Ned Stark was not a man given to easy expressions of emotion. When he was young it had not been such a great problem since his father Rickard was the most like him even if Brandon and Lyanna were his eldest children. His brother and sister had grown up knowing how to live with someone who'd much preferred to watch rather than act while they themselves might have preferred to leap in with both feet before looking where it was they were jumping. And so when he'd been sent to the Eyrie to perhaps learn from its lord Jon Arryn how to take a greater role in matters and use that tendency for quiet to the advantage of his family, he had complied silently even as he'd wanted to protest.
No matter how much he had grown to love Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon as his family away from Winterfell, he hadn't always known who they were and so had not wanted to be separated from his blood. His pack. But he had gone in deference to his father and because Ned knew his duty to his family. And as he'd been away, he'd grown to admire Lord Arryn's commitment to honor and justice. Just as he'd grown to love Robert as his own brother even if he was as rambunctious and charming as Brandon but with no seeming idea of how to turn it off.
That wasn't to say he found it easy to maintain this handle upon himself though. He would have thought the greatest test of his emotional control was when he had to bring Lyanna's orphaned son back to his lady wife. Bring him back while also claiming him as his own in order to protect the newborn boy's life as he'd promised. He was proven both right and wrong on that count. Right in that it was one of the hardest tests of his fortitude to look her in the eye while telling her what Jon Snow supposedly was and what he intended to do with him. Wrong in that it wasn't nearly as hard as watching how things developed once they reached Winterfell. Having to see the pain in her sky blue gaze every time she looked upon Jon Snow. Having to see her shutter a part of herself behind emotional walls put up in the wake of it. Having to see Jon grow up in what amounted to a state of limbo between being legitimized and being shunned with no solution in sight until he became a man grown. Having to see that small boyish smile become rarer and rarer as he grew older and was repeatedly reminded of his place in Winterfell and in the Stark family. And in the midst of all that Ned had been the one forced to maintain this private, precarious and oftentimes heartache inducing tightrope walk because no matter how the years passed it still seemed to be the lesser of possible hurts that could be visited upon all their heads otherwise.
And then Jon had done the impossible: he had learned the truth of his parentage. The full truth and reality of it that even Ned had been unaware of after all these years. Which had immediately led to him leaving Winterfell's safety for the lands across the Narrow Sea.
Ned hadn't been happy to see Jon leave, but like so many of the choices he made in raising him, it had seemed the lesser of possible hurts. And the look in Jon's eye when they spoke of it told him that Jon was just as aware of that as Eddard himself had been when he had first made his loyal friend Howland Reed promise not to speak of Lyanna's last moments alive. Three years had passed in Winterfell since his bastard nephew's departure in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. Robb was proving to be an eager student in the nature of leadership: attending Ned in his solar and taking to the arms lessons of Rodrik Cassel with equal fervor. Bran still dreamed of being a knight even if he still had some trouble with anything larger than a dagger and with a longer range than a short bow, though he gained in skill every day. Rickon was growing well, his passionate wolf blood evident in his eagerness to poke any and everything around Winterfell he could possibly reach his ten year old hand into.
The greatest change in Winterfell, he had been somewhat surprised to observe, had been in the Stark womenfolk of the family. His lady wife Catelyn had prodded him numerous times in the beginning on what he and Jon Snow had spoken of before he had left. He had respected his word to Jon and Lyanna, never telling her and only ever repeating it was not his information to give. She had stopped asking after the first year, but that hadn't stopped him from seeing her eyes shutter in that familiar way whenever the boys asked him about what Jon might be doing now. Sansa as ever was the proper lady Cat had always hoped her daughters would be: her lessons with the Septa progressing very satisfactorily if Mordane's glowing praise of her manners, needlework and attention to the histories of the great houses was any indication. And yet in regards to Arya, she had been mostly silent, leaving her younger wilder sister alone.
Ned wasn't sure how but something in Jon's departure had changed things between the sisters Stark that slowly but surely had them mostly avoiding each other instead of nettling and fighting one another. He'd never thought he would miss their bickering. But now that it had all but ceased, Ned had discovered he'd grown so used to it that when they went for such a long period without any severe fights or explosive fits of temper at each other, he felt himself waiting for his lady wife to come to him in his solar at any moment demanding he do something to get them to make up or at least stop making each other miserable. Ned honestly couldn't begin to guess what it was that had changed things between the girls even when he pondered it to himself in the few precious moments of quiet reflection he was afforded during the day. Perhaps it had been the destruction and regeneration of his nephew's eyes that had put Sansa in a contemplative mood to match her younger sibling's melancholy. Though Arya's strangely vivid nightmare seemed to have put the young girl in a worrying depression. Much as he'd tried to reassure her the night it had happened that Jon was likely alright, he honestly didn't know what to make of the dream or whether she had even believed his well-intentioned words of comfort. By the Old Gods he wasn't sure if he believed himself.
He knew that Cat and Sansa had tried to talk to her afterward though their words had not had any apparent effect on the black cloud that would follow his youngest girl's waking moments for days. Arya had been almost unapproachable, her normally bright grey eyes dull like a stony layer of ash petrified upon the crumbling ruins of a once magnificent keep.
And then with as much abruptness as it had started, her dark mood had disappeared. She smiled more around the Winterfell courtyard, she laughed when she raced Bran and Rickon through the corridors and she went back to complaining vehemently about her lessons with Septa Mordane. More time passed as he and Catelyn wondered between themselves what could have possibly changed her disposition so quickly.
In hindsight the answer really should have been more obvious.
For some time days later there was a commotion at the front gate of Winterfell, the guards claiming that a feral looking man had approached the gate with a direwolf of all things in tow and was demanding to speak with Lord Stark. As Ned made his way to the front of the substantial crowd that had managed to gather between his guardsman fetching him and his appearance at the gate, he couldn't help but see the past brought to life before his eyes.
Jon looked so much like Ned's deceased father Rickard in that brief moment that he half expected to hear a warm chuckle bubble from his mouth as he stroked his ever growing beard and smilingly entreated Ned and Brandon to help him carry this buck into Winterfell so that they might feast on it tonight. But then the brief flash of an image was gone and in its place was Jon himself. His beard was not nearly as full as his father Rickards' or even his brother Brandons' and his hair extended just past the base of his skull almost reaching the bottom of his ears. His clothes looked worn almost to the point of falling apart as he walked but the body beneath them was startlingly lean yet compactly muscled. Ned was willing to bet that Jon's strength had increased since his self-imposed exile from Winterfell if the seemingly relaxed but firm grip he maintained on the scruff of the direwolf's neck was to be any indication.
And then of course there was the creature itself.
It was a magnificent thing to see in the flesh. Almost bigger than Jon himself, its fur was primarily brown upon the back and sides while its belly, paws and snout appeared for the most part to be grey as the more subdued color ran in streaks that climbed up its legs and sides to begin encroaching on the brown fur on top: like a pond of muddy water that was slowly freezing over. Its eyes however were truly striking. A yellow gold color that made Ned think of the moon on a starless night, its gaze was sharp as a well-honed blade as it darted from human to human in front of it: the eyes of a predator sizing up prey even with Jon's hand on its neck acting as an anchor. But the thing that caused Ned's right eyebrow to involuntarily rise toward his hairline was when he saw the rounded belly hanging low on the creature.
'How in the name of the Old Gods did Jon get a gravid mother to trust him?' Was the thought that briefly crossed his mind before he spoke to Jon himself.
"I miss the days when your idea of causing a ruckus in Winterfell simply entailed helping Arya make trouble." He said to the young man before signaling to his men.
"Raise the gate!" He called in case they were too caught up gawping at the living breathing symbol of House Stark just outside Winterfell's doorstep to see their lord's instruction.
As the portcullis clanked into motion and began to lift, he saw Jon's fingers tighten in the fur of the direwolf and the animal's legs tense as though ready to spring. When it came to just over his head, Jon and the direwolf walked into the courtyard, the soldiers parting even as some started to bring their spears to bear against the huge wolf. They backed off further when she briefly bore her teeth and snarled at them. Jon's hand tugged at her scruff very briefly to bring her attention to him as they strode in as though their presence were an everyday occurrence.
As they came forward, Ned caught a glimpse of his own darker hair in the crowd. He turned his head slightly and took in Arya's presence, her grin threatening to break her face in two as her eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of a full bellied cat. He couldn't help the smile that came to his own face even as he knew the Septa and Cat wouldn't be happy that she had skipped out on her lessons with Sansa in order to reach the gate and see what the commotion was about.
"Don't think I haven't seen you Arya." He warned as the girl came upon the direwolf with narry a word and Jon silently inclined his head to greet her, an abundant joy in his eyes at seeing his younger sister again after so long away. "We'll be discussing your leaving of the Septa's lessons later."
"In the meantime Lord Stark, I really think we should get Frost somewhere she can lay down. I think the litter might be coming soon." Jon interjected.
Ned nodded in understanding. It probably wasn't a good idea to take the creature to the stables considering how much it had managed to spook the humans that were armed and able to defend themselves. Likewise the kennel was out of the question due to the gods only knowing how the hunting dogs would react.
"I hope Mikken is as fearless as ever." Jon remarked as he and the direwolf walked toward Winterfell's blacksmith with a sense of assured purpose that made Ned wonder whether he'd planned to take the direwolf to the Stark's smith beforehand.
Mikken was a relatively new addition to Winterfell, having come up from the south like Maester Luwin. The two men had in fact made the journey together when coming to serve at Winterfell after the Winterfell's previous resident smith Derec had been killed in the fighting during Robert's Rebellion. Mikken had been fascinated by some of the styles of blade Maester Luwin had told him existed across the Narrow Sea and been honestly surprised by the older man's knowledge of armaments while Mikhal had been pleased by Mikken's honest curiosity and thirst to learn what he knew of foreign weaponry. The two had formed an unlikely fondness for each other though their duties rarely gave them cause to cross paths.
As they came within range of the blacksmith, the sound of a hammer striking metal upon the anvil resounded in the crisp northern air. As the odd group of four drew closer, Ned saw Mikken diligently working on a piece of armor at his forge. His formerly brown hair was now mostly greyed with permanent streaks of black soot running through it as the smith had a bad habit of running his hands through his hair when he was stressed or thinking. As Mikken placed the plate into the nearby cooling barrel, he glanced up to take in his lord, two of his lord's children and a truly huge wolf walking toward him.
Aside from a brief widening of his brown eyes, Mikken gave no sign of slipping composure.
"Can I help you M'Lord Stark?" He asked politely, briefly wiping his hands on his leather apron before withdrawing the plate from the cooling barrel and placing it off to the side.
Ned nodded once before he turned to Jon and explained what was expected of him.
"You brought the direwolf here Jon. You will be responsible for her and for her actions." Ned told him. It was quite a lot of responsibility, being put in charge of the care and containment of a wolf the size of a young pony. But if the creature had been willing to follow his son this far, Ned was willing to bet that it would take better to being looked after by him than anyone else around Winterfell.
Jon inclined his head to indicate agreement before he immediately spoke up.
"I know this is much to ask Mikken, but she needs a place to stay until the pups are born." He said, his right hand continuing to hold the direwolf's scruff. "She'd frighten the horses and the hounds just by being there and her…delicate…state has made her somewhat irritable." Ned could feel his laughter bubbling up when Jon thought to describe a full grown direwolf as delicate. Arya was not so inclined to restraint and let out a very unladylike snort when he did so. Jon studiously ignored the both of them as he continued beseeching Mikken.
"Once the pups were born, Frost would be able to live within the wolfwood and be out of your way. But till then, I'd feel better about being able to keep an eye on her. With your strength and temperament, I think you'd be able to handle her just fine." He finished, kneeling by the direwolf's head. He lowered his head before asking once more.
"Please Master Mikken." He quietly begged.
Mikken stroked his dark beard, looking at the wolf. Then Jon. Then back to the wolf again.
"You already named the wild thing?" He finally observed carefully.
"She has been my traveling companion for many moons now." Jon answered. "Considering how far she has come with me, it would be more strange if I couldn't call her a friend."
Mikken sighed ruefully in response.
"Lord Stark?" Mikken inquired, looking to Ned for permission to answer.
"This is entirely your decision Mikken." Ned reaffirmed.
"You're lucky I hold so much respect for your family lad." He said in an exaggeratedly weary voice. "I'll look after the she-wolf for a time." He brought his right pointing finger up to give Jon a warning.
"However, if you think to drag a stray shadowcat back here: I will draw the line. And when I do, I'll crack your thick skull with my hammer to let you know you've crossed it. We clear?" Mikken warned.
Jon looked up, a brilliant smile on his face that reminded Ned so much of when he'd been a young babe growing into a child that it was almost painful.
"We are clear Master Mikken." Jon affirmed happily.
The direwolf's eyes narrowed slightly as though she knew that she was being talked about. Jon turned his head to talk to the carrying mother directly after Mikken's permission was granted.
"I need you to stay here Frost." He said, pointing to a corner with leather materials and out of the direct line of sight from the entrance. "I'll be back with food shortly."
She growled softly at him and Ned feared for a moment she meant to bite him. But she instead briefly snapped her jaws in front of his face before trotting over to where Jon had indicated and placing herself upon the leather covered corner as though it had always belonged to her. Jon stood and stretched his back out, his hands reaching directly over his head as though he thought to straighten his spine by touching Mikken's ceiling.
A blur moved through the air and the next moment Arya was wrapped around Jon's middle tighter than one of Maester Luwin's bandage bindings. His arms settled on her back and Ned was startled to note that his suspicions about Arya's growth were proven accurate. She was in fact taller at thirteen than her sister had been at the same age. With time, she would likely surpass Sansa in height.
"I've missed seeing your smiling face little sister." He murmured affectionately before kissing the top of her head. His arms tightened around her before he looked at Ned.
"When night falls Lord Stark, I need to speak with you, Lady Stark, Arya and Maester Luwin." Jon said, a serious tone to his voice that Ned was somewhat taken aback to hear.
Arya's head looked up at him, her eyes slightly widened in surprise.
"You're really going to ask?" She seemed astonished by something, but what Ned couldn't tell. Did she already know what Jon wanted to talk about?
Jon nodded his head, smiling at her again.
"Snow!" Came Robb's voice from the entrance to the smithy.
"Stark!" Jon called back jovially, looking beyond Ned.
Ned stepped to the side so as to allow Robb and Jon to see each other directly, deciding to put Jon's cryptic request to the back of his mind for now. Bran was with Robb, standing beside him in Mikken's entrance. The smith had resumed his work not some moments before.
"Take it outside you lot." He instructed, hammer pointing toward the door.
Arya released Jon from her arms and moved toward her brothers as Jon and Ned followed to do the same. Mikken was a kind man but prone to irritability if he was interrupted during his work. Ned didn't begrudge him that as most men who could effectively focus on their work often shared the same single-minded approach to it.
As they entered the cold Winterfell air again, Jon and Robb had embraced.
"It's good to have you back brother." Robb declared.
"It's good to be back." Jon agreed, his right hand patting Robb's back as they hugged.
"What did you see across the sea Jon?" Bran asked as the oldest boys drew away from each other.
"Quite a lot of sand." Jon answered, his shoulders shrugging as though the answer were unimportant. "Truth be told Bran, I didn't have to venture far to find what I was seeking."
Ned's eyes couldn't help taking in Jon's profile as he said that. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something in Jon's tone seemed off when he spoke of being across the Narrow Sea.
"How's your training been going little brother?" Jon asked.
Bran eagerly began to regale Jon with how he had improved under Rodrik's tutelage and how he could proficiently handle a short sword and shield at the same time now. As they walked back to Winterfell's main hall, Ned couldn't help but feel that Jon and Arya conspiring together signified something bigger than it usually did. And considering the aftermath of some of their previous collaborations, that was assuredly saying something.
The afternoon went by in a blur after that. Rickon had been happy to see Jon but upset he hadn't brought anything back from across the sea to show for it. Theon and Jon appeared to be as distant yet polite toward each other as ever. Though how that translated when they were out of his direct sight Ned could only begin to guess. Sansa had greeted Jon courteously while Jon had greeted her as Lady Sansa in turn. Ned didn't know whether he imagined a brief spasm of surprise quickly followed by an even briefer flash of sadness crossing Sansa's face or not. For as soon as he tried to find it again it was gone and her courtly manners were front and center again.
The most awkward exchange had to be between Jon and his lady wife if only because they didn't speak a word to each other, only scrutinized each other before simultaneously electing not to try and greet each other as though they had both been given a mutual signal.
Dinner passed without comment and Ned had managed to let Catelyn and Luwin know that Jon was going to speak with them later tonight about a matter of some import. He decided not to tell Cat that Jon had demanded Arya be there too as he had the distinct feeling his lady wife would object.
He was proven right when the three adults looked to Ned's solar door opening to see Jon and Arya enter together.
"Arya! What in the seven are you doing up at this hour young lady?" Catelyn began to admonish.
"She is here at my request Lady Stark." Jon answered before Cat could hit her stride. Ned prevented his eyebrow from coming up through careful control of his expression. Jon had never in all the time he'd lived at Winterfell dared to interrupt or talk back to Cat before. Apparently Cat noticed how out of character this was for him as well and looked him fully in the eye. Her gaze silently demanded an explanation.
"I am grateful to Lord Stark for keeping his silence for me during my time away from Winterfell. But the time has come now for those who need to know to be made aware of certain matters if things are to progress." Jon began, walking toward one of Ned's lit torches by his window.
"What do you mean Jon?" Mikhal inquired before Cat could say something rude.
"It is time you were made aware of why I left and why I needed to speak with you all about Arya." Jon said, looking to the girl as he finished as though asking her permission for something.
Arya nodded her head eagerly, her eyes bright in the torchlight like pools of molten silver.
Ned had a sinking feeling he knew what Jon was about to do. As he rose from his seat to try and stop him, he was proven right. Jon held his hand over the fire of the torch. It completely engulfed his hand to the wrist in the blink of an eye.
"Jon!" Mikhal called in fear as he stood up to help the boy. Cat said nothing, only jolted backwards as though struck, her eyes taking in Jon as though he had suddenly gone mad and wondering what would be required to stop him. Which from a sane person's perspective was the first answer that would come to mind.
But Jon turned around as calm as a cloudless night and showed his still burning hand: flexing his fingers and moving the fire this way and that as he had when he showed Ned what he had discovered about himself.
"What unnaturalness is this?" Catelyn whispered fearfully as her eyes remained transfixed upon Jon's burning yet unharmed hand.
Jon smiled a humorless smile.
"It is fire magic lady Stark." He answered her despite all present knowing she did not mean to have an answer to the question that had escaped her lips.
"Not quite so natural as the plants upon the ground, but likely a more natural thing than a baseborn bastard." He remarked, a trace of bitterness entering his voice near the end.
Ned looked sharply at Jon. Did the boy truly think now was the time to pick a fight with Cat over his heritage and her opinion upon it.
"Ned, what is he?" Cat asked him beseechingly, looking to him in an effort to ground things in the realm of sanity. Luwin meanwhile had slowly taken steps toward Jon as though unable to believe he was awake, his eyes also fixed upon the young man's burning hand but showing none of the fear his lady wife did.
"A bastard boy born of a union between a powerful fire magic user and Lyanna Stark." Jon answered stoically.
Arya picked up on his answer faster than Cat did and her head quickly turned to Ned as though seeking his word on it.
"Father?" She asked, sounding like a small child again. Ned was interested to note that she hadn't been surprised by Jon's ability to control fire but was very shaken by the revelation that Jon potentially wasn't her brother. Then again, she had been insisting that Jon had healed her using the flames from the day he had cured her illness. So perhaps she had known even before he had left what he could do.
Ned sighed deeply, eighteen years of secret keeping and regret and repressed emotion put into that single sound of air escaping his lips.
"It's true Arya." Ned confirmed.
Catelyn could only look from Ned to Jon to Ned again as though unable to comprehend when the world had tilted sideways and ceased to make sense.
Mikhal however gained a contemplative expression even as his attention drew back to the conversation and away from Jon's burning appendage.
"You thought he might be a Blackfyre son of Rhaegar, didn't you Lord Stark?" He asked softly.
Ned nodded once.
"At first, yes." Ned admitted wearily. "But as he grew, I didn't know what to make of his heritage. He seemed to be entirely Lyanna's son with no trace of his father to show. So I kept the promise I made to her as she held him in her arms for the first and last time." Despite his worry as to how this would affect the family dynamics later, Ned had to admit even if it was only to himself that it felt good to at last admit the truth of things aloud for the first time since he had first taken an infant Jon within his arms and brought him back to Winterfell.
"Little Sister?" Jon called, his eyes fixed upon Arya.
"How can you call me that?" She asked sadly, her head down as she sat heavily into the chair she had taken when first entering Ned's solar.
"Because that is what you have always been to me." Jon answered, striding toward her even as his hand continued burning. Cat grew alarmed and moved to stop him as his burning hand reached out to Arya and gently touched her chin with the softness of a bird's feather. Bringing her eyes up to meet his identical ones he held her gaze so that she could see what he meant.
Ned had always known the two close, but as Arya nodded once and showed a smaller smile that was less sure but no less affectionate than she had ever given Jon, he had to wonder whether there was something more to their closeness than simple sibling closeness.
Jon shook his hand as though it had lost circulation as he drew it away from Arya and the flame was abruptly extinguished.
"In my time away I sought to gain control of my ability." Jon explained to Mikhal and Cat. "And now that I'm back, I need to teach Arya how to control her own."
"No!" Cat rejected angrily, leaping to her feet and coming toward Jon with all the protective instinct of a mother bear.
"You will not make my daughter into…into…" She tried declaring, unable to bring herself to say what Ned suspected she might.
"That was the price for saving her life." Jon said. Ned started. This was the first he had heard of any price being attached to his daughter's salvation.
"In exchange for healing her, I severed her ties of loyalty to the Old and New Gods. As a result, the natural magic in her blood has begun developing like my own." Jon started before Cat's right palm cracked across his face, the sound echoing in the confined space.
"How dare you!" She shouted angrily. "You anger the Seven with your unnaturalness and then you infect my daughter with your taint bastard! How dare you!"
"Mother!" Arya shouted, her voice angry more than upset.
"If you had rather she died Lady Stark, you should have said as much." Jon said coldly, his voice not a tone higher than it had been yet it still extinguished all the argument like a gust of wind from the Wall itself.
"I had a choice between watching her waste away and ensuring she lived. I chose for her to have life." Jon explained, his grey eyes stormy and fixed upon Cat's raging but frightened blue. "Though I am glad you are at last being honest with your feelings instead of hiding behind the mask of ladyship you present. I simply find it pathetic that you would rather she be dead than changed or different."
"That is not-" She began to protest hotly.
"Magic runs in the Stark blood!" Jon declared over her, knocking Ned's mental process further off-kilter. "All of your children possess the same potential for unnatural taint" he spat the word as though it left a rancid taste in his mouth. "that I do. The only difference is that I have unlocked and worked to control mine!"
Ned stepped in at this point, placing a hand on each of their shoulders and physically pushing them away from each other.
"Enough, both of you!" He admonished sternly.
Jon nodded to show his submission to Ned while Cat attempted to speak yet again.
"Ned! You cannot mean to let him-" She said.
"I mean to let him explain before I make any rash judgements Cat." Eddard declared, a slight but definite rebuke in his voice toward her. She flushed but did not protest. She gradually brought herself to sit down again, eyes fixed upon Jon again.
After a lengthy silence, Jon spoke again.
"When I healed her, the magic in her blood connected with mine and gained a similar but different tang." Jon explained. "While my power is based in fire and light, hers is based in ice and shadow."
Arya looked at Jon with a question in her eyes. Had he not told her this before they came here? But then how had Arya known what Jon was going to say to them tonight?
"Arya? You remember the feeling in your dreams?" He asked softly. She nodded slowly.
"Take that same feeling and concentrate it into your right hand." He said. "You know what it feels like. You simply need to change where it goes."
Ned looked to Arya just in time to see his youngest daughter concentrate one her cupped right hand as snow slowly but steadily formed within her palm.
Ned couldn't help the thought that crossed his mind at that instant.
'This is going to be a long night.'
A/N: Hope you guys like this and that you'll let me know what you think. Specifically, whether I overplayed Catelyn's fear of Jon's newly revealed powers. I was really trying to make her reaction come across more as 'devout christian who's just been shown magic exists' instead of generic Catelyn bashing. This chapter took awhile because I've been working on it and the next one simultaneously. And since you guys have been so good about all of this, I'm gonna show you a little snippet from it! (Snippet may be edited before publishing depending on final chapter)
She couldn't help the amused quirk that came to her lips. This was quite possibly the most original request someone had come to her with in some time.
"Let me be sure here." She said, holding up her right hand with only the pointer finger extended. "You want to pay me to be naked, but you don't want me to touch you?" She asked for clarification, left hand brushing a strand of her crimson hair out of her vision.
Jon Snow's impassive face looked back at her, giving nothing away. He nodded once. She couldn't help but think this was probably the most serious haggling for what amounted to absolutely no work for her she'd ever done.
"You're certain?" Ros asked sardonically. "All you want is to admire my charming personality?"