Cersei and Jaime have a suggestion

The furs were warm and heavy, the three of them still tangled together in the half-dark of the Broken Tower. Moonlight slid through the broken shutters and painted silver across sweat-slick skin. Jon lay on his back, one arm pinned beneath Jaime’s neck, the other trapped under Cersei’s breast. Their breathing had slowed, but neither woman seemed inclined to let him go.

“You cannot go to the Wall,” Cersei murmured at last, voice low and certain, as though the idea itself were an insult. “Not now. Not after this.”

Jaime’s breath was warm against his collarbone. “The Night’s Watch is for broken men and criminals. You are none of those things, Jon Snow.”

A sharp kick of guilt seized his chest, thudding so loudly it seemed to echo in the hush beneath the furs. The Wall had always been his future (his escape from being the bastard who sat below the salt, from Lady Catelyn’s cold stares, from the whispers that followed him through Winterfell’s halls). He had already spoken to Benjen about it. The black cloak had felt inevitable.

Now it felt like a cage he had never truly noticed until someone offered to burn the door off its hinges.

Moonlight slid across the furs as Cersei lifted her head, green eyes bright with lazy certainty.

“Come south with us,” she murmured, nails tracing slow, possessive circles over his chest. “Wear Lannister crimson as a sworn shield… or,” a sly glance toward Jaime, “my sister has need of a squire who already knows how to keep his tongue.”

Jaime’s answering smirk curved sharp and slow. A scarred fingertip brushed a stray curl from his brow, the gesture unexpectedly gentle. “No black cloak, no frozen vows. You’d keep your name, your seed, your life. Just a place beside us.”

The words struck deeper than they should have. Riding south instead of north, trading ice for gold and warmth, should have tasted of betrayal. Instead it felt like lungs finally filling after years held half-shut.

A soft kiss brushed the corner of his mouth, tasting the guilt there. “You think you’ve dishonoured your king,” Cersei whispered against his skin, voice velvet and venom. “That bedding his queen makes you a traitor.”

She laughed, low and scornful, as though the very idea were a child’s tale. “Robert has sowed bastards from the Arbor to the Neck and still crawls into whatever bed smells of wine and willingness. I owe that man nothing.”

Her hand slid lower, claiming him with lazy confidence. “Stay, Jon Snow. Let the North keep its honour. We will keep you.”

Jon’s stomach twisted. He knew (knew with the clarity the power had **** from her lips in the godswood) that she was lying with every breath. She had never been faithful a single day of her marriage. She had cuckolded Robert with her own twin long before tonight, had filled the Red Keep with golden-haired children who were never Baratheon. Her outrage at Robert’s infidelity was a shield for sins far older and blacker.

Hypocrisy dripped from every word like honey over a blade.

And yet the way she said it, the way Jaime’s hand slid possessively over his hip in silent agreement, made the guilt feel smaller somehow. As though the rules of honour were playthings for lesser houses, not lions.

Jaime leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Stay with us, Jon Snow. Let the North keep its cold honour. We’ll keep you warm.”

Cersei’s smile curved against his throat. “Swear to me instead of to some frozen wall of ice. Guard us. Bed us. Father children on us, if the gods are kind.” Her hand drifted lower, cupping him gently, coaxing him back toward hardness. “No one will ever dare call you Snow again.”

Jon closed his eyes.

He could feel the power thrumming under his skin, eager for the next word that would reshape the world. He could end this right now (make them forget him, make them hate him, send them away).

But their warmth was real. Their hunger was real. And for the first time in his life, two of the most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms were begging the bastard of Winterfell to stay.

He opened his eyes and met Cersei’s gaze, then Jaime’s identical one.

“I’ll… think on it,” he said at last, voice rough.

Cersei’s smile was triumphant. Jaime’s was softer, almost grateful.

They curled tighter around him, two golden lionesses staking their claim, and Jon lay very still between them, the Wall suddenly feeling very far away.