Chapter Text

chapter one: robb i 

"but i ignore things, and i move sideways till i forget what i felt in the first place." - growing sideways, noah kahan

The streetlights look ominous in the daylight. They loom over the road, hardly belonging to the green scenery beyond the road’s length. It is all strange, he feels the wind in his auburn curls as he gently overtakes the dilapidated-looking car in front of him. 

This place has been home for a little while. The air hangs around him with familiarity. He’s made his peace with the heat that encumbers his days. 

There have been other things that have made the Westerlands favourable to the North. That was many years ago when he thought he might have cracked the code to happiness. When he thought he’d finally overcome the anguish of his late teen years. 

He was the last to leave. He had to be, for everyone’s sake. But now he was the first to return. The first to step back into the house of disappointed glares. 

It hasn’t always been this way. Not for Robb Stark at least. Robb had known a happy childhood, more so than any of his brothers or sisters. He remembers his father in his prime, retelling stories of their ancestors and the people that came before them all.

Now the house formerly filled with a warm glow, gives you frostbite. It’s not all that bad though, Robb reassures himself. He’s been gone a while, things aren’t going as he planned and most certainly he’s not in the most positive frame of mind, it’s only normal that his mind views his parents’ house the same way. 

Given Robb’s current circumstances, he knows very well that his parents, particularly his mother, was not about to be the proudest parent in Westeros. 

With solid wrist work, he uses the knocker to alert his presence in front of her door. The dark oak door had formerly been their door. Things are strange now, but there is hardly anything he can do to change that. 

He waits there in the afternoon sun for a few minutes before she opens the door. There’s still some tension between the two of them, words left unsaid for the sake of a particular pair of blue eyes. 

“Jeyne,” he nods in greeting, barely meeting her eyes. “Is she all ready?” 

Jeyne steps aside and lets him walk into the house. The wood hits the soles of his boots familiarly. “See for yourself,” Jeyne responds. There’s some comfort in her tone, just not as much as there used to be.

“Liane!” 

He calls out for her and walks deeper into the house, easily finding her figure outside in the back garden. 

Robb steps outside with Jeyne hovering nearby. His eyes meet her brown ones for the first time, they share a smile and a laugh over the little girl that parades herself around the garden. 

Spring is an awful time to leave the Westerlands, he thinks. The flowers bloom beautifully in the back garden, many of which the two of them had planted together a year before. 

She says her farewells to every single bud and every single flower. She carries a ladybird from one of the leaves and goes on about the adventure she’s about to embark on. 

Her hair is wild, her chestnut ringlets bounce with every turn. She still hasn’t noticed him. That’s okay, they’re not late yet. 

“Maybe leave her to it, I’ll make you some tea?” Jeyne suggests. The ice between them has broken somewhat since seeing Liane. 

Robb and Jeyne had been together since high school. Only a year apart, it was easy to fall in love. They hadn’t looked back since then. It felt like he was doing something right back then, marrying at the same age his parents had. Something for them to be proud of.

They had been proud at least. His mother broke out of the stern shell she had built over the years and planned the most beautiful wedding either of them could dream of. Despite it all, the Starks still did well for themselves, even without the Baratheons hovering over them. 

Robb and Jeyne had Liane a few years later. To his best knowledge, he can say that he already saw it falling apart before Jeyne had gotten pregnant. If he had left her then, Robb knows his parents would never forgive him. That was not the son Ned Stark had raised. 

The years following Liane were particularly tough, the one thing that kept them together was her. Her blue Stark eyes and chestnut Westerling hair. They both had so much love for the sweet girl, she was them, how could he not have love for Jeyne after she had given him such a gift? 

Liane is eight. He and Jeyne are divorced. Both recent occurrences.

Jeyne doesn’t even have to ask him how he’d like his tea. He might have spent the last months sleeping in an awful studio flat, but that can’t possibly erase 15 years of companionship. 

His tea is cooled down enough to drink when Liane comes back inside. Her cheeks are red from the cold afternoon air, making her freckles look even sweeter than they already are. 

“I’m here, Dad, I’m ready to leave now,” she tells him between heavy breaths.

“Well, you’ve got to wait now, I’ve only just started drinking my tea.”

She takes a seat beside him and Jeyne only looks at her with glassy eyes. “Alright then,” Liane nods. “Who’s picking us up, is it grandad?” 

Good heavens, no. Robb thinks. He can’t fathom the thought of seeing his father after hours of travelling. Having to compose himself perfectly and not accidentally nod off in the passenger seat after a flight with Liane was probably the worst thing he could subject himself to. 

That is, other than facing his mother and explaining why he decided to choose his own happiness and get a divorce at the ripe age of thirty-two. 

“No, princess, Theon is.” 

He drinks only ¾ of his cup before he begins scooping up her suitcase. Liane squeals and he leaves to put the suitcase in the boot of his car. It was only his car for a little longer, after then, Jeyne would have that too. 

He wonders if she’ll get lonely in the house without either of them. But he knows she’s good at it, they’ve spoken about it all. She knows Liane will be well cared for. Robb knows Jeyne is strong enough to remove the memories attached to their little house and make it into her own. 

Robb enters the house again to see them in their bubble. The tears Jeyne had been holding back this entire time seem to have finally fallen. 

Liane has this problem where she begins crying any time Jeyne cries. And Jeyne cries a lot. He won’t say he hasn’t been somewhat at fault for some of her tears, but even music and books make his ex-wife cry. So, he wasn’t all to blame.

Liane and Jeyne cry together. Liane has her typical crying face, though he knows she’s trying to be strong, Jeyne on the other hand is smiling through it as she wipes their daughter’s tears away. 

When he’d gone outside, Liane had just been excited at the thought of seeing Theon again. Robb isn’t going to lie, he is rather excited at the thought of being reunited with his best friend once again. Theon will be his relief between the nightmare of living with his parents again.

Now she’s in proper tears and clinging to her mother, regretting the fact that she had formerly been happy for the move. It’s almost as if she hadn’t thought about the fact that Jeyne wasn’t coming with them until now. 

Robb hovers by the centre island. He feels some leftover longing too. Jeyne might no longer be the person he wishes to spend his life with, but at some point he had been very sure about her, she was the family he had chosen outside of his blood. 

He can already tell by the way Jeyne looks at him, that she requires his assistance. He easily scoops Liane into his arm and lets her cry into his shirt. 

Jeyne wipes her tears away and whispers a little “Thank you,” to him. He takes the opportunity to kiss her forehead and wipe away another stray tear. 

“I’ll text you when we land,” Robb tells her before walking out of the house. 

His daughter has resolved to turn herself into a baby once again. He deposits her into the passenger seat and puts her seatbelt on. She cries herself to sleep on their two hour drive. 

Robb sits back and drives smoothly, he puts music on, loud enough to calm him down but not loud enough that it might wake her. 

When he was Liane’s age, he hadn’t really been through much yet. He only knows warm memories from that time. It wasn’t until Rickon was born that things got tough. 

All this time, Robb tried his best not to let his daughter go through even an inch of what he went through. The divorce had been the first blow to his plan. He and Jeyne held on for as long as they could, she had been the one to give up first. If it were up to him, he would contend with being unhappy the rest of his life if it meant Liane would be happy. 

Jeyne reasoned with him that Liane would not ever be happy if they were not. To that, he conceded pretty easily. Now he has to be sure he doesn’t make any more missteps.

'Queen Robb & Princess Liane' the sign reads. It’s held by a dark-haired man with the world’s most infuriating smile. 

“You’re Westeros’s biggest twat, did you know that?” Robb tells the grinning man whilst covering his daughter’s ears. 

“And it is always a pleasure to see you again, Robb,” Theon laughs, pulling him into an embrace. They hug for a moment, Robb feels all his worries melt away in Theon’s arms. 

“Uncle Theon!” Liane squeals and jumps up to hug him too. 

“Liane!” He replies with equal enthusiasm, easily taking her into his arms before looking at Robb again. “Didn’t know you were still in the closet, sorry.”

Robb squares a light punch against Theon’s shoulder and they begin moving through the airport. 

Soon enough, Liane decides she wants to go back to riding on the suitcase trolley, giving Theon’s arms a rest. Her mind is preoccupied with everything around her that she doesn’t even pay attention to their conversation. 

“How was it?” 

Theon’s question is asked as he pulls his car keys out of his pocket. They’re still at least 15 minutes away from wherever he’s parked his car. 

“Awful,” Robb tells him. “Everything feels so detached and weird. The house where I used to live, it’s all become so sterile, it feels like a crime scene.”

“Yeah, well, it is,” Theon says. He plays with his keys, clicking the button that reveals the metal key, bending it back to be hidden and clicking the button again. “Crime scene to your love life that is.”

“Everything is a joke isn’t it?”

They both laugh. “Only at your expense,” Theon elbows him.

They walk together in comfortable silence. The initial adrenaline of seeing Theon has clearly worn off. Robb can see it in the way Liane struggles to keep her head up. He takes this as his cue. 

Theon takes control of the trolley, Robb instead takes his daughter into his arms and lets her sleep. 

Once they’re loaded into the car, Robb sits in the passenger side and throws his head back. “Can’t believe Asha actually let you borrow her car,” he says without even opening his eyes. 

“Your suitcases and daughter were never going to fit into mine, it’s built for leisure, not for practicality,” Theon waves him off. “I’ve got this for you.” he hands over a drink from a tiny cooler he has in the backseat. 

It’s a Red Bull. Near Theon’s seat, he can see an empty can of Monster Energy sitting in the cup holder. Robb finds that only psychopaths are able to drink a can that large, so he’s thankful his best friend knows him well enough. 

Robb holds the cold can and kisses it. “I should’ve just married you instead,” Robb jokes. 

He knows it’s a joke, but in all fairness, it would’ve worked out far better than his first marriage ever did. 

“Your mother and father would rather drop dead than ever allow you to do that,” Theon puts down the handbrake and puts the car into first gear. “Would you prefer the scenic route or the i-need-to-get-home-now route?”

“Scenic, please.”

Theon nods and puts the music on. Loud enough for them to hear and low enough not to wake the sleeping child in the back.

Robb smiles and glances at his best friend. He is quite extraordinary, with the way his hair falls perfectly, the way his lips never seem to stop smiling. 

He doesn’t have to think hard to remember the moment he and Theon first became friends. Theon was the new kid, he seemed arrogant and unimpressed with the rest of them. It was when Robb was coerced by his teachers to become the new Iron Islander’s buddy, that he got to know Theon.

Their friendship came easy. They were two very different people, and they still are, but that’s what made them work, what made things so smooth.

Robb makes himself comfortable, watching the trees flit past. They’re comfortable in each other’s silence and he’s thankful for that. 

Liane’s still grumpy and half asleep by the time they make it home. Robb lets Theon hold her, leaving it up to him to bring in their suitcases. 

He’s grateful for that much, at least it gives him some time before his parents rain down on him. A moment of reprieve and a cold shower will put him back together. 

It’s too much to ask though. His hopes are very sorely crushed when his mother gestures to Theon, “Put her in the room upstairs, I’ll make some tea for us,” Catelyn says in a whisper. Her tone is still even despite being hushed. 

“Mother, I really think—“ 

Theon gently takes Liane up the stairs and she cuts him off. 

“I haven’t seen you in a year, you will sit with me for a bit, at least until your father is here and you can greet him,” she orders. 

See, Robb has had his fair share of clashes with his mother, as well as his father. As a teenager and later an adult, he did well to set boundaries, ones which had him leaving the country for the sake of his marriage and daughter. 

Now he was very much at their mercy. He can’t upset his mother anymore, he can’t create an inhospitable environment for little Liane. She’s been through enough already. 

“Of course, where are my manners?” Robb says in a sarcastic tone. One which his mother thankfully does not pick up. 

Catelyn Stark is a remarkable woman, that much Robb knows. It’s different when you admire someone and how their mind thinks, to having said person as a parent. There are always cracks in the surface, ones that now look deeper with age. 

She’s the glue to their family, regardless of how much he still resents her. She did what she had to do in a bad situation, she rose up when her husband couldn’t. Ned Stark himself was at her mercy, it did not mean Robb always had to be. 

When Robb and Jeyne had first tied the knot, they stayed in his parents’ house. It was not ideal, but he had responsibilities, towards his parents, and his siblings and that couldn’t be halted just because he met the girl of his dreams. Dreams change. He doesn’t know if he still has them, but he once did. 

They managed for a few years, through the birth of Liane. It was after that everything crumbled; where Robb realised he could lose the mother of his child if he didn’t part ways from his dysfunctional childhood home. 

Enough was indeed enough. 

His siblings were all gone from home by that time, most of them at least. Soon even the youngest, Rickon would’ve been off to university. 

Robb chose a strained relationship with his mother and father, over losing Jeyne. Regardless, he still managed to lose her. 

He sits now, on a wooden chair, slightly turned off the side from the table, in the place where he had started. Dreams are harder to reach than once thought. 

“How is Jeyne?” 

Robb glares at her. In his mother’s defence, she knows little to no details about his divorce. He can however tell that she feels some kind of vindication. 

She never liked Jeyne, she never liked Theon either. 

“How is anyone after a divorce, mother?” Robb bites back. He sighs and rubs the heels of his palms to his eyes. 

“Could you two really not work things out like adults?” 

Catelyn sets two cups of tea on the table, one near Robb and one clearly left for Theon. 

“Can we maybe, just maybe, try not to tear each other’s heads off so quickly?” Robb tells her, his voice is levelled as Theon walks in and pulls his cup to him. He can’t care less if Theon hears him arguing with his mother, but Catelyn has different standards. 

He watches Theon get burned by his own impatience. His mother accepts his plea silently and sets brown sugar cubes next to him.

It isn’t long before Liane makes her way downstairs. She’s grumpy and sleepy. Robb abandons his tea, moving purely with instinct, and grabs her into his arms. 

You coddle her too much, Jeyne used to tell him with a smile on her face.

He can’t say he doesn’t miss those moments. But the claustrophobic feeling that came with their marriage was always overpowering in the last decade. 

Liane leans against his shoulder and adjusts to being awake. Robb knows she’s reduced to a baby when she’s given the chance. He often finds himself wishing he could stop time, hold the figurative sand in the figurative hourglass, and have her stay small forever. 

Those are things beyond his control, however. Like his father walking in through the kitchen door. 

He comes in with a solid smile, kissing Catelyn’s forehead before greeting him and Theon. 

Ned Stark’s presence suddenly has Robb sitting straighter, adjusting his posture under the older man’s gaze. Liane is still in his arms and she lifts her head up. 

He halts to give her a kiss too, similar to the one given to his wife. Soon enough he properly acknowledges Robb and Theon. Ladies first. 

“Son, how was the journey?” 

Robb clears his throat and nods, “Wasn’t too bad, Liane was a little restless but she’s sleeping it off now,” Robb says, stroking her head. Her hair is perhaps the softest hair he’s ever felt, not even Jeyne’s hair could compare. 

“Your sister will be on her way soon too,” Ned tells him. He’s sat at the table but he, similarly to Robb, looks like he’s halfway ready to leave. 

“Which sister?” Robb asks with sincerity. He has two sisters, even three brothers if you could count Jon, his cousin. His father had to be clearer. 

“Arya,” Ned states simply. He doesn’t look back at Robb, concentrating instead on mixing his sugar into his tea. “Jon will be bringing her, so they’ll both arrive sometime next week.” 

Theon rolls his eyes at the knowledge of Jon returning. 

“You never told me Jon was coming back as well,” Robb’s eyes bounced from his father to his mother’s gaze. 

She doesn’t answer him. There’s a lot more she would rather say to him, he’s already set her off from the moment he sat down, but she won’t do it in front of Theon. Maybe he’s even thankful for that. 

“Anyone else coming back?” Robb asks his father this time.

“Rickon’s going to be coming back for a bit to take care of Shaggydog,” Ned nods. Their eyes don’t meet. Instead, he takes Liane from Robb’s arms. “Why don’t we take Greywind on a walk?” 

Robb feels his guilt rush back. Greywind. He’s been trying so hard to let go of his parents that he ended up abandoning his other half. He glances at Theon who is now occupied with trying to strike a conversation up with Catelyn and gets up. 

“Dad, maybe I can join you, that way you can walk Summer in the meantime?” 

Ned nods and puts Liane down, holding her hand instead. 

Robb stares at them for a moment before he continues. He’s happy that his daughter has grandparents who love her. His parents love him, he knows they must, but it’s a tough feeling, to have envy of his daughter; who gets the parents he wishes he and his siblings had gotten.

Chapter Text

chapter one: jon i 

"don't remember days of your sorrow, remember when you heard the call." - these are the days - zach winters

In one of the freshly dug holes for a small lemon tree sits a snowshrike. The white of its feathers are so bright amongst the rich brown soil. The circle is perfect around the sapling, as everything has always been here. 

The bird is quiet for now, just as he is. They both hide away from the rest of the world as the sun sets above them. The colours melt into one another and he can hardly even care. The colours aren’t much different to the sky he sees back home. 

Home.

This had once been home. 

It isn’t that to him anymore and hasn’t been so in over a decade. 

Jon stands in the garden, on the side of the house closest to the woods. Far enough where he knows he probably won’t be disturbed by anyone. 

He flicks the ash out into the grass, crushing it under his boot to put it out. Jon can’t help but hate himself for smoking, particularly out here like a teenager trying not to get caught. He’s been good about quitting, being home doesn’t make it easier. 

Home. 

It’s not that different from where he lives near the Wall. 

He grew up here though. He calls it home but it hasn’t felt that way in a long time. There’s nostalgia surrounding the town and the big house, but his real home is a few hours away, in the arms of the person he loves.

The stifling feeling hasn’t left him in all that time away. He refuses to visit for that reason and more. He doesn’t condemn his sister for bringing him here, but he isn’t happy about it either. 

Jon pockets the cigarette butt, reminding himself that he’ll throw it out later, and slowly unwraps a stick of gum. 

His eyes meet blue ones and he sighs. “How long have you been here for?” Jon asks and stuffs the gum in his mouth.

“Around the same amount of time as the snowshrike,” Robb points at the bird that makes a trilling noise. Jon laughs lightly and makes a move forward. 

“I thought you quit.” 

“Trust me, I thought so too,” Jon tells him. He offers his brother a stick of gum but he declines. 

They’re the same age. Jon just a few months older. They definitely don’t resemble one another. Where Robb’s hair catches the light of the sun, Jon’s blends with the darkness. Same goes for their eyes, Robb’s are a blue sky while Jon’s are a grey moon. 

Regardless, they’re brothers. 

It’s something Jon has been sure of his whole life. Until he was twelve and his voice had started to crack. 

It had always been a question. Who was his mother? He knew clearly enough that Catelyn Stark was not the woman who gave birth to him. It was clear in her coldness towards him and the distance he felt from the rest of his siblings.

He didn’t feel the need to ask until he was embarrassed to say the words out loud for fear of his voice trembling. 

Around that time his father took him aside and told him the truth. 

It was shattering news to hear. His father wasn’t actually his father. Robb wasn’t actually his brother. All of his siblings, even little new born Rickon, were not his siblings. 

“We’re still your blood.”

That’s one thing Ned did tell him. His father was in truth, his uncle. And his mother was nowhere to be found, not since he was born. His mother is Lyanna Stark, the sister his father and his uncles hardly talk about out of grief. 

He was glad to have an answer to it all. To answer the void that always followed him, telling him he did not belong. 

Jon sucks up his pity party and remembers the lines on Robb’s face, freckles that are caught amongst his skin. 

“How’re you holding up?” Jon asks. 

Jon has no complaints. He might hate being home, but it’s temporary. Soon enough he can pack up and go back home to his partner and his beautiful dark curls. This is now it for his brother however. 

Robb laughs. “Barely,” he confesses. “But not bad enough that I’d pollute my body with the nonsense you smoke.” 

Jon rolls his eyes, shoving his brother who barely even budges. “They’re camels, and I’m being serious,” Jon tries again. “I never thought you’d ever consider a divorce. Even if that marriage was killing you.”

Robb purses his lips. “I didn’t want to even consider it, Jon,” Robb looks at him with sincerity this time. “I feel like an idiot. We made each other miserable. I’ll always love her because she’s the mother of my child but I don’t even know where all the love went.” 

Jon reflects. He knows the feeling.

He remembers his first real relationship. Once he graduated highschool, he very quickly made himself scarce, moving away before anyone could bat an eye. 

He met Ygritte shortly after. While he was still adjusting to being away from home. She was a breath of fresh air. When he met her, it felt like she was exactly what had been missing from his life. 

They were together for a while. She taught him the ropes to adulthood and how to love and be loved. Only it didn’t last, because nothing really does. He’s hoping he’s wrong about it, and he and Satin will last longer than the rest.

“I heard you got roped into staying two weeks.” Robb sticks his hands in his pockets, as the two stare out at the landscape shoulder-to-shoulder. It’s been getting colder every day.

Jon lets himself scoff, unable to hide a smile. 

“Well, you know how she is.”

Arya had been the one to convince him to come home. Convince is putting it nicely, coerce is perhaps a better term for it.

He’d been sleeping, but he’s never been a very deep sleeper. Most nights he wakes up at least once or twice. But on that morning, as the rain fell heavily outside, their bed was the best place to be, he drifted between being awake and asleep. 

Cruelly enough, he’s woken up by the buzz of his phone against his nightstand. He had been completely certain that his phone was set to do not disturb, as it was most nights. But the same number calling five times had a tendency to break through the setting. 

Groaning, he unwound himself from his sleeping partner and sat up on the edge of the bed. 

“Hello?”

“You sound ghastly, do you have a cold?” 

“Hi Arya, it is morning here, if you weren’t aware.” 

She had laughed at his discontent. These were the moments where he questioned the fact that she was his favourite sibling. 

“Jon, you have to do me a favour. Let’s call it a chit, I’m calling in a chit,” Arya begged. He knew she was about to ask for far more than he’d ever be able to agree to. 

He can never let her down, it’s not in his nature. “Sure,” Jon cleared his throat, “tell me what you need.” Arya let out an excited sound from his assent.

“I’m coming home in about two weeks, I want you to pick me up. We can make it a road trip or something. I just don’t want to tell dad and my mum that I’m coming because I don’t want to deal with all of the questions. At least not yet.”

Jon sighed. “Robb will be there, can’t he pick you up?” He glanced over his shoulder at the place beside him in bed, speaking low so as not to wake the sleeping man he assumed was still beside him. But Satin wasn’t there– he must have gotten up already. “I’m so not in the mood to be in that house right now.”

“Oh, come on, it won’t be so bad. They’ll mostly be on Robb’s back because of the divorce. Plus Liane is there, they won’t have half the time to bother us.”

He had thought about it. From the moment she asked, he knew it would be happening, regardless if he was happy about it or not. 

“Fine,” He relented, rubbing his eyes. He was still trying– and failing– to shake the morning blurriness in his vision. “Send me your flight info, okay? I’ll come get you.”

“And you’ll stay the whole time with us?”

“That wasn’t part of your chit.” 

“Oh come on. I know Ghost misses his siblings, even if you don’t.” She grumbled.

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” With a stretch, he pulled his body forward to the foot of the bed as a familiar face peeked out from the cracked doorway.

“Speak of the devil,” Jon grinned. 

“And you’ll stay the whole time with us?”

“That wasn’t part of your chit.” 

“Oh come on. I know Ghost misses his siblings, even if you don’t.” She grumbled.

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” With a stretch, he pulled his body forward to the foot of the bed as a familiar face peeked out from the cracked doorway.

“Speak of the devil,” Jon grinned. 

Ghost padded into the room, his big white tail wagging behind him in greeting. Jon reached out for him, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Ghost says not to use him as a manipulation tactic.”

“So you’ll stay?”

Jon smiled a little. His sister gave him a headache, but he loved it about her. Stubborn as a mule. “Sure. You owe me a coffee every morning I’m there.”

“I’ll buy you three, that’s all.” With a click, she was gone. 

Ghost jumped up onto the mattress, curling himself up beside his other half at the foot of the bed where Jon laid on his stomach. In truth, he did miss his siblings, no matter what his sister said. Besides, she had made a few good points. It would be good for Ghost to come home and have some playmates. If he was honest, he’d been letting his responsibilities slip lately. With hardly any freetime, he hadn’t gotten around to walking him for a full week. Jon knew the poor thing was feeling restless. He pressed his lips to the white wolf’s eyebrows, and sighed.

“I’m sorry, boy. We’ll go for a trip, and you can run around all you want. Sound good?”

Ghost seemed to reply by laying his full weight on top of Jon’s chest.

“Oof! Hey–”

Ghost licked his face relentlessly, as Jon sniggered. 

A clang of noise emanated from the kitchen. Through the cracked bedroom door, both Jon and Ghost peered out into the next room with curious eyes. From where he was laying, Jon could see the man busying himself with the stove, and he felt his stomach flutter as if it was the first time he’d ever seen him.

“He’s making breakfast.” Jon stated to his canine companion. “He looks like that, and he’s making us breakfast.”

Sometimes the disbelief of his recent setup was too good to wrap his head around. Jon watched as Satin cracked an egg, his black hair falling in his eyes as he peered down with concentration at the pan. Tanned skin contrasted against his white t-shirt— Jon’s t-shirt— tucked into a comfortable pair of joggers. Ghost tilted his head inquisitively, so Jon put a hand over his eyes.

“Don’t stare, boy. It’s rude.”

Satin caught wind of the attention from across the hall, pausing what he was doing to walk towards the bedroom. He’d brought the kitchen towel with him, slung over his shoulder.

He stopped, looking at the two grinning idiots staring up at him from the mattress. 

“Hi.”

“Morning,” Satin replied, coyly. “You getting up?”

Bending down, he pressed his lips to Jon’s. Jon melted into the kiss. 

“Well now I think I’d very much prefer to stay in bed. Come to think of it,” Jon suggested, tugging on Satin’s collar. “You really should come back to bed, too.”

It was hard to leave the little paradise they created. 

And yet, the two weeks had gone by quickly, sadly for Jon. Unfortunately for Arya, their father found out about her plan and insisted on picking her up himself. Being a good brother meant Jon still promised to acompany her home. If he couldn’t spare her the car ride with their parents, he could at least help her manage it by being there. Satin would drop him off, and head back to their apartment alone.

Jon already feels the longing ache in his chest.

Robb has been home for a week longer than he and Arya have. He can already see it in the purple tint under his brother’s eyes that it hasn’t been all that easy. 

He’s never been divorced but he knows what it’s like to end a relationship you thought would last forever. Unlike Robb though, he’s never had one last fifteen years. 

Scampering paws rush out the slider door on the far side of the porch, and three dogs bigger than can be prance into the yard. They nip at eachother playfully, tails wagging like puppies. Greywind leads the mini-pack, as he always did, with Summer at his heels and Ghost close behind. The reunion clearly had gone well.

Jon can only pray it’s the same for the rest of the family.

The sun pours in through the blinds. He doesn’t spend much time laying in bed. Unsurprisingly, it’s much easier to get out from under the covers when Satin isn’t at his side. 

Jon easily peels himself out of the warmth of his bed and manages a shower before going downstairs to the kitchen. Even through his socks, the wood floor of the staircase is cold.

“Iced Mocha,” Arya boasts with a smile and slides his drink down the table. 

Jon sips his drink through the glass straw she’s added into it. The house is quiet for half of his coffee, until everyone’s favourite Stark runs in, humming whatever had been playing in the car. 

“Jon, you look like absolute shit, it’s good to see you,” Theon walks in after Liane, holding his hand out to Jon. 

“Greyjoy, I’d say likewise, but it is never good to see you,” Jon replies with a nod, shaking Theon’s ringed hand. 

Liane throws herself into his arms, winding him slightly. He smiles at her. He has to admit that he is not a fan of children, not at all. But Liane is the exception, how can he not be fond of his niece?

“How was your day little wolf?” Jon asks her as she takes a seat on his lap and he continues reading the newspaper in front of him. 

“Amazing, we went to see my new school,” she says, still trying to show off her teeth in the way Ghost likes to. 

Jon’s eyes go to Robb who empties a bottle of water. “When does she start?” 

Robb sits on the chair next to him and begins talking a bit about the primary school they all attended as children. About everything that’s changed since Rickon moved onto middle school. 

“Their first term is over in a week,” Robb explains. “Then after the break, she joins when the new term starts.” 

Jon tries to say more, but everyone goes silent when their father walks into the kitchen with his reading glasses at the tip of his nose. He glares down at his phone before meeting Jon’s eyes. 

“Jon, join me in my office for a moment,” he gestures. Everyone else stares at them silently and Liane lifts herself from his lap. 

“Sure,” Jon stands and abandons his coffee as well as his newspaper. 

Ned Stark’s office is perhaps the coldest room in the house. The door sits in the corner of the living room, right before the stairs. 

Jon takes a deep breath and pockets his hands. The anticipation his body has built waiting to come home, all surfaces in this moment. 

“Take a seat, son,” Ned says as he sits on one of the leather arm chairs. 

His father isn’t the easiest person to read. His grey eyes eternally look in grievance and his words are colder than most winters in the North. 

The expression written on his face feels far too familiar. Suddenly the coffee he’s had that morning makes his stomach churn and it feels like he’s swallowed a brick. 

“Did something happen?” 

Without skipping a beat, he replies. “Lyanna is in Winterfell– your mother, she’s asked to see you,” Ned tells him stoically. 

From what he knows, Lyanna Stark hasn’t been seen since he was about a year old. almost 32 years ago. Little of what he knows about her, he’s heard mostly from his uncle, Brandon. 

Ned doesn’t talk about her and Uncle Ben only remembers bits and pieces. Jon knows next to nothing, only that Arya resembles her. 

“Okay,” Jon replies only after taking a moment to swallow back the information. 

“You don’t have to meet her if you’re not comfortable with it,” Ned moves closer to him, sitting on the edge of his arm chair and reaching out to Jon. “You think about it, then let me know how you feel about it.”

Jon nods and feels his heart fall out of rhythm with his breathing. “Thanks dad… for telling me and for letting me decide,” Jon says. Their eyes meet and Ned smiles at him, he can see the sincerity behind his grey eyes. For the first time in a while, he feels some kind of comfort from it. 

They sit somewhat disjointed and before long, Jon excuses himself to get some fresh air. He thinks about it for a while. Ten years ago, Jon would’ve kept all his thoughts in and told his father he doesn’t want to meet the woman who left him. 

He’s no longer so two-dimensional however. He doesn’t know if he can ever let go of the resentment he feels, but the least he can do is met the woman, the girl who had him at seventeen and chose life instead of motherhood. 

Jon sits in the grass. The snowshrike is nowhere to be found and the lemon tree sits stiffly in the soil. He takes a few deep breaths and takes his phone out. He’s done taking the weight of the world all alone. 

“Good morning, handsome– how is Winterfell?” 

Jon can’t help but break down at the sound of Satin’s voice. He can’t understand what exactly he’s feeling. Is he upset, is he happy? 

“Jon, is everything alright?” 

He nods, despite the fact that Satin cannot see him. His voice breaks and he replies.

“Yeah, hey, uh… My mum’s back. She wants to see me.”

He hears Satin take a deep breath and process it. “Do you want me to fly over?” Satin asks solemnly. Jon wants to scream, yes, a thousand times, yes. But he swallows it back. 

“I can’t make you do that, I just need to figure this all out. How am I supposed to figure this all out?” 

Chapter Text

chapter three: ned i 

"don't lose any hope, it will arrive soon. don't lose any love, if you know the song the wind is singing. you mve on to a different place to rest your head." - dancers, axel flóvent

Today is the first day spring feels present, where it rests its fingers on his skin. It comes through with the sound of birds outside and the sun rays that filter through their curtains. 

At his side, she sleeps quietly; amongst the sounds of muffled chirps, he hears her breathing. Three decades later, he still feels lucky to have her at his side. 

Her auburn curls spill onto his pillow. In the night she often moves closer to him, trying to get as close as possible to the warmth his body provides. She’s still not a fan of the cold, so he knows that spring will lift her mood. 

Today is also the day his daughter returns home; along with Jon. It’s been more years than he prefers. He’s not oblivious to the lives he’s created, the ones he and Cat created, only to hurt them far more than ever intended. 

They were young when they started all this, way in over their own heads. No one warns parents of how much every move is a consequence. 

He pulls her closer into his arms. She lets out a soft sound when her back presses against his chest. “It’s early, Ned,” she complains with a gentle laugh. 

Ned kisses the space where her neck meets her shoulder and apologises. He draws a path with his lips against the freckles on her shoulder, finding it hard to let go. Reluctantly, he leaves the comfort of their bed and allows her to continue sleeping. 

Their home has been empty for the better part of the last few years. Slowly he feels life being breathed back into the foundations. He’s had his bad years, everyone has had their moments. This might just be his time to bring his family back together. 

His wife appears to have fallen back into a deep sleep by the time he’s freshened up and left the room. He closes the wooden door behind him softly. It’s far too early for anyone else to be awake, that includes his son and granddaughter. 

He curses the wooden steps as they hit his bare feet, the chill of them shocking him. Rickon must have messed with the thermostat in the night— Ned liked the cold, but no one liked it like their youngest. There were many a day when all the children lived at home where Cat had to scold him for turning it down to a whopping  20 degrees. It isn’t until he reaches the bottom of the stairs that it dawns on him that Rickon is still miles away, in his own little flat where he probably keeps it freezing all the time. It’s funny what an empty nest does to a parent’s memory. 

Flicking on the kitchen light, Ned opens the slider door to the backyard. Rolling hills fresh with morning dew greet him. Moisture hangs low in the air, making it thick and comforting to breathe in as Ned starts his trek out to the stables.

They’re his pride. The one piece of his legacy that has stood the test of time. Pristine, great bannisters of old wood and musky freshness make the stables inviting— Ned built them by hand, and he tended to them, in all their details, himself. He had no stable hands, no workers to carry the majority of the meticulous tasks to completion. Every morning he would do the daily chores of feeding and mucking, and while they ate, he’d wipe down the tack with a clean, damp cloth, and polish it until the leather shone. He did his work slowly. He did his work well. And it was always quiet in the stable.

The brown steed that he greets first is the least impressive of the bunch. Dull and mousey, apart from his strength, the stallion was utterly unremarkable. Eddard Stark presses his lips to the space between his nose and eyes. 

Ice, he named him, years ago. Frost had gathered on the new colt’s thick brown lashes, crystallising like glass. A young Ned— a boy of hardly twenty— had known instantly that this creature was a kindred spirit. He was quiet, and he was plain, but he was true. 

Now, he likes to imagine they’ve grown into middle age together. It was this horse that carried him deep into the godswood to grieve his absent sister. It was this back that held his form upright when Robert had failed him.

“Up for a stroll?” He asks his old friend, who does not reply.

Windblown and refreshed from his morning ride, Ned opens the side door and slips back into the house. It’s warmed, considerably. Catelyn must have woken up and turned on the heat. His suspicions are confirmed when he finds the rest of his family in the kitchen, finishing an early breakfast. As the 8am light pours in gently, it illuminates a spread of buttered toast and fresh fruit that’s been thoroughly picked through. At an empty seat sits a plate with still-warm food, set for him, by Catelyn no doubt. He kisses her head in thanks. Ned says his good mornings as his son stands at the coffee pot, his eternal pout fixed on pouring himself a cup. Black, with raw sugar, the way he always took it, even when he was too young to be drinking caffeine. Across from him is the little princess, in her pajamas, and beside her, Ned’s beloved.

Liane pouts at him from the moment she finds out he’s already fed the horses. He doesn’t make any promises that he can’t keep about letting her come next time. Instead he lets her take the last strawberry off his plate and looks over to his wife. 

“Cat?”

Her eyes flicker to his the moment the name leaves his lips. There’s bewilderment behind her wide eyes. So blue and full of life, life that she’s passed on as far as the eight year old who sits between them with the same painted sky in her eyes. 

He smiles at her, almost forgetting the words on his tongue. “Perhaps you can take Liane to Arya and Rickon’s shop for her own helmet?” Ned finished his question. He finally put the piece of toast soaked in the yolk of his sunny side up into his mouth after hovering for the last few minutes.

Robb doesn’t say anything, nor does he make any move to eat. He takes the jug of freshly squeezed orange juice out of the fridge and pours a glass for Liane before having some himself, along with his coffee. He could never decide properly on a beverage, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to have multiple options diagonal to his plate during meals.

“Some little boots and all to match– how would you like that?” Catelyn adds on, looking down at their granddaughter whose sleepy mood is significantly boosted. 

It’s only then that Robb takes a seat facing his daughter. His son radiates a particular kind of coldness since his return. Ned doesn’t know if it’s the divorce or the fact that he’s living in his childhood home again. 

“Are you talking about Jillian’s by the park?” Robb asks. He takes an apple off the table and begins sifting through one of the newspapers that sit in a pile on the table. 

Ned nods and continues eating. “Your aunt, Arya, couldn’t go a week without visiting that shop,” Ned tells Liane with a laugh. “Did you know that, Robb?” 

When his eyes go back to his oldest son, he can see the way his jaw tightens and he conceals his anger. 

“Of course I do,” yet the mask slips, “I was the one bringing her every week between classes.” 

His throat goes dry at the comment. Liane is none the wiser, she still nibbles off what she can from the remaining head of the strawberry she had taken from his plate, hardly hearing the constricted words her father was spilling. 

It does allow him a moment to resurface. That was right. Of course, Robb was right. Ned wasn’t even sure if the place still existed given the two decades that had passed since he probably stepped foot there. 

“Oh please, Robb, don’t be so dramatic, your father used to bring Rickon as well, I remember he would have to hold his hand the entire time so that he doesn’t run off and get lost.”

His wife comes to his defence in the most light-hearted way. Ned might be the first one between them to admit their faults. 

“And what about all the times when I would sit in the passenger seat to supervise his driving on the way there with Shaggy and Grey in the back?”

“Right,” Ned nods. He sips his coffee to clear his throat. The espresso is over quickly in the small mug his wife had gifted him a few years ago for his 4 shots a day. “Perhaps you can bring her then like you did your brother and sister? I’ll take her on a ride with Ice before I head to the airport.” 

“Sure,” His oldest son says, flicking the newspaper. He may as well have said Fuck off, with the tone he’d adopted through gritted teeth. 

Ned feels his own jaw tighten. It didn’t have to be like this– he’s trying to keep things light. For his wife’s sake, for Liane, if not for father and son. A younger, more proud version of himself would have taken the bait, but in his age, he recognises the restraint in Robb’s voice, as well as in his own. He’s trying, too. 

Alright. It’ll be tense, then. But the tightly wound cord will eventually loosen, and the tension will dissipate. Either way, Ned won’t be the one to tug the line.

“I’ll come along,” His wife states. Her auburn hair is tied up with a clip, waves falling in pieces from the back. Graceful, grounding. Ned nods at her suggestion and Liane squeals. She loves spending time with Grandma.

“Mother–”

“Nonsense.” Is all Catelyn has to say before the matter is dropped. 

Standing, Ned brushes his pant legs smooth. “I’ll see you before I head out, I’m sure,” He says. “I’ll be in the study. Come around if you need anything, won’t you, Robb?”

“It seems I have a busy day being planned for me,” His son raises his eyebrows into his mug. “But I’m sure I can manage it on my own.”

Are we going to do this the entire time? Ned thinks, excusing himself before he says it out loud, but not without giving his wife a knowing glance. She returns it, annoyance palpable in her eyes. It makes his stress roll off his shoulders and almost brings out a chuckle. At least he has someone on his team.

The study is old.

Everything is old in Winterfell. Cherry oak accented furniture– inherited from great grandfathers on both sides of the family– decorate the stately room. It hasn’t been dusted in some time, Ned will be the first to admit. His priorities lie elsewhere, and whilst he keeps a neat house for his horses, he’s never minded a bit of clutter himself. Brimming with papers and important records, his massive desk waits dutifully for him like an old friend. With a sigh, he lowers himself into his seat. 

Was it just a part of getting old– the knees hurting?

Licking his finger, Ned Stark gets to work, shuffling through the letters he had collected from the mailbox that morning. 

Time passes quickly in that room. Familiar faces peer down at him from picture frames– ranging from oil paintings of long-dead relatives to snapshots of his own long-gone childhood. About three hours into the day, he finds his mind wandering from his paperwork and lingering on the photo propped against the hutch across from his desk. Four youthful faces smile animatedly at him from the past. One big and brawny, the other three skinnier and sharper, but each with the same features that had been passed down to each of them from their parents. The smiles of the two boys beside his younger self bring him comfort. The grinning girl, however, turns his stomach to worms.

Brandon was always more forgiving than Ned is. Benjen has said so since they were all teenagers. He agrees, he knows that he can hold a grudge. But he can be forgiving too, it was a good trait to have. 

His two brothers, Brandon, the oldest, and Benjen, the youngest, are much different to him. In the same way they all have similarities. The odd one out would have to be their sister, everyone’s favourite sibling, Lyanna. 

Ned knows all his siblings like the back of his hand, maybe even more so. He sometimes even feels like the oldest, but perhaps that’s just because he’s always been the one picking up after everyone. He loves them regardless. 

From down the hall, there’s a loud knock on the front door. Robb must be locked out. He reasons, pulling himself from his chair and beginning the trek down the long hallway. Cat must have forgotten to give him a key.

As he walks, his mind stays in the study, the picture of his siblings burned behind his irises. He finds it easy enough to see bits of all of them in his children. The resemblance was even uncanny in certain lights. Robb reminds him of Brandon, who has always been far more fierce than Ned had ever been. He’s even broad in the same way Brandon had been at his age. 

Jon is only a little bit older than Robb, just a few months. It always made him happy to see them grow up together. He raised Jon as his son, legally, Ned had been his guardian, his father in words, even if not strictly blood. Funnily, Jon looks far more like his son than Robb ever will.

Ned knows, however, Jon is not his son. It had been a secret for quite a few years. Ned had waited until Jon’s voice started to crack before he confessed. Truth is, the girl standing beside he and his brothers in nearly every photo that graces the walls of the home is Jon’s mother, and Ned is not his father. They still share blood, and that is enough to him. 

Ned pulls open the door as it’s rapped on for a second time.

There she stands, as if a ghost heralded from the chasms of his memory.

Dark hair cascades in waves down her shoulders. The woman standing before him is both familiar, and a perfect stranger. If his knees had been any weaker, Ned supposes he may have buckled.

“Lya,” Ned’s features remain stern as he stands in the doorway. His heart wants to melt away and forget all the resentment he holds for her. 

“Ned,” she smiles. His sister's smile is wide enough to reach her grey eyes. Crow’s feet ease their way around her eyes. 

For a moment, he allows it when she embraces him. Lya’s home, our sweet Lya. He reciprocates, because it’s been over three decades since he saw her last. 

“Come inside, it looks like it’s going to rain,” Ned tells her. 

He leads her inside, closing the door behind her and leading her past the living room and into the kitchen instead. 

No one's home, anymore, not yet at least. He’s due to pick up Arya and Jon shortly. Cat, Robb and the little one have taken a drive to the store. He’s glad to be home alone at this moment. Alone enough to digest the shock of what’s happening in front of him. 

“This is… a really gorgeous house.”

Ned nods and sets his blue mug into the sink after already using it three times that day. It is quite a house. He had it built when he was still in his prime. He and Cat spent hours with an architect drawing out the perfect home for their family. It should have been perfect. Years later, he knows it’s not the house that came up short, it was him. 

Arya used to do this thing when she was really excited about what was happening. She’d take her skin between her thumb and index and pinch, hard enough to leave a bruise, but at least she could ‘be sure’ that she wasn’t dreaming. 

Now it would be ridiculous if Ned did that. Instead, the taste of coffee on his tongue seems to ground him in the moment, that and the smell of the earth, the particular smell that rises to the air from the open windows when the humidity breaks through with downpour.

“Thirty years, Lya.” 

Lyanna sighs and crosses her arms. She leans against the centre island and stares at the ground before meeting his eyes. Neither of them sit, they simply stand in his kitchen, years to catch up on, so much anger to resolve. 

He’s thought about it before. He takes cares to hold Arya dearly, never telling her off for her acts of defiance, unlike what their father had done to Lyanna. He made sure Arya would never feel the need to run away from her blood. 

From her first breaths, she was every bit a wild spirit as Lyanna had been. But Arya still held onto her family. Lyanna gave hers up. He always knows Arya is somewhere safe, but he could never be sure if Lyanna was even alive out there.

“I know I haven’t been around or in contact, but I think I’m ready to see him again,” Lyanna pleads. 

It angers him. He’s seen Jon struggle over the thought of his own mother abandoning him. How can he not be furious with his sister when he knows the pain she’s caused Jon. Caused him. She’d never been there for any of the births of his own boys, and his girls, for the wedding, or for his untimely fall from grace. 

Being a politician wasn’t easy. He had thought it was, when he was younger and more sure of himself, the world, and his position in it by Robert’s side. It had brought his family stability– him, vitality, and pride– but good things are rarely linear. The axe of public opinion fell swift, and his own moral compass had allowed the people he stood up for to turn on him quicker than he had earned their love and admiration. His brothers had been there for him, and even bits of the country had, too. But not his sister. Not his closest childhood friend, his Lya, most dear to his heart.

Ned takes a moment to breathe. He knows none of the kids are home, it’s just the two of them. If he decides it, no one will ever have known she was here. He can simply make her leave. But it wouldn’t be right. 

He fills two glasses of water and places them both on the table, waiting for her to take the hint and sit down. 

“Do Ben and Brandon know you’re back?” 

She shakes her head. 

“I’ll speak to Jon. But you’ll have to give me time,” Ned explains. He watches as she tries to interrupt him. “I mean it, Lya. You need to let me do this, it’s not something you can just ambush him with.” 

Lya sips her water and stays quiet. Decades, and yet there she sits. She’s frailer than he remembers. He wonders if he is, too. They had been inseparable as kids, she knew all of his deepest thoughts. After all, she was his best friend. Both his best friends left him in the worst ways. 

As an older brother, he’s still hurt, but his feelings aren’t of consequence. As a father to the son she left, he’s still furious, because Jon’s feelings are everything. Even as a grown man, he knows Jon never felt like he belonged in the town that was home to all the ancestors that came before him. 

Ned might have been to blame, for not making more of an effort to make him feel like he belonged. How could he juggle that, his career, his marriage and five other children? 

She smiles. 

Another moment later he can’t seem to stop himself from asking all the questions he needs answered. When they were kids, he was the one who stayed quiet, she was the one who would never stop talking. Lots has changed since then. He can’t even be sure if he knows her. She left before she was even a person, when she was still a child finding herself.

“Jon aside, is that all you’re here for?” 

He has every right to be self-serving at this point. They had been the closest out of the four of them. Ben was too young, Brandon too old and proud. 

He can see the tears threatening to escape her grey eyes. He often wondered how she looked, if her hair was still the same dark brown he remembers, or does she dye it– did grey start to stain it like it had for him over the last two decades?

“I missed my brothers too,” Lyanna admits. Her lips are in a tight smile, covered in a shiny coat of lipstick or gloss. “I needed to ask about Jon first because I owe it to him.” 

“Aye, that’s right, you do.” 

“After I meet him and begin setting things right, then I can concentrate on other things…” Lyanna circles a finger on the rim of her glass.

“I’m not going to ask you why you left– I think I can understand why you did it. But Jon will want to know. He’s been wanting that closure since the day I told him he wasn’t mine, that he wasn’t part of some scandalous affair.” 

Lyanna laughs at the last bit before her demeanour sobers up. “He didn’t know?” Lyanna bites her lower lip when she asks the question. 

Ned can see that she might not even want the answer. “I couldn’t tell him that as a child, he’d have made himself even more repressed growing up. I gave him time to become a man before I let him know that I’m not his real father,” anger laces his words. It feels hypocritical, Lyanna might have left, but Ned was right there and still didn’t do it right. 

“My son, repressed?” Lyanna laughs. “I mean… he’s your son after all.” She shrugs. 

Lyanna’s right. She was probably the least repressed person growing up. It had been the thing their father reprimanded her most for. She was similar to Brandon in the way that their whims took precedence. 

Brandon’s were rewarded, whilst hers were admonished. Ned and Benjen were better at falling in line with what their father perceived as the correct way to compose oneself. 

“He’s a Stark,” Ned replies. His body itches for another coffee. He stares at the mug he’s dumped into the sink. His blue mug. “Coffee?” He asks his sister. 

He gets up before hearing her answer and washes out his mug after already loading his space grey nespresso machine. He gets Lyanna one of the normal coffee mugs after she tells him she prefers a long shot. 

“How’s Robert?” She finally asks after he gives her the mug. 

Ned wants to laugh. But it’s hard to find levity, even fifteen years after their falling out. He never understood the relationship his sister and his best friend shared. And maybe he never wanted to find out.

“Still in politics. Surrounded by the worst of them,” Ned explains. This isn’t a time for him to delve into something so disheartening. “At least that’s what I know from the papers.”

Lyanna frowns. It’s a perfectly normal way to react. Years ago when she’d left, Ned was hand in hand with Robert. They were there for one another in their grief. Now, Ned could barely recognise the man he saw in news stories. 

“Are you two not in touch anymore?” Lyanna blows on her coffee and looks at him eagerly for information.

“Let’s not discuss this now. I just got you back,” Ned sipped the scalding coffee from his blue mug. “But no, we aren’t.”

Lyanna halts herself. It was never like her to take no for an answer, but either her time away has changed her fundamentally or she doesn’t want to test her limits with him just yet.

“You’ll have to leave soon,” Ned nods after downing his coffee. “I have to drive to the airport.” 

“Are you going somewhere?” 

There are times Ned wished he was better at fibbing. He was good at omitting the truth to maintain privacy, but to people he loved– he couldn’t lie about such small things.

“My daughter is visiting. She’s asked me to pick her up. And my son is returning from a visit to the store with my granddaughter, I’d prefer I tell everyone of your return when the time is right. Jon should be the first to know.”

“Daughter, granddaughter…” Lyanna laughs, “How many do you have? I remember Cat was expecting at the same time as I was but I never–”

“You weren’t around long enough to meet the kids,” Ned finishes her sentence. He feels the slightest guilt in the way he cuts her short and leaves her out of the loop.But he can’t help but keep up his guard. “Rob is my first, he’s Jon’s age.” he concedes. “They’re much alike in some ways. They both hold themselves up to the same standard.” He hesitates before his next sentence, masking his nerves in a sip of his drink. “And Rob has got a daughter, Liane.”

Lyanna smiles widely at the thought. “You must have more,” Lyanna questions. She prods him, wanting to find out everything that’s happened in the last thirty years, despite how forlorn that is to be done in a half-hour conversation.

“I have two daughters; Sansa, and Arya,” Ned hesitates as her eyes flicker. “Arya has always reminded me of you. She’s coming home today, which is just–” he laughs and sits back. “I’ve tried my best not to be like our father. And I’ve worried she would leave the same way you did. But she’s coming home today, she’s coming with Jon. The two of them have always been inseparable. Brandon says they’re like the two of us. Or how we should have been ten years down the line from then.” 

He can’t understand why he’s able to tell her everything. He knows he should be holding back until she was more deserving of the information he was giving her. But she was Lyanna, their Lya. He loved his children with every waking breath, and telling Lyanna about them was something he always dreamed of doing. 

Lyanna laughs but he can tell she’s trying to cover up her tears. She uses the heel of her palm to wipe away loose tears. “I’ll get to meet him soon then?” Lyanna asks wilfully. 

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll let him settle down a bit– he doesn’t enjoy Winterfell particularly, though he’ll probably enjoy catching up with Robb. Then I’ll let you know.”

Ned allows himself a moment to watch her. Her eyes still dart around the kitchen, slowly taking in every bit of it; the wall Catelyn curated with only the young days. Baby photos and kids running around one another. All taken by the two of them when there was more time for it. 

Lyanna’s eyes linger longer on the group photo of them. The most recent one amongst the bunch, where Rickon is at least fifteen, so even Baby Liane sits in Bran’s lap. 

“Only four of them?” Lyanna asks.

“Two more sons after the girls, Bran and Rickon.” 

This time when she laughs, it’s a genuine one. “Brandon and father must love those ones,” she snorts. She always had the most contagious laugh, that hasn’t changed at least. 

“Brandon chose Bran’s name, I don’t know how Catelyn agreed to it,” Ned explains. It’s definitely laughable, considering that Catelyn had briefly dated his older brother before they’d gotten together. “And Rickon was born a week after father passed. It was only right.”

Lyanna looks down at her coffee at the mention of their father’s death. She fiddles with her rings and lets out a heavy sign. 

“He’s gone?” She cringes at the information and rubs her temples. 

“We didn’t even know if you were alive at that point, it had been twelve years,” Ned tries to tell her. It’s no comfort, he knows that. Rickard was quite a man, stern, but he loved them all truly. “Brandon, Benjen, and I are going for a drink tomorrow at Barth’s— do you want to join us?”

Lyanna’s eyes light up at the suggestion. She nods enthusiastically and it cheers her up immediately. 

He remains contained, looking her over. “We’re meeting at seven. Show up half an hour after– give them time to settle them in.” 

Give myself time to settle in, He thinks, his guts twisting themselves into knots in his stomach.

The pub they sit in has been through it all. It might as well be a Winterfell tradition to have your first-ever drink be a house brew.

Noise circles the area like a cool breeze. The chatter of other patrons doesn't distract him from the people sitting in front of him. His two brothers, the men who have stood by his side for better or worse. Family is always family for the Starks. He knows his children understand their strength together, years have buried that deeper in their heads, he suspects. Everyone needs a reminder. 

Soon his brothers were about to get a reminder of their own. 

He tries his best to listen to the conversation at hand, but it's hard when every few minutes his eyes flicker to the door, expecting her to walk through.

“The stick up your arse has got to come out at some point, Ed.” 

Ben laughs at their older brother’s words. It’s typical of Brandon to make jokes at his expense. Ned flicks one of the peanuts at him and laughs it off. 

“You’ll regret you said that,” Ned tells his brother with a wavering smile. 

There was a time when none of them really were able to see eye to eye. When they were all in different stages in life and suddenly they were all grieving their sister. 

Now, all more or less in their 50s, the Stark brothers could enjoy each other’s company without coming apart at the seams. 

“Well aren’t you ominous,” Brandon chuckles. He takes a healthy sip of his beer but the grey of his eyes are coated with the same suspicion lining Ben’s.

“Lya’s back,” Ned confesses. He knows she’s supposed to show up later in the night, but he can’t ambush them. 

“Are you joking?” Benjen asks. His expression is completely unreadable. 

Brandon sits up properly and leans his forearms against the table. “Where is she? Where has she been? Does she have a place to stay?” His questions spill out of him. 

“She’ll be joining us soon enough, you can ask her everything yourself.”

“Is this really the place for us to see her for the first time after all these years?” 

Ned looks at his younger brother with a delicate smile. “Since when have I ever been able to convince her of anything other than what she wants?” He shrugs. 

His brothers sit dumbfounded at the thought of their sister returning. Benjen nurses a sudden oncoming headache, pinching his temple. 

“Well,” He says to the silence. “To battle, brothers.” 

The three men raise their glasses, somber humor between them. There was never any predicting their sister, even in their youth. The only thing consistent in her movements was that the world always seemed to shift on its axis when she so much as made a move. As much as they had grieved, come to grips, coped, moved on, she still held their lives in her hands. With the disquiet of the unknown hanging overhead, they drain their glasses, knowing with a sobering certainty that everything is about to change the moment Lyanna walks through the door.

Ned already had his moment of astonishment. He watches his two brothers go through the same thing. The way their faces fall and they can hardly believe their eyes. 

She walks over slowly, halting in front of the table. His brothers are both suspended in disbelief, but it doesn’t take long before Brandon gets out of his seat, almost knocking over his beer on his way to her. 

He looks down at their younger sister. He’s certain the tears in her eyes are because of how overwhelming it all suddenly is. Brandon and Ben don’t have any reason to be cross with her. Hurt is different, they’ve all missed her. But Ned has to think about Jon. 

Brandon takes her into his arms and lifts her into a crushing hug. He had always been the more affectionate brother. He enjoyed reiterating the fact that he was the eldest son and could easily lift any one of them. 

Lyanna lets out a little laugh before she’s set down. He kisses her forehead like he used to when she was upset and wipes away the tear that rolls her cheek. 

“Look at how much you’ve grown up, Lya,” Brandon tells her. 

Not long after, Ben interrupts their moment. “Move over, old man,” he tells their oldest brother. 

Ben had been only fifteen when Lyanna left. He walked over to Lyanna and took her into his arms. “Of all places for us to see you again, it had to be in Barth’s shoddy pub,” Benjen told her with a smile. 

“Well,” She laughs. “It will be nice to have drinks on hand.” 

Brandon howls a big, hearty laugh, throwing his great arms around Benjen. “Remember when we drank our weights behind the Bartell drugstore, moaning over all the problems we thought we had back then?” 

“And this one had no tolerance.” Benjen is stiff as a board in his brother’s death grip, save a sly creeping smile. “Lush Lya, I think we called her.” 

“Lush Lya!” Brandon raises a hand. “I’ll get a scotch, for our wayward little sister. A neat mezcal, one orange slice, for this one,” He gestures to Ned, before turning his gaze to the last sibling. “And a Tom Collins for Benji boy.” 

“No soul could question your memory.” Ned smiles reservedly. “But make it two orange slices, for me.” 

“Coming right up. We’ve got thirty years of ground to cover.”

There was nothing to be done now. Nothing of course, but watch as his siblings drink and speak and laugh. They would cry soon too, no doubt, Ned is sure. As they all sit at one table, doing said drinking and speaking and laughing for well over an hour, Ned watches. 

It was not like him to throw himself, words blunder, into a conversation. Politics had been tricky in that regard. “How is it,” his late father had said of the matter, “That this quiet wolf has found himself dining with a host of babbling hyenas?” 

To the query, Ned had no answer to give. He had simply shrugged and allowed Robert to joke in his stead, lightening the mood and swaying the talk elsewhere. It hadn’t been until a good two hours later after he had given it enough thought, that Eddard had placed himself again beside his father in the bustling room of talkers. 

“Hyenas are spectacles.” He had explained. “I am… taciturn. Robert is a bit of both. Perhaps with me, he’ll speak less and think more.”

“And was it the gods that told you this, boy?”

“No,” Ned’s gaze was fixed on the towering man before them, a glass of wine in hand, toasting to his adoring cabinet. “He did. He asked for my guidance. I’m not in this world to idly play conversational chess. I’ve found myself here because maybe, as I sit, and I listen, Robert will learn to listen as well.” 

Ned takes a drink, washing down the memory. Lyanna has Benjen’s hands in her own, speaking to him animatedly about some childhood story they share. 

Perhaps he had been too quiet in his youth. Maybe, if he spoke up for Lyanna more…

Catelyn is probably home by now, Ned reasons. His rough hands trace the wooden lines of the table. He’s had little to drink, but it’s already too much. Lyanna laughs like his daughter, and everything in Ned’s body hurts. 

“I’ll be going,” He stands.

“Oh, don’t be a wet towel,” Benjen grins. “The night’s young, Ned.” 

“All the same,” His eyes find Lyanna’s. He gives her a gentle nod, but her big doe eyes are fixed on his, and burrow deep. They hold questions, brimming to the surface of her irises. Questions Ned has no idea how to even begin to answer.

All the more reason to excuse himself. Besides, his family is waiting. 

He walks back home; hands safely tucked in his pockets with every step he takes against cobbled pavements. 

His cheeks feel the sting of the cold but the warmth that fills his chest is far better than anything he's felt in a while. The Starks, his generation, and his children's generations have all withstood the test of time. They've all had their bumps in their efforts to stumble across life. There's no handbook for life and everything they've all done makes that abundantly clear.

If Lya can come back after all these years, maybe his family has a fighting chance. 

Robb can recover from the responsibility that had been thrown at him far too early in life. Jon can understand that his mother always loved him, that she didn't give him away because she didn't have love for him in her heart, but because she had too much love in her heart to allow him to be raised anything less than he deserved. 

And his sweet Arya... She can finally stop trying to save everyone around her and be proud of herself.

All in due time he thinks. 

His eyes take in his home. The windows are lit by the light within, warm light spills out all around the house like a halo. Their home.

It's never too late to make amends. He saw that tonight with Lya's return. 

Laughter greets him before he even opens the door. He recognises it as Arya's. Ned smiles and slowly follows the breadcrumbs of their voices. He finds them in the kitchen, surrounding the centre island like ants. 

His wife and their granddaughter are careful spectators. They sit together, wrapped up in one of Cat's pashmina scarves. 

The frightening sight of his oldest son, Robb, by the stove, warrants the suspicion and laughter from Jon and Arya. 

He watches Jon, enjoying the anonymity of not yet being noticed by his family. He knows a lot of the lightheartedness he sees now will crumble at his feet when he finds out. He lets Jon be only his son for a little bit longer.  

Chapter Text

chapter four: arya i 

"we will carry you there. just keep following the heartlines on your hand." - heartlines, florence + the machine

Her damn suitcase handle breaks.

“Cunt,” She whispers under her breath at the luggage she has been dragging behind her for the past few hours.

In all truth, the damn thing has been broken for two years. Arya keeps telling herself she’ll  remember to get a new one, but it never happens. It isn’t like she flies often, so by the time she gets around to packing it and lugging it again to the airport, it’s always too late to do anything about it. She hoists it up, clutching it against her chest awkwardly. 

“Where’s your knight in shining armor?” A familiar voice taunts her. Arya spins around, letting her bag drop with an obnoxious thud. A mess of curls obscures the face that greets her, but she throws her arms around him nonetheless.

“I thought I was gonna have to pace the whole airport to find you,” She groans as Jon plants annoying kisses on her head. “I’ve got no cell service here.”

“And no muscles, apparently.” Jon sets her down and squeezes her forearm. She swats his hand away. “Struggling with your bag?”

“It isn’t even heavy, really. Just has no good place to grab onto. The handle’s broken.” She huffs, brown hair blowing out of her eyes. 

Jon easily hoists the suitcase, holding it like a barrel under his arm. 

“Military training advantage.” She points out, her brow creasing in the middle. “C’mon, brother of the watch. Mum and Dad are probably waiting. Have you got your bags?”

“I didn’t pack much…” There’s a grin on his face as he shakes the backpack in his left hand. He slings it over his shoulder and offers an arm to his sister. “M’lady?”

Arya elbows past him. They always fall into a natural rhythm, no matter how much time they’ve spent apart, and she welcomes it with open arms. As she strides towards the double doors to pick-up, a warmth sets into her chest that she seldom feels when visiting home. It had never really been the same after Jon left– they all felt it, but Arya most of all.

Jon has always been a fellow black sheep in their auburn-haired, freckly household. Loved as Arya knows she is, as a child she’d always felt out of step with the rest of her siblings. Butting heads with her mother surely didn’t help. With Jon around, however, she used to have someone on her side. Someone to share knowing eyebrow raises across the dinner table, to play fight with, and to help still her ever-persistent desire to drop kick her siblings off a balcony. Where Robb has adopted their father’s predisposition to annoyed disapproval, Jon has always lent her a wink. She loves him for it.

Her older brother—cousin, really, but what does it matter?— catches up with her in an easy stride, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. 

“Where’s Gendry?” He asks. “I thought he’d be coming.”

“Later,” She sighs, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “He found a flight a few days out. He’s got some boring work client appointment tomorrow.” 

There’s already a Gendry-sized-hole forming in her chest. The prospect of facing her mother without him isn’t ideal, but it couldn’t be avoided. At least she has Jon. And who knows? Maybe Rickon has been acting up, and the ever-watchful eye of disapproval will be fixed elsewhere. 

“Shame.”

“Is your boyfriend coming?” 

“Too much work to do at the wall. Duty calls, and all that. He dropped me off here, though...” He shrugs. “Maybe he’ll be able to come visit some other time.” 

Arya watches as Jon’s eyes— gray and sombre, twins to hers— find the floor as he walks beside her. She smiles a little. Something in the way he brushes off the topic of Satin cues her into his feelings on the matter. He’s nervous, no doubt, and it makes sense. Bringing home a new partner was cause for a lot of questions and prodding in their household—  two things that make Jon squirm. And as of now, she’s the only one of their family members to even know he exists.

“Dad’ll like him. And you know Robb will too,” She reassures. “It’s obvious you do. So, he must be special.”

A blush sits high on Jon’s cheeks. He shrugs again, and messes up her hair.  He nods his head in the direction of a car. 

“I think we’ve been spotted.”

Arya waves wildly at her father’s face in the front seat. The stately Eddard Stark has always put forth effort to look sharp, but despite his efforts, he always seemed to fall short of his goal. 

His smart, deep blue sweater allows for his button-down to poke out from its collar, but his mousey, unkempt hair is windblown like he’d just been out riding with the horses. Arya supposes he likely has, as too many hours cooped up in his office has always driven her father mad. Perhaps she isn’t the only wild creature among them that feels trapped in polite society. He runs to her, lifting her in the air with a grunt.

“Oof, heavy.” His lined, tired eyes grin at his youngest daughter. 

“Dad!” 

“And it’s all muscle,” He praises, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re like a boulder. What happened to the knobby, skinny thing I raised?” 

“Nothing, according to this one.” Arya grumbles, gesturing behind her.

Jon’s lips form a tight-lined smile as Ned embraces him, patting him on the back. The air immediately grows stagnant between them. Ned clears his throat.

“You both look well.” He says, as her mother calls from the window that the airport security is telling them to keep it moving. Ned gives them a nudge, taking Arya’s bag to the trunk. He shuts it swiftly, promptly getting back into the front seat. 

“Dad called me fat,” Is the first thing Arya says to her mother.

Catelyn has twisted herself around in the passenger seat, trying and failing to fix her hair.

 “No, he didn’t, I heard him. He’s an old man who tried to pick up a twenty-six year old,” She clarifies, as her daughter swats her hands away.

Arya quirks a smile, shrugging, and clicking her seatbelt into place. 

As her mother drolls on about Arya’s obsessive need to start a fight over nothing, she catches Jon smiling quietly to himself as he stares out the window. He isn’t even on his phone. He just sits there, deep in thought, just a little far removed from their company, as always. She leans her head on his shoulder, and glances at the phone mounted on the dash.

 Home- arrival in 2 Hrs, 34 Mins.  It’s going to be a long drive.

When Gendry asks her over the next two mornings, she tells him that she’s settled well enough back home. And it’s the truth– though she still omits some bits and pieces. 

She doesn’t mention how disjointed the house feels. Arya tries to keep it lively; not taking her mother seriously, trying to brush off the way Robb can’t seem to stand anyone. She even holds her tongue every time she sees Jon cross the threshold reeking of nicotine. 

It’s not lying though. She loves being home, especially after this long. She just wouldn’t want him to worry about the small details that have been lurking in the corners of her life for over fifteen years now. 

Gendry’s smart in booking an Airbnb nearby. She knows she would walk on eggshells if he was staying in her parents’ house. She loves Gendry with all her heart, but the man knows how to be grumpy.

Arya finds herself smiling at the thought of him, feeling the ache of him. They’ve travelled a lot in the last few years, just never back home together. 

Her parents have heard about Gendry, just never fully met him. Photos and all would not do justice to the man she loves. Arya herself will admit that he’s difficult until you actually get to know him.

Her keys click into the ignition, the absurd amount of trinkets and charms she has weighing it down clattering together. Despite her father’s warnings of it breaking the ignition itself, she chooses to remain delusional and allow her aesthetics to shine through.

Gendry had made her the lastest of them, the bull one, but the majority she had found herself at various gas stations. When she went on her first road trip with her father, they had run inside a truck stop.

She was nine, with knots in her hair and eternally bare feet. In the memory, he’s younger than he is now— and still, no matter the grey that peppers his beard and the age lines she’s come to know so well, she still pictures that younger and stronger man when she thinks of her father. He had picked her up and they had bolted into the building, laughing, because Arya couldn’t contain herself anymore. She had told her mother if they didn’t find an exit soon, that she was going to ruin her new dungarees. But mum had said to hold it, that they were almost there.

The sheer horror on Catelyn’s face when a dark grey pooled in the seat beneath her daughter was worth the embarrassment and soiled underwear tenfold. 

Arya had never heard her father laugh so loud. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the long drive that fueled his outburst of giggles, but either way, sparklers had gone off in Arya’s eyes. So they found a gas station, and laughing all the way, father and daughter hauled ass inside to find a restroom. And while Arya cleaned up, her father had wandered into a gift shop. She opened the nasty lavatory door, and there he stood, holding a silver charm, and a pair of fresh sweatpants.

“What is it?” She had grabbed it and turned it over in her hand as he beamed at her.

“It’s a charm. You can make a bracelet with it.”

Sansa had some bracelets. Maybe she could add it to one she didn’t want anymore, and wear it, he told her. Arya barely heard any of it, though. She was studying the pretty, wiggly charm of a sun and its beams.

It was pretty, but certainly not expensive. It rusted quickly, but she still loved it the most. He had told her he had gotten her a sun because it reminded him of summer, and her birthday. So she wore it on a string necklace for years. When that broke, her mother bought her a chain. When she got a car, it made its way to her first set of keys. Then, she just started collecting more.

Anytime she visited a new place, she found a hole-in-the-wall gas station, and bought a shitty charm. It was a game or something she just played with herself, until the inquisitive blue boy she met at a pub pointed to the stag charm she had gotten in the Cape Wrath, and asked about it. 

It had made her pause. Nobody asked Arya questions. She asked everyone questions, and always wanted to know the answers. Her father used to brag to all his co-workers that his little daughter could make friends with a brick wall if she wanted to, and he was right. There was hardly a corner of the north that Arya hadn’t visited and made small talk with strangers in. But as curious as she was, people never seemed to be that curious about her in return. 

So, when Gendry had asked, and listened, really listened when she told him the story, she was instantly sure she loved him. 

“Bluetooth connection success,” Her car’s maps announces to her, and she keys in the address to her old favourite coffee shop. If she’s going to get Jon a drink these next few mornings, then she deserves to get something for herself too. 

Despite everyone else’s grumbling, and the odd spat with her mother, she’s fairly happy to be home. There wasn’t a bit of her that liked the idea of Rickon having to put down Shaggy alone— no, he’ll kick and scream and yell at everyone, like she and Sansa had with Lady, but as much as he wanted to push them away, he was going to need his family.  

Driving down the roads Robb had taught her to drive on is strange to say the least. But with the early morning coolness, and the mellow playlist serenading her journey, she welcomes the nostalgia. It’s peaceful, until she gets a text.

rickon: r u driving?

She glances at her phone at the stoplight just as another text comes through from Rickon.

rickon: come get me!!

She groans and presses call near his name, set to speaker phone so she can keep her eyes on the road. He picks up in under a ring. 

“Hey!” 

“Stop checking my location,” She says in place of a greeting. “You’re worse than Sansa in highschool.”

“Well,” Arya can hear the stress in her brother’s voice as he laughs. “I’m gonna need you to do me a solid and come get me. I’m fifteen from you, on East and Main. Dad’s car is smoking more than Jon on a bad afternoon.” 

She sighs and presses his location on her map. “I’ll be right there, seven hells.” Turn signal on, she merges, hand over hand to turn the wheel.

Rickon has always known how to get himself into a real pickle, it’s a well established fact of life. He isn’t dissimilar to herself in that way– and it endears him to her. She doesn’t get the chance to play big sister often, but with Rickon, she’s always a guiding force of nature. Even as children they were both a little unruly, both overly emphatic, both too much. She chews on the inside of her cheek. 

Knowing her brother, the impromptu drive out into town this early in the morning is for a therapy session with himself. He’ll put on songs that, infuriatingly, are always better than Arya’s own music taste, play drums on the steering wheel, drive too fast, and never get pulled over because he’s too smart to get caught. She used to accompany him on lots of those little mindless drives into the middle of nowhere, growing up. 

When she first got her license, she would drag him with her on her own drives. It brought them close– mostly because they didn’t have to talk. They just got to sit, to sing, to exist in close proximity. But things change when little boys grow up too fast for their sisters to adjust. Even before she moved away, he stopped asking her to go with him. He would just run out the door with his keys after a fight with one of their parents, and be home two or three hours later. At least he would still bring Shaggy. That always gave her some relief.

Maybe this will be her excuse to fall back into place with him. She figures she’ll find him in some sort of state, so there’s that to brace herself for.

She chastises herself for the heavy nostalgia that weighs on her. She told herself she wouldn’t ever be like that– all bent out of shape about the past. She’d seen her fair share of how that type of thinking fucks a person over– but it always creeps up on her, nonetheless. 

There’s one foolproof solution, though. One that brings her into the blissful– albeit messy– present-day life that she’s created.

“You up?” She says as soon as Gendry picks up the phone.

“Am now,” He yawns. “Where you off to so early?”

“I was gonna pick up coffee, but Rickon’s in a bit of a crisis,” She pauses. “Just wanted to say I’ll be over tonight, kay? Maybe we’ll make pasta. I love cooking in other people’s kitchens. We can snoop through the cabinets.”

She can practically see his sleepy smile from the other end of the line. “Nobody I’d rather have a slightly boundary-overstepping lazy night in with. I love you.”

“You love me,” She coos, and hangs up. Her chest flutters, and she rolls down the windows. Brisk morning air greets her, and she breathes deep. 

Fresh, real, alive. Fresh. Real. Alive. Home. 

Chapter Text

chapter five: rickon i 

"love comes and goes but the big black dog, he trails along." - howling, noah kahan

The bed underneath him is soft. It’s warm as well, given how cold the room is, it can almost feel like the heating isn’t working. 

He flicks the clipper, sparks light up the flame with each click. Soon enough it gets a little too hot against his thumb. 

She sits on the other side of the twin bed. She’s against the headboard and he’s against the cold wall next to the closed window. The water bubbles roughly as she inhales. 

He does most of the work, reaching out to her as she’s slouched comfortably. He hands her the lighter and she continues. 

Her hair falls on either side of her shoulders, covering most of the wording on her hoodie. He’s wearing the same one. It’s not very intentional, it’s simply cold and their university hoodies provide adequate insulation.

She covers the top, neither of them are certain if it makes a difference, but they do it anyway, as she hands it to him. 

It’s a Wednesday night, they’re smoking in her room. How else are they supposed to combat the stress of being in their second year? 

The routine is comfortable. He takes the bong into his own hand, taking the lighter back into the other one. Her eyes look tired, but he can tell she’s doing good. 

He flicks the lighter on, near the end and inhales. The beat of the music playing off her speakers matches the rhythm his head moves in. 

“Are you dancing?” 

He coughs into his elbow in an effort to reply to her enquiry. “You’re really good at timing your questions,” he coughs again, handing the bong back to her as he recovers his coughing fit.

    Rickon only notices then that he shakes his head smoothly to the music. She smiles at him and flicks the clipper aimlessly as well. He watches as she slowly dissects the lighter, taking it apart and putting it back together with dexterity. 

    She hands him the bottle of water on her nightstand after a moment. Lethargy hangs in the air and it feels good. They’ve been doing this for a while and it still hasn’t gotten boring. Since highschool, when they were both still in Winterfell, five years have flown by without him even noticing. 

    Back then his older brother, Bran, was also still living at home. Lyanna would sneak in through his window, and Rickon would already be ready with the papers, grinder and weed stolen from his brother who was somewhat of a connoisseur. 

    Now there’s no need to sneak around. He can stroll through the front door of her flat, greet her flatmates and make himself comfortable on her bed. Still, he’s better at supplying the goods, she has the equipment. 

    Lyanna Mormont and him go back even further than highschool however. He can’t even remember the moment they became friends, but he’s sure it happened rather seamlessly. It still feels the same way now. Their friendship has carried him through most of his troubles in life. 

    Lyanna is the solid fixture in all of it. The person who grounds him, despite flying high with him a few times a week. 

    “Can you put on something different? I feel like I’ve been listening to the same thing over and over again.”

    “It’s an album, you’ve just been here for an eternity. It's played twice already,” Lyanna answers with a laugh. The Doors are playing. He’s probably heard Oldtown Woman play five times since he’s reached, so he doesn’t believe the twice she states.

    “Put loveless, Lee,” Rickon suggests. “I need something where I can’t really make out what they’re saying.” 

    Lyanna throws the lighter at him which he catches gracefully and they both laugh. The bong is forgotten on the side and she lifts out of her seat on the bed to find her phone. 

    As she does so, putting on my bloody vaelentyn’s best album, his phone begins ringing. He knows it’s his because of the ringtone. His friend back home, Monty, had set it for him using GarageBand on his phone, either way it was cool to have Khal Chiefs play as his phone rang. 

    “Helloo?”

    He realises quickly, when he hears his mother’s voice, that he definitely should bother to read the caller ID before picking up. 

    “Hi sweetling, I know it’s a bit late, you sound tired– were you sleeping?” 

    “Yes, I was but that’s okay, what’s up?” 

    His mother stalls a little on the other end of the line. He can feel her constricted speech. “Baby, he’s not doing well.”

    She doesn’t have to explain. He already knows. A rock forms in his stomach.

    “What’s that even mean?” He clears his throat. Suddenly his shirt feels too tight. He’s wearing too many layers, his jumper threatens to suffocate him as well.

    “...It might be time soon. In the next week or so. Your father just got the news from the vet– Dr. Poole, you remember– said it’s a bone cancer, Osteosarcoma. It’ll be best, if… well, dad and I think you should come home, love, and spend some time with him.”  She pauses again, waiting to gauge his reaction before she continues. “I know it hasn’t been easy, being away from him.”

    It's been worse than “not easy”. He presses his tongue against his teeth. “Yeah. Uh, no, I’ll make it happen. Yeah. Thanks, mum. Would you,” Shit. He pushes the heel of his palm into his eye. “Just give him a kiss, uh, take him out for a drive. I’ll check for flights.” 

    Rickon is painfully aware of how close Lyanna is watching him. He clears his throat again, and smiles at her as his mother talks.

     “Let us know how much it costs, and your father and I would like to pay for the fare. I’m so sorry, sweetling.”

    “It’s okay, mum. Uh, thanks. I’ll call you.” It’s all he can manage. He clicks the end call button, and stares at the moulding of the doorframe. 

“That did not look like a good phone call.”

Rickon turns to her from where he stands by the door. His head is flooded and empty, all at once. He tosses his phone to the ground and takes a deep breath. His eyes search for meaning out of it all. 

“I have to go back home,” Rickon tells her simply. 

Usually words come easy to someone like Rickon, as a matter of fact, almost too easy, it was often difficult to stop him from having a say in something. Now however, it was hard to even process anything. 

He sinks to the floor, sitting against her bed. He tips his head back and tries to breathe through it. His head is still on adventures of its own, regardless he tries to stop it from spinning. 

Lyanna joins him on the floor and watches him. “Is it Shaggy?” She asks him softly.

“Yeah, my dad took him to the vet today ‘cause he wasn’t really eating and didn’t seem good. They let me know this morning but I didn’t think… I thought he just had some stomach issues or something, but,” Rickon explains. Saying it out loud seems to make it all real. His head aches and his face stings but the tears don’t seem to fall. “He’s not good. My mum said that it was some kind of bone cancer, osteo-whatever.”

“Sorry, Rickon,” she comforts him with a hand on his arm and a half smile. 

“Yeah, I just need to be there for it,” he groans and buries his face into his palms. He tries to wake himself up but it doesn’t seem to work. 

They sit in silence and Rickon finds comfort in just having her by his side. They’ve been best friends for as long as he can remember.

He rests his head on her shoulder, forgetting the world around them and just moving in motion with his head. Music still plays softly in the back. His head refuses to let him be. Every time he closes his eyes, he thinks of ebony fur and green eyes. 

Lyanna’s just as quiet next to him. He’s grateful for her, for even sitting beside him while he tries to simmer down. 

His body turns slightly and he makes the move to thank her. She watches him and when he meets her eyes, he’s forgotten whatever it was on his mind. The words refuse to leave his tongue, he searches her face for meaning, finding her lips instead. 

Rickon most definitely is not thinking clearly, stoned and marred by grief, his head does not make the right decisions. 

His impulses push him to kiss her. Their lips meet, he isn’t ready for how warm she is and how easily she fits. 

Over the years they’ve definitely never done this. Somehow it feels so natural. Her lips part when he silently asks for it, their tongues meet and he knows she’s feeling it too. It works far too well. It feels too good to be true. 

And it is. 

Somehow Rickon manages to pull Lyanna into his lap. They’re still on her bedroom floor, they’re still leaning against her bed frame, but she’s in his arms and his whole body is alight. It’s the perfect remedy to his grief. 

Skin. That’s what he feels on his fingertips when they move up her shirt. He’s bracketing her waist, pulling her even closer to him. 

He has it all right there, everything he could possibly want in that moment, and she takes it away in less than a heartbeat. 

“Rickon,” she pulls away. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes red. He can tell in the way she looks into his eyes, she wants it too. “We really shouldn’t do this.” Lyanna pushes her hair back, out of both of their faces. 

He swallows his disappointment back. “Lee…” He tries to plead. His hands still want to hold onto her, but they slowly slip. The rough denim of her jeans are what his fingertips remember when he pulls away from her. 

“We can’t do this, not like this,” Lyanna shakes her head and peels herself away from him. The loss of her warmth is alarming. “We can’t fuck up years of friendship while you’re upset. I’m sorry I went along with it.”

Rickon clears his throat and lifts himself off the floor. 

“Yeah, no, you’re completely right.”

He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, trying not to think about what he had just done. Shit, why did he do that? Suddenly he forgets how to behave around her. 

“I think I’m gonna head to my flat then,” Rickon says. He pats his jeans, when his pockets come up empty he eyes the room, messily managing to pocket his keys and wallet from her nightstand. Lastly he takes the phone she hands him. “Thanks… I’m sorry again, Lee, I shouldn’t have–” 

Lyanna gives him a tight smile. Her cheeks are still flushed. “It’s fine, it doesn’t matter,” she shrugs.

It doesn’t matter. 

Rickon tightens his jaw. Everything is suddenly too much. “Yeah, see you,” he says. He doesn’t fist bump her like he usually does. He just leaves.

He has little to no memory of how he gets home. It’s rather late, but he’s pretty certain he walked the entire hour. 

His converse are wet, with little effort he wipes them on the entrance mat and kicks them off. Rickon tries his best not to wake his roommates, he isn’t certain if he succeeds.  

By the time he wakes up, he can tell he managed to shower. But the kink in his neck tells him he fell asleep in the worst way. His memories only resurface when he unlocks his phone to find a message from his best friend. 

hey, did you make it home safe?

Rickon curses himself and turns over on his pillow. He lets out a groan and settles in a little longer. He can’t muster up the courage to reply after how substantially he fucked up. His embarrassment however is overshadowed by one pressing matter. 

Within the comfort of his bed, Rickon searches up flights to Winterfell.

His day goes by in a haze. 

He remembers showering, he remembers packing, he remembers eating a lot. But it doesn’t feel like he had actually been present for any of it. 

By the time he’s at the airport with his headphones around his neck and a duffle in his grip, his feet seem to hit the ground and jolt him back to reality. 

He’s going to lose Shaggydog and his best friend. It’s all his fault. He left, he kissed her. 

He inhales and uses his one free hand to put his headphones on and drown his thoughts with music. 

Rickon knows, before he even boards, that this is about to be an uncomfortable flight. And he’s right.

It’s a flight from hell. 

There’s something innately frustrating about travel days, in his opinion, but something monumentally worse about them when the in-flight wifi doesn’t work and you’re too much of an arse to pay for Spotify premium. With nothing downloaded, and half his snacks already consumed, Rickon is left with only his thoughts. What a miserable situation.

Ebony fur, green eyes. 

Ebony fur, green eyes.

Ebony fur, gods this plane is stuffy, green eyes.

Ebony fur, bone disease, brown eyes. Dammit, Lyanna. 

Not like this.

Rickon taps the stranger sitting next to him in the aisle seat. 

“You mind?” He gestures his thumb out. 

The man says something he doesn’t pay attention to and moves. Rickon sneaks out, twisting his lanky body so as to not hit the overhead bin. The fasten seatbelt sign is on, and a stewardess flags him down with a frantic hand wave. He dismisses her, and opens the bathroom door. 

“Emergency,” He lies, and closes the door before she can waddle over to stop him. 

The latch locks with a click, and he stares as it absently. The red “occupied” colour block stares back at him. Lowering the toilet lid, he sits down, and draws one knee up to his chest, resting the other up on the sink. Not a lot of room for somebody with long legs. Heavy eyes glance up through his brows at a sign that animatedly bans him from smoking.

He stands after a moment, and stares in the mirror. It’s perfect lighting to pick at every imperfection dotting his skin, and he leans forward. Blackhead, blackhead, no, that’s a freckle. Chewing his lip, he thinks better of it. Best not to make himself red and inflamed just because he’s upset. Besides, there has to be something better to do. 

Opening the foldable door, he shrugs at the stewardess, who’s frowning at him with comical severity. 

“False alarm.” 

When he finds his row again, squeezing past the stranger between him and his assigned seat, he remembers that his phone has been yelling at him to clear the storage for days now. Opening his photo app, he starts deleting. It’ll kill time.

Despite his self-inflicted uncomfortable situation, it cheers him up a little to scroll through pictures of him and Lyanna over the years. They’ve been through a lot together— maybe they can make it through one poorly timed kiss. He skips those photos on his deletion spree, selecting mostly random screenshots of text posts he’s sent to his siblings, or pictures of food. It isn’t until he makes it to a selfie of him and Shaggy that he groans and just shuts the whole damn thing off and gives up.

Fine. A nap it is. 

He has trouble paying attention when his mother speaks. Which is why he isn’t aware who is actually picking him up. His best bet is always his father, without fail, over the last few years, he’s always been right. 

Everything seems to bother him before he’s able to make it out of the gate though. The child who speaks slightly louder than he would like, the fact that the airport Wi-Fi doesn’t even work, and especially the fact that there’s a long line at the coffee shop. 

His father can wait, he needs at least a double shot of espresso in his hazelnut latte before he can deal with the real world. The stuff the plane offered was watery and frankly appalling. 

Rickon takes his time, listening to his daily mix and slowly walking out of the automatic sliding doors. 

His eyes scan the faces he’s met with, old guy, old guy, old woman, child with very good looking father, and Robb. Robb?

His face immediately goes into a grimace, no one told him Robb was home. He pulls his headphones down to his neck. 

Rickon sees his brother check his watch before making a move into his direction. 

“Why’re you home?” Rickon asks, the distaste in his tone is palpable. 

“It’s very good to see you too, little brother,” Robb says, taking him into an embrace. Rickon hugs him anyway. “You’re always such a delight.” 

“Are you on holiday?” Rickon continues with his questions. He can feel the anger in his face. It helps that he’s wearing his sunglasses, it shields his eyes from the glare of the rising sun. 

“No… I moved back.”

“With mum and dad? Is Jeyne okay with that?” Rickon can’t help the shock that drips in his tone. 

“What?” Robb stops him on their way to his car. He stares at Rickon. Their eyes meet despite Robb being a little shorter. “We got divorced, Rickon.”

Rickon’s immediately taken aback by the information. Well, at least he isn’t the only one having a rough time. 

“Mum didn’t tell you?”

Rickon thinks on it but nothing comes up. His brain feels fried. “I frankly cannot even answer that,” Rickon says. “I tune out once she speaks for longer than 120 seconds.” 

“That,” Robb unlocks the car and opens the boot.  “I understand.” 

Rickon throws his bag into it and closes it with a bit too much force. 

The doorbell rings, and when his father opens the door, the Rickon shaped blur that runs past him is almost comical.

He’ll say hello to everybody eventually, but he’s got someone else to greet first. 

“Welcome home, Rickon,” Father shouts after him, the ghost of a chuckle on his lips. 

Rickon snatches the leash hanging by the door before sprinting up the stairs with hard, fast steps.

 Years ago, whenever he or his siblings opened their front door, they would practically get barreled into by six humongous dogs. It was more than once that Rickon found himself knocked backwards into the snow on their front porch. Even as they got older, and the pouncing turned to excited licks and tail wagging, and their pack dwindled as their owners moved out, Shaggy was always there to greet him in the foyer. 

Today, searching the house for him is more than miserable. 

Rickon finds Shaggydog laying on his belly on Mother and Father’s massive Sunspear-King-Sized Bed, his furry black fur all matted to one side from lounging all day. Rickon lets out a heavy breath.

Crawling up onto the mattress, he lets his body fall against Shaggy’s side. 

“Hey pally,” He says, scratching behind one of his dog’s enormous ears. “Mum and Dad would never let you up here if you weren’t sick, you know. You’re getting special treatment.”

Shaggy licks Rickon’s face in response, and gets a ruffle of his fur in return. 

“Bet you’re faking,” Rickon drawls, turning onto his back and staring at the revolving ceiling fan. “It’s an impressive con, really. Fake an illness, get everything you want. I’m impressed. How’d you pull it off?” 

Shaggydog blinks as Rickon holds a mimed microphone at his face. Then he sticks his  snout into Rickon’s hand and huffs.

“You got snot all over the invisible microphone.” 

Orange light filters in through gentle sheer curtains. Dapples dance on the comforter, shadows of oak leaves from the trees lining the property. Rickon watches them move, dancing and swaying across the blankets. Outside the bedroom, the sun is setting, and the exhaustion from the flight starts to set in. With a yawn, he pulls himself upright, and with a click, attaches the leash to Shaggy’s collar. 

“Sunset walk, c’mmon.” 

The agreeable nature of his companion is comforting, at least. He doesn’t seem to be in any pain, and if he is, he isn’t showing it. Or maybe the medicine father gave him is kicking in. They pad down the steps together, slower than they used to. There was a time when their downward bounding was a race to the last step. Now they take them one at a time. 

At the curve of the staircase, Rickon sees his mother watching him. She reaches for him, and he gives in, albeit stiffly. 

“Dinner’s on in five. I don’t mind if it gets cold,” She tells him, smoothing his hair. “Just be sure to eat.”

It’s strangely welcome. He blushes at her incessant mothering and ducks under her hand, stepping out the door.

With Shaggy at his heels, the brisk air of his childhood home stings in a familiarly painful way. It’s not nostalgia— It’s worse. The pathway leading from the back door out to the stables isn’t paved, but it’s been so heavily trodden over the years that the hard packed ground might as well be stone. Soft paw pads thump against it, and Rickon wonders if they’ll get to feel the crunch of snow a final time before he goes. 

The woods behind their home are small, only three acres, but they’re dense, even in the changing season. While they’ve lost some leaves, they’re still so tangled that it’s impossible to peer into it from this distance. 

The Godswood, they called it. All the Starks had, for thousands of years- or so father told them. It was where their ancestors prayed, and where his father does, too. 

“There’s something magic about it,” Bran used to whisper to him from under his coat, both boys all bundled beneath their hoods and gloves. “Like the heart tree misses us when we aren’t here.” 

Rickon isn’t sure he believes in much in the way of religion, but he walks Shaggy to the edge of the wood nonetheless, and lays down in the cool grass.

It’s wet, he notes, but Shaggy doesn’t seem to mind. Nestling his body down against the earth, he finds a comfortable position. He likes laying on the ground. On a normal day, Rickon would close his eyes, letting his thoughts drift far, far away from him on the evening breeze. But today, he just gazes into the diamond green eyes beside him, and cements them to memory.

Maybe the gods will let him slow down time. Just for one sunset.

He stares at the sky, watching the clouds pass by overhead, and the red orange hue disappear behind the treeline. Shaggydog rests his head against his chest. 

Rickon taps his phone, he easily switches from the music that plays for the both of them and makes a call. 

With his phone to his ear, he hears it ring a few times before he hears her voice. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Rickon says. He lets out a deep sigh. “I’m hanging out with Shaggydog, I thought I’d give you a call.”

No mention of his impudence in ghosting her, no mention of his impulses in kissing her. Things fall back into place, just like they always do between him and Lyanna. Maybe he would lose only one of the ones he loved.

“How’s he doing?” 

Rickon’s fingers go through the thick black fur. He rubs near Shaggy’s ear, just like he knows the dog likes it. 

“Not great at all,” Rickon admits. It feels like something is blocked in his chest when he admits it, it makes it hard to be delusional when he’s saying everything out loud. “He’s not sleeping, Mum’s kept him in their room to check on him. He’s not really eating either, I don’t think it’s right to keep him hanging on for much longer.” His voice cracks just then and he doesn’t continue. 

He feels his face sting but he continues petting his dog. Shaggydog turns his head when Rickon lets out a sniffle. Even in his pain, Rickon knows he’s always looking out for him. 

“Sorry, Rickon…”

“Yeah, thanks Lee,” he looks back up at the sky when he feels tears threatening to leave his eyes. He takes it in. 

He’s close to rehashing things, close to apologising to her for how he acted. He wants to tell her he’s sorry for imposing himself on her, for trying to use her as a coping mechanism even though he knows she’s so much more than that, she’s his best friend. 

Rickon knows better than to say a word though. Even saying bye proves hard. He doesn’t want to break down now but he knows he will soon. 

“I’m gonna let you get back to it,” Rickon tells her instead, clearing his throat to hide the way his voice shakes. 

“Yeah, right. I’m just a call away. Bye Rickon.”

He doesn’t beat around the bush any longer, He ends the call right there and then. His music starts playing again and he lets himself fall apart. Warm fur greats his tears.

—

Shaggy sleeps in his room that night. Curled together on top of the covers, boy and dog sleep sounder than either has in weeks. Puffy faced from sleep, Rickon stretches, grabbing his phone from where he left it on his pillow, and checks the time. It’s too early to wake his siblings and bother them, as much as he wants company. And Shaggy looks too peaceful to wake up, too. He frowns and pulls on a hoodie, sliding his feet into his slides, and shuffles down the stairs into the garage. 

It’s a big garage. There’s clutter everywhere, remnants of projects Uncle Brandon roped father into that sit unfinished in the corner, and sawdust sprinkled on every known surface. He slips his hands into his hoodie. Sawdust always irritates his allergies. Putting his dad’s key into the family car, he starts the engine, and pulls out of the garage. 

He knows he isn’t the first one in the house awake. He doesn’t need to spot his father trekking to the stables to know Eddard Stark was always the first to rise and the last to bed. They catch each other’s eye, and Rickon rolls down his window. 

“You’re up early,” His father wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. 

“Yeah, well.”

His dad always looks dishevelled. Today is no exception. He imagines they have that in common. All the Stark boys do, even when they try not to. Robb succeeds the most often, but lately, the bags under his eyes give his fraying mental state away. 

“How was your flight?” 

He’s trying, there’s no denying that. Rickon shrugs. “Fine. I pissed off a stewardess.”

His father smiles with a bit of quiet pride, but it’s mostly just his eyes. They get extra crows feet when he does.

“Who’s all home?” Rickon asks, watching as a bedroom light flips on in the house. 

Ned turns and follows his gaze. Unlike his youngest son, he never rushes into anything. He always takes his time to respond, careful with his every word. 

“Jon, Robb, Arya,” He counts the windows. “Liane, and I suppose we’ll be seeing more of Theon, now that Robb’s home.”

Rickon laughs a little. 

“Sansa won’t be far behind. Your mother already got her a flight, it’s only a matter of time before she convinces Bran as well.”

“A full house.” 

His father nods.“I’ll leave you to it.”

“Right, hey, Shaggy’s still asleep, if he wakes up while I’m gone–”

“He’s been spending a lot of time in the study, I’ll keep him company until you’re back,” He assures him, patting the hood of the car. “Drive safe.”

As the car pulls down the main drive, Rickon doesn’t bother rolling the window back up. The breeze is nice, surprisingly warm, and full of moisture from the night. He fills his lungs with it. Interrupting his own peace, he puts on End of The Long Night by The Doors, and sets the volume as high as it’ll go.

It’s the perfect antidote for the creeping morning blues and the dull ache in his chest. He drums mindlessly on the steering wheel, humming along, wind in his messy red hair. It’s time for a haircut, he thinks, catching his reflection in the rearview mirror. He’s been driving aimlessly for about an hour, grateful that his dad never makes him pay for a fill up on the gas when he depletes it. He’s just about drowned his sorrows in his own rendition of half The WallBirds songs on his playlist when dark grey smoke starts billowing from the hood of the car. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” His eyes widen, and he glances around for a place to pull off the road. Thankfully, he’s already at a red light, so he knocks on his hazards before traffic gets moving again, and pulls his car into the grass. 

Clambering out quickly, he only grabs his phone. The smoke is comically bad. There’s no way he’s calling his dad, so he thumbs out a message to the only other Stark he knows is awake from her location. It’s the one good thing about having Westerosi360 installed.

She answers quick with a call, and he pumps his fist in the air at his luck. “Hey!”

Arya says something quippy in response, but he isn’t paying attention. He’s too focused on the environmental crisis he’s causing from the side of the highway. 

“I’m gonna need you to do me a solid and come get me. I’m fifteen from you, on East and Main. Dad’s car is smoking more than Jon on a bad afternoon.”

____________

She throws her hands up from a yard or so away, walking towards him. From where he sits in the grass— as good a spot as any, when you’re stranded on the side of the road— he can see her endearing look of disapproval. To the rest of his siblings, she was the little wild one. But to Rickon, she would always be a big sister. He gives her an animated shrug, and allows his body to fall back into the grass. 

He hears her sit beside him and tsk her tongue. 

“Rotten luck,” Arya says.

“You’re telling me. I’ve had a shit few days as it is,” Another stress laugh leaves his lips, and he rubs the back of his neck. “So, of course, dad’s car breaks down.”

“Yeah, just makes sense,” She offers him a smile. Her dark hair is laid out across the grass. Neither of them mind laying on the ground like this— dirt is just dirt. Rickon sighs, and turns his head to look over at where the car sits across from them. 

“I should probably call a tow.”

“Yeah,” Arya doesn’t follow his gaze. “No rush though, yeah?” 

Rickon is keenly aware of her eyes on his, without even having to look at her. The unfortunate part about being close with a sibling, He thinks, is that they can always read your fucking mind. 

He doesn’t want her to ask what she’s so clearly thinking. He doesn’t have the energy to explain the mess with Lyanna, or gods forbid, the knot in his stomach over Shaggy. He hopes she has the awareness to ignore it and pretend everything’s fine. Propping himself up on his elbows, he grins at her. 

“How about we make the most of this, and go for a joyride in your car? I’ve got new music to show you.”

“I’d hope so,” Arya hoists herself up, pulling him with her. “I haven’t seen you in months. If you didn’t have new music for me, I’d leave you stranded here.” 

All buckled in, Rickon rolls down the window of his sister’s old car.

“At least it wasn’t mum's car,” She offers, turning her keys in the ignition. 

“At least it wasn’t mum’s car,” He agrees with a whistle. 

“I’m off to get coffee, I promised Jon.”

“Please, can we go to Porch Light?” 

Her smile is all the answer he needs. He and Arya used to frequent the coffee shop every morning before school, and sometimes even on weekends. It ran them a pretty penny, but it was well worth it to get out of the house.

“Missed you,” He says quick. 

She scrunches her nose with a cheeky smile, gray eyes full of love.

“Piss off. I love you.” 

“How’s your boyfriend?” He asks, plugging in the aux cord to his phone. 

Arya can’t help the smile that finds her eyes. “Good, yeah. He’s moving in.”

“Awesome, is he still hot?” 

His sister smacks him over the chest, he yelps despite laughing as well. They share the laughter. He knows better than anyone that it’s all in jest. She understands him to a certain extent. 

Being home when she’s there makes it so much easier. It helps him not retreat into himself. She’s his sister, the other side to his copper of sanity. 

“I’ll call the tow,” She says, just as he finds the playlist of new music he organized for her at the gate waiting for his flight. He clicks play and throws his feet up on the dash, letting the wind pick up his hair and muss it about like Arya would have, if she didn’t have her hands full. She gets that gesture of love from Jon, and Rickon wonders absently if Jon will muss his hair when he sees him, too. He will, he decides. Jon will mess it up, then mother will try and fix it, and Rickon will say something funny to the both of them, and everyone will laugh, and maybe Shaggy will lick his ankles under the table.

Chapter Text

chapter six: robb ii

"well, you’re drowning your mind in your casket. and i’m worried that you might be stuck in your youth.” – untitled #2 - john vincent iii

     Robb taps his knuckles against the steering wheel. His eyes glance again at the front door to the house, anticipating his little brother opening it any second now. With an exasperated sigh, he types a message into his phone and hits send. 

     We’ll miss the appointment.

The response pops up quick enough, announcing itself with a ding .

     great!

Robb can practically see the sarcasm dripping from the six-character message. He pinches the bridge of his nose– something he’s been doing a lot of lately, he notes. The damn headaches.

     He’s about to get out of the car and coax his brother out the door himself when he thinks better of it, his chest constricting uncomfortably. It’s okay if they miss the appointment. They’ll just wait for the next one. This isn’t something to rush. Inside the window that peers into their foyer, Robb sees two blurs of movement coming down the stairs. One on two legs, the other on four. Both figures move slowly, stopping at the bottom of the stairs when they reach the last step. 

He sees Rickon kneel, and bury his face in Shaggydog’s neck. 

No, it isn’t something to rush at all. 

     The pair emerge from the front door, padding in tandem down the porch steps. Without his collar or leash, Shaggy resembles a wolf even more than usual. His black fur is greying, particularly around his mussel, like it’s been dusted with a heavy pour of powdered sugar. He recognizes it in Grey Wind, in Summer, and Nymeria, too. The only one of the pack that hasn’t seen the effects of time is Ghost, with his already-white fur. But they’re all doing much better than their littermate hopping into the car now. 

Rickon has to lift Shaggy’s front paws onto the floor of the car, and hoist his behind into the backseat with a grunt. He may be older and much thinner than he was in his prime, but he’s as monstrous an animal as ever. Rickon slams the car door.

     “It closes just as well if you shut it gently.”

     “Shaggy, come on.” Rickon ignores his brother’s comment, patting his lap and gesturing for the dog to come sit up front.

Robb wants to tell him it isn’t safe for them both to be in the passenger seat, especially not if the airbags go off, but he bites his tongue.

     “Did Sansa give you the address?” He asks, putting his phone up on the dash where the GPS mount sits. 

     “Yeah,” Rickon says, opening his own phone, surfing through a slew of unopened messages to find his sister’s thread,

Shaggy has always been good in the car. While Ghost would squirm and whine about being cooped up for drives, Shaggydog was easygoing. Even today, with the looming destination, Shaggy rests easy against Rickon’s chest. The weight of the dog looks heavy leaned against him, but Rickon doesn’t seem to mind. Robb watches the two from the corner of his eye, careful not to be too obvious. 

     “I need a coffee.” 

Robb makes a turn, hand over hand. “This whole family needs medical help for the amount of caffeine we consume.” 

     “Did you wake up with a hernia? What’s your problem today?” Rickon grumbles, pulling one knee up to his chest, the other up on the dashboard. He’s too tall for the car, but it isn’t surprising. He’s too tall for everything . 

     “Guess I could use some, too,” Robb concedes. Spotting a familiar chain cafe’s logo, he pulls into the drive through. 

Rickon orders his usual— a half hazelnut, half brown sugar latte with an extra shot, and an egg sausage sandwich he won’t finish. He doesn’t thank the barista who hands him his order, his usual easy charm turned off, and instead just stares at the floor of the car as she passes it to him.

     “I haven’t had that one yet,” Robb passes the girl his card, trying to make small talk with his brother. It’s the unspoken rule all his siblings take advantage of, Rickon most of all— if you’re in the car with Robb, he’ll buy your food.  “Is it any good?” 

     “It’s meat and cheese and carbs.” Rickon takes the sandwich apart in his lap, peeling back said cheese and eating it on its own. 

The red mop of curls sitting on top of his brother’s head are tangled in thick black fur. Rickon has his face buried in Shaggy’s neck, turned to the side as he picks like a mouse at his food. He’s never been able to eat like a normal person and just take a bite— he’s dissected his food since he was little. Shaggy shifts around and sniffs Rickon’s greasy fingers. Then he licks them, which makes Rickon laugh a little. Until his laugh stops abruptly.

     “Robb.”

     “There’s a napkin in the glove compartment,” Robb offers, not taking his eyes off the road.

     “No, Robb, he’s eating.” Rickon’s voice is in a hushed whisper. “He’s eating.”

Robb is about to tell him if he wants a replacement sandwich he’s going to have to buy it himself, when his chest pangs. Shaggydog is eating . He hasn’t eaten in the past few days at all. His knuckles feel weird, and he adjusts his grip on the wheel. Glancing over, he sees Shaggy munching contentedly at the sausage sandwich, and Rickon watching him with big wide eyes. 

     “Ri-“

     “Turn around,” Rickon breathes. “We can turn around.”

     Heavy. Robb’s chest feels heavy. “I’m glad he’s eating. It’ll be good for him to enjoy h—“

     “Turn around, pull off the road Robb look, ” His pitch shoots up and he grins, kissing Shaggy all over and ruffling his fur. “He’s gonna be okay, he's eating!”

Except that he’s 15, and his breathing has been laboured for months, Robb thinks. He chews the inside of his lip and tightens his knuckles again. 

     “Robb, pull the car off.”

     “It’s time, Rickon.” He says it as gently as he can manage, but it doesn’t help. 

The air in the car shifts instantly. Rickon’s eyes burn into the side of Robb’s head.

     “He’s eating. ”

He doesn’t have to reply. He can just do what father would have done— drive in silence. He’s in control here, he’s the one driving.

     “That doesn’t mean he’s better.” Robb isn’t father.

     “Robb, what the fuck?” Rickon sits up. “This is progress, this changes— whatever, just listen, how about we just pull the car off and talk about this—”

     “There’s nothing to talk about,”

     “—before we put him down for no reason, Robb,”

     “…He’s old, Ric.”

     “The fuck’s that supposed to mean, he’s old? So, what, he’s too much work now? He’s eating. He might be fine. We could have another year, or two—“

     “Just calm down, you’re not thinking of what’s best for him.”

     “What’s best for him? You wanna kill him?”

Robb sets his jaw. “Rickon, we aren’t turning around. He’s an old dog. He’s suffering.”

     “Fucking incredulous. You’re impossible. If it was Grey Wind,”

     “Finish that sentence. You’ll be wrong.”

     “—you’d turn around.”

     “I wouldn’t. He’s getting old. It’s almost time for him, too, and I’ll hate every minute, but I’ll take him like we’re doing now for Sha—”

     “Fucking liar, fucking asshole, you’re such a dickhead.”

     “Stop interrupting me.” Robb growls, voice low. 

Rickon’s face is twisted and contorted, and he doesn’t say anything. That is, until he lurches for the steering wheel.

Robb yells, shoving Rickon back into his seat with his shoulder as the car swerves wildly on the road. An oncoming SUV lays on the horn, and Robb swings around to his brother, who’s wailing on his arm with punches.

     “YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN US FUCKING KILLED.”  Robb booms. 

     “Turn the car around! Turn it around you asshole, you don’t care about anything, fucking asshole—“ Rickon snaps, vitrolic, hitting Robb in the arm and shoulder over and over again with balled fists. Robb fights him back with shoving, open palms, until Rickon tries to unbuckle his seatbelt. Robb turns the child lock on.

     “ DICK!” Rickon whips his head around, pulling at the handle over and over. Every time he unlocks it, Robb locks it again. 

     “Let me out of the fucking car, fucking asshole—“ Rickon spits.

Robb grabs his wrist, and he knows by his brother’s face that it hurts. “If you don’t calm down, we’re going to crash, and you’re going to kill your damn dog yourself.” It’s harsh, but not harsher than Robb meant. He hoped it would cut. Rickon bites the inside of his cheek, glaring daggers into Robb’s eyes.

Let him glare. 

     “Throw your bloody tantrum if you like,” Robb snarls, pulling into the clinic and unbuckling his seatbelt. “See if it changes anything.” 

     “Dickhead, fucking evil fucking bastard,” Rickon yells after him. “I’m not fucking taking him inside! ” 

Robb opens the passenger door and picks Shaggy up with ease. “Sure, stay out here. I’m sure you’ll feel better hiding in the fucking parking lot.” 

He slams the door behind him, adjusting Shaggydog’s weight in his arms. Rickon is shouting obscenities at him from the car, but he can’t make them out. The fire in his chest starts to die as he walks, step by step, up the concrete steps and into the building. 

Shaggy’s breathing is so shallow. Robb catches the eye of one of the receptionists, and when she smiles gently at him, his eyes well up. Sniffing back the misty tears— angry tears? No— he walks up to her. 

     “I have erm, a,” He clears his throat. “…For Shaggydog. He’s not doing well, we’re putting him down," Robb isn’t sure why the sudden need to justify the decision overtakes him. He clears his throat again, suddenly unsure of how to hold himself. “We don’t want to.” 

     “Nobody wants to, baby.” She says with another quiet smile. Her greying chestnut hair reminds him of Jeyne’s mother. “Right this way.”

    Robb follows her down the hall, still holding Shaggy tightly in his arms. They offer him a leash and temporary collar to lead him with, but Robb declines it. He’s family, He thinks to himself. I want to hold him. 

     The room isn’t the way Robb would have imagined. It’s not as sterile and awful as a hospital would be. There’s light grey walls and pictures dotting them, with colourful frames and smiling pets accompanying owners inside them. He recognizes the receptionist with a big grey maine coon in one of the photos. “ Seahorse, 17 years of love,”   is etched into the frame. 

     “He looks like he was a good cat,” He says to her, still looking at the framed photo.

She regards it with loving eyes. It’s just awful, how she smiles at it with every emotion known to man. 

     “Good doesn’t even begin to describe him,” She says, and gestures for Robb to lay Shaggy on the table.

     He does, lowering him with a grunt. Shaggy doesn’t squirm– He’s always been good, and he trusts Robb. His big green eyes watch Robb’s movements, and he lays his snout down on his crossed paws. His nose is wet. Robb crouches down, scratching behind Shaggy’s big ears. 

     “Don’t blame him,” He whispers. “He wants to be here.”

Shaggy blinks slowly and sweetly in response. Robb plants a kiss on his head, and stands. He doesn’t move far, though, but keeps a hand tangled in the thick fur around Shaggydog’s neck, petting him soothingly.

     “Does he know what’s happening?” He asks the vet, when he walks in the room. Robb doesn’t bother with a greeting– there’s no time for it, and they know each other well enough that it’s fine.

The older man readies a needle, his kind, lined face studying his work carefully. 

     “Most of them do,” He says. “And they’re grateful.”

     It’s a kind thing to say. Robb nods, thumb still petting circles into his fur. His chest is constricted, and he allows it to be. If Rickon were here, he’d be stronger, he tells himself. But he’s alone, so he doesn’t make to wipe the tears that have started to pool in the corners of his eyes.

     It happens so quickly that Robb didn’t even see the needle go in, just watches as Dr. Poole discards the head of it into a red box. He chokes on a sob, biting it back with little commitment. Rickon was right. He’s not ready for Grey Wind’s turn. He balls his fist in fur, and grips the table with his other hand. Shaggy just watches up at him, head still peacefully resting on his paws. Until they blink closed. The twitching makes Robb tense. It doesn’t look painful– everything he’s read online about it said it wasn’t– but it’s disturbing. Still, he doesn’t look away as Shaggy’s body convulses, shakes, then stills. Robb hasn’t breathed in thirty seconds. When his breath does come, it’s staggered. 

     The room is silent. Shaggy’s breath doesn’t come back not like Robb’s did.

 He’s fuming.

     His mouth is curled into a tight, knotted frown. Legs drawn up to his chest, Rickon thinks every hateful thought known in creation about his brother, but it isn’t enough. It doesn’t fucking help. His chest is burning up, and there’s no release. 

A balled fist slams into the dashboard, and suddenly his wrist is throbbing in pain. He does it again. Throwing his body forward, still locked in with his seatbelt, he thrashes against the car, banging his palm against any surface that can take it. It’s the yell he lets out that finally stills him, muffled by the closed car doors and rolled up windows. His curls are hanging forward, and he doesn’t care about fixing them. He just sits in silence, barely breathing.

     And then his eyes widen, and he scrambles out of the car as fast as he can. Sprinting into the clinic, his feet trip him up. They slip from under him and get caught under his gait, but he keeps running. 

     No. No, no, no, no, no–

     The receptionist tries to wave him down, and she says something at him as he rushes past her. But all he can think of is Shaggy. His throat is closing up, he’s sure of it. Horrible, hot tears threaten to spring out of his eyes. The bile in his stomach turns over, and he fumbles with the door handle to the first room he sees with the lights on. Yanking it open, the whole world stops.

     Robb.

     Two other figures he can hardly see stand in the room beside him.

     Then his blurring vision lands on his best friend laying on the table.

     Motionless.

     Robb catches his arm as he sinks to the floor. A hand that must be his own grips the cold metal table.

     He doesn’t even look real anymore. 

     Lifeless. Taxidermy. Glass eyes. 

     When Rickon grabs at his neck, his hand jolts away. Stiff. He doesn’t move to set his nose in Rickon’s palm. 

     It just lays there. It lays there stiff. 

     Mum tells Father that he threw up in the clinic, but Rickon doesn’t remember that. But apparently that’s what Robb’s told her, so it must have happened. All he remembers is his lips going numb. The rest of his body followed quickly behind. He didn’t faint. But he stopped feeling anything but a pale, distant prick of needles in his skin. He thinks he remembers Robb holding his shoulders and helping him into the car. He remembers holding onto him with nothing– just gripless fingers and unseeing eyes. Feet that didn’t so much as walk but float into the car at his brother’s direction. 

The house is full of ghosts and invisible people that try and talk to him. But Rickon just goes to sleep with his eyes open and lets his bed swallow him whole. 

   Robb finds himself at Theon’s door by noon.

     The heaviness of the day weighs on him. He hadn’t expected any less, but somehow no amount of preparation is enough. His best friend respects his reluctance to speak. So, they sit in silence and Theon sets a bottle of whiskey on the table, Jonnie Walker Red Label, it reads. If he could, Robb would muster up a smile at the gesture, but he can’t even summon up the courage for that. Rickon has tried his best to be there for Shaggydog. He’s heard from their mother of how hard it had been for his youngest brother to be so far from his dog and the way that the guilt eats at him for not being around. Robb understands the feeling. Being back, seeing how much older Grey Wind has gotten without him… it’s been a lot to take in. 

     He faults no one but himself and his quest to get as far away from himself as possible. Though he kept slinking back, he knows he left Grey Wind behind. He’s made a lot of compromises in his life in an effort to preserve his marriage, leaving Winterfell and Grey Wind was one of them. He’s back now, and more than ready to repair everything he’s tossed aside for a relationship doomed from the start. 

Theon flips the lights off in the kitchen, leaving just the overhead extractor light and a lamp from the living room to illuminate the space. Robb feels his shoulders fall, and he sighs,

     “How’d you know?”

     “You always have this tension line when you have a headache,” Theon puts his thumb on the space between Robb’s eyebrows and massages it out. Robb winces and moves his face back.

     “That hurts.”

     “Yeah well. Your own fault for scowling so hard.”

      “We don’t need glasses,” Robb attempts a joke, eyes flitting to the bottle. 

Theon gives him a look, and shoves it over to him. Robb considers it, then groans and pours it into a glass.

     “There ya go. Don’t want you becoming an alcoholic on my watch.”

     “What’s the difference if I still finish the bottle?”

     “Nothing. Looks, I guess.”

     “Well.” Robb smirks. Theon returns it. He nods his head in the direction of the couch, and they both happily collapse on the upholstery.

Two drinks turn to four, turn to five, turn to Robb keeping his promise and an empty bottle sitting on the coffee table. 

     “‘S the principle, you know.”

Robb hesitates. “Yeah,” He concludes.

     “You don’t name something after a vegetable and then not have–”

     “–Fruit–”

      “Buggerall, fruit, name something after a fruit, and not have it have anything to do with the sport itself.”

      “I didn’t know you played pickleball.” Robb says, with amusing earnesty.

     “No, no, no,” Theon corrects, shaking his head. It’s a very unfortunate thing to be accused of being a pickleball player. “Not me, the country club. It’s got a court, ‘s right next to the pool.”

     “Pool’s closin’, soon, so we gotta go.” He adds, “You’re a chatty drunk.”

     “Pot calling the kettle and all that, Robert .”

Robb winces at the jest of a full name and clips Theon’s shoulder with his fist.

     “Ow. What were we talking about?”

Robb has a passing thought. One that sounds like his own voice making note of how pleasant Theon looks when he smiles lopsided like that.

     “No idea,” Robb offers. He throws an arm easily around Theon’s shoulders, sighing as he leans against him. “I can’t believe I ever thought being a teenager was the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

      “Eh,” Theon yawns, not flinching at his friends’ closeness. They always tended to move as one. “We hadn’t been alive all that long. So, it was the hardest. Comparatively. Oh and probably that haircut you had in year 11.”

     “We still haven’t been alive long.” Robb’s eyelids shut, the comfort of his company relaxing him. “I heard someone say that on an advert. That we can’t be all that hard on our mum and dad, since it’s their first time being people, too. And screw you, you’ve had your moments too.”

      “ Hardly . An advert?”

     “For therapy.”

     “Ah. A therapy advert,” Theon tilts his chin up, smirking. “Nobody ever knows what they’re doing. We’re all just bullshitting each other.”

     “Oh, me most of all. I’m a fecking basket case.” 

     Theon barks a laugh, closing his own eyes. “You’ll be fine, golden boy.”

      “I hope Liane forgives me,” Robb adds. “For taking her away from her mother.”

     To that, Theon doesn’t reply. How would anyone? Still, it’s comforting, being like this. With the open windows letting in the smell of the rain outside, Theon feels as Robb’s body starts to give into slumber. He lets his eyes blink shut, and crosses both arms against his chest. Theon’s fingers find their way easily into Robb’s mess of curls, gently sifting through each auburn lock. Robb sighs, leaning absently into the touch before sleep takes him completely. 

     Palm turned over, his index and middle finger intertwine with a ringlet and he rolls the soft curl between them. He’s grown so much older over the last year. Thirty-two is an age that makes little sense to Theon. Especially since they had just been eighteen and nineteen, napping on the couch, tangled in a mess after a long day, just like this. As nice as it looked, Theon wasn’t sure he could handle the auburn beard framing his childhood friend’s jaw. The try-hard stubble of a twenty-year-old was different. When Robb had sported that look, it almost made his youth even more glaringly apparent. Theon would tease him for it. But this was the facial hair of a man, and it was just ever so slightly disquieting. 

Robb’s now beard was a shade lighter than his auburn hair, the red tint was like that of those red weirwood trees that the old religions used to pray to. His hair was autumn, red leaves that fell like snow and his beard now had a fleck or two of grey, like the snow itself.

     And finally when he presses his lips lightly against Robb’s hair before settling into sleep himself, he knows Robb won’t remember it, and it’s just as well. Theon isn’t sure he wants him to, anyway. 

Chapter Text

chapter seven: catelyn i 

"i’m a narrow escape, covered in gold, forgetting my skin. i recall you, i recall when.” – gold, penny and sparrow.

There’s no comfort in grief. 

She’s known her fair share of it from a young age, building her into the woman and mother she is today. It may have given her strength in life, but she wouldn’t wish it upon anyone else. Especially not her own son. Not her baby. 

It’s easy to forget that he’s all grown up. No longer the little boy who would cling to her dresses and laugh at even the sound of thunder, the child who would cry at the thought of his oldest sister leaving for university. 

Now the smile on his lips is nowhere to be seen. Since he’s crossed the threshold of his childhood home, there’s only ever been a frown on his face and growing discolouration beneath his eyes. 

The stoic expression makes her think of her husband and now more recently it graces even her oldest son, Robb’s face. 

It breaks her heart to see two of her boys in the deluges of loss. She wishes it were possible to take all the pain they were feeling and feel it for them. It’s all part of being a mother . Rickon might have been the last of her children to call her mother, but Robb was the first. Her boys, her first and last, both wore her colours in their eyes and hair.

He crosses the kitchen towards the two-doored fridge, her firstborn chooses to ignore her most days but she still remembers every single moment in the last three decades. From the first time he was placed in her arms, to his first word, and even his first steps, and then years later when those steps had him leaving the threshold of the home she created for him.

All their moments together made her a mother. She knows she’s been a mother before that though. Before hearing Robb’s heartbeat on the monitor for the first time, before marrying her Ned, before even meeting his brother, Brandon. A life far before it all.

Catelyn remembers losing her mother vividly. She’s been known to have a spectacular memory. Losing her mother was a shock though, not something one would ever forget. 

It started on the day her brother, Edmure, was born. When she found out that her mother had been lost while birthing her brother. She understood death but had never felt it so close. One moment her mother was at her side and the next she was gone. There had been no time for last words, last kisses or last embraces. 

Catelyn understood then that first experiences are so much easier to remember than last. She wonders if this is where she failed her last son– why he never seeks comfort in her like he used to. 

Edmure was only an infant. She had her first dance with grief at that time and she witnessed it lure her own father away. Lysa, her sister, was awarded the childhood Catelyn never risked experiencing. 

Her brother grew strong and that was her reward. To this day, with children of his own, she knows that Edmure was her first child. Being a mother to Catelyn was already associated with grief, what harm would a little more do?

She sets her teacup down and turns her head to where her son roughly chops pieces of fruit before dropping it into a blender. He ignores her entirely, she’s merely haunting the kitchen at this moment, a ghost, or a spectre. 

Catelyn still exerts her presence. She grows tired of the distance he imposes on them. “Have you seen Rickon?” She tries.

His eyes lift from the chopping board and meet hers. His frown appears once again, he had been in a daze, simply chopping things while his mind drifted off. But now he’s alert and bothered once again. 

Robb hits the button and everything around them is drowned out by the blender. He just shakes his head and ignores her again. The only person who lifts his spirits at this point is that Greyjoy boy of his. And little Liane, of course. 

She walks over, The skirt of her dress moves with each step. 

“It would be nice if we were more civil than this.”

Robb still frowns. “We’re being plenty civil,” her firstborn tells her. 

“Ignoring me is not called being civil, it’s called being petty.”

He scoffs and pours his smoothie into a tall glass. “I’m talking to you right now— is that really called ignoring?” He says. 

“Robert.”

“Mother.”

It aches.

“I just want you to talk to me,” Catelyn pleads. 

“Well, sometimes we can’t all get what we want, mum.”

It feels final, his words, his tone. Catelyn has never been the kind of woman to take no as an answer. She allows her interrogation to continue. 

“Of course, the world is cruel and something didn’t work out for you– but give some of us some clarity on what happened. It’s like walking on eggshells around you.” 

“I don’t need to give you reasons to say you told me so.”

Catelyn’s eyes watch the hurt that line Robb’s features. He and Jeyne had been together for so long now, fifteen years already… Almost half of Robb’s life was spent with this one girl. 

She doesn’t remember any comments she might have made to Robb about her, despite her good memory. Naturally, she’s curious to know what he means. 

“That would require me actually remembering what I told you in the first place,” Catelyn says. “Wouldn’t it?” 

He glares at her and Catelyn finds herself at a stalemate, like a complicated game of cyvasse, she no longer knows where to move the pieces on their board. Everything inside her wants to scream at him and make him listen to her, maybe she could have done it once, long ago. Not anymore, she was a calmer person these days. It would make no difference if she lashed out at her oldest child, because in the end, he was stubborn, just like his father. Once he made up his mind, he wasn’t going to change it, no matter how much she screamed at him.

“Well, alright then,” Catelyn concedes. “I’ll be in the garden.” 

He doesn’t acknowledge her. But she knows him well enough to know that the guilt will slowly eat at him. It’ll make him turn even more bitter. There’s a wavering triumph in the thought, but the melancholy is thicker. 

Her feet take her outside. The grass brushes them, despite her slippers. It’s long enough to tickle. The sun warms her skin and she squints until she finds some shade under a tree, right where her iron-wrought tea table is. 

She can feel spring kissing her cheeks. After the three decades that she’s spent living in Winterfell, Catelyn still finds it hard to enjoy the cold. She’s a southern girl— one who likes hot days by the river and the smell of nature all around. 

Catelyn thinks about her children. Robb and Rickon were both entirely out of reach to her. Her one daughter who was under her roof, Arya, was far more joyful than the sour boys. Arya was out and about and always moving in full speed. Catelyn could hardly get a hold of her.

Sat underneath the alder tree, she’s shielded away pretty well, enough so that Robb’s friend does not notice her presence from where he paces a few metres away. 

Theon Greyjoy and Robb go back decades from what she remembers. Jon was around them too, but there was something more solid about the Greyjoy kid and her son. Even about 25 years later they were still inseparable. 

He’s on the phone, his sunglasses hide his eyes away and it seems to be an interesting conversation by the way he makes his way through his cigarette. He’s a strange man, cut off from his own blood, never heard to be in a relationship, and yet very bubbly and full of life despite his clear loneliness. 

Catelyn continues watching the Greyjoy boy. 

“Mrs Stark,” Theon says with a smile on his lips as soon as he notices her presence. He takes a seat on one of the empty chairs and pockets his phone. “How’re you doing?”

His tone is often laced with mirth, a quality that he’s perfected over the years that she’s known him. Perhaps, as a mother of five, it was easier to see through him. 

“Doing well, how about yourself?” 

Theon gives her a smile. The same one he always wears, where he seems to think he knows more than you do. “Spring is near, the sun is out, I can’t be anything other than good,” Theon responds. He gets more comfortable, after the phone call he’s just had, she can tell he’s lying too. “But I can tell there’s something on your mind.”

Catelyn crosses her arms and closes her eyes against the glare of the sun. “I think it would have to be a cold day in one of the Seven Hells before I begin opening up to you, Theon.” 

“Ouch, Mrs. Stark,” Theon gives a laugh. He shrugs, she knows that he’s grown past taking things seriously like he used to when he was younger. “I only meant that I know it must be hard seeing Robb the way he is…”

Catelyn sighs and sits back in her chair. The iron is rigid against her back but at least the sun is well out of her face now. She can stare back at him properly now. 

As a mother, she never used to like Theon. There had always been something particular about him. About the way he moved and the smirk that always ghosted his sharp features. She never understood why Robb had been so insistent on keeping the kid around as a friend. With the years that have passed by, she sees it clearer. Theon understands Robb in a way her son might not even know it. 

“It’s not easy for any mother to see her child heartbroken. But at least he’s not alone in it.”

Theon smiles knowingly. “Liane might be the only thing keeping him from really breaking apart,” he says in a soft voice. “But I can’t reveal too much, else he might just break my heart.” 

Catelyn laughs properly this time. Her son and Theon had an odd friendship, but she knows one thing, Robb isn’t alone, despite it all, he does have Theon. 

“I’m going to see if he needs some assistance in his brooding, else he might get Jon on his boat. There are too many fragile male egos in your house at the moment, Mrs. Stark.” 

She watches Theon walk away, clear swagger in his strut wherever he moves. At least there’s one person to bring some levity to Robb’s day.

*

Catelyn can’t tell why she thinks of his father at that moment. He was a good father, she did think that for a long time until her shoulders grew weary and finally all of her children had left the nest and she realised she had been an adult for far too long. That she had responsibilities sprung upon her at such a young age because of her father. 

She loves him regardless, the memory of her father is still sacred to her. Even years after he’s passed, even though the last year of him being alive, he was calling by her mother’s name, Minnie .

When Robb was born, her father had not yet fallen ill. He was still full of life. The haunted look behind his eyes since her mother passed never truly left him, but he was still there. He looked at her with love and pride when she first showed Robb to him. He celebrated Robb’s bright red hair– slowly darkened as he grew. 

Each grandchild brought him more and more joy, he feared for her each time, but after each healthy baby, that fear left him momentarily. 

By the time Arya was born, Hoster Tully had grown more frail. The one thing that had brought light to his eyes was when she told him of the name she’d chosen for her second baby girl. 

Ah, Minnie, she would love you, her father had said with eyes full of tears, gazing at her first grey-eyed baby. Arya had lighter hair when she was born, as she grew older, the hair darkened into the soft brown that her husband and his family shared. 

Arya had been different for Ned, she knows this much. It was never about the child finally resembling him. It was about when she grew up. Wild and willful, she did not fit the mould he had always carved for Jon, Robb or Sansa– but somehow it meant the world to him to watch her. 

Now her sister-in-law has returned and she understands what he saw in their youngest daughter and why he made sure to keep her close. 

Ned was different with their daughters, different to how her own father had been to her and Lysa. Her father often pushed Lysa too hard, comparing her to Catelyn far too harshly. They had been close once until Lysa couldn’t stand the thought of Catelyn any longer. 

Again, three decades ago… So much had happened, so fast, all those years ago. 

Catelyn spends a bit more time in the garden, hoping that by the time she’s back in the kitchen Robb will have left. 

Slowly she’ll ease back into the house, maybe head to the market or get some reading done. For now, she enjoyed the sun. 

Their kids are all nowhere to be found, and her husband too. She slowly makes her way to his study where she knows she’ll find him holed up. She knows him well enough for it to be true. 

A knock and an opened door later, he looks at her above his glasses. “Cat,” he says her name so naturally, it’s like breathing for him. His serious face softens into a smile at the sight of her. “How can I help you, my love? Would you like a coffee?”

Catelyn takes a seat on the sofa in the corner of his office. The leather is always cold, but still comfortable. Even years later, her husband still offers her coffee, despite knowing she’s much rather a tea person, unlike most of their children. 

She shakes her head and makes herself comfortable. He puts his own little blue mug down along with his glasses before walking over to her. 

Without another word, he gestures for her to move over. He takes a seat against the armrest and she easily fits against his chest. The warmth of him is always comforting. 

Ned breathes deeply before kissing the top of her head. His fingers, as they always do, go through her curls. He gently smooths her hair, occasionally twirling an auburn curl around his finger. 

Cat sighs deeply. It’s easy enough to tilt her head up and call for his lips. He closes the gap and kisses her softly. 

His beard tickles her skin and she smiles against his lips. There are a few pecks before he eases in smoothly and holds her tighter against him. 

Over thirty years of marriage and kissing him still never falls short. She’s still flustered and needy in his arms. Strong arms, with hands that fit against her own perfectly. 

He laughs against her lips as she tries to pull him closer and Catelyn can’t help but glare at him, all with mirth of course. 

“What’s so funny old man?” She pokes at him. The tip of her finger smooths against the Valean cashmere of his jumper. Catelyn can’t stop herself from smiling, despite trying to keep her eyebrows frowned at him. 

“Nothing at all,” he shakes his head and kisses the space between her eyebrows. “Something seems to be on your mind, however?”

Catelyn tries to bite back her smile. He understands her. “I just…” She contemplates her thoughts for a moment. It sounds worse in her head, but if there’s anyone who’ll understand her feelings, it’ll be him. “I can’t help but feel even lonelier now, even with how full the house is.” 

She already knows why she’s feeling the way she is. It’s easier to pretend her children are still her children when they’re far away. Under her roof, with all of them caught up in their own lives, she can’t help but feel completely useless as a mother. 

All her thoughts about motherhood, Catelyn can so easily remember the day she became a mother but not the day she stopped being one. 

I have become a childless mother. All her children have not only left the nest— but fled with no looking back. 

“They’re not the easiest to deal with, they’ve never been…” Ned tries his best to comfort her. “Perhaps if Bran or Sansa were here you’d feel more included?” 

She thinks of her Bran, her baby, furthest away from her, and how it ached to not be sure if he was safe every moment. He was always more considerate of her feelings. Sansa was difficult in her own ways, but she never went out of her way to make her mother upset. 

Her husband knew her well, she would get Bran back. That would help Rickon with his grief and wild behaviour. And it would bring her heart some peace to have him around. 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Catelyn says. She can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips. “You always know what to say.” She tells her husband. 

He waves off her sentiment and presses his nose so it touches hers. 

“No. That was never me. It doesn’t come to me as easily as it does you. I just know my wife, and our children, and care for them all very much,” He says, nuzzling the top of his nose against hers. “Despite how difficult they all can be.”

She laughs lightly into his touch, the tension in her body beginning to melt away. 

“It's on my shoulders. I knew the family I married into.” 

“May the gods help you.”

He kisses her deeply, and she is loved.

Chapter Text

chapter eight: bran i 

"sinking calls more than you think. i'll be gone so turn your hands in," — summer, hayden calnin

The weather has only just become manageable in the city. Cool breezes mix with the salt from the sea, and with the sweetness of blooming flowers. Winter in Oldtown might not be as desolate as northern weather, but there is still too much misery that comes with winter, despite the location. 

Mornings are still cold, especially with the two-bedroom windows open, letting in wind and swaying the curtains. 

Bran has never been one to wake up early. He would much rather stay up till the early AMs than wake up with the sun. So, when his eyes finally flicker open, it’s around 10AM. Something he allows himself to do on the weekends is sleep as much as his heart desires and his body needs. 

There’s still a bit of clattering in the kitchen, he knows this to be the early riser in the flat doing the gods know what. 

Bran stretches out on their bed. He’s at that point between being awake and asleep where he can definitely nod off again, but if he just keeps his eyes open for a little longer, he can wake up as well. 

His hands find his phone and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes a few more times before he can focus on the screen. There’s a missed call from his mother, a few texts from his older sister, Arya, and a few other notifications that aren’t that important. 

He’s not in the mood to call his mother back first thing in the morning, so he checks the messages from Arya. 

Arya Stark: mum’s going to buy you a ticket to come home.

i heard her talking to dad about it. don’t tell her that i told you. 

you should come. gendry’s coming next week. 

plus call me, there’s a lot of stuff going on right now and everyone’s on the brooding train so i have no one to talk about it to.

Bran laughs to himself, he’s not sure which part is funnier; Arya’s inability to send one message with all her thoughts, or the fact that she’s trapped in a house with 3 of their brothers who are incredibly prone to mood swings. 

Rather than typing out a reply to each of her messages, Bran presses the call button in the top right corner, clicking audio since he’s in no position to be receiving a video call, even if it is his sister.

“GOOD MORNING, SWEETLING.” His sister mocks him, laughing at the other end of the phone as she greets him. “Gods, you won’t believe how soul-sucking our brothers are. Did mum call you yet?” 

“Hi Minisa, I’m great, Minisa, how have you been, Minisa?” He responds with a similar retort. 

Arya groans. “Please, it’s bad enough that it’s on my birth certificate, it’s worse that you’re saying it to me like it’s actually my name,” Arya tells him. By the sounds around her, he can tell she’s outside. 

“Your middle name is considered to be your name,” Bran says. “And yes, Mum called me at around 8 in the morning. I was sleeping so I haven’t gotten back to her yet.” 

“Before you call her back… are you thinking of visiting– or are you going to act like Jon, the emo boy?” 

Bran laughs, even well into his thirties, Jon still gives off the tortured emo boy energy. Everyone knows it, everyone but Jon.

“Ugh, I dunno, Arya. I have to see, I can’t just pack up and leave suddenly, I have a life here.”

“Yeah, and none of the rest of us do?” Arya snaps back, there’s still levity in her tone. “Just… Rickon’s acting like a whiny twat, with reason of course, since Shaggy had to be put down. Robb is all filled with angst because he got divorced and is now a thirty-something-year-old single dad, what a horror. And Aunt Lya finally returned so Jon is constantly angry at everyone including himself over it. Please tell me how I’m supposed to stay sane?”

“Ouch,” Bran says. He runs his hands through his hair, he’s still horizontal. “How did I miss all that?”

“Because you’re impossible to get a hold of,” Arya tells him. “Well, I’ve got to run. Please consider it. See you soon, you better not disappoint me.” 

“Bye, Arya. I’ll think on it.” 

Bran puts his phone down and stares up at the ceiling. A trip home wouldn’t hurt. Maybe it would be nice to see his family again, hang out with Arya, see how his little brother is holding up. It just always felt like so much work and he knows he needs to muster up the energy for it. 

The door opens as he’s still stretching out, not wanting to leave the warmth of the bed just yet. A bright smile greets him with wide green eyes, his partner joins him under the covers despite being up for hours. 

“Morning,” Jojen says, moving in closer and wrapping his arms around Bran’s middle.

“Morning, what time did you wake up?” Bran asks, he welcomes Jojen’s embrace and closes his eyes. 

The opened door brings in the warm smell of breakfast. Jojen gives him another sweet grin and adjusts the glasses on his face. “I woke up at 7… and I just made omelets,” he answers in a soft voice. “Who was on the phone?” 

Bran feels his stomach growl. “Arya,” Bran replies and pulls him closer. “She’s trying to manipulate me into coming home.” 

Jojen lays against Bran’s chest, cocooned warmly in his arms. His long fingers trace patterns against the freckles that pepper Bran’s body. “Wouldn’t it be good to see everyone after so long?” Jojen doesn’t meet his eyes through the question. Not until his last sentence. “Plus, you’ve been saying you wanted to bring Summer over, now that we have this great place.”

He ponders the observation. There was always something far too wise about Jojen’s retorts. One would think, after so long, he’d have gotten used to it. Bran runs his fingers through Jojen’s soft brown hair and kisses the top of his head. Still, the quiet wisdom feels as new and comforting as the arms wrapped around him, despite both their frequencies. 

“I hate when you’re right,” Bran mumbles and breathes in the warmth of the man he loves. 

If he thinks hard enough, Bran can say that he’s known Jojen most of his life. Their fathers being childhood friends made it easy to be in each others lives. Bran wouldn’t say he was always close friends with Jojen Reed, but he was always a part of his life. 

Years later, fresh into adulthood, Bran came across Jojen for the first time again. It was different from the hundred times that they’d seen each other during their childhoods. Seeing him on his phone screen while swiping mostly left through Hi, Heart was definitely a different outlook. 

In retrospect, it hadn’t even started out with all those intentions. It started off as a joke, Bran saying, well, funny seeing you on here, to them going out for drinks as two northern boys hundreds of miles from home. Eventually, it ended up making it clear how well-matched they were for one another. 

“What kind of omelets did you make? I’m starving,” Bran finally concedes to waking up. 

“The Dornish kind, with plenty of peppers.” 

And as someone who cooks as well as he kisses, Jojen had cemented himself quite quickly in Bran’s life. 

“I’ll learn to cook for you,” Bran muses at the ceiling. “Swear.”

“Hardly enough room in the kitchen for both of us,” Jojen grins back. “Besides, how else can I impress you every morning? You can’t take that away from me.” 

Bran narrows his eyes, feigning a long hard think. “Mmm. Maybe you’re onto something. Alright, you win, I’ll never cook. Woe is me.”

With a last kiss, Jojen laughs. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”

“It’s no trouble, really. But to thank me, maybe you can make dinner, too.”

Bran’s flight didn’t feel long. It simply felt uncomfortable. He was good at distracting himself, with a book, his Switch, or even a movie. Flights were different though, it did not offer much room for him to stretch or exercise his legs. The altitude did not help much either. 

After his grueling flight, Bran was faced with stiff legs and the awful pain that came with it. He chose not to mention it to his mother who picked him up. She would ask him if he remembered to pack compression socks– he did not . 

Instead, Bran suffered in silence and limped subtly until he got home. Once home he grappled up the stairs and he deposited himself firmly on the left side of Rickon’s bed. His brother continued sleeping, snoring in fact, Bran could tell the youngest Stark is surely going to wake up with a wicked hangover. 

He snoozes on, Bran makes himself comfortable too on the empty side of the bed. It seems Rickon has been making a habit of just collapsing onto his bed without getting under the covers. 

Bran sorts through his emails and manages to take a nap of his own before Rickon wakes up. He doesn’t want anyone to know that he worries for his younger brother. It helps that being hidden away in the darkness of Rickon’s room helps him get some peace and quiet. 

It’s about an hour later when Rickon shifts and notices Bran on the other side of his bed. He lifts his head for a moment, a bundle of messy auburn curls sit unkempt. He mumbles something before letting his head fall back onto his pillow. 

“Are Brax and Monty to blame for the state of you?”

They usually are. Rickon groans and rolls over. “I thought I was tripping for a second, when did you get here?” Rickon asks with an arm over his head. His eyes stay closed. 

“Just this morning,” Bran tells him, moving down the bed to get more comfortable. The journey has made his left leg more sore than usual. “I’m sorry about Shaggydog.”

Rickon laughs, Bran knows there’s no actual mirth in his laughter. “So, you finally heard?” He states. He lays on his back, keeping his eyes firmly shut. 

“Arya told me a few days ago.”

Rickon nods and stays quiet for a bit. 

“I was out with Brax and Monty last night.” 

Bran remembers Jon Brax from when they were younger. He and Rickon were always up to some sort of trouble, the type of trouble only dumb teenage boys would get up to.

“You’re still not dating anyone then?” Bran enquires. As kids, Rickon would often keep Bran up to date with his endeavours. Now, with the distance, Bran knows little about what his brother is up to. Other than the occasional Instagram story or post. 

Bran never did particularly enjoy catching up with people by means of phone calls and texts. He rather waits till he meets them again and get caught up. It feels more real that way. Rickon seems to take it personally, however. 

Rickon laughs, this time it feels like there’s more levity. 

“Do I look like someone who’s happily in love?”

This time Rickon turns his head to meet Bran’s eyes. The deep blue of his brother’s eyes are rimmed with red and they’re hollowed out by sleep deprivation. 

“You look bloody awful if I’m honest.”

“You are always honest. It’s exhausting.”

Bran laughs too this time. He lowers himself further onto the bed, his shoes long kicked to the side of Rickon’s room. Now they’re both laying on their backs in the warmth of their childhood home. 

It’s a little past noon. Lunch will probably be ready soon, but it’ll be another hour before anyone comes looking for them. 

The sun beats through the dark curtains, giving the perfect hollow shade, just enough light to be aware and just enough darkness to be comfortable sleeping for a bit longer. 

“You look actually happy,” Rickon deduces. Quite correctly for a matter of fact. 

“I moved into a new flat recently,” Bran starts. He doesn’t actually want anyone to know about Jojen just yet. Especially because he knows that their own father and Jojen’s go way back. High school kind of way back, best friends in university kind. Rickon isn’t particularly known for keeping his mouth shut. “I can finally take Summer with me.” 

He almost feels bad, telling Rickon his plans to take his dog home to be closer with him, like putting salt in the wound. 

“That’s great, I think he’ll really like that. It’s best… to stay close to them for as long as you can.”

“What was it?” Bran finally asks. By this time Rickon looks more awake but sombre too. 

“Osteosarcoma,” Rickon laughs, “I finally learned how to say it after I researched it half a hundred times…” He rubs the sleep from his eyes before bringing his fingers to his lips, biting at the already short nails. “I wasn’t here to notice it earlier. By the time they realised what it was, it was too late and he wasn’t eating or sleeping. He was just in constant pain.” 

“It’s not your fault for needing to move away,” Bran says. He’s always been softer on his little brother, he was the youngest of them. “I moved away and couldn’t take Summer with me. Robb had to as well. We can’t help it sometimes.”

“Arya and Jon are smarter for it, keeping Nymeria and Ghost so close.”

“Don’t dwell. There’s not much you can do now,” Bran tries to coax Rickon out of his spiral. But he doesn’t look ready for rational thinking. “How did you find out he was sick?”

“Mum called me,” Rickon meets his eyes and a smile quirks on the corner of his lips. “I might have been high. It was all really messy, I even ended up kissing Lyanna.”

“Lyanna Mormont?”

“No, Dad’s long lost sister, yes , Lyanna Mormont.”

“So, are you guys dating?” Bran prods his little brother again. 

“No, we’re not in the 50’s.” he brushes it off. Bran can tell it’s an uncomfortable situation and he chooses not to pry too much. Maybe his brother doesn’t know how he feels about it in the first place. “I can’t date Lyanna, she’s my best friend. I don’t want to mess things up.” 

“Alright,” Bran concedes. “Are you going out tonight as well?” Bran knows his brother well enough, even if they haven’t been together in a while. Rickon shakes his head and looks away. “Great, stay in. We can hang out in the garden and have a smoke. I’ll convince Arya to join us too.” 

Immediately a smile takes over Rickon’s face. “I’m so glad you’re back,” Rickon says which basically is Rickon’s way of saying ‘I love you’. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bran teases by pinching his little brother’s cheek. “Now help me get up, the flight has made my leg super stiff, I need to use a brace and something warm. My joints are killing me.” 

Rickon gets up slowly. Bran can see that his night of drinking has taken a toll on him. Nevertheless, he helps Bran up until he’s standing and can walk on his own. He leaves Rickon to wash up and he heads to his room to find a brace for his knee. 

The sky looks ridiculous. The way the stars shine brightly, all clear and vibrant, is not something Bran sees often. Oldtown is very much a town , with all the buildings and streetlights, the night sky is not something to be admired. Mostly one or two stars or nearby planets shine in the sky but never like home. 

Bran can’t help but be mystified by the view above him. He doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he’s seen it look so vivid. 

Arya’s the one who brings the blanket which they lay out on the grass before they sit down. The iron-wrought garden chair set that their mother always loved was far too uncomfortable. This was better. 

They sit on a patch of grass between two neighbouring trees. The oak trees are still small and yet they provide some layer of privacy around them. Bran doesn’t know if he even remembers the trees being there when he last visited. 

Arya lays on her back with her arms folded under her head. She’s relaxed between the two of them. Even she looks different to how he remembers her. Much of the youth in her cheeks has been lost. Her hair is even longer than he often pictures her with. Now the long locks fall in dark waves, caressing her back. 

Rickon is smart enough to bring his little speaker that fits in the palm of his hand. Without asking, he sets it up connected to a very broken looking iPhone and begins playing music. Bran almost feels out of place with how much everyone gets on with their lives even without him there.

Arya laughs and elbows their youngest brother, Bran slowly realises why when he hears the melody. If there was a band that connected all of them, it was Radiohead, and even in his melancholy, Rickon hasn’t forgotten that. For that, Bran is glad. 

Their 1997 album plays in the background, a special dedication to Arya who was born in the same year. 

Bran takes out a pouch which already has a few spliffs that he pre-rolled in his room. From his pouch he also takes out a lighter, it’s his favourite one, gifted to him by Jojen, he has a hundred different lighters but none mean as much to him as the one in his hand.

“Cool lighter, Bran,” Rickon takes the lighter out of his grasp. Bran at least manages to get the zoot lit before his brother grabs his lighter. It’s one of the brass ones that looks rather old-fashioned, he loves that part of it especially. 

“Thanks,” Bran says dully, taking his second toke and keeping it in for a bit. He passes it over to Arya. “It was a gift.” He finally finishes his sentence after releasing his drag. 

“Expensive looking gift,” Rickon flips it over to properly examine it. 

Bran watches Rickon lose interest when the joint is handed to him. He takes it between his thumb and two fingers then his gaze goes to the sky. They’re all silent. “When are we meeting Gendry?” Bran evades Rickon’s curiosity. 

Arya turns her head to meet Bran’s eyes. She registers for a moment and responds. “End of the week,” Arya replies. “Same day as Sansa, just in the morning. Rickon’s already met him. He spent the break gallivanting around the Westerlands and ended up on my couch for two nights.” 

By the time the joint reaches Bran again, they’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat. His instinct is to hide it. No matter how old he is, no matter how many things he’s seen in life, Ned Stark can never know how his children choose to unwind. Even if it is an accepted form of pain management. 

Since they were all children, their father made it clear that he wasn’t a big fan of any sort of substance that altered one’s decision-making process. 

“Seven help me, give us some warning, Robb, I thought you were Dad,” Arya sits up and throws grass in their older brother’s direction. 

“Even I thought he was Dad, he has the dad way of interrupting people,” Rickon gestures towards Robb. 

Robb lays down on their makeshift picnic blanket. He pilfers the spliff out of Bran’s fingers and takes a deep toke. 

“I should’ve known you three would be up to your old ways,” Robb says as he releases his drag. “Not even a day in, Brandon.”

“I am a man of my own nature,” Bran shrugs. “Pass it back this way when you’re done.”

Robb passes it back to Bran and sits down next to Rickon. There’s something about his smile, from what Arya’s told him, Robb hasn’t been in this sort of mood in a while. 

Bran watches Robb ruffle Rickon’s hair, making it messier than it already was. Rickon seems to fight, he’s actually tall enough where he can stand a chance, but Robb is still built like he goes to the gym at least 4 times a week. 

Whilst Rickon is enthusiastic at the start, after a while he taps out. “Get off, get off,” Rickon breathes heavily and winds himself out of Robb’s grasp. “You’re in a better mood.” 

“Surprising to see that you’ve noticed,” Robb replies casually. 

From what Bran can tell, Robb and Rickon have been tense with one another. Robb’s way of saying sorry or trying to get things back to normal has always been some sort of tackle to set the tone to something far less serious. 

Rickon seems to forgive him slightly, even if he’s good at holding grudges. 

They pass the zoot between each other until it begins burning a bit too much with every toke. He has a few more rolled but it’s already hitting well enough that he doesn’t need to light up another. 

“Where’s Liane?” 

They all look to Arya as she speaks. Bran can’t help but feel the nostalgia build. Maybe Jojen had a point when he said it would be good to see his family after so long. He can’t even recall the last time they all sat the way they were doing now. 

“I’ve already put her to bed,” Robb says. He leans over and takes Rickon’s phone. The phone unlocks without a need for a passcode. “You don’t use a passcode?” He comments while opening up Spotify. 

“No, why would I need one?” 

Arya laughs before telling her joke. Once she’s able to breathe she lets them in on it. “Well, who would want to steal a phone like that anyway?” She continues laughing at the crushed-looking iPhone 11. Even touching it looked dangerous. 

“Yeah, okay, thanks Arya,” Rickon says, the only one not laughing at the joke. He shoves her roughly but she keeps her balance. 

He puts on Amnesiac and they all listen along. Bran stares into the distance and sees someone pacing. There was only one of them who was constantly that stressed. He flicks what seems to be a dead lighter a few times, aimed at the cigarette between his lips. 

Rickon, who seemed to be hiding a laser one of his own, throws it at their brother. Bran is impressed by his accuracy but doesn’t comment upon it. 

Jon finally notices them and picks up the lighter before jogging their way.

“What are you all doing?” Jon asks, using the lighter that Rickon threw at him. 

“Relaxing, Jonathan, you should try it sometime.” Arya jokes. She’s clearly on a roll with her laughter. 

Bran laughs too, he’s missed her silliness. The only one missing now was Sansa. She would be there soon too. And then they would be complete. He smiles at the thought and is happy that his partner is not at all the type to say I told you so.

Chapter Text

chapter nine: sansa i 

"well, i saw the end, it looked just like the middle. i got a paper and pen and a page with no space," - no complaints, noah kahan

All background chatter is easily tuned out by the airpods nestled comfortably in her ears. Music is similarly distracting. She settles for some rain sounds as she scribbles away in her journal. The scritch, scratch of her pencil against the page is soothingly methodical. It almost matches up in a kind of rhythm to the steady rainfall in her ears.

The steam from Sansa’s tea circles around and disappears almost as quickly as it rises. Caffeine-free. She settles for more of a herbal mix any time the clock passes 4PM. Lavender and chamomile are almost the perfect infusion for a day like this– She’d have preferred something with more anti-inflammatory properties, but it’s good enough, and she can’t complain. She’d taken turmeric that morning, anyhow, and that should be sufficient until the evening.

Her pencil swirls against the paper, starting out a sentence that likely won’t be finished in this sitting, or the next. Her phone buzzes, making any provisions against distraction completely obsolete. Her tooth runs along the scarred ridge of her bottom lip, and she glances at the blue-light-filtered screen.

Her best friend is the one blowing up her phone. Jeyne Poole is never one to leave just one message with what’s on her mind, rather a series of messages that give a scattered idea. Multiple messages, some capitalized for emphasis, some stopped mid-sentence and continued in the next bubble, filtered up in a stream across her lockscreen.

She slowly scrolls through the messages, smiling at the little bubbles. She’s fast enough to open up the app, gearing up to answer every detail through voice messages. Jeyne might have the typing skills of a mad woman, stream of consciousness flowing, but it’s easier to respond in a recording for Sansa. Everything is cut short by a phone call.

Sansa stares at the caller ID and sighs. She takes a moment to stare at the ceiling; it bothers her that the light fixtures are off-centre and the wiring twists in a way that could’ve been far neater. 

“Hi Mum,” she answers with the sweetest voice she can muster up in that moment. They haven't dusted the rafters, either.

“Hi sweetling, am I bothering you?” 

Sansa tightens her jaw and twirls her pencil between her fingers. “Not at all. How are you?” She clicks her lead pencil at least three times during her sentence. 

She can predict the nature of her mother’s call. She’s always more or less up to date with the events transpiring in her family– she makes a point of it. Recently, her oldest brother, Robb has gotten divorced, causing him to uproot his entire life in the Westerlands and move back to their childhood home. Everyone else acted like it had been the biggest shock in the world. But it just took a few check-in phone calls between her and Robb for Sansa to have been quietly anticipating it for months.

In a similar stroke of drama, her cousin Jon’s mother showed up in Winterfell after being gone for over three decades. She can only imagine how radioactive Jon’s brooding levels have gotten. Even her younger siblings, Arya and Rickon were already back home. Arya for her own reasons and Rickon because of his dog, Shaggydog, who had just been put down. 

Now, the facts. Her mother might be calling to lure her back home, or to nag her over her love life. Both likely, and both neither of which she’s quite in the mood for. But she’s not feeling entirely confrontational either, so she pinches the bridge of her nose and braces herself to go through whichever avenue her mother takes. She’d put a few gold dragons on the first guess.

“Quite well, it feels good to have such a full house after all this time,” her mother says with a sweet tone. “Most often enough it’s just Rickon coming home for the weekend and you know he never really stays home, he’s always going out all night with his friends, you know that Velaryon and Brax boy.”

Sansa bites the inside of her cheek. Her thoughts are with Jeyne, about her response to her friend. She’s already structured her message in her head so she doesn’t forget. But she knows each word is slipping away as her conversation with her mum lingers on. 

“I can imagine it is an adjustment.”

“A good one though, dear,” each sentence comes with a pause. Catelyn is a calculating woman. She understands that a correctly woven sentence can bring the rewards intended. “Your father and I are hoping to get all of you back. At least just for a bit. It’s been long since we’ve had all of you under one roof. Especially now that your dad’s sister is visiting too.”

“Are you asking me to fly over, Mum?” 

“If it is something you’re willing to do, yes. Your dad can sort out your flight.”

Sansa ponders the situation. Jeyne’s messages were just entailing her plans to visit Winterfell. It would be some measure of relief to have her there as well. 

“I can’t promise anything. I’ll have to sort out working at a distance and all that.”

She can already hear the triumph in her mother’s breathing. 

“Perfect, I’ll have your room set up. Speak to your sister, I think that boyfriend of hers is visiting too, perhaps you can get connecting flights so that you’re not all alone.” 

The moment her mother ends the call, Sansa’s head is already too full to think of anything. She has a moment of distaste for the way their mother refers to Arya’s long-term boyfriend, Gendry. 

Sansa won’t say she’s met Gendry many times, but she’s seen him enough to understand that he is perfectly suited for someone as erratic as her younger sister. He grounds her in ways she’s never seen. Her mother is the only one who still has trouble getting around the thought of Arya dating someone with no parents and no inheritance. 

Her drink is cold by the time she remembers it. And whatever she had been trying to journal about is long, long gone too. 

With her thumb sore from clicking her pencil and fiddling with the lead, Sansa packs up her things and leaves her untouched tea on the table. 

The weather is perfectly adequate outside. Under her scarf and coat, she’s plenty warm. The sun is out for another hour or two, so she decides to walk to her flat. It’s not a long walk and the Eyrie is the perfect town to walk about in. The cobbled pavements line all the roads, her shoes click against each stone rhythmically as she walks. 

Sansa ponders over the pros and cons of visiting her family. Generally speaking, it’s not that the thought of visiting the town she was born and raised in that’s so exhausting, it’s the people. She’s not entirely coldhearted, she loves her family plenty. It’s rather that she loves them too much, and caring means she gets involved and it weighs heavy on her– having to solve everyone’s problems when she’s got far too many of her own isn’t the best feeling. 

She keeps her airpods in, this time she actually lets music play. She’s not writing or concentrating particularly hard, so the music doesn’t cause any disturbance, if anything it sets the scene for her walk home. A love song plays, she’s always been a fan of them, particularly the sad ones about heartbreak. As she grew older, they rang with more and more truth.

Going home is never as easy as it should be. Particularly for Sansa. It’s always felt like no one’s been on her side but she’s been on everyone else’s. The big sister is so much easier to hate than the big brother, she’s always written it off as pure misogyny of their society. Grief and hurt are just part of being a girl, and now a woman. Over the years the pressure of being perfect has only leaked into her everyday life. 

Freshly turned nine-and-twenty, Sansa knows her mother will be more on her back than ever about marriage. I was ten years younger than you are when I started dating your father. We had even already gotten engaged. Gods, was it dreadful to hear. 

It doesn’t help that all of her siblings are spoken for. Robb is off limits now that he’s freshly divorced, but at least he had the chance to be married , her mum will say. Arya has Gendry, no matter how much her mother might not approve of it, but at least she’s found someone . Bran is the favourite, nothing he does will ever disappoint Catelyn Stark. And Rickon is just Rickon, he’s never going to get it together and he’s the baby, he’s far too young to think of those things, but he has his whole life ahead of him . 

That leaves her, several failed, miserably at that, relationships and no ring ever to grace her finger. Her mum is bound to bring it up, in her not-so-subtle way. 

Sansa glances left and right and walks onto the zorse crossing. 

Are you talking to any new gentlemen lately? She hears her mother’s voice in her head far too often. 

Golden-haired and particularly foul– she’s been known for being fooled by the former. Good looks were, truth be told, not an accurate marker for a good personality; a fact Sansa learned far too late in life. 

Her music cuts off halfway through the crossing. She doesn’t dare to glance down at her phone, answering it instead by a button on her left earbud. 

“Hello?”

“Afternoon, Sans. How are you?”

She had been frowning, something she had not been aware of until her face relaxes at the sound of his voice. Perhaps the only person who could ever make visiting Winterfell worth it. 

“Robb, I’m… good , how’re you?” 

“That wasn’t a real good, how are you actually? I heard mum Cat-splaining reasons for you to visit.”

Sansa laughs. Her older brother is always a good sport, particularly when it comes to relieving pressure related to parental frustrations. Cat-splaining was a term coined by their very own little sister, Arya. It’s defined as manipulating-slash-explaining things in the most proper and informative way that could only be done by their very own mother, Catelyn Tully-Stark. 

He’s also the only one who knows she’s more than the perfect lady that she tries fiercely to be. Maybe it’s because he knows what it’s like to have both parents and all siblings look up to you constantly for answers; even when you have none, you’ve got to pull something out of your pocket once in a while. 

She sighs, caught red-handed. “Yeah, I’m just trying to mull over whether or not to visit. And before you counter me– you know that I’m going to have to anyway,” Sansa tells him as her eyes glance over the fresh fruits being sold by the road. 

“Sounds awfully Sansa of you. I’m not going to force you into anything– though you’ve already more or less made up your mind. I think having you here might make things a bit better. You’re a better mediator than I am, with less of Bran’s snarkiness.” 

Robb pauses. He sounds like he’s thinking hard on something, he’s not someone easy to read– not for most at least, but for most of their childhood, it was just them two. Jon liked being alone at times, when it came to opening up, Robb and Sansa often had each other. 

“It’s getting a bit much already– I’m doing it for Liane, I know I can hardly take care of her all on my own, at least here there’s always someone to watch over her. Before either Jeyne or I would be around but for just me… it’s just a bit hard juggling her and work. She’s starting school soon so that’ll be good but I need to figure out the logistics. I just need someone with half a brain to help me out because I feel like mine is all out of use until I get used to it all.”

Sansa’s steps slow down as she listens to Robb. It’s a last resort sort of call for help, she knows that. It’s not like Robb to ask anyone for help. After everything that’s happened, she can hardly imagine what it’ll be like to see him. She’s never heard him sound so utterly helpless– a word she’s never used for Robb. He was her big brother, Robb , the one who she would run to when anything bad happened. Because he wouldn’t judge her, only protect her. And maybe that’s what she had to be for him now. 

“Yeah, I’ll sort out my ticket soon. I just need to pack a few things and I’ll be there,” Sansa clears her throat and shuffles for her keys. “Now get some rest, don’t make me call Theon to get you out of your melancholy.” 

“I’m actually heading out to see him. Liane wants to spend the night with Arya– they're setting up a tent in the garden.” 

Sansa smiles and thanks the Gods for Theon Greyjoy. Not something she would have ever predicted of herself, but he’s good for one thing– making Robb feel like life is worth living. 

“Alright, see you soon. Make sure Theon doesn’t get you into too much trouble,” She jokes a last time. 

“Yeah, yeah, Sans, we aren’t five-and-ten anymore. Shove it.” 

“Love you too.” 

Sansa steps into her flat, the smell of cinnamon and cotton hits her nose. Much of the anxiety that infiltrated her lungs after her phone call with her mother is gone, thanks to Robb. She’s about to get back to Jeyne but Jeyne reads her mind. 

Jeynie ✨: Fuck it– I’m coming over with rosé, you better be home!!!

It doesn’t take long— within a few minutes, her doorbell rings. 

Sansa and Jeyne have been best friends for as long as she remembers. She remembers the day they first spoke in the girls bathrooms in their first year of primary school, their conversation has been long forgotten, she knows only that since then, they’ve been inseparable. 

She’s thankful that they’ve always been so close, at heart and in proximity. From Winterfell to the Eyrie, from childhood to adulthood. Someone who’s always been on her side. 

Jeyne steps through the threshold with a bottle of chilled rosé and a sour expression on her face. The glistening bottle hails from the vineyards of High Gardens, Sansa’s favourite. 

From the many texts she received earlier in the day, Sansa can tell the nature of the dark cloud that hovers over Jeyne’s head. It’s nothing new, in fact, the dark cloud has a name, hazel eyes too. He’s particularly frustrating as well. 

Since their last year of university, doing their masters to be more precise,  Jeyne had found herself in Westeros’s most turbulent relationship. Her and Lawrence spend as much time together as they do apart, and Sansa always has the unfortunate task of having to listen to Jeyne’s complaints about him. 

This time, from what Sansa gathers, Lawrence seemed to have gone back on his promise to take Jeyne home to his parents this spring. 

“You look awful,” Sansa tells her friend. She takes the rosé out of Jeyne’s cool hands and puts it in the fridge. Sansa makes sure to quickly wipe the condensation from the bottle from her hands and takes out too glasses.

“I feel awful ,” Jeyne tells her and takes the claw clip out of her hair before throwing herself onto the sofa. “We broke up by the way.” 

Sansa doesn’t feel a single ounce of remorse. Maybe she’s slightly upset that her best friend is hurting, but other than that– she can’t find it in herself to be sad. Lawrence had been awful for Jeyne for the entirety of their relationship. The fact that Jeyne, as beautiful and amazing of a person as she was, refused to leave him was appalling on all levels. 

“Will pasta make you feel better?” Sansa asks, taking a seat next to her friend and pushing her light brown hair out of her face. At times, Sansa could almost feel her heart stop, just being that close to her. 

“It would, yes.” Jeyne nods. Her brown eyes stare up at Sansa with wonder and Sansa can’t help the way her chest flutters. “You’re not saying anything about the breakup.” 

Sansa gets up off the sofa to distance herself from Jeyne, hoping to distract herself with dinner. Sansa loves cooking, she loves not following a recipe and being able to make the food taste incredible each time. 

She washes her hands and dries them before starting to rifle through her pantry for ingredients. “I’m not saying anything because you and Lawrence are like this. You’ll say it’s over but then two weeks later there you both are, happy as ever and I think I’ve said enough awful things about him to realise that you won’t listen either way.” 

Jeyne pouts at her. “But Sans, I think it’s true this time,” she whines before laughing. “I feel awful about it but I’m also just so over him. I don’t think I love him, not anymore at least. Maybe I loved the feeling of having someone so insanely obsessed with me that I let it take over my whole twenties. But I’m just so tired now and I want to have fun with my girl,” Jeyne tells her with a tired smile. She removes the rosé from the fridge and starts opening drawers for the corkscrew.

It’s been a while since they’ve both been single at the same time. Sansa starts chopping a shallot and tries to hide her smile at how much Jeyne’s mood can shift from a few moments of thinking. 

“I felt awful when he told me that once again, he had things come up but still assured me that his mum can’t wait to meet me!” Jeyne explains. She gives a generously filled glass of wine to Sansa. “He’s been hiding me for years, I’m done being that girl. I want to be confident and happy in my body. Not constantly worrying if it’s something about me that makes it so hard for him to introduce me to the people in his life.” 

Sansa places her glass down without taking a sip. “There is nothing wrong with you and everything wrong with him,” she says, halting her knife to explain. “Now, maybe if you choose a playlist for us, we can enjoy the night and be happy that Lawrence doesn’t know where I live so he can’t show up with a bouquet and your name tattooed on his neck.”

  Jeyne laughs and doubles over. Her laughter makes Sansa’s heart warm. Jeyne will be her safe haven during her visit back to Winterfell, she just knows it. 

“Gods, I love you, Sans,” Jeyne tells her with tears glistening in her eyes. The lights hit her features perfectly and Sansa can’t help but fall short in her own mind. “What would I do without you?”

“Marry Lawrence and have his children maybe,” Sansa jokes. “He’s the type to want at least four but never change a single diaper. And when he looks after them, he calls it babysitting .” 

Jeyne feigns a gag, pointing her finger into her mouth. “Gods, I need this. I’ve been blinded for so long, I think I’ve been seeing it coming for weeks and I just had enough. It feels awful to have it happen though. To realise that I wasted the last years of my twenties on this guy who was never going to make me feel proud of myself.” 

Sansa allows herself to smile at Jeyne’s revelation. She watches her in the corner of her eye. Watching as Jeyne takes a sip of her wine. As she moves to set up her phone with Sansa’s Martyls mustard yellow speaker. 

Jeyne sways with each movement, making her look like something out of a music video. The fact that she’s so utterly unaware of her brilliance hurts Sansa’s chest, she would give anything to make Jeyne feel like she’s worthy. 

Sansa goes back to focusing on her cooking. Taking a sip of rosé for some strength. 

Jeyne doesn’t know. Despite being the most important person in Sansa’s life, the one who knows most of Sansa’s deepest, darkest thoughts, Jeyne doesn’t know . Sansa herself hasn’t known for very long. 

Or maybe Sansa has known, perhaps just not realised it fully until the last few years after Harry. Harry had been Sansa’s last boyfriend. Much like her first boyfriend, Joffrey, Harry had beautiful blond locks. Harry had been much sweeter than Joffrey however.

The chemistry had just not been there. He was perfect in theory, despite being rather arrogant and having a child that he’d never told Sansa about, he had been the charmer. 

It had just been that after it all dwindled down to it, Sansa slowly came to realise why none of the men in her life were ever making her feel anything more than validated. They scratched her craving for attention and being seen as this beautiful and perfect woman, they just didn’t understand her. Nor did it feel truly like all the poems she’s spent her life crying over. 

After Harry, Sansa gave herself time alone to figure herself when not attached to a man’s arm. That’s when she noticed it was not a man that she wanted, it was a woman. And by a woman, she wanted Jeyne. Wanted even felt like a weak word to describe it. She yearned for a life where she could spend every waking moment trying to make Jeyne smile.

Sansa can’t even imagine her mum realising that her perfect daughter, the reflection of Catelyn Stark, a lesbian. Her mum would have a stroke right then and there. 

Her brother knows. Robb . After first finding out, Robb would act extremely stressed, worried that he was about to out her to the world with every word he uttered. Slowly, as they spoke more, Robb got used to it. 

No one else in her life knows it. There was a moment in her turbulent relationship with her high school boyfriend, Joffrey, where he had accused her of being a lesbian, except he used a much worse word for it. After she cried and told him how disgusted she was for him saying that, he felt vindicated. It wasn’t like she had known about it back then however. She had been scared of the thought and had internalised it. 

The rest of her siblings were unaware of her stance. She had known Arya to have the occasional girlfriend or fling but Arya had always been private and above confirming theories that involved herself. She had most definitely seen a boy or two leaving Rickon’s room when she visited for holidays but he’d never mentioned it outright, their mother most certainly did not know. And well, Bran was a mystery to all. Leaving only Jon, who she heard to be dating a man named Satin, as the gay sibling. Much to Jon’s fortune, not being her mother’s son, he was not a disappointment to her. 

She sighs and places a box of linguine into a boiling pot of water. Jeyne means the world to her, if she has to live her whole life being simply a friend to the girl, she would not mind it. At least she gets to be in her life.

The shuttle from the airport is the easier way to get home. Everyone’s horrifically busy, and Sansa’s confident she’ll enjoy the silent two hour trip alone far better than she would being peppered with questions and conversation. To get from the terminal to the shuttle pick up, there’s a tram. Standing on the empty platform, she finds herself closing her eyes.

Deep black vastness surrounds her. It’s one of the things she loves about the north– the big sky. In the city, the nights are never completely dark– they’re more grey, with too many lights on that never go off, and commotion everywhere. Even in this hub of transportation, she hears more nothing than she ever would back at her apartment. Maybe, if she’s lucky, everyone will already be in bed by the time she gets to her parent’s house, and she can just crawl under the covers.

Wind whips her long, thin hair around her neck like a red scarf. She tucks one section behind her ear, and squints as the tram pulls into the station.

Please stand behind the yellow line until the train comes to a complete and final stop. The doors will be opening soon, and passengers will disembark. To be courteous, please allow the disembarking passengers to exit first before stepping onto the train. 

The doors open with a metallic clacking. Sansa peers inside at the empty car, and slips inside, grasping the metal pole in the middle of the car with her sleeve wrapped around her palm. If she sits, she’ll fall asleep.

Leaning her bodyweight on the beam, she lets her eyes close again. The metal is cold and uncomfortable against her forehead, but that’s fine. It’s fine. 

Please stand clear. The doors will be opening. Please stand clear. The doors–

She blinks away the groginess weighing her down and magnitizing her to the pole. She adjusts the bag on her shoulder– an oversized tote– and rolls out her shoulders. When she steps onto the platform and starts moving towards te shuttle pick-up, it feels as though her limbs weigh three tons each. Sparkly and misted with late night, early morning stillness, she’s grateful when she makes it to the numbered area that the shuttle is already parked and waiting. She approaches the man with the clipboard, and gives her name.

“Stark?” He says with a quizicle eyebrow raise. “Any relation?”

“Yes,” She responds robotically, too exhausted to lie. She climbs up into her seat before he can ask any follow up questions, and puts her headphones on. Rainy Forest Ambiance will be better company than a nosey driver. 

Thankfully, there are three other passengers going on their route, and they keep the man at the wheel preoccupied. It’s not that she doesn’t like chatting with strangers– she’s very good at it, and wonderfully charming. She prides herself on making lovely first impressions. But it’s so, so very late, and there’s nothing to be gained by smiling pretty for these people. So she lets her shoulders settle into the stiff back seat, and for the last time until she reaches her old bedroom, she shuts her eyes. 

Thirty minutes from Winterfell, she wakes up, having drifted to sleep off and on for the past hour and a half. Not deep enough for her liking, but restful enough to give her a little energy to open the inspiration boards on her phone. Other social media is all fine– Sansa always liked it, for the most part, and she’s always been good at it. But the application she clocks the most hours in according to her screen time report is the one she scrolls through now. 

Pretty pictures floated by her as she perused, easily sorting them into meticulously crafted boards for different seasons, feelings, and more. She sees a few shared boards with Jeyne, one with Arya they had made in middle school– during the glorious year they mostly got along– and the rest were her own personal projects. She had just pinned a photo of a girl wearing a boat neck, oversized sweater over what had to be a vintage slip dress when she sees the notification from her sister she had missed during her flight.

Arya 🩶: did you bring your face wash? forgot mine and it’s so expensive to just have to leave it here…

Arya had conveniently forgotten her cleanser last holiday, too.

 “You can borrow mine,” She types. “ Just don’t use it to take off any makeup. Use a wipe first, then my cleanser, or you’ll use up half the bottle in a week.”

A text bubble pops up. 

Arya 🩶: okay even if it’s just mascara!? did you land?

She doesn’t bother with a response– their long, winding driveway is right up the road. The shuttle stops, and after a few words to the driver, she disembarks with her bags. 

Growing up here, the size of the place was always normal. Her apartment isn’t humble by any means– but compared to the expansive, sprawling estate in front of her, her home in the city felt like a closet. Rolling hills– green in the summer, but grey-brown every other season– were bookmarked by trees, thick and old and twisting, dotting the fields every few dozen yards, and thick, dense and tangled at the forest edge.

She can see the roof of the horse barn if she squints, just down the second hill from the left. Her father will be awake and probably has been for some time, and she’s sure so will Arya. Knowing the pair, they’re probably together. 

Her heart pangs a little at the thought of her father. She does miss him– and mum. Her eyes mist as the thought of being wrapped up in their arms, which is silly, so she shakes the feeling off, beginning the long trek up the drive. Her hair is good and tangled now, which is common, despite how often she brushes it. That she blames on her father’s side of the family. Long and fine, her hair should be easy to manage, like her father’s. But it was always senselessly tying itself into knots. Sansa carries a hairbrush in her purse at all times to combat it.

With a huff, she stuffs her hands in the pockets of her coat and makes her way to the front door.

Chapter Text

chapter ten: arya ii

"it's all on the surface, it don't hurt anymore. i've been talking to you, skipping rocks by the shore," - surface tension, genevieve stokes

The steam mingles around them, whisking away the sleep away from her body. It lingers in the air and it almost feels like she’s on a cloud. 

She watches as the hot water ripples down his chest, soaking the spattering of hair that covers the surface. She’s missed this, their quiet bubble of casual intimacy. 

Water hits her face from off his elbows as he lathers his hair with shampoo. She laughs it off and goes on her toes to kiss his lips. 

It’s felt too long, she can’t help but bask in the feeling of being near him once again. There are moments when they have to spend time apart, no matter how many times it happens, she still can’t help the way her chest always aches to be near him again.

He smiles with his eyes closed and continues scrubbing. He’s forever fascinating to stare at. The slope of his nose, the beard that covers the bottom half of his face, and that wonderful ridge between his eyebrows. She could stare at him for hours and never get bored. She takes the opportunity to do so while his eyes are closed. 

Arya never intended on becoming a girl who is utterly obsessed with a man. That had always been more of her sister’s thing, she only ever laughed at that. Arya used to grimace at the thought of boys, she would rather challenge them to a race than ever hold their hand. 

She’s always been distant, in every small fling she’s had, she’s never found it the right time to open up to people. Arya never realised this, not until she found Gendry, not until she was laying in his bed with her head on his chest and he told her all about his past and the things he wants to do. 

Again, Arya’s never been much for romance, but she believes her and Gendry are one of the few cases of love at first sight. He’s everything she used to be against– the strong man who comes in to protect her, gruff and the pure embodiment of masculinity, despite being a man who nurtures and loves. 

She would never tell anyone else all that though.

“Stop staring.”

Arya laughs. “How do you know that I’m staring,” she asks defiantly. She wraps her arms around his middle and leaves a few kisses on his wet body. Hot water hits both their bodies. 

She knows now, or has for a while, that things aren’t so black and white. That she can love and still be considered whole without him. It’s not that she needs him in her life, it’s that she wants him there, part of every small or grand moment. 

“I know how you are,” Gendry replies. His laughter is deep, the sound always sets her chest alight. 

She goes on her toes to give him another kiss. 

After their shower, they find themselves in each other’s arms all over again. He only arrived earlier that morning, a month of not seeing one another has already caught up to them. 

The fresh sheets set out in the Airbnb are already dampened by their bodies. Regardless, Gendry lays her down and kisses every inch of her body that he finds. She laughs as he does, his beard is still slightly wet and the kisses tickle her skin. 

She doesn’t push him away though. He kisses her neck, her collarbones, her chest, and the further he goes down, the less it tickles and the more it has her anticipating where he’s going with it. 

Arya knows him well, she knows exactly the path he’s making and she tips her head back. 

Back in the Riverlands, her and Gendry have been moved in since quite early on in their relationship. The first few months of living together had been a pure accident. She had been in his living room and remembered that she hadn’t spent a night in her own bed in over two months. 

After that, Arya found herself pulling away, Gendry being himself, didn’t allow her to. Instead, they spoke about it and decided it was the best move financially if she decided to live with him. He had a home of his own and she was simply renting. 

Since then, it’s been their home. And this is the first time in the three years that they’ve been together that he’s actually visited her home. 

Gendry’s more of a private person, reserved and off most social media. Her family has only ever met him in person, the few of them that have actually visited her. Like Rickon, who spent a week or so on her sofa, Sansa who flew in for work but spared a few days to meet her sister. The rest have yet to meet her life partner and the thought stirs her stomach just a little bit. 

He goes in with his lips first, kissing her hips, her thighs, generally keeping away from where her impatience really wants him to be. It aches, just dully, but enough for her to want to pull him by his hair. 

She knows he likes to take his time, so she allows it for a moment. Until it’s a moment too long. 

“You really want to make your woman beg, don’t you?” Arya whines. 

When he laughs, his breath tickles her. “Trying to savour every moment,” he smiles. Just then, he tips his head down and puts his tongue exactly where it’s been aching. 

Arya covers her mouth to moan. She’s really glad that he declined the offer of a room at her parents’ house. No matter how rebellious she might have been as a teen, her family hearing how much Gendry could truly unravel her was not something she wanted. 

Her fingers delve into his hair. His beautiful black locks are cold and damp to the touch, still, she holds onto him and lets his mouth do the work. 

She catches a glimpse of his blue eyes staring up at her from where he lays between her legs. He laughs at the sight of her and it reverberates throughout her body. Gendry was often times too proud of himself. Only she sees this side of him and she’s happy to have that honour. 

Somewhere between the way she writhes in his grasp, he slips a finger into her. Arya doesn’t have time to stop the sound that slips out of her lips. 

It feels like they’ve spent years apart, not the simple month apart. 

Arya pulls herself up onto her elbows and stares down at him. “Gendry, Gendry , please just get up here,” she says. He looks up at her with concern, wiping his beard with his palm and waiting. “Just kiss me. We’ll take all our time later.”

He laughs and takes hold of her body. She eases into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close. Even just the feeling of his warm body against hers makes her craving satiated a tiny bit. But not completely. 

Gendry lays her down and gazes into her eyes. “I’ve missed you,” he says, pushing her hair back with a comforting hand. “I can’t tell you how pathetic it’s been to be home without you.” 

Arya finds herself giggling, even as he eases his body between her legs and puts his weight on her. He’s a big man, so all of his weight is almost too much for Arya to bear, even in spite of all her training. He knows by now, how much she can handle. 

He goes slow, just as he’s been wanting, but not too slow that she needs to beg him for more. He knows her. 

“I’ve missed you too,” Arya pouts at him. She lets her legs wrap around his body. “I’ve been my own brand of pathetic. Everything I’ve done, I’ve been wondering what you’re doing.” 

He kisses her, she can feel his smile pressed against her lips. They move in sync. His hands touch her body exactly where she wants them and she holds him closer, hearing his own groans. 

It doesn’t take long of them fondling one another before Arya puts her hands between their bodies. She allows a moment of pure ego to watch him groan as she touches him. Arya allows a few strokes, he’s already wet from rubbing against her and his own excitement that drips off the tip of him. 

Her thumb circles the head with each stroke and he buries his face in her shoulder. When she pulls away and laughs. He stays still and kisses her neck. 

“You cruel, cynical woman,” he jokes. Gendry takes her wrists in his hand and raises his eyebrows at her. 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Arya retorts from underneath him. She sees the look in his deep blue eyes. He wants to taunt her but his more primal instincts kick in and he gives in. 

Gendry sinks into her with a deep breath, followed by an even deeper groan. He stills for a moment, most likely to gain his bearings before he begins some sort of rhythm. 

Each movement keeps her full and has her holding onto Gendry desperately. She kisses him, even if her lips can’t keep up with how her body feels. Instead she just breathes him in. 

He kisses her forehead and mutters a simple, “I love you,” before putting an arm beneath her waist to coax her up. 

Arya feels giddy at the movement. In his lap, she holds onto his face to stare into his eyes. “I love you too, Gendry,” she says with a deep kiss. 

They’re still for a moment, with him sat up on his knees and her securely in his lap. Their lips take that moment to move together. Their tongues bask in one another and Arya thinks that happiness can be more than fleeting. 

Nights are still cold in Winterfell, even if they are supposed to be approaching summer. It’s always been that way, she doesn’t know why that surprises her. She doesn’t pack a jumper, but at least Gendry knows better and wears something warm. 

He’s never been very big on family, beside the fact that he prefers his solitude, Gendry has never been adamant about wanting to meet her family. He was more of a if it happens, it happens kind of man. Whereas Arya went with every impulse that popped into her head, almost right as the thought bubbled. 

Arya, on the other hand, has been taught, before anything else, comes family. It’s almost military in the way that it was ingrained into them at an early age. Her father was always, still is, a highly peculiar man. Oftentimes, even the way he spoke sounded like a riddle, better left as a rhetoric than ever questioned. 

The lone wolf dies… but the pack survives .

An old saying, she knows, or at least assumes. Something dating back years probably. Associated in some way to their family crest. Arya thinks on it, how much these things defined her growing up. Now, she walks hand in hand with a man who doesn’t even know his own father’s name, let alone his family crest. 

She tries not to sound too posh with him, but he says she does a poor job at it. Or at least he did in the beginning. Now, she’s come to some sort of acceptance with it, she has for a while. Taking Gendry to her family home, however, makes her self-confidence waver slightly. The last thing she ever wants him to feel is inferior because of her mother’s words or anything else. 

She hovers by the double doors, just out of sight, but close enough to see the scene outside where all of her siblings gather. Where Robb mans the grill and Jon hovers near him. Where Sansa floats around the table, setting it perfectly, down to even straightening a petal on one of the roses set on the table. Gendry notices and places a reassuring hand on the small of her back. 

He doesn’t have to say anything, but she knows he’s there with her, understanding her through it all. 

Arya tries to relax, but despite it, her anxiety mingles with the anticipation she feels. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit excited to have all of her family together after all these years. She can’t even remember the last time they did this, Stark BBQs used to be a staple in their home. 

She takes a deep breath and greets her siblings, introducing Gendry to those who haven’t met him just yet. 

Her older brothers are both pretty preoccupied but they still stop what they’re doing to greet her partner. 

“I’m Jon,” her brother announces, giving Gendry a firm handshake. 

“Gendry, it’s good to meet you.” 

“Likewise, Arya’s told us loads about you,” Jon gives him a smile despite the dark cloud that seems to follow him. 

Robb puts down his tongs and wipes his hands on a tea towel before giving Gendry his hand. “Jon speaks for himself, Arya’s always been more of the secretive kind of sister. She hasn’t even so much as shown us a picture since she’s been here.” Robb tells him with a smile. “I’m Robb, by the way.”

Gendry simply chuckles. “I figured,” he responds. 

Arya can’t help the anxiety that builds through her. “Alright, who else haven’t you met?” She asks, looking around at the sea of auburn locks “Bran.”

“And your parents,” he mutters softly. 

His smile is reassuring. He seems to understand the buzzing in her body and reaches out for her with a hand on her back. 

“I’ll meet everyone, and perhaps you’d like some help on the grill, Robb?” Gendry tells her brothers before moving on with her. 

“That’d be great actually,” Robb replies with a smile. 

“I have been right here this whole time,” Jon interrupts, giving Robb a cold grey glare. 

“Yeah, well I don’t think anyone would appreciate tough, overcooked meat, Jon–” Robb defends his decision. “You get distracted too fast.” 

That seems to set Jon off, making him leave Robb’s side to fix himself a drink. Arya allows a giggle to herself, Jon could be the biggest drama queen at times.

Bran sits beside Theon. They’re furthest away from the grill and food. Theon smokes a fag and Bran simply sits, both of them engaged in what seems to be a very deep discussion. 

Sansa comes up to Arya before she can make her way further and greets Gendry herself. “Good to see you again, Gendry,” Sansa says politely, poised as ever. “This is Jeyne.” 

Gendry shakes both their hands and seems to be stuck on Jeyne for a moment. “Jeyne is Sansa’s best friend, they’ve been friends since they were little girls.” 

As they walk away they laugh between themselves. “I thought for a moment Jeyne was–” 

“Robb’s wife, yeah, I’m sorry should have warned you,” Arya laughs.

They’re about to greet her youngest brother before he almost tips over the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the sausages. 

“Rickon!” Sansa and Robb scream in unison. 

The rest of them echo in laughter, watching Rickon hold his hands up in surrender, even with a sausage in his hand. 

Those are the things that never change. The small things that have been there since they were all children, Rickon getting scolded at, Robb on the grill while Jon just waits for the responsibility, and Sansa setting the table. It wasn’t all that stressful. 

Finally, Jon sits in the middle of Theon and Bran, taking out a cigarette of his own with his drink on the table. Everyone watches him with raised brows, only when he’s slowly bringing his lighter to his lips does he realise their silence. 

“Oh come on, what’s the point in hiding it if you all already know?” Jon says with a frown. 

“Mum and Dad don’t know,” Bran tells him. Jon doesn’t seem to care. Their parents are nowhere to be found. 

Bran slowly rises from his seat, Arya notices the grimace in his face as he does so. He greets Gendry and looks him up. 

“You look familiar,” Bran says for a moment. “You must just have that look about you. It’s good to meet you, Arya’s never introduced one of her partners.” 

“ Bran, ” she elbows him. Theon laughs at Bran’s expense. 

“Really? I feel honoured,” Gendry looks at her with a smile, running his fingers through his beard. 

Theon looks at him through a squinted gaze and releases a drag. “He has a point, you do look vaguely like someone but I can’t put my finger on it,” Theon says, taking another breath in. “I’m Theon by the way.” 

“Good to meet you, Theon,” Gendry responds. “I’m Gendry. I was born in Fleabottom, I think I might just look like someone you know. I’m not really anywhere so, I’m not sure where you would have seen me other than in Arya’s photos.” 

“Oh, she never shows those to us, mate,” Bran shakes his head.

“Right, so I’ve been told,” Gendry nods. “I’m filling in the pieces though, from what Arya’s told me over the years.” 

They’re mid-conversation when Robb stares into the house before looking Jon’s way. “Dad’s coming with Lianne, put your fag out, Jon,” he shouts out. 

Jon quickly stubs his cigarette into the ashtray and stands up with his drink, trying to appear nonchalant. He actually looks quite suspicious but without his glasses, she doesn’t think their father will even notice. 

He walks out with a drink in his hand, a whiskey, neat. He stares at his glass between a sip before he finally takes in the scene outside. Their mother is still nowhere to be seen, and whilst she is happy, it doesn’t help with the anxiety that she feels. Arya’s much more of a rip-off-the-bandaid kind of woman. 

It takes Ned Stark a moment before his eyes meet hers and Gendry. Arya notices the way his face falls. The colour almost drains from his face, she always thought that was just a silly expression until she sees it on her father’s face. He seems to realise because soon enough he schools his expression, wiping off the horror from his face. 

“You must be Gendry,” he says with his hand held out. Gendry shakes his hand but it seems like the shake goes on for a few moments too long. “All these years and now we finally meet. I’m Eddard Stark, but you can call me Ned.” 

“It’s good to finally meet you, Ned,” Gendry replies, finally getting ownership of his hand again. “Arya’s told me loads about you.” 

“And my daughter on the other hand has been terribly elusive about you,” Ned says in a joking manner. Arya knows him well enough to sense an interrogation brewing. “Where is it that you’re from, Gendry?” 

“Fleabottom, spent half of my life in the Riverlands though,” Gendry answers. “I never was a big fan of the capital.” 

Ned nods and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Would you like a drink, son?” He interrupts their discussion midway. 

“No thank you, I’ll be driving later so it’s best not to.” 

“Wise man,” Ned remarks. “And what is it you said your last name was?” 

“Waters.” 

“And your parents live in the Riverlands as well?”

Arya watches the apple in Gendry’s throat bob as he conjures up the answers to each of her father’s questions. He started off gentle, but Arya slowly realises how relentless he truly is. 

“No,” Gendry tries. He seems to notice that her father isn’t actually pleased with that answer and gives up the information about his life. “My mum was from Fleabottom. Never knew my father. I moved a little after she passed.” 

“Right,” Ned digests with a tight smile. “Apologies for the interrogation just now. I guess the politician in me never actually leaves.” He says with a laugh, patting Gendry’s shoulder before walking away. 

She hadn’t noticed it, but she realises she had been holding her breath towards the end there. “Sorry about that,” she tells him with a forced smile. He seems unbothered by it. “My mum’ll be worse.” 

“I think I can take it,” Gendry says with a shrug. The look he gives her is one of those ones before he pulls her into a kiss. She watches the careful hesitation before he walks further and relieves Robb of his grilling duties. 

Robb runs into the house to wash his hands and comes back to scoop Liane into his arms. Surrounded by all of them, her oldest brother looks somewhat happier. He takes a moment to pour a glass of apple juice for Liane before taking a whiskey of his own. Arya watches the way they clink glasses and how happy her niece looks. She can’t imagine how Robb could possibly think he’s a bad father. 

Catelyn finally makes her way outside. She’s covered in a few warm layers but still looks fresh and elegant as ever. The sight of her brings a lump to Arya’s throat. Her father’s always had an easier time at being on her side, her mother… not so much. 

She hates that Gendry’s distracted with checking the meat and that she’s far away, pouring herself a drink, when her mum arrives. 

Her mother seems distracted from the moment she steps out of the house. A smile tugs at her lips when Jeyne hands her a glass of white wine and she thanks her. It takes more than a few minutes of speaking to Robb and Liane who is in his arms, before she gives Arya any attention. By that time, her patience for her mother has more or less evaporated.

She opens another beer and walks over to Jon, who has resumed his spot by the BBQ. Her partner and brother seem to be engaged in a conversation of their own, something she appreciates quite a bit, it lifts her mood, just not enough. 

“What’s gotten into you?” 

“What’s gotten into your face?” 

Jon scoffs at her response. “Aren’t you glad Catelyn is ignoring you rather than grilling you?” Jon aptly guesses her woes. 

She almost wants to bite back, asking him what he would know about dealing with mothers. Arya holds back. Something about being back home stirs up all of the things she worked so hard to squash down. The real Arya. Perhaps she had been masquerading this whole time, playing a character that she wasn’t and coming back home made all of that clear. 

“Shut up, Jon,” Arya answers. 

She takes a big glug of her beer before Gendry grabs it out of her hands and takes a little sip. Between just the two of them, he gives her a wink, immediately putting her at ease. So much so that she doesn’t notice her mother walk up to them. 

“Arya, darling, why don’t you introduce us?” She says with a soft voice. She stands a few steps behind Gendry.

Jon makes himself scarce, giving Gendry enough space to turn and reach his hand out to shake hers. 

“Hi, I’m Gendry, it’s nice to meet you,” Gendry greets her. Arya hopes her mother will look past the beard that grows rather wildly, the sleeves of his jumper that are rolled up unevenly, and the rough texture of his hands. 

Her mother has a similar expression when she first meets Gendry’s eyes, the same sort that her father had written on his face, just far less potent. She seems to shake it away and laughs it off. 

“Sorry for that, wow you just looked like someone I used to know… this wine your sister bought is maybe not great for my head,” Catelyn says, giving Arya a little laugh. “It’s lovely to meet you Gendry. I apologise again for not being talkative, my migraines seem to be back again. Please tell Robb to relieve you of that, you shouldn’t be slaving away when you’re a guest.” 

“It’s fine, I enjoy keeping my hands busy. Gives Robb some time to have a drink as well.” 

Catelyn gives him a smile and reaches out to squeeze Arya’s arm. Arya can’t believe it in the moment, how truly easy that was. 

Her mother walks over to her husband’s side. She goes on her toes to give him a kiss before winding her arm around his. She’s not much shorter than him. 

Arya watches her parents, the way they glance around their children before meeting each other’s eyes. Their lips move but Arya can’t make out what they say. 

From the moment he met the boy’s eyes, to the next few days, it’s the only thing on his mind. He cannot shake the feeling, the knowing . Somehow he is always cursed with knowing. 

They aren’t just any blue, not blue like the sky or even the oceans, like his wife and children who share those same cool eyes. No, his were a different blue. A clear and crystal blue, more like ice. 

Every moment that he’s crossed paths with his daughter, he’s wanted to tell her, to explain why he seemed so wary of the man she introduced to him. Why he recognised those eyes the moment he saw them and the fear they filled him with.

Ned didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it with anyone. He knows Arya has been weary of introducing her partner to them, particularly her mother, so it’s best not mentioned. 

Perhaps it’s the fact that he knows the look all too well from his youth. The strong build, the coarse, dark black hair, and again, the eyes. Or it’s the fact that he can recall the name Gendry Waters in black and white on his computer screen all those years ago. 

From afar, Ned can see his former best friend and sister; Robert and Lyanna, just as they were three decades back, in his parents’ kitchen. 

They orbit one another. Arya sets out breakfast and Gendry helps her with whatever she asks. There was a time when Robert doted on his sister too, but it was before all the infidelity that clearly followed him his entire life. 

“Where is Rickon?” Arya huffs, pulling up her phone to call his. 

From what he understands, the three of them are going on a hike near Long Lake. And from what he overhears, Sansa herself has backed out in favour of a day by the coast with her friend Jeyne.

“Stop calling me, I’m right fucking here,” Rickon whines, throwing a mock punch at his sister. “Move over, I need coffee.” 

Ned watches his children from where he sits at the kitchen table with today’s newspaper. Normally, no one is awake at this time and he manages to start his mornings in silence. This is somewhat more peaceful, however.

It’s not particularly early, at least 8 am is not what he calls early, but for his youngest, he knows it is quite early. Especially after his late night.

He finds himself lost in them, no longer reading any of the words that decorate the paper in his hands. They’re a newer generation, hopefully with a better future than the one he and his brothers struggled with. He always worked hard for them to have a better life than he had, only he thinks he might have bruised them all.

They had all been young once too. Lyanna being back has brought back all the things that have laid dormant for years. He thinks of Robert more than he used to, and now, seeing Gendry in front of him, he can’t help but feel like he’s haunted by the younger version of his former friend. 

Arya breaks him out of his thoughts with a few plates laid on the table near him, “Dad, there’s someone at the door,” Arya says, she moves quickly, buttering a few slices of toast while simultaneously eating one. 

He nods and sets his newspaper down, his coffee is long gone as well. He’s not particularly surprised when he sees her standing in front of him with a smile. He had just been thinking of her. It’s as if he’s conjured her.

Both his children stare at her in shock before meeting each other’s eyes. “Jon’s not here,” Arya blurts, still holding a butter knife in her left hand.

“ Arya ,” Ned can’t help but tell her off. “Lya, these are two of my kids, Rickon, my youngest, Arya, my second daughter and her partner, Gendry.” 

He can see the way her eyes widen as she stares at Gendry. She knows . She shakes each of their hands, letting them know how nice it is to finally meet them. 

“Would you like some coffee?” Arya asks. 

“Yeah, of course.”

“Rickon, if you could make a cup for me too, that would be great,” Ned tells his son, who looks tired and unwilling. Ned makes sure to glare at him until he gives in, filling freshly ground beans into the portafilter. He tamps it expertly, with a not-so-subtly pretentious spin of the weight, before locking it into place and pulling the first two shots. He’d dialled in earlier, so the doppio shot pulls smooth and rich, with a perfect golden crema on top. Making the rest will keep him busy enough.

For a moment, his sister looks transfixed by the sight of his children, particularly Arya and Gendry. If a pin dropped in the room, it would be audible.

A ripping noise— like the loudest paper imaginable being torn, with an ear-piercing shriek attached to it— cuts the silence. Rickon puts up a hand.

“Sorry,” He turns off the steamer. “Ran out of two percent. Heavy cream steams like shit.”

Arya and Gendry take a seat at the kitchen table and sip their coffee made by Rickon. 

Ned is more of a black coffee sort of man so the steamed milk and sugar are a strange addition. But perhaps that’s his son’s way of telling him not to ask for coffee again. 

Lyanna is silent as she watches. He doesn’t know her to be this quiet, but Ned often reminds himself that he might as well not know her at all after all this time. 

“It’s like seeing Robert and I,” Lyanna whispers to him. “When we were younger of course. If I had a photo, like the one we took at your high school graduation, you would agree.”

“I do agree.”

As much as he’s stopped himself from talking about it, his sister was maybe the only person who would get it. He meets her eyes, grey and lined with age after all these years, he hopes for her to understand him through a glance alone, but they aren’t kids anymore, she can’t guess his thoughts so fast. 

Lyanna slowly makes conversation with his kids, not revealing the true nature of her visit until they walk out the door. They watch together as Gendry helps Arya with her bag and Rickon pops out the door first.

“Ned…” Lyanna starts, she mulls her thoughts over as she takes her mug to the sink. “You seem like you want to tell me something but you aren’t saying it.”

“And I shouldn’t be saying that to you?” 

“I wanted to talk and hang out with my big brother, is that not allowed?”

Ned sighs and brings her to his office. “Jon’s told me you two will be meeting next week,” he tells her as he takes a seat. 

His concern is not Gendry’s parentage, there’s nothing he can do to change that. But Jon’s relationship with Lyanna, that he can do. 

“Yeah, thank you for giving him my number.” 

He doesn’t want to say it but he knows he has to. “And you’re drinking again or you just never stopped?” Ned asks.

“I took a break… but you know that drinking was never my problem.”

Ned thinks to when they were kids. When Lyanna was struggling, how bright she had been during her pregnancy, that he didn’t even know that she was just trying really hard. 

“And you’re good now?” 

Lyanna gives him a smile. “Twenty years–good, brother.” She fishes out the chip she keeps in her wallet. “I struggled in the beginning and I kept thinking I need to go further in order to be good enough… and then after I’d been gone for so long, I thought, what excuse would I give Jon now that I’ve been gone so long? I just thought that you were just so much better at it than me, I could tell by the news that you were fine.” 

“And what of when things went to shit, Lya?” 

“I knew you could handle it.”

Ned takes a deep breath and sits back. He has no more rage in him, that was all left in his youth. “Well, at least you’re here now,” he tells her. “Would you like to see Cat?” 

Lyanna grins. “I’ve missed that woman, of course,” Lyanna says. “Are you still the same with her?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Head over heels– you would look at her like she put the stars in the sky.”

Ned laughs. That would never change, no matter how much time passed and how many things happened, Catelyn will always be the woman he loved. “Let me get her,” he picks up his phone, dialling her number from his favourites.

Chapter Text

chapter eleven: theon i 

"this is a place where i don't feel alone. this is a place that i call my home," - that home, the cinematic orchestra

“It’s hell or high water on the airwaves tonight, as our hot topic is the latest from the Greyjoy clan. Once again, Balon is making headlines, stirring the pot by advocating for secession. That's right, they're at it again, attempting to break away from Westeros, despite their… numerous failed attempts in the past."

“Let's not beat around the bush here. The Greyjoys have a long history of promoting policies that many consider, well, downright bigoted. It is abundantly clear that they're trying to capitalize on societal divisions, pushing their agenda under the guise of independence."

"It's fascinating, isn't it? Despite the overwhelming opposition they face from practically every corner of society,” The radio host laughed. “You almost have to give it to them. They keep on keepin’ on. It begs the question: what is it that fuels this relentless pursuit? Is it mere political ambition, or is there something more?"

 "I'll tell you what it is—it's pure ego. They've been at this game for years. But this go-around, we don’t have Eddard Stark to snuff them out. With Minster Baratheon having gone solo, there’s question of whether this hissy fit being thrown by Pyke’s Party will be snuffed out dissimilarly to the last time, or if history will repeat itself”

Listening to the radio yap about his delusional family— It’s a shitty way to spend his Sunday. Theon groans, twisting his lips up into a grimace. He knocks back his drink and flags down the bartender. Another Claw Island Iced Tea perhaps.

“Any chance we can listen to something less soul-sucking?”

The man gives him a look of disapproval and carries on taking orders. The news was garbage. Long history , sure. Yet no mention of his grandfather ever graces the waves of these so-called reporters in their forced common tongue accents. All these mainlanders wanted was to show how unworthy the Iron Islanders were of their independence, it’s pure classism each time.

“Fine, ignore me. Doesn’t make me go away, arsehole. I’m a paying customer.”

“You’re a Greyjoy. For all they care, you might as well be a walking-talking virus, taking up seating.” 

Theon whirs around at the speaker, ready to have a go, when he recognizes the face the voice belongs to. Sitting across the bar is one of the most famous tow-heads since the Targaryens. Wearing a smirk and a heavy brow,  Jaime Lannister tips his glass. 

“Oh, look, Westeros’ other undesirable.”

“In the flesh.”

The country club is always fairly empty on Sundays. After all, the ritzy guests were all busy going to the sept and playing religion. That’s why it’s Theon’s favorite day of the week to loiter and avoid responsibilities. Not that I have any, He thinks. But it only makes it all the stranger that there’s a recognizable patron running into him.

“This isn’t usually your neck of the woods. Aren’t you a southern bird?”

“Birds aren’t really my thing,” Jaime swishes his glass. “A whiskey for my friend.”

Theon bats his heavy lashes enthusiastically and dawns a Westerlandic accent. “Oh, mista, you seem to have gotten the wrong idea. I may be down on my luck, but I ain’t sleepin’ with the enemy.” 

Jaime doesn’t react to the jab. 

“I wasn’t propositioning you,” He just points to Theon when the bartender brings the drink and shrugs. “Seemed like you could use a hand drowning your sorrows.”

“You don’t have a lot of those to spare, last time I checked.”

Surprisingly, it makes his companion laugh. 

“Think of this as a white flag. I’m drinking to forget, too.”

“Forget what? How bright your hair shines in the sun– or the fact that it will be wrapped around your ears in a few years?” 

Jaime lets out a terribly fake laugh this time. “Very funny, Greyjoy,” he states with his drink held up in Theon’s direction. “Being a fool does run in your family doesn’t it? How many times has your father rallied his supporters in an effort for independence now? Fifth time might just be the charm.” 

Theon smiles tightly at Jaime as he walks over. “I’d say being a cunt runs in your family, but it seems mine’s got that covered as well, how does it feel to have your sister guard your balls in a jar?” He eyes the green-eyed man. For a man pushing it on fifty, Jaime still looked pleasantly attractive. 

“You have a sister, Theon, you know how women are,” Jaime shrugs before downing the rest of his drink. “I’ve heard your little friend has returned to his northern territory. He’s not thinking of picking up politics is he?” 

“What– Robb?” Theon questions incredulously. “Are you afraid he’ll crush your lot if he gets into the game?” 

Jaime orders another round for both of them with a simple flick of his wrist towards the bartender.

“Besides, Robb knows better than to become a politician, he’s not nearly narcissistic enough for it. That’s why old Ned never lasted.”

“Why didn’t you choose politics then? You’ve got the narcissism pinned down at least.” Jaime asks, he slides one of the freshly poured drinks against the granite bar until it’s sitting in front of Theon. “I’m sure the girls would love to see you on the papers.”

“Them and their fathers I should hope…” 

“Are you making a pass at me now, Greyjoy?” Jaime smirks. He takes a sip and almost stares into Theon’s soul. Theon could definitely take Jaime to bed, he’s known to be idiotic, sure. But not that idiotic.. 

“You flatter yourself too much. You Lanister lot love to preen don’t you?” Theon finally picks up his drink. “What is it that you’re up to these days anyway?”

“Trying to figure out that one for myself, actually,” Jaime admits, a restrained smile on his lips. The stubble outline of a beard peppers his jaw. The grey in it is the first sign of true age on the man.  “Advice to a man about ten years younger than me, don’t wait till your forties to do what you’ve always wanted to do.”

“Thanks for the heads up, but I’m pretty certain every twenty-year-old has that revelation.”

Jaime looks Theon down before looking forward and sipping his drink. “You’re at the country club, drinking with a man past his prime on a Sunday morning rather than waking up to breakfast with the person you love,” Jaime says to him. “There isn’t somewhere else you’d rather be?”

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t realise coming here meant I was going to be psycho-analysed,” Theon swallows back his drink with a careful laugh. “So, are you in the north for business or pleasure?”

“I’ve never known the north to offer much pleasure,” He laughs. “Strictly business. And to get my sister out of my hair for at least a month or two.” 

“You’re here for a month or two then?” Theon sips his whiskey, feeling the potent burn of it down his throat. 

“Yeah, if I can digest the northern climate any longer, I might do more,” Jaime says in a more tempered tone. He stares down at his drink and gives it a few swirls before swallowing back more. “What is it that you do, Greyjoy?” 

“Anyone that catches my eyes, really,” Theon chimes. 

He can’t help the flirtatious air that his banter always seems to have, not to mention when in attractive company. But Theon knows that the younger men are not exactly Jaime’s cup of tea, and he’s well past being interested in men who don’t reciprocate that feeling. Still, flirting with a brick wall has its charms. Theon lets his finger line the rim of his tumbler before giving a serious answer. 

“I help Asha run Black Wind,” Theon replies. He doesn’t want to get into detail, he knows better than to gloat around a Lannister. 

“Right, tech,” Jaime nods before hailing down the barman again. “I’ve heard your sister’s about to tie the knot.”

Theon’s stomach does a knot of its own. 

“Haven’t written up a speech yet?”

“Haven’t picked out a suit,” Theon mumbles, half to himself, half to Jaime. 

“Is the tech world as lucrative as they say?”

“I run up quite the tab here, and it never seems to hurt the wallet,” He shrugs. 

“Then I take it the next round is on you?”

It’s odd, finding a friendship. One usually doesn’t know when it’s in the process of unfolding. Oftentimes, it’s a slow, unnoticeable progression, naturally meandering in a usual way from casual chit-chatting at the water cooler to a coffee after work. Slow, unnoticeable, and mundane. But sometimes, Theon thinks, you’ll look at a prick beside you at the bar, and realise you have much more in common than you’d think, and next thing you know, you’re buying him a round.

Funny little world.

He knocks back his newly acquired drink. “It’s on me.”

Barth’s has always been a staple since their youth. According to northerners, it was a rite of passage– get pissed drunk in your local Barth’s. To Theon it was more nostalgic than anything good. He still can’t seem to get past the fact that the tables are always sticky to the touch and the fact that anyone would choose to put carpets in a damned pub. 

He does it more for Robb than he does for himself. He much rather go to a nice bar somewhere that actually wipes their tables down with a clean cloth. But this shithole feels sort of like the old days. 

Back when they were younger, Barth’s was the only place to buy a drink that they could actually afford. Barth’s was known for that, perhaps it’s the reason why they have several pubs all across the north. 

If he thinks on it, Theon knows they didn’t properly spend their youths as recklessly as they hoped, or as he would have hoped. Him and Robb did plenty before Jeyne came into the picture. Many times, even Jon made a special appearance, much like tonight. 

They did plenty of dumb things before then, back then it was a little less serious and Robb seemed to allow himself to still be a child. Ever since Ned Stark relieved himself of duty, politically, some sort of generational weight fell onto Robb’s shoulders. He embodied more of the big brother than he ever had before then, he took life far more seriously and even settled down with Jeyne. 

For that reason, Theon had started off hating the Westerling girl. She was inconsequential, something about how ordinary she was, bothered Theon. Because if anyone was going to come into the picture, he would have thought it would be someone spectacular. Someone who made Robb’s eyes sparkle. Someone who, looking at the two together, would make them some picture of regality, like Gods or fables, or the couple on the big screen that makes a cynical person believe in love. Theon had conceded, after getting to know her, and realising that his contempt had been envy. 

Even as Robb sits before him, curls a bit longer than usual, his beard even more unkempt than he ever lets it be, he knows that Robb is a sight to behold. It’s only natural, Theon is an admirer of beautiful things. It’s just not like that, not anymore. 

“Lyanna keeps texting me, asking me to meet.” 

For a moment, Theon had almost forgotten that Jon was sitting next to him. “It’s been a month, why don’t you?” Theon replies. Over the years, he and Jon have come to some sort of agreement, a sort of mutual admiration despite little patience for one another. 

“She left, feels weird that she was gone for all the hard parts and she’s suddenly back when I’m all grown up and don’t really need a mother anymore,” Jon replies with a shrug.

“Fair enough,” Theon says, to which Robb nods. 

Both Jon and Robb have both made their ways through a whole pint since they’ve sat down, while Theon, who has been against beer since an early age, is still making his way through a mojito.

Theon never paid much attention to Jon growing up, besides the occasional shooing-away. He wasn’t ever that interested in it. For the most part though, he did grow to understand that his life could not have been easy. Theon had his own issues with his family and in some ways, his mother had always been the saving grace. Where he never had his brothers or his father on his side, his mother always took him into his arms and told him she was proud of him, that he was enough when he was told otherwise. 

“Did dad ever say why she left?” 

“No, he told me it was complicated and that he would explain it when I got older,” Jon says. “But as I got older I didn’t feel the need to ask so much.”

Robb shakes his head. “He’s always keeping something secret,” Robb replies, starting on his second pint. 

He hasn’t had a moment to unwind with Robb since their family barbecue thing. He had spent most of his time getting told off by Sansa for flirting with her friend Jeyne and finishing off a nice bottle of High Gardens red. As he watches them talk, he feels more an observer than a participant, despite his chiming in. He’s tried on more than one occasion to catch Robb’s eye and get some time with him where he didn’t have to share his company, but as a dutiful older brother, his attention was occupied.

“It’s infuriating,” Jon agrees. “Arya told me that he was acting really strange with Gendry.”

“Mmm.” Robb swallows a sip and shakes his head. “It’s like they’re both on edge, him and mother.”

“Bomb in the house.”

“That’d be me,” Robb’s lil quirks up in a twitchy smile. 

“Don’t take all the credit. My estranged mother and his sister, who they all have a mysterious past with, is in town. Everyone is bringing around a new lover to meet, or dancing around a prospective one,” Jon inspects his drink, swishing the amber liquid around, voice cheekily chipper. “And there’s an eight-year-old running around. They might just be stressed in general .” 

“Or they’re secretly spies,” Robb runs his temple, feigning distress. “And all this secret keeping and stress lines are because the country is in perilous danger.”

“Scratch what I said. That’s the only thing it could be.” 

The brothers share a laugh. Theon eats a pretzel. 

“I thought about fucking Jaime Lannister today. But that’s make me turncoat, so I didn’t.” 

“Gods, Theon,” Jon chokes on his drink. “Is there anyone else you could be ogling besides a Lannister?” 

“Well your mom’s is in town, and I heard she’s a looker.”

“You’re such a twat,” Jon tells him. The frown that usually graces his face is even deeper, and he all but pouts in his seat.

Theon continues laughing, even if it is only to himself. “One of my more redeeming qualities, I’ve been told.”

“Alright, alright enough now,” Robb tries to put an end to their bickering, distracting them with another shocker. “Jeyne’s visiting next week.” It’s enough nonsense when Robb admits that. 

“For work?” Robb nods. Jeyne often moved around for work, often weeks at a time, he knows that played into the fact that Liane moved with Robb. “How’re you feeling about it?” 

“Liane is excited about it…” Robb says, swallowing back more of his beer. It shows his discomfort. “I don’t think she’s fully grasped the fact that we’re not together or married anymore and never will be again… It’s just… I mean, Gods, it’s weird. We’ve been together since we were kids and it feels bizarre not to always have her around. That’s divorce I guess.” 

“This is why I think marriage is a scam and it’s just not natural for us,” Theon jokes. “I should probably tell Asha that before she says her vows.” 

His sister is the one other family member that he appreciates. Though he never says it to her face, he’s grateful for his older sister and despite his words, he is happy that she’s found the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with. 

“Yeah, but Aly is a great woman, I think they’re a good match,” Robb tells him, always taking his banter seriously to a certain extent. “Just because I’m alone, doesn’t mean everyone else should be.”

“You misunderstand me, I meant that monogamy isn’t natural,” Theon continues his blather. “But sure, if she were to choose anyone, I’m glad it’s Alysane Mormont. They’re really bridging the historic animosity between our islands.” 

“Do you ever stop talking?” Jon asks him, though there is still mirth in his tone. 

Robb for a moment seems somewhere else. If he were back on earth, he’d have noticed that the truce (stuck in his honour) between his two favourite people was waning, and quickly. Likely, he was still thinking about Jeyne and their daughter, as he often laments. Tonight had been an effort to get Robb out the house, possibly try to get him to take his mind off things, maybe even try his hand at flirting with someone. 

Theon knows it’s a fruitless effort however. A few weeks ago, Robb had shamefully admitted to coming close to the jaws of infidelity by the end of his marriage. Knowing his friend, Robb has likely barred any notions to romantic involvement due to the guilt. 

“You good, Robb?” Jon asks. “Still thinking about Jeyne?” 

“Yeah, I just feel tense. But not for any reason. Liane will be happy to see her mother, and, all things considered… It’s odd to have spent so much time without seeing her at all.” His teeth find a loose piece of skin on his lip. 

Theon knows that look well. Introspective, riddled with guilt he doesn’t deserve to shoulder. 

“I don’t miss our marriage. But this is all so… unfamiliar.”

Theon nods, taking it in. 

“Why haven’t you moved into a flat somewhere? You know. Got out of your parents’ place, settled in somewhere you can have a little less stress… not feel like you’re walking on eggshells on top of this already stressful situation.”

Robb laughs.

“I want to. But, Liane, I don’t want her having to adjust to two huge life changes at once. I already took her away from her home, her mum, her school… At least at Winterfell, she has some semblance of normalcy.”

Normalcy. The word hangs over the air between them all. It’s not something that’s going to be rearing its head in any of their lives any times soon, that’s to be sure. 

Theon drops his keys into a dish and kicks off his shoes after walking through the door. The whole flat is dimly lit, just the way he likes it. 

As he makes his way through his home, he still feels the inebriated buzz that runs through his veins. 

Collapsing on the couch, he lets out a long sigh, and closes his eyes.

It's nonsensical to think he’s going to be getting up and making anything to eat, despite how ravishingly starving he is. If he did, he’d wake up too much, and probably not get to sleep afterwards. With the promise of a gloriously large breakfast in the morning, Theon lets his mind wander as he listens to the hum of the heater.

The jokes about sleeping with Jaime Lannister were just that— jokes. In truth, it would be a lot harder to wrap his mind around the idea that he actually enjoyed himself with the man, in a way that was completely void of sexual tension. Theon was well-liked by the people in his immediate vicinity, that’s surely not news. Despite his family’s nasty reputation, his charm carries him far enough to eclipse any preconceived notions. Always flashing a smile, always dolling out compliments, but everything usually came with the air of flirtation. He’s sure that without skirting by on the coattails of his good looks, he’d have a lot less (decently) goodwill from the community. Sure, he’s a Greyjoy, He knows they think. But he’s got a fun sparkle! 

He’s sure that in the minds of the people, his place in the life starts and ends with a good laugh and a great fuck. And he’s comfortable with that framework. Making a friend, however, with nothing so unsavoury on his mind? That’s pretty uncharted waters. Especially well into adulthood. Do adults even make friends? His mind wanders.

Maybe the joke about Lyanna Stark was uncalled for, he muses absently. Maybe he’ll apologise to Jon in the morning. And maybe Robb could move in here with him for a bit. They could make big breakfasts together. Wouldn’t that be grand? 

But thoughts pondered before sleep rarely stick, and he drifts into slumber without revisiting either. 

Chapter Text

chapter twelve: ned ii 

"to know me is to hate me, is to hate what i've become," - godlight, noah kahan

four-and-thirty years ago

It’s a particularly cold winter morning. Shielding himself away in a little coffee house for a spot of breakfast is a far better choice than being outside. 

His newspaper takes up most of the little table so he holds his coffee in his palm as he reads. With every slight movement, the table wobbles either way, so it’s not the safest to leave his cup on the edge. He takes solace in the slowly depleting coffee, his third of the day. 

When he lifts his eyes for a moment, he sees a flash of auburn hair. It feels like a familiar sight. The redhead turns with a smile and the blue of her eyes are not easy to forget. It’s Catelyn Tully, his brother’s girlfriend, or fling, former in any case. Seeing her brings colour to his cheeks immediately. 

“Catelyn,” he blurts out before it’s too late to stop himself. He’s silly for it, he should not have called on her, it’s particularly unlike him to be so impulsive. 

Her face turns to surprise when she sees him. It takes her a moment but she remembers and takes a seat in the chair facing his. Ned quickly adjusts his posture to where he was formerly hunched over his paper to sitting tall and straight. He flashes her a smile. 

“It’s been a while— how are you?” Ned asks, he smiles as he does so, it’s contagious at this moment. 

“Not too long, only a few months,” Catelyn tells him. “I’ve been good, nonetheless. How’re you? Are you going for an interview… you look quite proper.” 

Ned laughs, she’s funny, that’s something he’s always noticed. He reaches for the tie around his neck, the one that he spent all morning trying to do up, even using an illustration from a magazine he had crumbled up from years back. 

“I have somewhat of a presentation later in the day,” Ned shrugs. “You look…” He trails off, thinking of an appropriate word. brilliant, perfect, just stunning?  “Nice, are you going anywhere particular?” He settles, it’s an awkward situation, each time he’s reminded that this woman has in fact dated his older, much more interesting, much more attractive, brother. 

“Nowhere in particular, just getting some scones for Lysa and I,” she says with a breathless smile. 

Ned berates himself over his inability to speak to women. 

In all honesty, it’s never actually been his strong suit. He hasn’t got the knack for it, not like Robert, or Brandon. His best friend and brother are so sure about themselves, it’s almost innate for them. Ned only had a talent for tripping over his own tongue and clammy hands around women. 

“I’ve just moved to the Vale, somewhat permanently,” Catelyn adds. “I’d been debating it for a while when I was still with Brandon. After it all, I still thought– why not?”

Ned folds his lips tightly. The shadow of his older brother has always been a big one. It had been pretty evident in high school when he thought he was in love for the first time. 

“Are you liking it?” Ned asks. Her voice is smooth, like freshly fallen snow. He only wants to keep asking her questions so that he can hear it again. 

“A bit cold for my liking. I don’t know how you do it, I can’t make it a minute outside before my cheeks start turning red.” 

The mountain air always felt quite sharp.

“You’ll get used to it, and it suits you.”

She gives a breathless laugh and her cheeks go red, just like she had told him. Ned knows it’s his comment and not the cold that does it. 

“If you ever need a familiar face… I’d be happy to show you around if you ever feel up to it.” 

Ned swallows back the disbelief behind his own audacity. Somehow the three coffees he’s had that day have loosened the grip his brain has got on his tongue. He doesn’t expect her to be interested in him, just being friends with her is enough for him. 

“I’d actually love that. Maybe it’s the foreigner in me, but there’s something so much lonelier about the cold,” Catelyn says with complete sincerity. “Can I take your number?” 

He nods enthusiastically and takes out the pen from his shirt pocket. He scribbles his number on a napkin and writes Eddard Stark below it so she remembers. 

She takes the napkin and quirks an eyebrow. “Eddard?” She questions. Her fingers look soft and smooth against the napkin. There’s so much grace in her every move. She’s like a leaf off a weirwood. The red, the soft sway in the breeze. 

“Ned is actually short for Eddard,” he tells her. He would prefer if people called him Eddard, but it seems well past the moment for that to actually stick. Imagine if anyone called Robert Bob , it’s not very serious to have a nickname.

“Well, thank you. I’m going to call you, I promise,” Catelyn rises from where she had taken a seat facing him. “I’ll see you around, Ned.” 

As she strolls out of the coffee house, Ned keeps hearing the way his name had rolled off her tongue. He might just be the silliest man in town, Brandon would probably deplete all the air in his lungs out of laughter if Ned ever told him about how fast his heart was beating. 

He sits in astonishment for the next few minutes. He still holds onto his empty mug and thinks about her. If she ever calls him, it wouldn’t hurt being friends. He just knows, even if Brandon isn’t weird about it, he will definitely be awkward with his brother about it. 

After he’s done thinking so hard, Ned realises he’s going to be late for his presentation if he allows himself to continue replaying their conversation in his head. 

He packs up this things and braces himself for the weather with his coat collar turned up against the wind and a scarf keeping his neck warm.

Later that day, he makes it home with one too many thoughts in his head. He’s barely one foot through the door when he hears his phone ring. Juggling his bags, he manages to set them on his coffee table before picking up. 

“Yes, Eddard Stark speaking?”

“It’s me, prick, I’m coming over.”

Ned laughs. “Since when do you give a warning before you show up?” He asks his friend. 

“Since the last three times where you haven’t been home. I should get a copy of your key for convenience.”

“In your dreams, Baratheon. Make sure to bring some food while you’re at it, I’m not about to listen to your complaining about what I’ve got in the fridge.” 

“Well noted then, I’m bringing pizzas, the High Garden type. Yes, plural, I’ve had a rough day, I need to eat.” 

“Alright, I’m ending this call now, it’s gone on for too long already.”

Robert ends it without another word and Ned only laughs at it. Flashes of auburn waves play behind his eyelids. He needs to get her off his mind. 

It doesn’t take long before Robert arrives and throws himself on the sofa. By the way he sighs, Ned can tell there’s something on his friend’s mind. 

Ned opens up two beers and hands one to Robert before taking a seat next to him on the sofa. He’s pretty worn out himself. Sitting with a beer and some food is the best way he can think of unwinding. 

“Your sister’s driving me crazy, Ned,” Robert finally fesses up. 

Ned takes a long swig of his beer, Barth’s— locally brewed. “It’s awful enough that you’re still dating my little sister, Robert, but complaining about her to me is frankly despicable.” He can’t be more eloquent than that. 

“Yeah, well, who else am I supposed to complain to? You’re my one actual friend,” Robert defends himself. He reaches forward to take a slice of the thin crusted pizza, digging in to eat away his frustrations. “And you know her better than anyone. Why’s she doing this to me?”

“Before answering that, I’d have to know what she’s actually doing to you first. I’m not even sure I want to know though,” Ned doesn’t eat yet. He nurses his bottle just a bit longer. 

He and Robert were friends for far longer than his sister, Lya, and Robert have been together. If he could even call them that. They were perpetually at odds, breaking up and making up at least once every month. 

“The look you have just tells me that I really don’t want to know what’s been happening,” Ned tells him firmly. He takes a slice of the pizza, knowing sooner or later Robert will make him lose his appetite. 

Robert downs his beer and goes for another. He takes a while before he’s able to sit back and properly speak his mind. 

“Lya is fiery, she’s everything to me, gods— when we’re together… when we’re having sex—“

Ned cuts him off with a groan. It’s bad enough that his best friend is dating his sister, it’s worse hearing about her sex life. Particularly when she’s still a teenager.

“No listen, Ned, when we have sex, it’s the best thing that could ever be happening. But when we’re talking, it’s like she’d rather be anywhere else. When things are getting serious, she no longer wants to be around. It’s hard having her so far away”

“Do you ever think that maybe now that we’re in uni, you should probably be dating another girl in uni ? Instead of my sister, who’s still in high school? Someone more regional perhaps?”

Robert sets his beer down and turns to Ned. His shirt sleeves are messily folded up his forearms— they showcase the muscle beneath the skin. 

“I can’t just forget her because I’m no longer in high school with her. I’m never going to feel this way about anyone else. She’s special. She just forgets what we have and I wish she would just speak to me.”

“You slept with another woman, Robert, did you really think she was going to act normal after that?” Ned finally tells him. 

“She ended things, then I slept with Wylla,” Robert says. “Actually no, I slept with Wylla then she ended things, then I slept with Wylla again.”

“You are a wanker, you know that right? Your lack of self awareness is always astounding,” Ned tells his friend with a deep laugh. 

Robert simply groans and sits back, downing his second bottle. “I’ll just take the weekend train and sneak over to your parents’ house and make her speak to me.”

“Yeah, that should work,” Ned nods sarcastically. He gets another beer for both of them before he sits down again. “I ran into Catelyn today.”

“Tully? Brandon’s plaything?” 

“She was not a plaything ,” Ned quickly puts in. He’s not sure which part gives him away– his urgency or the way his voice snaps at Robert. 

Robert laughs deeply and loudly, the kind of laugh that rumbles throughout the room. Ned massages his temples prematurely, he knows exactly what Robert is going to say and he’s not looking forward to it. Either way, perhaps he deserves to hear something of the sort. 

“Are you joking– you now fancy another one of Brandon’s girls?” Robert continues laughing, even as he speaks. 

“I only said that I ran into her, I said nothing of the sort,” Ned sips his beer in hopes that it’ll sprinkle some sense into him. “Besides… this isn’t like Ashara.” 

Ashara had been in high school, his first actual encounter with a woman. Being with a woman once did not mean he had any experience whatsoever. It had been messy, not the sex, but the situation. 

Ned’s older brother, Brandon, had supposedly been seeing Ashara, knowing that Ned had a thing for her, Brandon somehow convinced Ashara to ask out Ned. 

He’d been upset about it for awhile, refusing to speak to Brandon because of it. He had thought that maybe, there would be a chance with Ashara, a relationship, falling in love. That all shattered when Brandon finally admitted his involvement. His brother just could not keep a secret to save his life. 

“Brandon was just being petty back then. He never talks about his real feelings, I never knew if Ashara and him were actually serious about each other or if it was a casual thing. Same goes for Catelyn.” 

Robert nods his head but still sips his beer and laughs to himself. “You are making excuses for yourself,” Robert says. 

“I’m eighteen and I’ve never actually dated anyone, do you really think by some miracle I’m going to convince Catelyn Tully to even look at me that way? After she had Brandon?” Ned lays back on the sofa and sighs. “Only in my dreams will she ever give me the time of day.”

present day

He walks with Ghost on a tight leash, he has a tendency to wander off but the city is no place for that. They’ve been circling the same four streets for about twenty minutes now. Barrowton’s Coffee sits on the third street, cornered by a flower shop. Him and Ghost have seen the wilting carnations at least twice now. 

He’s been building up the courage this entire time. He supposes he’s a rather brave sort of man, at least he knows himself to be. Just right now, Jon doesn’t know how brave he really can be. 

It’s not very often that a man has to meet his mother for the first time in his life after over thirty years of existence. He’s spotted her from afar about fifteen minutes ago. She’s still sat outside, glancing at her watch every now and then as she waits for him to show up. 

The last time he passed by, she was smoking a cigarette. The one he had between his fingers made his throat itch just at the sight of her. 

Jon doesn’t know if he can approach her. He doesn’t know if he can handle getting to know the woman he’s dreamed about his whole life, the person he’s prayed to the gods for. He knows that she’s going to be everything he’s ever dreamed of. So, he avoids it entirely, smoking his third cigarette as he continues holding Ghost’s leash loosely. 

On his third round, he finds it impossible to approach her. She’s on the phone now, her fingers loosely gathered in her brown hair, hair like his and despondency colours her grey eyes. 

She’s beautiful. He’s only seen photos of her from when she was younger. He agrees with his uncles who admit that she and Arya share a lot of common physical traits. Only Lyanna Stark has seen much more of life outside of him. She’s had over thirty years of unknown adventures since she left Winterfell. 

Jon puts out his cigarette into a nearby bin and begins his walk home. Ghost catches on, meeting his fast pace as they begin their journey. 

He paces as he speaks to her, or moreso, listens to her. 

“It’s been thirty minutes, he’s not going to show up.”

Ned sighs, “Give him a little more time, maybe he’s running late.” As a father, Ned knows perfectly well that Jon is not the type to run late. 

“I deserve this, don’t I?” 

His sister’s desolation bothers him. Thirty-two years might have passed since he last got to be her big brother, but somehow the instinct returns all the same. 

“Don’t be like that, Lya,” Ned tries to plead with her. “Try to think about him for this. If he doesn’t show up, it’s because he needs more time to process it all.”

He hears her sigh over the phone, the wind around her can be heard through the phone too. He holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he tries to fit another capsule into his espresso machine. 

“Yeah, I’ll give it another few minutes.”

“Alright, Lya, let me know how it goes.”

There’s a quick knock before the door burst open and a very concerned-looking Jon walks in. He doesn’t meet Ned’s eyes for a few good moments, staying silent in a way that seems to mean he’s still processing things. 

His son paces a bit before he closes the door behind him and Ghost, his dog, still on his leash. He reeks of tobacco, despite his best efforts to hide the fact that he smokes, Ned can tell. 

“Are you alright, son?” Ned finally asks. He lowers his glasses, letting them hang from the chain that keeps him from losing them. 

Jon shakes his head and looks to the ceiling before he sighs. “I should’ve knocked, sorry,” Jon says with a nervous laugh. “Well, I did knock, I just didn’t wait I suppose.” He doesn’t at all seem in the mood to be laughing. 

“Did something happen?” 

“I saw Lyanna.” He pauses before continuing, “it’s all too weird for me to call her mum…” Jon says. He’s still pacing as he talks, refusing to meet Ned’s eyes. “Well, I saw her from a distance. I was supposed to meet her– I told her I would. But then I saw her sitting there… she looks exactly as I imagined her to look my whole life and I couldn’t bring myself to walk up to her. I felt my throat close up and how am I supposed to just have a conversation with her? Like nothing happened— like she didn’t leave me?”

“Jon, son, it’s fine if you freaked yourself out,” Ned leaves his coffee machine blinking and walks over to Jon. He puts a protective arm around him and makes an attempt to lead him to the sofas. 

Jon’s still out of breath when he sits down and Ghost circles him, whining ever so often. Ned fills out a glass of water from the carafe on the side table and hands it to Jon. 

“Do you want to talk about it? Or maybe you’d like me to talk? We can even sit in silence if you would prefer.”

Jon manages a small laugh at that but still looks relatively tense. “I have no idea…” He admits exasperatedly. “I just don’t understand why she would leave if she looks that great, what could have possibly drawn her away?” 

Ned finds himself at an uncomfortable crossroads. Lyanna had been a troubled youth. Even with three brothers, they could not protect her as they had hoped. There had been a time, after Ned had moved for university and began renting a small flat in the Vale, that Lyanna seemed to be going down roads no one had expected. He hadn’t even been there to save her. 

He most often than not contributed her behaviour to the man who fathered Jon. He could not help but hold a grudge that has lasted at least a generation. There were things he did not admit to Jon, for everyone’s sakes. But if that fanciful silver-haired man were still around, Ned wouldn’t have held back. 

Catelyn had been there through it all however. He remembered the two of them laughing over their growing baby bumps. Everyone thinking that since her pregnancy, no matter how young, that Lyanna had finally sobered up and gotten her life on track for her new baby. They had all been disappointed to find out that it wasn’t the case. 

“It was all in the past, what matters is that she’s trying to make amends,” Ned tries to comfort his son. “You are in no way forced to see her if that is not something you want to do. I’ve spoken to your mother and I’ve let her know that all of this is to happen on your terms.” 

Jon nods and lays back against the sofa. He covers his face with his palms. “Sorry, dad, I didn’t mean for this to get all out of hand,” 

Ned laughs. “Son, you have every right to act however you want in this situation. Don’t ever apologise to me.” 

It’s a cold night. Frost gathers at the edges of the window panes, shrouding the outside view with a fog-like appearance. In the house, they’re warm, good heating is essential in Winterfell. 

Still, the days are getting longer and the nights shorter. The earlier he manages to get himself into bed, the better. There’s one thing he’s always prioritised and that was being in bed with his wife and turning down for the night together.

After their rough years following his political downfall, being in the papers every other day and not being able to go out without being recognised as the man who betrayed their long standing minister. 

Catelyn had always known the true story of deception and it still never made things any easier, not when the whole country refused to hear the truth. She stood by him regardless, even if he had spent the previous years absorbed in politics and covering up Robert’s endless scandals. 

After the dust settled, Ned had gotten a second chance at things and he made sure to change his ways– to become a better man. After years of long nights hunched behind a computer or over piles of papers, Ned chose to become the man that holds his wife in his arms till they both fall asleep.

She rests softly against his chest, drawing circles gently on his skin. Her nails are blunt and the movements soothing. It never fails to warm his chest.

“What’s on your mind, darling?”

He continues his own fingers’ pursuit in her hair, playing with the soft auburn ringlets in thought. “I was thinking about how we met, today. At Moon’s, when you had just moved to the Vale,” Ned begins. “I remember Robert laughed at me when I told him I ran into you.”

“And then you told him, only in your dreams would I date you?” She laughs as she finishes his sentence.

“I must be really dreaming if we’re here now with our six kids back at home,” Ned tells her with a kiss on the top of her head. He ponders it for a moment before letting the words spill from his mouth. “Cat… do you remember about five-and-twenty years ago when there was a cheating scandal of Robert’s?” 

“Oh dear, which one, there’s been so many at this point?” 

She giggles at her own joke. Whilst it is astute, this one had been more specific. “When it came to light that Mya wasn’t Robert’s only ‘illegitimate’ child and so I had to track down all of the other leads.” He explains. Her fingers still, he can tell she’s interested. “There were at least one-and-ten of them. The mothers all knew and so Stannis helped me put up a fund which was more hush money if anything.” 

“I remember you were working on things but I know it was secretive so I never pried.” 

Ned lets his eyes wander for a moment as he tries to fit his words together. The room is relatively dark, save for their soft bedside lamps that give them light, enough for him to see how focused she is. 

He can make out the shadows of her features, how the light hits her nose and the freckles that pepper her smooth skin. She looks up at him with blue eyes of concern. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t remember to be thankful to the gods for bringing her into his life.

“I remember every single one of those names, Cat,” he tells her, still running his fingers through her soft hair.

“I believe you, your memory is remarkable,” she nods.

“Gendry Waters was on that list, Cat.” From the moment his words register to her, she covers her mouth with her hand and goes silent. “I think I realised before he even told me his last name. I could tell from his eyes. And his hair, gods, you don’t see hair that black anywhere.”

She doesn’t even look him in the eyes, instead staring off into the distance in thought. “How will you tell Arya?” She asks with wonder.

“It’s taken her years to even introduce her partner to us, how do you think she’ll take this?” Ned cautions his wife. “She perceives everything as an attack on her. How can I tell her the truth without her running away again?” 

“Ned…” Catelyn sighs and sits up to meet his eyes. “I don’t think this will all end well. And with your sister back. I just keep feeling like something bad is going to happen.” 

He pulls her towards him to kiss her forehead. He leans into it, prolongs it, just so that he can breathe her in. He doesn’t want to tell her that he can’t shake that gut feeling either. All the connections to Robert just keep resurfacing and he hasn’t spoken to the man in over ten and five years. 

“It’ll all be fine,” he reassures her despite his uncertainty.

He knows better than to take Catelyn’s gut feelings lightly. There’s something sharp about a mother’s instincts and he only hopes that this time she’s wrong.

Chapter Text

chapter thirteen: catelyn ii 

"tell the wolves that i'm home, and i'm back for you, i came back for you," - tell the wolves, jordan moore

ten-and-four years ago

The chill fall air nipped at Catelyn’s hollow cheeks. Unlike her hale-and-hearty daughters, with their bouncy cheeks and blushing skin, the cold only turned Cat grey. The North didn't agree with her– it never did. Sansa had apples in her cheeks that went red in the biting weather, and Arya was as fresh-faced as the morning snow on the day she was born. They came to life in the cold. 

Though Sansa favored her mother, with her light hair and skin, both daughters fit into place naturally in the cold. They were not as dissimilar as strangers could be led to believe at a glance. 

Unlike her beloved children, however, Catelyn always thought the cold made her look like a corpse. She had a gray undertone to her complexion, and her skin felt thinner every year. On the rare days in summer of warmth, she would feel the life return to her body like new blood rushing in through an IV. She had tried to make a home in her husband’s country. She had done as well as she could. But, in truth, she missed the sun. She missed feeling like a living thing. 

Her shoes crunched against day-old snow. It’s time to replace these, She thought, feeling the cold reach her toes. Shoes never lasted more than one winter season in the north. Another creature crunched in the snow behind her, and at the sound, Cat turned to face it.

There she was.

Bigger than a normal dog, but thin in the face from what could only be malnourishment, the dark-coated mutt stood stark and beautiful against the white snow. Her blue eyes regarded Cat quietly. Old snow fluttered onto her from an overhanging branch, dusting her pelt in sparkling flakes. Her stomach was heavy and swollen, but still she held herself tall, with regal pride. She didn’t so much as bound away when she left, or scamper like other skittish strays her family had seen wandering the area. Instead, every step was careful and soundless. Catelyn’s eyes followed her dancing black tail until she disappeared behind the brush.

Cat pulled her scarf off from around her neck as soon as she stepped inside the mud room, letting out a breath she had been holding since she left the warmth of her car. 

“Ned,” She called, placing the scarf on a coat hanger, and slipping off her snow-covered shoes. There was no answer, despite the lively sounds of commotion within the house.

“Arya, is your father home?” She asked the blur sprinting across the living room she could only imagine was her youngest daughter. 

“He’s in the garage with Jon!” 

Cat caught her by the arm and pressed a greeting kiss to Arya’s head before she wiggled out from her grip and tore across the room again. Which was concerning, given that she had a pair of scissors.  

She sighed, catching Bran’s eyes as she did. He was sitting on the floor, working on some project for school. She smiled easily at him. A mother isn’t supposed to have favourites. And yet—

“Oh, Brandon,” she knelt beside him, pushing the hair from her eyes. “It’s coming along so well.” 

“It could be better. Robb said I spelled ‘Cumulonimbus’ wrong.”

“Quite a word. I doubt anyone will notice.” She reassured him. “Especially with the wonderful pictures you’ve drawn to distract them.” 

He pursed his lips, brow knit as he stared in concentration at the poster board on the floor. “You’re right. It really isn’t all that bad.”

“ Mum ,” Whined a voice from the stairs. 

“Darling, have you cut your hair?” Cat had to stifle a gasp. Her oldest daughter instantly burst into tears, and stormed back up the stairs. 

“No, Arya did and I HATE her!” 

It explained the scissors. And the running. She looked at Bran again, who shrugged. 

“I think shoulder length suits her.” He said easily. 

Cat laughed, and rubbed her eyes. Standing, she composed herself and made her way towards the garage. 

There he was, her dear spouse, crouched beside the car with his ever-dutiful shadow by his side. He seemed to be teaching Jon something about the motor, both their hands black with oil. When she had first married him, she had remarked to Lysa (with a flutter in her stomach) that he looked much better covered in grime and messy than he did in a three-piece-suit. To this day, she still quietly thought it was true. 

His dark brown hair was pulled back, and it looked as though Jon had copied his updo exactly, albeit with less success. 

“Oh husband,” She cooed, leaning on the doorframe into the garage. “Our home is burning down.” 

“Arya or Rickon?” 

“Sansa. Well, a Sansa-centered problem at the hands of Arya.” She smiled. They were a handful, but they were her handful. She would stomach a thousand lifetimes of headaches for her girls. 

Ned wiped his hands across the oil rag he had tucked in his back pocket. “Go and put dinner on, please.” He told Jon, who nodded and left for the kitchen. 

Cat regarded him. He still sat on the floor, his arms resting on his knees, gray eyes fixed gently on her blue. 

That look. Standing under a Weirwood tree, he had looked at her just the same. At the sink in their bathroom, brushing their teeth in tandem, he would look at her the same. When he washed the dishes. When he caught her eye from outside the big window, playing with the children. When he kissed her. When she was angry with him. When they prayed, and he peaked behind one still-shut eye. He looked at her the same now, and Cat was once again a blushing young thing, marrying a stranger she somehow felt she knew so well. Oh, her love, her love, her love .

“We’ll start getting the hang of it soon.” He told her, mouth turning up in a smile.

“Will you kiss me, Ned,” She sighed. “And come inside, and help me pretend to know how to parent six wild children?”

He did just as she asked. He always did.

Ned had taken Sansa’s sweet face in his hands that evening and told her she looked beautiful. She had sniffled and hopefully asked if the pretty girls in the South had short or long hair. Ned assured her they had all lengths, but that short was a smart and very fashionable choice. She had smiled, and he held her as she cried her last tears out.

He had visited Arya next, ruffled her hair, bent his knees to her level, and told her to be gentler with her sister. “She isn’t as wild as you, little creature.” He had winked at her, filling Arya’s little heart with a great pride. “She could learn from you. But you must learn from her gentleness.” Arya had promised to try– and to apologize. 

Cat felt a twinge in her heart that night when he recounted the events to her while getting ready for bed. You’re so good with them; no matter what I say, I always make them angry. She thought to herself, laying against her husband’s shoulder before drifting into a fitful sleep.

She dreamt of the mother dog

She saw her again, a week later. Catelyn had been getting the mail– her thick fur robe pulled tight around her to keep out the cold. In the driveway, big paws padded gently across tightly packed snow, leaving scarcely a single print behind, then slipped behind the brush at the treeline. Cat wondered just when her litter would be due. With the way her stomach hung low, it had to be soon. Perhaps she had a nice mate that was bringing her and their growing family food, and the pups would arrive just when spring was turning. Still, that night, Catelyn slipped from her bed and left some scraps by the trees. Just in case she was alone.

The stray’s visits to the house became more frequent after that, which was to be expected. “If you feed them, they come back,” She had told Bran just one summer back, who had taken to feeding all the ravens in town. “And before you know it, you have a bird problem.” This was different, of course. Birds could survive fine on their own in the wild. But this dog looked sick, and she had clearly begun to depend on Catelyn’s scraps already. She would stop just before the pups were born, so she could get used to hunting again, and that would be that. However, she never got the chance to ween off her kindness, as only two days later, the stray was nowhere to be found. She didn’t come the day after, either. But Cat still brought the food.

Catelyn stood at the treeline, blowing hot air into her palms. Her nose had lost all feeling, and her fingers were on the way out next. 

Just a little longer, she reasoned. Perhaps the dog was just right around the corner. 

She looked back at the house, far enough away to not be seen, and then back into the woods. She hadn’t told her family about the dog– no, they’d have begged her to let them adopt it,  and Catelyn couldn’t win that battle. She’d be outnumbered. Especially since Ned would have undoubtedly sided with the children. 

She felt herself leaning forward, to get a better look into the woods. Then, one slippered foot crunched on leaves, and she stepped through the branches.

The forest floor was covered in less snow than the rolling fields surrounding their estate. The dense woods, still peppered in frost, had sticks and decay poking through the white blanket in brown and orange patches. She tried to keep to those. After all, her socks were already getting too damp for her liking. And she wouldn’t be out here long.

She wasn’t sure if she should call out– it felt like the type of situation where one would call a pet’s name, or psst psst psst if she was looking for a housecat. With nothing to call, she just bit the inside of her stinging cheek, and surveyed her surroundings for any sign of the dog. 

Ned would worry if she was gone too long, Cat knew that. But she couldn’t bring herself to go inside and tell him where she was. He would want to help. He would bring the kids. And, inexplicably, something had locked  her to that moment, and she felt paralyzed to do anything but keep looking. Thin hands, grey with cold, picked up a long branch and shifted through the buildup of snow around the trunk of a fallen tree. And that’s when she heard a whimper. 

With a gasp, she dropped to her knees, letting the stick clatter to the ground. She balled her hand up in the corner of her robe, and grasped the corner of the tree. Slowly, she peered around it to the other side. 

Lain in a heap, caked in dark, dried blood, was the mother. And curled around her frosted fur were six pups. 

Cat stared at the sight, unmoving, before she could even react. Uncloaking her hand, she reached out, and touched the mother’s pelt, snatching her hand back in fear, but she didn’t move. Only then did she, gingerly, place her palm against the mother’s cold fur, and brushed out a tangle by her neck. Then she began to cry. 

“Cat?” Called a voice from a ways away. Catelyn didn’t respond, only balled her left fist in the matted fur and continued to try and soothe the sweet creature. She pet her ears, and shut her eyes, as the pups licked her ankles. 

“Oh babies,” She cried in a whisper. One of the little things clambered into her arms, and another tugged at the ties on her robe.

Behind her, heavy footsteps picked up their pace, and soon she felt strong hands on her shoulders, and arms wrapping themselves around her.

“Catelyn, what happened?” Her husband began to say, before trailing off at the sight before them. 

She drew his arm close, and leaned herself into his embrace, tears burning her red raw skin. She let them fall.

“Can we bury her?” Is all she managed as he turned to face her, worried eyes checking her over for any injuries. 

His hands cupped her face, and he nodded, squeezing her hand tightly. Her eyes slid from his gaze and landed on the pups nipping at his shoes.

“I’ll take three, you carry the rest.”

Ned asked no questions. There was no need. They understood one another too well for silly things like asking “ why ”. He scooped them up in his arms, tucked them snug in close to his chest, and helped his wife to her feet. As she gathered the rest of the pups, Ned draped his coat across her shoulders, and together they walked out towards the break in the trees. 

present day

His curls are soft and stubborn against her fingers. He sleeps on deeply despite it, at least this way he seems less burdened with all his grief. His eyebrows are smooth and his lips look gentle. 

Catelyn can’t help but remember how Shaggy had come into their lives–  how each of her children’s other halves had. Even if she closes her eyes now, she can still see the taut face of the pups’ mother. Lady had passed first, so much sooner than she should have, and it had affected the whole house. But somehow, this feels worse. She sighs, covering her eyes with her palm, hoping the darkness stills the creeping migraine that’s been threatening to show itself for the past hour. 

Her mind lingers on the snow and blood that coated her fur robe that day, and how it would have been easy to wash, but Catelyn insisted they throw it out. She can still see the icy blue eyes staring, unseeing, at her from the forest floor. She can hear the children’s squeals of excitement as she and Ned shuffled in through the front door, and presented the puppies. She remembers the lecture Ned gave them about responsibility as he sat them down in the kitchen and the chorus of agreements and jittery legs that sat through the whole speech. 

That was all before. It was before they had all messed everything up. When they were all still a family, or at least, still wanted to be. 

When had it all gotten so complicated? Gods, she had thought it was so hard back then. If only she knew. She’d give anything to solve a row between her daughters again, and that be the biggest rift under their roof needing mending. Now it was all cracks and rifts. Now they had a leaky ceiling. 

Her youngest son reeks of liquor and cigarettes as he sleeps. His breaths are soft and quiet. He’s somewhere far away, probably thanks to whatever it is he had been up to the night before. 

Rickon had always been a handful from the start. Far wilder than any of her other children, even Arya. Arya had been all curiosity, and Rickon had just been chaos. Even now, she knows little about what goes on in his head. 

Since Shaggy’s passing, all he’s done is be anywhere but home. She’s not heard his laugh in a month. And even when she tries to get all her children together, she notices how restless he is, itching to get away from all of them. 

When he sleeps, he looks like the boy who would clutch at her legs, begging to be held as she prayed. The boy who was so fascinated by the candles she lit, who even grew to like the sound of thunder when she explained it to him. The boy who had been attached at the hip to his dog. 

She kisses his forehead, he needed the chaos to feel like himself, so she would not shame him for reeking of the vices he chose as a crutch. He would learn from this and grow stronger, like Robb. 

His eyes blink after her lips press against his warm skin. All of her children radiated warmth even in the cold winters. When lakes turned to ice and rivers froze, her children all flourished. Even her husband, no matter how cold it was, his warm hands would warm up her cold skin. 

It takes a few moments and blinks before Rickon places himself in the waking reality with a groan. Surely his head and body have caught on to whatever he’s put them through. She can’t help but laugh, her sweet boy.

He smiles back at her and she offers him the bottle of water that she’s brought to his nightstand. 

His room is messy, she’s noticed that since she’s walked in. Clothes sit in a falling pile on his chair. His desk is littered in crumpled receipts and a few odd things here and there. Arya had been the same way. Their minds were always going far too fast for the rest of the world to understand. Too fast for even her, despite coming from her own womb.

“Morning, Mum… is it super late?” 

She continues stroking his hair, her smile never leaves her lips. He’s beautiful with his auburn hair and bright blue eyes. Ned had always loved her hair, something she never understood till she became a mother. Her childrens’ red curls made her love hers even more. 

“Earlier than you’re used to. Around eleven.”

He manages to down half the bottle that she had brought for him. His eyes watch her attentively, as if waiting for her to tell him off. With the dull ache that settles at her crown, she can’t bring herself to do it.

Chapter Text

chapter fourteen: robb iii 

"thought i was raised better, tried to fake better, tried to blame weather and escape better," - no complaints, noah kahan

two years ago

She’s peaceful that morning. 

His wife leans over the kitchen island and sips her morning tea. She scrolls through her phone at the same time. Her light brown hair falls in waves over her shoulders, shrouding her face away from him. 

Their daughter still sleeps in the room upstairs, it’s just the two of them. Something she doesn’t notice until he walks over and pushes her hair back; just a strand behind her ear. 

Jeyne smiles at him. Her eyes are still tired, but she looks relaxed. Weekends are always easier on both of them. 

“Morning,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “How did you sleep?” 

He’s back from an early session at the gym to start his day. The only thing on his mind right now is coffee, which he slowly starts to prepare in his moka pot. 

He takes his time with it on the weekends. Freshly ground beans, carefully placed and aerated into the funnel. Going with the motions is what helps him get through his weeks and late nights. 

Jeyne looks like she’s still adjusting to being awake, it takes her a few moments before she’s able to answer him. “Not too great, I would’ve loved to have woken up with you,” she tells him in a sombre tone. It’s been quite cold lately, even in the Westerlands.

He smiles, “I just needed to clear my head.”

Jeyne nods, agreeing with him. Robb can see it in her brown eyes; she agrees to avoid an argument. She’s too tired for one. It makes it harder to tell her why exactly he had to clear his head. He’d been thinking of ways to tell her about his trip to the North. 

“Maybe you can wake Liane up when you’re done with your coffee? You were in late last night, she’ll be happy to see you.” 

He screws the bottom of the moka pot and places it gently on the stove. “Yeah, I can do that,” he still half-mindedly thinks of how to start his sentence. What is it about guilt that makes a human's vocal chords constrict, like someone's squeezing them to bits? He clears his throat, feigning nonchalance. Trying to trick his body into acting normal. It's especially frustrating when he knows this should be a lot easier than it is. 

His wife finally gives him a proper stare. She seems to have woken from her sleepy state, she now gazes at him intently.

Ah, he's been had. 

“Something on your mind?” She prods.

Robb wants to laugh, he very well should. They’ve been together for almost half their lives, it’s only natural that she knows him so well. 

“Just thinking,” Robb shakes his head. “I’ve got to pack my bags, I need to fly home. I’ll be just short of a month. Rickon’s starting uni, I’ve got to help him pack and settle in Skagos then come back.” 

He’s half blurted it all out. What was the point of playing fake scenarios in his head if he was going to blurt it all out in the most casual way possible? 

“You’re just leaving for a month? Without warning?”

“I’m telling you now, is that not warning enough?” 

Robb stares at her, he doesn’t want to fight but he knows that’s exactly what’s about to happen. The hushed words are already getting frustrating. 

“I’ve been telling you for weeks that Rickon’s gotten into UOS.” 

She swallows back some of the rage that lines her features. “I thought you’d have stopped doing that… We don’t live in your parents’ home anymore,” Jeyne tells him pointedly. 

“I’ve done it for Sansa, Arya, and Bran, why wouldn’t I be there for my youngest brother?” 

They continue whispering their entire argument and it irritates him more than he can articulate. 

“You’re not his parent. You didn’t have a daughter back then, now you do.” 

She’s right. When Bran had to leave for Oldtown, he and Jeyne weren’t even aware that she was pregnant yet. She spent the summer in the Westerlands with her parents, it wasn’t so hard back then to go and help Bran settle. 

Things are quite different now. They live miles away from Winterfell, they have done so since Liane was a few years old, it was the only way he knew he could preserve his marriage and sanity. Now being away makes him feel further and further away from his family. 

“My parents will only make it harder for him, I have to be there for him. Jeyne, you should understand this, you know how Rickon is. You know that I have to be there for him. I already feel bad for having left him all alone in my parents’ house.” 

Jeyne moves to one of the dining table chairs. She sits down and looks far too pensive for his liking. 

“Robb, I keep feeling like the bad guy in all these fights, but I think my feelings are valid here!" A deep-throated laugh escapes her, fraught with frustration. "I’ve always been competing with your family on your list of priorities since we were kids. I thought that having Liane would finally put this family as number one on that list but it does not feel like it at all.”

She looks close to crying and Robb feels himself breaking apart. Before he knows it, his coffee splatters all over the stove from over boiling. He quickly grabs a mitten and takes it off the stove, knowing the coffee is burned and putrid at this point. 

He doesn’t forget her, he leaves his moka pot in the sink and crouches down to where she’s now sitting. They keep having the same fights with no resolution, how can he choose between her and his family?

“Jeyne, love, you are my family, you and Liane…” He holds her hands in his palms. “But Rickon is still my baby brother, I can’t leave him to fend for himself. I already moved all this way for you, Jeyne, at the very least, please don’t give me a hard time for doing my duties as an older brother. You know that’s always been a big part of who I am.” 

His last sentence seems to stay with him a bit longer. Robb’s entire life has been defined by being the oldest brother. He was only two and a half when Sansa was born. He doesn’t even remember who he was before being a brother. 

Robb finds it in himself to understand her, but unwilling to strip away part of himself for her comfort. 

Jeyne cries through a laugh. “And what about your duties as a husband– as a father even?” She asks through gritted teeth. Her tears spill over pink cheeks. 

“I’ll take Liane with me, she can stay with my parents during the week I’m in Skagos,” Robb tells her firmly. He’s a problem solver at his core, but he slowly realises she doesn’t want him to rationalise it all. Jeyne appears absolute in what she wants.

“That’s not the issue, Robb, I have my mum nearby, she can help out. I just… I feel alone even when you’re sleeping in the same bed as me, your mind is always somewhere in Winterfell, buried beneath all that snow. Now you’re actually going off there, how long before you’re really gone for good?” 

Robb stands up and stares at her. He’ll admit it to himself, he hadn’t been prepared for her words. Life had gotten hard lately, the weight of the world had felt a bit heavier than before. He’s been trying his best to be present despite it, it’s just that his efforts haven’t been fruitful it seems. 

It’s no different than his whole life, most of his life at least. Robb Stark, first son of Eddard Stark, how could he ever think to not have the weight of the world on his shoulders? When would he ever catch a break when it’s so clear that his own father has never gotten that luxury?

He straightens his posture and gathers his tongue from the twisted mess it’s gotten itself into. “I would never do that to Liane,” Robb tells her clearly. This time he’s not whispering. 

“But you would leave me?” 

“I didn’t say that.”

Tears trickle down her smooth cheeks and he hears Liane call out for him. No matter what, he wouldn’t have his child witness their arguments. He wouldn’t subject her to something even he didn’t have to deal with.

present day

Last week was their fifteen year mark. Fifteen years since he and Jeyne had first started dating as kids in high school. He remembers it quite vividly, how he took her hand in his and leaned down to kiss her. It hadn’t been sudden or anything, he remembered that they led up to it. 

Smiles in the corridors and long yearning gazes, all accompanied by Theon drilling him on how pathetic he was being and to just man up already. Eventually, he did. 

He had kissed a girl once before that as a dare but never properly, not like how he kissed her that day behind the football field. He remembers being quite nervous but holding it together rather well. She blushed beautifully and with the way his heart ached in his chest, he knew he wanted nothing else more than to stare at her all day. 

Robb laughs at the thought, at how proud he was of himself. How he would be just like his father, start his adult life with the perfect girl on his arm. He had been so naive to think things would work out as he wanted it to. 

Neither of them had acknowledged the anniversary to one another. But every time he checked his watch, Robb remembered, hoping that a message from her would pop up on it. It never did.

This week, he’s actually spoken to her. The first two times that he offered her a lift from the airport, she declined both times. Understandably so. He’s not even sure what part of him feels the need to be so insistent. 

After a decade and a half of being devoted to her, he can’t seem to shake it off. Even with their divorce, Robb knows that Jeyne will always be an important part of his life. She had given him the best gift in the world; she made him a father. 

Finally she did give in, however. By that time he had lost the will to contend with her. It came as a subtle chime, alerting him of her arrival time and asking him if he’s busy during that time. 

When he checked his calendar, he realised he was. But he did good work in clearing the meeting and told his assistant to call him if anything comes up. 

Now, he waits at the gate with crossed arms, once in a while, checking his watch for how many minutes have elapsed since her flight’s landing. He’s not impatient, but he is nervous. It’s only been about five weeks, it’s not like he hasn’t gone longer without seeing her. Things are simply different now.

He doesn’t wait at the gate too long before she comes through, rolling a small suitcase and carrying a small duffle. His eyes widen without his permission, while he’s pretty sure that he looks worse for wear, she’s glowing and her brown hair falls in beautiful bouncy waves over her shoulders. Her hair is even shorter than he’s ever remembered it to be.

Robb greets her with a hug and a kiss on her forehead before taking her bags. Despite her protests, he doesn’t give her much choice in handing them over. 

Where he had been worried that there would be awkwardness, there was none to be found. The conversation between them flowed easily, somehow even better than it did in their last year of marriage. 

They have an early lunch at the coffee shop near Jillian’s and Jeyne fills him in on her little brother’s sudden engagement. She goes on about her new project in the Gift and how she’ll be visiting often because of it. 

Robb listens to her attentively with every topic. He notices her gold earrings move as she speaks, the way they complement her skin tone so perfectly. He knows quite well that he’s not in love with Jeyne anymore. He can still appreciate her beauty however, and maybe it just has been too long since he’s felt that spark that he searches for familiarity instead. 

“Sorry, I’ve been going on forever,” Jeyne says with a laugh. “How’re things with your parents, have you been all alone there with Liane?” 

“Gods, no. As soon as I got back all of them shuffled in,” Robb replies. He smiles at the thought. It’s good to have his brothers and sisters around. It makes everything feel far less lonely considering their divorce. 

Back in Wintertown, he helps her bring her bags up to her room. She’s staying in a small hotel with a view of the city. It’s big enough to have several floors but small enough that it doesn’t have a lift. 

Once they make it to her room, they’re out of breath and laughing. “Gods, and I thought I was fit,” Jeyne says, taking a seat on the bed. 

Robb responds with a laugh. “I should probably be using the stairmaster next time I step into the gym,” he takes a seat next to her and smiles. 

They enter a brief silence as they catch their breaths. Robb doesn’t quite know what compels him to his next move. 

He leans over to her and kisses her with his hand cupping her jaw. She reciprocates, at least for a moment. It’s good and it feels familiar, something he knows he won’t get from all the women Theon keeps trying to convince him to talk to. Only after a while, she gently pulls away. 

She gives him a mournful gaze, he knows it really is over; there’s not even a spark left there that he was hoping to grasp at. Jeyne holds onto his hand and lowers it from her face. 

“Robb, I don’t think we should do this,” Jeyne tells him and he nods. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” 

“No, I meant to tell you," She looks at him with an emotion he can't place. He can't get a read on her eyes. It isn't love. It isn't pity. But it's close to both. "I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh,” Robb can’t help the way his eyes widen in surprise. He gets up from the bed and pats down his jeans for his keys. “Can we forget this happened?” 

Jeyne smiles at him and nods. “Of course,” she continues watching him. “This is strange, I know, it’ll just take time and we’re trying to find our balance for our baby.” 

Robb smiles at her. “I’m sorry again, I’m really happy for you,” he tells her. “Things have just been all over the place. I’ll drop Liane over after school and you can spend the afternoon together.” 

*

Cereal. He repeats it to himself at least four times since he’s stepped into the store. It’s the most he can do to keep his mind off his actions that very morning. Robb can’t help but cringe at himself each time he thinks of it. Because how can he actually stop thinking of it? 

He checks the time on his watch, a few notifications pop up and he can’t be arsed to check them, instead, with one hand he pushes his trolley and with the other, he brings his phone to his ear. 

After a few rings, he gets through. “Stark, it’s not even eleven am yet,” his friend’s gravelly voice reaches his ear. He knows that Theon is not much of an early riser, unlike Robb who gets up with the sun. “Someone better be dying for you to be waking me.” 

“Don’t you have do not disturb set on your phone– I swear you’ve gone on about it to me multiple times?” 

There’s a brief silence, where Theon ponders, before he responds. “Yeah, well I fucking forgot to switch it on then. What’s happened?” He answers, agitated. 

Robb never takes Theon’s remarks to heart, he’s grown used to the Iron in him that makes him so prickly. He continues. “I picked Jeyne up from the airport,” he starts. Theon answers non verbally. “I kissed her.” 

“Wow, I’ve got to give it to you, I didn’t actually expect that,” Theon tells him with a laugh. “Then what? Did Stark get laid?” 

“Then she stopped it and told me she was seeing someone.” 

Theon gasps, he’s always been rather theatrical. “Even the drowned god couldn’t have waterboarded that out of me… fuckin’ harsh. Why’d you kiss her anyway?” Theon sounds like he’s still in bed, though having quite an entertaining morning. 

“I dunno, Theon. Desperation? Only the gods can answer that, cause I haven’t got a clue of what came over me.” 

He scans around, he’s already passed almost all the aisles and hasn’t found the cereal yet. It’s so much easier to have it delivered like he did in the Westerlands. So he looks around before he finds one of the kids who works there. 

“Hey, where can I find the cereal?” Robb asks, pulling his phone away from his ear. The kid shows him the aisle and he thanks him before getting back to Theon. 

“Are you getting groceries?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Can you get me a few bottles of tonic? Fevertree please, I’m all out.” 

“Sure.” 

“Right, as I was saying,” Theon continues. This time with the few clangs in the background, he can assume that Theon is making himself some coffee. “When was the last time?” 

“Last time of what?” Robb asks. He knows exactly what Theon’s asking, but he doesn’t want to answer. 

“When was the last time you got laid, Robb?” 

Robb sighs. He thinks on it, and by the number of fingers he holds up, he knows it’s been a good while, better yet bad while. “What does that matter?” Robb responds instead. 

“How long?” 

“Almost a year…” He says before adding on, “I think.” 

“Are you insane?” Theon questions, his tone is incredulous. “That’s so fucking long, how do you survive?” 

“Can we not talk about this, please?” Robb finds himself whispering as his eyes scan various different coloured cereal boxes. Likely no one in the store can tell what his conversation entails, and yet he can’t help but feel his cheeks colour. 

“So, before the divorce even… you guys didn’t even give it a go?” 

“Things were bad, Theon. Like, we were really down there. It happened before, where we went months, but this time we knew the time was over,” Robb replies.

Robb hears a whistle on the other end of the line.

"Time to get on the apps, my friend," Tsks Theon. "You want my Raqiros referral code?"

The idea of Theon's dating profile on the exclusive app makes Robb smirk. He probably has a whole tattoo tour spanning his photo selections. "I very very much do not want your Raqiros referral code."

"Your loss. I've shacked up with the entire cast of hot TV shows through that app," Theon jokes, only half kidding. "If they've been on the news at some point, they've been in my bed. Hey, Raqiros should make me their spokesperson."

"The PR package would just be full of condoms and a pamphlet on safe sex," Robb chuckles to himself, grabbing a box from the shelf. 

Theon had that effect on people. He could lower walls, without Robb even noticing it was happening. He wonders, absently, if it's purposeful or if his friend is just that charming in his casual nonchalance that it disarms even the worst anxieties. 

"So what are you doing later?" Theon asks. 

Robb huffs a groan of disinterest at the question.

"Perfect answer. I want to go out, but I'm not feeling social. What if we go to a speakeasy downtown while Liane is with Jeyne?" He suggests. "No crowds, no loud music, just a few rounds of specialty cocktails and conversation. There's a new place called Vacancy that just opened up, and they're supposed to have some killer drinks."

The self-check out registers are closed, so Robb loads his items onto the conveyer belt and smiles at the girl behind the register. He squeezes his phone between his ear and his shoulder, and digs for his wallet.

"No one else I'd rather go with," The affection slips out easily. "Hey, I've got to go, I'm paying."

He can practically hear the grin sneaking up Theon's face. "Later, alligator."

two years ago

He gets a cab from the airport directly to his parents’ house. It’s normally a long ride, but with his constant pondering throughout the drive, he arrives before he knows it. 

Robb stifles a yawn and hands a wad of silver stags to the driver. The air that fills his nose is crisp and cold, it stings just a bit, making his eyes water. With a few deep breaths, he walks up to the door to ring the bell. 

After a few moments of waiting, he gets no response. His mother’s car is parked in the garage, so he hopes that there’s at least one person home. He takes it upon himself to walk into his childhood home. It’s eerily empty. The only sound is that of wind whistling outside, blowing at long trailing curtains. 

“Mum?” He calls out loudly, setting his suitcase down at the entryway. 

He walks through the house, finding the kitchen empty but filling up a glass of water to coat his parched tongue.

With a few sips and steps, he makes his way to the deck outside. There he finds his youngest brother, lying on the grass with a tennis ball in his hand. Robb watches him carefully, the way he tosses the ball and Shaggydog runs after it. The oversized dog places the ball back into his palm before Rickon throws it once more. 

He sets his glass on the wooden extendable table, and walks over with pocketed hands. Robb doesn’t make it an obvious effort to be quiet, but he realises that his brother can’t hear him anyway, given the earphones sitting in his ears, wired to the phone that rests on his chest. His phone goes up with every breath, and back down with every exhale. 

He looks peaceful, but so alone. Robb thinks to himself.

Rickon only realises his presence when Robb crouches down, making Shaggy run over to him out of curiosity. He runs his fingers through the thick black fur, feeling Shaggy put his entire body weight on him. He laughs and his chest aches, he glances to the dog house, wondering where his own dog is. 

“Robb?” Rickon breathes out in surprise, his earphones have been pulled out of his ears and he stares at his brother with a smile. 

“Hey kid,” Robb says, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. 

“No one told me you were visiting,” Rickon finally sits up and crosses his legs. Shaggydog takes that as an invitation to sit in his lap. His little brother is skinny, but somehow the weight of the dog doesn’t affect him at all. 

“Where are mum and dad?” Robb asks, glancing around the garden. 

Rickon shrugs. “Dunno, haven’t seen either of them today,” he answers. 

Robb checks his watch as his stomach growls. “Do you know where mum keeps her keys?” His mind is already building up a plan. 

“Yeah, she keeps them hanging in the kitchen, by the fridge.” 

Robb nods and stands back to his feet, holding a hand out to his brother. “Let’s get some burgers and take these kids out for a walk,” he tells his brother. 

Rickon’s blue eyes light up and he pockets his phone. “Sure,” he answers, running over to the dog house to let Grey Wind out. 

Even in the time that he hasn’t seen his brother, he can’t help but notice how different he looks. He can’t tell if he’s grown even taller or if he was always towering over him that way. There’s even a light shadow of stubble lining the kid’s jaw. Formerly smooth faced but now very much looking like a man. 

With leashes and water packed, Robb fiddles with the keys to their mother’s car. “Do you want to drive today?” He suggests holding the keys out to his brother. 

“Yeah, I can do that,” he nods enthusiastically. 

He grows angry as he sits in the passenger seat, dwelling on where his parents are and how it is that his brother has no idea where they are? The house is definitely big enough where you can’t tell if it’s empty or not. But walking through that door, he really felt the emptiness. Not once, in his life of having 5 siblings, has he ever felt the emptiness like he does now. 

Rickon drives recklessly, well enough that the recklessness is permitted. It has Robb on the edge of his seat but he bites his tongue, not wanting to sour his little brother’s mood. He seems fragile enough for an outburst. He can’t help but have his heart ache for leaving his brother. 

His anger grows towards himself, towards Jeyne for forcing him to leave his home, and towards his parents for forgetting to be there for the child they left for him to raise. Robb makes sure Rickon feels none of his fury, or even senses any of his frustration. This was a big change in his life, Robb wanted to make it as smooth as possible for him to have a good start to his uni experience. 

He knows that Theon has been back in Winterfell for three months. As much as his phone burns a hole in his pocket for him to ring his friend up, Robb knows to give his brother his full attention. It seems like no one has made that effort for him in a while. 

They find their favourite bench in the park, thankfully secluded enough that only two ducks circle the pond nearby. 

They toss around a ball, keeping both dogs entertained while they catch up. He’s happy to see Grey Wind sprint and tackle his brother, Shaggydog. He’s missed his dog too. The Westerlands didn’t have the right climate for a dog like Wind. 

“What’s new, any girlfriends yet?” 

Rickon laughs and pulls a face. “Ergh, no, I’m only nineteen this year.” He says, teasing both dogs with the ball in his hand. 

Robb laughs too. “I was seventeen when I started dating Jeyne,” he states. 

“Yeah, but you’re Robb,” Rickon shrugs, his eyes focused on the dogs running towards the ball he’s thrown. “You’ve always got it figured out. I don’t think I’m ready for all that. You were only a year older than me when you got married.”

He ponders on his brother’s words. In Rickon’s eyes, he’s always been perfect– the unattainable standard that their parents were always forcing Rickon to reach. Robb seems to be the only one who actually knows that he’s the furthest thing from perfect. 

His marriage is laughable too. The darkness can’t help but fester, the thoughts that let him know that it’s not working. He shakes them away every time they surface, he’s become good at drowning them down. 

“Speaking of, Liane has lost her first tooth,” Robb says, showing his brother a photo of his niece with a gap in her smile. 

Rickon laughs softly and takes his phone. Shaggy and Wind fumble over one another, biting and growling playfully as him and Rickon fall into their own bubble. 

“She’s growing so fast,” Rickon admits softly. “I haven’t seen her in over a year. I hope she remembers me.” 

The way he whispers, it’s almost like Rickon doesn’t want to admit the thoughts he’s having and so Robb doesn’t put too much attention on them. Liane would never forget any of her aunts or uncles, he would never allow that, no matter how far away they all are. 

“She wants a cat,” Robb adds. “She’s expecting a kitten for her birthday.”

“Grandad would hate that,” Rickon laughs. 

When they get home, his mother greets him with open arms. “Oh, love, you didn’t even tell me that you arrived,” she says, running her fingers through his hair. 

He tries not to be aggressive with her off the bat, despite the anger that’s been bubbling since he arrived. “Yeah, we were hungry, so I thought I’d catch you when I was back,” he tells her, hanging her keys back where he found them. 

“Would you like some tea?” His mother offers, filling up a kettle with water. 

“Coffee rather,” Robb says, trying to search the cupboards for coffee grounds.

*

His mother has given him the keys to her Merceydes for the duration of his stay, saying that she can just borrow his father’s car if needed. He’s grateful for it but he doesn’t let her know. He’s grown wary of accepting things from her recently. 

Robb stares at the modern-looking apartment block. He hasn’t visited since Theon moved here and is not at all surprised, it looks exactly his taste. He drives past security, letting them write down his name plate after he says “Stark, for Greyjoy.” They let him in without any further questions. 

When he knocks at the door, J10 , it opens within a few seconds. And before he knows it, he’s being pulled into a hug by his best friend. Robb laughs and leans into it, enjoying the warmth of being wanted. 

“Prick, you didn’t even tell me you were landing today,” Theon finally says, pulling away and letting Robb into his flat. 

“I’ve had a lot on my mind, I forgot till I reached here.” 

Theon brings him into the kitchen where he begins starting up his espresso machine. It’s a sleek mini one, one which doesn’t take much effort other than an aluminium capsule. Theon’s not one to waste time tinkering with a real espresso machine. 

“You look wretched, mate, what the fuck?” Theon tells him, putting a mug of hot coffee in front of him, topped off with steamed milk. “When did you land?” 

“I feel wretched. I got here in the morning, I spent the day with Rickon and the dogs.” Robb tells him, warming his hands with his mug. “How’ve you been, how was the Vale?”

Theon had spent the last three months, before moving back, in the Vale, mostly work-related but he knows Theon well enough to know that he did more than work. 

“Incredible. Beautiful place with beautiful people,” he says, dumping his coffee into a larger cup with ice. “I spent quite some time with Sansa. I don’t think we’ve spent that much time together since we were all kids. We went to town almost every other night” 

Once again, Robb finds himself riddled with melancholy, the sort that comes from nostalgia and his family. He misses his sister. They used to make more time for one another when she first moved and Liane was still young. But now, everything had gotten so much harder. 

“I haven’t caught up with Sans in months,” Robb says. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” He admits, rubbing his palms into his eyes. 

“Do what?” 

It’s a sudden flurry. Robb finds it hard to keep in touch over the phone. It feels clunky and disingenuous. He’s not been able to tell his friend about all the shortcomings he’s been having in his marriage and life. 

“The Westerlands… I know it’s only been a few years but it’s not home. It’s Jeyne’s home, but not mine.” 

“Is everything alright with Jeyne– with Liane?” 

“Liane is great. She’s the most incredible kid… and she’s so smart. I feel like every good part of me has been put into her and I don’t want any of the bad stuff to ever happen to her.” Robb says, running his fingers through his curls. “It’s just… I feel like Jeyne and I keep having the same fights over and over again. It’s never ending and we can’t seem to agree on the same thing.” 

“What are you lot arguing over?” 

“Every fucking thing,” Robb says exasperatedly. “She didn’t want me coming back to help Rickon settle in.” 

“I thought it was a given that you’d be doing that? She’s been around for each of your other siblings.”

“Jeyne says that now that we have Liane, I should focus on my own child, not my parents’ children.” 

He can read the distaste on Theon’s face. Robb never was one to complain about Jeyne to anyone, even Theon. He had known from the start that his mother and Theon weren’t particularly pleased with his choice in partner, so complaining about her would just be wrong. 

“She knows how it was in your house right? She lived there, she must know.” 

Robb shrugs. “I don’t know how to convince her that I’ve been all in from the start and that my responsibilities to my family don’t lessen those I have towards her and Liane,” he confesses. 

He sighs and takes a sip of his coffee. Theon ponders with him, the normally talkative man has little words to say. The comfort is there though, being around Theon brings him peace that he hasn’t known in a while. 

“Should we have a threesome to reignite your marriage?” Theon jokes crudely. 

Robb throws a soft punch at his friend and laughs. “You’re a fucking prick,” he says. “Plus, Jeyne used to be suspicious about how close we are, I think suggesting that would actually end my marriage and I’m not interested in being divorced.” 

In their laughter, Robb doesn’t tell Theon the full spiral Jeyne had years ago. Nor does he mention their dry spell. He’s seen his parents bicker when things were rough, but over three decades later they still stood strong. 

He tells Theon everything, but some things are better left unsaid, unearthed, and untold. Despite the mirth, the suggestion stuck with him in a way he hadn’t expected. Much like all those years when Jeyne tried to convince him that Theon was in love with him, romantically. He had never thought of it and brushed it off, until he thought about it longer. These were not good thoughts to have.