[A Song of Ice and Fire]: Project Wishful Thinking
It was still the middle of winter, the halls of Riverrun were cold, and the fire was crackling. Robb leaned back in the chair, bouncing his young son on his knee just a little.
“Daddy?”
His name was Ned, of course. He’d been hoping that his first child would be a son so he could name him after his father, though he had considered naming a girl Edda if it had been a daughter. He was glad to have a son, though.
He was alone for the moment - Jeyne tired easily, in this cold, and hadn’t been feeling well recently, though the maester had assured him several times that she would recover completely and it was nothing to be concerned about. Robb looked down at his son, whose red-blond hair was just beginning to curl.
“Tell me a story about something?”
“What kind of something? A made up kind of something?”
“No, a real something.”
Robb sighed, a little, and rocked back and forth in the chair a few times. “A real something. All right.”
“Can it be about you?” Ned’s mouth was set in a little frown. “You never tell me any stories about you. And people are always saying things and I don’t know what they mean. Who are the Freys?”
Robb tensed, slightly. “That’s not a good story, Ned. You don’t want that one.”
“But I do,” Ned said eagerly. “I want to know how you survived!” Robb looked away, and was relieved by the appearance of Jeyne on the stairs, holding their still tiny daughter to her breast.
“My lord?” Robb flushed, and almost stood before remembering that he had a small child to support on his knee. Lifting Ned onto his hip first, though, he could get to his feet, though the boy would get too big to hold comfortably soon, with how quickly he was growing.
“Jeyne. Are you all right?” She didn’t look very well - dark circles around her eyes and wrapped snugly in a thick blanket, but she approached him all the same, kissed her son’s forehead and then his own.
“I’m all right. I wanted you to see your daughter. I feel as though I’ve been keeping her all to myself.”
“The maester said you weren’t to strain yourself,” Robb said, firmly, but adjusted eagerly to look at their second baby. Lydia had been born a few days early, and had been harder on her mother than Ned - a relatively easy birth, the midwife had said. “I didn’t want to make you feel as though you had to do more than rest, as long as you need.”
She was beautiful, though. Her hair was barely visible against her skin, still, and her hands worked a little at Jeyne’s clothing as she suckled. “I won’t strain myself,” Jeyne said patiently. “Ned, look. It’s your little sister.”
Ned wrinkled his nose. “She looks funny,” he declared, stubbornly, and Robb bounced him a little.
“Don’t say that,” he scolded. “You looked like this too. Everyone does. She’ll grow up and be your beautiful little sister.” Robb thought she was beautiful already, but Ned was still frowning.
“She’s hogging mother,” he complained, and Jeyne laughed, though a little weakly.
“Not for too much longer,” she said. “I promise.”
Ned scowled and cross his arms. “Oh, fine. But it better not be. I miss you.” Robb gave him another little bounce.
“Don’t be selfish, Ned. You might have more sisters, and I want you to love them too.” Ned frowned and shook his head.
“I don’t know. Maybe if I have a brother. Maybe.” Lydia turned her head away, then, and looked straight at her brother, reaching out her arms. Ned drew back, nervously. “What’s she doing?”
“Saying hello to you,” Robb said, affectionately. “Say hello back. Being a big brother is a great responsibility, you know. I managed it. I think you can too.”
--
She was his third child, and he still felt as though he would break her. For the third time, the midwife, with gentle and slightly exasperated patience, placed his hands, and he looked down at his daughter’s red little scrunched up features and felt a small and slightly sheepish smile spread across his face.
“Jeyne?” She looked exhausted, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, but she gave him a smile anyway and waved her hand a little.
“I’m all right. Don’t worry about me.” He frowned at her, to show what he thought of that comment, but looked down at his daughter again, opening one of her hands to examine her fingers with intent focus.
“Her name is - Brydie, that was what we decided on?”
Jeyne’s smile was a bit weak. “As far as I remember, yes. Go and introduce her to her siblings, Lord Stark. They’ll want to meet their little sister.” Robb hesitated a moment, but the midwife gave him a (gentle!) shove. “It’d be best, my lord. Gets messy from here on out.”
Robb flushed and remembered insisting on staying when his first son was born. He’d regretted that. “Thank you,” he said, as graciously as he could manage, still feeling quite off balance, and stepped out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.
He was immediately tackled by a bundle of eight-year old boy. “Father! Is it a boy? Do I have a little brother?”
“No, Ned,” Robb said, attempting to detatch the boy from his legs without moving Brydie too much. She looked tired too, little eyelashes damp and stuck to her cheeks where her eyes were closed, and Robb couldn’t help smiling slightly stupidly. “She’s a little sister. I hope you’re not going to complain about it.” It’d been so long since any child had come along, Robb had begun to wonder if they would be left with only two. Given the size of his family when he was young, this was a disappointment.
“I don’t need another sister,” Ned sulked. “I already have one.” He cast a look over his shoulder as Lydia toddled to her feet, still holding her doll by one arm. Her eyes were big and blue as the sky, light as Ned’s were dark.
“A little sister? For me?”
“Not just for you, Lydia,” Robb said, with a bit of a smile. “The whole family. Would you like to see her?” Lydia bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically. His oldest daughter’s hair was red as well - she looked like a Tully almost more than Robb himself did. He was relieved that Ned showed some of the Stark blood, in his eyes at least, if his hair was more reddish-blond.
Robb knelt, keeping Brydie close to his body. “Don’t touch her just now,” he said. “You can greet her properly later. She’s sleeping and I don’t want her to wake up.”
Lydia nodded solemnly. “She’d cry. Will she be big enough to play with soon?”
“Not for a little while,” Robb said, unable to quite hide a smile as he remembered asking the same thing about his own siblings, as they were born. “And she won’t talk for a little bit either. It takes time.”
Robb noticed that Ned was attempting to peer subtly over his sister’s shoulder, and barely muffled a laugh. “Come around here, Ned. You can see her too.” Ned obeyed, his expression serious and considering.
“She’s so little. Are you sure she’s not going to get hurt?”
“You two grew up safely, didn’t you?” Robb wanted to reach out and ruffle his son’s hair, fondly, but didn’t dare to free his hands. “She won’t get hurt.”
Ned reached out, hand hovering a little over his little sister’s forehead, looking up at his father through his eyelashes. “-can I?”
“You may,” Robb corrected him gently, and Ned set his hand solemnly on Brydie’s brow and frowned with sincere focus.
“I’ll watch her too. Because even if she is only a sister, that’s what I’m supposed to do, right? I was too little to watch over Lydia but I’ll help with Brydie. It would be silly to be jealous.” He nodded, firmly, and Robb felt a little glow of pride. Ned glanced upward. “Why’s she named Brydie?”
“After your uncle,” Robb said. “We decided a long time ago, your mother and I. It’s a good thing, to keep names in the family.”
“That’s why I’m named after your father,” Ned said, and added, “And that’s good, because he was a very good person and that’s why I have to work so hard, so that I can fit his name and everything.” Robb couldn’t help but smile a little more.
“Well, yes. But you don’t have to worry about that yet, Ned.”
“I’m going to,” he said, firmly. “I’m going to because I want to. I’m eight years old and Uncle Bran said he was eight too when he saw his first execution.” Robb looked away. He remembered that day as well, and wondered what other stories Bran might tell. His little brother was different, now, quieter and more serious, and secretive as well. But his affection for his niece and nephew was undeniable.
“Of course you are,” Robb conceded. “You are very grown-up.” Lydia poked her head up too.
“What about me? I want to be grown up.”
“No you don’t,” Robb told her solemnly. “Grown-ups don’t get to play with dolls.” Lydia clutched her doll - named, Robb had discovered recently, Sansa - to her chest and looked terrified.
“Then I don’t! Nobody takes Sansa away from me. She’s my favorite doll.” Robb decided not to remind Lydia that she was also her only doll. Brydie stirred, slightly, and cried out, and they all hastened to look at her, but she fell silent again.
“She’s really quiet,” Ned said, sounding concerned. “Why is she so quiet?”
“She’s tired,” Robb explained. “It’s hard work, being born.”
“And mother’s all right too?” Lydia asked, biting her lip in a concerned manner. “She’s not too tired or anything?”
“Your mother is just fine,” Robb said soothingly, though in fact he did rather want to dash inside and check on her, just to be sure. “She wanted all of you to meet your new sister.”
“Now we’ve met her,” Ned said, beginning to sound a little impatient. “Can’t we go now?” Robb almost laughed, and did smile, shaking his head.
“I think we should let her rest just a little longer, at least.” Robb looked down at Brydie, who was starting to stir again. She opened her eyes slowly, still more the color of a tomato than a human being. They were a mix of blue and grey, in this light, at least, and she blinked at him once and didn’t cry.
“Say hello,” Robb said, kneeling so that his two children could gather around more closely. “Brydie, these are your siblings.”
“She’s so tiny,” Lydia said, hushed. “Will she ever get bigger?”
“Of course, stupid,” Ned said, disdainfully. “Everyone gets bigger.” Brydie squirmed and flailed her little arms, and Lydia’s hands went over her mouth.
“Oh!”
“It’s okay,” Robb said. “She’s only saying hello.” Ned lifted a hand and waved, though he too, now, looked hesitant.
“H’lo, Brydie.”
“Hello, Brydie,” Lydia echoed, though her hands were still over her mouth, Sansa clutched to her chest with her elbows.
Brydie pulled her arms back in and promptly went back to sleep. The door opened behind them, and the midwife poked her head out, smiling just a little. “I think you can come in now, if you’d like,” she said, and they all rushed for the door.
--
“Where are we going?” Lydia asked, bouncing a little on her pony’s back. Robb resisted the temptation to reach out and adjust her to be sure she didn’t slip off. “Where are we going, father? Why isn’t mother with us?”
“This is something for you and Ned and Brydie,” Robb said, hiding a little smile. “Something special. It’s a surprise, and your mother wanted to stay home. Your little sibling is going to be along soon enough that it’s not very comfortable for her to travel.”
Ned, exceedingly proud because he had just gained his first slightly larger pony, sat up a little straighter. “A surprise? What kind of surprise? Do I get a sword?”
“Not until you need one,” Robb said firmly. “No, this is better. I promise.” Brydie, sitting in front of him and securely bundled in enough fur that her face had vanished, kicked her legs a little.
“Want,” she said, and added, “Corn!” She was very fond of that word at the moment, which Robb suspected had something to do with Jon’s brief visit, raven and all, to Winterfell a few months ago.
He didn’t know exactly why Arya insisted on living so far apart from everyone else, but he and his siblings had stopped asking questions of her long ago. Mostly they didn’t ask each other much about what had happened during the awful time when they’d been scattered like snowflakes, believing each other dead, but even less Arya, who was sometimes strange and moody and much quieter than the little sister he remembered.
But she’d told him about this, and that was heartening, in a strange way.
“Is it dangerous?” Lydia wanted to know, and then hurried to add, “For Brydie, I mean, I don’t want her to be in danger, since she’s still so little.”
“Of course it’s not dangerous,” Ned scoffed, with all the bravado of his ten years of age. “It’s a good surprise. And I think I know what it is, too. Is Aunt Sansa coming too? I want to see her.”
“That’s only because she always says you’re a handsome and brave boy and it’s not true.”
“Hey!”
Robb looked up gratefully at the hailing shout. Arya had come out of her modest house to greet them, ankle deep in the snow and waving an arm at him. “I heard you coming half a mile away,” she said, hands cupped around her mouth to carry her voice. “You travel like a herd of mammoths.”
Ned’s eyes got very large, very quickly. “Have you seen a mammoth, Auntie Arya?”
Robb cut her off before she could give the boy any more ideas - and she would, too, of that he was certain. “No, she has not. Well, are we supposed to sneak up on you?”
“You couldn’t sneak up on me,” Arya said, but she nearly smiled, too. “Come. You’re already a little late.”
Lydia looked nervous as Robb swung down from his horse, eased Brydie out of the saddle and onto the wooden steps with a firm admonition to stay, and moved to help her down. Ned was already clambering off his pony with less grace than eagerness.
"Father said it was a surprise, what’s the surprise? I want to see it, I want to see it first-“
“You can wait for your sisters,” Robb said, firmly, and lifted Lydia down. She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly enough that he was forced to carry her to the steps, but then she let go and looked up shyly at Arya, waved just a little.
“H’lo, auntie.”
“Don’t call me that,” Arya said, a little too sharply, but Lydia was unconcerned, already heading, surefooted, for the door. “Can we go inside now?”
“I think so,” Robb said, and scooped Brydie into his arms. “Go ahead and open the door, Ned.”
Ned opened the door, suddenly hanging back. Arya and Robb exchanged a glance and he nudged his son’s back. “Go on. Go see.”
Nymeria was already half upright again, but she didn’t flash her teeth as the children entered, regarding them with fierce golden eyes. Her expression was impassive and supremely dignified, and four small puppies were nuzzling at her belly. Robb looked at Arya in surprise.
“Four?”
She shrugged. “You’d better hurry home, papa. I don’t think these things are wrong.”
“Oh,” Lydia said, eyes wide, and dropped her doll. “Oh, oh, father, they’re so - they’re so fuzzy, can I-“
“Go ahead,” Robb said, fighting down a smile. “Go and see them. You’ll know which one is yours, I promise.”
“Mine?” Lydia squealed, and rushed over eagerly to inspect the wriggling puppies. Ned followed a moment later, seeming speechless with awe. Brydie stuck out her arms and said again, “Want!”
He let her down and she toddled over to flop down on Nymeria’s flank and put her hands possessively on one of the puppies. He watched her with one eye and looked at Arya with the other.
When Nymeria had vanished, they hadn’t known what to make of it, but then she’d come back and begun to show, and Robb thought he understood. None of his siblings had children yet - though Sansa, he hoped, wouldn’t be too long, he wanted some more red-haired nieces - and things just didn’t happen by accident. Not with their direwolves.
He picked up the fourth puppy and turned it over. A boy, and it squirmed in his hands, mewling hungrily at being stolen away. Nymeria seemed unconcerned, as if she understood as well that this was the way it was supposed to be.
“Have names yet?” Arya asked softly. Robb shook his head.
“I thought it would be days yet,” he said wonderingly.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” Arya murmured, and smiled a little. “Don’t look so worried. You handled it before. Three times.”
Ned looked up from where he was stroking a small, smoke-grey puppy, his eyes round as saucers. “And we can keep them? Really?”
“Really,” Robb said. “What are you going to name him?”
Ned frowned thoughtfully down at the puppy, curled up and sleeping in his lap, still slightly damp from the birth. Robb felt an inexplicable sense of pride, and couldn’t keep himself from grinning.
“I don’t know,” Ned said seriously. “I’ll have to think about it. It’ll have to be just right.”
“Just right,” Robb echoed, and ruffled his son’s hair. “We’d better get back. Your mother will be waiting for us.”
“Whose puppy is that?” Lydia wanted to know, arms snug around a pale colored pup and pointing at the one in his hands. Robb smiled at her. “Your new little brother,” he said softly. “We’ll want to be there to welcome him home.”
“Daddy?”
His name was Ned, of course. He’d been hoping that his first child would be a son so he could name him after his father, though he had considered naming a girl Edda if it had been a daughter. He was glad to have a son, though.
He was alone for the moment - Jeyne tired easily, in this cold, and hadn’t been feeling well recently, though the maester had assured him several times that she would recover completely and it was nothing to be concerned about. Robb looked down at his son, whose red-blond hair was just beginning to curl.
“Tell me a story about something?”
“What kind of something? A made up kind of something?”
“No, a real something.”
Robb sighed, a little, and rocked back and forth in the chair a few times. “A real something. All right.”
“Can it be about you?” Ned’s mouth was set in a little frown. “You never tell me any stories about you. And people are always saying things and I don’t know what they mean. Who are the Freys?”
Robb tensed, slightly. “That’s not a good story, Ned. You don’t want that one.”
“But I do,” Ned said eagerly. “I want to know how you survived!” Robb looked away, and was relieved by the appearance of Jeyne on the stairs, holding their still tiny daughter to her breast.
“My lord?” Robb flushed, and almost stood before remembering that he had a small child to support on his knee. Lifting Ned onto his hip first, though, he could get to his feet, though the boy would get too big to hold comfortably soon, with how quickly he was growing.
“Jeyne. Are you all right?” She didn’t look very well - dark circles around her eyes and wrapped snugly in a thick blanket, but she approached him all the same, kissed her son’s forehead and then his own.
“I’m all right. I wanted you to see your daughter. I feel as though I’ve been keeping her all to myself.”
“The maester said you weren’t to strain yourself,” Robb said, firmly, but adjusted eagerly to look at their second baby. Lydia had been born a few days early, and had been harder on her mother than Ned - a relatively easy birth, the midwife had said. “I didn’t want to make you feel as though you had to do more than rest, as long as you need.”
She was beautiful, though. Her hair was barely visible against her skin, still, and her hands worked a little at Jeyne’s clothing as she suckled. “I won’t strain myself,” Jeyne said patiently. “Ned, look. It’s your little sister.”
Ned wrinkled his nose. “She looks funny,” he declared, stubbornly, and Robb bounced him a little.
“Don’t say that,” he scolded. “You looked like this too. Everyone does. She’ll grow up and be your beautiful little sister.” Robb thought she was beautiful already, but Ned was still frowning.
“She’s hogging mother,” he complained, and Jeyne laughed, though a little weakly.
“Not for too much longer,” she said. “I promise.”
Ned scowled and cross his arms. “Oh, fine. But it better not be. I miss you.” Robb gave him another little bounce.
“Don’t be selfish, Ned. You might have more sisters, and I want you to love them too.” Ned frowned and shook his head.
“I don’t know. Maybe if I have a brother. Maybe.” Lydia turned her head away, then, and looked straight at her brother, reaching out her arms. Ned drew back, nervously. “What’s she doing?”
“Saying hello to you,” Robb said, affectionately. “Say hello back. Being a big brother is a great responsibility, you know. I managed it. I think you can too.”
--
She was his third child, and he still felt as though he would break her. For the third time, the midwife, with gentle and slightly exasperated patience, placed his hands, and he looked down at his daughter’s red little scrunched up features and felt a small and slightly sheepish smile spread across his face.
“Jeyne?” She looked exhausted, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, but she gave him a smile anyway and waved her hand a little.
“I’m all right. Don’t worry about me.” He frowned at her, to show what he thought of that comment, but looked down at his daughter again, opening one of her hands to examine her fingers with intent focus.
“Her name is - Brydie, that was what we decided on?”
Jeyne’s smile was a bit weak. “As far as I remember, yes. Go and introduce her to her siblings, Lord Stark. They’ll want to meet their little sister.” Robb hesitated a moment, but the midwife gave him a (gentle!) shove. “It’d be best, my lord. Gets messy from here on out.”
Robb flushed and remembered insisting on staying when his first son was born. He’d regretted that. “Thank you,” he said, as graciously as he could manage, still feeling quite off balance, and stepped out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.
He was immediately tackled by a bundle of eight-year old boy. “Father! Is it a boy? Do I have a little brother?”
“No, Ned,” Robb said, attempting to detatch the boy from his legs without moving Brydie too much. She looked tired too, little eyelashes damp and stuck to her cheeks where her eyes were closed, and Robb couldn’t help smiling slightly stupidly. “She’s a little sister. I hope you’re not going to complain about it.” It’d been so long since any child had come along, Robb had begun to wonder if they would be left with only two. Given the size of his family when he was young, this was a disappointment.
“I don’t need another sister,” Ned sulked. “I already have one.” He cast a look over his shoulder as Lydia toddled to her feet, still holding her doll by one arm. Her eyes were big and blue as the sky, light as Ned’s were dark.
“A little sister? For me?”
“Not just for you, Lydia,” Robb said, with a bit of a smile. “The whole family. Would you like to see her?” Lydia bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically. His oldest daughter’s hair was red as well - she looked like a Tully almost more than Robb himself did. He was relieved that Ned showed some of the Stark blood, in his eyes at least, if his hair was more reddish-blond.
Robb knelt, keeping Brydie close to his body. “Don’t touch her just now,” he said. “You can greet her properly later. She’s sleeping and I don’t want her to wake up.”
Lydia nodded solemnly. “She’d cry. Will she be big enough to play with soon?”
“Not for a little while,” Robb said, unable to quite hide a smile as he remembered asking the same thing about his own siblings, as they were born. “And she won’t talk for a little bit either. It takes time.”
Robb noticed that Ned was attempting to peer subtly over his sister’s shoulder, and barely muffled a laugh. “Come around here, Ned. You can see her too.” Ned obeyed, his expression serious and considering.
“She’s so little. Are you sure she’s not going to get hurt?”
“You two grew up safely, didn’t you?” Robb wanted to reach out and ruffle his son’s hair, fondly, but didn’t dare to free his hands. “She won’t get hurt.”
Ned reached out, hand hovering a little over his little sister’s forehead, looking up at his father through his eyelashes. “-can I?”
“You may,” Robb corrected him gently, and Ned set his hand solemnly on Brydie’s brow and frowned with sincere focus.
“I’ll watch her too. Because even if she is only a sister, that’s what I’m supposed to do, right? I was too little to watch over Lydia but I’ll help with Brydie. It would be silly to be jealous.” He nodded, firmly, and Robb felt a little glow of pride. Ned glanced upward. “Why’s she named Brydie?”
“After your uncle,” Robb said. “We decided a long time ago, your mother and I. It’s a good thing, to keep names in the family.”
“That’s why I’m named after your father,” Ned said, and added, “And that’s good, because he was a very good person and that’s why I have to work so hard, so that I can fit his name and everything.” Robb couldn’t help but smile a little more.
“Well, yes. But you don’t have to worry about that yet, Ned.”
“I’m going to,” he said, firmly. “I’m going to because I want to. I’m eight years old and Uncle Bran said he was eight too when he saw his first execution.” Robb looked away. He remembered that day as well, and wondered what other stories Bran might tell. His little brother was different, now, quieter and more serious, and secretive as well. But his affection for his niece and nephew was undeniable.
“Of course you are,” Robb conceded. “You are very grown-up.” Lydia poked her head up too.
“What about me? I want to be grown up.”
“No you don’t,” Robb told her solemnly. “Grown-ups don’t get to play with dolls.” Lydia clutched her doll - named, Robb had discovered recently, Sansa - to her chest and looked terrified.
“Then I don’t! Nobody takes Sansa away from me. She’s my favorite doll.” Robb decided not to remind Lydia that she was also her only doll. Brydie stirred, slightly, and cried out, and they all hastened to look at her, but she fell silent again.
“She’s really quiet,” Ned said, sounding concerned. “Why is she so quiet?”
“She’s tired,” Robb explained. “It’s hard work, being born.”
“And mother’s all right too?” Lydia asked, biting her lip in a concerned manner. “She’s not too tired or anything?”
“Your mother is just fine,” Robb said soothingly, though in fact he did rather want to dash inside and check on her, just to be sure. “She wanted all of you to meet your new sister.”
“Now we’ve met her,” Ned said, beginning to sound a little impatient. “Can’t we go now?” Robb almost laughed, and did smile, shaking his head.
“I think we should let her rest just a little longer, at least.” Robb looked down at Brydie, who was starting to stir again. She opened her eyes slowly, still more the color of a tomato than a human being. They were a mix of blue and grey, in this light, at least, and she blinked at him once and didn’t cry.
“Say hello,” Robb said, kneeling so that his two children could gather around more closely. “Brydie, these are your siblings.”
“She’s so tiny,” Lydia said, hushed. “Will she ever get bigger?”
“Of course, stupid,” Ned said, disdainfully. “Everyone gets bigger.” Brydie squirmed and flailed her little arms, and Lydia’s hands went over her mouth.
“Oh!”
“It’s okay,” Robb said. “She’s only saying hello.” Ned lifted a hand and waved, though he too, now, looked hesitant.
“H’lo, Brydie.”
“Hello, Brydie,” Lydia echoed, though her hands were still over her mouth, Sansa clutched to her chest with her elbows.
Brydie pulled her arms back in and promptly went back to sleep. The door opened behind them, and the midwife poked her head out, smiling just a little. “I think you can come in now, if you’d like,” she said, and they all rushed for the door.
--
“Where are we going?” Lydia asked, bouncing a little on her pony’s back. Robb resisted the temptation to reach out and adjust her to be sure she didn’t slip off. “Where are we going, father? Why isn’t mother with us?”
“This is something for you and Ned and Brydie,” Robb said, hiding a little smile. “Something special. It’s a surprise, and your mother wanted to stay home. Your little sibling is going to be along soon enough that it’s not very comfortable for her to travel.”
Ned, exceedingly proud because he had just gained his first slightly larger pony, sat up a little straighter. “A surprise? What kind of surprise? Do I get a sword?”
“Not until you need one,” Robb said firmly. “No, this is better. I promise.” Brydie, sitting in front of him and securely bundled in enough fur that her face had vanished, kicked her legs a little.
“Want,” she said, and added, “Corn!” She was very fond of that word at the moment, which Robb suspected had something to do with Jon’s brief visit, raven and all, to Winterfell a few months ago.
He didn’t know exactly why Arya insisted on living so far apart from everyone else, but he and his siblings had stopped asking questions of her long ago. Mostly they didn’t ask each other much about what had happened during the awful time when they’d been scattered like snowflakes, believing each other dead, but even less Arya, who was sometimes strange and moody and much quieter than the little sister he remembered.
But she’d told him about this, and that was heartening, in a strange way.
“Is it dangerous?” Lydia wanted to know, and then hurried to add, “For Brydie, I mean, I don’t want her to be in danger, since she’s still so little.”
“Of course it’s not dangerous,” Ned scoffed, with all the bravado of his ten years of age. “It’s a good surprise. And I think I know what it is, too. Is Aunt Sansa coming too? I want to see her.”
“That’s only because she always says you’re a handsome and brave boy and it’s not true.”
“Hey!”
Robb looked up gratefully at the hailing shout. Arya had come out of her modest house to greet them, ankle deep in the snow and waving an arm at him. “I heard you coming half a mile away,” she said, hands cupped around her mouth to carry her voice. “You travel like a herd of mammoths.”
Ned’s eyes got very large, very quickly. “Have you seen a mammoth, Auntie Arya?”
Robb cut her off before she could give the boy any more ideas - and she would, too, of that he was certain. “No, she has not. Well, are we supposed to sneak up on you?”
“You couldn’t sneak up on me,” Arya said, but she nearly smiled, too. “Come. You’re already a little late.”
Lydia looked nervous as Robb swung down from his horse, eased Brydie out of the saddle and onto the wooden steps with a firm admonition to stay, and moved to help her down. Ned was already clambering off his pony with less grace than eagerness.
"Father said it was a surprise, what’s the surprise? I want to see it, I want to see it first-“
“You can wait for your sisters,” Robb said, firmly, and lifted Lydia down. She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly enough that he was forced to carry her to the steps, but then she let go and looked up shyly at Arya, waved just a little.
“H’lo, auntie.”
“Don’t call me that,” Arya said, a little too sharply, but Lydia was unconcerned, already heading, surefooted, for the door. “Can we go inside now?”
“I think so,” Robb said, and scooped Brydie into his arms. “Go ahead and open the door, Ned.”
Ned opened the door, suddenly hanging back. Arya and Robb exchanged a glance and he nudged his son’s back. “Go on. Go see.”
Nymeria was already half upright again, but she didn’t flash her teeth as the children entered, regarding them with fierce golden eyes. Her expression was impassive and supremely dignified, and four small puppies were nuzzling at her belly. Robb looked at Arya in surprise.
“Four?”
She shrugged. “You’d better hurry home, papa. I don’t think these things are wrong.”
“Oh,” Lydia said, eyes wide, and dropped her doll. “Oh, oh, father, they’re so - they’re so fuzzy, can I-“
“Go ahead,” Robb said, fighting down a smile. “Go and see them. You’ll know which one is yours, I promise.”
“Mine?” Lydia squealed, and rushed over eagerly to inspect the wriggling puppies. Ned followed a moment later, seeming speechless with awe. Brydie stuck out her arms and said again, “Want!”
He let her down and she toddled over to flop down on Nymeria’s flank and put her hands possessively on one of the puppies. He watched her with one eye and looked at Arya with the other.
When Nymeria had vanished, they hadn’t known what to make of it, but then she’d come back and begun to show, and Robb thought he understood. None of his siblings had children yet - though Sansa, he hoped, wouldn’t be too long, he wanted some more red-haired nieces - and things just didn’t happen by accident. Not with their direwolves.
He picked up the fourth puppy and turned it over. A boy, and it squirmed in his hands, mewling hungrily at being stolen away. Nymeria seemed unconcerned, as if she understood as well that this was the way it was supposed to be.
“Have names yet?” Arya asked softly. Robb shook his head.
“I thought it would be days yet,” he said wonderingly.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” Arya murmured, and smiled a little. “Don’t look so worried. You handled it before. Three times.”
Ned looked up from where he was stroking a small, smoke-grey puppy, his eyes round as saucers. “And we can keep them? Really?”
“Really,” Robb said. “What are you going to name him?”
Ned frowned thoughtfully down at the puppy, curled up and sleeping in his lap, still slightly damp from the birth. Robb felt an inexplicable sense of pride, and couldn’t keep himself from grinning.
“I don’t know,” Ned said seriously. “I’ll have to think about it. It’ll have to be just right.”
“Just right,” Robb echoed, and ruffled his son’s hair. “We’d better get back. Your mother will be waiting for us.”
“Whose puppy is that?” Lydia wanted to know, arms snug around a pale colored pup and pointing at the one in his hands. Robb smiled at her. “Your new little brother,” he said softly. “We’ll want to be there to welcome him home.”