Sorry for the delay, everyone! I just had some writer's block this week and all the usual chiz.

But here it is!

Thanks everyone! Enjoy! Mwah!

309 AL

Jon Snow, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch- recently discharged due to acts of valor-, dismounts from his horse, his breath catching in his throat. It looks so different, but that fact is reassuring to him. He could never call it 'home' again. Not after his father died, not after Robb died, not when half his other siblings are still missing.

Slowly, almost agonizingly, the gates open, the loud creaking echoing in his ears. The guards step aside to let him pass. Jon nods at the two men and hands his horse to a stableboy. Taking a deep breath, he walks through the gates, Ghost padding silently behind him.

They'd done a good job of repairing Winterfell. After what he'd heard, it had practically been destroyed by the Boltons. It still has some similar aspects as before, but apart from those tiny details, it's almost unrecognizable.

Lord Rickon Stark and his betrothed, Lady Shireen Baratheon, wait in the courtyard for him. Once Queen Daenerys had reclaimed the throne, she appointed Stannis Baratheon as her Hand, as a compromise of sorts. Daenerys had helped the Starks win Winterfell back, extinguishing House Bolton in the process.

Jon kneels before Rickon and Shireen, his head bowed. "My lord, my lady." His grey eyes flicker up from underneath his long curly hair. A terrible ache settles in his heart; Rickon looks so much like Robb. A boy of fourteen, just like Robb had been before he marched South.

"Jon, you're my brother," Rickon gently chastises. "If you think you have to bother with the silly courtesies, you're greatly mistaken." Lord Stark- Jon has to remind himself, not because of the courtesies, but because he has to remember that his father and Robb aren't around anymore- helps Snow to his feet, and wrapped him in a tight hug.

Jon pulls away a few moments later, meeting the blue eyes of his half-brother. "Where is everybody?" Despite being only recently rebuilt, Jon expected more than just Rickon and Shireen to be in the courtyard.

Rickon sighs deeply. "Sansa's gone down to King's Landing; she is to marry Prince Aegon Targaryen." He purses his lips, all trace of happiness gone from his face. "Arya and Bran are still missing. We've sent out search parties and sent ravens to every corner of Westeros. If we would have found something out, we would have told you."

"Yes, of course. You're right." Jon mutters, ducking his head in shame.

He speaks to Rickon and Shireen for a short while more, all awkward polite conversation and beating around the bush, for, at this point, no one knows what to say anymore. Any topic could be considered a tender one, with all they've been through.

Jon escapes any further conversation by claiming he wants to have a look around. Rickon and Shireen let him go his own way, reminding him to join them for supper later on. Snow mumbles that he'll be there, then proceeds to look around town.

He only recognizes a couple of the faces that he passes. He swallows thickly, the harsh reality looming in the back of his mind once more. Everyone's dead, Jon.

He bumps into someone, his cheeks flaming as he mutters his apologies. He bends down to help her pick up her things, occasionally- accidentally- brushing his hand with hers. He hands her her things, another apology escaping his lips.

He slowly looks up when she tells him that it's fine. He knows that voice, dammit. It's the one that's been haunting his dreams for the past ten years, the one he always wished was whispering in his ear.

"Melodie?" He blurts out, his chest feeling as if it'd cave in on itself. Ten years ago, he'd left a girl, and he came back to a woman. Her cheekbones were sharpened, her face harder, and- though he blushes when he thinks about it- she's become even more shapely, and he finds his eyes wandering down the curve of her neck to the decent amount of cleavage displayed.

He meets her eyes, and feels a stab of guilt in his gut. No longer is there any amusement or mischief in the brown orbs. Jon sees only grief, remorse, pain and anger. He wants to take her in his arms and tell him that it's alright, he's back for good, he's here.

"Jon Snow," Melodie murmurs, taking his outstretched hand in hers. He helps her to her feet, his hands trembling. There's a hint of a smile on her lips, but it still doesn't reach her eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost." I have. You are one. You're a ghost of my past.

He laughs nervously and jerks his hand away from hers, feeling uneasy about the fact that he still feels sparks when they touch. She eyes him oddly, taking a small step back from him. He licks his lips, his pulse racing. "How are you?" He just wants things to be right between them. More than anything. Like we used to be.

She sighs. "Alright, I suppose. It's strange being back."

Jon furrows his eyebrows. "You left Winterfell?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it. "Yes. A little after you left." Her expression is stoic, her tone cryptic. She gives a tiny shake of her head, dismissing her previous statement. A lock of her hair falls out of the bun at the top of her head, and Jon wants nothing more than to reach over and tuck it behind her ear. Please, trust me. You can tell me.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, her jaw clenched tightly. "I thought you're Lord Commander now."

He shrugs. "Discharged for acts of valor by Queen Daenerys herself." She laughs at that, though he's not sure why. His heart sinks; her laugh isn't like how it used to be. It used to sound like music to his ears, like wind chimes, or the bells the singers used to play when they came to perform. Now, it's dark and hollow, and, though she hides it well in everything else she does, he can hear the pain in her laugh.

"Mama!" A boy's voice calls, snapping Jon out of his visions of the past. A young lad, perhaps ten years old, runs up, a bright smile on his red face. "I ran all the way to the godswood and back!" He declares proudly, still catching his breath.

"Good for you, honey." Melodie ruffles the boy's hair. The realization hits Jon like a tidal wave. She got married. She had a child without him. She moved on with her life.

The boy tugs on her sleeve. "Mama, who's he?" He sticks his pudgy fingers in his mouth, but quickly pulls them out when Melodie shoots him a look.

"Honey, this is Jon Snow. He's a..." she clears her throat, keeping her gaze downcast. "He's an old friend of mine."

The boy moves to Jon and gestures for him to kneel down. He obliges, now at eye level with the boy. He's struck by how much he looks like her; round nose, freckled cheeks, defined features. His hair is a messy mop of curly black locks, which Melodie constantly runs her fingers through.

"Hello." Jon says to the boy.

"I'm Rickard." He announces, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Mama told me about you before,"

"Honey-" Melodie warns, but Rickard continues.

"She talks about you a lot, actually." Rickard furrows his eyebrows, his eyes narrowing in determination. Jon takes note that they're a stormy grey. Time seems to slow down, and it's hard for him to breathe. "You left her, but you two loved each other. I don't understand."

"Rickard, that's enough-"

"I never knew my father. Mama says he left awhile ago. Are you him?"

"Rickard, please, stop!" Melodie's voice cracks and is bordering on hysteria. Jon looks up at her and wants to kiss away the silent tears that are falling. "I'm sorry, Jon." She whispers, pulling her son- their son- away from him.

Jon stands up, putting a hand on her arm. "Can I talk to you? Please?" She gnaws on her lip before giving him a tiny nod of her head. She tells Rickard to go play with his friends, but to be back for supper.

They walk to her small house on the border of the castle in silence. Jon can see the dark circles under her eyes, and he's almost certain he's responsible for her sleepless nights. She lost the spring in her step, he notices.

"Is he really mine?" he asks finally, his voice barely above a whisper. They stop in front of her house, and he can tell she wants him to leave.

"Of course he's yours," she snaps. "Who else's would he be?" She hoists her basket higher on her hip.

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm not," she sniffs, opening the door and then steps inside. Jon follows her, unwilling to let her go that easily. "He's the only thing that kept me alive." She turns to face him, hate flashing in her eyes. "Do you know how long I spent resenting you?" she snorts and shakes her head, depositing the basket on the table. "He's a constant reminder of you. Of what we had."

His lips twitch. "You could have gotten married. Moved on." He instantly regrets saying that.

"You don't think I tried?" she cries, slamming her fists down on the table. "I left Winterfell because of you! I couldn't bear it! Everywhere I looked, I saw you!"

"Where did you go?" He takes a small step towards her.

"Pentos. Just like we always talked about." Jon flinches at the harshness of her tone. "I spent days and nights wishing you would come back. Sweep me off my feet like in the songs, and we'd ride off into the sunset." She laughs again, the dreadful and vacant sound filling his ears. "I was foolish to think like that. I stopped dreaming soon enough. There are no fairytale endings, Jon Snow." She sits down, visibly trembling.

He tries to think of what to say, but everything he considers sounds absolutely stupid. "I'm staying," he eventually tells her. "For now, anyway." He sits down across from her, his movements slow and cautious. "Maybe we could..." He trails off. Maybe we could what? She hates you. "We could raise him together."

She's seething now, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair. "You think you can waltz back into my life and pretend that everything's the way it was?" He can practically see the smoke coming out of Melodie's ears.

"He's my son, too." Jon's nostrils flare and he tries to contain his anger. He doesn't want to be angry; he just wants to kiss her, make love to her, hold her like he used to in the dead hours of the night.

"In case you haven't noticed, Jon Snow, he's not a babe anymore. He's ten years old. Do you think he can simply accept the fact that his father's here now?" She lowers her voice, her anger dissipating. "He thinks you hate him. He thinks you left because you didn't want him."

"Why didn't you tell him otherwise?"

"I tried, gods, did I try. But he won't believe me." She buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "I wish you could stay. But I don't think it would be good for any of us."

"Please," he whispers, crying now as well. "We have to try."

She lets out a muffled sob. "Jon, I spent so many years resenting you for what you did to me. I don't think I could-"

"-Melodie, please-"

"-ever possibly love you again." Another sob. "I want to. I do, so badly, it hurts. But I don't think I'm capable of it." She stands up, swiping at her tears. "You can visit him, if you're staying in Winterfell. I'm sure he'd like that." She tries to smile, but it ends up looking more like a grimace. "I think you should go now."

"I don't think I should."

She ignores him, watching him from under wet eyelashes. "Goodbye, Jon Snow."

Jon shoots up out of his chair and grabs her arm, pulling her toward him. He crushes his lips against hers, his fingers tangling in her hair. Gods, he's missed this. He's been dreaming about it every night since he left, the feel of her mouth moving against his and their tongues battling for dominance.

Their tears mingle, and he can taste the salt with every kiss. It somehow makes everything seem more urgent, because gods it's been ten years, and suddenly they feel like teenagers again, before the war, before they knew how bad this world could be.

"I never thought I'd see you again." Jon admits in a whisper, resting his forehead against hers. "I thought you were dead." His lips brush against hers with every word, and he can taste the honey and sugar and cinnamon on her breath and it seems like he hadn't even left all those years ago.

"This doesn't feel real." Melodie sits on the edge of the table, her tiny feet dangling off the side. Her hands still cling onto his doublet, her nails digging into the leather. He puts one hand on either side of her waist and resists the urge to take her right there on the table.

"What are we doing, Jon?" she murmurs, her sweet breath tickling his cheeks. "We're broken people. Shattered and lost."

"Two halves of a whole." He counters, kissing her fiercely. Please, just let it happen. It seems ridiculous, really, how their positions were now switched. Melodie was always the act-now-think-later kind of person, while Jon was reserved and careful with every action.

She doesn't protest this time, instead, deepening the kiss. He groans into her mouth, already hard and ready. She whimpers back, guiding his hands to the laces of her dress. His fingers fumble with the ties, clumsy and unpracticed. But she's out of the dress soon enough, and his cock strains painfully in his breeches as his eyes drink her in. Even with her corset and smallclothes on, he can make out the curves of her breasts, belly and thighs, softened from childbirth. She's somehow even more beautiful than before. She's more freckled from the years spent in Pentos, tiny brown dots dusted over her arms and legs, and he wants to kiss every single one.

"Gods, I've missed you." Jon growls against the skin of her neck. He gently nudges her knees apart with his hand, his fingers trailing up the skin of her thighs. He slips his hand inside her smallclothes and curls finger inside her, then another, and he thinks back to their first time. All those years…a lifetime ago, really.

He drops to the floor, sitting on his calves, and pushes apart her knees even wider. He pulls out his fingers, making her whimper in protest. He sticks them in his mouth, eliciting a loud moan from her, followed by a blue streak of curses. With a small smirk, he peels off her smallclothes, and she raises her hips to help him. He leans in and kisses her hips and thighs, licking stripes with the flat of his tongue. He loves seeing her like this; her face screwed up in frustration, her teeth working her bottom lip and her fingers digging into whatever surface she can find.

He gives her cunt a slow, deliberate lick, and he hears Melodie quietly begging for more, her chest heaving up and down with every ragged breath. Jon doesn't need to be told twice; he hooks his hands under her knees, bringing them to rest on his shoulders. Her thighs clench around him as he continues to kiss and lap at her.

He's forgotten how positively beautiful she looks when she comes. Her lips form a perfect 'o' shape, her head thrown back, eyes closed. The fact that it's him who makes her come undone like this makes him want her even more desperately, and he wants to make her look like that again and again.

They look absolutely foolish, running to the bedroom, half-clothed and red-faced. He laughs as he slams the door shut behind them and pins her up against the wall; she's only wearing her corset and her blue slippers, her dress and smallclothes bunched up in her arms. He plucks them out of her hands and drops them to the floor, pressing kisses to her neck and shoulders. She laughs with him, and it sounds like wind chimes again, like bells and music. Like it used to. Like it should be.

He captures her lips in another searing kiss, lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. She kicks off her slippers and tosses her corset aside, waiting for him on the bed with her legs spread wide, a teasing glint in her eye. He quickly sheds his clothes and joins her, kissing her with desire and want and need.

He makes love to her over and over, and they're lost in the intensity of all the positions and sensations. He thought that lying with her once would quell his fantasy, but it only made his desire stronger.

They lie in each others' arms for awhile, silent except for their quiet breathing. The furs on the bed are in disarray, half of it on the floor. Neither of them makes a move to fix it, for they know that any movement will break the moment.

Eventually, Melodie pulls away from him and rolls out of bed. She slips back into her clothing and combs her hair. She looks out the window to see if Rickard's on his way back yet. She sits back down on the edge of the bed, and Jon reaches out to run his fingers through her long locks.

"That was a mistake." She murmurs, her shoulders hunching. She sighs and wrings her hands together. "I was just learning how to live without you, and then you have to come back into my life again," she shakes her head and Jon lets her hair slip through his fingers. "You have a tendency to bring trouble with you wherever you go, don't you?" She smiles a bit at that, but Jon sees the tear that falls into her lap.

He swallows thickly and pushes himself up onto his elbows. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are." She turns her head to look at him. "I just don't think I can find it in my heart to forgive you."

Jon feels as if an iron fist is squeezing his throat. "Please don't say that," he chokes out. He sits up and grasps her hand in both of his. "Leaving you is the thing I regret the most." He kisses her knuckles and desperately tries not to cry in front of her.

"I don't think that coming back was a good decision, either." She says softly, cupping his cheek.

"Can we try?" he squeezes his eyes shut. "I haven't been there for him, but he's still my son. I don't want to miss the rest of his life." Slowly, he opens his eyes, one at a time. He lowers his voice, meeting her gaze. "I still love you. I never stopped."

Melodie crawls back into his embrace, burying her face in his neck to stifle her sobs. "Stay with me, Jon. With us."

314 AL

"Be careful!" Melodie calls from her seat on the porch. She looks so beautiful, more so than usual, Jon decides; long hair left loose, freckled skin tinted a few shades darker than normal, and her thin dress clinging to her curves in all the right places.

"Aren't we always?" Jon shoots back, grinning widely. He scoops up the giggling Aryanna, who's the spitting image of her namesake. Jon runs down the stairs onto the beach, curling his toes in the soft sand. He lifts Aryanna high above his head, laughing with his daughter.

Rickard dashes by, diving into the ocean. Water flies in the air, drenching Jon and Aryanna. "Rickard!" The little girl cries, and Jon sets her down. She runs to her older brother, who's grinning and floating leisurely in the salty water.

"Don't come to the ocean if you don't expect to get wet," Rickard's grin widens, and Jon swears he's Robb reincarnated.

Aryanna goes into the water, swimming towards Rickard. The fifteen-year-old plucks her out of the waves and puts her on his shoulders. "Horsey, go!" The four-year-old beams, pulling on her brother's hair.

Still laughing, Jon shakes his head, water droplets flying in all directions. He goes back up the stairs to the house where he, Melodie and the children have been living for the past two years. Pentos...just like we always talked about. They still write ravens to their family in Westeros, and are due for a visit soon.

Jon leans down and kisses his wife, running his hand over her slightly swollen belly. They had agreed on Brandon if it was a boy, or Lyanna if it was a girl. She puts her hands on his bare shoulders and stands up, reaching on her tiptoes to kiss him again.

Jon pulls away and looks his wife up and down. Because of the warm weather, she was always wearing the sheer Pentosi dresses. He can make out the soft swells of her breasts and her sharp hipbones.

"See anything interesting?" she teases, her lips curling into a smirk.

"You know I hate it whenever you wear these dresses," he growls, kissing her neck.

"Jon Snow," she admonishes in mock-horror. "You're not supposed to insult your wife like that, you know." He can hear the smile in her voice.

"Have you seen the way other men look at you?"

"Then you should feel lucky," she counters, slipping away from him and going down the stairs. She steps onto the hot sand, kicking off her slippers. She looks at him from over her shoulder, a wide grin on her face. "Are you coming?"