#divorceverse

Unfortunately, there’s nothing in the great, empty expanse of fucking woods he’s staring down to distract him. Why does Lyanna live out here again? Shouldn’t someone running a non-profit live somewhere with actual people around, in need of help?

Frankly, he never understood why they divorced in the first place. But I respected her wishes. Because I loved her.

Obviously. He wouldn’t be leaning against his car, waiting for his son to finally emerge from his aloof (second) ex-wife’s cabin in the woods if that wasn’t the case, all so he could spend a weekend enjoying the kid’s brooding company, pointedly not asking questions about how his mother was and what she was doing in her spare time when she wasn’t too busy saving the world and ignoring his calls.

Rhaegar taps his foot. Crosses his arms. Checks his hair in the passenger window. Uncrosses his arms. Checks his phone, again. Nothing. He texted Jon about his arrival three minutes ago.

Maybe, sometimes their conversation verged into discussion-of-Mom territory. But there was only so much for him and Jon to talk about. The kid was almost sixteen, permanently unimpressed with him, and he made no secret of the resentment he felt for him.

Rhaegar wanted to connect, he did, but he also had to acknowledge certain limitations to his position. The one thing they both shared was Lyanna. It made sense to fall back to common ground in lieu of any other options.

And he’s curious. Sue him. The woman is a bank vault when it comes to her personal life. Always was. Just ask the press. They'd tell you.

Rhaegar checks his phone. Four minutes. He thinks he can get away with ringing the doorbell. There’s literally ice on the ground. Even his openly embittered son doesn’t actually want him to freeze to death.

Well, he assumes. But the void of interest in Jon’s gaze as he opens the door and claps eyes on him might make him reconsider.

“Hey, champ.” Rhaegar forces out, and pretends like he isn’t internally grimacing at his own words. “Uh, I texted, but…”

Jon nods, already turning around, walking away and leaving the screen door to drift shut on his father. “I know.”

Rhaegar wedges a foot in before the heavy screen can shut him out completely, then shifts awkwardly in the doorway, propping it open. “You ready to head out?”

“Almost.”

He takes that as an invitation to step inside. Jon’s disappeared into a door beyond the stairs - the den, or the dining room? It’s been a while since Rhaegar got to really see the place. He’s never gotten an actual tour, technically, has maybe been in the kitchen twice, ever, let alone the rest of the place. Technically, it's a converted ranger station from back when the family held private ownership over the woods. For all he knows, it's an armory back there.

He glances around surreptitiously for a second, wondering if he has enough time to poke his head around - innocently, of course - only for Lyanna to skid into view before he can even move past the wet room. His pulse quickens, but before he can pull out a greeting as equally as cringeworthy as the first, she interrupts.

“Oh, good. You’re here. I’m heading out then.” She pushes an earring in with lethal precision and force, not even sparing a glance at the conveniently-placed hall mirror, calling back into the house, “Jon? I’m heading out! Did you hear me?”

Rhaegar almost has a heart attack when Jon pops his head in from the nearest room - he could’ve sworn the only way to the back was through the main hall, last time he was here - with a furrowed brow and a playful scowl on display. “Yeah, I’m right here. You don’t need to yell.”

Lyanna is doing her eyeliner, but she pauses to raise her own brows at him in warning. “Sometimes I think you could do with me yelling at you more, actually.”

He rolls his eyes. “Is that even possible?”

She smacks her hairbrush in his general direction in response, a fruitless gesture so familiar to Rhaegar it hurts. “Would you get out of here? With your… teenage… attitude? Ugh.” She fixes her lipstick then shoves her tools in her purse.

“Brutal, mom. Do you have my charger?”

“Our charger,” she insists. “It’s in the den. Go watch some dumb, scary movie, would you? Have a good time with your dad. And get out of my hair!”

Jon gives her a brisk salute as she hurries past.

“We will! Uh, have a good time,” Rhaegar assures her, but his eyes get caught on her cocktail dress, as she scoots past him, adjusts the skirt, and grabs her coat. “Where are you off to? Didn’t think you were even allowed to leave the woods.”

She gives him a slightly withering glance, then shrugs, smiles. “I have a thing.” By now Jon has joined them in the wet room, and she turns to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Lock up when you leave. I’ll see you two later.”

“Gross.” Jon waves from the door as she sidesteps the ice in her heels on her way to her truck. “Bye, mom. Be safe!”

“No worrying, kiddo! Have fun.”

“I know. But still.”

“Thanks, honey,” she clambers into the truck, blows a big, fat kiss from the window, intentionally over-the-top. “Mwah.”

Rhaegar follows her out, takes advantage of her patting around the front seat to plug her phone in. “Seriously, we never talk anymore. What’s the big occasion?”

She gives him a look he decides is indecipherable, then sighs. “Just meeting up with old friends of the family.” She finds the right chord to plug in her phone, then shoos him away from the window. “Okay. Really, this time - I’ll see you guys later.”

By the time she’s pulled out, and he’s shaken himself from his suspicious stupor, Jon is joining him out in the driveway. He shakes his head, then turns and gives him a fond, knowing look. “Where is she actually going?”

Jon, shrugging and hiking his backpack up his shoulder, returns the knowing look, if... decidedly less fond. “Some kind of double date.”

“What?” Rhaegar scoffs. “With who?”

“Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn.”

Interesting, but irrelevant. “No, who is she going with?”

“I don’t know. One of the Baratheons.” Jon is walking toward the car at this point.

“Shit!” Rhaegar jolts to follow, stops and curses as he almost slips on the ice, resumes his path with more caution. “Shit. Which one?”

“I don’t remember,” Jon says, popping open the trunk. He throws his luggage in the back.

Rhaegar rubs the back of his neck, exhaling a little in relief at just making it to the car without face-planting. “It can’t be Robert, is it? That’s insane.”

Jon pauses getting into the passenger seat to slip his backpack off his shoulder and spare his father a faintly exasperated look. “Dad…”

“Look, I - I know your uncle and him are friends, I’m sure he’s… fine, but… your mom hates him,” he rushes to clarify. Jon rolls his eyes and gets in the car, and Rhaegar scrambles to follow suit. “She always has.”

“I mean, it’s really none of your business.”

“Right, but… Right. I’m not saying she can’t. I’m just saying it would be stupid, and I hope your uncle hasn’t convinced her to give him another chance, when -”

“Are we going?” Jon interrupts, then sinks into his seat with a strange expression. “Arya and I have been waiting to see this for ages.”

“Uh…” Rhaegar blinks. Thinks. Starts to dig out his keys. “Yeah, we can go…” He starts the engine, but doesn’t take it out of park. “Just, let the engine warm up… How is Arya doing, lately, by the way? She wants to see this film?”

“Yeah,” Jon answers, slouching in his seat. “Has wanted to, for a while, now.”

“How’s she doing? You get to see her much, now she’s getting older?”

Jon turns to pretend to look at something out the window. Rhaegar knows he’s pretending. He was staring at the same goddamn woods waiting for a text for four minutes, so. “Not as much.”

Rhaegar takes this as an opportunity to change the address on his phone. “Is she busy tonight?”

“No.” No uncertainty. Not even a pause.

“You want to invite her along?”

“Seriously?” 

“Why not?” Rhaegar starts backing out of the driveway. “She’s allowed to watch scary movies, right?”

“Yeah, we watch them all the time.” Good. It was a fifty-fifty bet, considering what Catelyn and Ned are respectively like as parents.

“Why don’t you text her? We’re early anyway. We can start heading down that way, and if she says no, we’ll just… You know. Course-correct.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll text her.”

“Good. Great. We’ll just… head for your uncle Ned’s.”

And if they happened to run into Lyanna when they got there, well... that's a non-issue.

❦