“I’m afraid you may be stuck here with me for some time, your highness,” Jon says, raking a hand through his curls, scattering melting snow, though he’s careful to keep it far from Susan, huddled in a pile of furs before the tower’s fireplace.
“The blizzard is that bad, then?” she asks, listening to his answer of, “The snow’s piled higher than my head on the south side of the tower already, and it shows little sign of stopping,” with absolute calm, even the shade of a smile.
“Well,” she says, giving him a long, slow look that sweeps him from head to foot, “I was hoping for something more like, let us say…eight inches of snow - but perhaps you can aid me with that?” and it’s only when she lifts the furs to invite him in, revealing she’s as bare as the day she was born, that Jon understands - and hopes for a very long winter, indeed.
The Weather That I’m Under (Narnia/GoT, Susan/Jon Snow)
“The blizzard is that bad, then?” she asks, listening to his answer of, “The snow’s piled higher than my head on the south side of the tower already, and it shows little sign of stopping,” with absolute calm, even the shade of a smile.
“Well,” she says, giving him a long, slow look that sweeps him from head to foot, “I was hoping for something more like, let us say…eight inches of snow - but perhaps you can aid me with that?” and it’s only when she lifts the furs to invite him in, revealing she’s as bare as the day she was born, that Jon understands - and hopes for a very long winter, indeed.