I own nothing.
These boots aren't the same as her old, broken boots.
These ones pinch and blister, but she supposes she only needs to wear them in. She has spent a week hunting down the right colour and heel that resembled her old ones, but they feel cursed and tainted.
She puts them on in the morning and takes them off at night time with a heavy heart, throwing them harshly into the wardrobe and slamming the door on them.
Despite the fact that the temperature is rising daily (Mance has taken pumpkin lattes off the menu and put fruity summer drinks on), in the dark night, her bed feels cold.
She wears heavy pyjamas and piles every blanket she owns on her bed, and it's more than enough for frosty winter nights, but she wakes up covered in rivers of sweat and the iciness is still frozen within her.
She goes to the doctor, after a few weeks, but as she sits in the waiting room, she rolls over her problem in her head and runs out before they can call her name, swallowing some emotion that's battling its way up her throat, cursing her stupidity and fickleness.
She feels like the entire thing is a Jane Austen story- she's Pride and he's Prejudice, but she'd have no idea if that even suited the actual plot of the book because she hadn't read it, Jon had.
At the diner, she still feels a strange sense of anticipation at lunchtime, before she remembers that he's not coming any more, and she's disappointed for the rest of the day.
Being the man he is, Ned gives all the staff at Stark Incorporated a month off at the highest point of summer.
Jon is distressed, at this idea. He has been throwing himself into his work, over the past few moons, the scratching of his biro absorbing as he navigates his way through creamy manila folders and thick wads of serif information. Robb, concerned, tells him over their desks as he's packing his briefcase on the last day while Jon works, to take the four weeks and relax, to forget about Ygritte and spend some time with his siblings.
He says that Catelyn has no idea what might be upsetting him, but she has expressed concern regarding his solemnness, of late. This is startling for Jon. Catelyn has never liked him (for obvious reasons), and he is stunned to realise that through time she has cultivated affection for him, that should branch so wide as worry.
It is this that entices Jon to do as he is bid, and as the two Starks, a Snow and a Greyjoy sit through the long drive back to the North, he reads a heavy saga book about the Second World War.
Having no work to do, he does Arya's holiday homework, optimises the efficiency of Sansa's nail polish index, and reads every book in the house (including Rickon's second year readers), holed up in his bedroom. While he is busy, he feels nothing, and that emptiness is better than what he had felt before.
When he is done with this, he organises them first by alphabetical order in the shelves, and then the next day he lines them up in a rainbow that spreads through the entire house.
When he shares his intentions to line every tome up according to height (while wielding a tape measure), Catelyn and Arya exchange a look of sheer exasperation, before his father's wife opens the door and his sister grabs the front of his t-shirt, and flings him outside.
He is then banished from the house during the day.
He walks a lot, and explores the grounds in detail he has not known since he was a boy.
Sometimes Robb joins him, or Robb and Theon, sometimes Bran comes too, but for the most part he's on his own.
On the twelfth day of his holiday and eighth of exile, his legs take him through the door of the old castle, and before he knows it he's standing in the middle of the room they had shared.
There is no sign they were even there, no indication that that day existed, save for his memories and the portraits in his folio at the bottom of the wardrobe.
He hasn't touched his paintbrushes in months, but that afternoon, as he feels the sketchbook and pencil in his hands, he is rejuvenated from his slumber.
And so he draws everything.
Just like she suggested, as per her idea, he draws the old castle and weirwood, the places they used to play as children and the river. He draws the oaks around the edges of the new house, and the ridiculous Victorian hedged garden. He sketches flowers that bloom in the summer, his family and the groundskeeper, Rodrick and the boys' nanny, Osha.
He doesn't use colour, only a grey pencil.
When he's finally allowed back inside, he asks Catelyn for Daenerys Targaryen's number.
Mance had told her that under no circumstances was she allowed to be sentimental or emotional in his diner.
So he's furious when she sees Jon's face on the pages of a newspaper while she's delivering a plate of greasy chips and she rips the gazette from the customer's grasp.
It's the society pages, detailing some charity benefit, and he's there in all his long-faced glory, stony and serious behind his winning smile, standing beside some pale, beautiful, rich looking bird.
Her name is Daenerys Targaryen, and she's a disgraced billionaire's daughter, much more suitable for a son of House Stark.
The writer praises her grace and poise, and how stylish she is in her flowing silk gown, and for the first time since she was a little girl, Ygritte bursts into tears. She bunches up the newspaper and throws it to the ground, stomping on it violently, watching it flatten under the heel of her treacherous boots. Customers are inching away from her when Tormund comes running out of the kitchen and pulls her away.
He gently takes her into the freezer, sits her down on an unopened bucket of mayonnaise and passes her a piece of paper towel to blow her nose with.
Mance tells her to go home and come back in a few days when she's not liable to explode.
As it's summer, the uniform has changed to a small white cotton dress with the same low neckline and thick straps, and a dinky green apron that won't even cover a period stain. She still thinks it looks ridiculous, and wears it with sandals now, because she's sweltering in her boots and they're hidden from sight under her bed (unless it's been raining, when she decides against wet feet).
So she adopts her mask. She works. She eats. She walks. She sleeps. It quells the bitter anger, resentment and sadness that rages within her, and that, she supposes, is something.
She's been working steadily for a few days, before two girls come into the diner in the afternoon.
They look so familiar that it's scary, because she feels like she's never seen them before in her life, but something about them is blindingly recognisable.
They whisper and converse, the older one swatting the younger one over the head as she says something, but in the end they both agree and walk toward the far counter and sit opposite from Val.
Ygritte's at the till, but she can still hear them as the younger one asks her,
"We're looking for someone and we think she's a waitress here- she dated one of our brothers and we need to talk to her."
"Not in my diner!" Mance shouts in irritation from the back room. The younger girl flips him off, and the elder one's already giving him an apologetic smile for her sister.
But then the taller ginger sees Ygritte, and points discreetly.
"That's her- the hair! Just like the painting."
Ygritte slams the till drawer closed, their recognition hitting her like a fist, and she strops over to them. The elder is ginger and elegant, and the younger is so similar to the crafter of the tales she knows them from that when she looks at her, an arrow of solid ice thuds into her chest.
"I'm the whore that broke Jon's heart, what can I do for you?"
She knows which is which, and unnerves them slightly by addressing them so.
The older one smiles, while she smooths the hem of her little floral sundress, which is still wet from not reaping the benefits of the umbrella's protection, her coordinated pink sandals perched elegantly on the foot bar of the stool, and begins a tactful descent to her question, until Arya interrupts Sansa and asks bluntly why they broke up.
"He dumped me." She answers carefully, as she is not entirely eager to divulge the whole reason for their parting.
"You Starks are only allowed in here if you keep your bogus teenaged drama outside!" Mance warns from the back room.
"But why?" Sansa presses to Ygritte, and Arya swoops in again.
"Robb said you fucked Robert Baratheon."
The fist was back again, smashing into her stomach, and she nodded mutely.
"He didn't tell us," Sansa reassured smoothly, "he was telling Jon's friend Sam and Arya overheard."
"Well I shagged him." Ygritte told them briskly, writing down some relatively pricey meals on her order pad for them, before adding, "Robert was good to me," not a lie, "there was a big economic difference between Jon and I, okay? I'm a little bit broke."
She goes to place the order on the skewer at the kitchen window, and when she comes back, Sansa's eyeing her dubiously.
"Clearly you're not that broke, if you can afford those."
She's gesturing to the boots, and Ygritte shrugs as she panics.
They were made by a fairly posh brand, to last for years, as her other ones had been, but they weren't marked as such. She suspects a girl like Sansa would have a second home inside shoe catalogues, and doesn't think much of it.
She walks away from them then, busying herself with the salt and peppershakers on the booth tables, and interrupts their hushed whispering to give them the food they didn't order.
They've been there a while when a fat man walks in, and heads over to them. He joins in the conversation, and she feels that this might be Jon's friend Sam.
Gilly smiles at him as she works.
He's been dating Dany for a few months now, and as the autumn leaves begin to fall, he takes her to Winterfell to meet his parents.
She's understandable and easy, for the most part. On their first date, she ate the tiny portions of posh food and smiled and made small talk. She wore fancy clothes and bothered around in the bathroom, she was excited to meet the Starks and they loved her, she was smart and funny and gorgeous and blonde, and she when she was angry, he always understood why.
She never threatens his life, either.
He's tried to draw her, a few times, and she doesn't realise.
They all appear on the paper strange and bumpy and not quite right, and in everything else he draws, silver was not easily available in felt tip pens.
He knows that Robb has noticed, but his brother says nothing. He simply smiles.
Jon can tell that he is entranced by Dany, but he is far too honourable to so much as look her way.
He hates that, just a little bit.
After an afternoon of driving and polite introductions to the Starks, which leaves them suitably impressed, they bid the family goodnight and he takes her upstairs to his childhood bedroom.
He knows she showers in the morning, so he leaves her to unpack her things while he takes the bathroom.
When he emerges, she's sitting on his bed with his big black folio in her lap.
She's always been fascinated by his art, but he anticipates that she'll be upset when she discovers that he's never so much as sketched her, and in her lap are portraits of this woman- all of her.
He's standing horrified in the bathroom door, and she looks up, and she's smiling.
"These are spectacular, Jon." She tells him, her voice glowing with admiration, and he lets out a relieved breath. "You've got amazing talent."
He thanks her, cursing himself for not burning the pictures, and goes about changing into his pyjamas while she continues to study them. In the dim reflection from the bedside light, he can see the lively orange reflected in Dany's paleness.
"She's beautiful." She remarks. There is a heavy pause, in which he says nothing, before she asks softly, "This is Ygritte, isn't it?"
He nods, and he can barely bring himself to look at her. When he does, she meets his eye with her piercing, lilac gaze.
"Jon… will you answer me something?"
She doesn't hesitate, she doesn't dwell- she simply waits for him to nod his ascent, holds the folder open to Ygritte's sleeping face, and asks him if he's still in love with her.
His throat is clenched and he feels as if a thousand fists have pounded him, and all he can bring himself to do is nod.
Shame flushes at his face, self hatred bubbles up inside him and he almost can't believe that he's lead Dany on for so long, when she's so amazing and he's so fucking hopeless.
But she just smiles.
"We can't be together." She tells him simply, and he agrees. "Which is terrifically convenient," she admits openly, "because I'm quite sure that I'm in love with your brother."
He's stunned, and fumbles for the words.
"R-Robb?"
They'd met many, many times at the office and in the city, but he'd never even imagined what a good actor she was to hide that.
"No," she affirms with a heavy voice of cynicism, "Rickon."
He sits down on the mattress beside her and shoves her slightly.
She laughs.
They don't fight, and she sure as anything doesn't storm out and go back to the city. They sleep in his bed as they have in the last few months, and they wake up beside each other with an air of companionship, unsullied with sex.
"You're going to talk to Ygritte, aren't you?" Dany asks, rolling onto her stomach, and fiddling with the hem of the sheet. Jon, who is leaning against the headboard, pauses to look at her, the horror that washes over him akin to that of finding a partner for the school dance.
"I- I don't…" she raises and eyebrow, and he withers slightly. "It's um… not that simple."
Dany just frowns, and rests her chin on her palm.
"Why?"
He struggles for a moment, before carefully plucking out his words.
"I… I love her. But I trusted her. And even if anything were to transpire between us again, I don't know if I could give her my love again."
Dany rolls onto her back, to stare at the ceiling with a concentrated pucker in her brow.
"Unless she loves you too and regrets what she did and if you give it another chance could live the happiest, most monogamous relationship in our history."
"Nice." He notes dully. "But this isn't Love Actually."
"You love that film."
"But I don't live in it!" he exclaims, before looking back down at his knees. "I just… I don't know."
"I know!" Dany singsongs, and he glares. She keeps talking, though. "You love her. She might feel the same way- is that really worth losing because you were too busy being a broody little shit?"
She rolls out of bed and crosses to the bathroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Later that morning, she comes down to breakfast with damp hair, and sits beside him.
Catelyn asks them what they have planned for the day and maybe they should explore the grounds, as they can be quite romantic this time of the year.
They inform her casually that they might just play videogames with Bran, because they broke up last night.
There is an awkward silence, then, until Dany reprimands him for doing that thing with his toast crusts that irritates her so much, and the family lulls into easy chatter.
After they drop her off at her apartment block on the Sunday afternoon, Robb asks him what happened.
When he tells him that it ended because Jon still loves Ygritte, and Dany has accidentally fallen for Robb, he thinks his brother is about to pass out. Jon can't help but smile, as after the fourth minute ticks over, their father attempts to retrieve the pulse of his frozen son.
The rain is hammering down when she gets a text from Jon.
She sees the contact name, and all but throws the phone across the room in terror and shame.
But she opens it nonetheless, and is surprised to see he wants to meet up- at the diner, of all places.
He informs her that he wants answers, so she obliges, and is waiting with a gloopy milkshake in the booth farthest from the door when he comes in.
She has to admit, he looks good. He is dressed as he was when they first met, but the innocence and naïveté in his face has gone, and she knows that she took it.
She is unsure whether to smile or frown at that.
He smiles when he sees her, and makes his way over, faltering at the sight of Sam at the counter.
"He's dating Gilly." She tells him quietly, "He spends a lot of time here."
"So he tells me."
Jon does look good- he seems almost happy. She likes that idea.
"I hear you've moved on from waitressing." He mentions, and she nods, feeling secure in that topic.
"I'm sorting through the archives at a cathedral- they're very well conserved but there's no one definite answer. There's a lot about the first men putting the Wall up and the division between the Westerosi and the Wildlings."
She pauses, and he's smiling again.
"You love it, don't you?" She nods, and she's horrified to realise that she's blushing. "It shows in your face."
"Are they having a romantic reunion over there?" Mance's voice angrily asks somewhere in the distance, and they both share a laugh.
She asks about Robb, and mentions that she saw Daenerys in the newspaper. He coughs and smiles at that, and says nothing, as if he's hiding a particularly amusing secret, and she rolls her eyes.
"You said you wanted answers." She blurts suddenly, and as his expression becomes sombre she begins investigating her milkshake.
"I did… I do." He answers steadily. "I- look, maybe."
She raises an eyebrow, and he's visibly struggling. Val brings his steaming coffee and he thanks her, she lurks as long as she plausibly can to try and overhear something, and when she leaves, he begins again.
"You know what I did? That day."
The day they broke up. She shakes her head, and he continues.
"I pulled Arya out of school- she goes to the Lannister place, the boarding one."
"I bet she appreciated that."
"I saved her from double geography- she hates it when I come in. This girl she can't stand always giggles."
Ygritte sniggers at this- the horrified expression that washes onto his face.
"I took her shopping and whined to her the entire time."
"She milked your bank balance?"
"And, how. I saw things I never thought I'd see."
He now looks thoroughly traumatised, and despite the fact he's probably leading to something important, she can't help but laugh.
"And what's this got to do with anything?"
"It's sort of a really bad allegory- look, the point is that I've spent too long moping like a whiny child to really-"
He stops short and busies himself clenching and unclenching his fist on the table top. She wants to tell him that he ought to have planned what he wanted to say when he called her here, but it doesn't seem quite right.
"Look- I know you did it… him," he starts again, "and I don't know why- I'm a bit afraid to know why, and I was so angry, and so upset… I don't regret ending it… us."
That is like a punch in the heart, that is, but he ploughs on.
"I'm still hurt, and I'm still- I don't know why you did it. I can't say that knowing will be great, but…" he pauses, mustering the courage, before saying, "I meant it, though. When I told you that I loved you." He looks at her then, "Do you- did you ever?"
She looks away and nods, taking a moment of hesitation to muster her voice, before finishing
"I do."
Deliberately, his hand snaked its way across the table and rested, palm up before her. Slowly, and with much uncertainty, she lifts her own from her lap, and awkwardly rests it in his.
His palm is earnest and familiar, and it warms her to her very core.
So there's part three! Thank you so much to those who reviewed and followed and favourited and everything- you're amazing!
AAANNNDD happy New Year! (late). I hope you have enjoyed this chapter, and I thought I should let you know that the next one is the last instalment.
Reviews welcome Xx