Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

There was something nostalgic and cruel about that day. As if all the happy memories and all the painful thoughts come together in a single image. It was winter and that used to be their favorite season when Arya was a little girl and he little more than a boy of fourteen.

He didn't expect to see her again in those conditions. Didn't expect to see any of the cousins that way. Black was a color that matched the characteristic austerity of the Starks, but the meaning of the color was morbid.

Rickon cried copiously while hiding his face in Sansa's shoulder, who in turn tried to hide the dark circles under her eyes with sunglasses. Bran looked at the coffins with listless face and clung to the armrest of the wheelchair as if it was his last chance for salvation.

Robb was drunk. He punched and fought every wall possible before getting himself together and look like a worthy man at the funeral of his parents, but nothing would have been possible if Jayne hadn't helped.

Arya watched the funeral quietly and without shedding a single tear. It was disturbing to see someone with an explosive genius in such a state. Jon thought she was catatonic, or that was her particular way of dealing with loss. Even without crying, he didn't remember see her so fragile before. Arya looked like the kind of person who would face everything, but here, wearing black and dry eyes she looked like a porcelain doll.

The death of Eddard and Catelyn Stark would be the headlines of newspapers for months. Conditions of the murder that many believed be political related or track cover was still being investigated. The future of the younger children was still uncertain, and nobody knew what to do with three orphaned minors.

Robb would have a lot of work dealing with the company and managing the patrimony of his siblings while they were minors. Jayne was already seven months pregnant and still was doing everything possible to help her husband and in-laws, but there was a limit to everything.

It was hard for Robb to make that decision and even harder to ask such a favor to a cousin he hadn't seen for more than eight years. Even though the two of them hadn't had much contact in recent times, Jon still considered Robb as a brother, and his debt to Eddard Stark was still so big that he didn't feel prepared to deny anything the family of an uncle who raised him up until he was fourteen.

When the funeral was over and everyone gradually left the cemetery, Jon stood staring at the gravestones of his uncles with a twinge of pain. He hadn't known his own parents, but Eddard Stark was the closest thing he had in life. Arya was also there, staring at nothing whispering something to herself. Jon had a feeling it was an oath of vengeance and all he wanted was that his cousin gave up that idea and only allowed herself to weep and mourn for the time she thought necessary.

He approached her with careful steps on the snow and touched her shoulder. Arya turned to face him. She took a few seconds to recognize him completely, or just remember who he was. Jon pulled her sunglasses and when he did, Arya embraced him as if she was still the little girl of nine years he had left behind when he moved to England.

Jon kissed her forehead and let Arya embrace him as much as she thought necessary, as he stroked her back.

"Robb spoke to you?" Jon asked. His voice hoarse from trying to contain his own tears. Arya agreed with a nod. "I'm here to take you home. My lawyers have lodged at the paperwork. We traveled at the end of the week."

"No need to do that." She said in a choked voice. "I can manage alone."

"I do not doubt it, but no one should go through something like this alone." Jon lifted her face to face him. "Your father took care of me when I had no one. It's my turn to repay."

"I don't want your debt of honor or piety." Arya replied in a sour tone.

"I'm doing this because I care about you." Jon replied with security. "I know what's going on. I want to help and Robb is unable to take care of Bran, Rickon and you when he has to run the company, the marriage itself and the child who is to be born."

"Speak as if you didn't have your own empire to manage." She replied hurt. "I saw your picture in a magazine the other day. 'The man with the world in his hands' or something. Millionaire of the year and coveted bachelor. You certainly don't need an orphan cousin in your life.

"Let me decide what I need or not." Jon said holding her hand. "I know that everything is going too fast, but I'm here to take care of you. London is a good place to restart.

"I don't want to start over, I want revenge." She replied bitterly.

"You are too young to say such a thing." He led the way to the car that was waiting for them. "I'm sure my uncle would not like to hear you talking like that."

Arya paused and allowed Jon to lead her to the black car parked at the curb. A gentle snow began to fall again as the vehicle slid through the quiet streets on that cold day. She did not cry and he wondered if that was a wise idea.

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The farewell to her siblings was even worse than the funeral itself. Rickon clung to her, crying and asking her not to leave too. Bran was more sympathetic and tried to calm the younger brother while Sansa just made her latest recommendations to Arya. Robb asked her forgiveness for not having the structure to deal with everything at once, but assured that he would find a way if she said she wanted to stay.

Arya was not naive or even selfish to the point of making her brother to sacrifice himself that way, but she didn't agree with the Jon's offer to be her new guardian. However, the paperwork was prepared and Jon had a jet ready to take them to London.

She embarked silently and there were few words exchanged between them along the way. Ten hours of flight and Jon was determined to make an appointment with a psychologist for Arya to be accompanied by an expert.

"Sansa could stay with us a while." Jon suggested more or less at the half of the trip, tired of her silence stern. "What do you think?"

"She is crazy for classes to begging. All she wants is to stick her head in the studies and find a prince charming in Princeton. Until that happens, Littlefinger will take care of her." Arya replied with a shrug. "Honestly, you don't wanna see how long we can stay in the same environment without trying to slap each other."

"At least it's comforting to know that some things never change." Jon said quietly. "Have you thought about college options?"

"I have no idea." She replied apathetic. "Perhaps Administration. I'm good with that."

"If it's your will, I can hire you as an intern at the company to learn first-hand how things work." He said in an effort to look nice. "It was what Aemon did to me when I moved. Honestly, I think it was a good decision."

"Who is Aemon?" Arya asked finally showing some interest in what he was saying.

"My granduncle." Jon replied. "It was he who took care of my share in the company, along with your father. He also made sure I was well prepared and knew what to do when I received my inheritance."

"I will not inherit an empire." She said with a shrug.

"But will inherit a good slice of Stark enterprises and this is no small deal, Arya." He said seriously. "Robb may need your help in future."

"It makes little sense to think of a future now." She said in a whisper.

"It'll be all right. Trust me." He asked but he knew at that moment nothing could reach her, no matter his words or his supplications. There was little hope left in Arya and he hoped it was not too late to reverse the situation.

And every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself

I like to keep my issues strong

It's always darkest before the dawn

He wanted to understand who she was now. Who was that girl who looked so much like a shadow of his past. A nostalgic memory and a ghost dragging chains. A mirror of many things he lived when he was an orphaned child who depended on the goodwill and kindness of others.

Arya didn't want his pity, his honor debts, neither his charity. She wanted justice and wanted her family and Jon couldn't give her neither one thing nor the other. And what about what he wanted? He wanted the nine years old Arya back. The little girl who hugged him and told funny stories about how she had helped the female team to win a football game or as her fencing teacher praised her. Unfortunately, that Arya had died along with Eddard and Catelyn and what was left was a slender girl, with gray eyes surrounded by dark circles, short dark hair, and a familiar face. She had changed little, but the most dramatic change was the lost of the smile that had always saved for him.

When they came to London the next morning, the snow covered the tops of trees and a good deal of ground. The weather was cold and uninviting for a first impression, but Arya didn't say a thing. They took a car and headed toward a prime area of the city, where Jon had an apartment.

Jon was not adept of a very fussy lifestyle, so for someone who owned one of the largest fortunes in the country, the place was quite modest. Large, comfortable, functional and decorated in a too austere and classic style for someone who hadn't even reached the age of thirty. A maid took care of the cleaning and Jon rarely took his meals at home, which meant that a cook only appeared there in special occasions.

He saw to it that she had a room prepared to receive her, with a private bathroom and a lovely view of Hyde Park. The decor was a bit impersonal and severe as the rest of the house. Arya sat on the bed and took a deep breath, becoming aware that this was her new home and that Jon was an unexpected benefactor.

That apartment smelled of loneliness and isolation. It was cold by the lack of warmth and just made her remember more of her old house and the emptiness she felt at the thought of her parents. Jon lived busy with work and there was no room in his life even for a girlfriend, or a pet, she couldn't have high hopes that there was room for an orphan cousin who came with a big "problem" warning stamped on her forehead.

He stared her anxiously almost all the time, as if expecting a word of appreciation, or a request. It had been so long since their last conversation, or even the last time they saw each other. It was still difficult to think of him as that boy of fourteen for whom she had a platonic crush during childhood.

He was still handsome. More handsome now that his features matured. His eyes were gray, but depending on the light, she could have sworn they were violet. Curly hair was longer than what was expected of a successful businessman, but she liked how the curls fall over his eyes. The jaw line was strong, his face was long and very similar to her father's face.

Only one thing hadn't changed. That tender way Jon stared at her hadn't changed. He always had a place for her in his bedroom when they were children and Arya had nightmares at night, or when some boy bothered her at school. She never understood exactly why he left so soon, or why her mother never spoke about him, but the truth is that Arya longed for her best friend all these years.

Later that day, when she had already unpacked most of her bagged, Jon received a call that left him somewhat anxious. He went to her room and asked Arya to get dressed for dinner. They would have company that night, but she was not in the mood to play the host.

When the doorbell rang she had finished getting dressed up in a way that Sansa would find appropriate. The clothing was dark, since she was still in mourning for her parents, but at least it was pants that made her look more like a girl than a sloppy boy. She wore a gray linen sweater and even bothered to apply a little makeup to cover the dark circles.

Jon opened the door personally giving way to a man so old that Arya got to wonder if it was possible for someone to live many years without breaking at the breath of a breeze. He rode in a wheelchair and behind came a plump man, his cheeks flushed from the cold.

"Allow me to introduce Sam Tarly, one of my lawyers and personal friend." Jon said pointing to the fat man who hastened to greet Arya. "And this is Aemon Targaryen, my mentor and also my granduncle on my father's side of the family."

The man approached her and stared in an evaluative way. Arya suspected that he could not see very well, but said nothing.

"You are extremely familiar, young lady." The man said. His voice weak. "Much like your aunt Lyanna. It's almost like seeing her again."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Everyone says that she was very beautiful, but I've never met her." Arya said. "Please to meet you. I am Arya Stark."

"Nice to meet you, young lady. I'm so sorry for your loss. Your father was always a good man and your mother was a kind woman, if I remember correctly." Aemon said.

"Despite the circumstances, welcome to London, Miss Stark." Sam Tarly said extending his hand to her. "Jon talks a lot about you."

"Does he?" She seemed surprised. "I had no idea that my cousin remembered my existence. We hardly talked in the past eight years."

"Not for lack of trying on my part." Jon hastened to say. "Things got very busy in my life, but I have never forgotten you."

"That's good to know." She replied apathetic.

The four sat in the room and Jon ordered dinner. To her surprise, that frail old man claiming to be someone so important, looked extremely comfortable in the presence of people much younger than him and who provided an hast and unceremoniously dinner.

Aemon was kind of interesting person to talk with many stories and the air of wisdom conferred by his respectable ninety-five years. He had lived during the World Wars, fought in the Second and helped build one of the largest empires in the world of telecommunication.

He seemed to like her, which Arya was supposed to be something good. On the other hand, Sam Tarly was an unintentionally fun kind and if he was able to do a half Stark laugh, so she had to give some credit to him.

This was a survey and both were fully aware of this. Aemon took care of Jon as his grandson and all that concerned the life of the young entrepreneur was of interest to the old man. Arya Stark fit the definition, even if Jon insisted on saying that it was only a debt of honor he was settling and would not affect anything in his professional life.

For some reason the evaluative look of the old man brought Jon a sense of shame that he could not explain, as if Aemon saw and heard things that the boy had not even noticed. Maybe it was just his conscience to reacquaint his cousin after eight years and noted that the scene played out before he leave the home of Ned Stark was still very clear in his memory, which caused a feeling of disgust and shame.

When Aemon said he was tired, Sam hastened to call the driver to take him home. The young lawyer accompanied the old boss and Jon felt relieved to have the house all to them again. He cast a glance at Arya, who was huddled in a corner of the sofa.

He was not used to sharing space with someone else and have to get used to her presence. It hurt to see how much she looked fragile, even if the effort to keep her composure was admirable. He could hardly believe she was only seventeen. Grief made her appeared to have at least five more years. Her eyes were melancholy and serious, her face had lost the traces of childhood and Arya looked more like a familiar stranger than with the girl he left behind in tears when he moved to London.

She had come back into his life without warning and without invitation. She was sitting in the center of his world, alone, desolated and lost. When they were kids, he used to be her hero, he thinks he could still play the role, Arya is at least allowed.

She was murmuring sleep after a 'good night' squalid. Jon knew she took a long time to sleep that night. He heard her crying as he passed through the bedroom door, he heard a faint voice calling her father and mother and reciting vows of revenge. He knew that the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Stark had been premeditated and suspected that it was a political crime was very strong. Arya was not stupid to the point of ignoring the evidence and Jon knew she had suspects in mind.

And I've been a fool and I've been blind

I can never leave the past behind

I can see no way, I can see no way

I'm always dragging que horse around

When he threw himself on the bed his memory wandered directly to the day they were hiding inside the room he occupied at the Stark's house.

The birthday gift was wrapped and stored in his pocket. Arya stared at him with her large gray eyes, waiting to see what her cousin wanted to give her so secretly.

The Swiss Army Knife was the first and only gift he gave her, knowing that Arya would love it. She never liked dolls, dresses, or pretty little things, but his eyes sparkled when she saw the collection of camp trinkets he and Robb had. That was his favorite knife and Arya knew it, but her smile served to assure him that give the object would be worth it.

She hugged him so hard that day. Kissed his cheek as she thanked all without stopping. She was a girl of nine, he was a boy of fourteen. Until now he couldn't tell where his head was on that day. Arya said that she loved him and that he was the best cousin in the world and when he realized his lips were on hers, in immediate response to such devotion.

It was an innocent kiss. Something he felt like doing, not because she drew him or anything of the sort. He wanted to kiss her because it felt right, because she was his best friend, because he was happy, or just wanted to know how it felt to kiss the person he trusted the most in the world.

That memory haunted him, not by the act itself, but because Catelyn Stark had entered the room at that moment. A kiss that was just a brush of lips and the next week he was moving to London, away from Arya and his cousins. Taking the lady and the very Arya Stark, Aemon was the only one who knew what had happened, but never scolded him for that.

It was comforting to think about that day, even though Jon was once again under the same roof with her. His cousin and best friend barely spoke to him now. She cried hidden in the guest room over the death of her parents and the longing she felt for her siblings. Maybe she didn't even wanted his presence, the man that took her from home and dragged her to a strange city where she had no friends or other family members beyond him. He felt as a nasty villain of a chip novel thinking about all this and yet there was no less drastic way out.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Aemon could be almost blind, but he wasn't stupid. The boy seemed beyond reason since the death of Eddard Stark and his wife and it didn't take much effort to find out why.

Arya Stark was doing counseling to overcome the loss in the best possible way. She was enrolled in a good private school, where she would begin her studies after the holiday season. Eventually she went to the office to handle any urgent matter to Jon, being it the need of a signature on a document, or some money.

She was a good girl. Melancholic due to loss, but still an educated and intelligent girl, with whom Aemon liked to talk when she deigned to pass by his office during her brief visits.

Something about her, however, reminded him of his long passed nephew and his second wife. Lyanna also had that same melancholic look and the particular traits of the Stark family. The same sharp mind and the same rebellious temper. She had turned Rhaegar's head when they met for the first time in a charity event. She was the daughter of a wealthy contractor, owner of a giant construction company in United States, and he was owner of a telecommunications empire, already married and with a young son.

Lyanna was the cause of the separation of Rhaegar and Elia. Was the cause of a crisis in the company. A hast wedding, away from the eyes of her family, and the guarantee of enmity of Stark because he had impregnated the girl, who at the time was almost as young as Arya. That was a withering passion that ended with her death from complications in childbirth and Rhaegar suffering a car accident shortly after.

Left only Jon and his half-brother Aegon, who insisted on staying away from the family business and eventually sold most of his shares to his brother when they reached the required age. Aegon lived in India and helped his aunt, Daenerys, with market expansion in Asia.

Aemon see much of Lyanna in Arya and much of Rhaegar in Jon. Couldn't avoid the sorrow he felt in his chest every time he watched how they interacted, or how she avoided being caught in the middle of a stealth look at him, or as Jon seemed determined to give a warm smile every time his cousin spoke him a few words.

They were still those two children that exchanged secret gifts, love vows, and brushed their lips in an awkward kiss, or those children had died and what was left was a vague hope that there was a way and a place for them? Aemon was not sure. He didn't even know if what he was seeing was a good sign.

Maybe he should ignore and rely on Jon's common sense, or perhaps he should pray that at least the story would have a happier ending than that of his nephew.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

And our love's pastured such a mournful sound

Tonight I'm gonna bury que horse in the ground

So I like to keep my issues strong

But it's always darkest before the dawn

Winter days became more solitary and melancholic to her. Jon knew that. It was the way she watched the snow fall during the night from the windows of the apartment and how she sat on the couch, all curled like a young abandoned kitten. Arya was unhappy and with Christmas's proximity only worsened the feeling of loneliness.

His apartment hadn't many elements that could transform the luxurious atmosphere into something more like a home. There was not fireplace, but there was a good heating system. There was no frame, but there were works of art valued at staggering amounts. There was nothing to denounce that this was someone's home, it was something else that could be admired in any décor catalog.

He used to spend Christmas Eve alone, but he knew that her Christmases were always noisy, full of laughter and homemade food, with a roaring fireplace and tree decorating the room. That was her new home and he felt guilty for not doing anything to make the place more welcoming.

Jon sat beside her after taking a shower and change clothes. The day had been exhausting and he liked to return to the quiet of his house. Even with Arya around, he could not say that this was a busy place. Neither of them was given to aimless conversations and sometimes he felt that all Arya wanted was to pretend he wasn't there.

He let his hand rest on hers. That was the first time they actually touched each other after the funeral, and Arya gave a start, taken by surprise. She stared at him with her expressive eyes and gray like a frozen lake. He wondered when she had become such a beautiful girl.

"I was thinking ..." He broke the silence, aware that he had her full attention. "It is the first Christmas we spent together. I know it will not be easy, but I think we should celebrate somehow."

"I'm not exactly in a festive mood." She said, lowering her head slightly. "As if there is anything to celebrate."

"But there is." He said knowing how much it would be painful for her but Arya needed a boost. She needed to remember that there was still life in her. "It has long been just me and Aemon on the table during Christmas Eve's Night. You are part of this little family now and I feel that I have done little to make this apartment a home for you.

"You have done too much." She said, staring at him again. "It's not your fault, Jon. Nothing that is happening to me is your fault."

"So let me try to help you." He asked. "Arya, you're so quiet and so distant. This is not healthy, it can't be. I know that void, I know the feeling of loneliness much better than you can imagine. And Eddard Stark was a father to me as well."

"I'm not good with parties." She said shrugging and trying to convince him that this was a bad idea. "Sansa is the family's host."

"We can make the worst Christmas dinner together." He said with a smile. "It will be just us two and Aemon and he never stay long after midnight."

"Christmas tree, roast turkey, potato salad, sauce ..." She began to make a short list aloud and his smile widened.

"And pudding." He added. "It's not Christmas if there is no pudding." He noticed the small smile forming at the corners of her lips and that gave him hope that maybe that was not a lost battle.

"I'd better start thinking about your gift then." She said. "If you do not mind, I would like some suggestions of what to give to someone who has everything."

"Surprise me." He said whispering beside her ear. She felt her cheeks get stained with the proximity. For a moment he wondered if Arya remembered that day too. If she had thought about that day during those eight years.

"I'm terrible with surprises." She replied awkwardly. "I was never very creative."

"So smile." He said at last. "It's been eight years since I've seen you smiling. I miss it."

"You miss what?" She asked, staring at him. That was a delicate question. He missed the smile or whatever they had as children? The troublesome girl who preferred to play the boy, or that they had wonderful complicity?

"I miss us." He answered, fully aware of how inadequate it sounded. She was seventeen years old orphan and also his protégée. He should worry about her well-being and not be remembering a kiss, which could hardly be classified as such, that happened at a time when neither of them had much idea of what they were doing. "I miss how we used to be friends." It was a weak attempt to correct the error, but an attempt anyway.

Between words unspoken, sorrows and mourning, she was something that Jon could not classify. That feeling was disconcerting every time he looked at her. A diffuse sense of protectiveness toward her and a tenderness that he could swore he had forgotten. Arya sometimes cried alone at night in the room and he fought the urge to go to her, hug her and make promises he knew he could not fulfill, because nobody was able to erase the pain.

What if that what he felt for her as a child was not just a curiosity associated with the friendship they had? And what if that feeling was something else, seasoned with a dash of hope? And what if that feeling hadn't died, just been stored inside him waiting for the moment that it would rise again, stronger and equally inappropriate.

Platonic love ... He was already too old to feel this kind of thing and she was too young for the possibility of any feeling, beside respect and affection, to arise between them.

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Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

On Christmas Eve there was a small decorated tree in the living room and the table was set, decorated with arrangements of red and gold. The smell of roast was in every room of the apartment.

He was surprised to see her lighting candles on the table and using a dark gray dress, makeup and hair rougher than ever. He was accustomed to see her wearing jeans, sneakers, shirts and slacks, in a way that made her look like a boy sometimes, but in all those years he only remembered seeing her in a dress on special occasions or when Cat Stark made her.

She did not seem upset or uncomfortable about using the clothes, but Jon was definitely surprised at the sight. She had become a pretty girl, unlike all the nasty comments that Sansa and her friends used to say about Arya when she was a kid. In a few years she would be a beautiful woman.

Aemon arrived shortly after. Jon served them a moderate dose of whiskey and they drank and talked for a few hours. Arya was still far from being a gracious hostess, or show great enthusiasm for this little celebration, but Jon saw her laugh a few times during the conversation.

She liked Aemon and the stories he told. He liked the shrewd mind of the old man and also the way he addressed her, always with respect for her opinions. Even being so old, Aemon had a great respect for youth and if not for the incentives of his granduncle, Jon would never have had the courage to take the business and make decisions that many considered arbitrary, or more daring.

They dined together and Jon eventually allowed Arya to have a couple glasses of wine after Aemon reinforce the idea that a few months before the majority wouldn't make any difference in the effect of alcohol and the girl deserved some fun too.

She became more relaxed and a bit more talkative too. Jon watched from the corner of his eyes with a bit of satisfaction and a little disgusted by the way he found it impossible to look away from her, while Arya licked whit the tip of her tongue the pudding dessert spoon. It was something quite voyeuristic and disturbing, like watching through the keyhole someone undress, like remembering a kiss exchanged between two children fumbling a moment of inconsequent happiness.

After dessert, Aemon gave Arya a gold necklace with a pendant drop shaped, made of diamond. She thanked him and put the necklace right away to please the old man and Jon wondered how the stone gleamed, while resting just below her collarbone. To Jon he gave a whiskey bottle made of silver.

Jon gave the old Aemon a particularly rare book. It was no secret that his great uncle was an avid collector of works of art and Jon couldn't resist when he found a Koran with many well-made and stylish pictures. The old man seemed satisfied with it, but to get a magnifying glass with a handled made of mother-of-pearl his face got radiant with happiness.

Aemon smiled and thanked her countless times. He seemed genuinely happy for her having taken the time to think of such a beautiful present for him. Sometimes Jon wondered which of the two Targaryens was more lonely and definitely Aemon had lived a longer time without knowing what it was to have a family to keep him company on Christmas Eve.

He said goodbye to Arya while Jon insisted on accompany him to the car waiting to take him home. Aemon stared at his nephew for long seconds without saying anything. Then he embraced him as he would have probably embraced a son if he had any.

"You remind me so much your father." He said in a wistful tone. "I'd like Rhaegar had lived long enough to see you today. I loved him, you know? He was a bright young man. We shared a taste for art and this Koran ... It looks like something he would have choose for me."

"I'm glad you liked it, uncle." Jon said friendly. "I am also happy to keep you company on a night like that. It is not easy to go through by Christmas Eve alone."

"And there is a girl upstairs who surely need every company she can find tonight." Aemon said seeming to know a secret that nobody else knew. "She's a lovely girl, despite her wild way."

"I should have known her when she was younger." Jon commented. "She would have taken a good laugh from you. She was always smart and entertaining."

"Even after the loss, I think she still looks like a certain girl of nine or ten of whom you stole a kiss." Aemon said as if it was nothing more. "She is still too young, Jon."

"I know." He felt his stomach twist in an unpleasant feeling of shame and disgust.

"In a few years, it may be that this is not a bad idea." Aemon added. "Have a good night and merry Christmas."

The old man got into the car and left Jon alone outside, while the gentle snow began to fall, covering the sidewalk and the top of the trees next to Hyde Park. The snow always brought good memories of childhood, when he and Arya were lying on the ground to make snow angels together.

He returned to the apartment and she had removed the dishes and brought the leftovers to the kitchen. The place was silent once more. Candles burned while most of the lights were turned off. The lighted tree in the corner of the room seemed lonely in it festive meaning while he couldn't find a single sign of Arya around.

I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

Cause I like to keep my issues strong

It's always darkest before the dawn

He walked down the hallway leading to the rooms. The door ajar allowed him to see her silhouette in half-light. Jon paused for a minute. His mouth dried and pulse fastened while the smooth contours and her creamy skin partially uncovered was revealed as she laid aside the dark gray dress to replace it with something more comfortable to sleep. Small breasts, nipples hardened thanks to cold, delicate curves of a young body. She was no longer a child.

He averted his eyes and turned away from the door as quickly as possible, hiding inside the room while he felt the dirty sensation grow within himself. What was he doing? What was he thinking?

Jon took a deep breath. He went to the bathroom and washed his face with cold water. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to find an explanation for that behavior. In a few years ... Aemon said, but that didn't make sense. That couldn't make sense.

He left the bathroom and when he returned to the room, Arya was sitting on his bed, in the dark, like a ghost or as a perverted and immoral thought. She wore sweater, her shoulders were slumped, her hair messy and there was no longer any sign of makeup on her face. She had something in her hands.

"I thought you had already gone to sleep." He broke his silence and walked to where she was sit. Arya looked up and looked at him. There was nothing particular in her look that denounced that she had seen him spying, anyway, despite the cold it was that night, Jon felt his blood warm.

"I wanted to give you this before." She said in a low tone and somewhat melancholic. She handed a small box to him. Jon took the package and opened it quickly finding inside a Swiss Army knife much like the one he had given her eight years ago.

"You didn't have to." He said, feeling the breath drain from her lungs as he felt cold and smooth texture of the metal against his fingers.

"You gave me your favorite one." She said. "I just wanted to replace it." Her shoulders shrank again. "Merry Christmas, Jon. I think I'll sleep now."

She started to get up and leave the room, but before he could take a step, he put his hand on her wrist, stopping her where she was. He felt the quickening pulse against his fingers and her skin tingle to the touch.

"Do you remember?"nHis voice was husky and serious, as if he had spent years without using it. His heart was racing, his vision blurred.

"Of course I do." She said. "Next week you're gone. That was your farewell gift."

"I wouldn't have gone." Jon confessed. "Catelyn ... She didn't want me around."

"It makes no difference now." Arya said. "Those were good times. They will not come back. Neither my parents nor my brothers ...It's over, isn't it? Nothing remained from that era."

"We remain, Arya." He said approaching her. "I'm still here."

"We are not those kids, Jon." She said. "You don't know me and you are almost a stranger to me, as well."

"So let me acquaint with you again." Arya seemed to relax a little and Jon wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. She laid her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath.

"I missed you so much." She said with a rueful tone. "They never told me why you went away. The only excuse was that you needed to prepare yourself for the future."

"You never suspected the reason?" He asked kissing her cheek and feeling the salty taste on his tongue.

"I figured things out after a while." She whispered. "It was because of me, wasn't it?"

"No. It was because of me." He said. He could smell her perfume. "It was a stupid thing to do."

"Do you regret it?" Her voice faltered.

"No." It was the only answer he could think of. "Why you never tried to talk to me then?"

"I don't know." She replied. "I was afraid to try and find that there was no room for me in your new life. Looking back now, it seems like a bad taste joke."

"We were two kids and I was falling for you." He said hugging her a little stronger.

- We were kids, but what are we now?" She asked.

"We grew up. I am an adult full of responsibilities now; you will soon be one too." He said with difficulty. "And I'm falling in love again. I wonder how you do this to me."

"They say that love between cousins never ends." She said turning to face him directly in the eyes. "This time there's no one in the house to discover us."

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back (Shake it off)

And Given half the chance would I take any of it back (Shake it off)

It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone (Shake it off)

It's always darkest before the dawn

She touched his face and Jon felt his body shudder in response to the touch. He kissed the her palm and the tips of each finger. He stared into the gray eyes. They were so much alike that anyone could think they were siblings and he was happy to think that they were not.

It was her mouth that took the initiative. A brush of lips much like the one that haunted his memory for so many years. There was nobody in the house. One to separate them or say that was wrong beside they own tormented consciences. Jon put his arm around her waist and devoured Arya's mouth as if he had spent eight years waiting for this moment.

It was sick. It was disturbing to see that she affected him so much. Arya corresponded to the kiss with equal enthusiasm and repeatedly Jon had to keep in mind that she was only seventeen. She was still a girl, even though he could feel the curves of her body pressed against his.

For a split second he wondered what would have happened if he had lived for a few more years in his uncle's house. Would just fell hopelessly in love with her as he was now? He would have gained some sense and resigned to the fact that it was only a childish curiosity, mixed with caring? He would have taken her to bed as she was doing now?

He could not say when it happened. Arya knew she was beneath him, kissing him as if she depended on the air coming out of his lungs to survive. The slender body pressed against his. Small hands that explored his contours and sought loopholes in the clothes he wore, seeking to touch skin with skin.

Her legs were apart invitingly. His own hands seemed to ignore common sense as they wandered Arya's partially covered thighs. She had torn his shirt and touched his nipples with her fingertips, pinching and teasing like she wasn't aware of the danger.

She kissed his neck, playing with his earlobe and teased him with unbelievable security in every movement. Arya knew what she was doing and made that clear. Jon, on the other hand, still bore the image of a girl of nine years old, totally innocent. He really didn't know her any more, yet she was still his Arya.

She grabbed his wrist leading Jon's hand until it covered her breast. He was startled by the boldness, pondered whether or not to continue with that, but Arya was unbuttoning his pants and sliding her hand inside, to touch him. He closed his eyes immediately as he felt her hand pressing him, massaging him skillfully until the air escaped from his lungs.

Jon lost track of good sense and modesty in seconds that followed. He pushed her hand and pulled the sweater she wore. His hands gripped with ease, leaving reddish marks on the skin and closely followed by his eager mouth. She clawed his back while Jon kissed her neck, her small breasts and sucked her hard nipples. Arya moaned low in approval, required attention throughout her body as Jon slid his pants away, with the help of her legs.

He realized that they were completely naked in each other's presence. It was a powerful feeling to demystify the whole holiness and make room for a new kind of worship. Her heart pounded against his, his pulse was strong, his skin hot, his kisses intense. He stared at her for a moment.

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I do not

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I'm ready to Suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat

Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me

Arya stared bewildered, her face flushed. Could see a flicker of fear and need in her gray eyes. Jon touched her face gently. Felt the urge bubbling in his blood, felt the same need she felt, but he couldn't leave behind the weight of his conscience and the fear that everything was nothing more than a way to kill it a bit desperate sorrow for the loss of her old life by picking the only precious element of her past to bury within herself, like an anchor.

He couldn't do that to her. Could not give in and hurt her even more when that excitement has passed and they faced reality. Cat and Ned would remain dead. Robb, Sansa, Bran and Rickon would continue across the ocean, while she was bound to him in that cold apartment. A life she didn't and had no interest for.

What would they be when it happened? He could forget that night in the coming weeks, the coming months, in the coming years? He wasn't able to forget a brush of lips and doubted that he could overcome that night. When she got home after school, accompanied by another young man, someone her age, what would he do? Could he pretend that he was just her cousin, or he would stuck in a bad romance in which he played the cuckolded husband?

He started to pull away from her and Arya stopped him by touching hid neck and seeking his mouth in a silent form of argument. There was a hint of desperation in that kiss, the way she tried to arouse reactions even more compelling in his body. She held him again, positioning it against the hot and humid entrance. Jon felt the air scape from his lungs and moaned as he felt her receiving him slowly inside her.

"They will not come back, Arya." He said hoarsely against her ear. "And I will not leave you after this." That was a contract with the devil and she signed the moment Jon buried himself inside her. It was just for her to know the terms and consequences.

She closed her legs around his waist, a tacit acceptance of the terms of it. Jon kissed her again, as he felt Arya around him. It was like finding a meaning to his empty life, like sharing a secret and finds his way home. She hugged him hard as she felt that he was entirely within her and Jon once again felt the taste of salt on the tip of his tongue.

A tear had drained out of the corner of her eyes. Wondered if this was a sign that he had hurt her, or just another of the endless sorrows that she could no longer contain. Jon dried her face and began to move carefully. Arya never get away from him longer than necessary, so that his movements were short and languid. It was not sex, it was torture. It was desire, love and sadness diluted in eight years of memories not forgotten, loneliness and longing.

Jon touched her between her legs, just above where they were connected. The little spot lost among the black threads that covered her sex. Arya closed her eyes tightly, bit her lip trying to contain the loud moan formed in her throat as Jon kissed her neck.

The movements were deeper as she allowed him to have a little more freedom to move. The pleasure was plastered on her face, as much as that hints of sadness. Pain and tenderness mingled in what they felt for each other. The need and desire were so powerful as doubt and remorse. Jon swept those thoughts away, as he pulled her by the waist to their hips clashed against each other and sank his face in the back of her neck.

He felt the spasms of her body and the way Arya contracted around him, while Jon resisted and kept moving inside her, seeking his own release. He closed his eyes, feeling his mind disconnect from the body as the pleasure washed over his senses. He poured into her, feeling the viscous liquid between her legs.

She rolled to her side in bed. He kissed her mouth, hugged her tightly as if afraid that Arya would run away the next minute. She laid her head on his chest, nuzzling against his exposed chest and smelling his essence mixed with hers.

"Merry Christmas, Arya." He whispered next to her ear and kissed her forehead then.

"Merry Christmas, Jon." She said in a frail voice, just before falling asleep.

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

Author's Note: I'm very fond of this fic and always wanted to translate it for two reasons. First: it had a very positive reception in my own country not in quantity but in quality. Second: I wanted to evaluate the reactions from English Native Speakers to it. I feel that Americans tend to be much more sensible to the topic of relationship between cousins than British people. I don't know if it's true or if it's just an impression. Please let me know. I'll also explain that I'm not American or British. I'm Brazilian. In my country our reaction about cousin's love is kind of ambiguous. We know it's not a good thing from the genetic perspective, but we don't see it as the end of the world if it happens. We even have a popular say about it. "Cousins' love last forever". We don't even consider it incest for legal matters, so cousins can get married here. When I published it many readers shared with me their own experiences with cousins and I was intrigued about what would be the reaction to the fic if I have it translated.

Again. English is not my native language and I don't have a Beta, so take it easy on me.

Music: Shake it out of Florence and The Machines.

I hope you enjoy and leave some reviews.

Bee