Work Text:
The mountains are cold.
If Jon hadn’t spent all those moons out in the wilderness on the other side of the Wall, he would have been feeling as if his insides are freezing, no matter of all of the covers and furs that the mountain clans have given them.
He wonders how Sansa is doing. When they arrived, at the crack of dawn, she was shivering but would not admit of being cold; she wanted to appear strong to her people and so she did not complain. At night, however, the cold is stronger and thicker. If she doesn’t ask for more furs, Jon fears she will be uncomfortable for the entirety of the night.
He is almost asleep when someone enters his tent, light feet touching the soft snow almost shyly. His fingers close around the dagger near his bed and he strains his hearing
“Jon?” a voice calls and he knows who is in there with him.
“Sansa?” he raises his body, sitting. “What are you doing awake?”
“I’m freezing,” she says and Jon can almost hear her shivering teeth. “I can’t sleep.”
“Do you want my furs?” he asks, closing his fingers on the first soft material that he can find. “Here.”
“No, I want... I want...” her voice is unsure and Jon is certain that she will give up and return to her tent when she breathes deeply and decides to show rather than talk.
She walks in his direction and gathers his furs in one hand, slipping on his bed as quietly as she can. Jon does not show how surprised he is and only makes room for her, closing his gape mouth.
“I’m cold,” she says and her voice is strain. “Warm me.”
Jon puts his arms around, knowing that doesn’t have any other choice than do as she says and knowing very well that he does not mind.