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Jon had led her back to her room that night, after their dinner was long over. They walked arm in arm, slowly, comforted by the company so that they did not need many words. When he bid her goodnight and kissed her hand, Enrin could not help but feel bereft.
A soft scratching at her door woke her from her reverie, and Night nosed her way into the room. Her pups followed, their tiny paws dragging in exhaustion. Enrin smiled, resting her hand on her wolf's head. She closed her eyes and relived her memories; the wind rushing through her hair as if she had run herself.
She lifted the pups onto her feather bed, and Night leapt up to curl around them. Enrin stripped off her gown and climbed in after them, pulling the fur blanket across her. The candles had long gone out and the fire only smoldered, leaving the room bathed in a dusky glow. She drifted, warm and comforted, her wolf's heavy head resting on her hip.
Xxxxxx
A soft knock made her stir as the morning light drifted lazily through her window. An aged woman poked her head inside, her eyes downcast. Enrin pulled her furs up to her chin, covering herself.
"Pardon my intrusion, my lady," the woman said, her voice creaking like an old tree, "his Grace bid me bring you breakfast. Would you like a bath? I can have a tub drawn." As the woman talked, she set a tray of crisped bread hot from the oven covered in honey, and a plate of figs and grapes. Enrin watched her, unsure of what to do. Night had opened her eyes and was watching the woman's every move, her eyes flickering this way and that. Enrin pulled the blankets closer to her chin. "I would appreciate a bath," she said, as the serving woman watched her expectantly, "thank you."
The woman bowed her head and left the room. Enrin reached for a hunk of bread, chewing thoughtfully. Would she ever get used to having people at her beck and call?
The woman returned shortly, a steaming tub being pushed behind her by a boy Enrin had never seen before. She thanked them, and had to dismiss the serving woman who had thought to help her bathe. "I can handle that," she said, waving a hand good-naturedly, "please, go and break your fast, if you haven't yet. I will be fine here."
The woman smiled, for the first time she had entered Enrin's room. "My lady," she said, curtseying as she left. Enrin thought that perhaps she should have asked her name.
The water in the tub was hot to touch, scented with rose oils that reminded her of the forest on a short lived warm day. She soaked in the tub, scrubbing every inch of her, watching her hair float like a dark underwater plant. When it ran cold, she got out, drying herself with a thick, rough towel.
She opened her wardrobe to find that someone had hung her meager belongings; thin leggings made of dyed cowhide, dresses and under garments that could have used replacing. She sighed, pulling a pair of fur lined black trousers down from the rough wooden hook. She chose a gray dress as well, if you could call it that. It was slit all the way to her hip, and half of the length chopped off to allow full use of her legs.
She dressed quickly, clasping her wolf's cloak around her neck. She laced her boots up her calf, whistling quietly. Night leaped from the bed, jostling her pups awake. They stretched and yawned, leaping from the bed with less grace than their mother.
The wolves followed her down the winding hallways, yipping and snapping at her heels. The doors to the throne room were open, light from the windows spilling into the hall. Castle servants bowed as she entered, and Enrin bid them a good morning.
Jon was at the head table, his cloak clasped at his neck. He poured over tattered maps, her father and Davos Seaworth standing behind him. Tormund looked perplexed, confused even, but listened intently nonetheless. Jon looked up as she entered, and there it was again; the sun burned beneath his skin, and he glowed.
"My lady," he said, hurrying around the table to offer his arm. Enrin took it, gently squeezing his forearm. Her father pressed his lips to her forehead as they neared, and Davos bowed low, giving her a reassuring smile. Her eyes traveled over the maps, grazing over cities she had never seen before.
"What are you looking at?"
Her fingers brushed over the hurriedly drawn castle of Winterfell, the ink rough under her fingers. Jon and Davos exchanged furrowed glances.
"The Seven Kingdoms," Jon replied. He released her arm to pull out her chair. Again the serving woman from her room appeared, a soft smile touching her lips. She filled a goblet with hot, sweet wine, and offered it to Enrin. She returned the woman's smile in thanks. The wine warmed her cheeks as she sipped.
"We are here," Jon said, placing his finger on The map at Winterfell, where Enrin's had just been. He drew a wide arc, and then a circle, with the roughly drawn castle in the middle, "and this is the North."
Enrin's eyes followed his hands, and she found herself wondering what else those hands were capable of. She cleared her throat and took another sip of wine to mask the pink in her cheeks. "The North is as big as all of the kingdoms combined," she said, her eyes taking over the other names there; King's Landing, Dragonstone, Casterly Rock. All of the kingdoms together could fit inside the north. "How have you been ruled for so long, from such a small castle, so many miles away?"
Jon found himself smirking. "I wasn't the one who made that decision," he said, his eyes in a far away place, "my ancestor, Torrhen Stark, bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen after Aegon's Conquest. They call him The King who Knelt."
Enrin watched him, her interest piqued. She took another sip of her wine, the sweet taste dancing across her tongue. She cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips.
"And you, Jon Snow?" She asked, her fingers drumming on the side of her cup, "would you have knelt?"
Jon pulled his eyes from the past, and met hers with steady determination. "That was a long time ago," he said, "and we do not kneel."
A smile touched her lips, and he returned it. She leaned forward, studying the map. The continents were broken up into smaller lands, lines jutting out like the crags of a mountain top, dividing one space from the other. Not like her North, the true North, where each land was free to the next person who claimed it. She would never understand these southerners and their boundaries.
"Well," Enrin said, finishing the last of her wine, "I had best not disturb you. I thought to go for a run with Night. I shall be no further bother."
She stood, brushing the cloth of her dress smooth. Jon came around the table, and took her arm.
"A run, my lady?"
She looked at him, perplexed.
"Do you not hunt with your wolf?"
Jon looked bemused. "I can't say that I've ever tried," he said, waiting for her eyes to fill with reproach. It was Tormund who guffawed loudly, hands on his hips as he rocked to and fro. "Give this southerner a lesson, girl," he said, placing a kiss on her head near her ear. Jon shrugged on his cloak, nodding to Tormund and Davos. The old hand looked troubled, now more often than not, and Enrin found herself wondering if that was just the way his face looked.
Enrin regarded Jon for a moment, and then strode purposely from the room. She heard his footsteps echo after her, scuffling quickly to keep up. She had seen his world, and now it was time to show him hers.
Jon followed behind her quickly, watching the fur of her wolf's head cloak fan out behind her. She walked with her back straight, but her legs languid, like a panther, almost silent in the dreary, dark halls.
She pushed open the great doors of the keep, the cold light of the morning spilling over the threshold. She turned to grin at him, her almost black hair billowing across her face. "Call your wolf, Jon Snow," she said, stepping out into the courtyard.
The snow fell in small flakes, barely reaching the ground. Frost covered the dirt like a winter spider's web, crunching as she stepped. She closed her eyes, her feet dancing over the ground, twirling in a circle. She had missed the fresh, frozen air.
The black wolf appeared like a shade, suddenly there in a space that was otherwise unoccupied. She sniffed at the edge of Jon's cloak, but ignored him, padding silently to Enrin's side. Her pups bound after her, winding around Jon's feet, nipping at his gloved hands. "They look bigger today," he commented, noticing the ever growing scruff around their necks. Enrin smiled, and greeted each pup in turn, tugging their ears and tails gently.
"Where is Ghost?" Enrin asked, her eyes scanning the newly bustling courtyard. Jon's eyes followed hers, scanning the edges of the walls, the open doors leading out into the field. "How am I to know?" He asked, not to her in particular. He had always given Ghost the free run of the castle and lands, so long as he did not kill any of the farmer's livestock in winter town.
Enrin cocked her head to one side, her face bemused.
"Don't you feel him?"
It was Jon's turn to look confused, his thick brows knitting together. "Feel him?"
Enrin smiled, beside herself. "I have much to teach you, Jon Snow," she said , and then came to stand in front of him. She reached up her hands and placed them on either side of his face, her fingers tickled by the roughness of his beard. Jon was stiff, taken aback by her closeness.
"Close your eyes," she said, her grey eyes meeting his black ones, and Jon obeyed. He felt silly, standing in the courtyard, her hands caressing his face. After a few moments, he peaked one eye open again, asking, "What am I to be doing?"
Enrin scoffed, her eyes rolling, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
"Close your eyes," she told him again, resting her fingers on his temples gently, "let your mind go. Let it go to him."
Again, Jon obeyed, squeezing shut his eyes, screwing up his nose in concentration. They stood there for a few moments, Jon listening to her calm, soothing breathing, matching his own to it. He made to open is mouth to remark how strange they must look, how everyone must be watching them, but then he felt it.
Small at first, like trying to recall a smell long forgotten. Something familiar, that jogged his senses, but he could not place it. Jon felt Enrin shift closer, their chests almost touching, warm breath mingling in the frigid air. Shapes danced in the darkness, his eyes flicking this way and that behind his lids. He felt her with him, unobtrusive, lending her mind like a crutch to his. "Call to him," she said, and Jon could not help but almost feel her lips brush his as she spoke, his sharp intake of breath giving him away. Instinctively, he pressed himself against her, chest to chest, half expecting her to pull away. Enrin only returned the pressure
'Ghost,' Jon thought, and he could almost feel the wolf's ears perking in interest. Jon tasted blood in his mouth, savory, like metal. 'Ghost, where are you?'
And suddenly, the world opened in front of him. The stabled loomed above him, horses stamping and snorting in protest of his presence. Beneath him, a foal lay dead in the hay, its legs rigid. It had frozen in the cold night. Blood seeped from a bite wound in its neck, congealed and and almost black, not he hot red blood of a fresh kill. He moved then, away from the carrion, he would find something more fresh in the godswood.
He carried himself to the trough, meant for horses. Thin frost covered the top of the water. Red eyes stared back at him, white fangs and a lolling tongue, bright snowy white ears perked in interest.
Jon felt the air rush from his lungs, and his eyes snapped open so suddenly he thought they might fall from his head. Enrin met his gaze, so close their noses touched. A current passed through them, hot and electric, sizzling through the air between them like lightning. After a moment, Enrin released his face, pulling herself back almost reluctantly. "You see, Jon," she said, her voice soft and gentle, like he might spook at the slightest noise, "you can have so many eyes."
Jon's breath came quick and harsh. "What did you do to me?"
Enrin took a step back from him, looking almost offended, her slim brows knitting together. "I did nothing," she said, her tone defensive and almost hurt, "the door was left ajar. I simply helped you open it."
Ghost appeared then, at Jon's side, nosing his head under Jon's arm. He looked at the wolf, almost eye level. Ghost's gaze was calm, inviting, as if to say 'Yes, finally, I've been waiting so long.'
Jon moved his eyes to Enrin, who stood before him with her arms wrapped around Night's neck, almost using her as a buffer.
"Will you show me again?"
Her shoulders relaxed, and Enrin could feel her doubt leave her, like a vice releasing her chest. "I will, any time you like," she said, happiness coloring her words, "but first, we must run."
She whipped around then, Night and her children hot on her heels. She raced past the guards, bounding into the snow covered field, white dust kicking up after her. Ghost met Jon's eyes again, cocked his head almost in a shrug, and loped after them. Jon cleared his throat, looking about him as he started at a brisk walk, nearing the open gates. Enrin and the wolves had made it half way to the godswood by now, the trees looming before them like hands. "Seven Hells," Jon exclaimed, before breaking into a sprint, breezing past the guards and leaving their confused greetings of "Your Grace?" In his wake.
Enrin turned to smile at him, for a fleeting moment, before disappearing into the godswood like a woodland spirit.
Jon sailed past the trees and then slowed, his breath mingling about his head like a crown. His eyes scanned the trees, sunlight dancing through the branches. In the distance, a twig cracked.
Jon moved toward the noise, hiking his cloak up to avoid it snagging on the underbrush. He walked with ease, knowing where each and every rock jutted from the ground, covered by the snow. He had grown up in these woods, silently watching his father pray in the godswood, following the herds of deer to see how long he could go without being heard. Once when he was no more than five, he had followed them so long that it had grown dark, and his father had gone out with half the castle to retrieve him. Ned had found Jon sitting at the base of the great weirwood tree, nestled beneath its red leaves, sleeping soundly in the night. Jon treasured that memory of his father. After Ned had woken Jon, they sat together, both wrapped in his father's great fur cloak, watching the stars. Jon had asked about his mother, as he often did at that age, and he remembered vividly the look on his father's face. Ned had closed his eyes, only for a moment, and when he opened them, they were wet.
"We'll talk about your mother, I swear it," he had said, Ned Jon remembered exactly the way his voice had sounded, far away and close at the same time, "one day, when you're old enough, I will tell you everything." And now that Jon was old enough, his father was not here.
Jon entered a small clearing, where a break in the trees above made a halo of light, on one patch of dying green grass. Jon stared at it, almost in awe, as if he had forgotten what grass looked like.
The twig cracked behind him again,and this time, he turned too late.
Enrin hit him square in the back like a ton of falling bricks, and together they twisted, falling to the ground. Jon landed with a loud 'oomf' on his shoulder, rolling onto his back with cat-like agility. Enrin landed astride him, her hands pinning his wrists to the ground, her face inches from his. She laughed, breathless, letting the sunlight spill onto her face like golden rain.
"You are so slow for someone so young," she teased, her mirth echoing off the trees. Jon gasped as he sucked the air back into his deflated lungs, craning back his head to see her better. The sun shone around her like a shroud, the shadows leaping across her face as she shook her hair out, her wolf's hood falling to her shoulders. "Am I?" he said, and then suddenly her wrists were in his hands, and he rolled them so that his hips were positioned between her knees, and it was his hands now pressing hers into the soft grass. "I'm not so slow that I can't best you," he taunted back, and she laughed from deep in her chest. Their noses brushed together as Jon instinctively leaned closer, and before he realized what had happened, his lips had brushed hers briefly, barely a whisper. Enrin let her laughter die with a soft sigh, the air becoming closer and deeper between them. She watched him, lips parted, inches above her, wondering what the honorable king Jon Snow would do.
Jon could not let himself think his way out of this. In one fleeting moment, he lowered himself down onto her, his elbows on either side of her head, and his lips met hers.
Enrin leaned into him, returning his kiss with fervor. She had meant it to be a soft, chaste thing, and nothing more, but the moment their lips touched, everything changed.
The air around them seemed to flame, lightning passing between their lips. Her hands that had once been limp on either side of her head, found themselves into his hair, tangling into the roughly tied knot at the back of his head, to keep it from his face. Jon let out a soft groan, and she parted her lips to invite him closer. His tongue probed her mouth; shy at first, and then harder, all of the doubt about their first meeting melting away. He rolled them again, so once more she was astride him, his hips pressing into hers. She felt him then, against her belly, and she flexed her hips with a feather light touch against him. She mewled softly into his mouth, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her thighs, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to remain here, in the only patch of sunlight left in the world, forever.
Jon broke their kiss first, after what felt like an eternity, and pressed his forehead to hers. They panted together, fingers intertwined, the quiet of the forest surrounding them. It was Enrin that broke their comfortable silence first, however, resting her chin on his chest so that she could look at his face. "Should we move?" she asked, her fingers brushing across the cold, stiff grass, "Or can we stay in this place forever? You make it feel almost warm here. Build us a castle, Jon, and I'll hunt for our food." She felt his chest rumble beneath her as he laughed, the first true laugh she'd heard from him since they met.
"What, and live in sin? No, my lady, we have an appointment tonight with the heart tree." His eyes were shining with something Enrin couldn't place.
"Come then, you Grace," she said, only half mocking, rolling to her feet swiftly. She took his hand and pulled him up as well, placing one more chaste kiss on his lips, "we should find some food to feed our guests this night. Come, let me show you how to kill something."