Thanks for the patience! Have been dying to come back to write, but life has gotten in the way. Think it's freeing up soon!*(Accidentally deleted original post, oops.)
Arya has always fit perfectly in his lap. They must have each been born at just the right times for it to work out that way. The consistency was astonishing. Every time he grew, so did she, but only the exact amount to keep things perfect.
There was a brief moment, while packing his bags this morning, where he wondered if that would still be the case now, but he dismissed any worry immediately. Arya could be six feet tall and as thick as the Mountain, and Jon would still find a way to toss her about regardless, whatever effort that meant.
But clearly, it needn't have been a concern. Arya is, if anything, too little. Too light in his arms. Malnourished.
"What were they feeding you in Braavos? Salted sea air? Spoonfuls of shadows?" He gripes, setting her on his hip like a baby and giving her arm a soft pinch with a frown.
Snorting, she bats at his hand, but even that is playful, turning into a grasp as she toys with his fingers. Hers are far too spindly.
"I'm as strong as a bear," she insists, eyes averted, ostensibly observing his hand. Hm.
"And as thin as a reed," he counters, shaking his head, tromping down the stairs, making her yelp and latch onto his neck instead. "That's just fine. I'll fatten you up myself if I have to."
"We don't need to go that far," she grins, but he's adamant.
"No, no, we'll be fixing you right up at the movie theater, little thing. Giant bucket of popcorn, all the candy we can smuggle in, icees, pretzels, the works."
"I'll be dead in a food coma before the movie's halfway over," she complains.
"Nah. It's a scary move, isn't it? The fright will keep you awake," he assures her with a smirk, tapping her nose.
She has no argument there, merely settling her head on his shoulder, resting a moment as he totes her off to the car, setting her primly in the backseat. His hands are reaching for the belt before she can even blink.
"I can buckle myself in, you know," she scoffs.
He scoffs right back, clicking the fastener and patting her head. He'd meant to be quick, casual, but his fingers don't catch in knots the way they used to, sliding through smooth, loose waves instead. It takes a moment for him to reboot at the sensation.
"You brushed your hair," he finds himself blurting.
They blink at each other in mutual surprise. Pink burns on her cheeks, and she squirms a little under him, stirring a strange feeling in his gut.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She harrumphs, crossing her arms, eyes falling again.
His hand lingers at the side of her head, and Jon watches, almost as if it's a creature with a mind of its own and he's merely observing, as it moves to fit to her cheek.
"You know," he says, low and thoughtful. "You know what I mean."
She looks up but doesn't respond, and he's not sure quite how to read the uncertainty there.
There's a moment of quiet before his hand finally drops, adjusting her seatbelt, ensuring she's comfortable, fidgeting with her coat.
"Didn't think you even knew how to wield a comb," he mutters.
She pouts. He isn't looking directly at her, but he can feel the way her mouth moves even still. "Very funny."
There was a flash of something there, he realizes, his eyes darting up, absorbing the little twitches and shifts on display before they get swallowed up.
She's better at hiding now. But not from him. She's embarrassed. He tilts his head.
"Did you... do that for me?" He asks, a little wonder caught in his throat.
Her eyes flare and snap up, boring into his directly now. "No!" She snaps, but she's lying.
Little sister, his chest purrs, and a grin breaks out.
"No!" She repeats again, more urgently, and he laughs.
She's growling now, and he bends down, pleased beyond measure, and he presses a kiss to her hairline. When she swats at him, he catches her wrist, smothers her in the same kisses she rained down on him earlier.
"You little menace," he chides, heart overfull as she hisses like a cat. His eyes crease with affection. "Don't do that."
"Don't make fun of me, then—"
"No," he corrects her, suddenly more serious. "Don't brush your hair for me."
Her mouth parts, warring between baffled and offended. "Why not?"
"Because," he smiles, releasing her and beginning to back out again, "I'll do it instead."
He enjoys the way she blinks at that. Just as he enjoys the way her hand snaps out, catches his arm, holding him hostage. "Where are you going?"
She's talking like she's angry, but he reads the worry in her grip. The you just got here, stupid, don't leave yet, don't leave.
He feels like a fool, floating. He presses a quick kiss to her knuckles, then pries her off, squeezes her hand as he steps back into the chill, bent over to smile cheekily. "We left your bag inside, little sister. Surely, you don't intend to spend the night in just your underthings?" Her mouth drops open, and he cuts her off. "I won't leave you long."
Posting later than I intended because work went longer than I thought, and then I accidentally deleted the original post... lol I have more and intend to write when I can, but this is all I feel comfortable offering at the moment! May come back to edit later as well. Thanks for your patience, interest, and encouragement, guys! I am steadily making my way back to the fandom. ♡
I know this is tagged as Jon, but this wonderful fanart reminded me instantly of Arya in the Harrenhal godswood in A Clash of Kings.
Arya climbed. Up in the kingdom of the leaves, she unsheathed and for a time forgot them all, Ser Amory and the Mummers and her father's men alike, losing herself in the feel of rough wood beneath the soles of her feet and the swish of sword through air. A broken branch became Joffrey. She struck at it until it fell away. The queen and Ser Ilyn and Ser Meryn and the Hound were only leaves, but she killed them all as well, slashing them to wet green ribbons. When her arm grew weary, she sat with her legs over a high limb to catch her breath in the cool dark air, listening to the squeak of bats as they hunted. Through the leafy canopy she could see the bone-white branches of the heart tree. It looks just like the one in Winterfell from here. If only it had been... then when she climbed down she would have been home again, and maybe find her father sitting under the weirwood where he always sat.
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