Chapter IX: The Haven

She stood in the snow surrounded by feral wolves baring their teeths, but Jon had never seen anyone look so calm. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, too short perhaps for him to muss it properly, but he pushed the thought aside for now. He took a tentative step towards her with nervous anticipation pooling in his gut. He was praying to the Gods this wasn't a jape. He wouldn't be able to take it if it was. The men stood transfixed in fear, and the night was uncharacteristically quiet, as if the very air had stopped moving around them.

He didn't know what stopped his guards from coming before him, but he couldn't appreciate it enough. When he was but an arm away from her, he looked at her properly, trying to recall the features of his little sister. He found nothing alike, except her eyes, grey and silver and glistening. He stood still, afraid of reaching out to her, afraid it was a dream, a figment of his imagination, and that it would disappear the moment he let himself believe it was real.

The corner of her lips were turned upwards in a smile, and she raised her hand up to touch his face, to place her fingers on his cheek with the gentlest of touches, and he closed his eyes. It was familiar and warm and he could swear to the Old Gods he had never felt his heart beat this fast before.

"Arya," he breathed out, doubtful if the wind carried the words to her ears.

She smiled brightly, brighter than the fires in Winterfell's hearths. She had to tilt her head up to look at him properly, and he realized that she looked so different that if he hadn't seen the wolves with her or hadn't memorized her eyes all those years, he wouldn't have been able to recognise her at all. The thought angered and shamed him.

She straightened in surprise when Jon placed his hand around the back of her neck. He pulled her face to his and placed his forehead against hers.

"Tell me this is not a dream," he begged.

"Of course it's not," she whispered. She sighed and pulling back, turned around to face her pack, waiting patiently behind her. She nodded to them, and almost magically, the wolves started retreating. Only the two direwolves remained, now closely watching their masters. Arya turned to face Jon, and he saw the hint of moisture around the rim of her eyes, but no tears fell.

Sansa was sobbing by the time Jon told all of them who Arya was. He uttered the words in great difficulty. Something was not right. He remembered meeting Sansa a few moons ago, and their teary embrace. Sansa, who he had barely talked to during their childhood. He should have held Arya tighter, and kissed her head more passionately, but it hadn't happened. What had happened to the words he had wanted to say to her, the smiles he had wanted to give her? Why did Arya feel more like a stranger than Sansa?

He kept looking at her as Sansa led her inside the castle. The men had went back to their stations, though flustered by the appearance of the wolves.

"Where have you been?" Sansa asked her, as Arya plopped down on the ground near the hearth. Sansa's voice was still choked, and Jon sat down on the chair next to them. Arya took off her cloak and held her hands over the fire. The flames danced across her face, her eyes shining and looking lighter in color than the usual grey.

"Far away," she answered.

She looked at Jon and frowned. He smiled, and she seemed to relax a little.

"I've missed you," Sansa said. Jon tensed without realizing it. He stood up and Arya did as well.

"You should take some rest," he told her.

Sansa protested, but Arya nodded. She took the furs Sansa had ordered to be brought, and wrapped it around herself.

"I think that would be wise," she said.

Jon nodded and bade them a short goodnight, feeling her eyes on his back as he turned and started walking.

When he closed the door of his chambers behind him, he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

But before he could take another step, the door was pushed again, and in the matter of a second, she was in his arms, burying her head into his neck. Jon gasped and held her tightly, the position being all to familiar from their childhood days, remembering the time they had parted and he had held her just like this. Suddenly, he felt her shaking, and the warm tingle of her tears on his neck.

"I've missed you," she said against his neck, and her voice no longer sounded composed, but like she was relieved and happy.

"I've missed you too, little wolf," he said lovingly, his own eyes filling with tears.

He held her like that for minutes, then she pulled away, and Jon pressed kisses on her face, not caring that he was kissing her tears.

Arya ran her hand through his hair, and let out a sob.

"I am sorry," she said, on the brink of crying again. "But I couldn't hold you like this in front of so many people. They don't..."

He knew what she meant.

They don't have the right.

He finally understood. Why she hadn't embraced him then, and why he hadn't. Because it was too pure for anyone's eyes but theirs, that both their tears were for each other only.

When Arya pulled out a thin blade out of the furs, Jon laughed. She looked at him with a frown, but he kept laughing. He took her hand and pulled her towards his chest, their Needle dropping from her hands as she wrapped her arms around him again.

"You kept it," Jon said, kissing her hair with fervour, his smile refusing to leave his lips.

She is here, he realized. This isn't a dream. She is really back.

"Little sister," he whispered, finally feeling as if his family was whole again.

As if he was whole again.

A/N: If you have any questions about this chapter, you can leave it in the review section or PM me, because I think the beginning of this chapter wasn't what most of you expected.

I'll update soon. 3