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All roads lead to Arya.

It’s what Jon keeps telling himself today, to keep his nerves calm before tomorrow. He’s had two years to prepare for this moment, two years since they’ve been betrothed, and yet some how today, he still feels like a green boy worrying about what’s to come.

He starts walking towards her bedchambers, though it’s the most improper choice he could make right now. The groom heading to the bride’s bedchamber this late in the evening will surely cause a scandal that even his sister Sansa won’t be able to solve.

But he knows he cannot wait to speak to her, with their wedding ceremony being only hours away.

Jon runs into Garlan Tyrell as he walks up the staircase to the corridor that hosts all of the Starks.

“Your grace,” the Southron lord says apologetically as he immediately moves aside to make way for Jon.

It’s been two years since he was crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms, and peoples’ reactions to him are something that Jon still hasn’t gotten used to.

“Lord Tyrell,” Jon replies back, politely.

“Your grace, might I interest with some matters from the Iron Bank-”

What the Iron Bank wants is the least of Jon’s concerns at the moment, but he is the lord of the seven kingdoms now. Diplomacy must be his greatest asset.

“My lord, would it be too much to ask that the matters of the realm be left to rest till tomorrow?” Jon smiles, painfully. “It is after all my wedding day,” he reasons politely.

The Southron lord reddens. “Of course, your grace,” he gestures apologetically to Jon. “I did not mean offense. Your grace must rest for tomorrow…”

“There is no offense at all, my lord,” Jon says swiftly and he continues to move up the stairs once more. Though he knows that the matter has probably irked Lord Tyrell. They had spent nearly a year trying to convince Lord Davos to set a betrothal between the new King of Westeros and Lady Margaery.

It had been months of Jon hearing of how much of a beauty Margaery Tyrell was, a beauty who looked like his own mother, something that had brought his little sister much vexation.

“She’s been wed three times. A Baratheon, and Lannisters, now a Stark? She’ll kill you and marry a Martell next,” Arya had carped. Jon had felt bad at the time, mainly for being so secretly pleased at Arya’s jealousy and possessiveness over him. He had quickly assuaged Arya’s qualms by asking Bran for a betrothal to be set between them, one that she had accepted.

Eventually, when Jon’s betrothal to Arya had been announced, he knew that the Tyrells would be furious and ever since, the tensions with them have been running high.

It’s no matter for today, however. Nothing matter for today except for Arya. All Jon wants to do is see her, he needs to see her, just for a second. He needs to ask her if she truly wants this for herself. He needs to ask her if she truly wants him.

Jon reaches the top of the flight of stairs and walks quickly through the corridor to her bedchamber. He knocks on her door, gently at first and then loudly.

There are noises coming from within her room and it makes Jon raise his eyebrows and his guard. He doesn’t know who could possibly be in his soon-to-be lady wife’s room at this hour, but he doesn’t have the patience to wait to find out. He’s minutes away from kicking down her chamber door when he hears his bride howl, indignantly, “Sansa!”

The name brings him some comfort. It’s only Sansa with her, someone who doesn’t instill fear and rage into his heart.

Jon knows himself to be a reasonable man, he does. But when it comes to Arya, reason always seems to fail him.

He knows that Arya loves him. He knows it to be true. And yet, there are far better men for Arya to marry in Westeros, men who she didn’t grow up calling brother. Men like Gendry Baratheon who would fall on their swords to marry the sister to the Lord of Winterfell.

Arya’s bedchamber door creaks open a slight bit, slowly, breaking Jon away from his sordid thoughts, and he immediately tries to get a glimpse inside of it- of her.

Sansa, however, is far too quick for him and slips out of the door, lithely.

“Jon,” she huffs as she crosses her arms around her chest, indignantly.

For weeks, Sansa has been a force to be reckoned with. From the moment she arrived at Winterfell from the Eyrie, she had taken the charge of planning their wedding and every detail of it.

And plan she has.

Jon hasn’t been able to even hear a detail of Arya’s wedding dress, but Arya has spent hours complaining to him about her fittings.

“Sansa keeps pricking me with her needles to fit into this dress, Jon. It’s only a matter of time-”

“before I prick her with Needle.” They had finished the sentence together.

“Sansa,” Jon answers back to his sister. “I just need-”

“No,” Sansa quickly says, firmly.

Jon groans. “Sansa, please,” he pleads. “I need to talk to her.”

His sister gives him a hard look, one that is so frightening that for a second Jon is convinced that Sansa is Lady Catelyn. “Jon, you know that it’s forbidden for the groom to see the bride the day before the wedding. Absolutely not.”

Jon purses his lips in exasperation. “I just need one minute with her, Sansa. I need to ask her if she still wants to marry me tomorrow.”

Sansa snorts and it is one of those rare moments where his sister isn’t acting like the perfect lady that Jon knows her to be.

“Jon,” Sansa says, wearily. “She’s been standing in that room for hours, with me of all people, and being pricked numerous times. I have painfully handstitched every single inch of fabric for that dress. I am telling you right now, Jon, she is going to be walking down that aisle tomorrow, and you’d have to be a simp to think otherwise.”

Jon crosses his arms and tries to stare Sansa down, hoping to get her to move aside from the door, but his sister remains unfazed. He sighs and uncrosses his arms.

“You’re not going to let me see her today, are you?” he grumbles.

Sansa’s eyes flash with annoyance. “Get. Out. Now!” she yells as she grits through her teeth.

“Fine!” Jon complains as he throws his hands up and stomps away, sulking.

Sansa slams the door.

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The walls of his room seem to be closing in on him tonight. He spends minutes, hours even, trying to let sleep come to him. He even tries to slip into Ghost’s skin, to see if it’ll help. But nothing seems to tire him.

A black bastard king with dark circles under his eyes for his wedding day, what a sight that’ll be, Jon thinks to himself, bitterly.

He finds his thoughts returning to Arya once more. Jon wishes she were here with him now. Arya always know what to say. She always knows how to make him feel better, and bring a smile to his face.

He just wants to hold her in his arms and bury himself in her hair. The feel of her in his arms would be enough to anchor him through tonight.

But what of her worries?

Arya, who has never wanted to be wed, to never be the lady of a castle, what of her worries tonight?

The bile is rising to his throat once more and Jon shifts restlessly in his bed.

He hates that he doesn’t know if Arya wants to be wed tomorrow. He hates that there are multiple guards staying watch of her bedchamber tonight, keeping him from asking her just one question.

Do you want me as your husband?

It’ll be too late to ask her tomorrow after the ceremony has been completed. Jon does not know what he’ll do if he discovers that she never meant to be wed to him. He does not if he could bear the guilt from that truth for the rest of his days.

He wishes that he could just hear her thoughts now. He closes his eyes and prays.

Gods of my father, I beg you. Help me protect my sister Arya. If she does not want to be wed tomorrow, please give me the means to stop the ceremony. I ask you for her happiness, is all.

And a small voice speaks to him, in his head, and Jon has convinced himself that its her.

“Sleep, Jon. Sleep.”

He obeys the voice and soon the darkness takes him.

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Jon opens his eyes to the sunrise. How long he has spent sleeping, he doesn’t know. It’s his wedding day and his nerves have never been more uneasy.

The silence of from outside peaks his interest, however. He throws his furs off himself and walks quickly to his bedroom window, to peer outside. No one happens to be outside or walking and it excites Jon.

Perhaps Arya is alone in her room. I may just have time to talk her yet.

Jon quickly changes out of his tunic and wears his leathers, should anyone see him enter or leave her room alone. Time is limited to him, and it will be any moment that someone else wakes and checks on the bride.

He hurries out of his solar and walks down the empty corridor towards her bedroom. He knocks gently on her door first. Three knocks and he waits.

Minutes go by and the door remains unanswered, so Jon knocks again this time, more firmly.

“Arya,” he says loudly, just so she knows that it’s him waiting for her.

His request still goes unanswered.

A part of him starts to panic. Has she fled Winterfell to escape the wedding? To escape him?

Jon glances in both directions of the hall, and pushes her door open. Her solar is empty and his fears have been confirmed. Arya is nowhere to be found.

He should have known. He should have known.

He searches through every part of her room. Her tables, her dressers, her bed. She hasn’t even left him a note.

“ARYA!” Jon shouts at the top of his lungs. He rushes out of her bedroom and walks quickly next door to Bran’s. He bangs on his brother’s door frantically just to have it go unanswered as well.

Jon lets out an exasperated sigh before he barges into Bran’s door as well.

Bran’s solar is empty as well.

What is happening?

He checks Sansa’s solar to find it just as vacant.

Jon rushes down the stairs to the courtyard. Perhaps they are all there. The castle is eerily silent and it troubles Jon. The entirety of Westeros has come to Winterfell for the royal wedding, it is impossible for the castle to be this quiet.

Something is not right.

Jon reaches the courtyard and freezes at the sight before him.

Two young boys stand before him, sparring with wooden swords, laughing at one another, seemingly oblivious to him. One with auburn hair and one with dark brown.

Jon’s hands begin to tremble and his body begins to quiver. Is he dreaming or is he stuck in the past? What is happening?

Why is he the only person here in this castle watching a preserved memory of Robb and himself, two little boys who do not exist.

“Robb,” Jon calls out.

The young boys continue to ignore him as they land blows on each other, lost in their merriment.

"I’m the Lord of Winterfell!" the younger Jon called out.

Jon finds his lips moving simultaneously, as young Robb’s do.

"You can’t be lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard born. My lady mother says you can’t ever be lord of Winterfell," they say together.

How many times Jon has repeated those very words to himself throughout the years, he does not know, but the years have not made the words any easier to hear.

Jon storms away from the courtyard, brooding and cursing angrily to himself.

He doesn’t know where to go. Winterfell is vacant with the exception of himself and two young boys who did not exist.

He feels his stomach growl and wishes to break his fast but he’s sure if there will even be ingredients for a meal to be prepared in the castle. He begins to walk over to the Great Hall, in hopes that there may be a serving boy or girl to make him a meal and perhaps tell him what in the seven hells is happening.

He walks through the cold castle and still finds its halls vacant, which only adds to the eeriness that he already feels.

He knows that it will be futile to call out names, to hope that anyone is left in this castle with him.

Jon strolls silently into the Great Hall and freezes when he sees that someone is sitting in the lord of Winterfell’s chair.

Jon stops in his tracks and stops breathing.

Lord Eddard Stark is the last person he has been expecting to see.

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Jon steps closer to the lord of Winterfell.

Lord Eddard looks no different from the day that Jon had seen him last, the day that they both left Winterfell for different roads.

“Father,” Jon breathes.

“Jon,” Lord Eddard says, solemnly peering down from his high chair at Jon.

Jon realizes how he must look now, just staring bewilderedly at his father.

“Lord Stark,” he says as he lowers himself onto his knees before his father, before rising once again.

“I was wondering how long it would be before you came to me,” Lord Eddard says, somberly.

Jon immediately apologizes, though he is not sure what for. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know that you were expecting me fath- Lord Stark,” he catches himself from making the mistake again, bitterly.

His uncle furrows his brows and frowns at Jon’s correction.

“We have much to discuss, son,” Lord Stark says as he rises to his feet. Jon still cannot recover from the shock of seeing his father alive and before him, after all this time.

“Come, let us take a walk together,” Lord Eddard says as he begins to stride past Jon.

Jon silently follows him, allowing Lord Eddard to lead the way.

The two of them walk outside of the castle and through the courtyard, which is now vacant.

“You’ve done well for yourself, Jon,” his father comments, turning his head and giving Jon a smile. “I always knew that you would serve the watch well.”

Jon chews his lip. I broke my vows, he thinks bitterly. I took a spear wife to bed. I tried to ride south. I left the watch.

But he doesn’t dare say it. These words he cannot not- will not- be able to say to his father. The most honorable man he has ever known.

It is almost as if his father could read his thoughts. Had they been so obvious?

They begin to move past the courtyard and head for the godswood.

Lord Eddard sighs. “A man makes his hardest decisions for love. I know this myself, son.”

The words seem to break the last vestige of Jon’s hesitation and suddenly he feels as though he were two and ten confessing to his father of who ate the last blackberry tart.

“Father, I’m so sorry. I should have ridden South to fight by Robb. He needed me by his side,” Jon begins to ramble. “I should have ridden south to rescue Sansa when the Lannisters forced her to marry Lord Tyrion. I should have ridden South to save Bran from the Ironborn when Theon took Winterfell. I should have gone north of the wall to find Rickon when the Boltons held the North.”

What his father makes of his apology, Jon cannot determine. Lord Stark’s face is difficult to read and Jon wonders if this is how his subjects feel when they wait for him to decide their affairs.

The two men silently walk in the godswood until they stop at the heart tree, and it is only then that Lord Stark breaks his silence.

“Look me in my eyes, Jon. Is there anything else you would like to ask me?” His uncle asks him, gravely.

“My mother,” the words come flying out of Jon’s mouth. He’s wanted to know hear about her his entire life, and only from Lord Stark. “What was she like?”

Lord Stark looks at Jon silently, smiling sadly, and it makes him feel small. Ever since Bran had told him the truth of his parentage, it haunts Jon that he was the reason his mother died. Now, Jon cannot help but wonder if Lord Eddard thinks the same thing.

“Lyanna was beautiful and willful, Jon,” his uncle says, tenderly. “She rode horseback, she loved to play with swords secretly, and pranked your Uncle Benjen as much as she could. She was stubborn- gods there was no convincing her that she was wrong.”

“But most importantly of all, she was kind. She made friends with everyone, was kind and protective of them all. I see so much of her in you, Jon.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed. The weight that Lord Eddard’s words carry are heavy to bear.

“Did she want me?” Jon asks and he is instantly sorry that he has made the inquiry; for Lord Stark’s face contorts and Jon knows that he’s broken his father’s heart with that question.

Ned puts his hands on both of Jon’s shoulders firmly and squeezed them tightly.

“My dear boy,” he says, “she loved you so much. She fought with every hour of her life, just to keep you alive, to know that you would be safe. She wanted you, Jon. She wanted you to be a Stark of Winterfell, just like herself.”

Jon’s eyes brim with tears and he tries to fight them back.

“Did you know my father…Lord Stark?” Jon feels so guilty for even asking his father the question, but he knows that this is the closest that he will ever get to the truth.

Lord Stark’s face is impossible to read once more. If he has given his father offense, Jon cannot determine it.

“Prince Rhaegar was a complicated man, Jon. He was as noble as he was rash. He was mad as he was intelligent. I was not acquainted with him, Jon, so there is not much of him that I can tell you. But your father had honor. He loved your mother and he died fighting Robert to save you both.

“Did he take my mother with force?” Jon asks, quietly. He feels as if he is a child and not a man grown- a man who is to be wed today.

“Does it matter to you, Jon? Would it make a difference to you?” Ned implores him, seriously.

Jon nods his head, glumly and bows his head, keeping his eyes on the snow of the godswood. “I need to know, Lord Stark.”

Lord Stark sighs deeply. “The honest truth, Jon, the one that the songs will never sing, is that we failed her. All of us did, your grandfather, your Uncle Brandon, and myself. We should have never betrothed her to a man she loathed. We left her no choice in the matter and your mother had always craved her freedom. She turned to your father for her free will.”

“He gave her what Father, Brandon, and I never did: a choice. Her choice.”

Jon still cannot bring his head up to look at his uncle. He swallows what feels like a pile of guilt down his throat.

“Lyanna and Rhaegar loved you so much, Jon. That is the only thing that should matter to you. You were wanted, Jon. I see both of them in you and that is what matters,” Lord Stark argues, intensely.

Jon kicks the snow and looks at his feet. “Do you see her…do you see him?”

“I do. I see them both, Jon. They both see you, even if you can’t see them. They’re both excited for the man you’ve become and the life you are to have,” Lord Stark says, sadly.

Arya.

Jon has avoided saying her name to Lord Stark for as long as he could, but he knows that the moment has come for them to discuss the person they both love the most.

All roads lead me to her. 

“Jon,” his uncle says, sternly.

Jon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It is all hitting him, all at once. The day he left Winterfell, giving her Needle, Ramsay Bolton’s letter, the knives in the snow, I want my bride back, I want my bride back, I want my bride back, his resurrection, Arya being alive and a woman grown, I love you, you belong with me, their betrothal.

It’s all a blur until Jon opens his eyes once more and finally looks the man who has raised him as his own, in the eyes.

“Lord Stark, I’m so sorry. Out of all of the vows I’ve broken, I’m so sorry for this. You took me in, raised me as your blood, and I’m sorry for staining your honor.”

“Arya- I love her with all of my heart father. I don’t know what happened, when it happened. All I know is that I knew someone had taken her and was to make her his, and that was all I could think of.”

“I haven’t dishonored her yet, Jon said, as his face burned hot with shame. She’s still a maid. I couldn’t bring myself to touch her and-”

“You raised me to know honor and I tried my hardest to not forsake it. I knew that I couldn’t bed her until I wed her.”

Lord Stark’s face did not move a muscle. 

“She loves you the most. I’ll never have her heart the way you do, father. She misses you every single day and worships your memory. I know she doesn’t tell me because she fears hurting me, but I worry that she’ll never forgive me if I wed her before the Weirwood on the morrow,” Jon ends, miserably.

“Is that all, Jon?”

Jon says nothing. He just stands in silence, watching his father’s solemn, long face. He has nothing left to say. He knows he has said everything to his father, and it is only his father’s judgment that he wishes to accept.

His father says nothing as well and Jon hears his footsteps, walking away from him.

He begins to panic. Surely this cannot be the end to their conversation- Lord Stark cannot leave him on this note.

You know nothing, Jon Snow.

Kill the boy, and let the man be born.

All roads lead to Arya

“Lord Stark!” Jon calls out, loudly, asserting himself for the first time ever to his father.

Lord Eddard stops walking and turns around slowly to face Jon once more.

Jon silently gets down on both knees and bows his head, looking down at the snow.

He hears Lord Stark walk over carefully towards as Jon keeps his eyes and head down at the snow.

When he hears his uncle’s feet stop moving, Jon finally begins to speak.

“Lord Stark, I, Jon of the House Targaryen, ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage before the Old Gods of the Weirwood. Do I have your blessing to wed Arya of the House Stark?” Jon asks, his voice resolute and firm, and he is prepared to accept any decision Lord Stark will give him.

The Lord of Winterfell’s voice is steel.

“Do you swear to protect my daughter from those would bring her harm and keep her safe for as long as you live?”

“I swear it by the Old Gods,” Jon vows.

“Do you swear to never bring shame to my daughter, to never ask her of any duty that would dishonor her?”

“I swear it by the Old Gods,” Jon vows.

“Do you swear to love my daughter and only her for the rest of your days?”

“I swear it by the Old Gods,” Jon vows.

“Then rise,” Lord Stark commands.

Jon rises from his knees and stands upright, before Lord Eddard once more, to see his uncle holding a cloak in his hands.

“You are Jon of the Houses Stark and Targaryen. You are as much as my son as you are Lyanna and Rhaegar’s,” Lord Stark says as he takes the cloak, bearing the sigils of a direwolf and a three-headed-dragon, and puts it over Jon’s shoulders.

“You will wed Arya of the House Stark tomorrow, your grace. Make sure to wear this cloak of arms, your grace. It’s the only one I’ll accept for my daughter to wear.”

Jon opens his mouth to thank his father, but Lord Stark is no longer in the godswood with him.

“Father?” Jon shouts. “Father!” he shouts once more.

The only answer he gets is the howl a wolf from outside of the castle.

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There is light hitting him and he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. Jon groans as he tries to cover his eyes but it’s too bright.

And it’s noisy. He hears loud clamoring coming from outside of his solar and eager voices.

He opens his eyes in exasperation, since he knows his sleep is now lost to him. That’s when realization slowly starts to creep in.

It is truly his wedding today. In just a handful of hours, he is to wed Arya and swear his vows to her.

Arya.

Jon promptly shoots himself out of his bed.

Arya. Robb. Father.

It was all just a dream. Just a terribly, confusing dream.

That is what Jon keeps telling himself until his feet reach his desk and see a black cloak resting upon it. His eyes widen and he feels his breath quicken.

It cannot be. It was a dream. Ghosts do not exist, he thinks furiously to himself as he walks over to pick up the cloak.

He reaches for the cloak and opens it, just to check the sigil that adorns it, and his pulse stops for a moment.

There’s a three-headed-dragon of House Targaryen embroidered over a roaring direwolf of House Stark.

Jon lets the cloak slip out of his fingers and hit the floor.

You know nothing, Jon Snow.

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Out of all of his siblings, Jon is absolutely certain that he is the one who has spent the least amount of time in the crypts of Winterfell. He has had far too many dreams of the old stone kings on their thrones to ever find the crypts a place of solace.

“You do not belong here,” the kings of winter have always told him, and he has always known it to be true.

It has been nearly a moon since the day he arrived at Winterfell for the wedding preparations, and Jon has only visited the crypts once- to visit his mother and uncles.

But it is his wedding day today, and Jon knows that he cannot avoid the crypts. He is a Stark, and every Stark knows where they must go to pay their respects.

In an hour, he is to stand before the Weirwood, in front of all the nobles of Westeros and pledge his vows, ones that he will hold until the end of his time.

He hasn’t been able to find Arya all day. Where his sister Sansa has kept his bride today, Jon does not know, but he knows her to at least be in Winterfell as of now.

Jon walks slowly into the dimly lit crypts. It was always a wonder to him how the crypts survived when the Boltons burned Winterfell.

This is our legacy. A Stark must always be in Winterfell. So long as the castle remains, the wolves will always come home.

Jon passes by the statues of the many kings of winter and the north who have ruled. He has seen many of them in his dreams, but it is easier to see them as stone.

He arrives at his mother’s statue and leaves her a small bouquet of winter roses, just like the ones he had seen his uncle leave for her throughout the years, just like the ones Prince Rhaegar had given her once.

“Thank you,” Jon whispers to her. He has spoken to her many times before, but it has never been like this. This is the first time he knows that she is truly here- watching and listening.

He smiles at her statue. It is comforting now to know that she has been watching over him all these years, even if he has never been able to see or hear her.

“Thank you for fighting to stay alive to save me. Thank you for giving me life,” he continues as tears start to brim his eyes. “I never told you this, because I never knew that it was you- but I used to dream of you. You used to visit me and you were beautiful, and highborn, and your eyes were always kind.”

He feels his tears start to fall and he quickly brushes them away.

“Thank you for everything, mother. I wish I could stay more, but it is my wedding day and there is another person who I need to speak to here.”

Jon walks away from his mother’s tomb. He starts passing his Uncle Brandon’s statue, and then his father’s, and then his Uncle Benjen’s. He smiles at all of their statues. There is so much that he wishes to speak to all of them about, but Jon is a man running out of time.

There is only one person he truly needs to speak to before his wedding.

And when Jon finally gets to Robb’s statue, he sees that his brother Bran has already beaten him there.

Bran turns his head to look at Jon. “I thought I’d find you here, Jon,” he says as he gives Jon a sad smile.

Jon smiles back at his brother and heads over to stand next to him.

“I knew that you would need to speak to Robb, if you wanted to marry Arya in good conscience,” Bran speaks, softly.

They both turn to look at Robb, and remain silent for a couple of minutes.

Jon looks on at his brother’s statue and his chest tightens. He would have been two and twenty today. Robb would have been his king and he would have never allowed Arya to be betrothed to Jon.

There is nothing Jon wishes more desperately for than for Robb to be here, alive, and looking at him.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been that he and Bran have spoken, but eventually he brings himself to end the silence.

“I miss him,” he says, not being able to take his eyes off of Robb.

“I miss him too,” Bran’s voice breaks as he replies back to him. Bran sniffles as he continues, “He was meant to be the Lord of Winterfell. All of this was meant for him. I never wanted it. I just wanted him to live.”

Jon’s lip quivers, as he bows his head down and momentarily looks away from Robb’s statue. He never allows himself to think of Grey Wind or snowflakes melting in auburn hair. It hurts him more than knives and snow and blood.

He turns his body to look at Bran, who moves his wheelchair to face him. “I’m to meet Arya in less than an hour and have her swear herself to me, and here I am, Bran,” he rasps.

Bran tilts his head and furrows his brows. “What troubles you so, Jon?” his brother asks, kindly.

“Arya,” Jon answers, simply.

All roads lead to her.

“Arya has never wanted to be wed, Bran. You know how she’s always been. I can’t help but feel like I’m trapping her into a life that she has never wanted, and that she’s enduring just because she wants to make me happy,” he complains, miserably.

His brother smacks his palm across his forehead and shakes his head at Jon.

“What?” Jon asks with confusion.

“Jon,” Bran says, incredulously, “for someone who is one of the smartest people in the realm, you can just be so blind sometimes.”

Jon sighs heavily.

Bran continues on, vehemently, “Arya doesn’t just love you, Jon. She adores you. She’s spent the past two years missing you and begging to be by your side down South. She loves Winterfell, she loves Father, but she loves you the most.”

Jon wants to tell Bran more about his fears. He wants to tell him about the stories he’s heard of the Lord of the Storms End’s passion for Arya, and the rumors he has heard of that passion being requited. He wants to tell him that Arya wanted to travel the world, all the free cities and Essos, and now she never will be able to. He wants to tell him how he feels as if the Old Gods will condemn and never forgive Arya, should he wed her today.

But just as many other times in his life, Jon is silent and keeps his brooding to himself.

“You have much to discuss with Robb, Jon, and Sansa will have both of our heads if we’re late to the ceremony. I believe that it is time for me to leave you here,” Bran says, somberly.

“Thank you, Bran,” Jon says, earnestly. He hopes that his little brother knows how much his words have meant to him.

Bran smiles warmly at him. “You’re a good man, Jon. I know that you’ll look after Arya best, and believe me, for whatever it’s worth, he- Bran gestures at Robb’s statue- knows it too.”

And with those words, his little brother starts wheeling away from him and out of the crypts, leaving Jon alone with Robb.

Jon takes a deep breath as he looks at Robb’s face once more.

Robb is stern. The statue looks so much like him and yet it doesn’t look like him at all.

“I wish you were here,” Jon begins. “I’m going to wed Arya today, Robb. I know that you know this.”

The words are as hard to say as Jon has thought they would be.

“I’m sorry.”

“Father has given me his permission and his blessings, but I don’t have your’s yet. I-”

Jon pauses and swallows his guilt. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I love her, Robb. Gods know I have loved her for so long. I spent years trying to deny it, years convincing myself that I could wish my love for her away and love another.”

“I’ve failed you, and I’m sorry.”

Robb’s face still looks stern and Jon tries to imagine the red that his brother’s face would be now, and his narrowed eyes.

“I should have ridden South when the Lannisters were holding Father. I should have left the watch to fight by your side. Arya- I loved her so much, that she was the one I broke my vows for. The thought of the man who burned Winterfell, taking her and making her his, that was the one time I had to leave the watch.”

“I’ve failed you, and I’m sorry.”

Jon’s heart is pounding and his palms are starting to feel clammy. There is only one apology left to give Robb and he knows he needs to do it now.

“I am going to wed Arya soon. I am going to make her my queen and pledge my love for her in front of all of the high lords of Westeros. I am going to swear my vows to the old gods and make us one heart and soul today.”

“It’s the last time that I will fail you and I am sorry.”

Jon sighs, deeply. As he exhales, he notes that it is the first time today that he feels light, that there is nothing weighing him down anymore.

“I have one last thing for you, brother,” Jon says, as he reaches into his fur cloak and pulls out a bronze crown.

“Arya gave this to me when she returned North from the Riverlands,” Jon explains to the statue. “I never wore it…it never felt right. The North was always your’s. I’ve been holding on to it for some time now, but it’s not mine to keep. You will always be the last King in the North, Robb.”

Jon leans forward and places the bronze crown on his brother’s head.

“The crown is your’s, Robb.”

It looks better than the snowflakes that once melted on his head.

 ~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

There is music playing and chatter as everyone swarms the godswood of Winterfell with all of their eyes on one person alone: Jon.

Jon waits patiently in front of the heart tree as he knows that the procession will begin soon, they are simply waiting for a signal from Sansa.

When Jon watches Sansa wave her hand, giving the signal, his heart begins to thump loudly and his ear drums are feeling every vibration.

Sansa is the first to walk down the aisle and the lady of the Vale cannot stop smiling. For the first time in a moon, Sansa looks as if she has found piece with the ceremony finally happening.

Jon reminds himself to thank Sansa profusely for all of her hard work later on during the feast.

Sansa reaches the front of the aisle and sits down in the front row of seats. She grins at Jon and Jon returns her smile.

The music immediately stops from the continuous pounding of the drums to a soft serenade of harps, signaling for the bride to arrive.

Jon feels as though his heart is about to jump out of his throat. It’s the first time he’ll see her in days, and he cannot contain his anticipation of seeing his brides face.

He begins to see two auburn haired boys come into the godswood, one in a wheelchair being pushed by another, and he sees a train of a long white dress.

And then his eyes land on her.

Arya.

Jon feels his mouth open, and he is sure he looks like an imbecile in front of all of his people, but he cannot blame himself.

Arya has never looked as beautiful as she does in this moment walking down the aisle to him.

And she’s beaming.

That is all that it takes to make every worry in his head dissipate.

The way that Arya is looking at him right now, is all that Jon has ever known and will ever want to know.

The look of acceptance, the look of wanting, the look of unconditional love.

I am a fool, Jon thinks, contentedly to himself, and his open mouth starts to grin. He feels tears brimming his eyes for the third time today, and its all from how she looks so happy to see him. As if there were ever any doubt.

Arya’s face is glowing as she begins to walk down the aisle and she’s smiling so wide that Jon can’t help but smile like a green boy.

Everyone is staring at the bride, in awe of her and her beauty. But Arya is not paying anyone attention.

Arya is only watching Jon and he is only watching her.

Jon watches as every take she steps brings her closer and closer to him, and his heart slows stops thumping.

All roads lead me to you.

Finally, Arya arrives by his side with Bran and Rickon next to her.

“Who comes? Who comes before the Old Gods?” Sam calls out.

And Jon’s heart begins to race again the second he hears those words. It is finally happening, the moment that him and Arya have been waiting the gods know how long for.

He looks at Arya’s face, still in awe of her beauty, and just to revel in her radiance. He is so fixated on her that he almost ignores Bran’s giving her away.

“Arya of the Great House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?” Bran says, loudly and firmly.

Jon smiles at the Lord of Winterfell. Sansa has been making Bran rehearse those lines for nearly a moon, and it has paid off. Bran sounds ever a true lord and hasn’t missed a word. Jon watches Arya as she grins at her little brother proudly.  

Jon looks at the Weirwood once more, thought it is difficult for him to take his eyes away from his bride. He already has Bran’s approval and his father’s, but he needs to look into the eyes of the heart tree one last time.

You created her for me, you Old Gods. You made her the only person who’s ever loved me for true. You allowed me to think her wed and die for her. All the roads you’ve ever shown me have led me to her. He prays furiously to the gods one final time, before taking the last vows he’ll ever make in his life in front of a Weirwood.

Jon looks away from the Weirwood and back at the person he’s always loved the most. The person he’s always loved best.

Arya.

By the way she’s looking at him, with pure adoration, he knows there cannot be anything wrong with their union, and it makes saying his vows that much easier in front of the heart tree.

“Me, Jon of the Great Houses Stark and Targaryen,” Jon’s heart skips a beat as Arya smiles from these words and he continues more confidently, “the First of My Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. I claim her. Who gives her?”

He and Arya beam at each other and Jon feels as though he is a green boy of ten and four again, leaving for the wall.

I wish you were coming with us

“Brandon of the Great House Stark, brother to Arya Stark,” he says as he turns to his sister. “Lady Arya, will you take this man?”

Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?

Jon knows her answer before he hears it. He is her’s. She has laid her claim on him from the moment her pretty gray eyes set on him when she was babe.

Arya looks at him, her eyes glistening, as she answers, “I take this man.”

All roads led me to you, little sister.

Jon reaches forward for her small hands and she gives them to him easily. The second he feels her soft hands on his own, his heart beat calms. It’s the first time they have touched each other in days and its all it takes to affirm Jon that he hasn’t forced her into something that she doesn’t want.

Jon squeezes her hand gently in reassurance and she winks back at him, easing his qualms, seconds before they kneel in front of the heart tree, bowing their heads in submission to their old gods, their father’s gods, the gods of Stark.

When Jon stands up, he removes Arya’s maiden direwolf cloak carefully, as he watches her face to see if she has any apprehensions, and she has none. Arya looks as serene as possible, when Jon replaces her cloak with his own, a cloak of a direwolf and a three-headed dragon.

Samwell says, “You may now kiss your bride, your grace.”

Jon sighs in relief as his lips come crashing down onto Arya’s.

All he hears are deafening cheers.

 ~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~*

The Great Hall is as loud as Jon remembers it to be from the feasts his father used to hold as Lord of Winterfell.

Jon grew up sitting away from his siblings, but tonight he is the guest of honor, receiving everyone’s attention. He and Arya sit next to each other to receive the wishes of all of their guests.

Jon has never known Arya to be a proper lady in his time, but tonight she is playing the mummer’s farce beautifully. Something he knows her to have learned in Braavos.

Arya, who has never worn a dress and grew up with never a care for her nobles, is extending her hand to all of the lords of Westeros to kiss as they come to the newly weds’ table.

Ned Dayne, the young lord of Starfall, is the one who is giving them his blessings, although they seem to be mainly directed at Arya.

Arya watches Ned while Jon watches Arya, smiling at her.

Jon smiles as he rests his hand gently behind her back.

Ned’s eyes widen “Forgive me, your grace,” he squeaks. “I meant to wish you well as well.”

Jon nods his head at the young lord of Starfall. “It was no offense taken, my lord of Starfall.” Though he keeps his hand rested on Arya’s back.

Ned quickly excuses himself and hurries away from them.

Arya turns to look at Jon, not amused. “You scared Ned away. What for Jon? I told you- he never meant-”

Jon smiles as she’s talking and shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean to, for true. I have just been watching you, with so many lordlings. I am so proud of you. Who knew Arya Underfoot could be a proper lady." 

She narrows her eyes at him but Jon knows she’s pleased. “I’m not a lady.”

Jon takes his hand off her back and takes her hand in his own, and he brings it to his lips, not breaking eye contact with her.

He watches as Arya carefully bites her lip when he presses a soft kiss on her hand.

“Father would be so proud of the woman you’ve become, Arya” he says to her, and for the first time he knows he can mean it.

Arya’s eyes light up and it’s the first time that Jon has seen her look happy instead of looking devastated when Lord Eddard’s name has been said. It makes him feel hopeful, like he can truly make her happy.

Thank you, you old gods.

“I know,” Arya says as she nudges him, playfully. “I also know that you went on your knees to him and begged him for my hand. Who you knew you were that traditional, Jon Snow?”

Jon wants to spit some quick wit back at her, and tease her about the fact that he’s been called “Jon Snow” after the longest time, but he can’t after what she’s just told him.

Father paid her a visit as well. He spoke to Arya.

Jon removes his hand from her’s, causing Arya to frown, as he quickly grabs his cup of wine and gulps all of its contents at once.

Finally, after he feels like he’s washed enough wine down, he turns to look at her once more. Arya’s brows are furrowed and Jon knows that he’s worried her with his reaction and immediately feels guilty. It’s her wedding day and the last thing he should be doing is giving Arya any worry.

Jon takes her hand in his once more and entwines his fingers with her’s. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and smiles at her, just so she knows that he is not wroth with her and she hasn’t done anything wrong.

“He came to you?” Jon asks her, as gently as he can.

Arya looks pleased once more. “Of course he came to see his favorite child,” she jokes. “He also told me that you thought I didn’t want you as my lord husband, you stupid.”

Jon stares at her in shock and tries to laugh at her jape, but it’s still surreal to him. The fact that he’s back from the dead and here, the fact that he’s holding her, the fact that she’s finally his.

This time it’s Arya who squeezes his hand for reassurance. “Thank you, Jon.”

“For what?”

Arya bites her lip and her eyes begin to water. “For asking father for permission. I know it wasn’t easy for you to ask him, and that you did it for me.”

Jon's fingers rubs circles on her hand to comfort her. “I wouldn’t have been able to marry you if I had known that father had denied me. I couldn’t have let you live with that truth.”

Arya bores her eyes into his. “Say it again. The marry me part,” she orders him.

Jon raises his eyebrow at her. “I wouldn’t have been able to marry you.”

She grins. “You married me, Jon Snow.”

He leans in closer to her and replies, “I married you, Arya Stark.”

“Jon,” she says, her tone mirthful.

“Arya,” Jon says, playfully back.

“Get me out of here,” Arya begs him.

Jon grins at her. “Anything for my lady wife.”

The word rolls of his tongue so easily, that it warms Jon’s heart.

My wife. Arya, you are finally my wife.

He snaps his fingers.

It was time for their bedding ceremony to begin.

 ~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Alys Karstark, Wylla Manderly, and Lyanna Mormont are among the ladies who have been chosen to lead him to his bedding chambers.

He is instantly reminded of how much he wasn’t looking forward to the bedding tradition of being disrobed by his lady wife’s friends.

Jon smiles politely at every jape they give him as they throw his clothes away piece by piece, but in truth he is nothing short of mortified.

They leave him in his small clothes before the royal chambers and Jon has to nearly beg them to leave him be.

After they have left him alone, Jon braces himself as he stands outside of the doors of the chamber.

Jon is excited of what is to come; he has no doubt about that. He has spent years dreaming of this moment- to know what Arya would feel like, the sounds that she would make, the way she would look seeking her pleasure.

He takes a deep breath and pushes open his chamber doors, hoping that Arya wants the same.

Arya is sitting on his bed, her back relaxed on his headboard while her legs are sprawled. Her hair is untied and she has been left in her small clothes, and he can’t help but thank the gods that Gendry Baratheon hadn’t been chosen among the men present for her bedding ceremony.

Jon tries his best to be honorable and not stare at her in her barely clothed form, but he is a man, one who has waited far too long to have a moment alone with his bride.

Arya blushes as she notices him taking in her form. “Finally, we’ve been left alone,” she says, nervously, as if she’s worried that Jon doesn’t like what he sees.

Jon quickly climbs into the bed, and lays down as he lets his head rest onto her lap. He's missed her for the past couple of days. It's been so long since he's last had her all of her attention to himself and for now, he just wants is to feel her run her hands through his hair.

"Do I need to break anyone's jaw?" he looks for her face, still not moving his head on her lap.

She scratches the hair on his head affectionately and chuckles.

"No, but I think you knew that, with Gendry being out of the group."

Jon looks up at her, and Arya calmly stares down at him. 

"Arya, I-"

"Ask me what we both know you want to ask me, Jon," she says directly, not sweetening her words. Arya has always been honest with him and Jon knows that he owes her the truth.

Jon gulps.

"Do you love me as your brother or as your lord husband?” he asks her. "He could have made you happy. I need to know that I didn't keep you away from a happy life with him."

Arya's hand stops moving and she withdraws it from his hair, and Jon worries that he's caused her ire. He is about to ask her to forget that he ever asked and beg her to return her hands to his curls once more, but Arya finally speaks,

"Do you know how many stories I've heard of you and your wildling girl, Jon?" 

"I've heard that you once became a turncloak for her. I've heard that you broke your vows for her, the vows you swore before a Weirwood. I've heard that you saw her die, her heart pierced by an arrow, and your heart has never been whole again," Arya says, glumly.

Jon feels shame rushing through him. Ygritte. Her name is one that he hasn't thought of in so long. He doesn't know how to explain Ygritte to Arya, it's a talk he's never wanted to have with her. He doesn't know how to tell Arya that Ygritte reminded him of everything that he couldn't have at that time: herself.  

"I broke my vows for you," he says, stupidly to her, like those words will be able to make up for all of her grievances.

Arya stares at him, unyielding. 

"You have known a woman, Jon," she says. 

Jon has nothing to say to her.

"I don't know what you've heard of Gendry and I, Jon." 

 I've heard that he had you when you returned to the Riverlands from Braavos,” he thinks bitterly to himself.

"Nothing ever happened, Jon, ever. He reminded me too much of you for me able to do anything with him."

"And how do you feel about me, Arya?"

"I'm in your bed wearing my small clothes, how do you think I feel about you, you stupid," Arya says, boldly.

Jon raises his eyebrow at her and he instantly gets off of her lap and flips her on her back, causing Arya to shriek from the shock.

He takes his hands and puts them on both sides of her, locking her in between them.

"I'm going to need you to repeat that to me, Arya," he teases her.

“I said,” Arya mocks, jokingly, “I’m in your bed-”

Jon cuts her off by leaning down and kissing her. Arya moans instantly and eagerly opens her mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue in. He’s finally kissing her the way he wanted to kiss her in front of the Weirwood and Jon never wants to stop.

Arya takes her hand and softly runs it through Jon’s curls as he feels her breath quickening.

Jon pulls away from her, causing Arya to whine, but he wants to look at her, to truly take her in.

She is on her back with her dark brown hair spread, her lips plump and wet from all of his fervent kisses, her cheeks tinted with her arousal, her eyes glassy with palpable need and want. All of it for him, only for him.

“I love you,” Jon says, simply to her. “I love you, I have always loved you, and all I want to do for the night is show you how much I love you.”

Arya bites her lip and he feels her hands start to explore all over his chest. Jon can’t help but grin at how eager his bride is for him and kisses her lips once more.

Arya gasps as she breaks apart from their kiss, much to Jon’s dismay. “Wait,” she rasps, “I won’t allow our children to be named Targaryens. I won’t. The wo-”

“-man is important too!” Jon finishes with her and then he groans. “That’s what you’re thinking of right now?”

He gives her lips a quick kiss and then another one. “I don’t care what we name them. You can name them Starks, or Targaryens, or Starks and Targaryens for all I care. Let’s just make them first.”

Arya smirks and then yelps as Jon takes her hands and pins them over her head.

He starts to remove her small clothes and her beautiful perky breasts are finally revealed as he tears the cloth away from them.

“There’s my beautiful girl,” Jon says, huskily, causing Arya to squirm impatiently for his touch.

Jon quickly fondles her breasts and starts to rub his thumb along her pointy pink nipples, before he bends his head and takes her breast into his mouth, sucking it while his hand massage her other.

Arya’s hips buck into his own as she cries out. “Jon, oh gods, Jon-”

Jon gives her breast a hard suck, causing her to jerk in his arms, while reaching over to suck on the other one, greedily.

Arya’s hands twist in his hair until she finally pulls them away and bucks into his hips hard once more.

“Jon, please.”

Jon pulls away from her nipple reluctantly and his cock hardens twitches at the sight of his spit covering both of her breasts.

He rewards her as he kisses a trail down from them, past her stomach, and to the other pair of lips that he’s been dreaming of for days.

Arya truly is a sight to behold with her wet breasts, aroused nipples and her legs spread wide open for him.

Jon’s cock throbs as he reaches down and sees her perfect cunt. He licks his fingers and slips one into her cunt, slowly teasing her.

Arya twists her body in protest, still not satisfied, so Jon slips another one finger into her cunt, to please her.

His tongue begins to circle her nipples once more as he slides his fingers inside of her back and forth, rubbing against her warm, tight walls, and twisting side to side.

Arya’s eyes have fluttered shut and Jon is transfixed on watching her face as her back arches against his bed.

“Have you thought of having me like this between your legs before, Arya?” Jon growls as he continues to give her cunt long strokes.

“Have you ever pleasured yourself to the thought of me between your legs like this, little sister? Don’t lie to your new lord husband, Arya,” he commands her.

“Yes!” Arya cries out, her breath becoming shorter, and Jon can tell that she’s near and starts to circle her nub.

Arya starts to convulse and Jon feels her contracting around his fingers and he keeps his strokes steady for her.

“That’s my perfect girl, there you go, little sister,” he encourages her, until he feels her ride out her pleasure.

He leans over to give her a kiss, as she sighs blissfully.

Jon spreads her legs once more and positions himself in between her wet heat.

“Arya,” he says with concern to her, “this is may hurt for a bit, so I’ll need you to tell me when to stop or go slow, okay?”

“You could never hurt me, Jon,” Arya murmurs at him. “I trust you.”

Jon pushes the tip of his cock into her cunt and then slowly begins to go in the rest of the way. He watches as Arya moans and flinches and immediately stops. He reaches down and rubs her clit once more and slowly begins to push his cock all the way into her. He keeps himself inside of her, without moving, and continues rubbing her clit until he feels her walls tighten around him once more.

Arya cries out and bites into his shoulder, causing Jon to will himself not to thrust into her, roughly.

“Jon,” she begs, “you’ve already stretched me out. I’ve wanted this for so long, please don’t make me wait-”

Jon pushes himself deep inside of her and kisses her, as he begins to plunge into her.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Arya,” he groans. “I love your tight little cunt so much, little sister.”

He starts to thrust into her harder and her hips begin to roll for him, taking him in so well.

Arya is moaning and begging him for things that don’t even make sense and Jon’s breath starts to get ragged.

He reaches over once more and starts rubbing her nub.

“Do you want to cum on your lord husband’s cock, little sister? Is that what you want?” Jon grunts into her ear, nipping at her neck.

“Does my lady wife want to cum?” he growls as he thrusts, his rhythm becoming unsteady.

Jon feels her start to shudder and her cunt is contracting around his cock, and she feels so wet and so tight now that he’s fucking with her abandon, helping her ride out her pleasure.

Jon thrusts about three more times before he howls and spills his seed into her. He can barely see properly and just slumps over her, carefully, as they both try to catch their breaths.

His heart rate has still yet to return to him, when Arya says, “Jon, you’re not done are you? I have yet to be spent.”

Jon looks up at her and chuckles.

“I have traveled a long way and waited far too long to get to you, Arya. That, my love, was just the start of a very long night and life together,” he corrects her.

Arya giggles as she gives him a kiss on his lips.

“Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle right, Jon?” she asks him, lovingly.

All roads lead me to you, Arya.