Chapter Text
Jon shivered as he huddled closer to the fire. The wind on top of the Wall was biting, making his watch cold and miserable. Still, he was grateful for the solitude. With his uncle gone, he felt as if he had no allies at Castle Black.
Alliser Thorne, who was in charge of training the new recruits, treated him with nothing but scorn. Before Benjen had left, he had told Jon not to take it personally. The Master-at-Arms was a Targaryen loyalist sent to the Wall after the Rebellion. His dislike of Jon stemmed from his dislike of Jon’s father.
Jon wasn’t sure how that was supposed to make him feel better, but he was used to being unfairly treated for who his father was.
His fellow recruits weren’t much better. Some were criminals fleeing to the Wall to escape punishment. Jon hadn’t expected to make friends with any of that lot. If anything, he tried to avoid them as much as possible. Honestly, if Thorne hadn’t forbidden the recruits from carrying weapons until they took their vows, Jon would carry a dirk on him anytime he had to be around them, just in case.
His lack of a weapon made him ache for the reassuring presence of Ghost at his side, but Thorne had taken that from him as well. Reasoning that the direwolf was as much of a weapon as any sword, he had Ghost locked up in the stables until Jon took his vows.
As for the other recruits, what few there were, they hated Jon for growing up in a castle, believing him to be a pampered and conceited lordling. Since nothing he said could make them resent him any less, Jon had taken to knocking them down as quickly as possible to just get things over with.
Tyrion Lannister had taken him to task for his treatment of the other recruits, attempting to shame Jon into feeling sorry for them. After all, Tyrion had reasoned, they hadn’t grown up with a master-at-arms to train them, and most had come to the Wall in search of a place where they could at least be guaranteed a place in the barracks and regular meals.
Jon had thought Tyrion’s admonishments were big words for a man who resented anyone who dared treat him as anything but the little Lannister lord that he was. For all his talk that all dwarves were bastards in their fathers’ eyes, he certainly refused to be treated as one.
Jon knew there were things about his life growing up at Winterfell that were better than most. He had been fed and clothed just the same as his trueborn brothers and sisters, though Lady Stark had always made sure that his clothing was of lesser quality. And yes, his father had allowed him to train with Robb and Theon and had ensured he had the skills to protect himself. In those aspects, maybe his life was something to be envied by his fellow recruits.
But how could any of them truly grasp how unenviable his life really was? For one, they were alphas and betas, all of them. Omegas were called lustful and leered at as a general rule throughout Westeros, but a bastard omega? He saw the way his father’s men looked at him when their captains weren’t looking, and he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that any of them had any marital intentions in mind when they did.
If anything, Jon envied those recruits who had chosen the relative security of the Wall in exchange for giving up any chance of a family of their own. That’s what Jon wanted the most. Not so much children of his own. That particular concept was tinged with the fear that those children would be bastards that would be scorned as he was. But people who would accept him and love him unconditionally for all to see. Someone who could show him favor without it being seen as an insult to others.
While Jon knew his father loved him, Ned Stark could never show him much regard. It would be unseemly for the Lord of Winterfell to be openly affectionate towards his bastard.
And though the other recruits might not have particularly wanted to join the Night’s Watch, but they likely had more choice in the decision than Jon had.
His door burst open as Robb stormed in without knocking, shutting it harshly behind him as he glared at Jon, who had frozen for only a moment in packing up his meager belongings. Jon sighed as he continued stuffing his pack with his spare trousers.
“You can stop packing right now,” Robb ordered sternly, putting on what Bran called his “Lord Voice,” that he adopted whenever he had to speak in any official capacity.
If the Heir of Winterfell had used that voice on any other person in the castle, save his lord father and lady mother, Jon was sure that they would have been hard pressed to ignore it. Even Arya would have paid attention. Jon, however, just rolled his eyes and continued packing. He knew Robb too well to be intimidated by his bluster.
“I mean it,” Robb snapped, moving forward and snatching a shirt out of Jon’s hands. “You’re not going.”
Jon gave him a flat stare. “Father’s already given me permission to go, and your Lady Mother has made it quite clear that I have no place here.”
Didn’t Robb know how much it killed him to have to leave? To leave Robb, the older brother who protected him and was got angry with Jon for daring to be better than him at swordplay, even if he were an omega? To leave Arya, the little sister who understood him better than anyone and who loved him freely and unconditionally? To leave Bran and Rickon, the sweet little brothers he adored? Even Sansa, who ignored him as much as possible in an attempt to not irritate either her mother or Arya, would be difficult to leave.
“I am acting Lord of Winterfell in Father’s stead once he goes south with the king,” Robb gritted out. “I say if you have a place here, not Mother. And you will always have a place at Winterfell as long as I live.”
“And what sort of place would I have here, Robb?” Jon asked, matching his glare with one of his own. “None of the guards would respect an omega enough for me to have a place among them. I wouldn’t be able to help you run the castle or serve as your advisor. No one would respect me, and worse, it would reflect badly on you to be seen favoring your bastard omega brother.”
“To hell with what people think!” Robb yelled. “You are my brother! I’m allowed to favor you.”
Jon gave him a sad smile. “And when you are married and there are rumors that you are taking your omega bastard brother to bed? What are you to then?” Jon knew he was being cruel by spinning worst case scenarios for Robb, but they constantly haunted his nightmares. “When they whisper that my bastard children are yours? Because I will have them. I’m not foolish enough to believe that I will be able to go my entire life without some alpha taking advantage of me during my heat, raping me when I can’t say no—”
“Enough!” Robb roared, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders. Tears were streaming down Jon’s face at this point. He was helpless to stop them as he neared his worst fears to his brother. “I will not let that happen!”
“Robb, you will have the entire North to worry about,” Jon replied ruefully. “You cannot devote so much attention to me, and I wouldn’t want anyone to say that you were neglecting any of your duties for me.”
His brother shook his head. “The Wall cannot be the answer,” he said in defeat. Jon was surprised and a little disheartened to see Robb accept that he had no place at Winterfell so easily. Was he not worth fighting for? Though Jon had already accepted it as the truth, it hurt to see Robb give in so easily. “How could you possibility be safer among rapers and murderers?”
“There are honorable men there, too,” he reminded him. “Uncle Benjen is a brother of the Night’s Watch, and Jeor Mormont is the Lord Commander. Besides, omegas have always served on the Wall. They are given some sort of potion to stop their heats from ever happening.”
Jon said the last part as neutrally as possible. The truth was, he was frightened at what sort of concoction would damage his internal parts so much that he would never go into heat again. Surely it must be quite painful if omegas everywhere did not seek it out. He didn’t let his fear show to his brother, though. As a beta, Robb only had a rudimentary understanding of what it meant to be an omega and would have no desire to learn more about them like an alpha would.
Despite his fear, though, Jon was determined to go to the Wall. As a highborn bastard, he might have had more options, but as a highborn omega bastard, he had precious few. No one would respect him in any position typically given a man, and he was not as useful as he would have been had he been born a woman. The Night’s Watch was the only place that would take him as he was.
“I will miss you, brother, but I must go where I can belong,” Jon told him.
Robb gave him a watery smile and pulled him into a tight embrace. “I will miss you, too, brother.”
Jon had, of course, been wrong. He no more belonged at the Wall than he had at Winterfell. Maybe he didn’t belong anywhere. Perhaps he was just wrong. Lady Stark’s gods sure seemed to think so. A man able to bear children? What could be more wrong than that? And a bastard to boot?
He mulled miserably over his lot in life until his replacement came. He walked towards the iron cage that would bring him down, his limbs stiff with cold. The air became slightly warmer as the cage crawled to the ground, the wind less biting. It was a relief when he was able to be back on solid ground.
He nodded towards the man operating the winch before making his way towards the barracks. He felt slightly uneasy as he walked through the shadows, darker than usual because a few of the torches had burned out. He ached for the presence of Ghost at his side. He told himself that is where the sudden anxious feeling came from. Ghost was a part of him, and being separated from him felt as if he were missing a limb.
Unfortunately, he was proven wrong not a minute later.
Jon gave a sharp cry as a weight crashed into him from behind. The cry was muffled, though, by a hand that wrapped tightly around the bottom half of his face. Jon attempted to turn to face his attacker, but was suddenly grabbed on both sides. His legs kicked out uselessly as was dragged towards the stables and into an empty stall.
The hand left his mouth for just a moment, but a gag was stuffed into it before Jon had a chance to call out, and was tied harshly around his head. A blindfold was quickly tied around his eyes, causing Jon’s panic to go through the roof.
His attackers’ silence was unnerved as he was shoved face-first onto the ground, bashing his temple as he tried to thrash his way away from them.
He could hear Ghost a few stalls over, attacking the door of his own stall in an attempt to reach Jon. Though he prayed the wolf managed it, he knew that the door was too tall, too sturdy, for the not-yet fully grown direwolf to escape.
All hope fled him as his arms and shoulders were harshly pinned down by the two men on either side of him while another pair of hands ripped away his cloak and pulled down his trousers and small clothes. With his bottom exposed to the frigid night air, he could no longer delude himself as to the aim of his attackers.
Terror and horror welled inside him as he increased his useless efforts.
Jon wanted to beg and plead with them not to do this. Wanted to scream for help that he knew would not come. Though he continued fighting them, the men pinning him down were too strong and his squirming just caused the man behind him to chuckle menacingly.
He was not prepared when the first breach came and pain like no other filled him. While he had always known that the danger of rape dogged his steps as an omega, no amount of pragmatic understanding of that this could have had prepared him for the tearing pain that consumed him now.
He felt as if his insides were being pulverized with each thrust. He couldn’t move for the pain. All fight had fled him, and he sagged onto the ground, unable to do anything but wail pitifully into his gag, tears soaking through his blindfold.
He barely noticed when the men switched places, with each of them taking turns using his abused body.
All he knew was the pain that wracked his body, the deep throbbing that spread from somewhere deep inside him to the very tips of his fingers. Later, he might dwell on the humiliation of his attack and shame might well up inside him, but the pain was too consuming for such thoughts to enter his mind at that moment.
If the gods were good, they would let him die, he thought as the pain became too much and darkness took him.
#
“—did they expect would happen, sending an omega here?” a voice dripping with disdain asked. Jon didn’t know why, but he felt a vague stab of shame at the question, though he wasn’t aware enough to understand what the voice was talking about.
“Need I remind you, Ser Alliser, that I, too, am an omega, and I have served at the Wall for longer than you’ve been alive,” a thinner voice answered in reproach. “As have hundreds of omegas throughout the years.”
“It had to be some of the newer recruits,” a different voice stated. “No brother would have done this.”
“Perhaps,” the thinner voice replied mildly.
“And I suppose I am to blame for not keeping an eye on them? I’m meant to train them, not babysit them,” the first voice snapped.
“Perhaps if you had not been so obvious with your dislike of the boy, the other recruits would not have thought they could get away with this sort of behavior!” the other voice growled. “Like it or not, Thorne, this order depends on the support of Winterfell and the North. How much support do you think Ned Stark or his son is going to give the Night’s Watch knowing that they allowed his son to be so sorely treated! How long do you think the rest of the houses will continue their support once Winterfell cuts us off?”
“Benjen—”
“Benjen will likely go on a rampage and kill all the new recruits and you once he gets back and learns what happened!
“Enough of this, both of you,” the thinner voice of the self-proclaimed omega said, brushing the hair back from Jon’s face as he spoke. Jon scrunched his nose as the other omega’s scent reached him. He smelt wrong. “He’s waking up.”
No longer able to cling to the illusion of sleep, Jon blinked his eyes open and instantly wanted to shrink in on of himself as he was met with the Lord Commander, Maester Aemon, and Thorne staring down at him.
The Lord Commander gave him a sympathetic smile that Jon didn’t understand. “Jon,” he said, almost gently, unnerving him even more. “Do you remember what happened?”
What happened? Jon stared at him dumbly for a moment before he cast his gaze about the room. Where was he? It looked like it was one of the private rooms belonging to the officers of the Night’s Watch, like Uncle Benjen. But why was Jon in one?
He made to sit up, and a sharp pain lanced through him. He fell back onto the bed, gasping as the pain seemed to shoot up his spine and through his entire body.
The night before came rushing back to him with the pain. The terror, the men holding him down and…
To his shame, he wasn’t able to bite back the first strangle sob that ripped from his throat, but he squeezed his eyes and mouth shut to keep back any further. Gods, what these men must think of him? Stupid, pathetic omega.
“It’s alright, lad,” Mormont’s voice said soothingly. “Do you remember who did this to you?”
Jon shook his head, keeping his eyes closed so that he didn’t have to look at any of them. “I didn’t see them,” he mumbled, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.
He heard Thorne’s scoff and tried not to flinch instinctively away from the man. Not only did he not want Thorne to know the effect he had on Jon, but he also was sure the movement would be painful.
“Lord Commander, I do not believe any further questioning would be helpful to Jon’s recovery at the moment,” Maester Aemon said with a slight censure in his voice. “If Jon does not know his attackers, then it would be best to let him rest.”
Jon was grateful for the older omega’s suggestion. He was dangerously close to losing the battle with his emotions, and he did not want to break down in front of them.
Thorne just grunted in acknowledgment. Lord Mormont must have signified his agreement non-verbally, though.
“Is there anything we can do for you while you rest, lad?” Mormont asked.
Jon thought it was an absurd question. What could possibly be done for him? His worst nightmare had become a reality and was left with the shame and humiliation of not having been able to fight back. Surely, he wouldn’t be able to become a brother of the Night’s Watch after being proven so weak? And did he even want to anymore? Could he really call his rapers brothers?
He opened his eyes and gave the Lord Commander. “Ghost,” he said desperately, longing for his wolf and the connection to his real brothers and sisters he represented.
Thorne made a displeased noise. “That wolf is a danger if let lose. It is like to kill any man who tries to bring it here.”
“Still, we will do our best to get him to you,” Mormont said firmly, giving Thorne a glare.
Once they had left, Jon was left alone with the maester, who gave him a kindly smile. “I am sorry this has happened to you, my boy,” he told him, unseeing eyes fixed uncannily on Jon’s face. “But you must not let this moment turn into a lifetime.”
Jon listened to the words without comprehension, unable to understand how he could possibly move past this moment to even consider the rest of his life. “Can I just be alone, maester?” he asked, not caring if he were being disrespectful.
The old maester just nodded. “Let me help you drink some milk of the poppy and I will leave you be.”
Jon dutifully drank, ignoring how raising his head just a bit caused the pain to flare up once more.
“There’s nothing to do but rest,” the maester told him as he took the cup from Jon’s lips. “The damage is mostly internal, and all we can do is not exacerbate it.”
Internal. Jon shuddered at the word, at the reminder that his attackers had been inside him. It made him feel dirty and tainted.
The maester left him as the milk of the poppy began taking hold and he drifted off once more into darkness.