Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the books.
Title: Home Again
Summary: The room is silent besides the crackling fire and the soft snores of the white direwolf, but then she shifts onto her side to face him better, her blue eyes watching him.
Author's note: Inspired after watching S06:04 Sunday night. It left me with a lot of Jon/Sansa feels and I needed to do something about it. If enough people like this, then I just might continue. Please let me know what you all think!
He feels her shiver beside him and he feels the furs being tugged, but they can't move upward while Ghost lies down by their feet. She's all tucked in.
He slips an arm around her, his hand resting on her waist for the briefest of seconds, feeling how thin and tiny she's become. It makes him rest his palm on her right side almost protectively, before drawing her shivering form closer to him for warmth under the furs.
"You should get some rest," he tells her when he feels her sigh contently.
"I'm not tired," she says, her teeth chattering slightly and her body still shivering from the cold and warmth together, lost in the interim. "Tell me a story."
"I'm afraid my stories won't be that pleasant."
"Please." And she feels so small again, like on the night of her eighth nameday with Robb sitting at her bedside, doing his best at telling her a story about a knight giving a crown of blue winter roses to his lady love.
The room is silent besides the crackling fire and the soft snores of the white direwolf, but then she shifts onto her side to face him better, her blue eyes watching him. "What about the scar over your eye?" she asks before she can help herself. She bites her lip, almost apologizing, wondering if it was from a duel or a battle and if the other man looks worse.
His body stiffens at the fresh memory and his hand holding her close tightens. She didn't know half the truth of it. "Another time on another night, perhaps," he says, hints of hurt in his tone.
"I'm sorry," she whispers quietly.
"It's nothing. I do have one story," he says quickly, clearing his throat. "I tried to make lemoncakes a few times." It's ridiculous, but he thinks he sees a hint of a smile playing at her lips at the mention of her favorite pastry, and the lie he tells is worth it.
"Really?" Her blue eyes are wide and awake, imagining her brother cooking, and she bites her lip again, trying not to ask for him to make them now at the late hour when she's already an inconvenience. And surely there aren't any lemons this far north.
"It's true." He grins. "I was chastised for something. I don't remember what for, but I was sent to help out in the kitchens. I saw some lemons the cook hadn't touched and they made me think of you instantly, knowing how much you love them," he says, his voice going soft. "So I tried to make lemoncakes. They reminded me much of home, and it was better than the soup here at the time."
She laughs then, and he's not sure whether she caught him in his lie or not, but he's just happy he can bring her joy and make her feel at home again. It's only the two of them now, but soon they'll have Rickon back. He swears it.
"Sansa," he says quiet, sudden. He'll tell her that and all she wants to know, but waiting for the silence, he hears her steady breaths. She's asleep.
He closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep, but he can't. Not with all the thoughts plaguing his mind of today and what's to come. He's restless.
He quietly makes his way out of bed, careful not to disturb her slumber as he slides his arm from under her waist. His bare feet silently walk on the cold ground, making it to the wooden chair close by the fire. He reaches down for his boots and slip them on, then adds two more logs to the fire before taking a seat, watching over her.