It was an unusually hot summer's day, and Jon fumbled with the fabric of his black shirt that clang uncomfortably to his lower back. There seemed to be no place to hide from the suffocating heat, not even behind the high stone walls of Winterfell. Perhaps, he wondered, he'd go down to the crypt later, probably one of the few places still untouched by the rays of sunlight that streamed down from the spotlessly blue sky.
The sun tickled his bared skin, and even under the shade of the many trees that lined the dried path along the abandoned cottages, Jon could feel it prickling deeply beneath his skin. It was a sad sight, cottage after cottage crumbling apart as the years passed. He remembered lights burning behind the windows, smoke rising from the chimneys, back when he had been a child, hiding in the odd empty cottage with Robb until their father found them.
Those memories were old now, the cottages long abandoned by the servants that were no longer needed, and time had not been kind to the stacked stones and thin glass.
Jon watched Ghost disappear behind a line of bushes, the Godswood looming darkly beyond. A part of him wanted to follow, step beneath the thick roof of leafs that might shelter him from the furnace above. But something else caught his eye just as he was about to step off the straight path. A figure moving behind a milky window.
His steps haltered, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Nobody was supposed to be in those cottages, and for years nobody had been. A sense of excitement and curiosity began to burn brightly in Jon's chest, and he never thought twice when he stepped past the broken iron fence and walked up the mossy brick path up to the cottage. It was made from the same grey stone as the high walls of Winterfell in the distance, but it looked sad and meagre in comparison. Half the chimney had crumbled apart, most windows were smashed by storms, paint peeling off the once blue shutters.
Jon pushed open the front door, not surprised to find it unlocked. Early on, when the first servants were sent away and left behind the cottages, his father had had plans to restore them and rent them out, but those plans had been abandoned as much as the cottages.
When Jon had thought the sight of the slowly decaying cottages had been sad, he felt a sick feeling in his stomach when he saw what lay behind the stone walls, hidden from the world. He stood in what must have once been a living room. It was not as empty as he had expected it to be. In front of the fireplace, there still stood a heavy armchair, the orange colour now faded by the sunlight that streamed in through the window. A thick layer of dust covered the wooden floor as well as the dining table, a candle holder still standing proudly in the middle. Jon tried to imagine the last time the candle had been lit, and with it came blurred images of the families that had once lived here. Above the mantelpiece, a line of empty picture frames hang on the wall.
Jon trailed his fingers over an empty bookshelf, wondering what books had once stood here.
He stopped all movement when he heard the creak of a floorboard, not loud enough to be caused by himself. Swallowing, he stepped into the short and narrow hallway, lined by three doors, the white paint on each of them almost entirely weathered by time. One stood slightly open, and Jon was careful as he pushed it, peeking into the room.
Hey, wait! he yelled when he saw the shadow from earlier scrambling to climb out of the small window. Only it was far from a shadow now. The woman stopped moving when she heard him, her knee propped up on the windowsill. It was as though she had been petrified, completely immobile.
There was a long moment of silence, and Jon felt his increased heartbeat drumming uncomfortably against his chest. The woman slowly set her leg back down on the floor, the heavy boots she wore causing the creak he had heard moments before, louder now that he stood at the other end of the room. When she turned, Jon's eyes widened in surprise.
She could not have been much older than him, perhaps a year or two. Her pale skin was stretched tautly across her collarbones, and her face seemed gaunt, dark circles prominent under her blue eyes. It was her hair that Jon could not draw his eyes away from, though. Coppery red, pulled up into a bun at the back, but loose strands framing her face.
What's your name? he asked eventually, trying to understand why she wore the heavy boots and thick parka over a thin t-shirt, or why her jeans were as dirty as they were, or why she looked so thin and tired.
You not going to ask what I'm doing here? There was a lot of spite in her voice, her hands grasping the dusty windowsill behind her.
Jon only shrugged, suddenly feeling oddly like an intruder, when she was the one who had broken into his father's property.
I'm Ygritte.
Jon Snow. She eyed him carefully, and Jon felt his palms go clammy under her intense stare, nervously curling and uncurling his fingers. How long have you been here?
..
Jon wasn't stupid. He knew she was running from someone, or somewhere, or something, and he did not need her to spell it out for him. It was all there in the distance she kept, the cautious look in her eyes and the too-large backpack she had thrown out of the window just before he had caught her.
It was the wrong thing to do - she could be a criminal for all he knew - but Jon did not send her away. Instead, he told her to stay as long as she needed to figure things out. Instead, he showed up at the cottage again in the evening, the sun still high in the sky, darkness not a gift of summer. When he set down the backpack he had brought (and smuggled past Jory Cassel and Robb in the courtyard), Ygritte threw him a cautious glare. Everything about her appeared to be hardened by life, an echo of time surrounding her that formed such a stark contrast to her young features.
It's not much, Jon apologized. There was little actual reason for him to apologize, but the words rushed out anyway. When he watched her pull out water bottles, food, his sleeping back, a blanket and more from the backpack, Jon began to wonder if perhaps he had been apologizing on behalf of everything that had gone wrong in her life, of everyone who had done her wrong. It was hardly his fault, he knew nothing but her name (although her every word made sure to prove that she was from much further north than Jon had ever been) but he felt a sense of responsibility towards her that threatened to suffocate him.
She drank a whole bottle of water in less than a minute, and he sat down on the dusty floor, watching her gulp down the sandwich he had stolen from the kitchen. The sense of urgency that clang to her every move somehow made Jon unbearably sad, and he had to stop himself from asking when she had last had anything proper to eat.
When he told her he was Ned Stark's son, he thought briefly that she would make another bolt for the window, and disappear. But she only raised her eyebrows, chewing rather inelegantly on a cracker. Crumbs stuck to the corner of her mouth, and Jon had to pull his gaze away from the tip of her tongue as it darted out to catch them.
Thank you, she eventually mumbled, eyes fixed on one of the shattered windows, and it sounded as though the words felt foreign on her tongue.
No problem, Jon replied quietly, taking in her profile, the bridge of her nose, the sharp line of her jaw, the freckles on her cheeks, wondering if anyone had ever done anything to her that was worth a thank you.
When Ygritte caught him looking at her, she offered him a timid smile, crooked teeth peeking out from between her lips, and Jon felt a flush tinting his cheeks that had little to do with the summer's heat retained between the walls of the cottage.
Perhaps she didn't notice, he hoped, but something about Ygritte told him that she noticed everything, missed not the slightest detail, and could read him like an open book. She, however, seemed a riddle too intricate for him to solve, the truth locked away behind thick layers of caution, pain and a sense of danger he could not quite shake.
..
The next morning, Jon walked back to the cottage with Ghost trailing not far behind. The entire way, through the long corridors of Winterfell, down the many stairs, across the courtyard and through the heavy gates, down the broad path towards the Godswood and along the narrow one that lead to the cottages, Jon tried to prepare himself for Ygritte to be gone.
Perhaps he had only imagined her in the first place, a much too vivid dream, conjured up by the part of him that always felt like an outcast in his own home, the young boy inside that was lost and lonely.
When he found Ygritte sitting barefoot and cross-legged on his sleeping bag on the living room floor, Jon's eyes widened in surprise. You thought I'd run off, she said immediately, smiling more broadly and less carefully than yesterday. A weight seemed to have been lifted off her shoulders, and she patted the empty place on the sleeping bag beside her.
As Jon sat down, eyes mesmerized by her hair that was now curling down her back, the freckles that scattered her bare arms like splashed paint on white canvas, the soft laughter when Ghost licked her face and she buried her hands in his white fur, he suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. It seemed as though the weight Ygritte had let go off over night had nestled itself into his heart.
Well, you ran off from somewhere, he replied quietly, attempting a grin that felt as though his face had slipped entirely out of his control.
Ygritte only laughed, perhaps to hide the truth, perhaps because he looked like a fool. Don't worry, Jon Snow. I didn't kill anyone. When she winked at him, Jon realized that the opposite would have hardly surprised him.
..
It became a routine all too quickly, his afternoons spent laying on his back in the dry grass behind the cottage, looking up at the blue sky, scattered clouds like mystical paintings, hard to read until you found the truth, and then all too obvious.
Ygritte usually lay a little too close, her arms brushing his, her elbow nudging his side, but Jon never said a word about it. She asked too many questions, and never answered any of his. So, Jon found himself melting in the summer's heat, sweat breaking from his every pore, telling her what it was like to grow up in Winterfell, describing the great halls and ancient passageways, told her about his siblings, about the nights spent with Robb and Arya looking for treasure or ghosts or his plans to go to university in the South next summer. Ygritte always listened silently, and every now and then, when Jon turned his head so far that the dry grass tickled his cheek, he found her own head turned, as well, blue eyes piercing his, looking deeper than just his skin.
Not often did he dare to ask her about her own past, too afraid to push her. But, after two weeks, she at least confirmed his suspicion that she was from much further north. Where exactly she was from she kept for herself, along with so many other things that Jon longed to know. She told him about the real North, though, as she called it. Told him that it wasn't quite as bleak and grim as you southerners believed. They spent that afternoon arguing about whether or not Jon was truly a southerner, and eventually, Jon had to admit to a triumphant Ygritte that to her, he probably must be.
He wanted to ask her if she had seen the ruins of the ancient wall that had once separated the country, but somehow that seemed too intimate of a question, bore too many potential sparks that Ygritte's fire threatened to ignite.
Kissed by fire. He had read that once about people with red hair, and for Ygritte, it seemed to be almost ridiculously true. Sometimes, he wanted to reach out and touch it where it rested like a flaming crown beneath her head, but he was never brave enough.
At night, when he lay awake in his bed and looked out at the star-speckled sky, he wondered if he was afraid of burning his hand if he ever did dare to cross the distance.
..
Jon felt almost like a spy, sneaking into the laundry room at night to steal some of Sansa's clothes (he had brought Ygritte some of his old shirts and sweatpants, but she was so tiny that the fabric nearly swallowed her whole, and he still blushed furiously when he recalled how she had pulled her own shirt over her head, revealing milky skin and a blue bra before chuckling at his sudden stuttering - You scared of naked girls, Jon Snow?), slipping food into his pockets whenever he strolled through the kitchen. He brought her some of the countless books in the library to pass the time (You have a thing for dragons, Jon Snow?) and knew for a certainty that Arya would enjoy all of this tremendously.
But he also knew that, if anyone found out he was hiding and feeding a runaway (and he still wasn't entirely convinced Ygritte hadn't broken some law somewhere) he would get into a lot more trouble than Arya had for the library incident last year. So, he kept Ygritte a secret, prayed that nobody would grow suspicious.
Will you take me South? When you go to university next year? Arya asked him one morning after breakfast, and Jon felt so much guilt burning sourly inside his chest that he feared he might throw up. Ygritte's presence had changed things for him, made him feel strangely understood despite the constant teasing she seemed to enjoy so much, and only now, looking into Arya's eyes - his eyes - did he realize he had never been the only one to feel miserable and out-of-place behind the stone walls of Winterfell.
I can't, he said with a sad smile, ruffling his sister's hair, trying hard to ignore the disappointment when her hopeful smile faded away.
You can, she insisted, twisting out from underneath his hand. You just don't want to.
..
So, you don't know who your mother is?
No, Jon muttered a little too quietly, dreading that this had to eventually come up. Don't say I know nothing.
I wasn't going to, Ygritte replied with a softness to her voice that Jon found intriguing and new, but then she gently slapped his bare forearm, and when he turned his head, he found the familiar grin and sight of crooked teeth he had grown so fond of. But have you ever asked?
Course I've asked.
How do you know your father's really your father?
What? Why wouldn't he be?
Just a thought, Ygritte quipped, looking back up at the cloudy sky. She wore one of his shirts, tied into a thick knot at the bottom, revealing the flat plane of her stomach, her belly button, a thin line of red fabric beneath her jeans. But I suppose if he took you here and raised you, it doesn't really matter.
No, I suppose it doesn't.
My folks are dead. Jon's eyes snapped back to Ygritte's face, a plain mask now. Somehow, her words did not come as a surprise. Without thinking, Jon reached out to grasp her hand. The moment his skin touched hers, he regretted the decision, suddenly overwhelmed and unsure what to do now that her warm palm was pressed against his. He was just about to pull his hand back, burned just as he had feared, when Ygritte's fingers curled around his, and she squeezed softly.
There was no more need for thinking after that, not when his own fingers mirrored hers, not when her thumb drew gentle swirls on the back of his hand. Not when, from his peripheral vision, he saw hints of a soft smile tickling the corners of her mouth.
..
Everything got more complicated when summer slowly came to an end, the heat more bearable, the sun less blinding, and school started again. Jon might have been home-schooled along with his siblings (a fact that Ygritte liked to add to the long list of things he did not appreciate enough), but there simply were not enough hours in the day. Not enough time to spend with her when classes and homework piled up.
The leafs were starting to lose the deep green colour that sang of summer nights, turning red and yellow and orange. Jon loved the sight of the changing world, the whispers of winter when the mornings were chilly and the afternoons still drenched in warm sunlight.
It was starting to grow dark when he walked up the path towards the cottages, night now falling so much earlier, and under his arm, he carried a stack of clothes - some of them his own, some which he had sneaked out of the laundry room in the early hours of the morning.
The front door of the cottage creaked when he pushed it open, Ghost immediately squeezing through and bolting excitedly into the living room. Jon, however, paused at the door, freezing when he looked inside.
Ygritte averted his gaze, her cheeks flushing the slightest shade of red when she looked down at the loaded backpack she had just zipped up. The silence between them was overwhelming, and Jon suddenly felt none of the warmth which the scarce rays of sunlight still possessed. Everything was cold and bleak. You're leaving.
Jon... Ygritte began, her voice strangely quiet, and she still looked down at her thin fingers fumbling with the zipper. We always knew I had to leave eventually.
Finally closing the door behind him, Jon took a step further into the room, suddenly - and for the first time since he had first set foot in here - saw it for the miserable and sad place that it was. Abandoned and run-down. All the colour and warmth that Ygritte had brought to it, it all seemed to have disappeared the moment she had decided to leave. Why do you have to leave?
She laughed at that, a bitter laugh that never reached her eyes when she finally looked up. I can't live here forever, Jon Snow. You really know nothing.
The words hurt when she said them so sharply, and Jon stood silently in the middle of the room, Ghost brushing up against his leg. Where are you going to go?
Ygritte sighed, allowing herself to fall down onto one of the two chairs that had been left behind. No idea.
If you have nowhere to go, why don't you stay? It's all worked out so far, Jon suggested, feeling the words slip past his lips quicker than his tongue could catch up. Somehow, he realized now that she was about to leave, that he could not lose her. He sat down the clothes on the table, next to the backpack, and knelt down in front of Ygritte. It's going to get cold soon, you need a place to stay.
You have no idea what cold is, Jon Snow.
Please stay.
She looked down at him, the strands of her red hair that had escaped her ponytail dangling in front of her face. Jon wanted to reach out and tuck them back behind her ear, but that would only have made the ache in his chest worse. And for how long, Jon? Another month? Two? Until Christmas?
It was the blue of her eyes that made Jon bolt to his feet. The blue of the ocean, the blue of the sky just before dawn. Until summer. Then we'll go South together.
What?
He might not be able to take Arya with him once he finally left this place for university, but he could bloody well take Ygritte.
..
So, you going to tell me what you're up to? Robb's voice was kept low, and when Jon looked up from his textbook, he found his brother leaning over the arm of his chair towards him. He looked serious, almost worried, and Jon felt a nervous tremble in his fingers as he held on tighter to his book.
What do mean? Somewhere down the hall, he heard Arya squealing, but not even that seemed to distract Robb. Jon suddenly found the sight of Bran, Rickon and Theon playing Monopoly by the crackling fireplace a lot more interesting than the book he had been reading, and much more interesting than Robb's intense glare.
You know what I mean. You're never around any more, always off somewhere else. Usually, you just sulk in your room all day.
I do not sulk in my room all day, Jon tried to defend himself, silently having to admit that Robb was right.
Yeah, you do, Snow.
I didn't ask your opinion, Theon. Why are you even here? Jon barked across the room, not waiting for an answer before looking back to Robb. His brother still eyed him with caution, eyebrows drawn together, fingers drumming against the glass in his hand. Nothing's wrong, all right?
Robb seemed to think abut his response for a moment too long, and Jon knew he did not believe him. Okay.
..
Jon nearly dropped his fork as another bolt of lightening illuminated the great hall of Winterfell, and he tasted none of the food he absent-mindedly shoved into his mouth. He hardly heard Sansa's voice as she told everyone about the delightful costume she was sewing, he paid no attention to the grimaces Arya made when Sansa was not looking in her sister's direction.
Jon counted the seconds in his head until the deep thunder rumbled through the stone hall, and he felt as though someone was choking him with their bare hands. It had been pouring all day, and for the last hour, the thunderstorm that had come entirely unexpected was causing the ancient walls to stir and weep under its sheer force.
It was far too dangerous to set foot outside now, much more so to take the long walk to the cottages. All he could do was hope that Ygritte was all right, and ignore the curious glances that Robb had been casting him all evening.
That night, Jon lay awake in his bed, waiting for each roll of thunder, for each bolt of lightening. Over and over, he looked at the clock on his bedside table, until finally silence took over outside, and the drumming of the rain against his windows faded into a soft drizzle. It was four in the morning when Jon crawled out of bed and rummaged through his closet for his boots and rain coat. It was five in the morning when he pushed open the door of the cottage, not surprised in the least to find Ygritte wide awake.
Are you all right? he asked as he crossed the room in three long strides, grasping her upper arms where she stood by the broken window. She seemed a little surprised at his gesture, and Jon immediately dropped his hands, letting them hang limply by his side. That was some storm.
Ygritte nodded. That's another window gone.
It was seven in the morning when Jon sneaked back into his room to change out of his muddy clothes, just in time to make it down for breakfast without anyone suspecting that he had already been out.
The rest of the week, Jon spent every evening down in the cottage, nailing shut the broken windows, cleaning out the long unused fireplace, carrying down extra blankets, fire wood and food. Ygritte watched the entire thing with a sense of caution and the grin he did not want to miss any more. And you're sure I can make a fire and nobody will wonder why there's smoke coming out of the chimney?
She was wearing one of his sweaters, sitting on the dining table with her legs folded beneath her as he nailed shut the last window. You can't really see the cottages from Winterfell, only from the highest towers and not a lot of people go there, especially in the winter. And nobody ever walks down here.
If you say so, she muttered, and Jon turned when he heard her feet hit the ground. Suddenly she was right there behind him, a little too close. Let's hope I don't burn down the place, she chuckled, resting her hand nonchalantly between his shoulder blades. It was a simple touch, one Jon barely felt though his coat and the sweater beneath, but it sent chills down his spine anyway, and he swallowed hard, grabbing the hammer in his hand tighter.
Someone might notice that, yeah.
..
It was almost dark outside, the cottage's living room flickering with all the shades cast by the flames dancing both in the fireplace and from the candles scattered all over the room. Jon twirled his pen between his fingers, feeling Ygritte shuffle behind him. Her back was pressed against his, the warmth of her mingling with that of the fireplace next to which they sat. With his knees pulled up against his chest, Jon balanced his essay on his knees, slowly feeling his eyes begin to tire.
Ghost was fast asleep next to them, his tail a little too close to the fire, and from his peripheral vision, Jon saw Ygritte's arm dart out and gently push it aside. She sighed, and leaned her head against the back of his, strands of her hair tickling his neck. They had been sitting like this for a while now, and Jon was surprised at how quiet Ygritte was. Usually, she teased him about his sweaters, about the way his hair looked all frizzy from the cold, about the homework he spent too much time on. Sometimes, she made him read to her, sometimes she grabbed the textbooks from his hand and acted them out. Today, though, she was absolutely quiet.
Jon put down his papers and pen on the sleeping bag. Everything okay? he asked, eyes drifting towards Ghost, his paws twitching lightly in his sleep, and for a moment, Jon wondered what he was dreaming about.
Ygritte only muttered softly into the crackling of the fire, and Jon did not ask any further. Instead, he leaned back his own head, allowing his eyes to flutter shut for the briefest of moments.
They shot open not much later (or perhaps he had dozed off, he couldn't tell), when Ygritte suddenly jumped up to her feet and he nearly landed flat on his back. Damn it, he muttered under his breath, not surprised to find Ghost wide awake and eyeing him with an unreadable expression. Jon scrambled to his feet, finding Ygritte by the only window that was not broken and nailed shut. What is it?
It's snowing, she said quietly, her breath fogging the glass. The floorboards were creaking when Jon walked towards her, rubbing his lower back where it ached from the suddenly jolt towards the floor. Outside, the trees that lined the Godswood were beginning to turn white, and the plane of grass that had long since faded from green to grey was covered in the thinnest of layers of snow.
Jon opened his mouth to speak when he looked down at Ygritte. Her fingertips were pressed against the milky glass, and a single tear rolled down her pale cheek, crystal clear like ice. Whatever he had been about to say died on his tongue.
Silently, they stood by the window, watching as the soft, thick flakes tumbled down from the sky in an intricate dance, until they landed on the frozen ground. The trail of Ygritte's tears was still shining on her face, reflecting the light of the fire, and Jon could not find the strength or decency to look away. His mind worked tirelessly to understand her, to conjure up the memories she must associate with the falling snow. Winter was harsh here, this far north, so he could hardly imagine what it must have been like for her in the past. He had heard of the regions where winter rarely ended, and he wondered if, perhaps, this had been the reason why Ygritte had been so eager to flee south once summer had begun to end.
That did not matter now, though, because she was still here. But the sight of her tears haunted him until deep into the night, when he sat by the window in his room and watched the towers of Winterfell blanketed in snow and scattered stars fighting their way out from behind the clouds.
..
It was not the first time Jon had suggested paying for a hotel room for Ygritte to get her out of the cold. At least for a little while. But she would hear nothing of it, brushing the winter off as though it was nothing but a simply nuisance.
Surprisingly, it was much warmer in the cottage than Jon had expected. Ygritte only used the living room, keeping her few things there, sleeping close to the fire. With the windows nailed shut and the fire constantly burning, the small room maintained the heat well. Still, each time Jon stepped into the cottage, cheeks red from the biting cold and dragging in muddy snow, he tried to convince her to leave it behind for a little while.
I'm staying right here. He knew part of her insistence was due to the fact that she hated the idea of Jon paying for her, when there was no way for her to pay him back. Just cause you're freezing your ass off doesn't mean I do, too.
..
I swear, if you fell asleep and I'm waiting in here for nothing, I'll throw you naked into the snow, Ygritte yelled through the closed makeshift door that separated the cottage's living room from the icy hallway that led to the bathroom, unused kitchen and empty bedroom. Jon chuckled to himself at her words, all too certain that she would actually go through with her threat.
He could picture himself all too well butt-naked in the snow with Ygritte standing at the window, wrapped in layers of clothes, grinning mischievously. But he was far from asleep. Much the opposite. His heart was beating too fast, and he was close to sweating, suddenly wondering if this had been such a good idea in the first place. I'm almost done, he called, listening to the creaking of the floorboards as Ygritte picked up her pacing.
You better be!
Jon lit the last candle, wanting to slap himself when he saw how shaky his hand was. Ghost padded across the room to lay down in front of the fireplace, where Jon had just stirred the fire. Sighing, he slipped the lighter back into his pocket. You can come in!
Ygritte almost fell into the living room along with the door, groaning and mumbling curses under her breath that made Jon blush. When she eventually had the door back in place and turned around, Jon felt as if all the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He took in her face, the way her eyebrows first drew together in confusion until her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly.
Merry Christmas, he said quietly, grabbing the back of a chair for leverage. He was a stupid fool and this had been the worst idea, and now all Jon wanted was to dash out into the icy night and never come back. Another part of him, small and braver when it came to this sort of thing, was proud, however, of everything he had managed to set up in the last twenty minutes, of everything that had taken him all week to plan and prepare.
The room was alive with the shadows cast by the fire and the countless candles Jon had scattered all over the room. They were not so much for atmosphere as for the sheer fact that the room was insanely dark once the daylight had faded. The dining table that was usually used as storage space was now covered in a deep red tablecloth he had taken from a cupboard in the linen room, the large candle holder now holding two red candles.
He had set up two plates, filled with leftovers from the disastrous dinner his father had thrown last night for the Karstarks. The leftovers were cold, but still better than anything else he could bring Ygritte down here. On the far end of the table, a small fir tree stood, decorated with everything Jon had managed to stuff into a bag when he had rummaged through the Christmas decoration in the storage room. Blue and silver ball ornaments, small flickering candles and carved wooden animals hung from the tiny tree (which he had hidden in the cottage next door a few days ago, decorated and covered in an old bed sheet).
Jon... Ygritte whispered, her hands fumbling through thin air as she took everything in. What-
I figured, since I won't be able to come down here a lot the next few days, you could have Christmas early. It's not really all that much, you should see the tree up in the hall, but it's better than nothing and- Suddenly she was standing right in front of him, and Jon could not remember seeing her cross the room. But it didn't matter when she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.
Merry Christmas, she whispered, the warm dampness of her breath tickling his ear, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her. Instead, he smiled nervously, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through him when he saw the tears dwelling in her eyes.
They ate in silence, and Jon knew it was the first time Ygritte had properly eaten at a table in a very long time. He was sad that this was all he could offer her, cold meat and potatoes, vegetables that had tasted much better the night before. But Ygritte gulped it all down, and when she caught him staring at her from across the table, she offered him a soft smile. Ghost was asleep beneath the table, right between them.
I can't believe you got a tree, Ygritte exclaimed when she noisily dropped her fork down onto her empty plate. The lights cast by the candles in the tree reflected in her eyes, just like the ball ornaments. Sapphires glistening amongst a sea of a darker blue. She got up, the chair scratching along the floor, and Jon watched in wonderment when she danced her fingertips along the ornaments, quickly flickering through the flame of a candle and running it along the prickly fir needles.
Do you like it? Jon asked nervously, eyeing the small tree with a tremendous feeling of embarrassment brooding inside of him. Ygritte met his gaze, eyes big and shiny, and she smiled so broadly that Jon forgot all about how meagre this was compared to the Christmas dinners he had had all his life.
Come, she said calmly, reaching out her hand across the table. Jon took it without hesitation, but the feel of her palm against his felt as terrifying and yet beautiful as it had that day in the summer, when they had been laying on the dry grass, soaking up the sun. Then, they had been immobile, but now Ygritte pulled him out of his chair and towards the fireplace. It was much warmer there, the flames licking the stones that sheltered them. Yet, all the warmth Jon truly registered was that of Ygritte's hand as she knelt down on the sleeping bag and countless blankets he had brought for her, pulling him down with her. She never let go of his hand.
This is the best Christmas I've ever had, she revealed quietly, her eyes fixed on his, and she was so close that Jon could almost count the freckles on her skin, could see the shadows cast by her lashes in the flickering light of the flames. Really.
Ygritte, he whispered, every nerve ending in his body buzzing with the scent of her, the warmth of her, the way her eyes shone so brightly with tears she was fighting to hold back. Her fingertips pressed against his lips, silencing him softly, and for the longest moment, she simply looked at him. She seemed to take all of him in, as if he suddenly shone in a different light.
When she dropped her hand between them, Jon's eyes followed, but then her lips brushed against his own, and the world around them dissolved. His eyes fell closed, the softness of her lips almost unbearable. It lasted only a second, and when she parted and he fought to look at her, he saw the smile that tugged at her lips, a smile so genuine that it lit up her eyes in the most beautiful of ways. His skin still tingled with the echo of her touch. When he closed the small space between them, it was Ygritte who seemed surprised, a soft gasp escaping her lips that set Jon's heart on fire.
He might not have had much of a clue about any of this, but Jon knew a few things for sure.
He knew that everything about Ygritte was warm and soft. Her lips when they moved more urgently against his, her tongue when she slipped it into his mouth to dance with his own, her hands when they pulled his sweater over his head and wrapped around his torso to roam across his back. The skin just below her ear where he kissed and suckled until she buried her hands in his hair and let out the softest moan. Her breasts when he cupped them in his palms. Her taunt stomach when he trailed his lips across the milky skin, feeling the muscles quiver beneath his touch. Her thighs when he ran his hands across them, when his lips began a trail at her knee that reached up to her hips.
Ygritte, he murmured against her neck, her skin flushed and gleaming with heat, and he trembled in her arms when her fingers unbuckled his belt. I've never-
I know, she interrupted him as her fingers continued their work, slipping just beneath the waistline of his jeans until he groaned helplessly into the crook of he neck. It's all right.
He also knew that he never wanted to hear anything but Ygritte's voice. As she sighed when his fingers trailed down her throat, felt her swallow heavily. As she chuckled when his nose nudged her belly button. As she moaned impatiently when he kissed the unbelievably soft skin where her thigh met her hip, not quite where she wanted him. As she chanted his name when he kissed her between her legs, her fingers grasping his hair, pushing him further and further into her. As she panted breathlessly into his ear when she pulled him back up to her. As she laughed softly when she pushed down his jeans and palmed him through his boxers, his own groan muffled by her neck. As her voice broke when he kissed her with all the pent-up desire he felt.
Jon, he could barely hear her murmuring his name, his heart beating too loudly in his ears. His entire body was trembling, and she grasped his face in her palms, gently forcing him to look at her. The smile that greeted him was soft, almost too soft, and the way she brushed her thumb across his cheeks calmed down his raging heart. Are you okay?
He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat before leaning down to kiss her, the feel of her wrapped around him - everything and everywhere and it was all too much - was threatening to suffocate him. But it was a good pain, and he craved more, more, always more.
Another thing he knew was that nothing in the world was more beautiful than Ygritte in this moment. The way her hair looked between his fingers. Her lips spread into a smile. Her eyes hooded and a darker shade of blue than he had known them to be. Her skin coming alive with the flames of the fire. Her legs, her arms, the freckles above her elbows and the flush that spread from her cheeks down to her stomach. The sight of her falling apart when he kissed her between her legs, when her thighs kept him locked in place.
All of his fears were washed away when he was inside her, when everything was warm and perfect and she kissed the side of his neck, her hands clinging to his shoulders, her legs pulling him closer, deeper, her lips swallowing his groans.
Even when it was over, he didn't want to let go of her, feathered kisses over her face and down her neck until she gently pushed him off her. The loss of her was immediate, but then she curled herself into his side, a small hand on his slowly calming heart, and her nose nudging his as she smiled. One he returned without any worry or shame, none of the darkness he would have expected. All that mattered in that moment was her, and the way she made him smile.
..
Jon, you're freaking out over nothing! Ygritte's own voice had grown louder along with his, and it did not help that she stood across the room, throwing her hands in the air as he paced nervously along the wall.
It's not nothing. What if you're pregnant? We never should have - I was so stupid, this is exactly why I've never... He wanted to run head-first into a wall, slap himself, turn back time, anything to fix this. The crushing guilt and fear that had always held him back, it had all come down on him when he lay awake in his own bed that night. All through the darkness he twisted and turned, and with Christmas, there was no time to run down to the cottage.
But he was here now, face red from the cold and anger at himself. The fear was almost more painful than the anger, but he pushed that as far away as he could. In this moment, he could not even look Ygritte in the eye, not when it awakened all the memories he had wanted to cherish, but which now only made him feel worse. Like a failure, as if he had betrayed a vow he made to himself.
He finally stopped pacing, sighing loudly into the silence. All the childhood memories that had haunted him for so long were more vivid now than ever. Bastard whispered behind his back. Lady Catelyn's kind eyes darkening whenever she looked at him. The shame in his father's eyes when he thought Jon would not notice.
Suddenly, he felt a pair of soft hands grasping his own. He looked up from the floor to find Ygritte close to him. Do you really think we made a mistake? she asked, and he had not expected the pain that lingered beneath her words.
He did the only thing he could think of, the only thing he really wanted to do. Crossing the small distance, he pressed his lips against hers, wrapped his arms around her until she was pressed against his chest. No, I don't, he muttered into the kiss, running his hands up her back and around her neck, sifting softly through her hair until she moaned against his mouth.
I'm not pregnant, she reassured him (and he knew her better than to ask how she could possibly be so convinced of that), her breath warm against his already flushed skin. She ran her hand up his chest in the small space between them, further up until her fingertips danced along his jawline. Just buy condoms, and it'll be fine.
Her laughter echoed brightly through the small space when he blushed even more furiously, but he silenced her quickly enough, although he already missed the sound as soon as his lips swallowed it.
..
The promise of spring lay in the air. In the way the birds quietly began to sing again in the mornings. In the way the snow stopped dancing from the sky. In the soft colours that began to slowly seep back into the world. The occasional rays of sunlight beginning to carry a hint of warmth.
Jon felt happier and more at peace than he ever remembered feeling, and that was, in itself, a good thing. Only, everyone else noticed, and it made him wonder how bloody miserable he must have appeared before. Before Ygritte had burst into his life and changed it from the roots.
I think Snow's finally getting laid, Theon proclaimed one evening, smoking out of the window of Robb's bedroom, the smell of cold smoke already clinging to the walls and furniture.
Jon opened his mouth to protest, but Robb was quicker, slapping the back of Theon's head as he walked past him, balancing his laptop on his free hand. Leave him be.
As kind as it was of Robb to take his side, Jon knew that it wasn't as simple as that. His brother was casting him another unfamiliar, almost knowing grin, and it confused Jon that he found no explanation for it. He couldn't possibly know, and if he did, he would not keep silent about it.
What does getting laid mean? Rickon's thin voice interrupted Jon's thought process, and he had almost forgotten that his youngest brother was sprawled across Robb's bed, the comic book they had given him open on his belly.
Yeah, what does it mean, Theon? Jon asked with a wicked smile, and he and Robb burst out laughing when Theon began to cough violently, dropping his cigarette out of the window.
At the dinner table, Jon did not miss the kind smiles that his father cast across the table. Usually, when they were not alone, his father was more reserved than that, and Jon wondered if all his secrets were suddenly written boldly across his forehead.
Arya had always understood him better than most of his family, and when she sneaked into his room one night, her hair a mess (and he later found a few twigs in his bed that he was certain Ghost had not dragged inside) and her pyjamas wet at the knees, she crawled into his bed as she always did. But something was different, the way she smiled at him in the darkness. Is she nice? she asked plainly and without embellishments, and Jon could not find it within himself to lie.
At the same time, he could not betray Ygritte, or endanger the future that was approaching with each day. So, he only nodded, his heart melting when Arya smiled contently.
Good, she declared, turning onto her back to look up at the ceiling. When she told him about the horse that had almost trampled her earlier, Jon wondered how many secrets could really be kept inside these walls.
..
Ygritte's laughter was carried in through the window by the spring breeze, chilly and almost unbearably fresh and crisp. Jon allowed his eyes to fall shut for a brief moment, inhaling the scent of the dying winter sharply, letting it fill his nostrils and rush through his veins, quickening his blood and lightening up his mind. But the sound of her kept him from getting lost in the spiral of soft bloom and warmth that opened up in his memory, and his eyes fluttered open all too quickly.
You're going to catch a cold, he called out, leaning on his elbows on the windowsill, the collar of his coat up so far that it tickled his ears, and still his cheeks stung from the chilly air. Ygritte, however, did not seem at all bothered by the cold. Barefoot and with one of his shirts she stood on the dead plane hidden behind the cottage. The snow was only a faint white coat now, and the way Ygritte took step after step closer to the trees, one might have thought it was powered sugar, soft instead of harsh and cold. Her arms were spread wide, bare and exposed to the sunlight that had broken through the fluffy white clouds.
No, I won't, she yelled back, and Jon saw the way her eyes gleamed when she turned to look at him, her lips curved into a joyful smile. If anything I'll get a sunburn.
He laughed at that, mesmerized by the way she swayed in circles, catching thin air between her fingers, and it looked almost as if she was trying to catch the sunlight itself in her palms. It's March, he quipped, rubbing his fingers where they were beginning to grow numb from the cold. There's no way you're getting a sunburn.
You know nothing, Jon Snow. If he hadn't heard the words a thousand times before, Jon probably would not have been able to make them out over her laughter, almost a giggle now that she was running off towards the trees. Come along now.
He groaned, already dreading that he could hardly say no to anything she suggested. Instead of staying inside where the heat of the fire clang to every stone, he grunted as he climbed through the window. When his feet landed on the cold ground with a thud, he saw that Ygritte had stopped running, leaning against the trunk of a tree, her arms crossed in front of her chest and a wicked smile on her face. It's no fun all alone, she said when he walked up to her, the ground crunching beneath his heavy boots. And stop sulking.
She gave him no time to speak, instead sinking her icy fingers into his curls and pulling him down towards her, her lips cold but her tongue warm as it slipped into his mouth, opened in a surprised gasp. His own hands found her waist, fingers digging into her flesh when she pushed herself against him. I'll keep you warm later, she muttered into his neck, goosebumps erupting all over his skin in response.
As quickly as she had pulled him down she pushed him away again, but her hand dropped to grasp his, cold fingers slipping in between his until they were intertwined. With a wink that tinted the tips of Jon's ears even more red than the cold had already done, she pulled him between the shelter of the trees, her laughter echoing mysteriously beneath the scarce canopy of frozen and snow-covered leafs.
..
Jon fought hard not to smile too obviously when Catelyn informed him that the family had been invited to lunch with the Karstarks (probably to make up for the disastrous dinner just before Christmas). They'd be gone all day, and when she told him coolly that he best stay behind, Jon felt excited instead of rejected. The pain of his stepmother's resentment towards him was easier to bear the older he got. The slight pinch in his chest never really faded, but he had found enough comfort in his siblings and his father that her rejection became something he could accept.
He walked away from her with a suppressed smile, and was perhaps a little too enthusiastic to stop Robb from confronting his mother about it when he told him. She can't just tell you to stay behind. They invited the family. You are family.
It's fine, Robb. Don't worry about it. The tables seemed to have turned over the years. As Jon grew to accept Catelyn's actions, it appeared to become harder and harder for Robb to stand idly by and watch his mother push his brother further and further away.
Ygritte called him mad when he pulled her out of the cottage, the sun only just beginning to rise, the sky a marvellous orange that was soon hidden by the canopy of leafs. As they stumbled along moss and roots, he told her that his family was gone for the day, and as surprised as she seemed by his enthusiasm, the smile on Ygritte's face spoke novels of its own.
He had parked Robb's car by the side of the road just outside the Godswood, only a ten minute walk to the cottages, and Ygritte grinned broadly when she climbed into the passenger seat. You better not drive like an old man, Jon Snow.
The streets were surprisingly empty, and Jon cheered when he turned on the heater to find it actually working. Besides him, Ygritte fumbled through Robb's stack of CDs, her face entirely unimpressed, teeth chewing on her bottom lip, and Jon wanted to lean over and tug it free, but he looked back onto the road instead. Inside, he felt fuzzy and excited, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel in an upbeat rhythm.
Your brother's taste in music is just as shit as yours, Ygritte declared, throwing the CDs back into the glove compartment.
My taste in music is not shit, he defended himself, watching as she pressed all the wrong buttons on the radio until it finally turned on. For the remainder of the one hour drive into the next town that Jon had decide was safe enough not to be spotted by anyone he knew, Ygritte sang along to the already much too loud radio, propped her feet up on the dashboard, played with his hair and complained about his driving. He almost drove the car into a ditch when she suddenly unbuckled her belt, climbed onto her seat and leaned out of the sunroof. Get down here! he said, tugging at the hem of her sweater, but she either didn't hear him over the rush of the wind, or she decided to ignore him.
They sat down by the river with ice cream in their hands (it's such a waste if you only eat it in summer), strolled past the countless small shops filled to the brim with things nobody really needed. Ygritte ushered him out of the bookshop as soon as he picked up a copy of 'The Origins of Dragon Tales' he had never seen before and he took her to a special screening of 'The Empire Strikes Back'. Afterwards, they argued so intensely about whether or not Luke Skywalker was an interesting character that it took Jon a while to realize Ygritte had slipped her hand into his own. It felt strange to walk down the street like this, with her smiling up at him and her fingers drawing patterns on the back of his hand. He wasn't used to it, not in the slightest, but he knew that he never wanted to go anywhere without her ever again.
She grumbled reluctantly when he dragged her into a Dornish restaurant, complaining about everything from the smell to the tablecloths to the creepy waiter to distract him from the fact that she was uncomfortable with him paying for everything. When she tried the caramelized peaches he had ordered as a starter, though, she eventually stopped complaining.
After lunch, they walked through the small local park, watching old couples on weathered benches, excited dogs playing fetch, the sun streaming down from above, the first flowers blooming, splashes of colour here and there. I'm glad your family left you behind, Ygritte murmured, her words accompanied by laughter, but he could see the sincerity in her eyes nonetheless, and leaned down to press a brief kiss to her lips. She smiled into the kiss, her arm curling around his back, and as they walked further on the gravel path past a long forgotten fountain, she leaned closer into his side.
On the drive back, Jon groaned when she dropped half her crackers onto her seat, the crumbs sinking into every crevice. Robb's going to kill me if he sees that. She tried her hardest to clean up the mess, muttering under her breath how nobody their age should keep their car this clean, anyway.
Turning a corner, Winterfell eventually came into view, lonely on a hill in the distance. The sight seemed to silence Ygritte, her elbow propped up against the door, forehead pressed against the window. However, as usual, her silence didn't last long. Pull over, she suddenly said, meeting his confused stare with a wicked glint in her eyes.
He was reluctant at first when she pulled him into the back-seat of Robb's car, her sweater abandoned on the driver's seat. When she pushed his own sweater up towards his neck and kissed a burning trail from his rapidly beating hard to the waistline of his jeans, clever fingers unbuckling his belt before he had the chance to gently push her off him, all his protest died on his tongue.
When he parked Robb's car in its usual spot an hour later, Jon's mind was working rapidly on coming up with an excuse for the million cracker crumbs now incorporated into the passenger seat. His brother would probably bite off his head, but Jon smiled to himself when he lazily brushed off a few crumbs, deciding that it would have been more than worth it.
..
It had been months since the subject of summer had last come up, back when autumn was still young and cautious, when he had begged Ygritte to stay. Every now and then, he mentioned the universities he was applying for, painted pictures with words about where he wanted to live and what life would be like once he finally left Winterfell behind.
Still, he had been careful not to question Ygritte about any of it. He longed for answers to those silent questions, though. What they were, if she still planned to go South with him, how she imagined their lives to go from this point forward. Those questions kept him up night after night, and yet he never found the courage to ask.
It came as a dull, unexpected blow when it was Ygritte who brought it all up. In retrospect, and not unlike any of their other countless fights, he could not quite recall how they ended up shouting at each other from across the room, Ghost wailing in the corner, tail between his legs.
You think everything's just going to be bloody easy, she shouted, kicking the tip of her boots against the stone wall. But really you haven't got a clue what you're going to do. You're a dreamer, Jon. But you need to get back down to Earth and grow up.
His fingers were curled into tight fists, his knuckles pale and white as all blood seemed to rush towards his head. Perhaps, if you'd actually told me anything about your past, I wouldn't be so clueless, he said, knowing he was crossing a line, but unable to hold back any longer. I have no idea if you ran away cause your life sucked or if you're hiding from someone. I don't know anything about you, and you have no right to hold that against me. He knew he deserved some answers, and perhaps he was dreaming too much and living too little, but how could she hold that against him? So, if you actually trust me, then tell something... anything. Slowly, with each syllable, Jon's voice grew more quiet, but along with that grew the spite that oozed from each word, the exhaustion and anger he had pushed away for too long. Hidden behind her smiles, covered up with his kisses. Maybe then we can actually make plans. Unless your plan is to just run off again once we get to King's Landing.
Regret shot through his veins the moment his words faded into silence. Ygritte stared at him in disbelief, her arms crossing in front of her chest, not to shut him out but to keep her own feelings in, he knew. Is that what you think? The disappointment in her voice cut through his heart like razor-sharp knifes, and he suddenly wanted her to yell at him again, throw something, anything but this. That I'm just staying here because you bring me food? That you're my ticket South and then I'm gone once we get there? She took a deliberate step closer towards him, her eyes sharp and cunning when she spoke, all of the softness he had found in them suddenly washed away. I don't need you, Jon. I was getting along just fine before we met. If you think that I'm using you, or that I need you, then you really don't know anything.
He remembered her the day they had first met, how he had seen her then and how he saw her now. Behind all the ice and anger, the vulnerability he knew she fought so hard to hide was showing, glistening in her eyes. I do know some things, he finally said with a bitter smile, the words somehow seeming to get lost in the deafening silence. I know I love you. He had never said the words before, but in this moment, despite his anger and frustration and all they had thrown at each other, Jon knew they could never be more true. I know you love me. Ygritte's face contorted in pain, and he knew he was gambling now, but with the air between them nothing but one lethal spark, what was there to lose, really? I think that's why you stayed here in the first place. You might not need me, but you do love me.
The way Ygritte's lower lip began to quiver slightly, Jon started to wonder if he was about to see her cry again. It was the stoic expression on her face that told him she would never allow him, though, not in this moment. Trust me, I want this to work. But you're going to have to... I'm grasping at straws to make a future for us, and you just keep taking steps back.
He turned without giving her even a second to reply, numb fingers pulling open the front door. Ghost jolted up to his side, tail wiggling when he rushed down the brick path, and Jon followed in silence, a silence only broken when he let the door fall closed behind him a little too loudly, the sound upsetting a few birds in a nearby tree. They flew in circles across the blue sky as Jon watched, breathing deeply, feeling the angry sting of tears in his eyes.
..
After that, Jon did not see her for well over a week, but the time stretched on like a century, giving him the feeling of being frozen in a block of ice, the world around him spinning and turning, unaware of him and his silent cries for help.
Every few days, he left some food on the doorstep of the cottage, avoiding the windows now freed from the wooden planks, allowing for the spring sunlight to stream in. After a while, the lines blurred between him avoiding Ygritte, unable to face her after everything that had been said, and her not showing him the slightest sign that she was willing to forgive him. From the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, in the beating of his heart and every dry tear he could not shed, Jon knew he had already forgiven her.
Summer was approaching with fast steps, knocking on windows and doors with each new flower, each deeper shade of green, every single bird nestling into the trees, and Jon could not remember ever having felt less excited about the future.
She was sitting in front of the open front door, legs crossed beneath her, staring at the mud-coated laces of her boots when he walked up to the cottage. Dried earth and twigs crunched with each step Jon took, and he felt himself holding on tighter to the bag he carried, the leverage only meagre.
His free hand trailed along the rusty iron fence that lined the small front yard of the cottage, and he tried to read her expression from the distance, most of her face hidden by the long strands of red hair, like a curtain, keeping him out. He never spoke a word as he walked up the short brick path, only watched the way her index finger curled up her laces.
I do trust you, she said without preamble. Her voice was muffled by the way she faced the ground, but they were nonetheless spoken with determination. Somehow, he had known them to be true, no matter how agonizing his doubts, but to hear her say the words eased some of the weight he had carried for the last few days. I can't shake the feeling that I shouldn't, but I do.
She kicked away a few stray pebbles with the tip of her boot before running her hand through her hair. Jon watched as she tucked it behind her ears, finally looking him in the eye with an apprehensive look. Everything about her appeared oddly timid, careful and quiet, in such a way that Jon wanted to cross the distance and wrap her up in his arms. But this was far from over, and he needed to take the chance that she was finally willing to talk and embrace it the way he wanted to embrace her.
And maybe you're right and it's because I love you. All Jon could do was watch. Watch the way her eyes fluttered, the way her lips fought to form a gentle smile, almost apologetic. Slowly, he took a step closer, still so much space between them, but it felt less distant already. I didn't run away, really, she continued eventually, her eyes dropping back to the ground. It was hard to imagine, the pain she must feel, or even shame, and Jon wondered if he had been right to push her. But then she slowly stood on her feet, nervously brushing her hands against her thighs, and took a bold step towards him. I just... left. She shrugged her shoulders, and Jon only now realized she was wearing one of his shirts. It was far too big, hiding her from the world like a shield. When she opened her mouth to speak again, the words were suddenly just above a whisper. And I don't ever want to go back.
You don't have to, he replied almost instantly, realizing now that for all these months, he had used her as an escape from his own problems, his own misery, when she needed him to be just that for herself.
Ygritte smiled softly, crooked teeth just barely peeking out from between her lips (too red, and he knew she had been biting them while she had waited for him). Will you come in? When she reached out her hand to breach the distance between them, Jon felt not the slightest hint of doubt, and he knew Ygritte was just as sure when she squeezed his hand tightly.
Later, when he trailed his fingers across her back and she was sound asleep on his chest, his shirt was still warm where her tears had soaked the fabric. In this moment, all her secrets unloaded, deep asleep, she looked so peaceful, so much younger, and Jon wanted to cut out his heart if it meant she could stay like this for even a moment longer.
..
It was the first really warm day of the year, the window of Robb's room wide open, and Jon felt the warm air tickling his bare arms. Books and papers were scattered all over the floor, covering the bed and desk, and their laptops were humming with exhaustion. Birds were singing outside, and Jon could clearly hear the laughter of children in the yard below, the sound of excited footsteps, just as prominent as the smell of the sunlight that flooded the messy floor.
Do you think I'd die if I threw myself out of the window? Robb asked, leaning a bit further out of the window where he sat on the large windowsill. Jon chuckled, watching his brother fumbling with the cigarette in his hands, forehead wrinkled as he seemed to inspect the distance to the ground.
Only if you're lucky, he replied, turning onto his stomach. The rug he was laying on smelled like it had been here for decades, which it probably had, and he wrinkled his nose, sighing when he realized he was too lazy to grab his bottle, just out of his reach. You're doing a good job at hiding the whole smoking thing from your mother.
What he had expected was a triumphant grin. What he had not expected was the way Robb turned towards him, silent for a moment too long before his lips formed an unfamiliar and crooked grin. Like you've been hiding a girl in one of the cottages for months?
Jon stared at his brother in shock, hearing his heartbeat drumming in his ears. Suddenly, all the noises of the blossoming summer outside were drowned out. You know?
Of course I know, Jon, Robb replied, jumping down from the windowsill, stuffing his unlit cigarette back into the pocket of his jeans.
How long? Jon could barely feel his legs when he sat up, ignoring the sharp pain when the blood slowly began to creep back into his veins.
Well, I knew something was up, but you said it was nothing. Robb seemed entire too calm, collecting scattered papers and stacking them neatly onto a pile. Only you're a really bad liar. So, I followed you, which isn't cool, I know. But I was worried. For all I knew you could've been cooking up drugs. He laughed at his own joke, rolling his eyes when Jon remained silent. So, anyway, I saw you going to that cottage five days in a row.
You went in? Jon could hardly believe what he was hearing. All these months, the secret he had been trying so hard to keep had not been a secret at all. Not only had Robb kept silent, but Ygritte had, as well.
Robb smiled, finally stopping his pacing and throwing himself onto his messy bed. She's nice.
You've known all this time and never said?
You were happy, and she was quite convincing that she's no serial killer. Robb said all of this towards the ceiling, the smug grin still not wiped off his face, and despite his utter shock, Jon could not stop himself from wondering how long Robb had waited for this moment, a moment he seemed to thoroughly enjoy when he sat up and smiled. A smile so broad that Jon never even considered being angry. So, why would I say anything?
..
Half the country seemed to have squeezed themselves into this one train, and Jon felt as though he might suffocate from the heat of the sun shining down on the glass roof of the station and the sheer countless people pushing past him towards the exits. Perhaps it would have been wiser to wait outside in the parking lot, with the brand-new hand-me-down car he had just bought, where he would have ended up with a sunburn in less than five minutes.
Jon ignored the pain of elbows and suitcases that were hitting him in all the wrong places, and fought his way through the crowd, scanning it for any sign of red hair. His fingers fumbled nervously with the folded paper in his pocket, wondering for the fifth time if he had read the schedule right. But with the passengers flooding the platform like a tidal wave, the last thing he was going to do was stop to unfold the damn paper again.
When he finally spotted a mess of red hair, a faded green backpack and the ugly blue of his own shirt, Jon picked up his pace, unable to stop his lips from curving into a wide smile, and he could not care less about how ridiculous he must look in this moment. Ygritte caught sight of him not a second later, he grin a mirror image of his own.
She squealed when he lifted her off her feet, the backpack dropping unceremoniously onto the ground, and people eyed them in annoyance when they had to walk around them to get off the platform. All Jon cared about, though, was to have Ygritte back in his arms, to hear her laughter, to feel her breath tickling his neck when she pressed a soft kiss there. He spun her around in a slow circle, only holding on tighter to her, finally out of hiding, finally out in the open the way she deserved.
You're such a cheese ball, she chuckled when he finally set her feet back on the ground, hands immediately cupping her face, and she had barely spoken her last word when he caught her lips in an urgent kiss, knocking the breath out of her in a sharp gasp. Ygritte found her composure quickly enough, sinking her hands into his hair and pulling him closer.
I missed you, Jon whispered, his lips still brushing ever so softly against hers, unwilling to part now that she was finally here with him, now that all the secrecy was at an end, now that the future was waiting for them outside the door in the gleaming sunlight.
Ygritte's eyes were shining, the smile that he could feel forming against his lips just as gentle as her fingers where they scraped against the base of his skull. I missed you, too.
Jon closed what little gap there was between them to kiss her again, a short peck that he pulled away from much quicker than he wanted to. With a groan, he picked up her backpack from the ground, ignoring the roll of her eyes. Come on. He was surprised by the way his hand shook when he held it out for her, a slight tremor that went hand in hand with the excited pacing of his heart. Ygritte slipped her finger in between his, her touch stilling his trembling, and when she squeezed his hand, everything seemed bright and clear. They were free. Let's go home.
the end.