A/N: Quick not before you start: the name of the story will finally be changed one week from now to "Icarus".
That's it, now get going.
Oh, god, his shoulders hurt.
Archie struggled to rise with a dead arm, which he only realized when he face-planted from trying to push himself off the ground. His other hand was too busy holding a throbbing temple that shelved a messier-than-normal- hair above and about it, and the dry throat wasn't helping, nor was the crust in his eyes. He could only wait until feeling returned to his arm, and he sat up, leaning back against the wall with eyes staring in front of him.
He couldn't believe he managed to fall asleep on the carpet when he could barely fall asleep anywhere outside his own bed, and he wished he hadn't, too, because the entire right side of his body hurt.
Without a sound uttered from him barring his tired sigh, he went to the bathroom to wash his eyes with cold water before going to the kitchen, and took some aspirin. He washed it down with tap water and clearing his dry throat at the same time.
He stood there, only with silence and his thoughts. The pain from losing everyone he ever loved hadn't passed, not by a long shot, but nor had it worsened (mostly because he forced himself to keep impossibly optimistic that they'd return to his life).
This was the part where most would probably say they felt empty, but not him. He wishes, though. He wishes, because nothing is better than this; the sadness, the helplessness, the loneliness. He hated it. He hated how powerless he felt. But still he realized how fucking stupid his line of thought undoubtedly was, not because it was childish or silly. So many people that had been at a point in their life where they'd felt empty all wish they felt anything – even pain! But he couldn't see it. Maybe he hadn't gotten there quite yet, but who knows? Considering how he was feeling now, maybe severe depression wasn't far off.
"No," he said suddenly to himself. The thought of it made him almost panic.
It was one of his greatest fears. Waking up one morning, just depressed. He probably wouldn't think much of it, until he woke the next day feeling the same. And the next, and the next. Forever repeating the cycle until you found yourself staring down the barrel of a gun you yourself was holding. It fucking terrified him. No, that shit's not happening! I'm not gonna fucking let it! His hands clenched on the edge of the sink in anger and fear. "What the fuck can I even do, though?" he asked himself, whispering. There's nothing for me here, nobody. No one here for me.
Similar thoughts occupied his mind until slowly he realized what he was thinking.
His father, the one that had once suffered from depression, always said when you're depressed, even the solution to the smallest problems was invisible to you, impossible. No matter what, you couldn't see an answer to questions you plagued yourself with. Archie realized that this was exactly what was happening to him, and he wasn't going to let it fuck him over. He wasn't becoming a shut in just to waste away. I promised my parents I wouldn't do that to myself. So, what was the answer he was looking for? What was the garishly obvious solution?
The Starks, he thought. But then, they didn't know him. It was just a medieval lord that looked like Sean Bean and several other people he didn't even know; strangers. Nobodies.
He became aware suddenly that that was the doubt speaking, not him. His own doubt was trying to convince him, but that was bullshit. They put a roof over his head, took care of his wound (even if they were indirectly the cause of it), welcomed him to their home, and fed him. It was so obvious now, in hindsight, just how much they'd done for him, and how much more they were doing. Lord Stark was, at this very moment, preparing a feast in his goddamn honor! How many people could claim a medieval lord was throwing feasts in their names? Not fucking many, that's for sure. He wasn't letting this easy chance (he called it easy in his mind with foolish hope) at a salvation for his psyche and person to go to waste just because he didn't want to see the fucking answer. No, fuck that shit. The Starks helped him, and he was damned before he was going to discard their friendship that easily.
They deserved better, and so did he!
His back straightened slowly. He wasn't letting this be the end of him. He lived an easy life and he sure as fuck wasn't bending over to death the moment his life changed. His heart filled with an unshakeable determination, he turned around to stride from the kitchen. And he walked into the corner of the kitchen's bar. "Shit!" Archie grunted out. "Motherfucker!"
He held his pained hip while glaring at the corner, as if that would make it apologize or something. When shockingly it didn't, he growled in frustration before making his way to the computer room, only glancing at the family pictures on the wall. The lights switched on automatically to reveal two long tables on either side of the room, two PCs on each with monitors adjacent to each. Thanks to his fathers' fortune, each one had excessively powerful specs, and there was not a single existing game that they couldn't play on very highest setting. It'd probably take about a million software processes for the things to bluescreen. Okay, so maybe a million is a slight exaggeration, but still.
However, his parents still were very much against raising a spoiled brat, so they told him he could only use it on one condition. He would only play on these powerhouses when his friends were sleeping over. However, they'd probably make an exception now.
Because he was probably going to need a lot of tabs open in Chrome with the amount of information he needed. He may not have seen more than a couple episodes of the show, but the internet had seen everything. And he needed that everything if he was going to survive. So he sat on the closest one and pushed down the power button, not needing to wait a long time as the SSD woke Windows 10 up quickly. The moment the familiar wallpaper of Ethan Klein squatting in his VapeNation attire appeared (a stupid joke his friend Lucas pulled once that they hadn't come around to remove), Archie's eyes flicked to the bottom right corner of the monitor screen, and pumped his fists in the air with a, "YES!" He recognized the internet icon.
Wasting no time in his excitement, Chrome opened quickly thereafter and the first thing he searched on Google was 'Game of Thrones'. Immediately, and the first things that appeared were the HBO site, Game of Thrones on Wikipedia (worthless, since Wikipedia rarely had as many in-detail articles as Wikias did), and Game of Thrones on IMDB. He sighed and, instead of scrolling down to look for the Wikia of Game of Thrones, he searched for it impatiently. He saw the link that read 'Game of Thrones wiki'. He found it and clicked it without hesitance.
He was greeted by a sand-colored site with blue article titles and tabs. The sides showed a background of what was no doubt a map of the world, but he could only glimpse very little, not even able to understand the names of the castles shown. From then on, he searched on every character he knew. He opened up tabs on Eddard Stark, Robb Stark, Jon Snow, and Theon Greyjoy.
However, when he first went to read about one of them (he chose Eddard Stark first) he found that all of the information about the events of the show was missing, only the background info was left for his perusal. Actually, scratch that. It wasn't that the information was just missing, they had been replaced.
By timers.
Archie frowned, "What the fuck…" He checked the other three, and found that all of their pages read the same thing. All the Season 1 countdowns read:
'Months: [8]
Weeks: [2]
Days: [2]
Hours: [8]
Minutes: [7]
Seconds [12]'
He looked at the time: 08:43
So at 16:50 on that day, I'll know what happens? Is it because that's when the events will be occurring? Great fucking help that'll be. He would have appreciated some prep-time, but it seems he's not to receive that luxury.
Archie then searched for the other Starks in the Family list of Eddard Stark, but none of the names were actually names, only links that were just a trio of question marks followed by their last names of Stark (Robb Stark and Jon Snow were still showing for some reason). He clicked on the question mark links and looked through them, and was frustrated to find that all they showed were pictures of Lady Stark, and the Stark daughters and sons.
However, something caught his attention. All of the personal information, names and dates of birth and all that shit, and background information, now said 'Learn more information'
"Learn more infor – What the fuck do you think I'm trying to do?!" Archie nearly yelled at the monitor. He tried looking for other characters he didn't even recognize, but found nothing. There was literally nothing to find, no locations but Winterfell, and no characters but the ones he'd already had the pleasure (or in Grejoy's case, displeasure) of meeting. More than half of them had classified fucking information, too, and unless they were in a witness protection program with the FBI, Archie could guess just about fuck-all why.
He leaned back into his chair with a defeated sigh. So much for his determination. Even if it had nothing to do with the fact that he was going to meet and befriend the Stark family anyways (that is, if he doesn't manage to fuck it up, which he most likely will), it would've definitely made his life easier. Certainly would've encouraged him further, as well. Hold on, he thought and perked up, Maybe the books… maybe I'm in the book universe or some shit. God knows the fans love mentioning the superiority of the books, Arno and Moira did it every time after a new episode came out. Maybe there's a big enough difference that there's info on the book wiki rather than the show wiki. Would make sense if I landed in the books' universe.
Rejuvenated, Archie quickly found it and clicked the link that read 'A Wiki of Ice and Fire'. Creative, he thought sarcastically. He deflated faster than an old geezer with erectile dysfunction when he entered Eddard's page again, all the info barring the background replaced with timers. Perhaps the only noticeable difference was that this wikia used artwork instead of pictures from the cast to portray the characters, as Eddard, whose visage now differed from Sean Bean's greatly (this particular artwork made him look like a long-faced Thorin Oakenshield or some shit), was now drawn cleaning a greatsword, most likely the 'Ice' that Robb mentioned, whilst seated between the roots of a tree with a face carved into it.
"Goddammit…"
He sat there for about a minute when suddenly a thought formed in his head. What if the reason it said 'Learn more information' was because he didn't know anything about them? What if the only information there was what he knew? "Fuckin' helpful, great."
But that didn't explain all of the background information. That, he knew even less of than the events of the books and show considering his friends only talked about the episodes, not the background. So why was there a single written word that didn't belong to a countdown, but to actual information? He dismissed the thought for now, Guess it'll have to do.
Archie closed down all the tabs from 'A Wiki of Ice and Fire' and clicked on Eddard's to start reading. However, when he started, he immediately stopped out of hesitance. He didn't think about it until he realized all info about the future was lost to him, but reading up on the past of these people wasn't really the smartest decision. Not now when he thought about it. What if something slipped, which it would undoubtedly do with his dumb ass, and they'd ask where he'd read it? He didn't wanna find himself in that position.
He closed Chrome, firm in his belief that it was the wiser choice. Besides, maybe it'd be better to hear it from them or to read it from a book. At least Eddard's past. He remembered the fat king and Eddard sitting and talking in the second – maybe third episode, he couldn't remember – about a rebellion they fought in. Maybe he could find out more in a book from Winterfell's library (if they had one).
Only one way to find out. He looked at the time to see that it was 08:54. Maybe I should wait a bit. Give these poor bastards some time before they suffer through a day with me.
God have mercy on the poor souls.
Catelyn
"When will the feast be, mother?"
"Your father said preparations would be made for tonight, little Sansa," said Catelyn Stark, matriarch of the Stark family, as she combed the auburn red Tully hair of her daughter, a colour the young girl was bestowed by her mother's blood in her veins.
This was their wont when a feast was fast approaching; making sure Sansa looked her best as much as the girl herself wanted. And whenever she would look upon the sharp-featured visage of her daughter, one framed by a mane of flame, Cat mistook herself to be staring into a mirror of her youth. It was a sentiment many who'd known her since her younger years shared.
"I'm not little anymore, mother," Sansa said, and it was true, no matter how petulant or indignant her voice might've sounded. It had been years since she first bloomed, and her once-flat person had now grown shapely, not at all long before it would find itself burgeoning into a true woman's body (and hopefully with Catelyn's hips, for the husband's sake).
"You'll always be little to your mother and father, child. Always."
"Isn't Father the one who always says we can't remain children forever? Winter is coming." The girl said the words not mockingly, but yet without the seriousness her lord father utters them with.
Cat's eyebrows rose, "Listening in on your parents' conversations? Sansa, Sansa." She tutted disapprovingly, and her daughter quickly corrected a misunderstanding which was not a misunderstanding at all, with almost frantic sputtering of apologies. "Relax, Sansa. I jest. You're too good for such deceit," she said with a loving voice and cupped her daughter's cheek where she was looking up from her seat.
There was a curt silence as Cat continued combing her daughter's hair when she asked one of her most common questions, "Do you think he will find me beautiful, mother?"
She smirked knowingly and spoke teasingly, "Whomever do you speak of, little Sansa?"
Sansa's voice embarrassed, she shyly said, "Ser Archer, of course."
"He's not a ser, my daughter."
"Do you think Father will knight him at the feast?"
"Only other knights, lords, or the king may offer such an honor to others," she said, remembering clearly her home's customs, "or by the grace of a septon's blessing."
"Father is a lord."
"Yet he is a lord of the North. Here they follow the old gods, Sansa; you know this. Their culture has no knights, nor do they have desire for any."
"Couldn't he just send a raven to the king, tell him to knight Archer?"
"A man asks a king, they do not tell."
Cat felt the hair in her hand slide, and knew her daughter looked down in either shame or embarrassment again. Perhaps both. "I didn't mean anything by it."
"I know, my love, I know. But if you're ever in the presence of the royal court, make no such mistake; or any court for that matter." She felt Sansa nod and returned to the subject previous, "Regardless, even if Ned was inclined to go through the effort, are you so sure Archer would wish it?"
"Why wouldn't he?" asked Sansa with naiveté, one very becoming of her. "Being knighted is a great honour; who would refuse?"
"Mayhap a certain someone in a whole new world not his own? Absent his family and beloved? Someone who might not have the strength to bear the burden of a knight's vow on his soul? Most like, he has naught the strength of will or the strength of body to live as a knight."
Her daughter remained silent, from realization most like.
"Do you see, Sansa? He is naught more than a poor boy, alone and frightened, without doubt. He is not a fighter, either. It would be a meaningless title, even if he were to train with a sword."
"Poor Archer," Sansa said, melancholically and dramatically, like a forlorn maiden waiting for her knight love's return. "Who will be seated by him, mother? I wish to sit close, and comfort him. Perhaps he'd want to talk about his pains."
Cat was firm in her refusal, "No, Sansa."
"Why not?"
"Sansa, I understand he saved Robb, and he might seem a hero to you. But you must know of how he spoke. He's not proper nor might he be willing to speak of his grief. Leave him be." True pains are nothing alike the stories, child. They cannot be abolished by a lover's embrace, or by tender kisses upon their cheeks.
"He might not be proper…" Sansa hesitated clearly; she was making excuses mainly to convince herself, "but he wouldn't swear in the company of ladies. And if he needs space, why are we preparing him a feast, or seating him with anyone else during it?"
She's not heard of the boy as I have. Archer's crude tongue and dismissal of propriety was perhaps his character's most prominent trait, as Ned stated adamantly.
"Because anyone he's seated with will not pity him nor broach the sensitive subject you seem so ardent comforting him of." Sansa only sighed, for she knew better than argue further. "And all of that aside; Sansa, I hadn't expected such a suggestion from you. You know to seat a man and a woman stranger to the other is improper."
"I didn't suggest seating us together, only closely."
"And you shall. But he will sit next to Robb. And the bastard."
Sansa didn't need to hear the veiled poison in her voice to know her mother's hatred for her half-brother. Nonetheless, she was shocked, and it showed when she turned around suddenly in her seat to face her, "Next to Jon?! Will Archer not be offended?"
"The boy spoke of his culture and customs. Where he is from, bastardy is naught but history, and the word is only used in insults, not to denote someone's true status. There are no bastards where he's from, only boys born out of wedlock. To his people it is no sin." As much as she resented the bastard's insulting existence being shown such indifference, she tried her hardest not to resent Archer, for it was his land's wont after all.
Sansa seemed appalled at that, "How could it not be? It's wrong for a woman to so freely bear another's child-"
"We know nothing," interrupted Catelyn. "So we speak nothing." She wasn't allowing Sansa to continue this line of thought for another second. "His culture is his, and their gods are theirs; to judge him and his only because it differs from our own is wrong. Make no mention of whatever you intended to say to me, Sansa. Assume nothing, and realize you can only know what he tells you. But do be wary of asking him. He might not yet be ready about his homeland."
Sansa nodded and looked down, though she knew Cat wasn't mad at her.
"Today is to be a day for welcoming, and gratitude. If this world is to be his new home, we must make him feel as though it is. And we must let it be known the Starks never take actions such as what Archer took to save Robb lightly."
"Will father grant him a boon then?"
"Why would he do so? He has already given it."
"But Archer would be honored by a ceremony," the girl argued presumptuously.
"Would he? From what I gathered, your father granted him a boon so abruptly on the chance that Archer would find such a ceremony inappropriate, perhaps out of embarrassment or he might find it insulting."
"Oh…" That too seemed to have given her something to think about.
Although it pained her ever so slightly to realize this, Catelyn knew nothing would change. Sansa would watch her words, aye, but naught else would differ in the end. She would still remain the same naïve child she always was; Cat expected no difference this time. Perhaps it wasn't inevitable, but it was likely that Sansa would say something to anger or harm Archer whilst not realizing it, and little Sansa would be found weeping from his harsh words.
She sighed to herself and quietly resumed her combing. She's done all she can, now.
Arya
Arya grinned from her seat on the barrel as her brother was beating away at a training dummy like it insulted his mother.
As she had to prepare for the feast, todays classes with Septa Mordane were cancelled so that she would prepare. And she was grateful for it, despite not taking the time she was given to actually prepare like Sansa, who was probably worrying her stupid head with trying to look pretty for Archer, instead going to find Jon and Robb and Theon to question. She found Jon in the training yard first and had begun to torment him with questions, though he always took it better than anyone else beside their father, perhaps. Her mother would most likely find her and try to force her into a dress anyway, but she resolved to stand fast this time (futilely, though she didn't know that).
She knew she was annoying Jon with her constant questions, and as much as the thought of that amused her, it wasn't the cause for her grinning. No, the grin was one of excitement. Even the thought of having to wear a dress to the feast did nothing to dispel it. She was finally going to be able to question Archer himself, about… well, about everything.
Where is he from? How come he can speak the same tongue as they do if he's from another world? Do people ride horses or use the same horse-less carriage as he does? Is it true he doesn't care if Jon's a bastard? Is it true he can talk to people across the world? Can people fly where he's from? Do people still use sword where he's from? What are the weapons like in his world?
In her mind, she took pause. These sorts of erratic whorl of thoughts were commonplace in her head. Her mind was usually chaos, but she was used to it. It was simply how she was. Doesn't mean she didn't know when to stop.
…Sometimes.
And Arya asking herself these questions would only drive her mad with the lack of answers. Instead, she settled for asking Jon, who was currently struggling to focus on his techniques with her unrelenting inquiry.
"What do you think he's going to ask for?"
"Ask?" he questioned absentmindedly, sidestepping an imaginary overhead strike from his fearless wooden opponent.
"Father gave him a boon, didn't he?"
"He did."
There was a short silence before she prodded, "And?"
"And what? What makes you think he's going to ask for something?"
"Because it's a feast! If he asks father for something in front of everyone, he won't be able to refuse."
That would be the only point in their conversation where Jon would pause to glance at her, "You're far too clever for your own good, Arya."
She shrugged. Not really; most children did the same when asking for toys, though they didn't always succeed. She was nothing special. Even if most would grow up to be idiots.
"But Archer's not that sort of man. He wouldn't do that; at least not because of that reason."
Why not? Because he doesn't care you're a bastard?
Her smile fell. She wasn't going to assume Archer was that type of person, but she wasn't dismissing the possibility. Not like Jon. But then, she couldn't blame him for doing so. Truthfully, she felt only joy that Jon would be treated like everyone else; both for her brother's sake and her own. It would make liking Archer far easier. She was tired of hating most people she met; all of them the same, always thinking girls shouldn't do as she did. Liking someone was less taxing.
She could only hope his attitude towards girls were at the very least the same as Jon's. She loved her brother, and he only supported her adventures and dreams, but he could still be as prideful and overly manly like everyone else. He hadn't said anything to Arya, but she'd heard him comment on women doing what women 'shouldn't'.
Despite his idiocy, it did little to strain her love for him. It was only with him she felt as free as she could in Winterfell.
Upon reaching the end of her musing, Jon returned to his training just as her curiosity returned to her, and realizing only a few seconds had passed, she asked, "Pretend he will ask for something, then. What do you think he'd ask for?"
"I don't know."
"A horse?"
He gave a grunt resembling a noncommittal chuckle as he struck the dummy thrice. "He's already been given Cinnamon.
"Cinnamon?"
"Don't ask."
She shrugged it off. "What about a suit of armour?"
"Too expensive."
"He saved Robb's life. That has to be worth a lot of coin."
A breath gusted sharply past his lips when his wooden hand-and-a-half struck true past the dummy's skillful defenses. "He wouldn't need armour. Who would he fight?"
"The bandits that shot him?"
"Already dead. Made sure of that."
"What about the rest?"
He shot her a quick glance, "What rest?"
"The rest of the bandits," she said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. And to her, it was. How could he not see the pattern?
"There are no more bandits, and if there are, they're not in the same band. "
She couldn't blame him for his denial. If she was right and these bandit attacks last month all came from the same bandit group (including the vastly numerous killed by her father's bannermen), it'd be a warband the likes of which never seen since the days of Gendel and Gorne. Okay, perhaps that comparison was embellished ever so slightly, but it would yet be cause for worry.
"So all the raids in the North that happened in the past months are all coincidences?"
"Yes."
"And it's also a coincidence all of the victims of the raids died similarly miles apart and all their loot were hidden in the same ways? And that the hoards found by the lords' men were never taken back, or were attempted upon to take back? That would only mean they'd taken enough from the loot, and since so little was found of so much missing it could only mean they've taken too much for a smaller group."
That would be the only point in their conversation where Jon fully stopped to face her, his training sword hanging at his side. "Where did you hear all of this?"
She froze, mouth open, "Uhh…"
"You 'overheard'?" he asked, adding an emphasis in his voice that implicated the second word. "Since you spoke so much, I'd stake my neck you overheard just as much."
She nodded, biting her lip and averting her gaze to the ground. It wasn't as though she could help it. It was her parents' fault they forced her to be a lady and go to all those stupid lessons the septa held. It was torture, so how could she not help but wander away from the sewing and singing and the idiotic gossiping? How could she resist overhearing about these suspicions her father spoke of to her mother and the maester?
He sighed, "As I said, you're far too clever for your own good. Next time, don't show it or you'll give yourself away."
If I was so clever, I wouldn't have slipped.
Quick to change the subject, regardless of how obvious the attempt was, she asked, "What about a sword?"
He shook his head, "He's got far better."
The moment both realized what he said, their eyes widened; Arya did so out of surprise and excitement, and Jon looked almost terrified.
"He's got better!?" She exclaimed.
"Shh!" he hissed desperately, "Be quiet!" Her smile returned, but before she was allowed to even speak, Jon swiftly said, "Say nothing, Arya. You heard me say nothing."
She frowned, "What's wrong with you?"
He looked to the side as if ashamed. Then he faced her again, "I promised I wouldn't mention anything. We all did."
"About what? Weapons?"
"I can't say that or I would be breaking my promise."
"You already did," she pointed out mischievously. But his visage made it clear how serious the matter was.
"Listen to me, Arya," he whispered. "Pretend as though I've said nothing. What I know, no one else can know. Please. I promised Archer, and I can't break my first promise to a man, not one this important. It concerns life and death."
With those words, the significance of this promise adhered to her mind, and suddenly she felt less excited about questioning the outlander. This was most like larger than her curiosity, she realized, and it wasn't worth betraying Jon over.
"Alright," she said solemnly. "I won't ask about any weapons, then."
"No– " He stopped his short outburst. "I… think it'd be more suspicious if you didn't ask about weapons." It was said with humour, and she smiled. "No, ask. Just… don't ask anything too… direct." At her look of confusion, he said, "Ask if his world still use swords. When he says no, ask him what type of weapons they use. Simple as that."
She nodded excitedly, and they both returned to their commonplace routine of Jon sparring with a most formidable dummy and Arya goodheartedly bothering him to no end, though this time for the sake of it, because she knew her questions would be answered before long by Archer himself.
Archer
Fingers tapped on the steering wheel, foot was laid shaking, yet firm out of habit, against the pedal, and Archie's breathing erratic; he was far from claustrophobic.
In fact, he preferred isolation from people he didn't know, and even the people he knew were usually contacted through online softwares like Discord and Teamspeak when playing video games, and only his fathers, and two closest friends, Arno and Moira, were the ones he saw outside of school regularly. The ones he'd expect to see on his way back to the house, the ones he wouldn't hesitate to invite inside.
Fathers, Arno, Moira…
He was far from claustrophobic. But right now, all he felt was tense, cramped inside this massive vehicle, and it was hard to breathe, like a cold hand was slowly closing around his throat and he could do nothing about it, and as the portcullis rose to allow him entry, the lingering panic hadn't gone away and he quickly – too quickly! Fuck! – removed his foot from the clutch and shook from the sudden engine stop before his trembling fingers almost frantically – no, pretty fucking frantically actually – turned the key to start the engine again, and this time much to his own panicked impatience he took his time and slowly let go of the clutch and the wheels began turning again, and Archie rolled his shoulders to loosen the shirt stuck to the oh-so cold sweat on his back and under his armpits and he did this whilst parking amidst the courtyard like last time but even as the car stopped his panic didn't and–
FUCK!
What the fuck is happening to him!? He wanted to fucking SCREAM!
His panicked breaths that filled the silence in the car was stopped short by his hand slamming over his mouth, like a knife would stop a heart, and he growled a growl that wasn't a scream only because it too low to be heard by anyone but himself into his hand. His eyes welled with tears of fury and frustration and terror.
Was that a panic attack? Is this what it's like? He felt trapped, and terrified, and almost laughed, because it was true. He was trapped. Not inside the car; no, it wasn't as simple as opening the door and exiting. This world was his cage, and he'd never leave it.
It was only memories of the day before that he stopped himself from laughing, because he recalled what happened then when he did.
His trembling fingers calmed, and the hand clamped over his lips and nose seemed to help steady his breathing, and its grip slowly loosened, morphing his face into a grimace when it pulled at his cheeks and lips as it slid down his face like heavy raindrops.
His eyes shut close, he leaned his head back and took a deep breath, and then another, and then another twenty, before he opened his eyes and saw this world again and not the one he left behind.
"Thank fuck for tinted windows," he said to himself. Considering how many of these medieval pricks were gathering around like hens to stare at the vehicle, tinted windows were all that stood between him and complete fucking humiliation (he noticed at the back of his mind there were fewer than the day before, probably preparing for the feast and all).
No, seriously, thank fuck he managed to park the front of the truck away from their prying, curious, and terrified eyes, because while the rear windscreen and the side windows were tinted pitch black to anyone outside, the front windscreen still allowed some light through, as little as it did.
Still… as annoying as curiosity of the masses usually were, it was funny to see these people peering nervously at him.
BEEEEEEP! came the sudden honk, and he grinned mischievously, with a residual hint of nervousness, when gasps and even some screams resounded as a response.
Thinking quick, before anyone thought the car was a monster come alive, he opened the seatbelt, and emerged from the door.
He recalled then his thoughts about it not being as simple as the car being his cage, because when he stood at the edge, a respective arm atop the door and roof of the car, he breathed in what felt like freedom. Fresh, calming, and his throat opened fully again, the constriction in his chest liberated.
He didn't hear the gasps of amazement when he was seen; no, he closed his eyes again and savored the normality of the moment for so long the crowd thought he was a statue of flesh.
"Archer!" was the sound that pierced the calm the crowd couldn't. Calmly, he looked to see Robb coming towards him, a look of surprise on his face, and leather the most prominent material he sported. More specifically a tunic, and what Archie guessed were training boots and trousers, mostly because they looked specialized.
And he felt confused.
Why? Not because of what he was wearing. No, it was because he felt calm.
Maybe the car wasn't a cage. Maybe the world was, as he suspected before. And it was perhaps either the Starks of Winterfell that he felt like he could make it, as grim as the walls and the Starks were.
It was one of the first things he picked up when he waded his way into the castle with the help of Jon and Theon, an arrow sticking out his shoulder like a big fat fucking sign that screamed, 'Hey assholes, I've been shot and I need help!' (Bullets were obviously more subtle than that, and more deadly.)
Regardless, he recalled, through his damn-near unbearable pain and, later, drug-induced haze from that Poppy-something shit Master Louis fed him, he had this somber feeling from the atmosphere, like the castle itself had suffered harsher shit than Archie could even fathom. There were stories engraved into the walls, and these stories spoke to him. He just couldn't listen.
It was impossible not to respect Winterfell.
Still it didn't change Archie's disposition to gloomy and doomy atmosphere; he hated it. And it was this that surprised him; that he felt more comfortable here with the Starks in Winterfell than he did home alone, despite the somber stories written in the walls of the place. At least the people within proved more wholesome.
"I'm glad to see you again," said the young Stark now before him, proving his point unknowingly. Archie jumped down.
"Likewise," he said, shaking Robb's hand with one of his own and locking the car doors remotely with the other. "Yo, what's with the get-up? You preparing for a BDSM convention?" He noticed Robb had shaved.
The archaic teenager looked positively puzzled, "I… beg your pardon?"
Archie waved it off, "Never mind, just more leather than I'm used to, don't worry. Good to see you and all, but how about we get out of here." He glanced at his surroundings, more correctly at the people gawking at him and the car he just jumped out of. "I feel like I'm a prize on a display here."
"Of course." Robb's face turned tough, and faced the crowd, "Return to your duties!" He had one of them bring the news of Archie's arrival to Lord Stark.
He had to admit, he continued to be impressed. The guy managed to command respectfully and respectably for someone his age; not a single one disobeyed, and the crowd dispersed to leave behind a few that tended to the nearby stable.
"I expect you understand, but it is yet inappropriate. My apologies."
Archie's head jerked suddenly to Robb out of confusion, "Huh?" How eloquent, Archie. Stupid prick.
"The commonfolk… Their curiosity is less than hospitable, I would say."
"Oh, that? Nah, don't sweat it," he reassured, "You wanna talk about 'less than hospitable', my swearing would be a fucking party – see!"
Robb grinned at that, "Indeed." He gestured to the way he came from, "You may come with me if you wish."
"To the BDSM convention?"
He seemed embarrassed at that, and Archie repressed a snort. "I fear I don't know what you speak of… This is the way to the training courtyard."
"Oh. Yeah, sure. Why not." He speculated it was the direct entrance to the training grounds, unlike the course his tour the day before took him; behind the bleachers. They undoubtedly didn't call it that, but it was a similar enough structure, so he took to referring to it as such.
Robb smiled and Archie fell in beside him. "Your arrival this soon was unexpected, so accept our apologies for not greeting you."
"Look," he said suddenly, "Don't worry about me, okay? My antics should say something of what I expect from other people, and the fact that you guys probably saved my life and put a roof over my head when I was too far from my own with an arrow in my shoulder should indicate you've far surpassed my expectations."
Robb was wordless, likely not used to someone as blunt as Archie was. "Forgive me…"
He sighed, "Goddammit." He faced Robb, "Sorry if I sounded annoyed. I wasn't. And trust me, I know how easy it is to make a mistake; it's like someone telling you to stop saying sorry so you have to repress the urge to say sorry for saying it so much. I won't get mad if you apologize again. It doesn't annoy me, but that's the exact reason I'm telling you. It's gonna take a lot to piss me off and make me feel unwelcome, and so far, you guys have just been angels." Robb couldn't help his smile at that. "All I'm saying is, don't worry so much. Just relax. I know I will."
"Very well, Archer," he said with a nod.
The rest of the walk was comfortable, and gave Archie the time to think if his voice was still shook up like he was from whatever just happened in the car. If it was, the noble next to him didn't seem to notice, and for that he was thankful.
To take his mind of the subject, Archie said aloud, "By the way, you can still call me Archie." He had a light look of surprise at the mention of the unexpected topic. "I mean, you don't gotta force it, but I can imagine your parents are very strict about family values and principles and all that, considering their position, and they probably insisted you call me by my, uh… 'Proper' name," he said, motioning quotation marks with his hands, a gesture that confused Robb. "…That was to represent quotation marks," he explained. "Y'know, to emphasize a word ironically."
Realization dawned on Robb's face, "Because it resembles quotation marks in writing."
"Exactly."
"Well, I may assure you that my father and mother haven't scolded me for anything of the ilk. I simply thought it proper to address you by your full name in the face of such a crowd."
"Ah…" said Archie with a knowing tone.
"What is it?"
"That. Propriety and forced niceties. I hate them."
Robb gave a smile so naturally charming Archie might've fallen in love if he shared his parents' disposition. "Truly? I could never have divined such a thing alone."
"Yeah, yeah, fucking hilarious."
His tone may have been dry, but he was almost elated at least someone was starting to crack jokes. Started to feel like I was becoming the class clown again.
"No, I won't go off on a rant, because if I do, I won't be able to stop. I'll just say this: If I respect someone enough and I wanna show it, I'll use titles in front of other people. If it's just me and the other person in privacy and they still insist, I'm gonna start wondering why I'd be on friendly terms with someone like that. Of course, it may just be the case as it is with your father and I; we've just met. In that case, it's understandable."
"Forgive me, but if I may speak truly…" Only a second passed before Robb remember who he was speaking to, and continued, "It didn't show yesterday. That is if you do respect Lord Stark."
Archie frowned like Robb said something stupid, "'Course I do. If I didn't show it yesterday, it should be obvious why. I mean… Put yourself in my shoes. Would your thoughts be with the titles of the people you meet, or the actual people, themselves?"
"You make a sound point. I hope, however, you'll find it in yourself to refer to my father…" He raised his fingers in a mimicry of Archie's previous gesture, "'properly', during the feast. It would be appreciated, not to mention a pleasant surprise. My parents have been lenient with your situation in consideration and seems intent on continuing to forgive you for it. To refer to him respectfully according to our own traditions could garner gratitude, I would think."
"In front of other people? No problem. Like I said, I respect your father – hell, I respect your whole family. Just don't expect me to bend over for any other lord with a Big-Dick Complex and the need to show it."
Robb gave a sudden snort; he hadn't expected Archie's humor to take such a turn from their topic of discussion. "Seven hells…" He looked at his guest. "Do all jest as you do where you come from?"
Archie then truly grinned, and the Stark beside him realized he'd been faking his former ones because this one was unlike anything he'd seen Archie do. It was truly wolfish, the way his brows furrowed so slightly, and his lips pulled back sharply, not to mention the teeth he exposed. His fangs did little to disillusion the aspect. Perhaps had Robb seen this grin from afar, not knowing cause for it, he might've been unnerved, but currently he knew it was a grin of mischief, and his own only grew wider.
"Don't worry, there's still hope for my people. I'm the bad egg of the bunch."
He hadn't heard that analogy before, but he could guess as to its meaning. Had his tone not been humorous, Robb would've insisted otherwise. "Your sayings are odd, so pardon us if we do not understand initially."
To his surprise, Archie's voice perfectly imitated his Scottish-like accent, "By my grace, you are pardoned of your crimes."
He burst out laughing at that, "Impressive!"
With his natural accent, he said, "Thanks. I take pride in my voice." And it was true, it was in fact the most truthful statement about himself he's made yet. "Give me some time and I'll get your accent and your voice pegged down."
Given how self-deprecating Archie's been, imagine how believable that one, self-praising statement must've been. It was clear to Robb he didn't boast easily. "Is mimicry all your voice is capable of? Can you sing, perhaps?"
He shrugged, "Eh…" before gesturing his hand in a so-so manner, "I'm not bad, I'd say. Tell you what; if you ever hear me sing, you can be the judge of that."
The rest of their short walk was a comfortable and easy one (even with the dirt ground that Archie had yet to get fully used to seeing everywhere), as Robb proved to be polite but knew when to crack a joke, not to mention being from medieval times, and Archie, someone from another world greater and more advances than Robb's, was probably the most eccentric man the former had met. It was a delightful experience for the both of them. Their conversation had however ended when they passed the open gate and Archie once again saw the training grounds, this time from its midst it rather than overlooking it.
To the right of his vision were the bleachers and benches that overlooked two sparring guards, one of them significantly younger and beardless. Whiskers shouted instructions and pointers, criticizing any and all mistakes made (the young one was bellowed at more, predictably). In front of him was the bow range where several guards and Theon stood, letting loose arrows like hounds of death. Greyjoy's was most deadly and he made it apparent with a few boasts and a cocky stance, with a side of unnecessary bows after the arrows that hit exceptionally true. As arrogant as the Stark's ward might've been during his first impression with Archie, he wasn't going to pretend Greyjoy was doing anything other than messing with his friends.
To the left, he saw Jon with the younger Stark girl, the former intent on teaching a training dummy a lesson and the latter chattering away atop the barrel on which she sat. She wore a casual dress, if one could call it that. At the very least, he presumed it wasn't going to be used during a feast like the one they were soon having.
It went without saying that Archie knew the four that came with him to his house better than he did the girl. Her attempts to question him during his first and so far only breakfast with the Starks was quickly dejected by her mother's scolding.
He almost felt sorry for the kid, but the hunger coupled with recovering from an arrow wound didn't help spark his empathy.
Regardless, he knew nothing about her. But then, he knew very little about anyone in this place, so maybe this was a time to start remedying that.
"Theon!" Robb called out. As soon as Archie met his eyes, he seemed to know why Robb called him and placed the bow leaning against the weapons stand beside him and the arrow in the adjacent quiver. When he strode to them, he held his hand out (hesitantly, though; he wasn't sure about Archie's attitude toward him yet).
"A pleasure…" Without hesitation was it accepted, and this bewildered Theon clearly, though he quickly recovered.
"Likewise." Archie smiled. "How's the ear?"
Greyjoy grumbled, "Better."
"So… Next time you'd rather look the fool?"
He gave a snort. "I'd sooner go deaf than cast away my pride."
"Oh, well, I can't help but respect such dedication," was the sarcastic reply given.
"I'd best be respected for it, lest pride lose its meaning."
Everyone has their delusions. So, this is yours. That pride warrants respect?
"Come," interjected Robb, smiling at seeing the two get along significantly better than previous circumstances. He gestured his head to Jon and the girl. Their backs had been facing them, and so their surprise was expected when Archie was the one to give his greetings first.
"Jon!"
The girl gasped at the odd accent with a spin of her head to their direction, her grey eyes (which Archie noticed were identical to Jon's) widening as well as her mouth, giving her that trending goldfish look he'd been getting these past few days.
Duckface, eat your heart out.
Must be my strong, piercing, yet sensitive eyes. Jon's reaction was similar barring the gasp, and his head spun around so quickly in surprise Archie thought it might've snapped or at the very least cracked.
The two stared silently at him whilst he stood there with his arms spread happily, a false smile plastered on his face. After a short silence, he began speaking slowly, "…This is the part where you say, 'Oh, Archer, I've missed you, my bestest friend in the world'."
The joke seemed to shake the two out of their little conscious coma, and Jon looked embarrassed, to which Greyjoy snorted. Archie's false smile was gone and now there was a neutral look in its stead. "Forgive me. I hadn't expected you until the feast, much less appearing behind me as I'm training while the sun's yet to fall from the sky."
Good god, do they have to talk so fancy? "Well, surprise. Had nothing better to do, and I thought it was about time we meet each other as two human beings, not as escort and escorted," he said and gestured to Jon and himself respectively.
"I see. Understandable. I suppose." Jon clearly didn't know anything to say, so Archie spoke instead.
"You know what? Let's start over completely now that I'm not being surrounded by you all like you're guarding me." He held out his hand to Jon. "Hi, name's Archer. Call me Archie."
All present traded odd glances – Robb also smiled, taking a great liking to his antics – yet Jon proved too polite to remain still and took the offered hand. "Jon Snow. Call me Jon…"
He turned to Robb. "Archie."
"Robb."
"Archie."
"Theon Greyjoy."
It had been a curt gesture, but they appreciated it nonetheless. Their liking to the outlander only grew, and it did so effortlessly by Archie. He glanced at the girl and noticed her biting her lip. She does that a lot. He'd seen her only once, so he assumed she did so whenever she was nervous or embarrassed. He wasn't sure, however.
To their surprise, the girl's chiefly, he stepped forward to where she sat on the barrel and held out her hand. "We only met once, right? So I guess this is a newer start than with these three," he pointed out, gesturing his head to the three behind him. "Hi, I'm Archer. You can call me Archie if you like."
He hoped the gesture was a pleasantly surprising one rather than unpleasantly, because she froze for a time, staring at him with wide eyes. When her hand slowly reached to accept his, he suddenly pulled away, and she was taken aback until she saw his expression, which turned her shock to confusion. "Wait," he said, turning to the three. "It's not inappropriate for a guy to shake hands with a girl with you people, is it?" 'You people'? Really, Archie? Thank god political correctness doesn't exist here, or I'd be fucked. He barely survived it back home.
Robb shrugged, "I wouldn't say so. Especially considering your… situation. It's fine."
"Oh," came the sudden response of relief, and just as quickly as he'd pulled away did he reach out his hand again. "Sorry about that. Like I said, name's Archie."
Her hand gingerly accepted his; probably out of shyness, he guessed. "A-Arya… Arya Stark. Pleasure to meet you, Archer – I mean Archie!"
His eyebrows jumped at her nervous exclamation, and when Greyjoy chuckled at her unfortunate embarrassment, he looked back with a frown. "Don't laugh so openly, that's rude. And you two, wipe those smirks of your faces," he said to Jon and Robb. They tried to not take offence, though it was easier for the half-brothers not to than Theon.
As if nothing happened and like Arya wasn't blushing out of embarrassment, he faced her again, "Call me whatever you like. You prefer Archie, call me Archie. Archer, call me Archer. Like I told Robb, no need to force it."
She nodded hesitantly, "Okay."
"Yeah, I remember your name now. I forgot. Thought it was something like Yara." Seeing her downcast eyes, he realized his unintentional mistake, "Don't take offense, Arya. I'm not good with names."
"Oh…"
He smirked, "You don't seem to believe me."
"No, it's… you seemed to remember my father and brothers' names. And Theon's."
"Arya," said Robb, perhaps to scold her, though Archie wouldn't count on it. Most likely, he was trying to spare his little sister's feelings from being hurt.
"No, no, it's alright," Archie said. "You wanna know why I remembered theirs?" She nodded, and unlike what her brother mistook her feelings for, she was actually curious instead of hurt. It was her shy tone that made her sound discouraged and blue. Archie knew better though. He could see the childlike energy in her eyes. "The entire time I was captured, I heard their conversations for the duration of the entire ride. You know, up until we got ambushed. Anytime one of them would say stupid shit, the others, or Lord Stark, most of the time, would say, 'Jon, be quiet', or 'Shut up, Robb', or 'No one likes you, Theon'."
Maybe it was his purposely horrible imitation (purposely because he did actually take pride in his voice) of her father, or what he said, but it made her giggle. Jon and Robb joined in with their laughter when Theon jokingly told Archie to piss off. The latter's smile reassured them he wasn't angered.
When the noise died down, he clasped his hands and rubbed them together while looking around, "So… What do you guys do here? I mean, in general. It's pretty obvious you'd go here to train. But what's your usual routine. I was always fascinated with the routine of younger nobles and what they did during their days; what they trained on."
Robb was the one that spoke, "Perhaps we should be seated for this conversation. I have a feeling it will take some time and no doubt tire our legs should we stand."
The others agreed and Archie shrugged. "Fine by me."
And so they went to the bleachers (yes, Archie was adamant on calling it that until he knew better) and sat. Archie and Robb sat in the same row, the former facing the latter with one leg splayed out on the space next to him and the other hanging lazily. His elbow was fixed on the back of the bench with him leaning his head into his hand, fingers messing his hair wild, and he was seated sideways. Some of them looked at him odd, but said nothing. It wasn't the weirdest thing he's done, or will do for that matter.
Arya was seated on the row behind them next to Jon, and Theon sat on the row in front of them, seated almost as leisurely as Archie, and was keen on turning his head to the side when he would speak instead of actually facing them.
Archie was the one to start their conversation, "So, about my question. What do you usually do? And I'm not talking about breakfast or bathing or sleeping. I'm curious what it is your duties consist of, what you train on. Now, who wants to go first?"
Surprisingly, Jon spoke up first. It was surprising because he spoke to suggest Robb start first. "You're the heir of the entire castle. You would have the most to say."
"Fair enough," was the redhead's response. "As you can gather from the sights about you, I come here practice on my aim with a bow, and to whet my swordsmanship as one would a sword itself. Ser Rodrik there," He turned to point to Whiskers, who Archie now knew to be named Ser Rodrik, "is my tutor in manners of warfare, alongside my father."
"And by warfare, I'm guessing you mean tactics and strategies? Like battlefield strategies?"
"Amongst other such stuff, yes. We are also trained in warfare of attrition and tactical values of, say, a keep that contains a mine, or an alternative keep nearby should I find myself there during a war. Your statement also holds truth, as we're trained in knowing the strengths and weaknesses of each existing archetypes in the armies of the Seven Kingdoms."
"We?"
"Pardon?"
"You said 'we'. Who else do you train with? Don't tell me that little kid brother of yours is being taught at his age to kill?"
Robb's brows rose, "You mean Bran? Gods, no. I meant Jon, Theon, and I."
Archie frowned in confusion and surprise, looking at Jon on the row behind him (or rather, beside him, considering how he sat.) "Bastards are allowed to train alongside the firstborn?" That surprised them all, since they had been given the impression Archie didn't care about bastardy. And he didn't.
"Um… Yes." His answer was uncertain. "It depends fully on the lord or guardian who hires the tutor, but yes. I am allowed by Lord Stark."
"Who is your father, right?"
There was a silence before, "Yes."
"Oh. Don't take it the wrong way. I'm just surprised. Maybe I overestimated the stigma against bastards." He turned back to Robb.
"No," said Jon before anyone else could speak. It caught Archie's attention and his eyes. "You underestimated Lord Stark's kindness."
"You don't say…" He shrugged suddenly, and turned back to the firstborn Stark. "Anyways, so, uh… Shit, what was his name? I heard it literally a minute ago… Uh… Whiskers, he trained you all?"
"Whiskers?" asked Theon. "You mean Ser Rodrik."
"Rodrik! That's his name; Rodrik. Thank you. He trained you three for how long?"
Robb replied, "Since we were old enough to learn. Winterfell is his home as much as it's ours. How did you know he called his beard whiskers?"
"Heard him call someone Whiskers." He nodded to Theon. "Remember? When you tied me up? And not in the fun way? Wasn't hard figuring out who he was talking about after seeing Rodrik."
They were at a loss as to what he meant by 'the fun way' except for Theon, who snorted. Guy knows how to party, Archie thought to himself in amusement. Regardless, Robb gave an understanding nod.
The outlandish teenager turned to Jon, "So do you basically do everything your brother does?"
"Outside of learning how to govern, yes."
As if recalling something, he blurted out, "Oh, yeah. You can't inherit, can you?"
"No."
Archie understood Jon's confused tone. It was probably common knowledge, and to have to explain something so obvious was unusual. It might even prove to be unintentionally encouraging for Jon, not that it mattered to him.
Already having the previous topic out of his head freed Archie to recall something. "By the way, where's the master?"
Everyone was confused at that. Arya spoke, and was pleased when his eyes immediately met hers, "Ser Rodrik is the master-at-arms."
"What? No, the master."
"What master?" asked Robb.
"Fucking… Louis, or whatever his name was – the guy who pulled the arrow outta my shoulder and then roofied me with that 'poppy' shit."
"Maester Luwin!" Arya said in realization, though the others looked like they came to the same conclusion. Arya was quicker on the tongue.
"Maest-… Maester?" They nodded. "What the fuck kinda title is that? That sounds made up, not to mention ugly. What an ugly title."
"It is very much real," said Robb.
"Huh… so, what, he's a doctor?"
"As maesters are often. Though it should be said they are mainly scholars. Luwin is more knowledgeable than even most maesters, so he is skilled in healing as well as history and many other things. He is a smart man, and I think he would be more than elated to make your acquaintance. Properly, this time."
"What does that mean?" Arya asked curiously.
Archie scratched his neck at that. "I, uh… I might've said some things I regret, things that sort of just slipped during the heat of the moment. And by the moment, I mean the moment he pushed the arrow head fully through my shoulder and snapped the tip off before pulling the rest of the shaft out."
"What did you say?"
"No," affirmed Robb. "I was there, and I would not hear them again."
Archie only looked sheepish; what he said was wrong, even by his offensive standards. "Yeah, that's kinda the reason I wanted to talk to him. I feel obligated to apologize and thank him."
"I'm sure he would appreciate it – and you should know he harbors no ill will for what you said, shockingly enough – he is busy planning the feast with my father and mother."
"When is he free?" He almost cringed at that. Of course I'd make it sound like I was dating the motherfucker.
"Ofttimes after we break our fast–" There's that retarded medieval language I've missed, "he holds lessons. If you come tomorrow and ask any servant for directions, they'll take you to where you wish to go."
"Can I get, like a guide dog? 'Cause I might as well be considered blind; Winterfell's built like a fucking maze, and honestly, I'm too big of a fucking dumbass to remember."
They laughed, and what was meant to be an informative conversation turned to small talk and Archie cracking jokes. It wasn't long before they were interrupted, however, by a fat guy clad in the trademark armor of the Stark household guard. He was panting and his red face was bordered by thick ginger muttonchops much like Rodrik except not as thick. His phenomenal physical conditioning showed when he walked up the stairs to their seats, and all that filled Archie's ears was the man's heavy breathing like the inconsistent rumbling of an old engine. Judging by his fat ass, this is probably a perpetual state for this dude. Archie was surprised, though not necessarily displeased when, instead of arriving at his seat, he stopped on the row behind him, where Arya and Jon sat.
"Lady Arya, your mother's been looking for you, and I came's soon's I could, just like you asked." He greeted everyone else afterwards.
He seemed to be the only one that didn't notice Arya hiss, "Shite." Robb hissed back at her to watch her tongue in front of guests, as ironic as the statement must have been, considering their guest.
"Thank you, Tom," she said with a fake smile, "You can go now."
He bowed respectfully and took his leave. Wish I had servants back home that bowed when I dismissed them (Archie knew he wouldn't enjoy it as much as he thought, but the prospect of living like a king always seemed appealing until you thought about it).
Archie turned to face with one eyebrow raised at her shift in mood, as she know seemed suddenly eager to get out of there, "What was that about, exactly?"
She smiled sheepishly, and Robb looked at her with disapproving eyes whilst Theon just shook his head smiling and Jon remained quiet. "I'm not actually supposed to be here. Mother wouldn't approve." She seemed especially nervous admitting this to Archie, for some reason (because she still had no idea as to his attitude towards women, but he didn't know that). Robb sighed like he knew whatever he intended to say to her would be futile.
He had to point one thing out, however. "You do know Tom's going to be the one to suffer from this?"
"Wasn't it his choice to help her out?" Archie asked, and shrugged at Robb's glance, "Just saying."
Theon shot him that smug fucking smirk of his again. "Fat Tom's easiest guard to fool in Winterfell."
Fucking 'Fat Tom'? What is this, a mafia movie? His head swayed in a so-so gesture. "Eh, a bit on the nose, but it's accurate, I guess."
Arya frowned, and said almost angrily, "No he's not, mother will realize I tricked him into telling me and get angry at me. She's not stupid."
He then recalled the previous subject of conversation, and turned to the youngest Stark girl. "Where are you supposed to be, exactly?"
Her ire was now gone and she bit her lip again. "Preparing for the feast."
"Huh… well, good thing that's exactly what you were doing."
That confused them all, and they turned to him in confusion, though Theon caught on the quickest. Arya was the most puzzled, and froze. "W-what? What are you talking about?"
"Or whatever else it was you were doing; we wouldn't know, would we?" he asked the three guys. "Not like we saw you here. Right, guys?" Her eyes widened, and she smiled excitedly when glancing around she saw Jon nod, Robb sigh yet agree, and Theon shrug. There we go, he thought, seeing the recognition in her eyes. Now you get it. He nodded to the side, "Go on, get out of here."
She grinned at him, "Thank you."
"Bounce!" he urged, though his smile was acceptance enough of her gratitude.
Nimble as a cat, she ran up to where he had been taken during his tour overlooking the yard the day before, and disappeared behind the corner when he blinked. Archie looked at Jon, "Hey, sit here with us, if you don't mind. My neck's startin' to hurt from having to turn all the time."
Archie couldn't help but wonder if Jon complied out of politeness, or if he was too shy, or socially anxious, or even scared to refuse.
He attempted to start another conversation by asking about the guards' spar under Rodrik's supervision, and while it wasn't a failed attempt, the conversation was short-lived as he spotted with a glance Lady Stark walking with grace he had to respect (This was more than how he imagined a true lady of medieval times would carry themselves), but it was only a single glance, and he kept the spar in his sights and Lady Stark in his peripheral.
She had spotted them not long after and walked up the steps, greeting them as she did, her attention chiefly on Archie (he also noticed she gave a subtle glare to Jon, who was now seated in the row in front of him), "I welcome you, Archer. It is good to see you again."
He smiled politely and stood, leaning forward with his hand reached out, "Likewise, Lady Stark." Her surprise was only known for a fraction of a second, though the pleasantness of said surprise annexed any other emotion and expression on her face.
And if it was inappropriate in their customs to shake hands with a married lady, he wouldn't know from their reaction, and Lady Stark's was the least telling of this possible taboo as she accepted his hand without hesitance. "I am pleased to see you're better rested than yesterday."
He sat down, "Yeah, me too, believe it or not." She smiled at the comment. "By the way, I never got the chance to thank you for being as patient as you were. It was all kinda stressful, but you went out of your way to make me feel comfortable, and that fact isn't lost to me. Thank you."
She smiled motherly, and Archie had never felt more comfortable in this world than in that moment; sadly, that moment lasted not long at all as she said, "Of course. I trust these three have been good company?" whilst her eyes seemed to shift when looking over Jon, who had been averting his eyes to the sparring in the field. The comfortability and warmth from his body vanished like someone had doused him in water, and as Archie hated little else than tension during what was meant to be enjoyable moments, he went for humor as a distraction.
"No," he said unexpectedly in a dry tone, and she looked to him, "Horrible, these guys."
She smiled and Robb chuckled. Archie had almost forgotten about Arya, but Lady Stark was kind enough to remind him when she asked, "Forgive me for bothering you with such trivialities, but I must ask; have you seen Arya?"
The other three were not as experienced in lying; because immediately did Theon's eyes join the sight Jon's had, where two new guards took their stance on Rodrik's orders, and everyone kept silent out of not knowing what to say without fucking up, but at least Robb kept his calm, not looking away. Archie frowned gently, "Arya?" Before Lady Stark could answer, his eyes widened, "Oh, shit, yeah; your daughter, right? The youngest one?" He took on a pensive expression.
Lady Stark nodded, though she looked odd – not uncomfortable, though – at his swearing, "Yes, you have seen her?"
Pretending he was broken out of his fake thoughts, he did a double take at her, "Hm? Oh, no. Haven't seen her. At least not today."
She looked disappointed, and a bit frustrated. Maybe Arya's got a habit of being slippery. "I see…" She sent Robb an inquisitive look, but received a negative gesture.
"Sorry if I mislead you. I'm just not good with names, and I thought her name was something like Yara. That's why I reacted like I did; hearing you say her name reminded me again."
"It's no cause for vexation. Do not fret, Archer."
"Mind if I ask why you're looking for her?"
She sighed, "She was dismissed from her lessons today so that she may have time to prepare for the feast, but I've yet to even catch sight of the girl."
"Oh. Yeah, sorry. Can't help you there."
"No need for apologies. Now I must go and find Arya; take care, and until we meet again."
He nodded to her wordlessly but with respect in his eyes, and she lingered almost too long – maybe they expected him to say something, but he didn't – before she took her leave with the single guard she came with.
"She will find out we lied to her when she decides to question Fat Tom, or even anyone here that saw her," said Robb when her footsteps faded into the wind. "Few of the guards feel obligated lying to their liege's lady for Arya's sake, and Ser Rodrik is too earnest a man."
He waved it off with a gesture. "I'm not worried. Arya didn't do anyone any harm, and seeing as how many are still training and sparring in the mud," he said, truthfully disgusted with the lack of clean cement roads; even changing his footwear to boots didn't change how dirty the place was., "I doubt the feast is starting soon. While your mom has been nothing less than kind to me, she might just be stricter to her own kids, and I didn't wanna take that chance. Besides, how much time did Arya really waste? Or maybe it's the principle of it; lying to Lady Stark can't look good for me."
With how much of an idiot Archie was, he wasn't insulted to see them turning to him with curiosity when he gave that astute observation. They stared, Theon and Jon with some modicum of surprise, but Robb had actually looked expectant, as if he was going to come up with a solution should he be confronted with his lie. Archie might've shook his head thinking 'Hasn't he learned anything about my dumbass yet', but he had to give himself and Robb some credit, seeing as how he did have an idea on how to placate Lady Stark.
"If it comes to us butting heads over this small an issue, I'll just explain to her how I explained it to you. With how understanding your mom is, I doubt she'd go out of her way to get angry at me for covering Arya's escape. Even if she did, trust me when I say your mother's annoyance is the least of my worries, considering. I'm more concerned with ending up decapitated because I said some stupid shit to the wrong person and couldn't help it." Until now, his gaze had been on the field before him, but he finally turned to the three sitting with him, "You wanna know the truth? I know for a fact I would be dead if I didn't end up in Eddard Stark's vicinity. I got lucky ending up with him, and not to mention you guys. And honestly, I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop."
They had looked predictably confused at the saying, so he elaborated. "I'm waiting to fuck up. To annoy you guys until you decide I'm not worth the trouble. That's the type of shit I'm in; I'm in a culture where a servant might get his fucking throat slit for accidentally spilling some wine on his lord's clothes. My father might have been one of the most powerful men in the world where I'm from, but here, the name Wilder means jack-shit. I open my big mouth and say the wrong thing like the dumb fuck I am, I might very well get shanked."
His short rant had ended with the three of them staring at him, stunned, previously ignorant to his worries. Archie was just surprised to see Theon react in a way that didn't involve him making a show of not giving a shit.
Robb spoke and tried to soothe his worries, "I hadn't realized you were this worried, Archer… Perhaps your words hold some measure of truth, but know this: you are under the Stark's protection. You are right to say you are lucky to have landed here. Even had we as a family been… impatient with your ways, your behavior, which we are not–"
"Speak for yourself," interrupted Greyjoy and was met with a glare from Robb that surprised even him, no matter if he was Robb's senior.
"Which we are not," he emphasized warningly, and returned his eyes to Archie. "Our father alone would protect you. He is a truly honorable man, and he has taught us to be the same. He answers only to the king himself, and is the liege to all the North, and the lords native to this country. You are lucky, yes, but that is enough. Fret not about such things, Archer. Know you are safe under our roof. The uniqueness and rarity of your position alone, the circumstance of your arrival, the fact that you are more advanced than we could ever have imagined, much less fathomed, would warrant our protection. But you saved my life. There is not a man, woman, or child in the North that hasn't heard, and there is no one but you who seems to have forgotten what you did. That is more than enough."
Archie himself showed no reaction, but know that he was surprised. The silence after Robb's reassurance was broken by him. "So what are you saying? I'm under your protection?" Robb nodded. "What if your patience runs out? There's gonna come a day when you just won't be able to stand with my bullshit?"
Theon snorted out, "Good question," but did so with a surprisingly friendly tone that put a smile on Archie's face.
Robb was the one to answer said question, however, "As I said, considering your circumstances, it is understandable for you to behave as you do."
"And if I told you this is how I act all the time?"
"Then I suppose we are fucked."
Archie's eyes widened in surprise, but chuckled genuinely at Robb's smile, a smile evoked when he got a reaction out of the outlander boy.
He'd yet to give his genuine answer, and all four knew this. "If this is who you are, how you show yourself to the world… then so be it. But I'm no child. We know of you as much as you know of us. I believe when we come to know each other, we might see each other differently. I'm casting no judgement until then."
"Easier said than done."
"There is naught easy with life in the North, Archer. But it is our life regardless."
Archie'd finally taken his word for it, nodding slowly with acceptance. And that was when he realized again how much time he spent worrying rather than opening his eyes to the fucking obvious. It wasn't just the son of the lord whose land he'd been tossed in by god knows what or who, it was the heir of a Lord Paramount.
Remembering how he'd done it, and how the piercing pain was like no other he'd ever felt before, his hand wandered absently to inside his t-shirt collar (he'd left the eagle jacket at home) and his fingers brushed over the round, rouge, crooked scar. It felt so much like a scab, but there was no ripping the fucking thing off, unless he wanted to claw open the wound after tearing the stitching out, so he had to resist the urge to scratch it with his fingernails. Feeling its ridged texture under his fingertips disgusted him, but he couldn't stop.
"How has your wound healed?" Surprisingly enough it was Greyjoy who asked the question.
Archie's head snapped in his direction, "It's, uh… it's recovered well enough. But the thing's gonna scar, looks like. At least the pain is gone." He pulled down his collar to expose the red scar.
Jon stared in silence with a frown, and Robb said, "Even Maester Luwin's baffled at your speed of recovery."
He scoffed, letting the collar slip past his fingers and to their place around his collarbone. "Trust me, he's not the only one. I mean, it's no shock it's gonna scar – it went through the back of my fuckin' shoulder. But I'd have thought the recovery process would've had me aching and hurting for more than a day after I got patched up. Not to mention, the flesh acts like it hadn't been touched. Just look at this!" He rolled and shifted his shoulder's position with as much ease as though he'd never even been scratched by that arrow.
Their shocked expressions had him making a double take before frowning, "Alright, no need to pop your eyes outta your heads, it's not that shocking… I think?" Their continued looks of amazement unnerved him.
"No," said Jon, "It is. You do realize you can remove the stitches now, no?"
"Uh… I've never had stitches before, so no. Wait, seriously?" he asked, as if only now realizing what he'd just heard. "Why? How?"
"We can only speak for the first question. The purpose for stitching is to close an open wound to help it heal. Yours has already healed to where not even such excessive movement opens it. As to how, it is a mystery to us all."
"Huh… Well, I'm not about to complain. But I'm gonna ask this Louis of yours some questions when I meet him."
"Luwin," corrected all three simultaneously.
"Luwin! Whatever! The guy's got enough drugs to be called Louis anyways."
"Who is this Louis you keep mentioning?" asked Robb.
"A black guy who loves pills." The answer did nothing to alleviate their confusion. "Nevermind. It's an old meme."
They didn't bother asking what a 'meme' was, but neither would they have been given the chance. Archie stood up suddenly, "Anyways, I'm gonna get my skinny ass home and watch some porn to get the nervousness outta my system. Then I'm gonna take a shower and make my way back here."
"You intend to watch what?"
"Pornography. Don't worry about it, come in contact with the internet and you'll find out soon enough."
He held up a flat hand in a gesture of farewell, one they returned (Theon's had to be more lax than others', of course), and he turned around and made his way back the same path he came. And they heard him shout only one thing before he was truly out of their sight.
"Just keep away from the furry shit unless you wanna be traumatized!"
"Oh, seven hells," exclaimed Theon, frustratred, "Does the man intend on explaining anything that he speaks?"
Jon's quiet voice almost went unheard, "You'll have your answer in the feast."
And so would Arya, he recalled. Poor, poor Archer.
A/N: Finally, I could write again. High-school is fucking stressful, that's all I'll say.
So the feast is next chapter, and I intend for that chapter to be about Archer having some fun during the feast, answering some of the more mundane and trivial questions the GOT characters have, and the day after will also be included in the chapter, where Archie will be properly introduced to Luwin.
IMPORTANT NOTE:
Before I get on with the reviews, I'm gonna warn anyone who has read this story thus far. Archer will have my humor, and it will be EXTREMELY OFFENSIVE. I'm talking, really offensive, because this will also be in character considering some that he grew up with (a childhood friend and one of his fathers, which will be explained as the story progresses), so if anyone has a problem with racist, sexist, or just plain offensive jokes, don't read this story. I won't be an edgelord and joke about controversial topics that are trending or about politics, 'cause that'll just spark idiotic arguments, and anyone looking to start shit can fuck off, quite frankly. This humor is meant to add to Archie's character, and to make both the readers and the characters of the story laugh, not to bring forth my personal opinions or to humor bullshit discussions on the internet.
I repeat: be warned, there will be no political correctness in this story.
Now, on to the reviews:
Fapman (great name): The story has started a couple of months, almost a year, before canon, so he'll have some time.
cdog21: Oh, uh... Thanks.
Rodulu5: It's limited to the car, bike, and house.
Until next time.
