Chapter Text
Oh, you're a hard one
I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin' you
Can hurt you somehow
The air smelled of wet earth and the smoke from the ranch house chimney as Jon crossed the yard, skirting around some of the storm debris still scattered here and there. The storm had raged through like a banshee during the night and while the howling winds and rain had broken the oppressive heat of the last month, it had left a good few days of clean up in its wake. He nodded to a couple of fellas shovelling mud and dragging scattered wood into a heap, while Edd mended the broken rail on one side of the corral, frowning in concentration as he nailed a plank carefully in place.
The storm had knocked some of the shingles loose on the bunkhouse roof. Jon had spent the morning hauling the ladder and hammering nails, trying to ignore the ache in his head and pain in his eyes that the whisky had left behind. When did he get too old to take his liquor? He wasn’t sure. He pulled his hat a little further down his brow to block out the searching rays of the late morning sun that seemed to wish to mock him and the barrel fever that plagued him.
Up the ladder, Jon felt a little like he was flying above the rest of the world, like one of the kestrels he’d see resting on the fence posts sometimes when he was out riding the line. The violet hills seemed a little closer, the distance a little shorter, and his thoughts started to drift over them, back ten years to a thriving homestead, a red-headed youth, a life-changing mistake…
He was shaken out of his musings by the sound of hoofbeats in the mud. Not the heavy plod of a ranch horse but something sharper, quicker. The sound of voices reached him from the yard at the other side of the bunkhouse. He couldn’t hear the words of the conversation but something about the tone of the voice made him freeze like a prairie dog on the ladder rung, hammer in his hand forgotten. He swallowed hard, stifling an instinct to slide down the ladder and run for cover. It couldn’t be her. Not after all this time. He turned slowly, one hand gripping the rung, his knuckles white.
A small, dark figure rounded the corner of the bunkhouse, striding with a fiery determination. At first, the light fooled him, the storm clouds had left a hard glare on the world, but then she looked up. Grey eyes, dark hair damp and plastered to her face, jaw set like a blade.
“Arya.”
Jon’s voice sounded like it had been rolled over gravel. He felt a little light-headed, like the incongruity of the girl standing before him had left the world unsteady. Last time he had seen her she had been a chit of a girl, dust-smeared and barefoot, running angrily across the fields trying to chase him and Robb as they rode laughing towards town. She was still small, still a little rough around the edges. She wore a shirt and britches and a hat that seemed too big for her. Jon couldn’t help but notice the knife in her belt, the revolver at her side. Jon knew things had changed back home. But the hard expression on Arya’s face caused a weight to press on his chest, nausea turning his stomach.
She stopped at the foot of the ladder and for a heartbeat she said nothing. Just gazed up at him, breathing hard, her hands curled in small fists at her sides. Jon stared back, unable to find any words for this familiar stranger before him.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding then, Jon Snow? You’re a difficult man to find.”
Jon let out a long breath and carefully climbed down the ladder. His legs didn’t quite feel like they belonged to him.
“Maybe I didn’t want to be found. Maybe I’m happy here.” The lie burned hotter than the liquor had that morning.
Arya scoffed and looked him up and down with a callous eye.
“I can smell the whisky on you from here. Is that what you are now? A drunk?”
Jon swallowed, tasting the tang of stale spirits on his tongue and wishing she didn’t see through him. He turned away and began to cross towards the barn. He didn’t want to have this conversation out here. Glancing across the yard, he noticed Edd watching the pair of them, a curious expression on his careworn face. Jon rolled his shoulders and strode a little faster.
The smell of damp hay and warm leather filled his nostrils, grounding him a little as he entered the barn. He turned slowly to find Arya staring up at him, hands on hips.
“What are you doing here, Arya?” he asked wearily, swiping a hand across his aching eyes.
“Heading out west, frontier land. Me and Gendry, remember him? Used to be the blacksmith’s apprentice, back when you lived at Winterfell.” The word went through him like a jolt, as if merely speaking its name had conjured images of the place he had grown up. Arya’s grey eyes shadowed a little. “Nothing left for us there. We need a fresh start, a new adventure.”
“Sounds like you got it all planned out.” Jon eyed her warily. She hadn’t come all this way, hadn’t sought him out to tell him about her travel plans.
“Yeah.” She began to pace towards him. “Trouble is, Sansa don’t see it my way.”
If the mention of Winterfell had affected Jon, the sound of Sansa’s name was like a cold spike of longing, shooting up his spine like lightning. He hadn’t dared to think of her in years. A pair of sky-blue eyes, cherry red lips danced across his memory. His face felt numb. He flexed his fingers, forced his expression to remain indifferent.
“She wants to stay. Look after the Stark land. Take care of Rickon. She’s always been sentimental about that place.”
Jon was a little surprised. The Sansa he remembered had been desperate to head back east, back to her mother’s family in Boston. Spoke giddily of the sophistication of the city. Had dreamed of pretty dresses and carriage rides. It sounded like Arya wasn’t the only Stark sister who had changed.
Arya was still talking. “It’s too much for her. One woman on all that land. Alone. After father died, it was so hard to keep everything going.” Arya gulped. “Now I’m gone, there’ll be no one to…” she stopped, as if not trusting herself to keep the emotion out of her voice.
“Why are you telling me this, Arya?” He already knew. But he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to disappoint her.
“You got to go back Jon. Stop running away. I know you had your reasons but…”
“You don’t know shit, Arya!” Jon’s anger was a viper, lashing out of the long grass. “You don’t know nothing about my reasons! I’ve got a life here, friends,” he lied. “I ain’t going back there.”
“I know you owe it to Robb. To us.” Arya’s anger was also simmering now. “You don’t just walk away when things get tough! You face up to your responsibilities!” Jon’s fingers clenched into a fist, knuckles turning white, as if his body was instinctively trying to defend itself against the truth in her words. Arya’s small chest was heaving. Jon knew that another woman would be crying by now. But not Arya. Not her.
The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, so many memories, so many recriminations hanging in the air between them. But then Arya’s face changed and she seemed to soften a little. A glimpse of the old Arya peeking through this new, toughened exterior.
“It wasn’t your fault you know. Not really.”
“That’s not true.” Jon felt it with certainty. Sure as the sky was blue.
“It wasn’t. I know you’ve blamed yourself. I know you’ve been punishing yourself. But you gotta stop now. Rickon needs you. Sansa needs you.”
Jon’s jaw tightened; he wanted to spit out a bitter laugh, but it caught in his throat, tasting of old whisky and regret. He turned away, his throat dry, his eyes burning. He blinked several times, ground his teeth together, but she had seen enough.
Arya’s hand on his arm forced him to look up. To look at her. A little sister in all but name.
“Please.” Grey eyes met grey. He sighed.
“I’ll think about it.” Arya squeezed his arm. Nodded once. She grabbed her hat from the hay bale where it lay, placed it firmly atop her head.
“Thank you, Jon. I know you’ll choose right. You always did.” A gust of wind rattled the barn door as she left. Jon watched as she strode back across the yard to where her horse was tied, mud from the storm kicked up by her boots. She nodded tersely at Edd and the other ranch hands who watched her warily. No one much liked a stranger asking questions round here.
Jon sat down heavily on a bale, his heart still thundering, his mind reeling. Now that she’d gone, it didn’t quite seem real, like a spirit had appeared, haunting him. But she was real right enough, he knew it in his heart. Ghost slipped through the barn doors like a whisper, curled up at his feet. That dog had a sixth sense for when he was needed.
The sound of someone clearing his throat in the doorway broke the silence. Edd stood, hands in pockets, an uneasy smile on his face.
“Smoke?” Jon nodded and Edd entered the barn, sat down on the bale alongside him. He passed Jon his tobacco pouch wordlessly and the pair spent a few moments rolling a quirly, striking a match. Jon inhaled gratefully, shut his eyes, his head resting back with a dull thud against the barn wall.
“Bad news?”
“You could say that.” Jon answered without opening his eyes, relishing in the smoke filling his lungs. Edd said nothing and Jon found himself continuing; he wasn’t sure why. “Trouble back home. They need me.” Jon paused for a moment, rolling the word around his mouth before releasing it into the air with the hot smoke. “Family.”
Edd seemed to ponder a while at this revelation. “Didn’t think none of us here had any family. Thought that was the point.” He breathed out, smoke forming a haze in front of him, blurring Jon’s vision as he turned his head to look at the wiry man sat next to him. “If I had kin still breathing, I wouldn’t waste my life here.”
Jon sat up, rested his elbows on his thighs.
“It ain’t that simple.”
“Family never is.” They continued to smoke for a few minutes, inhaling and exhaling in a companionable rhythm. Ghost shifted at Jon’s feet.
“What if it’s too late?” Jon murmured. His voice sounded small even to his own ears. Was he really such a coward? He’d never thought so before.
Edd glanced across at him shrewdly, a wry smile on his face.
“You won’t know until you go.” He stood up, wiped his hands down the front of his britches. Their eyes met briefly, an acknowledgement of what had passed between them, before Edd wandered back out to the broken rail.
As Jon finished his cigarette, watching the clouds pass across the afternoon sky beyond the barn door, he realised there had never been any real question about what he would do. No real decision to be made. His fate had been sealed as soon as he heard that she needed him.
“You’ve always been a fool, Jon Snow.”