Tonight was one of those evenings. After Jon and Stannis had finished eating and had exhausted all the things that the Lord Commander and the king wished to discuss, they would sit by the fire and exchange the occasional word, or perhaps stand by the windowsill together and watch the Wall in silence.
They were at the windowsill now, and without warning Stannis decided to break their usual silence.
“That scar on your face, how did you get it? Did…did your wolf scratch you?” Stannis’ voice was tentative, as it always was when he talked to Jon about matters that weren’t the domain of the king of the Lord Commander, as if he didn’t have much practice in talking about personal matters with others.
Jon glanced over at Ghost, who was seemingly sleeping by the fireplace. Stannis had stopped banning Ghost from his rooms ever since he had returned to the Wall, claiming that the wolf was a calming presence.
“Ghost would never…No. It was an eagle, an eagle who’s owner didn’t care for me.”
“And why was that?”
“Because I killed him.”
The silence returned, for a moment.
“Would you mind telling me the reason why, Lord Snow?”
“Orell was a wildling with a horn hiding in the Frostfangs. He would have betrayed the position of my black brothers and I, and…he was the first man I ever killed.”
“I was a few years older than you when I killed my first man, but at least the Targaryen soldier on Dragonstone wasn’t in possession of a live dragon.”
Jon looked at him.
To Jon’s surprise, Stannis reached out a hand and lightly traced the scar that ran from Jon’s temple, over his nose, and down one of his cheeks. Jon momentarily forgot how to breathe properly.
He grabbed Stannis’ hand and kept it in place at his cheek, before raising his eyes to the king’s. Jon hadn’t realized how close they were until they stared at each other. He could detect guilt and mild panic in Stannis’ gaze, but the king wasn’t moving away. Jon also hadn’t realized how warm Stannis was, either, and he knew that he wasn’t ready to give that up, not for quite some time.
Re: FILL: Stannis/Jon, Scars 2/4
They were at the windowsill now, and without warning Stannis decided to break their usual silence.
“That scar on your face, how did you get it? Did…did your wolf scratch you?” Stannis’ voice was tentative, as it always was when he talked to Jon about matters that weren’t the domain of the king of the Lord Commander, as if he didn’t have much practice in talking about personal matters with others.
Jon glanced over at Ghost, who was seemingly sleeping by the fireplace. Stannis had stopped banning Ghost from his rooms ever since he had returned to the Wall, claiming that the wolf was a calming presence.
“Ghost would never…No. It was an eagle, an eagle who’s owner didn’t care for me.”
“And why was that?”
“Because I killed him.”
The silence returned, for a moment.
“Would you mind telling me the reason why, Lord Snow?”
“Orell was a wildling with a horn hiding in the Frostfangs. He would have betrayed the position of my black brothers and I, and…he was the first man I ever killed.”
“I was a few years older than you when I killed my first man, but at least the Targaryen soldier on Dragonstone wasn’t in possession of a live dragon.”
Jon looked at him.
To Jon’s surprise, Stannis reached out a hand and lightly traced the scar that ran from Jon’s temple, over his nose, and down one of his cheeks. Jon momentarily forgot how to breathe properly.
He grabbed Stannis’ hand and kept it in place at his cheek, before raising his eyes to the king’s. Jon hadn’t realized how close they were until they stared at each other. He could detect guilt and mild panic in Stannis’ gaze, but the king wasn’t moving away. Jon also hadn’t realized how warm Stannis was, either, and he knew that he wasn’t ready to give that up, not for quite some time.