Across Two Worlds (You Hear My Heart Call)
By Myriddin
Finnick Odair had never been more confused in his life.
He remembers the mission, the tunnel, the mutts. He remembers fighting, struggling, and agonizing pain. Then waking up face-down in a snow-covered field.
He had thought himself at first in one of the Districts, perhaps 7 or 9 given the cold was sharp and biting and he was surrounded by woodland on most sides. Hints toward that impression changing began to add up after he stumbled across a farmstead while searching for food and warmth. He tread lightly, knowing the Capitol would never allow a place so isolated, wondering if that was the reason the structures were constructed not just rustically but cruder than anything he had ever seen.
His suspicions were confirmed the next morning when he was found in the hayloft by angry farmers, none too happy to find he had pilfered from barrels of salted meat and sharp, rich cheese. The strangely accented voices caught him off guard, especially since the trio of men surprised and trussed him up in his sleep. He likely could have fought his way out of the tight knots but would have exhausted himself and possibly broke a finger. He lay back to observe instead.
He soon discovered his unwitting hosts were offended as well as angry, through rhetoric queries of why he would stoop to thievery instead of seeking guest right. One of the younger men snorted, murmured something about red twins, only to have his head swatted by Finnick guessed was his father. It was finally decided that since the queen (what in Panem's name was a queen?) was sitting in judgment that day and they were already due to the market at someplace called wintertown, he would be taken with them.
That was how Finnick found himself tossed into a wagon with bundles of wool and wheat, a comfortable enough pallet he had little reason to complain about after being covered with a pile of furs to keep warm. He was lulled into a light sleep for the short duration of the journey, woken later by shouts that greeted them as they rode into wintertown. Wriggling his head out from under a heavy bear pelt, he caught his first glimpse of the awe-inspiring Winterfell.
More intimidating yet was the figure they brought him before for judgment. There was a cold beauty to the woman they called the Queen in the North, sweeping red hair falling like liquid flame bringing little life to her stoic, impassive face, offsetting by blue eyes as hard and unfathomable as chips of ice. There was a massive canid creature with a pelt as pure as snow at her feet, making him tense as he remembered Katniss' stories about canine mutts.
He tilted his head away and met the gaze of cold gray eyes, belonging to the man standing at the queen's left. He was outfitted all in black, steel at his hip, but it was not those details that made Finnick shiver. No, it was the look in those eyes, eyes he had seen before, eyes too old for the face they resided in. Eyes that had seen too much suffering, and knew that such sights could never been unseen.
His legs had been untied and he was made to kneel before the dais the queen was seated upon. He kept his head bowed until directly addressed, and when he raised his eyes to meet those icy blues once more, he was hit by a sudden, profound longing for sea-green. "I just…I just want go home to my wife. My Annie."
Annie. He had been trying so damned hard not to think of her, when in reality her name echoed within him with every breath, every step he took. Annie, Annie, Annie reverberated with the tattoo with his beating heart.
He suddenly wanted to weep.
He had no idea why, but the ice in the queen's eyes suddenly melted, warming to become deep wells of river-blue. She leaned forward on her throne and gestured to the man at her left hand. "Lord Snow, please see to it that our guest is fed and bathed, then I wish you to bring him to me."
Lord Snow looked startled, still giving him a suspicious glower, but he did not object. "Yes, Your Grace."
"I would hear more of your wife and how you came to my lands after your needs have been met, stranger."
Finnick cleared his throat awkwardly as Lord Snow stepped forward to release his binds, and he mimicked Snow's respectful bob of his head. "Finnick Odair, Your Grace…thank you."
The barest hint of a smile curled the queen's lips and she returned his nod. "I will see you soon then, Finnick Odair. I believe we have much to speak about." She shared a look with Lord Snow, and for a split second, the naked expression of adoration he saw there on the other man's face was startling. It was gone before most people would have seen it, but Finnick had spent years playing the Capitol's games not to become a master of the body's expressions.
Somehow, the intimidating man beside him now felt much more human and Finnick even dared to smile at him. Lord Snow did not look amused, reminding Finnick so much of Katniss he couldn't help but like the dour man.
As it turned out, seemingly having come from another world was little surprise to people who had seen dragons and fought a war against giant ice monsters. Queen Sansa was quite taken with the story of his relationship with Annie, the forbidden nature of which she seemed very familiar with if the frequency of the sad, longing looks she gave Lord Snow outweighed the doe-eyed ones as much as he thought. Beyond his wildest hopes, she made him a promise to help him find a way home, cementing what would be one of the deepest friendships he had ever known.
He found a place at Winterfell after it was found his skill with a trident translated well to a Dornish spear, and Katniss' archery lessons had left him not a half-bad hunter. He grew his first beard to deal with what he was incredulous to learn were spring snows. He consulted with Maester Samwell over ancient texts kept in Winterfell's library, Lord Snow even translating some in a language called Valyrian. When they met failure and his frustrations mounted, Lord Snow would drag him out to the yard and drill him relentlessly in sword-fighting. Snow would intersperse each new manevur with mentions of or questions about Annie, and each time, the anger would fade, replaced by renewed purpose and determination.
By the third such occurrence, Lord Snow permanently became Jon in his mind.
A full year passed. Sansa summoned red priests and Essosian maegi to Winterfell, only to be disappointed when they produced no answers. His homesickness didn't abate, especially when the Stark family continued to heal with the arrival of Rickon, a wild little thing that made him think wistfully if his children with Annie would have the same rebellious streak, and a spitfire named Arya who could sometimes sound so much like Johanna Finnick wondered if Winterfell was just an elaborate dream.
He found some measure of peace in the quiet sept, and after fighting beside Jon when Ironborn began raiding on the Stoney Shore, he found himself knighted by an ornery old hedge knight who served in the Queensguard (and looked a bit like Haymitch in the right light).
The second year went quickly, the first hints of summer seeing the birth of a new Prince of Winterfell, little Brandon Stark. Finnick had never before seen so much emotion in Jon Snow's eyes as when they rested on the dark-haired, gray-eyed babe sleeping peacefully in Sansa's arms. If he dreamed the next few nights of babes with sea green eyes, he wouldn't taint his friends' happiness by saying so aloud.
Then, as if the birth of his namesake summoned him, Bran Stark came home.
It was in the strange things Bran Stark spoke of, of green sight and forest children, that Ser Finnick Odair would finally find his own way home.
Months later, when he held up his son, Finn, to peer down at the newborn baby girl nestled in Annie's arms and she asked him if he had a name in mind, there was only one he could think fitting. And so the family welcomed Sansa Katniss Odair into the world.