He found her half-buried beneath a pile of blood-stained snow, pale and shivering. A strangely familiar, thin steel rod was embedded in her stomach. He told himself it couldn't be, it was impossible… but that was when he saw them.
His own eyes. Grey and solemn and so very Stark.
Only they weren't his eyes.
His heart made it's way into his throat, threatening to escape. Falling to his knees, he forced himself to crawl across the snow, towards her delicate form, so small and alone.
She didn't see him, at first, but once he reached her, cupped her face, so much older than before, she smiled wanly.
"Jon," she whispered. Jon noticed her voice was different too, womanly, adult.
He forced the words out of his dry throat. "Little sister." The words caught in his throat, strangled.
"I'm dead, aren't I?" She sighed, curiously calm. "Finally, I'm dead."
"No, Arya. You're not dead." Jon took her hand, as small and as fragile as a birds, crusted with hoarfrost and blood. His voice shook, and he let the tears come, letting them freeze on his cheeks.
Arya's eyes, those old grey eyes, focused on his face. "J- Jon?" Her eyes found his, as she feebly clutched at his black furs, wanting, needing. "For true?"
Jon smiled through the tears, a special smile just for her. "For true."
Arya returned the smile, and for a moment the sparkle he knew so well returned to her eyes, and her wolf-like grin spread across her face. It felt as if he'd been stabbed all over again, seeing her like this, after all this time. It was a pain he'd never known he could feel.
"You… found me." Her eyelids fluttered as she reached for his face, wiping away a frozen tear. "I… I knew you would."
"Shh, don't talk if it hurts," Jon gently manoeuvred his body around hers, so her head was in his lap. He drank in the feeling of her, his sister, his family, his friend.
"Nothing can hurt me now," she replied, as Jon's tear dripped onto her cheek and mingled with her own, "You're here."
Jon swallowed a sob. "I've missed you."
"Y…you said you would, the last time you saw me," Arya tittered, wincing. "When you gave me…" she eyed her stomach. Scarlet blood seeped out, tainting the snow around her, staining Jon's hands, but he didn't care.
Jon pressed his forehead against hers. "I'm so sorry, little sister. I never meant… I thought…" He couldn't speak. His lips trembled, as a gasping sob forced it's way up his throat.
"No, no, don't." Arya said fiercely. It felt almost absurd, Jon being the one comforted and being told not to cry by this wilful little woman-child.
He chuckled despite of it all, and when she laughed back, he treasured that sound. Remember it, he told himself. Remember that sound. Keep it in your mind.
He started stroking her hair, so dark and soft, clammy with sweat and snow. Arya bit her lip, gazing at his face for a while in silence. He touched her lips, and pressed his own against her tear-stained cheek.
Arya smiled, and then took a sharp intake of breath, gritting her teeth in pain. Her eyelids grew heavy, slowly falling shut.
Jon's heart thumped as her eyes shut. "Arya?" His voice was urgent. She coughed, blood spewing over her chin. She groaned, her grip on his hand loosening.
"No, don't leave me, little sister. I… I need you here with me, we can shoot arrows and play with ghost and…" Jon started to hyperventilate, his voice incoherent as he begged her not to leave him.
"… and stick… them with the pointy end," she finished his sentence, smiling.
Jon shook violently. "Yes. And stick them."
"Promise me…" A tear crept down Arya's cheek as her eyes flickered permanently shut, "Don't... tell…"
"Sansa." They finished the sentence together.