Ned Stark returned home with the first pale flurries of snow.
They chased his dark hair and settled along the beginnings of his beard, cool and familiar to him. To the child riding beside him, set in front of one of the household guard he'd brought with him for a war, it was new.
Though he was a child of ten, Theon Greyjoy was born to Pyke, with its salty spray and it wet, torrent storms. He may have seen the snow before, but nothing prepared a child for their first northern winter. Not even Northern children. His own had seen one winter already, two years long. He hoped this one would be short, as the summer had been, but there was never a guarantee.
Winterfell appeared before them, ancient and steady as the stone it was made of. The great gates opened for their party and even from a mile down the road he could see the red hair of his wife, his son, and his younger daughter waiting for him. He kicked his horse into a canter, eager to finally return home.
The entire household was out waiting for him by the time he crossed the threshhold, followed by a procession of his retainers and his new ward. Ned dismounted his horse and embraced Catelyn as soon as he was close enough. He was careful with her, mindful of the babe in her belly. Catelyn hugged him close, pressing her face into the furs of his cloak.
"I'm so glad you're safe," she told him softly.
"I promised I would return," he reminded her.
"And so you have," she let him go at last and Ned found himself mobbed with children. Robb, Sansa, and Anne threw themselves at his legs, all clamoring for his attention. Jon joined in a moment later than his siblings, when Anne yanked him by his hand into the frey.
Ned's solemn mouth twitched upwards at the sight of his beautiful children. Their clamoring and half told stories and rapid questions fell off when Ned's new ward was dropped onto the ground.
Theon Greyjoy is tall for his age, with dark hair and sea-green eyes that soak in everything around him. He had done well up until now to hide his fear, but standing in the courtyard of Winterfell he looks struck, out of his element and more like a deer than a squid.
Ned isn't sure who is more surprised when Anne, his stubborn, vicious daughter disentangles herself from his cloak and the limbs of her brothers and sister to walk purposefully up to the boy, her dark eyes not as stormy as when he had last seen her. As though a clarity had come to her in his absence.
She takes one of his hands in her and inspects the glove upon it.
"You're going to catch cold, dressed like this," she tells him matter of factly. "I'm Anne. Lyanna Stark."
"Theon Greyjoy," the boy says. There's a fragment of a smile he manages to force upon his face, and Anne, who has taken after him in his sullen looks, returns it like the winter moon.
"Theon. Come inside, it's warmer. Did you travel far? Was it a hard journey? Have you ever seen the sea before?" She tugs his arm and Theon shoots Ned a panicked look. Ned watches rather helplessly as he is pulled towards the keep, and Robb and Jon rush after their sister and their new companion, with Sansa struggling to keep up the rear, her long red hair floating a banner behind her.
"You brought another boy home," Catelyn's disaproval is clear.
"Robert asked me to keep the boy as a ward."
"As a hostage, you mean," she shoots him a look that he cannot shrink away from. It's true, whether he likes it or not. Ned is not a fan of keeping a child a hostage, but his king had ordered it and better the boy be raised in the North with him than in the South with all of their vipers and scorpions.
In any case, Anne has taken him in and he knows that her siblings will follow her lead.
Anne is the oldest, and holds a sway over the children that even Ned cannot compete with. She commands Jon and Robb, and leads little Sansa by the hand, and he has no doubt that the new babe will be no exception to the rule. Theon has no idea what he's getting into.
Ned has to wonder, privately, if any of them do.
Viserys remembered their flight from Kings Landing well.
Though he was only eight and that by a few months there was nothing that would ever replace the fear that threatened to choke him as Jaehaerys grasped his hand and helped him into the ship that would set them sail to Dragonstone, safe away from the Usurper and his armies. His father, Aerys, had been fearful for their safety and sent them away from the mainland while his eldest brother, Rhaegar, fought them in the Riverlands.
He had handed Viserys to their mother and then pulled a little girl up with them, and after her a wet nurse for the babe quickening in mothers belly. She already had a babe in her arms, a child with no hair and face like a twisted potato. Red and ugly.
The boat rocked and swayed beneath their feet and it was only his mother's strong grasp on his hand that kept Viserys upright. She drew him down into the hull and he watched the star in the sky disappear behind the firm wood of the ship. He sat, shaking with fear in the dark but he tried to be brave, to be strong like his father, brave like his brother.
It wasn't until they were settled in and the waves were crashing behind them and the sky was tuning a soft violet the same shade as Jaehaerys' eyes that the little girl lowered the hood she wore and Viserys recognized her. The shadows faded just enough for him to see her and the other's in the room with him. Two knights, and the wet nurse and her baby.
"Rhaenys!" he cried. Mother hushed his swiftly.
"No one can know she's with us," Jaehaerys told him solemnly. They were alone in the little room below deck. Only Targaryen's and two night, Willem Darry and Jon Connington. Viserys looked at Jon Connington, who his father had exiled after his failed him. But he was there, breaking rules! You couldn't break rules for a king!
Jaehaerys, Jazz, lay a warm hand on his slim shoulder. Jazz was only twelve but he was tall and fast and clever. Viserys wanted to be like him. He wanted to be like Rhaegar. He would be clever and strong like his brothers.
"Robert Baratheon is marching to Kings Landing. We're all leaving now to Dragonstone, but Jon is going to take Rhaenys and Aegon further, all the way to Essos. You must never tell anyone this, V, do you understand?"
Viserys looked between all of them, frowning. "But Jon lost the Battle of the Bells! Why are we giving a prince and princess to him?"
"Because, who would ever suspect it? Father made it public that he hates Jon now, and Jon was sent into exile. No one would give an exile the prince and princess of Dragonstone, and so that's what we're going to do. You must expect the unexpected and do what no one thinks of," Jazz told him sagely.
"But why all the way to Essos? When father wins the war, we'll go back to the Red Keep. They don't need to go so far!"
"It's safer that way," Jazz said. Not even a full year later and Viserys knew he was right. Mother died and Jazz swept him and Daenerys 'Stormborn' away while the Usurper laid siege to Dragonstone. Their fleet was crushed, their armies destroyed, their father and brother dead and Jazz was named King with mothers fine gold crown set into his silver hair.
They ran.
They ran and Viserys grew. Jazz taught him and Dany all he knew of the Seven Kingdoms and of the Free Cities. He taught them houses and peoples and histories. He showed them small magic tricks. How to make a coin disappear and reappear and how to tell a man's intent by the light in his eyes and the shadow in his jaw.
Jazz was wonderful. He was only four years Viserys' senior but he had taken upon himself to raise them and keep them safe from the hired knives and cats paws. He would do whatever it took to protect his brother and sister.
And now, with Ser Darry dead and gone and Jon Connington raising his cousins half a continent away that packed what they had and went on the move. Jazz kept them hidden, as long as he could, and Viserys wasn't sure entirely what he did to ensure their fortune, but he knew that he and Dany had never had to work for money, even when they were all but penniless.
When Jazz appeared with two new children, Viserys looked upon them with contempt. They were rattily dressed, not much older than Dany was and skinny as a stick. By now, Viserys can recognize them for what they are. Two girls, twins, with small faces the same shape as Dany's, and height stunted by hunger.
"How are we to feed them, and ourselves?" Viserys demanded, curling his lip at them.
Jazz smoothed his hand across Viserys' curly silver hair. "We've the coin for it. Calm yourself, V. This is Tish and Keladry. We're going to take care of them from now on. So be kind, won't you?"
Viserys still doesn't like it. He doesn't like that Jazz is never upfront with him, he doesn't like that Jazz hides their hair and their heritage and won't call himself what he is, a king. He wants Jazz to trust him with his plans and thoughts and secrets.
But Jazz keeps all of his thoughts close to his chest and his plans locked away in his mind.
Viserys' heart ached with the want to know more, to be trusted by his only brother. But there is a wall between us, a wall that Jazz crafted with his own hands and his own 'protection' of his siblings, and Viserys can't help thinking on it as he watches his brother speak softly to the skittish little girls, offering them food and fetching them plain clothes.
They're playing pirates when Jamie walks into the room.
He'd been directed to his sisters chambers when he asked for her, Robert already too drunk to care where he went upon their return to Kings Landing. Barristan would guard him for today, and Jamie would go to see his sister and her son, who had apparently taken to spending hours at a time locked up inside Cersei's room with only the Hound for company.
Whatever Jamie had expected to find when he walked through the door, he did not expect to see Sandor Clegane leaning against a stanchion with a few lengths of yarn draped across his arms. Joffrey, almost four now, stood in front of him with a wooden practice sword in hand, facing off against the last person Jamie had expected to see with any sword in hand.
His sister.
She swung fluidly, but not very hard, parrying with her son in an effort to do - something.
She wasn't bad. Jamie could see a natural talent under her untrained hands, and the smile on her face was the most genuine he'd seen in years. For right then she looked truly joyful and free, the way she had when they were children. Before the truth of the world and their place in it had set in and the carefree girl had been locked away by a golden crown.
Joff was small, but that same talent was in him too, along with a vicious streak that shone in his green eyes.
Truly his mothers son.
Jamie cleared his throat.
The only one who didn't jump was Joff. Cersei spun with her wooden sword in hand and Clegane took a sharp step towards the pair from where he'd been 'tied up' to the post.
"How interesting," he said drolly. That was about all he got out before he found his arms filled with both Cersei and Joffrey, their golden hair pressed up under his jaw. The tension that Jamie had been carrying since the damned rebellion had even begun. They'd only just gotten Tyrion out of Casterly Rock safely, while Lannisport was ablaze. If Jamie thought too hard on it he would smell the burning of oil and men once more.
Quickly, he pressed his nose into Cersei's hair, inhaling the thick scent of her bath oils and soaps, and the vague salt of sweat.
Joffrey squirmed into his arms, pushing the siblings away from one another and Jamie remembered himself. They weren't alone, not yet, though he longed to be.
Jamie pulled away from Cersei, taking Joffrey into his arms. He'd missed the boy desperately.
"Uncle Jamie!" He touched Jamie's cheek, where a bruise had begun to form. It was his only real injury. Everything was superficial.
"Hello Joff. Have you been causing trouble for your mother?"
Joffrey grinned. "Only when I'm the bad guy."
"He's more trouble to the Hound than he is to me," Cersei teased, tugging Joffrey into her own arms. Some days Jamie was amazed the boy had ever learned to walk, Cersei had scarcely let anyone else hold him, and she almost never let him onto the ground, so afraid was she that he would ge hurt.
"I'm an angel," Joffrey said firmly. His serious face graced into a grin. "I'm glad you're home, uncle. I was worried."
"Don't be," Jamie pet his golden hair, "I'm the Lion of Lannister, haven't you heard?"
Joffrey huffed, but relished the affection. He leaned into soft contact and affections like he was starving for them, even though he'd been surrounded by them for his whole life.
"Next time, I'll be there too," Joffrey promised. Jamie plastered a smile on his face but he prayed to the gods that the boy was wrong. He didn't want him anywhere near any battlefield, ever. Even so, he knew it was a foolish wish. Joffrey was a prince, and he was already showing himself to be too stubborn to sit and watch a battle like a king should. Too much of Jamie in him, though it would be attributed to Robert without a doubt.
"Not a for a long, long time," Cersei said fiercely.
Joffrey rolled his eyes.
"If you're going to a fierce warrior, you'll need a lot more training, Joff," Jamie picked up one of the wooden practice sword and spun it with a flair across his fingers. Joffrey, set upon the ground, grinned and grabbed his own.
Jamie didn't think about how Robert hadn't come for his wife or his child, he didn't think about what joffrey would think of that as he grew old enough to understand what it meant. He focused on the son he could not claim, facing him with vicious smile that Jamie could only attribute to his mother.
Jamie was home.