Thank you very muchly to JG, Mara and Azure-Kun for your reviews, you are all of you wonderful beings.

JG, I hope this chapter answers your question. :)

Mara, thank you, I wasn't sure if I'd gotten it correctly. There are some fics that I write and don't post with him in it because I just can't seem to get it well enough.

Azure-Kun, I suppose I'll have to get around to reading that story of yours! And thank you for the praise!

Loneliness of Summers Passed and Winters Present.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in A Song of Ice and Fire, I'm just playing with them for a little while.

*Feels like the previous line is a little redundant on FanFiction. Net.*

Summary: When she came back, she wasn't her. And it most certainly wasn't love that drove them to it. No, that it was not.

Genre: Romance/Angst

The morning was cold and snow fell to cover the stone ground Arya walked upon. Sleep had evaded her the night before, and Nymeria tagged along her heels now, nose to the ground.

At that particular moment of morning, though, Arya was searching for her brother; who had made himself suspiciously scarce at breakfast. She knew it to be Rickon who'd sent the raven to Jon, and though she also knew that bad decisions were made when in bad moods, she wanted to strangle him.

The least the stupid boy could've done was give her a warning. But Rickon was too much like she; wild and wilful. The one thing that was his and his alone now was that more oft than not he acted upon impulses before thinking. This made Arya want to hit him more oft than not. But it was no matter, she would find him eventually.

Winterfell only had so many nooks and crannies.

A scrape of claws not belonging to Nymeria came from the side and Arya stopped. Said direwolf's slim ears pricked at the sound, golden eyes watching the runt's movements intently.

But Jon was not with him. Arya let out a breath and listened.

"I do not have the time nor the patience for this," she snapped as she spotted him. He was perched upon the stone barrier, his profile shown to her, but he made no move to acknowledge her or that fact that she had spoken.

And despite her words, she waited, boots seemingly stuck to the stones beneath her feet.

He turned his face towards her, grey eyes tired. "Well then it is best you make time, my lady," he told her not unkindly. Always so generous with her. He pushed himself to stand, and stepped towards her, dark head bent towards hers as if to whisper secrets. Anyone stumbling upon them would not think it odd; they the two of them had always been close. But it was the warmth she felt from him and the way her skin still shivered in his presence that gave them away to each other.

His eyes were always so honest, and it hurt that small part of her heart that still felt to think that she had planted the tiredness within them.

Jon searched her face, orbs much like her own roaming her features. "I would talk about what lie between us, Arya."

Arya stepped back from the warmth he offered, a strange emotion twisting her gut. "What lays between us, Jon, is thin air and a few bricks."

Nymeria bared her teeth, though no true anger lay behind it. A warning. Ghost watched from where he lay in the snow; red eyes glinting intelligently.

Jon did not falter, did not even blink at her words. It irked her. "Arya, please do not be difficult in this."

But her mind had been set the moment she left for Winterfell six years ago. When she had forced him to leave her at Winterfell, alone and angry. She cast her eyes to the stairs that lead to the kitchens. Jon followed her eyes, but made no move to stop her; his eyes losing that small flame as he let her go.

It was stupidity that had her fleeing him, a strange fear that made her eyes sting. But that wasn't entirely it, she reasoned as she rounded the corner, back thumping against the rough stones. It was a strange sort of guilt that licked at her as Nymeria did her chin now. She had a rage in her heart that could not be quenched with his calm gentleness, and she did not deserve such.

Her life had not been gentle to her-she had the scars on her body to prove it-and he did not have the right to give her the soft touches she wanted after so long apart.

Lifting from the wall, Arya smoothed her hair down, pushing back the emotions running rampart through her. Taking a moment to collect herself, she would only allow this one moment of weakness. Tears never helped a situation, only made things worse and invited embarrassment.

She used Nymeria for support for a bare second before pushing away from the she-wolf and stalking past the kitchen, the cooks sending both Arya and her wolf silent looks of fear.

She caught a flash of red curls and a grey cloak in Wintertown, and she snatched at her brother's shoulders, anger renewed.

Rickon spun around, Tully-blue eyes wide on hers. "Hello sister," he greeted with false cheer. "Fancy meeting you all the way out here." The grin on his face was one of fear, for sure, his shoulders were hunched like a wolf submitting.

Arya smiled pleasantly back, spinning her brother around once more and tucking her arm in his.

"Indeed," she agreed, fingers digging into the flesh of his wrist. Rickon winced. "Fancy that."

Rickon worried the inside of his cheek, legs moving in time with hers as she steered them back into Winterfell's walls. "You know why it is I did it, no?" he asked her, voice soft as if to temper her anger.

Arya did not respond for a second or two, and saw him glance over to her. With a sigh she said, "To some extent," she sniffed. "But mostly I think it was to spite."

Rickon ignored the barb, and instead turned his eyes heavenward. "I did not," he snapped and stopped walking, pulling Arya to a stop with him. For a boy of only five and ten, he looked so much older at that moment than she had ever seen him. "I sent the raven for you," he told her, and it was truth. Arya paused and stopped herself from interrupting him. She nodded that he continue. Her brother sighed. "You are not getting better, sister. I thought that mayhaps after you birthed Bryanna that you would snap out of the sickness in your mind…"

Arya knew of the sickness he spoke of. She wasn't blind to think the rage in her breast to be normal, for the days she did not wish to leave her chambers to be simple sleepiness.

Still, "I am not deficient in the matters of ruling," she snapped.

Rickon's eyes widened. "I- I did not mean to offend, that was not what I meant to imply, sister."

Arya frowned, but took the apology. She poked her brother's middle. "Then why did you bring Jon to Winterfell, Rickon?"

His eyes were sad as he looked at her. "Jon was the only one you truly cared for, sweet sister. I had thought to tell him of what has happened since the war," he told her. "What has happened to you."

Arya snorted. "I am fine, Rickon. You needn't worry."

The look her brother gave her made her grin. A dragon's screech filled the air, and both Stark's whipped around at the sound. The distinct sound of fire leaving a dragon's maw whispered to them, and then roared as the flames licked at stone and flesh. Voices began to rise, and a child's scream sounded clear into the morning.

Rickon's face paled, and Arya moved towards the sound. Rhaegal, Aegon's beast, stood poised to strike at the little bodies on the ground, but paused as one of them stood-naked and skin unmarred-and commanded the beast to stop.

"Brya," Arya breathed, heart hammering like a bird's in her breast as she recognised her daughter. The other child, smaller than she, was wailing. His arm had been burned, but the girl had shielded him from the brunt of the inferno.

Sansa pulled her eldest son away, and he clung to her skirts as she called to Arya. Rickon touched her arm. "Sister?"

Arya pulled in a quaking breath. "The boy upon the ground is the Lady Arianne's son, Doraen."

Rickon frowned. "But it was Brya who did not burn." And indeed the girl-child had not. Though the thick, dark locks had been burned away, her skin did not.

Arya nodded. "Yes." She glanced around, looking to see if Maester Albyn were about. Sansa made her way over, her son trembling at the smell of burning flesh.

"Arya," she started, eyes filled with fear. "Arya what of the boy? I dare not go closer."

Arya reached out to focus Sansa's attention propperly on she and not on the smell of charred flesh. "Please see to it that Brya is clothed. I am going to fetch a Maester." Sansa blinked, mouth thinning, but then nodded. To Rickon, Arya said, "Please get the little lord inside, the cold will be good for the burns but it shall all be for naught if he freezes to death."

Sansa nodded and began towards her niece, little Mace trailing on after her, while Rickon started towards a few of the men surrounding Doraen.

Arya spun and ran towards the maester's chambers, panic blooming in her ribcage. She took the steps two at a time, boots echoing down the halls. She rapped upon the smooth wood of the door and it was opened almost immediately.

Maester Albyn's weathered features tightened into a small smile at the sight of her. "My Queen," he addressed her. "How may I be of service to you?"

Arya nodded quickly and gestured to the main hall. "There has been an accident, ser. Prince Doraen has been badly burned."

As both she and the maester stepped inside the cold hall, Arya spotted where the little boy lay, his mother already seated at his bedside, tears shining in her large dark eyes. Daenerys was on the other, silver-blonde head bent, her fingers clutching her skirts.

As the boy was being tended to, Arya felt a familiar warmth press against her side. She did not have the anger in her at that moment to push Jon away. If anything, she leant into his form, the thick fur of his cloak brushing against the side of her face as she pressed it to his shoulder.

It was she who spoke first, soft words slipping from her mouth. "This could have been so much worse," she said. "If Brya was not…"

Jon nudged her. "But she is, Arya."

She did not reply, instead choosing to glance about for Sansa and her brood. To see if her daughter was in their company.

Jon's hand came to rest upon her arm, his grip loose but demanding. "She is and she knows what it means, Arya. She will ask of her parentage if she is anything like you and I."

Arya met his gaze, felt the heat of his eyes in her bones, the hope that lay in them, and the trepidation. He feared that she would brush him off, cast him away as she had many times before. And oh, how she was tempted to take the path of least resistance. He would let her push the situation away, let her send him back to the scattered remains of a once incredible Wall.

But being a coward about this would bring her nothing but grief all of her own making.

Arya closed her eyes and took in a breath. She did not meet his gaze when she opened them, not at first. Jon's fingers loosened and his hand fell away. She caught it though, just above his wrist, and she met his eyes once more. "I know she shall," she agreed, eyes flicking up to his. "And I shall tell her, Jon. I will."

It was more than that, and he knew. He knew and that was why he was pushing so insistently against the walls she'd built around herself. He wanted to be a part of this little girl's life, and wanted Arya to let him love her.

Arya did not quite know why the idea of doing such a thing was so hard in her mind. She had let him during the re-conquering of Westeros; Brya had been the product, all the proof he needed to show her that she could still love.

If they hadn't been in Winterfell's main hall with their family about them, Arya was sure she would've kissed him. As it was, they were standing much too close to be considered seemly.

Glancing away and stepping back from him, Arya heard Maester Albyn say, "The little Prince will have scars, Your Graces." Arya moved to the old man's side, looking down at the boy, eyes flicking to his mother and then to Jon's brother. "I do not know if he will have use of his right arm, Your Graces. The burns are so severe that I fear he will not wake for a long while. But when he wakes, I will have to test the muscles."

Arianne Martell's tears had been tucked away before Arya set her eyes on her, though the other queen's eyes were rimmed red from her earlier weeping.

Maester Albyn took his leave, and Arya pulled her mouth into a polite, soft smile. "I wish for your boy to wake soon, my Lady." She offered Arianne, the Martell woman gave a smile in return. "I will pray for him also."

Sansa would have been proud.

Daenerys lifted her eyes from her nephew's prone form. "But you do not hold belief in our Gods, Lady Arya. You believe in Him of Many Faces."

Arya tilted her head, she felt Jon's stare on the back of her neck. "There is only one god, and his name is Death. And I shall pray that he not take the young prince just yet, my Lady."

Aegon bowed shallowly before moving to sit beside his wife. Arya could see that there was a redness to his eyes as well.

The Lady of Winterfell left the hall in favour of the Godswood. She traced the lines of the face that wept sap as red as blood, her fingers becoming sticky before she stepped over to the pool to wash her hands.

Arya looked up when Nymeria noticed a person on the edge of the clearing. It was Sansa.

She had changed from her thick and heavy day skirts to the thin ones used for sleeping in. The green material blended with the grass of the Godswood as she glided over to her.

"Jon told me that I would find you here." Arya nodded and sat back on her bottom, legs stretching out in front of her to dip slightly into the water. Sansa sat upon the ground at her side, soft hands combing through the grass. "I had my suspicions, I did."

Arya sighed and rolled her grey eyes skyward. "Seven hells."

Sansa's bow mouth pulled down in an irritated expression, but it was quickly smoothed away. "I came here, sister, to say that it would be best to persuade Jon from the ruins of the Wall."

Arya sent her sister a glare, to which Sansa began playing with her loose locks. "And what, pray tell sweet Sansa, would this accomplish?"

Sansa's eyes were guarded. "It would give your child the father figure she has been craving and it would bring you happiness. Do not look at me with such false hate, Arya. You deserve happiness after all the horridness of the War."

They talked for a few more hours after that, Arya with her head resting against Sansa's own, as they talked over the last six years. Arya did not tell her everything, as she was sure Sansa did not spill all of her secrets to her.

And when the sun had set, they lifted themselves from the floor of the Godswood and brushed themselves off.

Sansa pressed a gentle kiss to Arya's brow and wandered back to the chambers she shared with her lord husband. Arya watched her leave, Nymeria pushing her snout under her palm.

Arya stroked the she-wolf's head, before turning back to the weirwood tree. "Hullo Bran," she started, and the godswood was silent. Arya moved to crouch before the weeping face, lithe legs tucked under and her hands resting upon her knees. "It has been a while, no?"

The leaves sung softly in return, and she smiled. "I've borne a child, Brandon. I've named her after you and aunt Lyanna both." Nymeria sunk to the ground, strong jaws opening to yawn widely. "Though, perhaps you already knew."

Arya lightly ran her fingers against the smooth bark. "I wish you happiness wherever you are, brother. I wish to visit you one day." The red leaves whispered back, the breeze decidedly warmer than it had been a few moments ago. A smile stole across her face and Arya let it lay there. Rising, she kept her palm upon the tree. "I will leave you now, Brandon. Farewell."

The tree sung to her as she walked. Something warm and familiar and very similar to her name.

D.P~ What's this? What's this? An update? I'm infinitely more surprised than you, just so you know. Now... I am sorry for those that thought that this was going to be a fluffy straight-forward fic. I lied to myself too. It wasn't supposed to go like this. I blame myself for not being able to write happy stories of any kind, and Jon for being too much like Rhaegar with a certain kind of sadness to him in the books.
Again, I apologise. Profusely. It seems to be the only kind I can write. I can't write short, fluffy fics and I will have to train myself over the holidays to do so. Who knows, maybe the potential is there?
Oh, would you also be a dear and review?