queen in the north.

“Let’s stop here before we get wet.” 

She heaves a weary sigh, nodding, glancing towards the cave in which her companion points towards. It would be a perfect accommodation, even if for just the night, though when the thunder rumbles loud and low overhead, she wonders if they might stay trapped longer than just a single night. “Come on,” he says next, reaching for her hand, which she takes willingly, but just as he takes the first step, the sky overhead opens up, and the rain begins to fall. But it isn’t just a sprinkle; it’s a torrential downpour, one which soaks through their clothing long before they have the chance to run and take cover beneath the shelter of the cave.  

The sound of her laughter bounces off the darkened walls as they reach the driest space; their fingers still entwined. “So much for that,” she giggles, dropping her knapsack to the ground, her blue tunic dripping. “Let me...” She gestures towards his equally wet clothing, meaning to remove the water from their garments. But he grins, shaking his head, taking a step back to kneel down, igniting a fire between them without a word. She eyes him skeptically, though the smile never falls from her lips as she watches him rise back up, shrugging from his shoulders the first layer of his clothes.  

Now she understands.  

Turning her back to him, she unties the waist of her pants, allowing them to fall to her ankles. She kicks them away, closer towards the warmth of the fire he’s built. Behind her, she can hear him shuffling, and she’s hyper aware of his every movement, of his every breath. She slips free from her tunic then, discarding it so she stands there naked, cold and trembling, the long length of her dark hair plastered against her wet skin. Before she can speak, she feels his arms come around her, palms enclosing around her breasts, his skin fiery hot against her own which was still so chilled. “Zuko...”  

She utters his name so softly he thinks he’s not even heard it at all.  

But then her arms come up, the feeling of her fingers threading through his hair as he presses his body against hers. “You’re cold,” he murmurs, lips pressing down upon her arm, inhaling the scent of the rainwater which clings to her body. His hands tighten their hold on her breasts, and she shudders, her nipples caught between his fingers, the rush of pleasure sending more shivers down her spine. 

“Then keep me warm,” she whispers, turning around so she might face him instead, blue eyes staring intently into gold as her hand brushes across the length of him.  

He wakes from his slumber to a room ablaze with light. 

Despite the early hour, someone has come in and stoked the hearth, bringing his room back to life. A long sigh escapes him as he rolls onto his other side, facing the light and the warmth, to see that his clothing had been laid out for the day as well. It was only just one day into his return to Winterfell, but it was as if he had never even left. 

He rises up from his sheets to dress, stuffing his feet into his boots and choosing to leave his well worn furs behind, opting instead for the newly made short cloak that had been delivered the night before, among a handful of new shirts and breeches- all courtesy of Sansa, of course. Fully dressed, he steps out into the corridor and it is without thought that his feet take him the ever familiar path to Sansa’s rooms. 

Standing outside, once, he might not have knocked… 

But this time, this first time back, he finds himself to hesitate. 

So, he knocks, and it takes but a moment for the door to open only a crack before he finds himself staring into the eye of not Sansa, but of Brienne, her faithful shield. “Lady Sansa is bathing,” the woman barks and from within the room, Jon hears Sansa’s soft laughter. 

“Oh, let him in, Brienne,” Sansa calls out, knowing how improper it was, but not caring. Besides, if there was one person in this world she could trust with this secret, it would be her lady knight. Brienne sighs and nods, closing the door so she may step back and open the door for his entry. 

When the door opens, he steps inside her chamber, finding it to be brightly lit and warm, just as his own had been. The room smells of rosewater and he finds it to be far more intoxicating than even the strongest of ales. And there she was, tucked into the farthest corner, the thinnest of sheets strung up around her tub, her silhouette enough to take his breath away. He imagines her as she must have been, sunk deep into the hot water, red hair floating around her, the sight of her body just barely out of view… “Jon?” He startles, he hadn’t heard her and she giggles from behind the sheet, perhaps quite aware of what she does to him. “I said, choose my gown, please.”

He swallows, turning towards her wardrobe on the opposite wall; a daunting challenge. 

But, he approaches and opens it up, eyes flickering across the several gowns hanging within. At once he notices something new, something surprising. It was a gown of the softest blue, yet, no, he looks closer and it’s gray. A trick of the eyes, he decides, as he pulls it from the wardrobe and gently sets it down on her unmade bed. When he turns back towards the bath, he watches her shadow as it rises up from the water, the sound of dripping water filling his ears. “Did you choose?” She calls out as Brienne hurries past him with a warmed sheet.

“Aye,” he calls back and the hanging sheet opens, revealing her to him for the first time.

She knows it to be wrong, what she’s doing, and she knows Brienne disapproves from the look she gives her, but she trusts her all the same. So she pushes the sheet back the rest of the way and steps out into view, his view, hyper aware of how her heart is beating faster than ever before. “Good choice,” she says, noticing the gown he’s chosen, now laid out on her bed. It was her newest, made from a bolt of fabric she’d found tucked away into an old room, one she likes to believe might have once been intended for her mother. “I’ve yet to wear that one.” 

Dripping wet, she stands in front of him, hands clutching the warmed sheet around her lithe body and he thinks he might faint from the sight of her. His heart skips a beat as she takes a few steps closer, droplets of water falling to the floor behind her to mark the path she’s taken to reach him. “Sansa…” He inhales her sweet scent now that she stands so close and it takes everything in him to not reach out and touch her wet hair, her wet skin. “When you’re ready, send for me, I will escort you to the lord’s meeting.” It was the first day that all of the Northern lords would meet in Winterfell, both to meet the dragon queen formally, and begin the discussions of what came next. War… Death… Hope… He shudders and she notices, for her hand is touching his cheek now, so soft, so warm, her blue eyes reflecting everything he’s feeling. His own hand reaches up, sliding into place over hers, a wane smile spreading over his lips. 

“Brienne will come for you when I am ready,” she says softly, tilting her head, not yet drawing her hand away. It has been so long since they stood this close, since they shared a moment such as this- the memories of all those moments prior had been the only thing to get her through his time away. “I won’t be long.” Jon nods and takes a single step back, though his hand remains on hers, giving it a tender squeeze before finally, regrettably, he lets her go. 

When he’s gone from the room, Sansa heaves a heavy sigh and turns back to Brienne, who has quietly busied herself for the duration of their conversation. “Shall I send for Agatha?” Her shield asks, as if nothing else has transpired, and Sansa nods.