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i have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things.
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Sleep eluded Hermione as she lay restless in her bed, her thoughts a swirling tempest of memories and unspoken fears. The events of the night atop the Wall replayed in her mind like a never-ending maelstrom. She had not been betrothed to Robb Stark, technically free from the bonds of such vows, yet this did nothing to quell the icy grip of unease that clenched her insides. The raw sting of her lips, still bruised from Jon's kiss, and the haunting taste of him lingered, an unwelcome reminder of what had passed.
When the lift had descended to the ground, Jon had walked her to Benjen's chambers with a quiet grace, then vanished into the shadows without so much as a farewell. The silence left in his wake was deafening. Perhaps, Hermione mused, he did not care as much as she had hoped. After all, Jon Snow had been molded into a man of the Night's Watch, a life steeped in duty rather than sentiment. Did he simply not care?
Yet another voice in her head whispered a bitter truth. It was a damn good kiss, likely the finest he had ever known, and still, he had said nothing. He had simply let her go.
Jon's words echoed hauntingly through her thoughts. "You have to go back to Winterfell."
Perhaps he had never intended to escape with her, to chase freedom across the realm. Perhaps, another voice argued, one she had seldom heard, he yearned to escape, but not with her.
Hermione tried to silence the tumult within her, pressing further into her cot and drawing her brother, Leo, close. The septas had taught her that questioning oneself was a path to madness. A proper lady should be unwavering in her self-assurance and her abilities.
Still, the urge to seek Jon out gnawed at her, a relentless craving for answers that defied her exhaustion. Why hadn't he wanted to flee with her? Why hadn't he spoken a word on their way to the chambers? Why hadn't he asked to linger just a moment longer? Why—
A knock on her door shattered her spiraling thoughts. Hermione glanced towards the small window, seeing the dull blue light of dawn filtering through. The night had slipped away as silently as a thief. Reluctantly disentangling herself from Leo, Hermione trudged to the door, her fingers running through her disheveled hair before she opened it. Sam stood before her, his face a mask of anxious deference. "I've been sent to tell you that L-Lord Tyrion is ready for you."
