Satan Claus
SUMMARY: 'Twas the night before OldGodsmas and all through the land, only Ned Stark was awake to carry out his well-intentioned plan. Or in other words: how Ned Stark meant well when he dressed up as Santa and snuck in the Mormont's house. A prequel of sorts to "friday night and the lights are low."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Happy Holidays everyone!
I know this is technically part of the friday night universe, but I'm labeling it as independent. I have a feeling that I might not update night is young and the music's high for quite a while and I don't really want to leave the summary as Christmas-themed, if that makes any sense.
My new project, We're Like the A-Team, a somewhat Bran-centric modern AU featuring the Reeds as a vigilante gang, will probably start posting in the New Year. It depends on how soon I can finish writing the first arc (which I have nearly completed). It will be more plot-centric than friday night and the lights are low and most likely have more character development as well. I guess it's going to be a mix of humour and drama and friendship with a splash of...romance?
Anyways, hope you enjoy this fic and please leave a review! (They motivate me like you wouldn't believe.)
"And so the princess lived happily ever after with her prince in their castle. The end."
"That story was boring," Arya pouted, sticking her lower lip out. "I thought someone was going to fight a fire-breathing dragon."
"You're wrong," Sansa insisted. "That story was beautiful. I love happy endings."
Ned Stark smiled at this two daughters lying on either side of him. "Well next time we'll read a story with a fire-breathing dragon. Now girls, go to bed."
"Goodnight father," Sansa neatly stood up and gave Ned a kiss on the cheek.
"But I don't want to go to bed!" Arya sulked. "I'm not tired," she said while she fought an enormous yawn.
"Arya," Sansa reprimanded. "Father said it's time for us to go to bed. If we don't listen, Santa might not come tonight."
"Santa?" Arya's eyes lit up.
Ned jumped in. "So you should go to sleep now. I'll see you girls tomorrow."
"Okaygoodnightdaddyseeyoutomo rrow!" Arya said in a rush of breath. She then rolled off his and Catelyn's bed, getting ready to make a sprint for her room. "Come on Sansa!" She called, grabbing her sister's hand as she ran.
"Goodnight girls!"
The house was dark and quiet. Everyone, save for one person, was asleep. In the darkness of the living room, Ned was packing a huge sack full of wrapped gifts. Next to him was a familiar looking red suit trimmed with snow white fur.
They're going to be so surprised, thought Ned. Alysane and Dacey and Jorah and all the little ones.
Pulling on a pair of fur trimmed boots that were probably illegal in every fashion capital in the world, Ned slug the sack over his shoulder and quietly crept out the front door.
"Daddy?"
Ned froze.
"Daddy, is that you?"
He cleared his throat and turned around, thankful for the scratchy beard that obscured half his face. "Why Rickon, I'm surprised you don't recognize me."
Rickon blinked, one hand twisted in Shaggydog's thick fur. "You're a stranger. Mommy says I should never talk to strangers and Arya says I should stick them with the pointy end."
"Well your mommy is right," Ned laughed nervously. Arya would need a stern talking-to later.
"Are you here to bring me presents?"
"Why do you ask, little boy?"
"Because if you are, I'll let you go. But if you aren't, I'll have to use the matches to make you go away. And maybe Shaggydog. He hasn't gone to the park in a long time."
"I'm here to bring you presents." Ned showed Rickon the sack. "Now go to bed little boy and tomorrow you can open your presents."
"Are you leaving now?" Rickon eyed Ned suspiciously. "I can't go to bed unless I know you're leaving. You might try to steal stuff."
"I promise I won't steal anything," Ned swore.
Rickon glared at him. Ned sweated underneath the red coat. If Rickon didn't go back to bed, his entire plan would be ruined.
"Okay," Rickon said, shrugging. "Shaggydog, you stay here and make sure he doesn't steal anything." The huge dog sat and watched Ned with bright green eyes. "Goodnight, weird Santa." He then turned and walked out of the foyer, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as he went.
Ned was left alone with Shaggydog.
"You know who I am, right?" He whispered.
Shaggydog lay down, his eyes never leaving Ned.
"So can I go?"
Shaggydog didn't bark, so Ned began to open the door, when he heard a low pitched growl. He turned around to face Shaggydog who rolled onto his back, showing his belly.
"You want me to scratch your belly and then you'll let me go?"
Shaggydog yawned, displaying a fearsome row of sharp teeth. Ned immediately complied.
Standing on the doorstep of the Mormont's large estate, Ned Stark faced a rather obvious problem.
"How am I supposed to get in?" He scratched the part of his face covered by the fake beard. It was making him extremely itchy.
Just for the sake of trying, he attempted to see whether or not the front door was locked. After a solid minute of trying to get a bolted door open, he gave up. Panting and cursing himself for wearing an outfit that was guaranteed to make him sweat and look ridiculous, he took a few steps back to access his options.
Option A was the window leading into what he assumed was the living room. He could pick up a rock and smash it, but it was OldGodsmas and he didn't want to damage other people's property. He was Santa, not Satan.
Option B was ringing the doorbell, but he ran the risk of waking everyone up and thus, ruining the surprise.
Option C was forcing open the backdoor, but that would require ruining more property.
Option D was doing what Santa actually did and going down the chimney. Ned grimaced. He knew the Mormonts kept a ladder underneath the porch in their backyard.
Ned sighed to himself. Maybe this whole Christmas surprise wasn't such a good idea.
With a muffled whump, Ned ungracefully slid into the cold living room of the Mormonts. Their own Christmas tree was decorated in tasteful shades of green and silver. Stockings with embroidered scenes of what appeared to be bears attacking humans adorned the fireplace mantle.
"Looks like Nan made these stockings for them," he murmured to himself, recalling the rather odd sweaters Nan had made for his kids. He then grimaced as he thought of poor Theon's nightmarish sweater with its monstrous eight-legged wolf.
"So I'll just leave the gifts underneath the tree and then I'll be out of here before anyone can even catch me."
Ned caught a glimpse of his face in one of the decorative mirrors the Mormonts had hung on the walls of their living room. He started, thinking some vagrant had snuck into the house, but realized the person in the glass was in fact, his own reflection.
He stroked his soot-streaked bread. The white was no longer even close to white. The ash from the chimney had stained it a mishmash of grey and black, giving Ned a charmingly homeless look. That, coupled with the bright red outfit made Ned look like someone fresh out of the loony bin with no taste in fashion. Kind of like Theon when he went through his whole "Loras Tyrell is the god of fashion" phase.
Ned crept across the room, trying to best not to knock over anything or make noise.
CRASH.
He clenched his teeth nervously. Someone had decided that placing an umbrella stand right by the fireplace was a good idea. He backed away.
BOOM.
The drumset in the corner toppled over, cymbals making a crashing noise while the drums clattered in every direction.
Ned stood very still. Then, with the utmost care, he swung his pack over his shoulder—
SMASH.
A vase now lay in pieces on the floor.
Ned sucked in a breath through his teeth. He gingerly put the pack on the ground and dragged it over to the Christmas tree. Quickly and as quietly as he could, he began to unload the gifts.
Unbeknownst to a panicked Ned, a not-very-small figure was standing at the foot of the stairs. He had been awoken by all the noise.
"Who are you?" A voice said rather sleepily.
Ned froze. Did Rickon follow him here? Putting on his best I-am-completely-harmless smile, Ned turned around with his arms ready to embrace whoever was standing there.
"It's Santa!" Ned said cheerily, using jazz hands to emphasize his excitement. "I'm here to bring you presents!"
Maybe it was the black ash that covered most of his body. Maybe it was the slight manic gleam in his eyes, a combination of Christmas happiness and exasperation. Maybe it was the fact that a strange man had snuck into his house. Maybe it was even the suit. Whatever the reason was, Jorah Mormont let out a bloodcurdling scream.
"AAAAAAaaaAAaaaaAaAaAaaaaaaaa aaaaaAAAAAaaaaHHHHhhhHHHHhhh hHH!" Throwing his hands up in the air, he ran as fast as he could upstairs where Ned could hear him slamming the door.
"What's going on?" A light clicked on in another room.
"Did someone scream?" Another voice asked.
"Was that Jorah?"
Ned froze. The entire Mormont family, a family famed for fighting bears with their bare—at this point, he resisted the urge to point out the pun—hands was now awake and possibly out for his blood.
"There's a strange man in the house!" A young girl said from the top of the stairwell.
"Lyra! Call the police!"
Ned panicked completely. Leaving his pack on the floor, he started to make a run for the chimney, forgetting that he could probably use the front door to leave. However, before he could even make it two steps, someone tackled him from behind, pinning him to the ground.
"I've got him!" A triumphant Dacey Mormont yelled.
"Merry Christmas…?" A choking Ned wheezed.
"Ned, I cannot believe you broke into the Mormont's house!" Catelyn scolded. Her eyes were blazing and even in a nightgown and fuzzy slippers, she looked like she could kill him.
"I was trying to spread the Christmas spirit," Ned defended meekly.
"Daddy broke into someone's house? Did he light anything on fire?"
"Rickon! Mommy told you to go to bed!"
"You broke the law," sensible Bran pointed out.
"That's why he's awesome," Theon reasoned.
"Poor Jorah," mused Robb. "I wonder what's going to happen to him now."
"And Jorah is going to have to be sent to counselling because of you!" Catelyn put her hands on her hips. "I want you to apologize to the Mormonts!"
"How?"
"I don't know! Write a card, make them dinner, offer them your firstborn son in marriage, just apologize."
"Can I—?"
"And it has to be done in person!"
Reviews are very much appreciated! And I hope you all have wonderfully amazing Christmases!