Arya

She woke with Jon's arm around her and his warm chest pressed against her back. She had felt safe at the House of Black and White, but this was by far the most contented she'd felt since she left Winterfell. She snuggled back against him, greedy for more of his heat, wanting to be more enveloped in his warm embrace. Mid-scoot she froze, feeling the press of his erection heavy against the curve of her bottom. The contact sent a shiver down her spine and made a small flurry of feeling go off in her womb. Surprising her still sleep-muddled mind, her body pressed back against it hungrily. Jon let out a soft moan in his sleep, and held her tighter, seeming to flex his whole body and pressing his hardened cock against her buttocks in one motion. She felt a bit breathless, now totally awake, and she could feel a gathering moistness between her legs.

She was being an idiot, she told herself, as she had been last night. You've seen too much of the world to take a cockstand personally, she chastened herself mentally. That much was true enough; the last man who'd made his lust for her evident had been ready to torture her for Danerys Targareyn's sins. Such things meant nothing to men, other than a natural reaction to something they wanted, as a dog would salivate over a cut of meat.

It meant something to Jon though, a small voice inside her said. She'd teased him mercilessly, but she'd known from the minute his eyes locked on her naked body that he had been momentarily seized by lust. It had shaken him visibly, and it was all she could do to stop herself from pressing her bare chest against his turned back, just to see how much more she could fluster him.

It meant something to him because he sees how wrong it is, another voice in her mind answered back. She felt a wave of shame come over her. Gods what was wrong with her? She'd never felt more than fleeting interest over a man in her life, barring a crush of Gendry Waters when she was still a girl, and here she was lusting after her brother.

Gods it was sick—it was wrong. Maybe this was the result of living as No One for so long? Maybe some part of her still didn't know that she was Arya Stark, and so didn't care about crossing boundaries Arya Stark should never cross? It was a convenient excuse, but even as she thought it she knew she was lying to herself.

Part of her craved Jon's attentions because of their past together. That part of her longed to prove to him (and herself) that she was no longer the child he'd known, that she was not Arya Underfoot (though Jon himself had never called her so) but a woman whose interest men would vie to hold. She gloried in the thought momentarily, surprising herself. Up until now, she'd never felt anything but annoyance at men's increased attention. Why now did it matter to her?

Because you have an audience, and you want to show off, idiot, the voice said disgustedly. You're no better than Sansa.

She fumed at herself. There were ways to show Jon that she was a woman without playing Lannisters. She'd just have to take those opportunities when they arose and hope that it would be enough to satisfy this idiotic fancy that had taken hold of her. But for now, she needed to kill something.

Jon

He woke to find her gone. He felt a moment of panic, but then saw that her pack and Needle were still inside the tent. Assuring himself that she'd never go far without those he pushed himself out of the bed to go find where she'd gone.

He'd slept well with her there, only waking twice, but his reaction to her both times were enough to leave him fuming with himself. Both times he'd woken his cock had been throbbing with need. Nothing but sheer determination had kept him from taking himself in his hand and giving himself relief the second time. While it would have been far from unusual for him to touch himself in bed, he'd explode before he'd do such a thing with his sister sleeping beside him. Even if he left the tent to do it, as he'd thought to do, it would still be wrong, because he would know he was doing it out of lust for her.

He groaned as he felt himself stiffen again thinking about it and pulled on his boots doggedly. He didn't have time for this now, and he'd be damned if he let his body get the upper hand on him. There were too many people relying on him having his wits about him, for him to deal with the depths of his own depravity now. And with that thought in mind he left the tent, already fuming inwardly.

As he made his way over to the fire he saw two ducks roasting the spit being turned by Maddox as Arya and Olly sat together cleaning what looked like a brace of hares. The boy was talking to her which made him glad, but he felt a pull of jealousy as the steward leaned in to say something and she threw back her head in a laugh, shoving Olly lightly in what he assumed was halfhearted punishment for the impropriety of the joke in question. The boy was being raised on the Wall after all, and he doubted any bit of his humor would be suited for a Lord's daughter.

Her eyes, still swimming with mirth caught sight of him at that moment and she smiled, causing Olly's head to turn. There must have been some disapproval still etched on his face because the boy jumped up, greeting him formally.

"Morning milord."

"Morning steward. You responsible for all this meat lad? You'll have us fattened up by the time we return to Castle Black."

The boy blushed. "I can only claim half of it milord. The Lady Arya matched me beast for beast. She's quite the shot with the bow… though not as good as me," he said grinning as Arya huffed dramaticall, "Buttt… she's far better than I could ever even hope to be with a sling."

"And as I was saying, earlier you'll never want for rocks so as a weapon…" Arya chimed in, clearly reigniting an earlier argument.

"Aye milady, but the fingerwork…" Olly said giving her a ridiculous lopsided grin, and she giggled again. So that had been the joke.

Jon cleared his throat and Olly remembered himself, scooping up the skinned hares and muttering something about cleaning them further before evacuating his seat. Jon sat down next to him.

"I thought you said you snuck into our camp because you couldn't hunt."

She gave a small shrug, "I lied."

He raised his eyebrows and she continued. "I ran into Ghost in the woods, and I wanted to see if you were here."

So that had been it. He shook his head, marveling at the danger she'd put herself in to see if he was near but pleased nonetheless.

"Your steward is a good lad," she said casually.

"Aye, though he doesn't trust you farther than he can throw you."

Arya nodded in agreement. "I know, that's why I like him. He's not charmed by a pretty face. That's useful that, good to have someone like that with you."

"Oh so now you've got a pretty face do you sister?" Jon said teasingly. She glared at him in response, and he beamed at her, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a one armed hug.

"I jest lass," he said smiling at her, "father would be tearing his hair out in a frenzy if he could see you now. I remember how harried he was when Sansa started looking a lady, but with you, his precious and thorny Northern Rose, I don't think he could stand it."

She looked up at him her eyes swimming with emotion, and Jon realized it was the most he'd talked about Ned Stark since Ygritte died. It felt good to talk about the man in a happy context, instead of dwelling on his tragic end. It's what his father would have wanted, he was sure of that.

When the ducks were divvied up between the five of them and the hares were snow-packed for later they settled down as a group around the fire. He gave everyone a few minutes to eat in peace before turning to the matter at hand.

"Given what we heard from the man yesterday, we can hardly go walking into the Dreadfort. I doubt Stannis would have acted so brashly if he didn't think Bolton would take me the moment I walked into the keep."

"But why milord? What interest could they possibly have in taking you hostage? They have to know we have nothing to pay for you," Vero asked. Jon was himself.

"Whatever it is, King Stannis must know as well," Maddox said, peering at the ground thoughtfully. He was a man of few words, but what he did say tended to be worth taking note of. He'd lost his entire family in the Riverlands during the year after Robert Baratheon was killed and as long as Jon had known him he'd never spoken of it. He only knew about it because of the man's screaming at night.

"Aye that he must."

"Whatever it is, t'would be best if we knew as well sir, so as to plan our way home better," Vero said practically. Jon saw Arya look up at him sharply, and he wondered if she was as put out that the men had voted to return without going to the Dreadfort as he was.

"Is there a village near to the fort? One with a tarvern where we might be able to get news?"

The men looked at her, and she shrugged. "We could go there for news, see what's being said. If there's a bounty on your head, or if the Bolton Bastard is wanting to take you alive its likely that his men at arms can be found somewhere discussing it over ale. Its what men do best."

"Aye, that's fair enough lass," Maddox said nodding slowly, "And there is a tavern not far off. In Baldread, the town just a mile or so from the keep. But we're in no state to go there lass, dressed as crows as we are. They'll know to be on the lookout for the Lord Commander, an' no watchman will approach an' be safe."

"That's no problem, I've got a brown tunic and green cloak that'll fit Olly, and I can dress as a woman and use his black cloak. No one will suspect us, and we'll go unnoticed enough in a tavern travelling as siblings. Nothing could be simpler."

"No," Jon said, his voice laced with finality.

"Why?" Arya said her voice holding the promise of a fight.

"Because it's not safe. I'll not allow it."

"I'm sorry brother, perhaps I didn't make my position clear. I'm going on to the Dreadfort. What you and your men do is your business, but my business lays there. Olly can accompany me to the tavern in Baldread, or he can accompany you back to the Wall. I've no issue proceeding alone."

"Like Hell you will," he was on his feet glowering down menacingly at her without even thinking about it and she flew up at him, her temper matching his, her stormy grey eyes flashing with fury.

"The days when I needed your protection are long past brother. You weren't there, and I managed. I can damn well manage now!" Her words cut him like blades but he held fast. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see his men shrinking from their fury clearly troubled at seeing the clashing of such strong tempers unfolding in front of them. The last person who'd challenged Jon half this much had lost his head, and he supposed the sight of someone flying at him in a rage unnerved them.

"You are not a child now Arya, you don't know what men will do! You don't know what they'll do if you come strutting in there, woman that you are!"

She laughed at him mercilessly.

"I don't know? You think that I could go traipsing around the burning Riverlands in the wake of the bloody fucking Mountain and not know what rape is? You think my youth spared me? You think because I was eleven years old, and weighed less than six stones that men would have paused before forcing their ways between my legs if I hadn't killed them? You know nothing Jon Snow!"

The familiar phrase shook him but he held his ground. "I cannot help what's happened in the past Ayra, Gods know if I could I would. I would give anything, ANYTHING to have been there for you, or for Robb, to die beside you to keep you from the horrors you had to face alone. But we cannot go back. Still I'll be damned if I let you go in harm's way again!"

"Harm's way?" She said her voice raising with her incredulously arched brows. "You still don't see it do you Jon? You still see me as some precious child, too unskilled and stupid to care or think for herself. I am harm. Things must have a care when they get in my way. I am an assassin trained by the Faceless Men of the House of Black and White and I'll be damned if I let anyone, family or no, order me about. I am going, and Gods help anyone who tries to stop me!"

"Sir?" the voice reminded Jon that there were others and he rounded on Olly, his eyes flashing with a fury that only his sister could have inspired.

"WHAT?" he said menacingly.

"I'll go with her sir. If she's a mind to go anyway… I think sir there's no stopping her without hurting her, and no hurting her without her killing at least one of us sir, and if it's all the same to you I'd like to reserve my strength for fighting in Baldread if fighting needs be done."

Jon glowered down at his steward feeling slightly betrayed. But even so, the fury that had taken over his mind began to evaporate and was being replaced by a new, far more unpleasant feeling. Fear. Unadulterated inescapable fear.

It was like Ygritte all over again. He could thunder and yell, and she'd storm right back at him, and in the end do as she liked and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He felt more powerless than he had since his time living beyond the wall.

"Alright." He said his voice so low it could barely be heard.

Arya nodded, and he could see that her eyes too were devoid of the fury that had been there only a moment before. She hugged him hard, seeming to infuse the hug with the apology that neither of them could bare to say out loud. Then she turned from him beckoning to Olly to follow her into the tent. He emerged a few minutes later, dressed in her garments and began to ready the horses. They were only a few miles from Baldread, and they'd be going alone the rest of the way, while Jon and the other watchmen sat here, waiting helplessly like bairns and old men.

Ten minutes later Arya emerged and he felt his heart constrict. She was dressed plainly enough, wearing a charcoal grey skirt and a serviceable hunter green bodice over a starched white blouse. The bodice had been laced tight, revealing her slim waist and causing her bosoms to rise up invitingly out of the top of her neckline. Her long chestnut hair had been pulled half back, and sat curling invitingly on her shoulders over the black cloak that she had donned in replacement of her own. She was perfectly respectably dressed, and utterly breathtaking.

He saw the Vero and Maddox glance at him, clearly anticipating that he would resume their earlier fight in earnest now that it was clear how tempting a target she would make. But Jon had already known, and he knew to resume the quarrel would just prolong this torture. So instead he stood glowering, his jaw locked in frustration.

They finished readying the horses silently and Olly mounted up to leave. Arya made as if she was about to get on the chestnut mare she had borrowed from Maddox but then stopped and turned back to Jon. She seemed to hesitate for half a second and then she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. In spite of himself his arms came around her crushing her against him so tightly that he heard the breath come out of her in a slight gasp.

She stood on her tip toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek whispering in a low voice, "I'll come back Jon, I promise."

He nodded, his insides too tied in knots for him to risk speaking and kissed her on the top of the head, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of her. He released her and she mounted her horse, without another backwards glance, spurning the animal forward expertly.

As she and Olly headed away, casting elongated shadows in the waning afternoon light, he prayed to every god he'd ever heard of that she was better at keeping her word than he was.