What we've lost

by Lady Bee

I washed the land with the blood of my enemies. Ghost feasted in human flesh, if a Bolton can be considered a human at all. I sat at the throne built for the Kings Of Winter, where my mother's ancestors once sat, and I waited.

1. Chapter 1

When the days are cold

And the cards all fold

And the saints we see

Are all made of gold

I would rather say that all began with a promise. Maybe the one Lord Stark made to my lady mother at her dying bed, maybe the one I've made to another Stark girl years later. I'll never know for sure what drove me during all those year, and surely I don't know why I kept this unshakable faith that somehow she would survive against all odds.

I kept in my heart that feeble hope that one day she would come back in the middle of a blizzard, wearing a wolf skin to keep her warm and wild, on a horseback with a bloody sword in her hands and a smile for me. I dreamed of it countless times whenever I was not having a wolf dream. Different roads can lead to the same castle and how I wished for it to become true.

Whenever a raven arrived from South I felt my heart sink a bit in apprehension. Every dark feather used to hide a dark word and I was done with my grief. All of them gone or missing. Every one of them whom I once called family. Even though the news were always dreadful, I held that tiny flame in my heart, like a candle, like a lighthouse, hoping to light her way back to me.

In the night her voice called my name like a wolf's howl. In the daylight I could still remember her laugh and how she used to run toward me with tangled hair and bruised knees. Skinny little thing that she was. Such a trouble maker. I missed her every single waking moment and every single silent hour. I missed the sound of the bright laugh in the summer days when we used to play near the heart tree. I missed muss her hair only to see her make a face and complete my phrases when we talked.

Now I see clearly that she was the reason for my every single step. I would have never managed to get to the Wall without the kisses and hugs she gave me when we parted. She was the only one to do so. She was the only one who truly cared about me.

Do I sound improper? Does it feel like lovers saying their farewell? Maybe I'm more of a Targaryen than my looks and honor give me credit for. Maybe I was always that helpless about the way she made me feel. When it all started? I don't know. I was raised to believe that I should only love my honor and that she was a cold mistress. Loving Arya was something I was not prepared for and that I couldn't avoid either.

A man only talks about his feelings in songs and chivalry tales. In the North our hearts were colder and hour honor made us harsh. Love and tenderness had no place in the daily life, and most of us had no idea of how to deal with it. The war made it worst. Survival was the ultimate priority and there was no space for anything else.

Even though I never realized the depth of my feelings and how it would eventually change the course of my life, I hoped, I craved for her presence when everything around me was dark and confuse. Somehow she was what gave sense and balance to my world. Even in death I could hear her voice in a prey for a Faceless God in a foreign land.

I refused to die knowing that she was alive somewhere across the sea. Safe and sound with a sword in hand and a strange face to cover her own. She was pretty back home, not a beauty yet, but surely a promise. It upset me to see her struggling to forget who she was. If she manage that, if she blanked all her memories than she would never know that once there was this green boy who went to The Wall, hoping to be a ranger, and ended up becoming a traitor only because he wanted to save her from a monster in human skin.

That much we always understood in each other. We were made of steel and sharp edges to protect us from the hostilities of the world. Our words were few, our laughs used to get frozen in our throats more often than not. Our smiles were secret and sacred, meant only for the lucky ones. If the war was raging against our doors it was our duty to fight back, to survive it no matter what.

Once I woke up in the world of the living ones, I made up my mind about what I had to do. The Wall was never meant to me; even the Dragons had to agree. Since my name was whispered with caution and fear, since my lineage was one forged in the fires of Old Valyria, I could rise again and claim my birthright along with my vengeance. I put up my dark armor, blood red rubies on my chest, steel in my hands to fight for the only place I ever called home. I would take Winterfell back in the only way I could. With fire and blood.

I washed the land with the blood of my enemies. Ghost feasted in human flesh if a Bolton can be considered a human at all. I sat at the throne built for the Kings Of Winter, where my mother's ancestors once sat, and I waited.

When your dreams all fail

And the ones we hail

Are the worst of all

And the blood's run stale

As a blizzard she came, as soon as the news of my conquest reached her ears. She crossed the Narrow Sea with nothing but a sword. A dire wolf howling at the woods told me ghosts of my past were about to arrive and so she did. Like a phantom, like a shadow, like a curse she came and I barely recognized her.

Her eyes were harder than I remembered. Her cloth stained with dry blood along with her hands. She was Death made flesh. She looked like a Winter Queen and a legend from foreign lands. Her face was a picture of my summer days, her body revealing a woman and not a child I once hold in my arms and called sister.

The halls were empty and the night silent. Even the wolves remained quiet. We looked at each other as if we were too afraid to found out that it was nothing but a cruel dream. My mouth was dry, my hands shaken and my heart furious. I wanted to hold her tight and kiss her forehead, to muss her hair and call her little sister, tell her that I missed her so dearly all those years, tell her she was safe at last.

We dance around each other without words to share, without caresses to offer. We both dressed in steel. She looked at my chest. The dragon stood proud with his three heads spitting fire. For a brief second I thought she would cry.

"Is it true?" Her voice broke the silence, but it was barely a whisper. "Is it really you that I see?"

I gave a step in her direction, trying not to run to catch her with my arms. She still looked at the dragon with disgust and suspicion, making me stop in the middle of the way. I looked at her and mourned the loss of the innocent girl she once were. Her long hair, her big bright eyes and her smooth face, I missed it all.

"I could say just the same." My voice was lower and much more sober than I expected it to be at the moment. It was an occasion for celebration and joy, but there was nothing joyous about us. There never was. "I missed you, little sister."

A single drop of tear betrayed her and Arya came to me on her own free will. Her fingers touched my face, tracing every line and every wrinkle left by the years. She touched the scars above my eyes and my messy beard with her palms. My own hands searched for her nape to feel her hair running thru my fingers.

"I think you look like father now." Her voice was full of uncertainty while she used her hands to recognize every aspect of my face, neck and shoulders. "Or maybe you've always looked like that and my mind is playing tricks on me."

I pulled her to a hug, feeling her in my arms for the first time in nearly five years. I could feel her heart beating because of my armor. I couldn't feel her properly, but she seemed to be as frail as a porcelain doll.

"I missed you too, Jon." She confessed in my arms.

Can you feel it? Can you hear her sobbing lightly against my chest, over the dragon made of rubies? Can you see me lost in my confusion? My joy, my relief for having her in my arms again, safe and sound. Can you hear my heart fastening while she kisses my face? Tell me than. Was it love, longing, lust, or madness what I felt even then?

I want to hide the truth

I want to shelter you

But with the beast inside

There's nowhere we can hide

No matter what we breed

We still are made of greed

This is my kingdom come

This is my kingdom come

I'll never know for sure. I don't dare even to confess to her how I wish to keep her safe, to give her a home and a place where she would always be cared for. What mattered at this point was that we found each other again and for the moment I was satisfied to know that at least Arya had survived, even though she was much changed.

She walked as a shadow thru the empty halls. Her hands touched the dark corner as if she was trying to know everything about the castle she once called home. Arya wasn't herself any more than I was the boy she used to call brother. The silence became a second armor to us, to shield the scars and wounds we bared.

When she was young she refused to behave as a lady and after so many years hiding from the world Arya nearly forgot how to be human. I could only wonder how dreadful things must have been for her since she wouldn't talk to me about it.

I used to hear her steps in the middle of the night. She rarely slept and when she did the nightmares followed her. Arya would scream and cry in her sleep. When awake she kept a solemn distance from every human being. Her only trustworthy companions were the wolves in the woods.

I gave her dresses worthy of her birth, chambers for her privacy and freedom for her to swing a sword and shoot arrows whenever she wanted in an effort to rebuild our bond. Still, Arya was distant even when I could touch her skin and hear her breath near me.

We danced around each other trying to hide our past and scars when it was pretty clear that the burden we carried during the war was too heavy for us. I knew she wanted to ask me about the scars over my eyes and my burned hand, she wanted to know how I managed to get a valyrian sword for myself and even what I thought about the truth of my parentage. I suppose that neither of us wanted to ask question when we weren't sure if we were prepared to deal with the answer.

It was a cold war, a walk in the dark at the edge of an abysm, an unsettled desire and longing for her, even though I wasn't at the time fully conscientious about the physical need that I had for her.

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling the chilly air against my skin. The castle was dark and silent, but for reasons unknown I couldn't fall asleep again. I rose from my bed and wandered thru the corridors guided by the wind until I got to the great hall, where the petite figure of a woman was sat on the throne.

From afar she looked like one of the statues in the crypts of Winterfell. Her skin as pale as marble was reflecting the torch lights. Her eyes shining in the dark like wolf's eyes. Her hair was longer now, falling over her right shoulder. How alluring and exquisite she looked at that moment. Her nightgown revealing her collarbones and giving me a glimpse of the vale between her breasts.

Arya looked at me without saying anything. She waited for me to get close to her, as a queen waiting for a peasant to speak of his misfortunes. I walked toward her and kneeled before Arya in a contemplative act. She looked down on me and for a brief moment I believe she smiled.

"You look like a queen." My voice betrayed me letting Arya know what was on my mind at the moment.

"You look like a ghost." She answered. "Why is Your Highness awake?"

The way she pronounced my new acquired title sent a chill over my spine. It didn't sound like her. I wanted to touch her and beg for her to never call me by anything but my name. Arya was like water sweeping thru my fingers whenever I tried to hold her and get her closer to me.

"I couldn't sleep. What about you, my lady?" My voice sounded as if it haven't been worn for a year.

"I rather stay awake than fall asleep and deal with my nightmares." She answered while throwing her head back.

I wish I knew what to do or say to her. I wished that I hadn't my own nightmares to deal with. Arya didn't seem to care, though. She only stared at me while thinking if she should say something else.

When you feel my heat

Look into my eyes

It's where my demons hide

It's where my demons hide

Don't get too close

It's dark inside

It's where my demons hide

It's where my demons hide

"Would you sleep with me?" She asked as if it was the most ordinary thing a lady would say to a man she wasn't married to. My mouth went dry and my hands got sweaty. I looked at her barely believing in my ears.

"I don't think this is a wise idea, Arya." I answered to her expecting for her to take my word as some kind of law as she always did back in childhood.

"You would like to, wouldn't you?" Her question was even blunter, making me nervous about how my body was reacting to her lack of propriety and excessive boldness. "I see how you look at me right now. I wish you could see yourself to." Her voice sounded distant and placid. She was tired, I could see it well enough.

"Why are you asking me this?" I tried to change the subject and she sighted heavily.

"Maybe near you I will be able to sleep." She said. "I'm so tired, but the nightmares won't let me rest properly."

I felt a bit of relief and a sudden frustration when she told me why she was asking such odd questions. She touched my face and looked at me with unreadable eyes. My heart was beating fast and I wondered how the skin of her tights would feel against my hands.

"You may have me if you like. I won't mind it as long as you stay with me for the night after you are done."

I rose from the floor in a hurry; scared by her words and my undeniable desire for doing exactly what Arya was proposing to me. She was as calm and serene as ever, almost as if she was talking about the cold wind or some minor disturbance in her daily routine.

"You don't know what you are talking about." And how I wished for her every word to be true. I wouldn't mind at all to have her in my bed, with my hands pinning her to the mattress while my mouth kissed every inch of exposed skin.

"As I said, I wished that you could see yourself right now." She answered in a mysterious tone. "You struggle daily to see me as the child I was; to ignore that you look at me and see a foreign woman and not your sister. I see it all over your face. You may have whatever you want from me. I would gladly give myself to you than to any other man in this realm. The only thing I'm asking in return is for you to stay with me while I'm sleeping."

"It was that what you did in order to survive all these years?" My voice was shaken. I tried to ignore my sudden anger. Her body given to another man, being kissed by someone who wasn't me. That was something I couldn't tolerate, nor deal with.

She smiled at me as a mother would smile to her son's silly questions.

"I sold my body several times, but not in the way you are thinking."

"How then?" I asked getting near to her while trying to get a grip over my anger.

"One could say that I was a sell-sword. I prefer to think of myself as a devotee to the God Of Many Faces. Either way I'm not your pure and innocent sister anymore, so why should I care about my soul? You wouldn't be my first sin, only the sweetest. Take me to your chambers, rip of my robes and do whatever you please. I will sleep as an angel in your arms."

I searched within my mind and soul a reason to not do what she was asking of me. I tried to convince myself that it was wrong and all to no avail. When the sin is so close that you can feel its smell clouding your good sense and all it asks of you is your silent accomplish while promising a world of wonders, no man can be expected to be strong enough to resist it.

I found myself kneeling before her again, staring at her placid face while my hands rested on her knees. She almost looked curious at me when I did so. My hands raised her nightgown until my fingers could touch the creamy white skin of her legs. I was even bolder to let her tights exposed and spread her legs for me to look at her intimately.

"I shall kiss you to sleep then." My voice sounded husky and eager to taste her.

I kissed the inner part of her legs and it seemed to throw Arya out of balance for a moment. My mouth letting open mouthed kisses along her pale skin while searching for a much more hidden spot between her legs made her moan softly. It was a sweet sound and it would grow sweeter until the night was over.

Her hand fell to my nape when my mouth got too close to her intimate parts. My fingers spread her folds to reveal her entirely to me. My tongue licked the little bud hidden among the dark curls that covered her sex. Arya threw her head back and took a deep labored breath. I sucked and licked her senseless, giving her a taste of an intimate kiss, one a brother should never give to a sister.

I could hear the small cries of pleasure that Arya couldn't contain. Her eyes closed, her face blushed and her knees weak. I could feel her becoming boneless before me; I could taste her pleasure on the tip of my tongue. Arya was fighting against the end of it, too scared of the new feelings her body was experimenting.

She was mine to do whatever I pleased. Despite that I was the one on his knees, I've never believed myself as powerful as that, with Arya shaking and calling my name out of her pleasure. When I was over Arya had an unashamed smile on her lips and her cold eyes were blurred.

"You could have waited until we got to your chambers to leave me like this. I don't think I can walk properly now." Her voice was languid and sensual. I smirked at her, all too pleased with myself to play coy.

"I can carry you in my arms if you want, or I can fuck you right here. Either way, you will sleep peacefully tonight." I said to her before I could reach for her mouth to kiss her properly.

Arya didn't even try to fight. Her mouth surrendered to me as soon as our lips touched. I believe it to be extremely obscene, but I found it quite exciting to think about Arya tasting her own pleasure on my lips.

When I parted the kiss she was looking at me with a grin. My fingers untied the knots of the nightgown letting her breasts fully exposed. I held them in my hands, feeling the measure and the texture, pitching her nipples and feeling them hardening. Arya eventually stopped my hands. She rose from her sit to stand before me. Her nightgown felt to her feet, revealing her body completely.

Her hands rested against my chest before she could unlace my tunic and get rid of it. Her fingers touched the exposed skin, tracing every muscle and every pale scar in my body. Arya seemed quite obsessed about touching, almost as if she had been blind and needed her fingertips to recognize the world around her. Even though it was something odd I didn't mind it. Her touch was soothing and pleasant to me. Arya kissed my face and let her finger run thru my hair. She seemed eager for something beyond pleasure, beyond the physical and immediate satisfaction and I was willing to give her whatever she needed from me.

She was the one to kiss me with a furious need. Her nails marking my skin with red sinuous tracks. My arm enlaced her by her waist and pulled her up allowing her legs to close around my middle section. She was small and delicate like a doll. Pressed against my body she seemed even frailer, like a child. A child would never kiss a man like that, though.

If anything, Arya was very much like a wildling woman. There was nothing soft and delicate about her fierce temper and if she wanted her share of pleasure, she would go for it with all the demands of an old lover, which made me think about her secret past and if she had ever been with another man.

The thought of her with another man was something intolerable at that point. If I ever wanted anything, I wanted to call her mine. Call me jealous if you must, but the truth is that as a bastard I had to get used to the idea that I would never have something to call mine. After I was recognized as Rhaegar's heir, I became greedy and unwilling to share my conquests. Arya was or would be mine soon enough. Mine alone.

I grabbed her legs with more gusto than I should. She growled against my mouth and I definitely liked when she revealed her wildest side. I sat on the throne, feeling my arms sored and letting Arya accommodate a leg at each side of my body. I could pretend to be a king only to have her that way. Arya kissed my neck while her hands worked on the knots of my breeches, letting my cock free to feel her tights rubbing against my erection.

I was the one to growl this time and Arya smirked at me all too pleased with herself. She moved her hips only to tease me, as if I could get any harder. I wanted to sit her over my lap and burry myself between her legs feeling the warmth within her and beg Arya to ride me as if I were her favorite horse.

I positioned my cock against her entrance. Arya had her eyes focused on mine and I could see the curiosity and the sudden worries crossing her face. My hands were at the small of her back, pushing her hips down and making Arya receive me inside her. A small cry escaped her mouth. She closed her eyes and bitted her lower lip while I forced the passage between her legs. She was tight, almost claustrophobic.

Arya buried her face in the curve of my neck and bit my shoulder to contain her cries. I closed my eyes and growled at the pain. We stayed motionless for a while, until Arya started to move her hips over me.

I wanted her to ride me and so she did. With every movement she seemed more comfortable and more secure about what to do. Her mouth seeking mine with despair and need. Her hands resting on my shoulders to help her with her equilibrium. Her breasts swinging at the fast pace. Her eyes blurred with ultimate pleasure. How I loved her then. How I needed her without even realizing it.

I was near the end when I touched her where our bodies connected. I pressed the sensitive point hidden there to help her come with me. I held her hips still and kept her body pressed against mine at the last moment. I could feel my seed filling her while Arya's body convulsed on top of me. The world was nothing but a blur. The only thing I could be sure of was the sensation of having her body resting over mine.

At the curtain's call

It's the last of all

When the lights fade out

All the sinners crawl

So they dug your grave

And the masquerade

Will come calling out

At the mess you made

When I recovered my senses Arya was resting her head against my chest. Her eyes were closed and her face looked peaceful for a change. I could see over her facial expression a glimpse of the girl she once was. I hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead.

"Never leave me again." I begged in a whisper muttered against her hair. She twisted in my arms lightly to adjust better.

"I have no intention of doing so." Her answer was lazy. "I've travelled for too long just to find you. I'm not leaving you any time soon."

"So you came back because of me." I concluded while resting my head against the back of throne. Arya smiled lightly. A smile as bright as a shining star.

"I wanted to go home and I figured that what home really meant was any place in the world where I could find you." She yawned. "Jon, as much as I love your voice, I think that I can't take any of it right now. Take me to bed and I'll be glad to hear your voice in the morrow.

I did as she asked with a joyful heart. I took Arya in my arms while she was half asleep; we both as naked as our birth day. I carried her to my own chambers and placed her body at the center of the mattress. We slept naked with our bodies entangled until the sun was high in the sky.

When I opened my eyes in the morning, Arya was already awake and alert. She was silently staring at the roof. Maybe I was too hopeful that our passion play wouldn't have any major consequence when our judgment was recovered.

"A silver stag for your thoughts." I broke the silence, making her smile faintly.

"Make it a dragon and maybe I'll tell you things that you don't know." She said trying to council the mocking in her words. I got myself on top of her when she did it, pinning her to the mattress to steal a kiss from her.

"What is that that I don't know?" I asked her and Arya laughed.

"You know nothing, Jon." She answered me with a smirk, making me roll my eyes.

"Believe it or not, but you are not the first to tell me that." I said before I could kiss her cheek. "What is that that you worry about? I can see it all over your face."

"I slept, I rested in your bed and now that I'm awake I can't understand why I did what I did." That made me stop where I was. I hoped this question would be avoided, that Arya was somehow resolute about her feelings. It was a faint hope, I know.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" I asked with genuine concern. It was probably the first question which the question I was afraid of that I spoke out loud.

"Don't be an idiot." She answered in a way that made reminded me of our childhood. "I was just wondering that I was afraid to sleep, that's all."

"No regrets about the other night?" I asked with suspicion. Arya didn't seem distressed by our nudity or even how our bodies were close.

"Only one. You finished inside me. I shouldn't allow you to do so." She answered bluntly. It was a genuine concern. I could understand how inconvenient it could be for her if Arya ever got with child, but the truth is that I found that notion quite interesting.

Once I had issues about fathering another bastard and force the life that I had upon my child. Since I was legitimated by testament and royal decree; the production of an heir should be my first concern. I was given the title of royal prince and was named Lord of Winterfell, it was only reasonable to think that I was in need of a wife and several children of my own.

Despite the fact that Arya was still very young, maybe too young to even consider the possibility, I couldn't avoid the image of her carrying my child. Boys and girls with grey eyes and dark hair, to play in the courtyard and swim in the springs as we did ages ago.

"Does it bother you?" I asked.

"I'm trying to remember how to be human again. I certainly don't need to be someone's mother at this point, and we both can agree that a life as a bastard is no life for a child." Her answer made her sound older than she was.

I kissed her mouth, taking her by surprise. My hand landed at her belly and travelled south, to touch her between her legs making her moan.

"I wouldn't mind if you got with child as long as I am the father." I said after I parted the kiss. Arya stopped my hand.

"This is no joke, Jon." She said harshly.

"Do you see me laughing about it?" I argued immediately.

Don't want to let you down

But I am hell bound

Though this is all for you

Don't want to hide the truth

No matter what we breed

We still are made of greed

This is my kingdom come

This is my kingdom come

She pulled me away and avoided any kind of eye contact. Once more she was hidden behind a curtain of steel where I couldn't reach her. That was getting tiresome and I was done with the absence of dialog.

We didn't talk about each other's reasons for that night. Eventually we only accepted that we both have some kind of profit from those nights we spent together. Arya never gave me any explanation about why she allowed me to take her as much as I wanted, but I knew that she could only sleep properly near me.

Sometimes, when she is already asleep, I keep looking at the roof and wondering what is that what we have. I realize that is a kind of addiction that we share. I see her covering every secret along with her scars and whenever I get to close, she runs.

I think that Arya uses the sex to buy my silence and avoid my questions. She tries to prevent me from spilling my seed inside her. Sometimes she succeed, sometimes she doesn't.

She never asks about her other siblings. Never mind that Sansa is at the Reach, wedded to a third husband; or that Rickon is a squire to my half-brother at King's Landing. I know that she take long walks to the godswood and I believe that she talks to Bran once in a while, but I don't know the content of this chats. She doesn't even ask about the inheritance. Arya seems to be disconnected from everything she once held dear, and I can only wonder when she will get away from me.

During sex she is more of herself. Everything is a kind of game that we play and when she comes, violently shaking under me, I feel that she let her guard down for a while. I realize that it's only after sex that I can see the real Arya and I often want these moments to last forever.

I've thought about taking her as my wife and even wrote a few letters to King's Landing asking about the possibility. I found no resistance in my request, except for Sansa, whose letter was nothing but obedient to the crown.

I wondered if Arya would ever be happy with this notion. She never wanted to be a lady or a princess more than she wanted to see her father's beheading. Despite her feelings about it, marrying her was the only way that I could see to keep her in Winterfell.

Eventually she could see the reason behind my proposal, but just because it was a practical solution doesn't mean that Arya liked it a single bit. I gave her my name and made a princess of her, but as long as we lived Arya would never thank me for that. After a few months I realized that maybe she hadn't accepted for any reason but the fact that she already knew she was with child and neither of us could stand the idea of siring a bastard.

I can still remember what the maester said when the news of her pregnancy were broken. She was too young and her body wasn't built for childbirth. I started to notice that her figure was in fact delicate and her hips narrow. If the child were too big, Arya could die trying to give birth. I became a devoted prayer, often spending all of my free time in the godswood begging for mercy and for a save birth.

The child was born in the first days of summer, nearly a month before the proper time. I was desperate and terrified with the notion that Arya could die at any moment along with the child. Even though the conditions weren't favorable, Arya and the baby survived.

When you feel my heat

Look into my eyes

It's where my demons hide

It's where my demons hide

Don't get too close

It's dark inside

It's where my demons hide

It's where my demons hide

The vision of her lying in a bloody bed shocked me. Arya was pale and exhausted when I sat beside her. She looked at me without joy or relief.

"I gave you a son as you wished. The maester said that I must stay abed for at least a month in order to recover. You better keep the child alive, safe and healthy while I can't." Her voice was severe despite her weakness. It was only when the midwife brought me my son wrapped in blankets that I understood why Arya was so sober.

He was small and sickly, something expected for a child born before the time. The maester assured me that given Arya's structure, it was for the best. She would probably be dead if the baby were any bigger.

I kissed her forehead and mouth. I thanked the gods for her life and the life of my newborn son. Arya asked me to carry the baby in her arms for a while and when I gave her the child I saw the coldness in her melting. There were tears in her eyes and there was fear too.

"He's so tiny." She said quietly.

"He will grow." I assured her. "He'll become a fine man one day; strong and fierce as his mother. We'll see him giving his first steps and playing swords in the courtyard."

"You must name him." Arya said. "I don't care if you are a Targaryen, he must have a northern name."

"Brandon sounds like a proper choice. When both of you get stronger, we shall go to the godswood and present him. Bran will like it, don't you think?" Arya nodded in answer.

Our son lived for a week and Arya insisted on burying him in the crypt along with Robb and Eddard Stark. No statue was made to mark Brandon's resting place, only a marble board with his name carved.

For a year there were few words exchanged between us. I suspect that Arya blamed me for Brandon's poor health and for his death. She never wanted to be a mother, but I've never doubted that she had loved our son with every fiber in her.

We were both hurt and grieving Brandon's death. I could give her time and as much silence as she wanted, but I doubted that Arya would get any better. Can you understand the despair? Can you imagine her by an empty cradle with her cold eyes, wearing her sorrow like a cloak? It was killing me little by little and I didn't know how to get near her again.

Arya often left bed in the middle of the night and once more she could barely sleep because of the nightmares. After a while I've got constantly worried that eventually she could get sick.

I woke up one night and found her side of the bed empty. I walked thru the dark hallways searching for her until I reached the great hall. Arya was there, sat on the throne with tired eyes and pale face. Her hair got longer, falling over her shoulder in a lose braid. Her breast got fuller since Brandon's birth and after a whole year and a pregnancy her body was much more round and feminine than it ever was.

There was something nostalgic about the scene. Our first night had started just like that. I walked toward her and she barely acknowledged my approximation. I kneeled before her and rested my head over her lap. Surprisingly she caressed my hair as she used to, almost a life time ago.

"Will you ever forgive me?" My voice cracked. "He was my son too. I would do anything to have him back, but the gods decided to take him away. I've never wanted to put your life in danger, nor his. I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry."

She remained silent while she raised my chin to look at her. Arya unlaced my tunic and removed it leaving me half naked. I noticed she parted her legs while her hands caressed my face.

"What are you doing?" I asked in disbelief, but Arya ignored my surprise. It had been a long time since we last had any kind of intimacy.

"There's only one god. His name is death and he took my son away from me." Her voice was cold and bitter. "Make me another son, stronger and fiercer. One that is half wolf, half dragon."

"You are talking out of grief. You don't know what you are saying." I tried to reason her, but Arya was deaf to my arguments. Her mouth crashed against mine with hunger. One thing must be said. Arya always knew how to make me burn inside, how to make me hungry for her with nearly no effort.

"Do you love me?" She asked against my lips. Her voice demanding and husky.

"Always." My voice sounded low and feral.

"Take me then, as much as you want." She kissed my neck and scratched my back. "Make me sleep peacefully in your arms, with your child inside me. Give me back what I've lost."

They say it's what you make

I say it's up to fate

It's woven in my soul

I need to let you go

Your eyes, they shine so bright

I want to save that light

I can't escape this now

Unless you show me how

She had always been my queen and I've never been able to refuse her any wish. I've missed her. I've longed for her and now I could finally hold her in my arms. I got rid of her nightgown and kissed every inch of exposed skin. Her voice softly moaning my name was my favorite song. The taste of her pleasure on my tongue. Her fingers on my nape and hair.

Our passion plays once had been slow and full of tenderness, but that night was about longing, grief, need, melancholy and anger. We were desperate for a bit of joy, hungry for company and eager for relief. As she asked, I had Arya several times that night. We gave in to our exhaustion when the sun was almost rising in the horizon and for the first time in a while we both slept without nightmares.

Although my fears were great, I gave Arya what she wanted. She got with child again in nearly no time and I saw her getting round and heavy day by day. She went to the crypts from time to time to talk with the dead ones, and she also went to the godswood to pray. Arya was as afraid as I was, but she was holding to her hope as much as she could.

"I never thought that you wanted to be a mother." Once I told her.

"You know me. Anything that I was denied became my heart's desire. You were forbidden to me and I craved for you nonetheless. I never wanted to be a mother, mostly because I never saw myself suited to motherhood. I had a child and it was taken from me when I had already fallen in love with the little thing. I may be selfish and uncaring, but I've never felt such a pain and I don't want to feel hollow again."

"You don't hate me than? I've always thought that you would never forgive me for making you my wife and got you with child." She laughed at this.

"Surely I've never thought that it would ever happen, but I don't hate you for this. In fact, I kind of like being your wife. I could never hate you. You are my Jon and mine alone; it gives me the right to make your life a living hell and also make you smile. I really missed your smile during those years."

"As I've missed yours."

When I look at her holding hands with the children I wonder about the irony in in it. Once I've wished for my own family, but never actually allowed myself to nutter such dreams. Somehow the woman of my childish fantasies had always been dark haired, with grey eyes and pale skin, all of her traces undoubtedly northern.

After so many years I finally realize that Arya had always been my ideal and my counterpart, even though it took me a while to accept it. Seasons may pass changing our hair from dark to grey and white, but it's of little consequence when I always wake up looking for her eyes. If all started with a promise, I can only promise again and again to love her until my dying breath. Until ice and fire consume this world. Until the stars fade away.

When you feel my heat

Look into my eyes

It's where my demons hide

It's where my demons hide

Don't get too close

It's dark inside

It's where my demons hide

It's where my demons hide

Author's note: Soo…The only reason for me to write this one was the sudden idea of Jon and Arya making out in the Winter Throne. XD Yeah..I know there's a special place in hell waiting for me. This fic stood untouched for a while during the holidays and when I started to working on it again it turned into something totally different from the initial idea (which I don't actually remember). I hope you like it. I tried to not make it too lame or cheesy, but I don't know if it worked.

XOXO

Bee