Smooth Snow
Jonsmirks down at the table, as she leaves... and then when she was gone, Gendry pats his back proudly.
"Smooth, Snow, very smooth. I have to say, I'm impressed."
"Impressed?" Tormund coughs out, "Snow— do ya have a death wish? Talking to her like that..." he mutters, shaking his head warily, “She’s not gonna forget that.”
Jon was suddenly slightly annoyed. Now processing that interaction a little more clearly.
“Well, how about how she’s talked to me?”
Shejustcameoverassumingshekneweverythingabouthim. And then, assumed he should have known who she was?
That actually really bothered him, now that he thought of it.
...Probably because he would never know that kind of entitlement.
“She’s royalty, Jon. The vanity’s in her blood. She can’t help it.” Tormund says, running a hand through his fiery red hair.
“She’ll get over it.” Gendry smiles to Jon, “You don’t know her. That’s not even close to her being angry.”
Tormund scoffs, "Maybe not yet?” He snorts in warning. “All I know’s that she’s got a sleeping dragon in the Forbidden Forest...” his voice goes an octave higher, “I don’t mess with her."
Jon scrutinizes his face for authenticity. “What?” He pauses, waiting for Gendry to laugh.
He doesn't.
"She’s got what? Like an actual dragon? Or do you mean like how her ancestors are immune to fire?" Jon rationalizes.
“No, he means a real, live dragon.” Gendry pouts at Tormund, shaking his head. Tormund sifts his eyes over the loud, crowded Great Hall, "It's true," he says wistfully, "he's yet to kill anyone... but I wouldn't test it."
"What does she do with it then, if it's just hiding— in the woods?" Jon chuckles, baring a slight attitude.
"He's not always there." Gendry explains, "Sometimes she rides him, flies him down by the water..."
What the hell kind of seventeen year old girl was this?
Jon smiles in disbelief, but the boys still don't smile back. "Seriously?"
“Yeah.” Tormund grunts accusingly, "Listen Snow. The girl’s a bloody crackpot.”
Jon takes a sip from his glass, masking his concern, “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” Tormund flails out an arm, nearly knocking over a platter of cantaloupe, "This girl goes out, and into the fucking forest alone, and hangs out with a dragon like it was her bloody pet!” Gendry laughs with him, as Tormund cries out, “And I heard she talks to it like it can understand her. Imagine that? She’s mad."
“Wait, hold on,” Jon relaxes his shoulders, “It’s her pet?” He twitches a knowing smile. "I do have a direwolf, you know, not the most normal of pets either."
Gendry squints an eye, ”I... wouldn’t put dragons and little, baby wolves into the same category, Jon.”
“Just yesterday you were complaining about his size?”
”Yes— in comparison to our bedroom, not a dragon!” Gendry laughs.
Oh, please.
“Okay, I’ve got to go back. I left my cauldron in my room.” Jon stands up, chuckling, placing his lap napkin on the table, "But thanks for the warning boys... Though, I don't think... that our housemate, is going to unleash her pet dragon on me just cause I stood my ground."
Tormund peers around suspiciously for any eavesdroppers, and then whispers in darkly. "You don't know, Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow."
Jon’s smile starts to fade, as Tormund continues gravely, "Listen. She's going to turn dark one day. Just like her father... and any other Targaryen that ever lived before them.”
“...And you don't want to be on her bad side."