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"What do you miss most?" Jon asks as he wraps a strand of Arya's unruly hair around his finger. They never did this. Never brought back the past. It only brought back the feelings of a lost family and a new union that should never have been.
She's half asleep beside him. A plump mattress replacing the countless makeshift beds she's slept upon over the past years. She mumbles sleepily and he lightly yanks on her brown hair. Dark, like mine. She awakes at the pull and swats his hand away.
"I had just fallen asleep" she spits out. She pulls the silks over her. Her pale skin covered only by the thin layer. He can hear her utter angry words but her hand still finds his in the dark, interlacing his fingers with her own.
"I asked what you miss most" Jon repeats. Sliding his free hand up her spine. The touch causes her to turn in his arms and she's now facing him. For several seconds her eyes are downcast but they soon meet his own. Grey on grey. But there is no she-wolf in this stare. No trace of a woman who fought tirelessly in the war. There's no blood under her fingernails, no names upon her lips, there's just a girl. Just Arya.
"From what?” she asks. And in that moment Jon has never heard a woman speak so gently. She was not a soft woman, and her tone surprises him more than any of the stories they have shared. More than any of the lines they had crossed. More than when he had found her in his bed that first time, free of clothes with a biting kiss and a demanded promise that he would be her home.
"From before" he replies. It's all he can muster. All courage of bringing up what once was dissipating as her eyes become more awake. He waits on her answer while Maester Aemon's voice fills his brain. Kill the boy. He's nervous for her reply, watching her wrack for an answer that will leave only herself satisfied. Kill the boy.
"Honestly?" She asks. Placing a hand upon his cheek. Despite the years of wielding a blade, living amongst the common men, and surviving with those lethal hands, they are smooth as they stroke his face. As smooth as they had been when they were young and she would cover his eyes while playing childish games.
"Always"
"I miss the cold" the window is open but no slight breeze could ever compare to the chill that lived in Winterfell’s halls. "I miss our family" she continues, anger and sadness rising in her voice. " I miss them all so much. She scrunches her face and he begins to see the stubborn child he knew return. Not the girl who masked every feeling and calculated every step but the one who was torn between what she pretended to believe and what she truly felt. "I miss the furs" she adds, kicking off the covers in the process. Revealing her freckled skin to Jon and the moon. "I miss us" she adds. "I miss Arya underfoot and Jon Snow" she finishes. Sitting up on the bed and pulling her knees toward her bare chest.
Kill the boy. Maester Aemon’s words fill his head. Kill the boy.
"We're still there" Jon replies solemn but hopeful. "We're still us" he tries to reach for her but despite the contact it feels like he's touching a ghost. Or a shadow of what used to be. Minutes pass before Arya replies.
"Maybe" she says, relaxing against his touch. "But I miss the girl I was and the boy you you were. I miss that more than anything".
"I am still him Arya".
"No you are not. And I love you still, but I love Jon Targaryen now. And he is not the same as Jon Snow".
"I don't understand"
"I miss the boy, Jon" she says, kissing his palm with an unexpected sweetness. "I miss us and the memory of him the most".
"And what am I to you now?” Jon asks hesitantly. Scared of whatever answer she has to offer.
"An escape, a lover, a man".
Kill the boy, Jon. And let the man be born.