vi. spring
He leads a group of free folk to Winterfell in the middle of winter’s third year. She is overseeing the offering of stew and bread to each member of the party in the Great Hall when she first spots him. He is lurking at the back of the group, wrapped in the cloak she left at Castle Black nearly two years ago.
That cloak has been worn long and lovingly, she thinks, judging by the mends and the small, balding spot on the pelt next to the man’s chin.
His chin.
“Jon.”
She nearly trips in her haste to circle the long table and embrace him. He catches her effortlessly, the ghost of a smile flitting across his lips. She grasps him tightly, lightheaded and breathless, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck.
“You’re here,” she finally says, chest tight. “You’re really here.”
She pulls back to scan his face, greedily examining every new line, every new scar. His face flushes under her intense scrutiny and he gently extricates himself from her arms.
“Your Grace- “ he clears his throat “-thank you for your hospi-”
“Come,” she says, reaching for his hands. “Sit by the fire. Your hands are cold.”
***
Mending is a practical skill, she finds, and an emblematic one - rejoining that which has been torn asunder.
***
She welcomes him at Winterfell at least once a year for the rest of the winter.
When he visits, they sit by the fire in her solar with glasses of mulled wine and talk until their voices grow soft and hoarse. He tells her of life at The Wall and beyond. Of his fears, his shame, and his grief. She shares her aspirations for Winterfell and for the North.
In the early hours of one morning, she voices her childhood wish for a family - for a daughter who looked like Arya and a son who looked like Robb. She expects him to scoff at her naivete. Instead, he cups her face in his hands and gazes at her like she is a marvel.
The warm kiss he gives her cheek leaves her with a yearning she cannot yet name.
***
He returns for good after the last snow melts and the pasque flowers begin to bloom.
He finds her in the greenhouse, her fingers dirt-stained and sweat trickling down her brow.
“Jon, it’s been too long,” she says with a smile, standing to greet him. “Spring is here.”
He sweeps her into a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground to swing her in a quick circle. She laughs. The sun filters through the building’s glass panes, casting rainbows on the ground.
“I would stay,” he says, breath tickling her ear. “If you’ll have me.”
She inhales, pulling back to meet his steady gaze. His eyes are bright.
“For now?” she asks, hesitant and hopeful.
“For always,” he replies, voice trembling. She throws her arms around his neck.
“Yes, please,” she sighs, lips grazing the pulse point below his ear.
Thank you, again, @jonsadrabbles and @blackholeantiuniverse! Enjoy! :)