Jon didn't know how long had passed, but it seemed like hours. The Red Woman had remained sat in the chair in the corner while Jon held Anya to him. He had prayed to the Old Gods and the New Gods, begging for them to bring her back to him, even though the Lord of Light supposedly held that power. He didn't know if it would work. He had no idea.

But the day slowly turned to night and she was still not moving. The Red Woman had made her leave, but Jon couldn't go anywhere. He couldn't leave because if he left then that meant he had given up on Anya. It meant that he had given in and Jon was not one to quit.

He didn't fall asleep, but he did begin to doze. He kept his eyes closed for a while before he felt them open again. The fire in the room had begun to blow about, almost as if the wind had gotten hold of it. Frowning, Jon stood up. All the windows were shut yet the fire continued to roar hastily. He wondered exactly what was happening as he stood up, bending down once he was stood across from it. He began to poke it, but it kept on swaying, the shadows dancing around the room.

There was another chill in the air before he heard it.

He heard a loud gasp. He heard an exhale of breath. And then the fire settled down.

Standing with haste, Jon whirled round, seeing her sat up on the bed, coughing and looking around as if she had no idea where she was. Jon moved then and sat on the side of the bed, his hand holding her cheek as she took his wrist into her fingertips. Shaking her head, she let her eyes flicker around the room while Jon continued to cradle her to him, offering her some slight warmth.

"I have you," Jon said to her, whispering in her ear. "I have you, Anya. I have you."

Letting her arms throw themselves around his neck, she closed her eyes, but the darkness did nothing but bring fear into her mind. There had been nothing but darkness and then she had come back. A part of her thought that this must be the afterlife, but Jon felt real. Jon felt like Jon and he smelt like him. It had to be him. Who else could it be?

"I died," Anya choked out and Jon nodded at her, pulling back as his forehead brushed against hers.

"I know," Jon told her. "But I brought the Red Woman back…I couldn't let you go, Anya…not after everything…"

"It's impossible," Anya whispered, despite knowing that it was, indeed, possible. She had seen Jon be brought back to life before. She had been witness to that, so why would this not be possible too?

"It isn't," Jon told her. "And you're back now…you're here…"

The Red Woman had her theories. Of course she had her theories. She had heard that Anya had pulled through. The girl was alive and well in her chamber. She had not gone to check. Her work had been done. But if Jon had come back then she suspected Anya would be able to. Jon was the Prince who was Promised, yet behind every Prince there usually lied someone else…someone who was also willing to be a driving force. The Lord of Light must have seen something in Anya Snow to bring her back from the dead.

Yet the Red Woman had moved with haste as soon as she had heard the news. She had been keeping herself hidden in the shadows, away from Davos's stern gaze. She knew that if he found her then she was dead. There was no chance of escaping. The guards had been too busy with dealing with the Bolton men to recognise her as she slipped away, prepared to leave Winterfell once more.

She sat atop a horse, completely disguised as she rode away, knowing that there was be another day when her path crossed with Jon Snow.

Anya had never felt as nervous as she did standing outside the Great Hall with Jon. He had led her by the hand, preparing to enter and speak with the Northern Lords, yet Anya had stopped, standing still and looking at the doors as if she was worried. Jon looked back at her, moving to take her cheek into his cold hand as she watched him.

They had learned of the Red Woman escaping that morning while they had been with each other, talking and confiding in each other. It had taken Anya a while to process everything Jon had told her, but she had slowly come to terms with his words, more than content to be by his side as they stayed hidden away.

But then Jon had told her how he wanted her to come and greet the Lords. She was his wife. She had a place by his side, but now, as she stood outside the Hall, she was not so sure on his idea.

"I'm…maybe this is not a good idea," Anya managed to speak to Jon, her head shaking back and forth as she looked him in the eye, the fear evident in her face as she did so.

"What do I have to tell you?" Jon spoke. "Anya, you are my wife and my equal. You deserve to sit alongside me. Do you forget that the men in there see me as a bastard?"

"A bastard who led them to victory," Anya told him. "Besides, they do not see you as that, do they?"

"Not to my face, perhaps," Jon admitted with a nod. "But that is all I am. Anya, I want you by my side while I address them. We will not be long and then we will be gone…we can go back to the chamber…and be us for the time being."

Anya took a deep breath, but nodded. Everything felt odd to her. She was dressed in a fine gown of green silk. It clung to her in curves she never knew she had. Jon had told her that it fitted her well, but his eyes had hardly been on her face when he said it. She had a thick cloak on, keeping her warm as the boots on her feet slipped slightly from being too large.

Walking into the Great Hall, silence fell on the people there as they watched Jon move down the middle of the tables, Anya's arm inside of his as they made their way to the head table. Jon held Anya's chair out, letting her sit next to Sansa as he sat on her other side.

Jon sat down and took a sip of the wine before him. He inhaled a sharp breath before standing up, his hand holding the cup of wine as he looked between all of the men in the room, knowing that some of them had gone against him. Some of them had fought for the Boltons, but they were stood here and pleading for their holdfasts and lives. Jon should have sneered at them and told them to leave, but it was pointless.

"My Lords," Jon said, but then spotted Lyanna near the front of the men. "And My Lady, I must firstly begin by thanking you all…without your support…well…I suspect we all would not be here today. I do not believe that there should be any bloodshed today. Those who did not fight for House Stark shall not suffer."

"But they should be ashamed," Lyanna called out and Anya did her best to refrain from smirking. She had heard stories of the Lady Mormont. She was fierce and strong, from what Jon had told her. Anya could see that and she appreciated it.

"Those who did not fight for House Stark should be ashamed of themselves," she continued, but Jon held a hand up to silence her as her glare went straight to Robett Glover.

The man did step forwards and Anya watched him, remembering everything that he had said to her that day. He had been cruel and callous; his words doing nothing to dent her.

"Aye," Glover spoke, his voice harsh yet his eyes looked pleading. "I did not join the fight against the Boltons and for that I apologise. It is a decision that I will have to live with, yet it will haunt me. I did not think you could win, Jon Snow. I did not think that you could possibly defeat the Boltons."

Anya remained mute as Glover turned his gaze to her.

"And I apologise for everything I said, my Lady," he said and Anya was about to scoff, but she remained silent as she nodded her head graciously, unsure if she could say anything to him as Jon nodded his head.

"Your apologies are accepted, Lord Glover," Jon said. "There is no need for apologies, but there is need to discuss what we should do now."

"It is obvious," Lyanna said and Anya saw Sansa shift in her seat. She turned her gaze towards her, but Sansa was looking intently at Lyanna, almost as if she expected her to say something. Anya moved her gaze back to Lyanna then, watching her with an arched brow. "The North knows no other King in the North…but they know that their name is Stark. Only a Stark can lead the North."

Anya frowned, wondering what Lyanna was talking about before she looked to Jon, yet he was looking around at the men before him.

"Jon's name may be Snow, but he is a true Stark. He led us to victory…he is the son of Ned Stark. Jon Snow is most certainly a Stark and I pledge my fealty to him."

Anya didn't know what that would mean. She had no idea what they were talking about as she turned to look at Sansa, wondering if she could clarify as the men began to pull out their swords and yell about Jon becoming the King in the North. She said nothing, instead she watched as Sansa's intent look disappeared and her face fell. It was almost as though she was angry about something. She was looking over to the man who had rode to Winterfell and rescued Jon's army. This was the first time Anya had seen him, but Jon had told her of him.

As he looked back to Sansa, Anya couldn't help but feel something inside of her change. There was something wrong.

"I am telling you what I saw, Jon," Anya informed her husband that evening as she leant against his chest in the large steel tub. He had his arms wrapped around her midriff, holding her to him as her hands rested on top of his, her fingers tickling against his as she told him of what she had seen earlier.

"Sansa would never be upset," Jon mumbled, his eyes closed as he failed to take Anya's concerns seriously. "I think you're mind is running away with you, Anya."

"Perhaps," Anya mumbled. "But there was something about her…almost as if she was supposed to be…crowned…"

Jon scoffed. "I wasn't crowned, Anya."

"They are calling you the King in the North," Anya reminded him, resting her head back onto his chest as chin came to sit on the top of her head. "What does that mean, Jon? Will you have to go into war again?"

"I don't know," Jon admitted. "I suppose it doesn't mean anything for the time being. I have no idea what is happening South…but…I think it means I am protecting the North…or maybe they want revenge on the Lannisters for what they did to my family. I know that revenge would be sweet."

"So you could go off to war again?"

"I don't know," Jon said. "Trust me, Anya, after last time I have no intention of leaving anytime soon. Let's just see what happens…for now I am simply enjoying having a bath with my wife."

"I imagine," Anya said with a small voice before turning her head over her shoulder to look at him. "But just listen to what I say, Jon, please. Just talk to Sansa and ask her what she thinks…something…it felt odd…"

Jon moved to kiss her chastely, his lips lingering on hers as she felt his hands push her tightly against him.

"I will if it stops you from fretting," Jon promised her. "But just try not to think about it tonight. We can deal with it tomorrow."

Nodding, Anya agreed as Jon went back to kissing her and she let him, reciprocating the motion as she adjusted herself and settled on Jon's lap. But her mind was still on Sansa and Lord Baelish. She couldn't get them out of her thoughts. She just had a feeling that something was wrong.

A/N: Let me know what you think!