Winterfell's walls loomed high against the bleak northern sky, a solemn reminder of everything Jon had lost and everything he had tried to leave behind. The familiar sounds of the castle—the distant hammering of the blacksmith, the clink of swords in the training yard—felt like echoes of another life, one that didn't belong to him anymore. He shouldn't be here. He wasn't welcome, not after his exile, but he'd had no choice.
Katrina's life hung by a thread. And Winterfell was the only place that might save her.
Jon stood in the great hall, his hands resting on the back of a chair, his dark eyes fixed on the stone floor as he waited. Ghost sat at his side, the direwolf's crimson eyes scanning the room. Jon could feel the weight of his banishment pressing down on him, but he pushed it aside. None of it mattered. Not now.
When the doors opened, he straightened, his heart pounding as Sansa, Arya, and Bran entered the room. Sansa walked with her usual poise, her red hair shining in the dim light. Arya moved beside her, her steps light and quick, her sharp eyes fixed on Jon with something between suspicion and concern. Bran, seated in his wheelchair, was pushed by a servant, his expression calm and distant as always.
"Jon," Sansa said, her voice formal but laced with an edge of warmth. "I didn't expect to see you again."
"I didn't expect to come back," Jon admitted, his voice low. "But I didn't have a choice."
Arya stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "What's going on? Why are you here?"
Jon hesitated, glancing at Bran before looking back at his sisters. "I need your help. There's someone who needs your help."
Sansa raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. "And who is this someone?"
"Katrina," Jon said, his voice softening as he spoke her name. "She's… important to me."
Arya's expression shifted, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Important how?"
"She's… everything," Jon said quietly, surprising even himself with the truth of it. "She's strong, fierce, and she's fought harder than anyone I've ever known. But now she's…" He stopped, his throat tightening. "She's in a coma. And I don't know how to help her."
Bran's calm voice cut through the tension. "And you think we can."
Jon nodded, turning to Bran. "You know things, Bran. You see things. If anyone can tell me what's happening to her, it's you."
Sansa's expression softened slightly as she stepped closer. "Who is she, Jon? And why would you bring her here?"
Jon took a deep breath. "She's a fighter, like us. She's been through more than anyone should have to endure. And she has… abilities. Powers tied to fire. Her father's shadow has haunted her for years, and we fought it together, but it nearly killed her." He glanced at Arya and Sansa, his voice trembling. "I couldn't let her die. Not after everything."
Arya tilted her head, studying Jon with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You love her."
Jon nodded without hesitation. "I do."
Sansa's eyes softened, and she exchanged a glance with Arya before turning back to Jon. "You brought her here because you trust us."
"I do," Jon said. "But I also know what I'm asking. I know I shouldn't be here. After everything that happened, after my exile—"
"You're still our brother," Arya interrupted, her tone firm. "Exile or not."
Bran's gaze, distant and all-seeing, lingered on Jon. "She's tied to something greater, Jon. Something that isn't finished yet."
"What do you mean?" Jon asked, his voice sharp.
"I've seen glimpses," Bran said. "Her fire and the shadows… they're part of something older than any of us. If she's in a coma, it's because she's fighting something—something she has to win on her own."
Jon's heart sank. "But there has to be something we can do."
Bran's eyes focused on him, calm but unwavering. "Be there for her. Protect her body while she fights for her soul. And be ready for what comes next."
"What comes next?" Arya asked, her voice edged with suspicion.
Bran didn't answer immediately. When he spoke, his voice was low and ominous. "The fire and the shadow aren't finished. They never are."
Sansa placed a hand on Jon's shoulder, her voice soft but resolute. "Whatever happens, Jon, we'll stand by you. We'll help her. And we'll help you."
Jon nodded, his throat tight as he glanced between his siblings. "Thank you."
Arya smirked faintly, stepping closer. "So, this Katrina… when she wakes up, I'm going to want to meet her."
Jon chuckled softly despite himself. "You'll like her. She's not easy to impress."
Arya grinned. "Neither am I."
As the room fell into a quiet hum of understanding, Jon felt a weight lift from his chest. For the first time in days, he allowed himself a flicker of hope. Katrina was still fighting, and with his family's help, maybe—just maybe—she'd find her way back.
But deep down, he knew that the shadows weren't done with her. And when they returned, he would be ready.
