Two Violet Flames

Hello, Drinor Here. I'm happy to publish the first Chapter of Two Violet Flames. For those who have read my other stories, the reason why I made a Second Account in Webnovel is because Webnovel does not allow an account to have more than 15 Stories Published, so I needed to make a Second Account to publish my other stories in Webnovel.

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Theon Greyjoy's laughter echoed through the crisp northern air, loud and grating enough to make Jon Snow want to turn his horse around and ride back to Winterfell. "'Twas the serving girl from last night, Snow," Theon bragged, grinning ear to ear as he recounted his alleged conquests. "She couldn't keep her hands off me. By the time I left, she was begging for more."

Jon rolled his eyes and nudged his horse forward, falling in step with Robb, who was trying—and failing—to look amused. "The only thing that girl was begging for was an end to your blabbering," Jon muttered just loud enough for Theon to hear.

Theon's grin faltered. "What was that, Snow?" he growled, his easy bravado melting into irritation. "Speak up, bastard, if you've got something to say."

"Oh, I think he said plenty," Robb chimed in with a smirk, clearly enjoying the talk between the two. "Besides, we've all heard your stories, Theon. Do you have anything new?"

"I thought we were here to hunt, not to squabble like children."

All three young men straightened in their saddles as Lord Eddard Stark rode up beside them, his face stern but his eyes holding a glimmer of amusement.

"Of course, Father," Robb said quickly, shooting a warning glance at Jon and Theon.

Theon, never one to back down completely, puffed out his chest. "Already bagged five rabbits, my lord. Thought I'd let them catch up."

Jon frowned slightly, his grip tightening on the strap of his quiver. Theon wasn't lying; he was annoyingly adept with a bow. Jon was no slouch, but hunting wasn't his forte. Swords didn't make for practical tools in the forest.

"Five rabbits," Robb said with a raised brow. "We've barely started."

"What can I say? The Greyjoys don't waste time," Theon said, his smirk creeping back.

Jon let out a quiet scoff, earning a sharp look from Theon. "Care to make it a contest, Snow?" Theon challenged, his tone laced with smugness. "Let's see who can bring back more by the end of the day."

"I'm not foolish enough to take that bet," Jon replied evenly, his eyes locking with Theon's. "But if you're in the mood for humiliation, we could spar instead. I'd be happy to remind you how the last six matches ended."

Theon's smirk vanished, replaced by a dark scowl. He opened his mouth to reply, but Robb cut in, his laughter breaking the tension.

"Seven Hells, you two are worse than Arya and Sansa. I thought we were here to hunt, not argue like old fishwives."

Lord Stark's steady gaze swept over the group. "Robb's right. Less talk, more hunting. Prove your skill in the forest, not with words."

With that, the group dispersed into the woods, each heading in a different direction. Jon moved with practiced quiet, his breath visible in the cool morning air. He could hear the faint sound of Theon's voice somewhere in the distance, no doubt still boasting to himself.

Jon tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, frustration bubbling under his calm exterior. Theon's challenge gnawed at him. It wasn't about proving himself—it never was. But there was something satisfying about putting Theon in his place.

As he moved deeper into the forest, Jon's sharp eyes scanned the ground for tracks. A faint trail of rabbit prints led toward a cluster of brambles. He crouched low and waited. The patience of the hunt wasn't something he excelled at, but today, he was determined.

A rustle in the bushes drew his attention. He held his breath, his fingers flexing slightly on the hilt of his blade. A small gray rabbit emerged, its ears twitching as it sniffed the air.

Jon's hand moved swiftly, launching a dagger from his belt. It struck true, the rabbit falling still. He approached the kill, picking it up with a mix of satisfaction and grim acceptance. Hunting wasn't about pride—it was survival, a lesson Lord Stark had taught him long ago.

The distant sound of Robb's voice pulled Jon from his thoughts. He turned to see his brother approaching with a pair of pheasants slung over his shoulder, his grin wide.

"Not bad," Robb said, nodding at Jon's rabbit. "But I think Theon's still ahead."

"Let him enjoy it while he can," Jon said, slipping the rabbit into his pouch. "We'll see how much he enjoys sparring later."

Robb laughed, clapping Jon on the shoulder. "Careful, brother. He might surprise you one day."

Jon gave him a wry smile. "Not today."

Two hours had passed since their encounter at the stream, and Jon's frustration had only grown. While Theon's count had risen to an impressive ten rabbits and two pheasants, Jon had only caught three of them. Even Robb had managed to bring down a young deer, much to Lord Stark's approval.

As Jon trudged through the increasingly dense forest, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was... off. The birds had fallen silent, and even the rustling of small animals in the underbrush had ceased. An eerie stillness had settled over the woods, broken only by the soft crunching of leaves beneath his horse's hooves.

Suddenly, Jon felt a rush of warmth in his chest, as if a flame had been kindled within him. He gasped, placing a hand over his heart.

"What in seven hells?" he muttered, bewildered by the strange sensation.

As quickly as it had come, the warmth vanished, leaving Jon feeling oddly bereft. But before he could ponder the experience further, a new feeling washed over him – the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

Jon's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted from tree to tree, searching for any sign of movement. The forest seemed to close in around him, the shadows deepening despite the midday sun.

"Who's there?" Jon called out, his voice steady despite the unease churning in his gut. "Show yourself!"

Silence answered him, but the feeling of being observed only intensified. Jon slowly dismounted, drawing his sword with a soft rasp of steel against leather. The weight of the blade in his hand was comforting, familiar.

"I know you're out there," he said, turning in a slow circle. "Come out and face me."

A cold wind suddenly whipped through the trees, carrying with it a bone-deep chill that made Jon shiver despite his heavy furs. His breath misted in front of him, and he watched in growing alarm as a thin layer of frost began to creep across the bark of nearby trees.

"Gods be good," Jon whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief. He'd grown up in the North, was used to its harsh winters, but this... this was something else entirely.

His horse whinnied in distress, stamping its hooves nervously. Jon turned to calm the animal, reaching for its bridle.

"Easy, boy," he soothed, stroking the horse's neck. "It's alright, it's just a bit of frost. Nothing to-"

A thunderous crash interrupted him, followed by the sound of splintering wood and the terrified shriek of his horse. Before Jon could react, something massive slammed into him from behind, sending him sprawling face-first into the frozen earth.

Pain lanced through his back, driving the air from his lungs. He rolled onto his side, gasping, just in time to see his horse galloping away, its legs coated in a thick layer of ice.

"Seven hells," Jon groaned, struggling to his feet. He retrieved his sword from where it had fallen, then slowly turned to face whatever had attacked him.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Standing before him was a figure that could have stepped straight out of Old Nan's most terrifying tales. It was a knight, or at least it had the shape of one, but its armor was unlike anything Jon had ever seen. Black as night and adorned with intricate, bone-like protrusions, it gave the impression of an animated skeleton. The helmet, shaped like a grinning skull, only added to the nightmarish visage.

Jon raised his sword, his hands shaking slightly. "What... what are you?"

The skeletal knight loomed over Jon, its hollow eyes fixed upon him with an unsettling intensity. When it spoke, the words were unlike anything Jon had ever heard - a harsh, guttural language that seemed to freeze the very air around them.

"What are you saying?" Jon demanded, his sword held at the ready. "I don't understand you!"

The knight tilted its head, as if considering Jon's words. Then, without warning, it lunged forward, its blade whistling through the air.

Jon barely managed to bring his sword up in time, the clash of steel on steel ringing out across the barren landscape. The force of the blow sent shockwaves up his arm, nearly causing him to lose his grip.

"Seven hells," Jon muttered, backing away. He'd never felt such power behind a swing before, not even from Ser Rodrik or his father.

The knight pressed its advantage, raining down blow after blow. Jon found himself on the defensive, struggling to keep up with the relentless assault. Each parry sent a jolt of numbing cold through his body, and he could feel his strength beginning to wane.

"Robb!" Jon shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. "Father! Anyone!"

But there was no answer save for the howling wind and the clash of their blades.

As Jon stumbled back, trying to create some distance, the knight suddenly changed tactics. Its gauntleted fist shot out, catching Jon square in the stomach.

The impact drove the air from Jon's lungs, and he doubled over, gasping. The cold seemed to seep into his very bones, spreading from the point of impact like tendrils of ice.

Jon looked up, expecting to see the knight's blade descending for the killing blow. Instead, he was greeted by an entirely unexpected sight.

The skeletal knight was engulfed in flames, its armor glowing red-hot as it thrashed about, emitting an unearthly shriek.

To Jon's right stood a woman he had never seen before. Her raven hair whipped about her face, and her violet eyes blazed with an intensity that matched the flames she commanded.She hurled more fire at the knight, driving it back.

Jon struggled to his feet, his mind reeling. "Who... what..."

The woman spared him a quick glance. "On your feet!" she snapped. "This fight isn't over yet!"

As if to punctuate her words, the knight let out another bone-chilling roar and charged towards them, its armor still smoldering.

Jon raised his sword, ready to defend himself, when suddenly that strange warmth bloomed in his chest once more. This time, however, it didn't fade. Instead, it spread through his body, flowing down his arm and into his sword.

To Jon's amazement, his blade burst into flames.

"What in the name of the old gods and the new?" he gasped, staring at the burning sword in his hand.

The woman's eyes widened slightly, but she quickly refocused on the approaching knight. "Don't just stand there gawking!" she shouted. "Use it!"

Shaking off his shock, Jon gripped his flaming sword and met the knight's charge. The blazing blade sliced through the knight's armor with surprising ease, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

Together, Jon and the mysterious woman drove the knight back.

Finally, seeing an opening, the woman darted forward. With a cry that was equal parts fury and triumph, she plunged her dagger - wreathed in flames - directly into the knight's chest.

The knight let out one final, ear-splitting shriek before collapsing to the ground, motionless.

Silence fell over the place, broken only by Jon's heavy breathing and the crackling of flames. He stared at the fallen knight, then at his sword whose flames were slowly fading away, and finally at the woman who had saved his life.

"I... thank you," he managed, his voice hoarse. "Who are you? How did you do that with the fire?"

The woman turned to face him fully, and Jon was struck by her beauty. Her features were sharp and elegant, her violet eyes intelligent and assessing.

"My name is Yennefer," she said, her voice rich and commanding. "And I could ask you the same question about that sword of yours."

Jon looked down at the sword, and finally, as if the flames knew he was no longer in danger, they vanquished, leaving behind a trail of steam coming from the sword.

"I... I don't know how I did that," he admitted, looking back at Yennefer with wide eyes. "I've never seen anything like it before. Or like what you did, for that matter."

Yennefer's brow furrowed. "You're not from around here, are you?" It wasn't really a question.

Jon's confusion deepened. "What do you mean? We're in the Wolfswood, near Winterfell."

"Winterfell?" Yennefer repeated, her confusion evident. "I've never heard of such a place."

Now it was Jon's turn to look bewildered. "You've never heard of Winterfell? It's the seat of House Stark, the Wardens of the North."

Yennefer's frown deepened. "The North? Last I checked, King Demavend ruled the North."

Jon shook his head, utterly lost. "I don't understand. I've never heard of any King Demavend. The North has been ruled by House Stark for thousands of years."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the implications of their words sinking in.

Yennefer's eyes widened slightly, and she muttered to herself, "It can't be... I must have traveled to a different world entirely."

"What do you mean, a different world?" Jon asked, his mind reeling from the implications.

Before Yennefer could respond, the sound of approaching horses filled the air. Jon turned towards the noise, relief washing over him as he heard a familiar voice calling out.

"Jon! Jon, where are you?"

"Robb!" Jon shouted back, his heart leaping. "Over here!"

He turned back to Yennefer, who was eyeing the direction of the voices warily. "That's my brother," Jon explained quickly. "And likely my father with him. They can help us make sense of all this."

The sound of thundering hooves grew louder, and soon enough, Robb, Theon, Lord Stark, and the rest of the hunting party burst into view. The sight that greeted them was enough to bring the entire group to an abrupt halt.

Lord Stark raised his hand, signaling everyone to stop. "Hold!" he commanded, his eyes darting between Jon, the mysterious woman, and the fallen figure on the ground.

Theon, never one to miss an opportunity, let out a low whistle as he took in Yennefer's appearance. "Well, well," he murmured, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Looks like Snow found something far more interesting than game to hunt."

Robb shook his head, but his own eyes were wide with curiosity and concern. "Jon! Are you alright? What in the seven hells happened here?"

Jon stepped forward, acutely aware of all eyes upon him. "I'm fine, thanks to her," he said, gesturing towards Yennefer. "This is Lady Yennefer. She... she saved my life."

Lord Stark dismounted, his face a mask of concern and suspicion. "Saved your life? From what, Jon? What happened here?"

Jon hesitated, his mind racing. How could he possibly explain what had transpired without sounding mad? He glanced at Yennefer, who remained silent, her violet eyes observing the newcomers warily.

"I was attacked," Jon began slowly, choosing his words with care. "By... by a strange knight. His armor, it looked like a skeleton. And Yennefer, she helped me fight it off."

A few snorts and chuckles rippled through the group. Jory Cassel, the captain of the guard, shook his head with a bemused smile. "A skeleton knight? Come now, lad. We've all heard Old Nan's tales, but—"

"It's the truth," Jon insisted, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. He looked to his father, hoping to see understanding, or at least belief, in his eyes.

Ned Stark's face remained impassive, but there was a glimmer of something in his gaze – not quite belief, but a recognition that Jon wasn't telling him everything. Instead of pressing his son further, he turned his attention to Yennefer.

"My lady," he said, his tone respectful but guarded. "I am Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. Might I ask who you are and how you came to be in these woods?"

Yennefer straightened, meeting Lord Stark's gaze unflinchingly. "As Jon said, my name is Yennefer. I am... a traveler, of sorts. I found myself in these woods quite by accident, and fortunately, I was able to assist young Jon here when he needed it most."

Ned's eyes narrowed slightly. "A fortunate accident indeed. And yet, you seem ill-prepared for the harsh weather of the North. Your attire is... unusual for these parts."

Yennefer glanced down at her clothing, seeming to notice for the first time how out of place she looked. "Ah, yes. Well, as I said, I didn't exactly plan this journey. I've been... somewhat displaced from my usual haunts."

Ned nodded slowly, clearly aware that there was much more to the story. But now was not the time or place for a full interrogation. "I see. Well, we can discuss the details further once we're back at Winterfell. For now—Jory, give the lady your spare cloak. We can't have our guest freezing to death."

As Jory dismounted to offer Yennefer his cloak, Ned turned back to Jon. "Now, where is this... attacker you mentioned?"

Jon pointed to the fallen figure nearby. "There, Father. That's the knight that attacked me."

Ned approached the body cautiously, his hand on the pommel of his sword. As he drew closer, his expression darkened. The armor was indeed fashioned to resemble a skeleton. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

"Seven hells," he muttered under his breath. Then, louder, "We're returning to Winterfell immediately. I want everyone on high alert. Jory, you and Alyn will ride ahead to inform Ser Rodrik. I want the guards doubled and the castle secured."

"Yes, my lord," Jory replied, already moving to mount his horse.

Ned turned back to Yennefer, who was now wrapped in Jory's cloak. "My lady, I would be honored if you would accompany us back to Winterfell. We have much to discuss, and I'm sure you could use a warm meal and a proper rest after your... unexpected journey."

Yennefer considered for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you, Lord Stark. I accept your invitation."

As the party prepared to depart, Robb sidled up to Jon. "So," he said in a low voice, "a skeleton knight and a mysterious, beautiful woman who can fight? You certainly know how to liven up a hunting trip, brother."

Jon couldn't help but smile. "Trust me, it wasn't exactly how I planned to spend my day."

Theon joined them, his eyes still fixed on Yennefer. "I don't know about you, Snow, but I'd say this beats catching rabbits any day. Though I'm curious how you managed to best a knight when you couldn't even catch four rabbits."

Before Jon could retort, Lord Stark's voice cut through their conversation. "Jon, you'll ride with me. I want to hear every detail of what transpired."

Jon nodded, shooting a last glance at Yennefer before mounting up behind his father. As they set off, he could feel the weight of unasked questions hanging in the air.

The ride back to Winterfell was tense and largely silent. Jon recounted his experience to his father in hushed tones, careful to omit any mention of magic or otherworldly occurrences. He could tell that Ned knew he wasn't getting the full story, but his father didn't press him further.

Soon, they reached the gates of Winterfell and rode through them. They dismounted in the courtyard, stable boys rushing forward to take their horses. Catelyn Stark emerged from the keep, her face a mixture of relief and concern.

"Ned," she called out, hurrying towards them. "Jory said there was trouble in the woods. Is everyone alright?" Her eyes fell on Yennefer, and her brow furrowed in confusion.

"All is well, Cat," Ned reassured her, though his tone remained grave. "But we have much to discuss. This is Lady Yennefer, a... traveler who assisted Jon during an unexpected encounter in the woods."

Catelyn's gaze sharpened as she took in Yennefer's appearance. "I see. Well, welcome to Winterfell, Lady Yennefer. I trust you'll join us inside? You must be chilled to the bone in such attire."

Yennefer inclined her head graciously; she figured this woman must be the wife of Lord Stark. "You're most kind, Lady Stark. I would be grateful for the hospitality."

As they made their way into the keep, Jon couldn't help but notice the looks being cast their way. Servants whispered amongst themselves, and even the guards seemed on edge. News traveled fast in Winterfell, and already, rumors of strange occurrences in the Wolfswood were spreading.

Yennefer

Yennefer stood before the ornate mirror in her chamber, studying her reflection. The clothes she had been given were a far cry from her usual attire – thick, woolen garments in muted greys and browns, a pair of dark boots, more practical than fashionable. But they were warm, and for that, she was grateful. She had touched the walls and had noticed the warmth. She wondered if this place was using magic to keep it warm, but she doubted that was the case.

She ran a hand through her raven hair, still damp from the bath she had been afforded. The chamber itself was modest by her standards, a crackling fire in the hearth, and a bed piled high with furs. Usually, her chambers were more luxurious, but she wasn't complaining.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings. "Lady Yennefer?" a gruff voice called. "Lord Stark requests your presence in his solar."

"Very well," she replied, smoothing down her borrowed dress. "I'll be there shortly."

As she followed the guard through the winding corridors of Winterfell, Yennefer couldn't help but notice the wary glances cast her way. Servants whispered behind their hands, and even the armed men seemed to give her a wide berth. It seemed the tale of her encounter in the woods had spread quickly, growing more fantastical with each retelling, no doubt.

She suppressed a smirk. If only they knew the half of it.

From what she had gathered so far, this world – for she was now certain it was indeed another world entirely – seemed to have little knowledge of true magic. The Wild Hunt's presence here was troubling, to say the least. Ciri was not here, of that she was certain. So why had they come? And why target that boy... Jon Snow?

The memory of Jon's flaming sword flashed in her mind. There was power there, raw and untamed. Perhaps that was what had drawn the Hunt. But if so, why here? Why now?

Lost in thought, Yennefer almost bumped into the guard as he came to a stop before a heavy wooden door.

"Lord Stark's solar, m'lady," he announced, rapping his knuckles against the wood.

"Enter," came the muffled reply from within.

The guard pushed open the door, and Yennefer strode in, her head held high. She may be a stranger in a strange land, but she was still Yennefer of Vengerberg, and she would not be cowed.

The solar was a spacious room, dominated by a large desk strewn with papers and maps. Lord Stark stood behind it, his face as impassive as ever. Beside him stood an elderly man in grey robes, a heavy chain draped around his neck. Yennefer raised an eyebrow at the odd adornment but said nothing.

"Ah, Lady Yennefer," Lord Stark said, gesturing for her to take a seat. "I trust you've found your accommodations satisfactory?"

"Quite, thank you," she replied, settling into the offered chair. "Your hospitality is most appreciated."

Ned nodded, then gestured to the older man. "Allow me to introduce Maester Luwin, our resident scholar and healer here at Winterfell."

The maester bowed his head slightly. "A pleasure, my lady. I hope you're recovering well from your ordeal in the woods."

Yennefer smiled thinly. "I assure you, I'm quite well. It's Jon Snow who faced the real danger."

"Yes, about that," Ned said, leaning forward. "I was hoping we might discuss what transpired in more detail. Jon's account was... somewhat lacking in clarity."

Yennefer met his gaze steadily. "I'm not surprised. It was a rather unusual situation, after all."

"Unusual indeed," Maester Luwin chimed in. "A knight in skeletal armor, appearing out of nowhere to attack a boy in the woods? It's most peculiar."

"And yet," Ned added, "the body we recovered was very real. No mere trick of the light or figment of an overactive imagination."

Yennefer considered her words carefully. She needed more information about this world, about its understanding of magic and the supernatural, before she could risk revealing too much.

"I've traveled far and wide," she began, "and I've seen many strange things in my journeys. The being that attacked Jon was unlike anything I've encountered before. As for how I came to be there at that precise moment... well, sometimes fate has a way of putting us where we're needed most."

Ned's eyes narrowed slightly. "A convenient explanation, my lady. But I find myself wondering why a lone traveler, especially one so... unprepared for our harsh climate, would be wandering the Wolfswood in the first place."

Yennefer leaned back in her chair, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "You're a careful man, Lord Stark. I respect that. In truth, I found myself here quite by accident. A magical mishap, you might say."

She watched their reactions closely. Ned's face remained impassive, but she caught a flicker of something – disbelief? concern? – in his eyes. Maester Luwin, on the other hand, leaned forward with interest.

"Magical, you say?" the old man inquired. "In what sense? Are you perhaps versed in the higher mysteries?"

Yennefer raised an eyebrow. "Higher mysteries? Is that what you call magic in these parts?"

Ned held up a hand, silencing any further questions from the maester. "Lady Yennefer, I hope you understand our position. You appeared out of nowhere, in the midst of what seems to have been a deadly encounter. While we're grateful for your aid to Jon, we must also consider the safety of Winterfell and its people."

"Of course," Yennefer nodded. "And what would put your mind at ease, Lord Stark? Shall I swear an oath on your gods? Or perhaps demonstrate my abilities for you?"

The room fell silent for a moment. Ned and Luwin exchanged a glance, a wordless communication passing between them.

Finally, Ned spoke. "I would hear more about these... abilities of yours. Jon mentioned fire, though he was reluctant to elaborate."

Yennefer considered her options. A small demonstration might be necessary to gain their trust, but she had to be careful not to overwhelm or frighten them.

"Very well," she said, holding out her hand. With a thought, a small flame danced to life in her palm, casting flickering shadows across the room.

As the small flame flickered out in Yennefer's palm, Ned's expression grew wary. His hand, which had instinctively moved to his sword hilt, slowly relaxed, but his eyes remained fixed on Yennefer with newfound caution.

"What exactly are you doing here, Lady Yennefer?" Ned asked, his voice low and measured.

Yennefer met his gaze steadily. "As I mentioned before, Lord Stark, my presence here is purely accidental."

Ned nodded slowly, considering her words. "And what are your plans now?"

"For the moment, I need to understand where I am," Yennefer replied honestly. "This land is... unfamiliar to me."

Ned's skepticism was evident, but after a moment's thought, he seemed to come to a decision. "Very well. Maester Luwin can escort you to our library. You'll find all the information you seek there, provided you don't cause any trouble."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Yennefer said, inclining her head slightly.

Ned's expression softened a fraction. "According to Jon, you saved his life. As Lord of Winterfell and... as his father, I thank you for that." He paused, then continued, "You're welcome to stay here for a few days to rest and gather your bearings. When you decide where you want to go, I'll provide you with some coin for your journey."

Yennefer felt a question about Jon Snow on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. Lord Stark's skepticism was clear, and she didn't want to risk arousing further suspicion. Instead, she simply said, "I appreciate your generosity, Lord Stark. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to visit the library now."

Ned nodded to Maester Luwin. "Please show Lady Yennefer to the library."

"Of course, my lord," Luwin replied, then turned to Yennefer. "If you'll follow me, my lady."

As they left Lord Stark's solar, Yennefer couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and curiosity. She had navigated the conversation without revealing too much, and now she had the opportunity to learn more about this strange world she found herself in.

Maester Luwin led her through the winding corridors of Winterfell, his chain clinking softly with each step. As they walked, he spoke of the castle's history and the vast collection of books and scrolls housed in the library. Yennefer listened with interest, filing away every bit of information for later consideration.

Finally, they arrived at a heavy wooden door. Luwin pushed it open, revealing a large, square room filled with shelves upon shelves of books. The scent of old parchment and leather bindings filled the air, and Yennefer felt a familiar sense of comfort wash over her.

As her eyes adjusted to the place, she noticed a figure hunched over a table in the corner, surrounded by stacks of books. The young man looked up as they entered, and Yennefer recognized him immediately – Jon Snow.

Maester Luwin's face brightened at the sight of the young man. "Ah, Jon! I should have known we'd find you here. Lady Yennefer has come to make use of our library."

Jon stood quickly, a mix of surprise and curiosity on his face. "My lady," he said, bowing slightly. "I... I wanted to thank you properly for what you did in the Wolfswood."

Yennefer offered him a small smile. "There's no need for thanks, Jon Snow. I'm just glad I was there to help."

As their eyes met, Yennefer felt that same sense of untapped potential she had sensed before. There was more to this young man than met the eye, and she was determined to uncover the truth.

Maester Luwin cleared his throat. "Well, I'll leave you to your studies. Jon, perhaps you could assist Lady Yennefer if she has any questions about our collection?"

Jon nodded eagerly. "Of course, Maester Luwin."

As the old man took his leave, Yennefer turned her attention to the shelves of books surrounding them. She had much to learn about this world, and it seemed fate had provided her with the perfect guide in Jon Snow.

"This one talks about the founding of the Seven Kingdoms," Jon explained, his voice low. "It's a good place to start understanding Westeros."

Yennefer nodded, her brow furrowing slightly. "Westeros... that's the name of this land, correct?"

"Yes, it's the name of our continent," Jon replied.

Yennefer looked up, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Do you know what a continent is, Jon Snow?"

Jon's cheeks reddened slightly. "I... well, it's a large landmass, isn't it? Like Westeros or Essos across the Narrow Sea."

"Precisely," Yennefer said with a small smile. "It's good to see your education isn't lacking in geography, at least."

Jon chuckled, his embarrassment fading. "Maester Luwin would be pleased to hear that. Though I admit, there's much I don't know about the world beyond Westeros."

As they continued reading, Yennefer's eyebrows rose in surprise. "The Targaryens ruled for nearly three centuries? And they... married their siblings?"

Jon nodded. "Aye, it was their custom. The books say it was to keep their bloodline pure, to maintain their ability to control dragons."

"Dragons?" Yennefer's interest was piqued. "There are dragons in Westeros?"

Jon's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh yes! The Targaryens rode them into battle. Balerion the Black Dread was said to be so large he could swallow a mammoth whole!...And there used to be dragons in Westeros." Jon sounded disappointed in the end.

Yennefer leaned back, impressed despite herself. "I've encountered dragons in my world, but never ones that could be tamed and ridden. Tell me more about these Targaryens, Jon."

Jon eagerly obliged, his usual reserve melting away as he delved into the history he clearly found fascinating. "It all began 296 years ago when Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys, came to Westeros. They united six of the Seven Kingdoms through conquest, though Dorne resisted for years."

"Sister-wives?" Yennefer interrupted, her tone incredulous. "He married both his sisters?"

Jon nodded, a hint of a blush creeping up his neck. "It was their way. It might be strange to some people, but... well, they were different, the Targaryens."

"Clearly," Yennefer murmured. "Continue, please."

Jon went on, describing the reigns of various Targaryen kings. His voice grew somber as he spoke of Maegor the Cruel, then animated again as he recounted the Dance of the Dragons.

"It was a civil war," he explained, "Targaryen against Targaryen. By the end, most of the dragons were dead, and the Targaryens' power was mostly gone."

Yennefer listened intently, her mind working to piece together the history of this strange land. As Jon spoke, she found herself studying him, noting the passion in his purple eyes as he discussed dragons and magic.

"You seem quite knowledgeable about the Targaryens, Jon," she observed during a lull in his explanation. "Do you have a particular interest in them?"

Jon looked down, suddenly self-conscious. "I... I suppose I do. Their history is fascinating, and the idea of dragons..." He trailed off, then met her gaze. "In a world where magic seems all but gone, there's something facinating about a time when it was so prevalent."

Yennefer nodded, understanding all too well the draw of magical power. "And what of you, Jon Snow? What's your story?"

Jon's expression clouded slightly. "There's not much to tell. I'm Lord Stark's bastard son, raised here at Winterfell with my half-siblings."

"And yet you made a sword burst into flames," Yennefer pointed out. "That's hardly 'not much to tell.'"

Jon shook his head, bewilderment clear on his face. "I don't understand that myself. Nothing like that has ever happened before."

Before Yennefer could press further, Jon quickly changed the subject back to Targaryen history. "The last Targaryen king was Aerys II," he said. "They called him the Mad King."

"Mad?" Yennefer asked, intrigued. "In what way?"

Jon's expression grew grim. "He was paranoid and cruel. They say he took pleasure in burning people alive. In the end, he was overthrown by Robert Baratheon, who now sits on the Iron Throne."

Yennefer absorbed this information, her mind working to connect the pieces. "So this Robert Baratheon is your king now?"

"Yes," Jon confirmed. "Though I've never seen him. He never comes this far north."

As their conversation continued, Yennefer found herself growing increasingly comfortable in Jon's presence. Despite his youth, there was a maturity and depth to him that she found intriguing. She shared some sanitized stories of her own world, carefully omitting any mention of the Wild Hunt or her true powers.

"Your world sounds incredible," Jon said, his eyes wide with wonder. "I can scarcely imagine such things."

Yennefer smiled a hint of sadness in her eyes. She wondered why Jon didn't seem to question her, maybe thinking she was lying to him. She wouldn't blame him. From what she was hearing, this Westeros was mostly without magic left, so the thought of a woman coming from another world should sound like the rambling of a mad woman. "It has its wonders, certainly."

Jon nodded solemnly. "As does ours, it seems."

As the hours passed, candles burned low, casting long shadows across the library. Yennefer stretched, her muscles stiff from sitting for so long. "I think that's enough history for one day," she said. "Thank you, Jon. You've been an excellent guide to your world."

Jon smiled at her, his purple eyes looking brighter, and at that moment, Yennefer noticed that Jon was quite handsome. "It was my pleasure, Lady Yennefer. I... I've enjoyed our discussions."

Yennefer stood, gathering the books they'd been reading. "As have I, Jon Snow. Perhaps we can continue tomorrow? I find I still have many questions about this world of yours."

"Of course," Jon replied eagerly. "I'll be here."

As Yennefer made her way back to the guest chambers Lord Stark had provided, her mind whirled with all she had learned. Westeros was a land of contradictions – a place where dragons once flew, and magic once thrived, now reduced to myth and legend. And yet, there was Jon Snow, a young man with a hidden power he didn't understand.

She thought back to the moment in the Wolfswood when Jon's sword had burst into flames. The raw energy she had sensed then still lingered in her memory. There was more to Jon Snow than meets the eye; she is certain of it. But what was the source of his power? And why did he seem so fascinated by the Targaryens?

As she prepared for bed, Yennefer resolved to dig deeper. She needed to understand this world if she was to find her way back to her own. And Jon Snow, with his mysterious abilities and hidden depths, might just be the key to unraveling the mystery of her arrival in Westeros.

The next morning found Yennefer back in the library, this time poring over texts about the old magic of Westeros. Jon joined her again, his curiosity evident as he watched her study.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, peering at the books she was reading.

Yennefer glanced up, measuring her words carefully. "I'm curious about the magic of your world, Jon. You mentioned it's all but gone now, but surely there must be traces left somewhere."

Jon's brow furrowed in thought. "Well, there are the stories of the Children of the Forest and their magic. And the tales of the Others beyond the Wall. But those are just legends, at least that's what father says when me and Robb used to not shut up about the Others when we were younger."

Yennefer's lips quirked in a small smile. "In my experience, Jon Snow, legends often have a grain of truth to them. Tell me about these Children of the Forest and the Others."

As Jon began to recount the tales, Yennefer listened intently, her keen mind working to piece together the magical history of Westeros. She couldn't shake the feeling that understanding this world's magic might be the key to unraveling the mystery of her arrival – and perhaps even the source of Jon's latent abilities.

The day passed quickly, filled with discussion of greenseers, wargs, and the magic of the First Men. As the light began to fade, Yennefer closed the book she'd been reading with a satisfied sigh.

"Thank you again, Jon," she said, her violet eyes meeting his purple ones. "Your knowledge has been invaluable."

Jon smiled, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. "I'm glad I could help, Lady Yennefer. Will you... will you be staying much longer in Winterfell?"

Yennefer considered the question. She knew she needed to find a way back to her own world, but something held her back. The mystery of Jon's power, the strange magics of this land, the looming threat she sensed beyond the horizon – all of it tugged at her curiosity.

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly. "There's still much to learn about your world. And perhaps..." she paused, choosing her words carefully, "perhaps there's something I can teach you as well."

Jon's eyes widened slightly. "You mean about magic?"

Yennefer nodded slowly. "You have a gift, Jon Snow. One you don't understand yet. If you're willing, I could help you explore it."

For a moment, Jon was silent, his expression a mix of hope and trepidation. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I think I'd like that, Lady Yennefer."

As they left the library together, Yennefer felt a sense of anticipation building within her. She didn't know what the coming days would bring, but she was certain of one thing – her time in Westeros was far from over. And Jon Snow, with his hidden power and eager mind, would play a crucial role in whatever was to come.

Three Days Later

The sun had barely crested the horizon when Yennefer found Jon in the courtyard of Winterfell, his breath misting in the crisp morning air as he practiced his swordplay. She paused for a moment, watching the way he moved, the way his dark curls danced with each strike. As he turned, catching sight of her, Yennefer once again found his purple eyes quite beautiful to look at.

"Lady Yennefer," Jon greeted her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The shy, reserved boy she had first met was giving way to a more confident young man, and Yennefer found herself appreciating the change.

"Good morning, Jon," she replied, approaching him. "I hope I'm not interrupting your practice."

Jon shook his head, sheathing his sword. "Not at all. I was just finishing up. Did you need something?"

Yennefer's violet eyes met his, her gaze intense. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever experienced anything similar to what happened in the Wolfswood? Your sword bursting into flames?"

Jon's brow furrowed in thought, his hand unconsciously moving to the hilt of his sword. "No, nothing like that has ever happened before. Why do you ask? Do you think..." he hesitated, his voice lowering, "Do you think I might be able to learn magic?"

A small smile played on Yennefer's lips. "Your sword bursting into flames is a clear sign of magical ability, Jon. Fire magic, to be precise."

Jon's eyes widened, a mix of excitement and trepidation crossing his features. "Like what you did in the Wolfswood? Throwing fire from your hands?"

Yennefer couldn't help but let out a small giggle at his enthusiasm. "I'm not sure exactly what you'll be capable of, Jon. Every mage's abilities manifest differently."

Jon nodded, his mind coming up with ways to use fire magic. He could already imagine what Robb's reaction would be, what Arya's reaction would be. Yennefer glanced around the busy courtyard, aware of the curious glances being cast their way. "Is there somewhere we could go to discuss this further? Somewhere private, where we won't be overheard?"

"The Godswood," he said quickly. "It's where the Weirwood tree is, where we pray to the Old Gods. It's usually deserted this time of day."

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A sacred place? Will your father approve of me being there? I wouldn't want to anger Lord Stark."

Jon waved off her concern. "Father won't mind as long as we don't burn anything down," he said with a wry smile. "Come on, I'll show you the way."

As they made their way through the castle grounds, Yennefer found herself studying Jon more closely. The way he carried himself had changed subtly since their first meeting. There was a quiet strength about him now. And in the early morning light, she couldn't help but notice how handsome he was, with his strong jaw and soulful eyes.

As they approached the Godswood, Yennefer felt a strange power thrumming in the air. It was unlike anything she had encountered before – old, powerful, and deeply rooted in the land itself. When the Weirwood tree came into view, its bone-white bark and blood-red leaves stark against the green foliage, Yennefer felt a shiver run down her spine. She could have sworn she felt eyes upon her, watching from the carved face in the trunk.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, her voice hushed in the stillness of the sacred grove.

Jon nodded, his own voice low. "Aye, it is. I've always found peace here." He turned to her, his violet eyes bright with anticipation. "What should we do now?"

Yennefer considered for a moment, then said, "When your sword caught fire in the Wolfswood, you were under extreme stress. We could try to recreate those conditions, but..." She trailed off, her brow furrowing in concentration. Then, with a flick of her wrist, flames burst to life in her palm, dancing and flickering in the cool morning air.

To her surprise, Jon didn't flinch or step back. He simply watched the flames with fascination, no trace of fear in his expression.

"You're not afraid of the fire?" Yennefer asked, curiosity coloring her tone.

Jon shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "No, flames have never hurt me. Even as a child, I could reach into the hearth and feel nothing but warmth."

Yennefer's eyes widened at this revelation. "Jon, that's... extraordinary. Why didn't you mention this before?"

He shrugged. "I didn't think it was important. It's just always been that way for me."

"On the contrary," Yennefer said, extinguishing the flames in her hand, "it's very important. It suggests your connection to fire magic runs deeper than I thought." She began to pace, her mind trying to think of ways to awaken his magic. "We need to explore this further. Are you willing to try some experiments?"

Jon nodded eagerly. "Of course. What do you have in mind?"

Yennefer smiled, a glint of excitement in her eyes. "Let's start with something simple. Hold out your hand."

Jon did as she asked, his palm upturned. Yennefer placed her own hand above his, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "Close your eyes," she instructed softly. "Focus on the heat between our hands. Try to feel the energy flowing through you, from your core to your fingertips."

Jon's eyes fluttered shut, his brow furrowing in concentration. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, Yennefer felt the air between their hands grow warmer.

"That's it," she encouraged, her voice low and soothing. "Don't force it. Let it come naturally."

A small gasp escaped Jon's lips as a tiny flame flickered to life in his palm. His eyes snapped open, wide with wonder and a hint of fear. "I... I did it," he breathed.

Yennefer beamed at him, genuine pride shining in her eyes. "You did, Jon. This is just the beginning."

Over the next hour, they practiced, Jon growing more confident with each successful attempt. Sometimes the flames would sputter out quickly, other times they would dance merrily in his palm for several minutes. Throughout it all, Yennefer guided him patiently, offering encouragement and advice.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Jon finally lowered his hand, exhaustion evident on his face. "That's... incredible," he said, a note of awe in his voice. "I never imagined I could do something like this."

Yennefer nodded, her own expression thoughtful. "You have a natural talent, Jon. With practice, you could become quite powerful." She paused, considering her next words carefully. "But we must be cautious. Magic in this world seems to be largely forgotten or feared. We should keep your abilities secret for now."

Jon nodded solemnly. "I understand. Father... he might not approve. And others might fear me."

"Exactly," Yennefer agreed. "We'll continue your training in secret. Perhaps we can arrange to meet here in the Godswood regularly."

As they made their way back to the castle, walking close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed, Jon turned to Yennefer with a question burning in his eyes. "Lady Yennefer... why are you doing this? Why help me?"

Yennefer paused, considering her answer carefully. The truth was, she wasn't entirely sure herself. There was something about Jon that drew her in, a combination of his hidden power, his earnest nature, and yes, his undeniable attractiveness. But there was more to it than that.

"I see great potential in you, Jon Snow," she said finally. "And I believe you may play an important role in the future. Besides," she added with a small smile, "I find I enjoy your company."

A blush crept up Jon's neck at her words, but he met her gaze steadily. "I enjoy your company as well, Lady Yennefer. And I'm grateful for your guidance."

As they reached the edge of the Godswood, Jon suddenly stopped, turning to face her fully. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "The day we met, in the Wolfswood... you mentioned something called the Wild Hunt. What did you mean by that?"

Yennefer felt a chill run down her spine at the mention of the Wild Hunt. She had hoped to avoid this topic, but Jon's piercing violet gaze made it clear he wouldn't be easily dissuaded.

"The Wild Hunt," she began slowly, "is a force from my world. A group of spectral riders, led by a being of immense power. They... hunt across different worlds, seeking individuals with special abilities."

Jon's eyes widened. "And you think they might be interested in me? Because of my fire magic?"

Yennefer nodded grimly. "It's possible. Which is why it's crucial that you learn to control your powers, to defend yourself if necessary."

Jon was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. When he spoke again, his voice was filled with determination. "Then we'll continue training. Every day, if we must. I won't be caught unprepared again."

Yennefer felt a surge of pride at his words. "That's what I want to hear, Jon Snow."

Later that evening, as Yennefer sat in her chambers, poring over old books borrowed from Maester Luwin, she found her thoughts drifting back to Jon. The way his eyes lit up when he successfully conjured flames, the quiet strength in his voice when he vowed to train harder. She had known many men in her long life, but few had intrigued her the way Jon Snow did.

.

.

The crisp morning air of Winterfell bit at Yennefer's cheeks as she made her way to the Godswood. A week had passed since she'd begun training Jon Snow in the art of fire magic, and each day brought new surprises. As she approached their usual meeting spot, she caught sight of Jon already there, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air.

"You're early," Yennefer remarked, a small smile playing on her lips.

Jon turned, his bright purple eyes meeting hers. "I couldn't sleep. Too excited about today's lesson, I suppose."

Yennefer felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with magic. Over the past week, she'd grown fond of Jon's earnest enthusiasm and quiet determination. His handsome features, framed by dark curls, didn't hurt either.

"Well then, let's not waste any time," she said, gesturing for him to begin.

Jon nodded, closing his eyes in concentration. Slowly, a small flame flickered to life in his palm, growing steadier with each passing second. Yennefer watched, impressed by his progress.

"Good," she encouraged. "Now, try to shape it. Remember, fire is wild, but it can be tamed with a strong will."

Jon's brow furrowed as he focused. The flame wavered, then began to elongate, forming a rough approximation of a sword. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort.

"Remarkable," Yennefer murmured. "You're progressing faster than I expected."

The flame sword dissipated as Jon opened his eyes, a mix of pride and exhaustion on his face. "It's all thanks to your teaching, Lady Yennefer."

"Give yourself some credit, Jon," she chided gently. "You have a natural talent for this. Though I still wonder about its origin."

Jon's expression clouded. "As do I. I've asked Father about it, but he always changes the subject."

Yennefer nodded thoughtfully, not knowing what to say. She wanted to ask Lord Stark himself if he knew why Jon was related to flames, but the man was keeping her under his roof, feeding her without her giving him a single coin. The man had the right to keep his secrets, and she was sure that if she asked him about it, he would not tell her the truth and would only get him angry. He would tell her she had outstayed her welcome and she didn't want to leave Jon. She wanted to stay a little longer; she didn't know how much longer, but longer.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the Godswood. Yennefer found herself studying Jon's face, admiring the strong set of his jaw and the way his purple eyes seemed to catch the light.

"Lady Yennefer?" Jon's voice brought her out of her reverie. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," she replied, curious.

"In your world, are there... people like me? With abilities they can't explain?"

Yennefer considered her answer carefully. "There are those born with a natural affinity for magic, yes. But your case is unique, even by my world's standards. Your power feels... older, somehow. More powerful."

Jon absorbed this information, his brow furrowed in thought. "Sometimes I feel like there's something inside me, waiting to be unleashed. It's...terrifying."

Yennefer placed a comforting hand on his arm. "That's why we're training, Jon. To help you understand and control your power."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them seemed charged with an energy that had nothing to do with magic. Yennefer found herself acutely aware of Jon's presence, of the warmth radiating from his body.

The moment was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. They quickly stepped apart as Theon Greyjoy sauntered into view, his cocky grin firmly in place.

"Well, well," Theon drawled, his eyes roving over Yennefer appreciatively. "What do we have here? A secret rendezvous in the Godswood?"

Jon's jaw clenched. "We're just talking, Theon. Nothing more."

Theon's grin widened. "Oh, I'm sure. Though if the lady wants some real company, she knows where to find me."

Yennefer fixed Theon with an icy stare. "I assure you, I'm quite content with my current company. Your... services won't be necessary."

Theon's smile faltered for a moment before he shrugged. "Suit yourself. Though I can't imagine what entertainment the bastard could possibly provide."

Before Jon could respond, Yennefer stepped forward, her violet eyes flashing dangerously. "I suggest you mind your tongue, boy. Jon Snow has shown more honor and kindness in the past week than you've likely managed in your entire life."

Theon's face reddened, but before he could retort, another voice cut through the tension.

"Theon! There you are." Robb Stark emerged from between the trees, his blue eyes taking in the scene before him. "Father's looking for you. Something about archery practice?"

Theon shot one last glare at Jon and Yennefer before following Robb out of the Godswood. As their footsteps faded, Jon turned to Yennefer, his expression a mix of gratitude and awe.

"You didn't have to do that," he said softly.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow. "Of course I did. I won't stand by and let anyone insult my... friend."

The word felt inadequate, but it was all she could offer for now. Jon's smile, warm and genuine, made her heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," he said simply.

As they resumed their training, Yennefer found herself more determined than ever to uncover the mystery of Jon's powers. There was something special about this young man, beyond his striking looks and kind heart. She sensed a destiny waiting to unfold, and she was increasingly certain that she wanted to be a part of it.

Later that afternoon, Yennefer found herself in the company of the Stark women. Lady Catelyn sat primly while Lady Sansa chattered excitedly with a girl of her age—Arya, clearly bored, fidgeted in her seat.

"Lady Yennefer," Catelyn began, her tone polite but cool, "I understand you've been spending quite a bit of time with...Jon Snow."

Yennefer met the other woman's gaze steadily. It hadn't taken long for her to understand Lady Catelyn didn't like Jon, and it had taken less time to understand why. Yennefer could not understand why this woman was sending her anger towards someone who had nothing to do with it, but she doubted that her words alone would change her mindset, the same mindset she must have kept for the past 16 years. "Yes, I have. He's been kind enough to show me around Winterfell and tell me about your customs."

Catelyn's lips thinned slightly. "I see. I hope you understand that while Jon is... a part of this household, he is not a true Stark."

"Mother!" Arya protested, but Catelyn silenced her with a look.

Yennefer felt a flash of anger on Jon's behalf, but she kept her voice level. "I judge people by their actions, Lady Stark, not by the circumstances of their birth. And Jon has shown himself to be honorable and kind."

Arya beamed at this, while Sansa looked uncomfortable. Catelyn's expression remained neutral, but Yennefer sensed her disapproval.

"You mentioned before that you're a warrior in your land," Arya piped up, eager to change the subject. "Could you teach me some fighting moves?"

"Arya!" Sansa gasped, scandalized. "A lady doesn't fight!"

Yennefer smiled at the younger girl. "In my experience, a lady does whatever she sets her mind to. And sometimes, that includes fighting."

Catelyn sighed. "Please don't encourage her, Lady Yennefer. Arya already has enough... unladylike tendencies."

"There's nothing unladylike about being able to defend oneself," Yennefer countered gently. "In fact, I'd argue it's an essential skill for any woman, regardless of her station."

Arya's eyes shone with admiration, while Catelyn looked like she'd bitten into something sour. Sansa seemed torn between curiosity and propriety.

As the afternoon wore on, Yennefer found herself reflecting on the complex dynamics of the Stark family. She couldn't help but feel for Jon, caught between two worlds, never fully belonging to either. It reminded her, in some ways, of her own struggles to find her place.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink, Yennefer made her way to the battlements. She found Jon there, gazing out over the vast expanse of the North.

"Copper for your thoughts?" she asked, coming to stand beside him.

Jon turned, a small smile on his face. "Just thinking about everything that's happened this past week. It's all so... overwhelming."

Yennefer nodded in understanding. "Magic has a way of changing one's perspective on the world."

"It's not just the magic," Jon admitted, his violet eyes meeting hers. "It's you, as well. You've shown me things I never imagined being able to do."

Yennefer felt a flutter in her chest at his words. "You give me too much credit, Jon Snow. The potential was always within you. I merely helped you see it."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the first stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky.

"Lady Yennefer," Jon began hesitantly, "I know you said you won't be here much longer, but... I hope you'll stay. At least for a while."

The vulnerability in his voice touched something deep within her. Yennefer found herself wanting to promise him she would stay longer, to assure him that she'd never leave. But she knew better than to make promises she couldn't keep.

Instead, she reached out, gently taking his hand in hers. "I can't see the future, Jon. But I can promise you this: for as long as I'm here, I'll do everything in my power to help you understand your gifts. And even when I'm gone, the strength you've discovered will remain."

Jon's fingers tightened around hers, a gesture of gratitude and something more. As they stood there, hand in hand, watching the night unfold over Winterfell, Yennefer felt a sense of peace she hadn't experienced in years.

They were close now, mere inches separating them. Jon's eyes flickered to her lips for a brief moment before meeting her gaze again, a question burning in their purple depths.

Yennefer felt her heart racing, a feeling both familiar and entirely new coursing through her veins. She had known passion before, had wielded desire like a weapon. But this... this was different. Softer, yet somehow more intense.

Jon raised a hand, hesitating for a moment before gently tucking a strand of her raven hair behind her ear. His touch lingered, fingertips grazing her cheek with a tenderness that made her breath catch.

"Yennefer," he murmured, her name a prayer on his lips. "I... I've never felt this way before. About anyone."

She leaned into his touch, her own hand coming up to rest on his chest. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her palm, matching the rapid rhythm of her own.

"Nor have I, Jon," she admitted, surprised by her own honesty. "And I've lived far longer than you might imagine."

A soft chuckle escaped Jon's lips, warm breath ghosting over her skin. "I'm beginning to think there's very little that's impossible where you're concerned."

Yennefer smiled, a genuine, unguarded expression that lit up her entire face. "Perhaps you're right. After all, I never expected to find someone like you in this or any world."

Jon's gaze dropped to her lips once more, and this time, Yennefer felt herself leaning in.

Their lips met softly at first, a gentle brush that sent sparks racing through both of them. Jon's hand cupped her cheek, while Yennefer's fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, passion igniting between them like wildfire. Yennefer poured all of her complex emotions into the kiss – her growing affection for Jon, her fear of the unknown future, her hope for something she had long since given up on. Jon matched her fervor, his inexperience overshadowed by the depth of his feelings.

When they finally parted, both were breathless. Jon rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

"That was..." he began, struggling to find the right words.

"Magical?" Yennefer supplied, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Jon laughed softly, opening his eyes to meet her gaze once more. "Aye, that it was. Though I think even magic pales in comparison."

Yennefer felt a surge of affection for this young man who had so unexpectedly captured her heart. She knew their path forward would not be easy – there were still so many unanswered questions. But in this moment, with the moonlight bathing them and the taste of Jon's kiss still on her lips, she allowed herself to hope.

Later

Jon and Yennefer stumbled into her chamber, their bodies pressed together as the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind them. Their eyes locked - violet meeting amethyst in a heated gaze. Without a word, their lips crashed together in a searing kiss.

At first, the kiss was gentle, almost hesitant. Jon's lips brushed softly against Yennefer's, savoring the silky texture and the faint taste of wine that lingered there. But as Yennefer let out a breathy moan, something primal awakened within them both. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate with each passing second.

Their tongues danced and explored, hands roaming desperately over clothed bodies as if trying to memorize every curve and plane. Jon tangled his fingers in Yennefer's raven locks, marveling at their silky texture. Yennefer's nimble fingers found their way to Jon's belt, fumbling with the stubborn buckle as she pressed herself even closer against his muscular frame.

"Mmph...gods, Yen," Jon groaned against her lips, reluctantly breaking the kiss to trail his mouth along the sharp line of her jaw. His breath was hot against her skin as he whispered huskily, "You're so fucking beautiful. Your eyes... I could get lost in them forever."

Before Yennefer could respond, Jon's lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear. He nipped gently, then soothed the sting with his tongue, drawing a breathy gasp from the sorceress. Encouraged by her reaction, he blazed a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the elegant column of her throat, occasionally grazing his teeth against her pulse point.

"Ohh...Jon," Yennefer moaned, her head falling back to grant him better access. Her fingers twisted in his dark curls, holding him close as pleasure coursed through her veins. "Mmm...have you done this before?" she managed to ask between gasps.

Jon shook his head against her neck, his stubble scratching deliciously against her sensitive skin. "No," he murmured, voice muffled. "Never. You're the first, Yen." His calloused hands found the laces of her dress, tugging at them with growing urgency.

As more and more of Yennefer's creamy skin was revealed, Jon's purple eyes widened in awe. "Gods, Yen," he breathed reverently as her ample breasts spilled free from the confines of her dress. "You're absolutely stunning."

Without hesitation, Jon lowered his head to lavish attention on her newly exposed flesh. His tongue swirled around one pebbled nipple before taking it into his mouth, sucking gently as his hand came up to knead her other breast. Yennefer arched into his touch, a string of breathless curses falling from her lips.

Finally managing to work Jon's trousers loose, Yennefer's hand slipped beneath the waistband to wrap around his hard length. Her eyes widened in surprise as she realized just how well-endowed he truly was. "Fuck," she muttered, licking her lips unconsciously as she imagined taking all of his cock into her mouth.

Jon groaned at her touch, his hips bucking involuntarily. Releasing her breast with a wet 'pop', he slowly sank to his knees before her. His hands trembled slightly as he helped Yennefer shed the last of her clothing, leaving her clad only in those sinfully sexy dark boots that reached almost to her knees.

"You're perfect," Jon murmured, drinking in the sight of her glistening folds. "So fucking beautiful." Without further preamble, he leaned forward and dragged his tongue along her slit in one long, slow lick.

"Oh fuck!" Yennefer cried out, her fingers immediately tangling in Jon's hair. "Gods, how are you so good at this?" Her head fell back against the wall with a dull thud as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Jon's strong arms wrapped around her thighs, pulling her closer as he devoured her with enthusiastic fervor. His tongue alternated between broad, flat strokes and quick flicks against her sensitive bundle of nerves. Yennefer's moans grew louder and more desperate, her hips rolling against his face as she chased her release.

"That's it, don't stop," she panted, not giving a damn who might overhear. Let them all know how good Jon Snow was making her feel. Her thighs began to tremble as tension coiled tighter and tighter in her core. "Fuck, Jon, I'm gonna-"

With a final, clever swirl of his tongue, Yennefer came undone. "JONNNN!!"

She cried out Jon's name as her orgasm crashed over her, her entire body shuddering with the force of it. Jon eagerly lapped up every drop of her release, groaning at the musky-sweet taste of her on his tongue.

As Yennefer's breathing slowly returned to normal, Jon looked up at her with questioning eyes. "Did I...was that alright?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.

Yennefer let out a breathless laugh, hauling him to his feet and crushing her lips against his. She could taste herself on his tongue as they kissed deeply, her hands roaming over the planes of his muscular back. "Alright?" she echoed when they finally parted. "Jon Snow, that was fucking incredible. I've never felt anything like it."

In one sudden move, Yennefer jumped up, wrapping her legs around Jon's waist. Her dark boots dug into his lower back as he caught her easily, large hands cupping her ass to support her weight. Their lips met in another heated kiss as Jon carried her to the bed, tossing her onto the plush furs with a playful growl.

Jon crawled over her, settling between her spread thighs. The head of his cock brushed tantalizingly against her slick folds, drawing matching moans from both of them. Yennefer's legs wrapped around him once more, the smooth leather of her boots sliding against his skin as she used her heels to urge him closer.

"Jon," Yennefer breathed, violet eyes dark with desire as she gazed up at him. "I need you. Please...fuck me."

Jon didn't need to be told twice. Bracing himself on one elbow, he reached between their bodies to guide himself to her entrance. He pushed forward slowly, both of them groaning as he sank into her tight, wet heat inch by glorious inch.

"Oh gods," Jon panted, struggling to maintain control as Yennefer's inner walls clenched around him. "You feel amazing, Yen. So tight...so perfect."

Yennefer's nails raked down his back, leaving angry red welts in their wake as she adjusted to his considerable size. "Fuck, Jon," she gasped. "You're so big...filling me up so good."

Once he was fully sheathed inside her, Jon paused for a moment, allowing them both to savor the sensation of being so intimately connected.

"You feel so good, Jon." Yennefer murmured, her voice soft and intimate. Jon took pride in that; he wanted her to feel good, and he didn't want to be the only one taking pleasure from this.

"You feel amazing, Yen," Jon said, kissing her softly and hearing her giggle.

"Yen?" Yennefer asked, and for a moment, Jon seemed like he wanted to apologize. "I like it, it's been a long time since someone called me that."

Jon's eyes met hers, a mix of vulnerability and determination in his gaze. "Yen," he said softly, "with you, I don't feel like I have to be the brooding bastard. I can just be Jon. And that... that's more precious to me than you know."

The raw honesty in Jon's words struck a chord deep within Yennefer. She understood all too well the weight of expectations and the rarity of moments when one could simply be oneself. Her violet eyes softened as she cupped his face, recognizing the gift he'd just given her - his trust and his true self.

Then, with a low growl, he began to move. His thrusts started slow and deep, gradually picking up speed and force as Yennefer's breathy moans urged him on.

"Yes, just like that," Yennefer cried out, meeting him thrust for thrust. Her boots scraped against his lower back as she locked her ankles behind him, pulling him even deeper. "Harder, Jon. Fuck me harder!"

Jon was more than happy to oblige. He pistoned his hips faster, driving into her with enough force to make the sturdy bed frame creak in protest. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and their mingled cries of pleasure.

Yennefer's hands roamed over Jon's sweat-slicked body, reveling in the flex and ripple of his muscles as he pounded into her. She dragged her nails down his chest, leaving faint red lines in their wake. Jon hissed at the sensation, retaliating by capturing one of her bouncing breasts in his mouth and sucking hard on the sensitive peak.

"Oh fuck, Jon!" Yennefer keened, arching off the bed. "Right there, don't stop!"

Jon could feel himself getting close, the familiar tightening in his balls. But he was determined to make Yennefer come again before he finished. Shifting his weight to one arm, he snaked a hand between their bodies to find her clit, rubbing tight circles against the swollen bud.

The added stimulation was all Yennefer needed to topple over the edge. Her back bowed as another powerful orgasm ripped through her, inner walls clamping down on Jon's cock like a vice. "Jon!" she screamed, uncaring of who might hear. "Fuck, I'm coming!"

The sight and feel of Yennefer coming undone beneath him was too much for Jon to handle. With a few more erratic thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a hoarse shout of her name. His cock pulsed inside her, painting her inner walls with his hot seed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him.

For several long moments, they remained frozen in place, both panting heavily as they came down from their shared high. Eventually, Jon carefully withdrew and collapsed onto the bed beside Yennefer, gathering her into his arms.

"That was..." Jon trailed off, still struggling to catch his breath.

"Incredible," Yennefer finished for him, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "You're full of surprises, Jon Snow."

Jon chuckled, running his fingers through her tousled hair. "I aim to please, my lady," he murmured teasingly.

Yennefer snorted, swatting his chest playfully. "You should call me Yen," she reminded him. Her expression softened as she met his gaze, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "But you certainly did please me. More than anyone ever has before."

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Jon's face at her words. "Is that so?" he asked, voice pitched low and husky. His hand trailed down her side, coming to rest on her hip. "In that case, perhaps we should go again. Just to be sure."

Yennefer's answering laugh was rich. "Oh, my dear Jon," she purred, pushing him onto his back and straddling his hips. Her dark boots gleamed in the candlelight as she rolled her hips teasingly against him. "We're only just getting started."

As Yennefer leaned down to capture Jon's lips in another searing kiss, both knew that this was the beginning of something truly special.

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