Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Have you seen Jon?” A bright voice rang out, its high, childish tone bouncing off the cold stone walls of Winterfell.

It belonged to Robb, of course. The young heir to Winterfell could always be found walking the halls, causing chaos more often than not and if he was not doing it with his omega half-brother, then he’d be doing it in search of him.

"Has anyone seen Jon?" he demanded again, attempting to deepen his voice as he approached the group of guards posted near the solar. But the boy was only six, his voice unused to being lowered so deeply, and the resulting coughing fit didn’t do much to help him seem intimidating. Once his lungs relaxed, he looked up at the two amused guards and crossed his arms over his chest like Lord Eddard himself. "He's mine, and he's missing."

The guards could not help but smile. It was an amusing sight, to see a boy so young, glare at them with the glowing, piercing eyes that could very well have belonged to an alpha grown.

Robb Stark may have inherited his mother’s Tully looks, but everything about his personality was a Stark. All those in Winterfell agreed that despite the red locks and blue eyes, the little alpha was the very image of his father. Right down to his possessive nature over the little snow boy who would spread the smell of winter roses around the keep.

One of them bowed a little, the other biting his lip in order to hold back a laugh at the way Robb’s face scrunched up further, his little foot already beginning to tap impatiently against the floor, flicks of brown, dried mud flying off and revealing shiny leather. 

"Your little brother, is it, my lord? The one with the curls and the blue hair ribbon?" The elder alphas knew perfectly well who Robb was asking for. It was most certainly not the elderly Lord Jon Arryn, the King’s Hand, who was currently being hosted by their Lord and Lady. That left only Lord Stark’s bastard son, named in the Lord Arryn’s honour but who had all the sweetness and beauty reminiscent of Ned Stark’s sister, the Lady Lyanna.

Robb’s responding ‘yes’ was filled with so much attitude that Jory could not keep his laughter in anymore and let loose a chortle that he thankfully managed to disguise as a cough. The young wolf’s temper could run as hot and fiery as his hair sometimes, especially in matters where his beloved brother was concerned.

Only last week, upon the Hand’s arrival, had the boy kicked someone in the shin for calling Jon a bastard to his face. The little omega’s dark grey eyes were shiny with tears, but the tiny smile upon his lips only filled the staff of Winterfell with despair, for they knew the heir to Winterfell would never listen to the scoldings of his lord father and lady mother, not when those little smiles his brother would give him in innocent, well-meaning gratitude only served to encourage his growing fire.

When the guards did not answer him immediately, the young boy let out another exasperated sigh, small hands coming to rest upon his hips and disappearing into the thick fur of his outer coat.

“Well? Robb stood before the guards, arms crossed and face set in the most serious scowl a six-year-old alpha could muster. "He's not in the library with his septa. Or the kitchens eating lemon cakes.”

Jory laughed again, fully this time. One hand reached out to ruffle the boy’s thick red curls. Robb angrily tried to bat him away, huffing and puffing as he jumped to push at the elder alpha’s muscled arm.

“We do not know, little lord. Perhaps he’s in the nursery.”

“He wouldn’t be there,” Robb huffed, wrinkling his nose as though the thought of his beloved brother wishing to spend his time around the girls was a disgusting concept.

Rodrik, standing beside his nephew, chuckled, remembering all too well the disinterest that young alphas often possessed for babies.

“And why not, my lord? It’s warm, got a nice fire, lots of soft blankets and colourful books. That’s where little puppies like you two belong, isn’t it?”

“I’m not a puppy,” Robb snapped, cheeks flushing. “And neither is Jon! He’s my omega!” He stomped one foot for good measure, which only made the guards smile wider.

“Ah, but Jon likes the nursery, does he not? It was only last night that I saw him letting the babes crawl all over him.

“Oh, he does,” Jory agreed. “Last week, Lady Arya pulled his hair so hard he teared up, but he just smiled and kissed her forehead.”

“Little sweet thing,” Rodrik said, affection clear in his voice. “Soft-spoken. Always thanking the maids. Bet he’s got Sansa in his lap right now, telling her stories.”

Robb crossed his arms and looked away, cheeks burning. “He still said he’d wait for me after lessons, and- and he likes playing with me much more than with them!”

The guards shared a look; they supposed it was true. Jon could often be found trailing behind Robb, in his pretty skirts and nervously wringing his fingers. Such a skittish young thing, especially when Lady Stark would approach the two boys.

Ser Rodrik bowed his head, musing on what to say to make the child feel better. “While that is very obvious to us all, my lord—” The two guards breathed a small sigh in relief as the bitter, upset puppy scent that had begun to emit from Robb began to dissipate. “The nursery is still the warmest place in the castle, and it is rather cold today.”

Summer was already settling in down south, bringing warmer weather and sweet fruits, but the colder weather of autumn had not fully relinquished its hold on the north just yet. The maesters theorised that there would be one last bitter snow before the lighter, summer snows would arrive.

The small alpha hummed, placing a finger to his lip as he twisted and turned, considering the guards’ words and whether seeing the truth in them was worth admitting defeat.

“I guess Jon does like being warm…” he trailed off. The trait was undeniably true of the little omega, who would always sneak into the kitchens late at night, dressed in his woollen nightdress and thick furs and ask for a kettle of hot water to be placed underneath his blankets.

“He does, little Lord.”

Robb nodded again, more to himself than them, and stalked off. His little fists were clenched at his sides, and the soft fur trim of his cloak whispered behind him like a wolf’s tail as he stalked off in the direction of the nursery.

“Alphas,” Ser Rodrik sighed fondly, chuckling as he looked towards his nephew. “Hopeless things once they’re already sweet on their omega’s.”

“We don’t know if they will be betrothed just yet, Lord Stark could always change his mind,” Jory pointed out, but it was a useless point to make, for it was obvious just from watching the boys together, that there would be no other.

But the bond between the two boys was proving to be for naught, for Robb could still not find Jon.

Robb didn’t like going to the nursery, he found it too overstimulating. The smells of powders, of milk, of spit up and all other sorts of bodily excretions. It was all too much and he never understood why Jon liked being there so much.

It’s not like the girls could even do much, Arya just liked to chew on her toes and Sansa would only ever stare at him, slowly blinking whenever Robb would try to talk to her.

Jon liked it though, his omega brother would spend hours playing nonsensical games and singing songs to the small girls who would smile and clap and babble along.

Robb didn’t often stay to watch, he didn’t like the sick feeling that would settle in his stomach at the sight of them. He’d asked his mother once what it was and she’d just frowned while his uncle Benjen, who’d come to visit from the wall, laughed.

But despite his dislike of that room, the small alpha sprinted towards it, not wanting to be without Jon’s presence for even a moment longer.

Robb ran. His little boots struck the stone floor with uneven rhythm, half-march and half-scatter as his legs moved faster than his body could quite manage. He skidded slightly on a turn, caught himself on the wall, and kept going, curls bouncing behind him like a wild halo.

“Easy, my lord,” a passing guard chuckled, steadying the heavy door to the nursery as Robb threw his full weight against it, murmuring a little ‘ow’ as he was unable to budge the door even a smidge. The thick oak gave way slowly as the guard pushed it, Robb wriggling his way through the crack as soon as it was wide enough to fit his small body.

The nursery was warm, golden with afternoon light that was filtering in through the high windows. The air smelled of burnt wood and sweetened milk. Cushions and blankets were strewn across the floor in little nests that Sansa was currently adding to, with various soft dolls and blankets clutched in her chubby hands. 

The fire crackled softly beneath a wide mantle carved with the dire wolf of House Stark.

 But Jon wasn’t there.

The silver cushion with little blue flowers that he favoured sitting on was slightly squashed, as though he’d been there only moments before but had vanished once Robb entered the room.

Instead of Jon, Lord Edward Stark stood tall in the centre of the room, his broad hands cradling baby Arya against his chest. The child who shared the Lord’s dark hair was bundled in fine wool and a little bonnet that Robb recognised as one his mother had knitted. The little girl’s cheeks were flushed, her tiny fists gripping the edge of their father’s collar as he rocked her gently, all the while speaking in a low voice to the nursemaid, who stood nearby with folded arms and a fond smile.

Robb, for once, was careful with where he placed his feet, recalling all too well the scoldings he received from old Nan about trudging mud all over the rugs. He walked only on the exposed floor and came to a stop just before his father, blinking up at him breathless.

“He’s not here?”

Ned looked down, surprised to see his eldest son. “Robb? Who are you looking for?”

“Jon!”

The nursemaid gave a small laugh. “You just missed him, my lord. Jon was here not long ago, had baby Sansa curled up in his lap, crooning to her as if he were a mother bird.”

“Truly?” Ned frowned faintly, adjusting Arya in his arms. “What made him leave?”

The nursemaid glanced to the side, suddenly awkward. “Well… Lady Catelyn arrived just after and he slipped out as quick as a shadow before she’d even taken off her gloves.

Ned’s brow furrowed, his face growing troubled.

But Robb spoke before his father could waste his time asking any more questions.

He stepped forward quickly, his small hands balling at his sides. “Do you know where he went?” He asked, his voice sharp with alpha concern. “I need him.”

The nursemaid softened at once, sending an odd gesture towards his father before kneeling to look the alpha in his eyes. “My sweet little lord… Have you thought of going to check his room?”

Robb froze, glancing up nervously towards his father. 

It was an obvious choice, perhaps, but not one he had even considered. Robb was not allowed to enter Jon’s room without permission. It had been a rule drilled into him by his lord father and the septas and septons. Jon was an omega, and Robb was an alpha. No matter their ages, they were not allowed to play in each other's rooms, such was a privilege only for couples who were married or betrothed.

He’d never been allowed in Jon’s room alone before. 

“Papa? Will you come with me?” He asked, hands coming to grip his father’s tunic, ignoring the way Arya whined as he accidentally knocked her socked foot.

His father’s face was blank, grey eyes sending shivers down Robb’s spine. His father was not someone he would call cold, at least not with him. But right now, Robb could feel the blood in his veins turn to ice.

“You go check on him, son. I—“ Ned turned, his gaze drifting towards the fire where Jon’s pillow lay, blue threads shimmering in the light. “I will check on your brother later.”

Robb hesitated before he began backing away, not turning around once so that he could instead keep his eyes on his father. He moved slowly as though waiting, giving the elder alpha time to go back on his words.

But as soon as his feet crossed over the threshold to the nursery and he was no longer soothed by the warmth of the fire but instead by the cool air of Winterfell’s corridors, he took off. Again dashing through the halls with a one-way focus, uncaring of the numerous guards and maids and cooks he nearly collided with.

For all that he’d often never visited Jon’s room, he knew the path like it was the back of his hand. 

The alpha’s steps slowed as he neared the familiar door, his cheeks still pink from the run and his warmed breath misting in the cool hair. 

Robb was careful now, he did not throw himself against the door nor did he storm in. He walked in softly, careful so as to not scare Jon.

The omega’s room was pretty, everyone said so, even the septa who always praised him for making his bed and cleaning away his dolls. It had once belonged to his Aunt Lyanna. And much of it remained untouched from her time— blankets and cushions in soft blues and pale greys, with vases of blue roses that were brought in fresh every few days.

Delicate carvings remained on the bedposts and thick blue curtains that would come down each night and encase the little omega in a nest of warmth. 

It was gentler than the other rooms in the tower. Quieter. Just like the boy who inhabited it.

And there he was.

Huddled in the window seat, curled up as small as a kitten, was Jon.

The sunlight caught his dark curls, making them appear a much lighter brown than they were.

His legs were crossed, his hands clenched tightly around something in his lap that he was clutching tightly. Robb recognised it as an embroidery hoop, its fabric stretched taut beneath trembling hands and pale wood.

The omega’s shoulders shook with quiet sobs and Robb felt helpless standing there, his feet frozen in the doorway as he watched Jon wipe away crystalline tears.

Robb’s heart squeezed and he came forward slowly, feeling rather helpless but determined to try whatever he could to bring the sweet smile he loved so much back to Jon’s face.

“Jon?”

His brother was startled but didn’t turn. Instead, he just blinked down at the hoop and spoke without looking at Robb.

“It’s bad. I know it’s bad.”

The alpha’s small hands reached out to stop the omega as he tried to hide the embroidery cloth. Jon didn’t put up much of a fight, allowing Robb to peer over and see what was on it.

The embroidery was clumsy. A shakily pencilled sketch of a child, holding the hand of a taller figure in a dress. Already a few stitches had been done, but only on the smaller figure. Uneven threads stitched to form dark brown hair and the darkest grey eyes.

“I wanted to make her,” Jon said, his voice trembling. “A mother. My mother. Just to see what she looked like but I don’t— I don’t even know what colours to use.”

The hoop quivered in his hands and Robb noticed the small patches of blood that had stained the fabric and saw reddened pinpricks on Jon’s tiny fingers.

Robb swallowed, his throat suddenly thick and his own eyes beginning to sting with tears. He wasn’t sure what he could say. He didn’t like seeing Jon upset.

“I think she’d be pretty, with a kind face and pretty eyes, just like yours!”

Jon sniffled and finally looked up, his grey eyes shining. “I wouldn’t mind what her eyes looked like, as long as she could meet my own.” He picked at one of the threads on his dress. It was a pretty dress he was wearing today, Robb noted. White with silver snowflakes embroidered on.

He gave his brother some space to breathe, as his father and old Nan constantly reminded him to do. He was a gentle, soft soul, they always said, and so Robb needed to take care not to rush him into talking.

“I saw Lady Stark today, and she didn’t even look at me,” Jon said finally.

“She came into the nursery and… and didn’t even—” Jon paused, breathing shakily. “She picked up Arya and smiled at her and then walked past me like I wasn’t even there. I was holding Sansa, I didn’t even drop her or anything, and I tried to sit very still, and I smiled, and she didn’t look at me. I—I left so I wouldn’t cry in front of the babes.”

Robb’s chest burned, his throat tickling with some strange emotion that he couldn’t quite name. His blood almost felt like it was burning, bubbling and boiling like when their father had taken them out to the woods and made them warm milk over the fire.

“That’s stupid,” he said fiercely, throwing his arms around Jon’s shoulders and hugging him tight. “She’s stupid.”

Jon blinked, startled. “Robb—”

“I don’t care if she’s my mother,” Robb said, his voice thick. “I love you more than I love her. I love you the most. More than anyone.”

The omega was such a sweet little thing that his brother's declaration filled him with no joy, only worry. The crease of his dark brows was evident against his pale skin.

Jon’s lip trembled. “She’s your mother, you can’t say such things about your mother.”

“I don’t care.” Robb huffed, wrapping his arms even tighter and tugging at Jon until the little omega’s body was resting against his. It was only then when he had the sweet smell of roses drifting beneath his nose and could feel dark strands of hair tickling against his cheeks that he felt somewhat at peace, the heat of his blood cooling slightly. “I hate her when she treats you like that.”

Jon pressed his face into Robb’s shoulder, crying softly now.

“You are still lucky to have her. I don’t have a mother,” Jon whispered, the words cracking. “And even if I did, she probably wouldn’t want me.”

“What does that matter?” he said stubbornly. “I will always want you.”

Jon hiccuped, fingers fiddling with the edge of the embroidery hoop. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. I swear it.” Robb pulled back a little and took Jon’s hand between his own. “One day I’ll marry you. You’ll be my omega and I’ll make you a mummy. I’ll give you babies and we’ll name them after whoever you want. They’ll all love you and never ignore you.”

Jon blinked, then made a little wet sound, covering his face with his hands. His scent sweetened, losing the slightly burnt note of ashen petals.

“You’ll be the best mummy in the world,” Robb kept his hand holding Jon’s but shuffled on his knees so that he was now kneeling in front of Jon. He moved his head around rapidly, trying to catch a glimpse of Jon’s eyes that he was still covering with his hands.  

“You’ll sing to them, and hold them, and I’ll build them the best sled in Winterfell and we’ll all sleep in the same bed when there’s a storm. And you’ll never feel like no one wants you again. Ever.”

Jon removed his hands, revealing red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. The sight of them made the alpha’s heart clench all over again. “You can’t marry me, you’re going to be a lord someday.”

“You just watch me,” Robb said hotly, his brother's denial having filled him with so much anger. He couldn’t imagine a future where Jon wasn’t his wife. “Everyone knows lords have the prettiest wives and you're the prettiest omega in the whole of the north, everyone says so!”

Jon stared at him, stunned, then gave the tiniest laugh—a wobbly, watery sound as he shook his head, dark curls sticking to his damp cheeks. “You always say such silly things.”

“They aren’t silly if they’re true,” Robb retorted, finally smiling now that he could see he’d made Jon happy.

The omega squirmed, finally setting his embroidery hoop down as he leaned forward, hugging Robb tightly and placing a soft kiss upon the alpha’s cheek.

“I love you, Robb.”

Robb’s heart skipped a beat at that, but he tried his best to seem uncaring, sniffling as though he already knew.

“I know, now let me prove that I’ll be a good alpha.”

Jon giggled as Robb reached for the heavy blue blanket that had fallen off the windowsill in all their movement. Once he had it, the alpha spent no less than ten minutes tucking it around them, ensuring every inch of the omega was covered.

They stayed there, tucked together on the windowsill giggling as they talked about baby names and wedding cloaks, making quiet promises of forever.

When Ned Stark finally arrived, they were no longer sitting upright, but curled together, necks crooked awkwardly against the wall while their knees bent into odd shapes in order for both of them to fit in the narrow bench. Their fingers were intertwined tightly, Robb’s scent reeking of protectiveness even as he slept.

The old alpha smiled fondly and shook his head with resigned acceptance. He could already envision the conversations he’d be having in ten years' time, he did not doubt that Robb would come to him, demanding Jon’s hand and the cloak that would mark Jon as his wife once it was draped around his shoulders. 

Slowly and miraculously without waking them, he picked them up one at a time and tucked them into Jon’s bed. The bed that his mother Lyanna had once slept in now housed her sweet son and protected him during his dreams.

They both whined and wriggled upon separation but soon relaxed once Ned placed them together again. Robb quickly shifted to drape his entire body across Jon’s who merely shuffled deeper beneath the blankets, until only a red button nose and messy dark curls were visible.

Ned sat at the end for a moment, watching them, before getting up to fold the blanket they’d been tucked under.

He watched the snow fall outside as he folded it first into a rectangle before eventually not a meat square and paused when his eyes caught sight of a white piece of fabric hooked inside an embroidery hoop.

The alpha turned it over, his heart sinking when he saw what was drawn there.

He placed the hoop down upon the bedside table beside Jon and left the room, returning only to place spools of dark brown, light grey and deep blue thread upon the drawing that was supposed to be Jon’s mother.

That was supposed to be Lyanna.