His own

There was a brief moment of clarity in his mind when the fog of lust and drink faded, and that was all it took for Jon to decide against anything that he might regret. Though he would like nothing more than to walk into one of the rooms, find himself a bed mate and fuck himself into unconsciousness, he knew that it would not be proper. With a sigh, he spun on his heel and returned to his own chamber.

He fell into sleep the moment he hit the bed and awoke the next day with a roaring headache and a mouth that tasted of utter poison. There was some small satisfaction in finding that the good majority of the others were in a similar state. It was an effort to keep breakfast down, but Jon managed, sitting miserably as he was in the Great Hall with Ser Barristan and his guards.

Their self pitying was interrupted however when Jon looked up from the demolished remnants of his breakfast and found himself face to face with Lysa Tully.

“My Prince,” She greeted him, looking very unimpressed and with a voice that was a tad shrill, “I have heard that you are journeying North to Winterfell? To see my sister and her kin?”

Swallowing a burnt piece of bacon, Jon nodded. “Aye, we are leaving today, My Lady.” He sipped a little lemon water, hoping that it might settle his stomach, “why do you ask?”

“I wish to come with you,” She told him without hesitation, her blue eyes wild. “I need to see my sister again, and if I am to travel...surely nothing would be safer than travelling alongside a prince.”

Jon exhaled, his mind still trying to right itself. “We would be travelling fast, My Lady,” he rubbed at an eye, trying to smother the pain in his skull, “our lodgings would be nothing fancy.”

“The faster the better!” She piped, grinning in what Jon assumed was meant to be cheer, “I do not care where me and my handmaidens stay, so long as we arrive at Winterfell quickly and safely.”

The Prince made a gesture, and nodded, more so to get the woman to leave him in peace than anything else. “Yes, fine. We’ll be leaving in an hour, so if you’re coming have yourself ready by then.”

Lysa gave a spattering of pleasantries and praises, but he waved her off, and went back to his meal, wondering if perhaps he had only made his headache all the worse.

It was a struggle, but he was able to collect himself and mount up, accept all of Edmures thanks, and then push on with the rest of his party. He groaned internally when he saw Lysa Tully and her handmaidens get into a wheelhouse, knowing how slow such things were, but swallowed his complaints when he spotted Roslin Frey getting in the carriage. The young woman giving him the briefest of smiles. Suddenly, he thought his day might be improving.