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Lord Eddard Stark has dealt with wars, rebellions and bitter bannermen. This day he deals with unruly youths. His ward, Theon Greyjoy, stands sulking and arrogant. His bastard, Jon Snow, scowls at the floor with occasional sidelong glares at his rival.
“I can’t make you two like one another, but I can make you behave!”
“He pushed me!” Jon cries out, his sullen silence abandoned. “For no reason!”
“No I didn’t!” Theon shouts back, looking like he might push him again.
Ned does not doubt that the ironborn pushed his boy. Jon was never a trouble-maker until Theon’s arrival in Winterfell. Now every day seems to bring another damned incident to his ears. Cat is of the opinion that Jon might be acting up out of jealousy for Theon’s closeness to Robb, but Ned does not think that is the case. Jon is not the only person in Winterfell to find fault with Theon’s behaviour. Unfortunately, Ned has no clear evidence of Theon’s malice in this case and he will not make a choice out of personal preference. Besides, he is not inclined to fight all of his children’s battles.
“Must I punish you both daily?” He asks, exasperated. “Today it’s Theon pushing. Yesterday it was Jon putting ink in pockets.”
“It was on the bottom of my breeches!” Theon argued. “It made it look like I pissed ink!”
“Watch your language and don’t raise your voice at me. This petty fighting between the two of you has to stop.”
“My mother gave me those breeches!” Theon shouted again, more upset than before.
“Explains why they were getting so small,” Jon said with a slight smirk.
A glare from his father removed Jon’s mirth. Ned was surprised to hear Jon make a comment on such a thing. He would have thought a gift from a mother to be one of Jon’s more sensitive topics. Gods knew the boy fell into foul moods over thoughts of his own absent mother.
He cleared his throat, refusing to let such guilt sway his decision. Both of them were just young lads with no mothers. That was no excuse to act as they did.
“You will both assist the servants with cleaning the hall after dinner this evening.”
“I’m a lord!” Theon cried, outraged.
“You misheard someone,” Jon said, “they said you’re a ward.” His tongue was never so sharp with anyone else.
“I’ll be a lord one day! Whereas you’ll be a bastard. Birth day to death day, a bastard you’ll stay.”
“Go to your chambers, both of you!” Ned shouted. “I’ll summon you when it’s time for your cleaning duties and not before!”
As the pair leave, Theon trips Jon out of the doorway. Ned opens his mouth to reprimand him, then shakes his head with a sigh. His word seems to have no effect whatsoever on their mutual disdain.
*
Theon’s feet drag as he treks back to his chamber, sweat pooling in his clothes even in the cold of Winterfell. He had bested Snow though and that made all the exertion worth it. For a moment, he thought he would lose, embarrassing himself in front of everyone by failing to beat a bastard almost five years younger. But then he had hit on the winning idea. He had not spoken loud enough for anyone but Jon to hear. Is this how your mother fought Lord Stark, you reckon? Jon Snow had gone mad. Robb and Ser Rodrick had told them to stop and tried to separate them, but Theon still managed to get the flailing bastard down. A victory, though… it did not feel like one. Even when Jon Snow had stormed off in his usual prissy way.
The sound of sobbing stops Theon in his tracks. Rather than turn down the corridor to his chamber, he follows the noise down the east wing. When he finds the source, he does not know what to do about it, if anything. Jon Snow sits weeping like a woman, curled up in one of the windowed alcoves on its cushioned seat. Theon stands there awkwardly, knowing he should laugh but not able to make it happen. Eventually, Snow sees him. His pretty eyes widen and he tries to look strong, even as the tears shine on his pale cheeks. “Lord Stark never raped anyone.”
Theon shrugs, feeling off-balance about this whole situation. “I know.”
Jon frowns at him as he tries to make sense of that. “So why did you say such a horrible thing?”
“To make you angry. So you’d fight worse.” Theon wanders over to him and sits down next to him in the alcove. He does not know why he does it. “It worked.”
“You said such a horrible thing to beat me in a fight?” Jon asks. When Theon nods, he asks another question. “Do you hate me so much?”
Immediately Theon shakes his head. “Nah.” It was not Jon Snow who stole him from his home or killed his brothers. “You’re just easier to annoy than anyone else. Everyone just ignores me,” he says with a quiet laugh. His good humour vanishes when he realises how true that is.
The bastard looks at him for a little while, his tears drying. “You don’t have to hurt me to get my attention, you know.”
Again Theon laughs. “What, should I grab your bottom and give you a kiss like I do all the other girls?”
“I’d blacken your eye,” Jon says, but he smiles. He is smiling at Theon, for the first time in memory.
It makes Theon a little mad. The boy always has, with his girlish looks and that gorgeous mouth. So Theon leans in. “Go on, then.”
He kisses him.
Jon does not blacken his eye.
But nor does he go easy on him the next day, when they fight once more. And again Theon finds himself losing, going on the offensive with words designed to sting. He promises himself he will kiss it better later.
*
“That arrogant boy you speak of is your lord father’s ward and heir to the Iron Islands!”
Despite Catelyn’s justified anger, Jon Snow just glares at her sullenly. He remains utterly unrepentant for his comments, Cat can tell.
"Were you the bastard of any other House you would be whipped for such insolence! You ought to thank the Seven that you were born to such a merciful man!" And such a weak woman, to let her babe go so easily. Maybe it was not weakness though, perhaps it was cunning. Maybe the woman saw opportunity in her bastard's future, a chance to seize what should never be his.
“So being a lord-in-waiting excuses Theon's behaviour?” Jon Snow snaps back at her, showing his wild nature.
“Theon's behaviour is none of your concern,” Catelyn admonishes firmly. “You are not the judge of behaviour in this castle. Your father will take care of any matters that require it. What could it possibly matter to you whether Greyjoy makes a fool of himself or ruins a young girl's reputation?”
It matters to her, of course, but Jon Snow does not need to know that she will be dealing with Theon in a similar manner to this. He does not deserve to feel that he is in the right when he speaks ill of his betters. Today it is Greyjoy's indiscretions that he rails about, tomorrow it could be made-up misdemeanour of Robb's. Such rudeness must be nipped in the bud.
“It's not right,” he insists, “the way he toys with them. In front of everyone, no less. Everyone knows it.” Grey eyes stare up at her imploring, though he is almost her height these days. Almost a man. “Surely as a woman...” He hesitates, cowed by her glare as she awaits the end of his sentence. “Surely you wouldn't see him dishonour these girls in my father's castle?”
Catelyn rolls her eyes. As if her womanhood makes every lass in the land her sworn duty. She has two daughters to attend to and they are work enough. “Anyone fool enough to lay with Theon Greyjoy, knowing what sort of man he be, is deserving of whatever hardship befalls them.”
Snow flinches, though she has not insulted him in her speech. She wonders at it for a moment, but the curiosity fades quickly. “I will not hear of you making such comments again, do you understand? I'm not going to your father on this occasion, but the next time I will not be so kind. Do you hear?”
He pouts and nods. “Yes Lady Stark.”
“And you will apologise to Theon.”
Snow sighs, ill-mannered to the last. “If I must.”
She only just manages to stay her hand, her teeth grinding together so that it is almost difficult to say, “Yes. You must.”
*
Theon's hands move firm and sure. Jon's hands can do little but grasp at the bed linen. This is one place where he will admit his inferior skill. Theon was making love before Jon knew of such a thing and when they are together this way, it shows.
Jon forces himself to release the bedding, hand trembling as it journeys to Theon's shoulder. His touch makes the ironborn look up and smirk at whatever it is he sees before him. It's certainly smug, teasing perhaps, but not cruel. Never cruel in the night when they're alone.
“You alright there, Jon? Want me to stop?”
It might not even be a sincere offer. It might be as much a tease as the wicked curve of his lips, but Jon shakes his head just in case. The air is cold even in Theon's chamber and it chills his lips with every shuddering breath.
“I can if you want,” Theon offers. Gentler. He is sincere after all. The smirk is gone. “You've nothing to prove. Not when it's just us.”
Shaking his head again, looking up so as not to meet Theon's eyes, Jon confesses. “I like it. That's why...” Why he shakes and goes so silent. Why sometimes his eyes water and his breath catches in his chest. Why he returns over and over.
Theon's hands have slowed and now the one wrapped around Jon's member drifts away entirely, sliding up Jon's hip and chest. A nipple is rolled playfully between thumb and forefinger, making Jon bite his lip, then the hand continues upward until it is snug in Jon's hair and tilting his head into a deep kiss. When Theon draws back, Jon's lips are warm again.
“You're not the only one who likes it. And there's no shame in liking it the way you do.” Theon's other arm remains stretched down, fingers still nestled in Jon's most secret of spaces. He wriggles those fingers, a tiny movement that makes pleasure lance through Jon's body. “I love seeing you like this. All shuddering and pretty in my arms. I love knowing it's just me who sees it.”
He does not want to, but Jon cannot help but think of the buxom lass Theon had snuck off with mere nights before. “I wish I was the only one to see you like this.”
Theon raises an eyebrow. His fingers begin to move again, distracting Jon as they set up a steady pace. It is all Jon can do to keep his hips to the bed as the feeling makes him writhe and gasp and surrender.
“You are,” Theon says between kisses to Jon's neck. “I know I fuck a lot of girls, but that's not what this is. You know that's not what this is. Wouldn't keep it secret if you were just an easy fuck for me.”
The pleasure is too much for Jon to focus on conversation. He ruts against Theon with the boy's fingers bringing him to completion, then lays sated and sleepy as Theon finishes against him. When they cuddle together under the furs Jon is ready to speak, but there really is nothing more to say. He does know what this is. It just breaks his heart that it only exists when the sun goes down.
*
Robb thinks it would be funny, if not for the fact that Jon might never come home again.
Who would have thought Theon Greyjoy would take such misery from the fact that Jon is leaving for the Night's Watch? Theon, who has mocked, belittled, fought and hated Jon since Robb can remember.
“He's going to die out there,” Theon snaps, glaring at his bread and cheese, which lies untouched on his plate. “The stupid bastard's going to head up to the Wall and the moment he steps past it he's going to get his stupid girly-haired head lopped off his shoulders.”
“Will you stop?” Robb cries. He has heard nothing else from Theon since Jon made his decision known. Such horrible ideas and Robb is trying very hard to stay away from them. He wants to show his brother he is proud of him, not cry and beg him to stay safe in Winterfell. “You don't even care what happens to Jon, so stop being so gloomy!”
Theon scowls at him and pushes away from the table. He turns back when he's a few steps away, returning to swig down his cup of wine. Then he storms off once more, leaving his food behind. Robb sighs and stuffs his own bread into his mouth, hurrying his snack down so that he can follow and find out what all this is about. Is Theon annoyed at losing his favourite target? It seems worse than that somehow. Is he jealous? Jon has certainly received praise since making his grave decision. Robb recalls how their father shook the horror from his face to paint on the appearance of uncomplicated pride.
His stomach flips. Jon is going to die out there. Suddenly Robb finds he has lost his appetite too.
Wandering the castle, he looks for Theon but is really hoping to find Jon. His brother leaves tomorrow morn. That he will be gone from Winterfell still does not really make sense. Robb cannot imagine it. His brother has been at his side all their lives. No one knows another like he and Jon do.
“Just tell them you've changed your mind!”
Robb hears Theon as he approaches the stables. The ironborn must be around the back with someone. That is not unusual.
“You know I won't. I have to do this. We've had this exact conversation five times now.” Jon's voice. Calm as ever, but sad.
“I'll have it five-hundred times if you stay.”
“I'm not staying.”
“I love you.”
He must have misheard. He must have.
Jon sighs. “How many stolen nights in your chamber and you say that now, in broad daylight, behind the stable?”
“Every night and day I'll say it if I must. I'm not ashamed of you. Of...us. I'm sorry if it looked like I was. It was just easier to--”
When Theon falls silent, Robb peers curiously around the corner. His brother is kissing Theon. Gods, has Robb ever known either of them at all? This explains so much, but creates so many more questions.
“I know,” Jon says softly when he draws back, eyes as longing as Sansa's when she looks at her stupid prince. “It takes two to keep a secret, remember? I liked it better that way. It made it ours. It made it safe.” He steps back, though Theon reaches for him. “And it'll keep me warm. Up at the Wall.”
With that Jon turns and walks away, not hesitating even when Theon calls out his name. His first name, not 'Snow' or 'bastard'.
How long has Robb been so blind?
The next morning comes too soon. Jon is almost too nervous to break his fast and Robb feels the same way. Theon does not join them. Robb manages not to speak a work of what he saw, knowing there is no time for he and Jon to discuss it all now. Perhaps he will broach the subject in a letter, but then the raven might be read by someone else. Perhaps he will never mention it for the rest of their lives. Jon will take no lover at the Wall, Robb and Theon will find fine ladies to wed. This tryst might never need mentioning.
They embrace at the gate, brothers forever. It ought to be their own farewell, but Jon looks around for another. Robb pretends he does not know who.
As they walk out to meet the black brothers, Theon calls from a window. Jon's attention snaps to him immediately, hope plain on his face.
“Oi, Snow! Bed a wildling lass for me, will you? You'll figure out how, I'm sure!”
And Jon laughs.
Robb knows he would rather cry.