"Not the green, or the red," Meera insisted. "The blue will bring out your eyes."

Jojen rolled his eyes, letting his arm drop from where he held the forest green button down against his torso. "What does that even matter? I doubt the Starks will care."

"One Stark might."

He sighed, picking the blue shirt off his bed. She was right the navy did make his eyes look more green, but was it worth giving her the satisfaction? For Bran, always. He started to pull off his tee shirt.

"And that's my cue to leave," Meera said quickly, shielding her eyes as she all but ran from the room. "Wear the black slacks!"

Jojen laughed, buttoning up the shirt. She was only bothering him in order to avoid the dress their mother had chosen for her to wear. It wasn't necessarily that she hated dresses, she had painstakingly explained, it was that this dress was uncomfortable. He had tried to tell her she looked nice it it, he reasoned as he grabbed a black belt off one of the hooks in his closet. She replied that no one could possibly look good in that peach monstrosity. Though, it was actually very simple. He chalked it up to nerves. Even though they'd lived in the same town their whole lives, the Reed children hadn't formally met the Stark patriarch and matriarch since they were about two and five years old and were therefore too young to remember it. His phone buzzed with a text from Ed Storm inviting him to hang around with him, Ned Dayne, Trystane Martell, and Myrcella. He apologetically declined, citing the dinner, and mentioned that he needn't bother texting Bran.

He tied the laces on his black dress shoes and went into the apartment living room to feed Raven. He carefully filtered the crickets into the large tank and watched him feed, fascinated even years later by the habits of the murky brown reptile. Howland Reed's large hand touched his shoulder.

"You know, you could have probably waited another half hour before getting ready, your mother's going to take that long," his father said, a pleasant light in his Reed green eyes.

"I know," Jojen sighed. "Just nervous, I guess."

"I'm sure they'll be fine with you and Bran being together," Howland told him calmly. "Ned Stark is reasonable."

"I'm not worried about him."

"Bran's mother, then?"

He nodded. Over the past few weeks of knowing Bran he'd heard quite a bit about Catelyn Stark née Tully and her intransigent nature. If she didn't like him from the start, it would take an act of the gods, Old and New, to make her like him. At least, that was what he thought it would take. Bran said it had taken the announcement of Robb and Talisa's expectation of a child that had warmed his mother to his brother's wife. The general hope was that the baby would be born at least a week before what people were calling the Rose Gold Wedding. Well, the tabloids were calling it that, but the residents of Moat Cailin were simply referring to it as The Wedding.

"If Catelyn doesn't like you, it isn't your fault, son," he said, trying to be comforting.

"But what if she tries to stop me from seeing him? You know she would, and probably could."

"Ned wouldn't let her do any such thing, you just have to trust me." Jojen fell silent, watching Raven while his father relaxed on to the couch, an old fashioned piece of furniture upholstered in green leather with exposed, reclaimed wood. The Reed apartment was decorated in the rustic, craftsman style considered characteristic of the crannogmen, the original inhabitants of Moat Cailin.

About a hour later, the Reeds were sitting around the Stark dinner table. Meera was discussing nursing, her chosen profession, with Talisa, and their parents were deep in conversation with Ned and Catelyn. Jojen, however, couldn't conjure much of an appetite. Bran, who sat on his left, gently nudged him.

"Are you okay?" he inquired softly.

Jojen nodded minutely. "Just not very hungry is all."

"Mum would probably take it as a compliment if you ate more," the redhead pointed out, "and I'd certainly feel better."

Armed with that small comfort, he proceeded to eat with as much care as he could muster determined not to embarrass himself. It wasn't that the food was bad, far from it, he just felt completely off that evening. No one would've known though, his expression betrayed nothing but the flat calm of a placid lake on a still day in midsummer when not even a breeze stirs ripples in the clear water. Only Bran knew, and he also knew better than to mention it.

"So, Jojen," Ned Stark said, capturing the attention of the whole table, "what are your plans for after graduation?"

He swallowed, then spoke in what he sincerely hoped was a steady voice, "I've been accepted into a gap year program. I'll be taking a year off to travel and occasionally teach English in Europe and Asia." Bran smiled, remembering the day Jojen had gotten the news, how sincerely happy he had been.

"And after that?"

"I'm not sure yet," he admitted, a tad sheepishly. "That's why I'm taking the extra year."

Stark nodded. "Better to take time to figure out what you want than to choose something you'll hate."

"That's what I said," Jyana Reed interjected, "We expect young people to know what they want out of life by the age of eighteen. I didn't know I wanted to teach until I'd almost finished my sociology degree." Mrs. Reed was a biology and zoology teacher at Moat Cailin High School, and a great favorite of anyone who took her classes.

"Yet I'm sure some direction would not go amiss," Catelyn pointed out, just a little bit smug.

"That's quite the funny word, direction." Jojen's voice was dangerously quiet. "Direction means something different to you, I think. To you, Ms. Stark, direction means money, upward mobility. To me, it means knowing what important and acting on that." He paused. "Which definition is better, I wonder? Well, ultimately, it doesn't matter. By my definition, I have direction, and you may as well give up on yours. The crannogmen don't play politics, we live our lives instead."

Catelyn regarded him coolly, and the rest of the room fell so completely silent that the clatter of Rickon's fork on his plate sent everyone a few inches out of their seats. Across from him, Arya smirked and silently toasted him as conversation slowly resumed. Mrs. Stark neither addressed him nor looked at him for the rest of the night.

It was nearly eleven when Bran and Jojen finally got a few minutes alone, standing in the foyer of Winterfell. Jojen hung his head, utterly defeated as Bran passed back his coat.

"That's it," he sighed. "I blew it.

"Not really," Bran insisted, pulling Jojen down into his lap for a hug. "You impressed Father and no matter how much Mother can influence him, he's the one who makes the decisions. And he wouldn't make my choices for me." Jojen didn't answer, pushing his face into the crook of his neck with a sad exhale. Bran rubbed his shoulder, doing his best to be comforting. "I will say, you are higher on Mom's list than Arya's perspective boyfriend."

He barked out a sardonic laugh, unconvinced. "Gendry Waters, the mechanic?"

"Yeah, as soon as they get together, she won't care one jot that I'm dating you." At least, Bran hoped it was true. It wasn't as if he was going to tell Jojen the real reason his mother had doubts; he didn't need that on top of tonight.

They heard footsteps coming from the living room. Jojen gave Bran's cheek a swift kiss and stood up putting a respectable distance between them. His parents and Meera collected their jackets, bidding the other Starks goodbye. In a bizarre fit of old world gallantry, Jojen took Bran's hand, kissing the back before walking out the front door, with a wave to the other rest of the family. Once the door was shut Ned turned to his wife.

"What did I tell you, Cat, he's a wonderful boy."