You know, I don't think I've ever seen a Stark OC story where that character is the heir. I've only seen them being Robb's younger twin or Sansa's twin, who becomes the heir after Robb kicks the bucket. Well I've decided to write a story where Robb has an older brother and is not the heir. Of course there is a little twist about him that makes him special.
"What has she named them?" Jon inquired softly.
"... Rorhen, and Robb." Ned revealed after a bit as his lips curved slightly upwards. "She's named the eldest Rorhen and the youngest Robb."
"Rorhen and Robb." Jon repeated, his voice twinkling with happiness as he began to smile. "Strong names, I am sure they will make you proud and bring honor to us all."
Rorhen watched his father and brothers ride out from the covered walkway that overlooked the yard with a solemn look on his face. His mother stood next to him as did his youngest brother, Rickon, but unlike their mother, Rickon's gaze wasn't on him. It was on their departing family, on their father, while their mother's eyes were on him.
It annoyed him and made him want to say something to her, something curt, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. She was his mother, the one who would kiss his injuries and tell him how everything was going to be okay, how he was going to be fine.
Sadly, he was never fine, he was never going to be fine no matter how many times she told him, for he had been born different. Some called what he had to be a blessing, but not him. Rorhen found what he had to be a scourge, a devil, a misery, a blight, a hex, and a curse.
"Rorhen," his mother said softly, breaking the silent atmosphere.
"Yes?" He inquired his eyes remaining on the busy yard that once had his father and brothers in it.
He heard his mother do a sharp intake. "Rickon, why don't you go get yourself something to eat? I'm sure you're hungry after being in the yard?"
Rorhen turned his head slightly so that he could look at his younger sibling. His brother's expression had changed to a look of uncertainty, one that was tinged with confusion. "I thought you told me to stop having so many snacks?"
It was true, their mother had told Rickon he needed to stop eating so much, or else he'd grow and not in a healthy way.
"I did," his mother said with no doubt a resolute nod. "But you were out in the yard for quite some time. I think you can afford a little snack today."
He saw his brother beam and say, "I'm going to have lemon cakes then! I heard they were being made today!"
Despite not wanting to, Rorhen couldn't help but smile as his brother quickly ran off, leaving him alone with their mother.
"He reminds me of you," she said out loud in a fond voice as he shifted his eyes back to the yard. "You used to always announce what you were doing when you were younger. Not caring if it bothered me or your father at all."
Rorhen didn't say anything, but his lips did lower slightly at the recollection of certain moments in his childhood. He remembered one time when he got so upset with parents he told them at dinner how he planned to run away and that there was nothing they could do to stop him.
His mother at the time had looked shocked by his declaration while his father smiled in amusement.
"And where do you plan to go?" His father had asked, his voice tinged with mirth as he looked at Rorhen.
At that, he had no response to give his father, and was practically speechless.
"I… I do not know, but somewhere away from Winterfell!" He proclaimed after some time in an uncertain and loud tone.
"B-But you can't run away!" His brother shouted in response as tears swelled in Robb's blue eyes. "If you leave, how will we play and become knights?"
"I will come back!" Rorhen answered after a moment of thinking as he raised his hand. "When the castle sleeps I will sneak in and then we can play and train-"
"Rorhen," his mother said, pulling him from his memories of childhood. He slowly looked at her and saw in her dark blue eyes concern. "Why didn't you go with your father and brothers?"
"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and I am my father's heir." Rorhen said after a bit, his voice barren of emotion as he straightened himself. "Who better than me to stay behind and manage it while he is away?"
"They are only going to be gone for a few hours, and you know that." His mother said in response as she frowned. He looked away as she went on to say. "What is the real reason? Is there something wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," he said a little too swiftly to his liking. "You're just overthinking is all."
It was true, regardless of how he said it, his mother was overthinking everything. There was nothing wrong, at least he didn't think there was, he just didn't want to go and watch his father take someone's head for the fourth time this year.
Of course that didn't go well with his father, who had frowned at him, and told him that what he was doing was going to be his responsibility one day.
"Aye, it one day will be my responsibility, but not today." He had said in response back then.
He didn't say it in a careless attitude or any other tone like that, but that didn't stop him from receiving a long and bothered look from his father.
"Maybe I am overthinking it all," his mother considered quietly, making his shoulders loosen a little. "But can you honestly blame me after the looks I saw being sent your way?"
Yes, was what he wanted to say, but again he couldn't find the strength inside of him to say that, so instead he kept quiet.
His mother waited for an answer and when she realized she wasn't going to get one from him she sighed. "I see you do not wish to talk, so I will leave you alone. Mayhaps later on today you will be in better spirits and not like this?"
Once again, he wanted to answer, but couldn't. He did not know how he'd be later and did not want to tell his mother how he may or may not be later on today. He found that silence was the best answer despite being aware of it troubling her.
Seeing that she wasn't going to get anything from him, his mother left him, and it was a few moments after she was gone did he start to feel an aching feeling in his chest.
It was regret that he felt, and probably the closest thing he'd ever get to feeling pain, for that was one of the things he had been born without. The ability to feel pain.
He had been four years old when he first learned about his blessing. He had tripped and ended up scraping his hands pretty badly, but rather than crying and going to his parents about it, Rorhen had simply got up and continued on his way as if nothing had happened at all. It wasn't until supper time did his father and mother notice his injured hands and ask him what happened with concerned looks.
From there Rorhen told them he fell and was taken to Maester Luwin where he learned that not only was he born without the ability to feel pain. He was also born with the inability to feel temperatures. He never thought it was weird how he never felt cold or hot like others did until Maester Luwin had put ice onto his bruised hands and he felt nothing.
"Arya Stark!" He heard from below, which pulled him out of the state he was in and caused him to look down into the yard once more and see Septa Mordane marching through it with a scowl written on her old face.
For a moment, Rorhen just stood there and watched the old maiden as she scanned the area for his younger sister while calling out to her. Some of those in the yard looked at Septa Mordane with pity and tried to help her locate his sister while others snickered, smiled, and muttered about her problems.
After a while, Rorhen grew tired of watching Septa Mordane being unable to find his sister, and began to make his way to the Godswood where he believed Arya to be.
As he walked he thought about her and Sansa and wondered how they could be so different from one another. Sansa was never one to cause problems while Arya was almost always causing some sort of problem. It was never anything major, but he couldn't recall a single day where he did not hear about his youngest sister doing something.
When he asked his father about why she was so difficult and different from Sansa his father claimed it to be because of the wolfsblood in Arya. He said that the wolfsblood in her was stronger than the wolfsblood in Sansa and had therefore made her free-spirited and willful just like their Aunt Lyanna.
His father had said this all to him with a smile, but it wasn't a happy or fond smile that was plastered on his face. No it was more of a sad smile, which had made Rorhen to think negatively about the wolfsblood that flowed in their veins. He had heard the tales about his Aunt Lyanna, and knew the tragedy that befell her.
He didn't want that to happen with his sister, so ever since then he had been trying to get her to stop being so free-spirited. Unfortunately, he had yet to succeed in his endeavor and had only caused her to resent him a little. She didn't hate him, but she would often mention to him how she wished he would stop acting like their mother.
"It's bad enough Mother disapproves of what I do, I don't need you disapproving of it too."
The mere thought of her words made him scowl, but it did not linger on him. It vanished the moment he saw someone walking down the hallway and was replaced by his usual stoic expression.
The girl that was walking down the opposite end of the hallway had made sure she would not be in his way and had said when nearing him with a tilt of her body. "M'lord."
Rorhen didn't greet her back, and instead had moved past her without batting an eye.
Eventually he reached the Godswood, and it took him several minutes of wandering around it before he found his sister Arya and a brown haired boy around her age dueling one another with wooden swords.
His lips lowered at the sight of them, but rather than calling out to his sister and her assumed to be friend, Rorhen watched the two of them fight in silence. It was nothing grand to watch, both of them were clumsy with their swords, but he couldn't bring himself to interrupt their intense match.
Unfortunately, he did not have to, for his sister soon spotted him, and had shouted as she backed off of her partner. "What are you doing here?"
Curious to see who she was yelling at, the young boy she was training with had turned around only for his eyes to go wide as dinner plates.
"Lord Rorhen!" He exclaimed while dropping his wooden sword in the process.
Rorhen meanwhile kept his gaze on his sister before saying. "Septa Mordane is looking for you, Arya. I came to see if you were here."
At this, Arya narrowed her eyes and said, "why? Why is she looking for me?"
"You know very well why, Arya." He answered.
Arya frowned. "Why are you here? Are you going to bring me to her?"
"It would be the right thing to do, Septa Mordane will not be around forever to teach how to sew properly, and every day you are getting closer to becoming a grown woman." He said in response.
"I do not want to sew." Arya declared with a scrunched up face. "Nor do I want to learn how to sing or to dance, or any of that stuff! That's not what I want to learn!"
"Of course, you just want to be like Aunt Lyanna, who supposedly only wanted to fight and ride." Was what he had nearly said, but didn't. Instead, he said with slightly lowered lips. "I'm sure those warrior princesses you admire didn't want to learn some of those things you mentioned, but learned them regardless."
Arya considered what he said for a moment with tightened lips before saying. "Maybe they did, but I don't get to learn what I want, and that's not fair!"
"I'm not here to talk about what's fair and not Arya, if I was we'd be here until nightfall. I'm here to tell you that you have a responsibility and duty to this house that you cannot ignore." He declared, his voice rising just a tad bit.
"… You sound like Mother." Was her response causing Rorhen to furrow his brows and frown.
He glowered at her for a solid few seconds before saying curtly. "Stop skipping your lessons, Arya, you bring nothing but dishonor to us when you do."
He then turned around and immediately walked off, not letting his little sister get the last word in, and already regretting what he just said to her.
O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O
"I figured you'd be here." Rorhen heard from his left, causing him to turn and see his brother Robb approaching him with a smile on his face. Immediately, he noticed that Robb was carrying two furry and squirming things in his arms, one of them was grey and the other was an auburn sort of color.
"Sansa told me you were probably in your room, but I had a feeling you'd be up here on the battlements." His brother stated happily while closing the distance.
Rorhen watched him approach before turning his gaze away and saying in a neutral tone. "What are those?"
"These?" Robb said in a cheerful voice as he looked at the animals in his hands. "These are wolf pups, but not just any wolf pups, direwolf pups!"
At this, Rorhen furrowed his brows and said as he looked at Robb. "I thought there weren't any direwolves South of the Wall?"
"That's what everyone else thought too," Robb stated, "but then we came across their dead mother and now there are seven. At least that we know of, we never came across their father."
Rorhen nodded, but didn't say anything more on the matter. He simply turned away, and looked back at the many sodden and snowy hills.
A few seconds passed before his brother asked him. "Want to hold one?"
"Are we keeping them?" Rorhen inquired, his attention never moving.
"Father says we can." Robb declared. "So long as we train them ourselves, feed them ourselves, and if they die we bury them ourselves."
Rorhen had turned towards his brother as he spoke and couldn't help but scowl a little at his words. He didn't think raising a direwolf would be hard for him and some of his younger siblings, but Rickon was three soon to be four years old. All his baby brother knew how to do really was eat, play, and poop. He didn't know what it was like taking care of something in the slightest.
"How does he expect Rickon to train a direwolf and feed one? He's only three years old."
Robb shrugged his shoulders in response and said, "I don't know. My best guess is that Father expects one of us older brothers to help him. Be it you, me, or Jon."
"I see," Rorhen proclaimed before he looked down at the two pups in his brother's arms. They were both small and adorable now, but Rorhen knew what they'd grow into. Large, lethal predators, who would be very capable of tearing entire limbs off.
Still, despite knowing what they'd be, Rorhen could not stop himself from taking one of the wolves his brother carried. He took the browny-red one and smiled a little when it nuzzled into him.
"I was hoping you'd take that one." Robb revealed, causing Rorhen to shift his eyes away from the pup he was holding and see his brother grinning at him.
"Why's that?" Rorhen asked curiously.
"Because I already have a name picked out for this one and I don't think Grey-wind would suit him. He's brown and red."
"Could call him Red-wind." Rorhen said after some time in a joking manner earning himself a laugh from his brother.
"Aye, I could, but I think I'll stick with this one." Robb stated.
That's fine, I like this one's color more, was what Rorhen wanted to say but didn't. Instead he remained quiet and gazed at the pup in his arms.
"What do you think you'll name him?" Robb asked after a while of silence.
"Don't know," Rorhen declared after a couple of seconds with a shrug of his shoulders. "If he was white or a light grey I'd call him Winter or Frost, but he's not. Autumn maybe?"
"That's a good name," Robb affirmed.
"Eh, it's an alright one, but I feel it's more of a girl's name." Rorhen said with a small frown. "Lord has a nice ring to it, but it's so simple that I don't like it."
"Well, there's always Red-wind if you truly can't think of one." Robb said with a slight smile.
"There is, but I'd rather not name him that." Rorhen admitted.
"Hmm, how about Dawn?" Robb asked.
"Again, nice ring, but still too simple for me." Rorhen stated. He thought for a moment before looking at his brother and saying curiously. "What about Joramun?"
"After the Wildling King?" Robb shook his head. "No, I don't think you should name him that. Not to mention, it's more of a human name than a direwolf name."
Rorhen frowned and said as he looked at his pup. "I'll think of something, he doesn't need a name today."
"It'll come to you, just like it came to me and Jon." Robb assured with a smile that Rorhen returned, although his was not as big as his younger brother's smile and did not linger for long.
Maybe, was the solemn thought he had as he looked at his pup.
Not long after this did Rorhen and Robb leave the battlements where they were soon met by Jory Cassel, the Captain of the Household Guards and Ser Rodrik's nephew.
"Rorhen!" Jory called out as he approached him and his brother. "Your father wants to speak with you, said to meet him in the Godswood."
Rorhen frowned a little and said, "right now?"
"Aye, right now." Jory affirmed with a nod as he came to a stop in front him and Robb.
Rorhen's frown deepened, but he didn't argue on the matter. Instead, he looked to his twin and said a little curiously. "Can you look after this one a little bit longer?"
"Do you even need to ask?" Robb inquired with a grin. "Of course, I will!"
At this, Rorhen smiled a little and said in a low voice as he handed his brother his unnamed direwolf. "Thank you."
Think nothing of it," Robb affirmed, his smile still on his face. He then walked off with the two wolf pups leaving Rorhen alone with Jory. Rorhen had watched him walk away before averting his gaze to Jory and saying to him.
"Mind if you do something for me, Jory?"
"Not at all, what is it?" Jory inquired; his voice laced with curiosity.
"Could you go to the library and bring to my chambers the History of House Stark and Kings of Winter?" Rorhen asked.
"Aye I could do that." Jory affirmed with no hesitation whatsoever. "May I ask why you want those two books in particular though?"
Although he would have preferred not saying it, Rorhen couldn't stop himself from telling Jory. "I am having trouble coming up with a name for my direwolf. I thought reading about my ancestors might help with finding him a name."
Jory nodded and told Rorhen about how he understood before making a suggestion. "How about Duty or Honor? They're both simple names and match your character."
Rorhen thought about it before saying quietly. "Maybe, but those are more of sword names in my opinion. Nonetheless, thank you for the suggestions."
At this, Jory smiled and told him about how it was no problem at all before announcing that he was going to go get those two books he wanted. Shortly after that, Rorhen left for the Godswood where he eventually met his father who was beneath the weirwood, seated on a moss-covered stone with their family's ancestral greatsword Ice across his lap.
"Father," Rorhen said as he approached his solemn-faced father who cleaned Ice with black as night water.
"Rorhen," his father said as he looked up at him and pulled the blade out of the water. "You arrived a lot faster than I thought you would."
"I was told you wanted to speak with me so I came as quickly as I could." Rorhen stated as he moved a tad bit closer to the heart tree as his father took out a swatch of oiled leather.
"Aye, that I did, son." His father affirmed as he proceeded to lightly run the piece of fabric down the sword.
Rorhen watched silently as his father polished the metal to a dark glow and said to him. "Maester Luwin came to me shortly after I returned, there's been a raven from King's Landing."
"About?" Rorhen inquired after he had shifted his gaze from Ice to his father's long and solemn face.
His father didn't respond at first, he simply continued to stroke the greatsword with his swatch. Eventually, he spoke and when he did Rorhen took note of the lack of warmth in his voice.
"Robert– His Grace," he corrected quickly, "is holding a great tourney to celebrate three hundred years of a united Seven Kingdoms. He has invited all of Westeros to attend."
If his father was looking at him then he would have witnessed his lips lowering into that of a small frown, but alas he was not. Instead, his eyes were on their family's blade.
"A great tourney to celebrate three hundred years of a united Seven Kingdoms…" He thought to himself. He could see the merits in a great tourney like that, but those thoughts were very short lived, for he swiftly realized something.
"It hasn't been three hundred years since Aegon's Conquest though," he started, with a slightly deeper frown. "It's only been two hundred and ninety eight years. Why would he announce a tourney now? Isn't it a little early for that?"
"His Grace believes Autumn and Winter will arrive in the next two years. He wants to host it before that happens, so he will be hosting it at the end of the year rather than a year and a half from now." His father answered in a bit of dismissive tone as he stopped cleaning his blade and lifted it up to examine it.
At this Rorhen nodded his head and said nothing. He knew how his father felt about tourneys and wasn't at all surprised by how he was acting right now. They were, in short, a very sensitive topic for him.
Unfortunately, he could not stay silent forever, for he had a few questions that needed a few answers.
"Who," He began only to pause and clear his throat and then begin once more in a solemner voice. "Who will be going and who will be staying here in Winterfell?"
"I have not decided yet." His father revealed. "Rickon is too young to be attending tourneys, but the thought of leaving him alone here for more than a moon's turn? It does not sit well with me."
His father scowled briefly before saying with a blank expression. "Although I would prefer if none of us went. Winter is coming, and we Starks have no business attending or participating in tourneys."
Now it was Rorhen's turn to look displeased. He understood his father's distaste for tourneys, and was well within his rights to dislike them, but that did not mean the North had no business with them.
"You disagree?" He heard his father ask him, pulling him from his thoughts and making him realize the scowl he had on his face.
For a moment he was hesitant on answering the question, but in the end he did. "To an extent, Father. I don't think we should be attending every tourney we've been invited to, but a tourney such as this could be the once and a while exception."
His father stared at him for a long and hard moment before nodding his head. "Aye, it could be, but enough about this. I did not invite you here to talk about this upcoming great tourney, not really, I mainly invited you here to speak about what's bothering you, Rorhen."
"If you are referring to earlier today then nothing is wrong, Father." Rorhen answered with a small frown. "I just simply did not wish to see another deserter lose his head."
"Do you think I did or any of your brothers?" His father inquired as he glared at Rorhen. He shook his head and went on to say, "sometimes it's not about what you want, sometimes it's about doing what is required, whether you like it or not."
At this, Rorhen looked away from his father and furrowed his brows. It was just one execution, was what he had been tempted to say, but in the end didn't because of how pitiful that would sound.
"Rorhen," his father said solemnly as he continued to avoid looking at his father.
"I'm sorry, Father," Rorhen said swiftly and quietly while wondering to himself if this was what his father wanted to hear from him. He honestly didn't know.
His father didn't speak to him. He sat there in silence for a few seconds before sighing and sheathing Ice in its sheath. "Go and find your Mother for me please, and tell her to meet me in my solar."
At this, Rorhen didn't say anything, he simply nodded his head before turning around and walking away. As he walked away though, his father called out to him.
"Rorhen," his father said in a loud enough voice as Rorhen stopped and turned towards him. His father opened his mouth and looked like he was about to say something, but in the end closed it, and proceeded to say in a much more quiet voice. "Nevermind."
He stared at his father after this for a solid few seconds wondering if his father would change his mind again and say what was on it. When he realized that he wouldn't Rorhen frowned, turned back around, and proceeded to walk off, leaving his father alone in the Godswood underneath the Heart Tree.
For those that don't know this disease Rorhen has is actually a real one, it is the CIPA disease, which is present at birth and makes you unable to sense pain or temperature, and unable to sweat. It's very rare and from what I've gathered it's not as good as one would think. The people that have it more or less see it as a curse, and would rather not have it which is understandable because it kind of makes them have to be extremely careful, for they wouldn't know if they broke a bone or were bleeding.
Anyways, I wrote this while basically finishing up plotting a Song of a Carian Knight, and am happy to announce that I have charted out for it the first act. I am 2/4ths of the way done with its next update, and will hopefully have it done by July 4th. No promises though on that one.