Chapter XXX: The Wise and The Fools

It was useless.

Jon was stronger, and bigger. She could pull a dagger on him, but she didn't hate him that much. She didn't hate him at all, not really. But she was angry. Gods, she was so angry she could punch him bloody. Him and Gendry both. The stupid bull-headed idiot had ruined everything. She was now trapped in Jon's room, when she should've been riding to King's Landing.

"What is the meaning of this?" His voice although low, was biting.

"I could ask you the same."

He took a step forward, and his eyes didn't soften a bit.

"Don't play games with me."

"Don't use that voice with me. I'm not scared of you."

Jon ran his hand through his hair, obviously frustrated.

She wanted to see her sister. Arya couldn't believe she actually preferred Sansa's company over Jon's for once.

"Do I need to lock you inside a fucking tower, Arya, for you to actually listen to me and not run away every chance you get?"

"Don't be stupid!" Her blood was reaching her neck. Their voices were high enough that she feared the entire castle would hear them. "I wasn't running away! I was only-"

"Doing this for revenge, Arya? Is it so important to you?" Jon sounded tired now, and disappointed. It made Arya angrier.

"You didn't see them die. I did. I saw Father being held down like a cow to be butchered. I saw Robb's mutilated body. The hell do you know about anything! What they did to Father..." She felt herself shaking when the pictures invaded her memory. She felt like a little, helpless girl like she was then. Yoren protecting her, then the Hound. Maybe they shouldn't have. At least she wouldn't have lived to regret it.

Jon pulled her to him, and Arya struggled. Her eyes burned.

"If only I was brave enough." She was sobbing now. It was useless to even try and stop her tears, not when Jon was looking at her with so much sadness and pain, and for a second she could see Robb in him, and Ned Stark.

"You were eleven. How could you have stopped them?" His voice was so kind, and soothing, that she wanted to be angry at him and shout at him and shove him, and yet she didn't. She wasn't a Wolf then, or a Faceless Man. She was just Arya Stark, Ned's little girl, Robb's reckless sister and her mother's headstrong daughter. She didn't want to be, not now of all times, but she was.

Jon hushed her, like older times, like she'd just had a horrible dream and she had ran to him for respite. When was the last time she had cried like this?

With Jon, everything was so much easier, and so much harder at the same time. He had always been home, in some way or another. Being her bastard half-brother, now her cousin and her King. And looking at him always took her back to the Winterfell where she grew up, and it was a blessing less than it was a curse. She looked at him, and she realized she could never forget her Winterfell as long as she had Jon, and at times it was worse than anything at all. It was the little girl in her that had never died, and never will, and kept acting like a weak child everytime her family crossed her memory.

"You would never understand," she said, pulling back, running the back of her cold hands against her tear-chained cheeks. She was slowly getting the picture of Father and Robb and Mother out of her head, and her breathing kept getting even as she did, but slower than she'd have liked it to.

"I understand more than you think."

"You don't!"

Jon's hand reached for her own, and he brought it to his lips.

"I would lose my mind if something were to happen to you."

She averted her eyes. Jon quickly held her face by his hand and made her look at him forcefully. Arya flinched and her defensive instinct made her push at him strongly. But her mouth opened in a sigh when Jon brought her close to him, his breath fanning her face.

"This would all be for nothing." His eyes were closed, and his voice was hoarse. "I've lost so many people in my life. I won't lose you too. Not you of all people. I refuse to."

The scar on his face reminded her of her own. Jon was a fighter, and yet he was stopping her from doing the same. Arya felt a heavy pull in her chest, as she reached up and pressed her lips against his fading scar, and Jon hissed. She knew it wasn't the pain.

Arya dragged her lips down his face, without withdrawing. Jon kept his eyes closed, and without thinking too much of it, without thinking at all, Arya kissed his lips. She could feel them trembling underneath hers, and she pulled back only to kiss him again, at the same spot.

Jon responded this time, opening his mouth and kissing her back, slowly taking her head in both his hands. A shiver ran down her entire body, and Arya pressed closer to him, tilting her head just slightly so he could kiss her better.

Jon's warm tongue slid slowly between her lips, and Arya felt tears hit the back of her eyes. Gendry had known how to kiss but he had been clumsy. Jon was not. Jon had kissed a hundred times before her, or so she felt like when his experiences tongue started moving inside her mouth, and knew exactly where to touch.

Dany.

Her tongue went out to meet his and he groaned.

He had kissed Dany.

Arya pulled back quickly, and pushed him away with her arms.

"You're married," she huffed out, panting.

Jon looked taken aback. He licked his lips, and Arya felt that shiver again.

"And you're my brother."

She could see that the words had hit Jon hard. She didn't say the right words, but she didn't know what the right words even were.

He blinked at her a few times, and without saying anything, turned around to leave.

Arya felt like screaming at him. But it was she who had started this. It wasn't his fault if he hated it, if he didn't want to look at her now, or felt disgusted at her.

"You'll not leave this room until I say so," he said. His voice was small, like he was forcing the words out because he had to.

"But this is your chambers."

"I'll sleep somewhere else."

"So you won't let me go?" She tried one more time.

Jon didn't answer her. He opened the door, and walked outside. Arya could see Sansa standing but before her sister could look at her, the door was closed, and Arya heard the click of a lock seconds after.

She lashed out at the door, and banged on it with her fists in anger.

"I'm not your prisoner, you stupid King! Get me out of here!"

But no one was there, or if there was, no one said anything. Arya kicked the door in anger, but the only result it gave was her foot being shook with a throbbing pain. A few more fists, and she gave up. It was of no use. He wouldn't come. Instead of the stupid kiss, she should've stabbed him with Needle. She should've knocked him out and made a run for it. But here she was, cheeks flushed from exhilaration, and there was no way to escape this stupid room, his stupid room.

Arya pressed her fingers against her lips, trying not to think of why or what she had actually done, or what it could mean. She had gotten used to angry and stubborn Jon since returning, and maybe him being angry about the kiss would have made it worse, but at least then she would've known what was going on in his head. Gods knew when she'd see him again and what he'd say to her. Could she live with Jon hating her? It wouldn't matter with another person, but Jon was different.

Arya laid on his bed, dropping Needle on the floor. It was warm with the hearth glowing brightly. The furs had his smell, and she curled against them. Contrary to what she was expecting, her eyes closed and the sleep was blissful. She dreamt of her and Jon, fighting and kissing, almost like a memory, and on the east side of the room, on one of the open windows, was a raven watching everything.

One with three eyes.

It was hours till daylight, when Arya woke up, sweat on her chest and neck. She shrugged the furs off her body, and cherished the coldness on her damp skin. She had forgotten it was Jon's chambers she had slept in.

Memories of last night invaded her head with a terrible headache.

The door clicked. Arya expected Jon to come in. She prayed it was Jon.

But it wasn't.

It was Sansa, and behind her was the Hound, pushing Bran's chair.

"Bran told us you'd be awake," Sansa said with a smile. "I'm sorry for what happened last night."

Arya shook her head. Headache forgotten, she leapt out of the bed.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, but she already knew the answer.

"Getting you out of here," Sansa said. "Help you get to King's Landing."

"Why?" She looked at Bran. "Jon would be furious with you."

"I know," Bran replied. "Could you leave us for a while, Sandor, and you too, Sansa."

Sansa looked disappointed at being sent away but she nodded anyway.

"I'll be right outside."

Arya saw the Hound roll his eyes and follow her. She looked at Bran and found him studying her silently.

"I know what happened with Jon," he said calmly.

Arya's heartbeat paced up.

"Yes, we had an argument and he left in anger."

"No. I know what happened after."

Arya's eyes widened. She didn't speak, but she knew. That raven. It was Bran.

"I do not judge you," Bran said, ever so wisely. Arya could at least assure herself that he didn't look like he was judging her. But it was hard to read Bran, mostly because he knew she was reading him.

"It's not something that would happen again," she promised, the words easy on her tongue.

"He doesn't hate you, if you're worried."

Arya smiled half-heartedly at her little brother, then kneeled before him to get their faces at the same height.

"Why are you doing this, knowing that he disapproves? I wouldn't take you as someone to go against him."

Bran smiled. He looked so much older when he did. Sometimes, her heart ached for her brother. He knew everything about everyone, but no one truly knew anything about him. She knew half of his secrets, and he knew all of hers. She wanted to be there for her brother, but she didn't know how to do so without truly understanding him.

"I have my reasons. Someday I'll tell you all of them."

Arya hugged him tightly.

"If you see danger, run away from it," he said.

Arya rolled her eyes.

"And take care of yourself, sister," he said. "I'll be there with you all the time."

Arya hugged him again. She could feel a sadness coming from him. But she doubted he'd say anything if she asked. Arya picked up Needle from the floor, and grabbed her cloak. Her siblings had went against Jon for her, the least she could do now was to get her revenge, and theirs.

She opened the door to find Sansa and the Hound, facing away from each other. Sansa gave her a vibrant smile, and handed her a pouch of money.

"So we're ready to go?"

Arya turned in surprise to the Hound who was straightening his clothes.

"Where in the Seven Hells are you going?"

The Hound gave her a snort.

"Your sister told me to keep you safe."

"I don't need your help."

"Arya, please," Sansa begged. "To give me piece of mind."

Arya didn't want anyone else to get involved, not in something like this. But Sansa's worried face looking at her wouldn't let her disagree. She looked at Sandor, who she was sure only agreed to this because Sansa asked him to, not because he really wanted. Gods, the last person she wanted to accompany her was him.

"He annoys me," she blurted out.

"Not more than you annoy me." He shrugged. "But I wouldn't mind meeting my brother again."

Arya scrutinized him. The Hound hated his brother, but hating him did not mean he was stronger than him. There must be some truth in the rumour that the Mountain was now a disfigured monster.

"You're not going against him. He'll kill you," Arya said.

The Hound looked bored.

"Can we get out of here? And you don't decide whom I go against."

Arya was unsure, but nevertheless bade her siblings goodbye. Sansa looked sad, but she smiled. Bran only nodded.

He'll be with me.

Winterfell was out of their sights when dawn broke. Arya looked back once, mumbled one small apology to Jon in her head, and rode on. Nymeria kept her distance, much to the Hound's relief.

"Just like old times, wolf bitch."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Best you don't annoy me. I know how to use my sword better this time."

"I don't plan on dying on the road."

"You better don't. Not even in there." She stole a glance at him. "Sansa would be dejected."

They didn't speak for hours after that.

Arya looked back again at Nymeria, and she stared back with her golden eyes.

Bran.

A boy has more courage than sense, Jaqen H'ghar had told her. Maybe it was true.