich, he'll let her take him in her arms. ]
[If he had not already begun to suspect that he has stayed longer than he should, it's the little kiss to his knuckle, her hot little tear on it, that would have told him. So at first, his only response to what she has said is a sober nod. What he has told her is something he has barely spoken of to anyone, and now that she knows, he is content to let it rest where it is.
Not much longer than a fortnight before they can go to Nocwich. If he doesn't leave here soon, there won't be a decision to be made; there will be only more kisses and more than that. And though he thinks he knows what his decision will be, and she likely knows from the things he has just said what it will be too, it would still be wise to take the time to be sure.
Even so, it is not easy to stand up and walk out a door right after such a confession as he has just made, so he does not. He takes a few slow, hard breaths, masters the trembling, masters the desire to linger here, holds her hand all the while.
Then he gives it a little squeeze and releases it. He places the flats of his hands on his thighs as if he's about to stand.]
I ought to be getting back. Send me your list of anything you need from the markets in Thorne; I have a little coin, as long as you can wait for them.
[Then he does push to his feet.]
Claire, one way or another -- whatever either of us decides -- we will see each other in Nocwich. All right?
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That you feel lost — I don't like it. You deserve better.
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[ She doesn't know if she will or not, but right now she has bigger things on her mind. Her bees are dead, her home needs half a roof, and she misses the wrong husband. ]
'𝐿𝑜𝑠𝑡' 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔. 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑒, 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.
[ This is her only chance to downplay things, while he can't see her face as she attempts to lie her way out of his concern. ]
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Better than me. My head is a whirl.
You should keep your hair as you like it, however you like it. There might be herbs that can make it brown again, if a spell cannot.
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[ The thought is automatic, less filtered, and she regrets it as soon as its gone. She doesn't know him, or have any right to those words, does she? She doesn't know how to recover from that thought, and so she barrels ahead to changing the topic back to their plans. ]
𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑔𝑜 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑜𝑛 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑠𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑒, 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.
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All right. I will be there as soon as I can.
[And three or so hours later, there is a hesitant rap on a cottage door.]
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Seeing him causes a knot in her throat that she tries to swallow, but it causes a small wobble of her chin. She ducks her head and then steps aside, finding her voice. Her long silver hair is down and perfectly hides a portion of her face when she dips her head, just as she was hoping for. ]
Come in, please Jon.
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Everyone but her. He has loved her. He's lived whole lifetimes with her. He hardly knows her.
When he comes inside, he has the ghost of an impulse to sit in a chair and kick off his boots and put his feet up and pull her into his lap. He does none of these things, pushing them aside. This is not your place, no more than those crypts are. Instead, he inclines his head to her, a gesture of respect.]
-- I still don't know what to say. Saying I'm sorry, that's a place to start.
[He stands far enough into the room that she can close the door behind him; he stares at her sadly.]
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You have nothing to be sorry for, it isn't necessary. If anything I'm—
[ She's what? Married and should have somehow known to resist? Confused because she doesn't understand why she can't quickly fall back on being married, unavailable and unaffected by what happened? ]
I didn't make it easy for you when you tried to explain the truth to me, and for that, I'm sorry.
[ She was borderline juvenile about her refusal, but she's trying to stand taller now, trying to remind herself that none of this was their fault. Her love for him isn't her fault. ]
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[he says, but he says it easily, with no rancor. She had not made it easy for him, but -- ]
I can't think of a reason why you should have. It was your whole life, and for my part -- well, I wished then that I had never known. We could have gone on happily until the end if I had not gone to Hayle.
Still, I -- it's better to know the truth.
[He keeps his tone very calm and serious as he says these things. He has told himself, before arriving, that speaking this way is for the best.]
How is Solvunn, now that you've returned to it? Thorne seems much the same as ever, apart from the trouble the storm caused.
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Solvunn will be fine. I need a new roof, all my bees are dead, the community is rebuilding. Is that what we're here to speak of, then? I'll give the more detailed report if so.
[ Brushing her hands over her skirt, she sits at the table and pours tea for both of them simply to have something to do with her hands. It isn't because she spent lifetimes taking care of him, knowing what he likes, able to anticipate it. It's because he's a guest, he'd do the same for anyone. Or so she tells herself. ]
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No. It isn't.
But I wanted to know if you wanted anything from the castle town in Thorne. I will bring it to you in Nocwich, when I can. I'd help you with your roof if I could, too, but -- [An awkward, dismissive shrug -- he can't see her house in Solvunn, let alone aid her with it. Then, more hesitation, and then,]
How well do we know each other, in truth?
[The entire time, he ignores what she's pouring into the cup.]
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I know, it’s alright. I don’t think I’m short anyone willing to help, but I’ll make a list if you’re really alright with it, of supplies I might need.
[ She’s quiet. It feels like there’s an ocean between them, and where the answer should be simple, it isn’t. ]
You know me more intimately than anyone in Abraxas. Everything about my heart, my character. You know fears and worries, all of that was real Jon. What you don’t know is what I was forced to forget, but I’ll tell you anything you want. It involves time travel, I’ve been pulled to another time before.
[ She doesn’t want him to think she’s hiding anything, and her gaze settles on his. ]
The Singularity gave us one another for centuries, and I haven’t had even a handful of years with Jamie. He’s the father of my children and I do love him, deeply.
[ Claire’s voice is shaking, the knot of guilt unfurling. ]
For two decades I grieved for Jamie, a shell of myself. I got him back, I had him for less than two years, and then I was here. It’s been a year since my arrival, and at first I thought…well, I thought I would be that same half-alive person without him. But then I wasn’t. I made friends here, I created a small family for myself, and I realized I was happy. Making choices solely for myself, building connections, realizing my happiness didn’t depend on being reunited with Jamie.
[ She heaves out a breath, realizing she might as well finish so she can stop talking. ]
Before all of this, I’d already started missing having someone not only in my bed, but someone who knew the deeper parts of me. Everything that matters when you let someone into your heart.
[ Then she had it, and now she doesn’t want to let go. She understands that she has to, and she assumes these are final words. She’ll have to think later about what sort of person she is for wanting all of this, if she’s always been selfish. ]
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What he hears is: she loves this other man. They have children, something she and Jon could never have had. She had missed Jamie when she was summoned... but then, less and less.
Jon's fist flexes, then loosens. He wants to smash the man's face in. Poor man, who has done nothing to him but be born somewhere, at some time; a man whose great crime had been to meet Claire first. He wonders what he would do if he rounded a corner and met Ygritte. Her body is ashes in the wind scattered all across the North now. He has tried to let her go, however long it has taken. No man can hold to ashes forever.]
And that's what we were?
[Some of the skepticism in his expression relents when he goes on to explain, gently as he can,]
You don't know everything about me, either. You know more than most, but not the things I couldn't remember -- same as it is with you. I was not made to forget anything like a wife, I am free to marry if I wish, but other things. My duty is to rally the defense of the North, and I am nowhere near the North. They took me from it.
[Still, one thing stands out in everything she has said: somewhere in all of this, she has loved him. Their life together had been as true as it might be, for all that it had been an illusion. He adds,]
I hate that you are wedded.
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[ She bites back quickly, a shade of embarrassment if she was wrong beginning to color her cheeks. ]
You say I don't know everything about you as if something is keeping us from getting to know one another again, truthfully this time. Although, how do we even know this is all of it? What if something else has happened, if more time has passed than we think, or a bigger event occurred, and we just don't know?
[ Her gaze focuses on the top of her mug, watching the steam slowly rise. For his last statement, she tries to come up with something to say, but all she can come up with is a truth. ] When I met Jamie I was married. Something...similar to Abraxas had happened to me. It kept me in the same place, only moved me two-hundred years into the past. [ One thumb glides up and down the side of the hot mug, swallowing, wondering what he'll think of her after this. Likely nothing good, if he takes issue with her being married now. ]
Weeks after we'd married, I had the chance to go back to my own time, I didn't. I suffered for it later plenty, believe me, but I made my decision and left a husband to wonder what in hell happened to me. I don't know what it says about me, if I'm able to love deeply and easily, or if I'm selfish, needy.
[ She knows based on what others have said that it's likely if she ever does leave Abraxas, she won't remember her time here, won't have any knowledge of it, and will go right back to floating in the to the middle of the ocean none the wiser. She also knows Jamie could theoretically arrive tomorrow, but she's already done a sort of waiting, for two decades, and she can't go through it again, always wanting for something, always aching. ]
I understand if this is too much, Jon, I do. If nothing else, I would like to at least be a friend to you.
[ A friend who still remembers canvassing the man in front of her with hands and mouth, things which she will absolutely not allow herself to think about now. ]
And...I'm sorry.
[ Because now she thinks it's worth saying again, after all she's mentioned. ]
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He watches her as she speaks, but sometimes, what she says to him has him looking down at the table. He is looking at her, though, when he affirms,]
We were. It was for me. No one has ever known me better than you did then. But it wouldn't be right to assume that's how you feel about it now. I needed to know.
[The rest bewilders him. A second husband? Not really married to this Jamie at all, but she had loved him, missed him, mourned him? He listens -- he will be thinking about little else for days -- but he doesn't yet respond to it. Part of him wants to kiss her to stop her talking, leaping ahead as she is, and the better part of him knows it would solve nothing. Hearing what she's saying might be like little knives, but it is the truth, better than a comforting lie.
He sets his teacup down and puts his face in his hands, rubbing over his eyes, before looking up again.]
Of course we're friends. None better. I didn't tell you that there are things you don't know about me to make you feel like you don't know me, or you can't.
[A deep breath.]
My father was Lord Stark. Winterfell was his castle, you know that much. He was good through and through -- the best man I ever met. But I am not Jon Stark; I never have been. He fathered me on some woman -- I've never known who -- when he was at war, even though he had been newly married. And when the war ended, he brought me home to his castle.
I don't know what they treat bastard children like where you come from, but where I come from, they say that bastards are born sinners because they come from sin. Born full of lust because they are born of lust. Born oathbreakers because they come from the breaking of an oath. If my father had been a different man, I might have been raised as the servant of his trueborn children, or raised far away from them, instead of beside them. There are worse places to be a bastard child than the North, but --
[An expansive little gesture. It had been bad enough.]
When I was a boy, I wanted to prove them all wrong. Prove that a bastard might have honor; prove that I was not a stain on my father's name. And still, I've done many things as a man that I swore, as a boy, that I would never do. You think things are simple when you're a child. You don't understand how hard some choices can be -- that sometimes there is more honor in breaking an oath than keeping one, and that one man's honor does not matter against the lives of a thousand people.
I'm telling you this so you understand why it troubles me to lie with another man's wife. But then, I weigh that against another measure. We were happy for hundreds of years.
I've hardly ever looked to be happy; I've hardly had the chance.
[He hears the uncertainty in his own voice. What he means is: how much should his own happiness matter? Or, if not his, hers?]
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I understand the reasons you have, and I think most morally centered people would need to take a step back. You're right; as a child, even a younger person before being introduced to the real horrors of the world, things are so black and white. 'I will never' and 'I will always' come easily. Too easily because we simply don't know any better.
[ Something in her softens, loosens, as if the tension has been set free, even if momentarily. ]
As adults, we have the ability to see nuance and apply context. Some can do that more easily than others, or perhaps I'm attempting to make excuses for myself. Either way, I lived for twenty years in a nebulous space, faithful to a man so far away that he was a ghost, while someone right next to me wanted me, wanted to love me, be a husband.
[ Frank was by no means perfect, but he accepted her when he had every right not to. He did things she will always abhor, he took things from her, all but her ring, but he also tried. He tried harder than he had to, and she rejected him, stayed buried in her grief and never, ever moved on. ]
I could've chosen to be happy while keeping space to mourn and miss Jamie, but I didn't. I could make the same mistake again, but I won't.
[ Claire sounds a little more sure of herself, but still isn't positive there's anything she can say that makes her sound like less of a wandering wife. ]
I want to live my life, and if love is a part of that, if that's what happiness looks like, I don't want to push it away because something may or may not happen. I don't want to lose hundreds of years of happiness, even if...
[ Even if their status and history in Abraxas was a lie. Their feelings weren't, were they? ]
Even if I have to defend myself to Jamie. Tomorrow, two years from now, two hundred. I can't live another life wanting and feeling achingly alone.
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But the life he remembers with Claire had gone on for centuries, not only a few moons, and had never been so fraught as his time with Ygritte had been, and today, Claire means more to him. It is hard for it to feel like a betrayal of a woman he is not likely to see again. He can even imagine what Ygritte would have said, with that sly smile of hers: Taken up with a woods witch, have you, Jon Snow? But she would have wanted him to live freely, not to suffer and mourn and think only of duty.]
That's the trouble, isn't it? I don't like to think of you all lonely like that. You ought to be happy. If we part now, there will be other men -- someday. I don't like to think of you with another man, either. Not your Jamie, I am sorry, and not anyone else.
If I break with you in truth, those things will come. They should come. I will have to stand aside, watch them. No right to do anything else, and no one to blame.
[Right now, it seems she is a widow, more than another man's wife. She is much older than he is, too.
If those things don't come, might be that she will leave this world the way others have, and it will be like it was with Alicent: his hesitation, knowing of her husband, knowing the man had sat the Iron Throne all those years ago, had removed all possibility between them.
The idea of all of that makes him feel heartsick. He has endured that before, though. His heart is usually of such little matter.
He does reach for her hand, covers it with his, for all that he wears a slight frown. It feels good to touch her. A living woman, right in front of him, and both their futures in his hands.]
We were happy for so long. And we might -- that might be near enough to our lives now, not in five hundred years. Not after all that sorrow. Is that what's right?
[He doesn't know if she can tell how much he wants it, and how hard it is to take the last step. But he is beginning to understand that there might not be another chance.]
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Keeping her hand in his, Claire stands and moves around the table to the chair right beside him. Now her free hand is against his cheek, holding his face in her hand, a perfect fit. It's a gesture that feels so familiar, and she tries to soothe away his frown with her touch. ]
What do you want, Jon Snow?
[ She answers his question with a question of her own. Has he ever been asked that, ever been able to ponder the question and ultimately choose himself? The hand in his squeezes gently in encouragement, but she doesn't let her believe it will be as easy as a simple answer. She has hope, but it's hesitant. ]
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So easy to live in this love, this moment. It could be the last, or it could be only one of many.
He opens his eyes, catches her gaze with his.]
You know what I want.
[You, for as long as I can have you.
He exhales, then adds,]
But I also don't want either of us to do something we'll regret.
I would be breaking faith with no one. You say you would not be: I want you to be sure. We have never touched each other in truth, but I remember every -- [Every inch of you, every breath.] Everything. There's a difference between something that fell on us and something we chose.
When I was a boy, I did not think I would ever marry. I had nothing to offer a wife and no reason to think I'd ever have funds to support a family. These last few years, now that things are different, I have known that I might have little choice in my bride. If I married, it would be for the North, not for who I wanted in my bed. Not for love of anything but my people, though it might be that love could grow.
But you and me -- this is a choice, now.
If we are lovers in truth, or more than that, we should be sure of it.
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[ If that love was manufactured by the Singularity, then wouldn't it have dissipated along with everything else? She listens to him now and leans in to press her forehead to his tenderly, closing her eyes. Bringing their hands between them, she holds onto his hand with both of hers. They aren't married here, he's never been more correct that they have the opportunity to walk away cleanly. ]
I remember. Nights we talked out problems until sunrise, mornings we stayed lazily in bed mapping one another, the days of walks and exploring, solving problems together. I remember, and I'm sure. I want this, I want you.
[ Voicing it, these last three words especially, feels as though she's reaching for him across a gulf even though he's right in front of her. ]
I want this, I want you.
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When he speaks, his voice is low, hardly above a whisper, and his lips are almost against hers.]
In Nocwich. I want to see you in the flesh. If we both still want it, if you haven't changed your mind, if I can know in my heart that I am with my own woman and not some other man's, we will see each other there.
[He ought to move to leave, as tempted as he is, but he doesn't. It had been hard not to call her his wife, but she is not, not right now.
Sitting here with her like this, nearly kissing her, almost holding her, it's a taste of what he wants. All that really stands between them now is his worry that this desire is wrong -- that giving in to it might dishonor them both. Even so, it's all right to stay a while longer... all right when it's a beginning, and all right, too, when it might be a farewell.
Isn't it?]
Before then, there's something I want you to know. A few years before they brought me here, there was a mutiny. My own men stabbed me -- I don't know how many times. I have scars, ugly things, all over my chest and my belly. You haven't seen them.
[In their hundreds of years together, his face had been scarred, lines over each eye that were faint or deep depending on the day, but his chest had been smooth and uninjured.]
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That's fair, Jon.
[ She pulls back enough so that she can look at him, holding his gaze while her thumb grazes his cheek. ]
I'll agree to that.
[ For some reason she hadn't expected any other confessions, but the more Jon speaks, the tighter her lungs feel in her chest. Mutiny, stabbing, scars. One hand drifts to his chest, pressing there through layers to feel the muffled beating of his heart. ]
I remember listening to this at night. [ Her forehead creases in pain at the image her mind conjures, of Jon being brutally attacked, his blood pooling out of him. It makes her feel nauseous, but she swallows the emotion back. ] You think scars are going to mean anything to me other than you lived? [ She shakes her head, and this time, her forehead comes to rest on his shoulder, a hug that isn't one, not yet. ]
Why? Why did they do it?
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It's a long story. I will tell you more of it some other day.
For now, it's enough to say that I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The men choose their Lord Commander, and the vote had been a narrow thing. When I made... an alliance with an old enemy, to fight a worse one... some disagreed. It was our only chance, but some disagreed. They had not seen. They did not know what we would face.
[He is now trembling, but only a little.]
The word of the Lord Commander should be law, and once a man is made Lord Commander, he is Lord Commander for life.
Claire, I didn't live. [It's hard to say this, but if she ever sees the scar over his heart, she will know. No man could survive that wound.] I was dead and cold on a table for two days until a priestess brought me back. I don't remember anything, but believe me when I say I was dead in truth.
[This might go some way to explaining his insistence, even through the years of their marriage, that he was not a god, only a man. Back at Castle Black, in his last days there, he had had to insist on it.]
I only don't want the scars to surprise you.
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Dead.
[ She repeats it slowly, thinking of those she knows who have told her if not for Abraxas, they would be dead. She thinks of vampires, of Louis, how death and the dead aren't what she'd come to believe. It's still difficult to wrap her mind around, that this man she loves was dead and could have been gone forever, might never have arrived here. Bending her head, she presses a very soft kiss to his knuckles, reassuring herself of his solidity and leaving behind a bit of dampness from a stray tear. He was hurt, murdered, and it makes her stomach ache. ]
I believe you, Jon.
[ She's straightened, looking at him again. She wants to pull him close, to love him, but she's made an agreement and she can only hope that in Nocwich, he'll let her take him in her arms. ]
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Not much longer than a fortnight before they can go to Nocwich. If he doesn't leave here soon, there won't be a decision to be made; there will be only more kisses and more than that. And though he thinks he knows what his decision will be, and she likely knows from the things he has just said what it will be too, it would still be wise to take the time to be sure.
Even so, it is not easy to stand up and walk out a door right after such a confession as he has just made, so he does not. He takes a few slow, hard breaths, masters the trembling, masters the desire to linger here, holds her hand all the while.
Then he gives it a little squeeze and releases it. He places the flats of his hands on his thighs as if he's about to stand.]
I ought to be getting back. Send me your list of anything you need from the markets in Thorne; I have a little coin, as long as you can wait for them.
[Then he does push to his feet.]
Claire, one way or another -- whatever either of us decides -- we will see each other in Nocwich. All right?
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