Chapter Text
It had been her wish since she had truly seen the soft and kind heart beneath her husband's stony gaze; to have a son bearing the Stark look. Not simply to dissuade the rumours going about that her children were not true Starks because they favoured her. Ned had said that their colouring mattered not; for their children are the truest of Starks in heart and blood. Mayhaps, he saw something that she didn't.
Sansa was her in miniature. And at times, she had seen glimpses of Brandon in Robb with his easy charm and smile. Little Bran had reminded her of Ned in several ways. But Ned had mentioned that Bran reminded him of Benjen. Mayhaps in the shape of their eyes.
The moment that she had Rickon in her arms, she felt a pang of disappointment. She could clearly see that he favoured her. Wisps of auburn hair and bright blue eyes the moment he had opened them. But it was then, that she saw they were a lighter shade of blue than his siblings. Almost icy. It almost reminded her of the blue-grey eyes that House Mallister was known for.
As he continued to grow, did she realize her wish had come true. Little Rickon was the perfect mix of Houses Stark and Tully. Beneath his chubby cheeks, she could see the strong but narrow jawline of the Starks. His hair at times as long and unruly as his father's but armed to the brim with youthful bouncing curls. He would surely grow into a handsome young man. Ned certainly seemed to think so. And she was correct. He was as much a Stark as his father and his sister Arya.
But that quickly brought upon memories of Arya as an infant. His cries were as loud, piercing and wild as hers when she was a babe. And just like then, Ned had been the only one to calm him down. Her husband had said that their youngest son is as wild as a winter storm, and she was inclined to agree.
One day, Rickon had been crying madly and wildly. Ned had gone off to see one of his bannerman. No one had been able to calm him down. Stubborn he was. Wolf's blood, Ned said it was. Sansa did her best to try to mother him but that seemed to make it worse. Robb did his best by making silly faces at him. it had stopped for a moment but he had quickly resumed. It wasn't until much later in the night that it had stopped completely. At first she had been relieved, and then the relief turned into worry. As she came to his chambers, it was there that she saw Jon Snow sitting by Rickon while he seemed to be giggling to his hearts content.
It was strange to say the least. Jon wasn't doing anything in particular. No silly faces or attempts to sooth him with words or sounds, or sing him a tune. Jon Snow just seemed to loom over him like a comforting shadow. The moment that he saw her, his face sank and he quickly left. But not before giving Rickon a small wave of good-bye. Shortly after, the crying had begun anew.
There had been some days that her husband had a look of worry after spending time with Rickon or calming him down from his moods. He had muttered something about the wolf's blood again. But she had heard some of his muttering.
"Too much wolf's blood. Like you, Brandon. Just like you."
It was hard to tell what to make of it. Was it fondness? Bitterness? Worry?
Yet, Rickon was troublesome all the same. Loud, demanding, temperamental and playful all at once that it was exhausting. Robb was not like this. Arya was but less so. Sansa and Bran; nowhere close. But often, his loud and breathless laughter had made up for it. It was rare that she could calm him down. Ned could calm him down with ease. Arya was able to calm Rickon with a simple stare and sticking out her tongue. But the moment that Jon Snow was close by, Rickon would almost jump for joy.
One day, it had been unnerving. Rickon's first nameday had passed and he had begun to crawl everywhere. And he somehow managed to find Jon Snow who had been in the training yard with Robb. Rickon had stood on his knees and waved his little hands at him. Robb had dropped his sword for a moment and tried to pick him to get him out of the way. But Rickon began to wail and had bitten his hand. Jon quickly intervened; taking Rickon into his arms and he calmed down, simply giggling.
That had seemed to have become part of Rickon. Trotting after his eldest siblings. Wanting to be like them. It would be better if he were to be like Robb instead of Jon Snow. Yet, he was close to Jon much like how Arya was. She wished that they wouldn't be so friendly with him. It was different with Robb; they had grown up together and raised together. As much as she wanted and tried to, she could never truly separate them. Even when he kept in Greyjoy's company, he would find Jon.
She had almost thought it had succeeded once. Septa Mordane had caught Jon showing Rickon some archery. Or mayhaps Rickon had just been watching. The septa had come quickly and swooped up Rickon with the aim to take him to his chambers and admonish Jon Snow. But the moment Rickon had been in her arms, he raged, screamed and kicked with all of his might. The moment that she had let go, Rickon had all but leapt into Jon Snow's arms.
"They're all as thick as thieves; a pack of wolves. That's what it means to be a Stark. You could never truly separate them, my lady," Ned had said in a teasingly admonishing voice.
Mayhaps ...