Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A muscle moved in her jaw as she saw the figure slumped on the ground in the dusty barn, face down in the straw and being nuzzled affectionately by Cody. She stepped forward, leaned down and with an effort, flipped him onto his back. His hat rolled off his head and landed on a pile of straw. She stared down at his unconscious face with a faintly bitter smile twisting her full, pale mouth, eyes lingering on the bullet wound in his right shoulder, the red stain spreading across the fabric of his shirt.

He opened his eyes, dark eyes that stared at her confused, clouded by fever and pain.

"Lyanna …"

"I knew you'd be back, Jon Snow," she told him coldly and then watched as he slumped to the ground, unconscious, his breathing laboured.

*

Eyes closed, Jon breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of flowers – both dried and fresh … and herbs …and there was quiet … a welcome change after the noise of battle – the screams of his dying men, the clang of steel and the sound of rifles firing.

"I know you're awake, you might as well open your eyes," Lyanna told and he opened his eyes. He glanced down at his shoulder, wincing slightly at the twinge of pain. It was covered with a snowy bandage; he touched his hand to the site of the bullet wound tentatively.

"I've dug it out," she told him, before he could ask. "Cut out the dead flesh as well – which is more than you deserve."

"You're still angry."

It wasn't a question.

"Well?" she asked him. "Is it done?"

"Which part?"

"You know …"

He exhaled slowly. "Yes it's done … I put him down myself … with a bullet made of Valyrian steel … "

"I had a right to be there … " her voice was quiet and laced with anger.

"I wanted you safe …"

"You treated me like a child."

"You were a child! Fifteen … angry and headstrong …."

"And a far better fighter than half the men in your posse ... " she retorted. "How many did you lose?"

"Most of them," he admitted, pain in his voice.

"And Daenerys Targaryen – although a woman, you let her fight by your side…"

"Lyanna. I had need of her men… of her dragons …" his voice attempted to reason with her.

Lyanna's smile was twisted as she turned back to face him, her long dark brown hair was pulled back severely from a face that had haunted his dreams these past two years. He had left behind a child on the edge of womanhood … and he had returned to a woman. A woman who was still furious with him.

"Meanwhile you left me to care for your sisters – knowing that I would never abandon them. That I couldn't abandon them - not the way you abandoned me …"

He winced. "Where are they?"

"Sansa is at the schoolhouse teaching …. Arya is out mustering cattle with the men. She rides with the best, although she's as angry at you as me so I'd have a care, Jon Snow."

"I've no doubt of that," he replied ruefully. "Don't be vexed with me any longer, Little Bear – "

He stopped when she held up a hand abruptly. "Do not call me that. You gave up that right when you rode away and left me behind … I would have followed you – but how could I, with Arya injured and …"

Jon nodded. "I knew I could depend on you to keep them safe …" He had laboured long and hard over his parting note, knowing that she would be cursing him over and over again … "Do not be angry with me," he told her gently. "You have seen your fair share of battle, Lyanna … fought the Dead at my side … I could not have won the Battle for Winterfell were it not for you and your men ..."

"I earned my place at that final battle," she told him evenly. "Instead – you rode away and took my men with you."

"And most of them died. I wanted you safe, Lyanna. Can you not understand that?"

"And you think we were safe here? The Dead wandered south of the Wall as well… we had roaming bandits … the remnants of Ramsay Bolton's men …"

"Jaime Lannister promised me that he would send his men to you …"

"Most died defending us … We of Bear Island defend ourselves."

He smiled despite himself at the tilted arrogance of her small chin. Bear Island. The smallest island imaginable, but it was an oasis of sorts in a desert wilderness and her family's cabin sat in the middle of the island. The men of the island had been the soldiers from her father's troop who had followed their commanding officers after the war and settled with him on the island that he had claimed from the wilderness, bringing their women there to live with them.

The young Lyanna Mormont had grown up and learned to ride and shoot almost before she could walk and she had been handy with a knife as well. She had fought at his side time and time again … proved herself the adversary of any opponent – both living and undead. The Boltons had put a price on her head equal to that on Jon Snow's head … until Jon had killed Ramsay Bolton himself during a shoot-out at high noon.

"Drink this," she told him, shoving a dented mug into his hands. He took a sip and grimaced at the bitterness of the herbs she had boiled.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"Don't tempt me," she replied and unwrapped the bandage and examined the livid wound calmly, studying the neat stitching. Sansa would have been proud of her needlework, although Sansa would have fainted before she had made even the first stitch.

She rebandaged the wound and stared up onto his face, his unshaven jaw and his tousled wavy black hair. He was smiling at her a little hopefully as if he could coax her back to him.

"Two years," she told him.

"And I missed you every single day … did you not get my letters?" he demanded.

She had re-read each letter over a dozen times until the paper was at the point of falling to pieces in her hands. Arya and Sansa had urged her to write back but she had remained cold and stubborn, refusing to put pen to paper, so it had been Arya and Sansa who had written and Jon had clung to every reference … every mention of his fierce Lady Bear …

His eyelids grew heavy and he stared down at the mug suspiciously. "Have you – "

"Sleep, Jon Snow. You need rest," she told him firmly, taking the mug from his hand and pushing him back against the bed, pulling the blanket up about his shoulders.

Chapter Text

"I would be angry with him, too." Arya's voice was emphatic. Blunt.

"He did it for her own good … he was trying to do the right thing." Sansa's voice was softer, gentler as she attempted to struck an appeasing note.

Arya snorted. "Lyanna's within her rights to hold onto her anger, Sansa - and you know I'm right."

Sansa sighed. "There's little use in holding onto anger, Arya… makes a person bitter… twisted. Destroys you from the inside."

"You should listen to Sansa," Jon muttered, his eyes still closed.

"Jon!" Arya shrieked and catapulted herself into his arms.

"Easy, easy …" he muttered, wincing from the pain shrieking through his right shoulder. "I'm injured you know." He hugged his younger sister with his good arm and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She had grown … and still dressed as a boy in trousers and workshirt although she had suffered her hair to grow longer again.

"Yes, Lyanna stitched you up good and proper," Sansa told him, coming to stand beside Arya.

In contrast to her tomboy of a sister, she was an elegant lady, in a plain but beautifully stitched gown of subdued colours and patterns that she must have sewn herself. Her thick red hair was braided and coiled about her head elegantly. Her students must worship her.

"Arya - don't cause him to pull any of his stitches," Sansa told her sister with gentle reproof in her voice.

"I've missed you both so much," he told them, sincerity in his voice as he put a hand out to take Sansa's hand. "It gave me great comfort to know that you were safe here on Bear Island."

"Didn't Lyanna tell you? We've had our fair share of danger here, too," Arya told him indignantly. "Lyanna and I have had to deal with bandits, the Dead … all number of things."

"I know, I know," he said in resignation, seeing the reproach in Arya's eyes. "I did what I thought best."

"Typical of a man," Arya sniffed, sounding for all the world like Lyanna.

"You sound just like her."

"That's what you get for leaving us here," Arya pointed out. "We wanted to be in the battle, too."

"Can I have a drink?" he asked, hoping to distract her and Arya left his side to pour him some of the tea that Lyanna had left boiling in the fireplace. "Is there anything other than that?" he asked hopefully. "Tastes vile …"

"It's medicinal and Lyanna said you must drink it," Sansa told him firmly, brooking no opposition to Lyanna's wishes.

He accepted the mug reluctantly, grimacing as he drank the steaming liquid that contained a mix of herbs and flowers that had probably looked pretty enough before they had been stirred into a disgusting pharmaceutical concoction.

"Where is Lyanna?"

"She rode into town to buy provisions. She'll be back soon."

"Is that safe?"

"Bit late to be asking us that," Arya pointed out tartly and Jon rolled his eyes.

"Are you ever going to forgive me?"

"Maybe one day … Lyanna won't though," Arya told him pertly.

"Yes she will," Sansa disagreed. "It will take time."

"And grovelling," Arya chimed in.

"How long have I been sleeping?" he asked.

"Better part of a day," Sansa told him, returning to the fireside and picking up her needlework. Rather than the brightly coloured tapestries she had stitched as a child, she was now mending clothing, stitching linen for the curtains and the bedding, making dresses to sell in town at the general store. Sansa Stark's needlework could fetch an impressive sum.

Jon tested his shoulder. It felt better than it had. The heat had gone … now it was just normal, stabbing pain and agony. The sound of heavy boots could be heard clumping up to the doorway.

"Lyanna's back," Sansa remarked and the door swung open and Lyanna stood in the doorway silhouetted by light. Like Arya she was dressed in men's trousers and a plain linen shirt. Her thick brown hair was pulled away from her face loosely to fall lightly about her face. She who had been so pale and almost delicate as a child now stood straight and proud, her skin tanned and slightly freckled where it had been kissed by the sun.

He wondered if any of the lads in town had kissed that same skin … He frowned at the thought.

"Good to see you're finally awake," she told him tersely, her face expressionless. The folk of Bear Island were stoic and dependable. Lyanna's fighting men were amongst the best in his army. Although their numbers were comparatively few, every man from Bear Island fought with the strength of 10 - as Lyanna had told him when they had first met. The women, too to be honest.

The women of Bear Island, like their lady were possessed of a similar ferocity and tenacity in a fight. Jon had learned a long time ago never to underestimate what some termed the fairer sex.

He struggled into a sitting position and Sansa and Arya protested the movement. "No, I am fine. I grow weary of lying down," he told them.

"Probably needs to use the privy," Lyanna pointed out, lips twitching slightly and Jon glared at her.

"It is true that I grow tired of pissing into a bucket," he told them, staggering to his feet.

"I'll help you …" Arya told him, trying to persuade him to lean upon her for support but he waved her away.

"I'm fine, sister … "

He made his way out of the cabin, leaving the three women behind. "We need some light in here," Lyanna announced, dropping her saddlebags onto a table and walking to the mantle piece to illuminate two lamps.

"Not good for your eyes to sew in dim light," Lyanna told Sansa who smiled ruefully.

"How much did you sell the dress for?" she asked and her eyes lit up when Lyanna told her of the price.

Arya went through the contents of the saddle bags and extricated the flour, sugar and other items that had been purchased at the town's lone store.

"I'll bake a cake tonight," Arya announced. "Or perhaps a pie."

"Whatever you like," Lyanna told her, a fond smile on her face. "I've bought some more ingredients to make an ointment for Jon's wound … the medications will require more than we have on hand."

The three women moved around the cabin with the ease of familiarity, Arya putting the ingredients in the larder, Lyanna collecting the soiled bandages to boil over the fire and Sansa stripping the bed of its stained linen and putting down fresh sheets.

When Jon returned, he was confronted by the sight of quiet industry. "Didn't fall in, I see," Lyanna remarked and his smile was twisted.

He washed his hands at the basin, noting the gentle scent that laced the water as he soaped his hands and dried them. Then he allowed her to help him back to the bed but insisted on sitting up instead of lying down. "I'm going to go and see to the horses," Arya remarked casually as Sansa dried her hands on a dishcloth and announced her intention to call upon the Karstarks. "Their youngest has had a fever these past few days and I've been looking in on her," she remarked, filling a basket with provisions.

"Indeed," Lyanna commented, her eyes darkening with comprehension as the Stark sisters proceeded to vanish from the cabin, leaving her alone with a faintly amused Jon Snow.

"They've never been subtle," Jon pointed out.

He sat still as Lyanna unwrapped the bandage and studied the wound carefully. He winced as her fingers touched gently touched the flesh, examining for signs of mortification.

"Shall I receive this cold treatment forevermore?" he asked her whimsically as she cleaned his wound with water from the kettle, wiping it down firmly but gently before applying a pungent ointment to the injury.

"I'm tending to your injuries am I not, Jon Snow?" she asked as she rebandaged his shoulder with fresh linen. "The wound is healing nicely." She moved away to wash her hands and soak the stained bandages in boiling water before washing her hands at the basin.

After she dried her hands, Jon reached out and took one of her hands in his. "I missed you, Lyanna," he told her, his dark eyes steady and watchful.

"So you've said," she replied, allowing him to draw her down to sit beside him on the bed. The steam from the fire had caused her dark hair to curl around her face, a face that would never be pretty but would always be striking. He had carried the memory of her face with him in his thoughts through the darkest of nights, the fiercest of battles and the longest days …

"I know I've wronged you, Lyanna … but look for you to find forgiveness."

He reached out a hand to brush the hair from her face, his thumb brushing lightly on her full lower lip as he studied her downcast eyes and the thickness of her lashes that rested against her tanned cheeks.

"Is the long night really over?" she asked him in a low voice, trying not to tremble at his gentle touch. His hand moved up to touch her cheek. She'd been a child when he'd gone away, on the cusp of adulthood who had recognised affection, attraction and more in the dark, unfathomable eyes of Jon Snow.

"Yes … the Dead are vanquished and the world is rebuilding."

"They say that Daenerys has asked that you rule at her side over the Seven Kingdoms. That she has need of your … talents…"

Jon's smile was crooked. "You need not be jealous of her," he he laughed when Lyanna's eyes snapped up to his in anger, a protest about to leave her lips. He placed a fingertip on her lower lip. "Daenerys Targaryen has many suitors and knows full well that my heart belongs to another."

The Mother of Dragons had been unhappy when Jon Snow had announced that he would return to Bear Island but she had not sought to stop him.

"I beg the hand of the girl who came to my aid all those years ago … believing in me and riding into battle beside me."

"The same girl you left behind," she reminded him.

"I would swear to never leave her again … if only she would have me," he told her, a tender smile twisting his lips. "My sisters are happy here on Bear Island … and so would I be."

"What of Winterfell?" she asked, referring to the homestead of the Starks that had been almost destroyed by war but which had been liberated by Jon Snow following his shootout with Ramsay Bolton.

"Bran seeks to restore Winterfell… he claims to have always had a hankering for farming … As for me, I had hoped to become one of the fighting men of Bear Island …"

He raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed it lightly. It was a work-hardened hand, calloused and strong.

"We work the land here, too, Jon Snow. The fields … the waters … the work is hard and backbreaking. It is not easy to live here on Bear Island."

"I would be happy here. With you," he told her directly. "It was the thought of returning here to be with you that carried me through battle … allowed me to continue when I felt that all had been lost. Even as I swayed in the saddle with my life's blood pouring out of my shoulder - I knew that I must return to you."

He lowered his dark head and his mouth brushed her parted lips. He held back slightly, giving her the opportunity to make a choice - to push him away or to permit him to continue.

A rare smile curved her mouth and she slid her arms around his neck and drawing him closer. "You speak with a persuasive tongue, Jon Snow."

"I speak the truth, Lady Bear," he told her sincerely and his mouth sought hers once more.

Peering in the window, Arya looked amused. "I guess she forgave him faster than we both thought."

Sansa peered over her sister's shoulder, her eyes widening. "Come, we'd best give them some privacy. You can come with me to the Karstarks."

"You think they'll need to be alone for that long?" Arya demanded, following her sister to the stables.

Sansa smiled. "I'm almost certain of it."