Anya kept still once she felt Jon finish inside of her. She was unable to move anyway, too drained from their antics that evening as he pulled out. She groaned lowly at the motion and Jon bent down to kiss her, swallowing her moans into his mouth as his hand ran the length of her body and finally came to cup the back of her neck. He only rolled off of her and onto the bed when his mouth left hers and she watched him rest on his side, the furs on the bunk pulled up around his chin.

"I don't want that to be the last time we do that," Jon whispered and Anya gave him a solemn smile before kissing him on the cheek sweetly.

"You ride out tomorrow, don't you?" Anya asked from Jon. "I want to come with you."

"No," Jon said defiantly and Anya groaned lowly. "Anya, it is bad enough that Sansa keeps saying I cannot keep her away, yet I will. I do not need you there in front of him…I want you to stay here and then I will be back."

"That still doesn't mean that I don't want to go," Anya replied. "Besides, if you intend to offer him a one-on-one fight then who knows what will happen?"

"I do," Jon told her, his voice gruff as Anya rested on her back and Jon wrapped an arm over her waist, holding her close to him and keeping his eyes on her as he tried to stop her from worrying. "And I know that Ramsay Snow will never accept that offer. He knows he has the numbers and he can win. He's also a coward…despite everything…he would not fight me one on one."

"And you're willing to take that risk?" Anya asked and Jon nodded.

"If men do not need to die then I will take that risk," Jon said. "But there is no point in fretting, Anya. Whatever happens will happen. I need you to understand that and I need you to understand that you can keep going. I don't want you to cry for me."

Anya laughed at that part, the sound hollow and low as Jon watched her slowly sit, clutching the furs to her chest as she completed the motion. Arching a brow, she looked down to Jon and he continued to watch her, the intrigue clear on his face as she moved from the bed, stretching naked before grabbing the gown she always wore and sliding into it before she could feel the cold.

"If you think that I won't cry then you really don't know me," Anya said. "Would you not cry if I was in danger?"

"Do you think I would ever let you be put in danger?" Jon responded and Anya frowned, continuing to pull her gown over her body.

"You're avoiding the question," Anya informed him. "Besides, I don't think you should even offer him the chance of a one-on-one fight. I think…I just don't think it's wise."

"For selfish reasons," Jon told her and her eyes widened as she pulled her hair to sit over one shoulder, her fingers raking through it so that she looked slightly presentable.

"And does that make me a bad person?" Anya demanded to know from him, her hand pointing to her chest as she watched Jon move from the bed, pushing the covers to his waist as he grabbed hold of his breeches, sensing that an argument was brewing. "Does it make me bad to want you to stay safe?"

"Of course not," Jon said. "But think of all the men here, Anya. If I can save them…stop lives from being taken…then I will do that."

"Do you not get it?" Anya demanded as he finished pulling on his jerkin and she pushed at his chest, her small fists hitting him as Jon remained shocked, noticing the tears beginning to stain her face as she pushed against Jon. "Do you not understand that I can't do it? If you die…if you go again…I can't cope, Jon. I couldn't cope without you. You need to understand that…without you…I have nothing…no one…and you stand there and you talk as though your life means less than anyone else's in here."

Jon quickly caught her hands inside of his, pulling her body against his as she continued to sob, but finally gave in, letting herself sink against him as his arms wrapped around her.

"Anya," Jon whispered her name, knowing that there were no words of encouragement he could say to her. There was nothing he could say or do to persuade her to see sense. All he could do was stay there and hold her to him.

…

Jon sat atop his horse that morning, Sansa on hers beside him while Davos took his other side. The other Northern Lords he had gathered, plus the Lady Lyanna and Tormund also joined him as he rode onto the battlement, his flag in the air as he prepared to speak with Ramsay Bolton. Jon had left Anya in the tent, kissing her softly before going. She had demanded to go with him, but he had asked men to guard the tent and keep her in there. She had protested and her yells had echoed through the camp, yet Jon could not bring her with him. He had not wanted Sansa to come, but she had snuck up on him at the last minute.

"You can go back," Jon told her as they saw the flag of House Bolton slowly approach them. "You can return."

"I am a Stark," Sansa said. "I need to be here. Besides, I heard Anya this morning."

"I think the whole camp did," Davos said with a sly look to Jon, but the former Lord Commander remained stiff.

"She's better off in the camp," Jon said sternly. "She's brash and not afraid to speak her mind."

"You didn't want her pissing off the Bastard of Bolton then?" Davos guessed and Jon shrugged.

"Amongst other things," he whispered, closing his eyes and wondering what he would do if he didn't return from this meeting. What would she do?

There was silence then as Ramsay Bolton came into sight with the rest of his men. Jon eyed the man up and down, noticing that he was well built. His armour was cleaner than Jon's and his weapon of choice, a large sword and a dagger, hung around his midriff. Jon's eyes slowly went to his face. He was pale, even paler than Jon. His eyes were piercing and his hair as dark as, presumably, his soul. But it was none of them that caught Jon's attention. It was his smirk. It was his smug look. Jon wanted nothing more than to wipe that from his face.

"Lord Snow," Ramsay spoke, his voice mocking as Jon remained composed. "Thank you for returning my wife to me. Now, if you want to be on your way then we have no need to fight. Your men will remain alive and Winterfell will remain mine."

Jon almost laughed sarcastically, but he remained stoic, his grip on his reins turning his knuckles white underneath his riding gloves.

"You have my brother," Jon called out over the wind. "I want him back and I want your men out of my home."

Ramsay laughed then. It wasn't a small chuckle, but a large howling laugh as he pointed to Jon with his finger, his smile still firmly stuck on his face. "You're a funny man, Jon Snow," he declared. "A terribly funny man. You see, your brother is well and you may have him back."

"How do we know you haven't killed him?" Sansa was the one to speak up, her voice level and even as she watched Ramsay, refusing to flinch as his gaze turned to her.

With one swift motion, Ramsay motioned to one of his men who reached into a bag. Jon watched as an object went flying through the air. It was only then when he realised that it was a head. It was the head of a direwolf.

"Now, your brother-"

"-You're going to die tomorrow," Sansa interrupted Ramsay, tugging on the reins of her horse, knowing full well that she would never seen Rickon again as Ramsay looked into her eyes. He had no intention of letting their brother go free. He was sadistic and he liked pain. He would spare no one; not even a young boy. "Sleep well."

Jon watched as his half-sister rode off, a look of pride on his face as she did so. She had been brave and she had done well to remain composed.

"Fine woman, your sister," Ramsay spoke and Jon turned his glare back to him. "I look forward to having her in my bed."

"Perhaps we might be able to settle this now?" Jon suggested, his mind going back to Anya once more before he spoke again. "Me and you…no one else needs to die."

"Why?" Ramsay wondered. "I have the men. You have not nearly enough men to dream of defeating me."

"Perhaps not," Jon agreed. "But will your men truly want to fight for you if they know how much of a coward you are?"

It was Ramsay's turn to look put out by Jon's words, the smirk moving from his face as he seemed to weigh up Jon's words. It only took a few seconds before he began to laugh loudly, his body shaking on his horse as everyone else seemed to glare to him, even his own men.

"You're very good," Ramsay said. "But my men are loyal. They will fight for me and they know that we will win. You have no hope of victory. Come tomorrow I will have your pretty little sister warming my bed."

Jon's grip continued to increase on the rein then as Ramsay saw the man's face falter, his teeth grinding together and he knew that he just had to keep goading him for him to slip up. He relied on emotion too much.

"She was ever so good whenever I bedded her," Ramsay continued. "Perhaps I might take the Wildling of yours too? I've heard that she's a very pretty thing. Don't worry, I'll let her watch you die first…perhaps I will cut out your eyes…leave your ears and you can hear me take her…fuck her like a whore."

Jon reacted then, letting his horse move forwards. But Davos was quick. He had been watching Jon's face grown thunderous and he had moved, his hand going to Jon's to urge the man to stop his movement. Ramsay and his men moved back slightly as Ramsay laughed and nodded.

"Yes," Ramsay nodded. "Of course, I might just keep your eyes too and let you watch as I take her…make her mine…"

"You will never touch her," Jon hissed, "or Sansa."

"We'll see," Ramsay said, nodding his head. "Until then, Jon Snow…"

Jon said nothing more as Ramsay moved off with haste and Jon turned around, rushing back to camp, more determined than ever to make Ramsay Bolton suffer.

….

Anya had been confined to the tent all day. Jon had returned and told her he had battle plans to discuss, but she had been angry with him for locking her away. Jon had expected her to be cold. He knew Anya. She didn't take kindly to being locked away; not that he could blame her. Saying nothing else, Jon watched on as Anya sat on the bed and ignored him.

He returned her to later on in the day with two bowls of broth to eat. She was still sat on the bed and he wondered if she had moved from that spot. He didn't ask her. He only handed her a bowl and sat besides her.

"Anya-"

"-Do you know that he used to lock us away?" Anya interrupted, the bowl resting on her lap as she kept her gaze away from Jon. "Craster…whenever any of us misbehaved…there was this small room. He liked to put us in it when we were children and we misbehaved. Of course, that was most of the time…mother used to try to make him stop, but she never succeeded. She…I used to be in that cupboard a lot as a child."

"Anya-" Jon tried, again, but she once again cut him off.

"-And then when I was really small and I saw him with her…saw him hurt mother…I used to make a fuss, but his other wives used to hide me away in the cupboard so I didn't disturb them. And…I wonder if I should have done more…instead of being willingly locked away."

Jon tried to move to take hold of her, but she brushed him off, her glower settling on him as she stood and placed the broth on the floor. She looked back to Jon.

"And then you made sure I was locked in here," Anya said. "You made sure that I couldn't get out."

"For your own safety," Jon said, also standing. "Anya, I didn't know he used to do that to you. I never knew."

"The wives locked me in there for my own safety too," Anya said. "And all I cared about was my mother's safety, just like I care about yours now. I thought that we're supposed to be equal, Jon. I thought that you didn't believe that husbands were superior to their wives?"

"I do believe that," Jon assured her, but she shook her head.

"But you kept me in here," Anya said. "I wanted to come. I wanted to be there…I hear that Sansa went."

"I didn't want her to," Jon assured Anya.

"But she went," Anya replied. "I'm just angry, Jon. I wanted to be there to support you. I'm your wife."

"And I'm your husband," Jon replied and stood up too, moving with haste to take Anya by the waist before she could escape his grip. "I'm your husband and I love you more than anything. I just want to keep you safe and protected from the likes of Ramsay Bolton."

"Just as I do," Anya said.

"Please," Jon said. "I am not going to apologise for not bringing you with us, but I will apologise for having you kept guard in here. I don't want to fight over this…not tonight…not before the battle…"

Anya sighed then, knowing that he was right. An argument would do neither of them any good. Instead she exhaled a deep breath and gave a nod of agreement before daring to take hold of Jon by the cheeks and kissing him softly.

"We're equals," she said, her forehead against his. "I love you, Jon Snow."

"And I love you," Jon replied. "So let's forget about everything else this evening and just be us? We don't know what tomorrow holds."

Anya nodded and agreed, kissing Jon once more before doing her best to put everything out of her mind. Yet she found it impossible. Jon was riding into battle again tomorrow. She had no idea what would happen.

…

A/N: Let me know what you think!