Steam was rising from Harrenhal's large baths. The water was warm, the room around cold. Not as cold as outside of this castle, Jon reminded himself. His muscles ached pleasantly from the morning training. Next voting was much on his mind and so was Arya. Jon came from water and took fresh clothes. Marw and Willow were waiting on the door. Willow looked like he had made good use of ale they had served the day before.

Upon his return Jon found that Arya still in his chamber. His meal was prepared and she was reading a book by the window taking advantage of the day's first light. She put the tome down and smiled at him. She was very good at knowing his feeling, but that was to be expected he supposed, what was strange about them was that he could know hers too. He could tell she was still very distraught, but there was also strange calmness about her he had never felt before. Jon hugged her tightly and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"Aren't you hungry?" she muffled to his chest. He was even starting to like Jeyne's face, though than he remembered Nara and not for the first time regretted the things he did not know about his little cousin. He kissed her once more and seated himself to the food.

"Came with me to council today," Jon proposed when he was done eating.

"As your paramour?" She looked at him with visible doubt.

"As my cupbearer. No one pours wine and water as gracefully as you."

"You should see me mucking out the stables. Nevertheless, I will go. Jeyne needs to be seen again."

The horn sounded outside, a signal that Prince Trystane and Princess Myrcella were leaving. The young Martell did not wish to remain in Harrenhal a moment longer than he had to. He let it to lord Gargalen to remain for the rest of the Council in his stead.

"Do you want to watch? I know a good place but you will need your cloak," Jon warned.

Arya did not bother to answer but quickly hopped from the window sill dragged her cloak and hurried out of his chamber. Jon followed.

As they were passing his guards Arya gave Willow greeting in a horrible accent of Flea Bottom and the man smiled at her. She did not tell anything to Marw. It would not matter, Jon knew, the old knight would only frown at her. He kept quiet in front of Jon but he held no respect for a girl who would willingly become a paramour. Jon ordered his guards not to follow them. They won't be leaving the tower.

They went down one fly of stairs and turned to another hall. Jon unlocked a door, which only led to another hall. At the end of it where even smaller door made of solid iron locked and barred. The entrance to an old drawbridge. They entered and Jon took his arm around Arya sharing his heat. Standing in shadowed corner they watched the procession depart until the last rear guard disappeared from their sight. Even then neither of them spoke for some time both content with comfortable silence.

"We stood just like this once," Arya mused after some time. "It was when all went wrong. King Robert came to Winterfell to name my father his hand. I had run from my sewing lessons to watch the men fight and you were there watching too. The Hound, princes' Joffrey and Tommen, Bran and Robb all were there. Even Theon Greyjoy. I asked you why-"

"I am not down there," Jon could guess even not remembering a thing.

"You told me that bastards were not allowed to damage young princes, that in the yard their bruises must come from trueborn swords," Arya continued. Jon laughed, the irony was not lost to him. "You also told me that I should not hide. Or they would punish me and force me to sew for the rest of the winter and in spring they will find my body with needle frozen in my hand."

"That doesn't sound funny. Luckily, I can't imagine you ever holding a sewing needle."

She smiled at him, the sweetest and saddest smile he had ever seen. And then there was a slim blade in her left hand. Castle forged steel, he knew at first glance. "This is Needle." She let him take it to his hands.

The mark on it was familiar. Some swords they found in the ruins of Winterfell smithy bore the same marks. "This is from Winterfell. Did your Lord father give it to you?"

"No, my mother..." her voice caught up in her throat but she forced herself to finish, "my mother would never allow it. He found out only in Kings Landing but I never told him who gave it to me."

"Who gave it to you?" Jon asked though he was starting to have a strong suspicion.

"You. That is why I have kept it all this time. You are part of my life I could never give up. Maybe it is one of the reasons why I came here. If you didn't remember than everything was lost and I could leave my old life behind for true."

He wanted to tell her something so much. Maybe that he loved her, maybe that he would never give her up, but it would be a lie, he was the one who had forgotten. Yet he had to say something. The words come only slowly to his tongue and she put finger on his mouth before he could voice them. "Someone is coming."

Moments later the opening door revealed Willas Tyrell who shivered violently in the cold. He gave Arya a hard look.

"I think that we should return inside before any of us freezes to death," Jon offered. Wordlessly both of his companions heeded the suggestion.

"You killed Meryn Trant," Willas accused Arya as soon as they were inside.

"I did," she didn't deny it.

"Why? And why have you come here, why you are staying?" Willas asked her with a hard look on his usually mild face.

"A friend asked me for a favor, that is why I came, if I knew Meryn Trant would be here, I would come just to kill him. I meant to kill him for years. The main reason why I am staying is Jon. But do not worry, my lord, I do not mean to harm anyone else."

Willas was not satisfied with her answer at all. "I don't know what I find harder to believe that you are harmless now or that you claim to have friends."

"A condemned thief would be probably able to count my friends on one hand," she allowed, "but I have some nevertheless. And I am not harmless, but I am not a threat either."

"You tell so now, but what happens when someone else angers you or make a slight?"

"I will put aside my pride and deal with it," she answered, holding her ground.

"What about Lady Sansa? If you enjoy Jon's company so much what would happen when he marries and you will be put aside?" Wills didn't seem to believe her.

Arya laughed at that. "You are being stupid, my lord. I like Shireen and I would rather cut off both of my hands than to hurt Sansa." Even Jon was taken aback by the passion in her voice. "But no matter, I do not think you came to speak to me. With your leave." She gave them a half bow and left.

"Who is she truly?" Willas asked startled.

"If I told you, you wouldn't understand." Westeros knew nothing about Arya Stark. "You know, I think she was right that you did not come to talk to her."

"No. I didn't," Willas answered still looking at the direction in which Arya had left them.

Jon waited, but his companion still looked hesitant. "Do you trust me less because of Jeyne?" he asked.

"Yes, and not without a reason. I would like to keep your friendship though." Jon was glad to hear that. If he had to choose between Arya and Willas he knew that no matter the consequences he wouldn't even ponder long, but was more that happy that Lord of the Highgarden did not put him before that choice.

"As would I," Jon answered with relief.

Willas still looked troubled. "Maybe I myself hadn't been as honest with you as I should have been. I think that tomorrow can send us forever apart. And that would be greatest shame, not just for the kingdom."

Jon just shook his head appeasingly. "You want to tell me something, but you do not feel comfortable with it. Do you think that you know all my secrets?"

That made Willas smile. "Hardly, you don't know them yourself, Jon Targaryen."

Jon nodded. "I need to know all secrets of my enemies, but I hope I can trust my friends enough to allow them theirs."

Upon his return Jon was informed that a raven had arrived from the North. He knew he could not expect any good news even before reading the message and he was not wrong.

Others sighted near Last Heart, Hothar Umber reported, one killed with dragonglass. Fifty men lost in the fortnight, wights growing more numerous.

Jon wrote the reply promptly and let it be sent. He was just opening an old tome about dragonglass, when someone knocked on his door. As always Arya did not wait for his answer. She was wearing dark grey dress, almost black and her hair was covered with a bonnet of same color.

"You are already dressed," Jon greeted her, "we still had some time." He could not return North before the council ended, though he could not keep from worrying either, Arya was the most welcome distraction.

"I came to help you dress." She told him. And she did, though it took a great amount of restraint for both of them to keep putting the clothes on instead of off. In the end they allowed themselves at least a log kiss.

Whatever thoughts pleasant or worrying lingered in his mind, they left him when he entered the Small Hall. The traces of yesterday feast were gone, he spotted only a small stain of wine on Tyrell sigil which someone had left yesterday.

Jon came early, but one member of the council was already seated. Today Sansa wore a light grey gown rimed with fur on neck and sleeves. "My lady," Jon greeted her.

"My lord," Sansa did not acknowledge Jeyne though she eyed her suspiciously. Arya only curtsied and took a place below wall reserved for servants, maesters, waiting ladies and other less noble folk.

"Why did that ill-named girl come?" Sansa hissed in quiet voice,"You are making a fool of yourself."

"Maybe, but a well-served fool. Aside from being my lover, Jeyne is my cupbearer." Jon shrugged. He was much more concerned about Arya returning to her life than what people thought about him. Nevertheless, this was once again going badly. "My lady, I do not think that we truly dislike each other but we have a great gift to turn all our conversations into arguments."

Sansa signed. "You have it true, but I do believe we could be allies. We have to be."

She meant it and Jon agreed, but he did not think they shared the same reasons. Whatever else she meant to tell him she kept for herself, because in that moment Tyrells entered the hall. Willas greeted them somehow solemnly but Lady Olenna looked smug.

In few short moment Princess Shireen arrived too accompanied by Massey, two maesters, two ladies and four guards. "I am sorry I am late," she apologized.

"Not at all, princess," Jon assured her, "the rest of us are early."

Willas Tyrell and Lady Olenna had chosen to wear dark green that day. But Shireen decided for a bright blue dress matching the color of her eyes. She looked almost pretty.

"Does anyone else wish to speak before we vote?" Jon asked. No one did and no one hesitated long which name to write. Jon voted for himself as did Willas, Sansa again showed only one straight line. It was Shireen who surprised everyone that evening.

Willas Tyrell were the words written by her hand. "My vote goes to Lord Willas, with this I am giving him my voice in council to do as he deems right. May my father's shade forgive me," she spoke quietly but firmly. Willas now have six voices, Jon thought. The lord of Highgarden needed another four to become the king. Jon had just as many, one more voice than Sansa.

He could feel Sansa tense besides him, but it was Rodrik Harlaw who asked what they thought about: "Princess, I am getting old and old people are curious about the life of the young. What made you change your mind?"

Shireen looked at Willas in a silent question. "You will learn it anyway," she decided in the end.

"You will," Willas agreed. "Yesterday I offered Princess Shireen marriage and she agreed." Warm look passed between the two of them letting Jon wonder when it had all happened. Shireen had been right, he would never love her, with Willas she had hope. Even now Jon was more concerned what Willas might think about their meeting in the rookery, that that she agreed to marry another man. Isn't it the same with all of us? he thought. If we are damned, at least we should make our sins matter.

"Myrcella and Trystane might have given me their voices, but they were led by affection in no small part," Shireen spoke." Their lords though, especially lords of Westerlands will prefer a man for the ruler."

When no one else has anything to add, Jon dissolved the meeting. Willas and Shireen left first, the rest of Tyrells and Baratheons continued and Jon heard a fragment of talk between Lady Olenna and Rodrik Harlaw abut history of Highgarden. Soon after left the minor lords, maesters and then the bystanders in distant corners. In the end only Jon, Sansa and Arya reminded. But the younger Stark moved to darkest corner, a spot so carefully chosen that she became invisible to a common man, though Jon could find her easier than sun in cloudless day.

"We are losing sorely, but we can still have seven voices," Sansa declared in determined voice.

"Or Willas can have ten." More than ever Jon felt that he should return North.

"I'll do anything to stop that." The Lady of the Vale did not back an inch.

"Willas is a good man, but the matter of greater importance is that he has it in him to be a good king." Jon knew that being a good man and being a good ruler were rarely the same, yet his words did nothing to soften Sansa to the idea.

"Father, Mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya. What were their deaths worth if we bend our knees again? Willas might like you, but Robert Baratheon had been my father's best friend, it did not stop a boy who he brought up as his son to chop off his head! We will never be free if we won't rule ourselves. Don't you see?" she asked almost desperately. Jon reached for her hand, but she put it away and stood up. "Consider your next vote thoughtfully, Northmen gave you their support, but that may change, their hearts still yearn for an independent North." With that she walked away.

Once she was out of earshot Arya emerged from the shadows and sat at Sansa's former seat. She took Jon's right hand and gently massaged his painfully-clenched fingers. "I…" he was lost for words.

"I am sorry," she whispered. "You should not be alone and Sansa shouldn't be either."

"I am not alone, I have you. Does Sansa have anyone?" he found himself asking.

"She has our grand-uncle and she has her lover, but it's not the same as our family in Winterfell." The part about the lover surprised him. He never even considered such possibility. But then again, maybe he only wasn't paying attention. Sansa was not the Stark whose loves interested him the most.

"Don't look so surprised, Jon, you are not the center of the world for every girl who goes by, only I am so stupid." Arya bit his ear playfully and spun away from him. Jon had to laugh. She was almost gone before she turned. "You should end this council if you can," she added "It's time to return North, for you just as for me." Her words gave him hope, but he did not follow her. He needed to clear his mind.

Behind the heavy door of the small hall he could hear his guards talking their voices coming out in soft flow. His thoughts ran in a cyrcle while candles in the room were burning out one after another. The room grew almost entirely dark by the time he turned around to see the last of them. A small flame was shivering in a hall so big that its light did not even reach the walls. It looked as if the endless darkness surrounded it from all sides. Abruptly Jon decided he did not want to watch it go out. He stood up and left.

He did not seek his own chamber. Part of him desperately yearned for Arya but this was not time for them, he knew. Halfway through the castle his mind caught up with his legs. Training yard. He went to armory and took the first rusted training sword he came upon. It was a greatsword and though he usually preferred the bastard size, today he welcomed the added weight.

He swung it once and again, going through all the elementary moves. After he woke up in the abandoned ruins of Castle Black he did not remember any of the knights who had trained him or any of their lessons. But his body knew how to fight. There was no doubt that he had had training when he found out how quickly he took to training from Stannis' knights. He was able to best most any of them not two moons after joining the Baratheon king. No one needed to teach him again that not all wars are fought by sword, though. Not by best strategy, not by largest armies, not the wars in the past, not this one… In the night he sometimes could feel them. Not here, only wights traveled so far south yet, but in the north the Wall was crumbling slowly but surely and white cold shadows were finding slits in ice and poured south. We must be prepared, or we will all perish.

"When I need to clear my mind I look at stars," a voice called from the night.

"Tiny blue lights far away, how are they of any help?" Jon objected. He stilled but did not put down his sword.

Willas shrugged. "Same as swinging an old training sword at non-existent opponents, I would guess."

"How did you find me?" Jon asked.

"Jeyne told me where you will go." Jon briefly wondered if there was ever time when Arya did not know him better than he himself. "Which is strange," Willas continued "considering how we get along and the fact that she claimed to Sansa that you did not tell her where you will be going."

"She wasn't actually lying to Sansa, I didn't tell her. I did not know it myself, when we parted."

"The more I know, the less I understand what is between you and Jeyne. Sometimes I feel that you must have known each other years rather than days, which is impossible. I know for sure that you do not remember a thing about your life before your own men almost managed to kill you. Have you ever asked her about that?"

"I do not wish to lie to you, Willas."

"So you are not going to answer my questions," Willas finished with a sight.

"How is Princess Shireen taking a prospect of her forthcoming marriage?" Jon blatantly changed the topic.

"We know and like each other well enough; she is hopeful about the union, but it was not an easy decision for her to give up her claim. Her father was the person she loved the most and he would disinherit her in an eye blink if he knew her choice. It gives her some solace that at least his grandchild will rule."

"She is sure you will win the voting."

"She and I both," Willas let him know.

"Someone told me not so long ago that Westeros will never follow a cripple. Nor would they celebrate a homely ill girl for a queen." Those were cruel words and Jon admired that Willas did not even blink. "Why Shireen and not Sansa? Sansa, despite not having claim herself would be easier for Westeros to accept."

"Though Princess Shireen has always been closer to my heart than your cousin, believe it or not I was keeping all my doors open at the beginning. But after two political marriages and twice as many betrothals you were the only one Sansa would allow herself to marry."

"You have six votes," Jon mussed, "I can have seven if I agree to marry Sansa."

"Yes," Willas allowed. "And even your four votes alone would be enough to stuck the voting. But it wouldn't matter if you had one voice or ten. Shireen's supports may mean the world for me, but the one person I need the most is you. It would be this way in either case, the South would rebel in the first hard day if you wouldn't have Southern lords firmly behind you. Whoever of us rules…"

"...the other must be his right hand."

"I never for a moment doubted you, Jon. If none of us would have been fit to lead the kingdom you would have found a way to become our leader, no matter the costs. And you would have done a good work, but I believe that the place where you are needed the most is the North. Yet that is not place for the king of this kingdom. Not even now. You will be always only a warrior trying to rule."

"Are there enough candles in your chamber?" Jon asked him remembering the little dying flame surrounded from all sides by approaching darkness.