And here we are! Thanks again for everyone reading and reviewing. Means a lot! I hope you enjoyed Andrea's journey as much as I enjoyed writing it. You can find me on tumblr under blainesebastian :) feel free to come visit!

Chapter 13: Here With You

Andrea stirs to something brushing against her forehead, a cool cloth that sends a shiver down her spine. Before her eyes open, her senses seem to ignite; her ears picking up the sounds of creaking wood and the crackling of flames in a hearth, her nose catching whiffs of herbs or oils, something calming that washes over her entire body.

She turns a little before she manages to open her eyes, gaze focusing in on Jon sitting next to her, cloth hovering in his hand. He smiles gently, something soft and intimate just for her, worry lines fading from his forehead and around his eyes. She wants to smooth them over with her thumbs, but she can't get her limbs to move despite wanting them to.

"How long have I been…" She trails off, her voice sounds odd to her ears from lack of use.

Jon licks his lips and dips the cloth into a bowl nearby and her nose catches a stronger scent now; lavender? Mixed with water and…something else, something she can't quite put her finger on but smells familiar. Smells earthy and reassuring, soothing, feels like home. He squeezes excess back into the bowl before brushing the cloth over her forehead again.

"Almost a day."

She sighs and lets her eyes close for a moment before, "Please tell me you haven't been here this whole time."

Andrea can hear the smile in his tone as he replies, "And here I thought you'd revel in the attention."

A soft laugh climbs up her chest as she opens her eyes and turns her head to look at him, "You know I do but I also know you have other things to do than…" She pauses, an amused crinkle forming between her eyes as she finally recognizes the other scent: frankincense, "Are you using herbs to soothe me?"

Jon says nothing but looks adorably guilty.

She shakes her head and sits up, albeit a little shakily, and leans back against the wall. "Thought you didn't believe in any of that?"

His smile is contagious as he drops the cloth into the bowl, "Aye, but you do."

Andrea holds his gaze, her hand moving to cup his cheek. Her thumb glides along the soft skin under his eye, the scruff on his jawline tickling her palm. Jon's hand clasps hers on his face and draws it closer to his lips, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

They're silent for a while, just touching one another, breathing one another in, taking advantage of the little private moments that have been given to them. Jon lets out a soft sigh, his breath brushing over her knuckles as he draws her hand in for another kiss.

Almost a day…she finds that hard to believe. This whole thing has felt like years trapped under her skin. All this pain and suffering and betrayal and warnings…for what? What was she supposed to learn from all this? That the Red Woman had her reasons for sending her things in the first place? That she shouldn't trust anyone for how can she know who they truly are? Or maybe, within itself, that was the message—that not everything had an explanation. That her mother, though not a witch, but much alike Melisandre trusted nature and sometimes just knew things that others didn't.

Maybe it was her mother this whole time, reaching through the Red Woman, looking out for her even after death and separation.

She's not sure and maybe she never will be. All Andrea can do is trust that she's alive and that things happen for a reason…and how she feels about Jon and the fact that this whole thing brought them closer together.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, closing her thoughts on the matter.

She doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or cry at the fact that this is so like Jon, to apologize to her for something beyond his control. Andrea shakes her head and gently pulls her hand from his grasp, moves to brush it through his locks that are tied into a bun.

"You owe me no apologies," She says softly, "Leo…" She swallows, his name like stones in her throat. "he made his own choices that are just that: his own, no one else's."

Jon nods and leans forward, pressing a kiss against her forehead and then the bridge of her nose before making it to her lips. His mouth is slow and purposeful against her own, his hand moving to cup the side of her face to anchor her to him, fingers playing idly with her hair.

"We burned the body," Jon tells her as he pulls back, "But we scattered his ashes just outside of Winterfell, near a small stack of stones. You can visit him, say your goodbyes."

The fact that Jon made sure all of Winterfell wasn't present for the beheading, that he's taken such good care of Leo down to his very ashes, giving her a place to visit him, a place to pray and say goodbye… This is more than she deserves, this is more than Leo deserves.

"You're a good King, Jon Snow," She smiles, running her thumb along his lower lip. Andrea kisses his cheek, "And an even better man."

00

She receives another letter, on her bed, warm as if someone's touch was left behind on the parchment…or as if it's come directly out of flames—because she knows who it's from before she opens it.

Her fingers graze along the outside of the letter, her eyes finding the melted candle wax at the bottom in the same shape as before. Part of her wants to crumble the letter up without reading it, toss it into the fire but curiosity wins out over anger.

Andrea,

I write this with care and knowledge that you have no reason to trust me and that if you toss this letter into the fire without reading it, then so be it.

A soft laugh leaves her lips and she shakes her head, continuing,

We don't know one another well and I suspect we never will, but I wanted you to know that my letter was intended to help you; nothing more, nothing less.

Andrea remembers Ser Davos speaking about the Red Woman; about how he told her that her letter must have come to her because she wanted something from her. Was it possible he was wrong?

I knew your mother—

She feels a dizziness wash over her and she slowly finds herself sitting on the edge of her bed, eyes closing for a moment to ground her.

She thinks about the reoccurring dream she had, the one warning her about Leo's identity—Melisandre in her childhood home, talking with her mother. Laughing with her. That was true; something she can feel down to her very bones.

She was a wonderful mother, one of the most in-tune women with nature that I've ever come to know. I wasn't there when she passed and so I hope she'll forgive me knowing that I tried to help you.

She swallows thickly, her fingers crinkling the outside of the letter as if she can picture holding onto her mother…one last time.

I wish you well with the King of the North and know that if you ever need to find me, all you must do is look into the flames and ask.

There's no signature, just the melted wax at the bottom. She finds herself staring at it for a long time and as much as she wants to do away with the letter, something tugs at her from the inside…and she can't. This might be the only connection with her family that she has left, albeit strange and distant.

Andrea turns and opens the drawer of the table next to her bed, her eyes glazing over the wooden bear figure as she slips the letter inside.

If you ever need to find me, all you must do is look into the flames and ask.

One day, she just might.

00

She resumes her spot in the kitchen, helping prepare and serve dinner as she's always done. As much as this is about not wanting special treatment it also has everything to do with her not wanting things to change, regardless of everything being so different around her.

It almost doesn't feel…real being back here, serving ale and tending to Lady Sansa when Jon doesn't pull her away. She doesn't mind this, she never has; she feels the most at home here, tending to stew over the hearth, doing away with scraps and sipping remnants of sweet Summer wine from a dinner jug as the last few embers keeping the kitchen warm fade away.

"You don't have to keep working in the kitchen," Jon tells her one night as he washes her hair during a bath.

Andrea rolls her eyes but tilts her head back into his touch. "And what would you have me do?"

She can feel him shrug even though she's not looking at him, "Anything you wish."

A laugh curls in her chest, "Offering me the world, Jon Snow?"

"A little piece of Winterfell."

She turns her head a little, resting her chin on her knees as she draws them into her chest. "I think I'm right where I need to be."

Jon hums and she allows him to turn her, pulling her into his chest for a long kiss, a soft gasp leaving her lips as their bodies align perfectly—skin against skin, warmth blooming in her veins.

"Not quite yet." He teases and kisses her again.

Warmth thrums through her body and she sighs at the memory, her fingers trailing along her arms where Jon has touched her, leaving impressions long after his hands are gone.

Andrea settles in front of a window in the kitchen, her fingers brushing over the rim of the jug before she takes another slow sip. She doesn't know what he expects from her, but it wouldn't be right for her to take a position comparable to Lady Sansa. She hopes that he'll eventually be comfortable with the fact that she doesn't want something from him, that she's happy as she is.

She hears the kitchen door open and close and doesn't look up from her spot, "Kitchen's all done for the night Rose, you can turn in."

"So this is where all the Summer wine goes," Lady Sansa says, startling her into a standing position. "I'll have to let Jon know." But she isn't cross…she's amused.

Andrea feels blush stain her cheeks and laughs a little. "Not all the time." Then she clears her throat, "Did you need something Lady Sansa? I didn't hear you request me."

She shakes her head and moves towards the jug that's sitting on the windowsill. "'Sansa' please, after all this time…after everything, I think it makes sense for you to call me as such."

Andrea lets her name sit heavily on her tongue and watches, entertainingly, as Sansa picks up the jug of Summer wine and drinks from it.

"No one called for you, but I did want to talk if that's alright."

She nods and sits back down in front of the window, gazing out into the darkness of the night. The sun has set and the orange has disappeared from the sky; all that's left is pinpricks of light from torches spread across Winterfell, reflecting against the sparkling snow. She can see, just beyond the wall, a stack of stones.

Leo's grave marker…but she hasn't found it in herself to visit him.

"I don't say this very often," Sansa says, pulling Andrea from her thoughts. "But I was wrong."

She frowns and watches as the Lady of Winterfell takes another sip of wine from the jug before passing it back to her.

"I've found it hard to trust someone when it comes to love." She pauses, as if this is hard for her to say. And maybe it is. While Sansa has always been known to be very outspoken, to make sure her opinions are heard—especially when it has to do with protecting her siblings or Winterfell itself, matters of the heart are never easy to discuss.

"But I was wrong," She continues and their eyes find one another's, "About you and…how you feel for Jon."

Andrea swallows, her words wrapping themselves around her ribcage and lacing around her heart. She doesn't know if she can tell Sansa how much it means to hear her say that, especially since they've had so many conversations about her apprehensions of Andrea's intentions for her brother. This means more than she can ever know and part of her wants to poke and prod and ask her what's changed her mind.

Instead, "Did Ayra put you up to this?" She teases.

Sansa smirks, looking out the window as well, "Not quite."

They're quiet for a few minutes and Andrea realizes that they've never been like this, just…sitting together, enjoying one another's company, guard down, not expecting anything out of the other. They've reached a new place with one another…an understanding.

"Thank you." She says to her, tipping the wine jug towards her as if offering her a sign of respect before taking a sip.

Andrea follows her gaze outside the window, her eyes landing on those stones again, capturing her attention. She can barely see them now with the sun gone but she knows they're still there, within arm's reach yet so very far away.

"I am truly sorry about your friend." Sansa says, her voice careful as her hand rests upon Andrea's shoulder and squeezes.

She nods, unsure of what else to say…no words seem like the right ones. It doesn't matter, however, because Sansa doesn't let the silence blanket them for long but at least lets her drink the rest of the wine.

"Have you given any thought to what you'll do now? If you don't mind me prying."

Andrea smiles softly and sips the rest of the wine, setting the jug aside on the kitchen table. It's here, in that moment, that she knows their relationship has changed even if it's just a little. Since when would Sansa care or offer Andrea the choice to reject her inquiries?

"I'm unsure." She says honestly, drawing her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. "I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you mean. This is my home, even before Jon; always has been." She looks out the window again, her gaze unable to find the set of rocks she knows are there.

Maybe that's a sign she should stop looking for them.

"Speaking of the King, what does he think of all this?"

Andrea sighs and shrugs her one shoulder, "Other than offering me a piece of Winterfell? I don't know. What else can we do other than move forward?"

She can't allow herself to get caught up in the past, whether it's the Red Woman or Leo…or Lannisters in general. Holding the past in such high regard just blinds her decisions on how to form her future. She has choices to make, things to open herself up to and love to embrace. She's spent so much of her life letting what happened to her family haunt her, as if survivor's guilt was too much to bear…she can't do that anymore. While she never wants to forget them, they can't be reasons or excuses as to why she doesn't move forward; she can't be afraid to live because they never got to.

It takes her a moment to realize that Sansa is staring at her with a soft quirk to her lips as if a laugh wants to bubble up out of her stomach. She finds herself almost smiling in return, the action contagious.

"What?"

"He offered you a piece of Winterfell?" Her smile now is almost secretive; Andrea must be missing something. "What did you tell him?"

Andrea blinks, "I just…told him I was right where I needed to be."

Sansa laughs and even though it's not unkind, she's starting to feel a little frustrated, "And how did he take it?"

"I'm sorry," Andrea angles her body more towards Sansa now, "Am I missing something important?"

She takes her hand, "Just think about it, alright?" Squeezing her fingers before letting go, "Just think."

Before Andrea can ask anything more of her, Sansa offers her that same smile again before taking her leave of the kitchen.

00

Andrea gives it a lot of thought—honestly it sits on her mind frequently throughout the next few days but all she does is frustrate herself further. She knows she should just end this by asking Jon what he meant by 'a little piece of Winterfell'—a small part of her is worried that if she does it won't mean anything because Sansa might be playing some sort of trick on her.

That is a very high possibility.

She sighs and glances to the ceiling in her room; she thinks she liked it better when her and Sansa weren't on good terms, at least things seemed to make more sense.

Andrea concentrates on the task at hand before she does something silly like cut her hand wide open as she cleans the cross-guard and fuller on her sword. It's been a while since she fought and practiced her moves since…since Leo but she can't allow herself to get rusty. Ser Davos has generously offered up his time to train her since she won't allow Jon to do so, not yet at least, and she's not going to waste a moment of the opportunity.

"There'll be nothing left if you keep rubbin' it." She smiles softly and glances up at her trainer standing in the doorway. "Something have you troubled, m'lady?"

Andrea sets the cloth down and can't help the soft laugh that leaves her lips, "Suppose you could say that. Not even sure how to tell you what it is if I'm being honest."

He steps into the room and hums a little, "Try me."

She shakes her head; she should just forget this but now she has Ser Davos' attention and he's standing there, waiting, watching her with careful, kind eyes. Andrea sighs, "I'm just trying to figure out where I fit in all this. The more I try to piece together, the more confused I am."

"Lady Andrea, it doesn't take anyone reading into the flames to know how Jon cares for you."

She quickly interrupts, feeling the slightest bit exasperated, "Then why do I feel like I have to solve some sort of riddle with him offering me a piece of Winterfell?"

Ser Davos stares at her a moment before the same amused expression falls into the lines of his face. While she knows this man tends to smile easily and warmly towards people he cares for, this is different.

"That's how he asked you?"

"I'm holding a sword." She warns because she's had about enough of this.

He puts his hands up as if in surrender but has the audacity to laugh. "I swear," He crosses his arms over his chest, "one of the smartest men I've ever known yet completely oblivious when it comes to women."

"Ask me what?" Andrea throws back to his previous statement.

And then…then it dawns on her.

"Oh gods." She stands up, her sword clattering to the ground in a loud rush of metal.

"Aye, there we go." Ser Davos mumbles as she rushes past him, out the door, not even bothering to grab her cloak. "He's out by the stables!" He calls after her, a soft chuckling following her out.

00

Andrea nearly slips down the steps that lead into the courtyard outside but that doesn't break her stride and she's a little out of breath as she enters the stables. Jon is at the end, tending to a few horses, turning to look at the sound of her entering.

"'Drea," He says, moving to meet her in the middle. He's already undoing the leathers on his chest, buckles falling loose as he wraps the cloak around her shoulders, "You trying to catch your death out here? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is you didn't ask me to marry you." It comes out in a rush between her teeth chattering, Jon's hands working up and down her arms to warm her. They pause, however, when she gets the words out and a soft smile tilts the end of the one side of his mouth. The worry that was once there in his eyes is gone in an instant, replaced by sheer mischief.

She's never wanted so much to hit him.

"Actually, I did, you just weren't listening."

Oh, this was absurd—how could she know that's what he meant? Did everyone somehow know what Jon meant expect for her? Was she truly the last to know?

"You are such a—" She doesn't even know what she wants to say. She does, however, want to stop shaking because how can she be cross with him when he's trying to keep her warm? Jon smiles and squeezes her shoulders, working his fingers down her arms before drawing her frozen fingertips into his hands.

"Careful," He teases, though Andrea isn't even sure how she was going to describe him at this point beyond the word 'frustrating'. "Name-calling seems unfair; which one of us couldn't figure out what the other was asking?"

He grins, and she has to squash the overwhelming urge to kiss him because no, she's not rewarding him for confusing word-play and adorable antics.

"Ask me again so I can tell you 'no'." Part of her is teasing but…another part of her, the part that grounds her to reality in all the ways she knows she doesn't deserve this, deserve him, wants to ask Jon if he really knows what he's getting in all of this.

Because it's not much.

Jon draws her closer, tugging on the cloak until they're breathing the same air. She won't look up at him, can't, her hands squeezing his own as his lips brush over her forehead.

"Jon," She swallows and it pains her to say it but she must; she has obligations to him as her King for him to consider what he's doing. Marriage is one of the most powerful things for a King to have in his arsenal; he can use it as an advantage with someone who matters.

"I am lowborn. I have…no family, or army, or dowry. I have nothing to offer you."

He pulls back just a fraction so that his eyes meet her own. "Are you trying to tell me that you don't love me?" She wishes he wasn't trying to tease her about this; she's serious and opens her mouth to say it but he shakes his head, speaking again, "You love me and therefore have everything to offer me."

Jon cups both sides of her face, a small smile making its way onto his lips. "I know what I'm asking of you and I know what decisions I make."

Andrea holds his gaze for a long moment before nodding, slowly allowing that feeling that wants to swallow her whole encompass her as a lover would do. She has to trust him as she's always done and she has to trust herself and her feelings for him.

"Do you still wish for me to ask you again?"

She smiles a little, rolling her eyes, "You mean ask me properly, for once?"

"Will you, Andrea Wintark, marry me?"

Andrea barley has time to say, "I've never wanted anything more" before he kisses her. Jon draws her close and keeps her there as their lips move together in perfect synchrony. When they pull back after a few moments, her skin is flushed and warm and she can't remember ever being cold before this.

He tilts his head towards the black steed, one they've ridden many times together and she's already shaking her head no before he has time to speak: "Come on, it's the perfect weather for riding."

She snorts out a soft laugh as he fastens his leathers across her chest to keep her warm. "It's snowing. You're definitely not dressed warm enough."

"Don't worry about me." He tells her as they walk back to the horse he was feeding when she walked in, his hands brushing the side of him as he secures the saddle.

"I always do; afraid it's now part of the job description as your wife."

Jon pauses upon hearing the last word, his smile never leaving his lips as he turns to look at her and presses a soft kiss to her forehead. In typical Jon fashion, he uses that moment to distract her and lifts her onto the horse; Andrea squeaking and grabbing onto the reigns.

The horse isn't having it, huffing out air through his nose and pacing at the added weight.

"Shh," Jon shushes the creature, petting his mane so he settles and she has half a mind to push him with her foot because shouldn't she be the one who's comforted with that sneak-attack move? She's too much afraid she'll tumble off the horse though, so she doesn't.

She does however glare at him when his eyes find hers, an amused laugh tumbling from his mouth. Andrea moves to straddle the horse and Jon lifts himself up to position himself behind her, wrapping his arms around her and grabbing the reigns.

"Wait, I'm usually behind you." Jon doesn't move, instead he tugs on the reigns and the horse backs up and they move to leave the stable. "No, really, Jon, I don't like being first." She doesn't count the time she side-straddled the horse, the speed wasn't fast and she wasn't riding into anything head first.

"Hey," He nuzzles his nose into her neck, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as the horse trots out the gates of Winterfell. Snow tumbles down around them, easily landing on their bodies like soft, cool, blankets. "I'm here with you."

Andrea turns a little to look at him, the horse pausing because his attention is on her instead of where they're going. She stares at him a long moment, his words pressing into her skin, burrowing into her veins, holding her tighter than his arms ever could.

I'm here with you.

She kisses him, soft and light before turning forwards and taking the reigns from him. She can feel Jon smiling even though she can't see him, his hands falling to her waist to give her a small squeeze. She flutters the leather straps in her hands, her feet digging into the horse to move and he does, begins a slow trot that quickly turns into galloping.

The wind rushes past her, playing with her hair, probably hitting Jon in the face but he doesn't say anything. She feels incredibly scared and yet free at the same time as they ride through the woods and over small hills, the horse jumping over broken logs and fallen trees. A small laugh leaves her chest, exhilaration filling her up as her heart hammers against her ribcage, echoes in her ears.

Jon squeezes her around her waist and its then she realizes he's laughing too, right along with her.

It's something that she has to remember, that they're here with one another.

Together.