A/N: There are probably spoilers for the first book of the Game of Thrones series, because when I wrote this I was halfway through it and I've already seen the first season of the T.V. show. There probably aren't many fics with this pairing, but I just had to write it when I saw how nice Jon Snow was to Samwell Tarly. How could anyone be so cruel to such a sweetie? So, I decided to teach Catelyn Stark a lesson. As always, I can take any criticisms, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could P.M. or review if you find mistakes because I like to fix them. :)

It all started when the King came. He'd come to Winterfell to grace Ned Stark with the honor of becoming the Hand. Catelyn Stark cursed this day. She'd snuck away from the King's loud laughter and the creeping sense of disaster that made her spine tingle. Sitting at such a table, with Lannisters, and royalty, and Ned was too much. It made her worried, and unwell.

She was lurking outside, away from the feasting hall and watching her guests come and go as they pleased. One in particular caught her eye. Jon Snow, talking to Tyrion the Imp. Two people she really did not care for. Tyrion trotted away from Jon, whistling a merry tune.

As Jon stumbled closer to her dark spot near the trees, she realized he was marvelously drunk. He spotted her as he moved closer. "My lady!" He called out loud, despite their proximity.

"Jon." She said with distaste, "Lord Stark will not be pleased to see how you behave at a royal feast."

"Oh, you mean my father?" He used the word on purpose, to irritate her. "He doesn't care, no one does."

"It's miraculous, really, that you don't bear the Stark name. You would shame us all. As if you don't enough already." Her voice and mouth were tight with loathing.

Jon wailed into the night and threw up his arms. "What did I ever do to you, my lady? Why are you such a bitch to me?" He looked at her with drunken, confused eyes.

She slapped him, hard. He fell to his knees, and a tear fell from his eyes. He grabbed her skirts and used it to wipe his face. "My lady, forgive me, please! I would give anything to be your child, and not a bastard. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please forgive me!" She felt the wracking sobs that began as he shed more tears.

"Get up," she said stiffly, but he did not acknowledge her. "It wasn't your fault." She conceded, for the first time out loud.

His face snapped up, clear and hopeful. "You mean that?"

She nodded, her jaw clenched. He chirped with joy, and instead of standing, nuzzled his face deeper into her skirts. "You smell so good. Of sweetness and wine and love." He grabbed the back of her legs to keep her from backing away. She saw him inhale again as his face pressed into her fabrics.

She let herself run her fingers through his soft, fine hair once before tugging him up. "This is hardly fitting for a boy of what, 13?" Lady Stark asked, though she knew exactly how old he was.

He laughed and almost collapsed on her. It took her a moment to realize he was giving her a great bear hug, like the ones Robb was so fond of giving her. Only, his drunkenness made him lean too far into her, and she was bearing much of his weight. "I'm 14, almost a man grown!" He said with indignation into her shoulder. "I'm just so happy!" He mumbled loudly, nuzzling her neck as she continued to hold him. It wasn't like she had a choice.

"Stop that!" She told him sharply. Robb had never nuzzled her neck. Jon stood straight reluctantly and she realized that at 14 he was already much taller than her. "Go to your room," She said sternly, and without malice. "Before your father catches you."

He puffed up. "Ima man of th' night's watch, I'm not scared of any man." He boasted the first part and whispered the last conspiratorially.

"The night's watch is neither a place for the honorable or boys playing at men." Lady Catelyn said, although it would be a relief to see him go.

"I am one of those things but not the other." Jon sing-songed drunkenly.

"Oh, so you're a man?" She asked, hand on her hips. He nodded happily, his eyelids falling of their own accord. "Have you ever even kissed a lady?"

He leaned in close, and pressed his wet, sloppy lips to hers. He pulled away and laughed. "I have now."

"Goodbye, Jon." She said coldly, and stalked back to their feast. She hoped Jon was so drunk he would not remember. Not the kiss itself, although that was bad enough. No, she didn't want him to remember the way she'd kissed him back before she realized what she was doing. Perhaps he'd pulled away before he realized she'd turned her face to him and slid her lips across his.

She hadn't thought of that incident again until the night he came back to Winterfell. It was a week after his father's death, and he was there to mourn Eddard's passing. He'd somehow gotten into a group of recruiters, who would stop here on their way to find more for the Night's Watch.

It was deep night. She should have been sleeping, but instead she sat at the foot of her empty bed, staring at nothing. She hadn't changed into her night clothes, and was still wearing a black dress of mourning. It had highlights of gold, and was the one she'd worn the day she'd met Ned. At the time, she was still in mourning from her brother's death. He had said that she was beautiful, even in the wake of this tragedy. It was strange that it still fit, after all these years. Or, maybe not so strange, when she realized that she had done nothing but sit and cry for the past week.

She heard a knock at her door, and when she went to open it, the breath fled from her lungs. It was a man, tall and in shadows, but she would know that face anywhere. "Ned?" She asked, her voice breaking. He stepped closer, and she saw his height. Ned had never been so tall. "Brandon?" She was sure it was him. Perhaps she'd wasted away in the night, and this was him, come to take her home.

"My lady?" The voice was too sweet, she realized, for this stranger to be either. He stepped closer in the light, and she gasped. She swayed. Jon grabbed her shoulders to steady her. "My lady, are you well?"

"The seven gods are cruel. You look such a Stark." Catelyn took herself away from him and sat on her bed. "What are you doing here, Jon?"

"I came to mourn my father, Lady Catelyn." Lady Stark looked at him and found she had no more anger for this strange boy. She should not have sent him away. She knew now it was not worth it to hate him for his deceased father's misdeeds. There was no more anger in her.

None of her children knew it, but she'd read all of his letters to them. The ones he'd sent from the wall. The ones for Arya and Bran and Robb. He was kind and sweet in his letters. Catelyn had learned that he knew his siblings well. He knew Arya would be interested in the training, Robb the rangers, and Bran the structure of the great wall itself. He'd told countless stories of his time there, and most of them horrified her in some way. But there was one story, the one of his friend Samwell Tarly that stuck with Catelyn. She read about all his efforts to help his new brother and she could remember being ashamed of herself. How could I ever have hated him so?

"Mourn away," she said, broken, as the present came tumbling back into her.

"First, my lady, is there anything I could do for you?" He sat beside her, his dark eyes troubled as they stared into hers.

She became aware of how old and pathetic she must look. In a younger woman's dress, and made of bones and skin. How dark the circles under her eyes would be. Yet, Jon did not turn away. He'd looked at her the same as he always had: with a strange reverence, a secret longing. Once, he'd have wished her his mother. But boys grow up fast, bastards more so, and Nightsmen most of all.

"I'm tired, but I can't sleep." She told him, sounding all the world like it was her who needed a mother. He laid his hand on her shoulder in reassurance. "I miss him so much, and I'm so scared." She leaned into him a little. "I just want him to hold me again."

Jon opened his arms, and Catelyn all but sank into them. She had not expected to cry. She hadn't expected to feel so safe and warm in his arms. Most of all, she hadn't expected him to be so strong. He held her just the way Ned used to, tight and secure and tender.

Somehow she ended up lying with him on the bed as he held her and she sobbed. She told him everything. Littlefinger had come to Winterfell with the news and Ned's body, died of a hunting accident, he'd said. How Catelyn had wept. She'd barely eaten, barely slept. The nightmares would come if she tried. They always came.

Jon swore to her the nightmares would not come again. He would stay with her and keep them away. Then he had kissed her on the forehead, firm and sweet. Only Ned had ever kissed her that way. How had Jon known to do it so perfectly? It made the tears come harder. She clutched at his riding tunic, and he just held her, knowing there were no words.

Eventually, the tears stopped flowing. She relaxed against him, and peeked up at him to see if he was still awake. He was. "Will you tell me a story?" Her voice was quiet and dreamy.

"Whose story?" He asked with a small smile.

"One of yours. Tell me about your adventures on the wall."

Oddly enough, he spoke of Samwell Tarly. He talked about how he'd come to the wall with a false sense of pride and righteousness. He confided that he was slowly learning that they were all brothers. "It's a good thing, you know, when we bond." He said thoughtfully. "There's something eerie about the wall, something not right. I feel like something bad will happen." Catelyn was one to believe in omens, and she believed his suspicions correct. "Winter is coming."

He sounded so much like Ned. He even said their house's words like Ned. The same sense of disaster, and the same seriousness. They both had known something sinister was hidden in those simple words.

However, Ned had known the world. He was experienced and battle-hardened. He'd understood those words, in his own way. Jon was still so different. When he said them, Jon sounded almost as lost as she felt when she heard them. He was scared. So was she.

While he talked, Jon became more tense. At some point Catelyn had smoothing her hand across his chest to try and relax him. "Catelyn, why is your room so warm?" He asked.

Lady Stark smiled. "The warmest in the castle. Ned knew I would be more comfortable here. It's right by the springs."

He sat up and striped himself of some unnecessary travel clothes. Catelyn removed the outer layer of her dress so only the shift remained. They both crawled into bed, no longer touching. "You'll stay?" She asked, suddenly scared.

He looked deep into her eyes. "I promise."

"Maybe now I can finally sleep." She gave a small smile and she closed her eyes. She did sleep, and for the first time since she heard of Ned, she didn't have nightmares. But her dreams were wild, forever shifting, and confusing. One second, she was fishing with her father, the next she was play-fighting Petyr with wooden sticks, the next she was holding a baby, who was gently suckling at her breast. 'I wish he was mine,' she told her faceless husband. 'No, you don't,' he replied in deep voice. Then she moved to kiss the babe on the head, and suddenly the dream shifted. She was pressed flush against a lover. Their lips moved desperately against each other. With each brush of stubble she only wanted more. She'd never been so feverish as this. She clung to him, tugging his fine dark hair in her hands, anything to press him closer against her. He'd untied the laces of her slip, and was tugging the sides apart, leaving her exposed all down the middle. She moaned out at the feel of his strong hands grasping her. His skin was smooth and tight. She writhed against him, and struggled to undo his pants.

This dream wasn't changing. She opened her eyes and had a feeling of falling and snapping back into place all at once. "Jon!" She cried.

"My lady!" He responded. "I'm so sorry, so sorry. You were calling out my name in your sleep, and I could tell you weren't right, but...I'm so sorry. The way you were moving. I couldn't push you, I didn't want to hurt you—"

Lady Stark noticed for the first time she was straddling his hips, nearly positioned on his manhood already. She moved, and Jon moaned, clenching his jaw and grasping her forearms in place. "Please don't, my lady." She did again, a slow shove against him, and his hips bucked up even as he threw his head back in an attempt to escape her torture. "I can't, can't think when you—"

"Please Jon," Catelyn pleaded, warring with herself. On all levels, she knew this was wrong. She knew it shouldn't happen, and he was so young. But he was so good, and strong, and he felt amazing. She had to have him inside of her. "Please, Jon. I need you…"

"Anything," he gasped, his eyes closed.

"I need you inside me," she whispered desperately in his ear, crouching so low her breasts touched his naked chest. "Take me. Please please please—"

Jon grabbed her and flipped her over so that she was pinned beneath him. She arched up and moaned for him. He didn't fumble once. He wasted no time pinioning himself into her. It had been easy, effortless to fill her opening. And it felt oh so good. He groaned as he thrust harder and harder. She was so desperate she felt her descent just from his thrusts. She cried out as she felt herself spasm around him, crying out his name. Just seeing her face then caught him off guard. He was rendered speechless as the pleasure rocketed through him. He collapsed on top of her, completely exhausted.

He moved so he would not hurt her, laying on her so. But he never let her out of his arms. They were both still panting, but quite a lot calmer when she spoke, breaking the silence. "Have you ever made love to a woman?"

His eyes met hers, and they were dark with emotions Catelyn was scared to know. He gave a shaky laugh. "I have now."

In a way, it gave Catelyn a perverse sense of pleasure to know she was his first. His first everything, really. She wanted it to stay that way. As long as there was only her, no one could ever hurt him.

The thoughts were replaced with ones of guilt. Jon Snow could easily have been her son. He was her husband's child, and she'd taken him in their marriage bed. Worse yet, she'd been his first. It was so wrong, it made Catelyn want to cry.

But that emotion didn't last long, either. Laying there, watching him watch her, she realized she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. She'd needed him, and despite all she'd done to him he was there for her. She'd been drowning until he saved her. She stroked his cheek, loving the soft stubble there. "Thank you," she whispered.

She saw the same emotions run through his eyes, but the guilt was the one that settled. "What have I done?" He asked her, broken. "My father…" He looked away, only to look back at her with confusion. "What have I done?"

He had no one else to turn to. He never did. And Catelyn had refused him before, but she wouldn't now. "You saved me." She told him, sure beyond a doubt. "I was dying," she toyed with a lock of his hair, "and a god sent you to me. You saved me." She repeated.

"This can't be right." He said desperately.

She put a hand over his heart. "Does it feel so wrong?"

He covered her hand with his own. "No. But it is. I know it is. I don't want it to be. And all I want to do is hold you."

She moved closer to him. "Maybe it is wrong then," she told him, "but I would have died without you. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep."

He wrapped his arms around her obediently. "And now?" He whispered into her hair.

"I'm starving."

The Starks were gathered around the dinner table. Their family meal was quiet and sad. Almost two months had gone by since the death of Ned Stark and it was still a fresh wound felt by all of the Starks. But today it was not so bad as the others. Jon Snow had come from the Wall, on recruiters' duty, and was staying with them on a stop in his journey south.

Catelyn listened to him as he told Arya a story of how Ghost found the hand of a dead man. Arya was listening with rapt attention, and the adoration was clear on her face. If only she and Sansa could get along so well.

On the night he'd left her for the first time, she was in tears. He'd saved her, but she was afraid once he left she'd lose herself again. He'd held her, and promised to return as much as possible. He'd been true to his word, and this was his third visit already. She was glad he was here today, she had news.

She cleared her throat and the quiet conversations of her guests and children stopped. "Thank you all for being here today." Her eyes roamed around the expectant faces of her guests. Not for the first time, she wondered why Petyr Baelish was still here. Probably to confess undying love, the snake. It was too soon after her husband's death. She hoped her news would put him off. "Ned Stark was a good man, but he's gone now. I'm happy to say he left a small piece of himself with me before he left." Catelyn licked her lips. "I'm with child."

There was a collective intake of breath, met by silence. Robb was the first to break it, with a burst of joyed laughter. He jumped from the table and ran to his mother to give her a great big hug. He let her go to hold her at an arm's length. He looked her up and down with a grin. Being the oldest, Robb had heard this speech more than the rest, and his easy acceptance helped them get over their shock.

Soon, everyone was huddled around her, excitedly talking about the possibility of a new baby brother or sister. Everyone except Littlefinger and Jon. Jon was smiling weakly at her, but all the strength seemed gone from him as he sat at the table. She wanted to go to him, but knew she couldn't. Not yet. But she would see him tonight.

Later, hours after supper, she was walking to her chambers where she knew Jon would be waiting when a figure stepped from the shadows and grabbed her arm, halting her progress. She was so scared her fear caught in her throat and blocked the scream. Ridiculously, her first thoughts were of an angry spirit. Ned, maybe, upset with her for all she had done wrong. But then she realized the shadowed man was far too short.

He stepped towards her and she saw it was Littlefinger. "Petyr." She said coldly. "If you'll excuse me, I must retire to my chambers." She tried to pull away put he stepped in front of her.

"Lady Catelyn, such a pleasure to see you." His hand slid from its grip on her arm to her hand. He brought it to his lips for a kiss. "You are positively glowing." His lips slid into a slimy grin. "Congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, Petyr, but as you know, women in my condition need their rest." She tried to pull away again, but he kept a firm grip on her hand.

"My lady, I know it is far too soon, but under the circumstances, I'm sure people would understand." Petyr went to his knees before her.

"What are you doing?" Catelyn put her free hand to her forehead. "Stop this, Lord Baelish."

"Lady Catelyn Stark, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" His eyes were shimmering, looking up to her with hope.

Catelyn just looked at him for a moment. How was there honest hope in his eyes? What lies had he fed himself? "You can't be serious." She said in a strained voice. She had to be careful so she would not yell. "On the day I announce my deceased husband's child you decide to propose? Get off your knees," She said, anger finally leaking in her voice as she looked away from his kneeling form.

"Catelyn," he pleaded, still holding her right hand captive, "I will love that child like my own. I've only ever loved you…" Catelyn tried to tug free again and could tell it was starting to anger him. "Your child will need a father, and the gods know his true father won't be around much." He gave her a tight smile.

"How dare you make a mockery of my husband's death?" Lady Catelyn accused, outraged.

He gave a dark peel of laughter and stood to his full height, finally letting go of her hand, but still blocking the path to her room. "We both know Ned isn't the father, Cat."

"I don't know—" Lady Catelyn hurriedly protested, but was cut off by biting sarcasm.

"Really, Catelyn? The bastard boy? What is it with you and Starks?"

She made a move to slap him, but he took her wrist in a tight grip before she could make contact. He squeezed hard. "Don't you see what I'm offering you, Catelyn? I will treat you as a queen always. I don't care who the child's father is, I will love it because it's yours. I have always loved you." He moved his face in close to hers, but she leaned away.

"No!" But she couldn't tear herself from his grip.

"I understand, Catelyn. The boy was likely a drunken, grief-ridden mistake. I understand, but no one else will. You can't refuse me, or I swear by all the gods I will make your little accident known throughout the seven kingdoms. You wouldn't want your family dishonored like that, would you, my darling kitten?"

He was smiling, believing he'd trapped her. She wanted nothing more to wipe the smirk from his face. She spoke quietly. "Marrying you…would be the most dishonorable thing I could ever do my family." He pushed at her in rage, and she held her stomach as she fell to the hard stone floor.

"So be it," he spat at her. Then he was gone, and Catelyn just rested where she fell for a few moments before heading to Jon to tell him all that had transpired.

"Mother, what is this-this horseshit about the baby? Littlefinger has been telling anyone with ears that the child is Jon's." Robb had confronted her early the next morning, and he could barely look at either of them over breakfast.

She'd told Jon last night. He'd been surprised that the child was his, he'd truly believed Lady Catelyn's announcement to her children. At first, there was his shock. He denied it because he couldn't fathom it. But then he'd become overjoyed at the prospect of fathering a child. Finally, as the night settled, he'd come to feel what Lady Stark herself was feeling. Fear.

Petyr worked fast, Lady Catelyn thought grimly. He was not currently at the table, probably out at the nearest pub spreading his news of the baby. "He proposed to me late last night, and I refused," she said with a straight face. "This seems to be his way of handling rejection."

"That-that—" Robb sputtered for swears nasty enough. "And so soon after father's death! I'll kill that piece of pig's shit!"

"I intend on dueling him as soon as I catch sight of him." Jon said quietly. "Not only does he disgrace Lady Stark with this blasphemy, but also me. I took vows in the Night's Watch, and Baelish is a dead man to accuse me of breaking them." His face was set with determination.

"Jon, you can't do it." Lady Stark scolded. "As a man of the Night's Watch, you are not allowed to duel at all. The penalty for breaking your vow is death." She looked at him, pleaded with her eyes. This had not been in their plans last night when they'd discussed ways to deal with Petyr.

"I don't care. He must die." Jon said, his eyes steel as he looked at her. She wondered if everyone could see the emotions passing between them, and hoped not for both their sakes.

"And he will," Robb said, decision already made. "I will fight him for your honor, mother. Jon, I will hear no more nonsense from you. Some weak man's folly is not worth your life. Besides, I'm the better swordsman."

It took all Jon's will to be quiet. He was not so sure that Robb was the better swordsman, and if anything happened to him…Jon stared off into the distance, worry tearing at his thoughts.

Littlefinger had accepted Robb's call to fight. Not an hour before the challenge was to begin, she met Jon in the trees, not far from where they spoke after the king's feast. The trees kept this place well hidden.

She went into his arms without thought. "My lady, I'm so sorry, please…" She shushed him and they clutched at each other desperately. Finally, he pulled from her. "I'm afraid." He admitted.

"Of what?" Lady Catelyn asked, and knew it was a stupid question.

"I'm afraid that if something happens to Robb…you'll go back to hating me." He hung his head. "I don't think I could go on if you hated me."

She smoothed her hands down his silky black hair. "Jon Snow, you are the father of my child. Nothing will ever change that, or how I feel. And the only person I hate is Littlefinger." She bit her cheek, afraid for her son's life as well. She couldn't imagine a world with Robb dead because of her.

Jon held her close. "We should go." He whispered, but neither of them moved.

"Jon, you're leaving tonight, yes?" Catelyn asked.

He nodded. "I'm sorry, but I must. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Maybe…maybe you shouldn't come back. It's dangerous for us to be together." Lady Catelyn hated the words that came from her mouth, but feared for both their sakes, and the baby's.

He pulled away from her and turned his back. "If you want me to leave, and not come back, just tell me." He bit the words out.

"No," She put a hand on his shoulder but he shrugged away. "Jon, I don't want you gone. I'm just afraid of what will happen when people see you—us—together. It might not be safe—"

He whirled around and grabbed her shoulders. His eyes gazed into hers intensely. "You said it yourself, this is my child. I will not leave him. Not as my mother abandoned me. I will come back as often as I can. More often than that, even! No one will keep us apart."

Catelyn nodded weakly, her mouth slightly opened. Jon was struck once again by how beautiful she was. His mouth slanted on her slightly parted one and he kissed her with a passion that was far greater for her than anything else in his life. His rough hands on her shoulders turned into a caress as they slid around her back and he pulled her closer.

She just clutched at his tunic weakly, powerless against this passion. She loved how sure he was. He knew he wanted her, and how he wanted her, and that made her want him all the more. She was disappointed and breathless when he pulled away. "We should get going. The fight will start soon. And I don't care if I break all laws of honor, I will step in if it comes to Littlefinger's win. Don't fear for Robb, my love."

She gave him one last quick kiss, and they went their separate ways in order to enter the duel without added suspicion.

The fight was horrible for Catelyn to behold. Robb seemed to be the better—quicker and stronger. Unfortunately, it was evenly matched with Petyr's experience. Sansa was hanging onto her mother's arm, her nails digging in, but Catelyn noticed not. Even Arya, Rickon, and Bran were huddling close.

He fought like his father, Catelyn realized with pride. Not looking for killing blows, highly defensive. She could not say the same for Petyr, and she was pleased to note he was tiring quickly from his bloodthirsty lunges and jabs.

Finally, Petyr lost his footing, and fell backwards. He retreated from Robb's advancing form on his elbows, but only got a foot or so before Robb's sword was on his neck. "I shall be merciful," she heard her son shout out. "As my father was before me. I shall leave you only a scar…" He drew his sword up to Petyr's unmarked cheek and drew a deep red gash there with his steel. It matched perfectly its pale pink brother. The small lord looked up at Robb with absolute hatred.

Robb backed off, and was about to sheath his sword when Littlefinger's legs swung up and slammed into his stomach. It was likely a hit meant for Robb's groin, but the effect had the same: Robb was caught by surprise and doubled over. Littlefinger quickly got to his feet and Catelyn saw his sword raised for a killing blow to her son's neck.

She also saw Jon move, across the circle that had gathered 'round the trial, towards them, and she knew he would be too late.

When her horrified eyes moved back to Littlefinger she almost missed it. She'd almost missed the way Robb had raised his sword from his kneeling position to gut Littlefinger from groin to chest.

Littlefinger fell back, and there was a look of shock on his face. His lifeblood and guts poured from him like the river they'd played in when they were young. Her son stood swiftly over him, sword raised, not about to be caught by surprise again. But there was no need, Littlefinger was dead.

As Petyr Baelish lay dying, the last thing he saw was Robb Stark's face. How cruel, he thought, not to die by the man's face whom he'd hated with a passion, but by the face of the only woman he'd ever loved.

Jon was staring out at the castle he was about to leave behind. He really should get going, the Night's Watch was behind enough as it is, and cross that he'd somehow gotten involved in the drama between lords. He found it hard to leave this place. It was alight with the moon and never had anything looked so promising. He knew the work he did at the wall was good, but he often wished he could stay here and have the life he'd only just realized could have been a possiblility.

Arya sidled up to him, silent as a doe. "Sister," he said, surprised but pleased.

"Brother." She answered cordially, staring straight ahead. He looked at her until she slowly turned to look at him with a grin on her face. He couldn't help but grin back. "I'll miss you." She said.

"You better," he said, ruffling her hair. She looked down and bit her lip. "What's wrong, Arya?"

"I'm afraid I know something I shouldn't." She said, her small face serious, and her dark eyes sincere.

"What's that?" Jon asked quietly.

"The way I see it, he'll be three-quarters my brother, so I'll love him just the same." She said, not really to his question, but outloud to herself. "You're only half my brother and you're my favorite, after all."

"Oh, Arya." Jon was speechless. "I-I-"

"It's okay. I saw mom before you came back. It was only after you came that she was okay. Sad, but okay." She played with the frayed hem of her dress. "I won't tell a soul."

"Arya!" Jon exclaimed and held her close. "Thank you." Tears threatened to overwhelm him. It was a relief for just one other person to know, especially when it was sweet Arya.

"I'll take such good care of him," she said as they pulled apart. "You'll see, I will be his favorite sister." She grinned, and Jon knew Sansa would have some competition.

"What if it's a girl?" Jon asked with a grin.

This only paused her for a moment. "I'll make sure Sansa and Septa don't poison her mind and habits. I'll teach her to ride, and to hunt with a bow if she wants. I won't ever make her sew!" They shared a laugh. They watched the castle for a few more moments together, and Jon knew that his child would be well-loved, and he would come back and see for himself as often as he could. Nothing could keep him away.