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a-libra-writes · 1 year

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Salt & Snow - Chapter 9

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: Following the disaster of a feast, Y/N finds herself dealing with the consequences of actions she didn't even do. Tempers and emotions run hot as she contends with feelings that have been bubbling for years, and realizes just how little power she holds in this world.

-x-

Y/N rubbed at her wrist, fearing a bruise was already forming on it. She stepped back in fear, not recognizing the fury that was covering the face of her normally serene mother.

“Answer me!” Her voice wasn’t familiar either. It wavered, like she truly didn’t want the answer she was demanding from her daughter.

Y/N couldn’t recognize the woman who raised her — no, that wasn’t true anymore. The Starks had Y/N for far longer at this point. Had her mother always been this way? Why did she tremble with such anger?

“Answer me!”

“I am! I swear it!”

Y/N was shaking too, but for an entirely different reason. Her mother was not appeased, it was though she hadn’t even heard. Lady Talia shook her head, covering her face with her hands.

Y/N couldn’t believe it. “Mother, I swear before the gods, I am a maiden!”

Lady Talia crossed the room toward a hearth that had nothing but ash in it. She was taller than most women, but thin. How long had she been so slight? Shouldn’t Y/N have noticed that? Compared to Lady Stark, her mother seemed just fine, but —

“I knew we should have brought you home sooner. I told him. I heard the rumors about that boy, all the girls he’d visit, yet I still — gods, I told Gareth —!”

Y/N was only half listening. Her face was still burning, and silent tears were threatening to fall down. She blinked several times to keep them away, fearing the tears would make her seem guilty. Would crying prove her innocence, or begging? She couldn’t be sure, so she said nothing.

The door opened suddenly, causing Y/N to flinch. Her mother didn’t react, still rubbing her temples and mumbling to herself. Lord Caspian stepped into the room, looking between his wife and his daughter.

Y/N had never seen such a helpless expression on her father, and that made her tears well and truly fall.

He crossed the room and put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders, then pulled her into a hug. Y/N’s voice broke, but she had to choke the words out. She had to explain something to him. “Father, I — I-I didn’t — I didn’t do anything, I don’t understand —”

“There, now. You needn’t say more.” He wrapped his arms around her and kept her there, engulfing his child in a sense of security that she desperately needed. Y/N allowed herself to cry freely, the panic and anxiety finally reaching its peak.

To his wife, Lord Caspian said, “Talia, we’ll discuss this alone.”

“The discussion is this: She’s returning with us,” Her mother snapped back immediately. She’d stopped pressing her hands to her face. The despair was temporary; the anger had returned. “On the morrow, or a week, I care not. She is coming home.”

“There is no need to be hasty, Talia. Let us talk with Lord Stark —”

“If Lyarra were still here, this would not have happened! Ten years, Gareth! For ten years, I gave up my only daughter!”

Her voice had risen to a scream by the end of her words. This was a sound Y/N had never heard before, from anyone, let alone her mother.

“Talia —”

“She was not meant for Brandon!”

That is when her mother’s voice cracked, and her tears came, and she covered her face and positively shook with emotion - Rage or frustration or sorrow, Y/N could not say. She was still hiding against her father like a child, but at some point, she had looked up to watch her mother fall to pieces. It wasn’t like Lord Stark’s despondent vigils in the Godswood, or his vacant stares at dinners. This was something else, like her mother had flayed herself, exposing something raw and sensitive that Y/N was never meant to see.

She wanted to do something, to help — didn’t she? Yet another part of her wanted to stay in her other parent’s arms, the one who was acting familiar.

Her father began to pull away from her. She understood why, yet it still gave her a brief feeling of panic. Y/N wiped at her tears while her father stepped toward the door — a surprise, she had not expected —

In the doorway, partially crouched and wide-eyed, Lyanna stared up at Lord Caspian. She hastily got to her feet and looked past him, staring straight at Y/N.

Y/N didn’t want her look at her mother any longer, so she met eyes with her dear friend. Lord Caspian stayed quiet, no doubt wanting an excuse for the wolf girl, and Y/N’ stomach sank as she imagined her father proclaiming, Y/N is leaving. Tell your father.

Instead, her father’s voice was low. “Could you take Y/N to her chambers, Lyanna?”

Her parents did not know she still shared with Lyanna. They didn’t know she’d never slept alone in her life, and if Y/N left now, she’d be alone until she married, then some strange man would take the place of her closest friend. It wasn’t fair. None of this was …

Belatedly, Y/N realized Lyanna was waiting on her. Her father had stood aside to take her mother in his arms, and while her voice was muffled, Y/N didn’t want to hear anymore. She all but ran forward, stepping over the threshold and shutting the door will a little too much force.

Y/N stared at that door, her ears prickling like she’d hear the screaming again. Lyanna took her hand and pulled her along.

-x-

Back in their shared room, Y/N pressed her face against a goose feather-filled pillow and stifled her sobs while Lyanna took the jewels and braids out of her hair. She silently brushed it, then let Y/N cry for a while longer before urging her to get up and change her clothes. Y/N quieted herself somewhat, but it was still slow work. She kept trembling, hearing her mother’s shouting and tears with each button and lace she unfastened. Lyanna said nothing, working around her and helping her friend slip on a night dress, even if Y/N was determined to fall back and melt into the bedding. Once it was all done, she curled herself into one of the thick fur blankets.

At some point — it was hard to tell when and where things were — Lyanna laid down beside her. She had changed her clothes, but haphazardly threw her hairpins and let her long, deep brown hair sprawl all over the pillows.

At some point, Lyanna had undressed and changed as well. She laid on the bed for many minutes, saying nothing, even when she eventually wrapped her arms around the bundle Y/N had made. From a distance, one would thing the Stark girl was hugging a giant, sleepy bear.

The candles had long burned out and the hearth had sputtered to cinders by the time Y/N raised her head just enough out of the bundle to speak. She thought Lyanna was asleep, but when she peeked out, her friend was wide awake. She was breathing evenly, grey eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s not going to be easy tomorrow.” Lyanna said softly. Y/N didn’t need to be told. She already knew. “Are you going away in the morning?”

Immediately, her mother’s words echoed in her head, fresh as if she was in the room with them. Y/N wanted to disappear.

“I don’t know.”

It was quiet for a minute, or maybe a few seconds, before Lyanna let out a long breath. “Brandon is a damned idiot. I spoke with — well, I overheard it, then Ned told me, and then…” Lyanna paused. She rarely spoke with hesitance. She fiddled with a loose thread on her night dress.

Y/N adjusted herself so she might look at Lyanna better. It was hard to see what sort of expression she was making in the dark, but the hesitation was clear.

“The man he hurt, was that — I mean, he was hurting him, but surely the lord is not dead —”

“Gods, who cares about the lord? I do not even know who — that is not the point. I … I should just tell you before you hear it. It's believed … I don't know how believed, but — it's believed that Brandon... had you.”

The words spilled out of Lyanna so quickly that Y/N’s exhausted mind almost didn’t follow. She sat up a little. “Had?”

“You know what I’m referring to. Whether it was once or not, or whenever it happened —”

“You mean to say…?” Y/N trailed off, then immediately got to her knees. She was so wrapped in the blanket, she almost fell forward in her attempt to untangle herself. “You mean to say, that people truly believe that?”

“As I said, I don’t know how many —”

“One believing that is more than enough! Gods, my mother — my mother, she thought …” For the hundreth time, those harsh words rattled off in Y/N’s memory, but something else surfaced. Barbrey and Bethany, together in the hall. What if the rumors are true? What if he’s promised … …

The Ryswell girls lived far from Winterfell. How could they have heard anything? The way they spoke, it was rumors... As if they’d been hearing them for some time. No, that was just fragments of a conversation, and yet … She thought back to Brandon dancing with her. He was free with the compliments, but he was also in his cups. Her mind raced, thinking before the feast. Brandon was overproctive at times, and perhaps bothered her too often, especially when she wanted to sketch in peace, but …

She felt a headache coming on. Lyanna broke the awkward lull between them, unable to see the deep concentration Y/N was in.

“Father has already bellowed himself hoarse,” She said softly. “He’s furious. Tomorrow I’ll do the same — Starting with my brother, then I’ll throw out anyone who dares say a word about it. I’ll make the Boltons look like kittens.”

Fatigue couldn’t hide the bite and anger in Lyanna’s voice. A short memory intruded in Y/N’s mind. You musn’t listen to what Roose says. His pale face was clear in her mind’s eye.

“I know Brandon was not right to hurt that lord, but I understand. He is quick to anger, and protective. Hearing those sorts of rumors, it’s no wonder he —”

“Gods, Y/N, he started them! Brandon! No doubt bragging to the lordlings he visited, especially after they were all in their cups!” Lyanna’s voice finally rose. She sat upright, following Y/N’s shadowed outline. She took hold of her friend’s arms — then from there, moved to her hands. “He may not even remember saying it — I don’t give a damn. He’s always done whatever he wanted. Travelling all over the North on a whim, having girls here and there, even ladies — oh, everyone knew it, and Father just pretended not to hear! Who cares about the reputation of common girls, and as far as the ladies — well, they weren’t nearly so pretty or important, so if their families shame and beat them, who cares!”

She began to squeeze Y/N’s hands with such a fierceness, that Y/N pulled away. Lyanna seemed to realize how passionate she’d become, but she didn’t care. She punched the soft bedding with both her fists.

“And now father lectures him about responsibility after he makes a fool of you! You, my best friend, and whose father saved my father in battle! The fact that shit disrespected you with such — the fact he didn’t think of the consequences — the fact we have such consequences — I hate this! I hate the way your mother looked at you, I hate this obsession with virtue. I hate how men can take and take and take, and if we give just a little, or even not at all, we’re the ruined ones!”

Her voice had risen to a shout. It lingered in their room, the anger sitting there and slowly settling around them. In her tirade, Lyanna had punched the soft bedding many times. It absorbed her blows, but she hit it with all her strength. She was trembling from the exertion.

Y/N stared down at this bedding, luxurious and soft, warm in spite of the frigid world around them. Lyanna could beat and scream all she wanted, the feathers and furs would absorb it. And when she awoke, her gown’s long sleeves would hide how her fists clenched. Her bodice would keep her from screaming. Her tight, heeled shoes would keep her from running.

… No, that wasn’t true, Y/N knew that. Lyanna would throw the shoes and rip the dress and scream and ride and fight until she was heard. Y/N always felt like she’d become more wild and more reckless as the years went on. But was that not how a wolf ought to act when its cage was closing in? Even in the North, where nature was so close and ready to pounce on those who underestimated it, where it cared little for trappings and pageantry — that would not save you from winter — there were still limitations. You may have been born a wolf, but some wolves must be tamer than others. This is not a decision you make.

Y/N laid back down. She was not here just because of the friendship of her father and Lord Stark, or Lady Stark’s desire for her daughter to have a friend. Those were merely factors that eased the way to her purpose — fulfill her parent’s desire to marry her, specifically, to a Stark. Yes, the friendship was genuine, and that’s what made the transaction so much easier. Y/N was made to live and grow in her future home. Lyanna was expected to be ripped from it.

It had been easy for Y/N, too. The Starks were easy to get along with, good people, kind people She loved Lyanna deeply, and Benjen, and Lord and Lady Stark, and Brandon — even now, though it hurt — and Ned.

Y/N clutched her night gown and felt the soft fabric twisted in her fingers. She loved Ned, but not in the same way.

If she would marry anyone, it would be him. The thought gave her a flurry of emotions, most that made her stomach twist and ache. It had been easy. She would stay in the place she loved, with those who had become family. Why should she complain, and did she deserve to commiserate, when her path was so golden?

Why do I not scream and fight? Why am I content, while Lyanna suffers so? This world is unfair. I know it, even if no one told me outright. I know it.

Y/N followed the plan to be friends with Lyanna, to love or at least be good to a Stark. To grow up pleasing to the eye, and good with manners. Always so good and amiable, that Y/N. A proper lady, she'll make a fine wife. Always the favorite of the tutor, always receiving fawning praise from her distant parents for her progress.

Had I been more like Lyanna, would they had sent me away? Would I be seen as a failure? Would Ned — would any of them — had still loved me, or even liked me? Am I still a Lady if I am not pretty, or talented, or quiet or obedient?

At some point, Lyanna had laid down. The shadows in the room shifted, aided by the moon as it peaked in and out of the clouds. Y/N’s throat and eyes felt raw, and her chest ached, but sleep was pulling at her. She knew it would be restless and empty, but she needed it. Her mind would not let up, and she wanted to be free of it. If wine were available, for once, she might imbibe until she could sleep.

Just as she was threatening to drift off, Lyanna asked quietly into the darkness, “Do you love Ned?”

Y/N did not want to answer. She pressed her aching face against her pillow, feeling a sharp end of a feather poke into her cheek. She pulled at it.

Was the love somehow less if it was arranged neatly, and decided ahead of time? Ned was even away for all that time, though they sent letters — and how aware were his parents of that? They must have known, and been delighted. They probably told Y/N’s parents how well it was all going. They’d made such a good choice.

An ugly feeling that coiled through her ribs and settled upon her heart. The idea of marriage was never something she contested so ardently as Lyanna — it was her duty to her family, her duty as a woman. But now the idea of it gave Y/N the distinct feeling of losing.

No, she hated to think of her family and the Starks that way. She didn’t want to. She didn’t have Lyanna’s righteous anger and understandable bitterness. Y/N didn’t know how she felt, other than that feeling that continued to dig at her ribs. She wanted to leave it unexamined, but it was there, needling.

Y/N got the feather loose. She pressed the softness between her fingers.

“Yes. I think so.”

“I think he loves you too,” Lyanna said. She stifled down a yawn. “And I know … I know he’s furious too. I’ve never seen him like that. He doesn’t believe any of it.”

“I know.”

Y/N was so sure of that, it physically pained her. He would still care, and be at her side, that concern and solemn look upon his face. He’d want to ask her how she was feeling directly, but he wouldn’t want to upset her further. He’d try some roundabout way, or some distraction, or just listen to her side and her worries.

She rubbed at her eyes and rolled over, facing away from Lyanna, toward the wide window that was oft covered with heavy fabric to keep the cold out. She wished some of the cold breeze would touch her cheeks. She felt heavy and sore, and her head was pounding.

I might see Whitetide soon. It’s the place I was born, but it’s not my home. It hasn’t been in a long time. Winterfell is where I’ve laughed and lived and mourned. Can I truly leave it like this?

As she anticipated, the sleep was poor and empty.

-x-

She hadn’t put much effort into lacing her boots, and now they were coming loose and making the walk more of a trudge. Y/N kept on. The hour was early, but she couldn’t waste time. When the birds began singing and the hounds barking, the servants of Winterfell would wake too, and the highborn would follow. Y/N hoped the festivities would keep the latter in bed for longer.

The grey walls gave way to brilliant white bark and deep scarlet leaves. She looked away from the trunks, thinking she saw faces, knots in the wood that looked like eyes. A pressure was heavy on her breast. The snow crunched underfoot, and she lifted her night dress just so. It was by some small grace that she did not fall. Her mind was too distant to consider the boots tripping her, or the cold biting at her skin, or the heavy wool cloak rubbing at her neck and arms.

She was not mindful of her knees as she fell to them. The cold of snow instantly soaked through her nightshift and burned. Her hands clasped to her cold legs, and she trembled as she stared at the face of the Old Gods.

“Of all the times I’ve sat before you, it was for someone else,” She said quietly. The cold still caught on her breath. “I do not regret that. I mean to say — if I might pray for myself — if I may be selfish. If that is something you would accept.”

The breeze bit at her cheeks and scattered the branches, yet no leaves fell. There was a fair sized pond beside the Heart Tree, and a collection of large smoothed rocks to better sit and pray. Y/N stayed where she was, clutching the fabric of her shift. She prayed on many things.

Forgiveness was one, and mercy. Mercy to stay in Winterfell, even if it was against her parent’s wishes. Mercy for wanting to disobey those wishes in the first place, and the ugly feeling that curled in her when she thought of it. It isn’t fair that they might drop me here, and let me experience such happiness, then pull me away when I’m nearly a woman grown. Tell me it isn’t fair that I can’t choose myself.

The Gods did not answer, only listened silently, and that was enough. It was both a fruitless and frightening thought to think of what they might say, if they cared to speak directly.

She stayed so still and remained so deep in prayer that the noises of approaching birds and the shifting shadows of the morning sun went unnoticed.

Only when the sounds did not fit the reverence of the Godswood — the heavy crunching of snow, the snapping of branches and scattering of a rabbit — did Y/N snap from her reverie. A soft gasp left her as she pulled her heavy cloak over her thin nightgown, and that’s when she realized how numb she was. She hardly felt the fabric press against her. Her wooden legs didn’t cooperate, making her stumble forward as she attempted to stand.

There was a sound behind her, someone speaking. Y/N was so startled, she didn’t catch the words. She turned as the figure lumbered toward her, snow crunching loudly under his weight. She couldn’t believe it.

“Brandon,” She started, holding her hands out awkwardly as he stumbled. The oldest Stark’s attention was on his feet, willing them to move forward just a little more before he sharply lifted his head. That made him sway.

“Y/N,” He said, but the last syllable of her name was like a drawl.

Y/N was so appalled, words failed her for several moments. “… You are … utterly drunk. Did you sleep at all? Don’t — careful, you’ll fall over.”

Not that she could catch such a tall man. Brandon shook his head several times. He was without his cloak again, and by the disheveled state of his clothes and the bleariness of his eyes, he had certainly not slept.

“Y/N. Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

“I should say the same,” Something about his ridiculous state was making anger rise in her. Y/N’s voice quickly lost its worried tone. “But I shouldn’t. Do you realize what it would mean if — if someone found us?” The anger was joined by a slight panic as she realized she was still in her nightclothes. “Do you think about what it would look like?”

Brandon shook his head, but it was not in response to her words. He ran a hand through his dark hair, starting at the brow and moving back. Some clarity came to those grey eyes. Brandon took several more steps toward her.

“You don’t — Y/N, you don’t understand,” He tried.

“It’s you who doesn’t!”

She finally raised her voice. Brandon almost flinched — no, he truly did. She’d almost never raised her voice, even toward him. He came closer, towering above, yet seeming much smaller. As furious as she was, Y/N was still comfortable with Brandon. For all her talk of anyone seeing them, it didn’t occur to her to step aside. It’s why it was so easy for Brandon to wrap his arms around her smaller body, and bring her close.

Y/N squeaked. Her body was pulled against his much warmer, much stronger one. She was trying to protest, to desperately find words, but he spoke. Her cheek was pressed to his chest, and she heard it rumble as it all tumbled out.

“Y/N, listen — listen, I — I hadn’t meant any of it, I just — gods, I drink, and I know it makes me foolish, but — only because I had to say something. I had to, evne if it wasn’t in front of you.”

She tried to pull away. His grip was fairly loose, so Y/N could get back enough to look at him, but he didn’t want to let her go. The cold in her legs and her face quickly left her.

“What are you saying, Brandon? Speak clearly.” She felt frantic, too warm, and confused. Her thoughts were as frazzled as his were muddled.

His hands were on her arms. A strong grip, a warm one, but nothing that hurt. Brandon did not sway, suddenly standing like a man with a goal and convictions. Y/N felt her stomach drop.

“I love you, and I have for some time, and I .. I didn’t intend to say anything, but I ran my mouth, and I drank too much, because —”

She pushed him away immediately. Brandon did not stumble back, but he was shocked. Y/N felt her whole body quaver as she said, “Do not mock me.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing? I’m trying to tell you what I wanted to say, Y/N, you don’t understand. I’m promised to some Tully girl, my father arranged it all too quick, even when I refused — Y/N, I can’t do it. I can’t, I won’t.”

“You will, you are to be Lord Stark, and it’s only fitting you find a proper —”

“— Do you know what it’s like, Y/N, to see someone I can’t have, to know she’ll be sent away or given to my brother —”

“— Someone who isn’t beneath you, who is—”

They both spoke rapidly, their words just falling out. They couldn’t even throw a jab at one another, give the other time to speak. They were equally desperate, but for entirely different reasons. Y/N knew she had to keep quiet, to keep composed, but she couldn’t. She felt that anger and anxiety and guilt coil in her all at once, finally releasing itself.

“You will marry who you are given, just as I will! Just as I would have, had you not — had you not said those things, which was only for yourself! You always think about yourself first!”

They were words of frustration and fear, not meant to directly wound, but they did all the same. The pain that crossed Brandon’s face sobered him immediately, and he halted in his tracks. Y/N breathed heavily, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She covered her face, both too upset and ashamed and furious to look at him.

Why did Brandon have to come here, to say all this? Why did he have to make it harder than it already was? Y/N willed her tears to stay back, to not humiliate her further.

She felt a heavy, warm hand on her back, and she wanted to both push it away and lean into its owner. She wanted the frustrating yet adventurous Stark who looked after her the same as he did his siblings, who liked to follow alongside his father like a boy. She didn’t want the feelings he’d grown. They were a terrible burden, for the both of them. Why? When he could have anyone else?

His voice was clearer than it was before. “I won’t marry the Tully girl, I won’t have you sent away or given to anyone else — I can’t, Y/N.”

You’re so selfish, She thought. You’re still such a boy.

“You don’t understand,” Y/N said, quietly. Brandon almost couldn’t hear her. He leaned in, and rested his head against her’s.

“I’m sorry,” He said. “I’ve burdened you. I’ll be better, Y/N, I can be. I want to be, for you.”

Such a foolish, stupid boy. I could never dream of such things. He thinks it will all turn out so well, because it always has for him. These things always turn out for the men, don’t they?

Y/N pulled away for a second time, and Brandon did not hold her. He gave her space while she wiped at her eyes and straightened her clothes. He watched her all the while, and she did not look at him.

“We need to go back,” Y/N said. Her voice was hoarse, but she didn’t bother to clear her throat or steady it. She was both dizzy and tired and anxious all at once. “You ought to sleep off the drink. I’ll go first; we cannot be seen together.”

“Y/N —”

“We will not be seen together,” She spoke with finality, ignoring how badly his wounded expression looked. She hated that she felt pity, that she wanted to reassure him or just smile and shake her head, like she always did. But those were small wounds, usually when Lyanna and Benjen bothered him. Brandon had never crossed lines like this.

Why did everything have to change?

Y/N brushed passed him before he could protest any further, and he tried. She hated the way his words caught in his throat, the defeated expression she’d never seen in the bold, arrogant lordling. There was no need for him to call out, his words echoed in her mind with every step.

She slipped into the servant’s passages and found her way back to the room, still trembling even as she entered the warm chambers. Y/N didn’t bother to get back into bed. She knew there was no point, so she sat beside the empty hearth and buried her hands in her face. She stayed like that for some time.

-x-

The warm spring water running through the stone walls of Winterfell did little to improve the frigid atmosphere that was slowly settling upon it. The guests had departed a few days ago, no doubt excited to share the gossip with their relatives and friends back home. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to show her face until they left, even if she knew how guilty it made her seem. She didn’t care. She heard Brandon was back to drinking and not wanting to do much but that and riding, but his father was keeping a short leash lest he do something else — especially considering Y/N’s parents.

They did not leave at the end of the feast, like the other families. Y/N knew why, as did everyone else. No one said anything about it. The breakfasts and dinners in the following days were so painfully quiet and stiff, Y/N began to take food in her chambers. Her father delivered meals now and again, looking like a kicked dog the whole time. At least he was speaking to her; her mother completely iced her out. There was no talking between them, and any glance she gave her daughter was one of obvious disappointment, as if Y/N could feel any worse.

If Lord Stark was not in the room, her mother’s ice turned to a glowering fire in Brandon’s direction. He actually shrank from it, and avoided her when possible. That meant he, too, was avoiding meals.

It was suffocating.

More than once, Y/N felt the walls closing in on her, and her chest tighten, and her whole body shake. Sometimes Lyanna was there to run a hand down her back and soothe her, but more and more, Y/N wanted to handle it herself. Overwhelming feelings would come up, threatening to flood out and make a mess. She didn’t want to be a mess in front of anyone, even Lyanna — or especially Ned.

The worst part is she knew he wouldn’t hold anything against her. She knew he’d take her in his arms, dry her tears, hold her until she stopped and — well, she didn’t want to think past that. She didn’t want to imagine how warm he’d feel or how sorrowful he’d look, wanting to take her pain for his own. Y/N would not keep thinking about it.

She couldn’t stand this. Why didn’t her mother just shout and tell everyone what she was thinking? That she was dragging her shameful daughter back home, in spite of the years she’d spent in someone else’s home? Was all of that ruined because of a few drunken boasts, and a tryst that didn’t even happen?

Anger was beginning to bite at Y/N, and she was no longer interested in keeping it to herself, or staying nice and placid.

On the sixth day, Y/N retreated to one of the high towers of Winterfell, the one looking out to the front gates. She leaned over the window, breathing in the cold air and relishing in the relief. Her eyes cast down to the snowy yard, and her heart raced as she caught something.

A solitary man on a horse, one of their better ones. There were supplies packed on it, and two Stark guards were alongside the rider. She knew who it was, even without Lord Stark at his side, speaking to him.

Y/N watched Lord Stark finish speaking to his son, then pat him on the back and send him on his way. He’d continue his tour of the North, then, and Y/N knew she’d be gone by the time he was back. She watched Brandon and the guards ride away. She thought he might turn around for one last look — but that was silly, when he had he ever done that? But it was Lord Stark who glanced back at his keep, and then noticed the girl he nearly raised leaning on one of the windows of the tower.

Lord Stark raised his hand, then gave her a little bow. Y/N almost smiled and waved back, but she kept still.

“You didn’t want to say goodbye?”

Y/N gasped and whirled around, her heart nearly jumping from her chest. Ned put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, I thought you’d heard me. I called your name.”

“Did you?” Y/N tried to steady herself. She brushed some of her hair aside, looking back toward the yard. Lord Stark was gone. She stayed there, not wanting to look at Ned and to see the melancholy that was surely in his grey eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The last two words were softer than she meant it. They carried more meaning that the man across from her understood. He stepped forward, only hesitating for a few moments before closing the gap between them.

“Ned,” Y/N began, but that too was soft on her lips. It was not a warning keeping him from gathering her in his arms, on the contrary — it was like a sigh she released as she brought him closer. She felt his chin against the top of her head, ducking down and relishing the embrace just as she relished pressing her cheek to his chest.

She sighed again. “Ned…”

“Just for a moment,” She heard him say, the voice rumbling gently in his chest.

They both knew it would absolutely not be just a moment, but they said nothing. He did not squeeze her hard, even as she felt his fingertips tremble against the fine wool of her dress. The cold air coming in through the open window and small gaps in stones might as well have not existed.

He's different from Brandon, She thought at once. He’s so different.

She thought he was leaning forward, ready to fall over, then she realized it was her own legs that were giving in. Ned made a noise of surprise as he brought Y/N closer and carefully lowered her to the ground. Her whole body was weak, and her head swam. Ned moved his arms almost protectively around her shoulders.

“Y/N, are you well?” Her Stark asked quietly. “I’m here. I’ll always be here, even if …”

“I’m coming back,” Y/N said, without thinking. It all just fell out. “I know my parents will take me with them, but — I will come back, Ned. To Winterfell and to you.”

“And I’ll be here. I always will, Y/N. I’ll wait. … You waited for me when I was in the Vale, didn’t you?”

“I did.” Y/N pulled away so she might look Ned in the eyes, to show him her resolve. It was a mistake, if only because the flush of his cheeks and how it lit up those grey eyes made her whole self burn. Her heart ached, her own face grew hot, and she kissed him. First his cheek, then his jaw, then one to his lips, and again to his cheek, and before she knew it the floodgates were opened. She heard him sigh and groan under her, and then she felt kisses against her own face, on her ear and her lips and her wet cheeks.

She blinked, feeling those warm tears run to her chin. Ned held her face and gently, so very gently, wiped at them. His hands were still shaking. He said her name, to get her attention. “It’ll be alright,” He said. “It will be.”

Fuck it, she was already branded some kind of whore and about to be shipped home. Y/N lifted her chin and gave Ned a firmer kiss than the light, frantic ones they had just shared. She wanted to remember the warmth of his body and the slight dryness of his lips, and the comfortable, familiar smell of leather and forest.

“It will be,” He breathed out when they parted, still pressing their foreheads together. Y/N didn’t open her eyes, wanting to take it all in.

She believed him. It would be, because she would make sure of it. She’d find a way back, come hell or high water. Now that she had this happiness in her arms, she wasn’t about to let it go — let him go. She could feel some of Lyanna bubbling up in her. How could I possibly play the dutiful wife to some other man? I won’t. I won’t.

Y/N rubbed at her eyes and took in a breath. She felt Ned’s slightly calloused hand run along her cheek, then her hair. They stayed like that, saying little. They didn’t need to.

#ned stark x reader #brandon stark x reader #salt&snow #s&s #please take this after such a long time im tired of looking at it LMAO #take italics and dashes away from me i beg you

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