here in the quiet light

The feelings of guilt however were much more difficult to distract yourself from. The feeling had edged itself so deep within you that it lived under your skin, had crept its way into your bones and settled there, refusing to leave. The fact that you felt as though you had failed to protect your little sister and the worry that she hated you for not doing enough to save her. It was all consuming but you buried it deep. You told everyone you were fine. Because you had to be. For Max, for your mom, for Lucas, for everyone who cared about your sister.

Nowadays, your days were a blur of hospital, work, the WSQK, hospital, work, the WSQK. Just like today, where you had spent your morning visiting Max before heading to work, then after a shift at the diner going to the WSQK to help Nancy with planning an upcoming crawl. Usually, you would head straight home afterwards, make dinner for your mom and then stay up watching TV so you wouldn’t be alone with your thoughts.

But today, Nancy hadn’t needed as much help as she had initially thought with crawl preparations and you left the radio station while there was still two hours left of visiting time at the hospital. And so, you headed straight over to Hawkins Memorial Hospital to see your sister. 

You hum along mindlessly to the music as you sit on one of the chairs beside Max’s bed. Kate Bush’s music was just another constant soundtrack to your day when visiting Max. You had thought by now that you would be sick of the sound of the opening beat to Running Up That Hill since it was all you played for Max but truthfully, you weren’t even a tiny bit sick of it. Because it was what you believed could be the bridge between the here and now and wherever Max was, that the song was the key to bringing her home.

Your eyes dance around the room, at the dull, grey hospital walls before they land on the drawing just above Max’s bed, the one she had drawn of her and Lucas on their would-be date at the movies. The sight of the two stick figures holding hands had always made you smile while simultaneously ripping your heart in two.

You glance then towards the abundance of gifts that sat on a table directly opposite Max’s bed. You can see one of Will’s paintings leaning against the wall, some friendship bracelets that El had made her, cards from Dustin and Mike and an album of pressed flowers that Lucas was in the process of making for her.

There was once a time where flower arrangements once adorned the table, an abundance of  soft pinks and sunny yellows that made the room feel brighter. But fourteen months on and the number of bouquets had dwindled significantly. But still, someone—you were sure it was Claudia Henderson as you had seen her buying bunches of daisies on many occasions—always left a bunch of daisies on the table every few days. The sight of them always made you since, since daisies had always been your favourite. 

You notice however that the daisies in the vase beside the window had begun to wilt and you were just beginning to wonder if you should throw them away when the door to Max’s room opened and one of her regular nurses, Nurse Rogers, walks in.

“Oh! Hello, Miss Mayfield,” she greets you with a kind, warm smile. “You’re not usually here at this time.”

You smile back, ignoring the slight pity you see in her expression as she looks at you. It was a look that you were used to after so long. People who saw you as the poor Mayfield girl who was in denial about her sister.

“Yeah, um, had some free time,” you say, your fingers digging into the soft cushion of the chair beneath you. “I figured that I should give her some company.”

Nurse Rogers smiles kindly—she doesn’t remind you that there was no evidence that Max was even aware of your presence and for that, you were grateful.

“I’m sure that she appreciates it,” she says, bustling into the room and pulling a rattling hospital cart along behind her. “I just need to replace her feeding tube. Shouldn’t take too long.”

You nod, despite the lump that had suddenly risen in your throat. Because your baby sister needed feeding tubes, because even after fourteen months, seeing Max in this position—it never got any easier. Never.

The nurse set about changing Max’s feeding tube but you couldn’t watch. You felt like a coward—because she was trapped under Vecna’s spell or whatever it was keeping her in the coma while you were in Hawkins, mostly safe and lucky to not be wherever she was. Trapped in her body, bed ridden and unable to find her way home. And yet—you couldn’t watch the nurse change her tubes, couldn’t face the fact that without all this machinery, without medical intervention that your sister would probably be dead. You couldn’t face it. You just couldn’t.

“All done,” Nurse Rogers announces after a minute or two where you had been fiddling with a loose thread on your shorts.

You sit up, your eyes stinging as you glance over at your little sister, at the tube in her mouth that made you want to burst into tears. 

“Thank you,” you say thickly, quickly wiping away a stray tear that had fallen and forcing a smile.

But Nurse Rogers notices.

“She’s still here,” she tells you, placing a gentle hand on your arm and giving you a squeeze. “You gotta be strong, honey. Your sister still needs you.”

You swallow the lump that had formed in your throat and do your best to blink away the tears that were threatening to fall but to no avail. Because it had been fourteen months of hoping and you were tired. 

“Yeah. You’re right.”

Nurse Rogers smiles at you just as there was a knock on the door. You have enough time to collect yourself as another nurse walks in.

“Hi, Miss Mayfield,” she greets you, smiling in a way that told you that she could plainly see the teartracks down your cheeks but was choosing to ignore them for your sake. “Sorry, Mags but you’re needed in Room 14.”

You feel Nurse Rogers’—Mags—hand withdraw from your shoulder and you find that it leaves you feeling a little more than empty inside. Her warm, almost motherly touch had made you realise how long it had been since you had felt that. Because you couldn’t remember a time since Max had been in a coma where your mom had truly felt like your mom. You had taken it upon yourself to take care of her, making sure that she was eating, making sure she was taking care of herself and not drinking to excess like she had been when Neil had left shortly after Billy’s death. 

It had become a strange dynamic but you knew without it that your mom would have fallen apart and so, you had done it without being asked and without complaint. You also knew you would continue doing it until Max woke up. But you couldn’t deny that it left you feeling a little bit numb to your own emotions and desperate for your mom to just hug you because you needed it.

“I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything,” Nurse Rogers tells you, a softness in her eyes that makes you feel almost like a child who doesn’t want to be alone right now. “Seriously. Anything. Just come and get me, okay?”

You nod again, grateful despite the fact you knew that you weren’t to take her up on the offer.

You don’t trust yourself to talk, don’t trust the way you were on the verge of tears and so, you just simply smile at her before turning your attention back to Max, taking her hand and telling yourself not to cry in front of the nurses.

Nurse Rogers seems reluctant to leave you but the nurse who had walked in clears her throat and both of them leave the room to return to their duties.

The door closes softly behind her and you hear the footsteps of both nurses as they walk down the hall. Part of you feels relieved that you were finally alone with your sister and the other part of you was so sick of being alone.

You let out a shaky breath, steeling yourself before looking back at Max. But the sight of your baby sister with a feeding tube down her throat makes the tears near impossible to stop. You feel your bottom lip quiver and your legs begin to shake. 

You couldn’t cry in front of Max. You couldn’t. Even if she couldn’t see you, feel you or know that you were even in the same room. You refused to let her see you like this.

And so, you stand up on shaky legs and head towards the door without a second glance back at your sister.

You walk down the hall and head straight for the bathroom. You can feel the eyes of other patients, of families waiting on news of their loved ones in the hallway linger as you pass by. You hear them whispering about the ‘Mayfield girl’, asking each other if you were the sister who refused to give up. They’re trying to be quiet but you were attuned to what everybody said about you, about Max, about your family, about the fact everyone in town thought you were in denial, that keeping Max alive was cruel and your family were just delaying the inevitable. No matter how quiet the whispers were, you had heard it all. 

But thankfully, there was no one else in the hospital bathroom when you walked in. Which, you were grateful for considering that the very first thing you did as soon the door slammed shut behind you was burst into tears. 

There was no build up, there was no opportunity to stop the sobs that shook your body. Your hands shake and your breathing becomes erratic as the tears are slipping down your cheeks.

Fourteen months. 

Four hundred and twenty six days and you fucking missed your sister.

You missed her stealing your clothes because she thought they were “cooler” than hers. You missed her forcing you to watch horror movies despite the fact that you couldn’t stand them. You missed going to the arcade with her and giving her half your pocket money just to see her smile. You missed fighting with her about whose turn it was to do the dishes, you missed watching skate off down the street to see her friends and you missed the way she would always hug you before leaving.

You missed her so much that it went beyond physical pain. You felt as though part of you was missing, as though it had been ripped away from you. You felt it when you saw her jacket waiting for her by the front door and when you noticed dust collecting on her skateboard.

You would do anything to switch places with her. You would face any storm, would tear down mountains and walk through fire for it to be you in that hospital bed instead of her. Because all you wanted was for Max to be okay.

But it didn’t matter what you were willing to do to switch places with her. Because she was still in that hospital bed, tubes coming out of her mouth and no amount of bargaining was going to save her.

It was a reality that you were finding it increasingly difficult to face.

You emerge from the hospital bathroom almost fifteen minutes later. Your cheeks feel red raw from where you had been rubbing away your tears and there’s a dull ache behind your eyes from how much you had cried. 

You make your way back to Max’s room, sniffling as you did so. Thankfully, you don’t run into Nurse Rogers and have to explain why you were in such a state. But it wasn’t the first time that you had cried in that bathroom and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

You can hear Kate Bush still playing from inside of Max’s room as you approach and the familiar music pulls your focus back.

Max.

She’s still here. You gotta be strong, honey. Your sister still needs you.

And with Nurse Rogers’ words still ringing in your ears, you push open her hospital room door.

“—and then Robin had this really terrible idea of having an advice segment but every time a woman would call up to complain about her boyfriend she would just tell them to dump him and—”

The last thing—the very last thing—that you expected to hear when you walk back into Max’s room was the sound of Steve Harrington’s voice.

Your breath catches, everything around you feels a little fussy as you see him sitting on the chair beside her bed that you vacated only fifteen minutes ago. 

At the sound of the door closing behind you, Steve stops talking and looks up.

When your eyes finally meet his, everything around you stills.

“Hey,” Steve greets you softly and with a small smile.

“Hi,” you say quietly because you didn’t know what else to say.

Because fourteen months ago, you had finally told him that you loved him after you had thought you lost him to a swarm of demobats. And fourteen months ago, he had told you that he felt the same. He had promised to take you out on a date when everything with the Upside Down was over. But then everything that had happened with Max had derailed those plans entirely and though Steve tried and tried again to be there for you, you pushed him away. And you did so by breaking his heart the only way you knew how.

You did it by repeating the words that Nancy had once said to him. Called him “bullshit” and told him that you didn’t love him. That it was just adrenaline talking after almost watching him almost die. You still remember the look of utter devastation on his face, still remember the way he had gone uncharacteristically quiet, the bag of groceries he had bought for you and your mom still tucked under his arm.

“You don’t mean that,” he had said, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t.”

“I do,” you had told him, the words like knives in your throat. Because you didn’t mean it. Because you loved him, you really fucking loved him. And it was because you loved him that you knew you needed to let him go. Because the proof that you couldn’t protect the people you loved was laying in a hospital bed.

Your plan had worked, Steve had avoided you after that. You still ran into each other every now and then, at the WSQK mainly where Steve worked alongside Robin or during briefings before crawls. But you had not been alone together since the night you had broken his heart outside of your trailer.

“You okay?” Steve asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

Fuck, you hate the way he speaks so softly to you, his voice full of concern even after everything you had done to him.

“Yeah,” you say too quickly, looking at his face and hating even more just how handsome he still was. Those honeyed brown eyes that made you feel warm inside, the moles scattered around his face and neck and the thick, chocolatey brown hair that you still found yourself wanting to run your fingers through.

Steve looks as though he doesn’t believe you and you couldn’t exactly blame him.

“Just um—allergies,” you sniffle, wiping your nose and looking away from him. “Just really bad this time of year.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, unconvinced. “I bet.”

You don’t look back at him. Because the thought of him visiting your sister and talking to her about things as mundane as working at the radio station was making your heart do traitorous things in your chest. You could feel the tears already threatening to fall again.

You were just trying to think of an excuse to leave when something beside the window catches your eye.

“Was Dustin’s mom just here?” You ask Steve, your eyes on the fresh bunch of daisies that had replaced wilted ones you had seen earlier.

“Huh?” Steve asks, confused as follows your gaze and looks over at the daisies. “No, um, it’s just me.”

You blink, brows pulled together in confusion before you finally look back at him.

“But the daisies, I thought it was—”

“—they weren’t from Claudia,” Steve says, the tips of his ears turning red as he looks back at you. “The daisies are from me.”

Your eyes flicker from his face before they move back over to the daisies. “H-has it—has it always been you?”

“Yeah,” Steve admits quietly. “Always.”

Something about that admission that breaks something inside of you. Perhaps it was the part of you that was desperately trying to hold yourself together, the part of you that was crying out for help or maybe it was the part of you that had convinced yourself that breaking Steve Harrington’s heart was the right thing to do.

“Oh, please don’t—”

Steve rises from his chair, not even finishing his sentence as he crosses the room in a few quick steps to catch you before you could break down into floods of tears.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tries to hush you gently, one arm wrapping around you while the other hand gently pushes your hair back so he could see your tear stained face more clearly. “Don’t cry. It’s just flowers—”

“—it’s not just f-flowers, Steve,” you stutter out, the tears falling so thick and fast that you couldn’t stop them. “It—it’s the f-fact you’ve been b-been le-leaving them f-for her for m-months and I—I di-didn’t kno-know it was y-you.”

You watch as Steve swallows thickly, his eyes fixed on your face as he seems to mull over his next words carefully.

“I didn’t—the flowers weren’t—they weren’t necessarily for Max,” Steve begins quietly, his thumb carefully wiping a tear from your cheek. “They—they were all for you.”

Your heart feels as though it splits open that.

Because for fourteen months—four hundred and twenty six days—Steve Harrington had been leaving you flowers in your sister’s hospital room and you had no idea.

“Daisies. They’re still your favourite, right?” He asks when you remain speechless. You nod numbly, your breath catching as you look back at him with wide eyes feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

“But why—”

“I just—I just wanted you to have something in this room that was—that was just for you. Because all this—it’s been tough on you too. Really fucking tough. And I wanted you to have something in this room that reminded you that people care about you too. That I—that we all are still thinking about you.”

“I d-don’t de-deserve that,” you say quietly, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as though you were trying to decide whether or not to pull him closer or push him away. “I don’t de-deserve it, Steve. I don’t—”

“—you do,” Steve tells you firmly, his expression shifting to something close to agony as he watches you crumble in front of him. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that you don’t deserve—”

“—I c-couldn’t pr-protect her, Stevie,” you start to sob, the old nickname falling from your lips before you could stop it. You miss the way his expression falters, the way his own eyes become glassy. “I-I failed a-and I-I can’t d-do anything to h-help her. I d-don’t de-deserve an-anything l-like that.”

“Oh, babygirl,” Steve murmurs, pulling you in and wrapping his arms around you as though it was enough to protect you from everything that hurt inside of you. “You did everything you could. You didn’t fail. You have never failed your sister even a day in your life.”

“I-I just w-wish it w-was me i-instead,” you cry, burying your face into his shirt as you sob into him. “I just w-wish it was m-me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, his heart cracking open at your words. He doesn’t argue with you, just pulls you closer and cups the back of your head with one large hand. Because he felt the same. Like you, he had spent nights wishing it had been him instead of Max.

And he also knew that if it was you in that hospital bed, he would move heaven and the earth to switch places with you. 

“I know,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the side of your head as you continue to sob into him. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

The only thing he can do after that is hold you while you cry. His arms act as an anchor around you that refuse to let you go for even a second.

You aren’t sure how long you stayed there, weren't sure how long you cried into his shirt for. All you knew was that when you finally pulled away from him was that his shirt was covered in wet blotches from your tears.

“Sorry,” you murmur, your voice a little hoarse as you look at his face. “About your shirt.”

“It’s okay,” Steve tells you gently, the smallest of smiles tugging at the very corner of his mouth. “S’just a shirt.”

You very nearly smile but something stops you. The memory—the one that had haunted you for the past fourteen months—of Steve’s face outside of your trailer as you broke his heart into pieces. The reminder that you didn’t deserve his kindness, his sympathy and you certainly didn’t deserve flowers.

“Sorry,” you say again, not entirely sure what you were apologising for as your fingers release the front of his shirt. “I shouldn’t have—”

“—I forgive, you know?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to control the swell of emotions in your chest at his words. 

“You shouldn’t,” you say finally with a shake of your head. “I was cruel to you, Steve. So cruel. You should hate—”

“—don’t try and tell me what I should or shouldn’t feel,” Steve says in a calm but stern voice, one that makes you swallow. He pulls away from you only to rub his hands over his face in frustration, his shoulders tightening as you imagine him reliving that conversation over again in his head. “I knew exactly what you were doing. I knew you didn’t mean it. That’s why I forgive you.”

“But Steve—”

“—no, listen to me, baby, okay? I forgive you. I—I will always forgive you. I don’t care if you think that you don’t deserve it. It’s too late. I’ve already done it.”

You say nothing at first, not trusting your voice as you look back at the man you had never stopped loving.

Steve can perhaps see your apprehension in your face and so, he presses on, “And I—shit—I thought that maybe the daisies would let you know that. That I forgave you and maybe—maybe that we’d find our way back to each other eventually or something.”

“Steve,” you begin gently, your shoulders sagging slightly at his words, at the almost hopeful expression on his face. “I—I can’t—”

“—why not?”

You swallow, your eyes flickering from Steve over to Max who was still laying in her hospital bed, like she had been for the past fourteen months.

“—Steve, you’re always taking care of people,” you say as you look back at him with a careful expression. “And I—I can’t be another burden to you like that. I just can’t.”

You watch as Steve’s jaw clenches at your words, at the way something flashes in his eyes. He takes a breath before he lifts a hand to gently cup your face, the gesture so gentle that you couldn’t help the small breath you let out.

“You are not nor could you ever be a burden to me,” Steve tells you in a fierce voice. “Yeah, you’re going through a lot. But I can help. I want to help. Because bottling it up, pretending you’re fine and taking care of everyone else but yourself isn’t going to help you.”

“But you—”

“—and if Max knew what you were doing—if she knew that you weren’t letting people take care of you, she’d be heartbroken.”

You wanted him to be wrong. You wanted so badly for him to be wrong. But you knew, deep down, that he wasn’t. You knew that if Max saw the way you had become a shell of yourself, if she knew that you cried alone in hospital bathrooms with no one to hold you, if she knew that you had hurt Steve just to push him away—she wouldn’t forgive you.

When you say nothing, Steve takes a step closer, his eyes studying your expression carefully.

“I’ve forgiven you. Now it’s time for you to forgive yourself.”

Fuck. You could have cried all over again.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to do that,” you whisper back, feeling like a child who was about to be scolded as you turn to look away from Steve. 

But Steve’s hand on your cheek gently turns your head to prevent you from doing so.

“That’s okay,” he whispers, his other hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. The simple act makes you feel more alive than you had ever been and as he lifts your entwined hands to rest over his chest, you feel his heartbeat thumping through his shirt, feel the warmth of his skin against yours like a soothing balm. “Just start by letting me in.”

You’re quiet then, at war with yourself as you try not to think of all the reasons you should say no. They swirl around in your head, taunting you. The guilt, the fear, the worry. All of it. But one glance towards the vase of daisies that stood in front of the window—the reminder that for four hundred and twenty six days that Steve Harrington hadn’t given up on you—seems to quiet them.

It’s time to forgive yourself.

You couldn’t imagine a more courageous act but as you look back at Steve, you find that the task doesn’t seem so daunting with him there to catch you.

“Do you—do you wanna go grab a burger and a milkshake after visiting hours?” You ask him, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you give his hand in yours a gentle squeeze. “My treat.”

It takes Steve several moments to process your words and the moment that he does so, you see the reverence, the softness in his expression that was reserved only just for you.

“Anywhere you wanna go,” Steve tells you, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your hairline. “I’ll go. Always.”

You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face at the feeling of his lips brushing against your skin after far, far too long. The beep, beep, beep from Max’s heart monitor reminding you that she was still alive, that you were still alive and that maybe forgiving yourself sometimes began with burgers and a milkshake.

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Growing up behind the tall walls of The Eyrie, you had to find some way to entertain yourself. Perhaps if you had been allowed to play with your younger half brother Robin, you would have found some other way to occupy your mind. 

But your stepmother would never have allowed it, always coddling her Sweetrobin. 

With your father always lost in his work or away as the hand of the king, you found yourself sneaking into the Maesters rooms of the castle, reading notes and observing the plants. It didn’t take long for the old man to catch you and, taking pity on the poor young lady of the house, sit you down and teach you about the different herbs. 

You had your fair share of learning from your Septas, of course. As a girl born into nobility, into House Arryn no less, you knew everything a proper lady should know. How to sew, how to plan a dinner, how to speak quietly, how to care for your children. But plants? Herbs? These things were so new to you, and you found yourself infatuated with their properties.

In fact, you were so obsessed, you begged the Maester to allow you a few seeds, so that you could start a garden beside the fountain in the castle. He allowed you, of course, even checking in on your garden and explaining the different conditions each plant needed. You ate up all the knowledge you could behind the walls of the castle, and the fauna was no different.

One topic your stepmother forbade you from learning about though, was soulmates.

You asked the Maester about his soulmate once, back when you were only 10 namedays along. You remember the way his hand twitched, a soft, faraway look in his eye. He was forbidden to tell you anything, but you knew from the look on his face, the question must have brought happy thoughts to his mind.

Even at only 10 namedays, you knew the reason your stepmother didn’t want you learning about soulmates. She planned to marry you off as soon as you were old enough, and she couldn’t have you fantasising about the follies of love and faith in the old Gods when she needed you to marry whoever would be a convenient ally.

The thought wasn’t something you would ever admit upset you. Taking your education into your own hands, you found a book detailing the history of soulmates in the library, where you found that:

‘Not all folk are destined to find their soulmates in this life, but if not in this one, they will be together in another. The soulmate bond signifies more than just a perfect match between two, it is a mark of one soul split directly into two. This is no pairing of hearts, it is one heart beating in two bodies. 

Once a soul becomes whole, it is painful and difficult for this to be undone. It can lead to violence, insanity and even death. This is why many do not search for their soulmates and marry whomever they so choose.’

But there was a bright side to having a soulmate, you knew that. 

You thought about the look on the Maesters face when he thought about his soulmate. The way your handmaiden, Ellie, spoke of her husband Edin. There was a beauty to having a person completely understand you, having a complete soul.

“Y/N!” 

You stopped in your tracks, surprised at the sight before you. 

Your father was home. 

Your father, Lord Jon Arryn, was home with his good friend, Lord Ned Stark. His was a face you had been very familiar with from a young age. He worked closely with your father, so he never missed a family gathering or ball. Even now, when you were a lot older than only 10 namedays, you couldn’t help but smile at the familiar man.

“Father. Lord Stark,” you curtsied politely, watching as Ned rolled his eyes.

“Every time . .” he mumbled under his breath. “Call me Ned,” he told you, the same way he always did when you reverted back to calling him by his formal titles.

“Are you going somewhere?” Your father asked, noticing the small basket you were carrying. 

You quickly pushed the basket behind your back, making both of the men grin in amusement.

“No . . no! I was just–”

“Tending to her garden, my lord,” one of the maids said as she began to lay out breakfast for the two men. “She’s a good green hand too, you should see how well everything's bloomed. We’re using her spices in the kitchen, and I know the Maesters glad she’s growing healing herbs.”

You winced.

Gardening was not ladylike, according to your stepmother. 

But she was never around, always fussing over Robin somewhere far away, so she wasn’t actually aware of what you had been doing the last few years. And your father? He was always away in Kingslanding, not a care in the world about what you were getting up to at The Eyrie.

The servants, maids, chefs– anyone who worked in the castle knew what you were doing in your spare time. It was hard not to notice your overgrowing gardens when they blocked the pathway to the kitchens, but all of the staff assured you that they didn’t mind. You were always sharing your crops with them, offering to help with anything you could, so they treated you like the sunshine of the household. 

They had taken to calling you ‘Sunshine’ even when you weren’t around, partially because of your kind nature (in comparison to what they experience from your stepmother) but partially because of how well the plants grew with your care. You were like the sun, with plants stretching out to reach your light.

You knew the maid meant well, answering your father, but you couldn’t help the fear that overtook you. Would you be in trouble? Would your stepmother find out? While your father wasn’t around much to punish you, his wife often took it upon herself to discipline you whenever she felt it necessary. 

Thankfully though, your father didn’t seem annoyed at this revelation.

In fact, both he and Ned seemed intrigued, the latter inviting you to come sit beside him.

“Plants, aye? Don’t see much of that up at Winterfell,” he says, a hint of sadness in his voice. 

Ned Stark was the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. 

You had never been, but you knew the climate was very different to that of the Vale. A lot of snow, and a coldness you wouldn’t even be able to imagine.

“Actually, there are a lot of herbs that can only grow in the cold,” you said, excitedly. “And almost everything can still grow in the snow, as long as you’re taking care to cover the crops to avoid any snowfall.”

“Only grow in the cold? You’re talking nonsense, girl,” your father took a bite of his food. Despite his words, his tone was casual. Conversational. You rarely got to speak with your father, so it surprised you, but you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I– I have a list here. I’ve never been able to test it – you know it doesn’t snow here – but I’m sure you can grow all of these things in the North,” you showed Ned your little book, filled with notes and findings that you had made over the last decade.

“Gods . . the girls a scholar, Jon,” Ned laughed, squinting at the book. “Ye should get her sent off to some institution or something!”

Your father chuckled lightly, but it wasn’t cruel. 

“I always knew she would be a smart one,” his eyes were on you now, a small amount of pride in them. 

And you couldn’t help but smile back.

It was reassuring to know that your father wasn’t going to punish you for your gardening, and even moreso calming that Ned also approved. You just hoped no one would mention it to your stepmother. 

The meal continued, with the men discussing something about an unrest in the West, and the Lannisters while you ate your food and sipped your tea. Inside, all you could think about was going to check if your poppies had blossomed, and if Ned Stark knew anything about Winterberries and Baby’s breath, two plants you knew could only grow in the Northern climate.

As if they could read your mind, the conversation turned back to you and Winterfell.

“Perhaps we should take Y/N with us,” your father’s suggestion seemed playful as he took a swig of his wine. 

“Take me where?”

“Up North,” it was Ned who answered you. “Your father’s accompanying me home, we have an important meeting at Winterfell. Would you like to join us, Lady Y/N?”

Would you like to join them? Would you like to visit a beautiful, snowy castle and try to find Winterberries? Would you like to escape from your stepmother and spend time with your father?

You jumped up from your seat faster than ever, clutching your basket.

“Really? May I, father? Please, may I?”

“Cease your whining, girl,” your father groaned, shooting Ned a glare. “Of course you may. What’s all the fuss about, have you not been before?”

You knew you couldn’t blame him. He was, of course, a busy man. But your father was always so . . unaware, when it came to your upbringing. Here you were, nearing 10 and 9 namedays and he didn’t know that the only place you had ever visited outside of the Vale was Kingslanding.

“No, father. I’ve never been to Winterfell,” you said quietly, looking down at the ground.

To his credit, he seemed surprised. 

His white eyebrows shot up, and the man nodded once.

“Then it’s settled. You shall join us in the North–” he looks to Ned, tone teasing as he adds. “If that is okay with his Lordship?”

“It would be my absolute honour, Lady Y/N.”

It was cold.

You knew it would be, but you had no idea how the cold would sit with you. It felt like a sheet of ice had wrapped itself around your bones, enclosing you tighter and tighter in its grasp.

The thick, velvet gloves in House Arryn's signature sky blue colour helped to shield your fingers from the snow as you stepped out of the carriage and looked around.

Winterfell was . . beautiful.

Despite the cold, despite the snow, despite all you had heard and read about the horrors of the North . . all you could see was the beauty of the castle. And if your heart wasn't warm enough at your surroundings, it softened even more when you watched Ned Stark run over to his wife and hold her in his arms.

Everyone knew Ned and Catelyn Stark were true soulmates.

It wasn't completely rare to find your soulmate, you knew that. But for a nobleman and a noblewoman to be soulmates? To find each other and be eternally happy? To not have to sacrifice love or status or family in this life? 

Yes, the Starks were a blessed family. You could only hope to find a fraction of that love with the man you were to end up wedding.

A soft, white glow surrounded the couple in their embrace, evidence of their soulmate bond being at peace. 

"Lady Y/N!" 

You were broken out of your thoughts by a vaguely familiar voice . . that belonged to . . 

"Lady Sansa," you breathed out a smile, nodding to the girl you remember meeting at a ball last Spring. 

She seemed to be excited, as did the rest of her family.

Ned was the one to make your introductions.

"You all know Lord Arryn, this is his daughter, Lady Y/N Arryn," he nodded to where you were standing next to your father, dressed in a cloak that was nowhere near thick enough to shield you from the weather.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," you offered all of the Stark siblings a smile.

You didn't know exactly how many kids Ned and Catelyn had, but as well as Sansa there was a younger girl and two younger boys who all shared similar dark hair and strong features. The youngest couldn’t have seen more than 3 namedays, a tiny toddler clinging to his mothers skirts.

"This is my good lady wife–" Ned was still holding Catelyn's shoulder. "My daughter Sansa you already know, this is Arya, Brandon and Rickon–"

"Father!" 

Everyone's attention turned to the drawbridge, where two men on horseback arrived.

They were both dark haired, that you noticed, but the first one . . the one with hair that was more of a dark auburn . . there was something about his eyes . . 

They came to a stop in front of the Stark family, Arya rushing over to hug the one that caught your attention.

"Robb!"

Robb. 

Robb Stark, Ned and Catelyn's firstborn and heir to the North.

Robb Stark was tall, with curly dark hair and a beautiful face to match. You didn't know much about the Stark family, only things you had heard from the household at Arryn or from Ned himself, but you didn't know the Stark children were all so beautiful. You almost couldn't stop staring as he spun his younger sister around, laughing as she squealed–

"Robb! Y/N, this is my son Robb, and my other boy Jon," Ned's voice was filled with more pride than you'd heard in all the weeks you had been travelling together, and that made you smile again. “This is Lady Y/N.”

And then Robb's eyes landed on you.

And time seemed to slow down. It didn't completely stop, not in the way Ellie described it to you, but it was as if the flakes of snow that were falling around you were moving 100 times slower. It was like every voice and noise around you settled to a dim hum. Everyone's faces blurred around you and the only other person that you could see as clear as crystal . . was Robb Stark. 

"Lady Y/N," he whispered, his words a soft breath. It was like he was tasting your name. And then he finally noticed your father beside you. "Lady Y/N Arryn?"

You fought a smile. 

Was it possible? Was it truly possible that Robb Stark was your soulmate?

A man of nobility, a man from a good family, with good ties to your father, was to be your destiny. 

Were the Gods truly this kind? Would you be allowed to marry him? Would your stepmother allow it? Could she overrule or convince your father? And what if Robb was already married? Or betrothed? 

An overwhelming stress suddenly clouded your mind, and you knew you wouldn't be able to logically think about all of this with all these new people around, in an unfamiliar place. 

"I . ." You broke his steel gaze, looking away and to your father. "I'm sorry, father. I don't know what– I'm dreadfully cold all of a sudden–"

"I can show you to your rooms!" Arya jumped up, proudly volunteering herself to help you inside. 

You gave her a half hearted smile, still looking down to avoid Robb's stare.

But someone else had picked up on the Stark boy's odd behaviour. 

"No. I will take Lady Y/N," Catelyn announced. She held an arm out for you to take, and you did so gratefully. 

Your father didn't seem too disturbed by your quiet outburst, only nodding at you once.

"It has been a long journey for you, rest well."

"I will," you promised, letting the lady of Winterfell guide you into the castle. "Thank you, Lady Stark," you added, quieter. 

There was a brief period of silence between the two of you as Catelyn led you around the giant castle.

"I haven't seen you since you were a babe. You have grown into a beautiful young lady, Y/N," she finally said.

"Thank you, my Lady."

"And how are your studies? My husband wrote to me while he was at the Eyrie, he mentioned you are interested in plants."

You felt some of your tension melt away at her kind words.

"Yes, it was my intention behind joining my father here. I was hoping to find Winterberries, they're a healing fruit that only grows in the North," you rambled, not noticing the way Catelyn smiled at you.

“Winterberries . . from the children’s tales?”

Winterberries were thought to be a myth in the North, originating from old tales and apparently being able to cure any ailment. They haven’t been seen for centuries, so you understood why people thought them to be unreal, but you had faith.

“They’re real, and I intend to find them,” you said determinedly.

Catelyn nodded once, not wanting to argue with you on this.

"And how is my sister? Does she treat you well?"

Her sister?

And then you remembered.

Your stepmother was once a Tully, just like the current Lady Stark. They were sisters, even if your stepmother rarely spoke of it. In fact, you had only ever heard her mention Catelyn out of bitterness, which explained a lot to you.

Catelyn married her soulmate, while your stepmother was your fathers fourth wife.

"She . . she treats me well," you lied smoothly. It wasn't your place to gossip or speak ill of your stepmother, especially not to her sister.

Catelyn frowned.

"I know my sister can be difficult--"

"No, no! I assure you, she . ."

"You do not have to hide the truth from me, Y/N."

By now, the two of you were entering a guest room. There was a large bed, covered in furs and silks of the Stark house colours, as well as a fireplace that was already lit, for which you were thankful. Catelyn nodded at a window and a servant boy immediately rushed over to close it. The room instantly warmed, and you breathed out a sigh.

"She treats me as well as she is able," you finally settled on, staring across at Catelyn.

She smiled.

"You have a good heart, Lady Y/N."

"Thank you, Lady Stark. And thank you for your hospitality, I'm sorry for leaving so quickly–"

"Not at all, my dear," she cut you off. "I know better than anyone how much of a shock the cold here can be when you come from the south . .” she trailed off, making you wonder what she was reminiscing on. Was she thinking about her life before moving to the North and becoming the lady of Winterfell? 

“Do you ever miss it?” You asked carefully.

She looked down at you, her smile bittersweet.

“I can always travel there, but it will never feel the way it did when I was a girl,” she confessed. “Besides, my children are here. My husband is here, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Her voice was so firm, you couldn’t help but be convinced by her words.

“The snow is beautiful here, I don’t think I ever want to leave,” you joked.

Catelyn gave you a look that said more than words could, and you couldn't help but wonder if she knew. 

Did she know about the moment you had shared with her son? That odd pull you could feel right now, urging you to run back to him in the courtyard? Did she know that he was possibly . . maybe . . your . . 

"I . ."

"Shall I send for a maid to draw you a bath? Or help you out of your garments?" She quickly changed the topic.

"No, I– I will manage," you told her.

"I will send someone later to collect you for supper then," she nodded, going to stand in the doorway. "Rest well, Lady Y/N."

You bowed your head as she left.

"Thank you, Lady Stark."

You did not rest well.

As soon as Lady Stark left the room, you threw off your gloves and fell in front of the hearth, seeking warmth. You pulled off your uncomfortable cloak and took one of the furs from the bed, making a sort of faux bed by the fire.

It worked. Partially.

You still shivered after every other breath, but the flames were warm enough to heat up your cheeks as you curled up and tried to close your eyes, thinking out everything that had happened since your arrival in the North.

Ned and Catelyn, soulmates.

All the Stark children, dark haired aside from Sansa. She took after her mother.

Robb and Jon.

Robb. Robb. Robb. Robb--

You squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring the tingling feeling in your palms. That was just your freezing fingertips, right? Not the soulmate bond that you had read about . .

You couldn't know for sure. Not until the two of you touched skin. Which, for some reason, you weren't desperate to do. No, you were scared to know. What if Robb Stark was your soulmate? As the heir to Winterfell, surely he has a wife? Or is promised to someone?

The door to your room opened, but no one was there.

You looked around in confusion, before noticing the small animal crawling towards you.

A small grey hound– no, a wolf pup, was approaching you, slow and careful. You had never seen such an animal before, a slight feeling of fear growing inside you as you shuffled back against the wall.

"Hello there," you said quietly, cautious. You didn't want to startle him. "Where did you come from?"

Of course, the pup didn't answer you.

Instead, he crawled to the edge of your garments, making your breath hitch in your throat. You had heard tales about wolves in the North. They were vicious, merciless. Would he tear your heart out with his claws? Chew it with his . . 

Only he wasn't violent.

He whined softly as he climbed up into your lap, making you let out a puff of air. You laughed once, slowly reaching down to pet the wolf. His fur was soft, and the low rumbling sound he let out at your petting made you smile wider. 

"You're quite cute . . little pup."

He wasn't a rabid, vicious animal, like all the stories about the North paint wolves out to be.

"Perhaps we will be friends."

And it was then that you realised how warm you were. The pup was radiating heat across your lap and to your body, making you melt into your furs and close your eyes as you finally relaxed and fell asleep.

It must have been hours later when you awoke to the sound of a soft knocking on your door.

The pup was still sleeping soundly across your torso, making you smile absent mindedly, before you remembered the knock.

"Yes?"

The door opened, and a man stood in the entrance to your room.

A familiar man.

Jon.

"Lady Y/N," he bowed slightly, a smirk on his lips when he noticed the wolf pup in your lap. "Your father is requesting your presence in the hall."

Supper. Right. Catelyn said you would join them for dinner.

"Thank you," you pulled the furs closer, over your shoulders, not missing the way he was still staring at the animal. "Is– do you know this pup?"

Jon instantly straightened up, shaking his head.

"I do not. But he seems to know you."

You stroked his fur, staring down at the wolf in awe. 

"He's so beautiful . . and he kept me warm while I slept," you told him as you continued to pet him.

"I'm sure his owner will be glad to hear that," Jon's voice still had a teasing lilt to it, and you couldn't shake the thought that maybe Jon knew more than he was letting on. 

Before you could ask him about it, he spun on his heel and began to make his way towards the dining hall.

Jon sat at the far end of the table, which you couldn't help but find odd. 

You were sat beside your father, with Sansa on your other side. She was lovely to talk to, complimenting your dress and asking about life in the vale. She even explained why Jon was sitting separately.

It was because he wasn't Catelyn's son. 

Jon Snow was a bastard, which surprised you. Not only because he looked like the rest of the Stark siblings to his core, but because Ned and Catelyn were soulmates. Had Ned lain with another woman, after finding his soulmate?

"Do you prefer roses or lilies?" Sansa's question pulled you out of your thoughts. 

"Lilies," you answered immediately. 

"Your mother had a fondness for flowers, it follows that you do too," your father said.

"She did?"

You didn't know much about your birth mother. You never met her. She died giving birth to you and only a year later, right after Robert's Rebellion, your father remarried Lady Lysa Tully, your stepmother.

"Aye, that she did," Ned confirmed. "Not a green thumb like you though, Y/N."

You smiled warmly at the new information, not noticing the hard stare Robb was fixing you with from across the table. 

Thick gloves covered your hands as you ate, and no one questioned it. 

In truth, you were coping a lot better with the temperatures around you, but the gloves were for your own safety. You knew Robb would be at Supper and you couldn't risk any skin on skin contact with the man you suspected was your soulmate.

Robb himself was torn.

He noticed the way you were staring at Jon, not knowing that it was out of pure curiosity, not romantic interest. He couldn't understand why you wouldn't look at him, when you were all he could think about all day. 

Why did you not take his hand outside to confirm that you were soulmates? Why won't you take it now? Why were you avoiding his stare? Had he done something to offend you? 

It was driving him crazy, knowing you were his soulmate but you wouldn't even speak to him. 

Because Robb knew, for certain.

He felt his half a soul pulling towards yours outside the castle today, and now again over the table of food. It was reaching out, desperately trying to hook itself onto yours and embed its deep claws there. It wanted to make a home in your heart, but you wouldn't open the door.

You wouldn't even look at him.

Robb tried to respect your wishes, not barging up to your rooms while you rested. 

But this? This meal where he was being tortured by your beauty, your words of grace and thanks towards his parents, your attentiveness to his sister, your praise of his beautiful home–

This already felt like his end.

Desperately, his eyes met his mothers, and he knew she knew. 

She looked between you and Robb, a hint of amusement on her face as she continued to eat and pretended she was none the wiser. 

He looked at Jon next, unsure if his brother would be any help.

Jon just smirked, winking at Robb.

Ass, Robb thought to himself. 

Just as Robb mustered up the courage to speak to you, someone else would ask you a question.

First it was Arya, then Bran, then his father. 

Even his mother asked you something about plants, which made you light up. Robb couldn't help but smile and listen as you explained the properties of some rare poppy.

"I really hope to find some Winterberries while I'm here. I know they're rare, or extinct, according to my book, but if they are real, they only grow in this region–"

"I can help you," Robb blurted out.

Everyone at the table stopped eating. And talking.

Robb, stupidly, realised that these were the first words he had spoken all evening. 

Usually, he would be more talkative than even Arya, but tonight, he had spent the better part of the meal just staring at you in a mixture of fascination and distress. And now he was randomly volunteering himself to go on a quest for some mythical berries?

You looked across at Robb, unsure.

"I mean, no one knows these lands better than I," he corrected himself, trying to emphasise his importance. Which was difficult, when you were finally looking at him. Everyone else melted into a puddle of blurred faces. Everyone but you. "I can help you find the berries you seek."

It wasn't you that answered him, but your father.

"Well that settles it," he was slightly drunk now, nudging Ned. "Your boy can show her the plants tomorrow. What do you say, Ned?"

Robb glanced at his father, trying not to let his worry show.

"You keep her safe," Ned's tone was warning as he stared at his son.

"I promise, father," Robb rushed out.

Finally, you spoke. 

"Thank you."

You were looking at him. 

You were looking at him and you were smiling.

Robb may have stopped breathing.

"My pleasure, Lady Y/N."

Sansa stole you away after supper, a fact that made Robb's face pull into a scowl as he joined Theon and Jon for a late night drink.

"Who pissed in your ale?"

"Robb has a crush," Jon teased, making Theon's eyes widen.

"What? On a real girl?"

Robb glared at them both.

"She's my soulmate," his words were firm, making Jon's eyes widen.

He had noticed the way his brother was staring at you, mooning over your arrival. It was interesting to him; women always fell over their feet in front of Robb, but you had run away from him after taking one look at his face.

Even at supper, you didn’t stare at him like some lost princess, which amused Jon. But finding out that you were his soulmate . . that changed things.

"Soulmate . . bloody hell. I thought you just fancied her," he winced. "That's . . why did she run away then?"

At this, Theon lit up.

"She ran away? Oh, this is brilliant. Lord Robb Stark, the mighty wolf of the North, rejected by his soulmate!"

"She didn't– we haven't spoken about it," Robb defended weakly. "I think she . . she needed space?"

"Maybe she doesn't like the cold? Doesn't want to spend the rest of her life up here," Theon suggested, making Jon roll his eyes.

He remembered the way you were perfectly fine with the temperatures in your chambers, not even needing your cloak to sleep. 

"She's fine in the cold, caught her with the furs in front of the hearth in her room," he told the pair, not even considering the implication in his words.

But Robb did.

"And why the fuck were you in her room?"

Jon winced again.

Theon burst out laughing.

"Your mother sent me to fetch her for dinner," Jon said bluntly. 

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

All three of them shared a look, before laughing.

"Speaking of wolves," Jon began playfully. "Where's Grey Wind? Haven't seen him in a while."

He was right.

Robb hadn't seen his direwolf all day, and seeing Jon with Ghost was making him realise that. Had he been so occupied with thoughts of you that he had forgotten about his own wolf?

He stood up, drinking the last of his ale and heading out to gardens where he assumed Grey Wind would be resting with Lady.

"You should check the East Wing!" Jon called after him, holding back a laugh.

You were enjoying the North even more than you expected, which was surprising, because you already expected to enjoy it a lot. 

But you had only been here a day and you were already sitting with a girl close to your own age, Lady Sansa Stark, and listening to her explain her braid to you. Sansa was even helping you to create a traditional pattern in your own hair, saying that you would fit in perfectly in the North.

“It’s been lovely having you here, Y/N. I do hope you’ll stay for the Winter, Arya never wants to braid hair with me . . we can practice together!”

Sansa was only a few namedays younger than you, so you could understand her frustration at her younger, more combative sister. 

“You’re lucky to have so many siblings,” you said comfortingly. “Perhaps you could try doing something she is interested in?”

Sansa scoffed.

“Something such as archery? I would rather be shot from the battlements in my undergarments.”

You choked on a laugh.

“Sansa! Do not– do not say such things!”

You both shared a look, before laughing in unison.

It took a while for it to die down, but when it did, you took the ribbons from Sansa and closed your braid. 

You stared at it in the mirror, an odd feeling overcoming you. You had never had your hair done by anyone other than a handmaiden, never playfully talked with a friend. 

Sansa felt like a friend. For the first time in all your years of talking to plants or reading away your sorrows in an empty, neglected castle with only your stepmother to punish you, you were laughing with a friend.

But beneath that, there was something else.

Simmering, just below your skin, your body was pulling you out of this moment. It wanted you to leave, to run towards wherever Robb was. Acknowledging the soulmate bond was the only thing that would calm your restless heart, you knew that.

For now though, you would discuss Sansa’s plans to create a new dress in the sky blue Arryn colours that you had inspired her with.

With every step Robb took towards the East Wing, he felt his heart tighten.

He was almost becoming familiar with the feeling he had been grappling with all day, the sharp ache in his chest dulling to a longing that made him wish he was near you. Just being close to you. Observing you. Listening to you speak. Whatever he could get from you.

"Grey Wind!" He called out, searching the castle for his wolf.

Finally, he heard a howl.

Up the stairs.

“Grey Wind!”

A whine this time, quieter than before. 

Why would the damn dog not heed his call? Why did Robb have to hunt him down? Shouldn’t he come to his master when he calls?

Robb's head snapped to the right, opening the door to the room and finding . . you.

You, with an elegant, Northern braid curling around your hair. You were curled up in front of the fire with Grey Wind in your lap, a heavy Stark cloak covering your shoulders, your eyes wide in surprise.

Robb's sudden entrance had clearly startled you, and he made a mental note to kick Jon in the teeth for this.

Jon knew. 

Jon knew that you had apparently befriended Grey Wind, the traitorous beast cuddling against you with not a care in the world.

"Lord Stark," you seemed surprised. "I . ."

"Lady Y/N," he bowed his head immediately, out of embarrassment. "Forgive me for intruding."

You fought a grin.

Despite your surprise at his entrance, the feeling of being so close to him again calmed your restless body. You felt a wash of peacefulness, making you smile up at the young lord.

“This is your home, can you truly be intruding?"

Robb lifted his head, realising that you were joking with him.

"Aye, that is true. But even so, I am a gentleman. I cannot be barging into ladies rooms like some kind of . ." his thoughts trailed off, watching you petting Grey Wind and noticing how the wolf didn't protest. 

Robb knew his wolf to be aggressive, and untrusting of every human he met. How had you managed to tame the beast in less than a day?

"Animal? Wolf?" You finished his sentence for him, noticing his stare at the wolf in your lap. A thought occurred to you. "Do you know this pup?"

Robb smirked.

"This pup is supposed to be my most formidable ally . . yet you have him as guardless as a newborn babe," he rolled his eyes at Grey Wind’s surprisingly cuddly behaviour.

You blushed, looking down.

"He belongs to you? I apologise, he came in earlier while I was resting–"

"There's no need to apologise, Lady Y/N," Robb couldn't help but smile at the sheepish look on your face. You were apologising for taking care of Grey Wind? Gods, you were as sweet and kind as you were beautiful. "I don't doubt that he trapped you, not the other way round."

You looked back up at Robb, meeting his eyes.

The soulmate bond between you hummed.

"Is he similar to his owner in that respect?"

You both knew what you were really asking. What you were skirting around. 

Robb made sure to be as honest as possible when he answered you.

"I would never do anything to deceive you," he spoke slowly, with intent. 

You swallowed.

Robb's words were so firm, so certain.

You knew what he was saying, the underlying promise in his words.

He wanted to touch you. He wanted you to know that you were soulmates. He wanted you to acknowledge the bond between you.

If you were being honest, the bond was the only thing you could feel all day. 

You knew it was the reason you couldn't rest when you first arrived, your mind and body pulling you away from your room and desperately trying to drag you to him. Fate didn't want you to be apart, even if just to rest and think over your thoughts.

"You think he is deceiving me?" You looked back down at the wolf, who was now sleeping soundly. 

Robb shook his head.

"I'll skin him if he hurts you, my lady."

At this, your arms immediately tightened around the animal. 

Robb noticed.

He already thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world, but he now knew that his feelings extended beyond the soulmate bond. The way you were so polite to his mother, the way you respected and cared for his siblings, and now the way you angled yourself to protect Grey Wind in this moment made his heart soar.

You were more than any eligible, powerful lady he would be expected to marry for a political alliance. You were kind, considerate, and you were definitely smarter than anyone he had ever met, judging by the way you discussed your studies at supper. 

And he knew Sansa was responsible for the braid in your hair, the one that claimed you as a Northern girl. It warmed his heart to see you, his soulmate, as one of his people. Perhaps you didn’t even know it yourself, but that braid . . it awoke something inside the mighty wolf of the North.

"That is a horrible thing to say," you whispered, so quietly Robb wasn't sure he was meant to hear it.

He shrugged once.

"I meant it," he stood his ground, softening slightly as he turned to leave. He gave Grey Wind a small nod, smiling as the wolf lolled his head to the side in acknowledgement. "But I know I can trust him with you. Goodnight, Lady Y/N."

"Can you grow carrots?"

"Yes."

"Potatoes?"

"Yes."

"Even here?" Rickon pressed. 

He was right in thinking that it was too cold for potatoes to grow in the North. Under normal conditions, potatoes couldn't grow in freezing temperatures . . but you knew you could work around that.

"I can use a chamber," you told him, leaning closer to the boy at the breakfast table. "To protect the potatoes, and make them grow."

Rickon seemed to like that idea. 

You both shared a conspiratory smile, which made you think of Robin. You had barely spent any time with your younger half brother, due to his mothers rules, but you liked to think he would ask you questions and look at you excitedly, the way Rickon was doing. 

Robb was watching you from across the table again, and his mother was watching him again.

Ned and your father were holed up in Ned's rooms, discussing some political business, so they would not be joining the rest of you for breakfast.

"You make yourself too obvious, my son."

Robb didn't even look away from you when he replied to his mother.

"Why does she avoid me? Isn't she supposed to . . fall into my arms and we live happily ever after?" He huffed.

The noise Catelyn made was something between a laugh and a cry.

Even your infectious happiness as you discussed fruits with Rickon, the happiness that he could feel through your soulmate bond, wasn't enough to calm his anxious worries.

"I believe she is scared."

At this, Robb's head snapped to face his mother.

"Of me? I would never do anything–"

"Not of you," Catelyn laid a hand over Robb's to calm him. "I know my sister, her stepmother. And growing up with her can't have been kind."

Robb mulled over her words, turning back to watch you laughing with Rickon and Arya. 

You looked so carefree, so happy. It was hard to picture you as anything but the sunshine in every room you walked into.

Catelyn followed her son's gaze, speaking again.

"You should use today as an opportunity. Show her that she can trust you. Show her that you are a gentleman, then she will have no choice but to . . how did you put it? Fall into your arms and live happily ever after?"

Robb groaned at her teasing words.

"Mother! I want to grow strawberries with Lady Y/N!" Rickon shouted, stumbling over to Catelyn with half a bowl of porridge. “Strawberries! Strawberries! Strawberries–!” Needless to say, the boy ended up tripping on his own toes. His porridge ended up falling on himself, making Arya laugh loudly and Robb hold back a chuckle.

Rickon immediately burst into tears.

Catelyn frowned, about to scold the boy when you rushed over, crouching in front of him. 

“Oh, Rickon, it’s okay.”

You took the empty dish from him, cooing words of reassurance that it was 'all going to be well', and he had 'done nothing wrong'. 

Rickon's sobs slowed, his sniffs and cries muffled by your skirts. The boys grubby porridge hands had ruined your garments, Robb noticed, but you didn't seem upset by this.

"I am so sorry," you looked over at Catelyn in fear. "I only meant to discuss crops, I didn't mean for him to get over excited."

The servants had already cleaned away the mess, but you were bowing your head to the lady of the house as though she was going to execute you over a toddler spilling a bowl of oats.

Robb frowned when he realised that you were holding Rickon to the side, as if you were protecting him. As if you were expecting a blow to come and were prepared to take it for the boy. Your fear stretched from you to him through your bond, making his heart skip a beat. 

He could feel what you were feeling, and it made him sick.

Was this what his mother meant when she said that you were used to a different way of life? He would not allow you to ever feel scared in this house– or anywhere, for that matter.

"It is no matter, he spills his porridge every day," Robb lied carefully. 

Catelyn, quick to catch on, nodded in agreement.

"There's no need to apologise, Lady Y/N. This wasn't your fault."

Your shoulders relaxed slightly, and so did Robb's tense heart. 

"Did you ever meet your soulmate?"

It took you all day and all night to gather the courage to ask him that question.

You and your father weren't close by any means, you only spoke to him at mealtimes or at formal gatherings, when introductions were being made. Your stepmother took control of your lifestyle and education whenever the man was away, which was often, as the King's hand. 

But you liked to think he still cared about you, deep down. You may not be his heir, but you were his only other child.

He was out by the stables, talking to Ned when you approached him. The Stark Lord excused himself when he saw you, and you took the opportunity to ask your father a question you never thought you would be confident enough to speak.

He looked at you, confusion obvious on his face.

And then it twisted into a bittersweet smile.

"She was . . a beautiful girl," he began.

"A noble lady?" 

"No," he shook his head. "She wasn't. And I could not shame my father or my house by marrying her . ." he reminisced, a melancholy, faraway look in his eyes. "This would have been . . a long time before you were born. 30 years or so."

So he would have been extremely young . . 

"I can only hope you never have to go through that, my girl," his words were simple, but you knew he meant them. You could feel that he meant them. "Meeting your soulmate but not being able to marry them . . I can think of no worse fate."

You frowned. 

"If I did meet my soulmate . . if he were a nobleman . ."

He tilted his head to the side.

"Do you have something to tell me, girl?"

You froze.

"I just wonder . . would I be able to marry him? I know stepmother worries about political alliances, and I know she discusses my marriage with other houses," you voiced your concerns.

Surprisingly, your father didn't look at you the way your stepmother looked at you when you asked her about soulmates when you were only a little girl, like you were a stupid girl with no idea how love worked.

He looked at you with respect and admiration.

"If you had met your soulmate . . and he was a good man . . from a good family–"

"You would consider the Starks a good family, would you not? You and Lord Stark are good friends," you pointed out.

Your father seemed to put the pieces together, smiling proudly at you.

"I could not think of a more perfect match, Y/N."

You smiled back at him. 

"And your stepmother has no say in your marriage, I can assure you of that."

"I know you lied to me."

Robb's head snapped towards you worriedly.

"I did?"

You nodded, lifting your skirts and climbing onto your horse. Her name was Sunflower, and she had travelled up with you. After the servants at the castle named you Sunshine, you found it appropriate to name your horse after the flower that grew towards the sun.

Robb held his hand out to help you onto the mare but, despite the fact that you still had your gloves on, you didn't take it.

His lips pressed into a thin line at the rejection.

"I could feel it. You lied to me when you said Rickon spills his porridge every day," you told him pointedly.

"You could feel it?" Robb repeated. "And how is it that you could feel it, my lady? Do you possess magical abilities?"

You stared down at him.

Robb smirked, going over to mount his own horse.

"You know how I felt it."

Robb chuckled, knowing that you were trying not to acknowledge your soulmate bond.

"Do I?"

"And in any case, no boy who spills his breakfast every day would cry that much," you defended. "If he were so accustomed to it, he wouldn't have been so upset."

The man, now on his horse, considered your words.

"Are you always this smart? I may find it hard to keep up."

It was your turn to smirk.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Lord Stark."

Robb took you around the outside of Winterfell, showing you where deliveries of food come in and where the people lived. He took you past the woods and towards the Wolfswoods, where he knew wild fruits and other things grew.

You looked around at the snowy landscape, in awe that the trees could grow so tall.

Robb helped you down from your horse, gripping your gloves so tightly you almost thought he was trying to touch your skin beneath them. When soulmates first touched, their skin would burn permanently.

There would be a mark on your fingertips, or your palms, forever reminding the pair of you of your love. 

You knew Ellie's mark was on her palm, from when she high fived her soulmate as a child. The Maester back at the Eyrie must have had it on his forearm, something you suspected because he often held his arm whenever you pestered him about his soulmate.

Robb stared down at you as you regained your footing on the ground, and you knew he was thinking similar thoughts.

So you looked away, dropping his hand and opening your satchel.

You needed to focus on foraging today.

Your father had given you his blessing, but the final decision still lay with you. 

Robb might have been a perfect gentleman to you so far, but you had to consider so many things before you gave in to the soulmate bond. And today was about finding Winterberries, completing the task that you had travelled so far for.

"Hold the basket," you pushed the small wicker object at him, far too busy reading your notes to worry about pleasantries.

"Of course, my lady," Robb's tone was sarcastic. "Is there anything else her majesty desires?"

You winced, realising how rude you had been. 

"I apologise, I was just making sure we're in the right place–"

Robb stood in front of you, lifting the small book from your hands and staring directly down into your eyes.

"We are in the right place, trust me."

You shivered.

He frowned.

"Are you cold?"

He immediately began to pull off his cloak, making you shake your head.

"No, no, I am–"

It was too late.

Robb had already laid his heavy, dark fur cloak over your pretty blue and pink one. 

You were silenced by the weight and warmth of the furs, looking up at him as he stared down at you hungrily. You could feel the soulmate bond, the way he felt proud at being able to help you. You wondered if he could feel your worries, or the way that his cloak made you feel safer than ever.

Neither of you said anything for a moment, just your eyes meeting in a silent peacefulness, until a howl tore through the woods behind you.

Your eyes widened, and Robb grinned, his soft curls blowing in the breeze.

"They won't hurt you, Lady Y/N."

"Are you sure?"

"The North is not as frightening when you're from here."

"But I'm not ‘from here’," you retorted.

"Aye, you're not," he held up the basket cheekily, going into the Wolfswoods. "Best if you stick with me then, don't you think?"

You rolled your eyes, but still followed him.

"These look like . ."

"Devil's gloom," Robb finished your sentence, staring at the berries between your gloved fingertips. "One bite is enough to kill a grown man within the hour. And no antidote."

"That you know of," you said pointedly. "Winterberries can cure any poison." You swung your basket as you left the bush, continuing your journey through the woods.

"Winterberries are a myth, no one alive's seen them!" He called after you. "Oi! What are you doing with that poison? Put those back."

You ignored him, continuing to venture deeper.

There were a few flowers you hadn't seen before, so you crouched down to draw a sketch in your notebook. They were red and yellow, with large petals . . you would have to look them up once you were back in your library. Unless . . 

"Does Winterfell have a library?" You stood up, almost crashing into Robb who had finally caught up with you. 

He seemed startled.

"Yes, yes we do. Do you want to go now . . ?"

You scrunched your face up.

"Now? Are we not having fun?"

Robb tried not to laugh.

He had spent the last 2 hours chasing after you as you danced around the Wolfswoods, a new plant catching your attention every few seconds. If he weren't such a good hunter, he would never have been able to keep up.

"If we head towards Winterfell, I could show you the Godswoods. There's a big heart tree there, you may enjoy that," he offered.

You considered his suggestion.

"Is this your way of telling me you are tired of showing me the berries?" 

Robb looked insulted.

"Lady Y/N . . I am anything but tired of you. In truth, I would rather keep you here with me for eternity. I know once we return to the castle, my family will steal you away from me again," he said these words bitterly. 

"But it is past noon, and I worry one of us may end up eating the wrong berries in our hunger–" he pauses, thinking about it. "Perhaps that is a kinder fate than having to watch Sansa and Jon take my soulmate from me."

You giggled at that. 

"You would rather eat Devil's Gloom than take me back to spend time with your kind siblings?"

"So you admit you are my soulmate?"

Neither of you had said those words out loud, not since your first meeting yesterday.

You were avoiding it out of your own reservations and Robb was trying to respect your wishes, no matter how much it frustrated him. But it seemed that even his patience had its limits. 

He was staring down at you, eyes burning with . . well, you weren't sure what this expression was. It was like that tug in your soul, the one that was distantly pulling you towards him, was snapping. You could feel how his frustration was overflowing, and it made you frown in sympathy.

Robb Stark didn’t deserve the way you had been treating him.

Just because you were unsure, careful, scared . . he shouldn’t have to feel so rejected. Hurt. Confused.

You looked up into his sharp blue eyes, finally deciding to speak the words you had been afraid to say out loud.

"I would be a difficult wife. I would spend all day in the gardens."

Robb didn't hesitate.

"Then I would join you in the dirt, or the snow."

He took a step towards you.

"I wouldn't be a good lady like your mother, I have no experience with running a household, or taking care of children."

"I don't want you to be like her, I just want you to be you," he pauses, staring down at you. "Besides, you did perfectly well with Rickon this morning."

You stared up at him.

“You only met me yesterday, you cannot say with certainty that I am what you want.”

Robb raised an eyebrow.

“You think my soulmate wasn’t made for me? You think I haven’t been watching you take care of the children . . how you patiently wait for your father . . how you selflessly put others first . . or how even Grey Wind chose to protect you.”

He had been watching you?

You hadn’t noticed until now, but it seemed like he was . . obsessed with you.

"Are you not promised to another woman, a proper lady?" You had one last, weak, argument.

Instead of mocking your insecurities, Robb simply shook his head, taking another step closer to you.

"No."

"And do you intend to be?"

Robb took a final step towards you. 

There was now less than half a step between you, the tall lord in front of you invading your space like it was his own.

Which, perhaps, in a way, it was. 

Now that he was so close to you, you could feel a glow beginning to form around you. 

The soulmate bond in you was reaching out to him, the same way he was reaching out to you. It was starting to build, waiting for the two of you to touch so that it could explode in a burst of light.

"Let me make myself clear, Lady Y/N, since you seem to have misunderstood me," his words were low, serious. "I am not betrothed to another. I never plan to be betrothed to another. I never want to look at, to speak to, or to lay with another woman that isn't you. The only woman I wish to love, to wed, to warm my bed, to carry my children, to be the lady of Winterfell, is you."

He was so close now, you knew the bond was about to reach its peak. The glow emanating from his hand as he reached forward to touch your cheek was brighter than before. The pull between your chest and his was stronger than before. 

You made a decision.

And then you let out the breath you had been holding in, taking a step back.

Robb looked at you like you had struck him with a blade.

The heartbreak on his face was as clear as day, a mixture of confused and forlorn.

Before he could say anything though, you began to make your way back in the direction you had come from.

"We should go to the Godswoods. To see the tree," you called over your shoulder, a new determination in your words.

How could you be so cruel?

How could the kindest lady he had ever met, also be the most heartless?

How could you sit there on your horse, avoiding his gaze and stare straight ahead as the two of you rode back towards the castle?

On the way to the Wolfswoods this morning, you had spoken to each other endlessly. 

He told you stories of his siblings, his military training and how he and Theon would avoid classes as children, while Jon would dutifully attend every one. 

You told him about the Eyrie, how you had befriended the household and learnt about horticulture from the Maester. 

You both shared that your fathers were away a lot, but Ned was much more present than your father. You knew your father wasn't a bad man, you just . . didn't know him as a father.

Robb thought about this, racking his brain trying to defend your ruthless rejection of his affections. 

Was it perhaps because you grew up alone? Or because you didn't want to live in the Northern Winter? Were you unsure of how to respond to him? 

Or perhaps . . did you truly not feel the soulmate bond the way he did? Did you doubt his promises? 

What had he done to make you so mistrustful of him?

"This is . . beautiful."

You hadn't spoken to each other the entire journey, Robb too occupied with being completely baffled and offended by your betrayal and you too determined to see your plan through to the end. 

Sunflower came to a stop under the giant heart tree, allowing you to climb down and stare up at the red leaves in wonder. Robb watched as you spun under the Weirwood, fighting a smile at how happy you looked. 

He was supposed to be angry with you.

With your actions, your cruel dismissal of his feelings.

But when you finally looked at him, meeting his eyes with the strongest stare he had ever seen from you, his anger melted away.

He could feel your resolve through the bond between you, and it settled something in his chest. All he had done was worry you were going to reject him, but he couldn't sense any of that from you. You were radiating a calmness that washed over him when you spoke.

"Robb," you said evenly. "Come closer."

Robb. 

You called him by his name, not by some title.

He was now even more confused than before, taking a step in your direction. 

"Y/N," he said simply, mirroring your usage of his given name. "What are you doing?"

He watched as you grinned wolfishly, pulling off one of your gloves. 

His eyes widened.

"I . . Lady Y/N, the cold–" 

You ignored his protests, rolling your eyes. Of course he was worried about your body temperature at a time like this.

You wanted to complete your soulmate bond and he was worried about some snow in the Godswoods?

"Give me your hand, Robb Stark."

What? You wanted his hand?

Robb would easily give you his hand, his arm, his leg– anything you asked him for, so he wasn't at all surprised by his actions when he reached his hand out for you to take.

Which you did.

“Sansa told me that this place is sacred for your people,” you said quietly. “For your family.”

Robb was still in shock from your odd behaviour.

“That it is . .”

And so there, under the heart tree, grinning up at him with a white glow cocooning you both, you took his hand and laid his palm against yours. 

He felt the pain before he realised what it was.

A burning sensation, emanating from where your skin touched his, white light spreading from the both of you as your soulmate bond finally– finally completed itself.

Your heart settled in your chest. And so did his.