'How is she?' Jon asked the Red priestess.
He had just come back from the dead but this pale girl laying down on his bed seemed to have come back from hell. Who had it worse in this game of life? Jon could care less about this kind of competition. The most he felt was guilt. Guilt that he could have saved her before. But he didn't. He remembered refusing to help her when hearing about her wedding to the Bolton's bastard. The day he proclaimed to have no sisters and that his devotions were all in his vows. What a horrible person he was, he thought with disgust.
'Alive but at what cost.' Melisandre responded blankly while gently tucking the cover over the girl's nose. The tip of it was frostbitten because of her long and desperate escape in the cold. Melisandre didn't know her, but she acknowledged the abuse she had suffered. Women and children paid the most painful price in this cruel world. She reached for her necklace, finding comfort in it.
'Your sister?' her tone softened, all her attention shifted to the swaying flames of the only candle in the room.
'No, the daughter of the steward of my father,' he responded absently.
Because he recognised this girl as being Sansa's friend, Jeyne Poole. And he felt horrible to be relieved that the girl marrying that monster was not in fact one of his sisters. He would have never forgiven himself if Sansa or Arya suffered the same abuse as she had. When Jeyne told her journey from King's Landing to Winterfell, Jon felt sick.
'I'm sorry I had to pretend to be Arya,' she nervously finished, playing with the hem of her thorned dress. Jeyne never looked at his eyes while describing what Ramsay Bolton did to her. Ramsay Bolton and his dogs. Ashamed and disgusted in herself, she wanted nothing more than finding solace in her mother's arms. But she was dead as her father.
'He would have killed me in the most cruel way.' She broke in tears and her small sobs and hiccups filled the room once more.
Jon sighed at the memory, at least she was safe now. He would keep her safe, he promised that to her. He didn't know why he had to say those words out loud. To make amends of his past decision or to convince himself that he was a better man? Jon didn't know. But the only thing he was certain of was that he would kill Ramsay himself. He will make sure this man will never touch her or any woman ever again.
His thoughts were broken by a loud altercation coming from the courtyard. Rough voices followed by the sound of many swords being pulled out silenced the air. Peering through the window, Jon could merely see two silhouettes by the gate.
One very tall and a smaller one.
Davos knocked at the door, an old lantern in his hand, he beckoned Jon to follow him.
'He asked for you, something about getting his price for a delivery,' he vaguely explained while descending the wooden staircase opening to the training yard.
A tall man with half of his face and scalp covered in burn scars was facing in all his high the numerous men encircling him. He was gripping in his grasp a boy whose bang obscured his eyes.
'Wher's the fucking Stark's bastard?' He snarled, positioning the small body before him as a shield.
'Let go of me. You piece of shit!' Jon could recognize this voice from thousands and stopped dead in his tracks. The small boy who was in reality a girl puffed up her cheeks, blew out a long breath before kicking in between the legs of the tall man. He cried in pain before throwing the girl on the ground as she weighed nothing.
'Fucking little cunt. I'm too fucking tired to put with your fucking shit,' the man rasped with a sigh, he sound almost out of breath. As if exhaustion had gotten the better of him. His greasy hair and mismatched armor with many old bloodstains on it made him less intimidating. Nevertheless, Jon could recognize a killer when he saw one.
He crossed the ground toward the little form on the ground, cutting a straight line through the now silent men who parted before him. She straightened up with difficulty, her eyes criss-crossing his face.
'Arya,' he gently called her, afraid that she would not recognize him after all these years. But she strolled past everyone and he almost heard her saying his name before receiving the most heartwarming hug of his life. She clutched desperately at him as if her life depended on it, her head hiding in the fur of his cloak. And Jon could feel for the first time since his resurrection, relief swelling his chest.
He tightened their embrace and smiled. His little sister was alive and safe. Jon couldn't comprehend how homesick he felt before having Arya in his arms. Family, she was family. A little light of hope on these dark times, that's what she was.
Guiding Arya by the shoulders, they moved in silence to the communal room. He motioned for Davos to follow him, the stranger in their footsteps.
In this dark room lighted only by small embers in the fire, Arya began recounting her story. A warm orange light shone on her face and her distant grey eyes fixed on the fireplace, she talked. She talked about a kitchen boy whose body was almost cut in half by the very stranger she came here with. Sandor Clegane or the Hound, that's what they called him back in King's Landing. Her eyes never flickered while remembering the day their father died. She didn't see him, she explained to Jon. Only a vague memory of a noise before panic and chaos broke down on the place.
'It was light like a reap apple falling from a tree,' she murmured with an absolute blankness.
But it was when talking about Robb that agitation raised in her voice. By reflex she touched the pommel of Needle and Jon could see how her joints went white.
'I saw them, Jon. How they paraded his body on that horse,' she couldn't keep the tremor from her voice. Her eyes far away as she reenacted the memory while talking.
'They sewed Grey Wind's head on his headless body, you knew that?' she said, her voice low enough to scoop off the floor. Jon could feel the anger and hopelessness emanated from her voice. He listened carefully to her words, his heart thumping heavily in his chest. All of this was madness.
'And the smell,' she paused, wiping angrily the tears escaping her eyes.
'Dead bodies everywhere, the ground was soaking in blood and mother...' unable to contain her pain anymore, she broke in tears but immediately turned her back on him. It seemed that it was the first time she let her guard down in front of anyone. Her pain locked carefully in her heart. Jon felt hopeless watching her shoulders rise up and down from cries. He was not his father nor the late lady of Winterfell, he didn't know how to comfort her. The loving embrace of a parent could never be replaced by someone else.
But he knew someone who might try.
A high-pitched whistle went out from his lips and Ghost came at his feet. The enormous direwolf had previously been sleeping in the back of the room, hiding in the darkness. Sandor flinched in his chair while the animal silently walked past him.
Ghost was now as the same height as Arya would be if she was standing up. The flow of her tears calmed down at once and she offered her hand for the direwolf to smell, letting him recognize her. He cocked his head queerly at her, examining her as she was a stray pup before whimpering happily and licking her face with his rough tongue. A warm smile transformed her face. For a couple of seconds, Arya let herself be the little girl she used to be. She giggled, wiping with a playful disgust her face before petting his white fur.
Jon watched the interaction in silence, a fond smile on his face.
It was already late into the night when she finished her story. She seemed lighthearted as if a heavy weight lifted out of her shoulders. There was still anguish and anger in her heart, but she was now with two familiar faces. And that's all she could ask for.
With Jon by her side, she felt at home.
The room fell into a comfortable silence for a moment until a scream fractured the air. Arya leaped to her feet, Needle already in her hand. But Jon wordlessly exchanged a knowing look with Davos. The old man left the room without a word.
And that's how Jon began to talk about Winterfell and the Bolton. He talked about Jeyne and Theon and how they managed to escape Ramsay.
'He has Rickon', his head bowed down in defeat.
Theon had swore to him, knees and hands down on the ground, that Bran was still alive. Jon wanted to believe him but it was hard knowing how he betrayed Robb.
'We'll take back Winterfell and save him,' Arya reassured him with a stern voice. She seemed so confident in her statement that it eased some of his fears.
'Yes, we will,' he reaffirmed it with more conviction. She smiled at him for the first time. It was something that they knew in their hearts. Taking back what was rightfully theirs.
'What about Sansa?' she blurted out. She confessed to him how they haven't been really on good terms since the incident with Lady. They had avoided each other and talked the bare minimum and only when their father urged them to do so.
'I'm sure she is safe in King's Landing but...' the words barely out of her mouth when she was cut by the gravelly laugh of Sandor Clegane.
'Safe in that fucking pile of shit?' he continued, mirth in his tone.
'You Starks are extremely naive, I almost pity you,' he paused before staring dead in her eyes.
'Do you want to know what they did to your sister? Your sister who called me my lord with all the bullshit of a proper lady?' he taunted her with a mocking voice as he was going to tell a funny story.
Arya held his gaze, fearless.
'Beaten, humiliated, belittled, that's how the Lannister deal with the daughter of a traitor. Hated by all the fucking people of that city. I saw that with my own eyes,' he rasped, his voice becoming louder as he spoke.
'How they wanted to fucking rape her little cunt before reaping her body in parts,' he roared, the words hanging heavily in the air.
'Enough!' Jon's voice was firm and cold. It clattered with repercussions on the walls.
'Enough,' he repeated quietly. He faced the tall man, barring the view from Arya, his hand on the pommel of Longclaw.
'Safe? What a fucking joke,' Sandor finished, staring mournfully at the window.
Sensing Arya's disquiet, Ghost nudged at her shoulder before resting his head on her lap. She wanted to bite back at Sandor as she always did during their journey on the road but he crushed the little strength she had left with his harsh last words.
She embraced Ghost, finding comfort in the soothing beat of his heart. And for the first time since escaping King's Landing, she didn't utter the names of her enemies before closing her eyes. Unshed tears lingered in the corners of her eyelids, and as she slept, Arya dreamed of Winterfell.
Jon didn't sleep well that night, haunted by the blue eyes of a girl with hair kissed by fire. In his dream they were on the Wall. Snow swirling in the air, she tipped her face to meet the frozen flakes before fixing her eyes on the endless horizon. She was as old as the last time he saw her before leaving for Castle Black. But her eyes told a different story. Something ancient and sorrowful emanated from them. So small in her light purple dress, she didn't seem to mind the cold. But Jon could see how her skin reflected the unnatural light blue color of the sky. A distant howling of a lonely wolf broke the peaceful moment and she slowly turned her head towards him. She was saying something but no sounds came from her mouth. Jon recognized the regret in her face and saw how her voiceless words made her blue eyes sparkle with sadness. She gave him a hopeless look as though she was waiting for a response. A hand clutching at her chest she held his gaze for a second before turning back in the other direction.
'Wait!' He wanted to say to her but no sound came out. He was slowly going in her direction but changed his pace seeing her silhouette quickly disappearing from his view.
As he was running, the white of the Wall and the blue of the sky shifted into a pitch black scenery. With no ends or beginnings, Jon could only see the red of her hair and her frail figure guiding him into the darkness. The clattering sounds of his steps on the invisible ground and his loud breaths were the only things he could hear.
Minutes or hours Jon didn't know for how long he was running. The path seemed to stretch endlessly before him. But he didn't stop to catch his breath, she was still before him and he would not lose her.
Another beat passed and he managed to catch up with her. She was now holding a candle and was no longer alone. A grey direwolf, the size of a dog was pacing at her feet. Lady, Jon recognized the animal. Her golden eyes were looking straight ahead.
She was so small and died so young.
His attention snapped back to the girl before him, he saw how the hot wax ran down her hand and how she didn't flinch at it. Her long hair obscuring her face, Jon couldn't see her expression. But when he reached out for her, she ceased walking and glanced at him over her shoulders.
Half of her face faded into a skull.
'Sansa' he heard himself calling before waking up in a pool of cold sweat.
[AN] This chapter was kindly editing by Skate815freckles, thank you!