It was a bitterly cold night. The frigid air reached under her clothes and across her skin, as if it could reach her very bones. Alone, wrapped in layers of fur, Sansa paced around her chamber to combat the sleeplessness she had experienced ever since he had left. He'd been gone for only two days, but every waking moment filled her with dread.
What if their boat capsized on their journey to Dragonstone? What if they arrived, and the Targaryen woman executed him, just as the Mad King executed her uncle and grandfather? The possibilities were endless. So much was unknown.
She had lived for so long in the company of strangers, or enemies, that her time with Jon had become not only refreshing, but essential to her. It had taken some time to adjust, but after a few weeks of reacquainting themselves to each other, she had started to feel hopeful again. He had even made her smile or laugh on occasion, which was something she hadn't done in what felt like a lifetime.
And now he was gone, and her bones ached from the chill of the cool night air and the desire to be close to him again, to be warmed by the softness of his eyes and the calming nature of his presence.
She walked over to the bed and stripped off a layer of fur, replacing it quickly with a warm blanket. She lay awake for hours, wrapped in the castle's finest blankets, but still unable to shake the cold.
She reluctantly pushed her feet out of the pile of blankets until her toes reached the icy floor. She scurried over to the hearth to add some wood to the fire, but just as she reached for a second log, she heard a sound coming from outside her door. It sounded at first as if it were footsteps, but much quieter and lighter than would be expected. Then, she felt an odd sense of familiarity, as if she already knew who was on the other side of the door without having to look.
She cautiously walked over to the door, and opened it slowly. And then, as a smile spread across her face, she allowed her body to relax. "Hello, Ghost. Come on in."
The huge white direwolf stepped into the firelit room, pausing to look intently at Sansa, and then proceeding to take note of the room around them. Sansa closed the bedroom door, added a few more logs to the fire, and then returned to bed. All the while, Ghost stood stock-still, watching Sansa's movements.
Most of the Northerners were used to seeing Ghost around the castle at this point, and many had even fought alongside Robb and his wolf, Grey Wind. But that didn't stop most of the men and women from acting cautiously around him, always a note of fear in their eyes. It wasn't like that for Sansa. The wolf had an essence of Jon about him that she didn't quite understand, but she always felt a bit safer when he was around.
She rearranged some of the blankets on her bed, and made space enough for him to join her if he wanted. When Jon was at the castle, Ghost rarely ventured into Sansa's quarters, instead staying by his side at all times. But she had a feeling that Ghost had sensed her loneliness and had come to comfort her in Jon's absence.
Ghost read her actions and lightly jumped onto the bed, arranging himself in a protective position facing the door. She reached over, patted him lightly on the back, and whispered, "Thank you."
She lay awake, in a state somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Images began to make their way across her closed eyelids. Old Nan's voice whispered something about a dragon made of ice. Bran and Rickon played in the courtyard with wooden swords. Arya laughed as her father told a joke he had uttered many times before, but told again because he knew it would make her laugh. But in the midst of these happy memories, other images began to appear. A white wedding dress, a soldier's dead body, her father's head on a spike.
She was starting to jolt awake from the nightmares that had too often consumed her in the dead of night, when she felt Ghost shift slightly in her bed. He silently repositioned himself and nuzzled against her, and almost immediately the torment was over. She was instead flooded with memories of Jon. The moment she first saw him at Castle Black. The feeling of his arms around her when they had embraced. The warmth of his smile. The intensity of his eyes whenever he looked at her. The sound of her name as it passed through his lips.
She held onto these images as long as she could before falling into a much needed bout of dreamless sleep.
Meanwhile, miles away from Winterfell, Jon Snow shifted in his bed and dreamt he was his wolf, Ghost. He dreamt of Sansa standing in front of the hearth in a white nightgown, firelight reflecting off her face. He dreamt she made room for him in her bed and he slept soundly, dreaming of sleeping next to her instead of alone in a foreign castle without her.