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PART SEVEN ❦
SHE AWOKE IN A COLD SWEAT, THE furs around her were damp and beads of sweat had beaded on her forehead. She inhaled deeply and raised the sleeve of her nightgown to wipe away any sweat left on her forehead.
She hadn't been asleep very long, she knew that, she doubted it had been even an hour before she had been abruptly awaken by a cruel nightmare. She had seen Theon and Yara fall to their untimely deaths, slain by a faceless man she could not see. Their father stood nearby, watching as his eldest living children hit the ground, never moving, and not showing one ounce of emotion on his cold, stern face. When the sword was aline with Yara's jugular, Malaena woke up suddenly—fortunately never seeing her sister's neck spill blood.
The nightmare came after, what seemed to be hours, of tossing and turning in her feather bed, willing and pleading for sleep to come to her.
She remembered what Jon had told her, just a few days prior, about how he often had trouble sleeping and went on midnight rides frequently.
It was a shot in the dark, and she would probably end up disappointed, but Malaena wrapped the fur coat Jon had given her around her body and quietly padded down the dark hallway until she reached the outdoors.
She walked to the stables, gripping Jon's furs tighter around her as the crisp night air began to seep into her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She inspected the stables for a missing horse but she couldn't seem to find one, each horse seemed to be in its proper place, sleeping soundly—just as she wished she was. She sighed to herself, turning around with the intention of laying back in her bed, staring at the ceiling above until the sun rose.
But as she turned, she was met with the fatigued face of just who she had been looking for. Jon stood, just about a foot behind her, with his hair astray and his eyes heavy, as if he had just stumbled out of bed—probably because he had.
"What are you doing out here?" He asked, his voice gravelly and deeper than usual, the raspiness of slumber entangled with it.
She gave him a small smile. "I was actually looking for you. You said you came out here when you couldn't sleep."
"I did," he nodded. "But that doesn't explain why you are out here, Lady Greyjoy."
"You know, you can call me Malaena," she said, teasing him only in the slightest. "It wouldn't hurt. But as to why I am out here—I'm a troubled sleeper as well. I can hardly ever get a good nights sleep."
Malaena paused and tipped her head to look into the boy's dark eyes, faintly giving him a smile that he returned with a tired one of his own.
"I hoped you'd be out here, so I could join you for a ride."
"You want to come for a ride—with me," Jon paused. "At this hour?"
"Does that surprise you?"
"Surely you can understand that it is not ordinary for a lady to be awake this late," Jon replied, "let alone go for a ride in the God Woods."
"I never sleep before dawn," Malaena chuckled, a light wispy sound, drowned out by the vicious northern winds. "I can't sleep in the night; the darkness is all-consuming. It overwhelms me—instead I let the suns rays lull me to sleep."
"Odd." A hint of a smile formed on the young man's features. "But I can't say I blame you —the moon doesn't offer the protection of the sun, does it?"
"No, but I suppose a wolf like yourself doesn't fear the moon?"
"I'm not a true wolf," Jon's voice held a hostility that hasn't been there before. "Mount yourself on the horse."
"Yes, sir." She said teasingly, mocking his authoritarian tone. Malaena pulled herself on top of the large animal, Jon holding her loosely for support until she was properly situated; she admired his instinctive protectiveness but didn't say anything, assuming he would blush and grumble if she paid him a thank you.
He took her through the gods woods, a different route than before. Malaena wasn't sure how Jon even maneuvered through the thick darkness, there was no light seeping through the trees at this hour, even the stars were missing.
Jon never spoke a word—Malaena wasn't offended by his silence, it appeared to be his way, quiet, and instead she felt comfortable in their hushed embrace.
From afar, and through brief moments together, Malaena had begun to piece together Jon Snow. He intrigued her to a great degree—he was not brute and vengeful like the ironborn she was accustomed to, but yet he was not arrogant and boisterous as the other highborn men of Westeros seemed to be. He was quiet, always slinking through the courtyards of Winterfell, disappearing for large bouts of time. But he was also kind and attentive, constantly surrounded by his family—particularly Robb and Arya, engaging in horseplay and tender sibling moments. He was a paradox, a loner who loved company.
Maybe it was odd of her to observe him in such a way.
"Quit starin' would ya? You're making me nervous."
Malaena was pulled from her thoughts, she tilted her head slightly to look foreword again, away from the shaggy man behind her.
"Conceited now are we?"
"Hmm," he hummed in response and the horse halted to a stop. "Don't know why but I don't feel the need to be serious with you; you don't seem to take me so seriously as the rest."
The flesh of her cheeks warmed considerably, and she let her hair fall forth to hide any evidence of a blush. It was an odd feeling, blushing, usually men made her scowl or into noughts of mock laughter, but Jon Snow had flattered her—she wasn't even sure he had meant what he said as a compliment—and suddenly she felt like a Lady, fitting into her role of being mannerly and frail, instead of bookish and sarcastic.
"Are you trying to insult me?" She folded her arms with false disgust. "Implying I'm not a real Lady?"
Jon reached up a gloved hand, separating the curtain that was her hair and looking at her with a calm, glowing expression—one that sent shocks of warmth up her spine.
"Not at all, love," he spoke deeply yet as soft as feathers. "You're just different—human, I like your wit."
