Because it's freezing here, and I literally have nothing else to procrastinate with.
Also, just ask if you have a prompt you want me to write.
Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, or His Dark Materials, nor any of the characters therein. I'm just playing with them for a little while.
Title: in fear of what my life may be
Summary: 'But his eyes had not changed; still grey as her family's colours, and stern as their father's had ever been.'
A drabble series centring around Arya and Jon. Some of these oneshots may be related, but when in doubt, assume they're not.
Genre: adventure/friendship/love/everything in between
The woman atop the grey direwolf looked every inch a wilding, and Jon Snow would have demanded from Mance an answer had dragons over head and an army at her back did not accompany the direwolf's every step.
As it was, King Stannis did not look at all pleased. Melisandre had foreseen dragons landing upon the wall, had warned Jon against sending anymore men to search for his little brother in Skaagos after Ser Davos had returned empty handed. They'd need them here, she'd said. She did not say what for, though, and that made Jon uneasy.
She'd brought Jon back using her fires. Only death pays for life. (It was R'hllor, she'd told him, again and again, but Jon still did not entirely believe).
Jon leant further against the rough wood of the stairs above the gate, long face solemn.
The woman raised her sword and shouted something that sounded vaguely like an insult. Stannis Baratheon snorted, the men along the gate jeered in return.
A deep, metallic scream answered them. A cream wyrm, with gold for horns and spikes, flew lower than its' brothers.
The men who had previously been leering at the woman below now cowered at their posts.
Jon watched as the direwolf between her legs raised its head to cry at the white sky. To his astonishment, Ghost joined the song; a sadness lacing through it. It was long and low, and he only stopped when the other direwolf did also.
The woman turned her head to the men behind her, then back shouting, "We do not come to fight!"
"What do you come here for?" Stannis hollered back before Jon could process the words. The Lord Commander frowned down at the woman.
A green serpent joined the cream in flying lower, and it screamed so loud Jon thought that he'd go deaf. It paused in its' flight, choosing instead, to hover by the gate; great jade wings beating at the air and throwing some of Jon's brothers to the ground with the sheer power of them.
It wasn't far from the ice-coated earth; its tail still lay upon the ground, carving thick divots into the dirt beneath the ice. A man with shoulder-length, silver-blonde hair clad in black armour sat where the neck met the shoulders. He grinned savagely at them.
"The Others," he cried in answer.
.
The gates opened, and Arya watched as men clad in thick, black cloaks parted to allow a few of Aegon's men inside Castle Black's yard.
A man that had once had a youthfulness to his face that, six or so years ago, Arya Stark would have rejoiced at seeing, was frowning at her. As it was, they both stood stock still in place, mere feet from the other. He had a beard now, and his dark hair curled at his throat and brushed his black cloak. A scar cut down his left cheek, but his eyes had not changed; still grey as her family's colours, and stern as their father's had ever been.
"Jon," she breathed, a plume of silver leaving her mouth at the words.
Her name left his own, but otherwise neither moved, too scared to break the spell; as if the other would disappear into smoke if they moved.
King Stannis glanced with narrowed eyes between them, asked what was going on, and Arya launched herself into Jon's arms. He caught her with a rush of air leaving his lungs, and Arya buried her face in his neck.
The hysterical laughter that bubbled up from her chest was a thing she could not stop. She clutched to his wide shoulders with a desperation she'd held in since seeing the Wall and knowing him to be at its base.
All Arya could hear while she held him,-besides the own pounding of her blood- (because she was making a fool of herself, but couldn't bring herself to care) was his earnest murmurings of, "You're alive, you're safe" and he held her so tightly she was sure her ribs would bruise. Her feet weren't touching the ground, and it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable to be this close to another person again as she'd thought it would be.
When Arya finally pulled back, he let her go slowly, grey eyes never leaving her face. "Little sister," he said, voice thick with emotion. Arya couldn't make her fingers let loose of his sleeve, hand tangling in the fur and leather. "Where have you been?"
Arya shook her head, glanced around them. "Later." She said, and glanced over her shoulder.
Aegon cleared his throat, and Arya scowled at the silver-haired ponce. "Don't, Egg." She snapped in Braavosi, eyes hard as steel. "Later. Everything will be discussed later."
Aegon was happy with that, it seemed. He cast a bemused look to his half-brother and walked off with Stannis to talk over their way of attack against the White Walkers just over the Wall.
Arya was simply pleased to finally have family with her again.