Hello again! THank you all so so much for your reviews and your support and I hope you enjoy this chapter ;D

They danced through the day
And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall
From winter to summer then winter again
'Til the walls did crumble and fall

The last time she had seen Robb had been in the rain, the day she bid him farewell at Riverrun. She remembered wanting to go with him, wanting to stay at his side the way a good wife should, but he had denied her.

"I would be an insult to Lord Walder," he told her, stroking the side of her face.

"Please, Robb, please." She had begged, gripping at his doublet. "Please let me come with you. I don't trust that man. O-or let them wed here at Riverrun." Or perhaps she was afraid the bride set up for Lord Edmure would be beautiful, thin and young and able to make his seed take root the night the wed. Maybe Robb would start finding fault with her if he went to the Twins and saw the bride he could have had. A prettier one, a more fertile one.

But Robb had left, and never returned.

Too soon, Jon took his hand from her hair, and brought it beneath their joined hands. He was so warm and it had been so long since someone had comforted her. Her brother, bless him, had tried, but when it became clear she would not be the sweet, happy sister he had always known, he had retreated from her.

When finally her tears had ceased, Jeyne straightened herself a little, her hair falling over her shoulder. She was ashamed, open and raw. When Jon finally spoke, he still held to her hand, and his voice was soft and gentle.

"Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers, my lady."

He makes himself distant, and yet he holds my hand. Jeyne pulled her hand out of his, sitting back and slumping in her chair, her eyes still avoiding his.

"I want to sit a while longer." She remembered who she spoke to. "If it please, you." She did not insult him by calling him by his title. She had just wept openly in front of him, and admitted one of the worst memories she had. They were far past titles.

He nodded, lacing his fingers together as he leaned on his knees.

Her eyes caught sight of his bed, a modest thing pushed up against the corner, wide enough for him to sleep however he wished, but not so wide it could be considered lavish.

"Have you loved anyone, before?" it felt like her body was three steps forward, but her mind was three steps back, half watching on as she asked such a question. She wanted to specify—have you made love to a woman before? Have you kissed at the skin of her neck and shoulders? Have you looked upon her in the exposing light of day and not regretted the night before? Did you think of marrying her to keep her honest? When you parted, did she beg you not to leave her? Do you grieve for her? For what might have been?

But when King Jon's eyes looked into hers, she knew he had understood.

"Yes." The king replied after a long moment.

"What was she like?" He was silent, and somehow that was more terrible than anything he could have ever said about this woman. Jeyne swallowed the last of her ale, setting aside the horn when she was done. I've made him uncomfortable. He wants me to leave but is too kind to ask. "You must have loved her very much." She stared at her hands, watching as her thumb ran over her hand.

Suddenly the king stood. "My Lady, I…" he looked at her a moment, seeming to be trying to find the correct words. "I am very tired."

Jeyne felt hollow. "Yes. Yes, of course, Your Grace. Forgive me."

That night, Jeyne grumbled as she undid the laces of her dress and as she washed the sweat of the day from her body.

"Oh, I'm King Jon, I'll let Jeyne bare her feelings all over the bloody floor but I'm too stiff to talk about my feelings. Oh, I'm King Jon, I'll pretend to be tired because I'm afraid of talking with Jeyne Westerling."

Robb met her eyes in the mirror, and—maybe she was a bit more drunk than she thought—she almost thought he was grinning.

The godswood was a peaceful place, and very often Jeyne would sit in the shade of the heart tree, watching as steam rolled from the hot spring's black water. She had left her faith in the south, and was glad for it. If there were gods, they were evil, and the south could keep them. Jeyne didn't pray anymore, but she liked the godswood.

The snow layered on the ground muffled Ghost's movements and Jeyne startled when the massive wolf seated itself next to her.

"I don't have any treats for you. You'll have to hunt." The wolf turned his red eyes towards her before shifting upwards. Staring, blinking and silent. "You see him too, don't you?" she murmured, gently running her fingers through his fur. Ghost's keen eyes flickered back to her face a moment, before returning to Robb's. "Have you always? Is that why you were so wary of me?"

"Jeyne?" her ghost had never spoken to her before. Jeyne was frozen into stillness for a heartbeat, before she dared to turn and see who had spoken. A breath of relief left her to only find Jon standing, ankle deep in the heavy snow. "You know he can't talk back?" he grinned.

"I was counting on it." She countered, continuing to stroke the animal's head.

"May I sit with you, my Lady?" he asked, walking forward.

"I am a guest in your home. You don't need permission." She reminded.

"I do not want to intrude."

Jeyne's lips pulled up in a little grin. "You could never." Ghost enjoyed her touches so much, he laid out on the snow beside her.

When the king sat, he sat across from her, the distance between them nothing but respectful. After a moment, he spoke.

"The first woman I ever loved was a wildling named Ygritte. She had red hair—kissed by fire, the wildlings call it. It means she was lucky. She shot three arrows in me when she found out I was still loyal to the Watch." He spoke in a measured tone of voice, almost as though he had practiced those words to reveal just enough information without divulging too much.

Jeyne thought for a moment. "If she had wanted you dead, she wouldn't have missed. She'd have aimed for your face, that's what I would do. You wouldn't be alive to speak of her. She loved you."

Jon was silent for a long time. "Aye, she loved me. And I loved her. And she died." He hoped she didn't ask how she had died.

Jeyne's heart ached, the pieces broken so long ago flaring up in their hateful, continuous throb. "What a horrible thing it is." She ignored the urge to look up at Robb. At least she still had him, in some way. Jon didn't have his wildling girl.

The king's face was soft, almost sad. "Aye," he murmured.

A long silence followed them, and as tears started to fill Jeyne's eyes, she spoke before she could fall too deep into her sadness. "So, a wildling?" she smiled, hoping he took her gentle, watery smile and continued. "She sounds absolutely wonderful." Perfect for Jon, really. A woman of the true north, a woman forced in ice and hardship, strong and lucky, as he said.

Jon only smiled, and they enjoyed the peace of the godswood together, not speaking further of loves lost.

She was so tired. So very, very tired. One night, as she and Jon sat by the fire, a cup of wine in her belly for courage, she let her desperation for sleep overcome her.

"Can I lie next to you?" she's asked, her voice soft as a mumble. Jon snapped his neck around to look at her, his eyes holding no anger but only shock. Jeyne clung to that. "I mean…only next to each other, going no further." She shifted uncomfortably, hoping he would grant her mercy and answer quickly.

"It…it wouldn't be right." He said.

"Only for sleep, Jon. I swear." She wanted to sleep, so badly. The thought of using some potion frightened her. She would live her life, a ghost just as much as Robb, no matter that her blood was warm. "Please." There must have been something desperate and soft in her voice, because after a moment of regarding her carefully, the king turned to his bed and sat down at the edge of it.

With shaking breath, Jeyne stood and walked to the bed, feeling as trembly as a foal taking it's first steps. She sat on the bed beside him, feeling the cool patchwork of furs beneath her fingers. It isn't right. She was so tired.

She stared at the fire intently as Jon moved to lie back, stiff and still dressed on top of his fine, soft furs. Jeyne hadn't been in bed with a man in five years, not since Robb. With steady hands, she reached down and carefully unlaced her boots, setting them neatly beneath the bed. Robb was always so warm, so solid around her. He always smelled so good. Carefully, she drew up her legs, and lay back on the soft featherbed, still as clothed as Jon was.

For a moment, they lay stiff beside each other, fearing that movement of any kind would bring the whole Keep crashing down upon them for the taboo nature this meeting had taken on. And yet Jeyne felt such a sweet relief to lie next to a man, someone warm and solid and breathing. Someone she could touch.

His bed smelled wonderful. Soothing. Like sweat and boiled leathers, and Ghost and Jon. Jon.

For a moment, the relief overwhelmed her, and it was all she could do to conceal it.

But then she caught sight of Jon's hand, tense and resting at his side, his thumb rubbing over the knuckle of his first finger. Her hands were settled over her midsection. It would be so easy to slip her hand down, wrap her fingers around his, pull them close to her chest. She could touch him, he would be warm.

Suddenly, without warning, Jeyne began to cry. It started off as little gasps, as though her air had been squeezed from her lungs. But soon enough, they shifted into deep, wracking sobs that shook her whole body.

It was then, Jeyne realized how lonely she was. Even with the Starks and their nightly suppers, even with Ser Davos and Maester Sam and the other inhabitants of the castle—even with Jon. She was lonely. So desperately alone, and had been for five years.

How had her life become this? She had dreamed of weddings and bedding ceremonies, of children and the names she wanted to give them, of soft kisses and warm nights and now she only dreamed of a peaceful nights sleep.

Jeyne cried harder, so hard Jon moved to pull her body tight against his. Jeyne hated herself for the sweet, all encompassing relief she felt as she listened to his racing heart beneath her cheek.

How could she be happy when the ghost of her husband lingered by the doorway, watching his wife and his brother hold to each other in bed?

"Jeyne…" she heard him whisper, distant and far off. She thought he started to move away, and she wrapped her arms around him tighter.

"No, please," She sobbed, feeling her tears wet against his doublet. Her legs moved and curled around one of his. "Please don't leave me, Jon." The thought was unbearable, and she would die if he did, she thought.

But he didn't go. He didn't shove her away, didn't get up and order her to leave. Instead, he shifted closer. The last thing Jeyne remembered before falling asleep was Jon running his hand through her hair.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so peacefully.

The next morning, Jon had gone.

Their night had not gone unnoticed, and soon enough, the Lady of Winterfell was made aware, and confronted the King within his private solar.

"It isn't appropriate, Jon." Sansa warned him. When he didn't turn away from the fire to look at her, she took his arm and jerked him around to face her. She was almost urged to be silent when she saw the look on his face. Almost. "She's Robb's wife, his widow. For you to-to dote on her as you do, rumours will start."

Slowly, Jon lifted his chin to defend himself. "I am being kind to our brother's widow. Where is the harm in that?" They had not had another night together since then, a sennight before. Jeyne hadn't even remained behind to treat with him. He missed her.

"It's more than that, though, isn't it?" Sansa spat, outrage on her face. She was more open to Jon than she was to anyone else. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone else, and she would not let him put himself in danger. "Robb lost the north for her, why wouldn't you be captured by her as well?"

"That isn't fair, not to her nor to Robb!"

"But is it true? That is all that matters."

"No, it isn't." His sister seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, her shoulders falling as she searched his face for any lie.

A brief moment of silence followed, broken only by the crackling of the fire. "You should send her to Riverrun, to Uncle Edmure. He was close enough to Robb, he will take care of her there. She would be under his protection." Sansa would sleep easier if that woman was out of her castle before morning. She liked Jeyne, she was as sweet as she was sullen. But Jon was their king, and he needed a northern wife. Not their brother's scraps.

"And forced to suffer living under his Frey wife and his Frey son." Jon spat back. "How long would it be until they tear each other apart? Or Jeyne throws herself into the river?" She had told him of her plans to avoid being forced to wed a second time, and never wanted her to think of death as her only escape again.

"You are not her keeper, Jon. She is free to live as she pleases."

"It pleases her to live here."

"How would you know that?" Sansa demanded, her Tully blue eyes flashing for the briefest moments. For half a heartbeat, she reminded him of her mother, and he shrunk back a little. "What do you talk about when you're alone in your chambers, when we all leave?"

"Enough, Sansa." Jon hissed out, frustration turning his voice into a growl. "I will hear no more of it."

"Do you love her?" She asked before he could dismiss her again. Truly, that was what she feared. Men were often blinded by love for women. Robb had been, and it had gotten him killed. If Jeyne Westerling lusted after the power of a queen, she would have to go through Sansa before she let her harm her family twice over.

"No more!" he thundered. Sansa was silent, panting in the wake of her brother's fury.

"Choose a northern wife, and be done with it." She ordered before turning to leave.

The lump of fabric in her lab would be a blanket. A little blanket for Maester Sam's wife, Gilly. She was pregnant again, the couple's third child, and Jeyne wanted to give them a gift. Babies were blessings, and she only wished to offer what she could to the next little life that would come into the world.

She had always wanted children—a whole mess of children, at least seven. She had mostly wanted boys but a girl or two who she could dress up and weave ribbons into their hair would be welcome. I will never have a child, she thought. She must content herself somehow, and she found joy in the babes of her friends.

She wondered if she would ever be allowed to see or hold Jon's children. Lady Sansa had invited her for a private luncheon three days before, and as they nibbled at their meal and sipped at their tea, the Lady of Winterfell asked her if she was happy in the north, and if there was any place else she would like to see.

"You're a free woman, Jeyne. Luckier than most because you aren't held back by anything. Free to live where and as you choose." Her words were kind and sweetly uttered, but Jeyne couldn't be fooled, even though she wished to be. It was not difficult for her to realize Sansa was asking her to think of somewhere else to live.

The rejection cut her deeply, and since then, she avoided leaving her chambers.

Movement came from the corner of her eye, and Jeyne paused to look who it was. Robb stood there, straight and tall but this time he didn't look sad. In fact, he grinned at her. Something warm filled Jeyne's heart and she beamed back.

When he held out his hand, she hesitated, wondering what he intended. For a horrible, fleeting second, she feared she had died and he held out his hand to take her to the next life. But when her hand was supposed to meet his, it only passed through cold air.

Jeyne regarded him curiously, wondering what he was doing, but he only nodded back at their hands. Carefully, she laid her hand over his, feeling nothing but cold, empty air. Yet it looked real enough. She could imagine warm skin, a strong hand tightening around hers to remind her she was safe. Cared for.

She pressed her palm close to his went he raised it, and when his feet moved, she suddenly knew what he intended to do. Her belly lurched, and she could feel the burn of happiness in her eyes, a wide smile on her lips.

Her feet moved, mirroring his, a slow shuffle. She hardly remembered the steps.

She had danced, so very long ago. At her wedding, if a septon being brought to Robb's room could be called a wedding. There had been no music, and yet she and Robb had danced, warm and happy and so in love for one brief, shining moment. When she'd pressed her cheek against his chest, and he pressed his temple against her hair, slowly swaying them as the silence filled the air, Jeyne knew then that she loved Robb with all her heart.

The war stole all their opportunities for happy moments, and so the brightest jewel of her time with Robb had been the night they wed.

But now she twirled, her gown flaring out, as close to her husband as she had been in years. She almost wished she were dead, if only to have this moment last forever.

The words of an old, sad song flittered through her mind, suddenly. High in the halls of the kings who are gone Jenny would dance with her ghosts. Jeyne laughed.

Once more, she settled herself in front of him, her smile dimming when she felt the cold air brush over her hands. But his smile never faded, and they danced a few moments more.

But finally, one last spin, and Robb was gone. Her confusion had her looking around her room, hair falling over her shoulders. Her stomach dropped.

He'd never just left her this way.

Gone.

She looked for him, searching for his form. Her blood was rushing in he ears, her heart pounding.

Gone.

Her knees met the cold stone, and she wept. Her tears burned her eyes like vinegar, and her throat could not be rid of the lump that had formed.

Robb was gone.

I really hope that Sansa didn't come off as cruel. She's only very protective of Jon, and right now, Jeyne poses a little bit of a threat.