IV

JON

Jon awakens to two separate weights crashing down on his stomach.

He gasps and squirms, blinking furiously as his eyes come into focus. Fortunately, the light isn't too bright; daylight hasn't broken yet, but it can't be far away. It must be early morning.

The two figures on top of him, still bouncing up and down slightly, grin down at him. Jon manages a smile back, despite his abrupt awakening.

'Get up,' Arya says with a sly smile.

'Come and see,' Bran adds, eyes bright with excitement.

Jon tries not to wince at his battered stomach. Arya is now a girl of nine, and Bran a boy of seven. They are no longer tiny children; still easy enough to lift, perhaps, but quite heavy when their combined efforts are pressing down on him.

'At least let me breathe,' Jon half chokes, half laughs.

Bran scampers over to the foot of Jon's bed and sits cross-legged on the sheets, waiting expectantly for Jon to move. Arya, meanwhile, slides off the bed and stands beside Jon's upper half, already tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.

'You need to hurry, Jon,' she insists in a stubborn, authoritative voice. 'Or else you might miss it.'

'Miss what?' Jon inquires, his voice still rough from sleep.

'The snow,' Bran breathes in wonder, then clasps his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide in alarm.

Arya is unforgiving. 'You weren't supposed to spoil the surprise,' she exclaims, glaring at Bran, who shoots an apologetic look back.

Jon resists the urge to roll his eyes and laugh. This is hardly the first time Winterfell has been graced with a light summer snow, and the children, especially the smallest ones, always find themselves in awe.

'I'm sure it's simply a passing affair,' he says, reluctant to discourage their excitement but feeling that it would be best to be honest with them. Last time, Bran had cried when it had only snowed for an hour or so, and hadn't even settled on the ground. Best that he and Arya know not to get their hopes up about it.

'You're wrong,' Bran bursts out with a giggle. 'We saw Maester Luwin on the way here. He says this one may last a while.'

'Did he now?' Jon says, amused. Poor old Maester Luwin was likely awoken by these two, or else had the peacefulness of his early morning studies interrupted by them. 'So if it's supposed to last, then why the need to hurry? I'm sure it will still be snowing come time to break fast.'

Arya flushes. 'Yes, but… what if Maester Luwin is wrong, after all?'

Bran turns to her with wide eyes. 'But Maester Luwin is always right. He knows everything.'

Arya scoffs. 'No one knows everything.'

'Old Nan knows everything. She remembers so many stories.'

And how many of them are actually true? Jon thinks with a little smile.

'Maester Luwin said the clouds are thicker and darker, and that they're spread all across the sky,' Arya babbles. 'So it could snow for hours. Maybe even days. Can that be true, Jon?'

This piques Jon's interest. Perhaps it isn't as early as he first believed; the lack of light could be from these dark clouds. 'I suppose, if Maester Luwin says so. In the winter, this would be a common enough sight.' He decides to humour his siblings and climbs out of his bed, much to Arya and Bran's delight.

Bran's face is full of wonder. 'Does this mean winter has come?'

'It can't have. The citadel sends white ravens when the seasons change,' Arya says, although she sounds uncertain. She turns to Jon for confirmation. Jon secretly loves that Arya always trusts him to tell her the truth of things.

'Indeed,' he replies. 'This is a summer snow. A heavy one, but one of summer nonetheless. So, what of our other brothers and sister? Have you told them yet?'

'I was up first,' Bran says proudly, 'and then I woke Robb and Rickon. We went to Arya next.'

'Robb told Bran and I to come and get you. He took Rickon, so they could go and wake Sansa,' Arya finishes.

Jon pauses. 'I doubt she'll like that.'

Arya shrugs, disinterested. She seems just as unfazed as that time she jumped in a puddle and splashed mud all over her sister's dress, which had prompted a whole morning of scolding from their mother. 'Sansa is silly. She hates fun.'

'She simply finds different things fun, little sister.'

'The sorts of things people want me to enjoy,' Arya says with a nod, seemingly understanding a little better. 'She should like this, though. It's snow.'

For a northern family, it's rather sad how little snow they've all actually seen. Arya, Bran and Rickon were all born in the long summer, Sansa is still too young to recall anything different, and Robb and Jon can barely remember their last winter, brief as it was. The summer snows are the closest the children have ever come to seeing winter.

And this one may be the best one yet.

As it turns out, Jon was right in thinking it is early morning. By the time he has dressed appropriately and followed his two younger siblings through the castle towards the others, people are just starting to arise from their beds. The sky is a swirling mess of dark grey, and outside the windows Jon can just make out the little white flakes slowly drifting down.

He shivers in excitement, then quickly reminds himself that he is practically a man grown now, and shouldn't behave like a small child.

Arya and Bran seem to have no such worries, however. They race along ahead of him, chatting away loudly about all the games they could play in the snow if it does end up settling on the ground. Jon is sure that they're the reason so many people are awake at this hour, and he chuckles to himself.

The six of them meet outside the kitchens. Robb, Sansa and Rickon are already there, displaying varying levels of enthusiasm: Rickon is as ecstatic as Arya and Bran, jumping and swaying from side to side in his restlessness; Robb appears level headed and sensible, although it's clear he's eager to venture outside; lastly, Sansa looks as if she hasn't truly woken up.

'Can't we wait a few hours?' she asks sleepily. 'It's ever so cold. We should be asleep, like everyone else.'

'I'm sure Arya and Bran have woken up at least half the castle,' Jon points out, and Robb laughs.

'I told you both to try and keep quiet when you went to wake Jon,' he says, feigning exasperation.

Bran giggles, and Arya says, 'Well, so what? People should be awake. It's snowing.'

'Come on, come on!' Rickon squeals, peering out of the nearest window with a massive grin.

'First things first,' Robb says with a smirk. 'If we'll be outside all morning, we'll likely miss our chance to break fast. We should eat now.' He glances over at the door to the kitchens, then turns and locks eyes with Jon, who instantly recognises the mischievous glint in his brother's eyes.

Sansa and Arya both seem to understand too, and they react very differently. 'Oh no, Robb, we can't,' Sansa insists. 'You're a man now, like father. This is simply childish. What if we get caught?'

'We won't,' Arya says daringly. 'I do it all the time.'

'So do I,' Bran pipes up, realising what the plan is.

'So do I,' Rickon mimics, although he is only three and has likely never snuck into the kitchens before, nor properly understood what they're actually talking about.

Jon thinks back to all the many times he and Robb did it as children, and feels a sudden burst of excitement at the memories of the two of them racing away with stolen food. In this moment, he almost misses being young and playing such games. The last time he stole from the kitchens was two years ago, when he took Arya down to the stream just outside the castle in an effort to cheer her up. The thought of that day still brings a smile to his lips.

'Here's the plan,' Robb says in as serious voice as he can muster. His voice has just broken, and he does sound awfully grown up. Jon's voice, on the other hand, hasn't fully changed into that of a man's yet, and he finds it irritating how it seems to go up and down when he talks.

'Jon, Arya, Bran and I will get the food,' Robb continues. 'Sansa, you'll keep watch, here at the door. Rickon will stay with you.'

'No,' Rickon says immediately, eager to join in. His bottom lip trembles, threatening a tantrum. Rickon is a wild little thing, as untamed as Arya.

'We'll bring you little cakes,' Arya promises, and that seems to settle the small child down slightly.

Sansa doesn't seem altogether happy with these arrangements, but she is too tired to argue. While she and Rickon take their places as lookouts, Robb pushes against the door and steps inside, with Jon, Arya and Bran following.

Half an hour later, the six are well fed and eager to venture outside. A few passing servants warn the children to dress a little warmer, but their words fall on deaf ears. As far as the children are concerned, they've already put on enough layers.

They're met with an icy gust of wind when they step out into the yard, and Jon is instantly reminded of the coldness of the crypts, and how, several years before, he had awaited his siblings' arrival, huddled and shivering in one of the open tombs. He and Robb had thought it funny to tease Sansa, Arya and Bran. Of course, it at almost worked. Sansa and Bran had of course been terrified, but tiny Arya, only of four years of age, had been quite the little warrior. Jon had realised there and then that he much prefered this outcome to actually frightening his little sister to tears. They had laughed and laughed once it was all over, and the gloomy, icy crypts hadn't been all that daunting at all in the end.

'Cold,' Rickon says at once, making a big scene of shivering violently.

'It is. We ought to head back inside,' Sansa agrees, although her words are half-hearted. She is in just as much wonder as the rest of them, staring up at the falling snow as if she can't quite believe her eyes.

'We can't,' Bran insists, thinking that his sister is serious. He holds out his hand and gives a delighted laugh when a snowflake comes to rest on his palm, quickly melting.

'Try this,' Arya tells him, before tilting her head back and sticking her tongue out. Before long, a snowflake lands on her tongue and she giggles instantly.

'Arya, no,' Sansa scolds, likely thinking it to be childish. Bran and Rickon, meanwhile, copy Arya and try it for themselves.

'It's not settling yet,' Robb observes, staring at the ground.

'It will soon enough, I'm sure, from what Maester Luwin said,' Jon offers. 'Where's Theon, anyway? Didn't you ask him to come?'

Robb rolls his eyes and scoffs. 'Oh, I asked him. He complained even more than Sansa did when we woke him up. He said it was far too childish to go out and play in the snow. He's likely gone back to sleep.'

'Theon's stupid,' Arya remarks, pulling a strand of hair in front of her eyes so she can observe the little snowflakes caught in it before they melt. Instead of berating her, Sansa seems captivated by the snow in her sister's hair, and quickly pulls a strand of her own red hair to see for herself.

'Look,' she says, smiling away, all traces of her earlier disgruntlement gone. 'It's so pretty.'

'I wish it could snow all the time,' Bran agrees, trying to pull his fringe down slightly so he can join in.

'I'm afraid we won't sparring today,' Ser Rodrik calls over to Robb and Jon from the other side of the yard, coming over to greet the children. 'This is the heaviest snow in many years, and it's not likely to let up any time soon. I'm sure Maester Luwin will keep you occupied indoors.'

'Can't we stay out here?' Robb asks. 'Not to train. Just to…'

'To play,' Arya finishes.

Ser Rodrik smiles. 'Not in clothing that thin, gods forbid.'

'These are the warmest clothes we have,' Robb points out.

'Then you had best ask someone to find something thicker for you all. I'm sure your lady mother would be most upset if you stayed out here much longer, dressed like this.'

Begrudgingly, the children make their way back inside.

By the time they've each been given thicker clothing and are preparing to head back outside again, Theon has left his bed and come to greet them.

'You won't be able to go out now,' he says with a smirk, nodding at the nearest window. 'Look at it. It's getting heavier and heavier. You'll catch your death out there.'

'We are Starks,' Robb says stubbornly. 'We live out the coldest of winters here at Winterfell, never mind a mere summer snow.'

Theon raises an eyebrow. 'And how many cold winters have you seen?'

Robb flushes. 'I shall see plenty enough when I am grown and lord of Winterfell.'

Theon turns to Jon. 'And what of you, Snow? You have your father's blood, certainly, but what of your mother? Was she some southron tavern wench? Perhaps the sun and warmth would agree with you, far more than this place.'

Underneath the thick sleeve of Jon's tunic, his fist clenches.

'I have my father's blood,' he says stonily. 'I shall survive the winter just fine. Far better than you, Greyjoy.'

Next to him, Arya snorts with laughter.

But Theon is right on one account; as they all glance out the window, they can see for themselves just how heavy the snow is now. Barely anything at all can be made out- not any of the castle walls, nor any people who may still be out there. Lady Stark would never let her children venture out in weather like this. Jon may be able to get away with it, however; it's not as if her concern extends to him. But Father would surely have something to say on the matter, and Jon doesn't particularly like the idea of going out alone. What enjoyment could he really get out of it if his brothers and sisters aren't with him?

'We'll just have to wait for it to settle and stop snowing,' Robb says, although he sounds uncertain.

'That could take days…' Sansa points out wistfully.

'Well then,' Jon says, thinking quickly, 'imagine how much snow there will be by then.'

'I'm sure the ground will be absolutely covered in it,' Robb agrees, looking much happier.

A grin splits across Arya's face. 'We could fight in it,' she says excitedly.

Rickon seems to like this idea too. 'Fight!' he says.

'Like the Night's Watch, fighting the wildlings beyond the Wall!' Bran adds.

'Or perhaps fighting far worse than wildlings,' Robb says, as if preparing to tell one of Old Nan's stories about giants and shadow cats and White Walkers.

From the looks on the younger childrens' faces, he has clearly captivated them, Jon notes with an amused glance. Even Sansa seems intrigued, although less enthusiastic at the thought of all the old horrors beyond the Wall.

'... or we could be a pack of wolves, hunting down our prey,' Arya is saying, and Bran whoops in delight.

'What would be the prey?' Sansa asks hesitantly, almost as if she's dreading the answer.

Arya thinks for a moment, then says, 'Theon.'

Robb, Jon, Bran and Rickon burst out laughing.

Three days later, the heavy fall of snow begins to lighten up.

At first, Jon is skeptical. Every few hours or so, the snow will subside, only for it to resume its heavy downpour after a short while. He expects this time will be no different.

However, when it becomes clear that it isn't returning immediately, the younger children grow excited once more.

'Is it time?' Arya asks him as the two of them peer out a window. Arya is still too short to see properly out of it, so she has climbed onto the window ledge to get a better look.

'I hope so,' Jon replies. The last few days have been rather boring, what with the children being forbidden from venturing outside in such bad weather. With no training in the yard to keep him occupied, Jon has mostly found himself in extra lessons with Maester Luwin. He and Robb have subsequently agreed that as soon as they are able to go back outside, they shall certainly make the most of it.

Arya slides off the window ledge and grabs his sleeve, beginning to drag him down the corridor. 'Come on, then.'

Arya would surely be the leader of a pack, were she an actual wolf. Jon follows his headstrong little sister through the castle, quietly wondering if he was ever this bold when he was her age. The biggest, bravest thing he can remember doing from that time was agreeing to Robb's suggestion that he should be the one to hide in the crypts, and that Robb would lead the younger children down there. Jon had been freezing cold when he had climbed into that tomb, and when Robb left to collect their siblings, he had taken the candle, the only source of light, with him. While Jon had waited, he had been utterly terrified. The crypts had been completely silent, save for the occasional gusts of wind and the odd rat or two scuttling nearby. Jon had been afraid that one of them might climb into the tomb with him and begin biting him. He was more afraid, however, that he might upset an actual spirit by being there; not just some small boy, playing at being a spirit by covering himself in flour, but an actual ghost. Perhaps one of the old Kings of Winter would take great offence that Jon had dared to enter their crypts and pretend to be one of them.

His resolve had almost given in by the time he finally heard his brothers and sisters approaching. He had been ready to give up waiting in the tomb, and try and find his way blindly back to the steps leading out of the crypts, when he heard footsteps coming towards him, and Robb's voice saying that this place was where the dead walked. Jon had then climbed out of the tomb and begun playing the game, advancing towards the children. Sansa had screamed and ran, and Bran had burst into tears and clung to Robb desperately.

Arya, however, had not stood for it at all. She had likely been afraid, deep down, but it hadn't seemed to matter to her. She had punched him and called him stupid, before lightening up when everyone began laughing.

I was never as brave as her, Jon thinks. No one is.

Robb has good news for them when the children all finally trudge out into the deep snow that covers the courtyard.

'Father is sending Jory and his guard with us,' he says. 'He says we can go outside the castle walls.'

Beyond the south gate of the castle is a great expanse of grass, now covered in snow. The Kingsroad itself has completely vanished, buried under the thick, white blanket.

'We'll have so much snow to play in,' Bran breathes as they finally step out through the gate, before scooping up a handful of it at his feet and exclaiming loudly at the coldness.

'Your fingers are going to freeze,' Sansa fusses, quickly handing him one of the several pairs of gloves she had gathered earlier this morning for herself and her siblings.

Robb, Jon, Arya and Bran already have theirs on, but Rickon is the only one who doesn't take a pair. He dodges her when she tries to give them to him and runs out into the snow, giggling.

'Rickon,' Sansa huffs, 'you need to put these on.'

He squeals and rolls over in the snow, waving his arms about like he would do if he were splashing in water. Those standing closest to him are immediately sprayed by little chunklets of snow.

Baring her teeth like an animal, Arya pounces on him, laughing as the two begin to scramble and tumble over each other. Bran cries out happily and joins them.

'Cold!' Rickon giggles. 'It's cold!'

'Which is why you'll need the gloves, little brother,' Robb snorts. 'Now be good and take them from our sister, alright?'

Rickon stumbles over to Sansa, his hands already red and freezing. While Sansa fusses with his gloves, Arya and Bran continue with their playfight, and Robb and Jon watch in amusement. Behind them, Jory and several other guards are joining them on the outskirts of the castle, and they too seem entertained by the childrens' game. Jon even hears one of them them mention something about 'the little wolf of Winterfell', and knows exactly who they are referring to. Much like 'Arya Underfoot', this title has become a favourite for the younger Stark daughter among the castle folk.

She truly seems like a wolf, the way she pounces on Bran and the two tumble down a small slope. Sansa, who has finished ensuring that her youngest brother's hands are protected, calls out in alarm. 'Arya, Bran! You'll be soaking wet when the snow melts!'

Arya and Bran, who splash in puddles all the time and were all too happy to jump in the pool beside the great weirwood tree some years before, likely don't care in the slightest, and Sansa seems to realise this. She gives a small sigh and a reluctant smile when her two younger siblings pay her no heed.

A part of Jon wills him to go after his siblings, to begin playing around in the snow too. A stronger voice in his head reminds him that at four and ten, he is almost a man grown, and has no business acting like a child. He may have no great and noble future ahead of him like Robb does as the next lord of Winterfell, but doesn't mean he can afford to-

His thoughts are interrupted when a snowball whizzes past him and hits Robb's shoulder. The two of them stare in bewilderment as the crumbled ball of snow falls in much smaller chunks to the ground, before they cast their eyes in the direction it came from. Rickon grins cheekily back at them, arms full of more snow to throw.

'Fight!' he calls out excitedly, which gets Arya and Bran's attention. They glace up at their siblings, before hurriedly heading back up the slope to join in. A few feet away, plenty of the guards are already chuckling.

Sansa, meanwhile, looks mortified. She mumbles, 'No, no, no,' and rushes to Robb's side, clearly hoping he'll provide some sort of cover for her.

Arya begins gathering snow in her arms like Rickon, trudging over to Jon as she does so. When their eyes meet, she raises her eyebrows expectantly. Jon realises she wants him to join in too, and his previous concerns about acting like a child abandon him.

'Three against three,' Robb announces suddenly, glancing at Sansa and Bran, who are closest to him. He then looks to Jon and motions that his brother should take Arya and Rickon on his side. Jon grins and nods, already pleased at the thought of this game. Even if behaving like a child is improper, certain exceptions can of course be made- most importantly of which is the chance to help entertain his younger siblings. And he'd be lying if he said he isn't excited to play too. Robb clearly has no qualms with it, and neither should he.

'Let the battle commence,' the eldest Stark sibling declares, 'and may the best side win.'

With the help of the guards, it isn't long before large mounds of snow act as small walls and even tunnels for the children to shelter behind as they pelt each other with snowballs. By the time they've finished with the construction, it has begun snowing again, although lightly. The children won't be told to come inside just yet, not unless the weather gets worse, so they should have some time to play. They've decided the game shall go on until all three members of one side have yielded.

Ducking down behind one long snow mound, Jon glances back at the two siblings following him. Out of all his brothers and sisters, he feels he's likely got the best pick of allies here. It wouldn't be fair of course for Robb and Jon, the two oldest, to be on the same side, as it would put the other side at an obvious disadvantage.

Arya and Rickon, however, are perfect. Jon is immensely glad to have Arya on his side, as she is perhaps the one sibling he is closest to, besides Robb, and is most certainly a force to be reckoned with. Rickon, despite his age and size, is already wild like Arya. He may be a little harder to instruct, but Jon doesn't doubt his enthusiasm. Neither he nor Arya are likely to yield.

Bran would probably be another good ally, given his talents in climbing and running around all the time with Arya. But he doesn't exactly have anywhere to climb here, and it would would be awfully unfair on the other side if they didn't at least have him. Jon suspects Sansa isn't going to want to get too involved, and will probably spend most of this battle hiding behind a snow mound. Finally, Robb should certainly prove a worthy opponent. Decent, but not unbeatable.

There is a very good chance that Jon's side might just win.

'Now, Arya, listen,' he says. 'I know this is a game, and we want to win, but try not to give Sansa too much trouble, aye?'

Arya pouts. 'Shall I go for Robb then? Or Bran? Sansa's too easy- Rickon should go after her.'

'Bran!' Rickon argues, intent on who his target should be.

The two begin to bicker, and Jon hushes them quickly. 'Shh. We don't want to give our position away. They might be coming for us right now.'

As if having been summoned by Jon's words, Bran suddenly appears around the edge of the mound, hand raised and clutching snow. Jon quickly pushes Arya and Rickon along in the opposite direction, shielding them as best he can. He feels the snowball hit him between his shoulder blades and hears Bran's shout of victory, before Arya suddenly turns around and pushes past him with her own snowball in hand. Jon barely has time to turn before he hears Bran shout out again, this time in panic. The small sound of snow smacking into something and Arya's laughter lets him know that his sister has found her target.

Bran races off and ducks behind another snow mound, probably searching for Robb and Sansa so as to regroup, and Arya heads back over to Jon and Rickon. 'That will teach him,' she says triumphantly, and Rickon giggles.

'I'm sure it will,' Jon agrees, ruffling her hair like he often does. Little snowflakes caught in it fall freely at his touch, and she grins up at him.

'Let's attack,' she says, and beside her Rickon snickers with glee.

The three make their way along the little carved out tunnel, cautiously staying close to the ground. Jon has to stoop down the most as he is the tallest, and he finds himself practically crawling at some point. He keeps a close eye on Rickon, who is bouncing with excitement and can't keep quiet for long, no matter how much Jon and Arya urge him to. He seems to have forgotten quickly that this is a game that requires stealth and cunning, although at only three years of age, he likely never grasped the concept in the first place. Jon is afraid that the boy will grow bored of sneaking around and decide to jump over the wall of snow and head out into the open.

Rickon's excited babbling finally gains some attention; this time it's Robb, who is suddenly towering over them from the other side of the snow wall. He lifts out his arms and promptly dumps a huge pile of snow he was carrying on top of Jon.

Rickon shrieks with joy and leaps over the wall, giving chase to Robb, who is already hurrying away. Robb feigns a cry of terror, likely to amuse his little brother, and pretends to run away in fear.

'Rickon!' Arya hisses. 'Rickon, get back here!'

But the small child has disappeared after Robb, cackling away.

Jon is certain Robb won't do anything to hinder Rickon's efforts; he may even yield for the child, so as not to upset him. Bran likely won't have the foresight to go easy on the youngest Stark, however, so Jon decides to focus his efforts on him. 'Come on,' he says to Arya, beginning to head in the direction they last saw Bran in. They might find Sansa with him too, and claim an easy victory.

'We're like the Night's Watch and the wildlings,' Arya says suddenly. 'And this is the Wall.' She motions to the short wall of snow beside her.

It must be very unimpressive compared to the actual Wall, which Jon has heard is over seven hundred feet high, but he doesn't voice his thoughts aloud. Arya's imagination always makes things more interesting, anyhow. 'You're right,' he says. 'But if our two sides here are the Night's Watch and the wildlings, then… which side are we?'

Arya's daring grin and wild eyes gives him all the answer he needs. She and Rickon are far from savages, but they would make good wildlings in this game. He supposes he must be one too, even if he'd much prefer to be a brother of the Night's Watch.

Eventually, the wall of snow comes to an end. A few feet away, another one begins, twisting at a different angle. Between the two is open space, where they would make easy targets. Jon realises that if they are to cross, they must hurry.

Still keeping low, Jon and Arya dash between the two walls and successfully make it to the other side. Once again, they continue hurrying through a winding tunnel, so quickly that Arya suddenly ends up tripping over Sansa as they turn round one sharp corner.

The elder Stark sister cries out in alarm and tries to crawl away, but Arya is quicker. Still partially on top of her sister, she reaches out and grabs a handful of snow, before rubbing it against Sansa's neck.

'I yield!' Sansa sobs, cringing at the cold snow on her skin. 'I yield!'

Arya smirks victoriously and climbs off her sister. Her win is short-lived, however, as she is suddenly hit in the leg with a snowball. Off to the side, Bran has returned, and as Jon bends down to scoop up some snow, he gets hit in the chest. Bran is clearly quite quick, but so is Arya. Ignoring the flow of snowballs sent her way, she races up to her brother and performs the same tactic that she used with Sansa; with a handful of snow, she tries pressing it against Bran's skin. His neck isn't overly exposed, so she goes straight for his face. The two tumble over and disappear behind another wall.

Jon is so distracted by them that he doesn't notice Robb approaching until it is too late. Another snowball hitting him, this time in the head, causes him to spin around and face his brother.

Rickon is nowhere to be seen but Robb stands there, grinning from ear to ear. Surely he hasn't made Rickon yield? He must have gone easy on the youngest child. Rickon has likely scampered off, ready launch an attack.

Jon has been pelted with snow a little too much already by this point, so he decides to enact his revenge. With the handful of snow he had ready for Bran, he throws it at Robb, who deflects it with his arm. This gives Jon the chance to mimic his sister's movements and go for a close range attack; after all, Arya's technique seems to be quite effective. Jon charges at his brother, ready to start shoving snow down the back of Robb's neck if he has to, much like he's sure Arya is doing to Bran right now, judging by the yelps and shouts he can hear from behind the wall. It doesn't exactly seem like the most decent of moves, and usually Jon would shy away from something so devious. But this is merely a game, and he is impressed with Arya's method. She'll be so delighted if they win, and Jon does love it when she's happy.

'Sansa, come help me,' Robb calls as Jon draws closer.

'She yielded,' Jon tells him as draws closer.

Robb curses and bends down to collect more snow, just as Jon leaps at him with his own handful. The two fall to the ground, much like Arya and Bran did, and immediately begin scuffling. The icy burn of the snow is pressing against his cheek as he ends up face down. He quickly rolls over and tries pushing snow into Robb's face. Unfortunately, Robb gains the upper hand as he ends up on top, his weight pressing down on Jon. One of Jon's arms is still free, however, and he makes the most of it. He scrapes around for snow and then swings his arm up, pressing his hand into Robb's face. His brother grunts in surprise and his hold on Jon loosens slightly, giving the younger more leeway to fight back.

Somewhere behind the wall, he hears Bran crying out, 'I yie- Arya, stop! I yield!' Strangely, his voice is giggly and high-pitched, and Jon wonders what else Arya might have done in order to win.

'Where's Rickon?' Jon gasps as Robb retaliates with the same move as Jon's, pressing snow against his face.

'He ran off,' Robb huffs. 'The guards won't let him go far, don't worry-'

At the mention of his name, Rickon suddenly leaps out from behind the wall Sansa is still crouching beside, and she gives a cry of shock as she is sprayed with snow. Rickon jumps on Robb's back and wraps his arms around the eldest brother's neck, screeching out some kind of war cry.

Robb lets go of Jon and backs away, chortling with laughter as the young boy begins pulling at his hair. 'Alright, Rickon, alright. I yield.'

Jon blinks. If Sansa, Bran and Robb have all yielded, then that means he, Arya and Rickon have won. He is about to climb to his feet when he hears a new voice.

'What is seven hells is going on here?' Theon sniggers from somewhere to Jon's right, out of view.

'Decided to come out to join us?' Robb says, smirking.

'I won't take part in this, that's for sure,' Theon smirks. 'I just wanted to see what all the shouting was about is all. I could hear you all back inside the castle.'

'Just your luck. It appears the game is finished,' Robb says.

'No,' Rickon whines, still clutching at Robb's neck.

Jon twists his body slightly so he can catch a glimpse of Theon standing there, looking down on them all with a mocking smile. He means to get up, but with the thrill of the battle now over, he suddenly feels rather exhausted. No matter how cold the snow is, it feels nice to just lie here for a moment and catch his breath.

Theon turns his sneer on Jon. 'Comfortable down there, Snow?'

Jon is about to retort, when a snowball abruptly comes out of nowhere and smacks Theon right in the face.

Robb explodes with laughter and even Sansa begins smiling in spite of herself. From somewhere beyond Jon's line of vision, he hears Arya cheer triumphantly.

'Good one, sister,' Robb gasps between chuckles, and Bran and Rickon's voices guffaw loudly in agreement.

Theon wipes the snow from his face and scowls. 'Little ladies shouldn't be behaving in such a way.'

Arya ignores him and finally appears before Jon, staring down at him. Her face is red from all the excitement and her hair is more of a mess than ever. Jon takes one look between her exultant face and Theon, before his chest begins shaking with laughter that he can barely contain.

His little sister is a good shot, that much is certain.

'What did you do to Bran?' he manages to finally get out once he gains control of his laughter.

Arya reaches down with one hand to help pull him up. 'I tickled him until he yielded.'

'Arya,' Jon scolds fondly as he takes her hand and climbs to his feet. 'You were meant to use snow.'

'Well, I used that too,' she says simply, before shooting him a sharp-toothed grin.

Jon's mouth stretches into a massive beam. 'You truly are the little wolf of Winterfell,' he says, much to Arya's delight, and somehow his smile is harder to control than even the laughter.

I believe I said back in chapter 1 (before season 7 actually began) that if Jon and Arya didn't reunite in season 7, I'd track the show runners down and stick 'em with with the pointy end. Hey D&D, can you meet me out back quickly? I just want to talk.

Okay, yeah, so this is why I named the fic Summer Snows. Because of four pages worth of snowball fighting in makeshift trenches. I thought right back at the start that I definitely wanted to have one chapter about all the Starklings playing in the snow. It was irresistible. I just had to. This is the first chapter that actually has all the kids in it, and possibly the last. The next one might to, though probably not all in a scene together, and as for the final chapter... well, I think I've mentioned before that the final chapter will be after a much bigger timeskip, dealing with the current events of the show (sorta post-season 7/mild season 8 speculation). In which I will include a Jon and Arya reunion no matter what because *glares at D&D* that's what we all want.

I've extensively planned out the last chapter, right down to the actual dialogue, but only in my head. I should really write this all down tbh. The next one's dialogue, on the other hand, is partly written out for me- at least, for one scene, anyway. The oh so famous 'stick 'em with the pointy end' scene itself.

Sorry y'all had to wait so long for this one. I got a little carried away with this other GoT fic I just started. Hopefully, this unexpectedly long chapter makes up for it. (It seriously wasn't supposed to be this long lol.)

Thanks for reading, and remember to review!