Once the idea entered his mind, Jon knew what he had to do. Without pausing long enough to talk himself out of it, without hesitating long enough to consider the consequences of his actions, he kissed her.

It was nothing like the brotherly kisses he'd been placing on her forehead and cheeks their entire lives. No, this time was nothing like the innocent kisses he'd given his little sister. She wasn't his sister now, and there was nothing innocent about this kiss.

When Jon had confirmed the truth to Arya, that they were cousins rather than siblings, she looked at him with so much pain in her eyes. He knew what she was feeling because he had felt it also-the fear of losing the most important thing in his life, the fear of losing the bond he shared with her. His thought had been to take away that pain, to let her know they would always have each other, no matter what.

From the moment he'd found out the truth about his parentage, Jon knew that his relationship with Arya would inevitably change. However, he also knew that he didn't love her any less. He could never stop loving her. She had loved him when no one else had. She never treated him like a half-brother. She never treated him like a monstrous mistake that nearly ripped apart her parents' marriage. His other siblings (cousins, he corrected himself) each had to some extent. Sansa was the worst, of course, calling him "bastard" whenever she bothered to acknowledge his presence at all. With his younger brothers, Bran and Rickon, Jon could see the way they looked at him when their parents argued. Jon knew they blamed him, and they were right to do so. Perhaps it wasn't his fault as he didn't ask to be born, but the fights were still because of him.

There had also been a wall between even he and Robb, his older brother. As such, Robb was also the eldest son- the favorite and the heir. Not only did he receive the love, he would receive the titles as well. Jon knew he envied Robb for that, and Robb knew it as well. They had a sibling rivalry that Robb would always win no matter how well Jon did at anything. It wasn't Robb's fault. It wasn't Jon's fault. But there had always been the wall between them.

Arya, though, had always been different. She loved her family, but her loyalty to Jon was fierce and unparalleled. She called him brother and cursed at Sansa when she didn't. Arya never blamed him for her parents' arguments. Instead, she looked at her own mother with disappointment and sometimes even anger. She told Jon that it hurt her feelings when her mother hurt his feelings. And, unlike with Robb, Jon could never be jealous of Arya. Sure, she had the Stark name he coveted so much, but he knew she felt as much an outcast as he did. She hated the sewing lessons she was forced to take, longing instead to train with swords as her brothers did. When she came crying to him after one sewing lesson, saying that Sansa had called her "Horseface," it hurt him worse than being called a bastard himself ever had. He'd told Arya as much. Yes, Sansa was as pretty as everyone said, but her blue eyes and auburn hair reminded Jon of her mother so much that he never felt anything but repulsed by her looks. Arya, on the other hand, with her dark brown hair and grey eyes was beautiful. He'd tried to assure her of that, but he wasn't sure that she believed him. However, she had smiled at him, making him more certain than ever of her beauty.

When he had found out the truth, that his supposed father had really been his uncle, Jon's first thought had been of Arya. She wasn't his sister. They hadn't seen each other in almost five years, and he already worried that she would forget him or at least forget how close they had been. Now he'd have to tell her they really weren't that close. She wasn't his sister. He kept telling himself that, no matter how badly it hurt him. He had to believe it, or else he would never be able to tell Arya. She wasn't his sister.

Jon was not at Winterfell when she came home. He returned only to have Sansa tell him that Arya was back and had gone immediately to the godswood when Sansa told her about Jon. A myriad of emotions went through him, chief among them anger at Sansa for the presumption that it was her place to tell anyone his truth, let alone Arya. He pushed such thoughts aside, though, and ran for the godswood, happier and more scared than he had ever been in his life. Arya was safe. Arya was home. But he knew she was alone and she was hurting. Because of him. She wasn't his sister.

As he approached the heart tree, she stood looking directly at him, as though she'd been waiting for him. He supposed she had been. He hoped she had been. He hadn't been able to escape thoughts of her. Surely she felt something similar.

But Arya wasn't his sister, and now she knew it as well. When she didn't run to him, the doubt that had been creeping into Jon's heart seem to solidify into something real. What if she didn't love him as much now that he wasn't her brother? What if she didn't love him at all

"Arya," he said because it was all he could say. Later he would consider how she had changed through the years. Her hair was shorter, maybe darker, definitely neater. Her face was slimmer, her lips fuller. But all Jon could focus on now was her eyes, red and puffy from crying.

"Is it true?" Her voice, barely a whisper. He could hear the slight hope that remained. She was counting on him to save what they had, but he didn't know how.

She's not my sister, he told himself once again as he reached out and took her hands in his.

"Yes," he heard himself say aloud. Whatever hope had remained within Arya now left, and her tears resumed. She did not look away though.

"You're not my brother." It was a statement, not a question.

Part of Jon wanted to tell her that he would always be her brother, no matter what. But another part of him repeated what had become his mantra-She's not my sister. Strangely, he found some comfort in those words this time. She's not my sister. He stood there, holding her hands and looking at her, this girl who was not his sister, this girl whom he loved more than life itself. She's not my sister, and he wondered, had she ever been?

Jon held his breath, hearing his heart beat so loudly he wondered if Arya did as well. Then he kissed her, their first real kiss, his mouth on hers. Her lips were so warm, so soft, and Gods! What had he done?