"Lord Tyrell seems to be waiting for you to rush to his side. The two of you spent nearly all day together, it is a wonder he has survived your absence in Highgarden if he cannot be parted from you for a feast." Jon's eyes held a simmering rage in them the likes of which Arya had only seen alongside bloodshed.
"I spent the Long Night in the care of the Tyrells, did you think I would not befriend them?"
"No, sister. From the lowest bastard to the highest lord, none can resist your charms." Jon's eyes finally drifted away from Willas to lock on to her. The malice of a moment ago had faded to an emotion which was difficult for Arya to distinguish. "But, you must be careful, Arya. They are southerners and once allies of the Lannisters."
"And good people. They protected Sansa in King's Landing and me, when The Red Witch wanted a sword put through my heart." Arya touched Jon's cheek, fingers stroking his beard. "It was you who sent me to them Jon, and my love of you was the only thing that stopped me riding North with Needle to fight at your back. You wanted me South, a thousand leagues away from The Witch's prophecies and the war."
Jon's eyes flickered closed as he leaned ever so slightly into her touch. His grey eyes went back to Willas and narrowed.
"I do not think his gaze has left you once."
"We spent many days together by the water, riding and laughing. It must be strange for him to see his friend here instead of plodding along the mander."
"Only it is not your friendship I think he wants." Arya scoffed and pulled away from Jon, following his gaze to Willas. He smiled at her and lifted his hand in a wave, seemingly oblivious to Jon's glare or uncaring. Arya smiled back at him but thought better than to wave back, lest she further rile Jon over their friendliness. Willas doesn't want to marry me.
"He would come to you if he sought my hand." Arya wondered at Jon's churlishness, he was of a generally solemn disposition to be sure but his sour affect rarely extended to her and yet since Willas' arrival Jon had been in turns petulant and aloof, going from cold to hovering over her shoulder at the shift of the wind. Does he fear I will disappear to Highgarden in the dead of night? Surely he knows me better than that. "Willas knows I would not marry without your blessing."
"He has spoken to you of marriage, then?" Jon bit out between clenched teeth. His knuckles were ghostly white from his grip on his goblet of wine. Arya curled her fingers around his and prised them from the stem of the cup, twining their fingers together.
"We spoke of tragedy and love and war and marriage and all manner of things. He asked me if we had treated with many lords to discuss a betrothal and I told him there had been none." Arya watched Jon's face, but he betrayed nothing. Willas said there must have been hundreds of suitors vying for my hand. He said you must have turned them all away. Did you? "He called me the living image of Lyanna, and said you might wish me to marry for love."
"He fancies himself the Rhaegar to your Lyanna. Their story means something very different to the Southron lords than to you and me."
"You think I'm going to run away. Do you trust me so little now after so long apart?" Arya's throat tightened and she blinked back the onslaught of tears that threatened to fall.
"It is not you I do not trust, little sister, know that. If I trusted you any more I would make you my maester and cook and councilor and master-at-arms. It is the Rose Lord I do not trust. What might he do for fear of losing you forever?" Her heart dropped. Arya's free hand went to Jon's stomach, where she knew his belly was scarred with the evidence of all he had done for fear of losing her. "But it is not only him who is acting improperly."
"You've no right to scold me." Improperly. Arya let out a growl of frustration and made to pull her hand away from his, but his grip on her hand tightened until she relented and then he spoke again.
"I have every right. It is my duty to keep you safe, above all else. He is too familiar with you." Arya's eyes narrowed. "You let him kiss you."
"He kissed my hand, Jon, as you did this morning before we broke our fast together," Arya spoke quietly, though the others at the feast were all well into their cups by now and paid no mind to the drama playing out between their king and his little sister.
"I am your brother," his voice was low and dangerous, with a shade of wildness to it. Jon turned to face her fully, chair scraping against the stone, no longer even pretending to heed the room full of lords and ladies that surrounded them. One of his hands went to the ends of her hair while the other stayed locked in her own. His scarred fingers threaded through the strands of her hair softly, almost petting her. Arya's breathe caught.
"You're jealous."
"Of course, I am jealous. He thinks to have what is mine." He means Winterfell, Arya thought wildly, he cannot mean me. He looked as shocked at his words as she felt. Arya's heart beat an insistent rhythm in her chest. Bran and Rickon and Sansa all come before you. He cannot mean Winterfell. Her heart leapt to her throat.
"You're a fool," Arya said. "I would sooner be poked full of holes than ever leave your side."
Jon's grey eyes flared silver, and Arya was overcome with a desire for the whole room to fall down dead so that she and Jon might be alone. She picked up her goblet of wine from the table and drank from it, staring into Jon's eyes all the time. Arya pulled it away from her mouth with a sigh and brought the silver brim to his parted lips.