Jon Snow – Part Two

He wakes with a start, the throbbing in his head commencing as he leaves his dreams. His forehead feels cool, a welcome relief from the pain of earlier. It has sense muted, a dull throbbing ache he can almost ignore.

It is with great difficulty that he opens his eyes, grateful to see, when he does, that the room is bathed in the dimmest of light. It must be nighttime.

A shadow crosses his face as something stirs next to him, he is not alone in the room.

"You're awake."

Arya.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, bringing a dampened cloth up to his eye again, gently caressing it. That explains the coolness.

His yes flutter closed of their own volition, the cloth feels wonderful to his sensitized skin, "Like I've dead and been dragged back by the skin of my teeth."

He can sense her tensing up, serves her right.

She speaks at last, her voice quieter than he's ever heard it, repentant, "I am sorry Jon, I never meant for my words to hurt you. I was desperate you see, desperate not to leave you."

"Did you see the way Robb looked at me? My own brother."

"It was a terrible lie to tell. A sin to even pretend."

"Aye."

Unanswered questions raced round his brain, begging to be asked. He was hazy still with sleep and the words slipped out before he could correct himself.

"Do you think of me in that way Arya?"

He forced his eyes open, eager to see her reaction, hear her answer.

"Yes, sometimes."

It was as though the wind was knocked out of him. He was expecting anything but that, never that.

He gingerly pushed himself up so he was sitting, leaning forward towards her, his eyebrows knitted tightly together, "That is a sin Arya, I am your brother."

"It doesn't feel like you're my brother, not the way it feels with Robb or Bran, or Rickon."

He understood what she meant, though he wished to the gods old and new that he didn't. For she was his sister, he had known this her whole life, yet now she seemed less a sister and more of a mystery woman, sent to destroy his heart. A siren of the snow.

She looked a mess, her hair having fallen from its plait, hung loosely around her face and her wide eyes were set into deep purple half-moons, she hadn't slept.

"Where are the others?"

"Sansa came to check on you, she cleaned your face, but she was tired and Rickon was being a brat so she left. Robb was here earlier too, he feels awful you know. He wouldn't look at me."

"He will forgive you Arya." God forgive us both, he added silently.

She looked down, studying her hands.

Jon scooted to the right side of the bed as best he could, using his free hand to pat the newly opened space beside him, "Rest Arya. For I fear morning will only bring more problems. We must cherish the time we have."

He was going straight to hell.

She obliged silently, she was in a pair of soft linen breeches and a matching tunic, her feet bare, almost as if she had planned this. She slipped in gently beside him, curling in towards him unashamed, her face burying in his chest.

And gods this felt so right. He turned a bit more to face her fully, pulling her in tight with his arm swung possessively around her.

Perhaps Robb had been right to beat his face in. Perhaps he had not hit him hard enough.

xXx

As Jon had predicted the following day was a difficult one for all the Starks.

Arya had disappeared before he awoke, and when he did at last open his eyes, it was Sansa waiting for him. A peculiar sight indeed, for unlike the others, Sansa had never held any particular affection for Jon.

Seeing her now, silently tending to his wounds, he wondered if she truly believed Arya was lying. She assessed him with guarded eyes once she was finished, remaining ever the formal lady, her faced trained to show no emotion.

"Robb requests your presence in his chambers, I believe he wishes to apologize to you."

Jon nodded and offered her a small smile she did not return.

She turned to leave, than faltered, thinking before turning, "I trust you Jon, and I know you are a good man. Please don't break my trust."

Those words haunted him as he made his way to his brother, his head down to avoid stares. It wouldn't do to have the Iron born informed on their dispute, Theon Greyjoy may soon be his brother-in-law but he was still a sinner and untrustworthy to boot as far as Jon was concerned.

He found Robb pacing his room, muttering to himself. His brother looked infinitely older than even the day before, his face fraught with frown lines.

"Brother, you were looking for me?"

Robb stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, the muscles of his jaw tightening as he took in Jon's appearance, "You look like shite."

"Aye, I have you to thank for that don't I?" He responded with a small smirk.

"Forgive me, I lost my mind momentarily."

"There is no need to forgive, I'd have done the same if I was in your position."

Robb sighed, "Arya behaved like a spoilt child, sometimes I'd like to wring her neck."

"She's afraid Robb."

He nodded, sighing deeply, "I know."

Robb sank back into an easy chair by the only window in the room, gesturing for Jon to take the other.

It was a relief to sit, he was sore all over from the day before.

"Things need to start moving along, we leave for the Twins in only a few weeks time. Sansa will be married this weekend. I can't put it off any longer."

Jon nodded, "And what of Bran and Rickon?"

"Asha Greyjoy has been kind enough to extend her hospitality to them. They will be safe here."

Jon didn't want to trust the Iron born, but there was something about Asha Greyjoy that he couldn't quite place. She would keep his brothers safe.

He looked up meeting his brothers gaze. There was something different in Robb's eyes, a far off look Jon had often seen in his fathers during times of trouble. Robb had always favored his mother, a Tully from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, but sitting across from Jon now, clad in the tight fighting uniform of the Iron born he mirrored a young Ned Stark in every way that mattered.

"You are a good man brother, stop worrying so much."

"I hope you're right Jon, I certainly hope you're right."

xXx

He found her by the water, hidden by the expanse of rocks on the shoreline, her head ducked low to avoid the sea spray.

She smiled when she saw him, a secret little smile he did not see often, and made room for him next to her. It was a tight fit, but a fit all the same and they sat for a while in silence, so close he could almost feel her heart beat. His arms ached from being crossed so tightly in front of him, so with only slight hesitation he stretched his arm out around her, his fingers curling around her side and pulling her close.

"Rickon thinks he can see home if he squints hard enough," She spoke at last, "sometimes I see it too. Then I realize it's just pictures playing on the back of my eyelids and I open my eyes."

"We are a long way from home sister, but perhaps if you squint hard enough you can always see it."

She frowned, "Don't call me that."

"Sister?"

"Yes, I don't like it. I don't feel like your sister, so don't – "

"But you are my sister."

"Half."

He turned as best he could to face her, "What is wrong with being my sister?"

"I'd rather be your lover."

Her cheeks deepened red as she realized what she said, her eyes sinking down as she developed a sudden interest in her hands.

He bite his tongue as he felt a tightening in his lower belly, his lover. Jon reached out, taking her chin in his hand and gently raising her head, "That is what you truly wish Arya?"

She nodded, finding her voice, "And what do you wish Jon?"

He was a sinner, a disgrace to his father, a traitor to his brother and a scoundrel of the North, but gods he couldn't control what he did next.

It was so sudden he barely realized what he did, but then his lips were against hers, roughly claiming purchase. She gasped against him, sending heat shooting through his groin, before pulling him closer, her little hands holding tightly to his waist.

By the gods old and new, if this meant he would go to hell there wasn't anywhere else he would rather be.