.
.
"Stop looking so grim," Robb proclaims, grasping Jon's shoulders from behind and patting sympathetically. They've been waiting around in one of the grand stone chambers in Winterfell since dawn. All Jon can think of is how badly he needs to piss.
"I'm not a Stark," Jon mumbles, glancing sideways with an expression as brooding as can be. "Why am I here?"
A dancing tutor walks around them, sniffing importantly, tapping a reed-stick in their hands and beaming at Sansa who curtsies like a lady. "The lessons are for all of the household in attendance for the King's arrival. That includes you, Jon Snow."
Robb snickers.
"Chin up."
"I'll wallop you," Jon says this like a threat, but his dark Stark eyes light up when an equally grinning Robb aims a punch. They lunge at each other and pull each other's woolen tunics, Jon's arm locking around Robb's neck.
They're separated within moments.
Arya waves her arm in the air, bouncing on her tiptoes. "I want to dance with Jon!"
"You'll be dancing with whomever I decide," the tutor says, fuming at the older boys now shamefully looking away. Arya lets out a frustrated noise, and Jon reaches out to muss her hair, cheering her up. "You will be practicing with these as well."
The servants dart around everyone, setting down brown eggs in no particular order on the floor.
"Gods, what's that horrid smell?" Sansa complains, her pretty little nose wrinkling. "Did something die?"
"Rotten eggs, my dear."
Bran makes a face, shaking his head noticeably and clapping his hands over his face.
"To keep you from not missing a step."
It seems simple enough — a proper royal dance around the chamber, with Sansa gracefully switching with Robb and Jon as her partners. Jon thinks at a point that he will stomp right into a gooey, filthy egg and dirty up Sansa's dress. Lady Catelyn will have his head on a gate-spike.
Arya switches between Bran and Rickon, complaining all the while, until Rickon suddenly whistles.
Shaggydog bounds in, knocking into the dancing tutor and yapping, breaking the first two of the rotten eggs. Jon finds himself belly-laughing and nearly falling over because of it along with his siblings, as Summer and Ghost follow in after Shaggydog.
Lady goes to Sansa's feet upon hearing her girl trill out Lady's name, patiently waiting for ear-scratches, whining happily. Greywind chases after his golden-eyed sister Nymeria, tail wagging frantically. Ghost trots in a circle round Jon, blinking his red eyes, a smaller egg carefully cradled in his jaws as Jon attempts to get him to stop and pry away the offending item.
There's so much rotted egg yolk on paws and coats of their direwolves that Jon knows it'll be near-impossible to clean out. Nymeria smashes a round of eggs with her front legs. The tutor screeches. Shaggydog chews and gulps on the remains.
Rickon pats Shaggydog's black, coarse fur, surveying the chaos gleefully. Jon cannot fault him for it.
They needed this.
.
.
GoT isn't mine. Requested by TheRealSokka: "any of the Stark children when they were young and their direwolves." I had to do everyone. HAPPIER AND SIMPLER TIMES. I hope you all enjoyed this! I know we are still reeling from the series finale but it was definitely time for some HAPPY BABY STARKS AND PUPPIES!