The sound of the fire crackling in the fireplace, lightening the dark gloomy room gives me the feeble sensation of peace. I have so little of it these days and to have it, if only for a second while I admire her silhouette against the light is something like a soothing balm even though I'm never sure if Arya is for me a source of peace, or my doom made flesh.

Her belly grows by the hour. She no longer can walk freely around the castle without suffering a great deal of discomfort. I wonder if things would have been different if I've gotten her with child sooner. Perhaps she would be happier, or maybe just too concerned about the child to ever consider the idea of betraying me.

She's playing with her new dagger. The one I gave her as a gift for her name day and the imminent arrival of our first born. The silvery blade with light blue veins reflects the fire and her eyes beautifully. Valyrian steel, crafted by the finest blacksmith in the Free Cities. Beautiful and deadly just like my petite wife.

I wonder what kind of joke the gods were playing on me when it first happened. The first taste of the forbidden fruit, the beginning of my addiction, the thing I dare to call love but has nothing of the gentleness of such a feeling. I would devour Arya if I could, just to get intoxicated by her poisonous self and hope that this one last taste would be enough for me to have my heart pacified.

I look at her and see nothing of the vicious warrior that had broken the Twins and made a pyre of the old castle, just because she could. I can only see the main goddess of my pantheon. Lady Death in all of her splendor, the one that denied me. She never knew limits to her will and I've never really wanted her to have limits because, truth be told, there's nothing as alluring as her satisfied and cruel smile. With Arya I am an indulgent fool. Soft at heart and mind for a woman that loves me not.

I rarely get the chance to have a glimpse of the girl I once called sister. She is somewhere inside those grey eyes, though. Innocent, pure and wild as she had always been. I had loved that girl dearly, as a good brother should, but that was before the winter, the war and my own death change me for good.

I'm no longer that boy called Jon Snow that went to the Wall with the dream of becoming a hero. I'm not the boy that abandoned her, and his family to pursue a dream. He died long ago in a frozen land, stabbed by several of his black brothers to allow me to be born from smoke and salt. This filthy and vile creature that I've became. Vengeful, ruthless and cruel like winter, but just like I have never ceased to look for Arya Stark within my wife's eyes, she never stopped to hope that one day I will be Jon Snow again.

We are tired and homesick. The longing we feel has nothing to do with Jon Snow and Arya Stark, but with the home that we once had. We belong to nowhere, but we belong together. At least that was a conclusion that I found and it suits me well.

I could not tolerate the idea of her ever going away again and that was a fear that took me all of a sudden as soon as we were reunited at the Wall. Lady Sansa wished to marry her off to some petty lord, and even nurtured the idea of seeing Arya wedded to Aegon, but that could not be.

I cannot recall the very moment when I stopped to see Arya as the young girl of my youth. What I can remember is the way she started to infect my system, how her eyes never failed to make me feel like a boy of six-and-ten again. The sight of her practicing with a training sword, her gracious movements, the sway of her hips…One day those things had been simply pleasant, until they became the material of my darkest fantasies and I found myself craving for the taste of her.

I suspect that she never wanted me in the same way. Arya tolerates my presence and my weight on top of her whenever my need for her becomes too much to bear, but that is not something that she appreciates. It is frustrating, mostly because she expects me to be that boy again. Jon Snow…The bastard brother that she used to adore.

I tricked her into a trap and both of us got catch in the end. That is the painful truth of it. She will never forgive me for taking away her say in the matter.

I can still remember the day I entered her tent after a battle just to make sure that she was safe and well. The way her half naked body bared the same silvery marks of my own. She matched me, scar by scar. She enjoyed the killing as much as I did and maybe more. She never feared me even when everyone else did.

Maybe it was the wolf in me recognizing his mate. A fierce and fearsome female that would never submit easily.

I can still feel her smooth skin against my calloused hands. The first sensation that a first touch can provoke. The fire burning in my veins when she looked at me through her looking glass and the sound of the vanity object falling to the ground and crashing in a million pieces.

I kissed her neck firsts, fighting the urge to bury my teeth in her flesh. Her body pressed against mine, her heavy breath and tense muscles. I cannot say if it was fear or arousal what she felt. Perhaps both.

She could have fought me. I'm not sure if it would do her any good, but she could have anyway. Instead she remained quiet and motionless while I kissed her bare skin. Arya closed her eyes when I touched her breasts, took a deep breath when my fingers sank in the dark curls that covered her sex.

Before I could even realize what I was doing, I was already inside her, hearing her unsteady breath close to my ear and feeling her body answering to mine. There was no tenderness about that day and we rarely talk about it to each other. She was nothing like my previous relationship, mostly because she lacked the experience about what happens between man and woman. Her kisses were furious ones, her hands savage, the sounds she made…obscene. She clawed my skin and bitted me countless times between a moan and another. She complained when I took her for good and I still can remember how her body protested at the sudden intrusion.

When I finally came back to sense I could see the blood between her tights mixed with my own seed. That should have disgusted me. I should have felt something like shame and nausea, but that never happened. It only made me want her even more and before the break of dawn there would be no doubt that she had been claimed.

Sansa could still try to find her sister a husband since Arya was still a Stark, but no great lord would ever accept a bride as wild, cruel and soiled as she was after that day. I offered a generous dowry for her hand and Sansa had no other option than to sell me her sister in hope that by such a union Winterfell would remain being ruled by Stark blood.

Arya had nearly to be dragged to the godswood in the day of our wedding. Sansa placed several guards in the area to avoid any attempt of escape that Arya might have made. In the end we were wedded and I rejoice at the idea that no one could ever take Arya away from me.

That night I've made her an offer, in order to buy her obedience and surrender. I regret every word though. Mostly because I never believed that one day she would actually do what I've suggested. I trusted her as if Arya was still an innocent child and believed that a woman's heart was ever dutiful and loving. Not my wife's, though. She is much like me to ever consider stopping when she is hurting others.

What kind of man says to his wife on their wedding night that she is allowed to seek pleasure elsewhere as long as she never runs away? A desperate one. A foolish one. One that believed it possible to make his wife fall for him as hopelessly as he had felt for her.

I saw her butchering her enemies, the sheer joy in her eyes at the sight of blood. I raised my glass with her in order to celebrate the fall of Bolton and the Freys, while their bodies rotten at Winterfell's gates. If the world called me Deathless out of fear, it also called her the Dark Lady, the She-Wolf.

That is her. That is the woman I love and hoped to tame, but Arya is a force of nature. She is like water.

I can have a goblet of her, a vase, but it will never be enough until I've drowned in her. But what I fear is the day that I'll try to hold her in my hands and she will slip through my fingers. I feel that this is what is happening now and I can't help to think that I should have killed that man for daring to touch what was mine.

At this though, I can't help to look at her belly and wonder if she was telling me the truth.

She notices that I'm staring at her and look at me with inquisitive eyes. I give her a grin because there's nothing else that I can do. I hope the child she is bearing is mine. If not, I hope it's a girl and I will be less inclined to hate that child for being the proof of Arya's infidelity to me.

I thought about killing her along with that man when I saw them kissing in the godswood. I wanted to do so since the moment he entered my lands and made her smile in a way she hadn't done in centuries. I knew where that could lead them. I feared that day more than any nightmare. While I saw her flirtatious looks at him I prayed for her to remember her vows, remember that I was the one to bring her home and let her be as savage and cruel as she wanted; that I would never deny her anything she asked as long as she stayed by my side.

She broke her promise and I held my hands over the ears of my heart so I would not hate her for doing so.

I see her rising from her favorite seat and walking toward me with her blade in hand. She points it at me and although I know how skilled she is with her weapons I don't even blink at her pointless threat. I just watch and breathe. I just wait for her indignation to come. She knows me well enough to read my mind almost effortlessly.

"I do enjoy the sight of you with a murderous gleam in your eyes." I provoke her and soon enough I feel the blade presses against my throat. "Have I displeased you, love?"

"I know this look and I know the kind of thoughts you have whenever you look at me like this." She hisses at me. "It has been months and until now I've been locked up inside this castle. I haven't seen or talked to any man other than you since that day and all of it by my own free will. What else do you want to finally believe that nothing has happened?"

"You should calm down. All this commotion is not good for the child." I finally say. Truth be told, I do not want to discuss with her. "I was simply wondering if it will be a boy or a girl."

"Does it make any difference as long as it is yours?" Arya insisted. She was tired and anxious. Anyone could see that. Her face was flushed and her belly too low. It could be anytime now.

"Not really." That much was true. I wouldn't matter the gender if the child was indeed mine.

"This is your entire fault and you know it." She said, finally lowering the blade. "You know what you said and you know what you did. Stop looking at me as if I had done anything other than play by your rules. It's not my fault that you are a liar."

"Of that much I'm guilty. Is that what you would like to hear?" I finally replied, making her put her dagger aside and stare at me with anger. "I'm also guilty of the crime of making you my wife and that is the one you will never forgive."

"Stupid." She cursed in a low tone, turning her back at me again. I cannot help a smile. The way she said it and her stubborn attitude reminded me of those days when everything was simple. "If that was the case this blade would be buried in your chest by now. You probably would not die, but at least I would have proven my point. I'm still by your side, though. Heavy and hideous because of your child." She threw her head back slightly and took a deep breath as if she was in pain. I got on my feet immediately.

"Are you feeling well?" I asked and she shook her head stubbornly. She raised her arms as if trying to keep me distant, but I ignore it. "Arya, what is it?"

"I'm fine." She lied. Her face was pale and her forehead was sweating. A small cry of pain escaped her lips before she could reach for the edge of the table for support.

I run to her side, because there was nothing else that I could do. I held her hand, feeling her cold skin against mine. She opened her eyes and looked at me. She was in pain and she was in panic. I kissed her forehead and held her against my body while stroking her hair. I was afraid too.

"I'll take you to bed and send for the maester." I said. I tried to sound as calm as I could and smile at her. "I believe it's time."

I carried Arya in my arms to our bed and woke up the entire castle while on my way to our chambers. She enlaced my neck with her arms and tightened her grip to my cloths whenever the pain was too much for her to take.

I have seen women giving birth before and I could not shake away the image of Dalla and my own mother dying at childbirth. I looked at her one last time before the midwives and the maester shut the door at my face. Young, fierce, frightened and frail.

I haven't prayed in a long time. I do not know for whom I should pray for. I called for the Mother, even though I've never worshiped the Seven. I called for the old gods, the Lord of Light and even The Faceless God to let her live one more day. In the end I called for my own mother and Lady Catlyn to look after my wife and protect her during those long hours of endless screams and pain.

I do not know how long I stayed outside the bedroom, listening to her screams, until I finally decided that I had had enough of it. I commanded them to let me in until the midwives finally allowed me to do so.

Arya looked at me with relief. She held my hand tightly while she pushed the child down. Her face was covered in sweat and her hair was a mess. I could not care less about her looks when I was so afraid of losing her in a blood bed.

A cry cut the night. That was how I realized that the child was finally born. Arya passed out in my arms. She was pale and covered in sweat and blood, her pulse was feeble making me believe that I would lose her for good. The maester nearly dragged me out of the room in order to help Arya.

I was kept outside the room with nothing but my fears for hours, until a midwife came with a bundle in her arms.

She was a tiny pink thing and could easily feat in my calloused hands. I did not know what to do with that tiny human being in my arms. I looked at her as if waiting for her to give me the answer, but she only looked back at me lazily.

The maester came out of the room and told me that Arya would survive, but was still weak and needed to rest. I did not know for how long she would be incapable of tending to the child so I called for a wet nurse to take care of the little girl and gave her a name while her mother could not.

I have never considered names before. I had this vague notion that if we had a boy he would be called Eddard, or Brandon, but never really considered names for girls. I could call her Lyanna, after the mother that I never knew; or Catlyn, after the woman that never wanted me; but that was my daughter and I wished for her to have a full life, a happy one. Just like Arya had been named after our great-grandmother, I chose to name our daughter Lyarra.

At this point I had no doubts that Lyarra was mine and I would kill anyone who dared to say otherwise. Although she was all northerner about her colors, with her grey eyes and thin dark hair, a string of silvery blond hair close to her forehead reminded me of my Targaryen blood.

While Arya was recovering her strength, I had the cradle brought to our chambers and spent my nights guarding my daughter's sleep. Sometimes she wouldn't stop crying and only managed to go back to sleep whenever I laid her on my chest. She likes the sound of my heart beat and it gives me a sort of peace that I'm not used to.

It was just like that how Arya found me, almost a month after the birth. She had left her private chambers, against the maesters orders, just to make sure that I was treating Lyarra right. She smiled at the scene, while I was having a hard time to keep my eyes open. I thought for a second that I was dreaming, but there she was. The same girl that smiled at me when I gave her a tiny sword almost a lifetime ago…She was smiling at me again.

"Never took you for a nurse." She said while coming to rest by my side in bed.

"Sometimes she can't sleep at night. I guess she finds my chest warmer than the cradle." I whispered.

"Smart girl." Arya said looking at Lyarra with a tenderness that I was not used to see in her. "I liked the name you gave her. I was afraid that you would name her after your mother and I'm seriously done with Lyanna's ghost haunting this place. This girl deserves better."

"So I thought." I took a moment to look at her properly. My beautiful and wild wife, with her hair so dark and her eyes so fierce. I wonder if I ever had the slightest chance of not falling in love with her. "You should be resting."

"To the seven hells with it. I can't stand another day in that bedroom and the face of that maester looking at me as if I was an invalid. He only allows me to see her three times a day and I can't even feed her myself. I'm her mother and the Lady of Winterfell, I won't have that old man telling me that I cannot hold my child if I want to, nor you for that matter."

"Who am I to ever deny you anything? Do what you want as long as you don't exceed yourself and put your health in danger. I don't see why you shouldn't hold her or feed her if you want to. I had the wet nurse brought here to help you if needed."

"Look at you. The fearsome Black Prince Jon, the Northern Bastard, The Black Dragon, The White Wolf of Winterfell, The Deathless…Who could ever imagine to see you like this?" She teased me.

"Like what?" I raised a brow in question, making her laugh lightly.

"Like a loving man again. It's almost like…" She stopped all of a sudden.

"Like what?" I insisted.

"It's almost like the old days, when we were happy." She said.

I kissed her forehead for that. Suddenly there was no thoughts about her betrayal, or our shared blood lust and past crimes against the world and each other. There was just the three of us resting on a featherbed in the dead of night.

"I am happy." I whispered close to her ear. "And I wish you to be happy too."

"Are demons allowed to have such a thing as happiness?" She asked while caressing my face with her calloused hands.

"Since when we care about being allowed to do anything? We can always seize happiness. We can always be greedy about it, conquer it like Aegon had." I looked down just to face Lyarra, still sleeping on top of me. "As long as you stay with me, I'll do anything to give you happiness on a silver platter."

"You gave me a home and you've never reject me for being what I am, and although I'm not exactly expressive about my appreciation about it, I do love you for being the place to where I could come back to no matter what. Maybe I just had to understand that there's no use for trying to revive the past since it's dead as we should be. Now future seems brighter, even for demons like us."

She kissed my lips and mussed my hair. I heard her light laugh and felt her imperative touch. Arya was right. There was no use for us to live holding to the past, hoping that one day we would magically turn back into those sweet and innocent children, but we could move one and we could try to rebuild a home on top of the ashes of our shared past and cruelty. For the first time in forever, I believed that I could make her happy.

Author's Note: I've wrote this chapter several times during the past few months but it never seemed to sound right for me. It still doesn't sounds exactly how I intended it to, but I had a hard time trying to make it dark without ruining my two favorite characters for good, especially Jon. I don't this was a particularly good one, but I felt the story was left open. My apologies if this one doesn't correspond to expectations. I hope you like it.

Bee