The First Frost

Asha

One week after the king is crowned

Her fingers ran across the scars on his chest as he snored softly beside her. She could feel his steady heartbeat on her cheek as his skin pressed against hers. He seemed so at ease as if he wasn't carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. She tilted her chin upward to watch his face. He looked more his age now. It was easy to forget how young he really was when they were fighting for the North.

Dark hair contrasted on pale skin. A small smile crossed Asha's face. This was a sight she could get used to. Perhaps she would grow to become accustomed to it, she desperately wanted to. But part of her knew that this situation would be temporary. She would leave him or he would leave her, there was no way around it. Someday she would have to return to the Iron Islands and he would have to wed some southern lass in order to secure the loyalty of her father. But for now, she just enjoyed his company.

Part of her marveled as to how he was arguably one of the most powerful men in Westeros, yet he still couldn't control who he would marry. Robb had made it clear to the two of them that a marriage alliance could make or break a rule.

Her mind wandered back to returning to the Iron Islands. Her father had made no efforts to save her when Stannis took her hostage. Now that she was free, she had received no word from him. The Ironborn were never at full strength on dry land, and Balon knew the risks, but she was still his kin. His last heir, or had he simply decided to pass the Salt Throne on to Victarion instead and damn her?

Jon had seen that her remaining crew was released when he took the North, and last she heard, the Black Wind was preparing to set sail. She had contemplated leaving for Pyke with her men, but it didn't feel right. Yet another part of her yearned for the sea again.

Her eyes fell on Jon once more before she peeled her body away from his. A small groan of protest escaped him as he rolled over on his stomach. Goosebumps covered her skin as she crossed the room and took a seat at his desk. She grabbed a paper and ink. As the master of ships, her duties had been minimal, seeing as they had no true navy. Lord Manderly's fleet was mostly commercial and if it can down to using it in war, he would no doubt protest.

Her mind went through her meager men. Who would they turn to as a surrogate leader? Tris? No, they would never follow him. Perhaps Qarl. She began to write. With her men, she need not worry about diplomacy, she could simply provide a command. 'Do not leave the port yet.' Was all it said. She twisted it into a bound letter.

She would need to speak with Jon about creating an alliance with Balon. Balon would never give Jon his support without receiving something in return, but Jon needed a navy to successfully go against the Lannisters, and the Ironborn were the best sailors on the fourteen seas.

A chill ran up her spine. Winterfell was normally rather warm inside, but Jon insisted on that damn window staying open at night to let a draft in. She barely noticed it when she was laying under a mountain of furs, but now she felt the cold seeping in.

She stood to return to the bed, grimacing on how he was able to sleep without furs. She wrapped herself up in most of the furs on the bed allowing them to rid her of the cold. The sky outside was turning red, it was nearly dawn. The redness reflected off the snow and made it seem like the whole world was drenched in fire.

Jon shifted next to her, an arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her back into him. His skin was hot, as it always was. The Northerners never seemed to feel the cold.

"You're up early," Jon mumbled, burying his face into her neck. Normally, he was the first one up.

"I couldn't sleep." She shifted her body so she was facing him. He was still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Jon's brows furrow as she felt soft fingers trace up and down her spine.

"I was just thinking about my duties as master of ships. It's nothing to worry about right now." Her hands found their way around his waist, hugging him close to her, pressing her lips against his.

She would never grow accustomed to the way he looked at her. She had her fair share of companions throughout the years, yet none of them looked at her the way he did, as if she were water after surviving a drought, as if she were air after drowning in the sea.