Jon
"All I'm saying sir is how can you be sure."
Vero's face was locked on his as he said his piece but Jon's found that his gaze was drifting past the man and locking onto his Steward who was glowering with his eyes fixed on the fire. He was sitting around the camp with his men, while Arya waited in his tent twenty feet away. He itched to go to her to hear about her life these last few years and what on Earth had brought her here but he knew he had to settle things with his men first. He hoped that Olly would speak his mind soon. Not knowing how the boy felt about things was making Jon dissatisfied and restless. Olly was one of his closest men, and having something like this hanging between them did not sit well with him. Still, it would have to wait, so he indulgently he turned back to Vero's question.
"I know her brother. She's my own flesh and blood, I practically raised her when we were children. I spent the last three days trying to work out why the boy seemed so familiar and now it all makes sense. The way she spoke of Winterfell, the way she moved. I know its her."
"But what if its another disguise? How do you know this is the real person and not just some other mask?" Vero said, pressing the issue.
"Well, whoever she is we can be sure her true identity is female," Olly said, speaking for the first time since they'd finished making camp, "I could feel her breasts pressed against my back when we rode. Thought I was going insane, you know? Feeling things when my mind was wondering. Guess it all makes sense now."
Jon felt a wave of inexplicable anger at this comment but suppressed it. There had been nothing lewd in the boy's manner, and were it not for the blush that had begun to creep across his face you'd have thought he had merely reported on the state of the weather from his tone.
"Its her." Jon said again, hoping that he put enough finality in his tone to settle the matter. He straightened, "but in the morning I'll bring her out and you lads can question her all you like. But for tonight, lets get some rest, aye? It's been a long and trying day, and we've got some decisions to make tomorrow about whether or not we continue on to the Dreadfort. I'll want to hear what each of you have to say on the matter in the morning when you've slept on it a bit. But for now, I'll bid you goodnight and see to my kinswoman. Steward, a word before you rest?"
Maddox and Vero nodded at Jon, understanding that they'd been dismissed for the evening. Grudgingly, Olly got to his feet, following Jon half way to the tent. Jon stopped there and turned the boy to face him. Olly's eyes came up, glowering but filled with more concern than anger.
"Do you trust me lad?"
"With my life. You know I do," Olly ground out.
"Do you not trust my judgement then?"
"May I say truly sir?" Olly said, his face cautious but determined.
"Yes… of course." Jon said, surprised somewhat to have not gotten as strong an affirmative answer as he had for the first question.
"I trust your judgement in all things… all things save those that concern her sir. I think, I think your love for your family blinds you to danger sir. Is she not the reason we're risking this trip to the Dreadfort in the first place? An' now it seems its cost you the love of Stannis, who seemed to love you well when he left us not two years past."
Jon had to admit the boy had a point. Olly paused for a second, and then glanced up, meeting Jon's eyes once more, this time with a look that seemed to plead with him to understand.
"I trust you sir. I do not trust her. I've no idea what to make of her truly, except that she's dangerous and she's more adept than most at deceiving people. I understand that she's your kin, and that she's likely been through horrors that I could scarcely imagine. She's got her reasons for secrecy no doubt, and I do not grudge her that. All I ask is that you be careful Lord Commander, and that you keep your wits about you when it comes to her."
Jon made a mental note to tell Sam to stop educating the lad. He'd become two smart by half.
"You have my word, son. An' I thank you for your faith in me. The gods must've been smiling upon me the day you agreed to be my Steward, for I could not ask for a better one. Now get some sleep lad. I'll see you in the morning."
The boy nodded, his face no longer showing any sign of anger, and made his way back to the fire. Steeling himself, the words of his faithful steward still in his mind, Jon walked the rest of the distance to the tent drew in a deep breath, and walked through the flap.
The sight of her hit him like a punch to the gut.
She had stripped to the waste, and was wearing nothing but a pair of low slung Braavosi breeks. Her hair was wet from a fresh washing and she was scrubbing at the hollow of her neck with a sopping wet strip of cloth, causing rivulets of water to run down in between and along her breasts. Gods her breasts. Where in the seven kingdoms had she come across those? While the rest of her was trim and tight, they were shockingly lush, high and full enough to fit his hands perfectly. They were capped with small deep pink nipples, standing perfect and erect in the cold. He felt his cock throb tightly, pressing against his trousers and felt himself turn scarlet. What in the name of the Gods was wrong with him?
She looked up as he came in unconcerned, and continued her ablutions.
"You Stewart's right you know," She said conversationally, reaching back to scrub along her spine, giving him an even better view of her chest, if such a thing was possible.
"What in the— God's Arya what do you think you're doing?" He said, coming to himself and spinning around to face the flap of the tent. He could feel the blush burning up his face and hoped she wouldn't notice the pink that was spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
"I should think that would be obvious. You were the one who gave me the water for washing in the first place."
"I know but Gods, you shouldn't… I mean show some modesty for the Maid's sake, sister!"
She just laughed at that making him feel even more foolish than he already did.
"Everyone always said people from Westeros were more prudish but I never realized how much truth there was to it. The whores in Braavos used to say you could get a man from Westeros to finish simply by kneeling and caressing his thigh with your tongue. They say you needn't even touch his manhood but I never believed them. Is it true then Jon?"
His cock jumped and pleaded with him from inside his breeches and it was all he could do to stop himself from covering it with his hand and pressing it in his need.
"What?" he managed stupidly in response. Clearly his blood was needed elsewhere, and he cursed his manhood once more.
"Oh that's right I forgot you likely don't bother with any of that being in the Night's Watch. Are you sickened by the sight of women's bodies then? Is that it? I can cover if you'd like but Gods don't make me put on anything tight. I had to massage my breasts for half an hour after I took the bindings off. I was hoping maybe they'd shrink from being constricted so for over a week, but no such luck."
"I. Am. Not. Sickened. By. Women's. Bodies." He ground out between gritted teeth. He didn't know why it was important to him that he clarify this particular detail, but it felt necessary for some stupid reason.
"Mmm. Of course you're not," she said flatly. "Don't worry brother I'm decent enough now that even Septa Mordane would be satisfied."
He turned, to find her drowning in one of his tunics. She'd stripped out of the breeks and laid them over her pack to dry, but the shirt went down almost to her knees. The tunic hung loose around her neck, slipping almost off one of her shoulders and exposing her clavicle invitingly. In spite of himself he found himself cocking his head to the side and raising an eyebrow at her as if they were still children together at Winterfell and she'd told him she'd gotten Sansa's permission to dirty one of her finer dresses.
At the familiar semi-stern look she beamed at him. "Oh there he is. There's the brother I've missed so much."
She rushed him then, her arms coming around his neck as she hugged him tight. He returned the hug stiffly at first and she laughed, pulling away from him.
"I stand corrected," she said, grinning mischievously up at him, then whispered in a low conspiratorial voice, "you're not as disgusted as you seemed afterall.
It took him a moment to figure out what she was on about but when he did hid face burned scarlet once again. Mother help him she'd felt his erection pressed against her.
"Arya…" he almost growled.
"Don't worry. I know about these things now. I know men can't help it. Even the Faceless Men can't stop themselves and they can control almost everything their bodies do."
Her words turned the blood in his veins to ice. His little sister shouldn't know such things about men. What had he thought would come of a girl, left alone in the world before her monthly courses had even come, with no one there to protect her?
"What did they do to you?" he said, his face stony. He didn't want to hear, but if she could survive the deeds themselves he could survive their telling.
"The faceless men? Nothing I didn't ask them to."
He blanched at that, and seeing his face she clarified, "They didn't take me Jon. Not in that way anyway. They trained me, because I asked to be trained. I'm going to join their ranks."
She said this last bit proudly, as if becoming a Braavosi assassin was at all an acceptable path for the beloved daughter of Eddard Stark. He knew her enough not to press her on this point though, at least not yet. He didn't think he could bare it if she stormed off in a fury now as she was like to do if he tried to tell her what to do, so for now he contented himself with finding out more.
"And how is it an apprentice to the Faceless Men found herself back in Westeros? You weren't sent to kill me were you?"
He said the last bit jokingly, but felt his heart constrict a bit at the thought uttered out loud. What if she had been? Gods would she have taken such an assignment?
She shook her head, eyes locked on him in alarm as if she could see the doubts playing across his face.
"No Jon. I had no idea you were still alive. If I had known maybe… well, it doesn't matter now anyway. No, I'm here on my final assignment. It's my last test before I'm admitted to the order and become a faceless man in truth."
"It is then? And who's the lucky target?" Heaven help anyone whose life stands in the way of Arya Stark and her ambitions, he thought to himself darkly.
"You'll not tell anyone that I told you?"
He shook his head, somberly.
"It's a double. My first actually. I'm to kill Ramsey Bolton and his new wife."
Jon felt his face twist infinitesimally at her words. Perceptive as ever, Arya pounced at his reaction.
"What is it? He's not dead already is he? That's not why you've come down? He must be, why else would you risk the Dreadfort after what the Boltons did to mother and Robb."
She looked put out momentarily, and he almost let her go on believing Ramsay dead, but he knew such a solution would be futile.
"No…" he said slowly, his voice low. "No, he's not dead; he's in good health from what I hear. It's his wife… Arya, I'm sorry, they've played you awfully."
She cocked her head at him questioningly. "How so?"
"Arya… the reason we're on the road, the reason I'm risking the Dreadfort, is because I heard… well I heard that Ramsay Bolton married a Stark sister and I had to know if it was true. I had to know if he had you, which is why I was willing to walk into that hell unarmed to meet him if I had to. But God's Arya, if they sent you to test you, could it mean that he has Sansa? Is it possible they would ask you to kill your own sister?"
She rose and turned from him, her body stiff. "So that's why Jaqen was so concerned," she said in a hushed voice, "I should've known it would be something like this, the final test."
Something about her tone, something like resignation, made Jon jump to his feet in alarm and go to her. She tensed when he touched her, momentarily looking like she was going to attack him, but then her expression softened into a confused, almost lost look, and she let him pull her in against his chest. They stood there for a minute, him rocking her slowly, as she nuzzled into his chest, doing nothing but breathing him in deeply. He thought momentarily that he must stink to high heaven after all this time on the road but she seemed to be drawing comfort from it, and he was loath to let her go. Finally she looked up at him her eyes questioning.
"May I sleep with you tonight?"
He must have made a face of alarm because she gave him a sardonic look.
"Not like that idiot, do I look like a Lannister to you? I mean sleep as in slumber, like we did when we were children. It's freezing in here this far from the fire and I've gotten spoiled cuddling against Ghost these last few nights. Plus my mind… it's just bloody cold is all!"
He was about to tell her no, inform her pointedly that they were not children anymore as evidenced by their earlier conversation, but something in her face stopped him. He sighed resigned. He strode over to his pallet looking at it. Hardly big enough for himself, sharing the dingy thing with her was going to be a challenge indeed. Resigned, he sat down, shrugged out of his cloak and began to pull off his boots.
"Aye you can. Grab your bed things, we'll share my pallet. And for the love of the Gods put some pants on."
She beamed at him again and grabbed her things, coming back over to stand in front of him, clutching her worn blanket to her bosom. He glanced down at her still bare legs arching his brow and she shrugged at him half-apologetically. "I've washed all my pants. From what I heard of what you said to the men round the fire it sounded as if we'd keep camp here for the morning tomorrow at least; I figured it'd be a while before I got an opportunity to clean like this again."
He shook his head exasperatedly. "Right. Well. In you get. And no squirming. If I remember correctly you have the coldest feet south of the wall; and I'll not have them pressed against me in the middle of the night. They used to be cold enough to chill a White Walker."
She giggled, momentarily reminding him of the child he'd known, and then lay down on the far side of the pallet. All trace of childishness vanished in an instant as she stretched out on the pallet, arching her back momentarily like a cat, and then settled in, propping herself up on one elbow and looking up at him expectantly. The collar of his tunic hung low around her neck tauntingly, baring one shoulder, and as he had feared the lay of her body caused the tunic to scrunch up under her hips, pulling it up to reveal a few more tantalizing inches of creamy thigh. How in the name of all that was holy had they mistaken her for a boy?
Sick Bastard. He thought to himself. She's your fucking sister. What is wrong with you? Have the years of celibacy really reduced you to this?
Steeling himself he got into bed beside her and blew out the candle; still laying stiff as a board next to her. She moved in the dark, shifting to lay on her stomach, and moving her head onto his chest. He stiffened momentarily, but then relaxed, his arm coming around her cradling her there. As she began to breathe deeply he settled in even more, feeling more contented than he had in Gods know how long. Just before sleep gripped him Olly's words came drifting back into his head.
All I ask is that you be careful Lord Commander, and that you keep your wits about you when it comes to her.
He'd given the boy his word that he would. As he drifted off, he wondered how many more promises he'd break now that Arya Stark was back in his life.
AN: I hope you guys like my first attempt to smut it up a little bit. I'd love to hear your feedback, please review!