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Katrina was still weak. Her limbs ached with exhaustion, and her fire, though present, flickered unevenly inside her. But she was awake. Alive. And after everything she had been through, that was enough.
Jon had barely left her side since she woke. She wasn't sure if it was out of worry or something else, but she found herself oddly comforted by his presence. He hadn't said much—he rarely did—but the way he looked at her, the quiet relief in his eyes, told her more than words ever could.
Still, she couldn't stay in bed forever.
By the time midday rolled around, she was up, wrapped in one of the thick cloaks Sansa had given her, and walking through Winterfell's stone halls with slow, deliberate steps. Dream trotted beside her, her tail flicking every time Katrina stumbled, as if irritated that she wasn't taking it easy.
Jon walked beside her, ever watchful. "You shouldn't push yourself."
Katrina smirked. "You're starting to sound like Sansa."
Jon sighed but didn't argue, which was a victory in itself.
They reached the main hall, where Arya and Sansa were waiting. The contrast between them was striking—Sansa in her elegant northern attire, composed and regal, and Arya in her fitted leathers, looking every bit the restless fighter she was.
"I see you're walking," Sansa observed, her blue eyes sharp but warm. "That's a good sign."
Katrina shrugged. "Took long enough."
Arya tilted her head, studying her closely. "You look like hell."
Katrina grinned. "You should see the other guy."
Arya smirked, clearly approving. "Jon says you're a fighter."
"Jon says a lot of things," Katrina teased, shooting him a glance.
Arya stepped forward, crossing her arms. "Have you ever fought with a blade?"
"I prefer a spear," Katrina said.
Arya's brows lifted. "Good. You should spar with me when you're stronger."
Katrina chuckled. "You sure you want to risk that?"
Arya's grin widened. "I like you already."
Jon watched the exchange, something resembling amusement flickering in his dark eyes. He had never seen Katrina interact with other women before—she was always so closed off, so independent. But with Arya, there was an ease, a mutual understanding. They were alike in ways that surprised him—both sharp-tongued, both relentless, both more comfortable in battle than in dresses and courtesies.
Sansa, too, seemed to have softened toward Katrina. "Jon told us what happened," she said, her voice more measured than Arya's. "You've been through more than most. I hope you know you don't have to fight every battle alone."
Katrina glanced at Jon, then back at Sansa. "I'm not used to people having my back."
Sansa nodded knowingly. "Neither was I. But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing."
Katrina hesitated, then smirked. "So, what do people do here when they're not fighting for their lives?"
Sansa sighed dramatically. "Survive the cold. Avoid Arya when she's in one of her moods. And, occasionally, pretend we enjoy the company of lords and ladies."
Arya rolled her eyes. "You mean you do that."
Katrina laughed, shaking her head. She liked them—both of them. They were different, yet strong in their own ways. And for the first time in a long while, she felt something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years.
Maybe, just maybe, she had found a place she could belong.
Jon, watching her from the sidelines, couldn't help but smile.
Winterfell had always felt like a fortress—cold, unyielding, a place of survival rather than comfort. Katrina understood that. She had spent most of her life feeling like she had to fight for her place in the world. But here, in this castle of stone and history, something was shifting.
It had been days since she woke up. Her body was healing, but her mind was another matter. The battle with her father's shadow still lingered in her thoughts, haunting her dreams, creeping into her waking moments when she let her guard down.
And then there was Reynolds.
She didn't know where he was. She didn't know who he was anymore. He had betrayed her, but he had also saved her. That contradiction sat in her chest like a weight she couldn't shake.
Today, she was determined to get out of her own head.
Wrapped in a thick cloak, she wandered the courtyard, Dream perched on her shoulder as the kitten's tail flicked against her neck. The air was crisp but not unbearable, and the activity around her reminded her that life still moved forward, even when she felt stuck.
She stopped near the training yard, watching as young squires practiced with wooden swords under the watchful eyes of their instructors. The sound of metal clashing filled the air, a familiar rhythm that felt oddly comforting.
"Thinking of joining them?"
Katrina turned to see Arya approaching, her usual smirk in place.
"I think I'd embarrass them," Katrina said, smirking back.
Arya huffed. "Probably. But it'd be fun to watch."
Katrina sighed, crossing her arms. "I don't know how to do this."
Arya tilted her head. "Do what?"
"This," Katrina gestured vaguely at the castle, at the people bustling about. "Being part of something. Staying in one place. Having people…" she hesitated, "who care."
Arya was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. "It's strange, isn't it? I felt the same way when I came back."
Katrina glanced at her, surprised.
Arya continued, her voice softer now. "I spent years on my own, learning to fight, surviving. And then I came back here, and suddenly, I was supposed to be someone again. A lady. A Stark." She shook her head. "It didn't feel right at first. But I realized something—being here doesn't mean losing who you are. It just means figuring out who you can be."
Katrina exhaled, her breath visible in the cold air. "And who is that, exactly?"
Arya grinned. "Whoever the hell you want to be."
Katrina let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. She had spent so long running, fighting, surviving. Maybe it was time to figure out what it meant to just be.
For the first time since she arrived, she felt like she wasn't just passing through. She was here. She was standing still.
And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.
The night air was crisp, the stars scattered across the dark sky like distant fires, cold and unreachable. Jon and Katrina stood near the outer walls of Winterfell, the quiet of the late hour settling over them. Ghost had wandered off somewhere, patrolling like he always did, while Dream curled up on a stone ledge nearby, watching them with disinterested eyes.
Jon had asked her to meet him here, and for the past few minutes, they had been standing in comfortable silence, watching the snow fall lightly around them.
Katrina finally sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Alright, Snow, you dragged me out here in the cold. Are we planning a secret escape, or did you just want to stare at the wall dramatically?"
Jon smirked, but there was something in his eyes—something serious, something intense. He turned to face her fully, his dark eyes locked onto hers. "I needed to talk to you."
Katrina raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly. She didn't like serious talks. She liked deflecting, joking, keeping things light so she didn't have to actually feel anything too deeply. But with Jon, that was always impossible.
"Talk, then," she said, her tone casual despite the way her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest.
Jon hesitated for just a second, then exhaled. "I love you."
Katrina blinked. Her brain processed the words, but instead of responding like a normal person, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Wow. You really picked the most dramatic setting for this, huh?"
Jon just stared at her, deadpan.
Katrina cleared her throat, rubbing the back of her neck. "I mean, not that I mind the whole 'cold night, snow falling, confessions under the stars' thing. Very poetic. Very you."
Jon's lips twitched, but his expression remained steady. "Katrina."
She let out a breath, finally looking at him properly, her teasing dropping just slightly. "You really mean that?"
Jon nodded, stepping closer, his voice steady and certain. "I do. And I don't care how long it takes for you to admit it back."
Katrina swallowed, her golden eyes flickering with something unreadable. She wasn't good at this—at being open, at saying things like this. But she had never been good at lying to him either.
She took a slow breath. "I… might love you too."
Jon's brow lifted slightly. "Might?"
"I mean, let's not get crazy," Katrina said, smirking despite the warmth spreading in her chest. "We both know I have issues."
Jon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've noticed."
Katrina let out a breath, her smirk softening. "Alright, fine. I love you."
Jon didn't give her time to say anything else.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them in one swift movement, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her—deeply, fiercely, like he had been waiting for this moment for far too long.
Katrina made a soft noise of surprise, but it didn't take long for her to melt into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak as she kissed him back with just as much hunger.
The cold around them didn't matter. The past didn't matter.
All that mattered was this—his lips on hers, the way his body pressed against hers, the way she felt like she was burning and freezing at the same time.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Jon smirked slightly. "You might love me?"
Katrina rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the grin on her lips. "Alright, alright. You win, Snow."
Jon smirked, brushing his thumb against her cheek. "I wasn't trying to win."
Katrina huffed, resting her forehead against his. "Too late."
And with that, she kissed him again, losing herself in the fire they had both tried so hard to resist.
...
Katrina's eyes locked onto Jon's, a fierce determination burning within them. She had been in a coma just days before, but now she was awake, and her desire for him was palpable. Jon, however, was hesitant, his concerns for her health and well-being etched on his face.
"Katrina, I don't know if this is a good idea," Jon said, his voice laced with uncertainty. "You've been through so much. You need to rest and recover."
But Katrina was not to be deterred. She straddled Jon, her legs wrapping around his waist as she positioned herself above him. Her hands grasped his shoulders, her fingers digging gently into his skin.
"I've been asleep for days," Katrina whispered, her breath hot against Jon's ear. "I've missed you. I need you."
Jon's resolve began to weaken as Katrina's body pressed against his. He could feel the heat emanating from her, the softness of her skin a stark contrast to the hardness of his own desire.
"Katrina, please," Jon protested weakly, but she silenced him with a kiss.
Her lips crashed down onto his, hungry and demanding. Jon's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as their tongues tangled together.
As they kissed, Katrina began to move against him. Her hips rocked back and forth, teasing him with the promise of what was to come. Jon's cock twitched in response, straining against the confines of his clothing.
With a deft movement, Katrina freed him from his constraints. Her hand wrapped around his length, guiding him into position as she raised herself up.
The first touch of their bodies together sparked a jolt of electricity through both of them. Katrina gasped as she lowered herself down onto Jon's cock. The sensation was almost overwhelming, it had been so long since they'd last made love.
As she began to bounce on top of him, each movement sending shockwaves through both their bodies, any remaining doubts or hesitations melted away under the intensity of their passion.
Jon grasped at Katrina's hips now not in restraint but in encouragement, urging her on as he delved deeper into the whirlpool of sensations that threatened to consume them both whole.
In that moment nothing else mattered except for them.